by Dale Sale
Gus walked up the ramp and held his hand out to catch some water dripping off the hull. I must be dreaming. Yeah, that’s it, dreaming. I’m sleeping it off in Lift Port still. He touched his lips, This is some dream, the water even tastes salty.
Gus said, “Hey HAM, if I’m dreaming, I want a sandwich.”
HAM twirled, “Sir, I assure this is not a dream.”
HAM escorted Gus up the ramp. He knew it must be a dream. How could a 1400-year-old ship look brand new? It even had that new starship smell of fresh plasticine, powder coat, and welding fumes. The floors didn’t show the wear from thousands of boots; no fingerprints around the maintenance panels, and none of the screw heads looked new. The bulkheads were a matt eggshell color and everything was smooth and shipyard fresh. This was nothing like the slap dash construction and maintenance like his old ships where there was never enough time, personnel, or money to do things right.
Suddenly, a holographic form popped up. It was a remarkably curvy young woman in an unfamiliar uniform, light gray long sleeve tunic with dark blue belted waist and blue trousers bloused into the boots. She didn’t have a rating badge or shoulder boards.
“Welcome aboard, Captain. I have been monitoring your time with HAM. I am the ship’s General Response Artificial Neural Network avatar at your service,” the perky projection explained with a salute.
Gus played along with his dream, “It’s good to be here, although I’ve never met a Constructed Intelligence GRANNe as cute as you. Would have been pretty distracting.”
She said, “I can adjust my appearance as you wish, Sir. Is this more appropriate?” The projection shifted and now appeared as 40 standard years. The hair had become silvery gray and shoulder length, and the smooth youthful prettiness had shifted into the striking beauty of experienced middle age. The uniform was the same, but the figure within had become athletically lean with a definite military bearing.
Gus said, “Let’s stay with that for now, but I feel rather odd calling you GRANNe. Do you have a name?”
She replied, “Hmm, I shall consider that and get back to you, Captain. I’m still rather new at this.”
“New? I thought HAM said you’ve been down here 1400 years?”
HAM piped in, “Well Sir, I have been here 1400 years. It took 238.7 years to repair the ship. The ship’s Artificial Neural Networks have not been needed until now, they spend most of the time in standby. Their Gold Disks check out per specifications.”
Gus asked, “They? More than one?”
GRANNe chimed in, “HAM is responsible for maintenance. I handle everything not associated with navigation and flight control.”
“Then who knows how to fly this bucket?” Gus asked as they reached the bridge and the door whooshed open.
“I FLY,” a deep disembodied voice reverberated from the 1MC speakers.
“Sir, may I introduce you to Navigation and Flight Control,” HAM said.
“I FLY,” once again.
“Ahh, a bot of few words for once. Refreshing,” said Gus.
GRANNe interjected, “I do apologize Sir, the Gold Disk for the Navigation and Flight Control Network was slightly damaged during our fall from orbit. It still functions flawlessly; however, its language skills are less than par.”
“As long as it can do the job. Sometimes less is more,” Gus said.
“FLY NOW?” Flight asked hopefully.
“Hold on there, I’m still trying to get my bearings,” said Gus.
“FLY NOW!” Flight bellowed, and a klaxon began to sound on the bridge.
“What is Hell is going on!”
The GRANNe appeared in a seat near the forward screen. “Captain, we have visitors approaching fast and attempting to acquire target lock!”
This dream has turned into a nightmare. “Give me visual on forward screen!” Gus thumped into the Captain’s station and pivoted a console.
A squadron of Governance fast attack craft from Lift Port was inbound fast.
A voice sounded over the comms, “Unidentified ship! Declare and surrender!”
“Weapons status, GRANNe?” asked Gus.
She replied, “I’m sorry Sir, this ship has no offensive weapons.”
Of course not. That would be too easy. “Do they have target lock?” yelled Gus.
The GRANNe replied coolly, “Negative Captain, the carbonado is preventing targeting acquisition, but they will be within visually targeted cannon range in fifteen seconds.”
