Destiny's Choice (The Wandering Engineer) (55 page)

“More
like centuries. Old pain. Best forgotten,” he said softly.

“Not
forgotten. Never that. Just... let it dim.” she said softly, burying herself in
his arms. After all, you've got more important things on your mind,” she said
with a smile.

"Yes
ma'am," he said with a small chuckle, tightening his grip for a moment.

“And
don't you forget it.”

He
looked up in annoyance at the attention whistle from the overhead speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, brace for breakout in ten... nine...”

Irons
ignored the countdown as he looked at the list one more time. He'd got nowhere.
Back to square one. The data... Hell. They weren't sure if this was the act of
a single individual, a duo, or a team. Some of it was obviously laid out in
dock. That he'd have to tell Logan to investigate when he got the chance.
Someone, somewhere was a mole.

“And
breakout!” the voice said triumphantly. He snorted as the ship trembled and the
hyperdrive powered down. “We are in Briev space ladies and gentlemen!
Navigation is checking... Yes we have a nine day journey to the planet. We'll
be posting images and updates on channel three later this morning. Have a good
day,” the voice said and then the audio closed with a click.

He
did a quick scan through Sprite of the ship's stats and then turned his
attention to the suspect list once more. There had to be something there, or
not there. Something they were overlooking. He just had to find it.

April
had drawn him out about various things over the past several days, from the
convoluted paths to becoming an officer in the military to military families.

She
had been amused when he'd explained the differences between ring knockers, those
officers who attended the academy and the college grads and those like him, the
mustangs who rose up through the rank and file of enlisted.

There
were benefits and detractions from each of course. Ring knockers were
institutionalized from the beginning and had the best education as far as they
were concerned. They were also given the most access to tactical training. Many
ring knockers had come from military families with a tradition of service. They
went to military schools from the moment they were out of diapers.

On
the other hand college grads had some of that as well in the form of ROTC
training. They attended classes in school and then completed the same finishing
school the mustangs did to polish them off.

Mustangs
on the other hand experienced the service from the bottom up, rising through
the ranks they had a unique perspective on how the military really operated. 
However they normally had a lot of rough edges and lacked the polish and
tactical training that ring knockers took for granted.

His
lips pursed as he thought. She still hadn't made the connections about his
family yet. He was of two minds about it. On the one hand he was certainly
proud of his ancestors participation in space exploration. They were the first
on Mars and had a hand in the designs of the sublight plasma engine and the
hyperdrive. The Irons family had spent the past one thousand years as
scientists, explorers, engineers, and yes military officers. They had
accomplished a lot.

The
real problem was he didn't want to seem like he was bragging about it. But he
didn't want to seem ashamed of it either. She'd find out eventually. This
search for the assassin was... hmmm. Maybe if he dropped enough hints it would
distract her from the hunt? He couldn't stop her from trying to find the
assassin but maybe he could pique her interest in other ways?

Of
course before any of that he had to get through this little project. He
grimaced a little, hands shifting as he checked things over with a practiced
eye.

"Interesting."
He didn't look round at the sound of low voices behind him. Defender was
keeping watch for him. He wasn't worried, that guard Chambers had sicked on him
was somewhere around, or was supposed to be.

The
guards changed with the shift rotation. He thought the protection detail would
be limited to three or four people, but apparently Chambers was running just
about everyone through the job. He wasn't sure if that was because no one
wanted the shit detail or no one wanted to be anywhere near him.

Of
course it could also be that they didn't want to be following him around all
day. He got into the oddest places, doing some of the nastiest jobs on the
ship. Not that he minded, they needed to be done. One of his favorite things he
loved to emphasize was to lead from the front. In other words don't ask someone
to do something you aren't willing to do yourself.

They
were almost done here anyway. Bailey had snagged him to help upgrade some of
the electronics now that they had the time. Apparently the chimp didn't like
the response time for this deck and had ordered a thorough vetting. They
veraxin tech normally assigned to the duty was tearing into the server farm,
trying to find an intermittent fault, so he'd been tapped for the duty.

They
were still nearly six days out from Briev. The planet was a pretty blue, white,
and green marble that grew on the view screens every day. The crew seemed
eager. He on the other hand wasn't so much interested in the planet as he was
in it's occupants. He had finally gotten a briefing from Sprite but it was
woefully brief and uneducational. Most of it had been taken direct from the
encyclopedia Galactica.

"Almost
done Admiral?" the kid with him asked.

He
looked over to him. Nate was short, thin, and dark skinned with a broad nose
and white hair. The white hair was either a dye job or more likely a legacy of
a gene splice in his ancestry. "Sure Nate, I got this. Why don't you go
clean up and report in."

"Are
you sure sir?" the kid asked, looking at the others in the corridor. One
was pretty heavily scarred. He flexed a bicep and jerked a thumb at the kid
then to the lock. "Yeah."

He
got up and left. Irons jaw tightened as they came closer. One was pounding a
fist onto his hand. "Problem here?"

"Nope.
All finished," Irons said pulling his arm out. He made sure not to key the
change back to normal until they could see it. He let it hang at his side,
morphing slowly back to normal.

The
weasel looking guy, a cargo hauler from the look of him gulped wide, eyed. The
other bruisers hung back. Irons closed the lid of the recycler then dogged the
hatches. He turned back to the men. "Something on your minds fellas?"
There was cool interest in his look and manner. His mind was already getting
ready for a fight of some sort.

"You're
an Admiral. What are you doing crap like that for?" the weasel man asked
eyes darting around.

