Oort Rising

by Magnus Victor

  “And the prodigal robot returns.” Johann's resigned voice was beginning to get on Klaus' nerves. “A failure like the others.”

  “Maybe the code survived, this time.” It came out more snappish than Klaus had intended. "After all, we still have to check it."

  “Nope.” Johann held up his datapad, waving it at Klaus. “The test program is made to send an audio file to my 'pad and play it. If you ever hear bagpipes after a test, then we've succeeded.”

  *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

  Two long days later, after a series of similarly non-productive test runs, Klaus was growing frustrated. They'd tried running multiple parallel computers, they'd tried altering the energy parameters of the plasma field, and they'd tried sending massively redundant processors.

  PO North had even managed to convince one of the machine shop techs to fabricate enough non-quantum computers to brute-force the ship's operating calculations. They came through just fine, but even slaved together, they were useless for the calculations the ship would need when it emerged. Life support maybe, but never reactor control or firing solutions. Nothing that Murphy would call mission critical.

  He handed Johann one of the sodas that he had gone to fetch, during their most recent test. “Is it back yet?”

  The Scottish physicist nodded, chin resting dejectedly on his hand.

  “Still not working?” Klaus asked, knowing the answer. "I feel like Edison, but do we really have to find ten thousand things that don't work?"

  Murphy mumbled something under her breath, something about how much osmium they were using on each of the trials.

  Johann ignored her. “Speakin' of which, have ye got any interesting ideas for what to change to make this work? Less osmium? More computers? Throw a virgin crewman in as a sacrifice?”

  Klaus didn't think the idea was practical, and opened his mouth to say as much, but shut it when Johann's computer chimed. Johann read the message, and groaned.

  “It gets even better, lad. That was Lt. Ranjit. The Captain wants to see us in her office.”

  Murphy looked up from her console. Her eyes looked tired. North had gone off-shift, and she had volunteered to stay on. The junior crewman's voice was slightly tense. “Us?”

  “Him and I.” Johann pointed at Klaus.

  The Petty Officer nodded, let out a breath, and turned back to the display.

  Klaus couldn't fault her. Maybe she had been tasked with containing the budget, as well as keeping Johann alive. No sailor that junior ever met directly with the captain, unless there was either very good news or very bad news to report. And there was an unfortunate lack of good news with the QMP testing thus far.

  “Now?” asked Klaus.

  “When else? Don't they know we have bloody work to do?”

  A scant minute of high-g transit found the two standing outside the Captain's office once more. Johann looked a little green — probably not used to the speed of transport that Klaus had spec'd — but he took a deep breath, straightened his back, and commed the office.

  The hatch snicked open, and the two men stepped through. It closed behind them, bolts sliding home with a series of audible thumps. Klaus and Johann were the only guests in the room. No Lt. Ranjit. No senior engineering officer. That spoke volumes to Klaus. The meeting was clearly not going to be about giving them the resources they needed. He tried to signal the physicist to be careful with his words, but Johann was not paying any attention to him.

  The Captain looked up from her desk display, and spoke without preamble. “My apologies, but I'm rather pressed for time. I'll be brief.” She fixed her gaze on Johann. “Can you get the QMP drive working in less than four days?”

  Johann drew a deep breath to speak, and for a moment Klaus was afraid he would say yes, but then his shoulders slumped. “No. No machine we've yet tested has come through as anything more than a lump of brain-dead circuits. I've got a theory that I'm workin' on, about getting the probabilities to cancel each other and —" He stopped, regarding the Captain a moment, "but, ah, it'll take two weeks at least before I get a definitive answer on it.”

  The Captain shifted her gaze to Klaus. “And do you agree?”

  On second thought, that was more of a glare than a mere gaze. The Captain seemed as frustrated with the lack of progress as Johann and Klaus were. “Yes, ma'am. Unfortunately.”

  “I see. Well, in that case I’m sorry to say that it’ll be delayed longer than that. We just got a message from Commodore Petrakov – we’re to ready the ship for combat. That means we’re shifting petty officers Murphy and North back to their normal duties, the machine shops are working on fabricating more spares and equipment, and we can’t spare the energy for your tests.”

