Chapter 3
Passing through the airlock, Wheeb and Quoin found themselves in a large room with hatches and personnel tubes studding the walls. Hanging in the center was a desk. A female human was lightly tethered behind the disk. Individuals of various species moved through the room on their way from one hatch or tube to another.
After taking in a quick scan of the room, Wheeb noticed the receptionist looking questioningly at the two of them. Jostling Quoin with his elbow, Wheeb whispered, "Think we been discovered. Natives don't look too hostile, but you'd better have your spiel ready 'cause the one behind the desk is startin' to wonder about us."
Sticking close together for moral support, Wheeb and Quoin approached the reception desk. The receptionist flashed a stunning smile as they stopped. Quoin felt all of his bravado fade as he tried to think of what to say. He felt the seconds ticking away, imagining the eyes of the entire room turning to stare as his brain refused to provide more than a blank. He felt Wheeb's elbow in his side and managed to stammer out, "Ah, yes, um, we'd like to speak someone in the department that handles disposing of your scrap."
The receptionist's smile faded a bit as she asked, "Do you have an appointment?"
Quoin looked to Wheeb and turned back to the receptionist. He could feel the moment slipping away, and knew if he didn't do it right this time, he wouldn't get another chance. "No," he admitted reluctantly, "I'm afraid I'm not currently aware of the name of the individual I need to address. Perhaps you could direct us in the proper direction. We wish to discuss assisting Hurvense Salvage Yards to recover greater value from their scrap. I am quite sure that the right person will be more than happy to listen to what we have to say."
The smile on the receptionist's face turned to icy chill as she said, "If you don't have an appointment, I'm very sorry. Hurvense Salvage Yards is a very busy place, as you can see. Our people are much too busy to take time to talk to just anyone who walks in. I suggest you send a letter of introduction to the department in question, explaining what you have in mind. Unless you have an appointment, there's really nothing I can do for you." The receptionist turned her attention to the data on her screen, making it obvious that Wheeb and Quoin were dismissed.
Wheeb felt a wave of relief as if he'd just stepped back from a yawning abyss. He realized that in the back of his mind he'd been looking for a graceful way to back out of the project from the beginning - and it had just been handed to him by the receptionist. The whole idea of building a starship out of scrap suddenly seemed so ludicrous he was chagrined at having seriously considered it.
Wheeb turned to suggest they leave, and was struck by the crushed and desperate look of his companion. Quoin still clung to the reception desk hand rail trying to think of something to say that would save the situation. Wheeb could hardly believe his ears as he heard his own voice say with unaccustomed bluster, "Excuse me Ms. Think ya'd better get on the phone and get us an appointment. Just tell 'em ya got a Gandhrin out here wantn' to make 'em a lotta money. If we don't get an appointment we're headed for the Gorgule Yards. If we write a letter, it'll be to tell yer bosses that ya lost our business for 'em. Now, ya wanna make that decision all by yerself, or ya gonna buck it higher up?"
The receptionist kept her attention riveted to her screen until Wheeb mentioned the possibility of being held responsible for losing business for the company. She refocused her icy glare on the pair. She was still dubious, but after sizing them up for a moment, she decided to play it safe. After several minutes on the phone, half of which was spent glaring at Wheeb and Quoin while she described what she saw to the person on the other end, the receptionist put down the phone and turned to the pair. "Mr. Cheowins has agreed to give you a few minutes. Go down tube E6 until you see his name on the hatch." The receptionist returned to her screen with such finality that Wheeb and Quoin decided to ask someone else for directions to tube E6.
Mr. Cheowins turned out to be a Wemdin. His soft brown fur was neatly styled, and he was dressed in conservative business attire. Wheeb and Quoin detailed their plan in a few minutes - stressing how the deal would benefit the Hurvense Salvage Yards. The Wemdin seemed to be listening attentively, but didn't show any reaction. When they were finished with their presentation, the Wemdin turned to face a large holographic image of his home world in what appeared to be a window in one wall of the office, and contemplatively stroked the fur on his chin.
