Junkyard Dogs series Omnibus

by Phillip Nolte

  "Well, we are certainly happy to see you, Admiral," said the Ambassador, emphasizing that he too was a professional diplomat.

  "Thank you, Excellency." Kingston turned to Kresge. "What sort of assets do we have here in the Reclamation Center?" she asked.

  "I suppose it could be worse," said Kresge, "As far as military spacecraft we have the two ships that you came with and we have the Perseus, which was damaged in the battle with the Sheik's forces. There is also this ship, the Istanbul, but she's kind of a special case. For civilian craft we have two mining ships, the Donegal and the Glendaloch, and three freighters, the City of Darwin, the Dingo and the Greyhound."

  "Can we fight?"

  "Not without some significant repair work," replied Kresge. "The Perseus has lost her forward battery, the Istanbul is a heavy cruiser converted to a diplomatic ship and has no weapons. Neither do the City of Darwin or the Dingo. The mining ships have their excavation lasers but you have to be right up close to your target for them to be effective. The Greyhound has been outfitted with a Bofors rapid-fire turret and her power plant and drive systems have also been upgraded with components from a Succession War destroyer. She's a stout old ship, and she's done well in combat but..." He took a moment to look back and forth at his Scrapyard comrades, "... I'd be a fool if I didn't add that we've been lucky, so far."

  "You fought off an attack by three enemy destroyers and several support ships with THAT?!"

  "Not quite, Admiral. Don't forget we have the entire inventory of this gigantic scrapyard to work with. We used the Istanbul to charge up the some of the main battery weapons on six of the wrecked cruisers. Took the enemy by surprise. The Perseus was actually one of the enemy ships, we took out her front turret with a coordinated attack and that precipitated a...change of leadership on board."

  "A mutiny?"

  "If that's what you call it when the crew takes back their ship after the command staff has defected to an illegitimate government. Well over half of the crew hadn't approved of the defection in the first place. When they got a chance they acted."

  "Remarkable," was all the Admiral could say.

  "Yeah, I don't know how things would have turned out if that ship hadn't surrendered. The rest of the attackers began retreating soon afterwards. Just to finish up, we also have several cutters and two utility sleds." Kresge paused for a moment before redirecting the discussion. "What about your forces, Admiral?"

  "The Asimov has some minor damage where we nicked the shuttle bay door with the cutter during our escape from the Nexus," said Kingston, "but, as you can see, some of the higher ranking officers assigned to her were not able to get back onboard ship before we were forced to get out of there. As a result, the Asimov's command staff is somewhat...," she stopped to search for a word that wasn't too derogatory and came up with, "...inexperienced." She took a deep breath and sighed before continuing, "I don't think the Xerxes is going to do much more fighting, Commander. It might be best if we just parked her right here in your Scrapyard, it's kind of where she belongs."

  "She's the same class of ship as the Perseus," said Kresge, "and it appears that her front battery is intact. Perhaps we could use parts from the Xerxes to repair the Perseus, bring her back to fully functional?"

  "That would be up to the Meridian authorities," said Kingston. "What do you think, Mr. Ambassador?"

  "I say proceed with the repairs! We need all of the warships we can get right now!"

  "We'll get to work on it right away," said Kresge.

  "Thank you all for the updates," said Kingston. She paused a moment for effect. "Now I have to tell you about some other recent developments. As some of you know, the Asimov is outfitted with a Stage II communicator. We spoke to Federation Central Command back on Earth just before we came over for this conference."

  "When can we expect reinforcements from Earth?" asked the Ambassador.

  Kingston took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "There will be no reinforcements from Earth," she said. "At least not anytime soon."

  "Have they given you any reason?"

  "Yes, they have and it is a very serious development," said the Admiral. Again she paused for a moment and looked around the room. "Some might say that what is happening is impossible."

  "How so?" asked the Ambassador.

  "Central Command reports that they are currently unable to macrojump between the Sol-Terra and the Santana Nexus hyperlink point."

  There was a silence as the people in the room digested the news and the implications.

  "You say they can't use the hyperlink zone?" asked F.C.Talbot, who was both intrigued and appalled by the announcement.

  F.C. Talbot had been a Federation Navy engineer a long, long time ago, all the way back during the Succession War, in fact. After the war, he had gone on to forge a long and lucrative career as consulting engineer and along the way had become a philosopher of some note who was known to be particularly critical of organized religion. He had been invited by Ambassador Saladin to participate in the Ambassador's diplomatic summit meeting, which was to have been held at the Santana Nexus a few weeks ago, in the hope that the old engineer cum philosopher could provide a fresh viewpoint and perhaps help the diplomats find a way to ease the political tensions that were permeating through and poisoning the entire Quadrant.

  The meeting had been aborted by the Sheik of Barsoom's attack upon and subsequent capture of the Santana Nexus Station during which the Ambassador had been forced to flee the system. Talbot had been on board the Istanbul when she jumped out to safety during the attack and had been marooned with all of the other diplomats when the diplomatic ship had taken refuge in the Scrapyard. With his wealth of practical knowledge concerning older ship designs, Talbot had volunteered his services to the Scrapyard defense effort where his expertise had proven to be particularly valuable.

