Sleeping in the Stars (Marston Chronicles Book 1)

by D Patrick Wagner

  The first thing Hank did was completely disassemble the wrecked star fighter, inventorying the thousands of components that made it what it was. It took a month. Just as he finished, Major Marston returned. This time he flew in on his own space fighter. He’d managed to wrangle a tour of inspection for his wing in the Arium system.

  The two of them were standing at the far end of the bay, studying the broken star fighter scattered across the floor.

  “You’ve been busy,” Krag commented.

  “True,” Hank responded in his Irish brogue. “Now I know what I’ve got.”

  “So, what’s next?”

  “Now I find out what you’ve got,” Hank answered, while nodding his head towards the luxury liner, come pirate ship, sitting off to one side.

  “Sounds good. There are a couple of things that I am going to need.” Krag pulled out his data pad. Hank pulled out his. Showing Hank a schematic, Krag stated, “I need an ejection tube, able to eject a pod with these dimensions.” The two men touched their pads and the schematic transferred to Hank’s.

  “Got it.” After quickly scanning the schematic Hank asked, “Why do you want an ejection pod for your labor droid?”

  “I’ve got my reasons. Can you do it?”

  “Of course. I’ll need to outsource the manufacturing of the ceramic tiles, but that won’t be a problem. I know a guy.”

  “Good.”

  “The pod looks bigger than the android.”

  “It is. That’s for equipment.”

  “No problem.”

  “Also, I need a single pilot flight pod as well as the two that are already in the flight cabin. That one needs all of the electronics from the fighter so that I can do everything from one seat.”

  “Can do. The cockpit is destroyed so I’ll need to manufacture another one. Also, the console and flight controls are gone. I’ll need to make those too. The main electronics were in a hardened case behind a bulkhead. So they are still intact,” Hank responded, while entering a note into his pad. “What about the AI interface?”

  “Hook all of that into this,” Major Marston responded, pointing to an emergency survival apparatus that was actually an empty portable AI case. ”And hide it in plain sight with a quick release lever.” Krag pulled an odd looking tool from a pocket and removed the manufacturer’s medallion from the cylinder. Pointing at the now revealed I/O port, he continued, “Tie that connection into the ship’s network. Here are the schematics of the connections.” Marston displayed the documents on his data pad.

  Hank touched an icon on his own and verified that the information was transferred. “This keeps getting better and better.” Hank was beginning to act like it was Christmas. He had a new toy to make that no one had ever made before. “What are you going to put in it?’ Hank asked as he inspected the electronic storage device.

  “I’ll figure something out,” was Krag’s only response. “Also, the current pilot’s chair needs to be double functioned for co-piloting and navigation.”

  “Huh.” Hank wasn’t aware that he had made a sound as he stroked his beard and began planning the design.

  “The co-pilot’s chair needs to be switched to weapons and sensor control.”

  “That’s doable.”

  “You’ll get all of the fighter sensors in?”

  “Goes without saying,” Hank responded.

  “Weapons?”

  “And more. I have some ideas. You’ll like them.”

  Holding his right hand out, Krag announced, “Gotta go.”

  Hank gripped the proffered hand, shook it once and said, “See ya when I see ya.”

  “Yup.”

  Major Marston left. He didn’t get back for another three months.

  * * * * *

  When Krag did return, Hank met him in the bay, acting like a real estate salesman pitching the fine points of a new home. Krag saw that most of the star fighter clutter had disappeared from the floor, including the two fusion reactors and the two associated fusion drives. Staring up, he saw his new ship, sleek, black and resplendent.

  “Major, good to see you, again,” Hank stated, while holding out a hand.

  “Same here,” Krag responded while shaking his hand. Waving a hand at the bay, he continued, “A lot has disappeared. You stick it all in the ship?”

  “I think you’ll like what you see,” Hank replied, in his brogue. “Hungry? Thirsty?”

  “I could use a beer. Got any?”

  “Leprechauns have rainbows?” With that question, Hank turned to a young worker on the floor. “Mack, get me two beers, dark. We’ll be in the ship.”

