Wandering Engineer 6: Pirates Bane (19 page)

“Medic!” Someone screamed over the sobbing casualties. One man was
clutching at his ruined face.

An enlisted man went to help but the Captain glared him back to
his seat. “As you were Mister, man your post,” the Captain said coldly.

“Aye sir,” the nervous rating said, stiffly sitting at his
station. He glanced out of the corner of his eye to his shipmates then grimly
turned his full attention to his station.

Captain Hathaway looked up in relief to the silent guns and then
turned to the new prisoner. “In light of this mishap and my need to attend to
other duties, I'll give you twelve hours to reconsider my generous
request
,”
he said, putting emphasis on the last word.

“I can't wait to introduce him to sterner methods sir, let me do
it now!” The exec said sounding excited.

“Now, now Lieutenant, I did say we will wait and give him time to
think things over properly. Let his changed reality... sink in,” the Captain
said. He waved a hand to the group. “Dismissed. Return him to the brig,” he
ordered.

The guards escorted him out of the room as the Captain turned his
attention to the damage with icy commands.

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

“Now?” Sprite asked impatiently as they walked. John shook his
head slightly. “Why not?” she asked, sighing in exasperation. His jaw
tightened. “Okay, okay, message received. Not yet,” she said, sounding
disgusted. “Sometimes I swear you make it more of a challenge just to build up
the suspense,” she grumbled.

He fought a snort. The thug in front of him put a meaty hand out
on his chest to stop him at a junction. A work crew passed them going in a
different direction. Finally the thug removed his hand and they continued on.

Irons knew it wasn't the path they had taken to the bridge. It was
by another route, he wondered briefly if they had rerouted around something, or
just wanted to keep him off balance? Either way it didn't work. Though it did
give him a better picture of the goings on in the ship.

“You organics always love to root for the underdog, to be the
underdog. It's in your nature, to love the challenge,” Sprite said. “You don't
like being on top because then you accept the possible role of a bully. The
tyrant. The one everyone is against. It's a form of psychological manipulation,
a slow corruption. Fascinating really,” Sprite said, rambling on.

Irons clicked his teeth and coughed. The AI got the message and
shut up.

Irons was directed to a mop and bucket on their way back to the
brig. He silently contemplated them until a guard clubbed him from behind.
“What? You want that thing shoved up your ass? Get to work stupid!” the guard
snarled.

Irons took the mop handle and pulled the head out of the pail. The
water was filthy; he wasn't sure about the wisdom of using it. Water would seep
through the cracks on the deck into wiring as well.

“Well?” the guard asked.

“Just wondering if this is a wise idea. Water and wiring,” Irons
said.

“You want to lick it up? Get to work!” the guard snarled.

“Fine, you're the boss,” Irons sighed, putting the head down and
pushing it around with his cuffed hands.

“And don't you forget it,” the guard growled gruffly, stepping
back to watch.

Again, Irons wondered about the wisdom of that. Wasting a pair of
guards to watch someone mopping a floor. Not a wise use of resources. Stupid.
He frowned but kept mopping.

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

“Do you think he'll crack?” Blye asked, turning to the Captain.
“Sir, I can break him. I know it. The more pompous they are, the harder they
fall.”

“I know that. But we need this guy in one piece. We don't know
what is in his augmentation. Did anyone bother to scan him?”

“I... I'll have to check with security,” the exec said.

The Captain scowled. “Do so. You should have already,” he
growled.

The exec nodded, clearly fighting the disappointment he had in
himself. “Sorry sir,” he said glumly.

“Oh, don't be a kiss ass. Get this mess cleaned up, get Serall
and someone on figuring out what the hell went wrong, and see if it's going to
happen anywhere else. I don't need this headache.”

“Yes sir.”

“And order the scan. And get the good Doctor to do a physical
soon.”

“Aye sir,” the exec said, coming to attention. The Captain waved
him off. The exec turned smartly and marched off.

“Wind up tin soldier. Honestly, I don't know what the academy is
doing, not teaching them to think for themselves and thinking something like
that would make a good officer,” the Captain murmured softly to himself. He
turned his eyes to the cleanup crew. A rating was taking the guns down. “Don't
take them down!” the rating froze. “Just pull the power lines. It's got to be
software!” the Captain growled. “Serall! Figure it out! Fix it!” he growled.

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

“You think this one will last long?” the guard asked his fellow an
hour later. Irons didn't look up, didn't rise to the obvious bait of someone
talking about him right in front of him.

“Nah, too stupid to pour piss out of a boot. Pig headed.”

“Alien lover?”

“Maybe. Hey, remember when we had that bug? And the exec went and
had us pull him apart one limb at a time? That was fun!”

“Yeah,” the guard said, smiling nastily. Irons could see with his
implants that they were watching him closely. He couldn't help the unconscious
reaction of pausing to listen, nor the tightening of his jaw and grip at the
sound of them describing the torture of a Veraxin. “Fun. Though I wish we'd cut
his vocal cords out. My ears rang for a week after that.”

“Ah, but that was half the fun!” the other laughed, slapping him
on the shoulder. “Say, after this want a beer and a vid? We can watch the last
guy we had. The fuzzball we shaved.”

“Ah hell, all the hair?” the other guard sniffed. “We're still
picking it out of the filters!”

“True, but the expression on that dog's face!” The other cackled.

“Want to make something of it slave?” one of the guards asked, sounding
amused. Irons could tell from his structured tone that it was all an act. They
weren't just baiting him they were feeling him out. Trying to see where his
loyalties were.

He was tempted not to answer, but knew that itself was a trap.
Much like at boot, trying to keep your head down got you stomped on as much as
if you showed your pride. He needed to find some middle ground.