As they waited for the Wemdin to respond, Wheeb and Quoin first idly glanced at the image and then found themselves being drawn into the hologram. The scene was of a park like setting, with a shading canopy of tall tree-like plants and small animals moving amidst the underbrush. The image was so clear and lifelike that if being stuck in orbit around Ringe hadn't been so much on their minds, they would have sworn the world on which they gazed was really just outside the window.
Mr. Cheowins noticed the interest Wheeb and Quoin showed in his hologram, and was obviously pleased as he said, "I see my window has caught your eye. As you can see, you're not the only ones who wish to be somewhere other than Ringe. I turn to my window whenever I have thinking to do. It's my main luxury in life. I have new tapes made of different parts of my home world and sent here every pay cycle. But enough of that, you came here with a business proposal."
"I might as well tell you that I was inclined to reject your proposal at first. You'd be amazed just how many marginal or outright absurd schemes stranded spacers come up with to get off Ringe. These plans usually involve Hurvense Yards supplying a rebuilt ship at a low price, or under dubious financial arrangements. Your plan is the first that involves building a whole ship out of salvage - and most importantly, paying for the parts as you get them."
"Of course, in spite of all the benefits to our business implied in your presentation, Hurvense Salvage Yards doesn't need your help as much as you need ours. I would guess that what you propose would be only marginally profitable for us. On the other hand, we wouldn't have any risk or overhead exposure."
Wheeb and Quoin started to fidget and prepare for the worst when the Wemdin paused and gazed into his window. Their fears had almost gotten the better of them when Mr. Cheowins turned and continued, "You wouldn't believe how many people come in here and hardly notice my window. Someone so insensitive they're not drawn into my window deserves Ringe. You, however, I will assist in your plans to leave."
Wheeb and Quoin let out the breath they hadn't noticed they were holding. The deathly quiet of the office was instantly transformed by an unintelligible babble as Wheeb and Quoin both tried to respond with assurances that Mr. Cheowins wouldn't be sorry for his decision.
The confusion came to a halt when the Wemdin held up his hand and continued, "Before you get too carried away, you'd better listen to the conditions I'm going to include in the deal. First of all, Hurvense Salvage Yards is in business to make a profit - and the profit margin you've allowed us is too small to compensate for the cost of maintaining the necessary records. That brings me to my next point - records. If you don't know already, you will soon learn that any dealings with any kind of vehicles inside the Federated Planets involves recordkeeping. It doesn't matter whether you're working on a utility craft or an interstellar liner - you still have to keep terabytes of information on file.
Now, in order to insure that the proper procedures are followed, we would have to keep the records for all the ships you dismantle. In order to compensate us for the cost of keeping those records, we need to make a better return off the deal. What I propose is that we will consign our partially stripped scrap to you, and you finish stripping it. You will return both the parts you extract and the left over scrap to us. We will credit you with 50% of the increased value of what you return to us - based on the price we get on resale. You'll be free to take your 50% in either credits or parts. We'll supply the necessary tools and working space. As long as you compensate us for any damage, you'll be free to use those tools to work on your own ship. That's the best deal I can offer you."
Wheeb and Quoin turned to each other questioningly. Quoin's eyes seemed to glaze over as he manipulated the financial terms in his mind. The answer he came up with didn't seem to stretch the limits of possibility too severely, so he gathered himself up and told Wheeb with as much conviction as he could muster, "I think we can make it work that way. I say yes."
Wheeb felt the weight of the full attention of the other two in the room pressing in on him. He would have liked to spend a couple days thinking about it, but with the pressure of the moment, he blurted out, "OK, I'm in. When do we start?"
"First of all, we will need a contract. Just give me a moment and I'll have one generated by our legal department." Cheowins flipped a switch on his desk and began talking softly into a handset. He put the handset down after a few moments and said, "Contract will be waiting for you at the reception desk. You can either read and sign it there, or take it with you and send it back when you've signed it. I would, however, suggest that you not take too long to sign the contract because conditions might change. If you have any further questions, the receptionist can direct you to the proper department. I believe that concludes our meeting. Good luck and goodbye."
