TWENTY-FIVE

“This is…” CN Juan Perez muttered continuing to curse floridly. The big piece of bulky ship’s armor simply would not stay on trajectory. The metal may have had less mass than the powerful shuttle but it didn’t mean it had none. And it wasn’t going any way that Perez was flying. “Making money for that bastard Vernon.”

“All for the good of humanity,” Velasquez said, grinning. “Plenty of missile material in this plate. Systems are nominal. I think this is a driver error.”

“I think I’m hooked to the wrong part of the plate,” Perez said. “Which is, if I recall my SOP correctly, an engineer’s call.”

“You figure out the center of balance on one of these things, then,” Velasquez said, bringing up the program again. “Go ahead and unclamp. We’ll try it again.”

“Roger,” Perez said. “Flight, Twenty-One.”

“Go,” Raptor replied.

“Unclamping to get a better grip,” Perez commed. “Isn’t working as is.”

“Roger,” Raptor commed. “If you can’t get it on two tries, ask one of the AIs for suggestions.”

“Will do,” Perez said, releasing the magnetic grapnels. “So what suggestion does my fine EN have for hooking back up?”

“You have to talk the ladies as if they are very gentle creatures,” Velasquez said. “Honey gets more than vinegar.”

“Ladies screw bastards,” Perez replied. “Which is why you’re still as virginal as Mary and I am not. You know what I mean.”

“Try this point,” Velasquez said, marking another spot on the plate with a laser spotter.

“That’s better,” Perez said. “Okay, going to full power…”

* * *

It was called “losing the show.” The momentary flicker when you knew you had just been blown up and lost consciousness then had it come back with a vengeance. Like a TV that goes off then comes back up when power fails momentarily. It wasn’t instantaneous. Images were there for a few moments, unprocessed, flickering. Sparks. Spinning stars. The cover for the 116 compensator compartment whipping past his face, banging off the bulkhead, continuing to carome, disappearing. Why was it in the crew compartment? The 116 was in the cargo bay… Where’s the front bulkhead? Where’s the front bulkhead?

It helped if there was light but there was some coming in from a tear in the bulkhead. And the emergency lights, although some of them were blown out.

“Suit… Lights…” Velasquez muttered. He must be really drunk. It felt like the room was spinning.

“Vel! Vel! VEL! DIEGO!”

“Stop shouting…” Velasquez muttered, bringing up his suit lights.

“I need power! Look outside!”

Velasquez shook his head inside his helmet then started to process.

The reason it felt like the room was spinning was that what was left of the shuttle had a significant rotation. Probably ten rotations per minute. He knew this not because his instruments were telling him—there weren’t any instruments—but because the front half of the shuttle had been sheered off. He should be dead. Apparently the console had caught most of the damage. He’d seen stars because the firmament was whipping by every rotation. He could see it with his plain eyes.

He could also see that whatever had started the rotation, or perhaps continued power on the engines, had them headed for a big…ship? Piece of a ship? It didn’t matter. They’re velocity was at least a hundred kilometers per hour. And it was close enough it was occluding the stars on every rotation. He could hear the count-down in his head.

“Twenty-seven, twenty-six…”

“Are you counting?”

“Yes,” Perez said. “We don’t have enough power in our nav paks to avoid it, either. I’ve done the math. We need power. Now!”

Velasquez unhooked his safety belt, hooked off a line and, holding onto his seat, leaned over and opened up the main breaker box. Which was trashed. Three of the four relays were melted and the main breaker didn’t look much better. The hatch came off in his hand.

“This isn’t going to do it,” he muttered tossing the hatch out into space. He cycled the main breaker by hand.

“Twenty-three… Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast…twenty…”

“I’ve got no main breaker,” Velasquez said, desperately. “We don’t have anything!”

“I can feel the engines,” Perez said.

“You feel the power plant” Diego said then paused, looking at the crowbar. “The problem’s getting the power to the drives. How long do you need power?”