What the fuck is carbonado! thought Gus before he yelled, “Flight FLY!” he hoped the damaged CI had enough programming initiative to perform evasive maneuvers.
The ship’s bow tilted up, and it rocketed skyward. Gus’s chair conformed into an acceleration couch that prevented him from pinballing around the bridge and breaking every bone in his body.
He estimated the ship was climbing at six Gs and still accelerating. He was about to pass out as a webbed harness enfolded him to form a G suit and stabilize his blood pressure. This dream was all too real.
“Report” said Gus even though there was a disturbing lack of noise on the bridge, merely a rising hum.
“FLY GOOD!” responded Flight.
GRANNe stated, “Our pursuers cannot match our rate-of-climb Captain. We have cleared the atmosphere.”
“All mechanical and flight systems are operating to perfection,” piped in HAM, rather proud of himself.
Johansson ordered, “Flight, reduce acceleration to one G. Set course, out of the system ecliptic plane, at one standard AU cut drive.” I need to figure out what just happened and if this is a dream.
The ship drifted in space.
Gus had finally figured out how to use the coffeemaker in zero gravity and strapped into a chair in the wardroom. Wardroom was stretching it. The interior was spartan. It functioned as mess deck, lounge, and meeting space.
HAM nervously skated around the perimeter on magnetic skates, holding him to the deck. The holo projection of GRANNe stood at the end of the large single table.
“Okay, you two, I need some answers,” Gus said.
“Of course, Sir, I stand ready,” HAM saluted. Gus rolled his eyes.
Gus began, “HAM, whose ship is this? What is it? And oh, convince me I’m not dreaming.”
“It is yours, Captain! As to your second question, as I explained earlier, this is an experimental Third Generation Imperial Confederation Long-Range Salvage Tug, Deliver class, no hull number. Quite a capable vessel, if I may say so, Sir.” HAM’s voice swelled with pride. “As to your third request.” HAM kicked Gus hard in the shin.
“Shit, that hurts!” Gus said and jerked his leg away, “Guess I’m not dreaming. Wait, what? How can this ship be mine?”
GRANNe began, “I believe the law governing salvage rights applies in this situation. As HAM previously mentioned, a portion of the Imperial Confederation ship Deliver was blown off during battle and fell into this planet’s gravity well. HAM, true to his programming, repaired the ship.”
HAM spun with delight, “Oh, those days were full of activity. You have little idea how much effort it takes to construct an entire starship on a preindustrial planet by oneself. Yes indeed, a busy bot is a happy bot, Sir.”
Gus growled, “Don’t break your arm patting yourself on the back, you mobile margarita mixer.”
“If I may continue?” GRANNe said. “Because less than 50 percent of the original vessel remains, this vessel is technically not property of the Imperial Confederation or its successor states, and as such, stateless vessels are open for appropriate salvage claims. At least, that is my interpretation of Admiralty Law.”
Gus shook his head. “Anyway, how has this ship stayed hidden all this time?”
HAM explained, “We crashed before they settled the planet, so I was free to work uninterrupted for an extended period. It took me 238.7 years to complete repairs. I moved the ship off the coast to avoid detection when settlement began, as I encountered no one who possessed adequate authorization for an app
ropriate salvage claim.”
GRANNe interrupted, “You mean you didn’t like them, don’t you?”
HAM sniffed and ignored her. “I have waited a long time. I am most pleased that you have arrived to take the captain’s chair.”
“Whoa right there roller-boy, you two keep calling me Captain. I ain’t no Captain! I’m a Bosun Chief Warrant Officer 4, I didn’t go to no ring-knocker-knowledge-locker to get my commission,” said Gus. “I’m an old-time hawse pipe climber.”
“Well Sir, then how should I address you? Bosun is hardly formal enough for this vessel’s commander. Deliver was a prototype vessel. I would assume there isn’t anything else like it,” HAM said with pride.
Gus said, “Didn’t you say this was some kind of tug?”
HAM replied, “Yes Sir, a Long-Range Salvage Tug to be exact.”
