Wandering Engineer 6: Pirates Bane

by Chris Hechtl

  The AI did a quick tech assessment, as did the Admiral. Expert eyes roved the bridge carefully picking out this detail or that. Irons knew that the AI’s were recording everything for future review. He was surprised by the mix of crude cathode ray tubes and other pieces of antiquated equipment mixed in with modern hardware. Granted, most of the modern hardware was civilian grade, like the holographic plotting table and the helm controls. They looked like they were from a shuttle.

  The wiring didn't make sense, though it was thoughtfully arranged in wiring harnesses and in some cases was tucked under carpets or in ducting to keep people from tripping on it. Some however looked like new additions.

  Wiring and hoses hung here and there from the ceiling as well, most had string or some other binder keeping them together and generally away from the main walk ways. It was a rat nest, but one he was actually used to seeing now. Expert eyes traced some of the legible lines. There were a lot of splices though, something he frowned at. Some were caped, most were just bare twisted wire together. A few of the optical connections were melted together.

  In other words, they were crude, a typical sign of the times. Rash repairs made either in the heat of the moment or by hands inexperienced or untrained. He spotted one so called repair and winced internally. He didn't know who was stupid enough to try to splice a fiber optic line to a low voltage line. He shook his head mournfully at that sight and looked away.

  Sprite brought the computer-controlled auto-guns hanging from the bulkheads to his attention and he cursed silently. Similar to the ones in the brig anteroom, these guns would be almost impossible for him to work around successfully. One was acting sporadically, making jerks as it swept the room. He fed an order to Sprite to send a microwave spike at what looked like the servo controller chip. Within minutes the chip would overheat and cause a nice distraction. That would either work in his favor or cut off any dialog the Captain wanted to have with him, buying him time.

  Meanwhile he had Proteus sending out packets of nanites to take over the systems on the bridge. They would emulate what he wanted the enemy to see until he was ready to take over. He noted that some of the crew, namely the navigator, exec, helmsman, and tactical officer were jacked in. He looked at the Captain. He was sitting down but the Admiral estimated he was of average height and build, around one hundred sixty centimeters, but that was an estimate. He was clean-shaven, with black hair. Suave, the Admiral judged, and professional, he grudgingly thought. He wasn't quite chewing the exec out more like a mild rebuke.

  The Captain like his other bridge crew had implants they glittered, copper and gold on his skin. They were older, from the look of the helmsman's he had a newer, more professional set up. That bode ill for the future, Irons thought. The crude Horathian cybernetics forced him modify that plan. The bridge crew had wires plugging them into their equipment. “Caution is the order of the day,” he instructed the AI, eyes focusing on the implants.

  “Gotcha,” Sprite replied. “What are we waiting for again?” She asked. “We can take them!”

  Technically that was true, he could take over now, just unleash a swarm of nanites and kill everyone on the bridge, but he wanted to know more before he acted. The chance to get intelligence was important, he wasn't certain he would get the same value intelligence later. Besides, the more he knew, the greater his chances of pulling the mutiny off without doing significant damage to the ship or inflicting death to the other prisoners were likely. He silently counseled the AI on patience and gathering intelligence first before they acted.

  The Captain looked up from his discussion and turned his attention to the prisoner. Mild brown eyes studied him with interest. Admiral Irons noted the Chief engineer muting the AI, and most of the compartment’s attention turning to him.

  “Admiral, he's got more than a basic augment package,” Sprite reported, highlighting the Captain. He felt his passives report back that the Captain was augmented beyond the basic information package. That was interesting and informative so his artificial eye took a closer look. The augmentation was level one or two, and crude. A thick cable connected the Captain to a panel in his chair.

  “Pay attention John,” Sprite gently reminded him.

  “Welcome.” The Captain said mildly. Irons felt a bit of irony over that simple word. “I am Commander Brian Hathaway of the Horathian navy and Captain of the Bounty,” the Captain introduced himself.

