Ep.#4 - Freedom's Dawn (The Frontiers Saga), page 5
* * *
Marcus’s eyes nervously darted back and forth between the auto-flight status and the near-space traffic display. The shuttle had reached orbit a few minutes ago, and as best he could tell, they were rapidly approaching the Aurora. Finally, his guilt got the best of him and forced him to speak. “Uh, we may have a slight problem here,” he admitted sheepishly.
Enrique had been aware of Marcus’s increasing concerns. “What kind of problem?”
“We’re closing on the Aurora, but the auto-flight system isn’t locking onto her control signal.”
“What are you talking about? What’s an auto-flight system? Is that like some kind of autopilot?” Enrique asked.
“Well it’s what pilots the ship, if that’s what you mean.”
“And it’s not working?”
“It’s working fine. It’s just not receiving a control signal from your damned ship.”
“What kind of control signal?” Enrique asked.
“The kind that tells the ship what to do! Without it, the ship doesn’t know how to land!”
“Well can’t it be flown manually?” Enrique was sure he was stating the obvious. The fact that Marcus was getting so concerned was beginning to worry him as well.
“Yeah, I suppose—”
“You suppose? I thought you said you could fly this thing.”
“I can, when everything is working right. I mean, it’s all automated and stuff. You just push some buttons, tell it where you want to go, and it takes you there: takeoff, landing… the whole deal from start to finish.”
“Did you or did you not tell Jalea you could fly this thing?”
Marcus grimaced, not wanting to answer. “Well, I may have overstated my abilities just a wee bit.” Marcus looked over at Enrique, whose expression was none to favorable. “Oh, come on. Can you blame me? She’s a real looker, that one!”
“Oh great!”
“No worries!” Marcus defended. “Just call up your ship and tell them to turn on their auto-flight control system so we can land, simple as that.”
“Well why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Enrique asked, rolling his eyes as he activated his comm-set. “You had me thinking we were gonna crash and burn on our own flight deck.”
“Hey, I’m under a bit of pressure here too, you know.”
Enrique just ignored him as he tried to raise the Aurora.
* * *
“That is where she wants it installed,” Deliza told him.
“But I do not understand,” Vladimir complained. “Why must it be here? Why not in the patch bay? It would be so much easier.” Vladimir was wedged into the tiny crawl space at least thirty meters in from the main service tunnel. It had taken him nearly five minutes of crawling and wiggling to get into position, and he still didn’t know the purpose of the device he was installing. All he knew was that Nathan had ordered him to install it himself for Doctor Sorenson.
“She did not tell me why, just where,” Deliza told him. “Have you found the junction she indicated?”
“Yes, I found the junction she indicated,” Vladimir responded, mimicking Deliza’s voice.
“Don’t get mad at me,” she scolded. “I’m just doing as I’m told.”
“Da, konyeshna,” Vladimir muttered. He pulled out his engineering data pad and plugged in a set of analyzing nodes connected to short cables. Unlike most data pads, the engineering units were slightly larger and had several ports with which to connect various cables and scanning devices. Vladimir carried it with him in a tool belt everywhere he went while on duty. The tool belt was equipped with a special pouch specifically tailored for the data pad. Without the data pad, he felt incomplete.
He clipped the probes around the insulation of the first set of wires that he had pulled away from the main bundle and activated his data pad. After tapping his headset, he spoke. “Doctor, I am in position. You may begin transmitting the ID signal.”
“Transmitting IDS now,” Abby answered over the headset.
Vladimir watched his screen but saw no change in the waveform being produced by the probe. “Nyet.” He moved the probe to the next wire. “Nyet.” He continued moving the probe from wire to wire, checking for a wave form change on his data pad. “Nyet… Nyet… Nyet yeshyo… Nyet—” Suddenly, the waveform spiked. “Ah. Na konyetsna.” He rechecked the waveform on his data pad until he was satisfied that he had located the correct wire. “You may discontinue ID signal, Doctor. And please, if you would shut down this circuit, I would very much appreciate it.”
Vladimir watched as the waveform returned to the same baseline reading that the other wires had shown. He waited another few seconds until the waveform went completely flat, indicating that the wire was no longer charged and active. The thought had occurred to him that the doctor might use this opportunity to get even with him for all the trouble he had caused her during the initial installation of the jump drive weeks earlier. He could imagine her smile of satisfaction as he received a harmless yet painful electrical shock. However, according to the data pad, revenge was not in the physicist’s plans for today—a fact for which Vladimir was grateful.
He carefully cut away a few centimeters of the outer shielding on the small wire and then attached a small compression splicer onto it. Once the tightening screw was turned, the device sunk its teeth into the wire, penetrating the inner insulation to make contact with the wire inside. He then connected the new wire to the compression splicer.
He reached down to his tool belt and felt around for the can of spray-on insulator, but it was nowhere to be found. “Chort,” he cursed when he realized it was not where he expected it to be. “Deliza!” he called out in frustration. “Is there small blue spray can out there?”
