The Log of the Gray Wolf (Star Wolf Squadron Book 1)
Page 7
Chapter Five
The next day, senior-class midshipmen Alister Dover, Rufo Cappilo, and Martin Daley arrived to help for the weekend. Their assistance was desperately needed, especially with the ship’s computers.
The Wolf’s hull was sealed, but much of her armor that had been destroyed or damaged in battle was still waiting for repairs. Considering their time constraints, they placed their efforts on getting all flight systems online. To save time, weapons and armor were being stripped from the remaining ships by the robots and stored in the cargo bays until they would have a chance to mount them.
The maser detection sensors were still offline. The system used tightly focused microwave radiation to amplify diffused waves of energy, which produced sharper and more sensitive radar-like contact.
The starboard freighter engine was finally locked into place and was almost ready to have its first systems check and diagnostic. Even if they had to leave tomorrow instead of next week, they could still limp out on the repaired port engine. Of course not withstanding and early departure those port engines still needed a trial run and shakedown.
The other engine-related problems included whether or not the bender drives would be able to create stable wormhole dilation, and another concern was fuel for the fusion drives. The ship was normally refueled in flight as it moved through space by utilizing magnetic ram scoops with a projected laser to catch ionized hydrogen atoms. These atoms were then fed into the fusion drives for sub-light flight as well as to power the startup sequence of the bender drives.
As luck would have it, the retractable twin scoops -- one under each of the engine units -- were malfunctioning. Mister Cappilo, with two retirees, was busy trying to get them back online. One was locked in the retracted position while the other had damage to its laser collection system.
Padre was still prepping for the engine startup and couldn’t be spared for other operations for more than coordination efforts and advice.
The other major problem was the main computer. Though the weapons and navigation computers had been replaced or repaired from components taken from the other ships, the main computer was another story. It had taken a major power surge and a feedback overload. Martin Daley made matters worse when he reported at a staff meeting that they had a problem other than simply repairing its broken parts.
“It’s sentient!” he announced, frowning with frustration.
The room grew quiet as they looked at him hunched over the planning table. “What do you mean? Is it alive?” Chief Petty Officer James Bell a.k.a Cyclops asked. His good eye squinted as he frowned, while his glowing red eye continued to glow, unchanged by his expression.
The room laughed at his comment, but Martin’s expression didn’t change. “Yes, that’s exactly it!” he stated, quieting the room in a heartbeat.
Padre looked exhausted and let out a loud sigh. “Mister Daley, could you explain, please?”
“It seems that this class of corvette cruisers was equipped with a lot of extras we didn’t know about.”
“What kind of extras?” Gunny inquired, leaning forward and becoming concerned for the first time.
Martin looked around the room and spotted Collins. “Your dad is the executive officer on the ISS Prometheus, right?”
Mike nodded, unsure where this was all going.
“And the Prometheus is a Titan Class, battle carrier, correct?”
“Yes, and what’s the point of this?” Collins asked, voicing what the others in the room was wondering.
Martin met his eyes and locked his stare on him as he asked his next question. “Did your father ever talk to you about the computers they have on some of the more modern battle carriers like the Deity or Titan Class?”
“Oh my God,” Mike gasped, understanding what his friend was implying. “The computer is an A.I.- it’s artificially intelligent.”
“And ours has some major problems; in fact, I’m scared to bring it online,” he said, looking back to the table and ship plans displayed on the flat monitor.
Padre looked skeptical, never having liked or trusted the idea of a computer being able to think on its own. The thought that an A.I. could control a starship capable of destroying a world truly scared him. “So is it psychotic or just anti-social?”
The room chuckled, the seriousness having robbed them of the spirit to laugh aloud. Still, the Chief Warrant’s humor worked its magic, and the tension in the room became less noticeable.
“No, nothing like that,” Martin said, a faint smile breaking his grim expression. “Its neural network and internal components are so damaged that I’m not sure there is any A.I. left. The personality may be so damaged that it may not be salvageable.”
Gunny made a face. “Do we really need the damn thing?” he asked, as the whole room held their collected breaths.
“No, we can use the auxiliary computer, but it won’t be as fast or able to handle the same amount of workload. The A.I., with its crystal chips and cold-line superconductivity, operates on teraflops,” he said, and then noticed that he lost most of those present. “That’s trillions of mathematical operations per second.”
“Then it’s settled: We use the auxiliary system until we have time to fix the A.I.,” Masters said, and looked back to Martin. Leaning down to whisper to him, “Next time, sir, don’t freak us out like that. Our old hearts aren’t what they used to be,” he said softly.
Martin nodded, understanding that the loss of the A.I. was a great concern to him, but to the crew, the concern was the ship and their escape. “Sorry, Gunny,” he said, feeling worse than he did before.
The old man smiled and slapped him on the back. “No problem. Now get back to work.”
“Thanks, Gunny, but it’s just,” He started, pausing as he second-guessed what he wanted to say.
Mike cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “What is it?”
The midshipman shrugged. “It’s just that I think this ship has some additional subroutines and technology that can only be operated through the A.I.”