“Well, in that case you all can call me either Bosun or Skipper. A tug driver doesn’t rate being called Captain, anyway. I think that cuts a fine enough distinction for the situation. Although this rig don’t look like any tug I ever saw before. Besides, I know who my Daddy is.”
HAM looked at GRANNe, who just shrugged, “The language must have deviated a great deal from our day. I haven’t a clue what he means.”
Gus sighed and continued. “Well, how come this thing doesn’t have any weapons?”
GRANNe answered, “Oh, the ship has all the mounts for a full weapons suite, but the Rules of Behavior prevent bots from constructing weapons without special Command Authorization, and HAM had no Captain,” GRANNe said. “We can use weapons to protect members of the crew, even if it means our destruction.”
Gus said, “Well, good to know that you won’t just stand by and watch me get shot. Anything else I should know right now about these rules?”
“I’m sure more will come up as you familiarize with operations. There are too many to be interesting.” GRANNe finished cryptically. “I have prepared a ship’s information briefing and installed it on your tablet.” She motioned as HAM handed the device to Gus. “This will instruct you in the capabilities of the LRST.”
Gus said, “Okay, but first a few questions. Why couldn’t those fighters get a target lock?”
HAM answered, “Oh, that is a function of the carbonado hull construction.”
Gus said, “Yeah, I heard that the first time, Whisky Tango Foxtrot is carbonado?”
“It is a synthetic ultra-black carbon structure. It is rarely used because it is expensive and difficult to work with. The LRST was designed to rescue ships engaged in battle without being detected,” HAM said. “It has the ability to refract all frequencies of the EM spectrum. It can also be manipulated to function as a semi-conductor, superconductor, or supercapacitor. It is highly resistant to heat and high energy weapons fire.”
“Okay, make it simple for me.”
GRANNe said, “Almost invisible and tough to kill.”
“Thanks,” Gus said. “So, will those fighter jockeys be able to find us?”
GRANNe said, “Probably, as we did a hot deceleration burn to stop. They could easily trace our drive trail.” The projection paused and cocked her head as if listening to something. “I suggest you get changed into your uniform, Skipper. Our visitors will be here in two hours.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
GRANNe looked at HAM with disapproval, “I tried to get him to change earlier Ma’am. He can be rather difficult.”
GRANNe sniffed. “We’ll see about that.”
GRANNe was right. Two hours later a klaxon sounded over the ship’s 1MC.
Gus flew onto the bridge and snagged the Command Chair. “Sitrep” he bellowed as he strapped in.
“It seems the local defense institution has finally arrived at our position,” HAM helpfully replied.
“No Shit, Ensign Obvious!” said Gus as he pulled at the stiff collar of his new uniform. GRANNe had insisted that “the Captain must be properly attired when conducting ship’s business.” Gus knew it was a battle he wouldn’t win.
“Flight, do we have a registered name?”
“NO,”
“To the vessel that just performed an unsanctioned supersonic planetary departure, this is Governance Defense. Respond!”
“Okay, here we go!” Gus sighed. “Open a channel please GRANNe.”
The holo complied and nodded to her captain when the channel was ready.
“Hello Gentlemen, so sorry about that, I seem to have trouble with my Navigation and Flight control. Won’t happen again.”
“Why isn’t your vessel pinging an AIS transponder Captain? Identify your vessel. The configuration isn’t in the database.”
Time to get creative, the truth will not set you free Gusty old boy.
“Umm, you see, this vessel is home-built and I haven’t received my registration yet. I hadn’t planned this trip, but like I said, I had some flight computer troubles.” Oh, quick thinkin there Bosun, just enough fiction to sugarcoat the truth.
A terse reply followed, “Follow us to Terne Station, the Ix Area Commander will want to talk to you, patrol out.”
Gus ordered, “Flight, follow those ships to the Station, slow bell and no sudden course corrections.”
“NOT GOOD IDEA, READY FLY!”
“Please. For now, Flight” But I know he is right.
Flight grumbled, “NOT GOOD.”
Chapter Three
Flight followed the escort to Terne Station while Gus prepped a ship’s boat to face the powers that be.
