“No, I get enough sleep, William, though I appreciate your concern. I just don’t get it in one straight go. Your captain was right; I needed to be doing things other than just my job. With my four students, and now this training, my hours are filled, and I sleep better. I’ve been exercising in the gym, too, and using the sauna. It all helps.”
William unlatched a chair, and pulled it over to Wen’s console. “Dreams?”
Wen looked up at him in surprise. “Yes. How did you know?”
“During the first year, when Jaswinder had just come to us but hadn’t yet settled in, she suffered, too. Events had torn her from her usual life, and she had problems on board to begin with. It took time for her to feel safe here. The dreams faded with time, and she said talking about them helped.”
Wen raised his eyebrows. “She told you?”
“That’s what friends are for, Wen.” He held up his hand when the pilot’s head went back. “I’m not asking you to share with me – or with anyone. I’m just letting you know that no one on board Venture has to face everything alone.”
It would be a dark day before he accepted, but Wen smiled anyway. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” He paused. “Actually, there is something you could help me with.”
“Oh?” William leaned forward a bit.
“Yes. I’d like admin privileges on the Piloting course. I’d like to develop a scenario.”
William pursed his lips. “Well, I can’t give you admin privileges, but I can certainly set you up with an open scenario that you can populate however you wish from our catalogue.”
“Wonderful. When could you get around to that?”
“Right now. Won’t take more than a few minutes.”
Wen rose, and William took his place. He entered his password and began at once. Wen, watching carefully, had noted the password, and filed it away for possible later use.
William explained everything as he went and, true to his word, finished less than ten minutes later.
“I’ve given you a password. Only you’ll be able to access the scenario unless you make it public. Until I clear it with our pilots, I’d rather that no trainees had access.”
“Perfect,” Wen said, satisfied. “That’s just how I want it.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Elsie is waiting for me.”
“Good night.” Wen didn’t let on how that simple sentence hurt. Elsie waited for William. No one waited for him. Not now. And Lil never would again.
He bent to his task. Four hours later, he felt ready. He fired up the scenario. The board took shape – that of a freighter of Amalgamated 684’s class. He put on his headphones.
“Time to drop, thirty seconds,” the computer warned.
Wen took a deep breath, then disengaged the field generators. The hyperspace field dropped, and the ship re-entered normal space. He raised the meteor shields.
“Detectors,” the computer prompted in his ear.
“Detectors report,” he said softly into the mike.
“Ship in-system, closing at full burn.”
Wen sounded the emergency alarm, gave his ‘crew’ twenty seconds to fasten if they hadn’t already, and then went to full burn himself, slewing around, just as Amalgamated 684 had.
“Missiles incoming! Thirty minutes before ship can jump to hyperspace.”
Wen ejected the contents of Hold Number One, then changed course such that the missiles would have to move through the debris field to hit him. One missile struck something, the other three continued on, closing rapidly.
“Collision Alarm!”
Wen made last second course changes to try to fox the missiles, but they impacted.
“Ship open to space,” the computer’s damage control reported. “Loss of field nodes; unable to jump.”
Wen continued to eject cargo, but the pirate closed inexorably.
“Missiles incoming!”
Futilely, Wen manoeuvred, ejected lifeboats and cargo, and turned his most undamaged shields towards the danger. The missiles impacted.
“Ship destroyed,” the computer reported, and the screen went blank.
The option came up to replay the scenario. Wen watched his actions as the reports came in. He could think of nothing else he might have done. Lil and the others would have died even if he had sat in the first pilot’s seat on the bridge. The only difference his presence would have made would have been to up the casualty count by two.
He gave the scenario some more thought. What if...?
“Time to drop, thirty seconds.”
This time, he ejected lifeboats with preprogrammed flight instructions. They blazed away from his freighter at maximum burn, attracting three of the four missiles. That one collapsed his shields but failed to destroy field nodes. He did a mass ejection of all holds, but the pirate still caught and eventually destroyed him. He started the simulation again.
The door opened, and William walked in. “Still here or back again?”
Wen glanced at his chrono, and his eyes widened. Six straight hours? “Just closing it down.” He did so, and stood. “Bed for me. My day off, anyway.”
He left before William could ask any questions. However, instead of going to his quarters, he headed for the cargo deck.
“Cargo Master Patterson,” he greeted the balding man, who just now arrived at his office.
“Pilot Pearson. How may I help you?” The cargo master seemed surprised to see him. His surprise could only grow.
“I understand we’re getting a shipment in soon.”
Patterson nodded. “Correct, but my roster shows that you don’t have workboat duty.”
Wen nodded. “True. I’m here to ask if I might help with stowing the shipment.” He laughed at the cargo master’s expression. “I’ve been taking the cargo course in the Learning Centre. I’ve attained level 2, and would appreciate some hands-on experience – if that wouldn’t inconvenience you.”
Patterson looked at him, suspicious. “No one put you up to this?”
