The Alpha Protocol: Alpha Protocol Book 1

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  ‘If that number hits zero before we get to the Nexus portal, I’m releasing the scout ship.’

  ‘That’s not acceptable,’ Samson said. ‘We have to get that ship back to the Admiralty. The tech on board could be the difference between winning and losing the war that we’re going to have to fight against them.’

  ‘I’m all for patriotism,’ Smith said, as he turned his icy stare on Samson, ‘but I’m more for living.’

  ‘I know you don’t attach much value to sailors’ lives, but I do. Thousands will die in this war. Maybe tens of thousands. The tech in that ship will give us a head start. Who knows how many men and women it’ll save, but if it’s even one, then we have to do everything we can to get that ship back into friendly hands.’

  ‘Nice speech,’ Smith said, in that menacing voice he seemed to reserve for moments of extreme displeasure, ‘but I just told you something. I didn’t ask for your opinion. You’d do well to remember that.’

  He turned back to his vigil, ignoring Samson and leaving him to feel like a naughty schoolboy who’d just had a dressing-down from his teacher. This was worse, though. He was a naval officer, and Smith was a pirate. There was no way he could allow a pirate to speak to him like that. His anger started to flare and he opened his mouth to speak. Then it occurred to him—what option did he have? Smith could eject him and Price out into the vacuum, and would be unlikely to lose any sleep over it. As much as Samson fancied their chances against a few pirates, some of them were former GSOC operators, and he wasn’t fool enough to think his term of close quarters combat at the Naval Academy had equipped him to deal with them. He couldn’t let his pride cut off his nose to spite his face. He gritted his teeth and forced a smile.

  ‘Your call, Cap,’ Samson said, remembering how Bert had referred to Smith when he was out in the SBB. He would bite his tongue for now, but when they got back to Capsilan, it would be him calling the shots. Pardon or not, Smith was a pirate, an outlaw, and Samson wasn’t going to forget that.

  He remained on the bridge with the others, watching the orange numbers race down, each leading digit hitting zero before it disappeared from the screen. When eventually they disappeared from the screen altogether, Smith looked over at Samson, this time with what appeared to be genuine regret in his usually soulless eyes.

  ‘Sorry, son. We have to let it go. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. You still have your prisoner, and the agitator unit which I’ll gladly give you the schematics for. None of that’ll be getting home if that bastard catches up with us.’

  ‘I know,’ Samson said, starting to feel like he’d been impractical. It would have been such a triumph, to come home with an intact enemy ship for study. Smith was right, though—they were still going home with something. Better than not getting home at all.

  Smith narrowed his eyes for a moment, then hit the intercom. ‘Bert! Stick that beasty in a boarding suit and chuck it out the airlock. Fast, now.’

  ‘Aye, Cap.’

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Samson said.

  ‘I reckon there’s more of use in that ship than our lanky purple friend,’ Smith said. ‘I’d rather know how they shoot than how they crap. We’ll see how much these aliens care about their people. If they stop to pick him up, we’re home free. If not, then we’ll have to dump the ship.’

  ‘Beasty away,’ Bert said across the intercom.

  ‘How are we doing, Ali?’ Smith said.

  ‘Maximum safe thrust, Cap,’ Ali said. ‘Tractor’s in the yellow, but it’s holding solid.’

  Smith nodded and watched the display console at his command chair. Moments passed. ‘The alien ship isn’t accelerating any more. She’s slowing.’ He stared in silence a moment longer. ‘Looks like they’re going to stop and get him. We’re pulling away. Happy days.’ He turned to Samson. ‘Well, Lieutenant Commander, looks like we’re out of the khazi.’ He smiled and turned back to his console.

  Samson watched the alien as it spun in the vacuum of space, then disappeared out of view, and wondered what it would say about its close encounter with humans.

