Junkyard Dogs series Omnibus Page 2

  Chapter 3

  "...a Spacer is a citizen of the United Terran Federation that was born in space and has lived in space for the better part of their lives. Many of them have never even set foot on a planet. Because of this, they don't call any planet their home and they appear to have few loyalties outside of their extended family group or, as they refer to them, their 'Clan.' The children are all raised communally and I'll wager that half of them don't even know who their real parents are! What's even worse, most of them seem to like it that way! Now I'll admit that they show a real talent for number of things, a lifetime of living in orbit gives them some real advantages in dealing with weightless environments and they all seem to have a real aptitude for anything mechanical, for instance. The Federation needs to do more to incorporate them but, for myself, I find their ways to be a bit too odd ..."

  Hartwell Wrist Comp reference note highlighted for further review by Tamara Carlisle. Excerpt is from "The Spacer Dilemma," a symposium held at the Santana Nexus on the future of the Spacer people and their place in the United Terran Federation. The Speaker was Bishop Steven Sinclair of the Kiwi Group.

  UTFN Reclamation Center, Main Facility, October 4, 2598.

  "Alright recruits," said Commander Oscar Kresge, commanding officer of the Reclamation Center, "most of you've been here for a week now. Time to see what you've learned. Might as well start with the basics. Who wants to give me a quick rundown on the inhabitable planet in this system?"

  The Commander looked around the briefing room at two rows of young Naval officer trainees sitting straight backed, perched on the front edge of their military issue folding chairs. Seeing no response from any of the other young officers, the newest arrival, a petite, attractive brunette on the end of the back row, tentatively raised her hand. Though the Spacer tattoo on her left cheek would have been more than enough to make her stand out from this crowd, she was also the only one of the group wearing pilot's wings on her khaki coveralls. Kresge gave the rest of the group another couple of seconds before calling on her.

  "Ensign Carlisle, isn't it?" asked Kresge, with a slight nod in her direction. "Why am I not surprised? Okay, let's hear it."

  "...System stats... history... major trade...," the young woman started out haltingly and then, as though she had gotten over some kind of mental barrier, seemed to hit her stride, reciting the relevant facts in a clear and confident alto, "Sir, New Ceylon orbits the star Naccobus in the Heard's cluster of the Santana Quadrant of United Terran Federation space. The orbit around the primary is an ellipse that averages just over one hundred forty million kilometers in radius -- very similar to Old Earth. The planet's surface is about two-thirds water and one-third land, also similar to Earth. Other similarities include a nineteen degree axial tilt that is responsible for seasonal changes, and temperatures over most of the planet's surface that are within the range of minus forty to fifty above Celsius, perfect for the abundant liquid water. Where the two planets differ dramatically is that New Ceylon has a substantially thinner atmosphere and occupants of the planet must use supplemental breathing equipment at any altitude above about one thousand meters or so. Major exports include coffee and tea, which were introduced, and an array of spices that are derived from native plant species and several others that were also introduced. From a military standpoint, the strategic importance of the region is," she paused to pick the right word, "...controversial."

  "That will do, Ms. Carlisle. Not bad for having just arrived today. Now can someone else give me a quick rundown this military post?" Kresge scanned the group and picked the tall, boyish-looking, blond male in the middle of the back row. Ensign McConnell, tell me what you think you know."

  The young man looked around the room a bit nervously before clearing his throat and almost blurting out, "We're in the middle of the biggest junkyard known to man, Sir!"

  "Junkyard?" said Kresge, frowning. "Let's not waste any more time. Lieutenant Harris, as a native of this system, can you tell these newbies what we are and what our mission is?"

  Harris, an athletically built man of medium height who appeared to be somewhere in his mid-twenties, spoke up from where he'd been standing, a position behind and slightly to the right of Kresge.

