Fool's Gold (The Wandering Engineer) (17 page)

"So
I gathered. May I help?" he asked. She nodded.

"Please.
Be my guest."

He
nodded getting up. "Please let the crew here know that." She grimaced
and nodded.

"Luxury
quarters are the decks set apart for the exclusive use of the rich and for the
visiting ships." Shelby frowned as they walked. "They took the gyms,
rec areas, parks, restaurants, hotel, casino, and even an art museum up
there." She looked up and growled. "Not to mention night clubs,
stores, and the Port Admiral's exclusive deck," she snarled.

"How
do they take care of everything if they are set apart?" the Admiral asked.
"Well, there is some crossover of course, food, some life support, and
power, and a few people cross the line daily. But the servants live in the
lowest section between them and us. Sort of a buffer." He grimaced.

"The
gentile," he replied. She gave him a curious look. He shrugged.
"During the medieval times before star flight, human lords would use their
bastard children as go betweens with the peasants." He picked up a tablet
and looked at it. She set hers down. "That sounds about right," she
said softly.

"The
more things change, the more they stay the same," the Admiral replied. She
laughed.

"Yeah,
can't get any more different then living in a space station." She waved.
"Well, yes and no, try imagining someone living in a force bubble under a
liquid ocean, or in the sun." He waved to a space painting nearby. It was
of a warship with a sun in the background. Shelby looked at it then back at
him.

"Did
people really..." He grinned. She shook her head.

"Where
there is a will, there is a way. Usually." The Admiral shrugged.
"Okay, let's see here..." He tapped the tablet.

"Nice
network," he commented after a moment. Sprite hadn't commented about
viruses and from the looks of things the registry and hierarchy were kept up to
date and in good condition. She cocked her head, eyebrow raised. "I admit
I tried to access things to get a feel, and to help out. I couldn't believe the
number of viruses in the central net." The Admiral shook his head.
"With fifteen thousand people on..."

She
looked up sharply turning pale. "Fifteen? Our report says five!" She
got up suddenly. "The bridge told us we've only got five!" She threw
her hands up.

"How
did you get that number?" She whirled on him.

"I
have my own AI." He raised his right arm. "I had it check the station
and cross reference data from the computer and Io's scans. Fifteen thousand is
conservative. I'd say it could easily be twenty. But fifteen is the only hard
number I've got to go off of," he explained.

"I
can't get a final tally, too many heat sources," Sprite reported
apologetically. He chuckled.

"There
are too many heat sources from equipment to get an accurate count," he
interpreted for Shelby.

He
shrugged. She was still pale. "Damn," she muttered. She looked
around. "Damn, we're screwed. We're so so screwed." She shook her
head.

"No,
we've just got a narrower time limit and a larger work force to tap." He
shrugged. "Time to roll our sleeves up and get to work." He motioned
to the door. She nodded.

"When
I did an exterior scan I noted solar collectors on the hull and on booms, some
looked functional, some looked like they were broken or disconnected. Are they
in use?" the Admiral asked.

Shelby
turned. "Some, the upper deck is powering the luxury areas. We're using
the lower ones for our life support." She waved as the lights flickered. A
fan kicked on and off.

"Yeah.
I would suggest putting a couple parties together, with or without robotic
support and do a field assessment. Try to patch in as many panels as we can.
Every watt counts." He shrugged. She looked at him.

"Drop
in the bucket," she replied. He nodded. "But your right and it will
keep some people busy." She sighed. "We've got about a dozen suits in
good condition. I'll get them on it." She looked at a tablet, picked it up
and started to scroll.

"Check
with the Valdez clan. Ask to rent their spare old suits. If you have the
material, trade with Io for skin suits," he replied. "Or better yet,
a couple work robots. They should have a spare or two on hand," he pointed
to a deactivated robot in the corner of the room. "Set them to cut out
sections that are beyond repair."

She
nodded. "Okay, I'll have Grundy and Benny make some calls." She
walked off.

The
Admiral smiled.  “Sprite are you in a Wi-Fi node or in the jack?” He asked.

“Jack,”
she answered. He grunted. Now he knew where all his bandwidth was going.

“All
right, just a second here.” He un-jacked and went over to a rack of tools. He
pawed through them until he came up with an ODN cable and some parts. He set
them on the work table then picked up several of the work robots and set them
nearby.

“What
are you doing?” Sprite asked. “I can't get in remember? Logan has a limited
Wi-Fi router in his office and in a few areas. Not here in this work shop.” She
sounded testy.

“Just
a minute.” He looked at his arm then rolled up the sleeve. “Proteus open my
secondary universal port.” He waited as a square port morphed into his right
bicep. He plugged the cable in then the free end into the jack. “That better?”
he asked.

“Much,
thank you,” Sprite responded. “While the cats away, the mice will play... Or at
least tinker,” the AI said mischievously. Irons chuckled.

“Something
like that. You focus on the bottle while Proteus and I see about fixing a
couple of these.” He pulled the access panel off and went to work.

"We've
been running straight hydrogen. Sometimes other materials when we are
low," Shelby explained as he examined the links.

He
winced. "Damn. Radiation must be intense," he muttered.

She
nodded. "Dad said so. He was trying to get back to Helium or at least
deuterium but well...” She shrugged helplessly. “We're down to one robot in the
core. It's malfunctioning and dad was talking about getting into the core
himself to make repairs." Shelby looked saddened.

"Not
an option, at these levels you'd be fried the moment you opened the door. The
plasma bottle is saturated with neutrons. That's what happens when you run
straight hydrogen or other materials." The Admiral sighed running one hand
through his hair. “I ran into this with the Io's power plant. It's a pain in
the ass to fix." He pulled up the status reports of the other fusion
plants. "Hmmm. you've been robbing Peter to pay Paul, scavenging parts
from the other fusion reactors to keep this one going..." He scanned the
read out.

