Chapter 3 – Repairs
Once my friends arrived, Wrongway driving backward as always; I really needed to fix that; I laid out the plan. Blip and Wrongway needed to hit the strawberry patch now to be able to harvest enough for the order. They'd have to work all night. Glitch and I would get the rest of the fruits, grains and vegetables ourselves, there was plenty of surplus of those in the storage silos. And I'd get the tumbril running, by hook or by crook.
Blip and Wrongway saluted me like tin soldiers. I chuckled at Wrongway as he saluted the back wall... he was such an odd platypus. The two friends trundled off to do yet another task they were never programmed to do... to help me. They were going to be my little mini-harvesters I smiled fondly at them as they went.
I looked at Glitch, and he nodded once in determination, sparks flying from his open panels. I said, “Let's do this, buddy.” And we headed down to the repair floor and over to the tumbril. With a flourish, I yanked away the tarp, which caused a dust cloud that made me sneeze. Glitch made a squeeing noise that sounded like “Bless you,” to my ears. I crinkled my nose at him in thanks.
I patted the old tumbril, it was like an open wagon with an exposed pilot's bench up front, protected only by a windscreen. The intake cowling fell off of it and onto the floor when I patted it. I sighed, this alone would be a miracle if I could get the jalopy running again. Right now it may as well be just a pile of trollite. Just so you know, trollite is expended storage crystal which serves no purpose anymore, it is worthless once the lattice inside the crystal is burned out.
I sighed and patted Glitch's yellow dome. “Why don't you pull up the manifest for special requisition A3142 and get together what you can, while I see what needs to be done to get this thing back in the air.”
He squeed and sped off on his treads leaving a sparking trail behind. I smiled as I watched him go then turned to my more immediate problem. Getting this thing running again. It wasn't like the conveyances they used topside. The trains and mechanical conveyances between cities were severely underpowered since they relied on gravitic up-currents for lift, while most of the population used the new solar and plasma drives. It all seemed so backward to me.
Away from the gravity wakes, vehicles like tumbrils needed alternate power sources for lift. Tumbrils, like this one, burned ethanol from the decay and fermentation of farm plant waste. The Betweeners and some of the more modern Sky Guard vessels used solar power during the day with overpowered plasma drives. They could switch to air breathers at night.
I hopped into the driver's seat and smiled at the old leather helmet and round goggles on a leather strap. Those were my mother's. I grabbed the dusty brown leather jacket from the floor and hugged the white fleece to me, imagining hugging mom. I missed her so much. If it weren't for all my pingers and harvesters, I'd have died of loneliness long ago.
I slapped the dust off the old cracking leather. It needed a good oiling. Then put the jacket on. I was shocked that it fit me like a glove. I was just fifteen when mother had died of Cinter-Lung from exposure to the latent radiation from the old mark three harvesters they phased out when I was young.
That was when I met my first Topsider who wasn't a courier. They had sent down a doctor who was one of the kindest men I had ever spoken with. He was truly upset with the conditions we lived in and he stayed dirtside with me at her bedside until she passed.
We had our own little service, the five of us from our grid and Doc Thane before the tumbril landed to bring her body to the reclamation plant. It was sort of comforting in a way, to know that mom would live on in the crops here dirtside.
I had tried on her jacket back then, but it was too large on me. Mom had always been fit and strong. Now it was as if it were tailored for me. I hugged myself then cleaned away the dust, which had made it below the tarp over the years, off the control console. I flicked the three power switches, and the console flickered then died.
I kicked the base of the console, and with a labored hum, the indicators all came to life. I sighed at all the red displayed. I chuckled at the lone green indicator that told me the console had power. Every other system was down.
I sighed and pulled the access panel below the display and looked in. A Crop Hatch blinked its three eyes at me then scurried off, bounding three times, higher and higher, until it could take flight and buzz away. I sighed. The little fuzzy flying beast had made a nest in there. On top of the storage crystal enclosure where the heat from the decay kept the little beast warm at night.