  “On it, Pa.”

  “That’s my kid,” Hank tossed out as he strode over to the aft of the ship and pointed to the three large fusion thrusters. “I kept the single thruster on top, as it was bigger than the two from the fighter.” He pointed at the huge engine sitting above the bay doors and nestled between the two top-mounted ailerons.

  “I stuck the two fighter thrusters under the wings.” He pointed to the two nacelles nestled into the joints between the forward sweeping wings and the fuselage. “You’ve got enough push to pull the socks off a rooster, boyo.”

  “It’ll do,” Krag responded

  “And, I had to do some work on the magneto-gravitonic dampeners. With the push this baby’s got, you would have been mushed flat. Even the ones I pulled from the fighter weren’t strong enough.”

  “Nice,” Krag responded.

  Just as Hank finished describing the ship’s thrusters, his son arrived with three beers. Handing one each to Hank and Krag, he tried to fade into the background, wanting to be included in the tour.

  Looking at his son and giving a quick nod, “Back to work, Mack. You’ve still got that pump assembly to get ready for Sanctuary.”

  “Aw, Pa,” Mack whined.

  “Nope. Get on with ya.”

  “That’s no fun. I want to work on ships.”

  “Ya will, Lad. Not today. Now, get on with it. Or I’ll tell Ma.”

  “Alright. I’m going.”

  Hank and Krag watched as the twenty-something boy stomped off.

  “He’s a good kid. Smart. Nosey. He’ll do good in the future.” Krag heard the pride in a father’s voice.

  Hank led Marston to the back of the ship and up the loading ramp, with Mack in tow. Hank led the major to the starboard bulkhead of the cargo bay.

  “Step on the center of the floor panel.” Krag stepped where Hank pointed. “Now step on that one,” pointing to another panel. Again, Krag did as he was told. A portion of the wall swung open on hidden hinges.

  Hank and Krag stood, staring at an oversized escape pod nestled in an ejection tube. Looking closer and running a hand over the pod’s surface, Krag inspected the white ceramic tiles tightly covering every square inch. Mack watched, taking everything in.

  “Nice. Temperature rating?”

  ”Five thousand Celsius,” was Hanks answer.

  “Works for me,” Krag responded, while opening the pod and inspecting the interior. “This is good work. I like it.”

  “More to come, Bucko” Hank grinned.

  “Lead on.” Krag was beginning to like this salty old Irishman.

  Hank led him over to another spot on the cargo bay floor and directed Krag to step on two more plates. A four foot by eight foot section of the floor swung up.

  “See how thick the lid is? It can withstand non-military and most military scans. If anyone has any reason to go with the real high-end scans, you’re screwed anyway. The whole box is made from the same stuff. Naturally it’s hardened against extreme environments including space, so anything in it is completely protected.”

  “How many of these have I got?”

  “Sixteen, all circling against the bulkheads. And, four of the ones against the starboard bulkhead are fitted with environmental gear, including cryofoam. Someone can survive for up to a week, or they can go into cold sleep. There’s enough room for rations, water and a radio. But that’s
it.”

  “More nice,” Krag commented. “How long in cryo?”

  “As long as there is power. “And more to come,” Hank commented as he moved from the cargo bay to the engine room.

  Waving a hand majestically over the three oversized fusion reactors, Hank began. “I had to remove the cargo bay firewall to get these babies in here. And, when I replaced it, you lost about ten feet on the cargo bay.” Pointing to another large piece of equipment, he continued, “There’s the Magneto-gravitonic dampener. You would think, after three thousand years, we would have been able to figure out gravity instead of using brute force to offset it with electromagnetic fields. Oh, well. There it is. And, without a teardown inspection, it looks just like a large civvie unit.”

  Marston nodded in appreciation.

  Hank led the Major to the bow end of the reactors and pointed to a hatch in the deck. “Down there is a five barrel, one-hundred mil rail gun and ammo feeder.” Pointing up, he continued, “You’ve got another one up there. I’ve also put drop doors on the bottom of this beauty. You have four guided torpedoes if things get real hairy. You just open the bay, drop the bomb and guide it to its target.”

