Junkyard Dogs 1: The Scrapyard Incident (6 page)

Chapter 8

UTFN Reclamation Center, Salvage Training
and Orientation Vessel, October 5, 2598.

With a lifetime
of weightless experience by virtue of her Spacer upbringing, combined with
years of rigorous military drills, intense athletic training, and the agility
made possible by her experimental suit, Carlisle seemed even more at home
moving around in the old ship than the two more experienced men. Since this
particular ship had been set up as a training facility for new personnel, there
were several stations where the group stopped for safety indoctrination and
physical drills. After each station was completed, Harris would provide the
location for their next stop and Carlisle would consult her schematics before
leading them in what she determined to be the proper direction.

At one stop the
two men demonstrated and then observed while their young companion changed the
air pack on her suit. At another stop, they had her close her eyes while they
untethered her, spun her around, and sent her flying across an enclosed bay to
see how she handled regaining control of bodily motion while disoriented. Her
background, natural abilities, and the special suit made these tests
ridiculously easy. Safety drills successfully completed, they headed for the
bridge, Carlisle again leading.

After another
five minutes roving through various corridors, past the engine room, passing
through crew quarters and finally winding through the mess area, the group
found themselves on the bridge of the old ship. Except for a few short pauses
while Carlisle consulted her schematics, their progress had been very direct.

Harsh, white
Nacobbian sunlight came in through the two large, rectangular forward viewports
on the old cargo ship's bridge. A portion of the tail drive tubes of an
adjacent ship positioned at an impossible angle was visible through the right
side viewport. The interplay of bright light and dark shadow within the former
control room made for a disorientating and somewhat depressing scene. The
control modules and almost all of the other useful materials on the old ship
had been salvaged years ago and little remained of the normal bridge workings
besides a row of consoles with stark gaping holes and trailing wires. Harris
was surprised, again, when Hawkins took the lead on further safety protocol.

"You say
your suit be pretty tough, Lass," said the older man, "but I'd still
be real careful.
Lots o' jagged edges in here.
It
would
na
' take much of a hole t' be causin' a ruckus.
Make sure you
be
lookin' around before you be makin'
any moves!"

"Sounds like
good advice, Hawk," said Carlisle, "I'll be really careful."

"Hard to
believe, but it's almost noon, station time," said Harris, "Let's
take a short break and have some lunch. After that, we can head over to the
Auxiliary Tracking Station." Each of them found a spot to clip down and
began making a meal out of their choice of the various food concentrates in
their suits. Harris resumed his training routine.

"Good job
with the drills and the piloting, Ensign," he said. "You seem to be a
natural. I haven't brought anyone in here who's done that well on their first
try."

That observation
earned him a genuine smile.
 

"Well...
thanks. I thought I'd do okay. To be honest, I actually have a lot of
experience with close-quarter maneuvering. My father put me at the controls of
a mining sled when I was about eight. By the time I was twelve I was almost as
good a pilot as he was."

"Eight?"
said Hawkins. "Do all Spacers be startin' that young?"

"I don't
know about all of them," replied Carlisle. "But every kid in our Clan
has to do time on spaceship simulators as soon as they're tall enough to reach
the foot pedals. The ones that show some promise get put at the controls of a
real ship while they're still pretty young."

"Well I'll
be," Hawkins responded, "Were you havin' some kind o' special
sled?"

"Yes,
several of our sleds were outfitted with dual control systems. One set of
controls was configured for smaller pilots."

"Amazin'!"
said Hawkins.

Harris joined in,
"I don't know that I've ever worked with anyone that has as much
experience with zero gravity as you do, either. These drills seemed like second
nature to you."

"I've done
similar shipboard drills hundreds of times. When you live in space your
response to an emergency has to be instinctive or people die."

"I know what
you mean," said Harris. "That's one of the biggest problems we face
out here when we're working with new personnel."

"Getting
through this ship wasn't anything like I expected, though," said Carlisle.
I spent hours going over schematics but...this was damned hard! You have to
make sure you know what's up and what's down and you have to do it all in the
dark, with just your suit utility lights dancing around. I wonder if..."

