by John Ringo
"Fourteen Alpha, this is Myrm Thirty-Six," Thermal commed. "We're on approach for tanking operations, over."
"Hey, guys. Bout time you showed up. We've been sitting out here in the rads for an hour doing dick all."
"Probably pulling triple time," Thermal commed to Dana. "Comet, you got this?"
"I've got it," Dana said. It was tricky. She was having to constantly adjust in three dimensions and there wasn't a real good algorithm for it. But she could maintain it.
"Fourteen, I'm going to open the door and extend the pipe. You're going to have to snatch it. I don't have the delta with a navopak to maintain this."
"Got it."
Dana watched the operation through one monitor while keeping an eye on the focal point she'd chosen, one corner of the hatch, to maintain station. The big problem was judging distance. She was having to keep a third eye on the range indicator. She was also having to keep an eye on the engineering controls with Thermal working the transfer. Which was too many eyes.
FIFTEEN
"I'm going to snatch the pipe and hand it to you," Price commed. "Just hold your points."
"Got it," Butch said.
Price crabbed his sled over to the shuttle where a guy in a suit was holding out one end of what looked like one of those pipes gas delivery trucks used. Except it was shiny silver. With all the equipment moving in about nineteen different directions, the intercept was a stone bitch, but Price made it look easy. Butch had to admire the older welder, he was a master of using a sled.
"Get this," Price commed, extending the pipe.
Butch carefully latched onto the grab point and brought it over to the mating collar.
"And we have good connect," Price commed. "Opening the valve, Myrm."
"Roger, Fourteen."
"Ask your coxswain to try to maintain closer position," Price commed. "We don't want to yank your tank out of your little boat."
"Copy, Fourteen. Comet, you copy?"
"Yeah," Dana said. "I'm on it."
To maintain good station meant keeping within a few inches of center. It wasn't happening. Maybe Mutant or Lizzbits could do it but Dana just could not stay that close on station keeping.
"I'm not on it," Dana admitted. "I'm just not able to . . ." she glanced at the engineering controls and tried not to scream. "Thermal, we've got a flicker in the lower starboard thruster controls. I could feel something starting to go. That looks like it."
"Dammit," Thermal commed. "Always something. Fourteen, Thirty-Six."
"Go, Thirty-Six."
"Our little boat is having issues," Thermal commed. "Be ready to yank that connect. We may be going into out-of-control condition . . ."
"I just lost main breaker," Dana said to the darkness. "Thermal, I don't have anything!"
"Clear it!" Price said. "Release the valve!"
"Okay," Butch said, hitting the release on the connect. Helium started spurting into space and his temperature monitors started screaming.
"And shut off the valve!" Price said.
"Got it . . ." Butch said and the arm he was using broke. Then the valve, which was following the shuttle, slammed into the side of his sled. He'd been hit harder by debris plenty of times, but the sudden scream of his breathable monitor said that this time it mattered. "Uh . . . BF? I think I've got a problem . . ."
As EM1 Hartwell entered the flight compartment, the power and lights came on.
"All I had to do was reset the breaker," Dana said, pulling herself into her chair. "Gravity coming back up."
"Roger," Hartwell said. "But we've got a deadlined bird until . . ."
"Thirty-Six, I see your lights came back on. If your boat's fixed we could use a hand here."
"Roger, Fourteen. We're discontinuing this evolution until we can determine what caused the malfunction."
"Great. Does that mean you can take us back to the Troy? Because I don't want to rush you or anything but when you pulled out the valve you cracked my partner's sled. And he's in vacuum."
"I hope like hell he's in a suit."
"Oh, he is. But he's not exactly a happy camper. And we are, as you said, discontinuing this evolution."
"Helium is cryogenic," Purcell said, looking at the trashed sled. "Steel works pretty well in space as long as you don't get it too cold. Even space shade in this region isn't as cold as, say, Pluto. He3 is right above absolute zero. When it hit the steel it made it brittle. Then the valve, which is an alloy designed for cryogenic temperatures, hit the arm and the sled, and shattered them like glass."
