Wreck of the Nebula Dream (7 page)

Instead he’d showered at the gym and gone to his cabin long enough to change and head out for breakfast.

“Excuse me, Captain Jameson?”

Setting his coffee cup on its saucer, Nick eyed the crisply uniformed SMT officer now standing by his table. “Yes?”

“Second Officer McElroy, sir.”

Nick rose and they shook hands. “Won’t you join me?” He gestured at the remnants of breakfast on the table. “There’s a bit of synth coffee left in the pot.”

McElroy shook his head. “No, thank you – had my breakfast a while ago, sir. With the captain’s compliments, I’ve been detailed to give you a tour of the ship today, if you’d like one.”

Taking a last sip of the now cold coffee, Nick was surprised but willing. “Sure. I understand she has quite a few new features the builders are hoping to offer the military in the next generation of ships.”

McElroy nodded eagerly. “Yes, right, including the Yeatter engines.”

“I would like to see those,” Nick said. “I’m not in the regular Navy, but I take an interest in what they fly us Special Forces types around with.”

Dutifully, the SMT officer chuckled. “Even if the Sectors buy the technology package, I’m sure the ships they design won’t be anything like this one. I flew on enough troop transports during my hitch to know.”

Nick’s interest was piqued. “Ex-Space Navy, McElroy? Where did you serve?”

McElroy’s laugh was self-deprecating. “I did the grunt tour. Then I used the veteran’s education benefit to get my inner system flight training. SMT hired me on, and I’ve been working my way up to the interstellar runs ever since.”

“I didn’t see this tour on the list of cruise amenities the ship is constantly offering me,” Nick said.

“This is unusual.” McElroy frowned, seeming puzzled himself. “We left you a message in your cabin, but when you didn’t respond, the captain told me to find you in person.”

“I didn’t bother with the messages,” Nick admitted. “I’d had enough of those already from the Ship itself, extolling the shows and the casino and what have you. Don’t expect any other communications this trip.”

“We can transmit and receive in hyperspace mode, sir.” McElroy leapt to the defense of his ship. “We have one of the newest transmitters – first one the Sectors ever allowed to be installed on a civilian vessel, in fact.”

Nick tried not to let his surprise or his displeasure show on his face.
Which heavyweight on the SMT Board ramrodded a favor through official channels?
The military tried to keep certain types of technology away from the civvies, afraid they’d fall into the wrong hands. “No disrespect to the
Nebula Dream
’s capabilities,” he said, smiling at the man’s palpable loyalty to his ship. “I just meant no one’s likely to send me a personal message until we arrive at Sector Hub, since I’m between assignments. A tour of this beautiful lady of yours will be a welcome diversion.”

“I believe the captain thought so,” McElroy said as they left the dining room. “He’s dedicated to ensuring all the passengers have the best possible experience while aboard one of his ships.”

“Or maybe SMT felt it had a good public relations opportunity; have a military officer see the ship on its best behavior.” Nick smiled, to take the edge off his cynical remark, as he could tell the young officer was taken aback by his jaded attitude. “Whatever the reason, I appreciate the captain’s courtesy, and yours.”

Taking the lead, McElroy headed toward the sweeping staircase leading to the upper levels. “We’ll kick off the tour with a brief peek into the control chamber on the bridge, sir. I can introduce you to Captain Bonlors. Then we’ll work our way to the stern and the engines.”

“Whatever makes sense to you is fine with me. I’m happy to have one day less to find something to do,” Nick said, moving out of the way of a gaggle of giggling ‘Lites as they swarmed past him, on their way to some new experience.

McElroy led him past Level Two, on toward Level One, then Level B with its dining room, theaters, and shops, Level A with the casino and captain’s dining room, and the command deck above. The young ship’s officer kept giving Nick sideways glances. “You’re not our usual passenger, if you don’t mind my saying so. We don’t get many military fares. Well, actually, none I can recall. Mostly it’s the luxury leisure trade and the business travelers. And the tourists in cryo sleep on Level Six, of course.”

