Scrapyard Ship 3 Space Vengeance
Page 8
“How do you speak our language?”
Not sure honesty would be in his best interest, Brian hesitated before answering. “I have a device in my head that lets me talk to other species.”
“Your own kind has turned against you. Why do they do such a thing?”
“They only look like my species. They are not.”
“It insults us, leaving these imprisoned carcasses here as if we would feast on them. For the most part, we leave them for the shells to eat.” The hopper gestured toward the crabs, which were quickly scurrying backwards toward the shoreline. Then the hopper did something unexpected. He reached in and brought out another handful of meat, stopped, and held it out to Brian.
“You will eat.”
Brian’s eyes went to the still-twitching crab held securely beneath the hopper’s muscular thighs. He hadn’t eaten in days. How different could this be from regular crabmeat, or even lobster for that matter?
Brian nodded and let the hopper place a large chunk of the white meat into his mouth. It was surprisingly good. He didn’t hesitate for the second mouthful.
“Thank you,” Brian said. “Why did you—”
“Eat,” the hopper said.
“One more thing. Can you help me get off this pole?” For the first time in years, Brian wanted to go home. Back to Earth.
Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Ricket requested a private meeting with Jason and the admiral. In itself, that wasn’t unusual, but its location made Jason curious. Ricket wanted to meet on the far side of the moon. Jason had almost forgotten about the crippled Craing Dreadnaught—the principal massive warship that took point in a fleet of five hundred. For a short while it had been placed in high orbit around Earth and used as a base for their fleet and for training exercises in space. But it was a battered, war-torn vessel. Several chunks had dislodged and careened into other ships. Then another even larger section broke off and headed directly toward Earth, but fortunately it splashed down somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. Deemed too dangerous to be allowed to maintain orbit around Earth, the Dreadnaught was hauled away by several of the larger battle cruisers and placed in its current orbit around the moon.
They picked up the admiral at the outpost and flew The Lilly over to the moon. Once the Dreadnaught was within sight, they phase-shifted into the mammoth ship’s primary corridor, which ran the length of the vessel. Once close to the Dreadnaught’s bridge, they headed to The Lilly’s armory on Deck 2, where they readied themselves.
“So what is this thing?” the admiral asked with a furrowed brow. Orion continued to secure a phase-shift belt around his midsection.
“The belts will transport us to the Dreadnaught’s bridge,” Jason replied. “But we can walk, if you’d prefer. Probably take us fifteen or twenty minutes by foot.”
“No, I’ll give this a try,” the admiral replied with a shrug. “Hell, it’s not like this is the first time you’ve used them, right?”
“Right. We couldn’t have made it across HAB 12 without them.”
Not wanting to suit up into combat suits, they each were fitted with a wristband interface. One by one, Ricket double-checked each of their phase-shift coordinates.
“We are ready,” Ricket said.
“Sure you don’t want me to join you, Cap?” Orion asked, looking uneasy that they were leaving without a security detail.
“We’ll be fine. There’s no one on board—it’s a deserted ship. But you can phase-shift over if we run into any kind of trouble, that work?” Jason replied.
With Ricket’s help, the first one to phase-shift over was the admiral; Jason went next, then Ricket.
The Dreadnaught’s sprawling command center was eerily quiet. The three of them stood near the officer’s section of the bridge. Jason looked out at the rows of unmanned stations.
“It’s like a ghost ship.”
“And that’s what I wanted to speak with you about, Captain,” Ricket said. “I am not convinced the Craing crewmembers, even working alongside our own people, can be fully trusted.”
Ricket walked over to the command chair, sat down, and accessed a small viewing screen and interface device. “This isn’t common knowledge. I discovered it purely by accident.”
“What’s with all the secrecy, Ricket? What’s going on?” the admiral asked.
The largest of the display screens mounted on the bulkhead came alive.
“What is that?” Jason asked.
The image on the display was barely visible. Ricket keyed something else in and overhead lights came on. It was a ship’s hold of immense proportions. Stacks and stacks of mechanical equipment filled the screen and faded into the distance.
“Build and repair tractor drones,” Ricket said. “These were not listed on the ship’s inventory database.”
“So what? What’s a build and repair tractor drone and why is this significant?” Jason asked.
Ricket looked over at Jason, then walked toward the display. “Captain, these are the types of mechanical tractor drones that were used to build this Dreadnaught in the first place, as well as all the other vessels within the Craing fleet. Depending on whether or not they have the necessary programming, they could repair this vessel. And with the right materials, they could build others.”
That got the admiral’s attention. “Wait just a minute. Are you telling me we have the capability to manufacture additional warships? And repair this one? What kind of timeframe are we talking about?”