This statement got the Padre’s interest. “What are you talking about, Mister Daley?” he asked, drawing closer.
“I think the ship is equipped with stealth hardware and anti-detection programming. She has extra power relays and liquid crystal sensor ports. The damaged hull plating also seems to have nonstandard composites worked into its construction.”
The room became silent as his words sank in.
“Makes sense, after all, the Wolf was supposed to operate behind enemy lines. Without a high-tech covert system, she’d be an easy target,” Mister Dover said, his English accent helping to make reason of it all.
“Well, that’s great, but it will have to wait,” the Gunny said, pointing to the ship plans. His finger rested right above the engines. “We have too many systems down or in need of repair, and they have to be fixed by the end of this coming week. Remember, the Karduan inspector is due to arrive, and we have to be ready to go, at the latest, that morning.”
“Gunny is right!” Mike agreed. “We stick to the plan, and we’ll make additional repairs when we get clear. Anything we might need from the other ships or from the station’s stores needs to be transferred to the Wolf’s holds for future use. Concentrate on the engines, computers, and the hull.”
Everyone nodded, but Dover looked skeptical.
“What is it, Alister?” Collins asked, noting his expression.
His face was still shrouded in thought as he looked down at the ship schematic. “It’s going to be close, very close.”
“We could cut classes this week to help,” Martin suggested, knowing that their return on Sunday evening would come too soon for him and the other midshipmen.
Padre answered before Mike or the Gunny could. “No, we need you three in place so that we don’t raise any suspicions.”
“Also, we have to be ready to put Operation Bandit into play, and to do that, we need the three of you there,” Mike added, giving Dover and Daley a steadf
ast stare and confident grin.
They both nodded in return, knowing that the roles that they had to play at the academy were just as important as their efforts on the ship.
At that moment, the third member of the midshipmen contingent burst into the room with a big smile on his face. Mister Cappilo was covered in grease and dirt, but his smile was unmistakable. Behind him were two slightly out of shape and definitely beyond their prime Chief Petty Officers (retired). They, like their midshipmen, were filthy, but also grinning from ear to ear. “We did it! We have the damage port ram scoop’s laser field repaired,” he said proudly.
Every face in the room broke into a smile. Padre squinted at the trio. “Did you get the starboard side’s ram to extend yet?” he asked, rather critically.
Rufo rolled his dark eyes back into his head, “Chief,” he started, pausing and smiling evilly. “Did you get the starboard engines through their startup diagnostic?”
The Padre frowned for moment and then grinned at his young trainee. He and Midshipman Cappilo had quickly become good friends, finding similar qualities in each other. They were both quick with a smile, the first to offer help, and geniuses when it came to anything mechanical. “It’s going fine. Let me know when you get the other scoop back online,” he said, turning back to the ship plans and shaking his head at the young man’s guff.
Rufo smiled on, turned, and crossed to Collins. “Mike, we found something in the hold of the Rebecca,” he said, drawing the young ensign’s attention.
“What did you find?” he asked, sensing the other man’s excitement.
He leaned forward and smiled, showing his large white teeth. “We found twelve type IV plasma mines!”
Mike had to admit that the declaration was a surprise. “That’s great! Where were they?” he inquired, thinking that all of the ordnance had been removed from the ships and sent to the planet’s surface right after the original station crew had escaped.
“Funny thing, there is a storage hold for food near the engine room. We were looking for supplies, checked the hold to see if there was anything worth taking, and found the mines.”
“Are they in good shape?” he asked, wondering if they were near engineering because they were nonoperational.
Rufo’s smile returned. “Still in their transport frames, but we’re not certain that they are plasma mines.”
Mike's face cringed. “What do you mean?”
The senior looked away for minute and leaned closer. “Well, I’m sure they’ve never been deployed, but they lack any kind of nomenclature markings.”
“They will explode, right?”
He smiled again, making Mike involuntarily smile in response. “I’d bet the farm on it.”
“Excellent. Have them brought over, unpacked, and make sure to recheck their magnetic confinement fields. We might be able to use them.”
Cappilo nodded and signaled his men with a wave, who had been talking with the other old-timers in the room.
“Now what?” Masters announced as a retiree came running into the room. The veteran was red-faced and panting, making Mike take a mental note to start a morning physical training class once they were safely underway.
The red-faced fellow whispered in the Gunny’s ear in a broken pant.
“Doc Beilor and Commander Richards are here,” he repeated a little louder, trying to make sure he heard correctly.
The veteran nodded, leaning over to catch his wind.
Masters crossed to the door and went immediately down to the landing platform and shuttle dock. Mike and most of the senior staff followed, anxious to see the old physician and her charge. Some of the vets wanted to greet Edie while others just wanted to get a good look at Richards and see what shape he was in. Many had wanted to leave him behind, but the Gunny insisted that he was going along. No one wanted to cross him on this, but they still had their doubts.
