Chapter 7: Consider yourself crew
I didn't realise how peaceful it was in the bay until Toby came in. It certainly didn't feel peaceful while I was working on that. Jesse and I were reacting like we usually did under stress - snapping, sniping and generally being unpleasant to each other. The radio kept making spitting noises, the ship kept juddering in a way that meant it was manoeuvring and we were scared half to death of what was going to happen to us. But when Toby came in, I realised that constituted peaceful.
"…And he says I have to work! Me! I own this yacht!" He had been ranting in that vein for minutes while we appeared to listen. At that I couldn't help but snort.
"What is so God-damned funny?" he asked, eyes bulging.
"Have you listened to yourself?" I said. "The human race is being wiped out, and you're worried about getting blisters? Which idiot did you get your priority list off, the head of the Cylon-Lovers Association?"
He seemed to inflate on the spot. "I own this ship!" The cords in his neck stood out.
"I know," I said. "But you don't know how it works. The Captain does. So I suggest you shut up before you dig yourself so deep you get buried alive. You've already made a right idiot of yourself." I bent back over the panels. "Whoa. Toby, pass me the callipers, will you?"
"The what?"
"The tweezers with elephantiasis."
"These?" He handled them like I would handle something that had been in the sewers.
"Yes." I reached down and pulled something out. "Well, that answers three questions at once."
"Huh?" Jesse looked over my shoulder. "What is it?"
"Incendiary cap."
"Eh?"
"From a side-arm round. Our lieutenant unstrapped so he could fire his side-arm into this panel. It destroyed the wires linking the computers, thereby ensuring the Viper had no networked computer system for the Cylons to hack into. My guess is he couldn't shut it down fast enough, or maybe at all, so he opted for brute force. It must have worked. Problem was, before he could re-strap, a missile hit the fuel tank and he got slammed into the cockpit roof."
"That took guts," Jesse said with respect. "He could have crippled his ship."
"He did," I said. "Maybe he was the squadron guinea-pig, finding out what wouldn't work. I don't know. If he wakes up I'll ask him. Now I know what those wires do, but I don't want to repair it. Jesse, see if you can tap into the emergency routines and re-route control around the damaged circuitry. If this thing is going to fly again we'll need to funnel all command functions through one CPU."
"Great. I haven't a clue how."
"You're probably the best on board at computer programming."
"I don't know military stuff, though."
"Learn. You know more than I do. I only know the mechanical side, and that not very well. Toby, can you pull up the inventory list for the ship and see if we have any four-centimetre coolant piping? I need to replace some sections."
"Can't you patch it?" Jesse asked me.
"Nope. Marks 1 through 3 used five-centimetre. 5 through 7 used three-centimetre. This is the only Mark 4 in the bay. I need to either find the piping somewhere else or do a very strange jury-rig, and it'll affect the pressure and flow, which throws half the engine functions out of whack."
"Do all Vipers have this many touchy systems?" Jesse groaned.
"They weren't known as 'Faulty Fours' for nothing," I said. "Though, really, the 5's were worse. The difference was the fours were overpowered and the fives were underpowered. The designers over-compensated."
"I'm not your secretary," Toby had been waiting to get a word in edge-wise.
"Right now you're not anything, and neither, really, are we," I said as I examined a couple of melted rivets. "Now this is going to be interesting." I could hear Jesse muttering rude words as he tried to get the computers to do what he wanted and failed.
"Miss Kendall?" It was one of the stewards. "Captain Holloway wants to talk to you." I sighed and racked the tools. "Where is he?"
"The bridge. You know the way?"
"Yes. You look terrible."
"I just got up. It still doesn't seem real."
"Can I ask a favour?"
"What?" he asked warily. I guessed he was wary of rich people.
"If Jesse hasn't taken a break in about five hours, come down and remind him he needs to eat and sleep."
"Oh. That I can do." He seemed almost cheerful. "Can I ask something?" he asked as I tried to get the grease and worse off my skin.
"Sure."
"You don't seem…well…"
"Toffee-nosed and useless?"
"I wouldn't say that."
"I would. I was at Northwood on a scholarship. My family owned a pig-farm."
"What happened to it?"
"It was on Caprica. Even if it's still there, I doubt it's going to last."
"You don't seem sorry."
"There's no love lost between me and my parents. I shook the dust off my boots when I was fourteen and haven't been back since."
"Don't like farms?"
"I like farms. It's my parents I can't stand." I bit back the rest of a long-stored tirade. "How's the war going?"
"We picked up some military transmissions, a few government ones - we can't decrypt them. We're moving to answer a distress call from one of the orbital colonies around Virgon. They need to evacuate. About two hundred people." The yacht could theoretically pack in up to four thousand before the environmental systems packed it in, but I had no idea where we'd put them or how we'd feed them. I said so.
"Neither do I, but the Captain won't back out. He's taking us there through what was the main battle-field, that's what worries me." But I noticed he wasn't saying a word about disagreeing. I gave Captain Holloway points for inspiring loyalty.