Ricket entered something on the input device. The display changed again, this time to another hold area.
“These are spare parts. There are also several holds that contain raw materials. I believe the Craing were going to set up a remote manufacturing base on another planet, or even on a space platform. This Dreadnaught holds everything needed to outfit a dry dock.”
“So why the secrecy?” the admiral asked.
“I know why,” Jason interjected. “If the Craing knew we had discovered these supply holds, they would come straight for Earth and bypass the Allied worlds completely.”
“I believe you are correct, Captain. One subversive FTL transmission from here to the Craing would put our planet in jeopardy. Other than the three of us, no one else knows; this information is secure.”
“That’s good, right?” the admiral asked.
Ricket hesitated, and checked several more screens before answering. “I don’t believe we can proceed without the help of key Craing personnel. The drones need parameters set—variances to their programming on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis.”
“Can’t our people learn—”
“I do not believe so, Captain. It would take many months, if not years, to bring your personnel up to speed,” Ricket replied, looking up at Jason and then to the admiral.
“How many key Craing personnel are we talking about?”
“My suggestion would be to develop a dry dock on the surface of the moon … here on the dark side, away from Earth’s view. We will need no fewer than twenty Craing personnel who have the necessary programming skills.”
“Why do I get the feeling you know exactly who those twenty Craing crewmembers are?”
“I have a list of thirty-five potential candidates; they have the proper educational and skill-level credentials, Captain,” Ricket replied.
“So we vet the Craing personnel down to twenty … maybe a few more as extras. How long does it take to repair a Dreadnaught?” the admiral asked.
“To put this vessel back into a fully-operational status will take approximately thirty-eight days.”
“Well, that won’t work. The Craing fleet will have swept through the Allied worlds way before then,” Jason said dismissively.
“The drones work surprisingly fast. If we repurpose them to concentrate only on the major systems, such as the drives and on weapons repair, that timeframe could be significantly reduced.”
“By how much?”
“One week, Captain. This Dreadnaught could
be ready for battle in one week.”
Jason and his father looked at each other.
“Can we wait that long before heading to the Allied worlds?” Jason asked.
“At their current FTL speeds, we calculate the Craing fleet will arrive there in just over nine days.”
“Okay, Ricket. Let’s get this started. And I want to be a part of the vetting process of your proposed Craing team. We select the wrong people and we’re screwed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter 14
Chapter 14
Nan was up early and headed for the shower. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, and with that damn drone bumping into things every few minutes, she was already running on a short fuse. She turned on the hot water and let it run a second before climbing in. She screamed and threw herself against the far shower wall. The water was ice cold. In seconds, the drone crashed into the bathroom. A weapon protruded from a center panel.
“Halt movement! Security verification in process …”
With that, the shower door was ripped from its hinges and Nan, naked, trying desperately to avoid the still icy cold water, was held at gunpoint. Trying to keep her voice calm, she spoke in an even tone, “Get-the-hell-out-of-here-right-this-fucking-second. Do-you-understand-me?”
* * *
Nan found there was little in the fridge for breakfast. She discovered a frozen box of Eggos in the freezer and an unopened bottle of syrup in the pantry. She placed the plate of toasted waffles down in front of Mollie.
“What’s this?”
“What does it look like? It’s your breakfast,” Nan said, sitting down across from her and resuming her search through the classified section of the local paper.
“I know that. But where is the butter? And these are old.”
“How do you know how old they are? They’re probably not that old.”
“I was with Dad when he bought them.”
“They were frozen. Those things are meant to last forever. Eat. You need to get ready to be at the bus stop in fifteen minutes.”
“Where do I go? How do you know where my bus stop even is?”
“Enough with the twenty questions! Eat your breakfast. I spent two hours at your school yesterday, remember? I know where your bus stop is. I also know who your teacher is and that you’re expected to play an instrument this year.”
“You mean like a trombone or something?” Mollie asked, making a face.
Nan didn’t answer. She’d found something and was circling the ad.
“Did you find a car?” Mollie asked, with a mouthful of syrupy waffles.
“Maybe. A 2003 Jeep Cherokee.”
“There’s a Jeep Cherokee in the yard.”
“Well, I need one that works. One that’s safe. Not a junker from the lot.”
The security drone was back in the room.
“Teardrop’s back,” Mollie said, watching the drone hover its way forward.
Nan had suspected it was nearby. Probably eavesdropping, she thought to herself. She glared at it as it moved closer. Mollie had named it Teardrop since that’s what it ‘kinda’ looked like to her. A pearly-white teardrop, with a head and two arms.
