"Docks engaged. Welcome to SD773-c, Br-yn-theed."
"Call me Sam," Brynhilde corrected. If the company wasn't going to supply a pronunciation guide, they could at least list her with the name everyone used. "Switching ship's systems to dock control in five, four, three, two, switched. SF14983-33a docked at oh-eight-forty three and thirty seven seconds."
The control panel flickered twice. It wasn't supposed to do that any more. The maintenance geeks insisted that the problem was fixed. They were all a bunch of lazy space heads more concerned with completing the proper documentation than doing actual work. If it couldn't be fixed from a touch-screen, it didn't get touched.
Sam cleared the nav modules from her control screen. After noting that the cargo unloading was not schedule to commence for four hours, she cleared that module as well. With shift change in thirty-four minutes, there was little to do but sit in the captain's chair and wait for nothing to happen.
The panel flickered again. Dammit! Sam opened a maintenance module and began dictating, "Get one of your geeks up here to fix this panel now!"
"There's nothing wrong with it, Sam." Marq's whiney voice sounded bored.
"Oh, this blinking is normal?"
"If your panel was blinking, it would show up in my logs."
"Get your ass up here right now and prove to me that this damn panel is working!" Sam beat the tiny image of Marq's face with her fist. It closed the module, but nothing else. If there was a way to break the panel that way, then perhaps someone would be forced to make the repair.
The module reappeared. "On my way, Sam." Marq grinned, flashing his neatly filed teeth and closed the module from his end. The panel went solid white, then magenta, then black.
Marq arrived a few minutes later. "You know, we have to stop meeting like this." He grinned and scratched his crotch.
Sam ignored him. As the only female on this bucket, everyone said that to her, and it was getting old.
"You need a bath." He smelled worse than usual. His jumper looked as if it had been dragged through the waste recycler. The red frizz that he liked to call hair was pasted flat to his skull.
"We're trying to see if it's possible to develop parasites."
"Why?" She wondered if she should have asked, but the question slipped out.
"The fungus we discovered in cargo hold seven. We still haven't figured out where it came from."
And personal hygiene was going to solve that mystery? "Look at the damn panel and tell me what's wrong with it."
Sam got out of her webbing and tried to give the tech as much space as possible on the cramped bridge. Solocor company freighters were built to move cargo; crew comfort was not part of the equation.
Marq tapped the panel, leaving greasy fingerprints on its dull surface. He pounded it with the flat of his hand. "It's dead," he pronounced.
"Thank you, doctor, for your esteemed opinion. Now fix it." Sam check the cron. Fourteen minutes and she could leave this cell and the filthy, stinky geek. Seconds never moved so slowly. If the panel did not come back, she'd be stuck here.
Marq stared at the panel, scratched various body parts and stared some more. He looked at the cron. "Shift change in ten. That gives me just enough time to get back to my station and put this in the log."
Sam stood between Marq and the door. It was a tough decision. She would be stuck in this room if the panel wasn't fixed. Denny followed Marq's shift. If Denny wasn't also participating in the grunge fest, it might be more pleasant trapped in the cell with him. On the other hand, like most of the crew, Denny had a habit of ignoring problems noted on shifts other than his own.
"You can leave as soon as you fix it." Even if she wasn't the only crew member that used the exercise equipment at max resistance, Sam still had reach and mass over the geek tech. In fact, she could take any of the crew one-on-one and most combinations of three-to-one.
In his most patronizing voice, Marq said, "I didn't bring any tools or spare parts. I promise. I'll log this as a priority red. It will get taken care of next shift. And if it isn't, you'll see me in twelve hours." He showed his sparkling, pointed teeth.
Techs had circuitry implanted under their skin to perform simple tasks. Specialized tools were rarely necessary for most repairs. There was probably some pool going on to see how long they could keep here trapped in here. Pulverizing the bastard would do more harm to her record than his. She stepped aside. He quickly planted his hand on the door control.
And nothing happened.
There was justice in the universe after all. A certain poetic justice with a wicked sense of humor. Sam was accustomed to being locked into the bridge cell. Marq was not. He pounded the control. "Let me out!" he demanded. He looked at the monitor spots in each corner. "This is your fault, Sam." He sat on the floor and scratched.
"I've been telling you for weeks that the panel was wonked. But you were more interested in bugs in your clothes than bugs in my equipment. Now, since there is no living soul paying the least bit of attention to us now that the panel is dead, you might want to see what you can do to fix it."
Marq swiveled to face the underside defective panel. With his back to her, Sam tried the door control. Even if it was locked until shift change, it usually glowed when anyone touched it. It was one of Solocor's gentle reminders that everything was being recorded, from the major actions that controlled the freighter to the tiny details like who and when someone tried to open a door.
