Wandering Engineer 6: Pirates Bane (16 page)

“Talk later,” Franx said, suddenly nervous. John realized by
talking to him it could reflect badly on the other prisoners. He slowly made
his way to a corner, and took a seat, feeling the eyes of the entire
compartment on him. He put his implants on power saving mode and reviewed his
recordings, feigning sleep. Slowly the prisoners returned to their usual
routine of waiting, gossiping about their pasts, or sleeping. He knew Sprite
would record it all and process it over time.

Reviewing the situation, he checked his impressions of the other
prisoners. From the way she glared at men in the compartment and shied away
from them, Karen Hoshi was exhibiting classic rape and psychological trauma and
was a question mark. Franx and McGuyver were both possibilities, as were some
of the other crew. The Horathian’s were a wild card he hadn’t anticipated, and
any possibility of planning an escape was out the window as long as they were
in the room.

<----*----*----*---->

“Why hasn't the Admiral broken out yet? I thought that was the
plan?” Proteus asked the other two AI through their shared link.

“Patience,” Sprite replied. “I believe he is assessing the
situation, and allowing both him and us to build up a map of the ship and
people involved.”

“He could do that after we retake the ship,” the nanotech AI
replied.

“If he survived the taking. There is such a thing as not going
off half-cocked. The more intel we gather now, the better the chances are of
pulling this off successfully,” Sprite replied patiently.

“The odds of pulling off a successful break out and mutiny are
low. There are force fields and defenses throughout the ship. An alert crew can
lock him into an area and then vent it to space,” Defender said.

“Correct. So we need to find ways to prevent or circumvent those
problems. And plan them. Contingency plans. You're the security AI. Turn the
situation around and put yourself in the Admiral's position. What would you
do?”

“Exactly what he is doing,” Defender admitted. “Wait.”

“Then we wait,” Sprite replied.

After two hours of checking his impressions he switched to the
scans of the compartment. The room was eighteen meters square, and lined with
bunks on one wall. The brig was set up for a small prison population, which
explained the current sleeping arrangements; there were too many bodies in too
small a compartment. The toilet was in a corner in full view of everyone.
Someone was currently sitting on it as a seat.

The path to the brig had identified problems with the ship, but
less than many of the current ships he had been on. The biggest problem he had
were the markings, the naval markings had been replaced with Horathian ones. He
couldn't tell the name of the ship and in some cases where they were.

The amusing thing to him was that they had attempted to disorient
him by taking a roundabout route from the boat bay to the brig. He was certain
it was to keep him off balance, but there might be something else involved. The
brig was on the same deck as the boat bay though.

Looking back at what he had recorded on fast-forward, he realized
the ship was relatively clean, and most of the major maintenance issues looked
under control. The current skeleton crew was probably playing havoc with the
maintenance schedules. The ship had one large boat bay; it had been clean with
what appeared to be the normal complement of a pinnace, cutter, the Skyhawk,
and three Cobra class fighters.

He remembered his encounters with other boat bays. Io 11 had been
a mess, as had the boat bays on Kiev 221. To see the ship not only ship shape,
but also kept that way said a great deal about the quality of the ship's crew
and its officers. He wondered how far that extended to all Horathian vessels in
general.

Unfortunately he couldn't use the ships captured in Pyrax as a
meter stick, all had been shot up pretty thoroughly by the time the marines had
boarded. And some had gotten even more shot up in their final moments of
capture.

He looked around with absent eyes as he processed what he had
learned. Sprite would need time and access to get into the ship's systems. For
now he didn't dare turn her loose to try to get into a wifi node, if there was
one available.

Proteus seeded the compartment with spy nanites. They had a
limited life span, but the AI could bring them back to reset the timer as
needed. Well, as long as the Admiral was in the compartment when they needed to
be reset. He shrugged mentally. He knew he was going to lose a few, he'd
already lost a few hundred in the shuttle and another thousand or so on their
trip from the boat bay to the brig.

Most of the prisoners had bedded down for the night wherever they
could. Several were forced to sit Indian style in the middle of the room. It
looked like many of the prisoners were under fed, and most showed scars of past
beatings in both their manner and body. A few of the women were ominously quiet
and very touchy. Some of the men in the compartment tried to defer to them.
Most of the women clustered together away from the men, shooting them the
occasional hate filled looks.

