“We recommended no more than three days,” Natalya said. “Jump out, pass traffic, jump back and dock instead of downloading and jumping out immediately.”
“Won’t that docking delay be significant?” Pittman asked.
“We can jump pretty close in the Peregrine,” Natalya said. “Very close if we can find a hole nearby to jump into.”
“Zero out the jump error?” Pittman asked.
“Yeah,” Zoya said. “We’ll have to check the charts to see if we can find some locations that are within a Burleson Unit of the station. Setting those up as doctrine for the pilots will mean they can probably jump close enough to dock within a standard day.”
“So, three days in space. Dock. Change pilots?” Pittman said, counting the days on her fingers.
“Something like that,” Natalya said. “One ship, two pilots. You can keep the birds in space almost nonstop without burning out the pilots.”
“Probably find that certain runs need an extra day, or maybe one day less,” Zoya said. “Depending on navigation and accrued jump error.”
“Modularize the replenishment,” Natalya said. “Swap out the consumables. Top the tanks. Trade pilots. The ships should be able to turn around within a couple of stans.”
Pittman nodded. “A couple of totes for freezers. Another for fresh food. The galley could handle that.”
“Give the totes to the pilots so they can pick their own food and drink,” Zoya said. “Cut down on the bitching.”
Pittman grinned. “Give them something to do on their days off.”
“That and it means you can keep turning pilots out even if their designated ride is a day later than schedule. Just drop them into the next available ship,” Zoya said.
“I’d keep a couple in reserve,” Natalya said. “Alice got a bad bounce coming in so rather than keep Bob waiting at the dock, you toss Bob into a reserve ship while Alice motors in from outside. You can keep a tighter schedule if you’re willing to keep a ship or two idle to take up the slack.”
Pittman looked back and forth between Natalya and Zoya. “You two seem to have given this a lot of thought.”
Natalya shrugged. “We had some time on our hands.”
“Besides, we were hired to make these runs,” Zoya said. “That run we made together was a nightmare. I don’t really feel like repeating it—even in the Peregrine. To say nothing of running solo in a new, untried ship.”
“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” Pittman said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It’s our hides on the line and we’d like to keep them,” Natalya said.
“You’ll let me know when you’re ready to take the new ship out for a spin, right?” Pittman said.
“Maybe tomorrow. Certainly by the next day,” Natalya said, looking to Zoya.
“We got a good look at her today,” Zoya said. “I’d like to take part of tomorrow and see how bad the instrumentation really is.”
Pittman frowned and tilted her head. “The status indicators?”
“Yeah,” Zoya said. “They may just be an overlay on top of the actual sensor suite. If that’s the case, I should be able to strip them down and get the underlying data displayed.”
“Sounds feasible,” Pittman said. “The indicators must have actual readings under them somewhere.”
“That’s what I think,” Zoya said. “If not—if they’re just binary switches—we don’t want to be flying around out there when the green light switches to red to tell us we’re out of fuel.”
Pittman’s eyes grew wide. “Is that likely?”
Natalya shrugged. “It’s not likely, but it’s possible.”
“I’ve seen it happen on new ship construction,” Zoya said. “Not something I’d like to see again.”
Pittman grimaced. “I’ll leave that to your investigation. Do you want to meet with the design team? Talk to any of the personnel?”
“Maybe later,” Zoya said. “The original team is gone so I’d kinda like to look under the hood without knowing what the current crew thinks should be there.”
“I’d like to see the plans as built for the prototype,” Natalya said.
“I can arrange that.” Pittman pulled out a tablet and tapped a few keys. “I’ll route them to you here and you can look them over.”
“Thanks. That should do us for now,” Natalya said.
“Let me get back to the office. I’ve got a lot of work to do, thanks to you two.” She smiled. “And I really mean that. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Natalya nodded toward the passageway. “Lemme show you out.”
“Not like I could get lost,” Pittman said.
