“All in favor?”
Only Kennet abstained. The others all fell in line and voted for the chamber. “Very well then, the station council ratifies the chamber of commerce. Mr. Bertoli can you please take a seat here or do you have someone else in mind to man this position?” Sid said, nodding politely to the pizza chef.
“We'll rotate it,” a banker said looking at Bertoli. “If you are going to stay do you mind taking the hot seat?”
“I'm still not sure I will,” Bertoli said but he got up. The audience thundered in applause as he made his way to the stage and then up to the seating. Sid and the other supporters on the council clapped as well. He nodded politely as Sid's avatar got out of the chair and offered it to him. Another appeared nearby, this one virtual like Sid. Sid took his seat after Bertoli.
“Now that that is settled, we need to address the food situation,” Sid said, turning to the others. “I vote that only contraband that is harmful to the station in the form of controlled or illicit materials be banned from the station. All other foods are to be considered on a case by case basis. All in favor?” The group reluctantly nodded. “Does anyone object to meat?”
Only Kennet opposed that motion.
“We can discuss and refine the order at a later time. Mr. Bertoli on behalf of the council I apologize for the discomfort you have received. We will contact the Kiev and your shipment will be turned over to you. In compensation we the station will assume the debt for shipping and any penalties the Kiev applied to the shipment,” Emily said.
Bertoli blinked at her and then nodded, suddenly relieved. A great weight had seemed to be lifted off his shoulders.
“So that's settled?” Irons asked as the media report wound down. He'd listened to all he could stand of the coverage before switching it off.
“You'd think so. I think people have awoken to their power. I think the council didn't like it either. They prefer the masses ignorant and sleeping,” Sprite replied. “Going about their daily business and not really paying attention to the big picture.”
“Woke the sleeping giant?” Irons asked, clearly amused. “Serves them right.” He tapped at the controls, logging a few reports.
“Yes well, they also didn't like your part to play in this little farce. We'll catch flack from it down the road,” Sprite warned.
“I'm pretty sure we will,” Irons said, studying the board in front of him. He'd manned ops to let Riff and Gwen attend the meeting. Everything was quiet which was good. He'd been surprised and a little gratified to see Riff and Gwen had kept to the audience, avoiding being on the forum and thus an unwilling party to the drubbing the council had taken.
“Yeah, I'm certain of it,' Sprite said with a tired air. “I don't see anything coming up. The meeting is winding down. People were already drifting off so we should be seeing things returning to normal soon.”
“Hopefully,” Irons agreed.
Word of the station made its way around the planet in unsavory circles of course. Vagabonds, pick pockets, drunks, bums... homeless people and others flock to the space port over time. Some buy tickets. A few try to smuggle themselves on board shuttles but were caught. A few bribe themselves on board. Kiev, Lieandra, and the long range shuttle are the only ways to the station. The long range shuttle has a limited passenger load, only a hundred so it's easy to find someone who doesn't belong.
Some underclass families get together, scrounge money for a ticket or two with hopes that when the person is on the station they will have enough soon to pay it back and send more for more of the family to emigrate.
Some mayors export their troublemakers to the station by deportation. Sometimes it's through the courts, sometimes it's through voluntary deportation. Anyone can get a ticket to go if it's a one way. It's a good way to get rid of the town drunk or bum. Sprite showed Irons an editorial piece on the subject.
The trouble makers and con artists were dismayed when they were processed like everyone else, given Ident chips and fingerprinted and then immediately met at the lock by the sheriff and his unsmiling deputies when they raise flags in the computer net. They were given fair warning; they were on probation, to keep their noses clean and to the grindstone. Anyone who acted up can be brigged, if they act up badly they will get the pleasure of seeing the outside of the station without a suit.
Kiev made it's goodbyes six and a half months after arriving in the system, two months after the station had finally come to rest in its permanent parking spot. They were late leaving but they knew it was worth the time and effort. They also knew that the station was in good hands and that they would make up the time in transit with their newly restored systems.
“Let's be off then,” Captain Chambers urged.
“Prepare to cast off,” Warner called, turning in place, back straight, arms folded behind him. “Cast off,” he ordered nodding to the bosun.
“Casting off aye. We are adrift. Tugs are taking station now. Ten minutes until we are clear of the station,” the bosun replied, looking up from his station console.
“Very well,” Mr. Warner said.
“Fine how do you do when you can't even move under your own power,” Chambers grumbled. He'd put his foot down when the council had tried to insist on a station pilot on his helm. Only his people were going to sit there.
“It's a big ship sir,” Warner said with a smile. “And we're full.”
“That we are,” Chambers said with a nod. The back and forth trips and all the dealings had allowed their Telerite cargo master to stuff their holds with goods. All of it was processed goods too, things like equipment, spares, and food goods. They had little if any raw metals or materials. It was a first in a long time for them.
“Antigua Prime to Kiev 221. We thank you for your services and your aide. Please come back soon. Safe harbor for you here always. Smooth sailing from here on out,” a voice said over the net.
