The Merrimack Event (Shieldclads Book 1)

by David Tatum

  “There are some microfractures in the hull preventing us from activating life support. Our ‘Plan B’ if that was the case was to just conduct a quick survey while the Environmental Engineers unloaded their gear, then we would come back and collect the equipment to repair the hulls.” He put a finger under her chin, turning it so he could see the purple blot caused by the fight. His eyes tightened slightly. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Rachel said, somewhat flustered by the attention. “You should see the other guys.”

  Chris broke away and looked at his feet. “I’m sorry. I knew they’d probably try something while we were gone. I should have warned you.”

  “Nonsense. I suspected they were going to try something, too – that’s partly why I chose to work in the lounge. I figured I’d be safe in a public place,” she said. He looked so guilty, she needed to do something to cheer him up. “It’s not your fault.”

  Chris sighed. “But you didn’t guess that this would be their exact plan. Farmburg is on a different transport, though, so I figured they would wait until they could get in touch with him to act. I thought you were safe, but I knew they might have tried this. I could have warned you – I should have warned you!”

  “Relax!” Rachel said, grabbing his shoulders. “I’m okay. Security is convinced I acted only in self-defense – this won’t even go on my record. The only reason I’m still here is that the paperwork hasn’t been completed yet for my release.”

  “Why?”

  “What?” Rachel replied.

  “They must have said something,” Chris said dangerously. “If security believes your attack was a matter of self-defense, they must have said something significant. Why else would you be released so easily?”

  Rachel winced. He wasn’t going to let it go, was he? “I’d rather not repeat it, thank you. They were rather vulgar.”

  His fists clinched. “Vulgar language, drink on their breath, stalking you even outside of your cabin. God... they were planning to rape you, Rache....”

  Rachel’s eyes widened. “No – I mean, yeah, they were drunk, but this was in a public bar. Surely they’d have known they couldn’t get away with something like that.”

  Chris said nothing, and Rachel was starting to feel uncomfortable. What if Chris was right? And now that she thought about it, what would have stopped them if they’d gotten her alone?

  “Well, thanks to the Colonel, they didn’t,” she said matter-of-factly. Chris might have been right, but she would rather neither of them dwelled on that possibility. “When will we be able to move into the Chihuahua?”

  His jaw set, but the arrival of a pair of their friends stopped him from saying anything.

  “Jeez,” Flint huffed, panting slightly. Both she and Weber looked out of breath. “What’d you do, fly down here?”

  “I know a few shortcuts,” Chris said evasively. “Rache says she’ll be released soon. They’re just completing the paperwork, now.”

  “So I hear you and our new Marine-for-a-Day, Colonel Beccera, beat the stuffing out of Farmburg’s buddies,” Weber said, walking past Chris and Flint. “Good job. But how’d you get that shiner? You should’ve clobbered them before you got it.”

  Rachel winced. “It was just the start of the attack. I’d just splattered... what was his name? The big guy’s nose all over his face, dropping him instantly. Before I was aware of it, though, one of his friends blindsided me and tackled me to the ground. That was the only blow they landed on me, though. Once Colonel Beccera showed up— Chris? Where are you going?”

  Chris was making his way to the brig’s door. “Back to the Chihuahua. They’ve probably loaded the extra personal air supplies on board the shuttle by now – I want to get that hull patched up.”

  Weber looked confused for a moment, but there seemed to be some sort of silent communication between him and Chris. “Well, you’re going to need a pilot, and I suspect Wolfie’s a bit tied up right now. Besides, it’s my turn! Get what you need while I prep the shuttle for launch.” She turned to Rachel and sighed. “Sorry, girl, looks like I’m going to have to cut this visit short. Linda’ll stay with you until you’re released, won’t you, Linda?”

  Flint received a significant look from the woman and nodded grimly. “Yeah, sure. See ya soon.”

  Rachel watched as Chris and Weber went through the security checkpoints and left. Her face slowly turned down into a frown.

