The Engineer

Click here to listen to the first chapter as read by the author.

Morag Higgins’ first SciFi/Horror is fast paced, humorous and frightening all at the same time.  Prepared to be creeped out as you turn the pages and join the engineer on his terrifying adventure.   It is pending release and will be available from all major online retail stores.

Synopsis

Juggernaut 90, a deep space pleasure freighter on course for Colony Planet Echo One is six months into a two- and half-year journey.  On board passengers and crew are in stasis leaving ships AI JOE 90 and David Bockerat engineer, the only active human crew member to deal with any breakdowns whilst in deep space.

David who is nearing retirement after years of service with the fleet finds himself dealing with an almost constant stream of minor breakdowns, a situation that he has never experienced before. To his surprise he found the personality program for the AI had not only been switched off by the previous engineer who had been on the ship for almost fifty years before his unexpected death, but the personality files were missing.

During one of his maintenance checks he stumbles upon the missing files for the AI and re-installs them, activating JOE 90 to full capacity.  The AI seems to be very amenable and develops a good rapport with David.  As the troubles escalate David’s intuition tells him that sinister forces are at work and becomes suspicious that JOE 90 is somehow involved.  With no one to turn to other than the AI David feels trapped in a cat and mouse struggle with this unseen force.

After a shocking discovery deep in the bowls of the ship David realises his suspicions about JOE 90 were unfounded.  However, all the new evidence he finds points to something far more sinister and horrific which has been released by the previous engineer Robert Wallen.  David and JOE 90 are now locked in a life-or-death struggle with unknown supernatural forces that put the entire ship at risk.  Will they managed to defeat their foe before it is too late?

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FIRST CHAPTER

CHAPTER ONE

The pressure relay sizzled and sparked, fizzing angrily in its housing. “Son of a bitch!” Line Engineer David Bockerat gritted his teeth as he disconnected the power and prised the faulty unit out.

Sitting back on his heels, David scanned the issue number and date. He compared readings on his ‘repairs and replacements’ database. Sighing to himself, he checked the readouts on his pad. “You have got to be kidding!” The part had been replaced last turnaround and was supposed to be good for at least thirty years. He opened his spares case and selected a new unit, double checking that it wasn’t from the same batch.

Once he was sure that it was working, he closed the unit and slowly stood up. He winced slightly as the blood rushed back into his legs. David’s body was starting to feel the wear and tear of years of crouching and crawling into tight spaces aboard interstellar spaceships.

He stretched and spoke out loud, “JOE,” David flicked a switch and re-connected the power, “JOE!”

The calm, mechanical tones of the ship’s computer responded to his summons. “Yes, David?”

Closing the hatch in the wall, David tried not to sound irritable and slipped his multi-tool back into his belt latch. “JOE, I want you to issue a report that the last batch of Z20 Pressure Trips may be faulty. This one was replaced last year, and it’s just melted the shit over the housing. Get the Line to check all ships issued with this batch of replacements.”

“Melted shit?”

David sighed again; this was beginning to annoy him, “Yeah.”

He was almost a year into this voyage, and he still hadn’t located the personality program for the A.I. computer. David had been the replacement engineer for Robert Wallen, the oldest engineer in the fleet. Robert had suddenly passed away at Home Port, just before he took this – his last voyage before retiring.

David had known Robert to nod to at engineering briefings and refresher training courses. They had met once at the psyche testing sessions that engineers were obliged to do after every couple of runs. David had not liked the man. Robert was old-school, not enamoured with the latest AI technology, especially the new personality programs that were designed to improve interaction with humans.

Most of the engineers welcomed the new programming for their long-haul companions. But, a few of the older ones just couldn’t seem to accept the advancements. He had never heard anything negative said about Robert’s technical abilities – he had certainly held this ship together – but sometimes, you just got a feeling about a person and David never had the inclination to get to know him better.

David was also a lifetime company man. He had been an engineer since qualifying a good thirty years ago. It took a special personality to work the Interstellar Cruisers. One of the main perks was being able to interact with the AI computers that did the bulk of the maintenance; essentially, they were the soul of the ship. They were all given distinct and varied personality programs to make them as human as possible and were usually great company.

