Archaea 2: Janis (5 page)

I was just about to the bottom of the ramp, and regretting every step I had taken in my life leading up to this moment, when the flashing lights of the crushed grounder lit up the billowing dust below me.

“Gene we should be here now.” Dak's voice in my ear was solid, reliable, and calm, despite the horrendous balancing act he must be doing to hold us on station. As steady as we were, we still swung back and forth across the tangled mass of wreckage below like a pendulum counting down our remaining moments.

I waved at Pauli for some slack, and payed out the hook until it caught the wind. My eyes filled with tears as I watched the grounder slowly but surely rising to the top of the wreckage mashed against the barricade.

I tried desperately to set the hook, and each time it skipped off the grounder, I felt my heart stop. I knew I was running out of time, and kept trying to cheat the clock, to get one more shot in before the buzzer.

And then, in the midst of despair, tears blurring my eyes, almost before I had realized what had happened, I had it hooked. A wave of exhilaration flooded through me all the way to my toes.

I was just about to wave Pauli to pull slack when the grounder popped loose of the barricade and lifted up and over in a wrenching scream of grinding metal. I leaped back to the rail as the cable pulled short and jerked to a stop, snapping tight next to me.

I waved at Pauli to pull her in, and started running up the ramp, cringing and ducking as the grounder dangled and spun against the crushing force of the wind at the end of the cable. As it came aboard, the grounder started whipping back and forth, spinning and snapping across the ramp.

“Captain, Gene has her hooked, and I'm warping her in now. Please stand by.”

“Very well, Pauli.”

Pauli hung on the hoist controls, and bit by bit the grounder pulled in until it was on the ramp and grinding up towards the cargo bay. He started raising the ramp as soon as it was clear, and we both dashed over to the grounder even before the hoist had stopped.

Working as fast as we could, I passed a chain strap over and through the twisted mass of metal and Pauli hooked it down to a strongpoint in the deck plate.

“Captain, we have the grounder secure, looking inside now.” I said, though I was terrified to think of what I might find.

The Archaea briefly shook enough to stagger us around a bit as Pauli and I worked our way up and across the grounder, looking through swirling clouds of dust lit by the loading lights into what was left of the interior.

The interior of the grounder was scoured to bare metal, every part that could have been removed was either blasted off or missing. What remained was bare metal, wiring harness and other ragged bits of strap, brackets, and the plastiform seats in the rear compartment.

The dust was deep, drifted all the way up to the top of the passenger side window, but as we looked down, Pauli burst into tears when we saw Shorty caked with dust clawing her way towards us.

“Captain, we have her!”

“Very well Gene, outstanding. Get her strapped in and get back on station. This isn't over folks, we need to haul mass immediately.”

Chapter 5

After we cut off the binders and laid her on the bunk, I wiped the worst of the dust out of her eyes while Gene administered a sedative and made sure her crash bars were clamped down securely. She gave my hand a solid squeeze and smiled, as her eyes sagged shut.

Gene and I shared a look across her, of relief and accomplishment, but as wrung out as we were, the day had just started. We both set off on a run back to our stations.

“How does she look, Pauli?” the captain asked, as I dashed across the bridge deck for my station. The Archaea was coming back around downwind, shaking violently as I pulled around the crash bars and fought to get them secured.

“She looks great Captain, considering what she must have been going through. We were just in time... couldn't have cut that any closer – her grounder actually went up and over right after we hooked it.”

Captain Smith whistled through his teeth and shook his head. “Lucky girl... any other survivors?”

“No, sir. She was tucked in on the lee side, and almost completely drifted over when we pulled her out, but the driver of the car didn't make it... either he was blown out of the grounder, or...” I trailed off, unwilling to finish that thought. There was nothing left of the interior, scoured to bare metal. Whatever had happened, I hoped it was mercifully quick.

“Easy son,” he said softly, “you did it, she's safe... now let's go round up Yak. I gave him a direct order to return to the Archaea, and I'll be damned if he doesn't get an opportunity to do so.”

As we spoke, the Archaea started to lift and climb, falling off the wind, aiming for a safe distance for an orbital burn.

“Janis, please shape a course for orbital burn and that bogey, it's time to go get Yak, dear.” He paused briefly as the course flashed on screen, “Very well Janis, that will be perfect.”

“You're welcome sir. Please be advised, I am recommending an in-system assisted slipspace jump to match vector as efficiently as possible.”

I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck. With a response time curved past subjective now, Janis has the reflexes to pilot an in-system slipspace jump – though the thought terrified me.

“Gene, I will need slipspace active and ready to use at your earliest opportunity.”

