by Robert Culp
Richards must have left while I was dealing with ship matters, when I put my perCom in my pocket Shawna says, “Thanks, that was pretty quick thinking about being contracted to the Malneer Corporation.”
“You’re welcome but it wasn’t that much of a stretch. You are under contract to Star Chaser but I figured if he wanted you bad enough he could destroy Star Chaser and then take you. That’s bad for business.”
“I’m with you there. Can you believe that joker proposed to me? After one night?”
“Isn’t your record something like six hours?”
“Well, yes, but that guy was off his meds. Kel is an officer. I’d think he would know better than to do something silly like that. I’m pretty sure that at some point in his career he’s had opportunity to warn his charges not to do what he did.”
“Never underestimate the seductive power of beauty, dexterity, and intelligence when mixed in the proper proportions.”
“Amen on that.”
We expect to have a few months alone before Star Chaser returns. Given that, I want sections of hull plating cut from Gallagher and attached to Silver Saber to reinforce the existing armor. It will be paramount to add it so the new plates won’t affect the existing—particularly the Transit drive—functionality. We will get all the engines back on line. This ship will be Transit capable before Star Chaser returns. I put Raines on it, he’s been itching to prove himself. He appears to believe I should have appointed him Chief Engineer rather than Jenkins. I might have if he had been more of a self-starter and leader when we took over this flying armpit. For his faults, Jenkins lets me know what he is doing when he is doing it. Raines has to be tracked down for situation reports.
As there’s nothing that needs my immediate attention, I’m going to get my hands dirty on a personal project. I’m in the workshop off the engine room when Chief Jenkins returns. His time planet side did him good. He doesn’t have a tan per se; he has mild sunburn. But he also looks more relaxed. “Any thing in particular that needs my attention, ma’am?”
“As a matter of fact, Chief, there is. What you see here is the suit of marauder armor Sergeant Major Call was wearing when he was killed. Well, what remains of it. As you can see, it did not take the weaponry thrown at it. I think it should have, the caliber of the weapon the WARBOT fired was 30mm. I’ll grant you, it’s at the top of the range, but the round should not have penetrated. As we can both see it did. Repeatedly. So this suit is now the subject of a case study. You and I are going to figure out how a trooper can survive a hit from a weapon up to an FR14. You look at the materials engineering to handle the energy discharge, I'll focus on how to disperse the kinetic energy."
“Ma’am, I don’t mean to rain on your parade, but a fusion rifle blast is basically a tiny nuclear event. To think that a person in any armor could survive that is beyond my understanding. And that’s without taking any kinetic energy into consideration. I will see what I can determine but to be candid, I’m not expecting much." Our gazes meet over the shredded armor. “I wouldn’t be doing you any favors if I were being less than honest with you, Boss.”
“No, Chief, you would not. And you raise a very valid point. Any time there's something moving there's kinetic energy involved, even if it’s a few grams of fusing material. Redirecting it is the key to this puzzle. It may be a fool's errand, but I'm the fool that’s going to chase it for a while. I’ve changed my mind. You don't believe this is possible, so trying to make it happen will fry your brain. Why don’t you figure out how that matter transporter works? I'm going to take my own advice and get on the rotation to go lay on the beach for a few hours."
“That? Oh, my apologies ma'am, I thought you knew: Baumgartner and I already cracked that nut. The power requirements are enormous, but you could tell that by looking at the spent fuel cells around it. We figured that if all the ship’s systems were running and the reactor was ten or fifteen percent above critical and could charge the cells, it would still take the better part of a week. What’s really cool—we thought so, anyway—was that when we—and by ‘we’ I mean Baumgartner—got the computer up we could look into the things log files. Deciphering the destination coordinates took some skull sweat. But some of the destinations list time coordinates on the order of four thousand years ago. We think it may do double duty as a time machine.”
I stare at him for a full ten seconds digesting what he said. “A time machine? I’m not questioning what you found, but I do question your conclusion. A jackwagon like Grangiere would not abandon a functioning time machine.”