David had been totally surprised to find this ship was running on the basic factory settings and that the personality program had been shut down. Try as he might he simply couldn’t find where the last engineer had stored the file, or why he had switched it off in the first place.

It was difficult working with a unit that was acting on basic settings. They were very literal. David preferred to build a rapport with the computers that were flying the ships he was working on.

Taking a deep breath, he organised his thoughts, “Sorry JOE, the unit has overheated and melted silicon residue over the relay housing. I have replaced it so hopefully it won’t happen again.”

“JOE 90 confirming instructions and executing.”

David tried not to laugh. All the ships on this ferry line were of the Juggernaut class. All the ships’ computers were named after that, the Juggernaut Online Evaluation system. They were all AIs and as this was ship number 90 in the fleet, so, the computer was called JOE 90.

When David had heard about Robert’s sudden death he had deliberately asked for this posting; he had wanted to be the engineer on this ship for years, but Robert had been adamant and would never budge or try another cruiser. The other engineers would joke amongst themselves, saying a position on this ship was literally like ‘dead man’s shoes. They hadn’t realised just how right they would be.

The reason David so wanted to be on this ship was simply because of the computer’s name. As a hobby he would watch ancient recordings of TV shows from several hundred years ago. He loved ancient history and was particularly fond of shows with puppets. David’s speciality was not just in practical engineering, nuts and bolts work, but he was adept at advanced programming and computer system maintenance.

One of the shows he especially liked was the Gerry Anderson children’s shows that used puppets. David liked to think that these puppets were like the first robots. The advanced models on the Gerry Anderson programs made them almost seem like AIs. He liked them all, but his favourite was a character called Joe 90, who had special powers.

He made his way back to his engineering control centre, taking a route that took him to the stasis decks where he checked in on the rest of the crew and passengers in the stasis chambers. They were eleven months into a two-and-a-half-year trip to Colony Planet Echo One, a well-known holiday destination for the super-rich.

It never ceased to amaze David how the upper echelons had devised a way of extending their lives by moving from one holiday to another. All the time they were in stasis the rest of the universe aged and their credits accrued in their financial institutions. It was a lifestyle that David couldn’t understand, nor even hope to achieve. The closest his class came to this was to be crew on the ships ferrying them from one fun destination to another. He chuckled to himself. He had heard that on the odd occasions some passengers disembarked at their destination only to find themselves broke as their credit manager had stolen their money and went on holiday.

Although the AIs essentially ran the ship, it was a company requirement that at least one crew member remained awake during the flight. It was quite a commitment for a single human to remain alone for this length of time and it took a special personality to be able to cope with the tedium and boredom. This had been one of the main reasons for developing personality programs for the computers. Each engineer was carefully psychologically profiled to ensure that they would get along with the AI.

Despite years of being virtually on his own, David loved his job. He had made this run at least six times on ships 70, 87, 15 and 63, ferrying his passengers safely to their holiday destination and back again. He was beginning to ‘feel’ the mileage, and as he felt himself getting closer to retirement age, he was beginning to understand how Robert must have felt.

David wasn’t sure if he wanted to settle down planet-side. If he did, would it be on the leisure planet or on Earth? Because of the technical requirements of his job, he had been very well paid over the years and he had a tidy sum saved up – enough to live out the rest of his life in luxury. The problem was, he just loved space.

Every time he had made the trip as ‘Engineer Conscious Crew Member in Charge,’ he would ponder what he would do when he retired. David was sociable, but he also liked his own company and would not be able to cope on a crowded planet, even if it was a leisure planet. Too many people would easily freak him out. There were occasions that he missed company. If he got bored, he would chat to the JOEs on the ship or activate the holograph room and visit his favourite bar.

The other JOEs in the fleet had been great company. He had become good friends with them all, especially JOE 63 and JOE 15, having done two runs with each. This was the first ship that hadn’t had the personality program activated. Which, as far as he was concerned, was very boring.

Throwing his note pad down on the desk he sat at the console, the blank screen reflecting his face. David frowned; he really would need to shave. He rubbed at the stubble and grimaced, debating whether he should grow a beard. Sighing, he tapped in his ID code and began a standard sweep of the ship’s systems.