  40

  The Bounty was docked next to the depot in Holmwood’s orbit when the Maggie arrived back. There was still no sign of the fleet. Part of Samson had hoped that they’d be rushing into the Third Fleet’s protective embrace, but he hadn’t really expected them to be here yet.

  He returned to the depot’s command centre, where Harper was sitting in the command seat. They’d left in such a hurry that he hadn’t had time to consider the command structure to leave behind him. As the only officer remaining, it was natural that she would fill that seat, but considering recent history, Samson found himself nonplussed when he walked in. An awkward silence persisted for a moment, as his mind raced with possibilities.

  ‘Nothing to report, sir,’ she said.

  ‘I… Thank you. Lieutenant,’ he said. Now that he had reported the mutiny as an insubordination matter that had been dealt with, there was no changing his mind without looking like a fool. ‘You can take a break if you like. I’ve some things to catch up on, so I can take the remainder of your shift if you want.’

  ‘Obliged, sir,’ Harper said.

  Not needing to be asked twice, she left the command centre. As she went past him, Samson could see how tired she looked. He reckoned she hadn’t gotten much more sleep than he had over the past few days, and that wasn’t good for anyone. She seemed to be doing everything she could to redeem herself, and despite it all he had to give her some credit for that.

  He sat down at the command station and adjusted the chair to try and extract some comfort from it. After a few days of luxury on the Maggie, naval facilities seemed overly spartan. Once he got to something he reckoned he could tolerate for a few hours, he turned his mind to the things he needed to do.

  He turned on the depot’s external cameras to watch the SBB transferring the alien scout ship over to the depot’s tractor magnet, which then guided it into the hangar bay. It was a little smaller than the Bounty, so it looked like it would fit in with room to spare. Once it was safely inside, he would go down and take a closer look, but as it was, he had some time to think through and see if there was anything he was forgetting.

  The Maggie had undoubtedly taken passive scans of the alien prior to sending it on its involuntary spacewalk, so Samson messaged her to send over any data they had. While he reckoned he’d made the correct trade-off, he was eager to recover whatever information about it he could. He should have loaded the Maggie up with the corpses, but he reckoned Smith would have drawn the line at that.

  Everything he did would be scrutinised by command, and every omission and mistake questioned. He knew he was making plenty of both—he needed to keep the scales balanced in his favour.

  The data came through a few moments later—Ali still displayed all his old naval efficiency despite years of living the debauched lifestyle of a pirate. Samson brought it up on screen, and ran it through the depot’s medical system to see what light it might shed on his erstwhile prisoner. He would never be a xenobiologist, but he was curious to learn as much as he could about the alien race, not least because he didn’t want to have to repeat ‘I don’t know’ over and over when it came to his debriefing with Admiral Khaimov.

  He played around with parameters for a while until he was able to bring up a graphical representation of the data in a way he could understand. By scanning the alien as though it were a human being, he was able to look at how it diverged from what the scanner’s software considered normal. It was a surprise to see how similar they were. Different, for sure, but overall there were a great many similarities. They both relied on oxygen for respiration, calcium for skeletal strength.

  The list went on and on, but highlighted one thing of which Samson had never thought. Their biology might be broadly similar, but that didn’t mean they shared immunity to the pathogens they each carried. As soon as the realisation dawned on him, he reached for the intercom button.

  ‘A
ll hands, all hands. Prepare for immediate station decontamination in five minutes.’ He brought up the procedure on his control panel and recited the instructions for the crew—where to go, where to find glasses to protect their eyes from the strong ultraviolet light that would bombard the station’s interior, along with a variety of chemicals and types of radiation. They’d all have upset stomachs for a few days until their natural gut fauna had returned, but better that than melting from the inside out due to some unknown alien disease.

