“I'd love to see the look on Cooper's face if you told him to take it, though,” Salazar said.
“They're safe from that, I think,” Scott said. “Destruction would be well within our capabilities, though. Alamo might be able to do some serious damage, and a task force could wipe it out.”
“We're being hailed, ma'am,” Ingram said. “Station Traffic Control, asking us to clear the hendecaspace point.”
“Midshipman, slow ahead,” Harper ordered. “Put us in a position close enough for easy shuttle access.” Turning back to the communications station, she said, “Ingram, I want to speak to someone in authority. State that I am a representative of the Triplanetary Confederation, and that I have business with the commanding officer.”
“Aye, ma'am.”
“Time for you to go, Pavel,” Harper continued. “I don't what him to see what all of us look like straight away.”
With one last glance at the screen, he said, “Yes, ma'am,” and made his way to the rear, the doors closing behind him. She looked after him for a moment, then turned her attention back to the viewscreen.
“We're going to play the situation straight, then, ma'am?” Scott asked.
“Surprised?”
“Well, frankly, yes. I was expecting something a little more devious.”
Shaking her head, Harper said, “We're a ship of the Triplanetary Confederation, and we're exploring in this direction with the intention of expanding out here. If your theory that this facility has seen its best days is correct, than that ought to be music to the ears of whoever is running the place. I never saw a civilian spaceport yet that didn't take its best profits from the military.”
“Unless they consider us a threat, or have already formed an alliance with the Xandari.”
“If they had, we'd know about it by now. How are you doing, Spaceman?”
“Slowly, ma'am,” Ingram replied. “I'm on hold.”
Shaking her head, Scott said, “You'd think they encountered new interstellar governments every day.”
“Maybe they do,” Harper replied, “but more likely someone is attempting to demonstrate their superiority. Or they're trying to work out who is going to deal with us. We don't even know who runs this station.” Running a hand through her hair, she added, “Arkhipov, start looking for sensor blind spots.”
“I don't think there are any. There's a network of sensor satellites around here tighter than anything I've ever seen, as bad as Low Mars Orbit. I don't think we could get a microsat through, never mind a shuttle. Or a spacesuit.”
“Keep looking, Spaceman.”
“Shuttle launch, ma'am,” Arkhipov reported. “Heading right for us. Projected docking in five minutes minus.”
Turning from his station, Ingram said, “I've got a message at last, ma'am. The Minister of External Relations is on his way, to speak to the commanding officer and plenipotentiary of the Triplanetary Confederation.”
“I guess that's me,” Harper said, pushing off from her chair. “Scott, you'd better come with me. We might as well make it look good. Midshipman, you have the conn.”
His face pale, Maqua replied, “Me?”
“Unless we've had a stowaway, I don't think we've got any other Midshipmen on board. Maintain station-keeping and call Lieutenant Salazar if you have any problems.”
“Shall I call the Espatiers?” Scott asked.
Shaking her head, Harper replied, “Better not overplay our hand. I'd like them to think we're nothing more than a lightly armed exploration vessel. A couple of missile tubes fits that well enough, but having some marines on board won't.” Turning to the sensor station, she said, “Track that shuttle in carefully, Spaceman, and look out for any sudden moves.”
“Aye, ma'am.”
The two of them floated from the bridge, drifting down the main corridor to the docking port. At the half-way point, Harper tapped a control and swung into her cabin, tossing her uniform jacket into a corner and sliding the top half of her dress uniform on in its place. With a quick tug, it settled in position, and she ran her hand over the neat row of medals over the top pocket.
“I think that'll do.”
“When was the last time you wore that?” Scott asked, hurriedly diving into her quarters to change.
“Never, actually. Frank Nelyubov had it run off for me before we left, just in case.” Shaking her arms, she added, “And by some strange miracle of technology, it actually seems to fit properly.”
“Will wonders never cease.”
“Bridge to Captain,” Maqua's shaky voice echoed. “Shuttle docking in ninety seconds.”
“I hope he doesn't make any reports while we're meeting the Minister,” Scott said, “or they'll soon figure out what sort of a shoestring operation we've got.”
As they pushed on down the corridor, Harper said, “Remember, we tell as much of the truth as we can, but no mention of Ausori. Alamo is our mother ship, and this is a carefully planned exploration of this area.”
“Could you tell me where the truth element of that statement is?”
“Perhaps wish-fulfillment is a better term.”
The two officers moved into position opposite the hatch as the shuttle docked, a loud report as the clamps slid into place, one after another, securing the vessel in position. A series of green lights ran down the telltales, the two ships secured.
“Universal docking port,” Scott said. “There must have been some contact, then.”
“Nothing I've heard about, but that doesn't necessarily mean a thing.”
The hatch opened, and a tall, pink-skinned man drifted out, hair a startling white, eyes a blend of pink and red, wearing a green formal jumpsuit. Behind him, another, similar man followed, carrying a datapad, scribbling notes with a stylus.