Her thought and
the lunch break were cut short by an incredibly bright flash of light that came
in through the forward viewports of the old cargo ship and flickered several
times before subsiding. Saved from temporary blindness by their self-polarizing
helmet visors, all three instinctively grabbed for something solid.
Fortunately, whatever was happening didn't cause any unexpected movements of
the old ship.

Carlisle was
closest to the viewports in the front of the ship and the first to respond.
With a quick look around for jagged surfaces or floating obstacles she took a
careful mental measurement of the room and the distances involved before
skillfully launching herself over to the port side forward viewport for a look.
No fancy gymnastics this time, she launched head first and caught herself with
her arms. Harris noted absently that in spite of the bizarre situation she had,
per regulations, immediately hooked up a second tether upon taking station at
the viewport!

"Omigod!"
she exclaimed, her voice on the edge of breaking. "Someone is attacking
the station!" In rapid succession, two more brilliant flashes lit up the
control room of the old freighter. Harris kicked over to the viewport area with
Hawkins just a split second behind him. All three watched in horror as two
cargo ships with conspicuous NITrans markings methodically pounded the now
mangled remains of the Reclamation Center's Main Facility with powerful beam
weapons that they weren't supposed to have. As defenseless as the station was
in the first place, coupled with the element of complete surprise, the task of
destroying it was nearly complete already. The attacking ships weren't even
moving, they just sat stationary in space about a bare kilometer away while firing
powerful weapons at an unhurried pace.

"Sneak
attack!" exclaimed Carlisle, face white, voice shaking. Then she began
mumbling, "Cargo loading? ...McConnell... Hart...Perkins...
survivors...?" She looked away from the scene and shook her head as if to clear
it.

"Damn it!
Get a grip, Tamara!" she scolded herself as she clenched her teeth and
forced herself to calm down.
"Guys, quick!
Cut
your suit microphones!" She issued the voice command to her suit com that
stopped any sort of transmission.

Immediately
grasping her reasoning, both men followed suit. Even if being inside the old
cargo ship might have adequately blocked their suit transmissions, the wisdom
of this recommendation was soon obvious. Two calls for help from station
personnel were quickly answered by bolts of destruction from the raiders.

Stillness
followed.

The three
observers huddled together, touching helmets for communication as they watched
the two ships each fire a final round of shots. The ships remained motionless
for a few minutes longer, apparently surveying the damage they had done when --
to the surprise and relief of the three accidental witnesses -- each turned
their bow towards the bright point of light that was New Ceylon and accelerated
briskly away.

Afraid to take
any chance on alerting the attackers to the possibility of unsuspected
survivors, Harris, Hawkins and Carlisle remained huddled together for an
indeterminate time. All three were in a state of confusion and what little
conversation they engaged in was jumbled and hectic. Hawkins said little, as
usual, although he was obviously shaken by the events. Carlisle had been
talking to herself a lot, but neither of the two men could make much out of
what she was saying.

"Serious
damage to simulated gravity section, Tamara," Carlisle mumbled,
"...less on cargo end...solar panels destroyed..." As her thoughts
finally began to fall into some semblance of order, she spoke coherently to her
companions, "It looks like they concentrated most of their beams on the
rotating end of the station. Do you think anyone could have survived?"

Sure enough,
except for some rather large and ragged holes, the non-rotating end of the
station actually seemed to be pretty well intact. At least a half dozen pulses
had been aimed so as to heavily damage the solar power panels, so power was
certainly disrupted, but some sections of the station might still be holding
air and anyone lucky enough to be in a suit and not in the rotating portion of
the station might also still be alive.

"We can't
tell until we can get over there for a look," said Harris, "I don't
know why I didn't think of this before. Everyone switch to military channel six
delta. It won't do to use an open channel. Those ships could get back here
pretty quick if they wanted to." He voiced the command to tune the proper
frequency and switched his suit microphone back on. The others did likewise.
Suit-to-suit communication was restored.