The flying rodents were one of the three mammalian life forms on Tau Ceti Prime. Apparently, they are like a cross between a sparrow and a squirrel from Old Earth. And they get into everything here. They are about the only thing native to this planet that isn't out to kill us.
I tolerated them because they kept all of the various insects of Prime at bay around my crops, and keep the creeping fungus away from the fruits since the fuzzy little critters find the fungus a delicacy. Well, that and they are so flanterskelling cute. I just call them Fluffers.
They are the only animal life besides insects here on Prime that can fly. It keeps them out of the Cath Saber and doglike Magna Lupus' jaws.
I squinted in mock pain. The little guy had chewed through most of the wiring. I popped the door of the storage crystal enclosure and looked at the three main crystals and the reserve crystal. I pulled a darkened crystal from its mount and peered at it, shaking my head. The others were about three quarters burned to trollite, but the reserve looked to be burned down only ten percent due to decay. I flipped the emergency breaker on the reserve, and the enclosure started humming.
That would be more than enough to power it for about twenty hours of flight time. I'd only need about two. And hour each way as the air breathers spiraled the tumbril higher and higher until it could catch an up-current. That was good since I hadn't seen a crystal shipment down here for months, and I didn't have any to spare for this.
I looked around, stepped down to the repair floor, and looked at my creative piles of spare parts that littered the area. I grinned and tugged at an old wiring harness from a pinger from the Mark One era. The pile of junk... I mean valuable replacement parts, tumbled in a clanging cacophony of sound. I squinted one eye then shrugged. It didn't make any more of a mess than I already had.
Then I hopped back onto the tumbril with my prize in one hand, my multitool in the other, and grinned maniacally as I attacked the console. The multitool reconfigured itself into a soldering iron.
I only shocked myself four or five times, and drew blood from my knuckles two flanterskelling times before I reached up from where I was laying on my back, after soldering the last connection and flipped the switches again.
With a scree of energy, the console lit brightly, all greens across the board except... I stared at the lone red indicator for the thrust vectoring array and squinted an eye at it accusingly.
I grabbed the grafted wiring harness and yanked it back and forth, sending a shower of sparks down onto me, then with a click of a servo energizing, the red indicator flickered before becoming a solid green. I gave it a toothy grin in triumph. Troubleshooting at its finest right there folks. No need for applause.
I fought off a yawn. I still needed to test all the systems before fueling the air breathers with ethanol from the stores. I smiled at Glitch as he made a third trip from the silos with another group of the supplies for the shipment and secured them in a shipping container in the bed of the tumbril.
When he was done, he turned to me like a dog looking for praise. I had to smile at the silly pinger. I patted his orb and said, “You did good Glitch.” Then I stood tall and straightened the lapel of the leather flight jacket and asked, “What do you think?”
He moved his grappler to the jacket and touched it while making a low oscillating noise that sounded like, “Oooooo.” He swiveled to look at my mother's other flight gear then back to me again.
I asked, “You like?”
He swiveled up and
down, and I gave him a big smile. “Thanks, I thought so too.” Then I yawned, again... it was getting late. I looked up at the chrono on the wall and blinked. I had eaten up most of the night repairing the old bucket of bolts.
I patted Glitch's head and said as I hopped down to the repair floor to head toward my cot in the office. “I'm going to catch some shuteye, so I don't fall asleep and crash us into the tundra tomorrow. Can you test all the systems and fuel her up for me?” He squeed and nodded, sparks drizzling out between his mobility platform and his body. I really needed to fix that.
He started moving away from the tumbril toward the office, and I chuckled and said, “The tumbril, Glitchy, the tumbril. I'm the one who needs sleep, not you.” He looked between me and the vehicle, then drooped his orb showing embarrassment, then drove back to the airship to start the systems check.
I took a moment to oil the leather of the jacket before laying down on the cot in the corner of my organized chaos. I slept here more often than not, it was just more convenient than the little metal shipping container that was converted into economy living quarters for us dirters, on the other side of the compound.