Deliza looked around the room by the entrance to the crawlway but did not see the can in question. “I don’t see anything.” She looked into the tunnel and noticed the small blue can lying on the floor of the tunnel near the intersection into which Vladimir had crawled. “Wait, I see it. It’s in the main tunnel, at the intersection behind you. It must have fallen out of your tool belt.”
“Can you bring it to me?”
“You want me to crawl up in there?” she resisted.
“You are small, it will be easy for you,” he insisted.
Deliza looked down at her only outfit, the one she had been wearing the morning their farm was attacked and they had been forced to run, leaving everything they owned behind, including all of her clothing. “But I’m not really dressed for this,” she pleaded, not wanting to crawl into the dirty tunnel.
“Deliza, please. It will take me forever. You will be fine; I promise.”
Deliza rolled her eyes and exhaled in resignation as she climbed up into the tunnel entrance and began crawling through the narrow space. The floor of the long crawlspace was rough, having been textured to provide traction. The walls and ceiling of the tunnel were lined with countless wires, conduits, pipes, and ducting, and there was a fine soot covering everything.
“Why is it so dirty in here?” she complained as she crawled along.
“There was a fire in this part of the ship after our first battle with the Jung,” Vladimir explained. “We tried flushing this space out, but it didn’t get rid of everything.”
“I still don’t understand. Who exactly are the Jung?” she asked as she continued crawling down the tunnel.
“We do not know, really. We haven’t yet had any contact with them. Our only information comes from communications intercepts and some limited off-world intelligence. All we know is that they have conquered pretty much all of the core worlds of Earth.”
“And you think they will attack Earth next?” Deliza stopped and picked up the small blue spray can before continuing.
“We do not know for sure, but it is likely.”
“Can you stop them?”
“Probably not. We only have a few ships, and they have many.”
“But they don’t have a jump drive, do they?”
Vladimir looked at her in amazement as she approached. Not a day went by when her perceptiveness didn’t surprise him. Now, it seemed, she was even thinking strategically.
“No, they do not, which is precisely why we need to get home as quickly as possible. If we could install this same drive on at least a few other ships, we might be able to fend off an invasion.” Vladimir reached out his hand to take the spray can from her. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” she said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice as she tried unsuccessfully to wipe the soot from her hands and knees. “Oh God, I’m a mess. I can’t go back to the bridge looking like this.”
Vladimir smiled. Since Deliza had come on board a few days ago, her father, Tug, had been too busy to spend much time with her despite the fact that her mother had just been killed. Deliza had taken to both Vladimir and Abby right away. Very quickly he had begun to feel like her big brother, which was fine with him. “What is the matter, little one?” he teased. “Might there be someone on the bridge you wish to impress? Perhaps a young pilot or two?”
“Nothing of the sort,” Deliza defended. She had already recognized that Vladimir was the type that enjoyed getting reactions out of people, and she was determined never to let him get the upper hand in such games. “A lady should always look presentable,” she added.
“Of course,” Vladimir conceded. “How silly of me.” He took the spray can and squirted the sealant over the compression splice device. Within seconds, the compounds had mixed and had hardened into solid insulation. He tugged at it a few times to ensure that the connection was solid before plugging the other end of the wire into a small, plain metallic box. He activated the device and buried it amongst the wiring.
“Doctor Sorenson, the installation has been completed according to your instructions,” he said over his comm-set. “Is there anything else you require of me, or may I return to the repair of my ship?”
“That will be all. Thank you, ensign.”
“Well, at least she is saying thank you now,” he muttered as he began to crawl back down the tunnel.
Ten minutes later they were both out of the tunnel and back in the maintenance corridor brushing themselves off. Vladimir couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of Deliza covered with smudges of black soot. “I would not return to the bridge without cleaning up first,” he teased. Her only response was an angry glare as she continued to brush herself off as best she could.
“Cheng, Comms,” the voice sounded over his comm-set.
“Go ahead.”
“Sir, the shuttle is on approach. They’re asking that we turn on our auto-flight system?”
“Our what?”
“Auto-flight system, sir. That’s what he said.”
“Tug asked for that?”
“No sir. It was Ensign Mendez. Apparently only he and the marines are returning. Marcus is piloting the shuttle.”
“What?” was clearly heard from Josh in the background over Vladimir’s comm-set.
“We don’t have an auto-flight system. We do have an auto-recovery system, but it has not yet been installed. Why would he need such a thing?”
“Sir, this is Josh. Those shuttles are pretty much automated. You can push a few buttons and go just about anywhere. But because of their design, they’re a bitch to land if you don’t know what you’re doing. And trust me, Marcus does not know what he’s doing.”
“Oy.” Vladimir looked slightly perplexed. His expertise and experience were limited to the ground warfare training from his time as an infantryman in the European Forces, and computer programming and engineering systems which he learned during his four years at the European Fleet Academy.
“The Yamaro probably has one,” Deliza offered. She noticed the puzzled look on Vladimir’s face. “An auto-landing system, I mean.”
“How do you know this?” he asked.
“I didn’t get out much, remember?”
