The Blunt End of the Service

by L. J. Simpson

  “I just bumped into the commodore,” said Bernie as he and Archie relieved Chuck and Penny in Ops. “Damned near ripped my head off for being improperly dressed.”

  “To be fair, Bernie, you aren’t the smartest man in the world but I’ve seen worse. What was the problem?”

  “God knows. He just bawled me out and stormed off.”

  “He tore a strip off Shorty, too,” said Archie. “He found his collection of naughty movies in the station memory banks. Said he’d stand for no filth or smut on his station and deleted the lot.”

  “Bet Shorty was devastated,” said Chuck.

  “Gutted,” agreed Archie.

  “Not to worry,” said Penny. “I’m pretty sure he had a back-up.”

  “How do you know?” asked Chuck in surprise.

  “I was searching the database for ‘security protocols’. Found them between Satanic Sex Slaves and Seven Whores for Seven Brothers.”

  “Did you learn anything interesting?” asked Archie with a wicked smile.

  “Nothing I didn’t already know, thank you very much,” said Penny as she and Chuck left the room. “Mind you,” she said to Chuck as they trotted down the stairs, “They were rather old movies.”

  None of the Ops crew were particularly enamored with the new regime but for the most part they took things in their stride. The one exception was Baz Jordan who, on a daily basis, prayed for Jacks to depart and never return. He should have prayed harder.

  Baz was widely recognized as being somewhat smarter than average. During his college days his course tutor had described him as a capable, conscientious and articulate student. He was meticulous in his work, handed his assignments in on time and always scored well in his tests; in the classroom he excelled.

  If Baz did have a weakness – and it had to be said that he did – it was in the practical side of things, particularly when it came to performing under stress.

  When things go wrong in space, they tend to go very wrong indeed and in preparation for the real thing Baz was presented with all manner of simulated emergencies, all of which had to be successfully navigated if he was to graduate space school. What to do in the event of a sudden decompression, a solar flare, an engine burnout, a runaway reactor or even a runaway space ship; the list was endless and there was a simulation – and an established procedure – for each and every one.

  He studied all the simulations until he could do them in his sleep. Predictably, it was when he was awake that the trouble started. For some unfathomable reason, Baz had a problem with buttons, knobs and switches, especially when faced with a straight choice between two of them and even more so when one had the exact opposite effect of the other. Somewhere between his eyes, his brain and his hands something went wonky, he’d get flustered and with depressing inevitability he’d end up making the wrong choice.

  He managed to muddle his way through the course but destiny eventually caught up with him on the day of his job interview on Phoenix. He entered an elevator and was just about to ascend when a rather portly gentleman in a very obvious hurry came puffing along the corridor shouting, “Hold the elevator, hold the elevator!”

  Like any other elevator, this one was equipped with a pair of buttons, one with arrows pointing outwards and another with arrows pointing inwards. Even a fool would know which one to press. Baz knew too, but the arrows danced before his eyes and he hesitated. He knew that he had to make a choice quickly or the doors would close automatically the portly gentleman would be left behind. In panic he pressed at random and, quite naturally, he made the wrong choice.

  In the end the portly man almost made it. Indeed, if he’d been the correct weight for his height he would have done so with a couple of inches to spare. He might have been able to run a little faster too, which would have been telling. But with things as they were he met the closing doors head on and bounced straight back into the corridor, falling to the floor in an untidy heap.

  The elevator doors obligingly opened again and another passenger entered and held the door whilst the portly gentleman rose slowly to his feet, gathered his belongings and stepped inside. Baz stammered an apology but his victim merely grunted. Exiting the elevator a few floors later, Baz breathed a sigh of relief and fervently hoped that their paths would never cross again.

  A couple of hours later Baz presented himself for his interview. Pausing outside a door marked ‘R. Berry. Human Resources Manager’, he straightened his tie, gave the door a crisp knock and strode confidently inside – to be greeted by the sight of the same portly gentleman sitting across the desk. It certainly was a small universe. A few minutes later it became clear that however large or small this particular universe happened to be, Baz was going to have to look for employment in another part of it.

