Wandering Engineer 6: Pirates Bane

by Chris Hechtl

  “You're welcome,” he said, finishing his soup. He put the cup and spoon in the replicator for recycling. “I'm going to make my rounds since you are up,” he said. She smiled and saluted him with her cup.

  “Now... where is she?” Holly asked.

  “Deck four, between cargo bay six and compartments E-11 through 12. She's a mess.” Sprite replaced her own image with the aliens. The alien bobbed in her tank.

  “Damn,” Holly said, hunching over the screen. “I so wish Marty was here for this,” she said.

  “Marty?”

  “Marty Glenn. My husband. Doctor,” Holly said. She sat back. “I'm not even sure what he could do. We don't have many supplies as it is,” she said with a sigh.

  “We're working on that. Admiral Irons will eventually get down to sickbay and clean things up and make you a medical replicator.”

  “He...” Holly's eyes went wide. “That's not possible!”

  Sprite returned her image to the screen. She smiled.

  “Isn't it?” Holly asked. Sprite nodded. “He... and you...” she sputtered.

  “Drink your coffee Nurse Glenn,” Sprite said, grinning now.

  “It's tea actually. Fortified tea,” Holly replied. The crew were digging into the rations, eating and in some cases getting sick since they had been on starvation rations for so long. Hopefully they would settle down soon. “And you can call me Holly.” There was a slight twinkle in the woman's eye.

  “You can call me Sprite. Instead of Lieutenant Commander Sprite, or Commander Sprite,” the AI replied, preening a bit.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Holly said, smiling slightly.

  “Well, I'm glad we've got that covered. And I'm glad to see you kept a small sliver of your sense of humor,” Sprite teased.

  “A little.”

  “The problem with the medical replicator is that you can use it to a degree, but to get full use out of it you have to be a medical officer. Which you aren't.”

  “No, I'm not,” Holly said, and then looked at the machinery. Rajesh went over to the supply room next to the replicator and came back out with a blanket. Apparently a patient was cold, or needed to be propped up.

  “I wish I were, but I'm not,” Holly said softly. She sighed.

  “But you can be,” Sprite said. That got the woman's attention. She stared at the AI. Sprite smiled again and nodded.

  “You've definitely gotten my attention. Tell me more,” Holly drawled, sitting back and cradling her tea, ready to listen.

  Chapter 13

  “So it's confirmed?” Ian asked, looking up as the Admiral returned from making rounds.

  “Is what confirmed?” Irons asked. He looked around. The bridge crew had settled in nicely. They had the smallest department, with six ratings and two officers. Hopefully they would get more hands to thicken the watch roster soon.

  “That Blye bought it.”

  “He did?” One of the ratings asked looking up. “How?” He asked, sounding troubled.

  “Died in his sleep,” Sprite replied. The others looked up to the overhead. They were still getting used to her. “And yes, confirmed. I have his face on camera. He's definitely dead. There were only four blond Horathian's on the ship, all are accounted for.” She flashed a headshot of the Horathian in death briefly on all the screens before returning them to normal.

  “Damn,” the OPS rating hissed in disappointment and anger. “The bastard got off easy,” he growled. He angrily clutched at his seat for a long moment. He rocked a little, clearly fuming over the injustice.

  “That he did,” Ian growled. He patted the man on the shoulder. “I so wanted to give him a taste of some of the things he did to us. Just a taste mind you, I'm not that sick.”

  “Not yet anyway,” the rating replied. “Though I wouldn't mind him and a few others getting a taste of their own medicine,” he growled. He turned to the Admiral. “How about it sir?”

  “No,” Irons relied quietly but firmly. “We're not them. We won't lower ourselves to their level,” he said.

  “Why the hell not?” the rating demanded.

  “Because, we're going to use them. They don't know it, but they are going to regret staying alive.” He smiled maliciously. A few stared at him in mingled anger and resentment, a few looked troubled. “We're going to suck as much information as we can out of them. And then they are going to be locked in that little room, or one like it, for the rest of their lives.”

