Rerra had settled into her new life as a member of the Clan of Petra. The nights she slept fur-to-fur with the kittens who still preferred her over her clansisters for cuddling. She would get up early and help with the breakfast, making a lunchbox out of the leftovers for herself. Packing the leftovers reminded her every day of her lack of cooking skills. But by arranging the contents of her lunchbox, she at least got better at presenting the food. Then she would leave before the den would be awake. She ate her breakfast with Trina in the 'Blended Followers', even though the food there was not as good as in the den. Trina was still her best friend, and happily lent her an ear, being the only one who could understand the hardships of being a high-tier Samul. And with every day in the Petra clan, her sympathy for Trina grew. She admired Trina's work ethic, showing up every day to help out in the shipyard, despite her mandatory presence at the many late-night Samul intertribal gatherings. And being the third of the Kerta tribe on the station also meant that people were always trying to reach her. Well, her brainless assistants took the brunt of it, but more often than not, she was out for a business lunch and just back from another meeting for a late afternoon shift. And finally, she was thankful for the way Trina shielded them from the higher-ups.
In the mornings, she worked hard to finish whatever task Trina gave her. It was not always possible, and as she got faster, Trina increased her workload. Fair was fair.
She looked forward to her lunchtimes. Not a fan of lunchboxes before, the leftovers from Petra's catering were always of such good quality that she was now converted. Never before had she had such tasty lunches, and she often bartered with Rarrar, Traxy or Tryxa for the odd item. And the lunchbox saved her time for the Sagan.
After the cost of the new bearings for the pumps, she had to concentrate on cheaper repairs like fixing loose plating or changing the filaments in the engines. The latter were so common that Trina did not charge for them. The twelve filaments would not show up at all, given their usual monthly consumption. Every other afternoon she went on a treasure hunt, scavenging from the wrecks. She found an air humidifier and a working second thermoelectric generator, as well as smaller items such as power distributors. Quite a few of these items were even newer than the original ones in the Sagan. Installing them was enough wiring for days.
However, even with the dedicated half-day shifts and the additional money saved by not having to pay the cabin rent any more, it became clear that the Sagan would not be doing a certification flight any time soon. Too much to do and too much to buy. The most expensive would be two more jump coils. The one she had was worn out and could not sustain a long-distance jump. Even used jump coils were more in the mid 1000's, so at least two months' salary. With free food and lodging from now on, it was doable.
Every third day she met Lead for a sexy lunch. She started packing a second lunchbox for those days. Seeing Lead smile at 'her' lunchbox made it even better. It felt like they were already in the same tribe, and she got nervous when they had to postpone it for a day. Like Lead, it also made her more resistant to the lure of other male scents. As Lead had said, three days with losing one mind in the presence of the other sex, three days without the need for a suppressant. It was put to the test occasionally when a group with a male ate at the 'Blended Followers'. Or at the gym: her first inhaler still had 12 doses left.
But today Trina went with her straight from the breakfast table to the shipyard, with no breakfast at all. She barely had time to swallow her drink before Trina dragged her into the lift. "Come on. We have to hurry. You know the Cyclone, the freighter that arrived a week ago?"
"The larger one with the meltdown fusion core?"
"Yes, apparently it is needed in two days. Apparently, it is the only long-range freighter with a large enough passenger cabin available."
"Sounds a bit short for an overhaul," she nodded.
"Short?" shouted Trina, causing the other riders to turn their heads. More quietly she continued, "We might be able to physically replace a fusion core. But even if all goes well, we cannot test it. This freighter should go nowhere without tests and certainly not transporting passengers. Your stunt with the Sagan was almost sane," Trina continued in an angry whisper, "but this is an order from down below."
The planet, which meant politics and the end of reason.
The lift stopped at the last stop before the shipyard and they were alone.
Trina already looked exhausted. "We will replace the core and start her up, run a hot power test and maybe, just maybe, she can leave the shipyard tomorrow evening. We have to try and hope for the poor pilot that the core does not break when it next cools down or fails after a restart."
"Aunt Kerta never jumped, did she?"
Trina looked at her in surprise. "Of course not. Not even I have jumped yet, though I could ask to join Penny on a test. Yes, you have more first-hand experience with jumps than I." She breathed heavily. "Yes, stupid cats-don't-belong-in-space-but-run-a-spaceship-business Kerta-Samul-tribe." The last sentence almost blurred into a single word, and her tail signalled that she was ready to pounce.
The lift door opened on their final destination.
She smiled at Trina and patted her shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll do our best."
"I know, we always do. This is why they expect more," Trina sighed with a crooked smile and a half-hearted tail swipe.
They almost ran to the office. 2501 showed on the big clock above the windows and everyone was there, even Roberta.
"Sorry to be late. In case you did not believe your messages, yes, we have to replace the fusion core on the Cyclone today and have her ready for departure at docking port A01a tomorrow at 9000."
"That's impossible, murder!" shouted Penny.
"It's irresponsible," Rarrar agreed, "we can probably deliver a ship with a running hot core, but we cannot test re-ignition and cold standby."