  "No, they can't," said Kingston. "Something happened about twenty-four hours ago. Two different ships that were scheduled to use that hyperlink point charged up their jump modules and attempted to jump but they were unable to generate a field and they...," she searched for the appropriate word, "...they overloaded their jump modules. A third ship stepped her module up to emergency power levels and suffered an explosion and fire. The Federation authorities are looking into it but they have suspended all traffic through that hyperlink point until they can figure out what's wrong."

  "That means..." mused Talbot, "...that someone must have figured out how to generate a hyperdrive counterfield, the so-called 'hyperdrive damper!' But that's supposed to be impossible!"

  "No one knows for sure what is going on, Dr. Talbot," said Kingston, "but Central Command had stationed a scientific ship nearby before the third ship attempted to jump and they got some very peculiar readings from the zone."

  Talbot continued musing, "Well...there is a sort of 'handshake' protocol between the ship and the zone they are linking to. It's a calibration wave that allows a final fine tuning of the jump parameters. Stage II communicators are really just a modified and greatly extended form of this handshake wave. We can ping the zone with the handshake wave to obtain final jump parameters and we can send bursts of information through with our Stage II consoles but that's all we've been able to do so far. Generating and sustaining a damper field is way beyond anything that has been possible before. If this has been accomplished, it could change everything!"

  "I know, Dr. Talbot, and you can bet that the Federation has put an army of their best people to work on the problem but the most immediate effect is that we can expect no help from the Sol-Terra Quadrant until they can figure out how to restore the use of the hyperlink point."

  "This means that..." began Kresge.

  "...Yes, Commander," the Admiral finished for him, "We are on our own out here in the Santana Quadrant."

  The Admiral's final comment left a silence in the room.

  Kingston's condition was obviously poor enough that she easily grew tired. After delivering the news that there could be no rei
nforcements from Earth, it was obvious to all that she was physically drained. She finished paying her respects and was escorted out a few minutes later. The young Spacer Ensign who had been part of her entourage, came over to have a brief conversation with Carlisle as the Admiral was being escorted out.

  "You are Tamara Carlisle, from the Piedmont Mining Colony?"

  "Yes, that's right," she replied.

  "Massa Sukamoto, from Sol-Terra." He paused for a moment. "You were something of a legend back at the Academy," he said, "You were also an inspiration to me, a fellow Spacer. I...I'm glad to finally meet you."

  "Ah...thank you, Ensign Sukamoto, I really don't know what to say. Do you mind if I ask how you come to be a tactical officer so quickly? That almost has to be some kind of record!"

  "The Admiral wasn't kidding when she said that we had to leave the Nexus in a hurry," replied Sukamoto. "Believe it or not, I am the third highest ranking officer currently on board the Asimov. Kingston didn't much like appointing me to the position but she didn't have a lot of choice. She'll probably appoint someone over me as soon as she can find someone suitable."

  "Enjoy it while you can, Sukamoto," said Carlisle. "Congratulations!" she added.

  "I hope we can talk more soon," said the young man.

  "I look forward to it," said Carlisle.

  "I'd better go," said Sukamoto. He flashed Carlisle a smile before he turned and rushed to catch up with the departing Admiral.

  Chapter 9.

  "...Thank you for purchasing a Hartwell Wrist computer. This fine product is a breakthrough design that has created a whole new style and level of effectiveness for a human-computer interface. Capable of the entire suite of functions and displays that could previously only be performed by machines of much larger dimensions, this superb device still has no equal. The interface can be operated by voice and by the incomparable cyberdex virtual keyboard. The latest models have even incorporated recent breakthroughs in brainwave stimulation technology.* One of the most useful features of the Hartwell Wrist Computer is the ability of the operator to make full use of its capabilities while inside the confines of a space suit. These little devices are widely sought after by anyone who wishes to be on the cutting edge of computer capability...

  *This feature requires additional training and the use of the proprietary 'cyberdex cranial sensor net,' available at extra cost..."

  Hartwell Wristcomp reference note highlighted for further review by Amanda Steuben. Excerpt is from the Hartwell Wrist Computer owner's manual.

  UTFN Reclamation Center, on board Meridian Imperial Diplomatic Ship Istanbul, January 2, 2599.

  With the Admiral's meeting concluded, Ensign Carlisle returned to the engineering section of the Istanbul and went directly to the electronics shop where she had met earlier with Heskim, the Ambassador's computer tech. She found him at the workbench of his cluttered little electronics laboratory, bent over a cleared space and in the process of working on her ancient quantum drive.

  "Hello, Heskim," she said.

  "Ah, Dr. Carlisle," he replied, "Welcome back."

  "Have you been able to find out anything yet?" asked Carlisle.

