Theobald Franklin hit the send button and stared at the screen unblinking for seconds. Then he closed his eyes. It was done. His ship might get just the help she needed. All he had today now was to wait until the Junker Congress people arrived.
He stood up from behind the desk in his lodgings and turned to the big window in the back. It was so unsettling for him to be on a space station, watching the ships speeding by from one trade lane to the other, while not being on his ship himself. Of course he often stayed at space stations like Freeport 1 for some extended time, but never in a situation like this. And he liked planets more. If he had to leave the Reverie to stretch his legs on something different, he wanted soil beneath his boots and a sky over his head, not more bulkheads.
Turning away from the beautiful sight of the Burgess Ice Field outside, he walked over to the desk again. He took up his datapad, put it inside his pocket and walked outside of his rented quarters. His destination was the mooring points where all large ships are anchored. A walkbridge connected them with the main docking hub. There were only a few such points available and the Administrator of Freeport 1 has not been too happy to give one of these to a severely damaged Liner. But it would not be Orbital Spa and Cruise if not a few credits helped here. Normally Franklin would suggest parking Reverie outside and ferrying everything by shuttles. However due to the ships current state, Franklins chief engineer, who has survived, advised against it.
Franklin stopped at the entrance of the walkbridge and looked out of the window next to it. He sighed again as he always does when seeing his beloved ship.
"I know, Theo," a male voice tried to calm him. Theobald turned to Stevan Jester, his chief engineer, who continued: "she looks inside as bad as outside."
"How bad is it? Any luck with restoring energy, or anything?" Theobald asked.
"No, nothing," Stevan said, "Main power is still offline; half of the decks have hull breaches and are uninhabitable. The docking bays are unaccessible, and so on and so on. You know the damage report."
"I know, I know, Stev," Theobald confirmed, "but, there is a bright side. I have word from the Junker Congress, from Commandant Howler. They are on their way here to fix her"
"The Junkers? Are you mad?" Stevan sounded shocked, "first they try to kill us and now you want them to help us?"
"Now slow down, Stev," Theobald interrupted him firmly, "not all Junkers are like that Silver Chariot idiot. Just think of Caitlyn, she is a Junker too. And what did she do, when she heard of what happened?"
"Yeah, you are right, sorry Captain."
"So," Theobald turned to the window again. He crossed his arms in front of him and said: "try to continue as best as you can Stev until the Junkers arrive."
"Will do Theo," he clapped Theobald on the shoulder and mentioned: "you know captain, if anything is true what everybody says about Junkers, then our Lady here will be as good as new, if not better. And this nightmare is then hopefully over." And with these words Stevan walked into the walkbridge towards the Liner.
Theobald sighed and nodded looking at his chief engineers back: "I hope you are right, I really hope so." And he turned around and walked the other way.
"No room for damaged vessels, I'm afraid." Came the bored voice of Freeport 1's dockmaster when Ian Howler requested mooring quarter for his ancient Liner.
"She's not damaged! Is rust forbidden? Or have you never seen a ship this old?" Ian replied indignantly.
"Just let me moor, you have a damaged Liner in your ports, and I'm here for the repair."
With reluctance in their voice, permission was granted by the dockmaster and Ian sat back as the automatic controls did their thing.
Once moored, he disembarked and headed straight for the main docking hub.
He soon found himself staring at the wreckage that had been once been the OS&C Liner "Reverie".
It wasn't hard to find her, being the only ship around that was in such a poor state.
From the outside he could tell that the damage went deep, likely affecting multiple systems.
The smell of burnt components lingered around the pock-marked and hole-riddled vessel.
"How in the hell did they survive?" He muttered to nobody in particular.
He had certainly seen worse and fixed worse, but he couldn't help but want some extra help with this one.
"I'll have to get Rob in on this one." He said to himself, rather louder than he meant to while still looking up and down the injured ship.
A passerby looked at him as if he were crazy, and made a small sound of disgust.
He could swear they mumbled "Crazy Junkers..."
Ignoring this, he again spoke to himself, although much more quietly.
"Hull is basically metallic lace now...power generator and core likely shorted out...major damage to the externals of the engines...
That'll have to be replaced...and...what's this?" He sniffed at the air, catching a familiar smell of pure Oxygen...
"Life support definitely took a hit." He sighed, shaking his head and turning away to gather his thoughts.
"I better give Rob a shout...and then find Franklin."
He tapped out a quick message to Rob on his comm-pad, closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose as he often does when thinking, then turned on his heel and headed off to the bar.
