ARC: Titanic in Space by Dirk Walvoord

Author:Dirk Walvoord [Walvoord, Dirk]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dirk Walvoord
Published: 2020-11-02T14:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

"Ishmael?” Hagar calls from the doorway of the ARC’s large metalworking shop.

“Over here,” he answers, coming from behind the nearly finished shuttle. "Thanks for coming. Could you take a look at this?"

He lies back on a creeper and rolls a second one toward her. She settles on it comfortably and rolls next to him under the shuttle’s chassis. "How big a bolt do I want here?"

"Sixteen millimeters, maybe even twenty."

"That big?"

"The strut's load-bearing, right? What's your shear force going to be along that vector?"

He pauses a moment, "You're right. Can you get me a bit?"

She rolls out from under and sorts through the tool case. His hand reaches out with the drill. She takes it, inserts the bit into the chuck and keys it up tight. She bends down, takes a peek underneath. "Goggles."

"Yes, Mommy."

She mounts the pedal-driven generator and sends him the power he needs and the drill begins to sing at its task. After a few minutes the pitch finally rises as the load backs off. "Yes?" she yells.

"OK, that's got it!"

He rolls out and loosens the bit—takes it "hot potato" back to the tool case. She chuckles. "Little hot?"

He used to get mad when she gave him the business. Now it’s, "Warm," with just a hint of a smile. He can’t put a finger on what has changed between them but lately he finds himself looking forward to her chatter, her collaboration, even giving him the business. In all the long months when he was designing and building the weapon she came to the shop once, maybe twice.

She wanted nothing to do with building a weapon, loathed everything about it from its destructive raison d’être, to the devious way the Council authorized it, to Timms’ nepotism in giving Ishmael the “honor” of designing it. But creating a shuttle from scratch is a challenge she seems unable to resist.

He steps back to get a better perspective. "What do you think, go ahead and mount it? We need anything else?"

"The bolt."

He's a little sheepish as he fetches the bolt, nut and washers. "You OK to give me a hand lining it up?"

"Sure." She opens the cover to the shop's environmental control panel and dials gravity down to 0.05 percent. The piece to be mounted is still bulky. But now, at a one pound to one ton ratio, she can seat the upper mount over its post. She passes the lower strut to Ishmael's waiting hands under the chassis. "Here it comes."

"A little right." The threads of the bolt sound off as it slides home. "Got it!"

The ratcheting of the torque wrench falls silent. "Ready?" she asks.

"Ready." He dollies out.

Once he is clear, she slowly dials gravity back up toward 90 percent. The ARCans tried briefly to conserve power by reducing ship-wide gravity to 75 percent but after complaints from the "coven," the wives of the Councilmen, it was declared too low and the 90 percent level was chosen instead.

Not a sound from the welds and connections as gravity rises through 50 to 60, 80 and eventually 90 percent.

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