Wheeb and Quoin, surprised by the sudden conclusion of their meeting, shook the proffered hand of the Wemdin and mumbled their goodbyes as they headed out the office hatch. Finding themselves abruptly back in the personnel tube, they headed back to the lobby.
When they floated up to the desk, the receptionist at first greeted them with an icy, "Is there something further you require?"
Wheeb responded with contrived superiority, "Yeah there is. Believe ya got a contract here for us. We'd be obliged if ya could get it for us. We got other important business to attend to soon as we finish here."
The receptionist turned to the stack of waiting documents with a certain amount of disbelief. Finding the contract, she turned back to Wheeb and Quoin - and with an amazingly swift transformation was the once again the friendly smiling woman they'd encountered when they first entered the building. Handing the documents to Wheeb and Quoin, she cooed, "Here is your contract, and here is a pen. If you want to read it here there is a comfortable lounge through hatch eight. I hope you enjoy doing business with Hurvense Salvage Yards."
Wheeb and Quoin were so taken aback by the sudden transformation in the receptionist that they could only mumble their thanks for the directions, and head for hatch eight.
They found their way to the lounge and were soon comfortably installed in the tethers around a table, with the contract spread out in front of them. Quoin asked quietly, "What were you talking about back there? What important business do we have to attend to when we leave here?"
"Tell the truth, probably nothin' more important than celebratin' up a storm. Only said it for effect. She was treatin' us so shabby I just hadda' say somethin'."
"Oh...just for effect," repeated Quoin. "You made up the whole thing just for the effect it would have on the receptionist, is that right? The patterns of interaction between humans never cease to amaze me."
Deciding to forego any further attempt to explain his actions, Wheeb turned to the contract. After only reading the first two paragraphs, he shoved the document over to Quoin, explaining, "Well, if ya can't understand human interactions, I can't get much of a handle on this legal mumbo-jumbo. Here, see if ya can figure out what this thing says."
Quoin grabbed the contract as it fluttered through the air past him. Smoothing out the pages, he was soon lost in silent contemplation. Reading quickly through the document, Quoin was amazed that Wheeb found such a concise and comprehensive piece of writing so difficult to understand. To Quoin's mind, it was all perfectly clear. What took time was mentally juggling the figures the contract laid out. The plan Quoin had originally envisioned already suffered from slender profit margins. Now that Hurvense Salvage Yards were demanding to adjust the profit split farther in their favor, it took some careful calculating to plot out a plan that would still have a decent chance of succeeding.
It took a fair amount of juggling for Quoin to balance the figures in his head. He turned to Wheeb and explained, "According to the clauses in the contract, it'll be a little harder to make it work out, but we can still do it. Living expenses are the only place where we'll be able cut back enough to make up the extra percentage we'll have to give Hurvense Salvage Yards. I suggest we put together a construction shack to live in while we work on the project. That should save a substantial amount. We'll have to cut all our other expenses to the bare minimums as well.
"According to the contract, we can get our parts two ways. We can either save out parts from the wrecks we work on, and the Hurvense auditors will figure out how much they're worth. Or, we can get paid in credits and buy our parts from whomever we choose. That much of the contract will be to our advantage. Unfortunately, we'll be billed the full resale price for any part we get from Hurvense. But I'm sure - well, mostly sure - we can still pull it off if we're careful. At worst, the contract allows us an escape clause if it all goes badly. I vote for signing."
Wheeb looked at Quoin, and then at the contract. At last he said, "Ya think we got real a chance of pulling this off? I mean a real chance - not just a shot in the dark!"
Quoin paused for a minute before he responded, "I admit that it's not a sure thing by any means. But I think I can honestly say that, compared to the alternatives, this is our best chance of getting back into space."
Wheeb digested Quoin's statement for a few minutes before he replied, "Ain't soundin' half as encouragin' as ya did when we was first startin' out on this thin'. But, if ya say it's our best chance, and we can get out of it if things don't go right, I'll sign on."
