That Which Pulls

Tunk. Tunk. Tunk.

I tapped my head against my center display, and sighed. I enjoyed being contracted as RMC, I did, but I wanted to be my own person. 5 years I had spent working as a docking tug operator, and I almost had enough saved up to buy out my contract, get a full ship refit and go explore instead. I perked up when the radio crackled.

TAU SEVEN, TUG BASE.

I keyed my radio for voice activation.

“Tug Base, go ahead for Tau Seven.”

TAU SEVEN, BE ADVISED. EMERGENCY REQUEST INBOUND, SYSTEM CLASS MINING BARGE WITH A SECONDARY REACTOR FAILURE. SPS DESIGNATION FIVE NINER JULIET TAC MIKE KILO NOVEMBER TAC ROMEO MIKE CHARLIE TWO. ETA FIVE MINUTES. DELIVER TO STATION BAY ECHO NOVEMBER TAC NINER TWO.

“Tau Seven copies. 59J-MKN-RMC2, 5 minutes, Bay EN-92. Gently so nothing goes nuclear.”

AFFIRM TAU SEVEN. SENDING YOUR TRANSPONDER DATA TO ROMEO MIKE CHARLIE TWO NOW. THEY’LL BE IN CONTACT. SLOW IS SAFE.

I rolled my eyes. Company policy demanded that we use specific phrases over comms, even if they made no sense.

"Safe is fast. Tau Seven, standing by for contact."

A glance at my center right hand console display showed the SPS designator I had already forgotten, and the bay I would be towing to. I turned off voice activation for comms as I activated an automatic pre-tow checklist. I had a minute or two to check my equipment before I had to start burning.

As I clambered out of the cabin, comms buzzed again.

TAU SEVEN, RMC2.

"FUCK!"

I reached around my seat (which some idiot had decided needed to be on rails in the middle of the cockpit, like some kind of atmospheric fighter. Downright inconvenient) and reactivated my radio.

"RMC2, go ahead for Tau Seven."

HOWDY TAU SEVEN. NAV IS SHOWING THAT WE GET THERE IN ABOUT 5 MINUTES. DO WE NEED TO DELAY FOR YA?

"Negative RMC2, maintain your current course. All I need to do is extend my docking arm and make sure the clamps are showing good. I'll update you with info for a different tug if I have a problem."

COPY THAT TAU SEVEN. RMC2 INBOUND.

Toggling my comms with yet another spine bending stretch (Fuck the engineer that designed that cockpit, and fuck company regulations that kept me from making unapproved modifications. That seat should not be centered.) I looked at the screen for docking controls. It showed a wireframe image of my pride and joy, the Dusty Star. Being a base model Rumors Mining Corporation licensed product from Makisan Corp, she had docking ports on all three axes, just leaving the aft clear for extra forward engine power. Each side had boosters, of course, but the singular retrofit I was allowed was for Dusty (as I affectionately called her) to have interfaces on her docking arms that gave me control of an attached ship's boosters and engines. Not a good option to exercise next to a station, but when I intercept a ship a tenth of an AU from the station it was a nice option to have. Just a hair too much power at the wrong time, and the station would have an unapproved airlock. Always a bad day.

I planned on keeping that change. I would still need to make money once my contract was over, and having five functional docking arms that could move both cargo (or loot, you never knew) and other craft offered nearly peerless flexibility. As for my other upgrades, shoving a tertiary reactor into the powerplant would… keep me distracted from my job. I shook my head and refocused.

The wireframe has a list of systems, both critical and QoL, showing in various colors. Docking was still showing yellow, but I knew that wasn’t an issue. A few weeks ago, I had attached to a freighter that had been given bad nav instructions (I suspected some flavor of corporate espionage, but that wasn’t even in my pay scale, much less my pay grade) and had taken a shortcut through a transient asteroid field. The ship had been fine aside from some dents, but they didn’t want to risk a boost malfunction punching them through the station. Completely understandable.