Vladimir smiled as he keyed his comm-set again. “Comms, contact Sergeant Weatherly. He’s guarding prisoners on the Yamaro. Tell him to see if he can find the auto-flight system and activate it so the shuttle can land there. Then someone can EVA over and fly it back to our hangar deck. If not, the shuttle will have to return to the surface until they can find a real pilot. The last thing we need now is to have the shuttle crashing on our flight deck.” Vladimir looked at Deliza again. “That should work, right?”
“Sure,” she agreed, shrugging her shoulders. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” Vladimir assured her.
“Why do they keep calling you ‘Cheng’?”
“It is short for ‘Chief Engineer’.”
“Well why don’t they just call you ‘Chief’?”
“Because I am not a chief, I’m an ensign,” he explained as if it should have made perfect sense to her.
“But you just said that you are the chief—“
“It’s a military thing,” he interrupted as he closed the tunnel hatch and started gathering up his equipment.
* * *
“Shuttle One, Aurora,” the comm-officer’s voice called over Enrique’s comm-set.
“Go ahead.”
“We don’t have an ‘auto-flight’ system, at least not yet. We’re going to see if the Yamaro has one. Can you hold position while we figure it out?”
Enrique looked at Marcus. “Can you?”
“Sure,” he said as he started looking over the controls. “There’s gotta be a hold button around here somewhere.”
“Copy that, Aurora. We’ll see if we can figure out how to do that. Just hurry it up.”
“Marcus, you stupid ape!” Josh’s voice called over the comm-set. “Just to the right of the AFCS status display there’s a scroll wheel. Roll it until the status display reads, ‘Hold position relative to target,’ then tap the execute button next to the wheel. That’ll hold you where you’re at for now.”
Marcus followed Josh’s instructions, carefully and with a bit of apprehension. “Okay, we’re holding position,” Marcus said with relief. He turned to Enrique. “And tell that boy he’d better hope we do crash, cuz otherwise I’m gonna smack him right in his smart little mouth.”
* * *
Everything other than minimal lighting and life support had been powered down on the Yamaro. Sergeant Weatherly and crewman Raval sat in the captured ship’s detention area. Weatherly was reading a book on his data pad and Raval was trying not to fall asleep. Although life support was operating, while the ship was powered down the temperature was a bit colder than normal.
For their protection, the members of the Yamaro’s crew that had been involved in the mutiny, either directly or indirectly, had been detained separately from the rest of the crew for fear of retaliations by crewmen that had not agreed with their actions. It was these men that were being detained in the six cells of the Yamaro’s brig. The remaining two hundred and fifty crewmen were being held in two of the cargo holds off the port hangar bay until arrangements could be made to transfer them to the surface of Corinair.
“Aurora to Weatherly,” the comm-officer’s voice called over Sergeant Weatherly’s comm-set.
“Weatherly here. Go ahead.”
“Are they sending relief?” crewman Raval begged. He had been sitting there in the cold cell block for what seemed like days, bored out of his mind. Weatherly motioned for him to be silent so he could concentrate on the incoming message.
“A what?” Weatherly said. He looked at Raval. “You have any idea what an ‘auto-flight control system’ is?”
“Something that automatically controls something that’s flying?” Raval offered, not intending to sound sarcastic.
Weatherly looked at him. “Any idea where it might be located? They want us to turn it on.”
“I don’t even know where we are,” Raval admitted.
“There’s a separate one for each flight deck,” came a voice from one of the cells.
Weatherly turned in his chair to face the cell block. The voice had come from one of the cells nearest him to his left. “Who said that?”
“I did,” the voice spoke again.
Weatherly got up and went to the cell door to look inside. A man in his early twenties, in what appeared to be an officer’s uniform, slowly stood and made his way to the front of the cell. “I did.”
“Who are you?” Weatherly asked.
“Willard, Ensign Michael Willard, son of Robert Willard of Aitkenna.”
Weatherly looked the man over with a distrusting eye. “How do you know where the auto-flight control system is?”
“I’m a communications officer. Before being assigned to the bridge, I was assigned to the starboard flight control center. The system you’re looking for is located inside the controller’s office at the top of each flight deck. I can show you if you like.”
“And why should I trust you?” Weatherly asked in a challenging tone.
“I’m the one that surrendered this ship—after I put a good knot on the captain’s oversized head, that is.”
Ensign Willard’s comments brought muffled laughter from many of the cells occupants. Sergeant Weatherly noticed a look of satisfaction creeping across the ensign’s face as he obviously recalled the incident. For a moment, Weatherly wondered what the captain of the Yamaro had done to his crew to warrant such mutinous behavior. “And you’re willing to help us out?”
“Aye.”
Weatherly thought for a moment, then tapped his comm-set. “Aurora, Weatherly. Give me a few minutes; I think we might have a solution.”
The sergeant unlocked the door and pulled the prisoner out of his cell before locking it again. “Just so you know,” he told the ensign, “you try anything and I’ll put one in the back of your head.”
“Understood,” the ensign answered as he walked toward the exit.
“The flight control center is just around the next corner,” Ensign Willard said, raising his cuffed hands to point further down the corridor.
“You know, where I come from we’re more likely to shoot mutineers than give them a trial,” Sergeant Weatherly stated as they approached the corner.
