‘We’ll call to the spaceport office first,’ Samson said. ‘If we’re lucky they’ll be able to point us in the right direction.’
‘If they can point us in any direction at all,’ Price said.
Samson allowed himself a chuckle. ‘You know what you’re looking for, Harper?’
‘Any higher end comms system built in the last half century should do.’
‘Sounds like our chances are good, then,’ Samson said. ‘Let’s have at it.’
They walked into the building without challenge, and looked around for offices. There was nothing clearly signposted, but they eventually found their way to a room containing several people who were chatting and laughing, and seemingly not paying any attention to what they were supposed to be doing.
One of them looked over at the new arrivals. ‘Arlen’s ship, but no Arlen. Where is he?’
‘No idea,’ Samson said. ‘We bought his ship.’
The man looked incredulous. ‘Why?’
‘It was cheap, we needed one, and there weren’t any others to be had,’ Samson said. ‘She’ll do for now.’
‘Who are you?’
Samson shrugged. ‘That’s not important. We want to do some system upgrades. Is there a ship’s chandler nearby?’
The clerk gave Samson a suspicious look, but then nodded. ‘There’s one on Gunderson Street. Go out of the terminal and turn right. You can’t miss it.’
‘Thanks,’ Samson said, turning to leave. He didn’t want to spend a second longer there than necessary.
Holmwood was busy with the traffic Samson expected of the hub of a hard-working agricultural and mining community. Haulers passed up and down the barely-wide-enough streets, delivering their goods to the warehouses surrounding the spaceport. From there they would be transhipped back to the Core, hopefully for huge profit.
‘Will we be able to carry what we need back to the ship?’ Samson said. He had so much running through his head that he’d never thought to ask Harper how big the parts they were looking for would be. He wondered if it would it be possible to hire a ground car.
‘We should be, sir. Most of the units are pretty small.’
Price followed a few paces behind them, his eyes ever alert for trouble. He was a silent but comforting presence. It seemed Samson’s belief that the only reasons people ended up on the Frontier were incompetence or as punishment was flavoured by his circumstances—but it did raise the question of how Price had been given a posting when his competence would have made him stand out even in a Core regiment.
There was a large building farther along the street with bright flashing signs. It was the only thing he could see that might be described as unmissable, so he presumed that was where they were going.
As they walked, Samson took the opportunity to think over Harper’s situation. He hadn’t known her well before the boarding mission, and from her appearance he’d always taken her to be one of those ‘by the book’ officers. Her uniform was always perfectly pressed, the buttons polished to a mirror finish, her boots without so much of a scuff. It all said she believed in the Navy, lived and breathed it. He struggled to make sense of why she had mutinied. Even if she had been convinced his was the wrong choice, he would have expected someone like her to have followed orders regardless. He wondered what that said about his aura of command, and the damage that had been caused to his reputation on the Sidewinder by his arrival under a dark cloud.
Then he thought of what Price had said, of how her parents had been killed in a cascade. Might she have acted out of fear? If that was the case, it was difficult to not feel some sympathy for her. However, acting out of fear was unbecoming of an officer—and organising a mutiny? It was clear what the thinking on that was. No matter how angry he was with what she had done, he struggled to find it within himself to wish the firing squad upon her. Perhaps his softness was unbecoming of an officer too. He suspected that might be Price’s position on it. Price was most likely correct.
They reached the building with the neon sign, and looked it over. It wasn’t at all what Samson had been expecting. Price looked a little less surprised.
‘This is a whorehouse,’ Harper said. ‘I think the clerks at the spaceport were having a little fun with us.’
From the tone of her voice, Harper clearly didn’t see the humour in it.
‘Maybe so, but look.’ Samson pointed inside to shelves of what looked to be ship’s components. ‘Maybe the owner wanted to diversify his offerings. Spirit of entrepreneurship, and all that.’
Price let out a short laugh, but Harper cast him a withering look.
They walked through the open doors and toward the shelves of components before starting to browse. In truth, Samson had little clue what they were looking for, and suspected the same was true of Price, but it seemed to fit with their cover. He could only hope Harper was being on the level with them. If he discovered she’d been lying to him when they got back to the Bounty, he reckoned that would be enough to change his feelings on the firing squad. They had only been there for a few moments when a man approached them.
‘If you tell me what you’re looking for, I might be able to help. I’m Sirion Bates, proprietor.’
Samson gestured to Harper.
‘A comms computer capable of multiple signal modulation,’ she said
‘Not something I get a request for often.’ He smiled conspiratorially. In such a place, the only likely use for such a device was nefarious. ‘I think I have something to fit the bill. While I help the lady find her computer,’ Bates said, ‘why don’t you gentlemen go next door and relax? I think you’ll find something for every taste.’
‘Another time,’ Samson said, feeling an almost overwhelming temptation to punch Bates in the mouth. He just had one of those faces. ‘We’re just here to get the unit.’
‘Your loss.’ Bates walked along the line of shelves before stopping. ‘Everything we have is here. Mostly salvaged, but there are a few new units. How will you be paying?’
