He happily pulled up the files he’d been working on contained in his data slate, and then linked to her pad and forwarded them over to the other engineer.
The other engineer opened her pad almost eagerly and then scanned the document. A frown crested her face.
“I think you sent me the wrong file,” she said, looking back up at him skeptically.
“Nope you got the right one,” he replied with certainty.
“But this isn’t design specs for a battleship, this is for an…” she paused to glance over the specs one more time. Her eyebrows climbed for the lights as she continued, “A monster building slip, almost two thousand meters long,” she said with a quick shake of her head, “it’s larger than a Massive!" She was referring to the size of yard needed to make the largest of Imperial warships.
“That’s right,” Spalding agreed, feeling in an almost fae mood as he pointed to the salient features displayed on her pad, “I figure we’ll need at least that for what I have in mind.”
“To fix up the Clover!?” she demanded. “We already built a hard dock big enough to fix up 600+ meter long Battleships, not just the flexible 500 meter yard we used to horn around on the Phoenix. There’s no need for something of this size; I mean, what would you build in this thing, Imperial Command Carriers? The resources alone would be extreme,” she shook her head in absolute negation.
“Yes, but just think of it,” Spalding said, his eyes lighting with an inner fire as he saw what could be if only they had the courage and vision to build it, “the Lucky Clover 2.0, rebuilt and refurbished using all of her old materials—but expanded with the new Duralloy II—and she’ll again be exactly what she was when she was originally envisioned when first built: the Queen of the battlefield!”
“You’re actually serious about this idea,” Baldwin stopped abruptly in disbelief and stood still in the middle of the corridor.
“As a heart attack,” Spalding said, “and I’ve had two of those in the past…although the quacks called one of them a ‘minor ischemic event’ or some quackery; a man knows when his heart’s been attacked!” he snapped irritably, nearly overcome with the urge to denounce all medical practitioners everywhere. “Anyway…I know what I’m talking about.”
She paged through the files he’d sent her until she’d left the new yard dock and moved into the specs of the Clover reborn and then she snorted derisively.
“Putting heart attacks—and their bearing on the subject of engineering aside,” she said with a withering look, “building an…Ultra Massive construction slip, I guess we’d have to call it, would take more resources than the repair of two ruined battleships!”
“Two battleships?” he asked incredulously. “There’s no need to get hysterical about—”
His words were interrupted by a smack to the arm.
“Hysterical, is it?” Baldwin growled getting right up in his face, or as close as she could given the height disparity his legs gave them, “I’d be careful what you call people, you old goat, or there will be consequences to your pet little projects.”
“There’s no need to threaten a work slowdown,” he grumbled, rubbing his upper arm. Of course, the blasted lass had to go and hit him in what little tender real flesh remained to him. “It was just an expression,” he added, and then seeing the instant anger clouding the woman’s face, he hastily added, “and probably the wrong one to use at that." He sternly reminded himself that his pride had no place in a conversation involving the rebuild of his beloved Clover.
“Consider yourself warned, you old reprobate,” she said caustically.
“Anyway,” he said after clearing his throat, “I’m not proposing we divert manpower and machinery away from repairs.”
“Good,” she cut in, “because we have precious little of either.”
“Now, that’s not entirely true,” the Chief Engineer protested, “we’ve got a full-on, planetary-level, factory complex here and another one on the way.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve got a lot of things on the way,” Glenda sniffed, “corvettes, destroyers, several battleships, all in need of repairs.”
“And as I was saying,” Commander Spalding said firmly, “when we’ve cleared the backlog, instead of having everyone sitting around finding things to keep them busy, we’ll have them work on extruding heavy Duralloy II support beams and the necessary infrastructure to build the cradle for the,” he frowned, “Ultra Massive, I guess we’re calling it now.”
“You give me the bodies and we’ll do more but right now we’re at capacity,” Baldwin said with a shake of her head.
“That’s what I’m sayin’,” the old Engineer said shortly, “I’m not telling you to stop what we’re doing or make one man do the work of three; just run out the heavy structural beams when things are slow.”
“You can’t build a yard expansion of this magnitude in your spare time—and that’s not even touching the kind of manpower and resources that would be needed for this,” she looked down at the plans on her pad and then threw her hands in the air, “whatever you call this monstrosity.”
“I’m just tryin’ to make her what she should have always been,” Spalding protested, “a large, majestic, powerful battleship—”
“At twenty times the size!” she blurted.
1,800 meters is only three times as long as 600 meters, he reminded himself, deciding not to argue about her fuzzy math, besides, she’ll need hardly any added interior fittings compared to the old girl.
“That’s not a minor refit; that’s tearing her apart for parts and building a brand new ship of a brand new class!” she scowled and then sighed. “Even if we could run out that much Duralloy—which, I don’t see how if it’s all Duralloy II,” Baldwin said, “forget manpower, forget resources, I plain don’t see how Gambit could process that much improved Duralloy and build the lasers to weapon her.”