It was several hours later when he finished. Everything seemed to be fine.

“Activate holo-deck, JOE, I’m done for the day.” He listened to the dull neutral response from the computer and shook his head; he really was going to have to find that program.

 

Music hummed away in the background as David stepped into the holograph room. He had spent a long time developing this program and had faithfully recreated his perfect bar. It was populated by characters that he had known, in some form or another, throughout his life. He had stored the whole program on his own personal disc which he took from ship to ship. Over the years, he had seen the characters develop and grow.

David was extremely skilled with code and had written the ability to learn and adapt into his holo-characters. This made for a much more entertaining rapport. For thirty years, this bar had been his solace on every ship, and he loved it.

The usual suspects were there, including Dorothy the bar maid; middle aged with curly blond hair cut into a short bob. She had forearms that any sailor would be proud of and a punch to match. Failure to comply would result in a fat lip and a sore head. But, inside, she was a mum to everyone; someone who would listen to all your woes and give you advice.

He had known the real Dorothy long ago when he had been young. She was the ‘go to’ person for almost all the students at Company Engineering Campus. She was a counsellor, a confidant, a disciplinarian, a straight talker, and an absolute angel of a woman.

David smiled as he remembered her, a smile that faded quickly as a wave of sadness washed over him. As he stood there, watching her rosy face laughing with the clients, he had suddenly realised that she was probably long gone, and that this hologram was all that remained of her. His memories locked in a computer simulation.

Then there was ‘Mad Mikey,’ a dodgy character, known for starting spontaneous bar fights. He was also a natural comedian, entertaining anyone who was willing to listen. Mikey was an archetypal aging rocker; slicked-back, greying hair, a weather-beaten face from riding his Harley, a scuffed leather jacket and a grin that revealed teeth like an old piano keyboard – yellow with some missing.

The real Mikey had often led a young – but old enough to know better – David into many a mad cap and potentially dangerous scrape. However, they had always managed to survive despite the odds and would recover in the pub, laughing at their near misses. David had been there when Mikey finally ran out of luck. He recalled Mikey flying past him on his ancient Harley replica, laughing wildly as he sped past David, who had been on his safe, computer-controlled, bi unit with safety bubble automatically engaged.

David had been laughing at him, when suddenly his voice had choked in his throat as he saw the Harley tipping too hard to the left. The solid footrest scraped along the ground, sending sparks showering backwards. Mikey opted for a bale out. He had dropped the bike, hoping that he would skid along for a bit then pick himself up, as he usually did. Unfortunately, he had skidded right under the wheels of a passing car transporter. The auto control unit was unable to avoid him. David closed his eyes at the memory and shut it from his mind. This was how he would always remember Mikey, standing at the bar having a laugh.

Old Sam sat in his corner booth, sipping on an endless pint of Pale Ale. His cloth cap was at a jaunty angle and his cheeks rosy with alcohol. David loved that old man. The real Sam was a regular at his local pub in the village where he had grown up. David had been given special privileges, despite him being a child. He was allowed to sit in the pub and sip ginger beer while his father chatted with his friends at the bar.

David’s father had been an agricultural engineer working on the AI units on the vast grain fields surrounding the small village. David would look at Old Sam in awe, a relic from a bygone age. He was one of the last of the farmers that had worked livestock.

Sam would indulge the child, allowing him to pat his faithful old dog, Gyp, as it lay at his feet. David would listen entranced, as Sam told him stories about the ranging hillsides that he would wander in all weathers whilst tending his animals; Gyp as always scouted ahead and darted wherever he was needed. They were very old when David knew them; Sam had a lung condition that made his voice thin and reedy; Gyp seemed ancient – his eyes were bright, but his joints were stiff. He would lie under the table, watching the goings on in the bar and hoping that someone would top up his saucer with a drop of lager.

When David had left the village to begin training at City 17 educational compound, he had stopped to say goodbye to Sam. In a rare gesture of affection, the old man had hugged him and slipped something into his hand,

“Here, lad,” Sam had said, “You keep this on you, then you’ll never get lost.”

David had looked in awe at an ancient and battered compass lying in his hand.

