Junkyard Dogs 1: The Scrapyard Incident (5 page)

Chapter 6

UTFN Reclamation Center, Main Facility,
October 5, 2598.

At seven bells,
Carlisle was waiting for Harris near the main airlock at the stationary end of
the dumbbell-shaped station's axle. Both were fully suited-up in preparation
for the airless, weightless conditions of space. As Harris came floating up
behind her he could hear her speaking softly to herself again.

"Libration
point...stable solution...three body
problem
...Joseph-Louis
Lagrange...1772..."

"Good
morning, Ensign."

He hadn't
intended to but he startled her anyway.

"Huh? Oh.
Good morning, Sir."
  

According to
regulations, they were required to check each other's suits and run down a
short list of mandatory safety protocols prior to activating the airlock and
venturing forth into vacuum. Even a near-sighted civilian would have noticed
that Carlisle's suit was radically different from the standard Navy-issue
utility suit like the one Harris was wearing.

"Wow!"
he said, as he looked it over. "Nice suit!"

She smiled and
performed a pirouette in the air, allowing him to view the suit from all
angles. It appeared to be made of a smooth, slightly textured fabric, almost
like the skin of a primitive, old Earth fish called a shark. The suit clung to
the contours of her trim body very closely, revealing a physique that was both
very feminine and very athletic.

"Absolutely beautiful!"
 
said
Harris.

His complement
could have applied to the suit or to the person wearing it; he himself wasn't
even sure. Out of the blue a thought came unbidden and unwelcome: quirks aside,
this incredible woman was near perfection in every way imaginable: mind, body,
and spirit. The thought was accompanied by a brief but acute flash of longing,
tempered immediately by the crushing realization that she was also perfectly
unattainable. The episode was over in little more than an instant, leaving
behind the faintest twinge of regret.

"Isn't it
great? It's a prototype for a command suit we've been testing at the
Academy."

"Where can I
get one?"

"Sorry, I
don't think you can. Not yet anyway. They only made a hundred of them. They
told me to take it on this assignment and give them a full report when I get
back."

"How do you
like it?" He asked from behind her as he checked what turned out to be
standard connections for the air pack and battery on the back of the prototype.

"I love it!
It's so light and comfortable that you can barely feel it. You wouldn't believe
the freedom of motion."

"You'll have
to demonstrate."

"Be glad to.
Here, let me check you." She found herself approving of his fit, compact physical
proportions, as she quickly went over his suit connections and the rest of the
mandatory checks before declaring it all in order. Finally, they closed and
sealed their helmets. Preflight preparations complete, Harris activated the
airlock door.

"Okay,
Ensign," he said, over the suit intercom, "
let's
have a demonstration of your weightless technique and that fancy suit. Show me
how to get across the cargo bay."

The young woman
began her demonstration strictly according to regulations. She kept a grip on
the handrail inside the airlock while clipping a remote controlled tether to
one of the many hooks and loops that studded the inner walls of the cargo bay.
As Harris watched, she deftly swung out into the cargo bay and coiled her legs
against the wall. She spoke involuntarily to herself, softly as before,
seemingly oblivious to the fact that Harris could hear her.

"Compulsory
exercise number four, Tamara..." Knees bent, she tested her balance and
her mass against the wall. She counted out loud, "Three, two one...,"
and launched her body across the bay towards the open outside door, a distance
of probably fifty meters.

Her form was
perfect, an inverted swan dive pose, even her toes were pointed in the small,
flat-soled boots of the sleek prototype suit as she flew gracefully out into
the brightly-lit bay. What she did next was nothing short of astounding.
Halfway across, she used a tug on the tether, which Harris noticed she had
skillfully kept almost taut, to tuck neatly up into a ball and perform a flawless
series of three hundred sixty degree somersaults, interrupted with periodic
extensions of her body to execute several complex twisting maneuvers, before
another perfectly-timed tug on the tether reoriented her body for her landing
on the other side. She completed the transition of the cargo bay feet first,
once again using the tether, this time to slow her momentum, before making
light contact with the wall a meter to the right of the outside door. She
clipped a second tether to the main grab handle and used the remote control to
release the first tether, which she reeled in with the small electrically
powered winch that was a part of the cleverly-designed remote-controlled tether
system.

Harris followed
her across, more conventionally, and a great deal more slowly. He caught
himself with his arms before grabbing a handle, switching tethers, and reeling
in his own primary tether.