  “What’s wrong?” Flint asked.

  “Why did Chris leave?” Rachel asked. “That seemed so... sudden.”

  Flint shrugged. “I have my suspicions, but nothing I’d commit to. Did you manage, in all this commotion, to get those cabin assignments completed?”

  Rachel smiled slightly. “No, I’m afraid I was somewhat...” she gestured to her surroundings, “Distracted?”

  Flint laughed. “Thought so. You’d better finish them as soon as you get out, though.” She glanced at the door where Chris had departed. “The repair estimates based on our initial survey suggested it would take four days to make the Chihuahua airtight. I’ve got a feeling those estimates are going to be changing, soon.”

  ——————————

  Rachel found she was more popular than she had believed, receiving more friendly visitors in the forms of Schubert, Cohen, and even Captain Burkhard before she was released from the brig. She wasn’t entirely comfortable about going back to her cabin alone, but Schubert was there to walk with her. When she learned that Nathan and Franco were going to be stuck in the brig for several more days, still, she relaxed considerably. There was that third guy – Sergio, she thought the name was – to watch out for, however.

  She waited for Chris to return from the Chihuahua so that she could talk to him some more, but as the hours wore on she started to wonder when he was going to return. Finally, she decided to get in touch with Lt. Rappaport.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know when he’ll be back,” Rappaport told her. “He hasn’t filed any sort of schedule with me.”

  “Isn’t he required to give one to you?”

  Rappaport sniffed sardonically. “Yes, but technically he’s already given me one. Just not an accurate one – he’s moved well ahead of the planned schedule, and he shows no sign of slowing down.”

  Rachel chewed her lips. “When are you planning to talk to him next, then?”

  “I’m going in with the next team of engineers in about a half hour. If he isn’t on the return shuttle, I’ll have to talk with him regardless. From what I can tell, he didn’t take the quantum wheel mechanics into consideration when he was drafting his plans for the refit.”

  “Good. Could you find out, for me, when he’s planning on returning to the Gnat? I need to talk with him about a few things.”

  Rappaport frowned. “Official business or personal?”

  Rachel hesitated. “Well, technically it’s not official business, but I wouldn’t call it personal either, sir.”

  “Fine. I’ll ask him. Could I ask, though, what it is you need to talk to him about?” Rappaport asked.

  “I wanted to ask him for some help with questions regarding the... incident... in the lounge, earlier today,” Rachel said. She didn’t really want to explain, but she felt he needed to know that much.

  “Ah, yes – I heard about that. Yeah, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him,” Rappaport said. “I’ve got a question for you in return, though,” he said.

  “Oh?” Rachel replied, wondering what Rappaport might want her for.

  “I understand you and he are classmates and friends back at the Academy. I’ve read his file, and I understand he’s very good at tactics in addition to engineering. Which is he really more interested in?” Rappaport asked.

  Rachel almost laughed. “Chris? Oh, he’s definitely more interested in engineering. Or at least, in the technical details of engineering. His hobby is restoring antique electronics. He’s scratch-built several things for me based on plans from hundreds of years ago, and he’
ll fuse old technology with new to produce something better than what’s available off-the-shelf. One of his favorite sayings is that ‘It may be newer, but that doesn’t mean it’s better.’” She frowned. “This ship is a dream assignment for him, but I’m not sure he’d really enjoy working on newer ships. He doesn’t like quantum wheels, for example. He seems to think that the technology isn’t sufficiently debugged for use outside of experimentation.”

  “There’s a lot of that thought going around,” Rappaport countered. “I don’t particularly like them, myself, but they could be the eventual solution to the deceleration problem.”

  The deceleration problem Rappaport was talking about involved any ship using a modern fusion drive. Acceleration was effectively instantaneous, but only in one direction – forward. It was usually only possible to fit one such fully-powered drive on any. In order to decelerate, these ships had to make an intricate maneuver, spinning the ship around with reaction control thrusters and then using the main drive in the opposite direction.