Chapter 4 – Flight of the Albatross
I woke to Blip tapping my forehead. I sat bolt upright saying, “I'm up, I'm up!” I tried to figure out where I was, who I was, and why there were Fluffers jumping off of me where they had been leeching my heat as I slept, and flitting away for cover in the rafters. The poor pinger scooted back and tipped over and landed unceremoniously on the floor with an audible blip.
My head cleared of the residual fogginess of sleep. Oh yeah, I'm Fixit, on Prime, in my glamorous office. I sighed in mock disappointment and suppressed a giggle because actually, I really loved my life. Then I grinned at the pinger as he righted himself with another blip. I cocked my head and yawned as I stretched with one arm over my head, then the other. “What's up Blippy? I glanced out the window. Tau Ceti was just starting to cast blues and oranges on the horizon, and Luna Six and Seven were still lighting the bluish green sky.
He stabbed his grappler at the chrono almost apologetically. Oh man, time to get moving. I waved him off, and he trundled away, and I called after him, “The shipment secure?” He paused, nodded, and squeed. I had to make sure and asked, “Strawberries?”
He nodded again, this time his squee sounded indignant, the silly pinger. I held up my hands in front of me in surrender. “Alright, I'm sorry. Of course, you got it all. Somebody handling the preflight?”
He rotated his body a little, shook spastically, and flopped onto the ground with a blip and shook violently. Then he turned his ocular lens toward me expectantly when he stopped and righted himself again. I nodded and rolled my eyes at his theatrics, “Ah, Glitch. Got it.” That display alone would have confounded the programmers of his artificial intelligence, as it was contrary to all of his programming.
Again I took pride that my pingers had surpassed all their programming and have exhibited a limited self-awareness and adaptive programming that, to me, shows their understanding of things beyond the scope of their programmed functions. And they constantly show me a wide array of developing emotions that everyone tells me isn't possible and that I am just imagining things. I dare anyone to explain his little bout of charades there, and why he looks pleased with himself even though he has no face to express it.
I yawned one last time and flipped off the sky in defiance of the controller up in New Terra City, the crystal licking bootwaffle. Then I wandered into the sonic shower in the locker room to clean up before my flight topside. It felt good to be clean, not that the sonics could get the deeper ground in grease and grime out of the pores of my hands, but it still felt good.
I'd spring for an actual water shower with soap, back at the housing module, when I got back. As a rewarded for making my first trip topside. It would cost me half a ration, but I could live with that, if I needed more water I'd just go to the fields during the daily hydro cycle.
I again idly wondered about the amazing sights I'd see topside. I mean, I know what I watch on the daily waves, on the drama and mystery serials. And I have all the holos mother had shared with me, but actually seeing something in person and experiencing it for yourself is much different than just watching a recording.
Once I was cleaned up and in my best work clothes which I hoped wouldn't get me mocked topside, I put my mother's jacket back on and grabbed my tool pouch, fastening it around my waist. I looked around the office one last time, remembered the requisition and copied it to my iso-pad then burned a hard copy onto the cellulose paper we produced dirtside for all the floating cities.
I stepped out to the service floor and smiled as Blip waved from where he was adjusting the electro magnetic bearings on the axles of a Harvester whom I named Bonnie. I waved back, then I grinned as Wrongway buzzed past, on a mission. He waved toward the back wall, and I gave he mixed up pinger a returning wave.
Then I turned to the tumbril and hesitated. Ol' Glitchy was polishing the painting of the Terran bird from Old Earth which mother had adorned the tumbril with, above its dorsal hull call letters, along with the callsign she had bestowed upon the clunky transport in loopy script. The Albatross. Glitch had multi-colored paint all over him, and I realized why the bird looked so shiny. He had refreshed the paint, going over my mother's work in excruciating detail, brush stroke for brush stroke.
He looked at me intently, expectantly. I had to smile at the silly guy. I stepped up and laid an arm across his yellow orb and looked between the thoughtful pinger and the Albatross. I kissed his ocular lens and patted him. “You did good, Glitch.” He squeed in glee.
