Could these be the components Geen spoke of? He did mention the reactor room.
Micro-core components would certainly have significant value. If salvaged correctly, the leader and his backers could sell them at a considerable profit. I know enough from my days as a pilot, eavesdropping on conversations in the seedy locations where hangar crews and maintenance workers congregate, that the smuggling of parts and the performance of undocumented repairs is quite lucrative. Micro-core components, used to stabilize the Sha-Ho technology, remains at the top of the list in terms of demand.
What Leader’s paying me, and likely everyone else, tells me whatever salvage we’re here to gather will be very lucrative. What else could it be? Between what the nine of us expect to earn, and all the equipment and planning already involved, this operation must’ve cost upwards of a half-million credits already. The salvage of a single micro-core would recover those costs. An outpost this size probably had four micro-cores. If we recovered components from all of them...
I remember what Leader said after we had all suited up. Well worth the effort. If we’re here to recover micro-core components, it would be indeed.
The trencher finishes with its latest obstacle. I move the loose chunk out of the way, adhering it to a pile of slag against the right wall. Then I move the trencher beside a stack of pods along the left wall and instruct it to power down. I circle around the sled twice, moving empty pods and loose pieces of equipment into secure places and unplugging power feeds, before climbing to the pilot’s chair. I jack my input port-pack into its socket on the first try. The sled comes to life.
I switch to the general comm channel. “This is Pilot. I’m about to maneuver the sled into its departure position. Please remain outside the hanger bay until I give the all clear.”
“Pilot! Wait!” The leader’s voice is frantic. “Stop, dammit! Stop! Power down the sled! There’s a patrol due. Check your time line!”
After an initial shock, I quickly obey. The hangar bay goes dark as the sled’s spotlights shut off. Once the control arms and foot pedals retract, I unplug myself from my seat. “Powered down. I will await the all clear.” I float down from the chair and look around the bay. Save for my suit, no equipment is active, including the trencher, which I had the good sense to power down.
Movement past the tiny gaps in the Faraday curtain draws my attention. It’s a Unity Fleet vessel, playing lamplight across the asteroid’s surface. They’ve probably got electronic whiskers twitching in our direction as well.
The tempo of my twin heartbeats quickening, I fumble with my forearm plate. My suit’s lamps go dark. Shadows reclaim the hangar bay. Then fingers of light poke through the gaps in the curtain. The Unity Fleet vessel is close. And it’s not moving quickly at all.
I shift position behind a stump of rock and metal poking from the deck. It’s not thick, but enough hopefully to hide any energy signature leaking from my suit. Using eye-flicks, I scroll through interface windows on my faceplate. There, my list of chores and the time line.
An item at the current time is flashing.
It’s an alert that a patrol is due.
Leader, and no doubt everyone else, knew about this.
I should’ve known too. I should’ve checked. Made myself familiar with such things.
Now I might’ve doomed us all.
* * *
The spotlight plays across the curtain. More light pokes through the gaps. Shadows shift along the back wall. It seems almost everything is in motion. Except me. Apparently the servos in my suit can also help hold me completely still.
My hearts beat loud. Blood rushes through my skull. Could I see my neck scales, they’d be a deep maroon. Perhaps the deepest they’ve ever been.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so frightened in my life–even taking into account all the horrors of the chall attack. I stay crouched behind my stump, teeth clenched, one hand on my knee, the other flat on the hangar bay deck. My suit’s cooling units kick on. Cooler air rushes around my neck, down my back, to my fingertips and toes.
I wait. We all wait.
There’s an intensification of light poking through the curtain’s gaps–a second spotlight has come on. The storm of shadows intensifies. Have they scrutinized the hangar bay entrance like this before?
Seems unlikely.
How do they not see us? How can their electronic whiskers not sniff us out? They should be able to detect my presence from the pounding of my hearts alone.
