Some assembly required

Blast from the past

Index: Suspended animation | Different times | More pew for your credit | Trust the Plan | The Lennart Manoeuvre | Cloak and Railguns

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Fixing the IMS Revenant was not going to be that huge of a problem, like Captain Lennart originally assumed. It seemed that the ship designer who accepted the colonists’ contract did some planning and directed part of the initial repairs.

Its rotating section was already removed, in its place there was a standard weapon module. The mantlets of two turrets sticking from its dorsal and ventral sides, with four weapon emplacements on its port and starboard. The main plasma drive section was also mostly repaired, refurbished to host not one, but two new engines. Its original four, single railgun cannon turrets, two on its bow and the other, placed on the ship’s stern, they were repaired too.

However, since the Revenant’s internal systems and her main reactor had suffered critical damage, with some components completely slagged, everything had yet to be overhauled. Sadly, after directing all of this, the supremely talented woman had then perished in an accident, when the shuttle she flew in hit a hyperspace debris field. Freaky, even seeing one was a rare occurrence, but colliding with such pieces of destroyed in hyperspace vessels was completely within the realm of possibilities.

Walking beside him was Silvia. The young doctor had assumed the mantle of an adjutant and took excellent care not only of his quickly recovering health, but managed all data-streams, holo-files or star-maps he had recently accumulated. Even now she was trying to establish comm link with a certain spacecraft subsystem and used parts trader.

The colonists here had little to no manufacturing capabilities and apart from some tiny nano-printers in their garages, you couldn’t craft big spaceship systems or replacement components for them. Now that he had already contacted Earth and received more than a dozen links from still living relatives in France, Lennart was no longer concerned about the monetary side of his plan.

“Captain, you have a pending link from the bank, shall I put the lady through?” – Silvia swiped over her PDA, which was now permanently linked to his.

He smiled; both the CN and IN had set up pension funds for all of their MIA personnel. In case like his and after close to fifty years, said fund had swelled up, reaching nearly eighty thousand credits. From what he read in that first, quite informative email, the captain discovered that all military pension funds were exclusively gathered from donations.

One third of the money in each individual fund was then invested in research or manufacturer bonds, small, stable businesses only. The revenue was what paid for the bank’s services and, plus all yearly donations, it gradually increased the size of the fund. Lennart looked at his companion and nodded, still smiling, giving her a sign to set up a connection.

“Greetings from your bank, monsieur Lennart. I am a veteran pension fund representative, Cosette, from Banque Navale, Paris.” – This supremely elegant woman spoke in perfect French, with a thick Parisian accent.

The tall, athletic shape of this dark-haired beauty, with her broad shoulders, powerful thighs and stern, military-like facial expression – it all betrayed the woman’s long years of service in the infantry.

“Pleased to finally speak to you madame, Cosette. How soon do you think I can get full access to my finances?” – Lennart addressed the much older than him lady with a gentle bow and received a polite, formal nod from her in response.

“Kren, the colony you have currently established your residence on monsieur Lennart, it will soon receive a credit shipment from our bank. Don’t worry about its protection Capitaine, we have our own security forces. Moreover, this is a hefty sum and an investment of great size for such a small settlement. To ensure the acquisition of these funds and the stable growth of Kren’s economy, our bank is temporarily placing me under your and the colonists’ employ.” – The woman stated all of this with such calm, professional tone of voice.

Lennart’s eyes widened only after his brain processed that Cosette stated she was now under his command.

“They are sending you here, madame? But why? I am sure that you are a capable financier, no offense, but I am in need of bridge officers. Moreover, a specialist of your caliber... I do not know if I can cover your pay, madame.”

The woman smiled, canted elegantly her head to the side and after waving her hand above some located out of her holo-cam’s frame sensor, answered:

“You don’t have to worry about that, Capitaine Lennart. Everything has already been covered by the bank’s emergency fund and for the foreseeable future nonetheless. Since you shared part of your plan on how most of those credits will be expended, Banque Navale Management picked me in particular. Sir, I have a certain, special set of military skills and even though I am yet to serve on the bridge of a starship, you will find my expert advice in all questions related to infantry operations, space and ground, to your satisfaction. Expect my arrival in three days, monsieur.”

The tall woman’s figure vanished after she severed the link from her side and Lennart raised an eyebrow.

“Silvia, is this... normal?”

