Listening to Dagon's message, Julie felt both exicted and afraid. The repair has been quite difficult and if it was not for Meallan's ingeniuity, the Warspite would still be dead afloat in the Ice Field. But, the worst is just coming. With greasy and bruised hands from all the work she has completed in the past few days, she picks up her PDA and and turns on speaker.
"Julie Blake speaking. The moment we've all been waiting has come... She is ready for departure. You have 16 hours for final preparations. Fligh crew, report to your stations. Forward recon wing, you are to launch in 2 hours and proceed to scout the area. Support crew, follow the instructions you have received on your PDAs and load the ship with all necessary supplies and equipment. That is all for now."
Switching the channel to direct messages, she picks Meallan in her contacts list.
"We'll soon be ready. Get some rest... You'll need it. "
The sound of metal being cut filled the yard and manufacturing plant. 26 men and women, working overtime, machines delivering all the power they could. Meallan was in the middle, using a robotic assisted plasma torch to cut one of the new ablative armor plating hulls to the proper size. Dirty, soot and oil all over his body and clothes, one could either think he was gritting his teeth or smiling at the sparks emerging in front of him. Finally ending the cut, he pushed the robotic arm aside and started his visual and manual inspection of the hull plate. His hand ran through the edge, feeling every groove, every little detail. Lying on the ground under it, he did one last once over on the other side of the hull plate, as a pair of legs, clad in loose khaki pants, with a set of tools strapped onto.
Meallan sighed, for he already knew who that was. Jenko Mullins. His loaned right hand man. Professional to a fault, as any former legionnaire worth its salt, but the man was not a thinker. A do'er if anything. Him being there only meant his team stumbled onto something they didn't understood or didn't wanted to.
"What now, Mullins?"
He asked with his Bretonian accent, while sliding from under the hull plate, and not even bothering to look as he got up. Before the man, a bear in human form with the tattoo of the Warhammer Task-Force in his shoulder, could speak, Meallan pulled the remote to deliver the hull plate to the temporary storage compartment. The compartments were then closed when full and shipped outside to the yard, where the robotic arms that covered every angle of it would pick the parts, one by one and place them where they belong. Meallan face-palmed when the Junkers said they didn't had liquid H3 laser arms. The final attachment was to be done by hand, in zero-g.
"The main junkrat needs to speak with you. Something about a package."
Meallan looked at Mullins with a grin in his face. He slapped the man shoulder happily and dropped the remote onto the table.
"Finally, it's here. Remember those Neodymiun couplers I spoke a week ago? With this, we can finally finish the combustion chambers."
Mullins eyes opened in surprise and grinned back. It was almost time to call Blake.
"Aleluia. Do you need me for them?"
Meallan nodded negatively and started his walk while wiping away his hands with a dirty rag, before hanging it back in his back pocket.
"No need. Just finish the outer plating of the nacelles. Make sure the automatic servos fit and are green on all commands."
Mullins nodded, and headed back to his team. The sparks were flying everywhere. The sweat kept dropping to the floor. The machines continued to turn.
Controlling the robotic servo arms inside of a cobalt-niobium combustion chamber was a very precise work. The last of the Neodymiun couplers was being attached to the superconductor ports, and Meallan didn't trust anyone in his team to do it right. Mullins was at the entrance of the chamber in his gravsuit, arms locked, watching Meallan work. Tedious, inch by inch movement, making sure the coupler alignment was pristine upon contact. With a satisfying click, the robotic arm detached from the now in position coupler and Meallan breathed in relief. Throwing the remote at Mullins, that caught it without effort, Meallan noticed Mullins looking at the combustion chamber with a quizzical look.
"Something wrong?"
Meallan asked as he closed the coupler and started to prepare to enter his gravsuit, making sure the battery was full beforehand.
"The PT-HN's aren't like this. We use the standard HTA's. And we sure don't use this hexagonal configuration."