The bridge was again guarded. I noticed everyone had a sort of shell-shocked self-absorbed look. I wondered what I looked like, but I couldn't bring myself to look into a reflective port-hole or shiny metal surface to see.
"Miss Kendall," Holloway greeted me, eying the ruin I was making of my clothes. "Been hard at work, I see. You did good work on those guns, we're installing them now."
"Thanks. What else can I do?"
"We're passing through the remains of the battlefield. There's about fifty different transponder signals from ejected pilots, life-pods and damaged fighters. Can you repair them?"
"I can do the basics," I said. "The problem is the damage here goes way beyond the basics. With the help of the pilots - maybe. I'm a schoolgirl, not a mechanic."
He nodded firmly. "That's better than anyone else we've got. All my engineers are civilians, and I'll need them to rig the cargo bays as refugee centres. You've got Bay Three all to yourself, though. Consider yourself crew for now, and commandeer anything you need to get those fighters working again that isn't needed to keep the ship going. But bear in mind…"
"We can't stop off at a hardware store anymore?" I said when his words failed. "I understand. We've got to conserve resources. Just one problem - how are we going to launch the fighters?"
"We have three big airlocks along by the cargo bays. We use them for moving big cargoes like luxury ground vehicles or whatever in and out. Can you refit them as launch bays?"
"Launch tubes. Maybe. But probably not. We'll need airtight partitions between them we can move to get the Vipers into position, and I haven't a clue for the Raptors if we get one. But I'll do what I can."
"I'll send some people down to rig up the airlocks. Oh, and that pilot you brought on board is awake. Woke up about five minutes ago. I'll tell him to meet you in the hangar."
"Good. Is the pressure back in the passenger quarters yet?"
"Yes. Here." He handed me my grandfather's manual. "I had a look at it. How long was he in the Fleet?"
"Forty-five years. He retired when I was eight and died six years later. Brain aneurism."
"Pity. We could use him now."
"I know. I'd love to have him here. I'd better get back to work."
"Get some sleep at some point."
"I got up less than ten hours ago. I can stay awake for a while yet. Now, how are you going to get the damaged fighters into my cargo bay without loosing everything already in there to space?"
"We'll manage something. Go."
I went. I didn't mind being considered crew. For one thing, crew get fed. Freeloaders don't.
It had occurred to me that with food getting scarce, the Captain might well go to a 'no work, no eat' system.
I hoped Toby would acquire some sense, or he'd starve, and he might not be the only one. In one day all his massive wealth and influence had come to mean as much as one of my farts.
War is a great leveller, or so I'd heard. How long before it levelled us - leaving us needing graves?
I didn't realise how peaceful it was in the bay until Toby came in. It certainly didn't feel peaceful while I was working on that. Jesse and I were reacting like we usually did under stress - snapping, sniping and generally being unpleasant to each other. The radio kept making spitting noises, the ship kept juddering in a way that meant it was manoeuvring and we were scared half to death of what was going to happen to us. But when Toby came in, I realised that constituted peaceful.
"…And he says I have to work! Me! I own this yacht!" He had been ranting in that vein for minutes while we appeared to listen. At that I couldn't help but snort.
"What is so God-damned funny?" he asked, eyes bulging.
"Have you listened to yourself?" I said. "The human race is being wiped out, and you're worried about getting blisters? Which idiot did you get your priority list off, the head of the Cylon-Lovers Association?"
He seemed to inflate on the spot. "I own this ship!" The cords in his neck stood out.
"I know," I said. "But you don't know how it works. The Captain does. So I suggest you shut up before you dig yourself so deep you get buried alive. You've already made a right idiot of yourself." I bent back over the panels. "Whoa. Toby, pass me the callipers, will you?"
"The what?"
"The tweezers with elephantiasis."
"These?" He handled them like I would handle something that had been in the sewers.
"Yes." I reached down and pulled something out. "Well, that answers three questions at once."
"Huh?" Jesse looked over my shoulder. "What is it?"
"Incendiary cap."
"Eh?"
"From a side-arm round. Our lieutenant unstrapped so he could fire his side-arm into this panel. It destroyed the wires linking the computers, thereby ensuring the Viper had no networked computer system for the Cylons to hack into. My guess is he couldn't shut it down fast enough, or maybe at all, so he opted for brute force. It must have worked. Problem was, before he could re-strap, a missile hit the fuel tank and he got slammed into the cockpit roof."
"That took guts," Jesse said with respect. "He could have crippled his ship."
"He did," I said. "Maybe he was the squadron guinea-pig, finding out what wouldn't work. I don't know. If he wakes up I'll ask him. Now I know what those wires do, but I don't want to repair it. Jesse, see if you can tap into the emergency routines and re-route control around the damaged circuitry. If this thing is going to fly again we'll need to funnel all command functions through one CPU."
"Great. I haven't a clue how."
"You're probably the best on board at computer programming."
"I don't know military stuff, though."
"Learn. You know more than I do. I only know the mechanical side, and that not very well. Toby, can you pull up the inventory list for the ship and see if we have any four-centimetre coolant piping? I need to replace some sections."