I tear my gaze from the shifting shadows along the walls. Outside the light poking through the curtain, the hangar bay is dark. Dead. Just as it was when we arrived.
Stay dead, I beg. Stay dead.
One of the spotlights clicks off. The intensity of shadows reduces by half. A moment later the second goes dark. As does the hangar bay. I remain in my crouch. A flick of my gaze gives me the mission time. It’s been just over eighteen hours since we arrived. If it were up to me, it’d be another eighteen before I move.
Instead, I wait five minutes.
Geen is right–my suit chafes at the armpits and hips. And something’s rubbing against the back of my right knee. My feet feel half-asleep. There’s an itch between my eyes just demanding to be scratched. I’d do anything to take off the suit right now. But focusing on these little tortures helps me get through the excruciating passage of time.
My helmet speakers crackle. “We’re clear. The patrol has moved on. We’re clear.” Relief fills Leader’s voice. “Resume operations.”
Breathing slow, hoping that Leader has not been fooled by the passing patrol, I slowly rise. My suit seems to protest. The chafing at my groin sharpens. A shiver shakes its way down my back. Using my forearm plate, I reduce the airflow throughout my suit.
We are alive, no thanks to my foolishness. How close! I could’ve killed us all. I should’ve checked my to-do list, made note of all the warnings Leader put into it. This little stupidity could’ve been avoided. I move on shaky legs to the sled, grab the forward lip beside my chair, bump my faceplate against the metal. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If Leader wants to get rid of me, now he has a reason.
Light appears through the hatch to the left. Someone’s coming. I brace myself. I’ll not escape punishment for my foolish oversight. I’m not sure I should. Maybe a little pain will help keep me focused.
Someone emerges from the corridor. He pauses a step into the hangar bay, looks around, heads toward the sled. To where I stand. He’s in no hurry. And why should he be? It’s not like I’m going anywhere.
“Pilot, it’s me, Engineer.” He gets close enough I see his face. Eyeridges down, noseridges flattened, his is a look of concern. “How’re you doing?”
“I nearly got us killed.” I activate my lamp lights. “I never checked the schedule, got so caught up with what I was doing... I nearly got us killed.”
“Yeah, you put us all into a prickly situation.” He stops on the other side of the chair, one arm resting against the front of the sled. “But you did the right thing with your warning. You made sure no one would get hurt during your maneuver. That gave Leader the chance to shut you down. So... I think it all worked out.”
“Well, I still feel like dyst about it.” I want to run away, to find someplace dark, crouch, and just sit and think for as long as the air in my suit lasts. “And I was doing so well, too. I got all the rubble cleared. I’m ready to spin the sled around, get us situated for departure. Now, I’m not so sure we’ll last that long.”
Geen laughs. “If we don’t last that long, it won’t be because you messed up. By now you’ve made a note of all the patrol times in our schedule. We can trust you won’t make this mistake again.” He pats the side of my chair. “Let’s move the sled into position, then go to the pocket. Take a little break. I think we could both use one.”
“It’s safe? There’s no second Unity Fleet patrol lurking out there?”
“Well, it’s unrealistic to expect Leader to anticipate any surprise patrols. He assures me th
ey’ve been on a regular routine for months now. Since he’s been watching, there’ve been only two unscheduled patrols. He feels good about our chances. Thus, so do I.” He hoists himself onto my chair, then climbs onto the sled’s cargo bed. “Come. Take your seat. Pilot us into position for our departure.”
The operation continues, I tell myself. I’ve still my role to play. As long as I’m alive, I’ll have a role to play. I will belong.
I climb up and click my port-pack into the chair. The armrests swing out and the foot pedals drop. The press of a few buttons brings the sled back to life. Its spotlights illuminate the hangar bay again. I retract the anchors and raise the skids.
“This is Pilot,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady. “I am going to maneuver the sled into position for our departure. All personnel please remain outside the hangar bay until the all clear.”
“Proceed.” Leader’s voice is back to its original relaxed state.