Sam had smiled a thin, knowing smile. “That’s been with me all my life. Reckon it’s yours now lad.”

David had shed a tear and hugged him again; Gyp had struggled to his feet and gently licked his hand. David kissed the old dog on the head and sadly waved them farewell. It was only a few days later that he heard Sam had passed away, in that very corner seat. Gyp was lying dead at his feet, following his master to the very end. David still had that compass.

He looked back towards the bar to see Ron and Roddy, the Baleman twins, leaning close to each other, discussing their latest conquests. They were friends from his campus days, a real pair of ‘Jack the Lads.’ They never seemed to study, were always partying and had a different girl on their arm every week. Despite this, they had passed their exams and qualified as security unit engineers.

David hadn’t seen them for nearly twenty years. He bumped into Ron one day whilst on leave Earth-side. Ron was now married, as was Roddy. They were both high up in respectable firms and had eventually become domesticated. Roddy had two kids; Ron was expecting his first. David had congratulated him, and then they had gone their separate ways, leaving David with the feeling of having missed out on something.

The nature of his job meant that serious relationships were impossible. David had been a bachelor all his life, never having found the right woman to settle down with, but he had come close.

In the corner sat the girls. David felt his heart melt just a little. What a gang they had been. It was his last year of study, and he was stationed near a massive cruiser construction site. The delicate and difficult job of assembling the core processors for the systems on these ships were usually handled by women. Their hands were smaller and more sensitive for the delicate parts, and this group were the A team.

Jeanette, Sadie, Mags, and Babs were in the local every single night after work, sharing gossip and preparing for who knew what in the evenings. Jeanette was the eldest, the manager of a whole section, and the others would follow her lead. Sadie, ah now, sweet Sadie, David remembered her very fondly. If he had ever chosen to settle down, it would have been with her. They were an item on and off for the whole of the year that he was studying, and it was a toss-up whether he would take up the interstellar position that he was offered or settle down port-side with Sadie.

They had argued the night when he had to make the final decision. Sadie had cried and so had he, neither one wanting to say that it was over. It had been Mags, sensible, wise Mags, that had intervened. She was an expert counsellor. Her job was checking the mental processes of the AI units and she could apply these skills to humans as well. It was she who had smoothed things out, making them both realise that David was always going to be a free spirit, destined to roam the stars.

Sadie loved him and David loved her, but he had loved the draw of the interstellar ships more. They had parted amicably, agreeing that David would do one more run and, when he returned after five years, they would decide if they should be together.

David had struggled long and hard with himself during that trip. This had caused him to design the pub program, to take his mind off things. When he returned, the decision had been taken out of his hands. Sadie had been killed in an explosion at the factory as had Babs, bubbly madcap Babs her faithful sidekick. David knew that his life would now lie in the stars. He wrote the girls from the chipping line factory into the program, as a memorial to them all. They sat, as always, giggling away at some shared joke.

Finally, there was Henry. He sat in a booth, reading a small leather-bound book. His jacket had once been an expensive tweed but now it was worn at the elbows and slightly tatty. He always sported a shirt and tie, the collar slightly frayed, his greying hair neatly combed back, a thin pencil line moustache wiggling across his top lip as he pursed his mouth at something interesting in his book.

Henry had been well to do but at some point in his life, he had clearly fallen on hard times. He still strove to keep smart in his worn-out clothing, wearing his dignity like a majestic robe. He quietly sipped a brandy, savouring every mouthful, his eyes distant as he mulled over some of life’s great mysteries.

Henry had been a philosophy professor at City 17 Higher Training Centre. David, having showed exceptional intelligence and great promise, had been advanced to computer programming and AI development. One of the core subjects for all AI engineers, besides psychology, was philosophy, and David loved it. He had spent many hours in Henry’s classes pondering life’s mysteries.

David had only socialised with Henry a few times, as part of a favoured group, and Henry always reminded him of a wise old sage, carefully coaxing his students into independent and radical thought.

When David graduated and moved to campus, it was with great sadness that he learned of Henry’s tragic death just a few months later. It had all seemed very strange. It was labelled accidental, but rumours ran amok, and the word was that he had committed suicide. City 17 had tried to cover it up, lest it affect their student intake.

