The Admiral entered and sat in a chair. “Don't touch anything. Shelby will be with you in a minute,” the young man cautioned. Irons shook his head. “Admiral I've got a Wi-Fi link. Encrypted though. Military grade. I've created a back door though. My bandwidth and file access is limited however,” Sprite reported. “Wait, I am applying the access codes I got from CPO Logan. I'm in.”
The door opened and he turned.
The Admiral shook the young woman's hand and she waved a dismissive hand to his guide. "Get back to work Grundy." The man grinned and walked off.
"Do I call you assistant engineer Logan? Miss Logan? Or Mrs.?" Irons asked. "Call me Shelby. Miss Logan is too formal. Most people call dad Chief, or Logan."
The Admiral nodded. "All right then."
"Is dad going to be okay?" she asked looking over a tablet.
"I am not sure. I hope so. If they can't get a handle on things I would suggest contacting Io and ask for a transfer to their sickbay." He shrugged. She looked up confused. "We just finished completely restoring her sickbay." Her eyes widened. "The entire ship actually," he added with another shrug.
She shook her head. "How... no wait, you’re involved." She sat down with a shaky laugh. "Dad told stories about you, but I thought it was all a myth." She looked up at him. "You’re the real deal aren't you?" she asked. He nodded. "Well, you couldn't have come at a more important time, we're losing it." She shrugged helplessly. "We're down to one badly balanced fusion reactor, and she's off in the worst way imaginable. Dad was in the cyber core twenty hours a day trying to prop it up," she sighed. He nodded.
"So I gathered. May I help?" he asked. She nodded.
"Please. Be my guest."
He nodded getting up. "Please let the crew here know that." She grimaced and nodded.
"Luxury quarters are the decks set apart for the exclusive use of the rich and for the visiting ships." Shelby frowned as they walked. "They took the gyms, rec areas, parks, restaurants, hotel, casino, and even an art museum up there." She looked up and growled. "Not to mention night clubs, stores, and the Port Admiral's exclusive deck," she snarled.
"How do they take care of everything if they are set apart?" the Admiral asked. "Well, there is some crossover of course, food, some life support, and power, and a few people cross the line daily. But the servants live in the lowest section between them and us. Sort of a buffer." He grimaced.
"The gentile," he replied. She gave him a curious look. He shrugged. "During the medieval times before star flight, human lords would use their bastard children as go betweens with the peasants." He picked up a tablet and looked at it. She set hers down. "That sounds about right," she said softly.
"The more things change, the more they stay the same," the Admiral replied. She laughed.
"Yeah, can't get any more different then living in a space station." She waved. "Well, yes and no, try imagining someone living in a force bubble under a liquid ocean, or in the sun." He waved to a space painting nearby. It was of a warship with a sun in the background. Shelby looked at it then back at him.
"Did people really..." He grinned. She shook her head.
"Where there is a will, there is a way. Usually." The Admiral shrugged. "Okay, let's see here..." He tapped the tablet.
"Nice network," he commented after a moment. Sprite hadn't commented about viruses and from the looks of things the registry and hierarchy were kept up to date and in good condition. She cocked her head, eyebrow raised. "I admit I tried to access things to get a feel, and to help out. I couldn't believe the number of viruses in the central net." The Admiral shook his head. "With fifteen thousand people on..."
She looked up sharply turning pale. "Fifteen? Our report says five!" She got up suddenly. "The bridge told us we've only got five!" She threw her hands up.
"How did you get that number?" She whirled on him.
"I have my own AI." He raised his right arm. "I had it check the station and cross reference data from the computer and Io's scans. Fifteen thousand is conservative. I'd say it could easily be twenty. But fifteen is the only hard number I've got to go off of," he explained.
"I can't get a final tally, too many heat sources," Sprite reported apologetically. He chuckled.
"There are too many heat sources from equipment to get an accurate count," he interpreted for Shelby.
He shrugged. She was still pale. "Damn," she muttered. She looked around. "Damn, we're screwed. We're so so screwed." She shook her head.
