Ghost Station (The Wandering Engineer) (106 page)

“Yes
sir,” Esmay Suarez said, turning to face her station with a smile as she tapped
the controls. She was still getting used to her implants. The captain had opted
to have only the senior officers, helmsmen, navigators, and a select number of
engineers receive implants.

She
looked at her holo projection. Her station was now one of the most advanced in
the galaxy. She loved the clean curves and feel of the lounge seat under her.
It was perfect. The last trace of doubt left her system. She was eager to see
what Kiev could do in hyper. Beta band here they come.

The
captain looked around the room. There wasn't a trace of doubt in any of his
people. Good. They were ready.

“Chief
O'Mallory...”

“Power
is coming up now sir. Engines are online and begging to be used captain,” The
chief said, turning from her temporary station behind him. He turned to her and
then to the Veraxin ops officer Hir’ruk. The third mate bobbed a nod.

Captain
Chambers nodded. “Smooth sailing they said. We'll see. Very well then,” he
tugged on his uniform jacket before settling deeper into his seat. He flicked
his hand to Blackhawk. “Engage.”

With
all the good press about the station coming online Irons used his new political
clout and the swelling emotions over the meat incident to get people motivated
about the future.
 
Sprite's selling his time paid off for that as well.
He visited a reporter who did a series of interviews with him for an exclusive
club. He also repaired a few pieces of machinery for the club members before it
was shipped back to the planet.

“It's
a men's club admiral,” Sprite said sounding amused. “A place for men to hang
out in a man cave.”

“Jealous?”
he asked amused.

She
sniffed in amusement. “Not a bit. I'm just amused at the need to go through
with such things.”

“People
need to unwind and they need places to do it. This club sounds interesting,” he
said. He wasn't sexist or anything but he did realize men and women needed
their own space, a place to have fun outside the prying eyes of spouses. The
interviews had taken about an hour each time. He had realized early on that the
club was for the rich of Antiguan society, the movers and shakers of the
planet. With a little prodding they might get behind the Constitution he was
pitching.

Several
of the mayors were members of the club. A few of the more prominent business
men seemed interested, but he wasn't sure if it was feigned or not. Each of the
patrons was allowed to send him a recorded question. Fortunately Sprite had
copied them so he could formulate responses to them without feeling sandbagged.

The
media department had an entire wing and seemed a little bewildered by the
space. There were two reporters other than Toni Chambers, an editor, a copier,
and a printer. The printer was a bit put out by the lack of a printing press
but the others seemed readily adapting to the new technological environment.

He'd
spent an extra hour the first day going over the place, repairing a few pieces
of equipment for them and even explaining what they were. They seemed very
interested in the television studio. So far Toni had been doing her broadcasts
and recordings with a hand held camera. When he had left them the editor was in
his office interviewing people to run the studio. Hopefully something good
would come of it soon.

Of
course it would only be local; the planet had no televisions or holo boards.
They didn't even have movies. They did have radio, which was good. He'd heard
that a radio company was interested in doing broadcasts from the station. It
would be interesting to see their reaction when they came up and occupied one
of the other media outlets. Would they adapt easier then the newspaper people?
He hoped so for their sake.

“Why
did I do these... why didn't they send them up all at once? For that matter why
didn't they ask for me to come down to the planet?” he asked Sprite as they
walked along the main concourse. It was changing rapidly now, the neon signs
were lit in a quarter of the buildings advertising restaurants and shopping
opportunities. He didn't want to think about the shipping bill for some of
those businesses. Hopefully they would be smart enough to invest in replicators
and power soon. If they didn't they'd go out of business when a competitor did.
He was fairly certain the cat house was covered though.

“They
did admiral, but I turned them down. What they wanted was for you to go to the
club and hang out there as an honorary member for a week,” Sprite responded.

“A
week?” he asked surprised. A day maybe, but a week?

“Yes
a week. In their club, sucking up booze and putting up with the haze of smoke
and the half drunk patrons. No tech toys, just a bar with trophies all over the
place. From past experience I knew you wouldn't be interested.”

“Damn
straight. I've got better things to do with my time then to get soused and
listen to people brag about their exploits.”

“Ignoring
your own bragging of course?” Sprite teased. She was fairly certain he would go
stark raving bonkers in boredom if he didn't have his hands busy with some
piece of machinery daily.

“Sprite...”
he sighed and picked up his pace as a few people looked at him. Deputy Fife
nodded his way with a stern warning gaze to slow down. He slowed his pace
slightly and then nodded back. “Not funny. I'm not bragging I am answering
questions. Bragging would be bringing it up and rubbing someone's nose into
it,” he growled to the AI under his breath.

“An
interesting interpretation of the term admiral,” Sprite said amused. “The good
news is your seeds have taken root initially. They are talking about forming a
constitutional convention.”

“Good.”

“They
are also discussing forming a central government beyond the council of mayors.
Apparently they have been discussing it for years now, on and off, but they
never got anywhere because they couldn't agree on a format. The upwelling of
interest had reignited the discussion.”

The
admiral nodded. “Hopefully it goes somewhere. Can you dump a copy of the
constitution highlighting the first amendment to interested parties? Starting
with our media friends?”

“I'll
do that. Some won’t like it, they like to muzzle negative opinion...” she let
the hint linger in the air, “but it is certainly a good idea.”

“It's
the best one that actually works for all involved,” Irons growled. He had run
into his own problems with negative opinion from time to time. He'd tried to
keep it in perspective and learn from it. Or at best ignore the idiots since
they didn't know what they were talking about.

