Sure enough, except for some rather large and ragged holes, the non-rotating end of the station actually seemed to be pretty well intact. At least a half dozen pulses had been aimed so as to heavily damage the solar power panels, so power was certainly disrupted, but some sections of the station might still be holding air and anyone lucky enough to be in a suit and not in the rotating portion of the station might also still be alive.
"We can't tell until we can get over there for a look," said Harris, "I don't know why I didn't think of this before. Everyone switch to military channel six delta. It won't do to use an open channel. Those ships could get back here pretty quick if they wanted to." He voiced the command to tune the proper frequency and switched his suit microphone back on. The others did likewise. Suit-to-suit communication was restored.
"According to my suit chronometer, it's been several hours since the attack. We'll just have to chance it. I don't think they'll pick up these short distance transmissions on this secure channel. We have to check out the station to see if there are any survivors!"
Chapter 9
...The Auxiliary Tracking Station was a fifty meter drum-shaped construct, twenty-five meters thick, that was positioned in a cleared out zone two kilometers in diameter within the main mass of the Military scrap section, sort of like a miniature sun with a sphere-shaped cloud of planets and asteroids around it. There was a corridor kept clear of scrap for access to the station. The Navy had wisely opted to use another prefab military construct, a small Class B outpost module that, like the main station, could be transported whole and deployed where needed. Featuring a three hundred sixty degree viewport, the disc was spun to create simulated gravity and was equipped with radar, view screens, and other gear that were required to keep track of all the wrecks and relics in the military section. Automatic systems would sound warning if any of the scrap needed repositioning. A crew would then bring in one of the powerful utility sleds and perform the necessary repositioning maneuvers. For really large artifacts, like the ruin of an old battleship, there were two booster modules, stored in the lower part of the tracking station, that could be strapped on and removed once the repositioning was completed. The tracking station was intermittently inhabited, but was kept pressurized and heated. In addition to somewhat cramped sleeping quarters for two or three personnel, it also had a small galley with a limited supply of food, sanitary facilities, including an ultrasonic shower, and a backup Stage I Whitney communications console, that could easily contact the planet authorities, unlike the intentionally weaker communications systems on the worker's suits and sleds.
Hartwell Wrist Comp reference note highlighted for further review by Tamara Carlisle. Excerpt is from "The Scrapyard" by Calvin Desjardins, Official Historian, UTFN Reclamation Center.
UTFN Reclamation Center, Salvage Training and Orientation Vessel, October 5, 2598.
The three survivors maneuvered the sled out of the cargo hold of the old training ship and headed back towards the ravaged station. Debris from the one-sided battle was everywhere and great caution was necessary while maneuvering towards the station to avoid damaging the sled or injuring one of its occupants. The tattered remains of the main station were tumbling slowly and erratically due to the repeated impacts of the pulse beams and the violent, random forces unleashed when the rotating disc had been all but destroyed. Vapors and ice crystals vented from a few areas of the wreckage. As the utility sled got closer, it became obvious that the damage was much worse than the trio of survivors had originally thought.
With the raiders now several hours away and probably operating their Whitney drives in microjump mode, Harris decided to risk a normal broadcast frequency to help in their search for survivors. No luck. Repeated calls from their suit radios remained unanswered and the three survivors were forced to conclude that there were no others.
Kresge and a small group of fellow travelers had departed on one of the cutters earlier in the day to their planetside rendezvous. The remaining cutter had been one of the first casualties of the attack, having received multiple strikes from both raiders, and nothing of it remained but twisted wreckage. They were, however, able to salvage the other, largely undamaged utility sled, the Reclamation Rover II, which they had to chase down after Hawkins spotted it tumbling slowly towards open space. The Rover II had also been extensively modified, but was used for somewhat different purposes. Equipped with electromagnetic grapplers, it was well suited for moving smaller constructs around and didn't require a large crew for this purpose. As such, it bore only a passing resemblance to the other sled.
Hours of being on high alert had taken their toll on all three members of the group.
"Hard to believe, but it's almost nine o'clock in the morning," announced Harris. "I don't know about you two, but I'm running on adrenaline and not much else. There's nothing else we can do here. Let's get over the Auxiliary Tracking Station. We can rest up and figure out what to do next. Ensign, take the Rover II and follow me, but be really careful. Got it?"
"Yes, Sir," she replied, slipping automatically back into the more formal military etiquette that the situation seemed to demand. Harris guided the Rover I somberly towards the other end of the Scrapyard with Carlisle's sled in tandem. The trip to the tracking station would require at least an hour. Even this far from the battle scene, frequent bits of new and erratically moving debris meant that they had to keep their guard up but, finally, there was time to think.
"I'm having a hard time figuring any of this out," said Harris. "Do either of you have any idea why the Reclamation Center would be attacked?"
"Well, it were nay for the salvage." Hawkins observed. "The stuff they were s'posed t' be takin' was nay worth that much. Fact is, we dinna even know if they be loadin' anything up. If they be thieves or pirates you'd think they would o' be takin' somethin'!"
