Ghost Station (The Wandering Engineer)

by Hechtl, Chris

  “To listen?”

  “To listen with your head as much as your heart. Think about it,” she said gently and left him. He stared around their virtual quarters, suddenly alone and adrift with only his thoughts. It was not comforting to him. Not at all.

  ñChapter 31

  Irons grimaced as he worked on the reactor. He really wanted to rebuild the little ship's EPS conduits, they needed an overhaul. Hell, he'd rather do a keel up overhaul if he could. His dinky little replicator in the launch wasn't up to this though. At least whatever he did replace was milspec when he was through with it. Of course it slowed him down to have to pull the part, transport it to the replicator, remake it, then transport it back and install it. "Admiral a word if you're not too busy," Sprite said interrupting his musing.

  "Just a minute," he said, watching the weld form. Nanites were fusing the two metal parts together in a seamless bond. He mentally handed the job off to Proteus and then turned his attention to Sprite on his HUD. "What now?" he asked.

  "The council has booked more parts for replicators and power plants since our leaving has hit the grapevine recently. They need you jacked in to do them. They want you there now."

  Apparently his leaving had hit the grapevine yesterday. Warner must have dropped it on his end. He wondered why. Maybe the cyber was hoping to get the council to reconsider? To think about what his leaving would cost them? If so it wasn't working. Or at least not in the way Taylor had hoped.

  "Oh they do do they? Well, tell them I'm busy, I've got a ship to patch up and I don't have the time to make spare parts." He paused for a minute. “Nor the inclination,” he added with a growl.

  "Okay now that is petulant," she said after a moment as he scrolled through his to do list. It was a long one.

  He scowled, nor really interested in hearing any flack. "So sue me. They aren't paying me so they can damn well piss up a rope. I wear a uniform but I am not a flunky and I am seriously tired of being treated like one. Like a slave or a servant. I am not responsible to them. We've got a lot to do and I want it done as soon as possible. And at this rate it's going to take a long time," he sighed. He was pretty sure all the interruptions were calculated to keep him from leaving. "I want to be out of here as soon as practicable," he snarled. There he had said it; he'd made up his mind.

  They had denied him the docking cradle early on when he had started working on Phoenix so he was docked to one of the newly restored airlocks on the docking ring. Newly restored because he had taken the time to repair the passage to it and the airlock itself on his own time. There had been some protest over that but he'd stamped on it or ignored it. He'd given them a simple choice; if he had to he would undock Phoenix and do the repairs on her away from the station. Then they wouldn't have access to him, his wealth of knowledge, or his key codes at all.

  "Admiral..." Sprite paused and then sighed. "Let's say something happens to you when we're away. They will need parts to maintain the equipment they have. Parts that will keep them functional for years to come."

  He scowled. "Their problem they told me remember? I was told to butt out. No access to the replicators. That cuts both ways."

  He'd been pissed at that. There was no need of cutting him off completely like that. None at all. He'd helped these people and that was the thanks he got? Things had really soured after that little party. He'd kick himself over it but he wouldn't change a thing he had said or done.

  The Warner's had been apologetic about it. It was a directive from the government and held up by the station council. Fu had tried to explain it off by saying that the replicators were all booked. Since Sprite could access the schedule just as easily as he could that hadn't washed. Fu hadn't liked it when she had pointed that out to him.

  Of course after that they had started to further restrict Sprite's access to the net. That had pissed her off. She'd fumed for a few hours before someone had realized she wasn't repairing the computer anymore. Then they had lightened up on the restrictions. She'd taken her time getting back to it.

  "Admiral," she sighed in exasperation. "Be the adult here. So turn it around. We need parts for Phoenix correct? Not just your to do list but your wish list right? All the things you want Phoenix to be. To have and be able to use. So? We tell them they want access you get equal opportunity access to make parts for the ship. Split the trays so they get half you get half. That way they can't play games with you."