  ”Speed?”

  “Whatever your current speed plus one-tenth SOL.

  “That works.” Completely enjoying the upgrades to his ship, Marston asked, “Controls and navigation?”

  “Haven’t gotten that far, Major. But they’ll be in your copilot chair, just like you wanted,” Hank almost apologized.

  Seeing that Hank was a little defensive, Krag thought that he’d goad him a little bit. “Sensors?”

  “Same place. But, gees, man. It’s only been three months.”

  “And I’m sure you are doing your best,” Krag answered with a quick raise of his eyebrows and a sardonic smile.

  “Ok, ok. Ya pulled my chain, boy-o,” Hank stated while slapping Marston on the shoulder. “You’ll get the rest of your toys. Now, pay attention. I’ve got more to show ya.

  After the tour, Major Marston and Hank McCauley spent the rest of the day and evening discussing future improvements, changes and results. Over that time a friendship began to form.

  * * * * *

  Ten months later Hank had finished the ship and Major Krag Marston had retired from the Federacy.

  Standing in the hanger bay, looking up, Hank and Krag just stared at the feisty little ship.

  “Got a name for her?” Hank asked.

  Well, she’s not a yacht, anymore. She’s certainly not a fighter. So, I figure something that’s mixed up, like a platypus, or something.”

  “How about ‘Monitor?”

  “Doesn’t work for me.”

  “Griffin? Half lion, half eagle?”

  Krag paused, running pictures and mythology through his mind.

  “That works. Griffin it is.”

  Hank took the ex-major on tour of Krag’s new source of income, the Griffin.

  By space standards, the Griffin, at two hundred and sixty feet in length and a sixty foot beam, is a small ship. Larger than a space fighter but still small. Its shape is a cylinder, pressed flat on the bottom and bulging at the sides, designed to fly in atmosphere as well as space. The upper half of the hull was substantially more curved from stem to stern than the bottom half, its entire shape taking full advantage of Bernoulli’s principle of aerodynamics when flying in atmospheres. Forward sweeping wings, held two massive fusion thrusters. A third thruster nestled down the ship’s spine, splitting the two ailerons at the stern. The bottoms of the wings revealed maneuvering chemical thrusters.

  As the two men walked the interior, Hank described how the ship held far too much computer for its original purpose. He talked about the internal NetWare not only handling the regular requirements of keeping the ship flying but also all of the illegally installed stealth, concealment and camouflage electronics. The prideful engineer pointed out retrofitting of the three oversized fusion reactors, the enlarged deuterium/tritium bottles and an upgraded magneto-gravitonic generator.

  Krag came to realize, In essence, with over forty percent of the ship dedicated to speed, maneuverability and concealment, the little luxury yacht had been transmogrified into an oversized space fighter with storage and living quarters.

  Exiting the ship and traversing the exterior, Hank pointed out that the outer hull had been hardened with multiple layers of military-grade plating, energy dispersal grids and sensory dampeners. The flat black ceramic coating absorbed almost the full light spectrum, rather than reflecting it, with an albedo (light reflecting) percentage of less than five percent. With the additions of well concealed particle beamers, laser cannons and missile launchers, all stripped from a Federacy Star Fighter, it had become a well-armed and well-protected transporter. The addition of two Gatling rail guns sharpened its bite.

  Krag was pleased with the results. He saw that the Griffin was retrofitted for speed, retrofitted to avoid detection, retrofitted to take a pounding. And it was retrofitted to fight. Now, four years later, Krag’s ship, Griffin, continued to perform better than expected and remained the solitary ex-fighter Commander’s home and livelihood.

  Chapter 2

  Tolimar

  Time. Travelling the darkness of space or the kaleidoscopic wormholes of the gates, there is always an abundance of time. Spacers found many ways to get through the mind-numbing great swashes of time. Some found recreational drugs. Some found hobbies. Some found comfort in daily disciplines, daily, repeating rituals.