David had recreated Henry as he remembered him best, from the days that he had given over to his chosen group of students. He loved to spend time with his hologram of Henry; he had created his program to be as fluid as possible with an almost endless catalogue of philosophical musings that he could debate and discuss.

“Hi, luv,” Dorothy waved as he walked over to the bar, “what is it today?”

David smiled and sat down next to Ron, “Guinness please, Dorothy. Hi Ron, up to no good again, eh?”

Ron winked at him and saluted with his glass, spilling some ‘heavy’ onto the bar.

“Hey, watch what you’re doing!” Dorothy scowled at Ron as she handed a pint to David, “I’ve just cleaned that, you twat!”

David laughed and made a hasty retreat towards Henry who by now was raising an eyebrow at the exchange.

“Mind if I join you, Henry?” David sat down, not waiting for an answer.

“By all means my good man, by all means.” Henry smiled softly and sipped his brandy. “Looks like you’ve had a hard day.”

David swallowed a quarter of his pint, watching Henry over the rim. It never ceased to amaze him how the drinks could taste so real without the negative effects of alcohol. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “What makes you say that, Henry?”

“You always drink Guinness when you have had a hard day at work.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, I have observed….” Henry put down his glass and assumed a look that a poet might get when inspiration flowed into his mind, “Lager when you are feeling frisky,” he winked solemnly, “a glass of heavy when you are down and Pale Ale when you are upbeat and ready for action.”

David smiled broadly, “Well I never!” He was secretly pleased. This was the first time that he had seen this hologram make abstract comments that were not pre-programmed. “You have been doing some deep thinking and observation.”

Henry bowed his head in acknowledgement, “I aim to please, David, I aim to please.”

David took another swallow of his pint and sighed, “It’s these stupid breakdowns and system failures; I just can’t make head nor tail of it. We are almost a year into this voyage and, right from the start I’ve been bothered with stupid faults. The weird thing is, most of the things that are breaking have been replaced recently or are well within safety parameters. It doesn’t make any sense. I’ve even double-checked the batch numbers and year of manufacture and yep, it is correct. At first, I thought it was following a logical route, but I have mapped it out and there is just no pattern. Crazy.”

“What does JOE say about it?”

David snorted, “JOE is as efficient as a fridge…”

“Not following you, old man?”

“He’s on basic factory settings; his personality program was switched off by the last engineer.”

“Really? That is interesting.” Henry looked sadly at his now empty glass.

“Another one, Henry?”

“Well, that is very decent of you, old man. Yes, I think I will.”

David started towards the bar.

“Gremlins.” Old Sam’s soft reedy voice whispered from his corner.

“What?” David knew that Sam’s program was almost as advanced as Henry so, if he chose to say anything, it was worth listening to.

“Gremlins.” The old man repeated.

“Gremlins?”

“Yes, that’s what we used to call them, Gremlins. Always up to no good, breaking things, causing no end of trouble. Tricky to get rid of are Gremlins.”

David nodded, not sure what to say, he continued to the bar and got a brandy for Henry and a half lager for Gyp. As he made his way back to Henry, he stopped and poured the lager into Gyp’s dish, “There you go boy. That’s what you needed, isn’t it.”  The old dog’s tail thumped softly on the floor in happiness as he lapped up his golden treat.

“Thank you kindly, David.” Sam smiled his thin-lipped smile, “And old Gyp says thank you as well.”

David nodded and, as he turned to go Sam spoke again. “Watch out for them Gremlins, they’s tricky things. Reckon you might need JOE’s help on this one.”

“Don’t think JOE is up to much – no personality.” David tried not to laugh as he realised Sam was serious.

“Well, seems to me that you might need to find his personality, eh?” Sam put his pint to his lips and David knew that that was the end of the conversation.

“Interesting.” Henry took the brandy and gently cupped the glass, swirling the contents and savouring the scent.

“Sorry?” David wasn’t sure what Henry was referring to, “Do you mean what old Sam said?”

“Hmmm?”

“You know, the Gremlin thing.”

