‘And if we can’t find what we need on Holmwood, do we have any other options?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘None of this ship’s systems are new or powerful enough for us to scavenge and cobble something together. The processing power required is massive—the Navy is pretty keen on their ships being the only ones able to create and broadcast the correct signals. The distress algorithm is a failsafe, but it’s still not easy to use.’
‘Could we get a signal back to the Admiralty from a surface facility?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Out here, communication’s still done the old-fashioned way,’ Harper said. ‘If you want to get in touch with someone out of system, you send them a letter on a transport. There’re only a few surveying and positioning satellites in orbit. Nothing that can transmit a Nexus signal. They rely on the depot. We do a mail transmit for their urgent stuff whenever we’re back at the depot, but there needs to be someone on the station to do that.’
Samson sighed. ‘The joys of automation. Okay, one way or the other, Holmwood offers us more options than we have here. We’ll take the Bounty down to the surface.’
The first question that entered his head was whether the Bounty was capable of atmospheric entry and could withstand prolonged exposure to gravity. He’d seen old junkers collapse around their landing struts, although he didn’t think that even the Bounty was in that bad a shape. He could tell that everyone else was having the same thought, and he reckoned it was best nipped in the bud.
‘The logs indicate Arlen landed this ship on planetary surfaces regularly,’ Samson said. ‘So I reckon she’s up to it.’
He hit the intercom button.
‘Mister Vachon, does this ship have heat sinks fitted?’ Samson said.
It took a moment for the response to come back. ‘Aye, sir. There’s a full bank of them back here.’
‘What kind of condition are they in?’
‘Same as the rest of the ship, sir.’
‘Good enough to allow a planetary landing?’
He could hear Vachon let out a whistle. ‘I can think of things I’d rather do. They’ll soak up the heat well enough, but there’s more to touching down planetside than heat. I’d not have much confidence in the hull integrity. We might get down all right, but we could be leaking like a sieve when we take her back out into a vacuum.’
Samson thought for a moment. There were no alternatives. They’d already taken too many risks, and come too far, to stop now.
‘This is the Navy, not a cruise line,’ Samson said. ‘All hands, prepare the ship for atmospheric entry. Run checks on all landing apparatus and airtight hatches.’ He realised making an ‘all hands’ when there were only three other sailors on the ship might have been overkill, but it felt like a good idea. He looked back at the others on the bridge with him. ‘We’ll worry about taking off again when we get to that point.’
13
It was only as the Bounty started getting buffeted by Holmwood’s upper atmosphere, and the external temperature sensors started to race upward, that Samson had a thought for the reaction matter. He wasn’t much worried about it right now—they were little more than a slightly aerodynamic brick dropping out of the heavens. The landing thrusters were pre-fuelled from the reactor’s trickle-down charging with what they would need to arrest their descent and effect a safe landing. Getting back up was a different matter. That would require nearly as much energy as charging and firing the agitator.
He wondered what the chances were of finding someone who could sell them some clean reaction matter on the surface. Considering that was probably where Arlen had bought his, Samson didn’t hold out too much hope. Still, a piece of intact reaction matter—dirty or not—was a better bet than the two pieces they currently had in their reactor. There were so many things to keep track of as commander. For the first time he felt sympathy for all his old officers. The buck stopped with the ship’s master. Any omissions or mistakes all landed at his feet, and it was making him feel stretched thin. How long would it be before he missed something that got them all killed? He took a deep breath and pushed the thought from his head. One decision at a time, he thought. That was all he could do.
The viewport glowed red as the air around the ship became thicker. Samson winced with each creak and groan of the hull as its plating adjusted to the heat. All it would take was for one panel to fail, and the ship could experience an explosive evacuation. He had no confidence that the emergency bulkheads would seal quickly enough to prevent that. Until they were nearing their landing approach, that was the main risk they faced. Everyone was wearing their boarding suits, although Samson didn’t believe for a second it would do them any good if the worst were to happen—they’d be sucked out the hole, or the entire ship would come apart around them. No suit could protect them from that.
The lack of inertial dampeners that Samson had initially enjoyed quickly lost its novelty as he was thrown about in the master’s chair, the padding on which proved to be long past its usefulness. He held on with white knuckles, but the violent jolts of their descent were impossible to brace against. He would have plenty of bruises on his backside in the days to come.
‘Temperature readings?’ he said. He could see the gauge for himself, but he had no idea what the safe operational limits were. Harper had that information on her display. It made him wonder how Arlen had managed to last as long as he did. Luck, probably.
‘Within normal limits and holding steady,’ Harper said. ‘It looks like the heat sinks are doing their job.’
It was a relief, but they weren’t out of danger yet. ‘Let me know if there’s any change.’
The Bounty continued to rattle and judder furiously, as if it were trying to shake itself apart. He could barely hear his own thoughts, and he’d never experienced anything like it. Did naval landing vessels experience the same, and merely hide it with their dampeners? It was hard to believe any ship could survive such a beating. Anything that wasn’t secured down fell and rolled around on the deck. He had to duck out of the way from a flying multi-tool, and was hopeful that there wasn’t anything else loose that could cause a fatal head injury.
