The Hot Gate - [Troy Rising 03]

by John Ringo

  Alas, they also had to deal with the fact that the SOP for space paint ran to four hundred pages. And you couldn’t exactly slap it on with a brush. Then there was “sanding,” which if you used a normal rotating sander would send the user spinning off on a Dutchman across the main bay. For that matter, the “minor dent repair material” was not exactly off-the-shelf bondo, cost about a gazillion dollars an ounce and you couldn’t use a putty knife.

  For painting, a charge had to be set up between the paint-applicator and the surface. Then the special applicator had to be used. It looked like a regular airbrush painter but it was a mass of electronic circuitry and gravitational controls. Even the power of a painter would send a user in micro into an “out of control” condition. Read: Going Dutchman.

  The sander used an inertial compensating counterspin system that was almost perfect. Unfortunately, every now and again something about the surface would cause it to start an “anomalous rotational condition.” Which was on one level hilarious and on another very damned dangerous. It was hilarious when Diaz, during the Clemonstration phase, went spinning off Forty-Two and into the main bay, screaming. It was less hilarious when it happened to Dana.

  “Yes, EM,” Velasquez said, dialing down the paint extraction system slowly. One of the fun parts was that you couldn’t just “stop” painting.

  “When you are finished you will secure and post-use maintain all gear,” she said. “Then you shall hop down to the Base Exchange and pick up a set of Engineer First Class insignia.”

  “For who, E... ?” Velasquez said, then stopped. “I take it I got promoted?”

  “You did,” Dana said. “Take the rest of the duty day off. Your luck we have a GI party of the barracks this evening.”

  “Fortunately, my room is already pristine,” Velasquez said.

  “And your strength is as the strength of ten because your heart is pure. When this dog and pony show is over, you get the real honor.”

  “Which is?” Diego asked.

  “I’ll explain to you the significance of the crowbar,” Dana said. “As far as I know, you’ll be the first Sud to learn it.”

  * * * *

  “You look tired, Diego,” Dr. Velasquez said.

  “I am, quite,” the EN said. “I do not know if it is simply the way that the U.S. does business in its Navy or payback for the many complaints they received prior to the Wolf Meetings. But in anticipation of your visit we have gone from working quite hard to working like slaves in a salt mine so that not only would our boats, quarters and gear meet the technical ability to function but also look pretty for the visiting Distinguished Persons. Given that the gringos refer to this visit as a ‘colonoscopy,’ I’m fairly sure there’s a bit of both. ‘If you don’t want to get worked like slaves, tell Daddy to mind his own business.’ They, too, can, as they put it, play games. But given the satisfaction expressed by Chief Hartwell at the visual appearance of the boats, quarters and gear it was probably both.”

  “And do they have the technical ability to function?” Dr. Velasquez asked.

  “Amazingly, even Alpha Flight’s boats work most of the time,” Diego said. “Since that may not seem to be a yes, be aware that working ‘most’ of the time is about as well as the 142nd. We are, in fact, meeting tasks to standard. If for no other reason than Granadica.”

  “Has it been difficult to work with?”

  “Not for me” the EN said, chuckling. “I had a preclass in constant nagging and requirement to meet standard. In fact, looking back I’m rather glad we had Parker as our EM prior to the installation of Granadica. We therefore did not have to deal with the much more intrusive AI’s nagging. Parker did not enter the restroom to drag us out. She would, occasionally, send someone after us if we’d been there too long. Granadica pops into your head and asks you what exactly you’re doing with your penis and does it count as a sensor check.”

  “I see,” Dr. Velasquez said, his face working undiplomatically.

  “Pardon, Papa,” Diego said, shrugging. “Working with sailors does tend to coarsen your metaphors. Perhaps Palencia has a point that this is not work for gentlemen.”

  “His father certainly seems to continue to share that view,” Dr. Velasquez said. “So you find that the AI has been, overall, a problem or a benefit?”

  “Very much a benefit,” Diego said, instantly “It is immensely knowledgeable and I have found it a benefit. While it was difficult for all of us to ... culturally adjust, I have come to understand, if not fully assimilate, many of the reasons for why the gringo Navy does things the way they do. Calling it a culture is not quite accurate. Or, rather, it is a culture of necessity. If you do things certain ways, things work. If you do them other ways, or most of the time do not do them at all, things do not work. Even such things as time management, constantly filling every space of time with definitive actions. There are probably changes that could be made in the culture to mesh with the cultures of our own countries less abrasively.” He paused and frowned, then shrugged again. “But surprisingly few. This is space. This is the Alliance Navy, a proven space fighting force. I am of the opinion that we from other cultures must, in the words of the gringos, ‘Get over it.’”

  “I see you were promoted,” Dr. Velasquez said.

  “It was more or less automatic and I doubt that Mother will be thrilled,” Diego said, shrugging. “Nothing to write home about.”

  “Again, a gringoism,” the envoy noted.

