Chapter 3

The hauler shook as the engines finally cut off, shutting down all other electrical and mechanical systems. This was bad. No engines or systems meant no environmental control and no fresh air circulation. Our craft was well insulated, and in most environments it will maintain it's climate for several hours before the ambient temperature of the outside world influenced it.

But outer-space has no climate. Outer-space has no environment. Outer-space has no weather. It's just cold. Cold, empty, hell. The kind of cold that doesn't care whether you're insulated or whether your engines are running or whether you have a good temperature control system in your personal living area. This is the kind of cold that kills you upon contact, that turns your blood into snowflakes, that solidifies molten iron at heavenly speeds. Outer space has no enemies, it plays no games, and it makes no mistakes. It deserves respect. It demands fear.

And fear I would yield.

I could feel a realm of dark uncertainty growing in the pit of my stomach, a physical sensation that can only be matched by consuming a bowl of the worlds hottest peppers, followed by an entire glass of Jamaican white rum. To be truthful, I didn't know how much time I would have to fix whatever problem had caused this issue. Could I have hours, or would I have mere minutes? What could've happened? Was it just some random anomaly, something unexplainable? Was it something common to all systems? Was it one large problem or several large problems, all culminating at this one moment to test my skill and prove my worthiness? Take responsibility, seek responsibility, I thought. Oh, I lamented in the days where responsibility meant frying potatoes and grilling beef patties for less-than-grateful patrons. Where I take out the trash, and take my time, knowing that nothing of severe importance remained for me to accomplish.

"Silas," I heard Kyles voice, full of anger, cut the silence. I could still feel his eyes on me. He's been mad at me before, but never for a technical deficiency. I'd been late for a departure once, where he more than held me accountable. I had felt bad enough being late, and his ass chewing that day only made me even more ashamed. Though I know shaming me was never his intent, he drove me into a mindset where I would strive to show no fault and lack any deficiency.

"Just thinking out my plan of attack," I answered confidently. I think. Whatever confidence I did have was slowly diminishing as endless seconds of silence spoke doubt to my spirit. What a burden to have… Three of your peers, your friends, family for what it was worth, all relying on you to prevent their deaths on this small hauler that was currently your whole world.

I clenched the straps of my tool bag harder as I stood up, and in all my pride and infinite bearing, stepped it out toward the cargo hold. I didn't look back toward them. Even though we had no illumination, I still couldn't let them see me sweat. The pressure was on.

Basic essentials first. We need engines and communication. Everything else can wait.

Opposite the birthing, adjacent the cargo and the cockpit, was the service room. it was a small area, with room enough for one person to stand comfortably with arms at his side. It was nothing more than fuses, plugs, relays and circuit breakers. With hundreds of wires and even some moving parts from the engines, this was the hottest area of the ship; save the engine-room itself, which can only be accessed from the outside.

"Go through basic start-up procedures!" I shouted to Jenson. I heard him start toggling away, flipping switches and buttons, moving levers and joysticks. Even though there was no light, we both knew he was doing everything properly. The human body had a wonderful way of remembering daily tasks that we performed hundreds of times. Muscle memory. Literally, like riding a bike, Jenson could fly this machine with a blindfold on.

After a few seconds I saw a flash in the relay panel. It was a lime green color, easier to see in the dark. My heart skipped a beat. Could it be this easy? It got a little excited as I called out to Jenson again. "Staaahhhp!"

"Okay… What's up!" He sounded relieved, or more intrigued, that I might have found something

"Saw an LED," I let him know, trying to cover my uncertainty with assurance. "Take it from the top. Ill have you stop when I see it again." It was very possible that this light would lead to nothing. Likewise, this light could be my key to victory, guiding me to a pivotal moment, a lamp shinning grace on our lives.

"Gotcha'," Jenson loudly called as he again ran through his second-nature process of piloting. While he gracefully and flawlessly flipped through his switches and buttons, I stared intently in the area I had seen the light, hoping desperately that I wasn't losing my marbles.

Ii felt like forever, probably five seconds, as I was waiting for my little blip of green hope. To my luck, and perhaps more through my initiative, it appeared again. I couldn't stop the ear-to-ear grin that took the hemisphere of the scruffy, sad pallet I call my face. "Staaahhhp!" I call again, with slightly more enthusiasm. Silence echoed from the cockpit, telling me Jenson had stopped and was awaiting further guidance.

