Tempered, page 9
part #1 of Space Chef Series
That actually made a lot of sense to me. I’d never seen a single repair person going through the bulkhead walls unless it was battle damaged, and even then, only minimally. “Are there tubes on every deck?”
No-Neck nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He drew small lines up and down the crude flour map on the table. “It’s a bit of a maze in there. The transit tubes only link the decks in four places and don’t access the bridge, but the Jeffries do. They have to. How else would all the conduits connect? Engineering and the power station are a long ass way from there. So, in a few places there are short vertical tunnels as well. I don’t have engineering access anymore, though, and other than memory I can’t tell you how to navigate them well. I could come along with…”
I shook my head. “Don’t even finish that statement, sailor. This is a solo mission for me. Besides, it looks like you’ve been sampling the product down here a bit more than usual. I don’t want to have to grease you up to get you out of a tube. That image alone reminds me of shit through a goose. Just show me the access port here, and I’ll take it from there.”
Smith walked away from the table to where the ovens connected to the wall. With his hands pressing in two places he suddenly kneed the wall, popping it open. “They don’t like these things opening up by themselves. Be super careful from here to the cross tunnel. Some of those power couplings are super-hot. Head left, then take the second right…” The former tech thought for a moment then continued. “You’ll come to what looks a bit like a compass point. Look up and go thirty meters or so. That should be the deck you want. There’s an internal access point every fifteen meters. Be extra careful to close them behind you.”
“Good luck to you all and remember, stay down in the hold until I come for you. I’ll try and send messages through your links, but they can be monitored. See you later.” Not looking back, I swung up into the tube and started climbing. If I could reach my quarters without incident, I might be able to figure some of this mess out and possibly do something to fix it. It was within Sarah’s capability to access the comm system. But she’d have to hack in.
I was ten meters up the tube when Johnson and the rest started down to the hold, so I missed any conversation about my skills. There are a lot of rumors about me out there. Some of them are even true.
“Is it done?” Captain Vaslov asked out loud as he and the XO finished up a small celebratory feast. They’d popped open more than one bottle of the good stuff already. The captain’s subtle smile increased to one of almost glee. “Excellent work, Sergeant Major. You’ve lived up to your princely reputation.”
“I don’t know about that bit, sir. We’re not finished yet, after all. However, the mess deck is secure and so is engineering. Light casualties among my men. Nothing that a trip to see Bones won’t fix,” Draven responded over his DMC.
“And the crew, how did they take it?” Vaslov asked him.
Draven chuckled darkly. “Badly. There were a few losses. Commander Wesley among them. He and his engineering techs tried to scram the power generator and had to be put down. We saved one of two of the lower ranking techs for repairs, though. They are only lightly bruised.”
“Good, good. We shouldn’t have need of their services for long, anyway. We’re just sitting here in space, waiting. Those that come for the ship will have their own crew. It will hurt us a bit at the slave markets on Davros Three, though. Trained technicians are hard to come by. But it’s just extra pocket money after all is said and done,” Vaslov explained. “What about the rest of the ship?”
“Flight deck is clear. I’ve got a squad of my best making sure it’s locked down. There are random sailors scattered all over the place, but my men have orders to either lock them down in available spaces or shoot ’em. How long do we need to stay secure?” Draven asked.
“No more than a day. Contact Bolton, my steward, if you need any sort of supply. I can guarantee he won’t try and poison you like those chefs down below would. That reminds me,” Captain Vaslov paused, smiling at the XO across the table from him. “BuShips sent that nosy super-chef to us just as we left port. Find her and bring her to me in my cabin. I’m sure she’s got valuable information we need to extract. Maybe some of your men might enjoy helping us do that?”
Draven smiled to himself before answering. The blond with the travel cases was a looker. Finding out what she looked like under that chef coat might be interesting. “I do believe she’s in the main mess hall. Cowering under a table, the last time we saw her. It will be my pleasure to accommodate you, Captain. I’ll bring a few of my experts with me.”