“Subtle
admiral. I realize you are guiding their central government to a Federation
model. Do you think it will work?” Sprite asked. Personally she thought the
odds were about even.

He
nodded as he rounded a corner. He dodged a couple of kids playing handball
against the wall and then kept going. “I think it's worth it. If we can steer
things like we did in Pyrax then the two models should serve as examples to
others around them, and then to the Federal government when it is formed in the
future.”

“Thinking
big,” Sprite said.

“Start
small but have a goal in mind. Don't limit yourself to one path or plan
though,” Irons replied.

“Words
to live by. Well, hopefully it works,” Sprite said.

“We'll
see.”

Act III

"Crap,"
Sprite said with some feeling. He glanced at her. They were up to their usual
necks in various projects. Sprite was still trying to repair software on the
station. It was after all a big station, more and more of it was coming online
every day.

Fortunately,
she had fellow AI to lend her a hand in some tasks like swatting the occasional
virus or bug. But from her comments she didn't hold some of the dumb AI in high
regard for some reason. Something about air heads.

"Problem
with the tugs?" he asked. They'd replicated tugs to haul materials to the
station. They'd kept the production line going and now tugs not needed to run
materials back and forth were either helping in the rebuild or were slowly
moving the pieces of the other stations back into the system. Bits of the
unfortunate former sister stations were scattered all over the system. It was a
monumental task, scheduled to take two
years
at this rate.

They
needed the material. Or would. The other derelict stations were garbage of
course, broken derelicts that would be sent to the breakers for recycling. He
wasn't sure what the plan was there. But two years to complete the project?

Of
course that didn't factor in replicating additional tugs. He planned on
replicating them; they were too useful not to have. Unfortunately they only had
so many pilots. Oh sure, they could replicate more automated tugs, but he
wasn't keen about taking an organic out of the command loop. Sure AI like
Sprite could handle one, but they'd be bored to virtual tears in next to no
time. The dumb AI that had brought The Golden Dew drop, rechristened the
Phoenix in had flat out refused to go out again after such a long run. They
needed input; they needed to talk with someone, even if it was an organic. He
was surprised the AI hadn't gone insane. Sprite had explained that it had
barely kept sane by communicating through the limited data network. But the
light speed lag had been incredibly vexing.

That
was a problem. He had yet to find a workable solution. Until he did they were
forced to keep the tugs closer to home. A cyber could pilot one... if they had
the training and wanted to accept the risk. Most of the cybers in the system
had no flight ops training. And of course the tug had to be nearby due to the
lag if they were remote piloted. Again, if they were going to do that a dumb AI
would suffice.

"No,
the tugs are fine." Sprite hadn't been happy about spinning off a dumb AI
as tug pilots for the newest generation of tugs. He'd copied the base AI core
into each himself since she'd been so reluctant. It had been a tedious task,
one he was glad was complete.

“Phoenix?”
he asked.

Sprite
did a quick check through the net. “Phoenix is fine. She's docked and no one
has bothered with her in her slip. We're still working on the list of stuff for
her.” He frowned, he knew that of course. He'd checked the ship out when it had
docked several days ago. She'd been a mess.

The
ship was quite a find in a way, a modern yacht built just prior to the Xeno war
and then converted to a military dispatch boat.

She
was just over three hundred meters long end to end, and shaped like an “A”
shaped arrow head. Her center shaft pointed out the rear and came to a tip. The
central shaft had a diamond cross section with a bridge in the center jutting
up and swept back. The bridge tower was festooned with sensors; most of the
sensors had been stripped away due to micrometeorites over the past several
centuries of drifting in the void.

She
had two nacelles on the tips of the wings, each pointed back to her stern. She
wasn't armed but she had a class 3 military grade hyperdrive and power plant in
her stern. With a bit of work she could easily make the high notes of Gamma
band in hyperspace. With a good smart AI and crew she could get to Delta too.

Apparently
she'd been damaged and then run out of fuel before exiting hyper near the
system. Six centuries of drifting had finally brought her into range for pick
up.

There
was a small boat bay tucked in her keel. Getting in and out required a bit of
maneuvering but was doable as long as he limited the parasite compliment to his
launch and a handful of exterior bots. He might be able to squeeze a work boat
in... but had decided against it for now.

She
didn't have much cargo space of course, just the usual space for raw materials
and other consumables and a substantial space for a freezer and wine room of
all things. He planned on gutting both spaces and making his own additions as
soon as he had the spare time and materials.

It
was a pity the ship's crew hadn't survived. She was a beautiful ship, white and
gold and well cared for before her eventual derelict status. They had obviously
loved the little ship.

Her
interior was a mess, something he'd expected. Life support had been shot; a bot
had been tasked to patch the hole. What also interested him were the bots on
the ship, there were quite a few and the ship boasted not one but
three
separate
AI cores. All three were damaged to various degrees but they were
salvageable.

He'd
set a pair of cleaner bots up to clean up the mess in the habitats and then
gently bagged the bodies before transporting them to the funeral home for
recycling.

The
little bots should be finished soon; after all it was a yacht not a liner. She
had a couple of decks but only a few were currently useable. A majority were
open to space. From the look of the ship she'd run out of fuel and then drifted
somehow over the hyper line and into subspace. She'd been adrift for so long
she'd taken damage from the occasional wandering rock ball. Right now she
looked a little like a colander. It would take a week or two to sort out all
the damage.