The problem was that they didn’t have good on-board diagnostic systems unlike Dusty, so they had no way of knowing that the docking arm they asked me to use had taken a good enough hit to shred the mating surface. They also had no way of knowing that the damage to their docking arm would also ruin my docking arm. The damage happened while I was on the job, so the company had to pay for a replacement, but I was waiting for it to show up. In the meantime, my right side clamp would just have to be out of commision. C’est la vie.

Everything else that mattered showed green or cyan, so I was ready to go.

“RMC2, Tau Seven.”

GO AHEAD TAU SEVEN.

“RMC2, my systems are showing good to go for a tow. Is there a specific docking port you would prefer I latch to? I also need to know if there are any complications on your ship that will affect how I handle flying once we’re docked. More details on your reactor failure would fall under that.”

NEGATIVE TAU SEVEN. EITHER THE UPPER OR THE LOWER DOCKING ARM ARE GOOD. WE EVEN RIGGED SOME CAMERAS, SO WE CAN CONFIRM THERE IS NO DAMAGE ON OUR CLAMPS. HEARD THERE WAS AN ISSUE A MONTH AGO. OUR SECONDARY REACTOR IS IN THE MIDDLE OF A PROLONGED MELTDOWN, BUT WE ALREADY RETRACTED THE CORES AS FAR AS POSSIBLE. AS LONG AS YOU FLY GENTLE AND TRY NOT TO STRESS OUR POWERPLANT TOO MUCH, WE SHOULDN’T BE TURNING INTO A BALL OF FIRE ANY TIME SOON. WE DO HAVE A GOOD BIT OF MASS FROM MINING, BUT NOTHING ELSE NOTABLE.

“Copy that RMC2. I’ll choose my docking location based off of orientation. Send me good coords and I’ll see you there.”

COPY TAU SEVEN. ETA TWO MINUTES, TRANSMITTING LANDING COORDINATES THROUGH ASPSISC NOW. SEE YOU SOON.

Launching myself over my seat to settle in the cabin (who the fuck designed that, honestly), I reran the same pre-tow checklist as a final precaution. Powerplant, check. Engine cycle, check. Boosters, check. Hydraulic systems A, B, C, and D, check. Life Support, failure. I knew about that one; the organics filter had gone over its hours while I was out on this shift, just needed to replace it and clear the fault. Communications, check. Exterior lighting, check. Navigation, check. Weapons, N/A. Chaff and flare, check. Everything that was important for an intercept and tow was either green, or only barely an issue. It was just a filter.

Having gotten myself settled in my seat and satisfied that I wouldn’t need to get up for anything again, I secured some restraints to my suit and looked at my nav displays. Still nothing from RMC2 for meeting them, and everything else was already preloaded, so there was nothing to do but wait.

DING

“There you are.”

It took 17 seconds and 54 milliseconds to calculate my jump, according to the computer. It even took so long that my maintenance system threw an error and said the navigation computer could have had a virus or a component failure. I ignored it for now; the failure code would still be there later, and the jump was already calculated and executing.

I grimaced, not looking forward to the jump. The twist it always put in my stomach was just unpleasant. Some people likened in to riding in a true gravity roller coaster, but I hated those; I didn’t even like true gravity, really. I’ll stick with my generated grav fields in space, thank you very much.

SECURE. SECURE. SECURE. JUMP IN TEN SECONDS.

Another retrofit I looked forward to was getting rid of the jump delay. It was just me in the ship and that wasn’t changing any time soon. I didn’t need to get yelled at.

SECURE. SECURE. SECURE. JUMPING.

A twist.

The stars in front of me shifted ever so slightly as I moved at an appreciable fraction of the speed of light. Or, the world moved around me? I had never really understood how tungstanium managed to make jumps work, but I didn’t have to. It just did.

TAU SEVEN, RMC2. WE HAVE VISUAL CONTACT, FORTY FIVE FORTY FIVE.

“RMC2, Tau Seven copies. Boost to local stop so I can maneuver around you. Inbound.”

UNDERSTOOD TAU SEVEN. DECREASING EXTERNAL LIGHT FOR SHORT VISUAL RANGE. SEE YOU SOON.