  He patched through to the Maggie, which was still docked at the depot, and relayed the information. All space-going ships had decontamination systems, many of which ran passively to allow the crews to move about the galaxy with no noticeable imposition, but he reckoned this warranted special attention, and was confident that the Maggie’s system would be state of the art. He set the decontamination process into motion. Every screen on the depot lit up with the countdown timer, and arrows directing crew to the nearest supplies locker that would contain the safety items they needed. He found the one nearest, and pulled out a pair of protective goggles. They certainly weren’t fashionable, but they’d stop him from being blinded.

  An alarm rang for the last thirty seconds of the countdown. Samson returned to the chair and did his best to relax. The air filled with a fine mist of sterilising chemicals that he hoped would have no adverse effect on him. The lights cycled through several colours as the mist grew so thick he could barely see his hand in front of his face. The air was moist and warm, with a bitter taste. The process lasted about ten minutes before the depot’s ventilation system recycled the air and cleared it of the disinfecting chemicals.

  When it was done, Samson could see there was a message alert on his pad. It was Smith.

  ‘Time for us to be on our way,’ Smith said. ‘Thanks for the reminder about the decon, although I don’t reckon there’s anything the passive systems can’t handle. Never thought of running a full one after the last time we were on the ship, and we were all right. Well, Ali had a dose of the trots, but I reckon that was down to a dodgy curry.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Samson said, ignoring the over-sharing. All things being equal, it had been a fruitful partnership, and he couldn’t see any reason to end it on a sour note. In any event, Smith was as innocent as a newborn babe with his pardon.

  ‘There’s something I wanted to let you know before we’re on our way. That alien won’t be telling any tales.’

  ‘What?’ Samson said.

  ‘I had Bert put a timed charge in the beasty’s environmental suit. One that’s hard to scan for—trade-secret type thing. Anyway, not sure if it’ll have gone off in their ship or before they brought it onboard, but either way it’s raspberry jam now, and won’t be able to give away any secrets. I’d like to think we did a bit of damage too.’

  Samson didn’t know what to say. He was glad Smith hadn’t told him when he was doing it—there was no way he would have agreed, despite everything. He couldn’t condone what Smith had done, but likewise, couldn’t help but feel relieved that he would never have to wonder what information the alien could have provided its people.

  Smith broke the lingering silence. ‘I’ve sent through all the data we pulled out of the alien agitator. I hope it helps.’

  ‘I’m sure it will,’ Samson said. ‘So, what next for you?’

  ‘Time to start developing my legitimate businesses. If there’s war coming to the Frontier, there’s plenty of money to be made. Not just from my recently acquired chandler.’

  Samson nodded slowly. He didn’t like the notion of making money off the back of conflict, but it wasn’t all bad. Soldiers, sailors, and Marines all needed luxuries and facilities to unwind after combat, and someone had to provide them. Better that than stealing from those who did.

  ‘Good luck with it,’ Samson said.

  ‘Appreciate it. Good luck in what’s to come. Try not to get yourself killed.’

  He logged off, leaving Samson to think over what was to come. There was no way the Bounty would be continuing in naval service beyond the arrival of Khaimov’s squadron. With her departure, his tenuous acting lieutenant commandership would go, and he could be reassigned to any part of the galaxy. Had he been told that a couple of weeks earlier, he would have been delighted beyond belief, but now he was very eager to remain on the Frontier. The Frontier was where humanity’s focus would be, and would remain there for the duration of his career, at least.

  The exploration and discovery that would take place there in the years to come would answer some of the questions that mankind had entertained since they had first looked up at the stars and wondered. It was what a young Samson, with a head full of idealistic and romantic notions, had joined the Navy for. To be pulled away from that after all he had been through would a cruel punishment indeed. Captain Wright had definitively shown that these aliens weren’t interested in communicating, so Samson hadn’t been wrong in that.

  He hoped he would be assigned to one of the ships in Khaimov’s fleet—a sloop, or perhaps a brig. It would probably be a light ship on scouting and surveying duty, where his knowledge would come in handy. It would be more interesting than being a duty officer on one of the larger warships. Small ships were where the excitement was, even if the big ones were where careers were built. Whatever awaited him, it would be a big come-down from his brief taste of command, and as onerous as it had felt at times, he’d grown used to it.