"A01a idiots," muttered Roberta.
"Thank you, Roberta," Trina said, "Yes, this is coming from the planet. I have absolutely no choice, and neither does clanmother Kerta." Everyone looked surprised. There were not many cats that outranked her, the highest-ranking cat on the station.
"There is some good news. We have unlimited funds for this. Apart from catering meals during the next two days, you will get a month's salary as a bonus for the two days".
"The most we can do is a test jump when we transfer her to the docking bay," Penny thought aloud, "but honestly, they would need someone with them to fix the core if there are troubles. And it is not only the core, the Cyclone was in for a full overhaul."
"You're right." Just then Trina's pad chimed. "Oh no! They want to paint the ship too!"
Everyone fell silent.
"Paint? That adds another ton of dead weight," Rarrar said, her tail showing her confusion.
"Planetfolk. And that means we have to tape up all the sensors and spray and wait for it to dry," even Roberta objected.
"Maybe we can hire someone. Spraying paint can't be that hard," she said.
"Great, did you know any painter on the stations?"
"Well, ask your assistants."
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Trina was silent for a second. "Sorry, yes, stupid me, I will ask them, yes, let them do them find a painter and order a constantly stocked buffet. I suppose no one has had breakfast?"
Almost everyone's tail dropped in embarrassed agreement.
"Ok, the plan. Penny, Rarrar and Rerra, you disconnect the old core and prepare the new one. Tryxa and Traxy, you remove the plating over the fusion core section. Core II, please check the layout. And Roberta, please replace the thruster filaments. I will find the best replacement core and then help tape up all the openings for painting. Let's get our paws dirty.
"Poor souls who fly her," Rarrar muttered as they descended towards the freighter.
"You're worried about your former fellow pilots?"
"Yes. This is not the first rush job we have had to do. And despite all our efforts, about a third of them had minor or major failures on their first trip. When I still flew," she paused and sighed, "I once got stuck at the edge of our system and limped back in 20 days, out of supplies and almost out of oxygen. No pilot would volunteer to fly this ship if they knew. And the folk on the planet don't understand that it would be better to have them here two days longer. On a long-distance voyage, it would make no difference at all. We could tune the engines while we do the tests, and that could even make up a day over two jumps."
They stood in front of the Cyclone and entered to disconnect the second fusion core.
* * *
A fusion core meltdown was rare. Usually, the cores had plenty of reserves and there were always two, except for in-system tugs and very small ships that lacked the space, such as rescue ships and her Sagan. The Cyclone, however, had had a problem with the cooling loop on core 1, and while trying to work around it, the pilot somehow managed to overload the cooling of core 2 so much that the whole confinement vessel overheated, went out of shape, lost vacuum and broke the superconducting confinement coils. It was impossible to rebuild a fusion core, and it had to be literally cut out. At least the core had been cold for more than 20 days, so there was no radiation to worry about.
The area outside the core was not radioactive, and the fluorocarbon hydrides of the cooling system were at worst a weak beta emitter of C14 isotopes and traces of tritium. But just in case, everyone working near the core had to wear radiation suits. These were bright yellow full-body suits with gloves and helmets, with an active coating that changed colour from yellow to red to purple when exposed to radiation. These suits were marginally easier to work in than the hard vacuum thinsuits, thus a real nuisance too.
Trina, with the help of Bernie, the shipyard's second AI, had chosen the more powerful of the two fusion cores they had received from Ken. They fit and were still in the weightless section next to the Cyclone. All the other cores were stored further away since they would only replace a core once or twice a year.
Soon they had disconnected the core. Some cables were sliced with a large cutter and some coolant tubes with a band saw. Handling the latter in near weightlessness was hard, the petite Penny did a great job. Penny made sure to cut only what was needed as the two cores shared a lot of wiring and sensors. Rarrar was floating above the core and removing the shielding. Since this section was usually under vacuum, there was no corrosion and removing the shielding was easy. Soon the external lights reached them where the twin had already removed the outer plating and now took their early lunch break.
Soon the old fusion core was fully disconnected. The hard part of mechanically cutting out the old core, fitting the new core and welding it in place was a job for the twins with their unmatched coordination and brute force. The others used the time for lunch.
The buffet was from Petra, and Fieta stood behind the table. She smiled professionally. When she was served, Fieta whispered: "Thank you, clansister."
It felt so strange, so intimate. She even showed her teeth for a moment, but then had her under control. "Not my doing," she whispered back, silently thanking Trina's assistants for sticking to their usual catering. "I may not come tonight, big job to finish."
Fieta took a tiny, iced glass from a portable freezer, apparently made just for her. "Compliments of Eli." It was a chumberry sorbet.
"Thank you," she winked. It felt so good to be a part of Petra.
After the chumberry sorbet, she had some crumble and a sweet roll. In the end, her entire lunch was nothing but desserts.
