"Succession War destroyers, Tamara...Fairmont, Osage, Terrier...battle damage reports..."
"What is it, Ensign?" asked Harris, yawning.
"Oh, sorry, Sir. I woke up about an hour ago and couldn't get back to sleep, so I started running some options over in my head. We may be dead anyway, but I don't like the thought of just sitting here waiting for them to come and take us out. Could we pull the communications console out of here and be somewhere else when they get here? There's no way we can save this station, but maybe we could last long enough to warn the Ambassador's ship away."
"Aye, Lass, that we might," observed Hawkins. He took a pull on his food tube, went over to the communications console and looked beneath it, thankful that they hadn't bothered to replace the inspection panel yet. "The console be hooked up to the station controls only by the three wires I reconnected." He looked around some more. "There also be a cable that hooks up to the send/receive dish. All we have to be doin' is to be gettin' power to the console and be riggin' up some kind of dish." He looked around some more. "This top section be havin' all the workings and it looks like we could just be unboltin' it. I'll be thinkin' it would fit through the hatches if we wanted to be takin' it out of here. We could be loadin' it onto one of the Rovers and be hidin' out inside most any of these old wrecks. With what there be on the sled and what there be here in the auxiliary station, we be havin' plenty of air. In our suits we might be lastin' a week, maybe more."
"We might, but it wouldn't be a pleasant experience," said Harris, finishing off his breakfast. "The sanitary facilities in these suits might be able to handle twenty-four hours or so of moderate use but after that..." He let his voice trail off.
"This may sound a little crazy...," said Carlisle. The two men looked at her. "But we might be able to make use of one of my Succession destroyers. Perkins confirmed that they're here, I'm trying to locate them right now with the tracking console."
"Okay... I'll bite," said Harris. "What did you have in mind?"
"Well, if any of the three ships is reasonably intact, maybe we could pressurize part of a deck or something. Hell, maybe we could get an airlock to work. We could just seal up an area -- several compartments maybe -- air it up and heat it. Hawk says we've got air and we could maybe rig some solar panels for heat and power for the communications console. The destroyers are perfect because they're small and have small compartments. I think we have a better chance of success if we don't try to work with anything too big."
"Aye, Lass, it might be doable. Solar panels could be a wee bit tricky though. We'd have t' be strippin' 'em from this station and then be figurin' out how to mount 'em. I don't know if we be havin' the time. Remember my Rover be havin' them heavy duty electrics. They'd be doin' the trick, especially if we dinna be needin' too much power. We'd likely be havin' to shut everything else down while we be tryin' to transmit, but that should nay be too much of a problem. "
"Maybe we could make this work!" said Harris, getting into the game. "Military ships are designed to shield their heat signatures. We'd be all but impossible find out in the yard." His face lit up. "You know what? If the bridge area were intact, we'd be able to use the command periscope to keep an eye out for the enemy. They wouldn't be able to see us and we wouldn't have to be outside somewhere to see them. Maybe we could even use the Stage I dish, if one was still intact."
"I be sure I could be makin' an airlock work, if it were nay too badly mucked up," said Hawkins, "but a small compartment with a bulkhead door on two sides could be rigged t' be workin' like an airlock. It'd nay be perfect but it'd nay have t' be permanent neither. If we be having a compartment or two to pressurize, we might just be havin' a shot. I be with you, Lass, anything but sittin' here like a dent in a bulkhead."
"That's the spirit, Hawk." She ran down the inventory descriptions for the ships.
"Osage...multiple compartments damaged...Fairmont...bridge damage...Terrier...starboard hull breach..." Growing more accustomed -- or perhaps resigned -- to her thought processes, the two men waited for her to work it out. She spoke up. "Well, it's no wonder they weren't salvaged. In addition to being obsolete, they were pretty badly damaged, all three of them. Okay, here they are, we have the Osage, the Fairmont, and the Terrier, all Orion Class destroyers. They're Mark IVs, leftovers from the pre-Succession days that got pressed into service because the Federation needed every ship they could lay their hands on. Damaged or not, it doesn't matter, we have to check them out. Lieutenant, I request permission to take Hawkins and have a look at those ships."