Spalding shook his head decisively. “There’s no need to worry about the weaponry; we’ll bring over whatever the Clover has left, plus whatever odds and ends we can fit on her, but that won’t be the priority. If you look at the design, her current primary weaponry will be her secondary,” the old engineer all but gloated. “I plan to build a new primary cannon the runs the length of her! It’ll be a spinal cannon that can out-range, out-power, and just plain out-fox anything those so-called Command Carriers can muster!”
“Blast it, old man, you know as well as I do there’s a reason you don’t build ships this large,” the former construction manager protested and at that moment Spalding couldn’t remember seeing anyone more fetching—not even his former wife—but rudely heedless to his train of thought she pressed on. “Just the number of fusion generators you’d need to power everything would be prohibitive on a ship that size. You’d be using more generators than anything else after you installed the power plants to run her normal space and hyper engines, on this…cockamamie Super Battleship idea of yours!”
“Take a look at the main cannon again,” he gloated, “it’s basically one, big, giant, magnet with grav-plates installed throughout to get the shot up to speed. It’ll be a simple matter to reverse the plates and disperse the shot: from the front she’s a main gun, but from the back—“ he couldn’t help himself from chortling in self-satisfaction as an irrepressible smile beamed across his face, “it’s a poor man’s fighting engine!”
“You idiot! Reversing a rail-gun to and using it for propulsion is a fool’s gambit; she’ll tear herself and the rest of the ship apart before you fire it twice,” she shouted at him. “Which still doesn’t account for the power!”
“Bah,” he glared at her, refusing to have his buoyant mood quashed so easily, “it’ll work in a trick so long as you help work out the bugs in her. And, as for the power, why…if fusion plants don’t provide enough juice then…then…well, then we’ll just have to go another route.”
“Fission? That produces even less—and don’t get me started on solar power. Covering your entire ship—even this monster—in so
lar skins isn’t going to be a drop in the bucket,” she said leveling a finger at him, “to say nothing of volatile chemical batteries. There’s simply no way!”
“Oh, aye,” he agreed pointing his own finger at her, “but yer forgettin’ that the Confederated Empire and all its blasted rules went out the window when Man up and left—that’s why she’ll be using antimatter!”
Glenda’s mouth fell open, then it snapped shut with a click and she rallied, “Antimatter is illegal, and any use of it in a warship falls squarely under modern war crime statutes. Not only that, it has this alarming tendency to blow up if moved!”
“It’s too unstable to be weaponized,” he agreed sharply, knowing that every test which had been tried with missiles under tactical acceleration had ended up with the premature eruption. Space mines were a different story, but even then the slightest blip in the shielding and ‘poof,’ up it went. “But the main problems with using it for power generation are the containment facilities.”
“Exactly! They’re too big to fit on a ship, you cyborg,” she cried.
“You wound me, lass,” he said ,placing a hand to his chest and his mouth turning down, “but never no mind that. The containment systems needed are too big for even a battleship, which is why I’m building a…what did you call it? A Super-Battleship. She’s been specifically designed to allow for the amount of grav-plates and containment shield density to keep any stray particles of matter from intersecting with the anti-matter and blowing us all to kingdom co—”
“Do you even realize the amount of radiation an anti-matter plant produces when it’s active and putting out power? You’ll still be irradiating your own crew! That ship of yours will be flying death trap,” Baldwin threw her hands in the air. “The amount of radiation shielding you’d need to protect against lethal build ups is…I don’t even know how much just off the top of my head.”
“Which is why it was added to the war crimes list by the Confederated Empire,” the old Engineer said semi-reasonably, “it wasn’t because of the damage antimatter plants could do to inhabited worlds or enemy ships. The sort of damage it could do to yer own people was on the level of an old weapon of mass destruction, like a dirty bomb ye dropped on yerself. However, like I said, the old Confederation never ratified it and since we’re no longer a part of the Empire, we fell back on Confederation rules.”
“The old Confederation was the one that started the research on banning antimatter,” Glenda protested. “It’s only because it took them so long to come to a decision with their fact-finding panels—like it took them with just about any major decision—that it was the Empire which ratified the Confederation’s findings and made it illegal. It was outlawed for a reason, Spalding.”
“So help me overcome the flaws,” he said with a winning smile, “why do you think I’ve come to you, an expert construction manager? The Empire is fixated on a constant race for new technology, new gadgets, and new weapons, and I say: why? The way I see it there’s a whole slew of old tech and systems they threw in the wastebasket, and I plan to use them to give the Empire a run for its money. It won’t just be Captains and fighting Admirals that win things for the Spine; it will take Engineers…yes,” he added in a slightly grudging tone, “and former construction managers also.”
“No. Do you hear me?” she asked jaw jutting belligerently, “Not everyone who joins the military wants to step into a fusion reactor just for the fun of it. There’s no way you’ll get me to help you with this project!”
Looking at her with narrowed eyes, he felt his chest expand. Why, if she was one of his officers he’d give her what for…and then he slowly relaxed. There was something in her eyes that he recognized. Underneath the outrage and disbelief was the look of an engineer who was halfway intrigued by the possibilities which had been set before her.