"Yes, sir," Butch said, looking at the sled. It sure looked like the steel broke like glass.
"I hope we don't have to deal with Navy again," Price said. "That was massively fracked up, Purcell."
"You can see where the port thruster started to act up," Dana said, pointing to the readout from the flight recorder. "I started having control problems. I thought it was the destroyer shifting its trajectory again and corrected. Then there was the overheat indicator. It wasn't high but it was moving out of range so it sort of caught my attention. Then we lost main power and I went into out of control. I then reset the breaker," she said, pointing to the indicator. "And we're back. There wasn't a flicker on the return trip, even carrying the fuel we'd loaded and the civilian sleds and the welders. It's like it just went away."
"I pulled the breaker and the full set of relays for the port thrusters," Thermal said. "I ran them all through standard tests including overpower tests and long runtime tests. They all came up fine. I've replaced everything, but I still can't find the fault. It's apparently intermittent."
"An intermittent fault that can throw a main breaker is an intermittent fault we have to run down," Chief Barnett said. Any incident involving flight in the squadron had to involve the Chief Coxswain. Since the normal name was "Chief Cock" the fact that the chief coxswain was a female led to some ribald humor. "Engineering input, sir?"
"I hate to say this," Lieutenant Commander Brandon "Brad" Horn said. The Squadron Engineering Officer was an Aussie seconded to the United States Space Navy. He'd been a deep wreck diver before the War as well as a qualified watch officer. Making the transition to space navy had been relatively easy. Since he also had a mechanical engineering degree, he was a natural for the first Engineering Officer of a Myrmidon squadron.
"But it looks as if it might be a bloody software issue. The reason I hate to say it is that we depend on the AIs for the software. Be a fair dinkum task to run through it line by line."
"Hate to disagree, sir," Thermal said. By chain of command, Longwood was his boss. By actual function, Commander Horn was his boss's boss. Chief Grady, the Squadron Master Engineer, had so far been silent. "But the heat indicator indicates mechanical failure."
"There are ways that software could affect that," Commander Horn said. "But I take your point."
"Damn," Barnett said, leaning back and crossing her arms. "Thirty-Three."
"Say again, Chief?" CM Glass said.
"Thirty-Three was put down to pilot error," Barnett said. "Because as far as anyone could see, they'd just plowed right into the SAPL. But there were things that were screwy. They called a mayday about a half second before they hit the beam. And even though there wasn't video, all the witnesses said that their nav lights went off just before they hit."
"You think they lost main breaker, Chief?" Thermal said. "In that case, that's on me. I was the engineering NCO for Thirty-Three. It wasn't my boat, but it was my responsibility."
"Not really," Chief Barnett said. "This is all stuff that we're learning. But if the problem is related to maneuvering thrusters, they might have had a failure when they started their turn. Which would look like they just didn't make it. And if it's not showing up on standard tests . . ."
"I think we need to be a bit cautious here," Commander Horn said. "There's no proof of that at this time. If we have another fault like that, we'll have to find the source. In the meantime, we'll put it down to random chaos which is a good
description of the entire situation."
"EM," Dana said, walking into the engineering shop. "You still got the parts from Thirty-Six?"
"Yeah," Thermal said, gesturing to a stack of relays and breakers. "If you think you can find the fault, go for it. I've run them at max power, powered up and down, everything I can think of. They test out fine."
"I don't think I can," Dana said, loading the parts into a box. "But I'll admit that right now, I'm glad we're grounded by the fuel situation. Because if there's something causing main breaker faults, I don't want to be flying."
"I'm with you," Thermal said. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to take a walk on the wild side."
✺ ✺ ✺
"Can I help you, Coxswain?"
The maintenance support shop for the Troy was a huge, echoing cavern of industry. Most of the machinery Dana couldn't identify although the massive overhead cranes were familiar as were the many CNC milling machines. It was also on the civilian side. Most of the construction work going on in the battlestation was done by civilians as was the depot level repair of military equipment.