With Geen behind me, one hand on my shoulder, I twitch the sled away from the back wall. The thrusters kick dust from the gouges. My faceplate registers clearance with all the sheared obstacles that once poked into my path. I stop our backward motion, then twitch us sideways towards the center. As we coast, I spin us around. We’re facing the hangar bay opening the exact moment we arrive at the center of the back wall. A light touch stops our motion. I lower the skids and deploy the anchors again. Everything reads nominal in my faceplate. I drop the sled back into standby mode.
It’s a simple matter to schedule an alert twenty minutes before each of the anticipated Unity Fleet patrols. Next time I will not be caught by surprise. And having survived my near-debacle, I’m confident there will be a next time. And a time after that. All the way until we leave.
I fold the armrests and pedals back, unlatch myself, and drop to the deck. By then Geen has lowered himself over the sled’s side. He places a hand on my shoulder.
“Good. Let’s take a break, get something to eat, something to drink. Pop our helmets and scratch an itch or two.” He hisses laughter.
“That’s the right idea.” I don’t tell him how bad my muscles ache from the previous day’s seizure, or how my hearts are still racing.
He leads the way. Two humans are inside the pocket, one on a recliner, the other lying flat on one of the benches. They both have their helmets and gloves off, and suits plugged in. The one in the recliner is snoring, his head propped on a cushion. The other opens his eyes at our arrival, scowls our way, then rolls to face the pocket’s sidewall.
Geen removes his gloves and helmet. I follow suit, put my gloves inside my helmet, and scratch that damned itch right in the center of my forehead. Geen runs the stubby claws at his fingertips across the underside of his neck. He moans.
“I’ve been waiting hours to do that.”
“You’re right about the suit,” I say. “I’d give anything to take it all the way off right now.”
“I know. Me too. We’ll just have to bear with it. A couple more days at most.” We plug our suits into a second charger. He crouches in front of a storage cabinet. Inside are tubes of energy paste. He removes two, hands me one. “Here. Replenish yourself.”
I settle onto the unoccupied bench. Geen sits on the open recliner. We tap the tips of our tubes together, then crack the seals. Another delicious selection. I squeeze a quarter of it into my mouth and chew slowly. Geen sucks on his, taking small mouthfuls.
He asks, “Did you eat this well during your stints as a pilot?”
“Most of the time I ate from tubes like this. The majority weren’t half as good.”
“One of the benefits of being an engineer. I ate real food most of the time. Only when I was stuck on long zero-g projects did I ever have to suck down energy paste. And it was never this good either, I can assure you of that.” We laugh.
“You probably got to sleep in your own hammock most nights, too.” I squeeze out another mouthful. “At least I got used to sleeping in strange places during my time in the militia.”
“I understand you did six annums rather than the usual five.”
Every kavax serves their government in one form or another when they mature from base schooling, usually after their first aptitude tests. Such service prepares them for the realities of life better than any academy or training curriculum.
“I did. I was accepted to a pilot training school, but had to wait an annum. I figured the easiest course would be to stay in the militia.”
“What’d you do in the militia?”
“I served on my birth world.” Where, seven annums later, while on a short break from my pilot duties with a trio of comrades, I fell victim to the chall attack. “I was a transport driver, but mostly did an average grunt’s work. About the only excitement I ever saw came with the usual riots during the election cycles. Had to crack a few heads back then.”
We hiss our amusement. I’m pretty certain he’s seen a riot or two–maybe even participated in one. I have.
“I was an apprentice to an engineer,” he says. “Guess it showed in my aptitude tests early on where I fit in life. Of course, this was back before the Unity Sphere existed. I’d have probably been a grunt in a militia like you had I been a few decades younger.”
Now, with the Unity Sphere in place, kavax could serve their five years in the Unity Fleet if they so choose. Such service prepares a kavax well for the rest of their decades. But there’s always a small majority of us unwilling to leave our birth world right away. So we do our time in home-based militias.