  Johann scowled. “So what in blazes are we supposed to do? I was on the verge of a bloody scientific breakthrough, at the very least!”

  Klaus mentally rolled his eyes. Johann’s complete inability to demonstrate any level of respect for his superiors, or at the very least for the people who supplied his paycheck, was one of his less...endearing aspects.

  Conagher's expression did not change an iota. “Your breakthrough can wait. In the meantime, as a civilian, you are allowed to leave the ship when we arrive at Andromeda station. Until then, feel free to find something to do that doesn’t get in the way of the crew. You are dismissed.”

  Johann stood silent for a moment, mouth opening and closing. Then without a word he turned and walked out of the door, just managing not to stomp his way out. Klaus shrugged and turned to follow.

  “Mr. Ericsson, could you wait a minute.” It was not a question.

  He turned back, a knot forming in his stomach. There was something about how she had pronounced 'Mr. Ericsson', with the emphasis on 'Mr.', that brought back memories of his time in the regular Navy.

  Bad memories. “Yes, ma'am?”

  Captain Conagher gestured to the datapad on her desk. “I see here that you’re ex-Navy yourself.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Reactor crew chief.”

  “Correct. As it happens, part of the reason we had to suspend your friend’s experiments has to do with the ship’s reactors. They aren’t performing to spec, and the fitting-out crew we’ve got aboard doesn’t seem to include anybody who knows what’s wrong.”

  It figured. The Navy threw some kid through barely two years of training, and call him a 'reactor tech.' “And you want me to take a look at it, ma'am?”

  “Do you have anything better to do?” Was that amusement in her voice?

  Klaus grinned. She must have read his voice wrong. Truth be told, he was tired of beating his head against the wall with Johann's experiments. Especially as nobody would tell him what the urgency was. “Not anymore, no, ma'am. When do I start?”

  “You’ll need some rank, first. What grade did you…retire at?”

  “Technically, I’m on reserve, but I left as a CWO-5.”

  The Captain nodded. “That’ll do, Chief Warrant Officer. You’re off unpaid leave for the time being, Captain’s authority. Pay by standard scale. Head down to central engineering, meet up with Commander Ryves. He’ll get you sorted where you're needed. I’ll have a rank patch sent down for you.”

  “Thank you, ma'am.” Finally, after only-mostly-metaphorically beating his head against a wall for days, he had some real engineering work to do. No more bloody guesswork, no more eye-straining poring over every line of garbled code. Klaus turned to leave the compartment, eager to begin.

  Behind him, the Captain coughed pointedly. “You are dismissed, Chief Warrant Officer.”

  Klaus froze. Ah, yes. Military punctilio and all that. He turned around again. “Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma’am.” He gave his best rusty imitation of a proper salute, and then hurried out as quickly as his dignity would allow.

  Chapter 8: Same Old Navy

  Klaus chuckled to himself, mulling over his briefing from Commander Ryves, as he approached the reactor compartment. True to form, the Navy had not disappointed his low expectations, had not
changed a bit. Officer first, engineer second. The lobotomy that comes with an officer’s commission was still mandatory, apparently.

  Commander Ryves, titular head of the Overlord’s drive engineering, had filled him in on the problems the ship had been experiencing with the reactors.

  'Filling in. though, was a gross overstatement. All that Ryves had been able to tell him was that the reactors weren’t producing the amount of power which they were stated to be capable of. All of the Navy's by-the-book inspections of the reactors had shown no faulty systems, nothing out of the ordinary.

  Klaus shook his head. And they called that man an engineer? Of course, he really should have expected no different. Real-world problems never showed up on inspections. These systems were so complex, that it was statistically impossible for some elementary-school test procedures to find their faults. The way he saw it, at least he now had a great opportunity. Or a great pain in the ass, depending on how it played out. It fell to him to find some way of making the reactors perform as they should.