‘Naval requisition credits,’ Samson said. It let their secret out, but it was the only obvious way for them to pay. There was nothing of value on the Bounty to barter with, so Samson felt he had no option but to reveal their hand.
‘We don’t take credit,’ Bates said, his face twisting as though someone had farted in it. ‘Navy credit least of all.’
Samson thought for a moment, and decided to take a hard line. Now that their identity was out in the open, there was no point in not taking advantage of it. ‘Would you rather I have my captain send down a company of Marines to commandeer the unit?’
Bates’s eyes flicked to Price, who stood glowering at him. Bates seemed to understand what Price was, and his composure faltered a little. Samson reckoned that threats might be a worthwhile avenue to explore if they couldn’t come to a deal.
‘Rules are rules,’ Bates said. ‘No credit means no credit. Navy boy like you should understand rules.’
‘This is the Frontier,’ Samson said. ‘There’s no such thing as rules here. What’s the price? Perhaps we can trade for it.’
The man scratched his chin and thought for a moment. ‘A dozen naval carbines.’
Samson wasn’t sure how many there were in the arsenal on the depot, but reckoned there should be that many at least. They only had three on the Bounty, and he was loath to give them up. He was jolted from his train of thought by a loud crack, the unmistakable sound of close gunfire.
‘What was that?’ Samson said. It could have been as close as the brothel on the other side of the building.
‘Sounds like someone got shot.’ Bates said, showing neither surprise nor concern.
‘And you want me to give you carbines?’
‘A man’s got to keep himself safe.’
‘Well, forget it; it’s not going to happen. Each one is worth more than that unit anyway. I’ll give you one naval-grade power cell—it’ll keep those neon signs of yours running into the next century. But you’ll have to wait until I�
�ve collected it from the orbital depot, and I’ll need to take the comms computer with me now.’
Bates laughed out loud. ‘Do you think I got all this by being a fool? You’ll take the computer and I’ll never see you again.’
‘I’m Navy. We’re not exactly hard to find. I’ll give you an official requisition order.’
Bates seemed unmoved.
‘I’ll let you in on a little secret, Sirion. The Navy are coming. Holmwood will be a naval station before the year’s out. Do you want them to know you as a friend when they get here? An honest chandler who could become a registered supplier? Or something else? You’ll be paid. The Navy doesn’t operate like Frontier privateers.’
Sirion let out a humph, but Samson knew he had him.
‘A naval-grade power cell?’
Samson nodded.
‘Where is it?’
‘On the orbital depot. If you’ve a ship, you can come and collect it, or we’ll have it delivered as soon as possible.’
He sighed and scanned the label on the computer with his tablet. ‘Authorise this with your naval identification and you can take it.’
Samson proffered the Navy ID chip embedded in his wrist, and Bates scanned it with a grudging nod. Like the Navy or not, their money was always good. As soon as Harper had her hands on the unit, Samson spoke again.
‘We’ll also need some reaction matter. Five grams.’
‘I can supply that also,’ Bates said. ‘Naval credit again?’
Samson nodded. ‘It had better be pure.’
‘Cleanest reaction matter in the system,’ Bates said, with a smile that gave Samson no confidence.
Samson made sure the Marines remained vigilant every moment until they were ready to lift off, something that was delayed by their need to replace the reaction matter. He wasn’t sure if Bates was the discreet type—happy to keep their visit a secret in the hope of Navy contracts in the future—or if he would rush to the nearest tavern as soon as they left to tell the locals what had happened. Reaction matter had to be handled carefully, and replacing it was a job that couldn’t be rushed. Vachon needed time, and Samson had to resist his impatient urge to hurry the engineer along.
Samson had been willing to risk launching from the planetary surface with the old reaction matter—as he saw it, he had little choice. However, there was no sense in letting the opportunity to get a fresh piece pass by, and it was a relief not to have to rely on the old fragmented chunk to get them off the planet. Hopefully the new matter was as pure as Bates had claimed. As soon as they were in space, they could fire the old matter into a decaying solar orbit where it would burn up—the best method for safe disposal in isolated regions of the galaxy.
Samson breathed a sigh of relief when the call finally came that the reaction matter had been changed over and they were ready to launch. Samson had to remind himself to breathe as he powered the ship up—he could do without any new stressors, for a little while at least. His screen showed that all systems were functioning normally, and their power levels were improved by the introduction of the fresh reaction matter. All being well, they’d be at the orbital depot in a few hours and Samson would be firmly back in the chain of command, rather than how he currently felt—alone and adrift.
With his list of problems clearing, Samson found himself with headspace to spare, and as the Bounty lifted off, his mind wandered to Arlen. Samson had witnessed Arlen fire on them with his own eyes, but why would he have done that? There was no way he was going to fend off a naval boarding party single-handed. No one was foolish enough to think they could do that. Nonetheless, it was the only independent evidence as to the man’s character that Samson had. He thought on it as he watched Harper and Kushnir sit on the bridge’s deck, taking their newly acquired comms computer to pieces for the parts needed to upgrade the built-in system. Perhaps the years alone in space had simply left him cracked in the head?