A brief pause.

“Aye skipper, powering up now.” Gene sounded as terrified as I felt.

“Gene, I want you to know that I am flying a concerned eyebrow at the moment, lest you think I am just going to hurl us into the unknown at superluminal speed without a worry or a care.”

“I know Captain... it's just been a pretty long day.”

“Gene, Yak deserves our very best. I am concerned as well, but... I can't give him any less, and he's just about out of targeting range. I am completely out of options.”

“Dak, you are making the right choice. I'm standing by. Let's go get Yak.”

“Very well, all hands – stand by for a 12g compensated orbital burn, time to light the fires!”

My head crushed back into the headrest as we hurtled to orbit on an incandescent column of fire.

*****

I held the yoke tight as the sky turned black through the forward port, and fought to keep my eyes open against the acceleration as I was crushed against the cushions.

Even with pseudomass compensation projecting a gravity well ahead of us to counteract our acceleration, we were still experiencing close to six gravities, more than enough to cause unconsciousness in all but the most seasoned pilots.

Of course, I was seasoned like a salty dog, and concentrated on breathing and staying alert as the waypoint timer clocked down on my screen, and the slipspace transit approached. I checked the boards to make sure there wasn't anything flashing ambers, and started energizing the slipspace field right on the mark.

Slipspace works on the principle of capturing a bubble of normal space, then accelerating that bubble beyond the speed of light by projecting pseudomass ahead of us, pulling us down deeper and deeper into a warped hole in spacetime.

The pseudomass generators function using a frame drag effect, caused by a dense packed array of supercooled, magnetically accelerated rings. Each ring in the array is accelerated in phases, amplifying the effect and allowing it to be focused. The entire unit is mounted in a gimballed armature that allows it to be aimed – this is how we direct pseudomass to offset grav-loading and keep us from splashing into puddles of warm pink goo when I light the fires.

Janis had plotted an assisted slipspace course that was flashing front and center on my screen, with a big red button marked EXECUTE. If there's one thing I like more than anything else, it's pressing a big red button. My finger was getting that itchy feeling... once the stasis field had energized, there was only one thing left to do.

“All hands, stand by for an in-system slipspace run – secure for free fall at this time.”

I kicked off the burn, and almost immediately my eyes cleared and the gray tunnel I was staring through started to fade. I gave my head a good shake to clear it, and mashed the red button.

“Everything is looking good in engineering, Captain” Gene said on comms. “How long is this slip?”

“Only a few more seconds Gene – just a little tiny hop, nothing to it.” I said, exuding enough cool for any number of cucumbers.

“And then what Dak? Do you have a plan for what comes next? We don't know what we're facing here, do we?”

“Gene, I always have a plan. Stand by.”

I needed a plan. Plans require information, and information is power. Power is... well, Janis would know.

“Janis, dear, do you have any information on the target characteristics? Mass, configuration, armament, that sort of thing?”

“Absolutely sir, the target masses 30 tons, and is best characterized as a heavy runabout, inter-system capable. I am unable to postulate armament or crew compliment, but I am reasonably confident the target is boosting towards a rendezvous with a larger long-haul craft of some sort.”

“Thank you Janis, that's just what I needed to know.” I scratched my head and allowed myself the luxury of a thought or two. I try not to make a habit of it, but from time to time they are unavoidable.

“Janis, please clone target solutions to Pauli's screen--”

“Captain, I don't know the first thing about this role!” Pauli turned in his chair to fix me with a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed look.

“Pauli, there's nothing to it. Shorty's down, so I need you man. Janis is going to handle firing, but I need you to keep an eye on the solutions. Can do?”

“I'll do my best, sir.”

“That's all I can ask, son. You'll do fine. I need you to keep an eye on Janis as well, but you do that in your sleep already.” I flashed him the smile of ultimate command, guaranteed to boost confidence or else.

“Gene, we're coming out of slipspace in a few moments. I will need full power to armor.”

“Full power to armor, aye.” Good old Gene, back in the saddle and wearing his big boy boots. Almost time to go. I checked the timer, and we had less than five seconds remaining.

Something important, something that I needed to think about hovered right outside the shining light of my intellect, like a moth fluttering in the dark that I couldn't quite see, it was moving too fast.

Something important.

Something about... the turrets.

“Gene, damn and blast man! Do we have any operational weaponry aboard the Archaea at the moment?”

I felt my pulse rate climb as I waited for his response.

“Dak, they are installed and secured, and I believe Pauli has them connected to wetnet, but they aren't energized. We would also need to fabricate a part to connect the ammo oven to the loader. I was going to leave that to Shorty...”