  The theory was that quantum wheels could reverse this problem by reversing the magnetic wave by which they propelled ships. However, there had not been any success in the attempts to apply that theory, yet.

  “I suspect that Chris would agree with you on that,” Rachel said. She was unaware of any of the details behind why quantum wheels might solve the deceleration problem, but she knew that it hadn’t done so, yet. “But until the quantum wheel fulfills all the promises it claims to be able to deliver in the future, I doubt he’ll agree with their widespread use. And I don’t think he particularly is interested in solving those problems – I think he’d be more interested in making better use of what we have now.”

  Rappaport frowned. “What, exactly, are you trying to say?”

  Rachel shrugged. “I suppose the best way to summarize my impression of him is that, while he’s incredibly talented, he’ll enjoy engineering as a hobby more than he would as a career. The same goes with his tactical skills, though, but... well, because he enjoys tactics less, I think it would be a better career choice for him. As a tactician, he’d get less... frustrated, for lack of a better word, at having to work on things he doesn’t particularly think are that important, or interesting, or useful. If he could keep engineering as his hobby, he’ll continue to enjoy it because he won’t be forced to do those things he finds too routine. I think he would most want to be an engineer... until he actually became one and found himself, say, regularly assigned to re-tune a ship’s quantum wheels. A career path which combined the two might suit him best, although I have no idea what job that would be.”

  Rappaport sighed. “To be honest, I’m not surprised. In fact, I agree with you. But I’m not sure what to do – as an engineer, he’s a natural, and I would be a fool not to nurture that. I shouldn’t be advising him to ignore that talent. But I agree that he would probably become disillusioned in the end, which could be just as harmful.” He frowned. “There is an engineering station on the bridge – once the refit is complete, I’ll see to it that Mr. Desaix is assigned there. We’ll install some tactical displays or something, and I’ll be sure that the Captain includes him as a part of his tactical team. I want him to get experience with both jobs, both the good parts and the bad. I suspect he hasn’t seen the dull side of an engineer’s career in the Navy, yet. Then we’ll see which career path he really prefers.”

  ——————————

  EAS Chihuahua

  Chris sat down, needing to close his eyes for a moment. He was exhausted, having neither eaten nor slept since shortly before the initial inspection of the ship, and a lot of the work he was doing proved to be quite labor-intensive. He couldn’t allow himself to take a break, however. For the moment, Rachel’s attackers were in the brig, but he didn’t know when they’d be released, and he would not rest while she might still be in danger.

  There was a tap on his suited shoulder. He opened his eyes, surprised to see Lieutenant Rappaport standing in front of him, looking slightly amused through his own suit’s visor. “I’m awake! I was just resting my eyes,” he protested,

  Rappaport raised an eyebrow. “You know, Mr. Desaix, you’re really going to have to learn how to address a superior officer before this is all over.”

  Chris winced. “Sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

  “I know,” the chief engineer said, grinning. “So, how long have you been napping here? You really shouldn’t do that in a suit with a limited oxygen supply, you know.”

  Chris checked his suit’s chronometer and air supply gauge. “Barely a minute, and I’ve got a fresh tank. I just sat down to take a breather.”

  “Why don’t you go back to the Gnat? You’ve been working non-stop for over twenty-four hours, now, and God only knows how long before then you had any sleep,” Rappaport suggested. “It’s only about a five minute trip back to the ship and your quarters.”

  “I’m not ready to go back. I need to finish getting the ship airtight and the environmental systems up and running first.”

  “I thought that was a four day project. You’ve been working on it for less than a day,” Rappaport reminded him.

  Chris nodded. “My initial estimate was more on the safe side then I originally thought. So, any news from the Gnat?”

  Rappaport clearly noticed the diversion, but didn’t challenge it. “Not much. Those two goons who were in your room were given three days brig time – the captain’s mast Lt. Sharpe held said the sentence would have been much harsher had they not already suffered such heavy injuries.”