Following the old marine, they found Doc Beilor directing the unloading of the shuttle. It looked as if she had brought everything from her clinic, or at least a good deal of supplies. Nearby, a cleaned up yet uninterested Richards was sitting on a crate, watching not the shuttle or the workers, but was staring at the floor. It seemed to any onlooker that he was looking intently at his own shoes.
“Damn it, Doc! Where did you get all this stuff?” Masters asked with a huge grin.
Edie glanced over her shoulder and shook her head as her face made a frown. “Best you don’t ask, and don’t worry, it won’t be missed till the next inventory in two weeks.” She turned and looked to the Wolf, still frowning, “This old tub will fly, won’t it?” she asked, sounding rather doubtful.
“Damn straight, it will fly!” one of the vets swore.
Another added to his sentiment, “But don’t ask if it can land!” he said, followed by sporadic laughter.
Gunny walked over to Richards and stood close enough to him that the commander could see the highly glossed tips of his boots.
Staring at the boots, the former navy officer looked down at his reflection cast back at him in the shine of the marine’s shoes. Gazing into the polish for but a moment, he quickly turned his head away, unwilling to look at his own reflection. Mike guessed that he didn’t like what he saw, and probably wanted a drink in a bad way.
“Sir?” Gunny Masters started, a little disheartened by his general lack of interest. “Sir, it is damn good to see you!”
Richards looked up at the familiar sound of his old friend’s voice. “Jack, you should have left me to the booze; I’m not going to be much good to you!” he said, his eyes looking sad and tired. He was clean, shaved, and had a fresh haircut. He was dressed in a plain coat and dark trousers with brown loafer shoes. Even though the surface of the man seemed sound, the fire inside was dimmed.
“Never. I owe you as does every man from the old Inflexible,” he stated, his voice sounding true and sincere. Before the former officer could reply, he continued. “Sir, we really need you!” he pleaded, “We’re trying to patch together a battered cruiser without support. All we have are old men, untested boys, and no officers above the rank of Ensign!”
The last comment caused the onetime commander to look up. In that moment, a look of concern filled his eyes, but then faded. “A fool’s errand,” he mumbled as his head slowly hung down.
“Perhaps, but the Confederation, Earth, and all human kind need us to succeed,” Masters said, kneeling down next him. Lowering his voice, he added, “And we need you to at least help us in any way you can.”
Richards’ head continued to hang down, but after a moment, he slowly nodded. “What do you want me to do?”
“Mister Collins,” he called, waiting for the young officer to approach. “Sir, could you show Commander Richards to his quarters to stow his gear, and then escort him to the bridge?” Pausing he turned back to the sullen officer. “I’ll meet you there and we’ll run through a full systems check.”
“Follow me…Sir,” Mike said, finding it hard to show respect to, until recently, a drunk.
Masters watched the pair as they left the docking bay. Standing there, he was joined by Doc Beilor as they disappeared on the mini maglev. “Will he fall off the wagon again?”
Edie smiled and shook her head, “Hell, no! I put him on enough meds that if he even touches a drop, he’ll puke his guts out.”
“Hopefully he’ll lose the taste for it,” the Gunny said.
“Jack, he’s got to want to be saved, no matter how much you want to help him,” the old physician replied, holding his hand in hers.
He nodded, understanding what she was saying, but in his heart, he knew that not only did they need him, but also he desperately needed them.
Chapter Six
Mike took Richards to the officer’s quarters’ area of the ship and to the cabin that the Gunny had assigned him. Richards remained quiet the whole time as they traveled through the cruiser’s corridors. The Wolf was shaping up, but her passages were in various states of repair and disarray.
Richards crossed to the bed and looked down at the heavy burden it bore. It seemed to Mike that he was hesitant -- even afraid to touch it.
“Ensign?” he started, and then paused.
“Collins, sir,” Mike said, realizing his confusion.
He turned and glanced at him before looking back to the uniform. “Yes… a Mister Collins, do you think we have a chance?”
Mike’s eyes bulged as he tried to restrain himself from hitting the man. “Sir, I don’t know if we’ll make it, but I know that if we do nothing, we have no chance at all.”
Returning his full gaze to the uniform, he chuckled. “Spoken like an idealistic young ensign.”
“No, sir, spoken like someone who hasn’t already given up!” he replied, speaking his mind before he realized what he was saying. His Gaelic temper had once more gotten the best of him.
Richards’ head turned back toward Mike as if someone had just slapped him. His face grew flushed with anger for a moment.
Mike knew he had gotten an emotional reaction from him, perhaps the first he had felt in a long time. “Commander, I’m sorry about your family, but this crew of old men and young pups, as they call us, are like my family. If you’re going to join us, that’s great, but we need a Confederation Commander, not a Borochun!” he said, knowing that he was twisting the blade.
The older officer’s fire seemed to fade as he reached up and rubbed his face with his right hand. “I understand” was all he said, sitting down on the bunk next to the uniform.
Stepping outside, Mike paused before he touched the sensor pad to close the door. “Sir, what does ‘Borochun’ mean?”
Richards’ looked up, meeting his steadfast stare. “It’s Spanish slang for drunk.”