“IF we have compensators…point three seconds of drive,” Perez said. “Say another two to get the systems up. Couple for me to figure out which way to go when it comes up.”

“So…five?”

“Fourteen… Yeah…!”

Diego climbed to the toolbox, ripping off the crowbar in the process. With one hand on the inside of the tool compartment, booth boots locked down, he inserted the crowbar into a sealed seam and heaved.

“What are you doing?” Perez said. “Ten…nine…”

“Get ready for power,” Diego said, bracing his back on the command console. He clamped the crowbar to first one boot then the other. “You’ll only power straight forward.”

Then he slammed the crowbar into the super-conductor junctions.

* * *

It was the Significance of the Crowbar. The crowbar, like duct tape, had a thousand and one uses. Getting a stuck relay out of its cradle. Banging on the troop door lowering motor until it worked. Getting a stuck crew out of the command compartment.

But this was the true Significance of the Crowbar. The reason it resided in its precise spot.

A steel crowbar would never survive the full energy generated by the main power plant. However, there was a secondary system, part of the inertial controls, that only pushed a few megawatts. That a crowbar could survive. For a few seconds. And the relay for it was at the precise angle and position that if you jammed the flat end of a standard steel crowbar into it the curved end would drop into the main engine relay precisely.

Thus, if you lost main power due to the primary breaker freezing, blowing or being hit by a micrometeorite, you could get some power for maneuvering.

If someone was crazy enough to jam a crowbar into a twenty megawatt junction.

* * *

“What the HELL did you do, Pal!” Deb said, flipping herself into the shuttle and landing on two points.

“I have done nothing, EM,” Palencia said, coming to his feet. He’d been bent over one of the compensator systems. He looked worn out. “Except my duty.”

“The scuttlebutt is that this sabotage,” Dana said, her hands on her hips. “Pretty good scuttlebutt. I know I didn’t do it! And I’m pretty sure that Velasquez didn’t. So where is it your duty to sabotage our boats? Is this another God damned plot by your…”

“Calm down, Dana,” Granadica interjected.

“Calm down?” Dana screamed. “My engineer is in the God damned hospital in a coma!”

“And…he put himself there,” Granadica said. “EM Palencia was not the source of the sabotage. EN Velasquez was.”

“What?” Palencia and Dana said, simultaneously. They looked at each other for a moment, sheepishly.

“Velasquez?” Palencia said.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Dana said.

“It doesn’t, does it,” Granadica said. “Humans.”

“Granadica,” Deb said, tightly. “When I say it doesn’t…”

“Dana,” the AI said. “I have the records. They’re not faked. We can’t lie about that sort of thing. I also have a list of all the tampered grav systems. So I’d suggest you get to work. You’re back on status.”

“Just like that?” Dana said. “I need to go visit…”

“We deliver the mail,” Palencia said, wearily. “Despite the reports, I would like to visit him as well. But what would you say? The first priority is the shuttles. How many in here, Granadica?”

“Just one,” Granadica said. “Not bad and not even terribly critical. Two in Twenty-Three. You need to go get your suit on, EM Parker.”

“I…” Dana said the blew out. “Just one check. Sorry, Granadica. Thermal, Comet.”

“Not a problem,” Granadica said.

“Go, Comet.”

“Velasquez?”

“So far that’s the evidence,” Thermal replied. “I’m still trying to figure out if it’s a frame-up. But everything we’re seeing says Velasquez. Definitely not you. You’re back on duty. And there’s a bunch of stuff to repair.”

“Why? I mean, why Vel?”

“Nothing at this time,” Thermal commed. “Try to put that out of your mind. We need to get the shuttles up. And I’m still sort of busy. Get to work. Thermal out.”

“Besides the known faults, there’s a special procedure you’ll have to perform to certify the compensators,” Granadica said. “So you’d better go get your suit. It’s time intensive.”