Henry sipped his brandy, looking quizzically at David, “Of course not, old boy, I mean it’s interesting that you cannot locate JOE’s personality program.”

David nodded and sat back, absentmindedly flicking a crumb off the table.

Henry continued. “I mean, from what you have told me you seem to have searched all the usual places. It’s almost as though someone has deliberately hidden it.” He laughed at his own words, not noticing David staring at him.

“Why would an engineer do that?” David asked, a strange chill creeping up his back. “I mean, these voyages are long and tedious.” He had never heard of any engineer turning off a program, let alone hiding one.

Robert had been on this ship for most of his life and he must have known every single nut and bolt. That sort of familiarity could breed complacency. That was exactly where the AIs came into their own; they kept the engineer on the straight and narrow, another mind to converse with. To talk things through. Why would he spend it with a basic AI system? One that could not realistically think independently and was only able to report automatically?

Henry’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Don’t be silly, old man, I was just joking. Let’s be realistic, you really haven’t had time to search for the program, what with all these breakdowns. It’s probably been stored in a remote backup file somewhere stupid – these things happen.”

“Yeah, right, these things happen.” David finished his pint, deep in thought. He wouldn’t even be able ask JOE to search for the file; AIs were not permitted to access or activate the personality program, only an engineer could do that. JOE simply would not be able to see it.

“What you need to ask yourself, old boy, is this: where would I hide something that could not be deleted but that I didn’t want to be found?” Henry drained his glass and put it down on the table, staring at David with an intensity that he had not seen before.

“Well….” David stared back, “I might save it to a menial back-up drive for basic systems….”

“Like?” prompted Henry,

“Like…. auto-cleaning for sub decks and bulkheads.”

“Well, there you are then, it’s a starting place at least.”

There was a hubbub of laughter and giggling from the girls’ corner as they stood up and got their coats on.

“That you lot off now?” Dorothy shouted over the noise of the music and conversation, drying a glass with a towel that should have been labelled as a biohazard.

“Yes Dot, see you tomorrow!” Jeanette nodded, and the ladies departed into the darkness of the simulated night.

David often wondered what happened when the holograms left the running program. Did they just switch off, cease to exist, till they were needed again? He felt a strange sadness at that thought. These people were his friends, he had known their real versions and their holograms for most of his life. They felt more real than the faceless passengers who endlessly boarded and disembarked.

“There are stranger things in heaven and earth…” Henry quoted, almost reading David’s mind.

“What?”

“The lost program, old boy, the lost program.”

“Yeah, right.” David stood. “That’s me done for the day, Henry, I’ll let you know how I get on with the mysterious search.”

“You do that, old boy, you do that.” Henry saluted him with his glass as he walked out of the door, the program automatically ending.

 

David made his way back to his quarters, strolling casually down the corridor and mulling over what had been the strangest conversation he had ever had in that bar. He glanced at the system panels on his way, automatically looking for any hint of trouble. “JOE!”

“Yes David?”

“I’m going to bed now, can you run systems scan and let me know of any issues when I wake?”

“Yes David, JOE 90 will carry out systems check.”

David smiled, the theme tune of the old Joe 90 series ran through his head as he headed into his quarters. The door slid shut behind him, and he breathed a sigh of contentment.

He never had been one for collecting junk over the years, but he had one or two prized possessions. They travelled with him wherever he went. In pride of place was a replica of the original Joe 90 puppet, complete with its own stand. He had a couple of others, Captain Scarlet and Angel One, but Joe was his all-time favourite. He stood on the ledge of the viewing window, the darkness of space beyond highlighting the colours of his outfit as spotlights picked them out.

The room was sparse; there were a few technical manuals dotted around here and there, his own throw blanket for the seating area and a large screen viewer that he had programmed his favourite shows into. David knew most of them by heart, but he still enjoyed watching them from time to time.

Stretching and yawning he decided to call it a night. He went into his bedroom, undressing and throwing his work wear into the cleaning unit ready for morning. The light on his bed-side table automatically came on and a metallic gleam drew his eye. “Still finding my way, Sam,” he said quietly as he gently touched the compass, its needle spinning slowly, searching for North. Climbing into bed, he settled down. “Lights out.”