New Ceylon Orbital Station. December 3, 2598.
Irene Marshall couldn't help feeling anxious as she flitted about her small apartment, making decisions about what to leave and what to take. Oskar Kresge had called her from the Reclamation Center just an hour earlier with news that hostilities had broken out all over the Santana Quadrant. Oskar had informed her that the orbital station that was home to Irene and another 3000 people was too big and too vulnerable to be properly defended with the forces at hand and that, as a result, a decision had been made to abandon the station for the foreseeable future. Oskar had further instructed her to take a seat on the remaining shuttlecraft and come out to the Scrapyard. Kathy Haines and Salvador Vasquez, now the Director and Deputy Director of Station Security, were remaining behind with a skeleton crew of technicians to keep the orbital station operating at what amounted to a standby level.
The Federation Navy had promised to make a warship available to the planetary governor to guard the system but no ship had shown up so far. As thin as the Navy's resources were spread, Irene didn't think such a ship would be arriving anytime soon, if at all. Since her position as undersecretary required a considerable measure of diplomatic ability, it also occurred to her that Oskar and the Ambassador were probably going to need her help with the veritable storm of diplomatic issues associated with the conglomeration of unwilling "guests" onboard the Istanbul. She sighed as she thought about it.
The cutter was going to be crammed with people, probably twenty-five or so, which was right at its maximum capacity. With her would be several of the station personnel that she had fought alongside with during the terrorist takeover of the orbital station including Orville Steuben's wife, Allison and their daughter, Amanda. Irene and the other personnel had been informed that space was limited and that they were going to have to pack as lightly as they could. She wondered if there would be adequate accommodations for everyone out at the Scrapyard but between the Greyhound, Istanbul and Davis-Moore's Dingo, they should be able to absorb another two dozen souls without too much trouble.
Irene had also arranged for the transport of as much food as she could lay her hands on and began to worry anew just how long they might be required to hold out in the Scrapyard. More hands meant the ability to do more work but would also be putting a greater strain on all of their resources, from life support systems to food supplies to waste disposal facilities. Oskar had informed her that he wasn't overly worried about oxygen or water as there were practically unlimited supplies in the thousands of old ships out in the Scrapyard. This meant that their biggest worry was likely to be food.
She continued with her preparations.
***
Elsewhere on the orbital station, Amanda Steuben could barely think straight as she too flitted excitedly around her small quarters, deciding what to bring along with her out to the Scrapyard and what to leave behind on the station, perhaps never to be seen again. Her mother was already packed and, at Irene Marshall's behest, was out coordinating the packaging of a large quantity of food and other goods to be transported out to the scrapyard in an external transport module strapped to the belly of the cutter.
Amanda's parents, without her knowledge, had been part of the group of smugglers who had operated onboard the New Ceylon Orbital Station under the noses of Station Security for several years before terrorists from the Veritian Brotherhood had disrupted everything by forcing their way in and taking over the station. A special hideout that the smugglers had constructed in the outermost (and mostly unoccupied) levels of the station had provided an invaluable staging area as Oskar Kresge, the remaining Station security personnel and the members of the smuggling ring united to mount a successful resistance to the terrorist occupation. Because the members of the smuggling ring had eagerly participated in the effort to rescue the kidnapped Governor and liberate the station, the smugglers had all been pardoned.
The loosely knit organization still had some fairly large supplies of goods left over from their smuggling activities. These were to have been sold off and the proceeds split between the smugglers and the station authorities but there had not yet been sufficient time for those transactions to take place. Fortunately for the effort to restore operations in the Navy's Scrapyard, the group had several large caches of frozen, irradiated and dehydrated food that they were donating to the Scrapyard expedition.
Amanda was excited about the move, to say the least, she had always been a dedicated student and enjoyed her school work but a trip to the Scrapyard and a War? This was going to be an adventure that she didn't want to miss out on!
She felt a thrill run through her as she continued with her packing.