The Horathian’s obviously took the bunks, and the trio of
surviving prisoner officers were clustered together in a tight area far from
the door and head. He couldn't blame them; the smell from the head was bad.
Throw sixty-four people, now sixty-five, in a room with one working latrine and
bad things happened quickly. It looked like they were trying to keep a handle
on it, scrubbing it every shift. He wasn't sure if that was because they were
ordered or because of health considerations. They had no cleaning agents
though, just water from the small sink and elbow grease.

Exec Hoshi was one of seven females in the compartment; all five
of the non-Horathian females appeared to share the same trauma symptoms… the
pair of non Horathian females were clustered together, near the other women but
as far from the Horathian males as they could get. One of the women was
aggressive, snarling at a male who made an advance on one of the other women.
She turned to glare at the watching crowd, cowing a few.

The door opened and several more prisoners were shoved inside,
all dirty and grimy. Wearily they made their way to the head and food
replicator. Six of the prisoners stood and made their way to the door, and
after being hassled by the guards, were chained and let out.

<----*----*----*---->

Horathian Captain Brian Hathaway received the report of captured
ship with mixed feelings. He was glad they had another prize, but his crew was
perilously cut to the bone. He barely had enough to man all the shifts in
engineering and on the bridge. He had been tempted to let the little ship pass,
but its antics near the gas giant had piqued his interest.

Now he regretted it. Oh, having a sleeper with implants was a
major feather in his cap, as was another capture. The ship lacked cargo, but
the report of industrial grade replicators on board was another coup for him.
That in itself was odd on such a small ship. He'd have to ask about that. He
made a note to do so. He wondered if this Captain Doe went around and used the
replicators to make up for a lack of ability to haul cargo. That might be it.

The ship however caused a few problems. One, the ship was almost
dead, and out of fuel. Her computers were functional, but only barely. His Chief
engineer had reported that the structure the sole person on board had been
working on at the time of their taking of the vessel was a gas giant refinery.

That was very interesting. That bit of hardware might have proven
useful if the force emitter and Electromagnetic Pulse hadn't fried its
electronics. Right now it was a couple hundred tons of slowly tumbling scrap. A
navigational hazard, if it wasn't already on a slow course into the gas giant's
atmosphere. He had about two days to decide if he wanted to bother rescuing it
or not.

The other issue that bothered him the most though was the lack of
crew. If the report was to be believed, this guy had gone it alone. That was
inconceivable you just didn't do that. No one could handle being in space for
long periods without someone, even if it was just someone to talk to. How had
he managed to fly when he was asleep? No, something screwy was going on. It
nagged at his him like a sore tooth. Something just wasn't right, and he wasn't
sure if it had implications that could affect him. For now though, they'd have
to keep an eye on the guy.

He'd have to look into things in more depth shortly, if not now,
then next shift. For now they needed to get life support restored to the prison
ships and recover the weapon. Servicing it would take a couple of shifts... he
frowned in thought and then nodded. Lieutenant Blye was quite the over
achiever, as his exec he could be relied on to get things done. They had had a
rocky first start, Blye was a bit of a sycophant with higher authority as well
as sociopath tendencies to those under him, but he did have a way with
discipline and order. The blond blue eyed Lieutenant would have to be watched,
sometimes he went overboard.

Brian pondered that again. He always wondered if Peter set
himself up as the bad ass as a classic psychological ploy. He had studied it in
command school, have a bad ass Chief or officer, and then someone else who
comes off as a moderating influence. Therefore the moderating influence was
respected and was thought of as a leader. Also, they feared the exec. They
feared what would happen to them if he ever gained command. Brian tapped the
stylus on his lips. It could be psychology, if it was, Peter was a hell of an
actor. In the three years they had been together he hadn't let his mask slip
once. If there was a mask at all.

He studied the engineering report, putting the thought aside.
There was the usual grumblings from Chief Serall about the lack of manpower.
That was to be expected. He frowned. Apparently his idea to restart the fusion
reactors had failed the last sim. Brian wasn't certain about it. According to
the Chief it had less than a ten percent chance of working... and a thirty
percent chance of blowing up in their face or melting down. Restarting a
reactor was a delicate procedure. He'd thought he would be prepared when
command issued him the weapon and his orders to guard the fleet's flank in the
system... but apparently they and he had underestimated its problems.

