Freelance On The Galactic Tunnel Network by E. Foner (best beach reads of all time TXT) 📗

“I’ve come a long way so I hope this isn’t some trick to sell me expensive tablecloths,” the journalist said. “A bunch of us who are in the same shoes pooled the money for my ticket.”

“Funny, the reporter I just met was also representing a group. Saves work for me, I guess.”

“So, the Galactic Free Press is taking an interest in our little revolution in the Southern Hemisphere?”

“I didn’t know you were having one, but if it’s not a weekly occurrence, I’m sure you can sell the story to the freelance desk. Do you really have so many people left down there that they’re still fighting over natural resources?”

“Do you count greed as a natural resource?”

“Point taken.”

Eight

“Is it me, or is it warmer in here than it was during our last trip?”

“I visit Verlock open worlds whenever I get the chance so I guess I’m pretty insensitive to temperature,” Larry said. “Controller, run the environmental diagnostic check.”

“Test failed,” the artificial voice came back almost immediately. “Problem detected in the secondary cooling system.”

“Is that bad?” Georgia asked.

“It’s not good,” Larry replied, and began unbuckling the complicated harness that made working out on the rock climbing machine feel somewhat realistic.

“Your controller did say that it was the secondary system so we still have the primary. Right?”

“The primary system cools the thrusters and the equipment. The secondary system cools us.”

“I would have thought that heat would be more important. Isn’t it absolute zero in space?”

“We’re not in space, we’re in my ship,” Larry said, and launched himself towards the hatch that led to the cargo deck. “Coming?”

“I don’t get it,” she said, pushing off gently to follow. “I just assumed all this time that we weren’t freezing because the ship was keeping us warm.”

“Do you know the three ways that heat is transferred?”

“When something hot touches something cold, the heat flows to the cold until they’re the same temperature.”

“That’s conduction, and the controlling factor is mass. The reason the hull of the ship isn’t at absolute zero is because space is a vacuum. Other than a few gas atoms, there’s no mass to conduct the heat away. The second type of heat transfer is convection, which means an actual flow and mixing of material, like cold air blown into a room filled with warm air.”

“I guess we wouldn’t want to open a window.”

“You guessed right. The final type of heat transfer is radiation, like sunshine. If we turned off all of the equipment on board, including ourselves, the heat left in the ship would eventually radiate away, but it takes a long time. Since we can’t turn ourselves off without dying in the process, fixing the secondary cooling system is now my top priority.” He shuffled from the ladder to a large grey locker and removed a belt with a number of tools attached to small spring-loaded reels. “This is the tool locker, by the way.”

“Can I do anything to help?” she asked.

“The technical deck on these Sharf traders is below the cargo hold, and it’s pretty cramped because it’s not intended for in-flight service. I’m going to have to wedge myself in there so I’d appreciate if you could be my outside hands. Got your magnetic cleats on?”

“Yeah, I learned my lesson there.” Georgia clicked her heels to activate the cleats and then shuffled after her captain

“The best access to the technical deck is right by the main hatch since that’s the last place anybody would store cargo. Some traders go nuts carrying bulk commodities and they have to climb over their own load just to get to the bridge, but I like to keep the area clear for emergencies.”

Larry bent over and turned a small handle recessed into the deck. Then he shuffled a few paces further and bent again to release another manual lockout. Finally, he moved to the midpoint of the access panel and felt around the edge for a small depression. When he pulled up, a steel sheet almost as large as the main display screen came free, and he carefully maneuvered it into position against the inside of the hatch.

“Aren’t you worried that will fall on you?” Georgia asked, after Larry turned his back on the removed access panel and reached for the edge of the opening.

“No gravity,” he reminded her. “It’s not going anywhere.” He pulled a flashlight from his belt and shined the beam in the narrow space under the decking. “I don’t smell anything. Do you?”

“Just us,” Georgia said. “Do they add something stinky to make it easy to locate leaks?”

“Yes, but it’s only stinky to the Sharf, though those dogs Joe has back on Union Station can sniff out a leak from across the hold. That’s what I don’t get about this. It was fine last week.”

“Wasn’t the hold more crowded when we started?”

“You finally noticed,” Larry said, letting go of the flashlight, which was pulled back to his belt by the reel. “While you were drinking in bars or whatever it is investigative journalists do, I got rid of all of those salad containers I’ve been trying to unload.”

“What did you trade them for?” Georgia asked, having caught on from his conversation that the captain was a fan of barter.

“Cash, but I needed it to cover the mortgage anyway. Controller, turn on the technical deck emergency lights.” A blue glow came from the opening, and he grabbed the edges and began to pull himself under the decking.

“Why blue?”

“Original Sharf lights. It takes getting used to but the color actually makes it easier to—what the?!”

“What?”

“Somebody sabotaged me,” Larry said angrily, and although his upper body was now hidden from her, Georgia could just imagine the look on his face. “A chewer has been at the hoses in here.”

“You mean like