Trying to manage the little ship felt like a comedy of errors at that moment, but with the humour entirely lacking. It was intensely claustrophobic on the bridge with the external blast shield in place over the viewport and their suits sealed. Most modern vessels used crystal compounds for their viewports, which were more than strong enough to resist an atmospheric entry, but Samson wasn’t willing to take the risk with the Bounty. The viewscreens showed nothing but a raging inferno outside as atmospheric gases ignited from friction with the hull.
An alarm went off, and Samson was convinced the ship would start to come apart around him. He furiously scanned through several poorly laid-out menus on his console before he found the culprit. A sensor on the hull had burned out, but it was nothing critical. He took a deep breath of relief, and could tell by Harper’s face that she felt the same way.
‘I’ll never complain about any Navy ship, ever again,’ Samson muttered under his breath.
‘What was that, sir?’ Price said.
‘Nothing,’ Samson said. ‘Just looking forward to being on the ground.’
He cast a glance over at Harper. Their time on the planet would be a test. It would be the ideal opportunity for her to get rid of him and take the ship, or abscond. He wondered what he would do in her place. Probably exactly that, even with the danger of Price and his Marines. She had to know it was a virtual certainty that she’d face a firing squad. Perhaps part of her refused to believe that, and she was continuing in the hope that she might avoid that fate. He’d have to keep a careful eye on her, even more so than he already was.
As quickly as the tumult had started, it stopped. The ship went from thrashing stallion to a docile pony in an instant, and Samson allowed himself a smile.
‘We’ve decelerated into the lower atmosphere,’ Harper said, the tension easing from her voice.<
br />
‘Raise the blast shield. I want to see where we’re going. I want to know if it still works.’
Harper keyed in the command and the bridge was filled with the sound of groaning gears. Slowly, the blast shield lifted, opening the viewport and revealing Capsilan 2-B—Holmwood—below. Their trajectory was programmed to take them to Holmwood Landing, the planet’s only spaceport and city of any note. The landscape raced away beneath them—an arid terrain, punctuated by the large green swaths of farming. Prior to being terraformed a century earlier, Holmwood would not have been able to support life. Mankind was gradually shaping it to fit their needs, and Samson knew that in another hundred years it would be completely unrecognisable—and a great distance from the Frontier, just like Price’s home planet.
‘CV Arlen’s Bounty requesting permission to land,’ Harper said.
They had to wait for a response. The voice that answered was casual, and not at all what Samson had expected.
‘Sure,’ the female voice said. ‘Find a free spot and set her down wherever you want.’
Harper looked back to Samson and raised an eyebrow.
‘I guess they don’t have to deal with as much traffic out here,’ Samson said. ‘Find somewhere you like the look of and we’ll set her down.’
Samson held his breath as the Bounty touched down. With everything else he’d been through on her, he reckoned he ought to be developing a little faith in what she could manage, but he still got anxious as the hull’s weight came to rest on her landing struts. They complained with a loud groan, but after a moment they fell silent and the ship remained motionless. Samson let his breath out with a hiss between his teeth, and turned his mind to the dilemma of how to organise the shore party. In an ideal world, he’d have left the former mutineers—Harper in particular—on the ship, confined to quarters and under guard. However, he needed Harper with him to select the equipment they’d need. Bringing everyone would mean more firepower in the event of trouble, but a larger group would also attract more attention.
He reckoned their time on the surface was the mutineers’ best chance to get away from naval justice. The only drawback would be that they’d spend the rest of their lives as fugitives, unable to return home. Still, it was a big galaxy, and if they were willing to forego contact with friends and family, chances were they could live out the rest of their lives in freedom.
Samson had a sinking feeling in his gut when he thought of their other alternative: kill him, pretend he’d died on the Sidewinder, and carry on with their lives and careers as if nothing had happened. Of course, that would mean having to kill Price and his Marines also, which would be a tricky thing to accomplish. Samson also hoped he’d sufficiently driven a wedge between Harper and the other two. He’d made it clear to them they might get away with nothing more than a dishonourable discharge. Right now she was the only one facing a firing squad, but Vachon and Kushnir would be putting themselves in line for that too if they chose this option. That didn’t mean Harper might not try it on her own, however, and hope everyone went along with it afterwards, as she had done with the Marines in the mutiny.
Samson called Price over. ‘Now that you’ve had time to think about it, how would you arrange the shore party? This is more a Marine’s territory than a sailor’s. Plus we have the mutiny issue to consider.’
Price nodded. ‘Lock Kushnir and Vachon in cabins, and we leave Smit and Féng here to keep an eye on them. You, me, and Harper will go ashore. She gives us any trouble, we put a bullet in her and find another way of doing things.’
‘I’ve already given Kushnir and Vachon their parole in return for good behaviour, though.’
‘So what? Sir. They’re mutineers. If they get anything better than a firing squad, they’ll be thankful for it.’
‘Fair enough,’ Samson said. ‘It’s along the lines of what I was thinking. Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going back on my word or being heavy-handed.’