Dana had just walked into one of the large hangar doors and started looking around for a friendly face. She was hoping that was the heavyset, cueball gentleman who had run her down. His nametag read: Erickson.
"I hope so," Dana said, putting on her brightest smile. She'd worn the flight-suit that was just a tad too small and she stood up nice and straight. "I'm looking for someone that knows more about relays and high-power electronics systems than my boss."
"I see," the man said, grinning. He gestured to a work bench. "What's the problem?"
"I had a main breaker fault," Dana said, setting the box down. "Thermal indicator on the 416 thruster relay," she continued, pulling out the offending relay. "Then we lost main power. I was in a complex maneuver at the time. The Engineering Officer is saying software fault. My engineer is saying mechanical but he can't find a fault."
"I see," the guy said, picking up the relay and examining it. "Is this an official inquiry?"
"Nope," Dana said, shrugging. "I'm just looking for a little milk of human kindness. And experience."
"I'll give you the second," the guy said, pulling out a loop. "Were you open in your suits when this happened?"
"Closed," Dana said. "The compartment was evacuated."
"Must have been fun," the guy said. "Name's Bill Erickson, by the way. I'm in charge of milling but I can dance the tune of high power electronics. You?"
"Seaman Dana Parker," Dana said.
" ‘Comet Parker?' " Erickson said, looking up and grinning. "That was you?"
"Yes," Dana said, trying not to sigh. "It really was . . ."
"One hell of a piece of driving," Erickson said, holding out his hand. "I wish you'd been a coxswain in my day. But they didn't have coxswains like you in my day."
"Your day?" Dana said, shaking his hand.
"I used to be a Marine," Erickson said, jiggling his belly. "I guess it does wear off after a while."
"Nooo . . ." Dana said. There was just enough color to tell that the cueball was at least in part to cover up male-pattern baldness. "The look's still there."
"We are swamped at the moment," Erickson said, thoughtfully. "But I'll get it done. On one condition."
"Which is?"
"You and me catch a drink if I find anything," Erickson said, holding up his hands. "Not hitting, gal. You're a bit young for my blood. I'd just love to hear that story from your POV . . ."
SIXTEEN
"How much longer?" Tyler said.
"There's no way we can speed up the spiders, sir," Byron said, patiently. "Another month."
They were having the conversation over a video link because no matter how impatient he was to get the gas mine done, Tyler wasn't going to use the fuel necessary to go to the Wolf system and breathe down Byron's neck.
The same weavers that had spun the supports for the space elevator were now spinning the tubes descending deep into the interior of the gas giant's atmosphere. They were, at base, complicated multi-part weaving machines. The "spiders" extruded microscopic filaments of carbon nanotubes. By weaving using the ultra-fine and extremely strong material, it was possible to seal the tube fairly well against helium. But helium was tricky stuff.
"That's better than ‘get used to waiting,' " Tyler replied. "But it still sounds like you're talking to Nathan. Seriously. More spiders?"
"Granadica already did," Byron said. "Part of the plan. All the uplines and downlines are full. The pumps are on their way down. We're getting a top-side processor up and running. That's going to be about a week. It'll collect about a thousand gallons a week. But that's just enough to run us and do start-up. We're not going to have a spare. After the pumps are in place we can start pumping up and separating. Then we'll have to work out the bugs."
"I know," Tyler said. "Heard it before. I'll get out of your . . ." He started to say "hair" and then paused. "When did you shave your head?"
"I've had a shaved head the whole time you've known me, sir," Byron said, trying not to laugh.
"I need to get out more," Tyler said. "Seriously. If you need anything and don't get it right away, call me."
"Yes, sir," Byron said.
"Take care."
Tyler looked out at the main bay and frowned. He'd had a wall installed on his quarters similar to the wall on the Starfire. It was damned stupid from the POV of safety, the Troy was, after all, a battlestation, but the main bay was just about the most secure area in the solar system and he liked to watch the bustle. It was sort of the feeling a grandparent would get watching their grand-kids run around.