Sure, they had gotten four prize ships off. But the weapon hadn’t
hit one; they had dropped out of hyper right into the destroyer's lap
practically begging to be captured. He frowned. The weapon.. he shook his head.
It was a great toy, but here it seemed wasted. Not that he was complaining, he
could always use an extra hand in capturing prizes. But this jump line was
rarely traveled, few ships came through this area to visit the sparse systems
around. Fewer traveled now, he smiled, remembering his prizes.

In a way, he had to admit it was a good place for a field test of
their first functional force emitter drone. Home built, just about every part
built in Horath without the use of a replicator, quite the achievement. He
remembered his histories, it was said that ships had carried a variety of
drones and fielded them as needed.

But the weapon was a pain, needing servicing after each use. That
threw the engineering department and their carefully crafted schedules into a
tailspin. His lips puckered in distaste at the thought.

And Serall was a plodder. He was an acting Chief anyway, an
assistant the Captain had been forced to rely on since he had sent Chief
Grimaldy off on Zarconi six months ago.

He frowned again and then sighed. If Serall didn't shape up soon
he'd have to do something about it. Not that he wanted to, the next officer in
the chain of command was Ensign Wilks Derrick, a fresh snot nose. The kid had
the hardware down, but the rough edges of the crew were a trial for him. He
sometimes needed to be reminded to grow a spine. Hopefully he would soon.

The kid was squeaky clean, not tainted like the rest of the crew.
Hathaway wondered how long that would last. Even he had given in to temptation
years ago and let his dark side reign. It was a great stress release for him.
He reminded himself to schedule his monthly session soon. He'd have to pick
another female though; the ones on board he'd gone over already.

He frowned and rubbed his temples. Hopefully something would
break, like one of the ship's returning with his missing crew. That would be
nice, he thought. Or relief that would be even better, they were overdue. Tin
Lizzy as the crew semi affectionately called Bounty had been on station for far
too long without relief.

He returned his attention to the new ship. The replicators... he
mused, thinking. “If we can get them working... yes, maybe we could fix the
other ships,” he murmured to himself. He scheduled a meeting with this Doe for
the next day.

<----*----*----*---->

After breakfast of watery porridge and a visit to the head the
next morning Irons was amused to overhear a discussion between the prisoners.
The normal tradition of the brig said that the newest had the shittiest jobs,
like cleaning the head. Apparently the group was of two minds on how to clue
the newcomer John in on this.

John ignored it for the most part. He was slightly amused and
curious about how they would proceed, and who would be elected to tell him.

Ian took a short shift. He returned two hours later looking tired.
He didn't have any fresh bruises, so that was a plus. He looked around the
compartment and then took a seat next to the newcomer.

“So... I'm guessing the ladies are all unattached?” John asked Ian
in an aside.

“Don't even go there,” Ian growled. “I know it may have been a
long time, but stick to rosy palm. Those ladies have been through enough.”

“I know,” John said, trying hard to come off on the right note of
sympathetic understanding and not aloof uncaring. “I was wondering if they had
a spouse in the compartment or did the pirates kill them?”

“Dead. Those that had them,” Ian said darkly. “Like my Liz.”

“I'm sorry,” John said, patting the man on the arm.

Ian sucked in a breath and then let it out slowly. The Admiral
could see him getting his sudden distress under control. “It's nothing I can do
about. Now.”

“I know. It sucks. I was going to tease you about your ship's
name. I'm glad I held off,” the Admiral said.

Ian looked at him in confusion. “What?”

“Deianira. It's Greek. She was the husband of Hercules.”

“I know that part,” Ian replied, waving a dismissive hand.

“Yes, well, her name means the husband destroyer,” John said
sheepishly.

Ian paused and then smiled sadly as he caught on. “Oh.”

“See, back in the day, some spacers didn't bring their families.
Their spouses had their own careers, or they wanted to raise a family ground
side or on a station.” Ian nodded for him to continue.

“Some spouses resented the other wife, the ship. So...” He shrugged.

“So someone had a sense of humor. Or just got cute. Okay, got it,”
Ian said with a shrug. “Doesn't
matter now, she's out of my hands anyway,” he said darkly.

“For now,” John murmured as the other man moved off.

Without much to do, John let Sprite process the mountains of data
she had on hand while compiling a better image of the ship. The AI couldn't get
into the ship's systems, there was a pretty good firewall and so he ordered
them to process what they had on hand for now.