Quoin signed on the proper line and handed the contract to Wheeb. Wheeb took the contract with some trepidation and hesitated for a moment while he summoned up the resolve to place the stylus on the line. Looking at his signature next to Quoin's, Wheeb wasn't quite sure how he felt. But he knew that for better or worse, the pattern of his life had just taken an abrupt change in direction.
Wheeb and Quoin returned the signed contract to the receptionist, who greeted them with her now-familiar stunning smile. She took the contract from them and fed it into a slot in her console. There was a visible glow in the slot, and the contract disappeared. Turning back to Wheeb and Quoin, she announced, "Your contract has been entered in the public records, and is now in effect. If you need a copy for your own reference, you may obtain one from the department of records, in the public building complex. Have a nice day."
Wheeb and Quoin spent one more night in the welcome artificial gravity of the residential complex. The following morning, they packed up what few belongings they'd saved from the Edis and moved to the space provided by the salvage yard. They signed the receipts for their first load of scrap, and immediately set to work welding several large chunks of hull plating into a construction shanty. They had the shack pressure tight by the end of the first day and could move in.
The second day marked the beginning of a seemingly endless process. Once a week a shuttle would stop and unload a mixed pile of scrap. Wheeb and Quoin would attack the pile with plasma torches, laser cutters, and the hydraulic arms on a utility pod to break the large chunks to manageable pieces. They would then go to work with power wrenches until the pieces were reduced to component clusters. The last stage of disassembly would involve hand tools to separate the clusters into individual components.
On the seventh day of Ringe's eight-day week, Wheeb and Quoin would separate the individual components into three piles - one for the scrap shuttle to take to the orbiting furnaces; one to go to the Hurvense parts warehouse; and one of the parts they were keeping. The afternoon of the seventh day was always a period of dread for Wheeb and Quoin, because that was when the auditors arrived to assess the value of the third pile. It was always a painful experience to find out how valuable the "scrap" in the third pile had become.
On the eighth day, Wheeb and Quoin went shopping at the other salvage yards with the few credits they had left out of the week's work. As the weeks turned into months, Wheeb and Quoin became familiar faces on their regular circuit of the parts warehouses.
Once it became obvious that Wheeb and Quoin had no intention of becoming competitors - and as long as any assistance didn't adversely affect their own operations - some of the other scrap yards in the ring were at times almost helpful. The motives behind this help might have been curiosity, generosity, or a desire to help clean up the neighborhood by getting Wheeb, Quoin, and their pile of junk started out to the stars as soon as possible. Whatever the motives, any assistance was gratefully accepted.
One wizened old operator seized on Wheeb and Quoin's project as an opportunity to dispose of a large collection of equipment that had proven too obsolete to sell - but which was in such good condition that he couldn't bring himself to scrap it out. He explained that by giving the equipment to Wheeb and Quoin, he could feel good about helping someone out. He described the warm feeling he experienced at being a part of their project. Wheeb and Quoin were almost taken in by his sweet talk - beginning to think that maybe their opinion of the cutthroat operators and shyster parts dealers had been a little hard. Their previous opinion rushed back reinforced when the old man let it slip that he could make three times as much off the parts by claiming them as a donation tax credit than he could off selling them as scrap.
As time dragged on, and the only indication of progress was the expanding pile of junk accumulating around their shanty, Wheeb and Quoin's initial enthusiasm began to wane. Just when Wheeb had reached the point where he was going to suggest to Quoin that maybe this project was just another hard way to earn a living, and maybe they should start thinking about doing something else, Quoin announced that they finally had enough parts to begin construction.
Wheeb was to remember the period that followed as one of the happiest times of his life. Quoin agreed that in order to increase Wheeb's confidence in the ship, he should understand as much of its workings as possible. Until Quoin began teaching him the basics, Wheeb viewed the universe as being governed by forces beyond his comprehension or control - and science and technology as some sort of mysticism. After a few sessions with Quoin, Wheeb felt the dawning of a new understanding of the universe around him, and the awakening of a new sense of power and control over himself and his life.
