The Heimdall Chronicles

 

By

Jeffrey A. Schultz

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

 

              Some folk think being a long hauler is easy work. Days, sometimes weeks alone in space with nothing but a few minor repairs and a well worn book to keep you occupied. Ya get to see every world in the federation and get paid for it. Maybe a couple hours of actual hard labor when it comes time to load and unload the hold, and for the most part they are right. As the ship’s engineer I have it a little harder, especially on this boat. Her captain likes old things, not much for change, and I couldn’t be happier. I know every nut, bolt, and spring that keeps her engines humming.

              While this routine of flying from world to world and space stations is generally pretty quiet, we do run into the occasional pirate. The Feds pretty much leave us alone, at least when we remember to renew our papers, and the pirates are pretty much wiped out (though I doubt we’ll ever see the last of them).

              I am Chief Engineer in charge of ship’s maintenance and moral Barry, or as the captain calls me grease monkey. I grew up around Earth, in the ship yards fixing boats much like the one I have the pleasure of manning now. I had a pretty simple life, I got to see all of the ships that folk would bring in for servicing. Always good with a tool even from a young age when I took apart my father’s tugboat just to see how it worked. I’ve seen every model ship there is. Large luxury vessels that if I saved for a hundred years I couldn’t afford the tax on, Federal war machines with their drab dark green exterior, and all manner of commercial hauler. But, there was always one that always caught my eye. The Heimdall, a Class 3 Humpback Long Hauler. A classic. I saw her my first day in the yard and instantly knew I wanted to work on her. Classically, she’s not all that much to look at. But I’ve found it’s not what outside that counts. The Humpback was the first ship to make it to the outer rim in less time it took most ships of the day to reach Jupiter. We aren’t talking light speed, those ships were abandoned after experiments ended in some pretty tragic explosions. It’s the reason Earth now has a ring after half the Moon was destroyed, forever changing the landscape of Earth.

              The captain of the Heimdall is Stewart Stevenson. A hard old man who runs a quick and efficient boat. An old military man, he was a pilot in the war for the federation of planets. That’s pretty much all I know of him. He doesn’t like to talk about his past. I do know he was involved in the battle of Mars, he fought for independence, and just the mention of that time will draw a look from him that would curdle milk. He took me on after months of working on his ship, many times when she should have been scuttled and sold for scrap. I brought this old girl back from the dead so many times that the captain decided it would be better to have me on full time. I also think it was cheaper for him too. It’s not easy being an independent contractor in Federated Space, but at least you have the protection that being inside the rim provides.

              Then there is the ship’s cook. Alphonse. Why the captain thinks an android is the best choice for the job of cook is something of a mystery. Alphonse is like the butler from Old Earth comic books, always standing there with a slight smirk and some droll comment that makes you wonder what the personality programmer was drinking when he wrote the android’s base code. I learned pretty quickly that on nights where the menu says “Surprise” I just grab a pot of caff and some bread and head back to my bunk or the engine room. You’d think being programmed with ten-thousand recipes from some of the Fed’s best chefs, Alphonse could follow simple directions. But just like the ship, Alphonse is old and been hit on the head too many times, so he gets ingredients confused every once in a while. And when you mix up the recipes for Lasagna and Blue Berry Pancakes, the smell doesn’t leave the kitchen for at least a week.

              And that’s us. Pretty normal for the crew of a shipping vessel. We make runs pretty regularly from the inner planets out to the rim and back. Mostly from folks who’d rather not spend their hard earned money by giving it back to the Federation along with the tax, they’d rather keep it local. Nothing illegal mind you, well at least not too illegal. Black market medicines and food stuff that some on the rim can’t get as regularly as they’d like. Interplanetary Federation isn’t all that equal. The inner planets get most of the benefits, but outside Jupiter, the trade lines start to dwindle. That is until you start causing trouble, then those drab green military vessels start calling.