  “Oh.”

  “Still too easy,” the rating grumbled. He looked over to a robot cleaning up some dried blood on the deck and then looked away.

  “Think about it. Do you want them to have a quick death? Or get to stare at the walls slowly going nuts?”

  “Um...” the rating frowned. “I don't know.”

  “Until you do, let's just leave them be. Death is too quick, too permanent,” Ian said, nodding as he concentrated on his station. “Damn this is a pain in the ass moving with that ship stuck to us like a remora,” he said.

  “Been ground side?” Irons asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Remora?”

  “Oh, sorry, heard it somewhere. Saw a movie on fish.”

  “Oh.”

  The Admiral sat for a moment then got up. “I'm going to go check my ship, then see if we can tie her into the Bounty's systems. That way we can move a bit quicker and the AI can coordinate on software repairs.”

  “Software repairs?” Ian asked.

  “Yes,” Sprite replied. “Software needs to be fixed just like hardware you know.”

  “Oh.”

  “It's why sometimes your systems go buggy and need a reboot,” Sprite said patiently.

  “Actually ma'am, I do know a little about computers and software. And I can get around a freeze if I need to,” Ian said holding up a hand.

  “Oh,” Sprite said. “Good for you,” she said and then clicked off.

  “All right, Mister McGuyver, you have the bridge,” the Admiral said. “I'll be in Phoenix, then I'll take a quick run through the ship, check in with Mister Gustov, and then swing by main engineering before I head back in a couple hours.”

  “Aye sir, I have the bridge. You stand relieved,” Ian said formally.

  “I am relieved,” the Admiral said formally, nodding to the acting executive officer. He turned and exited the bridge.

  “And while you're out and about, I suggest a meal,” Ian called out. Irons waved at the hatch. “And bring me back something too!” Irons chuckled softly as he continued on his way.

  Irons did a quick check of his ship. It was still a mess, with wiring, panels, and other things ripped out. The looters had certainly had their way with the ship; it was picked over pretty bad.

  Phoenix had done the best it could in self-repair, but without power, there was not much else it could do. Irons checked the reactor, but there was considerable damage. The EMP had fried some of the control software. It was at least a two-day job. He checked the timer on his HUD. They had just under twenty-three hours until they arrived at the first ship. “I don't have time for this, sorry,” he said, looking up.

  “It's understandable Admiral,” Phoenix replied, sounding understanding. “Can you run me a couple power cables? I'm down to five percent on reserve power.”

  “I can do that and send you some repair robots,” the Admiral said. “Use them to police the bodies and mess and then get them on repairs,” the Admiral replied.

  “Understood Admiral. You do understand you locked down the replicators right?” Phoenix asked.

  Irons grimaced. He'd done a great deal more than that. Since they were milspec industrial replicators going into enemy hands he'd fried them. That was a problem.

  “We can reset them in a bit. Let me get the power situation sorted out first. Sprite, connect me to Sindri please.”

  “Working on it sir,” Defender responded.

  Irons grunted. “Sprite still busy?”

  “Yes Admiral,” the security AI replied. The Admiral hea
rd a familiar clacking and turned to see a robotic dog enter the airlock. It turned and sat in the center of the lock. “And what is that doing here?”

  “Security. I don't want anyone tampering with the ship in your absence sir,” Defender replied.

  The Admiral opened his mouth to object but Phoenix beat him too it. “Actually, I agree with the Lieutenant,” the AI responded. “We don't know these people well, and I'd feel more secure with it on station Admiral. That is, if you don't mind,” the AI said.

  Irons closed his mouth and then looked at the robot. It was a basic mastiff model, gunmetal in color, with the number four stenciled on its sides. “Fine,” he said after a moment. “If it makes the two of you feel better to keep the tourists and looters at bay, by all means,” he said, waving a dismissive hand.

  “Sindri here,” the Admiral heard through his implants. “Admiral?”

  “Yes. Can you tell me if there are any spare power cables? I need to tie Phoenix's systems into Bounty,” the Admiral said. “And data lines as well.” He outlined his plan.

