Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [65]
Stiles settled back on his heels and listened to the critical exchange between Jeremy White, back in the engineering control room, and Travis here on the bridge, whose job it was to manage the rivet squad. In less than a minute, the two men had the rivet squad swung over on the external davits to the nacelle of the Lafayette, crawling all over it with their magnetic boots like a tidy infestation.
The open comm lines brought in the work as if it were happening right at his feet, bits of dialogue overlapping others as the squad split up to do a half dozen jobs in a matter of minutes. “Got some burnoff plating infecting this binding strake.” ‘I’ll help you.” “Stand clear.” “Two more centimeters.”
Travis talking at the same time: “Don’t crowd him, Zack. You’re too close to the welding stream.” “I’m Jason.” “Clone.” “I need the spreader over here.” “-swing that caisson under me, will you?” “-and engage the thrusters so you’re got balance-“
Then Jeremy’s voice from two sections back: “Mr. Evans, countersink those outer rivets before you caulk them in.” “You sure, sir?” “We always countersink. Maintains a flush surface.” “What difference-“
“A big one at hypeflight. Morton, what are you doing? Move your arm so I can see.” “Crocking the vertical bracket stringers?”
Stiles touched his comm button and interrupted. “Chock ‘era in under the shell plating, Mr. Morton. Then caulk it with foam.” “Won’t hold more than a week.”
“It only has to hold a day. Just double-secure the center of effort and wrap it up. You got nine minutes left.” “Thank you.” “Welcome.” “Mr. Lightcudder?”
Startled by a completely unfamiliar voice only inches from his shoulder, Stiles cranked around and found himself face to face with a total stranger. Total! Never seen the guy before. Right here on the working deck!
Civilian. No uniform, no identifying patches or badges. Work clothes. How could this happen?
It couldn’t, but here he was, grinning like a Halloween pumpkin. No escort, no nothing.
Oh-actually there was a nervous ensign standing at the bridge hatchway, evidently having just brought the man in. Why hadn’t the ensign done the officer approach? The ensign shrugged as Stiles raked him with a glare.
The civilian was stocky, wearing a bulky tan jacket with big round buttons and a heavy neck scarf, which gave the man an illusion of being short. Actually Stiles looked him nearly in the eye, so he was at least five feet nine. He had a round face with flush-dots on the puffy cheeks, a halo of metal-shaving hair mounted behind his balding forehead, round brown eyes, round shoulders-the guy was round. “Are you Mr. Lightcudder?” the round guy asked.
“What?” Stiles stepped back and got a better look. “Who are you? How’d you get on my bridge?”
The odd newcomer kept his eyes fixed on Stiles. “They just put me on board from the Lafayette. I was told to report to Mr. Lightcudder. My name’s Ansue Hashley and I’m so grateful for-“
“A civilian is transferred to my CST and this is the first I hear of it?”
Greg Blake strode by and handed him a padd on the way past. “Nobody likes to talk to you:’
“We avoid it” Matt Girvan said from the engineering support station.
“Any of you know about this?” Stiles asked, swiveling a glance around the bridge. Nobody did. “Well, Mister-” “Hashly. Ansue Harshly. I’m “
“You’ll have to stand by a few minutes. We’re in the middle of an operation. Just park fight there and don’t do anything and don’t touch anything”
“I will, Mr. Lightcudder, I mean I won’t, and I’ll stand fight here.” Hashley planted both feet and pointed a sausage finger at his boots.
Stiles glanced at Travis, who frowned and muttered, “Lightcudder…”
“Stiles, Jason. There’s some kind of Charlie Noble sticking up here and it’s actually hot.”
Turning back to his job, Stiles twitched at the proximity of the stranger. “Hot? Electrically?” “No, it’s actually radiating heat. In fact, it’s