“Yes, captain, it is. Banks are now in the business of ensuring that people keep their property, have stable jobs and local economies prosper. They are also one of the largest job procurers/creators in Terran space, with their system of flash payment, localized employer search and optimized insta-work search boards.”

“So there is definitely no return back to the swamp that was usury then. Good, you don’t know how happy I am to hear this!”

“Universe forbid, no! You should know that under colonial common law usury is punishable by death, captain. Last month the sheriff caught some idiot alien criminal, the type which people call a ‘loan shark’ and the scum was shot on the spot. The entire colony network was abuzz with links, everyone shared holo-vids of the execution. We even had an influx of H-loggers, a dozen or so of them trying to get interviews with our sheriff.”

Silvia swiped more files on her PDA, finally locating a clean, secure channel with that spare parts trader and showed him the text message he answered her with.

“Josh The Posh? What... who is this person actually?” – Lennart caught the playful look Silvia gave him and responded in kind:

“Is he some super posh type, like the gentlemen of old, perhaps?” – She chuckled, eyes still locked with his, a large smile forming on her face.

“You will see the Spacer in person and soon, captain. He is certainly old, that scrapper and they call him ‘The Posh’ because he wears a monocle, top hat – even speaks in old British manner. One of the first traders who established permanent contract with our colony. I sincerely hope that his inventory has most of what we need and he could supply what he doesn’t, through his contacts.”

By now the duo reached the Revenant’s bridge and, after a short struggle they squeezed through its inoperable, half-opened doors.

“I have seen a few of the first Spacers, Silvia, but this one you say is old? Can’t wrap my brains around the concept that I come from a time long gone, half a century ago.” – He sighed, one hand stretched out, fingers carefully exploring a large, gaping hole where the captain’s chair head support should’ve been.

The entire bridge showed clear signs of hand to hand combat, yet there were no bodies when that alien salvager discovered it. He swore that was the truth, and the colonists who negotiated with him were unable to discern if the colorful trader lied. For certain the whole ship did look like something terrible had happened to it and the crew. Her empty corridors looked even creepier since there was not one single body or even a drop of blood anywhere.

The mainframe was also completely wiped, and without its black box present, people could only theorize what might have happened. Strangely enough, all of the crew’s spare, backup equipment was still there. The spacesuits appeared brand spanking new, pristine, with not one scratch or dent on them. Within the ship’s living quarters, these suits hanged inside crew emergency decompression lockers.

Data taken from G-net solidified what memories Lennart had of that time – the vessel was indeed loaded with a cargo hold full of relief supplies intended for Sirius Prime. The Revenant had a full crew complement of seventy three, plus one platoon of bulkpounders; well-armed, properly trained and equipped (for the time) space troopers. Silvia even dug up some old recruiting poster, all shiny and inspirational-like, promising bonus pay with benefits, to any military vet who signed up as part of the Revenant’s crew.

Then how were they so soundly beaten? Perhaps it was some mysterious, creepy beyond anyone’s understanding enemy who attacked, captured and then abandoned the vessel in hyperspace. Because according to what they taught him in the Stargazer Yard or Academy Naval, what everyone said and all the data-files he read on G-net, successful boarding and combat operations in hyperspace were oh-so-widespread.

“Silvia, could you please project for me those scan files again?”

She was distracted, reading more text messages, written conversation between her and the old scrapper Josh, but quickly followed up on his request.

A literal wall of holo-text, slides and graphs soon took the area around them. Working in unison both their PDAs projected everything he needed and one after another, Lennart pulled each file near, read it and then closed the bubble. No matter how hard he tried or how many times he checked, all the scans were inconclusive. Weapon energy traces and impacts came out as “unknown particles”, the blades which had obviously cut a deathly swathe through armor, flesh and bulkhead, the scanners labeled “plasma blades.”

Back in his youth nobody knew about the Dzenta’rii, but even with all the information on G-net under his fingertips now, the damage pattern never came close to what those weird hairdo, dueling-obsessed people had. No, the blast holes were not caused by ion weaponry, nor were they some obscure alien disruptor charring.

Whatever it was, that would remain a mystery for now. After thoroughly examining all scan-data, it was clear that no biological remnants were left on board the Revenant, only leftover DNA from when that mumnsian explored the vessel. Lennart sighed and gave his beautiful adjutant a hand sign, part of the new lingo he’d learned since his awakening, to close all holo-tabs.

