Galaxy's End: Book One LeRoy Clary (dark books to read TXT) 📖

and electrical panels. Despite the age of the ship, the engine room was clean, the tools meticulously stored on racks mounted on walls for ease of identification, and overall, it was probably in better condition than all but the newest or military vessels.

Captain Stone paused in front of a paunchy old man in tattered overalls who was bending over a worktable and the assorted parts of a machine spread out for repair. He hadn’t heard them over the din. She eyed him carefully as he reached back and scratched his butt with his left hand where a stubby tail appeared. A light brown fuzz covered his face, head, arms, and probably the rest of him. Cute little tufts of fur rose at the tips of his ears. She placed her hands on her hips and asked, “Is this space yours? You’re the chief engineer?”

“McL, at your service, Captain,” he said as he turned. “But you can call me McL.”

She smiled at his little joke. “This engine room is a pleasure to observe, sir. I have been on many ships and have seldom found one that can compare. You would be welcome on my ship if you’re thinking of a change. For now, will you point to the hatch for the cargo bay?”

He beamed with pride and jammed a greasy thumb over his shoulder to an airtight door.

She paused. “Air?”

He shrugged. “You’re the captain until we arrive, so if you want the hold filled with expensive air, the company can pay the cost.”

“Fill it, please.” Working in suits was restrictive and dangerous. Besides, when doing physical work, she tended to try wiping sweat off her brow while wearing the helmet and made herself look silly.

He raised his arm and spoke to his sleeve to the com wrapped around his wrist. Captain Stone moved around the room taking in the machinery. While she was not a mechanic, she recognized good work. The screw heads were like new, few burred, and some probably were new. It was a tip her father had pointed out when selecting a good engineer. A sloppy set of burred screws showed a poorly maintained space.

Her eyes went to the air filters where a fluttering red paper tag drew her attention. They were overdue to be changed. The red tag was the chief engineer’s way of telling his crew what hadn’t met his expectations. The schedule for changing filters had exceeded the published timeframe and he was drawing their attention to that and she suspected there may be a few shouted words. When she returned to the engine room, she’d wager the red tag would be gone, the filters changed, and in the future, they would be changed on time per schedule. Yes, she would try to steal him for her ship.

A roar of compressed air passed through exposed ducts near their heads as McL filled the cargo bay with atmosphere. She glanced at Bill from the corner of her eyes and wandered near the chief engineer again. She said in a friendly tone, “You never get ahead with maintenance, do you?”

He kept his eyes on a monitor and answered, “Getting ahead isn’t my problem. It’s getting behind that’ll get you killed.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

He chuckled and said, “Besides the offer of a job?”

“I have a dolt on my crew who wants to be an engineer, hopefully, to be like you one day. Would you like some free unskilled labor to assist?”

“Him?”

“How’d you know? And yes, it is him. Bill.”

“His eyes are taking it all in. I saw him looking up at the ceiling and following the freshwater system from the recyclers to the tanks. He’s got a good eye.”

She nodded in satisfaction but didn’t want to mislead the engineer. “He has no experience, from books or hands-on.”

The pitch of the air being sent to the cargo bay decreased. The monitor said it was almost full. The engineer faced her. “That sort of kid probably tore things apart and reassembled them. He knows more than you think. I’d love to have an extra hand.”

“You got it.” She enjoyed the beaming smile Bill wore.

The engineer said, “Cargo bay is almost pressurized. Not my business, but you know you can’t legally open the cargo cans in there, right?”

The “cans” were the shipping containers, one of five standard sizes, so they fit together in such a way that they took up the least space, no matter who owned them. Captain Stone said, “There is a reason why your communication Champers and captain were murdered. I cannot believe anyone on this ship is important enough for them to be the root cause. The ship, as well maintained as it is, is old and not worth a lot, so it isn’t the reason either.”

He glanced at the hatch.

She continued, “Yes. Whatever cost two of your crewmates their lives and had three other ships trying to capture us near Roma, is inside the cargo bay. If I have to open every can in there and rip apart the contents to find what it is, I’ll do it.”

They faced each other, both wearing stern expressions. He finally pointed to the wall where tools were hanging. “Got a mini-torch that should cut any lock you find. Cut open anything in there, including hull-plate if they’re trying to hide it. Careful the slag doesn’t set fire to my ship.”

“Maybe you want Bill to carry a fire extinguisher.”

“That is a good idea. I’ll also close the hatch and set the fire suppressant system on edge. Careful, it’ll suck all the oxygen out of there in about a dozen seconds.”

She accepted his words as truth. He would protect his ship above all else. She also knew that when she forcibly opened the cans, she would be violating galactic law. A huge fine was the least a court would require of