  "Listen up! You'll need to know this information for your first exam and I'm only going to go through it once. Our base's official title is The United Terran Federation Navy New Ceylon Strategic Materials Reclamation Center. We refer to it as 'The Reclamation Center' or, more often, 'The Scrapyard.' We are located in the L-5 point of the New Ceylon-Naccobus system."

  A hand went up.

  "What is it Ensign Hart?"

  "What's an L-5 point, Sir?"

  "That means that we are in the same orbit as the planet only we're sixty degrees - - nearly a hundred and sixty million kilometers -- behind it. Any of the rest of you who don't know what an L-5 point is, I suggest you look up 'Lagrange point' or 'Trojan point' during your studies tonight."

  Hart nodded.

  Harris continued. "The Scrapyard was established just over fifty-six years ago, four years after the Great War of Succession. As you should know, the final Naval battle of that war, also the largest Naval battle in the history of Mankind, was fought within a single astronomical unit from the Whitney jump point of this system. When the battle -- and the War -- ended, this system was left with an almost incomprehensible number of wrecked military vessels and other battle debris to deal with."

  He paused again for a moment, his brown eyes intense as they roved back and forth across the two rows of recruits, looking for signs of comprehension. The new Ensign -- Carlisle, he reminded himself -- was staring at him intently and her lips were moving silently. He frowned, just barely, before continuing.

  "A large speculative venture, spearheaded by an outfit called The Delphi Investment Group, began gathering all of those ships and pieces of ships at this location to provide the raw materials for building a very large L-5 orbital colony. The spectral characteristics of Naccobus and the distance from the star to New Ceylon's orbit made this system an ideal candidate for such a colony. They finally wound up with over five thousand battle-damaged, obsolete, or just plain worn out military vessels. That covers just the material in what we call the 'Military Section.' You may have also noticed a fair amount of ship hulls and other material out here that is definitely not of military origin. The 'Civilian Section' came to be because, for the first several years of the project, Delphi was buying up any kind of space junk they could get at a low price from anywhere in the quadrant. As a result they were transporting in material such as worn out civilian spaceships, small space stations, and anything else that they could get their hands on. Any more questions to this point?"

  Harris scanned the cadets again and, seeing no response, continued. "You may have also noticed that there is no L-5 colony here. The post-war economic boom petered out and a disaster on the L-5 colony in the Old Earth system, wherein over three thousand people died, killed the public's interest in large L-5 colonies almost overnight. The entire project was abandoned when the head of Delphi -- and the driving force behind the project -- Albert Dubois Schwimmer, died unexpectedly. Within six months the company disintegrated into chaos as it was split up amongst his heirs and the bills for all of these raw materials began coming due. Now what we have, as Ensign McConnell so aptly noted, is probably the biggest junkyard known to man!

  The military got involved because no one else had the money or the expertise to handle what remained of the project. Even though an L-5 or Trojan Point is a relatively stable orbital zone, the sheer size and complexity of this huge mass of material requires constant attention -- herding we call it -- or parts of it will go wandering off into space with the potential to cause a lot of problems. Again, any questions?"

  McConnell actually raised his hand.

  "Yes, Ensign McConnell?"

  "My father told me that the Scrapyard makes pretty good money. Sir"

  "Yes, if you don't count the fact that the
initial investment was absorbed by the Delphi bankruptcy, the base has been able to more than break even during the fifty-plus years that it has been in operation. We salvage strategic materials like cobalt, titanium, cesium, steel, aluminum, and copper. Other valuables include carbon-based materials like neo-kevlar and almost any kind of plastic. You wouldn't believe some of the other things that are here in large quantities, like sealants, lubricants and other fluids, for instance. Nearly every ship out here still has several tons of silicon-fluoride nanite reaction fluid for their ion drives onboard! Because it's all in a great big deep freeze, most of the stuff is still quite useable. One more added benefit is that all of this material is made even more valuable because you don't have to boost it up out of a gravity well. Most material goes to the Federation for military and other applications, but quite a lot of it is sold to private interests as well."