"This is crazy," said Harris, shaking his head, "but I don't have a better idea. Permission granted! Go for it, but be damned careful!"
Within twenty minutes, Carlisle and Hawkins were on one of the utility sleds and making their way out to a remote part of the yard. Harris waited onboard the tracking station and monitored their progress. Ten minutes later they arrived at the first of the three old wrecks.
"Send me the video feed from your suit, Vixen," said Harris, sitting at the communications console in the tracking station. "I'll record it on the tracking console so we can take a closer look after you get back."
"Roger, Java. Sending video on the Fairmont now."
The process was repeated for the two remaining destroyers. The three ships were actually in close proximity, making the inspection tour a fairly short affair. An hour and a half later, the three survivors were united back on the command deck of the tracking station going over the videos of the three ships.
"The Osage looks pretty hopeless," said Carlisle, "I don't think there's a compartment that wasn't vented to space. Looks like she got hit by a cloud of shrapnel from a fragmentation missile or she was next to another ship that suffered a catastrophic explosion. It's almost like she got blasted by a giant shotgun!"
"Aye, and the Fairmont is nay bein' much better, the bridge be all but gone and the hull be holed in dozens of places."
"Well, that leaves the Terrier," said Harris. The trio looked at video of a pre-Succession destroyer so old that it had two squat, slope-sided, honest-to-God projectile turrets, one fore and one aft of the stubby bridge superstructure. She also had a gash along the starboard side, starting near the bow, a jagged wound that ran nearly half the length of the old ship.
"Obviously there are some areas on this ship that wouldn't hold air, but the upper two decks and the bridge area look pretty good. That and the Stage I communications disk is still there," said Harris.
"The notes on the inventory list say she made it in here under her own power," said Carlisle. "Gentlemen, we may have found our sanctuary!"
***
Hawkins and Carlisle took the Rover I and headed back out to the Terrier in an attempt to make a small part of the old destroyer inhabitable again. Harris went to work getting the built-in communications console disconnected and ready to haul over to their new digs, wherever that might be.
Hawkins and Carlisle talked with subdued enthusiasm on the short trip out.
"Do you know anything about pre-Succession destroyers, Hawk?"
Hawkins kept his attention on the forward progress of the sled, but replied, "My first post out of boot camp was bein' machinist's mate on the Belfast, Lass, one of the last Orions bein' in service."
"Was it a Mark IV?"
"Nay, she was a Mark V. But they were nay that different. From what they be tellin' me, the Mark V be heavily based on the Mark IV." He thought for a moment. "Mind you, ours be havin' pulse beam weapons in front and only an aft projectile turret. They be finishing her just after the Big War be startin' and she was better built than anything they slapped together during the War. Them old Orions was good, stout ships, they was."
"Do you remember much about it?"
"Aye, Lass! You'll never be forgettin' your first post. The chief be makin' me learn every centimeter of that ship. I could be goin' from one end to the other blindfolded."
"Blindfolded?"
"Aye, Lass, blindfolded. You'll never be knowin' i
f you'll have to be after doin' something complicated in the dark. Most sailors still have to be doing something like that durin' their trainin'."
"The Belfast was a Mark V? What was the difference?"
"The hull itself be the same. The weapons were bein' a wee bit different. The biggest difference between the Mark IV and the Mark V be the power plant. The Mark V be needin' a lot more power."
"Really, why? Oh, of course. For the pulse beam weapons."
"Aye, Lass. They be takin' a heap more power."
Chapter 18
New Ceylon Orbital Station, Deck One, October 6, 2598.
