Destiny's Choice (The Wandering Engineer)

by Hechtl, Chris

  “Satellites?”

  “Roger that Destiny.” He said, shaking his head. The young woman sounded a bit stunned by that. “I'm about to launch another in a moment or two. Feel free to watch.”

  When he was finished with his satellites he waited as the launch carefully burned a calculated burn to get to the rock. It took a bit of effort but he found what he was looking for.

  He returned to the ship as the second away mission was leaving, and was met by a bemused exec and confused colony delegation who had come up from the surface for a visit. “Why?” Mayfair asked as the delegates looked on.

  “I didn't do it for you,” Irons said, using a push pull to unload rock from the shuttle. He grunted as he got the push pull over to the side. A crew member smiled and took over from there. He nodded and returned for more.

  He had noted he had an audience in the bay. From the look of it they were a mixed group. They were segregated too, the home spun somewhat worn look of the Agnostans and the clean cut rather sophisticated look of the Pyraxians. It reminded him of a flick about city slickers and hillbillies crossing paths with rather predicable and yet hilarious results.

  He wondered if the same would happen here? Maybe. They obviously weren't getting along very well. The Agnostans were more interested in seeing a real starship than in talking with them from the cool looks they were shooting at Mayfair. She was overstepping herself again.

  “Why would you do this? Spend your time at such a task?” He smiled. She'd tried to take credit for what he was doing, or so he had heard. Clearly someone had educated the others. Or maybe Willis had intervened and corrected her? That was a possibility.

  “You want me to sit in my room and sulk? I'm not doing it for you I said. You or most of the people here. I'm doing it for them,” he pointed to the Agnosta delegates watching nearby. They had arrived on the last shuttle, sent up by their respective local governments to tour the ship and sit down and talk with the Pyraxians. One Terran male about two meters tall pointed to his chest in surprise. Irons nodded. “They deserve a second chance. They and their children deserve to live without living in fear,” he grimaced, knowing he was flubbing it. He'd prepared for this. He hoped it would have it's intended effect but he wasn't sure. “We both know that it is necessary.”

  “But...”

  “Look, I'm not going to...” he shook his head in annoyance. “Just because people act out of ignorance or stupidity, or petty short sighted political crap, who refuse to admit to what they see right in front of them, is no reason for me to give up on my oath to the Federation. I am an officer sworn to uphold and protect her citizens in time of need. This is such a time. I'm doing my job. It's that simple.”

  He'd heard that the talks weren't going as fast as they would like. There were a lot of problems to get over, namely distrust. It was small things, acts of kindness like this that might help smooth things over. Of course there were going to be cynical skeptics looking for some reason to point to it as a Machiavellian effort on his part, but he didn't have a way to handle that so didn't bother to try.

  He shouldered past them and kept going to the hatch. The leader of the Agnosta delegates stared at him in confusion and respect. He was pretty sure now who was really responsible for the gift of supplies and this entire mission now. He had been getting mixed messages about this strange man they called the Admiral. The engineer. From the sound of it he was some sort of myth, to the Pyraxian delegates some sort of monster, to the crew he was almost a god. He was pretty sure the Admiral was a man now, a man somewhere in the middle like everyone else. But special. There was something there, something that made him feel better. Like he had his hand out, a helping hand rather then the usual hand or fist to beat them down. Interesting.

  The Pyrax delegation were confused, floundering as their leader gaped like a fish and turned interesting shades of puce. Willis turned away, hiding a smirk.

  Outside the lock he let his breath out. The exec looked up and for once she wasn't cold and distant. “Fun,” he sighed shaking his head and closing his eyes for a brief moment. That run had been tiring, not because of the length of time but because of the finicky piloting in picking off pieces and gathering them up. It would have been nice to have done it with a bot or a tug.

  The exec smiled ruefully and thanked the engineer. “With the satellites we can keep in constant contact with the teams, and coordinate their actions. The captain had been concerned when they had planned their mission, he had wanted to keep to a geostationary position over the team, using one at a time, but they had such a need down there that we've scattered our people all over the globe.”