  “I...” Diego said. “Yes. I suppose I am becoming one with the culture. Do not get me wrong, Papa. I do not intend to become a career NCO. But I do think the experience will be useful in my future military endeavors. If for no other reason than knowing what the enlisteds are trying to get away with,” he added with a grin.

  “And that may come up more swiftly than you expected,” Dr. Velasquez said. “This is not information to be passed around, but the results of having Granadica onboard have adjusted the Alliance stance on our countries’ position in the Alliance. Which was why the Constitution went to a South American crew instead of an Asian. There is another MASSEX being scheduled. Assuming that the crews do well, the process will continue and in time it is possible that Malta will be a full South American battlestation.”

  “That would be...” Diego said, his eyes wide.

  “As was pointed out in a very... aggressive meeting, a duty,” Dr. Velasquez said. “Yes, and an honor. We, and by that I mean the current Alliance members that make up the recognized Sud faction, have many things to work out. Which has been going on behind closed doors almost constantly since the Wolf meetings. However, for your particular world, there are insufficient members of the...’right’ families to fill all the positions. Which means in the near future the units will be getting more and more personnel from the lower classes. Which means that at some point you’ll be withdrawn to go to officer’s school so you can have your rightful place.”

  “Strangely enough, I find myself viewing that... from a gringo perspective I suppose,” Diego said. “That one’s rightful place is what you make it, not what you were born to. But I have yet to congratulate you on your assignment to the E Eridani delegation!”

  “I suppose I should be thrilled as well,” Dr. Velasquez said. “But frankly we’re simply there as window dressing. To show the Rangora that Earth is united in its determination to defend the system. But the experience should be useful. And I’m given to understand the accommodations are somewhat better than at the Wolf Meetings. Alas, I have to deal with Dr. Guillermo Palencia, Ph.D., as a companion.”

  “Is he as bad as his son?” Diego asked, laughing.

  “His son is, I’m given to understand, much infected by liberal thinking,” Dr. Velasquez replied. “Unlike his father who thinks Pinochet didn’t go far enough.”

  “Ouch,” Diego said, chuckling. “Do you think they’re having the same conversation?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Father,” Diego said, frowning for a moment. “I know that y
ou must, at this point, continue. But... Eridani. Is it... safe?”

  “You are asking me?” Dr. Velasquez said, laughing. “You are the one working on shuttles that blow up at the wrong look! I am going to be under the protection of the Ogut. Who, while not trustworthy as a species, are quite territorial. The ship is Ogut territory. The Rangora are not going to risk a two-front war over Earth. You are the one who should be careful.”

  “I am, Father,” Diego said. “As careful as one can be in my situation.”

  Dr. Velasquez stood up and held his arms out.

  “I could not have thought I could be prouder,” the diplomat said. “But you are amazing.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Diego said, hugging him. “I try.”

  * * * *

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “Easy peasy,” Dana said, yawning. “They’re not even doing a bulkhead breach this time.”

  The Powers-That-Be were aware that 143, and Thermopylae in general, were not yet ready for a MASSEX. But they were getting there. With maintenance getting under control, training was becoming a key factor.

  Which was why Bravo Troop, with its full load of Pathans, was approaching a former Horvath/Rangora cruiser that was a distant part of the scrapyard. It had already been picked over by the E Systems salvage crews, meaning there were no more running engines that might blow someone up, was relatively stable and made a fine platform to try to learn this “boarding” thing.

  “You have it easy,” Angelito said, concentrating on his controls. “We’re being sent in on a vector that’s suppose to mimic avoiding fire.”

  “Still say we should have had you guys work the scrapyard, first,” Dana replied. “If you want training on—”

  The alarm triggered a moment before the shouting from the front compartment.

  “Kill all accel,” Dana said. “We just had a major gravitational anomaly in the front compartment.”

  “How major?” Angelito asked, killing his vector.

  “Flight command,” Dana said. “Twenty-Three deadline. Major compensator fault.” She checked the view on the interior of the cargo bay and tried not to throw up. “We have casualties.”

  * * * *

  “What the hell happened, Engineer’s Mate?” Thermal asked.

  Hartwell had been selected for chief but having yet to go through the rigorous trial period, was still in probationary status. While in that probationary status, he’d been working nearly twenty-four hours a day for months to get the 143 up to operational standard. That wasn’t why he was furious, though.

  “Unknown,” Dana replied, her face tight. “I had a gravitational failure alarm and then—”

  “One of the Pathans painted the walls,” Commander Borunda said. “Which is part of the issue. Specifically, it was a Pathan sergeant whom you at one point referred to as ‘the son of a camel’ and with whom there is some bad blood.”

  “Sir, with respect, I really wouldn’t know” Dana said. “This may sound racist, but they all look the same to me. I didn’t even know I’d ever played jungleball with this crew. And the camel thing was, well, smack-down talk!”