  “The Bounty?” Sprite sputtered in amusement for John's ears only. “How appropriate!” she crowed, clearly amused. Her delight in the situation was inappropriate.

  John nodded curtly but remained silent.

  Mild brown eyes turned slightly hard John noted.

  Hathaway studied the prisoner. He didn't shift uncomfortably; he didn't blink much, no gulp, no sign of fear. He let the silence stretch until he realized it wasn't working.

  “I have taken your ship in the name of the Horathian Empire. We will put it to use. You have been drafted as an enlisted in the Horathian Navy. Be proud,” he said.

  Again, John remained silent, neither denying the statement nor agreeing to it.

  “Be proud. It is an honor,” the exec growled. The Captain glanced at the blond exec and waved him to silence with a flick of his hand and small shake of his head. The exec nodded slightly.

  “As an enlisted, you are subject to the orders of any Horathian. You will obey,” the Captain said.

  John heard a cough in the room. The exec turned, looking around to find the person who had seemingly made a mocking sound. No one was stupid enough to raise a hand and invite themselves for discipline.

  “I believe Mister Blye has ordered you to unlock the computers of the Phoenix, you will comply,” the Captain said.

  This time John merely smiled slightly. Sprite put a counter up on his HUD.

  The Captain noted the smile and his face congealed in cold fury. The exec scowled, echoing the Captain. They had put up with intransigent behavior and belligerence before, but this one was odd. They were off balance mentally.

  Silently Sprite redirected the microwave beam to the security console and played it over the circuits, then back to each of the guns in range.

  The first gun was beginning to shake and gyrate, and the exec took notice. Turning his scowl to the noise, his eyes widened comically then he screeched a warning. The Captain and bridge crew looked up at the gun in surprise and annoyance. They saw the gun moving back and forth and then gyrate and shake. Several officers began to duck when the first gun started spitting sparks.

  “Don't just stand there with your thumbs up your Asses! Do something! Shut the system down!” the Captain roared in fury. A security guard hastened to obey, rushing to the panel to shut the guns down.

  Carefully Admiral Irons started to step back, but was stopped by a guard behind him. The guard smiled nastily, tapping his black baton in his hand meaningfully.

  The Admiral turned his torso to view him. With his cuffed hands Admiral Irons cupped them together and then spread them out, pantomiming an explosion. When the man didn't get it he did it again and then wiggled his fingers and mouthed boom. Finally he pointed to the weapons. The guard’s brow knit.

  The guard’s eyes widened comically as he made the connection and he looked up. He started to shout a warning just as the panel began to spark and sizzle. That drew the attention of the people around the console like moths to a flame.

  In a sudden shower of sparks the panel overloaded, electrocuting the guard before its crude CRT exploded, sending splinters of glass and plastic into the face of the tech. The guns immediately stopped gyrating and dropped down.

  “Medic!” Someone screamed over the sobbing casualties. One man was clutching at his ruined face.

  An enlisted man went to help but the Captain glared him back to his seat. “As you were Mister, man your post,” the Captain said coldly.

  “Aye sir,” the nervous rating said, stiffly sitting at his station. He glanced out of the corner of his eye to his shipmates the
n grimly turned his full attention to his station.

  Captain Hathaway looked up in relief to the silent guns and then turned to the new prisoner. “In light of this mishap and my need to attend to other duties, I'll give you twelve hours to reconsider my generous request,” he said, putting emphasis on the last word.

  “I can't wait to introduce him to sterner methods sir, let me do it now!” The exec said sounding excited.

  “Now, now Lieutenant, I did say we will wait and give him time to think things over properly. Let his changed reality... sink in,” the Captain said. He waved a hand to the group. “Dismissed. Return him to the brig,” he ordered.

  The guards escorted him out of the room as the Captain turned his attention to the damage with icy commands.