As he was saying that, we came out of slipspace.

“Captain, I have the target on-screen!” Pauli's ragged voice rang out, I could almost taste his fear.

“Very well Pauli. Take a breath son. What range and bearing please?”

He took a deep breath. “Captain, target is dead ahead, range 42 kilometers.”

“Pauli, I need you to keep an eye on her. Make sure I know they are changing course before they know it themselves.”

“Will do, sir” he said, a tiny bit less terrified than before. A good captain encourages their crew, inspires them to greatness and gives them opportunities to work beyond their station and abilities. A great captain does this without even trying, and an exceptional captain does this without even thinking. I must be a legendary captain.

“Gene, you know that feeling you get when someone is about to start shooting real live ammunition at you? I am getting the strangest feeling we might need our turrets operational. Can you please hop on that, quick-fast, like a bunny? Be advised, we need to burn, and soon.”

“Quick-fast like a bunny, aye. Consider it hopped.”

*****

As I hopped on through the cargo bay to the gun deck, I couldn't help but smile. Forced to move, to act before we had the time to plan, before we had time to prepare – this is the true way of the world, the nature of the beast.

As much as I am the type of person that looks before they leap, that watches where I step, it seems like I keep leaping into something brown and goopy that smells like excessive adventure. And now Dak has me hopping, like a blasted bunny no less.

The task at hand is critical. We don't have any time left, we need operational turrets immediately-if-not-sooner, and once again, like so many other times in my career as an engineer, it's on my shoulders to make it happen. Not that I mind, of course – I live for this kind of pressure.

As I kicked through the gun deck towards the topside ladder leading to the turret compartment, the captain mashed the maneuvering alarm and punched the reac drive. Despite the alarm, I suddenly found myself sliding aft in an incredibly painful, undignified manner.

Of all the damned times to throw me on my mass, the captain's timing is impeccable as usual.

Luckily, I'm an old space hand, and I've spent enough time rattling around in these cans to have developed an almost preternatural sense of self preservation. My hand was reaching out almost as soon as I felt the deck become the wall, and I managed to snag a grabber and fetched up alongside the gun deck rail.

Orientation under acceleration is one of the toughest things to learn for a lubber, fresh from the dirt. Some never learn the trick, as it involves a sort of divorce from your basic standard perception of where you are, and what you're doing. In space under acceleration, the trick is in understanding innately that down, is wherever you have been, and up is wherever you're going.

As a ship translates through its axis, rotates, burns along a different vector, up may become down, or sideways. The floor and ceiling almost never make sense, and if you can't accept that, if you can't welcome it and aren't ready for it, you will spend a lot of time in uncomfortable positions, possibly bleeding.

For me, though, this sort of thing is pretty much as natural as breathing. The hand rail becomes a ladder, with evenly spaced cross bars to serve that purpose, and I hardly feel any vertigo at all.

Not that I don't let it stop me from cursing in the name of our captain, may he be triple-damned for flinging me around like that – but that's nothing out of the ordinary for me. I spend a fair amount of my day doing nothing else.  

The turret compartment is a mess, and I know Shorty is going to carve off a big slice of my butt for dinner when she sees what Pauli and I did to the place. Access hatches are all undogged, various parts and pieces are scattered around, nothing is shiny and operating-theater-clean, as she requires.

Unfortunately we don't have the luxury of time at the moment, so I have to try to see past the worst of it, and get it operational.

I am not a weapons specialist like Shorty, so there's really not much I can do to calibrate the turrets. Hopefully Janis can shift fire and adjust for accuracy, though I am not at all confident that will be possible. Janis is unbelievably good, but turrets that aren't calibrated and zeroed out would compound the error as they translate through their azimuth and altitude, and then to base ballistic calculations from a flawed platform... well, I don't understand enough of it to even know how hard it would be.

The challenge in front of me though is pretty straightforward. The wetnet is connected, and it looks like Pauli did his typical perfect job with it, so my first order of business will be connecting power leads.

These are modular systems, which greatly help with upgrades, but the Archaea was built a long time ago, in a time where connections were wired up rather than plugged in. Luckily, I've done a ton of work upgrading her power backbone, and can pull voltage where I need it, at the right amounts, just about anywhere.

I'd like to fabricate new connectors for the turret sockets, but given our time crunch, I'm going to have to hot-wire them. Shorty will definitely see red when she gets an eyeful of this work, but I just don't have time to do much more.

Once I have the power lit and the turrets energized, I started on the next challenge, to fabricate a new loading rail between the ammunition ovens, and the firing breech of the kinetic railers.