"According
to my suit chronometer, it's been several hours since the attack. We'll just
have to chance it. I don't think they'll pick up these short distance
transmissions on this secure channel. We have to check out the station to see
if there are any survivors!"

Chapter 9

...The Auxiliary Tracking Station was a
fifty meter drum-shaped construct, twenty-five meters thick, that was
positioned in a cleared out zone two kilometers in diameter within the main
mass of the Military scrap section, sort of like a miniature sun with a
sphere-shaped cloud of planets and asteroids around it. There was a corridor
kept clear of scrap for access to the station. The Navy had wisely opted to use
another prefab military construct, a small Class B outpost module that, like
the main station, could be transported whole and deployed where needed.
Featuring a three hundred sixty degree viewport, the disc was spun to create
simulated gravity and was equipped with radar, view screens, and other gear
that were required to keep track of all the wrecks and relics in the military
section. Automatic systems would sound warning if any of the scrap needed
repositioning. A crew would then bring in one of the powerful utility sleds and
perform the necessary repositioning maneuvers. For really large artifacts, like
the ruin of an old battleship, there were two booster modules, stored in the
lower part of the tracking
station, that
could be
strapped on and removed once the repositioning was completed. The tracking
station was intermittently inhabited, but was kept pressurized and heated. In
addition to somewhat cramped sleeping quarters for two or three personnel, it
also had a small galley with a limited supply of food, sanitary facilities,
including an ultrasonic shower, and a backup Stage I Whitney communications
console, that could easily contact the planet authorities, unlike the
intentionally weaker communications systems on the worker's suits and sleds.

Hartwell Wrist
Comp reference note highlighted for further review by Tamara Carlisle. Excerpt
is from "The Scrapyard" by Calvin Desjardins, Official Historian,
UTFN
Reclamation Center.

UTFN Reclamation Center, Salvage Training
and Orientation Vessel, October 5, 2598.

The three
survivors maneuvered the sled out of the cargo hold of the old training ship
and headed back towards the ravaged station. Debris from the one-sided battle
was everywhere and great caution was necessary while maneuvering towards the
station to avoid damaging the sled or injuring one of its occupants. The
tattered remains of the main station were tumbling slowly and erratically due to
the repeated impacts of the pulse beams and the violent, random forces
unleashed when the rotating disc had been all but destroyed. Vapors and ice
crystals vented from a few areas of the wreckage. As the utility sled got
closer, it became obvious that the damage was much worse than the trio of
survivors had originally thought.

With the raiders
now several hours away and probably operating their Whitney drives in microjump
mode, Harris decided to risk a normal broadcast frequency to help in their
search for survivors. No luck. Repeated calls from their suit radios remained
unanswered and the three survivors were forced to conclude that there were no
others.

Kresge and a
small group of fellow travelers had departed on one of the cutters earlier in
the day to their planetside rendezvous. The remaining cutter had been one of
the first casualties of the attack, having received multiple strikes from both
raiders, and nothing of it remained but twisted wreckage. They were, however,
able to salvage the other, largely undamaged utility sled, the
Reclamation Rover II
, which they had to
chase down after Hawkins spotted it tumbling slowly towards open space. The
Rover II
had also been extensively
modified, but was used for somewhat different purposes. Equipped with electromagnetic
grapplers, it was well suited for moving smaller constructs around and didn't
require a large crew for this purpose. As such, it bore only a passing
resemblance to the other sled.

Hours of being on
high alert had taken their toll on all three members of the group.

"Hard to
believe, but it's almost nine o'clock in the morning," announced Harris.
"I don't know about you two, but I'm running on adrenaline and not much
else. There's nothing else we can do here. Let's get over the Auxiliary Tracking
Station. We can rest up and figure out what to do next.
Ensign,
take
the
Rover II
and follow
me, but be really careful. Got it?"