“He would if he took the plans to build another with him. We found a few terabytes of schematic diagrams and other such. It’s all in our logs as well as the original directory on the ship’s system. If those plans were to be refactored maybe he could make a more elegant, smaller system.”
“Fair point. If you haven’t done so already, please disconnect those power cells from the unit and anything that could possibly charge them. If it is what you think it is, it’s not impossible that someone aboard could—intentionally or otherwise—zap themselves into some far away place and time. Or potentially bring some horrible bad nasty from some far away place and time.”
“We did that already. Oh, and just to keep your opinion of me grounded and reasonable, we found out how to operate it, but I couldn’t begin to tell you how it works.”
“Not to worry, Chief,” I tell him with a wink. “I knew you were good, I didn’t think you were that good. Hang on, you said if the reactor could charge the cells…why can’t it?”
“Because those cells all burned out in the discharge phase. I don’t know the details, but while those cells can take a charge I don’t think they can take as much of a charge as they need to in order to power that machine.”
“So it’s a one trick pony?”
“I don’t know about that, but that pony does that one trick one time.”
“Bummer,” I frown. “Well, I guess you’re back on the armor project. I’ll check with you in a few days.”
Athena stops me just outside the bridge. “Captain, it has come to my attention that your name is not on the R&R rotation roster. I took the liberty of correcting that omission.”
“Excellent, after you briefed me for my upcoming watch I was going to correct it myself. How soon after my watch do I leave?”
“Funny you should ask. Lieutenant Landers’ name was also missing from the list.”
“I don’t see a connection.”
“Mr. Baumgartner and I will handle things here. Lieutenant Landers will pilot your shuttle down in half an hour. In short, ma’am; you are relieved. Enjoy yourself.”
I don’t know if it’s because I’m not wearing armor, I’m not wearing coveralls, or I’m not breathing recycled air. It may be as simple as seasonal affective disorder or perhaps I’m slightly photosynthetic. But damn it’s good to feel sunshine on my skin! I have no agenda aside from relaxing.
The outpost crew has created a safe area off the beach. And they were able to do so with minimal impact on the environment. For half an hour I sat at the edge of the beach, letting the waves wash over me and imagining as they retreated that they were taking all of the stress from me. It was after I moved up onto the beach to enjoy the sunshine that I saw not only a breath plume, but also Leka emerge from the sea in an APE suit modified for submerged activity. “How’s she doing?”
“Marsha? She’s doing okay. The barrier system keeps out anything larger than a half meter, so she spends most of the day hunting. But she doesn’t have to worry about anything hunting her.”
“Marsha? Why Marsha?”
“She said that was her name.’”
How can one argue with logic like that? “Does she want to stay here?”
“No, she doesn't feel safe. She and I have discussed 457. She’s in favor of going there, but she’s willing to look at worlds between here and there.”
“Does she object to sharing this water with bipeds?”
“No
t at all, in fact, she was asking when you might come in and cavort for a bit.”
“There’s no time like the present!” I wade into the water and do all that fun stuff that people like to do when swimming with whales. I let her pull me while I try to hang onto her dorsal fin. She swims on her back while I hold on to her pectoral fins. I’m treading water, catching my breath when she comes from below and pushes me up by my backside. We play for almost an hour before I’m too tuckered for any more and beg off. I lie on the beach and let the sun dry me off. When I’ve dozed off twice I head for the outpost. Now I understand how Chief Jenkins got sunburn.
Athena sends me progress reports daily. By the end of my sixth and last day at the outpost, the armor plating from Gallagher has been transferred to Silver Saber. Coincidentally, Dr. Turnbull approaches with the science team report. “Captain, I think we’ve collected everything we’re going to get from this location. Of course I can’t prove it, but I believe the law of diminishing returns has kicked in. With your permission, I’ll arrange for a shuttle to take us to another region.”
“That’s fine with me, Doctor. But keep in mind; you will take a minimum of two troopers with you, and at least one of them will have a fusion weapon.”
