Wandering Engineer 6: Pirates Bane (35 page)

“If you need a hand, call me or one of the AI. Remember, Bounty
himself can give you a hand now that he is free,” the Admiral said waving. “He
can access this section right?” he asked Sprite.

“Yes Admiral. Through a tablet. We do need more WI-Fi nodes
however,” she said, sounding testy. She always got grumpy when her bandwidth
dropped below a hundred meg per second.

“One thing at a time,” the Admiral said, shaking his head as he
made his exit. He nearly stumbled over Mutt. The cyborg bulldog looked up at
him with puppy eyes, plastic tongue hanging out. He shook his head and moved
on. The thing had been cleaned up and repaired by the Glenns and some of the
engineers, but it was still... he frowned. It was a survivor, and you couldn't
help feel sorry for the thing. The decent thing would have been to put it out
of his misery, but the Glenns and the crew had taken it on as a mascot. He
could understand that in theory, they were all survivors and fiercely proud of
that status now. They had even talked about replicating a plastic skin to cover
the mechanical body. He shook his head as the ugly thing wandered off.

“This way?” he asked. Sprite put a pointed and map on his HUD.

“Nata'roka?” the Admiral asked, knocking on the hatch combing when
he got to her compartment. He looked inside.

“Come,” An artificial voice replied. The Admiral stepped over the
knee knocker and cables there. He turned, tracing them. They were bundled
together, a good sign. One was clear a water line. He could see the occasional
bubble floating through it.

“Are you the one the AI claims is an Admiral?” the alien asked.

“Fleet Admiral, John Henry Irons.”

“A medical flag officer?” the Ssilli asked, sounding sour.

“Engineering officer. But you knew that already,” he said,
studying her. She was large, larger than the cadet he'd met in Pyrax. She was
also in a very tight pod, most likely an escape pod. From the look of the
compartment someone had turned a cargo bay into her tomb.

“Like what you see?” the alien demanded.

“That you are alive? Yes. That you are getting better? Yes. That
you are in a tiny tank and not happy? No. I can't really help that right now.
Hopefully soon.”

“I see,” the alien replied.

“Did you go over some of what has happened?”

“I know my species is extinct. And that we are highly desired for
our services,” she replied and then sputtered as her blowhole exhaled and then inhaled.

“Not quite true,” the Admiral said. He watched her tentacles and
fins flutter a bit. She couldn't extend them fully out, and she couldn't get
the tentacles out of the roof of the tank.

He frowned, looking around. There really wasn't much they could
do. Her tank was against one bulkhead. There was a narrow meter wide walk way
around the other three sides. It was strewn with cables and pieces of
equipment. Cables also draped from the ceiling. He frowned.

“You aren't interested in my services? How novel,” the Ssilli
responded. “So, I can go now?”

“Um..”

“Oh, that's right, I'm stuck here. Still a slave,” the alien said.

“Okay, first off, loose the attitude. It's not helping,” the Admiral
said, now annoyed. He turned to look her in the eye. “I'm here to help.”

“The difference between you and the humans before is marginal.
Admiral
,”
the Ssilli sputtered. “Did you know that the Federation nationalized all of my
people?
All
of them? Right down to the larva. All military assets. Which
of course made them targets for the Xenos,” she said bitterly.

The Admiral nodded but spread his hands. “I didn't do it. I wasn't
there. I can't change that. You know that.”

“Yes.”

“So let's not open up old wounds. What I am here to do...” he
spotted the interface. He went over to it and jacked in. her dinner plate eyes
watched him. They widened ever so fractionally in appreciation.

“Is what?”

“Is to rebuild the access for you,” he said thoughtfully.

“Done,” Proteus replied after a moment. “Admiral, I have worked
out a more efficient life support system than the current system here.”

“You mapped it?”

“I had a partial map on hand. I compared that to the system she
had. This system is subpar.”

“Understood.”

“It was for a Gashg habitat,” the AI responded. The Admiral
winced. “So not made for this load, or this purpose.”

“Pass your plan on to the engineering life support crew in charge
of this area. Make her repairs a priority,” the Admiral said.

“Understood,” Sprite said from the PA. “Nata'roka, please be nice.
The Admiral is trying to help,” she said.

“That remains to be seen,” the alien replied.

“I am sending you what we have on the resurrection project the Admiral
started. And the recording of him with the cadet several years ago. Judge for
yourself,” the AI replied, now sounding exasperated.

“I will. You can go now,” the Ssilli said.

The Admiral nodded but didn't move.

“Didn't you hear me?”

“I did. But I am an Admiral. And I'm not that easily dismissed,”
Irons said. “And I did want to point something out to you. I will do my best to
get you to Pyrax when we can, and get you medical help. And I want your people
returned. Not just for the reasons you mentioned, but for the ones that I told
the cadet. Please consider what I said. Any help you can provide would be
appreciated.”

“I'll... think about it.”

“Please do. And if you are bored here, please help where you can.
I know you can't do anything physically,” the Admiral held up a restraining
hand. “But you can help Sprite or the bridge crew through your implants. Even
if it is to teach the crew what to do. I think they need the voice of
experience, and you need to interact with others again. Others who won't treat
you like shit.”

“Like I said, I'll think about it,” she said.

Irons nodded curtly and exited the compartment. Fortunately without
tripping and falling on his face.

Outside he leaned against the bulkhead and closed his eyes.

“Tired?” Sprite asked sympathetically. “You've been on your feet
for a week straight. That's near your record.”

“I've gotten some downtime,” Irons replied. “And food.”

“A one hour cat nap doesn't cover it Admiral,” Sprite replied.
“You need rest too. Time to decompress. And remember, so do we.”

