home   |   -   |   A-Z   |  


Chapter Twenty-Two

"Do you think well get the break this month?" Scotty Tremaine asked as he used a brightly colored bandana to mop irritably at the sweat trickling down his face. He tried to keep any trace of anxiety out of his voice, but his audience knew him too well to be fooled.

"Now how would I know that, Sir?" Horace Harkness asked in reply, and his tone, while utterly respectful, managed to project so much patience that Tremaine grinned despite himself.

"Sorry, Chief." He shoved the bandana into the hip pocket of his trousersno longer StateSec issue, but produced, like the bandana, by Henri Dessouix, who functioned as Camp Infernos chief tailorand shrugged. "Its just that all the waiting around is getting to me. And when you add things like this to the waiting... Well, lets just say my nerves arent what they used to be."

"Mine either, Sir," the senior chief said absently, then grunted in triumph as the jammed access panel hed been working on sprang open at last. "Light, Sir?" he requested, and Tremaine directed the beam of his hand lamp up into the shuttles number one communications bay.

"Hmmm..." Like Tremaine, Harkness now wore locally produced clothing, and he obviously favored the same garish colors Dessouix did. In fairness, Dessouix was limited in his choice of dyes by what grew within a reasonable distance from Camp Inferno, but he did seem to enjoy mugging peoples optic nerves. So did Harkness, apparently, and he looked more like an HD writers concept of a pirate than a senior chief petty officer of Her Majestys Royal Manticoran Navyespecially with the pulser and bush knife he insisted on carrying everywhere with himas he frowned up into the small, electronics-packed compartment.

Peep installations tended to be bigger than Manticoran ones, largely because they used more plug-in/pull-out components. Peep techs werent up to the sort of in-place maintenance Manticoran technicians routinely performed, so the practice, wherever possible, was to simply yank a malfunctioning component and send it to some central servicing depot where properly trained people could deal with it. Unhappily for the Peoples Navy, that assumed one had a replacement unit handy to plug into its place when you pulled it, and that had been a major reason for the soaring Peep unserviceability rates of the first two or three years of the war. The PN had been structured around short, intensive campaigns with plenty of time to refit between gobbling up each successive bite of someone elses real estate. Their logistics pipeline had been designed to meet those needs, and it simply hadnt been up to hauling the requisite number of replacement components back and forth between the front-line systems and the rear area service and maintenance depots over an extended period of active operations.

That, unfortunately, was one problem they seemed to be getting on top of, Tremaine reflected while he watched Harkness pull out a test kit and begin checking circuits. They were finally getting their logistics establishment up to something approaching Allied standards, and

"Uh-oh." Harkness mutter pulled Tremaine out of his thoughts and he peered up past the burly senior chiefs shoulders. "Looks like weve got us a little problem in the transponder itself, Sir."

"How big a little problem?" Tremaine demanded tersely.

"All I can tell you for certain right this minute is that it aint working, Sir," Harkness replied. "I wont know more till we pull it, but between you and me, it dont look real good. The problems in the encryption module." He tapped the component in question and shrugged. "This heres an almost solid cube of molycircs, and I didnt see no molecular electronics shop aboard either of these two birds."

"Damn," Tremaine said softly. "I dont think Lady Harrington is going to like this."


* * * | Echoes Of Honor | * * *



Loading...