Clancy Davis-Moore was in the living room of the luxury suite in the posh Galaxy Hotel that he customarily stayed in when he had business at the station. He was preparing for an early afternoon business meeting when he felt the slight tremor in the station that accompanied the initial attack. Seconds later, he heard the alarm klaxon go off.
Davis-Moore's suite was one of several designed into the station that were extremely luxurious and correspondingly expensive. Situated on the outer northern wall of the station's first deck, the suite extended outward through the second deck of the station, providing spectacular views to the outside through a huge viewport that spanned two levels. Like the Spaceview Restaurant, the suite also featured a ceiling viewport. Wealthy patrons were provided unsurpassed views of the station, the stars and, when the station had rotated to the proper orientation, the planet of New Ceylon. There was a spiral staircase between the two levels and doors on each deck that provided access to the main corridors of both the first and second decks. Windows in the walls opposite the huge viewport also provided a view of the main corridors of each level.
He went over to the railing on the edge of the first level floor and watched in horror through the ceiling viewport as the hapless Boise was attacked and destroyed. This was definitely not some lame drill or minor inconvenience, the station was under attack! Davis-Moore immediately doused the lights in the suite and drew the curtains on both sides.
After a half hour, he heard the staccato chatter of multiple pulse rifles. Shortly after that he heard and felt the sound of a fairly large group of people approaching out in the corridor on the first level. The floor was actually vibrating. He watched carefully through a small gap between the curtains as a troop clad in battle armor and armed with pulse rifles filed past. They were trailed by several more men in regular utility suits and someone in a smaller suit, a woman maybe? They seemed intent on what was ahead of them and didn't notice the silent observer in the luxury suite.
Clancy Davis-Moore thought quickly. He hadn't intended to, but he had overheard a part of the conversation between Commander Kresge and the NITrans official at the beginning of the flight out from the Reclamation Center. His ears had pricked up at the mention of pirates and he couldn't stop himself from listening after that. Could these people be the pirates that the NITrans official had been talking about? They had attacked from armed cargo ships, and they sure as hell weren't military.
What to do?
One thing was absolutely certain, no pirate or terrorist that he had ever heard of would be likely to overlook the opportunity provided to them by capturing a wealthy hostage. He might come out of such a situation alive and well, but, then again, he might not. Staying where he was could very well mean capture and all the dangers and inconveniences associated with negotiating a ransom and staying alive in the meantime. Much better to be in charge of your own fate!
He came to a decision. As had always been his nature, he would seek adventure, not wait for it to find him. Not really interested in the diplomatic goings on, he had been preparing for an early morning departure and most of the things he really needed were already packed for transport down to the planet.
What to take?
Whatever he took, he'd have to carry it himself for an unknown time and an unknown distance. That meant he had no choice but to travel light. He looked his belongings over and selected a few choice items. He grabbed a small backpack that doubled as an overnight bag and stuffed it with a several pairs of underwear and socks, a change of clothes and a toiletry kit. He then grabbed a long, narrow, black, hardcase -- a little over a meter and a half long -- and slung it over his shoulder. An additional small but fairly heavy pack with a shoulder strap completed his outfitting. With any luck, he could exit on the second level and make his way to the outer levels of the station. In the inevitable confusion, he should be able to slip away without attracting too much notice. Someone on board this station would have to be willing to try and put up a fight.
Clancy Davis-Moore wanted to find that someone.
Chapter 19
UTFN Reclamation Center, outside the wreck of the FNS Terrier, October 6, 2598.
Hawkins and Carlisle were on the port side of the Terrier right next to the main airlock that opened into the deck just below the bridge area of the ancient destroyer. Hawkins had tethered himself to the railing on the side of the sled nearest the ship and Carlisle was gently maneuvering the sled close enough for him to attempt connecting a power cable to the docking port.
"Just a wee bit higher, Lass. There - that be it!" He made the sled fast to one of the docking rings near the airlock before grabbing a heavy cable with the proper electrical connector on it from the selection of cables coiled neatly on the sled. He pried open a small, hinged cover on the side of the old ship and twisted the connector into the receptacle underneath.
