Doctor Who_ Storm Harvest - Mike Tucker [6]
They had to get power to the outlying clusters though. When that was done then the engineers could move in and they could take the next batch of colonists. Earth was screaming at her to get things hurried along.
There was a tap on her door, and the rugged face of Phillip Garrett, the colony’s chief engineer, peered into the room.
‘Still trying to come up with names?’
Brenda grimaced. ‘If I ever meet the genius who decided that it was a great honour for me to come up with names for over two hundred islands...’
‘You could always name one after me. Garrett Island. Got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’
Brenda smiled. The initial orbital survey had classified all the islands by size and with reference numbers. According to the manual the colonists currently inhabited Coralee island cluster 262704K, but within weeks of planetfall they had christened their new home the Grayson Islands, after their pilot. Now, as colony co-ordinator, it was Brenda’s duty to name the remaining islands.
11
She smiled as she stared over at two large pillars of rock that dominated the bay. Damn and Blast It; the first islands she had named.
That had caused an uproar. Typical of the flippant attitude that taints all of Brenda Mulholland’s decisions. She still had that memo taped to her notice board.
The islanders liked her, though. Apparently several of the tavernas ran a book on which island she would name next. Someone had won over two hundred credits recently by correctly guessing that she would call one of the smaller islands Trigger, after her dog.
She took another sip of her coffee and slumped into the chair behind her desk. ‘What have you got for me, Phillip?’
Garrett lumbered across to her desk and handed her a data-pad.
‘Supply request from MacKenzie for the next quarter. The dig is taking longer than expected and he’s running out of essentials.’
Brenda scanned the list. ‘We’re going to struggle to get these approved. He’s already way over his weight quota for the next cargo shipment.’
Garrett shrugged. ‘Then he stops. He can’t work without this stuff.’
Brenda slumped into her chair. ‘OK, leave it with me, Phillip. I’ll talk to Central, see what I can do.’
There was a sharp buzz from the console on her desk. She snapped it on.
‘Yes?’
‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but we’ve got a problem.’
‘I’ll be right out.’
Garrett gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘It never rains...’
The two of them stepped into the huge control room. After the brightness of the office the control centre was like a huge, dark cave.
Slatted blinds hung over the windows allowing shafts of light to lance across the room, glinting off the screens of dozens of monitors.
Dreekan and human technicians bat hunched over read-outs, the Dreekans’ hands flying over multiple keyboards. The entire room throbbed with an air of quiet efficiency.
Brenda peered through the gloom, her eyes adjusting rapidly. A young traffic controller looked at her expectantly. She crossed the room, settling into the seat alongside him.
‘What seems to be the problem?’
‘It’s the Hyperion Dawn, ma’am. No contact for over twenty minutes.’
Brenda frowned. ‘That’s Holly’s ship, isn’t it?’
The technician nodded.
‘Did they make their last routine call?’
12
‘No, ma’am. That’s when I tried them, but there’s no response.’
Brenda leaned over the console. The small transponder signal that was the Hyperion Dawn blinked steadily on the screen.
‘Any distress signal?’
The technician shook his head. ‘Nothing from the NavSats, either.’
‘It could just be a faulty com system’ Garrett, as usual, sounded confident. ‘That crate is well overdue for retirement.’
Brenda sank her chin into her hands, staring thoughtfully at the screen. Suddenly she shook her head. ‘I think we’ll be safe rather than sorry. Get the flyer airborne.’
The klaxon shattered the peace of the control room. Suddenly there were people everywhere, settling into a well-practised routine. Brenda crossed to the