Normally, he liked to watch the bustle. At the moment, pretty much everything was stopped. They were still drilling the SAPL feeds and at least the next time they'd have a full collector set up. Three, actually. Six were planned, in a circle around the main doors that made the back of Troy look like some sort of spider.
But the lack of activity was annoying.
He connected when his implant pinged since it was Argus and the AI was notorious about not wasting his time.
"Hello, Argus," Tyler said.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Vernon," Argus said. "There is news. There is now a feed off the Galactic side of the hypernet. However, it is only one connection and that is a Rangora propaganda channel."
Tyler spun around in his chair and turned on the TV. His plant quickly found the channel he was looking for.
"Oh, shit," Tyler said.
"Remember, sir," Argus said. "This is a propaganda broadcast."
"I know," Tyler said. "But I doubt they'd lie about going to war against the Glatun."
This is a scene of the victorious Concordance Fleets assuming peaceful orbit around the planet Ghapolhat in the Mu'Johexam system. The Glatun system defenders welcomed their Rangora liberators with open arms in a show of mutual fortitude against the decrepit plutocracy that has too long oppressed . . .
✺ ✺ ✺
"Can we derive any specific intelligence from this?" the President asked.
"It's propaganda, Mr. President," the Director of National Intelligence said. "We can do analysis on it, but at the end of the day we really don't know anything for sure. With the Concordance control of the Eridani system, there's no surety of any information coming through. If they're using propaganda I would expect personal messages to start coming through backing up the information. Again, they might not even be from the supposed sender. It's like the internet. The information could be coming from anyone."
"Are they at war?" the President said.
"High probability," the DNI replied. "Better than that, I can't say."
The President leaned forward and hit the speaker phone.
"Janice, get me Athena."
"You asked to speak to me, Mister President?" the AI said.
"Are we secure?" the President asked.
"Yes, sir," the AI replied. "The systems are secured physically and I've
secured them a bit more electronically."
"You've got more data on the Rangora than any hundred analysts," the President said. "The DNI says we can't get any real data from these broadcasts. What's your take?"
"The Rangora have, within the last twenty years, engaged in two wars of conquest against minor species," Athena said. "In both cases, they were careful to restrict all information that was transmitted during their conquest phase. But by examining their statements and applying regression analysis it is possible to construct a reasonable surmise of actual events."
"So you can tell me something," the President said, looking at the DNI. The DNI just shrugged and looked unhappy.
"There are no guarantees, Mr. President," Athena said. "The DNI has a valid point. There is a five percent chance, more or less, that this is an elaborate ruse. But only about five percent."
"So they are at war?" the President said.
"Ninety-Five percent probable," Athena said. "Furthermore, they have probably taken the Mu'Johexam, Zhoqaghev and Silhemik systems as the broadcasts indicate. Probability on that is eighty percent. What has to be examined is their probable strategic intent and what they are not saying. It appears that they moved their main force in through the Silhemik system, which was an outlier system, lightly inhabited and lightly defended. It was considered an unlikely avenue of hostile approach since they were required to go through several star systems to get there. Those star systems were, until recently, technically held by the Glatun. But since they were uninhabited and there were not constant patrols, it is probable that the Rangora built a forward supply base in one of them. Silhemik did have a gas mine so they could refuel and use the local fabbers to rearm. From there they could then proceed into the Zhoqaghev and Mu'Johexam relatively uncontested.
"Given the timing, though, I find the lack of mention of Tuxughah interesting."
"Interesting how?" the President asked.
"Tuxughah is, again, a relatively minor world," Athena said. "But it was the main naval base in the region. To get from Silhemik to Zhoqaghev is possible without going through Tuxughah but, again, it is out of the way. But there is no mention in the broadcasts of Tuxughah. This is one of the points I was looking for in their veracity. I suspect they had problems in the Tuxughah system and are simply not reporting any attack until it has been reduced."