Jeopardy Chap 9

This chapter needs a lot of work, remember: very raw first draft. 

Captain Jackson, Engineers Kym Byrd and Ron Painter, Security Officer Shellie Barone, and Zoe Stone, acting as a yeoman to record their visit and the technology they offered to share, all climbed aboard the Osprey. It seemed odd to have to shuttle to their ship while their transport was attached to Maria Mitchell, but other than space walk along the tether he didn’t know of any other way.

Four Zlōgers had arrived on Maria Mitchell shortly before the team departed. Quixote greeted them with customary diplomacy and a bit of suspicion. Xe felt it was unnatural to be utterly benign, even if Draconians were the definition of the word. The bluish green creatures reminded him of a similar class of reptiles on his own world, something akin to chameleons. Their eyes swiveled independent of each other to get a 360-degree view of their surroundings.

 They handed Quixote a translation device, which Quixote hung around his neck with a lanyard.

“We want see engine, metal machine.”

“I was asked to show you our astrometric lab, first, if you will come this way,” the reptile said as simply as he could for the translator device. Heading the party to Deck Two, Security Chief Bowen kept them from straggling behind. Quixote could hear the single claws of two dozen legs clack-clacking on the deck plating.

“In this room, we map the skies and record all the celestial bodies that we can.” Dr. Gregory, sitting at the console before the giant flat screen, looked up but didn’t speak to the guests. “We’re currently tracking a large asteroid that we expect to impact the fourth planet of this star, Beta Hydri, in the next week.”

“You will record data from explosion?”

“There is a large population on the planet. We will try to avert the space body before it impacts the planet, and then depending on our success, will be going to assist with the after effects as soon as we get you on your way.” The blues waggled their blobby head-bodies.

“We like see metal machine,” the leader of the small group reiterated. Quixote didn’t quite know what he meant by ‘metal machine’. Xe cocked xs head to one side as if that might help, but reading them was harder than reading humans. He probably just didn’t know them well enough. They were not warm blooded; their body temps appeared to his infrared visual receptors as 22 C – the same as the environment inside Maria Mitchell.

“Metal machine?”

“Jackson told to us your ship has a machine that makes things, alloys and polymers.”

“I think they mean the EBM,” Gregory interrupted without looking up from his console.

“Our manufacturing unit! The EBM. It’s an electron beam melting additive production apparatus.” Quixote purposeful language instilled confusion in their eyes, which darted in several directions. “The EBM. Come this way, please.” The party moved on to the starboard side of Deck Two. The clacks resumed, almost drowning out shrills and shrieks and calls as they spoke through their gills.

Quixote had been informed that on Earth, at least, or among humans, speaking so that some in a party were excluded was incredibly rude. Engineering called, but Jackson had asked xe specifically to keep an eye on the Zlōgers. At least the EBM tour would occupy a significant block of time while demonstrating its function. (I'm not sure why this paragraph is here... it may need to be deleted). 

“Hello, Commander,” Mr. Chin greeted when they entered the generous room. His eyes widened when the four aliens followed behind the saurian.

“Good morning. Our guests from the distressed ship, Zlōgers, are interested in seeing a demonstration of our EBM. What are you working on today?”

“The captain asked me to start producing emergency supplies for BH4. Oxygen masks, blankets, canteens; he gave me a long list.”

“For the entire population?”

“I don’t assume so, Commander. More like townships – not personal canteens, but 100-liter barrels, tent filters, not individual masks. Take a look,” the junior engineer offered, leading the party to a bank of large machines all whirring, extruding, rolling the assorted finished items into bins. Quixote turned xs attention to the bulgy, golden eyes fervidly rotating in eight different directions. It was somewhat disturbing, even to Quixote, who had seen dozens of species in his 70 something year life.

“This is where we load the material,” Chin pointed out. This machine we reserve for alloys and recycled metals, copper, titanium, cobalt, nickel, depending on the component we’re making. This machine here and the one next to it we load recycled polymers. Lots of recycled textiles, assorted waste products, plastic, and with these we can make clothing, blankets, EVA suits, dishes, whatever the quartermaster requisitions.”

“The machines, remarkable.”