She watched from the window as she licked the last dessert bowl empty and then licked her snout clean. The broken core was already in a radioactive waste cask next to the ship. Trina and Roberta were on the hull, removing dust and dirt from all the windows and sensor ports, and began taping over the openings and windows for the painting. Trina took many scans before taping. They used orange warning tape so that the places would stick out on a second scan after the painting. Then the AI would show where they had put the tape and make sure to remove it from every single port. A covered star sensor or thruster could be fatal in deep space.
High on sugar, she was ready to continue her work in the innards of the freighter, floating in the narrow ducts. First, she and Rarrar would reattach the outer hull plating and then go inside to redo the electrical connections once the twins had welded the core to the ship. Penny and Roberta would integrate the core into the ship's systems as soon are the cables were connected. And of course, Rarrar would be welding the superconductors, something she was best at.
* * *
It was late in the evening and the core was mechanically and electronically connected. However, it still looked very tight. Cooling the superconductors and pumping the vessel would take at least 3000, and they were still not ready to start the cooling.
During a short break, she repaired one of the pumps from fusion core 1 so that it would be closer to its old cooling capacity. With her experience with the Sagan, she was already shrinking the bearing on the second axis when Trina came by.
"Come on, let's take a break," Trina said.
"Just 0010, let me finish the axle, it's cold already." She looked at the clock, already past 8200. Her stomach was growling, despite the occasional trip to the buffet. "Let me put this in so we can start cooling as soon as they are done."
Trina nodded and yawned. "Ok, come up after this."
She went to the office as soon as the pump's casing was closed. Penny was there too. Each held a plate of sweets from the buffet. Trina looked at her. "I've convinced my mother that while we may be able to get the Cyclone flying, we cannot address all the other issues. So, the repairs are not going to be good enough, no matter how hard we work and how much money we throw at it. But she has no choice, absolutely no choice. Because, and this must not leave this room, this is not a Samul mission, this is a Ketcher mission. That is why the ship must be painted white with yellow spots, black-rimmed; Ketcher's colours."
"But Ketcher doesn't do space travel," Penny said, confused.
"Apparently they do now. There are rumours of some business to be concluded in person. You know that Ketcher had a new clanmother. Samul was offered a favour too great to ignore. So it was pushed all the way down to us."
Politics, she shuddered. For distraction, she asked, "Have you found a painter?"
"Yes, tonight they will do the white grounding and tomorrow drones will do the spots from 2500 to 3000, during the breakfast break." Trina brushed it off, "That's not the point. Ketcher agreed to take one of us for any repairs along the way. Someone not from Samul."
"That leaves you and me," Penny added, "and I think they would reject me because of my age. You know the Samul propaganda."
"You mean I should go with a Ketcher ship? Doing repairs on the way?"
"I need Penny here," Trina said, "You know I would be lost without her."
Penny's tail showed her embarrassment at being praised that much. She tried to avoid the subject. "We could send Bernie with you."
"The AI will help. But, Penny, you knew so much more."
Penny shook her head. "No, I like flying. But they wouldn't take me, and I'm afraid it's political. No, thank you."
She did not like politics either. "I've only recently been adopted by Petra. If they find out."
"They won't care!" Trina interjected, rubbing her paws, "Believe me. This is your chance because the other condition is that we send a jump pilot. Tomorrow, you will make the jump to the final docking port and Penny will certify for a provisional class C licence. And on the Cyclone, you will be the second pilot, officially."
Speechless, she sat down and stared at Trina. "You, how?"
"Samul does the pilot licensing. Ketcher needs two pilots under 40 from outside Samul but went through official Samul channels. There is only one Ketcher pilot who works for my mother, so she was a given. There are currently seven other independent pilots from Ketcher under the age of 40 that she occasionally hires, but none of them have any knowledge of maintenance. And you are Petra, an old but unimportant clan, and you even work for Samul. So you will officially be the second non-Samul pilot and at the same time will take care of any repairs that come up". Trina grinned. "It was a hard sell to get you on this ship and I really hope you can stick to piloting and not have to do all sorts of emergency repairs."
It took a few more seconds for her to catch up. She ran Trina's words a second time to make sure she had got them right. Then she jumped to Trina and hugged her, crying with joy. Trina stroked her head.
"Thank you," she sniffled, "you're such a great cousin."
"Ex-cousin," Trina joked, "but seriously, there is another condition. You have to look like Ketcher."
"What?"
Penny grinned sardonically, "What a surprise."
Trina gave her an angry look and turned back to her. "Your whitish fur is a great base. And didn't you dye your fur at Clarice? You'll get a paintjob like the ship." Trina's smile was crooked, despite her best efforts.
She stared at Trina, processing the catch. "Well, I'm not Petra anyway," she muttered.
"Sorry about that, but you get a full C licence for free and get out of this madhouse," Trina sighed, " Ok, you two, finish the wiring check. Rerra, you then go straight to the Ketcher Beauty Clinic in 14ac. You have an appointment there at 9500, a special overnight treatment. Come on, cats pay crazy amounts for that. So be on time."
She nodded automatically. "Ketcher Beauty Clinic?" she mumbled.
"Come on, back to work!" Trina nudged her gently towards the door.