"No, we've just got a narrower time limit and a larger work force to tap." He shrugged. "Time to roll our sleeves up and get to work." He motioned to the door. She nodded.
"When I did an exterior scan I noted solar collectors on the hull and on booms, some looked functional, some looked like they were broken or disconnected. Are they in use?" the Admiral asked.
Shelby turned. "Some, the upper deck is powering the luxury areas. We're using the lower ones for our life support." She waved as the lights flickered. A fan kicked on and off.
"Yeah. I would suggest putting a couple parties together, with or without robotic support and do a field assessment. Try to patch in as many panels as we can. Every watt counts." He shrugged. She looked at him.
"Drop in the bucket," she replied. He nodded. "But your right and it will keep some people busy." She sighed. "We've got about a dozen suits in good condition. I'll get them on it." She looked at a tablet, picked it up and started to scroll.
"Check with the Valdez clan. Ask to rent their spare old suits. If you have the material, trade with Io for skin suits," he replied. "Or better yet, a couple work robots. They should have a spare or two on hand," he pointed to a deactivated robot in the corner of the room. "Set them to cut out sections that are beyond repair."
She nodded. "Okay, I'll have Grundy and Benny make some calls." She walked off.
The Admiral smiled. “Sprite are you in a Wi-Fi node or in the jack?” He asked.
“Jack,” she answered. He grunted. Now he knew where all his bandwidth was going.
“All right, just a second here.” He un-jacked and went over to a rack of tools. He pawed through them until he came up with an ODN cable and some parts. He set them on the work table then picked up several of the work robots and set them nearby.
“What are you doing?” Sprite asked. “I can't get in remember? Logan has a limited Wi-Fi router in his office and in a few areas. Not here in this work shop.” She sounded testy.
“Just a minute.” He looked at his arm then rolled up the sleeve. “Proteus open my secondary universal port.” He waited as a square port morphed into his right bicep. He plugged the cable in then the free end into the jack. “That better?” he asked.
“Much, thank you,” Sprite responded. “While the cats away, the mice will play... Or at least tinker,” the AI said mischievously. Irons chuckled.
“Something like that. You focus on the bottle while Proteus and I see about fixing a couple of these.” He pulled the access panel off and went to work.
"We've been running straight hydrogen. Sometimes other materials when we are low," Shelby explained as he examined the links.
He winced. "Damn. Radiation must be intense," he muttered.
She nodded. "Dad said so. He was trying to get back to Helium or at least deuterium but well...” She shrugged helplessly. “We're down to one robot in the core. It's malfunctioning and dad was talking about getting into the core himself to make repairs." Shelby looked saddened.
"Not an option, at these levels you'd be fried the moment you opened the door. The plasma bottle is saturated with neutrons. That's what happens when you run straight hydrogen or other materials." The Admiral sighed running one hand through his hair. “I ran into this with the Io's power plant. It's a pain in the ass to fix." He pulled up the status reports of the other fusion plants. "Hmmm. you've been robbing Peter to pay Paul, scavenging parts from the other fusion reactors to keep this one going..." He scanned the read out.
"Well, we can't exactly put in
an order for more. We've got basic machine shops, some old Bowyer reprap three D printers from the museum, and one working industrial fabricator. It's locked down though." She sighed. "It takes too much energy; we need every watt for life support." She shook her head.
"There comes a time when you have to decide, a slow death, or bite the bullet and face the problem to fix it," the Admiral replied not looking up.
"Well, if we had another fabricator... Hell what does it matter! We don't have the blueprints anyway!" She threw her hands up in the air, tossing the tablet. It fell to the floor with a clatter. She swore softly as she bent to pick it up.
"We've got access to four industrial replicators on their own power source, if you can pay for them," he replied as she picked the tablet up. He was still concentrating on the robot while Sprite was trying to manage the bottle software. Distantly he felt cross talk. He was curious about it, but he would ask when they were alone.