Geen takes another long suck on his tube. He pinches the end to ensure he eats the full meal. “While I don’t think I’d change anything about my life, I do think I missed out not having a tiy-ke to mentor me through the more challenging aspects of maturation. I moved around too much, switching from worksite to worksite. I hardly remember any engineers having either a jey-ke or a tiy-ke around.”
“Why did you volunteer with me? I know I was a pretty sad case after the chall attack.”
He shrugs. “It was something I had to do. So many lives were torn apart. The humans who came were helpful, but I saw right away their efforts only scratched the surface. I felt compelled to do what I could.” He leans forward. “I know I haven’t probably been the best mentor to you. I’m still kind of feeling my way through this. Sometimes I’m pretty sure I’ve let you down.”
Eyeridges raised, I blink. “I do miss my old tiy-ke. Lubrous was a pilot of many decades. He taught me a lot–especially things not covered in training, like the simple day-to-day. But you’ve done well for me, too. You provided stability. I don’t think I would’ve gotten here–” I wave at the pocket’s white fabric. “–and had this chance to salvage my life without you.” I eat more paste, chewing slowly to gather my thoughts. “I may not have been a good jey-ke to you, I’ll admit. I know I’ve kept you at a distance. Not told you things I should have. Like when I had my seizure on the flight in.” I exhale, and my shoulders slump. “You’ve always warned me of yours. You trust me. You’ve been nothing but kind to me. I don’t know why that’s not reciprocated.”
We are speaking in low hisses and clicks, but the human on the bench is apparently irritated. He’s rolled over and glanced our way a couple of times. Finally, he puts his helmet on then rolls away from us again. I’m sorry we’re disturbing his sleep, but we really need this break. I for sure certainly do.
Geen waves away my concern. “The human therapists warned me this would happen. You lost a friend and mentor you’ve trusted for annums. It’s expected that you would be reluctant to let a stranger step into his place. I’m not offended, Pilot. I’m thankful for what you’ve given me so far, and hope that our trust deepens. I do value your friendship.”
I finish off my tube. The weight of the food in my guttards is satisfying. Feeling satiated like this compels me toward getting back to work. But we’ve hardly been here a half-hour. I know I’m still near-exhausted. I suspect so is Geen.
“I want to say again my appreciations
for all of this.” I wave again at our surroundings. “Giving me a chance at hope. A chance to salvage something of my life’s mess.” I chuff, blowing air from my inhal pips. “Assuming I don’t get us all killed before we’re done.”
Geen hisses, his neck scales shading light yellow. “Like I said, I’m confident you won’t make that same mistake again. And no one else here is in any position to cause us to be discovered. Unless one of us really screws up, at which point we’ll probably all be dead.”
My eyeridges shoot up again. “I didn’t think there was any danger with what’s going on back there. Is there danger? I thought this outpost was without power.”
“It is, it is. But the components we’re salvaging carry a lot of residue from the micro-cores.”
I inhale sharply. Micro-core components! I was right!
“Some of that can be tricky to handle That’s why I’m building the cradles that’ll hold them in place so we can get them out of here.” He gestures with his near-empty tube. “Leader is confident we’ll salvage components from all four reactors. It should all fit on the sled. As long as you get us back into the cargo container, everything’ll be fine.”
“I’ll get us back into the cargo container. You can count on that.” As long as I don’t get us all killed first.
“I’ve always liked that confidence about you. You never express doubt. I’ll admit I had times when I had no idea how I’d accomplish my tasks. Sometimes I figured it out. More often I needed help and felt like such the fool when I was showed the obvious answer. You... You never show such doubt. I enjoy that confidence in someone so young.”
I finish off my tube, and read the ingredients listed on its side. The delicious mixture of hepfruit, tarnig, and larma milk lingers on my tastebuds. This might be a meal I long remember.
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