  He nodded. He was amused that no one had considered the simple idea of satellites. Amused and a little dismayed. Maybe they had been working to long too close to the project to see it? Was it short sightedness or a deliberate oversight? Or the lack of imagination brought on by living in this time, with a lack of resources? He wasn't sure.

  “We, well, we've had trouble keeping tabs on everyone. I wanted to do something about it but the captain decided to keep to a lower faster orbit to do survey work and stay out of a fixed position. After the last pirate attack he was a little gun shy of getting caught,” she said.

  The engineer nodded thoughtfully as he locked his shuttle down remotely. “Thank you commander.”

  “Oh I'm not a commander, though I'd well...” she sobered a little as the lock came open and Mayfair looked around. “I'll talk to you some other time Admiral,” she said quietly, bowing slightly to Irons.

  “Thank you,” he nodded politely as he left them behind.

  Irons was sitting at the bar when the head of the Agnosta delegation came in. He looked up as Sprite highlighted his presence. “He's been asking about you,” she said. Irons nodded slightly.

  The red haired, red bearded man spotted his prey and thumbed his suspenders. He came over and tipped his hat to the Admiral. Irons smiled and nodded. He looked a little like an old Terran luddite but he knew better. Behind that smile and old eyes was a wisdom of practical experience. Good.

  “Something I can do for you sir?” he asked, smiling.

  “I hear tell it was you we have to thank for this mission. And all the gifts they've been dropping down yonder,” he said, nodding to the view screen showing the planet slowly rotating in space.

  Irons glanced at it and then back to the man. “I had a small hand in things,” he said.

  “Pish posh, that's not what I heard,” the farmer said, puckering his lips and bellying up to the bar. “What do you have to drink here?” he asked looking over the bar hopefully. “Beer?”

  “Beer or hard liquor. Processed or from the tap. Take you pick,” the bartender chittered, waving his upper arms.

  “You one of them veraxins right?” the farmer asked, eying the bug behind the bar. The veraxin finished wiping out a glass with a white dish towel before he put it up on the bar in front of the farmer.

  “I have that honor yes,” he said. Irons could see his display of amused inquiry. He wondered if the farmer could read the alien's body language.

  “Cool, right neighborly of you if you'd pour me a round of your best tipple,” the farmer said, smiling brown teeth as he tipped a finger to his hat to push it up a half centimeter.

  “Coming right up,” the veraxin said nodding.

  “I don't feel right around those Pyraxians. Damn odd the way I feel. Dressed up, all city like. Now take me, I'm a simple dirtside farmer. I may have been a teacher and mayor at one time but a farmer I am, always will be.”

  “I think we can all learn some humility,” Irons said diplomatically. “Working with your hands can teach you it.”

  “That's right,” the farmer said smiling a little. “An engineer I heard?” Irons nodded. “That's right,” the farmer drawled. “Work with your hands all the time,” he said looking at the Admiral's hands.

  The farmer turned, elbows resting on the bar as he took the scene in. A group had set up a large rectangular table in t
he center of the room and were playing ping pong. It was some sort of tournament. Irons was amused by the constant click and clatter.

  “Pong. Played it when I was a lad. Glad things haven't changed,” the farmer said, taking a piece of grass out of a breast pocket and popping an end in his mouth. The veraxin behind him filled his glass and pushed it over to him on a coaster.

  “Thank ye lad. What do I owe you?” he asked.

  “On the house,” the veraxin said amused.

  “I thank ye again for your generosity,” he said and then took up the beer. It had a good head on it but Irons was pretty sure it wasn't as favorable as the farmer was used to. He watched as the farmer took a sip and then grimaced and set the glass down.

  “That's the problem with beer. It loses it's flavor,” the farmer muttered.

  “More likely the difference between replicated and home brew. We used up most of the home brew on the way out,” the veraxin said with a shrug of annoyance. Irons grimaced. “The purser's supposed to be getting us more but I doubt it.”