“There aren’t that many places to hide, either,” Zoya said, following them back to the lock.
As the hatch closed behind Pittman, Zoya looked at Natalya. “Are you wondering what I’m wondering?”
“How did she get a job she’s so obviously unqualified for?” Natalya asked.
Zoya pursed her lips and pondered a moment. “That too, but I was wondering who wants this project to fail and set her up to take the fall.”
Natalya blinked. “That escalated quickly. What makes you think it’s not just basic incompetence? She could be an excellent administrator and whoever set this show up thinks a manager doesn’t need to understand the job.”
“Has High Tortuga ever demonstrated that level of incompetence?” Zoya asked. “On the surface, this project is probably going to save the company from taking a beating when they grow beyond their ability to scale their network.”
“You think that’s likely?” Natalya asked.
Zoya shrugged. “You’re the expert in Toe-Hold space. You tell me. The CPJCT space is static. All their new growth is coming from Toe-Holds, if what they’ve said is true.”
Natalya chewed her lip for a moment. “Good points. Now I want to know why the Toe-Hold stations are growing so fast.”
Zoya snorted. “That one’s easy. I just said it.”
Natalya frowned for a moment, then stared at Zoya. “CPJCT space is static.”
Zoya nodded. “That’s one of the problems Pop-pop has with Margary and Manchester. Red tape, regulation, and a smattering of corruption.”
“Makes sense,” Natalya said.
“When the business environment gets too restrictive, business finds a less restrictive environment,” Zoya said.
“You didn’t learn that at the academy,” Natalya said.
“At my grandmother’s knee,” Zoya said. “With what I’ve seen out here over the last couple of stanyers, it wouldn’t surprise me to find a Usoko Mining fleet tucked away in a belt somewhere.”
Natalya grinned at her. “You’ve come a long way, Fleet.”
Zoya shrugged. “Nothing like the deep end of the pool to motivate you to learn to swim.”
Natalya laughed. “Another of your grandmother’s sayings?”
Zoya paused in thought for a moment. “First mate on my first barge used to tell me that all the time. Crusty ole fart named Furtner. He flew the first Usoko barge with Pop-pop when Gram was running the smelters. Older than rocks and tougher than a titanium deck plate.”
“And you were his skipper?” Natalya asked.
Zoya shrugged. “Yeah.”
“How old were you?”
“It was a present for my twelfth birthday.”
“What? The barge?”
Zoya nodded. “I’ve been sailing since I was old enough to put on a suit by myself. Pop-pop had them made special for me. Nobody else was that small.”
“How did Furtner take it?” Natalya asked.
“He was terrific. Wouldn’t make any of the decisions for me. Made me do it. Even the bad ones. Most of the time the routine was deadly dull. I always felt like an imposter sitting in the captain’s chair. Furtner had them weld a bar onto the captain’s chair so my feet had something to rest on. Everybody knew what to do and how to do it. I just had to sit there and agree.”
“Most of the time?�
��
“Sometimes the crew got a little feisty. We had a fight aboard. A deck hand insulted an engineer. Words led to fists. Fists led to a wrench in the ribs.”
“Ouch.”
Zoya nodded and she looked down at the deck. “Furtner made me handle it.”
“You were twelve?”
“Almost thirteen by then. Deep end of the pool. I pulled them up to the cabin. Held a formal captain’s mast. The works.”
“What’d you do?”
“Well, the deck hand was in the auto-doc for three days while his ribs mended up. I made the engineer stand the deck watches in addition to his own.”
“How’d that go down?”
“He got about four stans of sleep a night for three days. He might have had some extra punishment from his section chief that the captain didn’t know about.”
“Was that the end of it?” Natalya asked.
“Mostly. Last I heard the two of them had gotten married and were running a small smelting operation in one of the Margary Lagrange points.”
“So Furtner threw you into the deep end of the pool.”