"That wasn't
exactly what I had in mind, Ensign!" said Harris, putting some edge into
his tone. "Warn me before you try anything like that again."

"Sorry,
Sir," she replied, and looked like she meant it.

Despite the fact
that he couldn't approve of her behavior, he was impressed.

"Those
maneuvers...," he shook his head. "What you just did was amazing!
Where did you learn how to do that?"

"Were you
briefed about me, Sir?"

"Commander
Kresge let me in on a few things that he thought were important," replied
Harris.

"So you know
that I'm a Spacer?"

"On a special program.
Yes, we talked about that."

"Did he also
tell you I was on the weightless gymnastics team at the Academy?" she
asked.

"Um...No, he
didn't."

"I honestly
thought you knew, Sir. I'm truly sorry if I startled you; I don't get to show
off all that often..."

"Apology
accepted-- this time. Just don't take any risks like that when we get out into
the Scrapyard!"

"Duly noted, Sir."

They
went through the cargo door out into the harsh, bright starlight of Naccobus.
The scrapyard completely surrounded them, above, below, and in every direction
with a glittering array of harsh, intense sunlight reflected off from the old
ships, disassembled pieces of ships, and other assorted scrap in the huge
junkyard. Points of light, straight and jagged lines of light, light reflected
in any and all shapes imaginable, some recognizable, some not. The myriad
shapes of light contrasted starkly with shadows of absolute blackness. All of
this was framed against a backdrop dusting of glaring starpoints in the pitch
black matrix of space. Directly over their heads was the thicker band of stars
that made up the spiral arm of the Milky Way Galaxy. The incredible panorama
filled the entire celestial sphere. Carlisle stopped for a moment or two,
taking in the glorious scene. Again she began talking to herself, seemingly
unaware that she could be overheard.

"Such
beauty...so many stars..."

"Kind
of takes your breath away, doesn't it?" said Harris.

"Oh,
sorry, Sir.
I only got a brief glimpse of this
yesterday after we arrived. I never imagined that the Scrapyard would be
so...incredibly beautiful! Do you ever get used to it?"

"I've
been here for nearly three years now," replied Harris. "I can still
stare at it for hours at a time."

She
couldn't stop herself from keeping the greatest share of her attention on the
spectacular view as she followed Harris towards the docking area.

Chapter 7

UTFN Reclamation Center, Main Facility,
October 5, 2598.

Outside
the door to the main cargo airlock, the two officers each clipped a tether to
the rail of the waiting utility sled. The sled bore the neatly, but obviously hand-lettered
moniker "
Reclamation Rover I
"
and, having been extensively modified over the course of countless years of
service, bore little resemblance to a standard Naval-issue utility sled. At
first glance, it was barely distinguishable from the nondescript bits of scrap
and other debris that made up the Scrapyard, it had so many bits and other
modules added. Closer examination revealed a great deal of thoughtful
modification, including a full, overhead crash cage with a sunshade to block
the harsh light and radiation of the system's star. The space-suited form of
Hawkins looked up from the cargo module he was making fast to the deck to
acknowledge the arrival of his two new shipmates.

"Let
me introduce you to engineering technician Angus Hawkins," said Harris.

Since the three
of them were to be together for the next several days, all had been tuned to
the same suit-to-suit communications frequency. Hawkins had actually been
monitoring the previous conversations between the two officers and thus had
been expecting them. One of Kresge's innovations was a muting down of the level
of military protocol required for small operations in the Scrapyard. With
everyone in spacesuits and usually in small groups of less than five people,
regular shipboard procedures such as coming to attention, saluting, and other
military protocols were deemed a low priority because they could be downright
dangerous in some situations, and a more relaxed interaction between officers
and enlisted men was encouraged. Each member of the small party chose a call
sign to ensure the brevity and clarity of their communications.

"Hawkins,
this is Ensign Tamara Carlisle," said Harris. "You'll need a call
sign, Ensign. What do you want us to call you?"

"Um...
Vixen,
will do just fine," said the young woman.

"Vixen,"
replied Hawkins, with a slight nod of his head inside the clear bubble of his
spacesuit helmet. "I
be
Hawk."

"Java works
for me," said Harris, rounding out the introductory remarks.

Hawkins too was
enamored with Carlisle's new suit.

"Goodness
me, Lass, but that be one fancy suit you're wearin.'"