The tumbril actually looked good except for the fact it was a few decades outdated, and there were trash haulers that dumped discarded tech in the boneyard that were more sophisticated. Then I asked as I patted the old transport which was gleaming brightly, like Glitch had spent the night buffing and polishing it, “You got her all fueled up?”
He pivoted his body down a bit casting his gaze at his transport platform and brought his grappler up to scratch his orb in confusion. Oh, don't tell me the poor guy got sidetracked and just cleaned the tumbril up all night.
He tapped his head then scooted over to the filler port and opened it and raised up on his platform like he was on his tippy toes, peering down the filler neck. He let out a squee of relief and lowered himself back down and then nodded enthusiastically at me. I had to giggle at him then said, “Good on you Glitch. You're aces.”
Was it my imagination or did he look a little smug? Hadn't he just thought he had forgotten to fuel the old girl up? I tapped him with a finger, approximately where his forehead was and said, “Don't get full of yourself now. You and I have a date on the repair rack when we get back. We've been putting it off too long. You don't want to end up like Wrongway now do you?”
His ocular lens dilated in fear, and he swiveled on his platform in the negative. I chuckled when I heard Wrongway on the other side of the bay squee out what sounded like someone complaining indignantly, “Hey!”
I called out, “No offense DubDub. We'll take some time to get you turned around too.” He squeed, indicating that it was ok.
I hopped up onto the tumbril, this old model was an open air vehicle, not rated for space as it only had a windscreen and the rest was just open to the atmosphere. It was like one of the ancient wagons I had watched in the waves from Old Earth, what did mom call them? Westerns?
I chuckled, this tumbril wasn't that much more advanced than that in my opinion. I wonder if mom's requisition for a new one, which she put in almost a decade ago, would ever be filled. Probably not. Us dirters weren't a priority unless food production started to suffer.
I looked at the other leathers from my mom's flying gear and noted they were all freshly oiled. Glitch had certainly been busy last night. I slid on the gear, and it all fit like a glove. I grinned as I pulled on the flight gloves and the leather flight helmet.
I pulled the goggles down
in place and slid into the pilot's seat and slapped the green button on the armrest. The photon restraints pulled me snugly into the seat, the form fitting microfoam fitting to my body.
I glanced over to Glitch. “Aren't you coming, buddy?” He started vibrating with excitement and squeed long and shrill, the tone going up on the end in question. I giggled at him and said, “Of course you can come, I'll need a co-pilot and someone to help me unload when we reach topside, I don't expect those bootwaffles up there to help.
He pulled himself aboard using his grappler, sparks drizzling from his mobility platform as the connection couplings were strained. He trundled past me and situated himself by the shipment crates. I grinned then said, “Hold on, let's see if we can get this thing in the air.”
His ocular lens dilated again, and he looked around and grappled one of the tie down straps. I heard a hum and clank as he magnetized his treads, holding him fast to the cargo bed. He wasn't going anywhere.
I looked down at the controls. Ok, Fixie, this is just like the endless hours of flight simulation, and the Earthshot 3.0 game of course. I couldn't screw up too much, or the failsafes would kick in. I could have used autopilot... if I had wired it back in... but I didn't have enough conductors in the makeshift harness I cobbled together.
I hit the big red button that looked so imposing, and the turbines started whining as they attempted to get to speed. The tumbril shook, coughed and with a whump, the turbines whined back down. I growled and kicked the control column hard. Sparks flew from the open service door, and with a much higher pitched whine, the turbines thrummed to life, the fuel ignited and then with an almost deafening roar, the tumbril came to life. And the vessel lifted into a hover above the repair bay floor, loose rags, tools and stacks of parts tumbling away from the downward jetwash.
I grabbed the control stick as we started to rotate and side slip into the office wall with a clang. I over compensated and slid the other way as we spun backward. Bonnie squelching and side shimmied on her massive wheels to avoid being struck as I pulled us to bobbing and weaving hover.
Fixit Adventures Anthology Page 2