  “Three days? They’ve already served at least one day, so they’ll be out in forty-eight hours, then?”

  “Forty-nine,” Rappaport corrected. “It’ll take an hour to process their release after their sentence is up.”

  Chris nodded slowly. “That’s not very long for assault.”

  “Yeah, well, Ms. Katz and Mr. Beccera did quite a number on them. I don’t blame Sharpe for thinking they’d suffered enough,” Rappaport said with some humor.

  “Didn’t know Rache had any hand-to-hand training,” Chris muttered. “Maybe I’ll ask her to give me some lessons some day. At any rate, unless there’s some business you need to bring up, I need to get back to work.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do have some business,” Rappaport explained. “I was looking over the blueprints you’ve made for the refit. I don’t see any quantum wheel nodes in your plans.”

  “I haven’t forgotten your instructions to include them, sir,” Chris said. “And I will. But if I have to use a quantum wheel, I’m going to install it my way. I intend a non-standard configuration of the emitter nodes.”

  Rappaport smiled slightly. “I am the Chief Engineer, you know. I would appreciate a heads-up if you’re planning changes big enough to hide an entire quantum wheel.”

  “That’s just it, sir,” Chris said. “We can’t put in an entire quantum wheel – not on the stern of the ship. There’s not enough room for one in the rear, alongside the primary fusion drive – not unless you want use undersized emitter nodes and re-tune it every other day. So, I thought we should try something unique. It should give us more forward thrust than we’d have had with a more standard configuration, and we might even manage boosted side and reverse thrust as well.”

  There was a long pause. “Did you say ‘side and reverse thrust?’”

  Chris nodded. “Yes, sir. Using the pyramid-style emitters, I believe we could install a secondary quantum wheel system that would provide a quarter of the thrust of a standard quantum wheel going forwards or backwards, or alternatively a side thrust from both sides about half that of a standard quantum wheel. The solution is actually fairly simple – mount the pyramid emitters on the sides of a ship.”

  Rappaport frowned. “Oh. You should probably look up the history of the quantum wheel in your textbooks – this won’t work.”

  Chris nodded. “Oh, the concept has been tried before, true, but only with dome emitters. But th
e pyramid emitters make control so much easier. When we want to provide forward thrust, only those plates facing towards the stern of the ship will be charged. When we want to provide reverse thrust, only those facing the bow of the ship will be charged. If we want to provide side thrust, only the plates opposite whatever direction we want to move will be charged.” He gave Rappaport a cocky grin. “And if we want a defensive shield, we charge all the plates at once and use the fusion drive to propel us.”

  “A shield?” Rappaport exclaimed.

  Chris laughed. It was such a simple concept, he had been flummoxed when he figured it out, as well, but the math said it would work. “It won’t cover the rear, but the fusion drive provides us some protection, there. And while it won’t quite cover the bow, either, we’ll have an opening through which spinal-mount weaponry can fire. But it’ll protect our flanks better than any armor – the only question I haven’t figured out is just how much better.”

  “But how would this work without crushing the hull?”

  “The same way an eggshell does when you squeeze it in your hand – the egg inside is safe because the pressure is evenly distributed. It’s not a perfect metaphor, but it’s the same principle.”

  “The ‘eggshell’ would break, and we’d be vulnerable. We’d lose thrust on that side, and probably lurch violently in the direction of the failed emitter before the pilot could compensate, but as long as the antigrav systems are operating the only remaining danger would be from enemy fire. It should be simple enough to recover maneuverability simply by shutting down the other emitters.”

  Rappaport nodded slowly. “That sounds... promising. I’ll need to look through your design calculations before I give my approval.”

  Chris hesitated. “I’m afraid, sir, I’ve already started. Some of the emitters were going to be placed where there were already cracks in the hull, so I figured we’d just seal off those areas and start cutting the bulkheads down in preparation for the emitters. It’ll save us several hours getting her airtight.”