I leaned forward in my seat so that I could catch a glimpse of RMC2 before they dimmed their lights. I didn’t want to blind myself, but I’d rather deal with a few spots in my retinas for a little bit than accidentally turning both of our ships into so much radioactive space dust. I caught a glimpse before they dimmed their spotlights. Between what I saw and my scanners (nothing expensive of course, RMC wouldn’t shell out for anything good) I was confident that docking would be simple.

I leaned back in my seat and grabbed my controls. As much as I hated the design of my cabin, the flight controls were admittedly good. With physical throttles for the engines and main RCS boosters and digital controls for the auxiliary RCS boosters and the CMGs (which were generally locked because they needed to be precisely controlled) and a physical 6 DOF joystick for both ‘aeronautic’ control and translation control, I was confident in my ability to fit myself and the Star into any gap that had the space. Parking myself within 50 meters of a ship and properly matching velocities? Nothing at all.

A few deft turns of my right wrist and some judicious boosting later, and I was aligned with RMC2, my bottom clamp less than a millimeter from being perfectly aligned with their top port. It was a little disappointing, frankly; I was usually better than that. Reaching over to my right side console, I set the autopilot to maintain the same distance and speed from RMC2 that it had now, and climbed over my chair. Ever since Marke quit, I was a one man crew. It wasn’t usually a huge deal, since the only constant maintenance I had to do was the flightly servicing for fuel, oil, LOX, and water, but the docking clamps weren’t connected to the cockpit. Another change I wanted to make once I could; I didn’t want to worry about paying someone once I was freelancing, and everything really should be tied into the cockpit anyway.

I flicked a switch, and the clamp system came to life. A monitor flickered on, showing a live feed from all 6 clamps, statuses for each, and a rangefinder. A dial under the monitor showed NORM on its own screen, so I turned it through the different clamps until it said BLW. The clamp monitor changed accordingly, transitioning from all 6 clamps to the single clamp selected and it’s mate (currently backlit in red) on the other ship. The rangefinder showed 50 meters like it should, and with a distinct lack of frantic beeping in the cabin I was relatively assured my autopilot hadn’t shit the bed.

As soon as the clamp monitor showed the mating clamp in green, I flicked the DOCK switch to COUPLE and held another switch in EXTEND, and listened to the motors whine as my monitor showed both clamps extending to meet between Dusty and RMC2. A second whine rattled through my ship once they had less than 5 meters between them, telling me that the electromagnets had turned on. Those magnets, strong enough to disrupt even station class scanners, were what allowed docking clamps to self correct bad piloting and create a safe seal, so long as the alignment didn’t place the clamp faces completely apart.

A thunk, and my monitor showed the docking clamps as connected and the downlink as solid. I heard a voice in the cabin, but I wasn't close enough to answer immediately.

“Tau Seven, RMC2 over downlink. How copy?”

I reached around my seat to switch comms to the PA system. No need to transmit over system-wide frequencies when were had a physical connection.

“RMC2, Tau Seven. Lima Charlie. Let me get situated and we'll head to the station.”

“Sounds good. Our engine controls are transferred, just waiting on confirmation.”

I didn't bother replying, seeing as I was a little busy clambering over Mt. Seat. Once I was seated and strapped in, I started poking at my consoles.

“Engine control verified RMC2. Can I get a verbal confirmation of jump stability?”

“RMC2 is good for a jump Tau Seven. All cargo and personnel are secure, and our hull is sealed.”

I sighed. I hated having to read out the massive block of text on my center console, but I had gotten in trouble before for ignoring it.