  It so happened that Rob Berry was a fair minded individual and he bore Baz no malice for the episode with the elevator doors, but the fact was that Baz’s college report suggested a weakness and if he couldn’t be trusted to do the correct thing in an elevator, what havoc might he wreak in the operations room of a busy space station? The young man was academically sound; wouldn’t a job in some research establishment suit him better? Undoubtedly so, but he seemed to have his heart set on a career in the Space Corps. That being the case, perhaps a spell in a low stress environment would help sort out his deficiencies?

  Rob Berry made a few enquiries on Baz’s behalf and a few weeks later Baz found himself on board O1, where there were in any case fewer buttons to confuse, and with quite a lot of those not working anyway Baz was presented with fewer opportunities to create trouble for himself.

  Anxious to please, he still managed to get himself in the occasional muddle but on the whole he found that the pace of O1 suited him and little by little he began to grow in confidence. Even when he did screw up, the worst that happened was that he got his leg pulled for a few days. Six months later he felt a new man and hardly ever broke into a cold sweat at the sight of a row of buttons.

  Then Jacks arrived. If O1 brought out the best in Baz, Jacks brought out the worst and within a few days Baz found himself back at square one, all the confidence that he had built up over the previous six months evaporating into thin air.

  It started innocuously enough when Jacks demanded a tightening of security. All passwords were to be changed at regular intervals and should be composed of a combination of at least eight random letters, numbers and mathematical symbols. Baz had never used anything except his birthday. Even the fact that he used the word ‘bidet’ as a password hint didn’t satisfy Jacks and Baz was forced to come up with something more original.

  Remembering and entering such a password was simple enough until Baz found Jacks looking over his shoulder. After that it took but a couple of minutes for him to lock himself out of his console and then lock them both inside Ops until a security detail arrived. On that particular day the security detail was made up of Guns Graham and Ollie Oliver. Hardly the last word in speed and efficiency and it was a full forty five minutes before Jacks was released from custody. It was the longest forty five minutes of Baz’s life and his ears were still burning a week later when he and Duke Cooper went off duty. Just as they left Ops, Jacks came around the corner.

  “Follow me, gentlemen. I have a job for you,” he said. Baz and Duke fell in behind Jacks and followed him in silence along the Avenue to Alpha Section. From there they made their way to the main hangar deck and stopped outside Hangar One. Jacks opened the main door and led them inside. In the center of the hangar was the Arrow, Jacks’ scout.

  “One of the power cells is faulty. I’ve no idea which one it is so you’d better change the lot,” said Jacks. Duke and Baz followed his gaze to the edge of the hangar where four large replacement cells stood in a row, each one weighing several hundred kilograms.

  “Isn’t that a job for a dockyard crew?” said Duke.

  “A dockyard crew?” said Jacks. “No, it damned well isn’t. It’s a job for you. Just get up on the hull, open the hatch and get
the overhead crane in. Lift the old cells out and drop the new ones in. That’s all there is to it. Good grief, what could be simpler?”

  Duke and Baz exchanged a brief look as Jacks waited impatiently. Duke shrugged and went off to get the ladders. Wheeling them into position he clambered onto the top of the hull and found the controls to the power cell compartment. The hatch slid open to reveal the four cells inside.

  Meanwhile Baz went off to get the crane. The hoist was mounted on a carriage that ran back and forth along a gantry which in turn ran up and down the whole length of the hangar. The operating module dangled at the end of a stout cable and consisted of an on/off switch and half a dozen large green buttons to move the crane backwards and forwards, left and right and up and down. The only other control was a large, red emergency stop button. Baz had operated similar equipment many times before, but conscious that he was using something with a battery of diametrically opposed buttons, and even more conscious that he was doing so under the gaze of Commodore Jacks, he very gingerly edged the gantry along the hangar until it was perfectly in line with the Arrow. Then he slowly traversed the carriage so that it was directly over the first power cell and finally, he lowered the hook, all the time Duke helping with regular cries of, ‘Forward, back, stop, left, left, left, stop, down, down, stop’. Duke attached the hook to the power cell and Baz lifted it clear of the Arrow. From there it was simple enough to trundle back to the end of the hangar, drop off the cell and return for the next one, repeating the process until all four cells were lined up on the hangar floor.