  “Sure,” Sindri said slowly. The Admiral could imagine him stroking his beard. “Why though?” he asked. “If you don't mind my asking.”

  “Phoenix is going to help the other AI and you on the ship's repair. And vice versa as well. I also have some military grade replicators that need TLC and power. Since Phoenix's reactors are out...” he frowned. He had installed a back up reactor but Phoenix reported it missing. “And my back up reactor is missing, we are lacking power.”

  “No power, no ship. Got it. I'm shorthanded right now, but I can get you the cables.”

  “I can do the install myself,” Irons replied straightening. He wanted to keep the image of someone who didn't mind getting their hands dirty. After all, it was true. “And I can get the cables. I unfortunately don't have an inventory list.”

  “Forward cargo bay. Bay five. Above the boat bay Admiral,” Sindri replied after a moment. “Sure you don't want me to send someone?”

  “I'm the type of officer who loves getting his hands dirty,” the Admiral replied with a smile. “I'll get it done.”

  “Good. To tell the truth, we could use the added load to keep the bottle going.”

  “We're going to work on the software too. Eventually,” the Admiral replied. “And you'll find the people with implants and the AI may have an easier job with it,” he said, remembering the implants.

  “True. When do I get them?” Sindri asked.

  “As soon as I've got time,” the Admiral replied with a sigh, moving off to the cargo bay.

  “Okay, I'll hold you too that,” Sindri replied and closed the circuit.

  With his internal map of the ship it only took the Admiral a few minutes to find the indicated cargo bay and enter it. He looked around, scanning it. There were all sorts of crates, barrels, and boxes arranged on rows of shelves or on pallets. The bay was quite full; apparently the Captain had taken his pick of materials from the prize ships.

  He looked around until he spotted coils of cable hanging by the door for easy access. Apparently someone was smart, they had secured the cables there in case of need for damage control. The Admiral grabbed a cable and tossed over one shoulder, then picked up a box of ODN cable and left the compartment.

  Running the cable was a simple job, though he didn't like leaving the airlock compromised. If there was a catastrophic emergency, or leak, the ships would be compromised and the crew's safety threatened. He frowned, but then shrugged. It wasn't like the Horathian's hadn't already done it throughout the ship. He'd just have to fix it when he had time.

  Plugging the cables in was simple. The power cable wasn't a room temperature superconductor; instead it was a copper alloy of twisted braids. It could handle about a megawatt of electrical draw, enough for some of the systems on Phoenix, and more than enough for the computers.

  “Thank you Admiral,” Phoenix said as he finished the ODN connections. “I've tied the WI-Fi into the Bounty's net as well, but the nearest node is over a hundred meters away and data transmission is subpar. Below one meg per second of bandwidth.”

  “I'll look for a node that is closer and see if I can fix it,” the Admiral replied with a nod. “Did you report in?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Lend a hand where you can, or work on your own repairs. Can your engines speed us up?”

  “No Admiral, the current course is already set. Changing our speed now would throw the course off or we would overshoot.”

  “Very well.”

  “Admiral, if you have a moment, can you repair one of the industrial replicators? By the way, the food replicator in the galley is functional.”

  “I forgot it,” Irons muttered. He went to the nearest replicator and had Proteus repair it. It took the better part of an hour to rebuild its control hardware, reprogram it, and then seed the nanites once more.”

  “Thank you Admiral. With this I can get on some of the repairs and exchange parts with Bounty. If someone can send me materials,” the AI said.

  “I said I'm on it,” Sprite replied from the overhead PA. She sounded testy and annoyed at being interrupted.

  “A bot will do. Behave you two,” Irons said, exiting the ship. He ducked under the hatch and cables and made a note to find ties to secure the cables so they would be out of the way of the crew. Hopefully he'd have time... he put the thought aside. He'd deal with what came up the best he can when it did.