              So we do what we can to help out. We keep our noses as clean as we can, take on the occasional Fed job to help bay the bills, and we keep flying. Because at the end of the day that is all that really matters. So it came as a pretty big surprise when our routine was interrupted by that distress signal.

*~*

              We had just finished up a week long run back from the rim, and are pulling into a refueling station off of Jupiter’s moon Io.

              “This is The Heimdall requesting clearance for docking and refueling, over.” Captain Stevenson said while steering the ship into dock.

              “Confirmed Heimdall, you are cleared for docking in bay four-alpha. Are you dropping off or picking up?” The voice of the docking tower asked over the ships com.

              “Neither tower. Just a quick refueling then back into the inner system to wait for more customers.” Stevenson replied.

              “Affirmative. So does that mean I get that drink you owe me at Sheila’s this time round?”

              “Oh you’ll get that drink and plenty more Carl, the kid is buying.” The captain said with a look of pure joy on his wrinkled face.

              Before I could even start to reply, the station dock master Carl cut me off, “Oh ho! What did the young lad do this time? He didn’t leave a loading hatch open in one of the containers did he?”

              “That was one time. And it wasn’t that big of a deal. They had to cook those vegetables anyway.” I quickly cut in before the captain could have even more fun at my expense, “No, I lost at cards against Alphonse, again.”

              “Should never gamble against synthetics kid, you’ll lose every time.” I could hear other station crew laughing in the background.

              “How was I supposed to know that Alphonse with his patchwork memory could count cards that well. He can’t even boil noodles correctly half the time.” That just sent the captain and Carl into even bigger fits of laughter.

              “Kid, Alphonse was a dealer on one of those luxury cruise liners before coming to cook for us.” Now the captain tells me. No wonder he took that bet so quickly. “We’ll be at Sheila’s around 7:30. Barry’s buying and you can catch us up on the latest football scores.”

              “Roger that.” Carl said. “Hard seal confirmed. Welcome back to Io station Heimdall, enjoy the weather.”

              “Thanks tower, Heimdall out.” Stevenson said.

              “Why does he end all his transmissions like that?” I asked Stevenson as we finished shutting down the boat and prepping it for refueling.

              “The weather thing? Carl used to man the tower back on Earth. Back when you could land most ships on the ground. It’s just part of his routine kid. It’s hard to break us old folks of our routines.”

              “Don’t I know it.” I said as I flipped that last couple switches opening up the fuel tanks to begin their fueling. “Timer says about eight hours until refuel is complete.”

              “Their pumps must be running slow.” Stevenson said. “More time for you to pay off your debt.”

              “Joy. I’ll send off a message back to home that we’ll be ready for a pick up as soon as we’re back in system.” I said walking over to the coms array.

              “Tell ’em to expect us in two days. I want to take it slow back into the central system. Not in a big rush to take this Fed job.” Stevenson said. I could see the lines on his face get darker as the thought of having to take this next Federation job worked on his demeanor.

              “Not a problem boss.” I said. “Give me a bit of time to freshen up the engines. I noticed a bit of a rattle coming from the port side. It’s probably nothing, just don’t want something to creep up on us in between ports.”

              “Don’t take too long. I’ve been craving one of Sheila’s steak baskets since the turnaround.”

              “I’ll try not to take offense to my cooking captain.” Alphonse said coming out of the galley. “I like to think my cuisine is on par with this backwater truck stop.”

              “You keep thinking that Alphonse.” I yelled from the bridge. “I’ll take this greasy spoon over your Tuesday Mint Ravioli Surprise any day!”

              “Hurm. No class.” Alphonse said “I’ve prepared a list of food items that we are running low on captain. Perhaps you could pick some up after your night of debauchery with the fellas?”

              “Sure Alphonse. Just give Barry the list when he heads out. We’ll pick it up after Sheila’s.”

              “Very good sir.” Like I said, butler from old comic books.