M'runi glanced at his captain. Captain Chambers nodded and lifted a finger.
M'runi tapped the mike control with his upper left pincer. “Spirit of space be with you Antigua Prime. Kiev 221 clear,” he chittered.
“Tugs undocking now sir,” the bosun reported a few minutes later.
“Very well then. Miss Suarez set course for the Centennial jump line jump point. Mr. Blackhawk initialize course change on her order. It's high time we got this show on the road.”
“Yes sir,” Esmay Suarez said, turning to face her station with a smile as she tapped the controls. She was still getting used to her implants. The captain had opted to have only the senior officers, helmsmen, navigators, and a select number of engineers receive implants.
She looked at her holo projection. Her station was now one of the most advanced in the galaxy. She loved the clean curves and feel of the lounge seat under her. It was perfect. The last trace of doubt left her system. She was eager to see what Kiev could do in hyper. Beta band here they come.
The captain looked around the room. There wasn't a trace of doubt in any of his people. Good. They were ready.
“Chief O'Mallory...”
“Power is coming up now sir. Engines are online and begging to be used captain,” The chief said, turning from her temporary station behind him. He turned to her and then to the Veraxin ops officer Hir’ruk. The third mate bobbed a nod.
Captain Chambers nodded. “Smooth sailing they said. We'll see. Very well then,” he tugged on his uniform jacket before settling deeper into his seat. He flicked his hand to Blackhawk. “Engage.”
With all the good press about the station coming online Irons used his new political clout and the swelling emotions over the meat incident to get people motivated about the future. Sprite's selling his time paid off for that as well. He visited a reporter who did a series of interviews with him for an exclusive club. He also repaired a few pieces of machinery for the club members before it was shipped back to the planet.
“It's a men's club admiral,” Sprite said sounding amused. “A place for men to hang out in a man cav
e.”
“Jealous?” he asked amused.
She sniffed in amusement. “Not a bit. I'm just amused at the need to go through with such things.”
“People need to unwind and they need places to do it. This club sounds interesting,” he said. He wasn't sexist or anything but he did realize men and women needed their own space, a place to have fun outside the prying eyes of spouses. The interviews had taken about an hour each time. He had realized early on that the club was for the rich of Antiguan society, the movers and shakers of the planet. With a little prodding they might get behind the Constitution he was pitching.
Several of the mayors were members of the club. A few of the more prominent business men seemed interested, but he wasn't sure if it was feigned or not. Each of the patrons was allowed to send him a recorded question. Fortunately Sprite had copied them so he could formulate responses to them without feeling sandbagged.
The media department had an entire wing and seemed a little bewildered by the space. There were two reporters other than Toni Chambers, an editor, a copier, and a printer. The printer was a bit put out by the lack of a printing press but the others seemed readily adapting to the new technological environment.
He'd spent an extra hour the first day going over the place, repairing a few pieces of equipment for them and even explaining what they were. They seemed very interested in the television studio. So far Toni had been doing her broadcasts and recordings with a hand held camera. When he had left them the editor was in his office interviewing people to run the studio. Hopefully something good would come of it soon.
Of course it would only be local; the planet had no televisions or holo boards. They didn't even have movies. They did have radio, which was good. He'd heard that a radio company was interested in doing broadcasts from the station. It would be interesting to see their reaction when they came up and occupied one of the other media outlets. Would they adapt easier then the newspaper people? He hoped so for their sake.
“Why did I do these... why didn't they send them up all at once? For that matter why didn't they ask for me to come down to the planet?” he asked Sprite as they walked along the main concourse. It was changing rapidly now, the neon signs were lit in a quarter of the buildings advertising restaurants and shopping opportunities. He didn't want to think about the shipping bill for some of those businesses. Hopefully they would be smart enough to invest in replicators and power soon. If they didn't they'd go out of business when a competitor did. He was fairly certain the cat house was covered though.
“They did admiral, but I turned them down. What they wanted was for you to go to the club and hang out there as an honorary member for a week,” Sprite responded.
“A week?” he asked surprised. A day maybe, but a week?
“Yes a week. In their club, sucking up booze and putting up with the haze of smoke and the half drunk patrons. No tech toys, just a bar with trophies all over the place. From past experience I knew you wouldn't be interested.”
“Damn straight. I've got better things to do with my time then to get soused and listen to people brag about their exploits.”
“Ignoring your own bragging of course?” Sprite teased. She was fairly certain he would go stark raving bonkers in boredom if he didn't have his hands busy with some piece of machinery daily.
“Sprite...” he sighed and picked up his pace as a few people looked at him. Deputy Fife nodded his way with a stern warning gaze to slow down. He slowed his pace slightly and then nodded back. “Not funny. I'm not bragging I am answering questions. Bragging would be bringing it up and rubbing someone's nose into it,” he growled to the AI under his breath.
“An interesting interpretation of the term admiral,” Sprite said amused. “The good news is your seeds have taken root initially. They are talking about forming a constitutional convention.”
“Good.”