  With a sigh of mixed resignation and anticipation, he entered the number-five reactor compartment, ducking his head to squeeze through the tight ten-centimeter-thick hatch. As an engineer, he wasn't worried about radiation; the fusion reaction itself was perfectly safe. But the gravitational energies that supported it were not. If the reactor's control systems glitched, and the fail-safes didn't work, all hell could break loose. Hopefully, the reinforced armor that lined the reactor room would save the ship from catastrophic damage, but that would be little consolation to the unlucky techs, such as himself, working inside it.

  The compartment itself was perhaps twenty meters across, its vaulted ceiling giving it an imposing cathedral-esque atmosphere. The echo of his service boots, even with their traction soles, bounced off of the hard walls, completing the image.

  At its center, a column of high-power gravitational control nodes channeled a stream of ions into the reaction chamber, which was a sphere of overlapping artificial gravity waves fifty centimeters in diameter. The reactor was filled with water, which flash-boiled into steam from the enormous heat released by the fusion. In a design little changed over the centuries, the steam ran a colossal turbine which occupied much of the remaining space within the compartment.

  Old, proven technology. Old enough that it could be run steady-state with old-style computing. Yet according to the Captain, it had somehow still found a way to malfunction. To look at it, everything seemed to be running smoothly. But, if that had been true, Klaus wouldn’t be here.

  One of the technicians in the room had noticed his arrival, and hurried over. “Glad you're here," he glanced at Klaus' still-civilian dress, “Ah, Officer Ericsson. How can I help you?”

  No time like the present to get started. Klaus pointed at the reactor. “Well, let's start with a review of exactly what problems you've been having with this reactor.” Commander Ryves hadn't been able to give him any specifics, or at least not any specifics that meant anything.

  The technician tapped the console next to him, which instantly displayed a detailed schematic as well as a diagnostic readout of the reactor's critical points. Klaus nodded, happy to be among people who worked for a living. The man must have been briefed about Klaus’ inspection of the ship’s reactors, and had had the good sense to prepare.

  “Nothing wrong that we can find, sir. No power fluctuations, no escaping heat, no coolant leaks or anything else. So far as we can see, this reactor’s working as well as the day she came off the factory floor.”

  “Uh-huh.” Klaus answered absentmindedly, tracing through the schematic on the console. Like all Navy displays, it was technology older than fusion itself – an LED touch-screen display. Reliable, but basic. Holographic emitters were simply too prone to damage, and their higher energy drain meant that it was difficult to give them enough backup power supply in case of emergency.

  His eyes drifted to the reactor information panel. Specifically, the reactor model code. “R57?” It was worse than he thought. “The Navy’s buying crap from Rockman? No surprise, I guess. The lowest bid strikes again.”

  “Sir?”

  “I had enough trouble with their products on the Tabellarius. I can’t count the number of times we were late on a delivery because the reactors couldn’t keep the engines running at speed.” He shook his head, remembering his first Navy commission. “This is a waste of time - there’s no way you can get a Rockman reactor to deliver its stated power output.”

  “What!?” The crewman's voice was sharp now. Either puzzled, or irritated, or both.

  “Unfortunately. Rockman’s only sold on the civilian market, so I guess the Navy hasn’t had to put up with their crappy products until now.” Klaus looked at the technician, one eyebrow raised. “You’ve never heard this?”

  The technician shook his head. “Not a word.”

  “Huh.” Klaus chuckled. “Guess the ol’ rumor mill’s slipped since I was in the service. At any rate, I see the Navy’s gone with aneutronic reactors instead of a deuterium-deuterium reaction.”

  “Well, they’re cleaner. No more slag byproduct.”

  Good answer. Not valid, really, but at least plausible. “Yeah, that was the argument they used to get it approved by the Senate. It’s still a stupid idea – the fuel’s too pricey. Out of curiosity, what reaction sequence are you using on these reactors?”

  “Helium-3 – Helium-3.”

  Klaus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Helium-three? Really? What idiot politician decided that? You couldn't find a more expensive fuel if you fired the engines with solid gold!”

  “Well, yes. But it’s much more fuel efficient.”