  A chime pulled Samson from dreams of glory, defending humanity against alien onslaught. It was a fantasy he’d had since childhood, and he wasn’t altogether certain it had become any more likely an eventuality.

  He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up in bed, and looked around the small officer’s berth to try and order his thoughts back to reality. He was fully clothed. The last thing he remembered was sitting down on it to take off his shoes. They were still on his feet. It had been an exhausting week. He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept, but it wasn’t long enough. ‘Come in,’ he said.

  The door opened, revealing Harper.

  ‘What is it?’ he said.

  ‘The sensor buoy we launched. It’s detected something coming out of the Nexus Current.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘About halfway between the star and Holmwood.’

  ‘Let me guess. Something not of human design.’ Samson’s heart sank. This was the moment he had been dreading—and trying not to think of—ever since they got back to the depot.

  ‘Looks that way. I’m pretty sure it’s the alien ship.’

  ‘Who else would it have been?’ Samson sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. ‘This isn’t good. I wonder if they’re here looking for their captured ship? Or maybe recompense for the ones we killed.’

  Samson did his best to think clearly. Had he led them back here? Had he been wrong to come back to the depot? Should he have led the aliens on a false trail? Would they have ended up here anyway? This was the centre of human activity in the sector. It seemed likely they’d have paid a visit to this system sooner or later.

  ‘How long before it’s within range of the depot’s sensors?’ Samson said.

  Harper looked back at him and shrugged. ‘It’s only just come out of the Current and hasn’t gotten underway yet. It could be headed for us, or the planet.’

  ‘I expect it’ll get around to both of us soon enough.’ Samson chewed his lip and thought for a moment. ‘There’s only one way it’s going to go. Prepare the Bounty and be ready to go at a moment’s notice.’

  Samson always thought of the depot as being in orbit, but technically it wasn’t. It was sited at one of Holmwood’s Lagrange points. The Lagrange point was a spot where gravitational forces were cancelled out by competing bodies, allowing the depot to remain in position without having to expend any energy to do so. It was far enough away from Holmwood for Samson to be able to tell where the alien warship was headed as soon as it came within range of the depot’s sensors.

  It only mattered i
nsofar as it guided his decision on how to proceed. There was no way he could abandon the colonists on Holmwood. If it came for the depot, the decision was made—they would fight there. Perhaps the combination of the Bounty and the depot would be enough to see it off. If it went for Holmwood, he’d have to try to lure the ship away from the planet, pull them far enough in the other direction to give the colonists a chance that the fleet might arrive in time to save some of them.

  Samson had hoped that Khaimov’s squadron would arrive before he was faced with this situation. He was being forced to make choices that were far beyond his pay grade and experience. He didn’t know what he could do for the colonists with the resources available to him, but likewise wasn’t sure where to draw the line between blind devotion to duty and common sense.

  He hated the thought of running back to the Admiralty every time he had a tough decision to make—it certainly wasn’t a characteristic expected from officers, young or not. Nonetheless, the circumstances were beyond the scope of his training, and he was back in the chain of command. He powered up the Nexus transmitter.

  41

  Samson was again pulled from a fitful slumber by Harper’s voice. This time he’d nodded off in his chair in the depot’s operations centre. Happily, there was no one to censure him for falling asleep on duty on this occasion, but he couldn’t afford to make a habit of it. If he counted up the hours of sleep he’d had over the past week, he reckoned it would barely get into double digits. It was no excuse, though.

  ‘They’re definitely heading for the planet, sir,’ she said.

  ‘The Bounty’s ready to sail?’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  ‘Good,’ Samson said. ‘I wonder what’s down there that has the aliens interested. I’d have thought they’d come here, what with us having one of their ships.’

  ‘Perhaps they’re following Smith’s ship,’ Harper said.