"Well,
we can't exactly put in an order for more. We've got basic machine shops, some
old Bowyer reprap three D printers from the museum, and one working industrial
fabricator. It's locked down though." She sighed. "It takes too much
energy; we need every watt for life support." She shook her head.

"There
comes a time when you have to decide, a slow death, or bite the bullet and face
the problem to fix it," the Admiral replied not looking up.

"Well,
if we had another fabricator... Hell what does it matter! We don't have the
blueprints anyway!" She threw her hands up in the air, tossing the tablet.
It fell to the floor with a clatter. She swore softly as she bent to pick it
up.

"We've
got access to four industrial replicators on their own power source, if you can
pay for them," he replied as she picked the tablet up. He was still
concentrating on the robot while Sprite was trying to manage the bottle
software. Distantly he felt cross talk. He was curious about it, but he would
ask when they were alone.

Shelby
straightened looking up at him. "You've got to be kidding." A note of
disbelief warred with excitement. He smiled.

"I
told you we fixed her. Io has all her replicators repaired. Electronics,
industrial, even textile. Also her food replicators. Trade with them and they
will make what you need. But we are in a time crunch, they leave in...” Sprite
put up a countdown clock. "Right, three days and twelve hours... unless we
talk them into staying longer." He shrugged.

She
nodded. "The exec will make a deal with the devil if he could. Hell so
would I, let's do it." She seemed excited as she reached for the
communicator.

"Not
so fast." He held up a hand. "First we need a parts list. Then some
form of compensation. Then you can go to the mat trading." He waved the tablet.
"I've got the Valdez family junk pile. We can get a few things from it; I
know they still have a few satellites and about three air cars that could be
traded. I suggest you pole the other decks, see what you can scrounge up. Tell
them to give until it hurts if they want to breath." He nodded to her.

He
closed the access panel and watched as the little robot wobbled up and then
drifted off. “That makes four.” She dodged the robot and then grimaced.

"I'll
work out a list." He jacked into the tablet with his finger port.
"How is the Valdez clan going to take your trading their stuff?" she
asked. “Even if it is junk it is still theirs,” she added punching in queries.

"I
made a deal, I rebuild the tug, and I get access to their junk." He
smiled. "Plus room and board too. I don't think they will mind once they
know what the parts are for. Besides, I am already working out how to get them
another tug." He waved the tablet. "Io is building it now in
fact." He smiled at her as she stared at him in shock.

"I
hope to goddess this isn't a dream. For a while I thought it was a
nightmare!" She shook her head in disbelief. He chuckled.

"Well,
kiss dreams and nightmares goodbye, we're not getting much rest until we get
this sorted out." He nodded to her.

"Right,
I'm going to go chase down Quasimodo and Grundy, I'll get them looking for
stuff. Be right back." She rushed off. He shook his head bemused.

"Quasimodo?"
he asked then shook his head in amusement and went back to work.

A
man came in and kicked the trash pail. The Admiral didn't look up.
"Hopeless. We're fried," the man muttered. He sat down heavily.

"You
done?" The Admiral asked looking up.

"What's
it to you bub? You signed your own death warrant coming here," the man
growled.

Irons
shook his head. "Where there is life and power, there is hope. Go back to
work." He waved.

"It's
hopeless I tell you!" The guy suddenly standing, smashing his fist into
his palm. "What the hell are we supposed to do, sit and watch the bottle
fail?!" He threw his arms apart.

The
Admiral shook his head. "Your jobs. Let me worry about the bottle."
He held up his right arm.

"What
the hell is a pissant like you going to do about...?” The Admiral triggered his
demo morph. The man stopped mid snarl and backed hastily away. He tripped over
the chair and went down into a sprawl. "What the hell are you?" he
asked.

"Your
worst nightmare if you don't stop feeling sorry for yourself, get your act
under control and get your ass back to work," the Admiral replied quietly.

"Like
the man said, Henry, let him worry about the bottle." Shelby's voice came
from behind him. He turned to see her. Her eyes were locked on the fallen
engineer. He wiped his mouth with a closed hand then got up.

"Right."
He walked out head down. Shelby watched him go.

"You
do have a way with people don't you?" Shelby asked giving him an amused
look. "He's going to tell everyone about you; it will be all over the
station in nothing flat." She chuckled.

"Nothing
moves faster than scuttlebutt," the Admiral muttered. "Fastest way to
get information, gossip," he muttered sourly. She laughed, eyes twinkling.

"Yeah,
dad muttered the same thing all the time." She waved to the door.
"Come on, I'll introduce you to the power watch." He nodded and
followed her out.

"The
Ritz?" The Admiral looked up from the map of the luxury decks.

"Restaurant
claims to be five stars. I managed to hack into their database. Their system is
cluttered with data compiled from orders over a century ago! Seven centuries of
orders, bills, it's insane. Hasn't anyone ever heard of basic computer
maintenance?" Sprite griped.

He
chuckled. "The art gallery museum was set up about forty years after the
station's founding. There are also several art studios and several semi private
art galleries," Sprite reported. "Also several clothing stores. Some
are for the rich; some are haberdashers for the servants," the AI reported.

"Textile
fabricators?" the Admiral asked. "I was wondering where the clothes
and blankets came from." He ran his hand over the fabric covered chair.

"Not
as much as you would think. Nearly eighty percent are imports from out system.
The leather for instance is real neo-buffalo leather. There is a leather shop
here as well," the AI seemed disgusted. He chuckled.