  Another student raised his hand, and Harris nodded towards him. "Ensign Skillings?"

  "Sir, what about used parts? I saw a whole row of Mark III Bombardier cargo hulls on the way in. Must've been a dozen of them."

  Harris replied, "Fourteen, to be exact. But you bring up a good point. The center is the Federation's major source for used and rebuildable spacecraft parts, and we make decent money at it. Good quality used parts can keep an otherwise perfectly good old ship going and do so without breaking the bank. Just another service provided to you by the Federation Navy!"

  Several members of the group cracked a smile.

  "Time to wrap this up," said Kresge, coming to his feet. "You'll have to do better, all of you. Thank you, Lieutenant Harris," he said, with a nod in the young officer's direction, "See me after the recruits have left, if you would." He then addressed the group, "Gentlemen and ladies, I advise you to make good use of your time at this facility! Study up! You've all got several hours tonight! Don't waste them! You'll need to know the material in the first five chapters of the manual by the end of the week! Now let's get to the evening mess. Tomorrow's duty rosters are posted on the board. Check them on the way out! Dismissed!"

  The recruits filed in an orderly fashion up past the duty board. There were a few groans and other comments regarding the next day's tasks, but they all seemed pretty good-natured. Harris waited until the last two recruits had filed out before speaking to the Commander. "You wanted to see me, Sir?"

  "Yes, Harris. I have to go planetside for a while. The Meridian ambassador is coming to negotiate the pending trade agreement with the New Ceylon President, and his entourage is due in a few days. Since our military presence in this sector is so small to begin with, they need all the uniforms they can get. Especially the ones with lots of bright, shiny brass on them." He mock-brushed an imaginary fleck of dust off from the Commander's insignia on his collar with the cuff of his sleeve.

  "I'll be leaving Lieutenant Perkins in charge."

  Harris gave him a slightly puzzled look.

  "I know you're senior to him and the responsibility should fall to you, but I have a special assignment for you... I need you to do some babysitting duty for a few days."

  "Babysitting duty, Sir?"

  "Ensign Carlisle needs close-quarter pilot verification and a guide to help her inspect some of the old military craft in our collection."

  "That's a bit unusual, Sir."

  "I know, but so is she. You will have noted that she's a hefty cut above the usual recruits we get out here."

  "Yes, Sir. She seems pretty sharp."

  "Graduated second in her class at the Academy. You saw the pilot's wings. She's not training for supply and transport like the rest of our group."

  "Headed for high command?"

  "Well... maybe. She's smart -- no, make that damned smart -- but she's got some personality quirks and...other issues...that could keep her out. The Brass at the academy aren't quite sure what to do with her."

  "Personality quirks?"

  "Yeah, she's very impulsive and she has some odd speech habits -- the Academy psychologists describe it as 'thinking verbally'-- and she can display a really bad temper, especially if she's convinced that she's right. As smart as she is, that's most of the time."

  Harris nodded in acknowledgement. "Now that you mention it, the way she began her answer to your question was a little unorthodox. That and I noticed her lips were moving during my lecture. I thought that was a little strange, too. So, what's a high-powered sort like that doing out here?"

  Kresge paused in thought for a moment before seeming to make a decision.

  "What I am about to tell you must be kept strictly confidential, Lieutenant. Do you understand?"

  Harris nodded, his expression serious. Kresge continued, "Maybe it's best that you know some of this of anyway. You've probably already guessed that our new Ensign is a Spacer." Harris again nodded in understanding. Kresge continued, "As you know, outside of the Marine Corps, we don't get very many Spacers in the Navy or any other branch of the Service for that matter. The Brass would like to change that. She was selected out of a group of a dozen or so candidates for admittance to the Academy on a special program. As you might expect, there were some issues at the Academy, hazing and other sorts of harassment, that got her into a bit of trouble. To tell you the truth, I don't think much of what happened was her fault but the perpetrators were crafty enough that they never got caught, leaving her to take all the blame."

