“Our medic just cleared me.”
She let him go and her joyfulness abated a little. “Did they let you see Finn?”
He didn't know what to say so he shook his head slowly.
“I wish he could see all of this,” she said sadly, her good mood was fading fast. “He'd have a ball.”
“They'll find someone to help him. You know the Captain.”
“They won't let me see him.”
“He's in stasis, he wouldn't know you were there. The Doc, I mean medic, will tell you when you can go visit him, don't worry.”
“Did they tell you anything?”
“He needs a real doctor and better equipment, Grace is smart enough to know that. Until then, we can only hope and pray.”
Agameg Price came out of the forward door and walked up beside Ashley, smiling at Ramirez. “I'm sorry I misguided you.”
“On the medication? Don't worry, the doc, I mean medic, said it healed me up good. No scars inside or out.”
“Thank goodness, I was afraid you'd be in an extended coma or some such. The Captain would like to see you in his ready room. I just came from there. Good change is coming.”
Ramirez glanced across the bridge and nodded. “I hope.”
That prompted a short giggle from Ashley, but her reprieve from worrying over Finn was short lived. It wasn't immediately evident, but she was a mess inside, dealing with whatever big changes were going on as well as losing someone she was becoming fast friends with.
“Captain says we should get some rest. I'll show you to your quarters,” Price said quietly to Ashley, who nodded.
“I'll see you soon,” she said to Ramirez with a weak smile.
“Sleep well.”
Ramirez walked through the bridge to the ready room. There was plenty of space for two people abreast. It felt strange, and he started to fully grasp the size of the ship, the undertaking manning it could be. The door to the ready room had been surfaced in lush black but it was still a meter thick safety bulkhead door like most of the other main hatches on the inside of the ship. The motors moved it silently out of the hatchway and to the side.
The wall across from the entrance was transparent, he could see the distorted view of hyperspace with its exaggerated blues, whites and yellow colours beyond. The thick transparent metal also caused a slight lensing effect, leading him to assume that it was meters thick and hardened. There was a large desk with three chairs in front of it, a small sofa to the side and a ladder to the left. At the base of the silver ladder was a small lift pad. He had never seen a ready room before, but he could only assume that the ladder lead to a bedroom and other personal space for the Captain so he could always be near the bridge. To his right there was another door, he didn't bother guessing what it lead to.
Stephanie half turned and smiled at him, the Captain looked a little more serious. “What do you think of our new home?” She asked.
“So you're taking this ship sir?” He asked.
Stephanie looked back to the Captain, who stood and looked out the window. He had changed out of his cloaksuit and wore a regular black one. His long coat and scarf hung off a peg on the wall.
“The Samson is more than half fried. Torres tried resetting her systems and found burnouts everywhere. She couldn't even start a load test. Wheeler's ship, the Cold Reaver, fared a little better but it would take weeks to get it flying again and she's not made for long trips. She's a dropship that doubles as a gunship. I've been less straight forward with the rest of the crew, I didn't want to show I had any doubts, but with you two I have to be honest.” He turned around and leaned on his desk.
“I understand these systems. If what Wheeler has told me is true it's because I'm a trained engineer with experience. The problem is, I'm the only one aboard who understands this ship and training people minimally will take weeks if we rush through it. The security and other personnel management systems are simple, thank God. So no one needs more than an hour to familiarize themselves with them, but the AI on this ship was deleted and replaced with other automation systems.”
“According to the ship logs the Triton has been running with a crew of less than a hundred with the help of automation for almost thirty years. She hasn't been used to her full potential since she was stolen,” Stephanie added.
“How many was she made to run with?”
“Without a space superiority deck crew, or fighter compliment or pilots her full company comes out to just under twenty eight hundred.”
Ramirez sat down.
Captain Valance went on. “This ship is made to carry one hundred twenty six fighters, thirty drop craft, five gunships and mission vessels with pilots. If we can get the manufacturing grade materializer running we could actually build a fighter in about twenty days. Using raw heavy metals during the construction process would cut that time by three quarters or more. Finding pilots and a maintenance crew who knows how to work with the technology is a completely different problem. This is a multi-role close combat carrier that was built to patrol outside the Sol system and carry out deep space missions. Wheeler stole it while it was in drydock undergoing repair almost forty years ago. According to what he tells me we were both put into stasis by the same people at the same time.”
“Was he part of your crew sir?” Stephanie asked.
“No, we were each in command of our own ships, each with a skeleton crew on some suicide mission. That's all I can get out of him aside from his command codes and a few insults. I'm going to keep him in the brig in that secure containment cell. I don't think he's finished telling us everything we want to know. Cynthia has been trying to find a security wall anywhere in the system and aside from a couple small files, no part of the ship is locked out. It looks like Wheeler had to disable all the internal security to get the automation working right.”
“How many people can crew the ship with the automation systems running do you think?”
“We could do it with what we have and get eight of the rail cannons working. Automation is down on a dozen cannons and sixty four more don't have any automation connected.”
“With that much firepower we'd be able to stand toe to toe with most destroyer classes without fighters.”
“We would, but getting those cannons running would take a full gunnery crew. With maintenance, commanders, gunners, and loaders we'd be looking over three hundred people. The only one we have that's been anywhere near a gunnery crew is Frost.”
The door opened to admit Shamus Frost, just in time for him to hear his name. “Talkin' 'bout me behind my back?” he said with a grin.
“Feeling better?” Captain Valance asked.
“Aye, that medic is as much a doctor as I've ever met. Had to solve a few word puzzles before she let me go, wanted to be sure my head was right. Not that I minded, she's all woman, that one.”
“That'll never happen,” Stephanie teased.
“She's already agreed to havin' rations with me later, thank you,” Frost told her, pleased with himself.
“One miracle after another,” Ramirez said with a wry grin.
Frost just closed his eyes and shook his head for a moment. “With friends like these,” he whispered. “So what're you gettin' my name mixed in with this time sir?”
“Captain was just saying you've been on a gunnery team.” Stephanie restated.
“Aye, third generation. I've seen the nasty side of ships this size before, but none this modern, mind ye. Spent most of my military career on the gunnery decks, got sucked out of a breach once too.”
“Have you looked at the cannons on this ship yet?”
“Didn't even get a chance to look from the outside. I was too busy hangin' on for dear life in that undercarriage compartment.”
Captain Valance brought up a holographic image of one of the rail cannon turrets. It was a four barrelled system that had room for two loading compartments and one gunner.
“Oy, that's fifty years more modern n' anything I've ever worked with.” He moved closer to the image hovering over the desk and rotated it slowly. “One hundred eighty millimetre single fire barrels made for variable