*~*

                   The inside of Sheila’s is modeled after some famous bar back on Earth. A large four sided wood bar with stools lining all four sides. Tables are spread out around the floor, with a few booths tucked in the back to give a modicum of privacy. In a back room they have a grill where some consider the food of the gods is made. Two very distinct smells hit you upon walking into Sheila’s, the delectable smells of grilling meat, and the less favorable stale beer. Gallons of Sheila’s micro-brews are poured nightly, and not all of it makes it into the mouths of the patrons, especially when there is a game on one of the half dozen vid screens.

 

        “Barkeep! ’Nother round of beer here!” The Captain had only been here for half an hour before I caught up with him, but it looked like he and Carl had been at it since the night before.

         I noted the plethora of hand blown beer steins littering the table, “You’re going to drink me broke tonight aren’t you.”

 

        “And under the table. Besides kid, it’s just money. Can’t take it with you when you die.” Carl slurred after taking a pull from his mug.

 

        “Yeah, but I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.”

 

        “Here you go boys.” The waitress brought a tray of fresh drinks to the table.

 

        “Thanks cutie” The Captain said, ever the picture of suave.

 

        I sat across the table from the Captain and took a long drink from my glass, “So, as I was saying about the over drive...”

 

        “No, no... No business right now. Tell me in the mornin’ before we set out. It isn’t that often home gives us time off. I plan on taking full advantage of it. So just relax a little kid.” He was right of course. We have strict rules about office talk while off duty.

 

        From across the bar another patron notices the captain, walks over and plops down in the seat next to me and yells quite obnoxiously, “Stevenson! You Liou coe shway duh biao-tze huh hoe-tze duh bun ur-tze! Still trying to fly your own ship I see.”

 

        “Tzao gao. Great another one to buy drinks for.” This night is just getting better and better.

 

        “And you’re still working for The Feds I see, Jonas Quinn” The captain says through clenched teeth.

        Jonas Quinn is a giant of a man. Standing almost seven feet tall and weighing about as much as an industrial refrigeration unit, and built like one as well, Jonas used to play for the Earth Football League team The Texans. Except during his rookie year he was caught doping. He tried to blame it on his trainer, but after several months of congressional hearings where dozens of players testified before open court, Jonas left the sport citing “personal difference” between himself and the league.

 

        “Constant wages, reliable equipment, competent help, why wouldn’t I work for them?” Jonas’s deep baritone could carry across a planet.

 

        “Still, it’s nothing like the satisfaction of owning my own rig.”

 

        ”Holding onto that independent train of thought could get you into trouble you know.”

 

        “The war has been over for 10 years.” The lines on the captain’s face were beginning to get darker and deeper.

 

        “Still. It doesn’t make your crushing loss any easier though does it.” Jonas was pushing all the right buttons, and the captain wasn’t taking it very well.

 

        The captain stood chair falling back behind him, “Look! Just because I own my own rig, work for who I want, and don’t conform to corporate standards....”

 

        Jonas leaned back raising his hands, “Hey hey. Don’t get your panties in a bind. I’m only making a point.”

 

        “Just don’t criticize my way of life, because I have better business sense than you.” The captain said as he righted his chair and sat back down.

 

        “Don’t you think you should at least upgrade to one of the larger M-class freighters? You’d be able to haul more cargo than the smaller E-class planet jumpers.” Jonas said in a more conversational tone.

 

        “I’ve got her set up just like I like it. Besides she’s a more versatile rig.” The captain eyed Jonas angrily again.

 

        “A rig that should have been dismantled about a decade ago. What a piece of Fei-oo.”

 

        I’d had enough of Jonas’s trash talking, “Way! The Heimdall is a better ship than you could ever...”

 

        “Shut you’re trap nyen ching-duh, no one’s talking to you.” Jonas said waving a finger in my face, “You should learn...”

 

        “Hey fellas. Kind of killing the mood here. Maybe we need to get a round of drinks over here.” Carl said as he tried to flag the waitress down.

 

        Jonas stood up, scraping his chair across the floor, “See you ’round Stevenson, getting a little stuffy at this table.”