‘Had the Sidewinder ever encountered the Bounty before?’ Samson said.
Harper stopped what she was doing and looked up. ‘No. Why?’
‘Probably nothing,’ Samson said. ‘I’m just curious to find out a little more about the previous owner. I can’t help but wonder how long he had those objects on his ship. And where he got them.’
‘You think that’s what the other ship was after?’
‘I do,’ Samson said. ‘It seems like too much of a coincidence. We just have to be thankful we were powered down when it arrived, otherwise we’d have been vaporised too.’
‘I wonder who they were. Pirates? A rival?’
The original owner? Samson thought. He was still afraid to say it out loud, though. ‘I want to know and don’t want to know, in equal measure,’ he said. ‘It would take a pretty substantial rival to have the firepower to destroy the Sidewinder so quickly. I struggle to see how a man like Arlen could have attracted that, unless they already knew he was carrying something very special.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know. I can’t help but feel there’s something big here, and we’ve only scratched the surface. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. I’ve a hard time taking anything at face value these days.’
Harper blushed, and Samson reckoned it was time to change the subject.
‘How’s the computer coming along?’ he said.
‘Almost ready. We’ll be done before we’re in range of the depot.’
15
Samson’s first instinct when the depot came into view was to close the blast shield and rig for battle. There wasn’t much that could be done to the Bounty in that regard, and what could be done would be as effective as using paper for shielding. The depot’s Gauss guns could punch a hole through the Bounty and she would barely slow the projectile down. Making out his last will and testament would be a better use of the time. Everything rested on the upgraded communications system working. He was taking a big chance on Harper, but as he saw it he had few other options. Her survival was as tied up in this as his, and the rest of the crew’s. He was gambling that was enough of an incentive for her to get this right.
‘Broadcast the encoded distress signal as soon as we’re in range,’ Samson said.
‘Broadcasting distress signal now, sir,’ Harper said.
‘Very good.’ The navigation computer was guiding them in toward the depot, but he kept his hand over the throttle control. At the first warning, he would send the Bounty into full reverse, and they would have to come up with another plan.
The depot grew ever larger in the viewport.
‘Five hundred kilometres,’ Harper said.
They were on the border of the depot’s scanning and weapons range.
‘Four-ninety. We’re being scanned.’
Samson held his breath.
‘Welcome to Terran Union Depot Capsilan 2-B, TUS Harper. Please state the nature of your distress.’
Samson cast Harper a confused look.
She shrugged. ‘I had to give us some designation. I didn’t have time to give it much thought.’ She returned her attention to the comms system. ‘Damage to ship’s communications system and friend-or-foe identification transponder.’
‘Acknowledged. Proceed slow ahead to dock at airlock three and prepare for personal identification.’
Samson let the breath whistle through his teeth. ‘Thank God for that,’ he said quietly.
He took the control yoke and watched his console to keep the docking crosshairs lined up with the indicators on the depot’s number three airlock. It was something he hadn’t done since he had trained with small launches in the Academy. Even their meagre attitude thrusters had been more responsive than the Bounty’s, but the size of the ships wasn’t all that different. Each reaction was delayed by only a few fractions of a second, but it felt like an age and Samson started to sweat with concentration as he worked the yoke, which was so stiff it made the Bounty feel like a battlecruiser.
The airlock expanded on the screen, and each small movement became more pronounced. The delay meant that each correction became e
ven more time sensitive. An overly heavy flick of his wrist to make a minor alteration, and the airlock indicators drifted from his screen. The alarm klaxon started ringing and Samson swore under his breath. He inched the Bounty back more carefully, ever aware of the distance readout, which was racing down to zero far more quickly than he liked. The indicators came back into view and, with the crosshairs drifting back towards them, Samson didn’t want to touch the controls and send it out of alignment again.
He watched the distance counter and prayed that it would hit zero at the same moment the crosshairs lined up with the depot’s indicators. He cursed the Bounty for not having an automated docking system before tapping the thrusters one final time and waiting for the ship to respond. The klaxon stopped, and the Bounty clunked into the depot’s airlock with a shudder that broadcast to everyone on board how out of practise Samson was.
‘What now, Ms Harper?’ Samson said. He still refused to address her by her rank.
‘Two active officers need to present themselves in the airlock for biometric screening.’
Looks like I was right not to space her, Samson thought. ‘What happens if we fail it?’
‘The lock will be flooded with toxic gas.’
‘And of course we’ll have to take our boarding suits off for the scans?’
Harper nodded.
‘Great. Let’s hope the depot’s systems are working properly, then.’ He scratched his chin for a moment. With both him and Harper needed in the airlock, he needed to leave someone in command of the Bounty. Vachon was the only sailor experienced enough for the responsibility, but Samson was damned if he was going to give it to him.
‘Sergeant Price, congratulations,’ Samson said.
Price looked at him in bemusement.
‘I’m giving you a field promotion to acting sub-lieutenant, and placing you in command of the Bounty until I return to the bridge. If the docking process fails, decouple the ship immediately, and get away as fast as you can. Understood?’
The Alpha Protocol: Alpha Protocol Book 1 Page 11