Holding out her hand, Harper said, “Welcome to the Triplanetary Starship Daedalus, gentlemen. I'm Lieutenant Kristen Harper, commanding officer of this ship, and this is my second-in-command, Sub-Lieutenant Katherine Scott.”
The albino tentatively took her hand, eyes narrowed, as he replied, “You seem very young to have a command of your own, Lieutenant.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she replied. “We Harpers have always looked a lot younger than our years.”
“I see. I am Quaice, Minister for External Affairs of Testament Station, and this is my Senior Aide, Xydic.”
“My pleasure,” Xydic added, barely looking up for a second.
“As you will infer from my knowledge of English, this is not our first encounter with a ship from Sol,” Quaice said. “Nevertheless, as far as I am aware, this is the first visit of a vessel from the Triplanetary Confederation. Regardless of your request to meet a senior official, I would have been paying you a visit in any case to make the formalities clear.”
“Naturally, we are happy to obey all of the local regulations and laws,” Harper replied. “Our mission is one of exploration, part of an organized sweep of this area of space. We have a base ship nearby, though at the moment I am not at liberty to tell you where.”
“A reasonable precaution,” Quaice said. “I presume you knew of our station before your arrival?”
“As soon as we learned of its existence, making contact became a high priority.” Gesturing down the corridor, she pushed towards her office, and continued, “The Confederation has interests in opening up diplomatic and trade relations with governments in this reason.”
“In competition with your United Nations and Lunar Republic, no doubt,” Xydic said. “We are well informed of affairs at Sol.”
“Tell me,” Scott asked, “are there any UN representatives on the station?”
“We are not at liberty...,” Xydic began, before his superior cut him off.
“Not at present,” he said. “The last visit was some years ago, and I am willing to consider that the information they g
ave us was inaccurate. Certainly, your presence here suggests that their estimation of your interstellar capability was in error, especially if you are planning to establish a permanent facility here.”
Nodding, Harper said, “In time, we would wish to open an embassy, or at least to maintain a presence of some sort here. This station, if our information is correct, is the trading hub of this part of space.”
“Hundreds of starships pass through here in a year, from all of the local governments. The Collective, Imperium, even the Consortium. And as you will have seen, we have nonhuman visitors from the Outer Ring as well, though our rules on contact are extremely complicated.”
“My government would wish me to gather as much information as possible.”
Reaching into a pocket, Quaice pulled out a thin datarod, one that betrayed its Terran ancestry, and said, “This contains our usual briefing to arriving starships, as well as some additional information about potential trade relations with local governments. We are a free port, Lieutenant, and as such an ideal place for the establishment of mercantile relations. Our shipyards are of high quality, and our prices reasonable.”
Glancing at the Minister, Xydic said, “Naturally, any such relationship would have to be ratified by the Council before it could come to any determination. We are not empowered to simply open relations at a single meeting.”
“Of course not, and I am not empowered to make any long-term arrangements either,” Harper said. “As I said, my mission is one of exploration, and I have superior officers nearby to report to. They would make the final decision on whether we would wish to utilize the facilities of Testament Station, or potentially would pass the knowledge back to the Senate.”
Nodding, Quaice said, “Quite so. Perhaps we were getting ahead of ourselves. Certainly I can assist you with intelligence-gathering, Lieutenant. Tours of our shipyards can easily be arranged, as well as of our other attractions. This station prides itself on providing a good time to all who visit her.”
Scott added, “We would like to send some of our people across for shore leave, Minister. We've been in space a long time.”
With a smile, he replied, “I will have tourist visas assigned to your crew upon my return, as well as a copy of the local regulations.”
“There is one matter that I would like to resolve quickly,” Harper said. “You will understand that we are operating on the outer limits of our logistics capability. Our explorations in this area would be made far simpler if we could procure some fuel supplies, and I am empowered to sign contracts for delivery.”
“Interesting,” Quaice said. “And slightly unexpected.”
Nodding, Scott said, “I know the top brass would be a lot happier about our expedition if we were less dependent on tankers. That could speed up our movement into this area by months.”
“Assuming the Xandari had no objection,” Xydic replied.
“That will do,” Quaice snapped.
“While our mission is peaceful, we are ready and willing to defend ourselves if attacked,” Harper said. “Many of the vessels in our task force are warships, not scouts such as this. We decided to use this vessel as a demonstration of our intentions.”
“One that I certainly appreciate,” the Minister replied. “Having a fully-armed warship appear in our territory uninvited would have been problematic at best. Though we are also ready to defend ourselves from attack.” Puffing out his chest, he added, “During its history, Testament Station has stood as a bastion of freedom on many occasions, and has always been up to any challenge it had to face.”
“Minister, we have provided our information,” Xydic said, “and we should report back to the Cabinet.”
“I'm happy to provide you with a tour of the ship,” Harper offered.