"Pirates?" asked Harris. "There've been some rumors, Hawk, but there haven't been pirates in this part of space since just after the Big War. What do you think, Vixen?" Carlisle had been talking softly to herself for much of the time since the group had left the old cargo ship. The two men found themselves getting used to it. Harris had been respectful of her, thinking she was probably still somewhat in shock, as they all were to some degree.
"Something going on, Tamara... what is it?...Santana Quadrant...Muslim isolation...trade deal..." Again she broke her stream of consciousness chant by speaking directly, "It must have something to do with the Meridian ambassador." There was short silence from the two men as that sank in.
"Okay...that makes more sense than anything else," said Harris. "But why attack out here?"
"Well..." She took a breath. "I haven't got it all the details worked out yet, but I'll be more than happy to share my thought process. Maybe you guys can help me sort it out?"
As if she weren't doing that already, Harris smiled inwardly, but he thought it wise not to say anything about it.
"Sounds good to me," he said instead.
"Okay, here goes. The Reclamation Center is a military base in a system that has only a small military presence. By hitting this base, they have just reduced the number of Federation military personnel in the entire system by about a third."
"If eliminating the military were their goal," said Harris, "then they've got more work to do. They could be planning on more attacks,"
"That would follow," said Carlisle, "They hit us out here first because we were a full day closer to them than the planet after they came through the Whitney hyperlink point. If I wanted to take care of the rest of the military, I'd attack the New Ceylon orbital station next!"
"That would be foolhardy," said Harris, "The Boise is stationed there -- she'd be more than a match for those freighters."
The Boise was a Federation Mercury Class destroyer and although she wasn't one of the latest designs, she was still a formidable presence.
"Normally, I'd agree with you, Sir," replied Carlisle. "As things stand right now though, I'm not so sure. If they take her totall
y by surprise with her shields down, that destroyer won't have a chance in Hell against those beam weapons. Those beams were powerful, cruiser strength at least. The more I think about it the more I think they could pull it off. I toured the Boise when I was on the station last week, and I'll tell you straight up, there's no way those guys are ready for any kind of fight! Lax discipline, clutter all over the place. I think it's been months since they practiced weapons drill! Right now they're in total disarray, getting ready for the visit from the Ambassador. To make matters worse, those two ships had NITrans markings. NITrans ships could get right up close to the station without a challenge, just like they did out here. Gentlemen, the more I think about it, the more I think the attack on the Scrapyard was probably just the beginning of an all out offensive against the Naval presence in this system!"
"I hope you're wrong, Ensign, but we'd better not wait to find out. With the Boise out of the picture, they'd have total control of New Ceylon space."
"And the Ambassador is due in three days!" she added.
"We have to get the communications console on the tracking station up and running as soon as possible," said Harris. "We might be sounding a false alarm but I'm willing to take the chance! We have to warn them!"
Harris picked up the pace as much as he dared, but the remainder of the twenty kilometer trip to the auxiliary station still seemed to take far too long. Upon arrival, the group quickly docked the two sleds, and cycled through the airlock, leaving any unloading for later. Hawkins and Harris immediately headed for the communications console.
Chapter 10
...The New Ceylon Orbital Station was a facility that was way oversized for the planetary system that it served. Another leftover from the failed Delphi Investment Group L-5 project, the same group responsible for the Scrapyard, the station had defaulted to the planetary government when Delphi imploded. The facility was a spoked ring a full two kilometers in diameter, spun to simulate gravity. The ring itself was a flattened rectangle in cross section, with the long side of the rectangle parallel to the spin axis. Within the rectangle were five decks with deck five being the outermost and deck one the innermost...
...The orbital station was large enough to house some eight thousand people; more if they didn't mind a little overcrowding. This particular station had never housed more than about three thousand as the amount of commerce and other activities required in the small system didn't merit the expense of having more people in orbit. Many of the people onboard the station at any one time were in transit, awaiting transport to Meridian and other systems off in that direction of the Quadrant. Often these people would have to wait several weeks before their connections arrived...
...Orbiting some five hundred kilometers above the planet, the New Ceylon facility had only a single ring, but the basic design could be expanded dramatically by simply adding more rings. The Santana Nexus Station, for instance, followed the same basic design parameters but consisted of ten rings...
Hartwell Wrist Comp reference note highlighted for further review by Tamara Carlisle. Excerpt is from "The Scrapyard" by Calvin Desjardins, Official Historian, UTFN Reclamation Center.
...Naturally, newcomers to the station will find things to be a little confusing until they learn a few simple guidelines. As you probably noticed on your way in, the station is spinning. The spin is necessary, partially for the stability of the platform, but also to provide simulated gravity for your comfort and safety. The simulated gravity means that what you feel as "up" is inward from the outside rim of the station towards the spindle. 'Down', of course is just the opposite. We use the traditional terms 'North,' 'South,' East' and 'West' to describe other directions important for navigating the station and maintaining your orientation. The 'North' end of the station is the end that has the large airlock that you entered through. 'South' is just the opposite. When facing northward in the station, the rotation occurs in a clockwise direction. 'East' takes you in the direction of the spin and 'West' is movement against the spin of the station. Each level is clearly marked with Arabic numerals on conspicuous wall areas throughout the level. Compass symbols to provide directional orientation are embossed into the floor material and are clearly visible at most corridor intersections...