  After that it was just a matter of placing the new cells back in the scout. By now Baz was into the swing of things and was even confident enough to press two buttons at the same time, moving the gantry down the hangar and the carriage along the gantry so that the suspended power cell was moving diagonally across the hangar. Even Jacks seemed slightly impressed, nodding his head approvingly.

  Baz hooked up the last of the power cells and, finger firmly pressed on the forward button, he transported it briskly along the hanger towards the scout. He was distracted for a second when the hangar door opened and Commander Jacobs walked in. As he looked back towards the Arrow he realized that he was travelling rather faster than he planned… and the Arrow was a lot closer than he thought. He took his fingers off the buttons and let the gantry coast along. It would probably stop in time… but it was going to be close. Too close! Pressing the ‘back’ button acted as a brake, didn’t it? Yes, it did. Oh God. Which one was the back button? Choose!

  You’d think that once in a while destiny would deal Baz a decent hand; maybe not a full house but perhaps a decent flush, or even two pairs. It owed him that much, surely? Yes it did, but not today. Baz chose wrong and the crane immediately picked up speed again; he had to break into a trot just to keep up with it. By now his panic was complete and his fingers were dancing over the controls with a mind of their own.

  “Press the emergency stop!” shouted Jacobs. The call brought Baz to his senses but by now the gantry was fairly flying down the hangar and the control module was jerked from his grasp before he could smash his hand down on the big red button.

  Then the strangest thing happened – at least for Baz. The series of events that had accelerated and caught up with him with such frightening speed were suddenly replaced by a final scene that unfolded in the slowest of slow motion.

  Commodore Jacks stood with fists clenched, bellowing something unintelligible. Duke stood frozen on the hull of the Arrow, staring wide eyed as the power cell bore down on him. Commander Jacobs watched as the power cell continued gracefully along the path prepared for it by the laws of physics, closing his eyes the instant before the cell crunched into the side of the scout, just forward of the engine bay. At the last moment Duke abandoned ship; leaping from his perch he bounced off the scout’s stabilizer fin and landed on the hanger floor with a loud grunt.

  In the confines of the hangar, the sound of the collision was strangely amplified. Then something fell from the damaged area of the Arrow and clanged to the floor, the sound echoing back and forth off the hangar walls. Finally, there was silence. A silence that lasted just long enough for Jacks to fill his lungs.

  “You maniac!” he screamed, rounding on Baz. “Look at that ship! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m sorry,” stammered Baz. “It just… it just…”

  “It just what?”

  “I don’t know,” Baz cried. “I didn’t mean…”

  “I don’t care what you meant, mister. You… are on a charge!”

  “A charge?”

  “Willful damage to government property! You too.” He pointed at Duke who was still sitting on the ground, rubbing his back.

  “What did I do?” said Duke.

  “Aiding and abetting,” said Jacks. “Get this mess cleaned up and report to me when you’ve finished.” Then he stomped out of the hangar, slamming the door behind him.

  “It was an accident,” said Baz almost in tears as Commander Jacobs walked over.

  “We know, Baz,” said Jacobs with a sigh. “You OK, Duke?”

  “Yeah, fine. I’m in better shape than this scout, by the look of things.”

  “Let’s have a look,” said Jacobs. The three of them went over to survey the damage. The corner of the power cell had knocked off an inspection panel and cut into the hull of the Arrow. Inside they could see some damaged circuitry and ruptured pipe-work. “It’s not that bad really… looks a lot worse than it is, that’s all,” he said. “This is to all do with the jump-drive. She won’t be doing any interstellar travel for a while but a few hours in a repair shop and she’ll be space-worthy again.”

