The Santana Nexus (Junkyard Dogs Book 3) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Phillip Nolte
choice in the matter. There simply was no other way. Things tended to go to hell in a hurry when people were undernourished. Nor was a successful foray for supplies going to solve any long term problems. Supply lines and communications were disrupted throughout the entire Santana Quadrant. Keeping the Scrapyard operating was going to require the constant attention of a lot of personnel.
What was it going to take to get things back to normal?
He pushed himself away from the computer terminal and came to a decision. Long term solutions were just going to have to wait. At least one of his precious cargo ships and one of his precious destroyers were going to have to team up and make a run for provisions.
Who should he send out and where should he send them?
He decided that he'd better talk it over with his second in command, Lieutenant Ryan Harris. Harris was a native of the nearby planet of New Ceylon and had a lot of first-hand knowledge about his home planet and many of the other nearby star systems in the Quadrant. Kresge called down to the engineering section.
"Engineering ? This is Kresge. Is Harris down there?"
Chief Angus Hawkins answered him. "He's no being down here, Commander, I be thinkin' he was goin' to be spendin' another night on the Istanbul so he could be checkin' in on the Ensign again first thing in the morning."
Angus Hawkins was a short, wiry, sixtyish engineering tech who wore his steel grey hair in a classic flattop crewcut. A crack engineer, Hawkins was a native of New Scotia. His heritage was quite obvious as soon as he spoke.
"He should be comin' back t' the Greyhound somewheres before 0800. We were goin' t'be working on the weapons interface module some more."
In a desperate move to provide some kind of protection for the people who had taken refuge in the Scrapyard, Kresge's Federation group had armed the old Greyhound , an ancient Mark I Bombardier Cargomaster, with a Bofors twin mount rapid-fire pulse beam system. They had done so right after they had replaced the old vessel's worn out power plant and hyperdrive unit with parts salvaged from an equally ancient Federation Orion Mark IV destroyer, the Terrier . The power plant and the hyperdrive systems had been working flawlessly. The weapon, however, had proved to be a different matter entirely. It was powerful and the transplant had been successful, for the most part, but the weapon had so far proven to be rather finicky. More work was definitely needed.
"Thanks, Hawk," replied Kresge, "When you see him, tell him I need to talk to him."
"Will do, Commander."
While Kresge was talking to Hawkins, Helen Murdock, the owner, operator and Captain of the Greyhound had come onto the bridge.
"Mornin', commander," she said. Murdock was a short, wiry, grey-haired woman somewhere around sixty years old. She slipped a chipped mug full of coffee into the cupholder at the Captain's station and did an elaborate stretch.
One of the exports from nearby New Ceylon was coffee that was famous throughout the Quadrant. The Scrapyard might be short of food, but they had a generous supply of some of the best coffee known to man! She rubbed her eyes and fluffed up her kinky medium-length hair. Kresge swiveled his chair around to face her. His blue eyes met her grey ones.
"Mornin', Helen," he replied.
"You're wearin' your 'I think I have a problem' face again, Commander," said Murdock. "What is it this time?"
"Am I that obvious?" asked Kresge . He shook his head, "No, don't answer that. It's only about a million different things. We have plenty of power, air and water, but we're going to be critical on food within twelve to fourteen days."
Murdock mulled that information over for a moment.
" I wondered when that was comin'," she said."I think I'd send our NiTrans freighter, City of Darwin , over to Heard's World. Their number one export is food. They don't produce much prepackaged stuff and we'd need some of our people out here to do a bit more basic
What was it going to take to get things back to normal?
He pushed himself away from the computer terminal and came to a decision. Long term solutions were just going to have to wait. At least one of his precious cargo ships and one of his precious destroyers were going to have to team up and make a run for provisions.
Who should he send out and where should he send them?
He decided that he'd better talk it over with his second in command, Lieutenant Ryan Harris. Harris was a native of the nearby planet of New Ceylon and had a lot of first-hand knowledge about his home planet and many of the other nearby star systems in the Quadrant. Kresge called down to the engineering section.
"Engineering ? This is Kresge. Is Harris down there?"
Chief Angus Hawkins answered him. "He's no being down here, Commander, I be thinkin' he was goin' to be spendin' another night on the Istanbul so he could be checkin' in on the Ensign again first thing in the morning."
Angus Hawkins was a short, wiry, sixtyish engineering tech who wore his steel grey hair in a classic flattop crewcut. A crack engineer, Hawkins was a native of New Scotia. His heritage was quite obvious as soon as he spoke.
"He should be comin' back t' the Greyhound somewheres before 0800. We were goin' t'be working on the weapons interface module some more."
In a desperate move to provide some kind of protection for the people who had taken refuge in the Scrapyard, Kresge's Federation group had armed the old Greyhound , an ancient Mark I Bombardier Cargomaster, with a Bofors twin mount rapid-fire pulse beam system. They had done so right after they had replaced the old vessel's worn out power plant and hyperdrive unit with parts salvaged from an equally ancient Federation Orion Mark IV destroyer, the Terrier . The power plant and the hyperdrive systems had been working flawlessly. The weapon, however, had proved to be a different matter entirely. It was powerful and the transplant had been successful, for the most part, but the weapon had so far proven to be rather finicky. More work was definitely needed.
"Thanks, Hawk," replied Kresge, "When you see him, tell him I need to talk to him."
"Will do, Commander."
While Kresge was talking to Hawkins, Helen Murdock, the owner, operator and Captain of the Greyhound had come onto the bridge.
"Mornin', commander," she said. Murdock was a short, wiry, grey-haired woman somewhere around sixty years old. She slipped a chipped mug full of coffee into the cupholder at the Captain's station and did an elaborate stretch.
One of the exports from nearby New Ceylon was coffee that was famous throughout the Quadrant. The Scrapyard might be short of food, but they had a generous supply of some of the best coffee known to man! She rubbed her eyes and fluffed up her kinky medium-length hair. Kresge swiveled his chair around to face her. His blue eyes met her grey ones.
"Mornin', Helen," he replied.
"You're wearin' your 'I think I have a problem' face again, Commander," said Murdock. "What is it this time?"
"Am I that obvious?" asked Kresge . He shook his head, "No, don't answer that. It's only about a million different things. We have plenty of power, air and water, but we're going to be critical on food within twelve to fourteen days."
Murdock mulled that information over for a moment.
" I wondered when that was comin'," she said."I think I'd send our NiTrans freighter, City of Darwin , over to Heard's World. Their number one export is food. They don't produce much prepackaged stuff and we'd need some of our people out here to do a bit more basic
Readers choose
William Faulkner
Francine Pascal
Joanna Blake
Alan Hunter
Suzanne Enoch
Martin Duberman
Jeaniene Frost
Down in New Orleans