“Then I’ll just have to do it all by myself. It’s probably better that way,” then he put a hint of sadness in his voice. “O’ course, I’m only human and I’m bound to make a few mistakes, but you know what they say: can’t make an omelet without breaking a few Murphy-blasted eggs.”
There was an extended pause and she suddenly threw her tablet against the wall. “You old Bastard,” she snapped, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at him while her foot tapped on the floor.
That was when he knew he had her.
“Of course, if you have any suggestions, I’m more than willing to work them into the design,” he said piously.
Chapter 18: Jason and Spalding on Gambit
“Almost three weeks here, and weeks before that in Tracto, and we’re still not on our way to Sector 23,” I exploded, fighting the urge to curse and slam my fist into the wall. Mostly because I figured the Duralloy would do more damage to me, and not incidentally hurt a whole heck of a lot, than I would do to it. One of the curses of having pain receptors, I guess.
“We’re moving as fast as we can and still have a decent ship to get you there with,” Spalding protested loudly, “the engine housing on the Phoenix was a lot worse than she looked and the trip back here to the Gambit Yards only proved we were fortunate she scooted in here, instead of haring off immediately towards that hair brained scheme of Ambassador Pao where she would have cracked an internal support structure in some benighted system without a repair slip.”
I released a frustrated sigh.
Every day the Furious Phoenix was in one of our two main yard slips—the only fully-functional slip—was another day that I couldn’t put a battleship like the Armor Prince or the Parliamentary Power into it. And with the Royal Rage firmly planted into the second slip—the one that was still half under construction at the same time they had started repairs on the half disassembled old Battleship—it looked like I was going to have to make some choices I didn’t want to make.
I was going to have to head out with the Imperial Strike Cruiser for my Flagship. I’d gone over the specs of course, and reviewed the battle footage. The Furious Phoenix was fast and tough, for her size, especially her shield generators and she packed a punch—especially long ranged, although again, with the qualifier ‘for her size’—but she was still no battleship or else the Lucky Clover under an inexperienced Admiral wouldn’t have been able to batter her down and take her a-prize.
Still if she was all I was going to get and waving my hands and demanding faster work wasn’t an option then it looked like I was stuck. Although maybe the Parliamentary Power could be put back together fast enough to join us in Sector 23 before everything was blown to kingdom come.
Normally I wouldn’t even consider it; a Sector was a very large place and without the ComStat network I had no real idea where I was going—or, rather, going to wind up after I got there—the odds of us crossing paths and linking up would be pretty slim. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Thanks to the Pride of Prometheus and their lost patrol, I wasn’t exactly without a ComStat network of my own, or at least some portion of such a system.
So the fact that I really didn’t have a choice if I was going to get there in time to do any good. That, combined with the new mission I was considering for Captain Middleton and the Pride of Prometheus, aimed to get me working access to that very same network, meant that there was actually a chance that I might possibly have a battleship showing up late to the party and arriving somewhere in my vicinity when I needed her.
Assuming I got up off my duff and braved the cold, cruel world of space combat against droids in another Sector in nothing bigger than a Strike Cruiser, that is.
I sighed again.
“It’s not as bad as all that, Admiral,” Spalding said awkwardly, as if he thought I needed cheering up. And if I was looking so glum and down in the dumps that the eccentric old Engineer thought I needed cheering up, then it was definitely time to get my act together, “She’s almost back together again and, for all he’s a piece of work, Junior—” the old engineer cut himself off his eyes taking on a hardened angry look, “I mean, that no good parliamentary blighter, knows his
business. For all his faults, slowing down the yard crews with made-up excuses hasn’t been one of them; the work’s actually been faster than I thought. Course, I had my eyes on things so maybe he didn’t want to risk being caught out…” he wound down, staring contemplatively off into space.
“It’s bad enough,” I said looking out at the Imperial Strike Cruiser for the last time before turning away.
“Sir?” Spalding asked shaking himself out of his reverie.
“But there’s nothing to be done for it,” I said brusquely, turning and striding off my decision suddenly made. Not that it hadn’t been made for some time but was finally done with all the wishy-washy, maybe I wouldn’t do it and pull back at the last minute. It was time to declare the move and go all in for Sector 23 or pull in my horns and I just couldn’t leave those people under the droids, “Pass along the orders, as soon as the Phoenix is buttoned back up, she and anything else that’s ready to move will be going with us. We’ll go to 23, by way of Tracto to make sure there aren’t any new problems waiting for us there, and then strike off for the border.”
“We won’t have any battleships ready to go with us, Sir,” Spalding said pointing out the obvious.
“We’ll crew up what we can and leave the rest on the Power,” I said decisively. “They can work her up while we’re gone and as soon as she’s back together come and join us in the droid shoot.”
“They’ll have one blazes of a time trying to find us,” Spalding said uneasily.
“I have a plan for that,” I replied, flashing a tight smile and continuing down the corridor.
“I hope it’s a good one,” the Chief Engineer muttered behind me.
Spineward Sectors 6: Admiral's Spine Page 18