He ducked under the fireball, which expanded right next to him, and held on to the console. The guy next to him was not so lucky, since he was consumed by the expanding heatwave. Right before he could orient himself again the whole ship rocked again and sent him sprawling onto the bridge floor. Alarms wailed all the time, mingling with the screams of wounded and dying people, while the computer voice stated again: “Shields failed – Core breach immanent.” While trying to upright himself he looked to the main screen in front of him. The shots of the chain fired guns of the Fighter racing towards the ship, towards him, brightened the inside of the destroyed command center, shaking his world, consuming him. His ears were filled with the alarms, becoming unbearable loud, dominating everything…
Theobald Franklin sat bolt upright, drenched in sweat. The alarm persisted, but it was only the beep of his communication pad, announcing someone wanted to reach him. Theobald held his head with one hand, while reaching out to the pad with the other. He tried to shake off the lingering aftermath of his nightmare. Not a single night passed without these dreadful dreams and they always left his head foggy for several minutes after waking. He squinted and looked at the pad and then pressed the receive button. Instantly the face of Stevan Jester filled the screen.
"Hey Captain," he laughed, “sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, but you wanted to know when something interesting happened here.”
Franklin grunted and Stevan continued: “I think our Junker friends arrived. At least an old and somewhat mangled looking Liner pulled in a short time ago. Don’t ask me what type this ship is, I never saw anything like it, but I would bet it’s the Junkers.”
Theobald rubbed his eyes and inhaled deeply: “Alright, thanks Stev for the info. I will just get dressed. Where did you say the Junker Ship is docked?”
“Not far away, I think on the other side where we are moored.”
“Okay, I will take a look,” he said and cut the connection.
Twenty minutes later Captain Franklin walked out of his rooms, dressed in his spare OS&C Livery. Now he was glad that he always kept at least one spare set of these clothing stowed away in his Arrow. One could see that he did not get enough sleep the last nights if one would look closely. Otherwise he looked as smart as always. He aimed his steps towards the main docking hub, where his ship is docked and the newly arrived Junker ship in question should be. Stopping in front of one of the large windows he took in the sight of the new Liner. She looked strange, nothing like he was used to. He didn’t know why, but he simply was not able to detect what kind of class this ship was. She made him feel uneasy and he didn’t like this a bit, but still he was unable to look away.
“I need a drink now,” he thought and turned around. The “Dockside Bar” right next to the main hub has become a too good friend to him and so he automatically went there. He was greeted immediately by the friendly barkeeper, a skinny woman but with a winning smile, with a wave of her hand. So he simply ignored everybody else in the room like always, walked straight up to her, sat down and got his drink served.
“Thanks Sandra,” Theobald mumbled, looked up to her and smiled. Sandra, the barkeeper, nodded and left him to his drink, knowing he wanted to be rather alone.
Ian watched the new arrival with interest, taking a sip of Whiskey before turning to him and stating, not asking...
"You're Captain Theobald Franklin." Catching a suspicious glance from the bartender, he continued in as if speaking to an old friend.
"I figured I might have luck finding you here in the bar, given the circumstances...but it looks like you've found me instead."
He momentarily eyed the bartender contemptuously, sipped his Whiskey again, and turned back to Theobald.
Seeing what he assumed was a depressed look on the Captain's face, Ian continued.
"Just got in with my crew. Walked over and saw your ship before coming to the bar.
Gotta say, she looks pretty bad from the outside, can't imagine inside fared any better.
I've called on Rob Ross, as I mentioned I might in our previous communications. He should be useful in getting the old girl up to snuff faster.
He's agreed to bring 17 of his best engineers and technicians, or at least, he sounded like he agreed.
They'd be handling the hull and armor repairs while I handled the engines and the systems, the power core, et cetera.
That is -- if we reach an agreement. Wouldn't want to step on any toes. I imagine your people aren't too keen on having Junkers repair what a Junker broke.
My crew and engineers said I'm stark raving mad when I told them we'd be repairing a vessel that was attacked by a Junker. But then, they think I'm mad anyhow."
He said all this very fast, then let out a noise that was somewhere between a nervous laugh and a cough, before downing the rest of his Whiskey in one.
The bartender glanced suspiciously at him again, but didn't say anything.
Looking thoughtfully down into his now empty glass he plowed on, though not speaking as quickly.
"We can start whenever you'd like, though I imagine you'd like to come to my bridge and have the glass of Whiskey I promised. There, we can discuss things further..."
His voice trailed off and became awkward as he noticed the drink Theobald already had.
Slowly Theobald turned his head to the man stopping next to him. Without saying anything he fixed him as the waterfall of words and information poured forward, showering him. He accepted this without flinching and with the same slightly depressed look he nowadays often has.