One
of the bruisers gave him a disgusted look then went back to staring at the
Admiral, arms across his chest.

"Honestly?"
Irons asked, cocking his head and crossing his arms.

"No,
lie to me, if you dare," the man growled sarcastically.

"Cute,"
Irons snorted, leaning back against the recycler. "I grew up doing odd
jobs like this. It's a little taste of home."

"But...
but..."

"I
wasn't always an Admiral you know," Irons smiled. There wasn't a trace of
sarcasm in that, though there could have been. These guys really didn't have a
clue. "I'm a spacer brat. I grew up on a freighter. A long time ago I was
a wet behind the ears kid on a freighter like this." He cocked his head
then shrugged. "I did my bit as enlisted on another ship then enlisted in
the navy before I was booted up to officer."

"Got
all the answers smart guy?" the man with the buzz cut asked.

"No.
Hardly," Irons laughed. Three to one. They obviously thought there was
some sort of safety in numbers. Did they realize that in the tight confines of
this corridor he held the advantage? No, probably not from the look of them.
Two of them were spoiling for a fight. The weasel faced guy wasn't. The morph
had shook him up a bit. "There is always something new to learn." He
shook his head. "For instance, I'm off shift now, you fella's want a work
out?"

"Um,
I'm not sure. Ah..." The weasel guy looked at the other two uncertainly.

"What
have you got in mind?" the leader asked. Irons smiled. There was just  enough
eager anticipation in his smile to make them all suddenly wary.

"Ain't
happening man, this guy will turn you into paste," a fourth guy said,
coming up behind them. They turned to look at the little man. "Seriously
man," he said, shaking his head. He spread his hands apart. "Me and
Mitch on grave saw him doing them martial things with the security people. Even
chief Bailey. It's all over the ship man. Didn't cha hear? Don't mess with him
unless you want to get hurt."

"Is
that true?" the bruiser with the mohawk asked, looking at Irons.

"Black
belt. Yes. Among other things," Irons admitted, eyes flashing a little.
The two bruisers looked at each other. The fourth guy was a bit of a wet
blanket. He'd actually been looking for a work out.

"I
think we could take him."

"Not
even on your best day son," Irons said softly with a feral smile. The
weasel faced guy gulped at that grin. He looked ready to shit himself. He put
one arm on the mohawk guy. The guy shook the hand off angrily. "Even all
four of you." He heard footfalls behind him and tried not to react.

"What's
going on here?" a voice with authority asked.

Irons
watched the mayhem in the bullies eyes flare then die. "Nothing, just
talking," Irons said over his shoulder.

"Nothing.
Not a thing. Just seeing how he was doing," the weasel man said. His hands
were up. He shot Irons a hopeful look.

"That
a fact?" the security guard said, hand on one arm as he passed Irons. He
looked them up and down. "Brutus, you know your ass will be in hack and
off the ship if you get into another fight," he said to the mohawk
character. "And you Jed, you know better, Chili will having you do shit
detail for months," he said to the guy with the tattoos on his massive
biceps.

"What
are you doing here anyway Admiral?" the guard asked as the men mumbled
sullenly.

"Assigned
to fix the electronics in the recycler with Nate," Irons answered,
indicating the machinery.

"Isn't
that like below your pay grade?" the guard asked with a sniff.

Irons
spread his hands. "It needed to be done. I'm not crew, I
volunteered."

"Why?"
the weasel man asked.

"I
like to keep busy. And I love to get my hands dirty fixing things. Getting
things back into shape," Irons said with a shrug.

"No
job too small?" Jed asked amused.

"There
is no such thing as a small job. Everything on a starship needs doing and doing
right. Including this." Irons tapped the recycler. "If it doesn't
work we get a back up of waste on this deck. That waste can be a problem."

"Like?"

"Bacteria?
Fungus? Remember that purple mold you had to scrape out of the ship when you
first came aboard?" Irons asked. “I for one don't want to have to deal
with that crap again.”

"Hey
man, how'd you know that?" the weasel man asked as the others nodded.
"You weren't around for that. Right?" he asked, looking at the
others.

"I
kept an eye on the ships. And Sprite double checked the records."

"Oh."

"If
that crap had gotten into the air any more we would have had problems with the
health of the crew. The spores would have started to spread throughout the ship
and made you sick."

Jed
nodded. "Me and Mitch remembered that. Rings," he said. He scratched
his arm.

Irons
winced. He hated infections. "Fungal infection. Not pretty. Tears you up,
makes your system vulnerable to viruses and other things," Irons nodded.
"So, that's why no job is too small. Why it's important to do it right the
first time."

"Why
don't we incinerate it?" the weasel guy said, then looked at the others as
they looked down at him. "What? I heard they did that on some ships."
He hunched his shoulders and toed the deck.

"You're
right. Some ships did back in the day. Or they microwave it first to kill the
bacteria. That's what this is for actually. It cooks the bacteria before we
send it on for processing. But we closed the loop. We only incinerate when we
don't need it, don't have the power to break it down, and can't store it. And
even then, you still have a lot of stuff to deal with. Carbon ash, and a mess
to clean out."

"I
ain't cleanin' no incinerator again," Brutus said, wrinkling his nose.
"Smells nasty and it's a bitch getting in and out the hatch. Had to do it
with a bottle brush. Sucked and it took a double shift. You'd just about fit
though." He eyed the weasel, then the Admiral.

"I
doubt I would," Irons said with shrug, rolling his broad shoulders.
"But if the chief asks me to, sure. I'll do it. Nothing better to do until
we make port."

"Right."