  <----*----*----*---->

  Admiral Irons met up with a tall lad leaning tiredly against a bulkhead by his elbows. He looked beat, with his tattered red and white shirt and broken glasses. He was scarecrow thin, like many of the former prisoners, but also tall, a good two hundred centimeters. But there was something there; a living fire and a stubborn will that refused to be stamped out. A determination to survive, he surmised, noting the pistol stuffed in the young man's belt.

  “Here,” Irons said, reaching out and touching the broken lens. It had a spider web look, broken by some form of impact. The young man gasped as seemingly by magic the cracks healed themselves. After a moment the tape over the bridge and over one ear dissolved and the frame was repaired as well. “There, better?” Irons asked.

  The man nodded, taking the glasses off to look at them. He stared at the Admiral in wonder.

  “No problem. I suggest once things settle down you put in for laser surgery so you won't need the glasses anymore. Or nanite repair,” the Admiral said, waving a hand.

  The man blinked at him owlishly and then put the glasses back on.

  “And get a new shirt,” Irons said, trying hard not to wrinkle his nose. Everyone stank, it was something he had gotten used to in the brig. “See you around,” Irons said.

  The young man nodded and waved as the Admiral left.

  <----*----*----*---->

  Once the Admiral checked in on the brig and engineering, he met up with a tired but stubbornly awake Gustov. The man was made out of stern stuff, able to stay on his feet for so long without implants or drugs. Well, he did rely on one drug, caffeine, the Admiral observed, watching the man suck down a second cup of coffee since he had come into the armory. He had also had a stop by sickbay, the cuts and bruises on his face were visibly healing. Apparently Nurse Glenn had given everyone a dose of quick heal. Good.

  “So, we've got about twenty one hours until we get to the prison ships. Let's hear your plan,” he said.

  Gustov looked at the four other people in the compartment. “Well, I think we'll use the shuttles.”

  “Mine as well?” the Admiral asked mildly.

  “Yours sir?” Gustov asked, nonplussed.

  “Fleet Launch in Phoenix's boat bay. It's offline, so no,” Irons said. “It will take a half day to get her back online. I'm not sure what damage her electronics sustained after the EMP hit. I'd want a thorough check first,” he said.

  “Oh, then we'll leave her out and use the assets we've got. If you don't mind sir,” he said, looking at Irons.
/>   Irons nodded politely. “This is your show,” he said.

  Gustov introduced Craig Lewis, a security officer from Deianira. He was a bluff guy, a bit thin of course, but he had a professional look about him.

  “We've met. Briefly,” the Admiral said, exchanging nods with Lewis. He'd seen the man in the compartment. He was a quiet reserved guy, black, with green eyes and tribal tattoos all over his bare arms and neck.

  “Can we order them to surrender?” a rating asked.

  Lewis scowled. “No.”

  “Oh. Um, why not?” the rating asked, looking helplessly to the others and then to Lewis. “If we offer them terms, maybe we can get out of this without a shot being fired.”

  “The problem is, we don't want to alert them,” Gustov replied patiently, turning to the rating. “If they know we are coming they will kill everyone on board.”

  “Oh.”

  Gustov turned to Irons. “We don't want them doing anything stupid. My advice? Just dock. They don't have a choice anyway. They'll be expecting their own people anyway, and maybe think their radios are out.”

  “The Captain did order them to maintain radio silence,” Sprite offered.

  “There see? Something already in our favor.” He turned to Irons. “We'll hit them with two shuttles at the same time sir. That way one can't get warning off to the other.”

  “Very well. Make it so,” Irons replied with a nod.

  <----*----*----*---->

  There were a total of forty-five surviving Horathian crew in the brig or in sickbay. There had been fifty-nine, Irons vowed not to ask why fourteen never survived their trip to the brig, or why the airlock cycled fourteen times.

  If they took the prison ships without any fatalities that number could go up to sixty three. Gustov was grimly determined to get the job done, but Irons wasn't certain how many of the Horathians would survive to get to the brig. After listening to some of the stories it wouldn't bother him if the worst of the lot got permanently lost out an airlock on their way.