Shelby straightened looking up at him. "You've got to be kidding." A note of disbelief warred with excitement. He smiled.
"I told you we fixed her. Io has all her replicators repaired. Electronics, industrial, even textile. Also her food replicators. Trade with them and they will make what you need. But we are in a time crunch, they leave in...” Sprite put up a countdown clock. "Right, three days and twelve hours... unless we talk them into staying longer." He shrugged.
She nodded. "The exec will make a deal with the devil if he could. Hell so would I, let's do it." She seemed excited as she reached for the communicator.
"Not so fast." He held up a hand. "First we need a parts list. Then some form of compensation. Then you can go to the mat trading." He waved the tablet. "I've got the Valdez family junk pile. We can get a few things from it; I know they still have a few satellites and about three air cars that could be traded. I suggest you pole the other decks, see what you can scrounge up. Tell them to give until it hurts if they want to breath." He nodded to her.
He closed the access panel and watched as the little robot wobbled up and then drifted off. “That makes four.” She dodged the robot and then grimaced.
"I'll work out a list." He jacked into the tablet with his finger port. "How is the Valdez clan going to take your trading their stuff?" she asked. “Even if it is junk it is still theirs,” she added punching in queries.
"I made a deal, I rebuild the tug, and I get access to their junk." He smiled. "Plus room and board too. I don't think they will mind once they know what the parts are for. Besides, I am already working out how to get them another tug." He waved the tablet. "Io is building it now in fact." He smiled at her as she stared at him in shock.
"I hope to goddess this isn't a dream. For a while I thought it was a nightmare!" She shook her head in disbelief. He chuckled.
"Well, kiss dreams and nightmares goodbye, we're not getting much rest until we get this sorted out." He nodded to her.
"Right, I'm going to go chase down Quasimodo and Grundy, I'll get them looking for stuff. Be right back." She rushed off. He shook his head bemused.
"Quasimodo?" he asked then shook his head in amusement and went back to work.
A man came in and kicked the trash pail. The Admiral didn't look up. "Hopeless. We're fried," the man muttered. He sat down heavily.
"You done?" The Admiral asked looking up.
"What's it to you bub? You signed your own death warrant coming here," the man growled.
Irons shook his head. "Where there is life and power, there is hope. Go back to work." He waved.
"It's hopeless I tell you!" The guy suddenly standing, smashing his fist into his palm. "What the hell are we supposed to do, sit and watch the bottle fail?!" He threw his arms apart.
The Admiral shook his head. "Your jobs. Let me worry about the bottle." He held up his right arm.
"What the hell is a pissant like you going to do about...?” The Admiral triggered his demo morph. The man stopped mid snarl and backed hastily away. He tripped over the chair and went down into a sprawl. "What the hell are you?" he asked.
"Your worst nightmare if you don't stop feeling sorry for yourself, get your act under control and get your ass back to work," the Admiral replied quietly.
"Like the man said, Henry, let him worry about the bottle." Shelby's voice came from behind him. He turned to see her. Her eyes were locked on the fallen engineer. He wiped his mouth with a closed hand then got up.
"Right." He walked out head down. Shelby watched him go.
"You do have a way with people don't you?" Shelby asked giving him an amused look. "He's going to tell everyone about you; it will be all over the station in nothing flat." She chuckled.
"Nothing moves faster than scuttlebutt," the Admiral muttered. "Fastest way to get information, gossip," he muttered sourly. She laughed, eyes twinkling.
"Yeah, dad muttered the same thing all the time." She waved to the door. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the power watch." He nodded and followed her out.
"The Ritz?" The Admiral looked up from the map of the luxury decks.
"Restaurant claims to be five stars. I managed to hack into their database. Their system is cluttered with data compiled from orders over a century ago! Seven centuries of orders, bills, it's insane. Hasn't anyone ever heard of basic computer maintenance?" Sprite griped.
He chuckled. "The art gallery museum was set up about forty years after the station's founding. There are also several art studios and several semi private art galleries," Sprite reported. "Also several clothing stores. Some are for the rich; some are haberdashers for the servants," the AI reported.