Price nodded. ‘You’re doing a fine job, sir. I know this isn’t easy, being your first command and all. You owe the mutineers nothing, no matter how much they help now. Focus on the mission, and don’t worry about them.’
Samson nodded.
‘I’ll go and get everything ready,’ Price said.
‘Dismissed,’ Samson said. ‘We’ll reconvene at the airlock in ten minutes.’
Samson had no reason to think the locals would be actively hostile to the Navy—uncooperative and resentful perhaps, but he reckoned going out in civilian clothes and doing their best to keep a low profile was the smart move.
Once he’d completed the landing checks and was satisfied the landing struts weren’t going to snap off, Samson went to the ship’s fabricator and set it to producing himself a set of civilian clothes. He spent so much time in uniform that he didn’t give much thought to casual clothing, and wasn’t sure what he would need to fit in on a Frontier planet. The thought of asking Harper, who had grown up in a Frontier system, made him uncomfortable. He tried to remember what was being worn in the Core before he’d left for the Frontier, and picked out something that looked broadly similar to that, but plainer.
He put the clothes on quickly once the machine dispensed them, and looked himself over in the greasy mirror. It wasn’t bad, but not looking like a naval officer would involve more than a change of clothes. He’d have to do his best to blend in. Harper was unlikely to have any problems, but Price was as rigid a drill master as they came. He could be dressed up in a clown costume, and everything about his bearing would scream ‘Marine’. Still, people on the Frontier had many careers in their background, and he was sure they wouldn’t be the only ones on the surface to have served in the military.
He joined the others at the main airlock, where they waited in their chosen civilian attire. It was a relief to see they weren’t dressed all that differently to him. His worry about Price couldn’t have been any more misplaced, and he could instantly see the sort of life the Marine sergeant would have led had he not found a home in the service. He was the type of man Samson would cross the street to avoid. Everything about him said there was trouble there. It seemed effortless, and Samson was envious—there was no better way to keep yourself out of trouble than to naturally exude the air of being the apex predator. With Price in their group, perhaps they might have an easier time of it than he had feared.
14
Holmwood spaceport was little more than a piece of wasteland surrounded by ring fencing, and fronted by a collection of the standard colony planet prefabricated units. The units could be laid out on the ground and connected, or stacked up on top of each other. On rare occasions, they were covered with a fascia to make them look like a more established building. These ones were the bog-standard variety, however—a dull shade that wasn’t white, but wasn’t quite grey either. People always expected them to be temporary, so usually did little to improve their looks.
The town beyond looked very much the same. It gave the place a bleak, soulless look—a place no self-respecting person would be satisfied in calling home. Every city in the Union that wasn’t on Earth had started in a similar fashion, and he was confident that as soon as people arrived who wanted to turn it into a home, rather than to get away from somewhere else, all that would change. For the time being, however, the interior of the Bounty made for a more attractive residence.
There was little in the way of an official presence in the spaceport. Elsewhere he would have expected to be greeted by customs agents and border security. Here, it seemed like they were able to come and go as they pleased. Samson could see how that might feel liberating to someone tired of the rules and regulations of life in the Core—even he found it refreshing. It wasn’t going to last long, though. With the discovery of alien artefacts, he suspected this spaceport would be a naval base within a few months. If the artefacts proved to be what he thought they were, life was going to completely change for the people of Holmwood—and far sooner than they’d like.
The Navy were tasked
with securing the trade routes through space, but what went on planet-side usually had nothing to do with them. That all changed when there was a naval base. They needed to make sure their personnel weren’t getting into fights, being cheated or murdered, or deserting. That meant law enforcement, and it would be applied to all equally. Big business would follow, to provide all the services a naval base would need, and the Frontier traders who had come here to escape them would get squeezed out. Progress for some, ruin for others. Frontier planets were places where dreams, or nightmares, could become a reality, and that could change overnight.
Places like Holmwood had always held a romantic appeal for Samson—particularly when he had been waiting to find out if he was going to be court martialled for his presence at the Fifth Fleet mutiny. No matter how many wrong turns your life took, there was always somewhere you could start fresh, and that had been a particularly appealing prospect when he’d been confined to his quarters with nothing to do but rail against his bad luck at having been posted to a mutinous ship. It meant sacrificing the luxuries and conveniences of life on the developed Core planets, but he’d reckoned he could live with that. Seeing the place for real dashed all his illusions.
The brightness of being on a planet surface during daylight was difficult to adjust to. It wasn’t necessarily that Holmwood’s star was particularly bright—simply that ship’s lighting never came close, and you grew accustomed to it pretty quickly. The squinting would be a sure giveaway that they had just stepped off a ship, which wasn’t ideal, but he hadn’t thought to fabricate any sunglasses.
The second thing he noticed as they walked toward the spaceport’s buildings was how heavy he felt. He hadn’t checked what Holmwood’s gravity was, but he hoped it was higher than average. He hadn’t set foot on a planet since his assignment to the Frontier, and feared he had allowed himself to get out of shape on the small ship. He also suspected the one g the Bounty claimed to be providing was far less than that. One way or the other, it would take much longer to adjust to that than the light.
The Alpha Protocol: Alpha Protocol Book 1 Page 10