***
A half hour later, Irene stopped in at Doebermanns' Specialties, the large department store on the first level of the orbital station's ring, a facility that carried goods of all descriptions. She wanted to stock up on some toiletry items including a waterless shampoo that Oskar was particularly fond of. She found several of the items she was looking for, including the last two remaining bottles of Oskar's shampoo, but a great deal of the store's inventory had already been stripped from the shelves. She went to the end of a long checkout line but was waved over to an empty lane by Daniel Gibbons, the head procurer for the store and a former kingpin of the smuggling operation.
"Irene Marshall," said Gibbons. "It's been a while."
"Daniel, how nice to see you again," Irene looked around at the chaos in the store as station residents feverishly picked up last minute supplies and store employees worked at packing up some of the more valuable merchandise for transport to a place of greater safety, wherever that might turn out to be. "I suppose we expected something like this to happen," she said. "I was just hoping we'd have more time."
"I know, the timing couldn't be much worse," he replied. "Hope you found what you're looking for, we're closing our doors in another hour or so." Gibbons shook his head in frustration. "There's so much we'll be leaving behind. Some of these goods are so valuable and yet...we'll probably never be able to sell them. Take this for instance..." He indicated a small box that he had just removed from a locked display case. The box had "Hartwell Wrist Computer" tastefully emblazoned across the top and sides.
"A Hartwell Wrist Computer?" asked Irene. "Is this like the ones that Ensign Carlisle and Peter Larkin had?"
"Yes, indeed," replied Gibbons. "It's the newer model though."
Irene thought for a short moment and made a quick decision. "Why don't you send it with me?" she said. "I'm on my way out to the Scrapyard to join up with Commander Kresge. I have to believe we can find a use for it out there. If there's a problem, just bill it to my office. Better yet, bill it to the Navy." Gibbons looked at her strangely for a moment and then smiled as he shoved the box towards her.
"If it will help you and Kresge...Take it with my blessing, Ms. Marshall. What the hell, consider this part of Doebermann's contribution to the War effort. I'm sure you'll put it to good use."
"Thanks, Daniel, You won't regret this," said Irene, "I think I've got everything I'm going to get here. Thanks for helping me check out. The cutter is supposed to be leaving in about an hour and a half. I wouldn't want them to have to wait for me."
Gibbons looked over the handful of inexpensive items that Irene had picked out and waved her through.
"Go with my complements, Ms. Marshall. Maybe you and Oskar can keep the system from complete disaster."
"Thanks, Daniel. We'll do our best." Irene scooped up the bag containing her items and left the frantic desperation of the crowded department store behind. She headed down the corridor towards the nearest elevator that went "up" inside one of the station's eight spokes and transported passengers inward to the central spindle of the station. Once there, she would be boarding the cutter for departure to the Scrapyard. As she boarded the elevator, a slender teenaged girl with red, shoulder-length hair, carrying a large duffel bag, boarded with her. Irene recognized Amanda Steuben, one of the young women who had
served as runners carrying communications for Oskar during their battle to take back the orbital station. The younger woman allowed the heavy bag to slide off her shoulder to the floor. She propped it on end against the wall.
"Hello, Amanda," said Irene.
"Ms. Marshall!" said Amanda, still very much in awe of the Undersecretary, in spite of having spent a great deal of time around her during the terrorist ordeal earlier.
"You're coming with us to the Scrapyard?" asked Irene.
"Yes, Ma'am," said the younger woman. "I've never been there. Have you?"
"No, I haven't," replied Irene, "but I've certainly heard a lot about it!" She paused and looked a bit more intently at the younger woman. With her somewhat unruly red hair, deep blue eyes and pale, clear complexion, Amanda was fast on her way to becoming a very attractive young woman. She had reached that stage in her transition to womanhood that dictated she take more care with her grooming, her clothing and her interactions with others. Her efforts were working.
"Oskar told me that you were going to apply to get into the Naval Academy."