“Commander Watson and I will look forward to it. Contact me when you catch her,” Vaslov responded before hanging up. He smiled again at the XO. “That should be a good bit of sport to pass the time. Bolton? Where the hell are you?”
Sergeant Bolton slid around the pantry door where he’d been listening and walked into the small dining room. “You rang?”
Vaslov scowled at the extremely thin man. “I’ve volunteered your services to the marines until our relief arrives. Be sure you accommodate them as well as you can.”
Bolton drew himself up straight and looked Captain Vaslov in the eye. “No.”
“What did you just say to me?” Vaslov thundered. “I’ll have you tossed out into space without a suit. You were placed here to help me.”
“Exactly. Help. Not serve you or bow to your every whim. You forget yourself, Captain. The Brotherhood isn’t your plaything to be tossed this way and that. We bow to no man,” Bolton exclaimed with a low growl. “You are a convenience, nothing else.”
“Brotherhood? What’s the Brotherhood?” Commander Watson asked.
Vaslov waved his question away. “It’s the group of pirates we’re meeting. Bolton here works for them.”
“Works,” Bolton sniffed. “You took our money and our advice and still haven’t a clue who you climbed into bed with. Calling us pirates is an insult. One that I refuse to take lightly.”
“Call yourselves whatever you like. Merchants, pirates, businessmen, there are a thousand permutations of the name. Fine. Don’t help the marines. I’ll have Sergeant Draven use emergency rations instead. Happy?” Vaslov said with humor in his voice. “Who cares about the details when the money at the end is nice? Your people are going to make a fortune selling this baby out on the rim. There’s got to be a half dozen or so petty empires in need of a brand-new battleship!”
Bolton shook his head. “Still the fool. Whatever. My masters have been in contact. Expect retrieval in twelve standard hours. They will have your credits and a small cargo ship for your baggage.”
“Good, good. Can we still be friends? I’ve got the marines bringing us a little treat from down below. Do you want at turn at her? She’s rumored to pull a train at BuShips every weekend if you listen to rumors.” Vaslov licked his lips in anticipation.
It will end badly, is what Bolton told his masters in the Brotherhood when they’d asked him to turn this creature in front of him. Madness was the easiest way to subvert the DMC in most Confed military heads. All it took was a psychological push here and there to tip them over the edge. Of course, it did help if they swung that way in the first place. The robot brothels were so helpful that way. Only the inner circle and their assistants knew the Brotherhood owned them all. Each parlor kept careful track of who, how, and what happened in the booths. So much easier to encourage deviant behavior that way. Especially in the military. Vaslov had been different. Bolton had to add in a small bit of code to his virtual reality program to disable the DMC. A little bit crazy wasn’t enough to trip it. Force was needed. Still, the man’s ego and superiority complex hadn’t coupled well with his need for pain and domination.
“No. I shall retire until I’m needed,” Bolton said as he turned and left the room in disgust. Both Captain and XO would be dealt with soon, regardless.
Things That Make You Go Boom!
Tight was an understatement!
The entire Jeffries tube was filled with wire conduit and tubes. Engineering must be made up of beanpoles.
Even if he were a bit skinnier, No-Neck would have needed a lot of lubricant to do his job. I was starting to feel as though I was trying to push a watermelon out of an air hose. Like having natural birth. Ugh, nobody who had any lick of sense did that anymore! Test tube and incubation tanks were the thing now. Screw that carrying around a bun thing. Or in my case, don’t worry about it, ever. Spec Ops had removed the whole apparatus as part of pre-training. I don’t really miss it, much. Just another thing they got the bill for from me when I called to collect.
Now I needed to clear my head and get my game face on. Subvocalizing, I started up a conversation with Sarah. “Did you record all of what No-Neck was saying about which way the tubes go?”
“Of course. There is a map available, as well.” Even as she said it, a map of the ship’s interconnected internal tubes popped up on my heads-up display in front of my eyes.
“Why didn’t they say anything about it to me?” I asked. I’d managed to climb up to ‘my’ deck.