“I... yeah.”

“Yeah,” Sprite echoed.

“I'll try as soon... next shift. I promise.”

“I'll hold you too it,” the AI replied. “She's accessing the
recording now.”

“Good,” the Admiral said with a nod. “I put my foot in my mouth,
but hopefully it helps.”

“I think it will make an impact,” Sprite murmured. “And you
underestimate your achievements Admiral. Even when you, as you say, put your
foot in your mouth,” she teased.

“Funny,” he replied, opening his eyes and moving on.

<----*----*----*---->

Sprite ran through the ship's inventory once a team led by Mister
Takagi uploaded it. She marked items that could be recycled, such as a few
LAV's that they had in inventory. “I don't know why they bothered with those
things. A waste of space,” she said.

“Pirates and loot Sprite,” Irons replied. The crew were going
through the crew quarters, cleaning out the loot there, or turning it over to
the engineers. He had caught sight of the cat pelts briefly. Someone had them
at arm's length and had passed him on their way to the recycler.

“We need a molecular furnace Admiral. You left that out on
Phoenix,” Sprite said.

“I know. I went a little overboard on replicators,” he snorted.

“True.”

“You don't have to remind me. What is done is done. We'll fix it.
But this ship lacks space. It's too tight.”

“Also true. Which is an issue. I have an idea though, Deianira.”

“The freighter?” He didn't want to get tied up in the civilian
ships just yet. They weren't a priority.

“She's got cargo holds Admiral. Big ones. Partially empty too.”

“Draw up a plan. I'll look it over in a moment,” the Admiral
replied.

“Already in your in-box,” Sprite replied smugly. The Admiral
nodded.

“The problem is, there is only a finite amount of material we can
access on the ship. At least on this ship and Phoenix. We can tear out systems
on Phoenix and rebuild them, the same here. But we need to keep Bounty
operational in case of need. Which is an issue.”

“And this system is rocky. We'd have to build equipment to break
down the rocks on the moons and Mercury planets and then transport it to the
ships in orbit. That's too complex.”

“We're going to have to sacrifice the badly damaged ships Admiral.
Triage. You know this,” Sprite said patiently. Irons nodded curtly, still
quiet. He'd put the idea out there, but fought it like any natural spacer. No
spacer liked the idea of sending a ship to the breakers. He hadn't floated it
past the crew, but he was certain a few were expecting it. “And I'm repeating
the obvious again. I get that. I just wasn't certain we were on the same page.”

“We are. How are the replicators?”

“I think we can move the smallest one onto Bounty. If we relocate
it in the small machine shop the ship has, we can cut down in transit time.”

“I was talking about Phoenix,” the Admiral said, frowning. He
wasn't comfortable tearing apart Phoenix just yet. He judged she was the least
damaged of all the ships other than Bounty. Once they had her fusion reactors
back online. “Did we ever find her spare reactor?”

“Yes. It's dead lined. Scrammed. Do you want to reboot it?”

“I'm thinking about it. Or the main reactor.”

“Admiral, you don't have the time right now. The control hardware
is shot,” Sprite said. “Or most of it. Work crews have replaced a few things,
but they are out of their element with the project.”

“Understood.”

“Right now we're at the crawl before you can walk stage. People
are settling down... getting used to the new life. The reordered universe.”

“I know,” the Admiral replied.

“I'd like to make them uniforms. They've done what they can, and
they've found spares in the crew quarters, but... well...” Sprite shrugged
helplessly.

“Do it. In between projects. Have them gather up the old uniforms
that are tatters. Did they take anything off the prison ships?”

“Yes. But again, most of it is old. Old and worn out. Some of the
sweaters and outfits really aren't spacer material. And don't get me started on
the lack of skinsuits Admiral.”

The Admiral grimaced. That was one of a thousand and one things
he needed to get a handle on eventually. They were going to need to go EVA soon
to make external repairs.

“Work on it. Get with Holly or someone in the galley to be your
hands and organic go between. It should keep morale up.”

“Hey, I know a few ladies who will perk up at new clothes,”
Sprite quipped. That got the Admiral to crack a brief smile.

“No Federation uniforms unless they sign on and take the oath. I
want to keep that distinction now. But I agree, we need to be more cohesive.”
He cocked his head, thinking. “But...”

“But?” Sprite asked. “There is a but to all this?”

“But, don't destroy all the Horathian uniforms. We may need them
if we're going to pull off the same stunt we did with the prison ships.”

Sprite thought about that idea for a brief microsecond and then
smiled. “I like it Admiral, it's sneaky as hell and just might work.”

“It's certainly worth a shot at any rate,” the Admiral replied
with a nod. “How is morale and the crew? I'm getting my feel for them, but I
wanted your thoughts.”

“Well, j
ust
having functional food replicators, hot showers, and bed rest in a real bed has
had a profound impact on some of the crew. Many are still shell shocked by
their captivity and turn of events, a few still act submissive and keep their
heads down. They are meek and passive, but a few others are coming out of their
shells,” Sprite said. "I think they are letting their subconscious mind
realize that they were free and safe once more. Once the full impact hits, I'm
not sure everyone will hold it together.”

“Yeah, a ship load of trauma victims,” Irons replied.

“True. A few have had breakdowns when it hit them. People feel
awkward and uncomfortable around them as they stared off or cried. It gets to
others too, seeing it makes them realize and forces them to think about the
changes. Sometimes it is too much to accept right away. It was like watching
the sun come out for the first time in many years of torrential storms.”

“Yeah, it can be,” the Admiral, murmured in agreement. “We're
still undermanned, but things are looking up.”

“True.”