"That's right, Ma'am," said Amanda. "The Commander gave me some pointers on how to get ready for the entrance exams. I've been studying online about warships and engineering." She looked down. "I...I've always had good grades in math and science. I hope I won't just be in the way out at the Scrapyard."
"I've no doubt we'll find something useful for you to do." Irene thought for a moment.
"Maybe there is something... do you have any training with the Cyberdex virtual keyboard system?"
Amanda looked slightly perplexed but replied, "Yes, Ms. Marshall. There were four of us that took the courses offered online. Peter Larkin was one of the others. I thought I might need to know how someday..."
"Well, it looks like someday is today. Here take this." She reached into her shopping bag, pulled out a small box and handed it to the astonished young woman.
"You have to be joking!" blurted Amanda, "A Hartwell Wrist Computer?" She looked up at the taller woman, her blue eyes wide, and attempted to return the box to Irene. "I can't accept this, Ma'am, I haven't done anything to deserve it!"
"On the contrary, Amanda," said Irene, gently pushing the box back. "You did a terrific job during the terrorist attack on the station. The fact that you can actually use one of these devices is likely to come in very handy in the near future. We both saw what Tamara Carlisle and Peter Larkin did with a couple of these computers and we know how useful they can be. I suggest you make it your first priority to learn how to use it really well. In fact, why don't you load up some of those engineering classes onto it before we leave? I think you still have time."
"I...I don't know how to thank you, Ms. Marshall," said Amanda, sincerely.
"You can thank me by getting as good with that thing as Ensign Carlisle was. Oh, and you can stop calling me 'Ms. Marshall,' my friends call me 'Irene.'" She smiled at the younger woman.
"Okay... Thanks...Irene. You won't regret this."
"I know I won't."
The elevator arrived at the central spindle and both women were immediately engulfed in the flurry of activities involved in getting their gear stowed for the pending departure of the cutter, which was leaving as soon as the final loading was completed.
Chapter 27.
UTFN Reclamation Center. December 3, 2598.
Carlisle rushed to her quarters as quickly as she dared and changed into the special undergarments that had been developed to interface with her prototype command spacesuit before throwing on a coverall and dashing down to the suit room. Once there, she shed the coverall and got into her special command suit. The suit was form-fitted, less than half as bulky as a standard suit, and appeared to be made of a smooth, slightly textured fabric, almost like the skin of a primitive, Old Earth fish called a shark. Though the color of the suit's fabric could be altered to match any background, Carlisle left it on the default color setting which was a non-reflective, white matte finish.
She then joined the Federation delegation, finding a vacant spot on the front railing of the utility sled as the group left the Istanbul to return to the Greyhound. At the other end of the transit, Harris, Hawkins and Carlisle remained on the sled while most of the rest of the group disembarked onto the Greyhound. Two of Murdoch's temporary crewmen from the Greyhound, Orville Steuben and Hal Norbert, both former electricians from the New Ceylon Orbital station, joined them. Kresge spoke to the newly-created salvage crew via suit radio.
"Harris, remember that you're in command out there."
"Yes, Sir!" replied Harris.
Because of the need to protect Carlisle's status, the constraints on what kind of subjects could be discussed between the members of the small salvage group made interactions a bit awkward at first as the group set out to investigate the availability of parts to repair the Greyhound. Harris had wanted to ask Carlisle why her emails had stopped coming as soon as he discovered she was at the Scrapyard with the Ambassador's delegation. Whether she was willing to talk about it or not remained unknown but he was just going to have to wait for a better opportunity since communications among the members of the salvage crew were only possible by suit radio and any kind of private conversation was impossible. In spite of this issue, as the group got down to the business at hand, the three original Scrapyard survivors slipped quickly back into the easy camaraderie they had shared during their previous ordeal.