I placed my hand on, what I hoped was, the relay that had spoken. Reaching into my tool bag, which was full of greasy screwdrivers and dull wire cutters all sorts of other goodies, I pulled out a small Lumin. This device, compact and inconspicuous as it was, provided several features. The size of a human thumb, the Lumin could illuminate a small room like a candle, project images onto a wall and even receive updates and modifications for system schematics. All good technicians had one. I lit the room up to aid my vision. It was nice to have some light, though it hadn't been very long.

The relay I'd been fondling for the last few seconds was K12, a relay that remotely sent power to the rest of the systems. Instead of simply flipping a switch on the control panel to start the engines or anything else, this relay was put into place. Using low voltage to magnetically throw switches carrying high voltages, K12 kept the crew and vessel safe from electrical damage. If something went wrong, it was more likely that this inexpensive relay would need replacing, rather than the whole control interface frying in the cockpit. Things were starting to make sense.

I had Jenson run through his start-up sequence one more time, ensuring that my hunch was right and I had the right relay. When it indeed flashed green again, I stopped Jenson and pulled it from the panel.

Small, this relay was. No larger than a golf ball, it wouldn't look like much to the oblivious swine who'd never understand it for what it is. These little, man-made trinkets had revolutionized electrical engineering centuries ago.

I peered into its amber, translucent cover. Inside this small piece of history were several sets of metal contacts and wires. A coiled wire sat at the base, serving as an electromagnet that wound energize, forcing the contacts to move in its direction. It looked unharmed. I walked my eyes up the contacts until I found the itch. The third set was scorched. Something had caused these contacts to overheat and burn up, thus keeping the relay from performing.

To be sure, I used an ohmmeter I kept in my bag. Verifying what I already knew, that the contacts had no continuity between any two points, I dropped the relay into my bag and walked over to a flame locker we kept in the room. Standing five feet tall and an ugly yellow color, this steel locker was supposed to be used to keep flammable materials out of harm's way in case of a fire. It's where I kept some more valuable tools and hard-copy publications of the hauler's systems. I also kept a bottle of bourbon, tucked away safely on the bottom shelf, for those longer flights.

Just above the bourbon, on the second shelf, I kept a tackle box full of spare parts. From one of the many technicians I learned from when I first joined IPS, I received this tackle box. It wasn't large, but it had all the essentials for a simple, scrounged repair. I usually kept it stocked with at least five of these relays.

I pulled one out, checked its markings to make sure it was rated for the proper voltage and current, and placed in into the panel board.

"Okay," I called over to Jenson, trying to hide my giddy excitement. "I replaced a relay, go through-"

Before I could even finish speaking, Jenson had started operating again. I imagine he was tired of waiting around, and eager to start doing his job.

The hauler's lights came on. My grin came back. Only a few more seconds passed before the engines roared to life, securing my release of burden and guaranteeing my reputation and career would remain intact. I packed my Lumin back into my bag.

I closed the service room's door as I walked out, trotting gleefully toward the cockpit. I was hoping no one would make a big deal of my accomplishment. I already felt great for solving the problem, which, honestly, was much simpler than it should have been. I didn't need any praise, and preferred to stay humble if they'd let me.

"Alright, Jenson," I said as I entered the cockpit. "Let's step on it because I-"

I stopped talking, completely in shock as I processed the situation before me. Kyle was lying, unconscious, on the deck. A small stream of blood ran from his forehead, stopping in a small drain in the center of the room. Jenson and Jarrod, while still sitting in their seats, stared back at me without sound. Behind them, two other's I didn't recognize were standing, holding them at gunpoint.

My eyes widened as I finally came to realize that we were not alone on this vessel. While I had been proudly fixing a problem that I suddenly knew was no accident, my friends had been helplessly taken advantage of.

A hard nudge in the shoulder brought my shock into reality. I turned slowly to my right. A tall man in dark clothes greeted me with vigor as he put a gun in my face. I gulped, sweat starting to form droplets on my forehead, as I stared death in the eyes.