  "Quid pro quo? I'm not sure they'll go for it Sprite, there is no way for them to cheat. Unless of course they seize the parts. Or charge me for them. Or..."

  "I get it," Sprite said further exasperated. She shook her virtual head. He was really being cynical and hard headed over this. Bitter. She honestly couldn't blame him.

  “Admiral, we'll work it out. Iron clad contract. Let me handle the details. Just make a list of what you really need or want, what you think they are worth and we'll get it done. Think about a bigger replicator in Phoenix. That second reactor you were muttering about. You've been muttering about the little class one for a week now sir."

  "True," he growled. The weld was finished so he let his hand fall and stood. "Go ahead and get the ball rolling. See where it leads. Don't commit me to anything without my final approval though."

  "Thank you admiral. All I ask is to keep an open mind," Sprite said.

  "What you're really hoping for is a sudden last minute change of heart on one side or the other," Proteus said in an aside to her. "Or the admiral making parts for the Navy projects. That way he'll remain here until they wise up."

  "True," she answered.

  “The odds of this happening?” Proteus asked.

  “One in a billion,” Sprite sighed.

  Randall has a mixed reaction when he heard about the swap. "Only parts for his ship, nothing for his weapons or shipyard plan," he growled. He toyed with a stylus and stared blackly at a holo portrait. He hadn't been happy about Iron's plan to leave when he had heard about it. He'd been amused, his staff had made a lot of hay out of his plan to leave, but he had thought it had been a threat. Honestly, he had thought it as some sort of hobby, that the old fart was sulking. Now he wasn't so sure. He might actually pull it off. He might be that pig headed enough to actually pull out of the system.

  He'd checked after the party. Everything Irons had said about himself had been completely true. That and more, much more. Irons was a key, as a fleet engineering admiral he was a key to the cornucopia that the replicators represented.

  He was also a key to any military hardware they found. He could unlock anything he could access... and he could make AI. Lots of AI if needed. He was a treasure, one he Jeff Randall had finally realized was important.

  His wife shook her head and set her wine glass down. She came over and rubbed his shoulders.

  "Jeff," his wife sighed. "You and I both know you're a shoe in for the governorship now. We've been working toward that goal since you became mayor of Doonburg. Now think. Think about the big picture."

  "I am," he said not looking up. Sandra was a great wife, a great XO and she shared his interests but she didn't desire power for herself. Something about her he also loved.

  She shook her head smiling slightly at how obtuse he was. "No, you're thinking about kissing babies and tossing cookies to the masses, who you can win over for the next election, not to what Irons has been trying to tell you. Manufacturing. Economics. Jobs for the people. Defenses to keep them safe. The big picture honey."

  That stung a little. Irons had been right damn him, and he'd quietly taken a lot of what Irons had said and put them into his master plan. His staff was hard at work, researching the basics that Irons had casually thrown out to the room at large. He hadn't realized that Irons was an expert, that he could do these sorts of things. He'd underestimated the man, underestimated him badly. That wasn't something he liked to do.

  "I... He's serious about leaving isn't he?" he finally demanded looking up.

  His wife rubbed his shoulders gently but firmly.
"As a mink in a chicken coup lovey. You've pissed the man off thoroughly. Time to bury the hatchet. Get him on your side and stop dividing the people."

  He shook his head firmly. The election was too close right now to do something like that. If he made any reconciliation moves toward Irons his opponents would pounce. It would get ugly; his opponents would say he caved. "Later. Right now I need opposition to fight against to make my point with the voters. To get our own people to rally behind me. After the election we can kiss and make up. I'll let him make his war toys." He made a brushing motion.

  Just as soon as he was elected he planned to get implants. Then Irons would have to transfer some of the key codes to Randall. After that he'd have to reconsider their relationship he thought.

  "After the election will be to late Jeff," she sighed shaking her head as her hands stopped. "You'll of poisoned the well."