  <----*----*----*---->

  “Now?” Sprite asked impatiently as they walked. John shook his head slightly. “Why not?” she asked, sighing in exasperation. His jaw tightened. “Okay, okay, message received. Not yet,” she said, sounding disgusted. “Sometimes I swear you make it more of a challenge just to build up the suspense,” she grumbled.

  He fought a snort. The thug in front of him put a meaty hand out on his chest to stop him at a junction. A work crew passed them going in a different direction. Finally the thug removed his hand and they continued on.

  Irons knew it wasn't the path they had taken to the bridge. It was by another route, he wondered briefly if they had rerouted around something, or just wanted to keep him off balance? Either way it didn't work. Though it did give him a better picture of the goings on in the ship.

  “You organics always love to root for the underdog, to be the underdog. It's in your nature, to love the challenge,” Sprite said. “You don't like being on top because then you accept the possible role of a bully. The tyrant. The one everyone is against. It's a form of psychological manipulation, a slow corruption. Fascinating really,” Sprite said, rambling on.

  Irons clicked his teeth and coughed. The AI got the message and shut up.

  Irons was directed to a mop and bucket on their way back to the brig. He silently contemplated them until a guard clubbed him from behind. “What? You want that thing shoved up your ass? Get to work stupid!” the guard snarled.

  Irons took the mop handle and pulled the head out of the pail. The water was filthy; he wasn't sure about the wisdom of using it. Water would seep through the cracks on the deck into wiring as well.

  “Well?” the guard asked.

  “Just wondering if this is a wise idea. Water and wiring,” Irons said.

  “You want to lick it up? Get to work!” the guard snarled.

  “Fine, you're the boss,” Irons sighed, putting the head down and pushing it around with his cuffed hands.

  “And don't you forget it,” the guard growled gruffly, stepping back to watch.

  Again, Irons wondered about the wisdom of that. Wasting a pair of guards to watch someone mopping a floor. Not a wise use of resources. Stupid. He frowned but kept mopping.

  <----*----*----*---->

  “Do you think he'll crack?” Blye asked, turning to the Captain. “Sir, I can break him. I know it. The more pompous they are, the harder they fall.”

  “I know that. But we need this guy in one piece. We don't know what is in his augmentation. Did anyone bother to scan him?”

  “I... I'll have to check with security,” the exec said.

  The Captain scowled. “Do so. You should have already,” he growled.

  The exec nodded, clearly fighting the disappointment he had in himself. “Sorry sir,” he said glumly.

  “Oh, don't be a kiss ass. Get this mess cleaned up, get Serall and someone on figuring out what the hell went wrong, and see if it's going to happen anywhere else. I don't need this headache.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And order the scan. And get the good Doctor to do a physical soon.”

  “Aye sir,” the exec said, coming to attention. The Captain waved him off. The exec turned smartly and marched off.

  “Wind up tin soldier. Honestly, I don't know what the academy is doing, not teaching them to think for themselves and thinking something like that would make a good officer,” the Captain murmured softly to himself. He turned his eyes to the cleanup crew. A rating was taking the guns down. “Don't take them down!” the rating froze. “Just pull the power lines. It's got to be software!” the Captain growled. “Serall! Figure it out! Fix it!” he growled.

  <----*----*----*---->

  “You think this one will last long?” the guard asked his fellow an hour later. Irons didn't look up, didn't rise to the obvious bait of someone talking about him right in front of him.

  “Nah, too stupid to pour piss out of a boot. Pig headed.”

  “Alien lover?”

  “Maybe. Hey, remember when we had that bug? And the exec went and had us pull him apart one limb at a time? That was fun!”

  “Yeah,” the guard said, smiling nastily. Irons could see with his implants that they were watching him closely. He couldn't help the unconscious reaction of pausing to listen, nor the tightening of his jaw and grip at the sound of them describing the torture of a Veraxin. “Fun. Though I wish we'd cut his vocal cords out. My ears rang for a week after that.”

  “Ah, but that was half the fun!” the other laughed, slapping him on the shoulder. “Say, after this want a beer and a vid? We can watch the last guy we had. The fuzzball we shaved.”