“He may not have known about it. It was part of the construction updates file,” Sarah explained. “The database is command level only.”
“Did you find out how deep this goes while you were in there?” I asked her. It would help me to know how many combatants there were.
The map in my vision was replaced with video of the bridge. “Fuck, am I really seeing this, Sarah?” The images playing showed Executive Officer Watson remove the helmsman with the captain’s tacit approval. Even the marines on duty were laughing. For a captain to be bribed into taking a ship… It was almost impossible to get around the programming to do that. And to top it off, it was happening on a fleet command ship. A battleship! If I did nothing else, I just had to get this information to Admiral Hawthorne and intelligence somehow. They really needed to know that just about every failsafe our people had was wide open. There could potentially be infiltrators everywhere.
Sucking in my stomach a bit, I squeezed through another tiny hole. Both ship’s engineering and the construction crews needed to be a bit neater. There were literally cables everywhere down here. This route was not a good one for a quick exfiltration. You’d go down with the ship for sure, here. Just that bit alone got me thinking. “Sarah, pull up the maps of the ship you found and start plotting exfiltration routes. I want a solid path from the cargo section to the first available hangar deck containing shuttles. Do one from the bridge downward also, preferably the same hangar. I’ll almost guarantee it those cooks would kill themselves if not careful.”
“Working,” Sarah responded.
Using the maps Sarah highlighted, along with the shaky information Smith gave me, I finally sat in front of what I hoped was the correct access panel. “Are there active cameras in this section?” I asked.
“There are,” Sarah responded even as I let out a curse. Fuck. Surveillance was something I should have thought about right away. My skills at this subterfuge shit were definitely slipping. Ten years out of special operations would do that. I made a mental note to tell the Admiral I needed a few weeks off to bring them all up to par. Half a week spent sneaking around Ground Forces operations or the training center should hone them pretty well. I’d spend the rest of the time on one the pleasure planets. Hustler Five had the best nude beaches and robot masseuses. The last time I visited I don’t think I used my hotel room bed once. One of the resort’s lifeguards was a muscular guy named Jules who could do the most magnificent things with his tongue. He might even remember me. But first I had to get off this tub.
“Sarah, can you jam the cameras?” I asked.
“I can, but it’s not necessary. The security station is unmanned at present. Sensors indicate the screens have not been slaved to another station at this time either,” she replied.
Removing the cover of the keypad, I quickly typed in the code I’d been given. It was the first time I’d tried it, but No-Neck was certain it hadn’t been changed. When I asked him about it, he’d explained. “It’s like this Chef, there must be at least three to four hundred of those pads on just this ship alone, not to mention the fleet at large. Sometimes when we open them, we have seconds… Literally seconds to fix it or the ship and the crew dies a horrible vacuum sucking death. Who has time to look that shit up and get each one approved by higher? Even my stupid AI can’t do that. Someone in BuShips engineering simplified it a century ago. One code. Something simple that even an idiot second lieutenant could remember. How familiar are you with popular music from Old Earth?”
My collection of music was better than most, so I could answer truthfully. “I’m ok with it. Hard rock and disco are my favorites.”
The former engineer made a face at me. “Disco, seriously? Why listen to that shit? Then you might get this or not so much. The number you want is 8675309. It should work on just about every internal system lock, barring those locked out by the captain or higher. If for some reason the computer challenges you, type that in words, “Jenny sent me.” If that doesn’t work, run.”
I’d caught the reference and smiled at him. “The name of the musician might have been safer to use. It isn’t spelled like it sounds.”
“Right but remember this might be under battlefield conditions. They were smart, those early Fleet engineers. Keep the secret confirmation code to yourself though, please. Engineers need to have some secret cool factor to them,” No-Neck Smith explained.
“I’ve got no problems with you guys. I’ve found engineers to be very good with their hands. They always have made me go fast,” I said, giving him a wink that made him blush.
I continued on. “Jam the cameras anyway, Sarah, better safe than dead.” Inputting the code, I crossed my fingers and toes. All or nothing now.