  Jeff frowned ferociously. "I don't believe that. Irons is a practical man, he'll see the light. He needs us. He knows we need him. He's not that shortsighted." He shook his head and scowled. Irons was an experienced man, he knew the way the game was played, he'd come out and admitted it to everyone... so why was he still leaving?

  She looked down at him and hugged him from behind. "Does he? the moment he got that station turned around we booted him out of office. That's real nice of us now isn't it?" she asked. she rubbed his shoulders once more. “You even had him cut off from all station controls and the use of the replicators.”

  He tossed the tablet in front of him away then flicked the stylus across the desk. He'd picked the thing up from the station to show his people what was in store for them but now he realized it was a toy. It took time to learn and it gave him frequent eye strain. The stylus rolled off onto the floor. He rubbed his temples.

  "Besides, he won’t be here for elections. I heard his ship is about ready to go," she said, dropping another bomb in his lap. Or at least his ear.

  "No," he said firmly, shaking his head and opening his eyes. “No, not possible. I won't allow it.”

  "Yes," she shook her head, digging into his shoulders. "Yes it is possible. You forget the man and what he's capable of doing. We gave him the tools to meet his self imposed deadline. He'll have what he needs by next week or sooner. Charlie estimates it should take him a week to install it all. But Irons is a miracle worker so I'm betting Charlie's off by a day or two." Charlie was their industrial expert. He was a shoe in for the industrial cabinet seat and knew it. Fortunately Charlie was good at his job.

  He looked at her over his shoulder, scowling now. "He can't leave. We need him here. We need..." he looked at her stubbornly. She rolled her eyes.

  "You're wasting that on the wrong person honey. Listen to yourself. We need. Not what he needs. Not what the people need. Not what civilization needs? He's as good as gone."

  "We'll see about that," he said picking up the phone.

  The admiral read a report and snorted. Sprite saw his slight levity and took a look at what he was looking at. “Eternia? Why are you so interested in some ground side city admiral?”

  “It's not just the city, it's the people. Some of the Kiev people went there.”

  “Scanning,” Sprite said, checking her files. She came up with several names prominently among them were the Prince family. “The prince family? What about them?”

  “I'd hoped they would make the jump to the military. Oh well,” Irons sighed leaning back in his chair. Things were just about where he wanted them with Phoenix. A bit more fine tuning and they would be off.

  “You were hoping they'd join the military?” Sprite asked, sensing the opening. “The son doesn't strike me as Navy admiral. According to his file he's lazy, spoiled, narcissistic...”

  “What do you base that last on?”

  “The heavy body building. He's was frequently reprimanded for working out and being late to work or calling off.” Irons grunted. “But you saw something more?”

  “I only met the young man a few times. There is something, I don't know, something of a hero in him. If he'd get that spoiled streak out of his head. He'd make a pretty fair marine. The same for Teela.”

  “Teela?” Sprite asked and then nodded on his HUD. “A marine possibly or a Fed special agent with a bit more seasoning. She seems okay, handy in a brawl but she tends to take the straight view and break heads over using her own.”

  Irons smiled. “Which is why others fear her. Which means the next altercation she gets into they won't test her.”

  “Interesting observation you've made there. Something from personal experience?” Sprite asked. Irons snorted.

  “Something like that. I like her father, nice guy.”

  “A bit old to be a marine admiral,” Sprite replied, pulling Duncan's bio up. The mustached MP's image came up beside her avatar on his HUD. He waved it away. He didn't need to see the man to know what he looked like. “Sorry,” Sprite murmured. “You are most likely correct, but his personal attachment to the Prince family will deter him from ever signing up.”

  “True,” Irons sighed. “What really bothers me...”

  “Yes?”

  “The whole stupidity of it all. Not just that they wont let me recruit, that no one, no one at all, is interested in signing up. No one,” he said in disgust, flicking the stylus in front of him off the desk bloater.