“What about that weapon trader we contacted earlier? You sounded somewhat hesitant when your fellow colonists recommended him... them... Wait, what did your chief agricultural specialist meant when she said that ‘they are our local, friendly SMC’?”

“This is a space biker club, captain. Some call them sanctioned criminals, but only when they work alongside an agent of I-sec or a star sheriff. The ‘Boomers’ are heavily involved in privateering and gun running; of course they ‘export’ Terran merchandise into nearby Fringe star states... illegally.”

Silvia’s face slightly twisted when she said that, as if even mentioning those “Boomers” caused her some discomfort. As if these bikers could detect when their club’s name was spoken, a link popped up on Silvia’s PDA, indicating that their heavily-armed cargo vessel was nearing the colony.

“Merde! Didn’t expect them to come so soon.” – Exclaimed Lennart, while he and his adjutant exited the bridge and quickly walked outside, using one of the nearby hull breaches.

The vessel was not as long as the Revenant, but it was wide and it was tall. Moreover, the ship had multiple escort craft flying beside it, plus a dozen or so dropships lagging behind. Every ship was painted dark-gold, heavily-armored and each turret, even the small ones fitted with point defense weapons, sported not one but four guns. Roaring through the atmo, that imposing-looking wing of ships approached and then landed, completely taking over the entire colony’s starport area.

Since it was not that far away, they could easily walk over; not after five minutes had passed, the boss of these Boomers stood before Lennart. One head shorter than him, cleanly shaved, with a pair of old glasses and a black beanie, the man looked like an Ops officer who had just left his console to grab a cup of coffee, while the mainframe compiled his code.

Wearing a light, fitted with exoskeleton armored suit, this space biker carried his laser assault rifle maglocked on the back. Holding a rather large, vacfoam wrapped sammich in his left hand, the man offered his right, introducing himself with an almost timid voice:

“Tim Ocean, I’m the boss of all those losers you see behind me. Sorry for not talking in biker speak... too tired right now.”

Lennart shook the man’s hand and with a completely stupefied look on his face said:

“Captain Lennart at your services, monsieur. Pardon, but what is this ‘biker speak’?”

A bunch of biker women strolled out of the closest dropship, looked around and then one shouted, pointing at the nearby colony village:

“Oi, muh’ belly, it needz sum goodun munch!”

The last woman drove a Tesla powered car from inside the dropship’s cargo hold and after hopping inside, megasteel tires screeching, the vehicle sped away.

Tim tiredly pointed at the plum of dust, mumbling:

“This. Now, I assume that this ancient pile of slag over there is your liddle shippy, that same one you intend to strap sum of our best weapons on and fly into combat with?”

Lennart, with even greater confusion and after exchanging one quick look with Silvia, could only nod. Tim waved his free hand in the air, fingers forming an obscene gesture directed at another group of his people who passed by, riding on their quiet bikes.

“What do you need, man? Lasors, railgunz, rokkits, torps, even plannit glassin’ mushroom meikars... Whateva’ it is, we the Boomers haf it all and loads of it!”

Tim projected one long holo-list from his PDA, poking it with his sammich holding hand. Not once did the biker drop a piece of meat on the ground, crumb of bread or droplet of sauce as he did so. Lennart looked at random items and noticed that certain weapon systems had a small crate symbol attached to their quite lower, compared to other similar items, price tag. He pointed this out and the biker cackled before responding:

“Man, whaddya want, cheap prices or ready to use weapons? If ya buy eny of them marked, clearance stuff we deliver it quick, I promise man! Everything neatly packed in cool, clean yellow crates, three days after ya make yer order or we gift another item. Club policy...”

Tim followed Lennart’s confused expression and after chomping one big bite from the sammich followed up:

“It means ‘some assembly required’, man... Ya gotta build it yerself, got it?” – He calmly and slowly chewed his food, swallowed it and then smiled before pointing at one specific set of crate marked items.

“Dude, I see you are slightly confused-like. Lemme make ye an offer!”

The item he poked enlarged and soon some crate holos opened, revealing their elongated fish-like cargo.

“What says you about dis – armored, top quality torps, nuclear tipped... Peaceheads haf not ten, not twenty, but fiddy megatuns!”

“Mais c’est magnifique! You certainly had my curiosity, mon amie, now you have my undivided attention!”

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