His grin as he finished putting the suit on, and locking it into position, obviously told Mullins that this lead engineer, 'Bob', knew more than he was letting on. Mullins sighed and started to pack the robotic arm. With a tap, Meallan pointed at the ceiling of the combustion chamber, where two very small groups of shunts were.
"That's one reason. You can switch fuel sources, for security and operational reasons."
Mullins looked up and squinted his eyes to see properly the shunts. Meallan turned off the gravity field in the combustion chamber and suddenly they were weightless. The gravsuit kicked in when it detected gravity was null and made sure that their feet stayed connected to the floor.
"Standard HTA's are very good for this, but I can't vouch for the quality of every little square of those, also, they don't like different fuels. So no, I make my own alloys. The material and hexagonal cut increases the output by a 2.5, 2.7% margin, with the added bonus that the security system can properly ionize them if need be."
Mullins nodded, finally understanding why. The Judicator was considered one very secure ship by a multitude of reasons and this just another one. The two men then spent the remaining minutes packing the robotic arm, and finally turning the gravity on again.
"So, last one done. What now?"
"Call Mr.Blake. I need his eyes here doing the once-over to continue."
Code flaunted on his screen. Chewing on a pencil, his hand typed as fast as they could and Meallan would occasionally jot down some scribbles on a paper notepad, of all things, since his workshop in Vieques was sparse in support systems like holographic displays and dedicated PDA's. While the Gaians managed to provide him with a series of command and control program suites that would administer the mind-boggling number of systems inside a space-ship, his mouth twisted slightly when he heard the origin of them. Mostly Unioner in origin, from a Hel, alongside some choice developments from the Gaians. Since then, as his small team worked on finishing the already designed and produced weapon mount systems, he spent his hours adapting the software and combing it for mishaps and security holes. His comm beeped and he, mindlessly and without looking, activated it.
"What?"
His question was short and rough, not only due to his time surrounded by junkrats, as he called the junkers, but also because he just found another error in the main navigation software. Mullins voice, serious as usual, replied.
"Mounts are done. 100% green across the board."
Sighing and closing the debugger, he silently wrote the piece of code that was problematic. After some silent seconds, he closed the notepad and got up.
"Tell Walker to start unpacking the turrets. We're going EVA to apply the mounts."
"Copy that."
The comm went silent and Meallan stretched himself. There was still work to be done, but this was the final stretch. With the mounts applied and the weapon system on-line, all that Meallan would need to do was to install the software he has been reviewing and it would be finally battle worthy. Looking at the window, the Warspite shone against the dim lights of the yard.
"We're almost done, girl. We're almost done."
Turning to the door, he killed the lights and only that promise held in the air alone.
This was one of Meallan's favorite moments every time he worked on a ship. The cold start, the point when the ship is completed and will turn on the main reactor and then all of its systems, ready to travel through space once again. Entering the input command, the holo-display came to life, displaying the main read-out of the power-core, as its energy flooded and brought the ship alive, back from hell. The hum of the Warspite breathing again filled the command room, the yellow hued light shone through out the ship, signaling it was under start operations. He whispered as the green lights filled the system board.
"Welcome back, girl."
Behind him, five men from Atacama turned around from Meallan and started watching their consoles for data.
"Engines... OK."
Jenko Mullins started to report. After him, energetic voices kept giving the OK on their respective systems. After it, Meallan turned around in his chair and grinned, speaking with a Bretonian accent.
"Mullins, lock her up and signal Vieques were taking her for a short spin. Risner, tell the boys and girls to get to battle-stations. We'll shoot some rocks to see how the tracking computer is doing. And send a comm back to Atacama that we're done."
Risner, a man with a full head of red hair smiled with confidence, replied while opening a ship-wide comm.
"Aye aye."
Three minutes later, the engines roared to life and the Warspite started to clear its berth. Meallan, grinned like a school boy as he watched the feed from Vieques external cameras. Less than a minute later, it was free and clear.