When Ian finally stopped talking, Theobald fully turned to him, still sitting and continued to fix him with his eyes. He said nothing at this moment, but reached out to his glass, containing a clear liquid. He brought it up and drained the large mouthful down in one swallow. One could smell the faint trace of vodka. He put the glass carefully down and stood up, at least fully facing Ian. He raised himself and in front of Ian stood now man in a carefully groomed OS&C captains uniform, who showed the slight trace of being a tick too lose, as if the wearer once had a bit more weight and lost it recently.
"Well," Theobald said slowly but firmly. Suddenly a trace of a smile lightens up his eyes, "nice to finally meet you in person Commandant Ian Howler, can't deny I wasn't eager for this time to arrive."
He looked to the barkeeper and made a quick sign which Sandra confirmed with a nod. He turned to Ian: "Your taps on me. Shall we go?" And without waiting for an answer he strode to the door, leaving Ian to follow him. He radiated suddenly authority and everybody could see Theobald is used to be in charge, always.
He quickly moved onward to the main hub, not checking if Ian is following him and stopped in front of the one large window where outside the Junker Liner was visable.
"Before we start anything at all you must help me, because my mind simply does not want to work with it. What type of ship is yours actually?" Theobald asks and he turns around to look at Ian again.
Ian followed Theobald swiftly, not much surprised by his sudden command of authority.
He had expected as much from an OS&C Captain, with his well kept appearance and corporate airs.
Indeed, everything about Ian -- from his long-ish gingery hair,
to his leather bomber jacket, and worn out jeans -- gave no sign of his own authority.
Stopping next to Theobald and glimpsing their faint reflection in the window,
Ian could see that the two of them looked very mismatched.
"First off, thanks for paying for my tab. There were about three glasses of Whiskey on it." he began, gazing out at his vessel.
"Most people call them Pilgrim Liners, but I suppose a common name isn't much to go on."
He allowed himself a chuckle, and continued with the air of an excited child.
"The hull is about 600 years old, give or take. As are some of the internal systems. As early as the later part of the fourth century A.S. they were still pretty common.
Very tough vessels, though they offered little in the way of comforts back then. Most of them still aren't very pretty inside, if I'm honest. Although the outside gives it away.
All that surface rust... " He laughed, turning to Theobald.
"But yeah, they fell out of use as trade lanes and such started being built. Most of them drifted for a couple centuries
before folks like us Junkers found them.
This one here was drifting in Puerto Rico when we found her...almost flawless.
We flew her back to our shipyard under her own power. Retrofitted the interior to modern standards, updated her systems...all of that stuff.
You'll find that this particular one is quite luxurious inside."
He trailed off, suddenly looking embarrassed.
"I wish I could say for sure what your vessel is without having to ask, but..."
His voice softened.
"Well, she is rather mangled...but we'll have her good as new soon enough."
He gave Theobald a pained look. Anyone could tell that he felt Theobald's pain too.
"I'll hold you to your word, if I sign the contract," said Theobald. He looked at the Commandant and smiled, openly. Something changed in the appearance of the Captain. He seemed suddenly a bit younger and there was a new spark in his eyes.
"I have heared of these Pilgrim Liners. Some guests of ours specifically ask for them. They want a "real" adventure," he shaked his head in disbelief, "as if the real world isn't "real" enough. But we don't offer them as far as I know. If I am correct they aren't allowed for passengers in all houses at the moment." He breathed deeply and turned to Ian.
"Well, may I ask for the grand tour of your ...rust bucket?" he chuckled. His words were clearly ment as a freindly joke. He continued: "because I am not able to do the same of mine at the moment. And afterwards we can go over the details." He looked to Ian expectantly, smiling. It was time to leave what has happened behind and work on the future.
While looking at the Pilgrim Liner something had fallen in its right place inside his mind. He had forced himself to look beyond everything; beyond the rust, beyond the surface and the picture; beyond the grey fog he has had over his mind. The enthusiastic voice of Ian had wiped away this fog and had reminded Theobald of his own enthusiasm and joy he normally had. And he found himself grasping like a sinking man to it, pulling himself up and rising anew. Theobalds ship will rise again and he, her captain, will do everything in his power to make this happen.
Steeled by this thoughts, happening within seconds, he looked to Ian Howler and smiled.
Ian returned Theobald's smile, and beckoned for him to follow.
"You won't be disappointed...I hope." He said, leading the way through the corridors back to his mooring point.
When they had arrived at the air lock style doors that lead off of Freeport 1 and onto Ian's ship,
a man dressed very similar to Ian was exiting through them.