  "Typical, Sir," said Harris. As a sort of 'nontraditional' student himself, he had been the subject of similar treatment while at the Navy's Engineering and Technical Institute though he had never gotten into any real trouble over it. "So, where do we come in?"

  "Well, it's obvious that she won't get much 'valuable command experience' working with this lot. She's supposed to be a pretty good strategist and an absolute genius when it comes to tactics. As I was saying, they didn't want to wash her out but they didn't know what to do with her either. That and they desperately want this program to work so they talked her into going to the Academy graduate school. She's working on an advanced degree in Military History and HQ thinks her research project on the construction and capabilities of some of the Succession War ships in our collection is important and will help her mature a bit. Admiral Loftgren, current Dean of Graduate Studies at the Academy, asked me personally to help her out."

  "Sounds like it might even be interesting duty," said Harris. He paused for a moment. "If you don't mind my saying so, Sir, damaged goods or not, she sure is easy to look at."

  "Watch yourself, Lieutenant," Kresge said, grinning. "Not only is she smart, she was also at the top of her class in hand-to-hand combat, and her dossier indicates that she is also quite proficient with small arms!"

  "You needn't worry, Sir. I doubt she'd be interested in me. Besides, how do you talk to a woman that smart, with that kind of background? With a bad temper to boot?"

  "I'm sure you could think of something," said Kresge, still grinning. Then his look became more serious. "Don't sell yourself short, Harris. From what I've seen, you're a lot better than you give yourself credit for. You've never had any problem getting people to work together and your other command skills have improved considerably over the last year or so. Not only that, you've been here long enough that no one knows their way around the Scrapyard better than you do. That's part of the reason I think you're better suited than Perkins for this little babysitting job. The other part is probably even more important. Not only do you know quite a lot about these old ships, you're actually interested in them. No, make that obsessed!" He winked. "I think that's just what this project needs, a little passion."

  "I'm flattered, Sir."

  "You want my advice, Harris? Have a little fun with this assignment. You might even learn something. Pack up some supplies in the morning and take Ensign Carlisle out to the Auxiliary Station for a few days. You can base your inspection tour from out there."

  "Thank you, Sir. It'll sure beat loading up those two NITrans cargo ships that we have scheduled for tomorrow afternoon!"

&nb
sp; Nacobbus Interstellar Transport -- NITrans -- was one of the largest and most prosperous businesses in the system and handled most of the exports and imports to and from New Ceylon, including coffee, spices, and, of course, materials from the Scrapyard. Their fleet consisted of nearly thirty ships, making the NITrans logo a familiar sight throughout the system.

  "That's not a problem," said Kresge. "I'm sure they won't need you. Most of the cargo is packed into modules already and they can load the rest of the modules and get the bigger stuff ready in the morning. With Perkins operating the utility sled and this new batch of recruits handling the cargo, they should be able to tackle the job in a few hours."

  "Simple is good, Sir," said Harris. "We need something uncomplicated to break in all these new people. Perkins doesn't have a lot of experience himself, but he's solid and he's careful; they can handle it. Besides, I'll only be an hour or so away if they run into anything serious."

  "As I said, I'm not the least bit worried. One more thing before we go for dinner, Harris. Not that I really think you need a chaperone, but appearances are important. Take Hawkins with you. We can spare him for a few days. Carlisle has requested our help in trying to access the ship's electronic logs, too, if any are still intact. I can't think of anyone better than Hawkins. With nearly forty years in the Navy, he knows more about these old ships than anyone. It still amazes me how he manages to coax this old, frozen machinery back into some kind of function. It also won't hurt to have another set of eyes out there. I don't need to tell you to be careful, Harris; these old wrecks can be dangerous, especially for someone with zero experience!"

  "Count on me, Sir. I appreciate your confidence."

  "No problem, Harris, just help her get her information and get her back here in one piece. Enough of this, let's go eat."

  Chapter 4