“It was his stock answer to everything. Got to be a joke between us.” Zoya shook her head. Her eyes glistened. “It was the last thing he said to me before he died. Heart attack on final approach to the Manchester yards to drop a load of refined metals. Keeled right over on the bridge. He lasted long enough to smile at me. I was sixteen.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Wish that I were. I still miss the old fart.” Zoya shook her head. “Come on. We got work to do, don’t we?”
Natalya blew a breath out and shifted her mental gears. “Checklist. We need one.”
“That could get messy,” Zoya said. “How far down in the weeds do you think we need to go?”
“Root level,” Natalya said. “It could take a while.”
“Design team should have one, shouldn’t they?”
“Probably, but I’m not sure I’d trust them to be complete enough for me to risk my life on.”
Zoya sighed. “It’s place to start.”
Natalya nodded. “Not a bad idea.”
“It’s your turn to make the coffee,” Zoya said. “I’ll contact Pittman to see if there’s a design checklist to go with the models.”
Natalya nodded and headed toward the bow while Zoya started clicking keys.
Chapter 18
Pulaski Yard
2366, May 10
NATALYA TOSSED HER tablet onto the table. It clattered across the smooth surface, fetching up against an empty coffee mug. “What were they doing?”
Zoya didn’t look up from her screen. “It’s a prototype. You have to expect problems.”
“We’ve been at it a week and I’m less confident about this bird than I was when I started.”
“Well, a week ago we didn’t know how bad it was,” Zoya said, looking up and reaching for her mug. “At least the galley has been useful. Can you imagine standing around for a week while we ran the checklists?”
Natalya’s short laugh took her by surprise. “All right. Good point.”
“What’s the latest screwup in engineering?” Zoya asked, tilting her head to look at the discarded tablet.
“Only half the maneuvering thrusters seem to be working.”
Zoya’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Are they not connected?”
Natalya shook her head. “They show up on the control diagnostics scans, but they’re not getting fuel.” She paused. “At least I think they’re not getting fuel. They use so little, I’m not sure the amount would show up even if we had the actual gauges.”
“Sorry about that,” Zoya said. “I’m still waiting on Bates and his crew. They promised me a software update but it hasn’t shown up yet.” She sipped her coffee and frowned. “I can’t do a damn thing without the source and they won’t give me access to it.”
“Think they’re stalling?”
“I don’t know. It’s the loosest shop I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen a lot of loose operations.” Zoya gave a shrug and slid her cup back onto the table. “Generally you get good results when people have a little leeway. This group? I don’t know.”
“Maybe they’ve got too much leeway,” Natalya said.
Zoya shrugged and addressed her tablet again. “Any idea why the pilot’s console is overheating while the long-range scan is running?”
“Overheating?”
“The display subsystem redlines on temp whenever the long-range kicks on.”
“It’s not the display itself?”
“Nope,” Zoya said. “I stress-tested the whole display system with everything running at once. No issues. Shut it down and started long-range, it redlined within ten seconds and I never opened the display. I left it blanked.”
“Does it need the display on for some reason?”
“I tried that, too. Still hot. I can’t test it long enough for decent diagnostics without burning out a board.”
“Did you pull the cover?”
Zoya looked up, her eyebrows drawn together. “I pulled the cover on both systems. Smelled hot, but there was nothing obvious.”
“Where’s the long-range controller?” Natalya asked, mentally tracing the system components.
“Main system bus rack,” Zoya said.
“You know which slot?”
Zoya flipped through a few screens and paused. “Says slot alpha-sixteen. Last slot on the first card.”
“How about the display system controller?”
Zoya consulted the readout again. “Hotel-one.”
“That’s it,” Natalya said. “There’s probably a short in the power supply where those two controller cards intersect. Only shows up when they’re both active.”
“How’s that possible?”
“Four slot buses per side. Alpha on the top is hotel on the bottom. Last slot in alpha butts against first slot in hotel.” Natalya stood and nodded toward the cockpit. “Let’s look.”