“Nope, just want to get by,” he mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I dunno.”

“Shut it, I wasn't talking to you. You,” the first guard poked
him. “What's your problem?”

“Just trying to survive,” Irons mumbled.

“That's just trying to survive sir,” the guard said, sounding
triumphant. The baton struck him in the back of his right calf. The blow would
have crippled a weaker man, with his artificial limb Irons barely felt it.

“What the hell?”

“Eh?” Irons asked turning. He swung the mop, accidentally on
purpose dribbling the muck all over the other guard. “Sorry, I'm a little
distracted.”

The guard was standing there wringing his hand, shaking it out.
The baton was cracked, nearly split in half. “The hell man?” the guard asked.

“Bad baton?” his partner asked. “Rotten?”

“Doesn't look like it,” the other said. He examined the split
wood.

“Hey,” another voice said. They turned to the voice. A rating had
rounded the corner and was standing in the combing, one hand on the upper.

“Yeah?” The guards asked in unison. They looked at each other in
annoyance and then one smirked and looked away. Irons looked up briefly and
then continued working. The first guard started to admonish him for stopping
but then stopped when he realized Irons hadn't been distracted.

“Boss wants to see if this one knows anything about fixing
electronics.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, burnt life support module down this way,” the rating said.
Irons checked him out through his implants, human male and a Beta from the look
and build. Structurally strong, golden skin, but he had a pock marked face. His
nose had been broken a few times, and he had gold earrings that connected to a
ring in his nose by a gold wire. He had long blue hair on one side of his head;
the other side was shaved bald and tattooed with Celtic markings.

“Life support? Did Drew really say that or tell you to do it?”

The rating grimaced. “Nah Macky, it's the truth!”

The first thug grimaced. He still wasn't sure what the hell just
happened. The guy wasn't even limping. “Right. Still could be fun seeing him
get fried,” the guard mused. “Let's go,” he poked Irons.

Irons set the mop against a stanchion and then turned to the
rating. The rating grimaced and then waved him onward.

“You could at least limp!” Sprite hissed at him on his HUD.

“Why? Damage is done,” Irons replied through text. He stepped over
a knee knocker. The guard in front looked back at him, grimaced, then back the
path they were on. “Make a hole!” the guard snarled as a rating lounging
against the bulkhead looked up in mild interest. The Horathian sullenly moved
to one side, then into an open compartment nearby. Irons looked at the wiring
bolted to the bulkhead above the hatch then away to the new rating.

“What are you looking at?” the rating snarled. “Meat?” he growled.
His cold eyes stared into the Admiral's. The man was big but thin, with brown
fuzz for hair. He had a pale scar on his right cheek and a filthy uniform. Irons
shook his head as a prod from behind reminded him to keep moving.

Irons followed one guard while the other followed behind him. They
weren't bright, just bully boys bored with their guard down, a potentially
fatal situation. He was tempted to kick things off early, show them permanently
the errors of their ways, but he made himself wait.

“Here,” the rating said, indicating a pile of tools and an open
access panel. Irons could see from the scorching on the panel cover plate and
the surrounding area that there had been some intense heat, possibly an
electrical fire. He could smell burnt wiring and melted circuitry.

“You've had an electrical fire. Overheated bus,” he said
carefully, looking at the panel. He pointed to the cover plate. “Check that.
Where you see the center of the soot markings is the ignition point, the point
of failure. Work from there.”

“I see.”

Irons studied the burnt panel, and then peered into the rats nest
of wiring. He pointed to a couple of wires. “First, no wire ties keeping things
neat and from arching. It looks like arching from a short.”

“Wire ties? Arching?”

“Throw enough amperage through a wire and then give it a place to
go with lower resistance and it'll do that. Electrical energy follows the path
of least resistance,” Irons said. He pushed the kid back with his hands as he
leaned in to look closer. “I wouldn’t do that. It's live.”

“It is?”

“Did you shut it down?”

“Um, no? We need it to function for this area?”

“Is this going to take long?” the first guard asked, clearly
bored.

“Hey! Isn't that guy supposed to be back in the brig?” another
voice demanded. The guards flinched and looked at each other.

“Sorry Lieutenant. We're um... on our way,” the second said,
grabbing Irons by his left arm. He squeezed hard. “Ain't we?” He demanded.

“Whatever you say. Sir.”

“That's right,” the guard said, dragging him along. “Good luck
figuring it out Chuckles,” he said over his shoulder to the rating. “I hope you
fry,” he ended with a mutter as they moved away.

“No you don't. We won't be around to see it,” the other muttered.
He stepped over a knee knocker and ducked the upper combing as he passed
through a hatch.

“Yeah well, fun is fun, but this way we can't catch any of the
blame if that moron get's his ass killed,” the first said, hustling them along.
“Still, it would have been fun to watch,” he grumbled. “Liven things up around
here. Dull as shit,” he grumbled.

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

Phoenix watched the three humans on his ship with growing
concern. They had recharged the reserve power; he now had enough to function,
but not enough to do much. And right now, all he could do was wait. “Jed, you
seen this?” The human called Baskin's said, bouncing a ball off the bulkhead.

“What?” Jed asked, sounding bored. He was the one Phoenix was
most worried about; the human was constantly poking about looking for loot.

“This, the crewman said, pointing with his free hand to the
screen he was watching. Jed poked his head in the hatch and looked over
Baskin's shoulder. Baskin's looked over his shoulder to him and then to the
screen. “Good game man. Bet the Spacehawks win,” he said.

That amused the AI. It was a recording obviously, one the one
called Baskin's had brought with him.