“I’m sure you’re right. My commanding officer on Glideon was paying off a score against the local SMT agent,” Nick said. “I have to get to Hub as soon as possible, but primarily the colonel was full of himself, ecstatic about finding some obscure clause in the regs empowering him to bump a full-fare passenger and make SMT take me at the government rate.”

Laughing, they continued up the stairs. The passengers they passed eyed them curiously.
We make an odd pair.
Nick glanced at his casual khaki pants and serviceable, but obviously old, pullover. McElroy was all spit and polish in his white uniform, trimmed in navy blue. McElroy knew a substantial number of the passengers by name.
Building up a potential clientele? For the day he gets a command of his own from SMT? The other passengers probably think I’m either an eccentric generational billionaire, or a stowaway being taken to the bridge before getting thrown in the brig.
Smothering a grin, Nick continued in McElroy’s wake.

Many hours later, nursing a drink in the privacy of his cabin, Nick reflected on what he’d seen. He’d met Captain Bonlors on the bridge briefly before McElroy had whisked him on to a behind-the-scenes tour of the ship’s inner workings. Savoring the brandy, leaning back against the padded headboard – he’d decided the vodka was his undoing, but the brandy was safe – Nick pondered how the Navy ran its ships, lean and mean.
This place is totally opposite, off the scale.

Of
Nebula Dream
’s large contingent of crew, about two hundred were actually devoted to operating the ship. The majority were service workers, pampering and entertaining the high-paying passengers. The largest concentration of the technical crew members dealt with operation of the cutting-edge Yeatter engines, and had been pulled from all over the SMT fleet to staff the
Dream
. Some, like the gym attendants, had been hired especially for this cruise and had never even shipped out interstellar previously, which gave Nick pause. This was the crew’s first cruise together, according to McElroy.

“This is my first cruise with Captain Bonlors, actually,” he’d informed Nick. “Although the Fourth Officer and I were on the SMT
Star Dream
together. And I understand the First and Third Officers are old hands with this captain. There was a bit of a fuss over who was going to be Second, in fact. The captain favored promotion for Third Officer Mallory, since they served together, but the Line is pretty strict on seniority, and I’ve got the edge there.” McElroy had rolled his shoulders and straightened with satisfaction. “I pulled all the favors I could to get this assignment. I wanted to serve with Bonlors. He has an excellent reputation, good with the passengers, as I was telling you. I’ve learned a great deal already, watching his interactions with them. Some of the First Level passengers will only travel with him, arranging their cruises to coincide with his schedule.”

“A high compliment indeed, coming from such a finicky crowd,” Nick had said amiably.
Hmm, hope his command staff knows what they’re doing, then. Not sure I like the idea they’ve been pulled from all different ships, no shakedown cruise together.

The engine control chamber at the stern of the ship had been the end of the tour. Nick met the ship’s engineering officer, who was actually one of the designers of the Yeatter engine system. From the latter, Nick absorbed more than he ever wanted to know about the specifications and capabilities of the new propulsion drive. After a while he stopped listening, but kept the interested expression plastered on his face.

If the Yeatters proved themselves on this maiden run of the
Nebula Dream
’s, if they broke the speed records SMT was going for, then Yeatter stood to capture a large chunk of the civilian and military starship propulsion business for decades to come. At the current rapid rate the Navy was commissioning new ships, substantial credits were at stake.
Billions to be made or lost, probably. Not enough credits on my military pay to buy any stock!

Nick stood on the engineering observation bridge for a long time, watching the violent interplay of energy between each of the four massive Yeatter units, as they switched between themselves, keeping the
Nebula Dream
moving forward through space at an even speed. Not only was there an ongoing, spectacular display of visual, rainbow-hued auroras and bolts of power leakage, but according to McElroy, other forms of energy interchanged, invisible to the human eye.
Inefficient? So much excess energy going to waste?
Nick shrugged.
I’m no propulsion engineer
. And the physics had gone way over his head, when the SMT design engineer launched into them, glad to have a military contact to lecture on the properties of his engines.

