The Outer Ring
By Martin Wilsey
This is a work of Fiction. All Characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental.
The Outer Ring
Copyright © 2015 by Martin Wilsey
All rights reserved, including rights to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Cover Art by Jessica E.
For more information:
Blog: https://wilseymc.blogspot.com/
Web: https://www.baytirus.com/
Email:
[email protected] The Solstice 31 Saga:
Still Falling (2015)
The Broken Cage (2015)
Blood of the Scarecrow (2016)
“The Ventura was a deep space survey ship with a crew of over 2,000 men and women. When we entered the orbit of the planet Baytirus that day, we never expected the Ventura to be immediately destroyed. We didn’t know we weren’t the first people to find that planet. But, someone knew.”
--Solstice 31 Incident Investigation Testimony Transcript: Logs of Master Engineer Wes Hagan, senior surviving engineering member of the Ventura's crew. Recorded on 26291010, over three decades ago, and stored in the data being analyzed.
Barcus woke two hours early, as usual, before the Pal’s alarm. Pal was the personal assistant layer of the Ventura’s central artificial intelligence system. Nobody ever called them by those words, though. Everyone called them Pal and Caisy.
“Good morning, Pal. What’s the plan for the day?” Barcus said, stretching, as he sat up in his bunk. At these words, Pal shifted the walls of the 3x5 meter room to a predawn mountain scene. It was majestic in its ultrahigh definition beauty. It also conveyed data. Barcus knew when the sun peeked from behind those mountains it would be time to go. The light increased on the clouds above, as that time approached. Barcus didn’t need any visual clues because he had a digital clock, always visible, in his personal Heads-Up Display (HUD). Computer display windows hung in the mountain scene, showing the day’s work orders and his personal calendar. His messages were prioritized, quickly reviewed and promptly answered.
Pal’s voice imitated a professional female today. “Today, you meet the heavies for a morning run, beginning at Chen’s STU on the outer ring’s flight deck. Jack will be joining you, again, so you’ll need to take your pack along,” Pal told him. “After that, shower, chow, and then prep for tomorrow's work orders that you’ll do after we drop out of FTL.” The days after faster-than-light runs were always hectic. “Jimbo will arrange for shore leave, if the planet doesn’t suck.” Barcus enjoyed this AI’s sense of humor.
“Jack is really joining us, again?” Barcus asked, laughing to himself, as he donned his running shorts and shirt. “I swear, he almost died after that lap, last time.”
“Your pack still has the twenty kilos of replacement gel packs,” Pal said. “You know that’s crazy, don’t you? Running the outer ring, at 2G, with an extra twenty kilos that feels like forty kilos.”
“The pack slows us down enough so that, one day, Jack might be able to keep up.” Barcus smiled. Not many people tried. “That day won’t be today.”
Pal asked, “Did you know he has applied for a berth in the outer ring?” There was a slightly amused tone in her voice.
“Excellent. It’s really the only way to do it. If he gets past the first month, it’ll be easy.”
***
Barcus arrived on the flight deck first. It was empty at 0520 hours. He already wore his pack, but he had made the 3K run so many times with it on, he moved like it wasn’t there. He strolled in the heavy gravity, stretching his limbs as he went. The outer ring’s flight deck was huge. At the point where he stood, the ship measured a kilometer in diameter. The rotation of the ring gave it the feel of 2G, but there were no grav-plates in use. It saved a massive amount of power. A wide, central taxiway looked like it sloped uphill, in both directions. It was just over three kilometers for one lap.
He smelled coffee.
Chen was already up and working on her shuttle. She always made the best coffee.
Even though Chen was a pilot, she took total ownership of her Shuttle Transport Unit and its systems. She called the onboard AI by the nickname Stu. It was an old habit from her flight training days. Another old habit was to soup up her assigned vessel, for maximum performance. She was also a highly regarded AI programmer in the fleet.
Barcus knew that, today, she had to get everything back together in time for the drop out of FTL, tomorrow. No one knew how long they would be in orbit around the next surveyed planet, so they had to be ready for long days.
“Morning, Chen. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Barcus said, with an amused tone.