If the interpersonal dynamics were going well enough, their quest to find the parts they needed for the Greyhound were not, as they soon ran into a series of snags. After several hours of going through the rows of old cargo ships, the group found themselves on the engineering deck of the fifth and last of the five Bombardier Mark II Cargomasters in the Scrapyard inventory. As they had several times earlier during their former ordeal in the Scrapyard, they had taken advantage of Carlisle's small size, her form-fitted spacesuit and her expertise in zero gravity and had used her to investigate in tight quarters. She had squeezed into the inspection cubby for the Whitney Overdrive unit on the last of the old cargo ships and had just finished inspecting the unit.
"Lieutenant?"
"What is it, Dr. Carlisle?"
"This is damned depressing," she exclaimed. "This unit is in worse shape than the last one!"
All five of the members of the small delegation felt the sharp bite of disappointment. The hyperdrive unit on this wrecked cargo vessel, which had been their last resort, was in no better shape than any of the other four had been. Worse, none of the units were in much better shape than the badly worn out unit currently in the Greyhound.
"I suppose we should have expected this," said Harris, not trying to hide his disappointment. "The main reason these ships wound up here was because they were totally used up."
"I were thinkin' there'd be at least one of them that still had some life in her," observed Hawkins.
"Well," asked Harris, "what do we do now?"
"Let me be thinkin' about it for a spell, Sir," Hawkins replied.
"With due respect, Lieutenant," said Steuben. "What say we go back to the Greyhound? I'll bet I'm not the only one who's gettin' hungry."
"Good idea, Steuben," said Harris as he consulted the chrono display in his suit helmet. "It is almost 2000 hours. Probably time to knock off for the day anyway. Maybe we can brainstorm this problem some more while we have something to eat."
After returning to the Greyhound and shedding their spacesuits, the two new crewmen and the trio of Naval personnel met in the bustling mess area to eat and discuss what to do next. The five of them had gotten their food and had just begun their brainstorming session when Helen Murdock joined them.
Since much of the food the personnel in the Scrapyard were currently eating had been loaded onto the Greyhound courtesy of the old smuggling organization, the menu tended to include items not normally available on a tramp cargo ship or in a Naval facility either, for that matter. As Murdock came in, Harris had just picked up the remaining half of his
Rueben sandwich but hadn't yet taken a bite.
"I had an idea on the way over here," Murdock heard Harris say to his two companions. "Dr. Carlisle, can you cross reference powerplants and drive systems on your wrist computer and give us a list of other ship types that might have the parts we need? There should be several files in the downloads of the Scrapyard inventory that you...ah...you were given access to."
"You'll not be needin' her to be doin' that," said Hawkins, with a twinkle in his eye. "She'll likely be suggestin' one of those precious Orion Mark IV destroyers again, they always were her favorites!"
There was a short silence. Carlisle reddened slightly but smiled good-naturedly at the old engineer.
"Point taken, Hawk," she said, "but tell me, why wouldn't the overdrive unit from a Succession era destroyer work in the Greyhound?"
Harris and Hawkins looked at one another for a couple of moments.
"You'd best be tellin' her, Lieutenant," said Hawkins.
"Yeah," Murdock joined in, "tell us why that wouldn't work?"
"Well, let's see," said Harris, "By design, destroyers have always been among the fastest ship types available so they've always had lots of power for their size. That's the whole point, high g acceleration capability isn't just a matter of sheer power, it's really all about the power to mass ratio. Even so, the reaction engines on a destroyer like the Terrier are at least twice as powerful as the same engines on the Greyhound. Keep in mind that the two types of ship are built for totally different purposes. For moving freight you need maximum efficiency, not the high thrust capability required of a destroyer for rapid maneuvering and chasing down other ships."
"Aye, Lieutenant, that be so, but ain't the Whitney drives pretty much the same? Can you be checkin', Lass?"
Carlisle brought up a holo display of the two drives. She mumbled softly as she studied the schematics. Eyes still on the display, she nodded her head and announced, "They're actually about the same size and shape, but the specifications are totally different." She looked at Harris. "Are they similar enough?"
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