Zoya crossed to the pilot’s console and clicked through a few prompts. “Power’s secured to that segment,” she said.
Natalya popped the cover off and the tangy stink of hot electronics wafted out. They started into the rats’ nest inside. “This would be much easier if they actually ran the cables instead of just stuffing them in wherever they’d fit.”
“No argument from me,” Zoya said, consulting her tablet. She pointed at the racks. “That’s the controller bus rack.”
Natalya nodded and crouched down to look at the underside. “There’s hotel. They run left-to-right on the top and right-to-left on the bottom.”
Zoya craned her neck a little sideways to read the labels on the cards. “Yeah. That’s the display controller and the long-range is above it, but I still don’t get the connection. Why is this causing the display system over there to overheat?” She pointed at the pilot’s console.
“That’s just a repeater,” Natalya said. “I suspect that these controllers are overheating in the rack, which makes it look like the problem is in the console.”
Zoya frowned and pursed her lips. “I think I can buy that. Shall we test it?”
“Swapping the cards?”
Zoya nodded.
“What do you want to swap?” Natalya asked, peering at the racks.
“Short- and long-range,” Zoya said. “I know short-range works now. If it overheats in the slot?” she shrugged.
“Which one is short-range?”
Zoya looked at her tablet. “Delta-four.”
Natalya nodded. “Same side of the plane. Just a different slot. Should be plug-and-run.”
“That’s my thinking,” Zoya said.
As she pulled back from the cabinet, Natalya saw something glint where there shouldn’t be anything. She leaned back into the rack and stared into the slot between the top and bottom halves of the bus plane.
“What are you looking at?” Zoya asked.
“There’s something in there,” Natalya said, pointing to the gap.<
br />
“How can there be?” Zoya asked.
Natalya shrugged and pulled a small screwdriver from a sleeve pocket. “Let’s get this off so we can take a look.”
Zoya holstered her tablet and leaned in to help. “Hope this doesn’t void our warranty,” she said.
Natalya snickered and started pulling the hold-down screws. It took only a few moments to pull the top half of the rack off. “What the—?” Natalya said and pointed with the tip of her screwdriver.
“What is that?” Zoya asked, leaning in.
“Just a piece of litter,” Natalya said, looking at Zoya then nodding toward the overhead.
Zoya eyed the rack, her eyes narrowed and brow furrowed.
Natalya nudged her. “I need to stretch my legs. Fancy a stroll down the dock?”
“Yeah. We’ve been at this for three solid stans. I’m ready for a break,” Zoya said. “Rudy’s?”
“Sounds good,” Natalya said. She grabbed her tablet and took a digital of the rack, leaning in close to get a good image. “I could use a piece of Rudy’s pie.”
RUDY’S ALWAYS SMELLED of fresh pastry and hot coffee. Even during the breakfast rush, the aroma of fresh breads, muffins, and Rudy’s signature cinnamon rolls overpowered the scent of bacon, eggs, and fried potatoes. Natalya slid into a booth where she could watch the entrance.
Zoya grimaced. “You always make me sit with my back to the door.”
“I watch the front so you can watch the back,” Natalya said with a small nod to where the kitchen doors swung on their hinges. “You wanna swap?”
Zoya shook her head. “I want pie.”
A server sidled up to the table with a smile on her face and her tablet poised. “I heard that. What kind? Darberry? Got a granapple just out of the oven. It’s more cobbler than pie, but it’s still hot.”
“I’ll have that and a coffee?”
“Black?”
“Yes, please.”
“And you?” The server looked at Natalya.
“Sounds good. I’ll have the same.”
The server tapped her screen a couple of times and nodded. “Be right up.”
After the server disappeared through the kitchen doors, Zoya asked, “Did you get a good look at it?”
Suicide Run (Smuggler's Tales From the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper Book 2) Page 13