"Thanks...Hawk.
I was just telling Harris about it. It's a prototype. I'm testing it out for a
few weeks."

"Looks t' be
a wee bit flimsy?"

"Meta-kevlar...nanite
architecture...Actually, it's not. I know it almost looks too good to be true,
but the fabric is a brand new polymer. They claim it's not only stronger than
the material of the old suits, but that its insulating properties are almost
perfect. If you look at it in the infrared, you won't see any heat
signature."

"You
be
wearing it well," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Thanks,
Hawk."

Harris got them
back on track.

"Ensign
Carlisle -- I mean, Vixen -- is here to inspect some of the Succession Era
warships, Hawk, but I think we should start out with one of the training
vessels to give her a little practice and some orientation before we head out
to the Auxiliary Tracking Station. I trust that's okay with you, Ensign?"

Carlisle was
momentarily disappointed that they were not immediately heading for the section
of the Scrapyard that contained the destroyers but, not wanting to get off on
the wrong foot with her new coworkers, chose not to let it show

"Ah...I
guess you have to learn to walk before you can run," she replied.

"Well, let's
get to it," said Harris. "Since part of your training is to practice
close quarters maneuvering, you might as well go ahead and take this first
stretch on the flight com."

Carlisle slid
into the pilot's seat. She took a few minutes to look over the instruments and
adjust the foot controls and the seat to accommodate her small frame before
buckling in.

"Standard
control set up?" she asked as she looked over the com center.

"Yeah.
The controls for this craft are exactly the same
as the ones on a Class II Naval cutter, even though the two types of craft look
a lot different."

"That'll
make it easier."

"But you
mustn't get overconfident. I know you've put in hundreds of hours already on
several different types of ship and even more on the simulators, but the
Scrapyard takes some getting used to."

"What should
I look out for?"

"Most pilots
will never get as close to another space craft as we do out here. The trick is
to keep your speed way down on the approach and really, really watch what
you're doing. I bet you'll catch on pretty quick."

"We'll
see."

"First rule
is that all three of us need to keep an eye out, there's a lot of floating junk
up here. We'll holler if anything looks too close for comfort.
Head for that batch of stuff over there."

He pointed to a
clump of old ships ahead of and a little above their present position. To their
right and behind them, the blazing orb of Nacobbus dominated the sky. Ahead of
them, New Ceylon was a bright spark against the star-encrusted black matrix of
space.

She took a few
more minutes to feel out the controls before she smoothly and confidently
undocked the utility sled, swiveled the bow around and "upwards"
while gently accelerating towards the small cluster of wrecked ships and other
unrecognizable junk that looked to be at least a couple of kilometers from the
main station. Hawkins took station on one of the front corners of the roughly
rectangular utility sled while Harris picked a spot where he could watch the
scrapyard and keep an eye on Carlisle's piloting technique.

Harris took the
opportunity to provide more information on scrapyard protocols.
 
"We find it is usually best to go inside
the ship we're working on," he said. "A cargo or utility hold
provides pretty good protection from the high radiation of direct starlight and
any wandering junk that might be floating around out here. Hawkins can give you
some pointers on working with wrecks.
Hawk?"

Hawkins gave
Harris a short "Do I have to?" look before pointing to an area on the
sled where there were some large tool bins and several cables coming up out of
the deck of the sled with various types of connectors on their ends. "I be
havin' a few special tools that be helpin' a lot, Lass. Fifty years out here be
nay too easy on stuff."

Carlisle, who at Admiral
Loftgren's insistence had been spending a portion of her time studying how to
improve her interpersonal skills -- perhaps her weakest area -- employed one of
the basic rules: encourage new acquaintances to talk about themselves or their
work. She thought quickly and came up with, "Ingenious, Hawk, did
you,
ah...make all these tools yourself?"

To her relief he
responded appropriately.

"
Aye, that
I did, most o' them."

"And the modifications to the sled?"

"Aye, those too."

"Damned
impressive," she said.

To Harris'
surprise, Hawkins went on to explain some of the other basics. "You canna
buy any o' the tools you be
needin'
to work out here.
Lots o' the time you dinna even know what you'll be
needin'
."

"So you have
to be ready for anything?" asked Carlisle.