        “I see you and Jonas are still best of friends.” Carl joked as he caught the waitresses eye.

 

        The captain drained the rest of his glass, “Closer than ever.”

 

        The waitress walked up, “So kid you just going to sit there or you going to order another round of drinks for us thirsty space pirates?” Carl said with a wink to the waitress.

 

        “Sure... Yeah. Beer good for you?” I was still a bit shaken up from the exchange between the captain and Jonas.

 

        “Dahng rahn!”

 

        The captain turned to Carl as the waitress went off to get the next round of drinks, “So Carl, how’s the easy life?”

 

        “Sitting on my butt all day in the air conditioning? Much rather be out there flying with you.” Carl replied with a sad look in his eyes. Carl had been a hauler for as many years the captain had. During one flight back from the outer colonies of Neptune, Carl had run into a gang of pirates. The resulting encounter had left Carl drifting in space for a week before the Feds had just happened upon him during a routine patrol.

        Carl didn’t like talking about it much, but you could tell he didn’t much want to be out in the black anymore. I wouldn’t either if I’d been left for dead in the middle of space with a half functioning life support system, and no way to call for help.

 

        “You just liked giving orders, Lieutenant.” The Captain said with a slight grin forming on his face.

 

        “You’re right of course, and now that you are captain I don’t think I could follow your orders.” Carl had been the captain’s superior during the war. I used to think it weird that an officer would hang out with enlisted men, but then I’d never been in a foxhole with another soldier for a week.

 

        “Here we go. The old war stories are about to start, and then you’re going to want the good shine. Captain I’m going to need a raise if this keeps up.” I did like hearing the stories though.

 

        “No, no war stories tonight. We are here to drink Sheila’s Brew and talk football.” The captain said taking a swig from his mug, “I missed the Green Bay game a couple nights back, give me the highlights Carl.”

        “Best game of the season Top. Favre IV has got an arm like a cannon. They are going all the way again this season.”

        Carl looked over to me, “So Barry, how’s The Heimdall flying. You still able to work your magic on that old boat?

 

        I started to beam, “Better than the day she was fabbed.”

 

        “Stevenson, you are one lucky hwoon dahn to get a grease monkey like this. You should feel lucky, not many youngsters could tell the difference between their elbow from a hole in the ground.”

 

        “You better believe it. I’ve never seen any one work faster that Barry with a bottle of glue and a screwdriver.” The captain must have been hitting the brew for longer than I thought. It isn’t often he speaks praise publicly.

 

        Ever the humble mechanic I replied, “You work with what you got.”

*~*

 

Bar sounds fade out.

 

Scene: Ship’s Cabin Next morning

 

Stevenson: Hey kid. The coffee ready yet?

 

Barry: Yup. You want to hear about the over drive now?

 

Stevenson: Lay it on me kid.

 

Barry: Well the coils are cracked and in need of replacement, the fuel cells are showing signs of stress...

 

Stevenson: So in other words it’s broken.

 

Barry: Yeah

 

Stevenson: See wasn’t that easier to say? Besides, it’s nothing we haven’t used before in the past.

 

Barry: Yeah, but I don’t suggest using the drive at full capacity until we can get some replacement coils.

 

Stevenson: Ok kid. I know a place out of the way where we can get some parts cheaper than anyplace around here. Good thing we have some extra time off.

 

Grunts sitting down into chair. Flips a couple switches.

 

Stevenson: Refit is complete. Let’s get under way, going to take a while with our over drive in the state it’s in.

 

Barry: Control this is the Heimdall requesting clearance to depart station.

 

Radio: Roger Heimdall You are cleared for departure along lane delta.

 

Barry: Copy control.

 

Radio: Hey kid. Next time drinks are on me.

 

Barry: Ha! You put that in writing?

 

Radio: What my word not good enough for you?

 

Barry: Not when it comes to beer and you two.

 

Radio: Touché  kid. See you next time.

 

Barry: Copy that.

 

Docking clamps release and ship’s engines speed up as ship leaves port.