“Don’t just stand there, asshole. Lift that end and set it in those lock points. Or, is it too heavy for you and your skinny little arms?” Chen taunted.
Barcus didn’t ask why she was mounting a 10mm canon inside the belly of her Emergency Module (EM), a spider-like all-terrain vehicle. As he muscled the receiver end into the sockets, he saw there were ammo belt feed cases already installed.
“Where the hell did you find this hellish lead storm?” he asked, referring to the massive gun. He moved to the muzzle end, helping her snap it into place. “Fixed forward fire, I see. Do you have a targeting module in the EM’s AI yet?” he asked.
Chen answered with a roll of her eyes. She laid the belt of ammo across the receiver, as she said, “Em, cycle the 10mm and then close it up.” The first round cycled into the chamber, as the access panels closed so tight there was no visible seam.
“Aren’t you worried that Captain Everett might get pissed off that you armed the transport?” Barcus asked. “Besides, who gave you the weapons mounts? Sweet setup. Can we try it in the vacuum, tomorrow, while we’re out?”
“The STU-1138 class shuttles are just big enough to have their own parts fabricators. Can I help it if I have friends with access to design specs?” She smiled, wiping the lubricant from her hands with a dry rag.
“Morning, all,” said Jack Miller. He was already out of breath. The 2G outer ring did that to most people. Barcus worked with hundreds of maintenance guys on a ship this size. Many, like Jack, had just started their tours four months ago. Barcus had been there longer than any of them. Just over twelve years.
A security squad of sixteen men ran by. They were in full combat gear, including Frange carbines. They were also followed by a couple of unit drones that scanned everything as they ran by.
Chen patted Jack’s belly. “Don’t worry. They won’t eat you.”
Jack was a good guy. He was a hard worker. He was great at detail work, especially the really fine schematic work that sometimes left Barcus unable to see the big picture of his project. ‘First tour spread’ often haunted people when the gravity was low and the food was good. Jack was determined to be physically fit when he returned to Earth in three years, eight months.
“Rumor has it you’re joining us heavies in the outer ring,” Chen stated, as she rolled the toolbox to the far side of the EM. Barcus saw Jack look at the piling that was Chen’s artificial left leg.
“Good-looking, on you. The chicks will dig it, right Barcus?” Chen said.
“The chicks will dig what?” Rand asked, as she walked up. She chugged from a water bottle. She noticed Jack, just then. “Mr. Miller has come back for more. We need to requisition this man a backpack!”
“He’s even moving to the outer ring, soon,” Barcus said, before he chugged water from the bottle Rand tossed to him. Rand was part of the security team. Not only did she run with a weighted pack, she wore two handguns in thigh holsters and a Frange carbine on a strap that hung from her shoulder.
/>
Jack, breathing easier now, said, “Did you know all the quarters out here are singles and are way bigger? No waiting list. I move in tomorrow.”
“Jimbo!” the heavies said, all at once.
Another voice said, “Don’t tell anyone, but we also have our own kitchen down here.”
Barcus added, “Good morning, Commander ‘shirking your duty’ Worthington. What the hell, man? Your shift isn’t over until 0800 hours.” He slapped backs and shook everyone’s hands. “Jimbo, this is Jack Miller, our latest victim.”
“Nice to meet you, Jack. Don’t listen to these asswipes. Down here, I’m just Jimbo.” He shook Jack’s hand. Jack liked him, immediately. It wasn’t often that someone from the lower decks got to meet anyone from the command crew.
“You coming today, Chen?” Jimbo asked, as he adjusted the straps of his backpack.
“Not today, man,” she said, as she looked up and another access panel opened. “I gotta finish up this shit before tomorrow’s orbit.”
“I hear that.” Jimbo drank his own water. “All three shifts are on duty, tomorrow. That’s why I can come down here and run you weaklings into the grav-plating.”
With that said, they ran. Jimbo’s surprise start caught no one, except Miller, off guard. After a bit, the heavies slowed, so he could catch up. They ran in formation around him, encouraging him all the way around the outer ring.
It was a ‘lucky day’. That’s what the heavies called it when all the bay doors were open.