  Sprite registered his not quite despair in that remark. He was clearly frustrated, so was she. She took a moment, a full second to think over her response before she gave it. “I agree admiral, it is odd. However Pyrax had different things going for it when we were there. One the external threat of Pirates. Two the recovery of Firefly and the other derelicts, and three the capture of the pirate task force. All of those factors made it much easier to get recruiting underway.”

  “I think you are forgetting a few people there Commander,” Irons sighed. “But you've got a point.”

  “Oh? The Logans? True. They and the others served as an excellent core. Admiral I strongly suggest we go back there and get things back on track.”

  “The situation hasn't changed there Sprite, or at least not enough.”

  “Well admiral, if history has proven anything it is that we never really know what changes the future may bring us. Hopefully the Horathians don't serve the people here a bad wake up call. And hopefully someone is around when they do wake up to help them,” she pointed out gently.

  “But not us. Not now,” Irons growled.

  Fu frowned, studying the calligraphy in front of him. He was kneeling before the ancient table; the scroll was in front of him, the past rolled up carefully and neatly. The future was unwritten and ready. He held a paint brush in his hand, poised to use it. He was still, his body forgotten. Normally he'd be happy with this, happy about being at peace but unfortunately he wasn’t, his mind was in turmoil.

  It all came back to the admiral. Why was he doing this? Why did he help them? He didn't take over, which Fu had assumed that was what he had planned. Indeed all his plans had been put in place against that eventuality. Now they were going off... he frowned.

  Irons was an odd man. He'd let his assumptions blind him. He hadn't done his homework on his opponent, something truly stupid of him. He was certain Irons hadn't made the same mistake. Oh he had made mistakes, but not like that. He truly was getting old if he was underestimating an enemy like that so easily. Irons wouldn't make mistakes like that. Missteps in the game.

  But he was making a mistake now. He was leaving. Again why? Was it for show? Or did he truly believe what he said about the pirates?

  The references to the cyber dreamers haunted him. He frowned, looking down at the paper in front of him. He glanced at the gloriously simple Baku pictogram to his right and then to the empty spot before him. What to do?

  What Irons, what most of the other cyber didn't know was that it was not so simple as they thought. The past was imperfect. When the pirates had attacked they had taken what they wanted but Draco and the others had fended them off. The others
had wanted to return to their post, to rebuild and protect Antigua.

  He and a few others of the peace faction had needed time and a position of strength to sway the undecided votes on the council. They had to see reason and in time he knew they would. He'd done an incredibly shameful thing, he'd resorted to force.

  Oh not physical force, not in the way that the admiral and his kind used. No, what he and the others had done was something more simple and subtle. A little cyber jujitsu. They denied their enemy in this case Draco and the other engineers a chance to sway the others.

  His hand shook slightly, still holding the brush. His left hand tightened in his lap. What he had done had to be done, but it had cost them dearly. Oh so dearly. He hadn't known, how could he of known? How? But it had cost them. He closed his eyes in pain.

  He'd done it. He'd used his access as the station CEO to distract a few, easily enough. Someone was needed to maintain the station and keep an eye on the repairs of course. Draco and the engineering faction of course, that was their job. Easily handled. Then when they realized the crucial meeting was underway they had tried to barge in. And he and his followers had sprung the second trap.

  They'd fought of course, something he hadn't expected but now regretted not seeing. At the time he'd thought of himself superior, that it was proof that they were in the end violent and deserved what they had gotten. What a fool he had been!

  When the other councilors had walked into the trap they had been cut off. Cut off from the net, from their senses, everything. Trapped, to use the martial arts expression, using their own force against themselves, thus undoing the attacker.

  In cutting them off though he had done the unthinkable, he had driven them insane. An organic mind needed constant stimulus, an AI mind as well. They needed it to function, an anchor. He hadn't thought of that. It was the primal fear of every AI, of every sentient ever hooked up to be cut off and lost and alone in their own mind. Trapped in a powerless body. Oh how he should have remembered that!