It was hard to stop staring at the bank of Yeatter units, Nick found. After a while the brain identified recognizable pictures in the display, much as it does when watching a mundane fire burn in a fireplace, or clouds moving across a planetary horizon. At one point he thought he saw a vivid depiction of a man’s face in the corona around engine Number Four. It was so distinct and so unpleasant – the face was contorted as if screaming in anger or fear – or warning? – he took an involuntary step backward, blinking. The image was gone when he reopened his eyes.

“And does the ship’s AI control this?” Nick asked McElroy, who also appeared to be hypnotized by the sheer power of the engines.

Shaking his head, the SMT officer broke his visual lock on the energy display flaring beyond the half-meter-thick, protective shielding. “No, the engines are independent of the AI. They coordinate with each other, through a special interlock adapter developed specifically to handle their demands.” He pointed toward the top of the unit closest to them. Reluctantly Nick allowed himself to gaze where McElroy was indicating.
I don’t want to imagine that face again; too close to my nightmares.

“You can’t see it,” the SMT officer was remarking, and for one wild second Nick thought he meant the screaming face, but then he took a deep breath and focused in on the explanation about the adapter, which of course was what McElroy was talking about. “It’s mounted inside the nacelle. I guess you could say the adapter is the key to the whole thing, because without it, you can’t keep multiple Yeatters running in sync. One is good but hardly sufficient to shove this beast of a ship along at the kind of speeds we want. Need to arrive at Sector Hub within the passengers’ normal life span, after all.” McElroy chuckled at his own small gibe.

Mulling this explanation over, and adding it to the previous facts he’d been given on the Yeatters, Nick knew he was frowning.
Awful lot depending on the adapter technology
. In the big, multi-engine military cruisers and battleships, there were redundancies, and the ship’s AI kept in close, controlling contact with its subnet in the propulsion bay.
You didn’t want to lose power in the middle of a running battle with the Mawreg, for example
. Nick was mildly curious enough to want clarification. “So the
Dream
can’t even monitor the engines herself?”

Clearly not seeing any problem with the setup, McElroy shook his head. “No need, since she isn’t involved with their operation, beyond transmitting orders from the bridge.”

“Well, thanks for the tour. Don’t know if I’m as impressed by the new engines as I expected I’d be,” Nick admitted candidly as they took their leave of the engineering officer.

McElroy just smiled, a bit smug. “Wait till we arrive at Sector Hub three standard days ahead of schedule, and you will be.”

Nick did a double take. “Did I hear you right? We’re going to beat the record by three days?”

Nervously, McElroy checked to see who might be in earshot before he answered. “Yes, but I probably shouldn’t have told you. Are you in the pool on arrival time?”
 

“No, no, don’t worry, I won’t say a thing. I’m not much of a gambler, so I didn’t get in on the betting.” Nick grinned. “Trust me, the Ship offered. The Ship excels at communicating when it comes to things like the arrival pool.”

McElroy laughed. “Well, those messages don’t go to the crew’s quarters, I’m glad to say. We have peace and quiet off duty, unless the captain needs us. Then the AI finds us quick enough.”

“Count your blessings,” Nick said. “The Ship gets annoying.”

McElroy found the whole subject amusing. “I had no idea the Ship’s advertising was so obtrusive. Would you like me to give the Interface Officer a note on it? This is the AI’s shakedown cruise as well, after all. Still some kinks to be worked out.”

“Maybe it’s just me,” Nick allowed generously. “I’m accustomed to military AI’s, who only talk to you when necessary. Don’t bother about a note – I’m certainly not pretending to be any kind of an expert on how a civilian AI should behave to the passengers. Thanks again for the tour.”

“Feel free to call me if there’s anything else SMT or I can do to make the voyage more pleasant for you. See you later.” Leaving Nick at the door to his cabin on Level Three, McElroy hurried to resume his official duties.

Setting the brandy snifter on the table next to the bed, Nick rubbed his eyes. A bitch of a headache was coming on, probably from staring too long at the damn engines, even with the protective shielding on the observation deck between him and them. “Ship, I need some headclear, and then you can tell me about the shows and the events and whatever, all right?”