Jack made it the whole way around without stopping once, for the first, and the last time…
***
“I miss real eggs,” Barcus said, not for the first time.
Jack said, “It’s because the eggs are dehydrated, made with reclaimed water. You ever get the pancakes? Why get the eggs, if you don’t like them?”
Chen looked up from her eggs with a raised eyebrow, the precursor to the death stare. She sat just to Jack’s right. Barcus sat directly across from him, with Jimbo and Rand on either side. All of them ate eggs and bacon.
“Because you get real bacon with these eggs. Not even dehydrated,” Barcus said, in a gesture of worship, as he held up a perfectly crispy strip of thick-cut bacon. Rand and Jimbo both attempted a snatch. Both lost out to the speed of Barcus’s hand to his mouth.
“It’s probably because the reclamation system extracts the water from your shit when yo—” Jack stopped, suddenly, as Chen delivered a right jab to his face. “What the fuuu—!”
Chen patted him on the back in a perfect, nothing personal, gesture.
“House rules, Jack,” Jimbo said. “Never mention the human waste reclamation system during chow. You are allowed, no required, to face-punch any heavy that does it. Even me. Especially me.”
Jack laughed, as he overplayed testing his jaw. Then, he touted the benefits of the delicious pancakes, to another round of laughter.
None of them heard the woman behind them, two tables over, who said under her breath, “You won’t be laughing this time tomorrow, motherfuckers.”
***
Barcus went up to the main maintenance shop with Jack, after breakfast. They each signed out a Heavy Maintenance Suit (HMS) that they would use tomorrow. The HMS were called Heavy, for multiple reasons. First, and foremost, they were really fucking heavy. Maintenance Chief Owens, consequently, referred to them as RFH suits. For some reason, this confused the dispatchers and amused the hell out of the chief.
Barcus went to bay forty-two and selected the same HMS he always picked. Jack picked number forty-one, based on its proximity to Barcus.
“Barcus, do you have any idea how much one of these things actually weighs?” Jack asked, as he activated the diagnostic program and ran down the checklist.
“I think, empty, they weigh just under a metric ton. Just over, with water and a driver,” Barcus said. “Doesn’t mean shit, though. Most of the work is in zero gravity. ”
“Ever run in one, on the surface of a planet? I hear they are fast on foot and fun as shit,” Jack said, hooking up the water line, to top it off.
“Just once, on a moon. Some dumb-ass had a dish fall on him and, despite the low gravity, it broke both his legs. I ran the two kilometers to be the first one on the scene.” Barcus paused, remembering, “That asshole never thanked me. He was a miserable bastard; it was always about politics with him.”
“I’m driving forty-two down to the flight deck today, as always. But, that’s me. You may want to use the tractor rig to get your suit down. Today or tomorrow. They prefer it that way. They say it’s ‘safer’.” Barcus laughed.
Jack knew he just gave him a way out, to save face. All the HMS jocks walked them down. The key was NOT to damage anything on the way down to the flight deck.
“You came aboard on that last rotation? Four months ago, right?” Barcus asked, as forty-two detached from the clamps and powered up. “How long have you been an HMS maintenance guy?”
“Counting the last four months, let me think.” Jack thought, for a moment, before he answered, “Four months.” He smiled at his own joke.
More men and women now entered the maintenance shop, to begin their day. Most knew Barcus and said good morning to him. No one seemed to even notice Jack. “JAFMG,” Barcus said, prompting an instant reply.
“Just-another-fucking-maintenance-guy,” Jack drawled.
“Here’s a tip for you, Jack,” Barcus said, as he stepped up and into his suit. “Move your suit down to your assigned shuttle the day before, in the morning. After it’s docked in the shuttle, then you’ll have the rest of the day to organize and to clean up your bay in the maintenance shop. It's way easier without the HMS in there. Otherwise, you’ll be so busy, you may never get to it.”
The HMS closed over Barcus’s head, revealing just a black, faceless thing. As it stood and saluted, it caused Jack to shudder. They had to be so careful when inside the damn things. It could wreak havoc because it could tear through a bulkhead, without pausing.