The door control was dead. In fact, everything but the house lights seemed dead. There was not even a wisp of fresh, recycled air coming through the overhead vent.
Marq had the control panel half disassembled. He poked at different areas with a tattooed finger. Nothing happened. Sparks would have been nice. Or some reassuring glow that indicated progress. Nada. The tech began removing access covers from other areas.
"There's no power to anything."
"The lights are on."
"The lights don't take power from the ship."
True. Each light had it's own integral power cell. They worked no matter what state the ship was in. Marq slipped an overhead lamp from its casing and held it deep within the confines of the dead control panel.
"Is there any way to get a signal outside?" On a normal ship, she knew of at least half a dozen ways. But this was not a normal ship. Only the geeks has a minimal understanding of the freighter's logics. To attempt to know more invited rounds of deep conditioning. That kind of conditioning cut deeply into Sam's only entertainment on this miserable bucket: physical exercise.
Marq scratched his head. Tiny sparks lit his fingertips. If he had any parasites, he was probably frying them.
Sam figured that there were probably only two possible scenarios. Either the entire ship was dead, in which case, Solocor would think the inmates were trying to break free and already knew of the situation; or the problem was limited to Sam's bridge and they would rot before anyone came to check on the problem. That is, if a parasite-free vessel allowed a body to rot.
Marq looked at the door. He poked at the disassembled control panel. He stared at the door. He scratched and sparked.
Sam sat on the floor facing the geek. "OK, Sparky, if the panel had power, do you think it would work?"
He stared at the panel. If there were any thought process between those ears, they were not of the higher reasoning type. He touched forefinger and thumb together and watched tiny sparks jump.
"Shift is over. All I need to do is log out and the door should open." She didn't believe it would be that easy, but it looked like the tech was incapable of complex thought.
He started reassembling the control panel. He reached his arm deep behind the main display area. "I can only do a test current, it's not enough."
"Can you use the lights?"
He grinned. "I bet you tested high in tech placement."
Not hardly. But dumb blondes with names like Brynhilde Thorensen didn't get to captain a ship without being resourceful. While Marq disassembled lights, Sam thought about Plan B. The likelihood that simply applying power to the control panel was going to get them out of this mess was fairly slim in her experience.
"Docks engaged. Welcome to SD773-c, Br-yn-theed."
"Call me Sam," Brynhilde corrected. If the company wasn't going to supply a pronunciation guide, they could at least list her with the name everyone used. "Switching ship's systems to dock control in five, four, three, two, switched. SF14983-33a docked at oh-eight-forty three and thirty seven seconds."
The control panel flickered twice. It wasn't supposed to do that any more. The maintenance geeks insisted that the problem was fixed. They were all a bunch of lazy space heads more concerned with completing the proper documentation than doing actual work. If it couldn't be fixed from a touch-screen, it didn't get touched.
Sam cleared the nav modules from her control screen. After noting that the cargo unloading was not schedule to commence for four hours, she cleared that module as well. With shift change in thirty-four minutes, there was little to do but sit in the captain's chair and wait for nothing to happen.
The panel flickered again. Dammit! Sam opened a maintenance module and began dictating, "Get one of your geeks up here to fix this panel now!"
"There's nothing wrong with it, Sam." Marq's whiney voice sounded bored.
"Oh, this blinking is normal?"
"If your panel was blinking, it would show up in my logs."
"Get your ass up here right now and prove to me that this damn panel is working!" Sam beat the tiny image of Marq's face with her fist. It closed the module, but nothing else. If there was a way to break the panel that way, then perhaps someone would be forced to make the repair.
The module reappeared. "On my way, Sam." Marq grinned, flashing his neatly filed teeth and closed the module from his end. The panel went solid white, then magenta, then black.
Marq arrived a few minutes later. "You know, we have to stop meeting like this." He grinned and scratched his crotch.
Sam ignored him. As the only female on this bucket, everyone said that to her, and it was getting old.
"You need a bath." He smelled worse than usual. His jumper looked as if it had been dragged through the waste recycler. The red frizz that he liked to call hair was pasted flat to his skull.
"We're trying to see if it's possible to develop parasites."
"Why?" She wondered if she should have asked, but the question slipped out.
"The fungus we discovered in cargo hold seven. We still haven't figured out where it came from."
And personal hygiene was going to solve that mystery? "Look at the damn panel and tell me what's wrong with it."
Sam got out of her webbing and tried to give the tech as much space as possible on the cramped bridge. Solocor company freighters were built to move cargo; crew comfort was not part of the equation.