  “I'll put in a good word,” the farmer said picking up the stout again. He was obviously doing it to be polite. When the veraxin moved away he shook his head. “Love in a small boat beer. Go figure,” he said under his breath, just loud enough for the Admiral to hear.

  Irons grinned. “You mean fracking close to water? Accurate unfortunately. The crew of a starship do not normally have access to high alcholic drinks on duty. That's probably near beer,” he said nodding his chin to the beer.

  “Ah. Shit,” the farmer said taking a swig.

  “You wanted to talk to me about something?” Irons asked.

  The farmer turned, setting the stout down. He shook his head. “I was wondering if they were legit. They sure are full of themselves. All sorts of grandiose ideas. I was wondering who stuffed them full of them. And why?”

  “I'm not sure what ideas they are sharing with you so I'm not sure. I did put them up to reforming the Federation government.”

  “Ah?” the farmer asked turning. “George by the way,” he held out a well callused hand. A workers hand. “George Custard.”

  “Fleet Admiral John Henry Irons,” Irons said, shaking the hand.

  “You do that thing with the hand?” the farmer asked, pointing to the hand.

  Irons raised his right hand and flexed his fingers. The color immediately changed to chrome. “You mean this thing?” Irons asked.

  The farmer's eyes widened fractionally. After a moment of staring he whistled and then slapped the bar. “Well by Jove you are legit!” he said, sounding oddly happy.

  “That I am.”

  “Word is you're from the past. No one round these parts and time have that,” the farmer said indicating the hand with a nod of his chin. Irons nodded. The hand was a good way to prove he was telling the truth about who and what he was.

  “It comes in handy,” Irons said with a small smile. The farmer looked at him and then guffawed, slapping him on the shoulder.

  “Handy! I get it! Handy,” he said, chuckling.

  “We really are trying to set up civilization. Or at least I am.”

  “I heard some odd tales about you. Something nasty swirling about. I was wondering about that.”

  Irons face worked. He could see Sprite suddenly on his HUD, she was fuming. He was pretty sure why. He sighed. “It's a long story. Do you have the time?” he asked. The farmer nodded.

  Irons laid out the story, explaining some and then showing him the vid on the screen near them. After a few minutes he heard the click and clatter of the ping pong battle behind them terminate. He looked through his sensors, yes, he had an audience.

  “I'm not sure why someone is causing problems. I know people can be spiteful and well...”

  The farmer raised a hand. “Say no more. Had a neighbor like that a dozen years ago. Spiteful as wherry. Bastard spirit of space rest his soul... right bastard. Not neighborly at all when he came and settled. Twister up and tore his land apart and no one would lift a finger to help, cause he never ever helped others. He left.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Now,” the farmer indicated the veraxin. “Him I like even though he has a, let's say poor choice in alcoholic refreshment. Too bad we don't have many of his kind on the planet anymore. Damn pirates. Louses and parasites the lot.”

  “I heard it was rough,” Irons said.

  “Rough! Rough he says!” the farmer shook his head. He waggled a finger at the veraxin. “They targeted his kind, and any like him. Neos, aliens... anyone around them. Blasted them clear off the planet. We don't know why. Don't care. Ain't right.”

  “I'm trying to stop that,” Irons said.

  “You are?”

  “I've been rebuilding the fleet. I want to expand.”

  “You do?”

  “Would your people be interested in hosting a marine base or two?” Irons asked. Slowly the farmer smiled, eyes lighting.

  “I bet they'd knock the stuffing out of any louse that came calling. And you'd of course have a ship of some sort to help them out of course?”

  Irons nodded seriously. “Of course. A frigate at the very least at each of the jump points. A ship in orbit too on occasion. You know nothing is coming from Pyrax now.”

  “Right neighborly of you. Us neighbors, we need to stick together. You held out a friendly hand to me and my kin. I'll not forget it Irons. Me, nor my kin. We'll do right by you. Let's talk.”

  “I'd love to,” Irons smiled as the farmer patted him on the shoulder. “First...”