Learning had been a chore to be avoided back in school. Wheeb had attended a run-down school on the rough side of town for too few years. He mostly remembered his teachers as being so distracted with trying to keep the students from killing each other, and complying with myriad meaningless directives cascading down from the central education authority, that teaching was an afterthought at best.
He was now learning more in a day of working with Quoin than he had in a year of academic study. And being tied so closely to real world applications, the knowledge he was now gaining seemed far more vibrant and alive than the dusty rote memorization of disjointed facts and figures he remembered from school.
As the unlikely pair continued their efforts on the ship, the emotional atmosphere steadily improved. Freed of any pretense of hiding his lack of aesthetic sense, Quoin found his work improved in both speed and quality. In fact, Quoin proved to be an excellent junkyard mechanic. They weren't exactly building a starship from scratch. They were assembling it from sections and modules cut from ships of every size and shape imaginable. Trying to assemble all these different-shaped pieces into a functional whole was difficult enough. Doing it in a way that was also aesthetically pleasing would have been impossible.
Wheeb and Quoin named their ship Second Chance - a name that applied to both the parts that went into her construction and her crew. As Second Chance grew, she became the subject of a great deal of humor, and a considerably smaller amount of useful advice and assistance, from the other inhabitants of the ring. As the ship neared completion, the general opinion in the local bars and gaming houses changed constantly - from "the reactor'll blow soon as they light it off" or "it'll blast 'em into hyperspace 'n they won't ever come back", to some slightly more hopeful types who would allow that "well, it just might work - if they're real lucky." Some of the less optimistic took up a collection to have Second Chance towed out into clear space "a safe distance" for her first trials. Wheeb and Quoin accepted the tow in the interests of maintaining cordial relations with their neighbors.
After what seemed to Wheeb an eternity of scavenging for parts, welding together pieces that neither fit nor wanted to fit, and the endless minor details that had to be just right, Second Chance was complete. Or at least as complete as she needed to be. Wheeb and Quoin were so anxious to try her out that they put off all the minor details that could wait. They'd also come to the conclusion that they would probably never be finished working on Second Chance.
As she was towed out to a safe distance, Second Chance was a truly unusual sight. Although she was arranged in the traditional format with all of her units in line, the units had been cut out of ships of different diameters. The ship gave the appearance of a stack of random sized cylinders with a ring around the center. The small tapered first unit was the bridge. A larger bridge would have been desirable, but they chose this one because of the equipment it contained.
Next in line, after an abrupt change in diameter, came the life support module. They'd salvaged this unit out of a ship with a crew of six. Since they intended to operate Second Chance with just the two of them, hiring cargo handlers when they got to port, the oversize crew module would provide plenty of extra room for creature comforts.
After the life support module came the fusion reactor with another abrupt change in diameter - this time to a smaller size. Girdling the reactor unit was the gravity-wave generator. The generator provided gravity waves of straight or reversed polarity for lifting off the surface of a planet, as well as propulsion for intra-system travel. The ring that formed the gravity-wave generator had originally been part of a much larger vessel, with its outer surface flush with the skin of the ship. Wheeb and Quoin had mounted the gravity generator ring around the much smaller reactor unit, and secured it in place with a veritable spider web of struts and braces.
Following the reactor unit with its ring came the hyperdrive. The hyperdrive was fairly modern and compact, and its unit was an even smaller diameter than the reactor. The hyperdrive was what made travel to the stars possible, and was the main difference between an intra-system ship and a starship. The drive couldn't be used inside a solar system because of the wake it generated in the time-space continuum.
Last in line, but largest of all, was the cargo hold. A large cargo hold was perhaps unwarranted optimism, but they hoped for the best.
In addition to being different sizes, the units also had different surface finishes. Some were polished metal, but most had been covered with a painted pattern, logo or advertisement. The outer radiation shielding on some of the units had been damaged and repaired with materials cut out of other ships - invariably of a different color or pattern. The abrupt changes in diameter were filleted with more of this oddly colored material. All in all it looked like a patchwork job, and those who had contributed to the towing fund decided their donations were a wise investment.