"Aye, Lass.
Ready for anything.
Lots o' these wrecks, 'specially the
military ones,
be
havin' some kind o' damage t' begin
with. That does
na
' help. But you dinna even need them
t' be damaged. Doors and hatches get stuck, 'vacuum welded' they be
callin
' it. I made a power vibrator rig that can usually be
breakin' the vacuum welds after a couple o' minutes but we've still had t' be
burnin' through more o' them than I'd like."

"So you've
got cutting lasers and hydraulic shears?" asked Carlisle.

"
Aye, that
we do. You gotta be rememberin' that there's nay
any power on any o' these old ships neither. Some of the old machinery
be
still workin' if you can be gettin' power to it. This
sled has some hefty batteries on 'er and we installed a heavy duty generator from
a spaceport tug that we be salvagin' a couple o' years ago."

"Does that
seem to do the trick?"

"Aye, Lass.
I wished I be havin' another for the other sled."

Carlisle made
several minor steering corrections on the controls to the utility sled while
she thought of another topic to keep the conversation going.

"How would
you get me on board one of these ships, say a Succession destroyer or something
like it?" she asked.

The older man
thought for a moment.

"Well...We
can usually be powerin' the doors up through the ship's docking connector. If
that does
na
' work, or it be too badly damaged, I be
havin' some power hand tools t' be crankin' on the manual overrides for the
doors. We dinna need 'em too often, thank God! As a last resort, we can be
cuttin' through the hull. That can be takin' a while though."

Hawkins lapsed
into silence and Harris realized that the conversation was the longest he'd
ever heard from the man. He wasn't making eye contact, but he was
communicating. The ensign had chosen to ask the old technician about his
expertise and had then followed up in a manner that conveyed genuine interest
on her part and the older man had responded to it. Harris momentarily wondered
if his lengthy conversation with the ensign the night before had been similarly
orchestrated.

The remainder of
the trip was over fairly quickly. Harris watched intently as Carlisle slowly
and carefully guided the utility sled into the open main cargo door on the side
of a battered old pre-war cargo vessel. On their suit radios, both men could
hear her speaking softly inside her helmet.

"Slow and
easy, Tamara...just a little to starboard...now forward...and...
stop
."

Her hand
movements on the controls were deft, smooth and confident. Harris could have performed
the docking operation more quickly, but even he couldn't have done it any more
smoothly. The two men each secured their side of the craft to one of the larger
cargo holdfasts in the belly of the old ship. As Carlisle put the sled's engine
on standby, she realized that she was sweating.

"Well done,
Ensign."

"I took your
advice and went really slow."

"I saw that.
A lot of our new pilots manage to bump into something."

"It wasn't
too bad," she said as she unbuckled and got out of the pilot's seat.
"Of course this sled really handles well. It's agile and responsive, not
at all like I expected. Is that your doing, Hawk?"

"Aye, Lass,
I
be
makin' a few other modifications."

Carlisle looked
around the cargo bay, which was empty accept for the
Rover I
.

"Alright,
before we go any further," said Harris, "it's time for a short
briefing on salvage protocol. Standard spacewalk tethering procedures are in
order out here. While moving, even through a ship, don't unhook any tether
before you have secured a second one. Oh, and make sure to give any anchoring
ring, railing, or whatever you intend to hook onto a good, healthy tweak before
you trust it. People have died 'cause they've ignored that advice. Take your
time and be safe. Look around here a bit and then we'll do a couple of safety
drills. After that we'll head for the bridge."

"Wrist
comp... schematics... With your permission, Lieutenant," said Carlisle,
"I'd like to lead the way. This suit has other capabilities. It has an
interface for my wrist computer and I have it patched into my helmet display.
As you know, I've got the schematics for several hundred ship types loaded up.
It would be a good way to test how well my system is going to work over the
next few days.
Best to find out right away if I can find my
way around."

"You have to
start sometime," said Harris, "Carry on."

Carlisle looked
around the cargo area.

"This is a
Daimler-Benz S220, isn't it?"

"Close,
Lass, but she
be
smaller than that. This
be
only a 180," corrected Hawkins.

"What
model?"

"She's about
eighty years old," said Harris. "That would make her a Series
Four."

Carlisle's eyes
moved rapidly back and forth as she consulted her suit display. Again she spoke
softly to herself. The two men looked and one another, Harris shrugged, but
said nothing.

"Daimler-Benz...S180...Series
Four...deck layout...Execute!" said Carlisle. After a few moments, she
pointed to a door on the far side of the cargo bay. "That should be the
door to the main corridor."

"That it
is," said Harris. "Lead on!"