“Copy that. I'll be initiating a jump to within 500km of the station. Until I direct you, please do not activate, deactivate, actuate, disable, or otherwise disturb, modify, or interact with your powerplant, engines, RCS, communications, or any other navigation or control systems. I will be using the thrusters, boosters, and other control systems of both craft to bring you into dock safely at docking bay... Echo November Tac Niner Two. Neither myself nor Rumors Mining Corporation take liability in any form for damage caused to either your craft or the station due to piloting failures caused directly or indirectly by you or your equipment. Should this jump and the following docking procedure cause undue cost to myself due to you or your equipment in any way, the difference in cost will be owed by you to Rumors Mining Corporation within ten standard days or upon your return from your next venture, whichever occurs first. Is this acceptable, and do you have any questions?”

“They make you read that every time Tau Seven?”

“Yes they do. Clear to jump?”

“Affirm Tau Seven, take us home. This reactor is melting a hole in my pocket.”

“Copy RMC2. You'll have a 10 second warning prior to the jump; it shouldn't take long for coords and clearance, so I suggest you stay strapped in. Tau Seven out.”

I reached forward and flipped back to system comms.

“Tug Base, Tau Seven. Positive dock with RMC2. Requesting jump location and clearance to dock at bay EN-92.”

TAU SEVEN, TUG BASE. SENDING COORDINATES NOW. YOU ARE PRE-APPROVED FOR BAY ECHO NOVEMBER TAC NINER TWO. YOU ARE CLEARED TO JUMP AS SOON AS YOU RECIEVE YOUR LOCATION. AVOID TRAFFIC PATTERNS AND LAND AS SOON AS ABLE.

“Copy Tug Base. Jump and dock ASAP, ignore local chatter. Consider inbound. Tau Seven out.”

I put my comms back to the PA setting.

“Update RMC2. Getting coords now, we're already cleared to dock. Sounds like it’ll be quick.”

“Fantastic Tau Seven. We'll be here.”

It took just shy of three minutes for my ASPSISC to show new coordinates, but as soon as I had them I initiated the jump.

SECURE. SECURE. SECURE. JUMP IN TEN SECONDS.

Only 5ish seconds this time. Must have been some kind of weird glitch that worked itself out earlier. Neat.

SECURE. SECURE. SECURE. JUMPING.

A twist.

A shift in the stars visible through my cabin windows, and I focused on ignoring my suddenly churning gut.

“All good down there RMC2?”

“People and equipment are good Tau Seven. Reactor didn't destabilize either.”

I nodded.

“Good to hear. Burning to station. Tau Seven out.”

We had jumped sunside of the station, and it was close and large enough to be visible. I dialed Bay EN-92 into my autopilot, and told the computer to avoid all designated traffic lanes just like I had been told. I wanted to avoid any angry calls about doing that, so I set my lights to do a clockwise strobe, with green, red, and white light alternating. The downlink let me set the same on RMC2, just counterclockwise. Rumors had designated that as the emergency nuclear signal, so we shouldn't be bothered.

I watched the station as we approached. It looked like a bunch of cubes that had been haphazardly stacked together, which it essentially was. I was still too far away to make out any docking linkages, but I knew that up close, the station looked to have a band of hair where the linkages were all attached and waiting to latch onto a ship.

Thankfully the traffic in and out of the station was all on the opposite side of the superstructure, so the autopilot could just fly in a straight intercept course until the ship was just a kilometer away. At one kilometer, just like always, my autopilot shut down and I had to take over. My autopilot, thankfully, was smart enough to generate guide lines for me follow. Some low speed, careful maneuvering later, and RMC2 was docked to the station and I was climbing out of my cabin to unlock my own clamp. I was looking forward to my shift being finished so I could take my time off. I needed that new filter, but even though it took priority I could have.

“Thanks again, Tau Seven. For a minute we all thought we would be nuked by our own ship.”

“No worries RMC2. Fly safe.”

I released my clamp, turning off the magnet as watched to make sure the clamp fully retracted, then turned the station off. Another climb into the cockpit, and I turned my PA off as I switched to system comms.

“Tug Base, Tau Seven. Requesting docking bay for servicing.”

CLEARED FOR DOCKING TAU SEVEN. BAY TANGO ROMEO TAC ONE THREE.

“Copy Tug Base, TR-13. See you at undock.”

ROGER TAU SEVEN. TUG BASE OUT.