The Lost Ship of the Tucker Rebellion - Marie Sexton Page 0,81

of sighs per hour, which has doubled since the escapists’ armada caught up to us.” OPAL paused, then added, “I could go on, but perhaps you will allow me to soothe you with a motivational song.”

Denver smiled. “Did you come up with it on your own?”

“I’m not programmed to be creative. This was a very popular song in the late twentieth century, covered by various bands for another hundred and fifty years.” A guitar riff came through the headphones, repeating a few times before being joined by drums. When the words started, Denver sat back and listened for a moment.

“Wait. Are we the eye of the tiger in this metaphor?”

“Only if we’re the last known survivor stalking our prey in the night, it seems.” She let it go for another few bars, then asked, “Do you feel inspired?”

“Something like that, yeah.” He tightened the last bolt, then tapped the frame that held the portside coolant tank for the engine in place. “Give me a resonance check on this, will you? See if I got the vibration out of it.”

“Yes, Denver.” OPAL put the end of one of her limbs on the frame, finding its resonant frequency and vibrating to match it to tell if something was still off.

“I’m still detecting an interference pattern,” OPAL said after a moment.

Denver shook his head. After being freed by Gru, she’d performed a full-ship diagnostic and reported a strange bit of interference from the engine room. Denver had assumed Ginn was to blame, but OPAL had reported that the interference had always been there.

“What do you mean, ‘always’?” Denver had asked in astonishment.

“Since the engine was rebuilt” had been the answer.

“Why didn’t you detect it before this?” was Denver’s next question.

“I assumed it was only a minor inefficiency caused by subpar engine parts.”

A fair estimation. “So why do you think it’s more than that now?”

“Because I now believe the interference is hiding a low-frequency broadcast.”

That alarming bit of news had kicked Denver into high gear. But now, three hours later, they were no closer to identifying the problem than before.

“I’ve tightened every nut and bolt on this entire side of the engine room,” he said in frustration. “The wiring is all stable.” He gritted his teeth. The engine had been rebuilt by Poppy several years earlier. The only explanation was that she’d built some kind of device into the engine itself. But why? And who exactly was on the receiving end of the messages being sent? “Can you hone in on where the interference is originating from?”

“I will try. And if I do not succeed, I will try, try again.”

Denver smiled despite his nerves. “You do that.”

It was painstaking, irritating work—like trying to clean an invisible speck of grit out of a seal on your suit, desperately important but met with failure over and over again. They went over the coolant tanks, the casing of the engine itself, and every pipe and processor that was within easy reach and got nothing. OPAL eventually narrowed the search down to the base of the engine casing itself, a thick, heavily shielded piece of hybrid polymer that kept the fuel from irradiating the rest of the ship. Whatever it was concealing, it had to be both small and strong, and it was broadcasting a subtle signal that was so low-key, it was nearly undetectable.

“It must be feeding off the engine itself,” Denver guessed. “Only running when it’s running, siphoning energy to send out its signal. A parasite.” There was no way they were getting it out now. Not without shutting down the engine and waiting for it to completely cool, which would take hours they didn’t have.

“At least we know the culprit cannot be Ginn.”

“True.” It was a small comfort, but Denver was taking it. “Is it possible it was here before the engine rebuild?”

“Possible, but unlikely.”

“Maybe it isn’t sending a message at all and it really is just a bit of pointless noise. Or maybe it’s something left over from the previous owner and it’s broadcasting to nobody?”

“I am unable to compute the likelihood of that possibility.”

Denver leaned back against the bulkhead and sighed. “Let me help you out. It’s damn near zero. That’s just not our kind of luck.”

“Given the odds of finding a pod at all, I would say your luck, compared to that of most humans, is exceptional.”

“Kind of wonder if it hasn’t been more trouble than it’s worth.” He felt bad even saying it, given the lengths he’d gone to. He’d dragged