"Can't you patch it?" Jesse asked me.
"Nope. Marks 1 through 3 used five-centimetre. 5 through 7 used three-centimetre. This is the only Mark 4 in the bay. I need to either find the piping somewhere else or do a very strange jury-rig, and it'll affect the pressure and flow, which throws half the engine functions out of whack."
"Do all Vipers have this many touchy systems?" Jesse groaned.
"They weren't known as 'Faulty Fours' for nothing," I said. "Though, really, the 5's were worse. The difference was the fours were overpowered and the fives were underpowered. The designers over-compensated."
"I'm not your secretary," Toby had been waiting to get a word in edge-wise.
"Right now you're not anything, and neither, really, are we," I said as I examined a couple of melted rivets. "Now this is going to be interesting." I could hear Jesse muttering rude words as he tried to get the computers to do what he wanted and failed.
"Miss Kendall?" It was one of the stewards. "Captain Holloway wants to talk to you." I sighed and racked the tools. "Where is he?"
"The bridge. You know the way?"
"Yes. You look terrible."
"I just got up. It still doesn't seem real."
"Can I ask a favour?"
"What?" he asked warily. I guessed he was wary of rich people.
"If Jesse hasn't taken a break in about five hours, come down and remind him he needs to eat and sleep."
"Oh. That I can do." He seemed almost cheerful. "Can I ask something?" he asked as I tried to get the grease and worse off my skin.
"Sure."
"You don't seem…well…"
"Toffee-nosed and useless?"
"I wouldn't say that."
"I would. I was at Northwood on a scholarship. My family owned a pig-farm."
"What happened to it?"
"It was on Caprica. Even if it's still there, I doubt it's going to last."
"You don't seem sorry."
"There's no love lost between me and my parents. I shook the dust off my boots when I was fourteen and haven't been back since."
"Don't like farms?"
"I like farms. It's my parents I can't stand." I bit back the rest of a long-stored tirade. "How's the war going?"
"We picked up some military transmissions, a few government ones - we can't decrypt them. We're moving to answer a distress call from one of the orbital colonies around Virgon. They need to evacuate. About two hundred people." The yacht could theoretically pack in up to four thousand before the environmental systems packed it in, but I had no idea where we'd put them or how we'd feed them. I said so.
"Neither do I, but the Captain won't back out. He's taking us there through what was the main battle-field, that's what worries me." But I noticed he wasn't saying a word about disagreeing. I gave Captain Holloway points for inspiring loyalty.
The bridge was again guarded. I noticed everyone had a sort of shell-shocked self-absorbed look. I wondered what I looked like, but I couldn't bring myself to look into a reflective port-hole or shiny metal surface to see.
"Miss Kendall," Holloway greeted me, eying the ruin I was making of my clothes. "Been hard at work, I see. You did good work on those guns, we're installing them now."
"Thanks. What else can I do?"
"We're passing through the remains of the battlefield. There's about fifty different transponder signals from ejected pilots, life-pods and damaged fighters. Can you repair them?"
"I can do the basics," I said. "The problem is the damage here goes way beyond the basics. With the help of the pilots - maybe. I'm a schoolgirl, not a mechanic."
He nodded firmly. "That's better than anyone else we've got. All my engineers are civilians, and I'll need them to rig the cargo bays as refugee centres. You've got Bay Three all to yourself, though. Consider yourself crew for now, and commandeer anything you need to get those fighters working again that isn't needed to keep the ship going. But bear in mind…"
"We can't stop off at a hardware store anymore?" I said when his words failed. "I understand. We've got to conserve resources. Just one problem - how are we going to launch the fighters?"
"We have three big airlocks along by the cargo bays. We use them for moving big cargoes like luxury ground vehicles or whatever in and out. Can you refit them as launch bays?"
"Launch tubes. Maybe. But probably not. We'll need airtight partitions between them we can move to get the Vipers into position, and I haven't a clue for the Raptors if we get one. But I'll do what I can."
"I'll send some people down to rig up the airlocks. Oh, and that pilot you brought on board is awake. Woke up about five minutes ago. I'll tell him to meet you in the hangar."
"Good. Is the pressure back in the passenger quarters yet?"
"Yes. Here." He handed me my grandfather's manual. "I had a look at it. How long was he in the Fleet?"
"Forty-five years. He retired when I was eight and died six years later. Brain aneurism."
"Pity. We could use him now."
"I know. I'd love to have him here. I'd better get back to work."
"Get some sleep at some point."
"I got up less than ten hours ago. I can stay awake for a while yet. Now, how are you going to get the damaged fighters into my cargo bay without loosing everything already in there to space?"
"We'll manage something. Go."
I went. I didn't mind being considered crew. For one thing, crew get fed. Freeloaders don't.
It had occurred to me that with food getting scarce, the Captain might well go to a 'no work, no eat' system.
I hoped Toby would acquire some sense, or he'd starve, and he might not be the only one. In one day all his massive wealth and influence had come to mean as much as one of my farts.
War is a great leveller, or so I'd heard. How long before it levelled us - leaving us needing graves?