Destiny's Choice (The Wandering Engineer) Read Online Free PDF Page A

a chief, cluttered with odd bits here and there, a
well used and stained coffee machine, a pair of stools, book case filled with
bits and manuals, some paper of all things, others chips, and a battered metal
desk and chair. The desk was covered with papers and tablets. It looked like a
couple of burnt out computer cards were serving as coasters or paper weights,
keeping the AC from blowing some of the papers around the room. If there was
any sense of order to the room Irons wasn't seeing it.
    That
of course was normal as well. People were people. Most liked to keep their own
sense of order, and they differentiated between work and home. Or in this case
comfort zones, he thought in amusement.
    Bailey
closed the hatch door. Irons snorted. There were rags and an extra coverall
hanging from the back of the door on hooks. Again typical.
    “This
is a well and truly screwed up situation you know that?” Bailey sighed, sitting
on a stool. He reached over with a long arm and tapped the intercom. “Coffee
for two. One with two sugars. You?”
    “Black
is fine,” Irons replied.
    “One
black,” Bailey grimaced again. “And bring me a danish or something. I missed
breakfast.”
    “Had
an early start?” Irons asked as the chief's hand lifted from the intercom. He
shot the Admiral a look. He was still dealing with the mess from that hack.
He'd been on it the moment they entered hyper. It'd taken him eighteen hours to
get over his pride and call the Admiral in, and by then it had been nearly too
late. He suppressed a yawn. He had gotten a whopping two hours sleep before
being rudely interrupted.. Forty eight hours and he'd had to take a break.
    “You
could say that. Got woken up a couple of hours after I went to bed. Been on my
feet since then,” he answered dryly, trying to get the cobwebs out of his head
and focus.
    “Ah.”
Irons nodded. “Anything I can help you with?”
    “Well,
I was hoping you'd say that. I need to pick your brain,” Bailey chuckled at
Iron's expression. “See, we've got a problem. A couple of them. One is that I
just found out most of our part stores were a computer fabrication.”
    “You're
kidding. The virus?” Irons asked.
    “Or
something,” Bailey sighed, shaking his head. “I don't know how. I think I know
why, someone charged for the parts, pocketed the money, and then left us with
boxes full of scrap. They might have been tied into the sabotage ring. Who
knows,” Bailey sighed throwing his hands up in the air. “Damned if we'll ever
know. Probably all long gone by now.”
    “Ouch,”
Irons said wincing.
    “Yeah,
tell me about it.”
    “All
the parts are gone? Trash I mean?”
    “A
few of the boxes have parts on top but then crap in the ones underneath. Scrap
mostly. We're looking into it.”
    “Can
you replicate more? Use the scrap for material?”
    “Which
brings up one of my other headaches.” Bailey rocked back and forth for a moment
then got up in a simian snarl and slapped his desk. “Damn it all!”
    There
was a knock at the door. “Chief?” a short human steward came in with a cart. He
gave the Admiral a cold look then poured the chief a cup of coffee.
    “Thank
you. Leave it. Come back for it later. And drop the damn sour looks. Pass that
along now,” the chief said, settling into his chair. He picked up the coffee.
    “I
take it there is a problem with the replicators? You were supposed to have two
small industrial ones and a bunch of food replicators,” the Admiral said,
dredging that up from  his own memory since Sprite was busy. Even though he had
unjacked she had stayed in the net, working through his wireless connection.
He'd need to jack in soon so the other AI could lend her a hand. “One of the
industrial replicators is supposed to go to Agnosta to help them rebuild I
think.”
    Bailey
shook his head. “We've got one, count them one food replicator in the officer's
galley. The others weren't installed. They were in a crate, or were supposed to
be. The crew