  “Ah hell, all the hair?” the other guard sniffed. “We're still picking it out of the filters!”

  “True, but the expression on that dog's face!” The other cackled.

  “Want to make something of it slave?” one of the guards asked, sounding amused. Irons could tell from his structured tone that it was all an act. They weren't just baiting him they were feeling him out. Trying to see where his loyalties were.

  He was tempted not to answer, but knew that itself was a trap. Much like at boot, trying to keep your head down got you stomped on as much as if you showed your pride. He needed to find some middle ground.

  “Nope, just want to get by,” he mumbled.

  “What was that?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Shut it, I wasn't talking to you. You,” the first guard poked him. “What's your problem?”

  “Just trying to survive,” Irons mumbled.

  “That's just trying to survive sir,” the guard said, sounding triumphant. The baton struck him in the back of his right calf. The blow would have crippled a weaker man, with his artificial limb Irons barely felt it.

  “What the hell?”

  “Eh?” Irons asked turning. He swung the mop, accidentally on purpose dribbling the muck all over the other guard. “Sorry, I'm a little distracted.”

  The guard was standing there wringing his hand, shaking it out. The baton was cracked, nearly split in half. “The hell man?” the guard asked.

  “Bad baton?” his partner asked. “Rotten?”

  “Doesn't look like it,” the other said. He examined the split wood.

  “Hey,” another voice said. They turned to the voice. A rating had rounded the corner and was standing in the combing, one hand on the upper.

  “Yeah?” The guards asked in unison. They looked at each other in annoyance and then one smirked and looked away. Irons looked up briefly and then continued working. The first guard started to admonish him for stopping but then stopped when he realized Irons hadn't been distracted.

  “Boss wants to see if this one knows anything about fixing electronics.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, burnt life support module down this way,” the rating said. Irons checked him out through his implants, human male and a Beta from the look and build. Structurally strong, golden skin, but he had a pock marked face. His nose had been broken a few times, and he had gold earrings that connected to a ring in his nose by a gold wire. He had long blue hair on one side of his head; the other side was shaved bald and tattooed with Celtic markings.

  “Life sup
port? Did Drew really say that or tell you to do it?”

  The rating grimaced. “Nah Macky, it's the truth!”

  The first thug grimaced. He still wasn't sure what the hell just happened. The guy wasn't even limping. “Right. Still could be fun seeing him get fried,” the guard mused. “Let's go,” he poked Irons.

  Irons set the mop against a stanchion and then turned to the rating. The rating grimaced and then waved him onward.

  “You could at least limp!” Sprite hissed at him on his HUD.

  “Why? Damage is done,” Irons replied through text. He stepped over a knee knocker. The guard in front looked back at him, grimaced, then back the path they were on. “Make a hole!” the guard snarled as a rating lounging against the bulkhead looked up in mild interest. The Horathian sullenly moved to one side, then into an open compartment nearby. Irons looked at the wiring bolted to the bulkhead above the hatch then away to the new rating.

  “What are you looking at?” the rating snarled. “Meat?” he growled. His cold eyes stared into the Admiral's. The man was big but thin, with brown fuzz for hair. He had a pale scar on his right cheek and a filthy uniform. Irons shook his head as a prod from behind reminded him to keep moving.

  Irons followed one guard while the other followed behind him. They weren't bright, just bully boys bored with their guard down, a potentially fatal situation. He was tempted to kick things off early, show them permanently the errors of their ways, but he made himself wait.

  “Here,” the rating said, indicating a pile of tools and an open access panel. Irons could see from the scorching on the panel cover plate and the surrounding area that there had been some intense heat, possibly an electrical fire. He could smell burnt wiring and melted circuitry.

  “You've had an electrical fire. Overheated bus,” he said carefully, looking at the panel. He pointed to the cover plate. “Check that. Where you see the center of the soot markings is the ignition point, the point of failure. Work from there.”

  “I see.”