“They are also discussing forming a central government beyond the council of mayors. Apparently they have been discussing it for years now, on and off, but they never got anywhere because they couldn't agree on a format. The upwelling of interest had reignited the discussion.”
The admiral nodded. “Hopefully it goes somewhere. Can you dump a copy of the constitution highlighting the first amendment to interested parties? Starting with our media friends?”
“I'll do that. Some won’t like it, they like to muzzle negative opinion...” she let the hint linger in the air, “but it is certainly a good idea.”
“It's the best one that actually works for all involved,” Irons growled. He had run into his own problems with negative opinion from time to time. He'd tried to keep it in perspective and learn from it. Or at best ignore the idiots since they didn't know what they were talking about.
“Subtle admiral. I realize you are guiding their central government to a Federation model. Do you think it will work?” Sprite asked. Personally she thought the odds were about even.
He nodded as he rounded a corner. He dodged a couple of kids playing handball against the wall and then kept going. “I think it's worth it. If we can steer things like we did in Pyrax then the two models should serve as examples to others around them, and then to the Federal government when it is formed in the future.”
“Thinking big,” Sprite said.
“Start small but have a goal in mind. Don't limit yourself to one path or plan though,” Irons replied.
“Words to live by. Well, hopefully it works,” Sprite said.
“We'll see.”
Act III
ñChapter 29
"Crap," Sprite said with some feeling. He glanced at her. They were up to their usual necks in various projects. Sprite was still trying to repair software on the station. It was after all a big station, more and more of it was coming online every day.
Fortunately, she had fellow AI to lend her a hand in some tasks like swatting the occasional virus or bug. But from her comments she didn't hold some of the dumb AI in high regard for some reason. Something about air heads.
"Problem with the tugs?" he asked. They'd replicated tugs to haul materials to the station. They'd kept the production line going and now tugs not needed to run materials back and forth were either helping in the rebuild or were slowly moving the pieces of the other stations back into the system. Bits of the unfortunate former sister stations were scattered all over the system. It was a monumental task, scheduled to take two years at this rate.
They needed the material. Or would. The other derelict stations were garbage of course, broken derelicts that would be sent to the breakers for recycling. He wasn't sure what the plan was there. But two years to complete the project?
Of course that didn't factor in replicating additional tugs. He planned on replicating them; they were too useful not to have. Unfortunately they only had so many pilots. Oh sure, they could replicate more automated tugs, but he wasn't keen about taking an organic out of the command loop. Sure AI like Sprite could handle one, but they'd be bored to virtual tears in next to no time. The dumb AI that had brought The Golden Dew drop, rechristened the Phoenix in had flat out refused to go out again after such a long run. They needed input; they needed to talk with someone, even if it was an organic. He was surprised the AI hadn't gone insane. Sprite had explained that it had barely kept sane by communicating through the limited data network. But the light speed lag had been incredibly vexing.
That was a problem. He had yet to find a workable solution. Until he did they were forced to keep the tugs closer to home. A cyber could pilot one... if they had the training and wanted to accept the risk. Most of the cybers in the system had no flight ops training. And of course the tug had to be nearby due to the lag if they were remote piloted. Again, if they were going to do that a dumb AI would suffice.
"No, the tugs are fine." Sprite hadn't been happy about spinning off a dumb AI as tug pilots for the newest generation of tugs. He'd copied the base AI core into each himself since she'd been so reluctant. It had been a tedious task, one he
was glad was complete.
“Phoenix?” he asked.
Sprite did a quick check through the net. “Phoenix is fine. She's docked and no one has bothered with her in her slip. We're still working on the list of stuff for her.” He frowned, he knew that of course. He'd checked the ship out when it had docked several days ago. She'd been a mess.
The ship was quite a find in a way, a modern yacht built just prior to the Xeno war and then converted to a military dispatch boat.
She was just over three hundred meters long end to end, and shaped like an “A” shaped arrow head. Her center shaft pointed out the rear and came to a tip. The central shaft had a diamond cross section with a bridge in the center jutting up and swept back. The bridge tower was festooned with sensors; most of the sensors had been stripped away due to micrometeorites over the past several centuries of drifting in the void.
She had two nacelles on the tips of the wings, each pointed back to her stern. She wasn't armed but she had a class 3 military grade hyperdrive and power plant in her stern. With a bit of work she could easily make the high notes of Gamma band in hyperspace. With a good smart AI and crew she could get to Delta too.
Apparently she'd been damaged and then run out of fuel before exiting hyper near the system. Six centuries of drifting had finally brought her into range for pick up.
There was a small boat bay tucked in her keel. Getting in and out required a bit of maneuvering but was doable as long as he limited the parasite compliment to his launch and a handful of exterior bots. He might be able to squeeze a work boat in... but had decided against it for now.
She didn't have much cargo space of course, just the usual space for raw materials and other consumables and a substantial space for a freezer and wine room of all things. He planned on gutting both spaces and making his own additions as soon as he had the spare time and materials.
Ghost Station (The Wandering Engineer) Page 74