  “What about the charge?” said Baz.

  “Leave it with me,” said Jacobs. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Next morning Commander Jacobs walked over to Jacks’ HQ. It was probably a waste of time and he seriously doubted if Jacks would withdraw the charges against Baz and Duke. Apart from the fact that the man was just plain obstinate, he was doubtless the kind who would see the reversal of any a decision as a sign of weakness. The kind that was always right… and no more especially so than when he was wrong. Still, there was no harm in trying. He knocked on the door and entered the outer office.

  “Is the commodore in?” he asked.

  “No, I’m afraid not,” said Primrose. “He sent for a shuttle and left early for Phoenix. I gather they’re having another bad day.”

  “What is it this time?”

  “Trouble with their waste disposal systems.”

  “What kind?”

  “I asked the commodore that,” she said. “He said that I wouldn’t want to know.”

  “Waste disposal? The mind boggles,” said Jacobs. “You wouldn’t happen to know if the commodore has prepared any charge sheets, would you?”

  “What charge sheets?”

  “Never mind... I’ll come back later.” Leaving the commodore’s HQ Jacobs made his way down to the engineering shop to seek out one of the maintenance crew, a flight mechanic called Freddie Lundt.

  “Got a job for you, Fred,” said Jacobs.

  “Of course you have,” said Freddie with a smile. “And I’m your man. Your friendly fixer-upper. Fix anything, I can.”

  “Can’t fix that,” said Freddie ten minutes later as he surveyed the damage to the Arrow. “Best thing to do is disconnect everything to do with the jump drive, seal it all off and get the old bird off to a repair yard.”

  “How long?” said Jacobs.

  “Few hours to do the plumbing and another hour or so to bash the cover back into shape. Might have to re-tap a few of the threads… do a bit of welding on the brackets... Have it done by three. How’s that suit you?”

  “Great,” said Jacobs.

  “How’d it get in this state, anyway?”

  “Baz.”

  “Really? And he was doing so well…”

  Commodore Jacks didn’t return to O1 until early evening and was
surprised to see the Arrow nestled up against Airlock 3 in Alpha Section.

  “What’s the story with the Arrow?” he asked Primrose.

  “The jump-drive is off-line but Commander Jacobs says she’s cleared for sub-light travel.”

  “Hmph,” said Jacks.

  “Commander Jacobs also mentioned something about charge sheets.” Jacks uttered another ‘hmph’ as he slumped down in his chair.

  “How did it go?” said Primrose.

  “How did what go?”

  “Phoenix.”

  “Oh… the pumps on the automatic waste management system,” said Jacks tiredly. “Blasted things went into reverse. The back pressure blew the seals in half a dozen places… untreated sewage running around God knows where.”

  “In that case you still smell surprisingly fresh,” said Primrose with a smile.

  “Yes, I… had a shower at the officer’s club.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” she said in her most seductive voice as she gently massaged his shoulders.

  “Yes. Call a meeting for 20:00 and let me know when everyone’s there. I’ll be in my quarters.” Then he rose and stomped out. Thank you too, thought Primrose.

  “Gentlemen,” said Jacks to the assembled Ops crew. Primrose and Penny shared a silent look of exasperation as the commodore continued. “I’m sure that you are all aware of the worsening situation on Phoenix. It is a situation that has now become critical. Earlier, I had a meeting with the station administrator and the resident Comtec Corporation executive. The conclusion of that meeting was that for whatever reason, Ulysses can no longer be relied upon to maintain smooth operation of the station.

  “In order to rectify the situation within the shortest possible timeframe, it has been decided that Ulysses will be disconnected and returned to the Comtec labs for further investigation. Meanwhile, Hector will be transferred from this station to Phoenix. Since Ulysses and Hector share many design similarities, it is believed that Hector can be integrated into Phoenix’s data net without the need for any restructuring.