"Yes,
Sir," she replied, slipping automatically back into the more formal
military etiquette that the situation seemed to demand. Harris guided the
Rover I
somberly towards the other end
of the Scrapyard with Carlisle's sled in tandem. The trip to the tracking
station would require at least an hour. Even this far from the battle scene,
frequent bits of new and erratically moving debris meant that they had to keep
their guard up but, finally, there was time to think.

"I'm having
a hard time figuring any of this out," said Harris. "Do either of you
have any idea why the Reclamation Center would be attacked?"

"Well, it
were
nay for the salvage." Hawkins observed. "The
stuff they were s'posed t' be takin' was nay worth
that
much. Fact is, we dinna even know if they be loadin' anything
up. If they be thieves or pirates you'd think they would o' be takin'
somethin'!"

"Pirates?"
asked Harris. "There've been some rumors, Hawk, but there haven't been
pirates in this part of space since just after the Big War. What do you think,
Vixen?" Carlisle had been talking softly to herself for much of the time
since the group had left the old cargo ship. The two men found themselves
getting used to it. Harris had been respectful of her, thinking she was
probably still somewhat in shock, as they all were to some degree.

"Something
going on, Tamara... what is it
?...
Santana
Quadrant...Muslim isolation...trade deal..." Again she broke her stream of
consciousness chant by speaking directly, "It must have something to do
with the Meridian ambassador." There was short silence from the two men as
that sank in.

"Okay...that
makes more sense than anything else," said Harris. "But why attack
out here?"

"Well..."
She took a breath. "I haven't got it all the details worked out yet, but
I'll be more than happy to share my thought process. Maybe you guys can help me
sort it out?"

As if she weren't
doing that already, Harris smiled inwardly, but he thought it wise not to say
anything about it.

"Sounds good
to me," he said instead.

"Okay, here
goes. The Reclamation Center is a military base in a system that has only a
small military presence. By hitting this base, they have just reduced the
number of Federation military personnel in the entire system by about a
third."

"If
eliminating the military were their goal," said Harris, "then they've
got more work to do. They could be planning on more attacks,"

"That would
follow," said Carlisle, "They hit us out here first because we were a
full day closer to them than the planet after they came through the Whitney
hyperlink point. If I wanted to take care of the rest of the military, I'd
attack the New Ceylon orbital station next!"

"That would
be foolhardy," said Harris, "The
Boise
is stationed there -- she'd be more than a match for those freighters."

The
Boise
was a Federation
Mercury
Class destroyer and although she
wasn't one of the latest designs, she was still a formidable presence.

"Normally,
I'd agree with you, Sir," replied Carlisle. "As things stand right
now though, I'm not so sure. If they take her totally by surprise with her
shields down, that destroyer won't have a chance in Hell against those beam
weapons. Those beams were powerful, cruiser strength at least. The more I think
about it the more I think they could pull it off. I toured the
Boise
when I was on the station last
week, and I'll tell you straight up, there's no way those guys are ready for
any kind of fight! Lax discipline, clutter all over the place. I think it's
been months since they practiced weapons drill! Right now they're in total
disarray, getting ready for the visit from the Ambassador. To make matters
worse, those two ships had NITrans markings. NITrans ships could get right up
close to the station without a challenge, just like they did out here.
Gentlemen, the more I think about it, the more I think the attack on the
Scrapyard was probably just the beginning of an all out offensive against the
Naval
presence in this system!"

"I hope
you're wrong, Ensign, but we'd better not wait to find out. With the
Boise
out of the picture, they'd have
total control of New Ceylon space."

"And the
Ambassador is due in three days!" she added.

"We have to
get the communications console on the tracking station up and running as soon
as possible," said Harris. "We might be sounding a false alarm but
I'm willing to take the chance! We have to warn them!"

Harris picked up the
pace as much as he dared, but the remainder of the twenty kilometer trip to the
auxiliary station still seemed to take far too long. Upon arrival, the group
quickly docked the two sleds, and cycled through the airlock, leaving any
unloading for later. Hawkins and Harris immediately headed for the
communications console.