“No, sir. William Yrden is in the centre now; you can ask him. He’s the one that set me up with the cargo course. I’ve logged 20 hours so far in Level 2.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up. He entered his office, and engaged the comm. A minute later he came back out. “William confirms.” He held out his hand, which Wen took. “Glad to have you. Not often a pilot volunteers for this side of things. Come along and we’ll go take a look at Hold Number 2 – that’s where we’re going to store the shipment.”
Hold Number 2 looked like little more than a huge cavern, with a stack of pallets near the hatch to the loading dock. Lights above it glowed blue and red – blue to show the door properly sealed, red to indicate that vacuum lay on the other side of the hatch.
“The pallets are light-weight, but very strong,” Patterson said. He rapped on one, and it gave forth a hollow metallic sound. “Automatics will bring one down, and run it along the track in the deck to the loading zone. There, we’ll load it, and then send it on its way to be locked into its proper location. Watch.”
He entered orders into the program, and an automatic brought down the top-most pallet and brought it to the loading area. He then inputted the co-ordinates of the hold where he wanted it stored, and the automatics whisked it down the track to the proper stack, raised it to that level and inserted it.
Wen looked at the screen, and saw the locking clamps grip.
“Level 1 deals with non-palletized goods – such as vehicles.”
“Hold Number 3 – where we stored your lifeboat. Hold Number 2 stores pallets.
“In the game, goods come already palletized.”
“True for Level 2. In higher levels, though, you’ll have to pack some of the pallets. When we get a pre-palletized shipment – pallets are of standardized sizes – we offload an empty pallet in return.” He laughed. “Otherwise we’d end up with a hold full of pallets, and nothing else.” He moved out from behind the console. “You bring the pallet back.”
Wen
looked down at the console, which displayed the exact same icons that the board in the game showed. “Stack 24, level J,” he said, and entered the location in the console. He then gave the fetch order. The automatic lift scurried out, ran down the track, found the proper stack, raised its forks, and then extended them into the receiving slots. The clamps released the pallet. The forks lifted slightly, brought the empty pallet back to the centre aisle, and lowered it.
Wen watched as the automatic brought the empty pallet back to the loading area. It stopped, awaiting further instructions, just as the one in the game did.
“Put the pallet back in the stack,” Patterson ordered. Wen complied. “Very good. Next, I’ll call up the manifest of the incoming load,” he pushed his way back to the console, “and you’ll load the pallets in the locations I’ve chosen.”
Wen looked at the manifest, then at the distribution map that Patterson had provided. “That seems a odd choice.”
Patterson grinned. “You haven’t reached the higher levels, yet. We want a nice, even weight distribution. Makes it easier for you pilots to fly the ship. Go to it.”
Wen directed the automatics to place the pallets in their indicated locations.
“Very good. Now we go and check them, to ensure they are properly locked in.”
Wen frowned. The board showed blue indicators everywhere. He wondered if the Cargo Master played a joke on him, but the man spoke before he could enquire.
“I know. All blue. However, we do a manual check – just in case. No one wants a pallet to float free, and to then go crashing into other pallets – or a hatch – when the pilot manoeuvres or, worse, goes to full burn.” He indicated the catwalk. “Start at the far end, and work your way back.”
Still unsure, Wen went to the catwalk, and began the long walk down to the furthest pallet. Only when he realized that Patterson followed him, did he feel certain that the man had no intention of hazing him.
At the pallet, Patterson showed him how to manually check the clamps, and used manual override to show him what might effect a blue light where a red should glow. After checking four of the twenty pallets, Patterson called a halt.
“Good enough. Let’s retrieve them.”
“Why do you balance the load now?” Wen asked. “We’re just floating here – and we’re expecting further shipments.”
The cargo master scratched above his right ear at the thin band of grey hair that stretched around his head. “Well, Pilot, ordinarily I wouldn’t take such pains. But the captain has informed me that we might have to leave at a moment’s notice.” He waited for Wen to digest that before going on. “So, I’m making sure that she’ll have no problems at all, should we need to manoeuvre. I suspect you know how important that might become.”
And that, thought Wen, said everything. It also told him that the Cargo Master knew a lot more than the average crewman did about his situation – which only stood to reason, as he would have been on hand to lock down 684’s lifeboat.
“Mr Patterson—”
“Call me Dave. We don’t go much for formalities here in Cargo.”
“Dave,” Wen granted. “In order to accelerate more rapidly, my last captain started ejecting cargo. Could you do the same for this hold without anyone being at this console?”
Patterson now scratched above his left ear. He thought on that for a minute, then stared at Wen. “Expecting pirates?”
“No,” Wen admitted. “However, we weren’t expecting them at Earth-AN-2, either.”
“Hmm, I guess not. Yes, I could eject pallets from my main console in my office, should I have need.”
A light blinked on the console, and a chime rang through the empty hold.
“Patterson here,” the cargo master spoke into the comm.
“Cargo, this is the Bridge. First load is on the way. ETA thirty minutes.”
“Thank you.” Patterson disconnected, then patched into the InShip. “Cargo handlers to Hold Number 2.”
While they waited, Patterson pulled up the manifest for the incoming cargo. He pointed it out to Wen.
“First three workboats will bring in goods on open pallets – stuff that doesn’t need atmosphere. So, we’ll open the outside door, and they’ll just dump the pallets in the receiving bay. Then we re-air and go in. We’ll check each pallet for security.