Marq tapped the panel, leaving greasy fingerprints on its dull surface. He pounded it with the flat of his hand. "It's dead," he pronounced.
"Thank you, doctor, for your esteemed opinion. Now fix it." Sam check the cron. Fourteen minutes and she could leave this cell and the filthy, stinky geek. Seconds never moved so slowly. If the panel did not come back, she'd be stuck here.
Marq stared at the panel, scratched various body parts and stared some more. He looked at the cron. "Shift change in ten. That gives me just enough time to get back to my station and put this in the log."
Sam stood between Marq and the door. It was a tough decision. She would be stuck in this room if the panel wasn't fixed. Denny followed Marq's shift. If Denny wasn't also participating in the grunge fest, it might be more pleasant trapped in the cell with him. On the other hand, like most of the crew, Denny had a habit of ignoring problems noted on shifts other than his own.
"You can leave as soon as you fix it." Even if she wasn't the only crew member that used the exercise equipment at max resistance, Sam still had reach and mass over the geek tech. In fact, she could take any of the crew one-on-one and most combinations of three-to-one.
In his most patronizing voice, Marq said, "I didn't bring any tools or spare parts. I promise. I'll log this as a priority red. It will get taken care of next shift. And if it isn't, you'll see me in twelve hours." He showed his sparkling, pointed teeth.
Techs had circuitry implanted under their skin to perform simple tasks. Specialized tools were rarely necessary for most repairs. There was probably some pool going on to see how long they could keep here trapped in here. Pulverizing the bastard would do more harm to her record than his. She stepped aside. He quickly planted his hand on the door control.
And nothing happened.
There was justice in the universe after all. A certain poetic justice with a wicked sense of humor. Sam was accustomed to being locked into the bridge cell. Marq was not. He pounded the control. "Let me out!" he demanded. He looked at the monitor spots in each corner. "This is your fault, Sam." He sat on the floor and scratched.
"I've been telling you for weeks that the panel was wonked. But you were more interested in bugs in your clothes than bugs in my equipment. Now, since there is no living soul paying the least bit of attention to us now that the panel is dead, you might want to see what you can do to fix it."
Marq swiveled to face the underside defective panel. With his back to her, Sam tried the door control. Even if it was locked until shift change, it usually glowed when anyone touched it. It was one of Solocor's gentle reminders that everything was being recorded, from the major actions that controlled the freighter to the tiny details like who and when someone tried to open a door.
The door control was dead. In fact, everything but the house lights seemed dead. There was not even a wisp of fresh, recycled air coming through the overhead vent.
Marq had the control panel half disassembled. He poked at different areas with a tattooed finger. Nothing happened. Sparks would have been nice. Or some reassuring glow that indicated progress. Nada. The tech began removing access covers from other areas.
"There's no power to anything."
"The lights are on."
"The lights don't take power from the ship."
True. Each light had it's own integral power cell. They worked no matter what state the ship was in. Marq slipped an overhead lamp from its casing and held it deep within the confines of the dead control panel.
"Is there any way to get a signal outside?" On a normal ship, she knew of at least half a dozen ways. But this was not a normal ship. Only the geeks has a minimal understanding of the freighter's logics. To attempt to know more invited rounds of deep conditioning. That kind of conditioning cut deeply into Sam's only entertainment on this miserable bucket: physical exercise.
Marq scratched his head. Tiny sparks lit his fingertips. If he had any parasites, he was probably frying them.
Sam figured that there were probably only two possible scenarios. Either the entire ship was dead, in which case, Solocor would think the inmates were trying to break free and already knew of the situation; or the problem was limited to Sam's bridge and they would rot before anyone came to check on the problem. That is, if a parasite-free vessel allowed a body to rot.
Marq looked at the door. He poked at the disassembled control panel. He stared at the door. He scratched and sparked.
Sam sat on the floor facing the geek. "OK, Sparky, if the panel had power, do you think it would work?"
He stared at the panel. If there were any thought process between those ears, they were not of the higher reasoning type. He touched forefinger and thumb together and watched tiny sparks jump.
"Shift is over. All I need to do is log out and the door should open." She didn't believe it would be that easy, but it looked like the tech was incapable of complex thought.
He started reassembling the control panel. He reached his arm deep behind the main display area. "I can only do a test current, it's not enough."
"Can you use the lights?"
He grinned. "I bet you tested high in tech placement."
Not hardly. But dumb blondes with names like Brynhilde Thorensen didn't get to captain a ship without being resourceful. While Marq disassembled lights, Sam thought about Plan B. The likelihood that simply applying power to the control panel was going to get them out of this mess was fairly slim in her experience.