  With eleven days to get through, Krag dropped into his standard routine. Each morning he’d rise, cleanup, don work clothes, including the magneto-gravitonic body liner. Then he would inspect the ship, starting with console readings and warning lights. If no warnings showed, he’d drop down to the first level and walk the entire cat walk, ducking and checking each block of equipment that was needed to keep the ship running and him alive. Then the captain would return to the second level for a light lunch, followed by a change into his mono-weave bodysuit. Buster’s avatar would be waiting in the communal area of the galley, having the room cleared, the table and chairs unanchored and pushed out of the way.

  The workout would start with stretching. Once loosened up Krag would practice martial arts forms, starting with empty hands, moving to double tonfa. These Oriental farming tools were actually batons, thirty inches of dura-metal rods with side handles a third of the way down their lengths. Then he would move to the long staff and finally his sword. After he achieved a good lather, he turned to the android, knowing what came next.

  Krag always commanded Buster to set his combat mode at slightly better than heavy-world human with all of the stored galaxy knowledge about close-quarters combat. The next two hours were spent with Krag fighting with everything he had and getting his butt kicked over and over. There would be breaks where Buster did something differently. The captain would call a halt and they would go over the technique until Krag was sure he understood it and could repeat it.

  Then it was cleaning up, another meal and relaxing entertainment until sleep.

  After more than eleven days of sleeping, eating, working out, general repairs and anything to pass the time, Griffin broke out of the hyper-space gate and into normal space.

  Krag returned to the pilot’s console and scanned his surroundings. “Buster, send a decoy towards the other hyper-space gate and have it go dead just before entry. We’ll recall it later.”

  Buster released the decoy, a bottle rocket designed to leave a gravitational energy path matching the parent ship. These decoys, being military and highly illegal for civilian use became just another law that Krag continued to ignore.

  After the release of the decoy, Krag vectored towards the planet Tolimar, fired up the fusion drive and insured that the sensor dampeners were set to maximum.

  “How far out are we?”

  Approximately two hours from planet Tolimar and nine hours from the second hyper-space gate that leads to dead space.”

  “Buster,
let’s do polar and equator passes and see what we’ve got. Look for the major establishment and a place to hide the ship.”

  As the Griffin did the two loops around the planet, Buster ran full scans, storing the results for later reporting.

  “Scans have been completed and data analyzed, Captain,” the AI announced upon completion.

  “Environment?”

  “Atmosphere is Earth-normal, with a ten percent increase in oxygen. Fahrenheit Temperatures range from twenty degrees below at the poles to one hundred fifteen at the equator. Storms are cyclic. Gravity is ninety percent earth norm. There are two major continents, with oceans covering the rest of the planet. The plains are mostly grasslands. Forests are mainly in the mountain ranges. Multiple rivers and lakes scattered across one continent, with the second one left arid. The main habitats are on the one continent. It looks like the terraformers developed only the one.”

  “Thank you, Buster. Did you find Erstadt?”

  “Yes, Captain. There are about one hundred twenty thousand inhabitants, including the surrounding farm and ranch lands. It is about sixty miles from an extinct volcano that has a lake in its collapsed cone. I calculate that we can submerge the ship there.”

  “We have some time. Take us in slow. Before we hit the atmosphere, drop speed to below the sound barrier. We’ll use minimal jets and glide in. I don’t want an atmospheric burn to announce our arrival. And, minimal splash when we sink into the lake.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Is the town large enough for supplies and energy modules?”

  There appear to be supply stores in town and an energy station at the shuttle port.”

  “I don’t want to announce the power of my ship. I’ll see if I can buy modules somewhere else. I’ll be going into town for the day, then.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * * * *

  Flipping the ship over, Buster began the breaking maneuver just as the ship skipped for the first time off of Tolimar’s atmosphere. By the third skip, the speed had dropped enough to avoid atmospheric ignition. With the air so thin and the Griffin’s entry speed so slow, the entry was more of an elliptical drop, rather than any aerodynamically controlled flight. One third of the way down the air was finally thick enough for the forward-swept wings and ailerons to influence the flight path. Still too high to be seen from the ground, Buster was bringing the ship into a looping path, targeting the extinct volcano.