“Security?”
“Yes, for tie-down straps fixed in proper numbers and in proper places. Check for integrity of the straps, and for anything else which might allow the cargo to get loose during the trip.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Good,” Patterson said. “That’s where you’ll be, working with the other cargo-handlers. Then, as each pallet clears that point, you’ll send it in here, where we’ll check it against our manifest and then send it to its proper location, just as you did with the empty pallets.”
“Got it.” At least Wen figured he could do the job.
“Right. Then, when those loads are done, we have another three loads that can’t be exposed to vacuum. They’ll come in sealed containers. We have to open those containers to inspect the goods.”
Wen stared at him. “Every one of them?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Traders who fail to complete this step occasionally find that, at the other end of their journey, they are in possession of a load of rocks. Unless we’re acquiring our containers from an Yrden warehouse aboard a station, we check. Sometimes even then.”
“Rocks?” Wen asked, disbelieving.
“Yep.” Patterson grinned. “And sometimes they are part of a test that the captain or cargo master sets for an unwary apprentice. See, by the time we open them on the other end, weeks or months may have passed. At that remove, there’s almost no way to prove anything against the originator, and it’ll be more months before we get back to the originating point to press the claim even if we have evidence. Meanwhile, our customers can become quite angry if we’ve promised them something and don’t deliver.”
“Got it.”
The cargo handlers arrived, including young Sean Yrden.
“Hi, Wen,” the young lad said. “I see you got duty, too.”
Wen smiled, and tousled the boy’s hair. “Yep. First time out. Maybe you can show me how it’s done.”
He received an approving nod from the cargo master.
“Work boats now ten minutes out,” came the warning on the InShip.
“Evacuating air from receiving bay,” Cargo Master Patterson reported.
Wen heard the pumps whir into action. Above the door to the receiving bay, the leftmost light turned red indicating a dangerous lack of atmosphere on the other side. Patterson turned on the big screen, and lit the bay.
Half the screen showed the bay, the other half focused on the approaching workboat. Patterson guided the first boat in, letting it drop its cargo at the very rear of the bay. The second boat followed soon after, then the third.
“All away,” the cargo master reported. The outside bay door slid closed, and air began flooding back into the bay. As soon as the light turned green, the hatch between the hold and the bay slid open.
“Let’s go,” one of the cargo handlers said, and Wen followed them in.
Meticulously, more meticulously than necessary in Wen’s estimation, they went over every tie-down, checking for integrity and tension.
“Hey, Wen, Sean,” Carly Winters called them.
Wen went over to see what she wanted, followed by Sean. “Take a good look at this one.”
She pointed out a frayed cord. It didn’t look too bad to Wen, but she seemed of a different mind completely. “If we let this pass, old Dave will have a conniption fit,” she told them. “We replace it.”
Obediently, Sean went to obtain a new cord. He handed it to Wen, who followed Carly’s instructions, fastening it a bit tighter than he felt it needed. He said so.
“You don’t want anything jarring loose during a voyage,” Carly told him. “Just ask Johannes.”
“Captain Yrden?”
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“We travel zero-g in the hold. Saves power. One trip – or so the story has it – something big came loose. Johannes and another man went to put it back into position and strap it down.” She gave him a close look to make sure he paid attention. “Zero-g means weightless. Weightless doesn’t mean massless.”
Wen nodded.
“The boy started the crate moving – too fast – then went to the other side to stop it. Yes, he’d been warned to never do such a thing – by Johannes amongst others – but he put himself in the way of a four-hundred kilo box, thinking he could stop it with his arms.”
Wen closed his eyes. “He died?”
“Yes. First and only death aboard Venture. You can look it up. Johannes, as officer in charge, took the responsibility for the kid’s actions.” She gave a humourless smile. “None of us wants that weight – so we do it by the book.” Her smile became just a little warmer. “Take the frayed cord, and show it to Dave.” She handed it to him. “After we finish; we have more boats on the way.”
As they finished each pallet, it moved into the hold, where Patterson and his helpers checked it against his manifest, then sent it away to its stack.
“All done,” Carly called. “Everyone back in the hold.”
As soon as the last person reported back, the hatch slid closed, and Patterson started the pumps again.
“You did pretty good,” Sean told Wen. He looked at the screen with seeming excitement.
“What’s up?” Wen asked.
“My stuff is coming on the next boat.”
“Your stuff?”
“Speculation cargo,” the boy told him. “We each get a small pallet, and up to 200 kilos mass. We can trade it at the stations or to a consortium. Ship gets a share of any profit for cartage.”
Wen wanted to ask more questions, but the workboats arrived, and they went back to their jobs.
This time, however, they opened each case, and sorted the goods onto pallets in an order ordained by Patterson.
“Why don’t we just leave them as-is?” Wen asked.
Carly grinned. “Stuff’s going to different planets or different customers on the same planet. If we had more boats coming it, we’d do it later – in hyperspace. But we don’t, so we’ll do it now. Easier.”
Not With A Whimper: Survivors Page 14