“I see,” he strokes his chin pensively. I think he has the academic’s inborn mistrust of the military. How can that be given everything that has happened since we saw this rock? “I don’t think they’ll be necessary. While we did see some large predatory species, they appeared to be contained to a particular area.”
“I hope the troopers are bored out of their skulls the whole time they’re with you. But be with you, they shall. I’m not open to discussion on that point.”
“Then I shan’t argue it with you. I trust you’ll make the recommendations?”
“Indeed,” I tell him. “I’ll have Sergeant Goodfellow pick the troops to go and Lieutenant Landers will fly you…”
“Please, Captain!” he holds up his hands in surrender. “Anyone but her!”
“I don’t understand,” Yes, I do but I’m having fun. “She’s one of the best there is at what she does.”
“That’s as may be, ma’am. But if the specimen gathering team is off line due to motion sickness, the time spent will increase exponentially.”
“As you wish. I’ll have Mr. Baumgartner take you. But understand, he’s new and nervous. Your ride is not likely to be as smooth.”
“I’ll take my chances, thank you. Good day, Captain.”
“Good day, Dr. Turnbull.”
Shawna pilots the shuttle that returns me to Silver Saber. We both laugh when I relay the tale to her.
“Serves’em right,” she says with a touch of rancor. “Will is a decent pilot, but he’s still working on his confidence. He’s liable to bounce them around a bit.” She continues a few moments later, “Does Turnbull seem like he’s wound too tight to you? Will and I have been trading off flying from the ship to the surface ferrying the crew down for R&R, what about the eggheads? Have they been taking any time off?”
“That’s a good question, girl friendly. And I’ll ask it when you fly me back down tomorrow.”
“Why not today?”
“Because I have to do a command walk through and verify Athena’s reports.”
“Surely you don’t think she’s been anything other than painfully accurate?”
“Not in the least. And if it were just her, I wouldn’t bother. But people need to see that their supervisors appreciate their efforts.”
“MBWA?”
“You know it.” Management By Walking Around. Every once in a while, the Boss just has to be seen.
As far as starships go, Silver Saber is not large. But walking every meter of every deck is an all day job. At the end of the day, I’ve shaken many a hand, patted many a back and don’t feel like I could take another step. The following morning I’m a little stiff and sore, but functional. I tell the department heads and the science crews to have everyone near a holoCom in an hour for an All Hands message.
At the appointed time, I open the channel from my office. “Our mission remains to make scientific note of this planet. We have been doing that and will continue to do so. As you know, we no longer have the luxury of the labs aboard Gallagher. But we have improvised, adapted and overcome. I congratulate you all and commend your initiative and flexibility. It has come to my attention that some of you have been working non-stop. That is not acceptable. Work weeks are to be no longer than six days, a day’s work is no longer than twelve hours; sixteen if and only if something extraordinary rears its head, and then pending permission from me or the Executive Officer. Let me put it this way, how the work is divided is of no interest to me, but all work and no play makes Chris or Pat brain dead. So I want everybody to get some down time. As of today, if you haven’t had a day off in the past six, you are off the clock for twenty-four hours. Let’s make this even easier. All planetside personnel, you are off for the next twenty-four hours. No exceptions. Relax, have fun. Consider that an order.”
“We still have heard nothing from Star Chaser. But they left here with the intent of returning in five months. We will be here at least for the duration of that time. If we’ve received no message from them or anyone else by that time, we will make our own plans. Please do not get Short Timer's Disease. An STD is a terrible thing, and if not kept under wraps will spread through our crew like a virus. That's all I have, so you supervisors work schedules out amongst your subordinates and then yourselves. Thank you again. MacTaggert out.”