“Good morning, Teardrop. Don’t you know it’s polite to say good morning?” Mollie scolded.
“Good morning, Mollie Reynolds,” it said in a very humanlike male voice.
“You don’t always have to say my last name. That sounds retarded.”
“Mollie, I don’t like that word,” Nan said, looking up from her paper.
“Good morning, Mollie,” the drone repeated. It moved forward and opened the sliding glass door to the back porch. Before exiting it turned toward Nan.
“I have located the coordinates of a Jeep Cherokee. It is currently non-functional. I will attempt to repair it to within manufacturer’s safety parameters.”
The drone was out the door and halfway into the junkyard before Nan could respond.
Mollie giggled. “That thing’s weird, Mom. But kinda funny.”
Nan walked Mollie to the bus stop on West 59th street, several streets away from the scrapyard. They waited together for the bus to arrive. With a kiss to her forehead, Mollie was off and running for the bus. Nan’s smile was gone as the bus disappeared down the street. Looking above a nearby grove of orange trees, the sky was bright and cloudless. She wondered if Jason would be successful in deterring the returning Craing fleet. Or was it just a matter of time before Craing warships landed here again? How would she protect Mollie?
When Nan returned home, she immediately headed for the back porch. Teardrop moved quickly, lighting fast. One moment it was at the far end of the lot, only to show up at the tool shed a moment later. At some point, using its two clawed arms, Teardrop had lifted an automobile from the middle of the lot and maneuvered it closer to the porch where Nan, feet up on the stacked wheel-rim table, sat and watched in amazement.
It was in fact a Jeep Cherokee. The navy-blue body was in pretty good shape, except for the right rear quarter panel. The drone had replaced it with a dark red one from another jeep somewhere in the yard. The front hood was now up and the drone rushed back and forth, in and out of the yard, scrounging for needed parts. Soon, a loud air compressor blared from inside the tool shed. Teardrop, pulling an air hose behind itself, began to fill each of the tires. Several moments passed and Teardrop positioned itself behind the steering wheel. Nan heard something click a few times. Teardrop left the car and returned to the scrapyard. It came back with another battery. Once the battery was swapped, Teardrop was back behind the wheel. The engine started on the first try and idled as smoothly as a brand new car.
Having an operational vehicle would be a good start. Looking out over the scrapyard, Nan still felt uneasy, vulnerable. She needed to do more.
Chapter 15
Chapter 15
They’d spent another four days behind the moon. The new, much faster Caldurian shuttle was used to ferry the Craing crewmember candidates back and forth from the outpost. Several Craing officers had proven themselves competent over the last few weeks at the outpost, and now were assisting with the vetting process of the others. It seemed to Jason the Craing were inherently distrustful. Even the officers they counted on to help with the vetting process needed constant reassurances. In the end, though, there were no loyalists to the enemy Craing forces. None of the crewmembers wanted to return to the Craing home worlds, and none seemed to have any moral issues helping those who were declared mortal enemies of the Craing Empire.
When Jason emerged from his cabin and entered the bridge, it became obvious to him Ricket had made substantial progress with the Dreadnaught’s reconstruction effort. The wraparound display was segmented into multiple outside views of the crippled Dreadnaught.
Ricket was waiting for Jason and stood by the command chair. “Captain, I’ve deployed the tractor drones. They were already pre-programmed and so far only need new repair configurations.”
“Where are the Craing programmers?” Jason asked, watching one of the shuttle-sized tractor drones dislodge a large segment of the outer hull, while another tractor drone placed a new section in its place. Then, crablike, they moved on to another damaged section of the hull.
“They are working on Deck 2. We’ve provisioned an unused section of the ship as a bullpen for the programmers. It’s close to their quarters.”
Orion rushed onto the bridge. “Captain, what are those Craing doing on Deck 2?”
“Programming the drone tractors, why?”
“Because they never shut up. Whoever provisioned that part of the ship didn’t take into account that Gunnery is right across the hall. I can’t think straight with their constant chattering.”
Jason looked down at Ricket. “I take it you didn’t add a door to the section of the ship you provisioned?”
“No, Captain.”
“See what you can do, Ricket. In the meantime, Gunny, try to put up with a temporary irritation. Your bridge shift starts soon
anyway.”
“Aye, Cap,” she said and slid into her chair at the tactical station.
“Captain, we’re being hailed by the outpost. It’s the admiral,” Orion said.
His father had taken the shuttle back to Earth the previous day. A new segment feed displayed and the admiral’s face filled the screen.
“Admiral,” Jason said.
“Seems our timetable has just been moved up.”