“Now this one,” Chin indicated with almost personal pride, “is my powder bed fusion unit. Top quality, precision production.” His object of affection was a desktop model, not a room sized floor model. The Zlōgers took additional interest in the small machine.

“This one makes engines?”

“No,” Quixote said. “It makes very fine, precision components such as fuel injectors, micro filters, medical components.” All the eyeballs focused on the machine.

“I have a big quota, Commander, and I’d like to ramp up now. It gets pretty noisy.” Chin nodded toward the Zlōgers.

“I think they can take it,” Quixote told him. Leaving the machine room would mean they’d just spend more time in the engine room.

“Well, see here, uh, fellas,” Chin stammered. “We program what we want it to do. We upload a schematic, or, we can scan the item with this laser, and the machine does the rest.” Before the group the image of one of those 100-liter barrels floated. Chin tapped some icons and the holographic image rotated in several different directions. He started the polymer machine, checked the material feeder, then went on to another project while another water barrel formed before their eyes within minutes. When the machine stopped, a fan kicked on to cool the product, and a half a minute later the barrel rose up on a platform and was tipped off into a big bin with a dozen others.

“If you’d like to see the engine room, just follow me. But I would like to invite you to the mess hall for refreshments, yes?”

“We will like to eat your food,” came the translation.

þ

“There’s just nothing wrong over here, Captain,” Ms. Byrd repeated. “I can’t find a hull breach to save my life. We’ve confirmed polonium residue, there must be something. That purplish one said it’s in this cargo chamber.”

“Let's get him back here and have him point it out specifically. Barone!” Jackson shouted for his security officer. “Find that short, purple Zlōger and have him come back with his equipment.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Stone, come in,” he called using the com button on his cuff. Since their last fiasco with lost buttons, Ms. Byrd had affixed every button with a permaclip to attach to uniforms. It certainly made it much easier to contact someone, and less easy to lose the things. Why anyone hadn’t constructed them that way in the first place he couldn’t fathom.

“Stone here.”

“Status?”

“I’ve downloaded about a gigaquad of information on their ship and propulsion, astrometric charts, their home world, and languages.”

“Isolate their telemetry for the last thirty days and hustle back here on the double. We’re leaving.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Barone returned with the Zlōger that had led them to the breach. He was an incredible shade of indigo, with lavender mottling, as if he were in a shallow lake and the sun reflected surface ripples through the water onto his skin. When Jackson caught himself marveling he shook the image from his head.

“We can’t locate any breach in the hull,” he told the Zlōger.

“Breach small crack at floor.”

“The integrity is intact,” Kym said.

“I show you radiation detector,” he said, and scuttled across to aim a device at what would be the deepest and farthest corner of their ship. His tentacle was surprisingly elastic, molding around the outside of the handheld metallic box like putty. The single claw hooked over the top.

The meter showed some characters, Jackson guessed they were zeros, that changed as the meter got closer to the chosen spot. Kym picked up a Geiger meter and also pushed it into the supposed area of damage. It showed zeros. She looked at the Zlōger expectantly waiting for an explanation. Stone came in and joined them.

“Your equipment not work right,” the alien declared. He blinked his huge eyes.

“Mr. Painter, bring your lasers and repair whatever this guy says is breached.

The humans clustered around Ron Painter as he began to repair what the Zlōger said was there but none of them could see or detect. Jackson sat down on the deck, raised a knee, set his elbow there and propped up his head with his palm. The cargo bay didn’t offer a lot of lighting but he could still make out objects and the dusky silhouettes of his crew and the Zlōger.

“Do you want more help from us?” the Zlōger asked.

“No, we don’t need any help. In fact, we’re all finished here.” Jackson shot Painter a hard look to stop his lasering and wrap it up.

“Please stay,” the purple one said. A turquoise Zlōger stood at the door on its eight tentacles, the shorter two holding each other at the claw. Its finger sized appendages that helped food into its mouth wavered slightly.

Jackson’s heart escalated into his throat. He scrambled for the door, the team following. The purple alien joined the greenish one at the door with amazing speed on their eight long legs. They both stepped into the corridor and the heavy cargo bay doors slammed together.

Jackson smashed his fist against the doors knowing full well it was fruitless. He turned and faced the crew.

“Don’t say it.”