"Textile fabricators?" the Admiral asked. "I was wondering where the clothes and blankets came from." He ran his hand over the fabric covered chair.
"Not as much as you would think. Nearly eighty percent are imports from out system. The leather for instance is real neo-buffalo leather. There is a leather shop here as well," the AI seemed disgusted. He chuckled.
"Now now, throwbacks to anarchism is a strictly organic thing I know..." he smiled.
"No, I've found it's not just organic, the station AI qualifies as well," Sprite sighed. The Admiral laughed.
"What are you laughing about?" a tech asked coming up behind him.
"I was... You know what, never mind." He waved it off getting his chuckle under control. "Let's just say a friend has discovered that she isn't as superior as she thought." He smiled as Sprite's virtual face stuck out her tongue then winked off his HUD. He shook his head.
"Where are we on the repairs to the deck thirty four power bus? If we can get that sorted out then we can distribute power better without losing so much to shorts and overloads." He looked at the tech.
"Well, we've got this section sorted out here..." He leaned forward showing the Admiral the pad. They spent a few minutes going over the progress before he nodded seeing the approaching Shelby.
"Right, keep us updated." He turned just as she stopped.
"Right, gotta go..." The tech hurried off after catching a look from his boss. She looked around as if to make sure no one was in ear shot then grimaced.
"We're still behind on the repairs. Life support has cut out on twelve decks. We're getting cascade failures. People are fleeing to decks with power and that is overloading those decks." She sighed.
"Any word from Io?" he asked.
"Their last sitrep was forty minutes ago, they still have about two hours to finish the first parts. I just received word that Sergio is on his way back with a small load of water ice." She sighed. "I don't think a hundred tons is going to make much of a difference. We don't have the power to even melt it right now. We can't spare it." She shook her head.
"You'd be surprised. Every little bit helps." He shrugged.
“This is the central power room for fusion reactor six.” Shelby waved to the room. He nodded as he looked around. The room was relatively clean and neat. There were signs of patching, wiring hanging here and there, and carts loaded with tools or gear hooked into consoles. There
were four couches, each manned. The central one had a young man wearing a civilian grade virtual reality helmet and gloves. He was motioning in space and talking softly into a boom mike.
“Damn it, it's like trying to do fine repairs in a suit, there's no feedback, and the lag is too much,” he muttered. The Admiral shook his head.
“Tactile as well?” he asked. Shelby shook her head.
“Best we could do is sight and motion control,” she muttered. Someone shushed them.
“Will you people just shut up?! I'm trying to concentrate here! One wrong move and this thing goes nova!” the man in the chair snarled. The Admiral nodded. He examined the nearby console, taking in the readings, and then blanched.
“Jack to your right Admiral,” Sprite reported. He looked in the indicated direction and stepped over to it.
“What are you...?” Shelby started to ask as his hand morphed. “Oh!” Her eyes were wide.
“Holy shit!” the woman sitting at the console reared back in surprise. The Admiral inserted his probe and closed his eyes.
“I'm in. Damn.” He sighed at the extensive damage.
“Cascade failure Admiral, the bottle software can't cope with it. Adjusting now.” Sprite inserted herself into the code. He felt the flow of data but focused his attention on the bottle itself.
The plasma bottle was a toroid, and from the look and feel it was heavily patched with equipment that was never designed for the load. Several sectors were out, and the operator was trying to compensate by manipulating the magnetic fields manually.
Unfortunately by doing that he started a turbulent reaction. Like skipping a pebble on a pond the ripples from the changes he was making were interacting, destabilizing the fields further.
“She's near a cascade failure. Too much induction manipulation. Working,” Sprite reported. He grunted.
“Who's there?” A voice over the link asked. A primitive avatar of the operator was at the center of the matrix. He was thrashing about, trying to manually manipulate the plasma stream. “Get out your distracting me,” the man snarled.
Fool's Gold (The Wandering Engineer) Page 12