 

Stevenson: Laying in course. Switching on over drive engines. Engaging.

 

over drive engines take a while to warm up and engage.

 

Barry: 13 hours until destination. You ever thought of an upgrade? Would cost less in the long run.

 

Stevenson: Yeah... But with those newer models you can only buy parts from the dealer, and they want you to sign over your first born.

 

Chair creeks as he leans back.

 

Stevenson: Why don’t you go cook up some breakfast. I’m in the mood for waffles.

 

Barry: Good idea. Spent my last buck last night on you guys, didn’t get a chance to eat.

 

Walks off and open and closes hatch

 

6 hours later

 

Ship’s over drive engines shut down suddenly

 

Stevenson: Crap. Kid! Get down there and see what happened.

 

Barry: I told you not to push those engines.

 

Panel opens and boots hit metal as Barry jumps down

 

Barry: Alright Skip’ we’re going to be late, the engines’ done. Going to need a complete overhaul.

 

Stevenson: Great... It gets better kid.

 

Barry: How can this get any better?

 

Stevenson: We’re in the middle of nowhere.

 

Barry: ...Shiny!

 

Stevenson: Switching on distress signal.

 

Barry: We aren’t the only ones.

 

Stevenson: What?

 

Barry: Look. Another ship is stranded out here. Let’s move over there and see if we can help each other.

 

Ships normal engines fire up and they move closer

 

Barry: Picking up a lot of radiation around the ship. Possibly from the ships core.

 

Stevenson: Looks like she’s been through quite a battle.

 

Barry: Picking up several life signs, open the cargo hold, let’s get them in here.

 

Stevenson: You’ve got to be kidding. There is no way I’m going to bring any ship, especially one in the state that one is, into my cargo hold.

 

Barry: You can’t just leave them out there. They might be dying and besides, they might have parts that will fit out engine.

 

Stevenson: Fine. We’ll use the suits, I’m not putting that heap in my ship. Maneuvering ship into position.

 

Barry: Securing clamps.

 

Drawer slams, and gun action is cocked.

 

Stevenson: I should really buy some more rounds for this thing.

 

Barry: What’s the gun for?

 

Stevenson: Hey kid, I’d rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it.

 

Barry: Alright, just keep it hidden for now.

 

Stevenson: I’ve put on a few pounds since I last wore this suit.

 

Barry: It’s all that beer you make me buy.

 

Hatch opens and sounds of pressurizing

 

Barry: The ship looks even worse up close.

 

Stevenson: Good thing the airlock still works.

 

Hatch opens and sounds of pressurizing

 

Stevenson: Radiation levels are well below lethal in here.

 

Barry: Could have left the lights on for us.

 

Stevenson: You check out the bridge and find out if we can salvage their engine parts. I’ll look around the rest of the ship.

 

Barry: Roger roger.

 

Stevenson: Cut it out kid.

 

A couple seconds pass as Barry walks toward the bridge.

 

Grunting/Moaning from the dark causes Barry to run up.

 

Barry: Cap, get the med kit, the pilot is hurt bad! (To pilot) Hey buddy hold on.

 

Pilot: Keep... them... safe....

 

Barry: Sure buddy stop talking. Skip! Hurry up!

 

Pilot: Don’t... trust... the... Comp....(dies)

 

Footsteps walking up slowly

 

Stevenson: Sorry kid, there was nothing you could have done.

 

Barry: What did he mean by “Keep them safe?”

 

Stevenson: Could be anything. Why don’t you go see if they have parts that we can use in our ship.

 

Barry: Yeah, ok.

 

Walking back to hatch

 

Barry: Hey skip. I think you should check this out.

 

Stevenson: Think you found out what he meant by “them.”

 

Sounds fade out.

 

 

Announcer: Next time on The Heimdall Chronicles! What did Stevenson find in the ship? Why is the private ship battle scarred. What do the pilots cryptic words mean? Find out next time on the Scifi poddrama The Heimdall Chronicles!