Barcus entered the elevator and simply said, to the other passengers, “Good morning, ladies. Flight deck, please.” The voice sounded ominous, like a cinder block dragged over cement.
Jack watched as two women caressed the suit, and one said, “Hey handsome. Where you going? Want some comp—?” The door closed.
One of the techs walked up, shaking his head. Jack had the impression he walked over, specifically, to watch Barcus take the elevator in the three-meter tall suit.
“Why doesn’t his suit have a number stenciled on the chest?” Jack looked at his suit. It had a large, bright yellow ‘41’ emblazoned on the chest.
“Everyone knows that’s him,” the tech said. “For luck, I guess. You never heard the story?”
Jack shook his head. “What story?”
“Barcus, in suit number forty-two, was performing maintenance on a low orbit satellite, when a stupid, rookie pilot blew him off the sat with his exhaust. The dumb-ass lit his main engines too close. Everyone thought Barcus was dead, except Chen.” The tech walked closer and said the next part, quietly, “I heard Chen did an emergency, unsanctioned launch and chased after forty-two in the STU, somehow.” He almost whispered, “She pulled a ‘Jonah’ at Mach 23, in the atmosphere.”
“A ‘Jonah’?” Jack questioned, just as quietly.
“She opened the STU’s cargo bay, while in flight, and ate him from the sky.” The tech let it sink in. “The number forty-two burned off while he was in the atmosphere. All the melted, exterior tools were repaired or replaced. Chen and Barcus were docked pay, by the former captain, for the repairs to the STU. That was about five years ago. I’m glad that asshole is finally gone.”
“He never painted the numbers back on?” Jack asked.
“Go ahead, paint them back on. I dare you.” The tech laughed and walked away.
Jack went back to work. He never took the advice to pre-dock his suit. Because of that, his last thoughts were about his numbers burning off…
***
As the elevator doors opened, the HMS sang “Daisy Bell” and the women laughed, as they left the lift. Wes Hagan, the Ventura’s senior engineer, entered the lift and said, “Morning, Barcus.” As he turned to face front, he said, “You look tired—” The doors closed, as the suit laughed.
No one else got on the lift, as it descended the final 200 meters. The flight deck was 2G and the traffic was light. They were both headed for Chen’s shuttle, this morning. Chen was just closing another panel in the bottom of the Emergency Module. She spoke a few words and the spider-like all-terrain vehicle ascended the cargo ramp and rotated, in prep for locking into its spot on the roof of the cargo bay.
Wes asked Chen, “Why do you stay down here, all the time?”
“Because I hate people,” Chen replied. “The 2G keeps them away. And, if they must come down here, it’s hard for them to breathe, so they don’t talk so fucking much,” she continued, wiping her hands as Barcus climbed out of the suit.
“Mind if I use the suit to carry and stow my tool chest?” Chen asked Barcus.
“Knock yourself out.” Barcus stepped away from the suit. It still knelt under the chin of the STU.
“Stu, initiate remote. And, don’t fucking drop them, this time.” Chen said, as she stepped away.
The HMS closed up as it stood. All by itself, it walked up to Chen’s full-size, double tool chest, crouched and lifted it, as if it were a dad carrying a cooler to the beach. The suit moved, easily and smoothly, to the toolroom in the back of the cargo bay.
“Nice,” Wes said, a rare compliment from him. “It’s why I’m here, really.”
Chen was surprised Wes gave her no shit about avoiding his messages.
“Have you noticed anything odd in the AIs around here, lately? Caisy or Pal, Stu, Em, Rain?” Hagan combed his fingers through his hair. Chen knew it was serious. Nothing ever puzzled this man. It was one of the foundation rules of the universe that Chen had grown to rely on. That, and the fact that he let her do whatever she liked.
Wes knew she did a good job. He also knew she did that job better with less management.
“I only interact with Stu and Em. It’s daily and it’s for hours, every day. Caisy and Pal are of little use to me,” Chen said, thinking hard. “In fact Em and Stu have been better in the last few months. I guess, more aware. I’ve been working on them a lot, though. I shudder to think how much extra code I’ve added to their advanced AI routines.”