  "I have been able to power up the drive," replied Heskim, "but it is not in very good condition and some of the data on it is probably no longer available. As you can see, I didn't have the proper connectors for it and have had to rig some temporary connections."

  Heskim had suspended the drive above the workbench by laying it across an inverted coffee mug. Five different wires, two of them connected to the drive with alligator clips, hooked it up to what looked like a power supply on one side and an obviously jury-rigged cable a centimeter or so in diameter connected it to a modern computer on the other.

  "I have copied what I could access to this computer. I may be able to get more of the data with some deeper probing techniques, but I haven't had the time yet."

  "Can you transfer what you have to my wrist computer?"

  "I should be able to. Go ahead and put your computer into receive mode."

  "Just a moment," said Carlisle. She fished around in a pocket on her coverall and pulled out a delicate, almost gossamer, net. She pulled the net down over her hair, made a few adjustments to get it properly aligned and touched the centimeter-diameter, flat, circular plate that was positioned over her right temple. Her eyes seemed to glaze over for a couple of seconds. The Ensign rotated her head side to side and announced.

  "Done."

  "But you didn't do anything," said the technician.

  "This web is the cranial net that came with my wrist computer," said Carlisle, waving her open hand over the top of her head.

  "I had heard of such nets, but have never seen one." Heskim looked the net over more closely. "Ingenious!" was all he could say. "It gives you full access to all of the computer's functions?"

  "Yes, and it can do even more," said the Ensign, "I really don't know how I got along without it. It's really nice when you're wearing a spacesuit. Here, watch this..."

  Carlisle brought up a hologram in the air between them, a schematic of the Istanbul, something that Heskim was certain to be familiar with. The schematic began to rotate.

  "Remarkable! It has been rumored that you can do things like this, but until now I have not seen it done. I begin to see how useful such a device must be."

  Heskim dragged his attention away from the hologram with an effort. "So you are prepared to download this information?"

  "Anytime you're ready."

  Heskim sat back down and consulted the monitor for the workbench computer. He selected a file and punched a button on his keyboard. Meanwhile, Carlisle had switched her display to another view and the schematic of the Istanbul dissolved and was replaced by a display that consisted of scrolling columns of text and numbers as the download proceeded. The download took about thirty seconds.

  "That's it," said Heskim.

  "I should be able to do something with this," said Carlisle, as she skimmed over some of the information she'd just received. "It's encoded but it almost has be in an old cipher of some kind. The Federation broke these codes way back during the Succession War. Hopefully I can find the right key without too much trouble. I can already see what looks like some date stamps and other stuff." She nodded her head. "Yes, I can definitely work with this." She turned her attention back to the computer tech. "You say there is some damage to the drive?"

  "No, it's really more like deterioration. As you pointed out yourself, this drive is at least sixty years old."

  "I guess it could be worse," said Carlisle. "I got it out of a computer on the bridge of an old ship that was abandoned on a moon at the end of the Succession War. There was no atmosphere and, naturally, it was cold but the ship was mostly in permanent shadow so a least it wasn't subjected to widely varying temperature fluctuations."

  "That had to have helped," said Heskim, "So far I have extracted only the data that was easy to get. I'll have a look at some of the other areas of the drive when I get time. I'll warn you now that some of the information on this drive is almost certainly not going to be retrievable anymore."

  "Whatever else you can get will be fine," replied the Ensign, "Thanks, Heskim. Let me know if you have any luck. In the meantime, it looks like there's more than enough here to keep me busy for a while. See you later?"

  "My pleasure, Dr. Carlisle."

  With a portion of the data from the old drive now in her possession, Carlisle left the electronics lab and returned to her quarters. She had accomplished a fair amount on her first day out of the infirmary but the progress was not to come without a price. As she was heading down the corridor back to her quarters, she hit a mental and physical wall and suddenly felt an urgent need to lie down and get some rest. There was no sense in fighting the inevitable. She arrived at her quarters, peeled off the cranial net and flopped down on the bed where she fell asleep in under a minute.

  ***

  Carlisle was able to get back to researching the informatio
n from the drive after she had awakened from a two-hour nap and taken the time to head down to the Istanbul's galley and eat a substantial lunch. The beef Burgundy and mashed potatoes were excellent, if a little over the top for a lunch menu item, but word was that the Scrapyard was getting low on food. After returning to her quarters, she slipped the cranial net back on and went back over to lie down on the bed.

  Using the unique properties of the cranial net, she closed her eyes and began to search through the files in the partial download. After selecting a file more or less at random, she pulled up several of the old decoding programs that had been developed by the Federation during the Succession War and ran the download against them. She was rewarded when the third one that she tried brought order to the otherwise incomprehensible symbols in the file. She tried to convert the entire download at once but found that the old decoding software would only process one file at a time. That would slow the decoding process down, but one file at a time was certainly better than no files at all!

  "Okay, Tamara," she said, talking out loud to herself, another of her personality quirks that made her seem rather strange to most people, "The final battle of the Succession War was in 2542. Maybe you should start looking for entries that are time stamped with that year."