Shawna stands behind the podium, the experts would say she’s hiding. She wipes her hands on her tunic and begins. “Hi everyone, thank you for coming. We’ve been through a lot lately. We’ve lost some friends, some very dear friends.” She pauses to wipe a tear from one eye. “Most of you knew Sergeant Major Call. His friends and I had the singular privilege of calling him Freddie. He was the one of all of these,” she waves a hand at the collage of photographs to her left, “that I knew best, so he’s going to be the one I talk about the most. I hope that’s all right with you. It’s not meant to diminish anyone, or magnify him, it’s just…" she chokes on a sob. "I'm sorry, this is hard. Funerals aren’t for the dead; they’re for the living. Every one who knew Freddie knows he wasn’t afraid of death. He always joked that dying was the easy part. It was all that shit about having to stay dead that he objected to.” She and several others titter through their pain.
“If you’d been paying attention recently, you saw a change in Freddie.” A few of the people, most of them troopers, nod their heads. Maybe I was the only one who missed it. “Freddie used to be afraid of what would happen when he died. He knew it was coming, it kind of comes with the job, he would say. But a few months ago, Freddie made a decision. It was that kind that it’s never too late to make. He wasn’t pushy about it. He didn’t broadcast it. And he certainly didn’t push his beliefs on anybody else.
“I’m not saying you need to decide the same way he did. Freddie would drop kick me if he knew I was turning his—or anybody’s—memorial into a spiritual plea. I guess all I’m saying is, you do need to decide. And even not deciding is a decision. But not only Freddie, all of them, every last one, will be missed. And I think I’ve screwed this up enough. Thank you and bless you. And like Freddie would say, ‘You’re on the clock. Get back to work!’”
We have been here for about four months now. Among many other things, we’ve changed the name of this ship from Silver Saber to Cutlass. There are enough reminders of Jack around. Anything worth having from Gallagher has been repurposed and installed here. Anything not immediately usable is transferred to the outpost as building material for expansion and position improvement. The outpost is fully functional and the scientists tell me they believe they have sampled and cataloged everything in the northern hemisphere. Of course, just like the alleged Lizard Woman of Lemuria, there’s no way to ever know for sure. It’s a corollary of Freddie’s X+1 rule for booby traps.
I�
��m off shift and tinkering in the workshop when Athena comms me. “Captain, two ships have entered our sensor range. Our predictions are a scout and a Fast Courier, approximately three hours from orbit. We are being hailed.”
“Answer the hail, patch me in please,” I ask her.
“Unidentified corsair, this is Captain Wilma Jones of Luminario. We have peaceful intentions and hope you do as well. We would like to refuel from your oceans unmolested if that is possible.” I suppose she called us first because we present a greater threat than Oedipus.
“Captain Jones, I am Captain Sonia MacTaggert of Cutlass. Welcome to Dubus III. I promise we will initiate no hostilities. If you’re interested, Captain, our fueler has full tanks and I could probably be persuaded to barter for fuel. Perhaps you’d care to come aboard so we could make arrangements in person?”
“What a refreshing idea, Captain, thank you. As I’m sure you can imagine, I’ve a few fires to put out. Is two hours from now too late?”
“Not at all, Captain,” I say wiping my hands on a rag. “I’ll see you when you get here.”
“Luminario out.”
“Athena,” I say. “We’re having visitors.”
“I surmised as much, ma’am. I have already advised the galley and Sergeant Goodfellow.”
Two hours later, almost to the second, a shuttle from Luminario settles to the deck plates of our landing bay. Goodfellow has provided a four-trooper security element in full battle rattle. As the armor is gleaming almost bright enough to light a dark room, they could be considered an honor guard. But I know their weapons are not just for show, each projectile weapon has a round in the chamber, each energy weapon is charged. The selector switches may be on “safe” but the thumbs are ready to rotate them to “fire” at the earliest provocation. As the door to the shuttle opens, the front two troopers—standing to either side of me—snap to attention and render the armed salute. The other two, to their rear flanks—left and right respectively—maintain the low ready. It’s better to prepare for trouble and be disappointed than plan for peace and be surprised. Freddie would be proud of them. A woman walks down the ramp using a cane. She looks like she’s about Angus’ age, probably older. When she gets to the bottom of the ramp, it becomes obvious to me that she’s using it as more of a theatric prop than a walking aid as she hops from the ramp to the deck plating. All things considered, she looks damn good.