  They talked for a bit, laying out a general plan and agreement. When they were done the farmer shook his hand. He had a lot of strength in that hand. Strength of character and of heart to go right along side his farmer's grit. Good. Good to know, good to see. The new Federation needed people like him. Needed them badly.

  “I'll run this by my people. Can you draw up what we said all legal like?”

  “Consider it done,” Sprite said from the holo projector nearby. The farmer stared at her image.

  “I don't mean to be rude but you... you're one of those Ais, right?” Sprite smiled and nodded. The Farmer's crows feet crinkled as his eyes twinkled. He smiled again. “Well I'll be a son of a monkey!” he chuckled and then laughed. “Lass you made my day!”

  “Glad someone's happy to see me,” she deadpanned, giving the Admiral a helpless look. Irons shrugged.

  The farmer held up a hand as he got the laugh out of his system. “Sorry, I... we heard about your kind but I never expected to ever see one like you. I... this really is a trip to tell my grandkids about.”

  “Why thank you,” Sprite said demurely. She curtsied. “I've uploaded the conversation, written out the contracts and uploaded them to you and to the Admiral.”

  “Thank ye kindly lass.”

  Sprite turned to Irons. “Admiral you are wanted in engineering and in the replicator room. I believe the first load of material has been processed.”

  “Duty calls,” Irons said, pushing himself away from the bar reluctantly. He shook hands with Custard once more. “Good luck. What we've talked about is the basics the Pyraxians were supposed to talk to you about.”

  “I'll keep it in mind. I thank you Admiral. You are a rare bird indeed,” he said smiling again.

  “Take care,” Irons said taking his leave.

  Irons came into main engineering a few minutes later and nodded as chief Bailey waved him over. “I'm stopping by the replicators here in a sec. Just give me a minute to get this done,” the chimp chief engineer said, tapping at a tablet. He handed it to his assistant after a moment. “Okay Harry, I want to see this done by the end of this shift.”

  “Gotcha chief,” Harry said. He scanned the bullet point list and then nodded. “Seems simple enough.”

  “The simplest things are sometimes the hardest to do,” Irons deadpanned.

  “Yeah, cause they're fricken boring,” Bailey said rolling his eyes. “Come on.”

  They made their way
to the replicators and paused as a class formed up. “Something I should know about chief?” Irons asked amused. He'd been away from the ship for a while and hadn't expected this.

  “You're asking me? I... this is the first I heard of this. I was doing a random inspection tour, or so I thought,” he said wrinkling his brow.

  “We heard you were coming through the grapevine, so, well...” the kids on the other side said. They stepped through the hatch and nodded to the tech in charge of the replicator. “We...ah...”

  “Spit it out Everette, I don't have all damn day, people to see, techs to throttle with paperwork and all that,” Bailey said dryly.

  “Yeah chief,” the computer tech said, cracking a smile. “We were wondering about the yard,” his attention turned to Irons.

  “Ah, your bailiwick I believe,” the chimp said crossing his arms and sitting on a stool.

  “What about the yard son?” Irons asked.

  “Ah...”

  “How did you build it? I mean so fast!” another kid said cutting in.

  “Trays,” the tech said. They turned to him. He pointed to the replicator. “You can make more than one item at a time in a replicator. You fill the tray. Or stack it.” He was proud of himself, he had remembered that in class.

  “That's one way,” Irons said nodding to the tech. “But I'm assuming you mean everything? Structure and such?”

  “Yes sir, it went together fast! I mean, not at first but then faster and faster!”

  “Well, we used truss and universal nodes for the basic structure. And we didn't use the tray method for them,” he shook his head to the tech who looked surprised as the class.

  “Huh? Come again?”

  “Well, we did and we didn't. What we did was use the replicators on the factory ship and Firefly to make molecular furnaces and extruders.”

  “Um...”

  “He's saying he made a dedicated bot that makes the truss pieces,” Bailey interpreted. “And just those pieces. I'm right, right?”

  “You are,” Irons said with a nod to the chief. “We made three. Each of them made truss pieces and nodes. All they need is power and the processed materials. Then they churned them out around the clock.”