"Everything is in order, sir." He said with the air of a soldier.
"Thank you, Tom." Ian replied,
"Inform the crew they may have leisure until such time that work on the 'Reverie' begins."
Without a word, Tom turned back and did as told, disappearing from sight into the ship.
Ian said, without turning to Theobald, "Keep up."
and lead them both inside.
One couldn't help but notice how highly-polished everything was.
Yet, the steel surfaces everywhere, and the cold lighting combined to give a sense of rigid militaristic standards.
Ian didn't speak for a while as he lead Theobald through many corridors,
up many flights of stairs, all while making many turns here and there.
It was obvious he knew exactly where to go.
Finally, after what seemed like ten minutes, he spoke sounding somewhat amused.
"Can't tell you how many new guys get completely lost in their first week.
It's meant to be confusing, see, due to my job. Here, we've arrived."
He said, indicating a flight of stairs much wider and grander than the last many were.
At the top of the stairs, they reached a very reinforced-looking door. Ian entered a many-digit passcode and the door slid open,
revealing a high-tech bridge.
The large windows all around gave a wide view of Omega-3.
Everything looked extra comfortable, and the crewmen working here and there looked very happy with their jobs.
Ian indicated the chintz Captain's seat, flanked by two similar seats.
"Come sit, we have much to discuss." He said, pressing a few buttons to reveal a drop-down liquor cabinet.
"Whiskey, as promised? Or would you prefer something else?"
He was smiling kindly at Theobald, and pouring himself a glass of a very dark Whiskey.
Although Theobald tried hard to keep track of the many turns, it was a futile endeavor. After the fifth flight of stairs and the twelfth turn he gave up. He was normally used to being able to find himself around in a large ship, but here he would need a guide to find his way back.
When they entered the bridge he gave an audible whistle. He was impressed. The outside would never suggest a command center of this type. He was amazed and took in the sight. Only when Ian asked him, did he turn to face him again. Theobald's eyes sparkled like a child in front of a christmas tree.
"That whiskey would be fine," he said, "I do prefer vodka, but I like to taste nearly everything to build my opinion."
He paused and after a second he said: "Don't judge a book by its cover; never was this quote more appropriate than with this vessel. Nobody would expect such an inside with this outside. I compliment you." He reached in his left pocket, handed Ian a datapad and sat down left to the captain's chair.
"Here, this is the latest report of Stevan Jester, my chief engineer. It took him two full days to compile a more or less full list of the damage to the Reverie. I know its awfully long. He tried to be very detailed with everything. And I don't speak of destroyed furniture and decorations here. The most important points are things like the nearly non existing hull, the damaged computer, destroyed shield generators and so on. Stevan nearly fainted when he saw the main core and the engines. We nearly had a core breach, that means the power core will probably need to be replaced. And, how did Stev say? Ah yes:" he coughed, droped his voice and imitated his chief engineer: "Cap, the engine is beyond hope, completely ripped apart, you better find a new one or you can go out there and push." He stopped and gave Ian time to look over the info. He didn't want to poor everything over him at once, since he also wanted to enjoy the drink and the time with the Commandant.
Ian thanked Theobald and took the datapad, handing him a glass of top shelf Whiskey in exchange.
His brow furrowed as he quickly read through the report three times.
He then set the datapad down and let out a long low huff, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did so.
"Well, this report is very bad. Nothing a Junker can't fix...but...
Most things certainly will need replacing, namely most of the hull, the engines, and the core.
But I also think we can salvage a lot. It seems like the defensive systems are still operational."
He smiled at Theobald, sipped his Whiskey, and continued on.
"The part that worries me, though, is this notation Stevan left about the life support."
He leaned in toward Theobald, and pointed out the notation which said;
'Oxygen and Ozone leaks on multiple decks...very flammable.
Must find way to stop leaking before any major work done.
Life support shutdown sequence refused, computer has no control.'
"Better just replace the whole system." He said, picking up the datapad again.
"So much damage. Is anything but defense still online? No, doesn't seem to be...
Life support is online...if you can count spewing gases everywhere, that is."
He now seemed to be talking more to himself than to Theobald, as he poured over the report again, and again.
Finally, he looked up, fixing Theobald with a look of pity.
"Afraid you'll have to forget about salvaging any data, at any rate. If Stevan is right, and I imagine he is, your computers are completely cooked.
Dead. Kaputt.
But...yes, the 'Reverie' will fly again. Sooner than you think."
His expression changed to a smile, and he poured himself another drink.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" He asked as a change of subject, indicating the view through the bridge windows.
"It's scenery like that which got me flying in the first place."