Snippet 15 - The Engineer

He was the very model of a modern outdated space engineer:  Tis-a-Pickle!
   
    “It won’t fit, Chief,” shouted one of the crewmen working with Spalding on the outside of the ship’s hull.

    Spalding popped his head out of the next laser pit in the series of gun placements along the hull to take a quick look.  “Turbo-Lasers are all exactly the same size.  That’s a turbo-laser pit, hence it's rated to take the blasted thing,” he barked.

    “I swear it won’t fit, Chief,” insisted the crewman.

    Spalding hopped out of the pit he’d been working in as fast as a man in space and sporting a busted leg could manage.  At this rate he was going to have to personally reinstall everyone of the blasted things himself.

    "Pull that turret away from the laser pit, and to do it carefully," he said as he drew nearer.  As soon as the pit was cleared, the problem became obvious.  When the Imperials left the Clover, they took most of the new weapons they had installed with them.  In the case of this particular laser pit, they had taken the turret it was attached to as well. Unfortunately, whatever crew had been given the job must have been in a hurry, because they had made a right hash of it.  Instead of taking the time to simply unbolt the thing from the pit, they used plasma torches to cut through the bolts and just rip the turret  free.

    He eyed severed bolts and the bent housing for the power coupler at the bottom of the pit suspiciously.  He looked at the plasma torch in his hand before shaking his head regretfully.  They didn’t have time to fool around with this mess.

    “This pit’s a loss, until we have a day or two to put things right.  We’d have to finish cutting the bolts free and fix any damage that incurred, as well as machine a completely new housing for the power coupling,” he said and glared at the petty officer in charge of the team, silently rebuking him for not spotting the problem in the first place and costing them valuable time.

    “What are your order’s Chief,” asked the team leader.

    Spalding felt something through the deck plates and paused.

    “Sir,” inquired the team leader when the Chief Engineer didn’t respond after a few moments.

    Spalding irritably waved him to silence.  It took him a moment to place the change, but he was sure the engines were vibrating differently somehow.   He was about to dismiss it and get back to work, but something in the back of his mind kept nagging at him.  He hadn’t felt the engines vibrate like this in a long time, not since Captain Falcone- 

    His eyes widened.  He might be going senile and jumping at shadows.  Surely even a half trained command crew, like the one currently on the bridge wouldn’t make a mistake like that.

    After half a moment of consideration he dashed to the nearest exterior airlock and plugged into the internal communication system.  He decided not to call the bridge in order to verify his suspicions because if he was wrong he’d just look like an old idiot.  If he was right, he’d just waste precious time screaming at the space crazed fools.  Engineering could tell him everything he needed to know in a hurry.

    “This is Bostwell,” answered the rating through the comm system.  “What do you need, Chief?”

    “Color me crazy and dip me in stupid, but did our normal space engines just shift from flank to ramming speed, Bostwell?”  Demanded the Chief  Engineer.

    “Uh, just a second Chief,” said Bostwell, a moment later his voice came back on the line.  “That’s right, Chief.  The Helmsman just uploaded the automatic ramming protocols half a minute ago,” said the rating a hint of fear and a whole new level of respect for the crazy old chief engineer entering his voice.  He started to say something else but Spalding was already out the airlock door.

    Waving his hands in the air he turned his suit communicator up to maximum.  “Off the hull!  Off the hull!  Everyone off the hull and into an airlock,” he shrieked.  “If you can’t tie it down on the double quick, abandon it.  Just leave it and get inside the ship!”

    He ran towards the nearest group of men not moving fast enough for his taste, the fire in his leg burning with every step.  He ignored the sensation, the pain not so much forgotten as pushed firmly aside in favor of the safety of his men.  “Prepare to receive shrapnel,” he shouted into his suit mike.   Telling the men they were about to ram something was more likely to paralyze some of them with fear and indecision than get them moving when every second  counted.  “Shrapnel.  Into the airlock,” he panted, his chest cramping with the effort.

    Seeing everyone within his line of sight making for an airlock, he started to think about his own safety for the first time.  The way his heart was hammering and his breathing short, he knew he’d never make it in time.  You didn’t go to ramming protocols unless slamming into another ship was immanent.
   
    Knowing that impact was surely imminent, he rolled into the nearest empty turret pit and used a handy strap from his space belt to tie himself down.   It was the same pit with the cut bolts and suspicious power housing he’d just surveyed.  He warily tied his suit to two of the severed bolts and leaned back with a sigh.  His vision was black and blurry.  He suspected that if the pain in his leg wasn’t keeping him conscious he’d have passed out by now.

    He glared at the side of the laser pit.  On any other ship set to ram, he would have said there was no point in strapping down because if you were on the hull then you were already dead, you just didn’t know it yet.  He would have said that about any ship, it didn’t matter the age or size.  Any ship but the Lucky Clover that is.  He’d known this ship was special the first time he laid eyes on her.  She could survive anything the universe threw at her, even a  deliberate attempt to ram another starship.  Which was why he had bothered to strap himself down.  If his baby could survive this, then there was a chance he could too.

    One moment everything was fine and Spalding was wondering if he was an old fool for choosing the empty turret pit instead of an airlock, and the next moment the whole ship lurched, shields flaring white.  By the time he realized shrapnel was raining down on the open hull, that was over too.  Finding that he was alive but with a shard as thick as his middle finger and longer than his forearm stuck through the foot of his good leg and into the duralloy metal of the hull, the chief engineer praised his lucky stars.  He was just starting to grab for his emergency patching kit when the ship then tried to throw him off the hull.

    Spalding screamed and let go of the kit to try to grab the safety straps.  The hiss of air escaping through the hole in the foot of his suit filled his ears with the sound of doom, and the gee forces tried to break his straps and throw him off the ship.  The old engineer was determined to ride out the high gee maneuver some idiot at the helm had decided was a good idea while there was still be most of an engineering shift on the hull of the ship.

      He would survive, if only so he could take his plasma torch to the lot of them when this was over.

    He screamed wordlessly as the gravity threatened to snap his safety lines and tear him away from his beloved Clover.



The Deposed King