  “But it's a real pain to find enough fuel mass. We’re trillions of kilometers from anything – efficiency is nice, but I’d prefer a reliable source of fuel.”

  His voice trailed off. No sense getting worked up about things he couldn't change. He dug his way through the control schematics and diagnostics, enlarging one area after another, looking for something out of line, or at least something that he could tweak to perform better. “Show me where you are, you bastard,” he grumbled at the screen, willing the problem to surface. Still no luck, but he still had millions of data points to check. He was so absorbed that he did not notice as the outer door opened, until someone behind him cleared his throat.

  Klaus blinked, startled. It almost physically hurt to have his concentration broken like that. He stood and turned, ready to scold the technician. Instead, he bit his tongue. Ensign Marius stood to attention, and saluted. He held something out in his hand. “For you, sir.”

  By its feel, Klaus knew what it was. He held it up. The shoulder patch of a Chief Warrant Officer, Fifth Class: three vertical stripes, two broad and white, one thin and dark-blue sandwiched in between.

  “Your insignia, sir.” Marius stated, unnecessary but by-the-book. He glanced at the reactor, and then scurried out of the compartment.

  “Don’t tell me,” Klaus asked, pointing at the closing door. “The rest of the crew still avoids the reactor compartments.”

  "Yes, ah..." The still-nameless technician looked at the insignia in Klaus' hands, and stiffened to attention. “Yes, they do, sir.”

  Klaus sighed mentally. This crap was why he had grown tired of the service. “You don’t need to ‘sir’ me. This isn’t a damn parade ground…” he studied the technician’s insignia for the first time. “…CPO Wallace.”

  Chief Petty Officer Wallace didn’t relax his posture. “Yes, sir.”

  “Uh-huh.” Klaus admitted defeat. “Back to ... where were we? Did the tanks at least get filled?”

  “To fourteen percent capacity, sir.”

  “Jesus. Fourteen percent?”

  “Helium-Helium reaction, sir. Four times as much power per unit of fuel.”

  “So that’s what, fifty-six percent equivalent? Still low.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Klaus looked again at the console display. “Well, at least we can st
ill tamp these down and use deuterium fuel when we need it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hm." At least CPO Wallace did not bother him with fool questions, and there were some things they could do to improve the damned systems. But the captain had given him some very specific specs to meet. He waved at the fusion chamber. "What’s the power output you’re getting from the reactors?”

  “We’ve achieved a maximum of only eighty-three percent of spec, sir.”

  Not surprising. Eighty-three percent was about all that could be expected from the Rockman piles-of-junk. Their factory specs were about as reliable as an election speech, so eighty-three percent actually sounded more honest than usual.

  “Thank you for the help, CPO Wallace.” He sighed, lost in thought as he tapped the display screen. He turned to leave the compartment, and heard the Petty Officer follow behind him. Right, Navy. He didn't bother to look back. "Might as well come along, CPO. I expect the other reactors won't be much different, but maybe you can tell me otherwise." He didn't hold out much hope.

  Hours later, after inspecting each of the Overlord’s reactors, Klaus sighed and scratched his chin. Everything checked out. Which meant, it didn't. He certainly had his work cut out for him. For whatever reason, and he knew full well what those reasons probably were, the ship had been saddled with near-useless reactors, made by the lowest bidder.

  The whole issue was not that some malfunction had caused problems with the design of the reactors. That, he might be able to fix. The issue was that the design itself was a malfunction. So the only thing he could possibly fix would have to be the design itself.

  He combed his memory, trying to remember what the ships he'd served on had done to make their Rockman reactors work. They must have, because nobody except the Navy could afford to run at eighty three percent of what they had paid for. Unfortunately, at the time Klaus hadn't been assigned to the reactor crews.

  But at least he had some ideas. He could get some more grav emitters made, and mount them around the feed channels. It wasn't in any of the manuals, and it wouldn't last for more than a year or two, but at least it would get the reactors up closer to their on-paper specs. How long had the Captain said he had - a week? Better hurry. A warship with crap reactors was about as useful as a cardboard submarine.