There was a faint hiss as the pressure equalized, then the seal cracked open. Gripping a borrowed kitchen knife in my hand, I gave the door a light push. I slid the door open on its tracks and gazed out at the open floor and I rolled into the hallway. Knife at the ready, I looked both ways but saw nothing. The guest wing of the crew quarter section was like a ghost town. Empty and silent. Checking room numbers, I quickly accessed mine and slid inside.
“Anything notice that Sarah?” I asked my AI.
“Nothing so far. Captain Vaslov and the executive officer are still inside his quarters. The ship is at a dead stop,” Sarah answered.
Rushing into the refresher I let loose a flood of pee I’d been holding for hours. “That feels so much better. Do you know which system we’re in Sarah?”
“Negative. My tap into the navigation system shows we left Sector Gamma Four a full day ago. Triangulation based upon the local red dwarf star and our course place us outside known space. If I had to guess my estimation would be that we are inside the Sylph zone.”
That made me wince. Humanity wasn’t alone in the universe, and we knew it. In my previous life, I’d run up against almost a dozen races on far too many planets to count. Technically, the New Worlds Confederacy was in diplomatic contact with three races. The Greys, the Panoptic Square, and the Glure.
All of them were dangerous, but the Glure scared us the most. Human explorers met them here, in Gamma Sector. Like in a novel, two exploration ships bumped into each other. We’d come in peace, they’d come for war. Our ship might’ve been bigger and better armored, but they were just plain insane. When their guns ran dry, the Glure suited up and attacked individually. Suicide charges in space! They made the Old Earth Japanese look like children. Once the greater navies got involved, it got bloody really fast.
Only the actions of a single human destroyer captain saved the day. Honor was everything to the Glure, and only through individual combat did one advance in their society. Captain Ringo made the ultimate sacrifice in challenging their best, and by winning, sort of. Fighting hand to hand was nothing new. Fighting hand to hand in pressure suits with bladed weapons while floating in space? That was a supreme challenge. Ringo managed to defeat his opponent, only to die of asphyxiation a moment later. The war was stopped, and lines were drawn.
Humanity got their first look at an alien species during the peace accords. Resembling fantasy artistry of fairy creatures, the Glure were renamed by human newscasters. They called them the Sylph.
“We are so screwed. Nobody intentionally messes with the damn Sylph!” I exclaimed. This is going to suck balls. Quicker than I’d planned, I scrubbed my body clean. Crawling through those tubes was pretty nasty. My job with BuShips was to cook and train. I was also supposed to spy. Every captain I interacted with assumed I was a spy. So it didn’t really matter. What they didn’t know, though, was that I was also an assassin. Assassination wasn’t the right word for what I did to Admiral Gryb though.
Special Operations wasn’t under BuShip’s purview. Admiral Hawthorne knew they existed, of course; the main office was two decks up from his office. Previous Admirals had made them separate from the regular navy so as to serve as their own private army. Navy personnel had no direct contact with agents like I was. They never even saw me coming. Sneaking in I blew up their entire operation on board the station and killed everyone in a singular act of revenge. It was then that Admiral Hawthorne saw his way inside the mystique and grabbed me for himself.
Records of all Spec Ops operations disappeared overnight as database were scrubbed, noncooperating units were reabsorbed into the Navy and reassigned crappy posts. It was as if the organization I’d spent half my life fighting for had never existed. Hawthorne saved me from the chopping block and my past...my past changed. I belonged to BuShips now. All my loyalties transferred to it since he’d saved my ass. Now when the admiral said jump, I asked how high.
It wasn’t all bad though. In my cover as Chef of the Fleet I got to cook and have fun at the same time. No longer locked away on old stations, I could sleep my way across the inner corps pleasure planets, and no one would be the wiser. If someone needed killing, I was the girl to call. That little bit of information was why I fought so hard all the time to keep my locked Chef cases close to me. Security. They held all my weapons and toys. A girl’s gotta have a few toys to play with.