  “Nonetheless, the fact that the engineer who was supposed to prevent such an occurrence has... issues with the Pathan Marines has been brought up,” Commander Borunda said. “Through official channels.”

  “Sir,” Dana said, carefully. “Am I being accused of murder?”

  “Not by your chain of command,” the captain said. “At this time,” he added. “However, you are officially ordered to remove yourself from engineering duties, pending the completion of the maintenance investigation. If the investigation shows no deliberate faults, you can expect to be back on duty by the end of the week. This being a Class One fault, all Myrmidons are grounded until we track down what went wrong, anyway.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dana said.

  “You are dismissed.”

  * * * *

  “Sir,” Hartwell said, his face working. “There’s no way that EM Parker deliberately killed one of the Pathans. Among other things, she’s not stupid enough to do it in her own ship.”

  “Which is what I dearly hope your investigation determines,” Commander Borunda said, rubbing his face. “I don’t think it was a deliberate fault, either. But it was something and we’re going to have to find out what. BuShips is sending up an investigation team and it’s going to be another bend and spread. Since there has been an official accusation of murder, NCIS will be running the show. As such, we are required to keep the boat sealed until the investigation team arrives.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hartwell said.

  “And you’re going to have to have Sud representation on the examination,” the captain said. “And Pathan. Not that either group is going to believe it’s anything but Parker’s fault. Logic isn’t going to shake that. I’m not sure what will”

  * * * *

  “Do we even know what happened?” Dana asked.

  “Engineer’s Mate,” Chief Barnett said carefully, “I’m part of the investigation team. So even if I had the answer to that I couldn’t pass it to you except through the official report.”

  “Chief...” Dana said.

  “Dana, that’s how this sort of thing works,” Barnett said. “Here’s the truth. Even if it comes down to an Article 32 or, God forbid, a court-martial, if you’re innocent you’d rather be up against military justice than civilian.”

  “If?” Dana nearly screamed.

  “It was a general statement, Dana,” Barnett said, shaking her head. “When, in your case. Better?”

  “Chief, if I had decided to kill some random God damned Pathan, because they never use the same seats, I sure as hell wouldn’t have done it in my own shuttle! And I wouldn’t know for sure how to create a vortex, anyway.” She thought about that then frowned. “Well, honestly... I guess I probably could...”

  “As part of the investigation team,” Barnett said, shaking her head, “let me suggest you keep that to yourself unless asked. Seriously, Dana. You’re off status for now. You’ll be doing busy-work unless called to the investigation. Take some time. Get a manicure. Update your tats.”

  “I didn’t futz the compensators, Chief.”

  “I know that,” Barnett said. “You know that. Now we just have to figure out what did happen.”

  * * * *

  “Sir, your daily personal update,” Argus said.

  “Yeah, sure,” Tyler said, tucking a napkin into his collar. He knew it was bad manners. But he was eating in his quarters, alone as usual, and so who the hell cared? Besides, it was lasagna. It got everywhere.

  “Regular status on family,” Argus said. “Steren’s pregnancy is proceeding normally. She has updated her status to indicate that she’s ready to kill an unnamed parent for, quote, keeping Tom stuck in this system apparently until he’s old and gray, end quote.”

  “Or the Rangora stop throwing missiles randomly through the gate,” Tyler said. “Continue.”

  “Dr. Conrad Chu was recently admitted to the hospital for a minor stroke,” Argus said. “It is unsure if it will affect his continued research on basic gravitational theory.”

  “Send whatever is appropriate,” Tyler said. “When he’s available, make sure I drop him a personal call.”

  “Yes, sir,” Argus said. “I already sent a sizeable donation to his preferred charity which was what was asked for in lieu of flowers. And on a combination of business and personal, there was a major compensator failure in a Myrmidon during a recent live exercise. A dren field exceeding one hundred gravities that led to the death of a Pathan Marine.”

  “I hate to sound callous on this one,” Tyler said, taking a bite of lasagna. “But if it’s not a warranty malfunction, sounds like the Navy needs to go over the whole maintenance thing again.”

  “Yes, sir,” Argus said. “They are conducting an investigation as we speak. However... the Pathans have directly accused Engineer’s Mate Second Class Parker of deliberate sabotage. She had apparently had words with the dea
d Pathan sergeant and it was technically her shuttle.”

  “That doesn’t sound right,” Tyler said, sitting back and furrowing his brow. “Dana keeps her shuttles like a pin. Is there any indication that it was on the division?”

  “Her division has recently had a significant uptick in faults,” Argus said. “Not out of line with the rest of the squadron, but higher than their statistical average. It frankly hadn’t come to anyone’s notice but it is statistically significant.”

  “Anything stand out?” Tyler asked, dinner forgotten.

  “Compensator failures in the cargo bay,” Argus said. “Same cause as the accident. The truth is that their overall readiness is in line with the rest of the squadron but they have a nine percent higher failure rate of compensators in the cargo bay compared to the rest of the squadron. Fourteen percent compared to the One-Four-Two.”