"Here goes nothin'," he said as he used his thumb to punch one of the two round buttons within the receptacle, just above the connector. The two salvagers allowed themselves a small celebration as the door cycled open.
"Come on, Lass, let's be havin' a look!"
They went cautiously into the airlock and opened the inside door. They were greeted by a very gentle puff of escaping atmosphere. There shouldn't have been any atmosphere remaining on the ship after more than fifty years and although there wasn't very much, that little whisper of air was a very good sign.
"Well," said Carlisle, "that would seem to answer our question of whether or not she'll hold air!"
"I be tellin' you these old ships was tough!"
With only their suit lights for illumination, they made their way through several more bulkhead doors, all of which had been sealed, but each opened with a minimum of effort. After ascending a short ladder and opening another hatch, they found themselves on the bridge. Carlisle swept the compartment with her suit lights and immediately began to get excited.
"Look at this bridge, Hawk. It could have been abandoned yesterday!"
The bridge area of the old warship wasn't equipped with viewports like the civilian cargo ship they had been on earlier, instead it had an impressive bank of video screens, all of which were blank. The ship was also equipped with a large periscope that provided three hundred sixty degree visibility as a backup if the viewscreens were to fail during battle. The periscope could be used to guide and even fight the ship if necessary. Because anything was possible in the heat of battle, the periscope also had provisions for being operated while the user's head was encased in a space suit helmet. Periscope operation was totally manual and no power was needed to make it function. Hawkins flipped the helmet adapter into place and showed Carlisle how to use the periscope. He looked out over the scrapyard, brought the tracking station into view and magnified the image. He then moved out of the way so Carlisle could have a look.
"Damn!" exclaimed Carlisle, as she looked through the eyepieces. "That's impressive! I see why Harris thought we could use this!"
The better-than-expected condition of the bridge on the old ship was very encouraging. Carlisle, in her far less bulky suit, flitted around the bridge, shining her helmet lights into every corner, examining anything and everything, all the while thinking out loud. Hawkins grinned as he watched her nearly frantic explorations.
"Command console...sanitary facilities...control center...ventilation grill..." She stopped and repeated, "...ventilation grill?" S
he came back from her private world and spoke up. "Hawk, shouldn't there have been an emergency life support module that served the bridge area on this ship?"
"Aye, Lass. If this ship be anythin' like the one I was on, it ought to be in the center of the deck we came in on. Or it might be on the next deck down, they did some rearrangin' of the deck layout on the Mark V 'cause of the bigger power plant."
She stopped for a minute and her face got the blank look it got when she was consulting her computer.
"Look it up, Tamara...let's see...Orion Mark IV... bridge area...emergency life support... "
"Aye, that be it."
She snapped back to the present again.
"Huh?"
"That be it."
"Oh, good. Well, as near as I can tell...," she said, pushing over to a spot near the center of the bridge, "...according to the schematics, that module should be right below where I'm floating right now. Hawk, we have to go and have a look!"
"Okay, Lass. We'll just be headin' back the way we came."
They retraced their route to the deck below and made their way through two bulkhead hatches heading towards the center area of the deck.
"There should be a curved pylon about two meters across with an oval access panel in it," said Carlisle.
"Aye, Lass, here it be." Hawkins centered the access panel in his suit lights and, after a short inspection, produced a hand tool and went to work on the Dzus fasteners that held the panel in place. In less than a minute he had the panel off and was inspecting the space behind it.
"This area be one of the main conduits for electrical and ventilation for the upper decks," he said. He shined his suit lights inside the compartment. "Those be banks of emergency air bottles and that," he said, shining his lights on a refrigerator-sized module, "that be the emergency life support module. It looks to be in good shape."
Junkyard Dogs 1: The Scrapyard Incident Page 10