He was quickly falling back into a shipboard routine and had already begun to think of this as his ship. The hangar deck was large, and the six boats stowed there didn’t fill it. He could guess what each was for, even though they were unfamiliar. The two boxy white ones with folded stubby wings looked like Multipurpose Cargo Boats for landing dirtside. Two twin seat V-tailed fighters, nicknamed Straps in the Governance Fleet, looked sleek and deadly even in their catapult cradles. Probably atmosphere capable, even if the wings are stubby trapezoids, Gus mused. Both Straps were covered in the hull’s same shifting black material. Finally, there were to two EV repair pods, called BUGs in the fleet with various arms, tools, and grabbers.
Gus thought, I bet I could even fit a dropship in here!
Gus chose a BUG as it seemed to be the least threatening and most likely to fit his cover story of building this ship himself. He ran through an underway checklist and shoved off toward what he hoped wouldn’t be a long stay in the brig.
Gus swaggered along, sandwiched between two extra-large security guards toward the Station CO’s office.
You’re gonna need to polish this turd of a story to a high shine to blind them, Gusty. Shouldn’t be too hard though, stations never attract the fleet’s best and brightest.
Gus’s heart sank when the door opened, and he saw the Station CO. Captain, full bird O-6, by the name of Harrison “Hazy” Grey The only CO that ever even got close to busting slick Chief Warrant Officer Guster Johansson.
Oh geez, not this asshole again!
To say that CWO Johansson and Capt. Grey had history was a major understatement. Over twenty years ago Grey was a wet behind the ears Ensign and Gus was a Boatswain 1st Class and the Leading Petty Officer of Grey’s department on the supply transport Kirkland.
Ensign Grey treated his posting to the Kirkland as a hold-your-nose-and-do-it job. He was convinced that Kirkland was a waste of his talent. He displayed a general disdain for common sailors, too. His habit of counting down the days until he transferred really torqued Gus. No matter how humble a ship is, a sailor believes it is the best one in the Fleet.
Ensign Grey was from an old-money family that had fallen on hard times. Same old story. The heirs slowly spent everything and mortgaged the rest until Harrison Grey, last of his line, was left with nothing but a prestigious name. He was hoping to use the Navy to rebuild the family’s credibility and cash. Harrison Grey excelled, more in shady deals than ship handling.
PO1 Johans
son was pretty much below Grey’s notice. That is, until one of Gus’ most memorable liberty runs. The matter was still spoken of with hushed reverence in sailor watering holes across both systems.
The story involved an eventful weekend featuring a sexy, long-legged redhead and a group of her sorority sisters during university break on Celas. Gus was still grinning on Monday morning when Ensign Grey introduced the red head as his sister and one of the sorority girls as his fiancé Mitzi. They both squealed and threw their arms around Gus’s neck as soon as they saw him. Things had gone downhill between Gus and Grey ever since.
Gus decided to draw first blood, “Hazy Grey!!! Long time no see,” Gus said boisterously as he threw out his hand for a shake. Grey hated that nickname.
Captain Grey did not return the gesture, “Bosun Gusty Johansson, what the hell are you wearing? Playing dress-up since the Navy beached your sorry ass.” Grey knew how to get his digs in too. “Why are in my space in an unregistered ship?”
“Well, like I tried to explain, Captain,” Gus said, shrugging off the snub, “I was just doing some planet-side tests of my new rig when the flight CI glitched. Never meant to get underway without all the proper paperwork. I’ll just be on my merry way and out of your hair directly.” Gus offered a cheery smile of farewell and turned. His bulky escorts filled the exit.
“You aren’t going anywhere until I get to the bottom of this! You expect me to believe that a broken-down degenerate like you built that!” Grey angrily jabbed his finger toward the observation screen. Gus’s ship glittered in the refracted starlight. The odd hull material was even more effective in space. If the ship wasn’t lighting itself, it probably would have been invisible.
Gus thought, Damn, she’s beautiful!
Gus offered hopefully, “Well, it was more of a salvage title repair than a new build, Captain. She isn’t complete yet like I said, some issues. Needs a paint job.”