"We're out of the yard. Where to?"
Risner asked. Meallan froze for a second, thinking. With a single thought in his mind, he sat in the captain's chair and buckled up. Pulling up the command and control HUD, he didn't even looked back, afraid that Risner and the rest could see his devilish smile. Almost a whisper, he said.
"Let her rip."
The cruise engines flared up and the power they exerted was felt through out the ship. Plasma was shot out, pushing the ship to tremendous speeds, delivering a cold shiver down everyone's spine as exhilaration filled their minds.
The final leg, back to Atacama was running smoothly. The Cohort, in order for the Warspite to pass unscathed and unseen, executed some diversionary operations throughout its route. Meallan kept his watch on all systems, and ran some diagnostics to pass the time. An IFF challenge beeped the Warspite from Atacama as it approached and Risner quickly replied by typing a few commands. Meallan changed his display to show the forward feed from Atacama, seeing the Warspite arriving.
"And you're home, girl."
He closed the display and turned the captain chair around to face the crew in the command room.
"Risner, start with the mooring procedure. Mullins, tell the folks you're home, and prepare the C&C debrief for the bosses."
Two aye ayes were the reply. and the Warspite started its approach to dock.
Two hours later and the debrief session was over. The new captain and its command crew received all the important data regarding the status of the Warspite and officially removed command from the Warspite Project. Meallan however looked around and saw none of the Blake siblings there. The Atacama XO however, an old man named Oliver Jackson, greeted him.
"They aren't here. They were called back to Bretonia due to the whole mess with Edinburgh and the Gauls."
Meallan sighed, learning the news. Jackson extended his arm, inviting Meallan to the access corridor. As they started to walk, he pulled a data-disk from his pocket and gave it to Meallan that only looked at it before putting it in his pocket.
"Blake however told me to give you this and prep your ship for departure to Skye."
"Ah nice. Just what I needed to know."
Not long after, they were both in the main bay of Atacama, that was bustling with activity with a wing arriving from patrol. Two men arrived with his duffel bags and cargo that were promptly loaded into his Sunburst. With a fast shake of hands, Jackson only said.
"Thanks for the help getting the Judicator back into shape. It will come a long way for us."
"She, Jackson. It's a she."
Meallan replied with a smirk before heading into the Sunburst. Five minutes later, and all procedures done to get out of Atacama, the Sunburst engaged its cloaking device and sped towards the Magellan jump-hole. Turning on the auto-pilot, Meallan grabbed the disk and ran some security diagnostics onto it. Happy that it was ok, he accessed the files. Some files about how the Gaians managed to put the HN and PTE parts together to make the PT-HN D's a reality and a video from Blake. Not what he asked, but getting the 'Spite back up was more than enough in his mind. The video came to life and Blake's face showed up.
"Dagon. I was hoping to talk with you face to face, but current events forced my hand otherwise."
"No shit."
Meallan replied to the video.
"By now, you already checked the files and they aren't what you asked. Sorry, but I can't deliver what you wanted and keep my conscience clean. But at least I can show you the way. In these files, you'll find what path the Gaian engineers took when they started to combine both engine technologies, and I am certain a guy like you can figure out the rest. Hope that's enough for you."
Meallan pulled the data files onto a secondary display. He grumbled somewhat and turned to the video again.
"And if no one has said it yet, I will. Thank you. You gave the Cohort a fighting chance now."
The video shut down, and Meallan sighed, turning back to the piloting console. Looking at the engine read-out, he simply turned the auto-pilot off, and disengaged the fly-by-wire protocols. With a casual flip on an unidentified handle, the engines surged with even more energy, increasing the speed that the Sunburst was cutting through Vespucci.
"No need for you to live twenty years. You can live for a month."
He turned the handle left, and the engines burned even brighter.
"Now, time to up the ante. Bretonia, here I come."