Hartwell Wrist Comp reference note highlighted for further review by Tamara Carlisle. Excerpt is from an orientation video available for download and as a hardcopy pamphlet prepared by the New Ceylon Orbital Station authorities for distribution to tourists and other visitors to the station. No author is listed.
New Ceylon Orbital Station, October 6, 2598.
The Naval Reclamation Center cutter docked with the huge New Ceylon Orbital Station at just after 0600 hours. Kresge went through the formalities with station security at the entrance to the station and headed for his temporary quarters. With any luck, he wouldn't be using them much. He thought of Irene and a smile came to his face. Don't know what a gorgeous, intelligent woman like that sees in me, he thought, but why mess with a good thing? He saw Jenkins and Allen joking with the security officials as he got on the elevator that would take him down to the wheel section of the station.
His gear was waiting for him in the stateroom that had been assigned to him. He carefully took out his dress uniform, which would be required for the diplomatic ceremony, and hung it up in the small wardrobe before refreshing himself in the ultrasonic shower. He donned a fresh set of khaki coveralls and headed out for the day's activities.
Everywhere he looked was chaos. The station was preparing for a diplomatic event of no small importance which meant that it had to be spic and span, even in the corners. Since there had never been a ceremony of this magnitude held there, the preparations were turning out to be a major project. Kresge frowned; he couldn't imagine running a station in the haphazard manner that this one was being operated. Over the years, lots of little things had been allowed to slip by without proper attention. Now the station governor was paying the price. Maintenance people in their gray coveralls seemed to be all over the station, busy sprucing up the facility, painting, making adjustments and shuffling things around. Many of the corridors were wholly or partially blocked. Panels were open here and there, adding to the mess. Kresge had never witnessed such confusion. On a station like this, with just the thin alloy walls between him and vacuum, anything less than perfection was dangerous. It made him more than mildly uneasy.
He arrived at the station governor's suite and was admitted immediately. The suite was located on the upper level of deck one, the innermost deck in the station's ring and the entire ceiling of the room was a huge viewport. The room was also about midway between two of the spokes that connected the outer ring to the central spindle of the station. Over his head, through the spectacular viewport, Kresge could see the two spokes converging on the long, gently tapered cylinder of the spindle.
Governor Charles "Chip" Larkin was a tall, trim man in his early forties with perfectly-styled, slightly graying hair and handsome features. With him was Captain Stefan Dortmunder of the FNS Boise. Dortmunder was a short, pudgy man with a gruff and very self-assured manner.
"Oskar," said the Governor. "Glad you could make it. Help yourself to refreshments."
"Thanks," said Kresge, as he went to get himself a cup of coffee. He also grabbed a small cinnamon pastry before taking a seat.
"Good morning, Stefan." He nodded at the Captain.
"Mornin' Oskar. Trip okay?"
"Yeah, I actually had time to catch up on some paperwork."
"I envy you."
Kresge didn't have a lot of respect for Dortmunder; in his opinion the Captain was an incompetent whiner who ran a very loose ship. The station was a disaster, but it was a civilian operation and some allowances were probably inevitable. The Boise, however, was military and there was no excuse for the craft and crew to be in anything less than top condition. The ship had been a God-awful mess the last time Kresge had been onboard it, but he hadn't felt it was his place to say anything. He was certain that cha
os reigned aboard the destroyer as well as the Captain tried to get his ship into the kind of shape it should have been in the first place. The governor and the ship's commander were obviously feeling the stress of their respective responsibilities and both looked harried.
"I don't know how we're going to get all of this ready in the time we have left," said Larkin. "I've got the cleaning crews working double shifts and still it seems like we still keep finding something else that needs doing."
Kresge took a bite of the pastry and found it to be pretty good. The coffee, however, was a major disappointment and not for the first time. He made a mental note to ask Irene why, with the source of some of the finest coffee in Federation space right next door, the Governor of the orbital station allowed such a dreadful brew to be served. He turned his attention back to the discussion.
"We're finally getting a little ahead of the game," said Dortmunder. "We just need to get everything put back together. I'm thinking maybe twenty-four hours at most. I might be able to lend you a few of my men after that."
"Thanks, Stefan, anything you can do would be much appreciated."
"I take it the ceremony will be held in the station assembly room?" asked Kresge.
"Yes, I hope they finish repainting it today so it has some time to dry. Don't know if we can do anything about the smell, guess we'll just have to live with it. Maybe if we crank up the ventilation...," he trailed off absently.
"I expect the Ambassador will want to tour the station?" asked Kresge.
"Yes,"' the Governor replied, a note of resignation in his voice. "I don't know how we can avoid it. We'll have to be selective about where we take him. There just isn't time to get the entire station ready."
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