“Perhaps another time, Lieutenant, but my irritating assistant is quite correct. Perhaps I could invite you to dine with me tomorrow. I will ensure that those you need to meet regarding the fuel situation are present.”
“I accept.”
“Wonderful. Make the arrangements, Xydic,” he said, turning back to the shuttle. As the two of them stepped back inside, the hatch slamming shut, Harper released a breath she hadn't quite realized she was holding.
“Gruesome,” Scott said, speaking for both of them.
“They want us,” Harper replied. “At least, Quaice does. They need our trade, our links with the rest of the galaxy, and are willing to jump through at least a few hoops to get it.”
“And the aide?”
“Is someone to watch very carefully. Assuming that wasn't a very well-planned double-act.” Shaking her head, Harper said, “We'd better go back to the bridge and take Maqua off the hook.”
Chapter 9
Salazar breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped through the airlock, looking at the people around him. More than three-quarters of them were homo sapiens sapiens, though in all shapes and sizes, with a leavening of Neander, albinos like the minister, a few others he'd only seen in museums. One glance had told him enough to rewrite the history books, and even though he was no scientist, he longed for the chance to spend some time just soaking it all in, gathering material.
One day, soon, there would be a chance for Alamo's science team to come over here. For the moment, it was more important that he wouldn't have any difficulty blending into the local population. Had he been attempting to infiltrate a Neander station, he wouldn't have made it very far without being caught. Here, he had a chance of completing his mission.
The crowd surged towards an elevator, and he followed the pack, trying to stay clear of the rest of the Daedalus crew. He and Harper had picked the shore leave party with more than usual care. All of the Espatiers, of course, with locating some sort of weapons their most urgent priority, as well as Petty Officer Lombardo to come up with an engineering assessment of the station.
Just thinking about the scale of the place daunted him, but as he reached the top of the platform, the enormity of the station finally hit home. He was on the inside of a huge cylinder, miles long, a mass of green, brown and blue. A space station large enough to have a lake inside it, wrapped around the far side of the cylinder. Despite a lifetime of experience in space, he couldn't quite get past the fear that it would all fall on him.
In the early days of the Space Age, men had dreamed of constructing stations like this, colonies suspended in the void, floating free throughout the solar system. In reality, none had ever been built, the largest station at Sol just under a mile across, and most of that consisted of unmanned manufacturing plants. no one had ever quite dared to build something so big, to put so many eggs in one basket.
The place was large enough to have individual towns scattered about the surface, connected with long expressways, conveyor belts to take travelers to their destination. A wide brown spot at the other end of the cylinder had what could only be ruins, scattered in a brown wasteland, the relic of some long-ago catastrophe.
Trying to settle himself down, he looked around with an engineering eye, attempting to put together some sort of assessment. This station was old, no doubt about it, all of the equipment he could see worn from extended use. Few new components were in evidence, that much was certain, and where he did see new construction, the writing didn't match the original design.
One look at the wall told him something of the history of the place, scrawled graffiti in a hundred languages, a strange Rosetta Stone for the linguists to play with when he got back. Not wanting to stand out, he started to step forward, letting himself be carried along with the crowd, drifting towards what he presumed was the spacer's quarter, a series of low buildings, all prefabricated construction, occupied by a leavening of drunks and reprobates. Bars, restaurants, shops selling all manner of tourist rubbish, and eyes watching from every quarter, the local security force keeping a careful check on the visitors.
A small boy, white-haired and pink-eyed
, ambled over to him with a smile on his face, holding a datapad in his hands with a surprisingly businesslike air. He looked Salazar up and down, then gestured towards a rolling road.
“You don't want the usual stuff, do you?” he said. “You're looking for something else.”
“I want to go outside the normal tourist areas,” Salazar replied. Gesturing at the collection of seedy shacks, he added, “I can go to a bar any time I make planetfall, but this station is different. Unique. I want a proper look at it.”
Nodding, the boy said, “I'm Urquot, and you are in luck. I'm the best guide on the Ring, and I think I know what you are looking for. It'll cost, though.”
“I can pay.”
“In advance, please.”
With a thin smile, Salazar reached into his pocket, and handed him a hundred credit chit, saying, “I hope Triplanetary currency is good.”
“I looked at the projected conversion rates. This is a little high, but I'm taking a risk on it. You people come out here in strength, I get my money and then some, and you tell all your friends about this little tour.” He started towards the road, and added, “Come on. I can promise you something unique.”
Following the boy, Salazar said, “How come you speak English?”
“I don't,” he replied, tapping his ear. “Automatic translation of a hundred languages, including yours. Works on brain patterns. Picks up what you say, tells me what it means, and lets me know the sounds to make back.”
“How much to buy one?”
“More than you've got. It's one of our little local trade secrets.” Frowning, he said, “Well, I might be able to arrange something, at some point. Though I'd need something a lot more concrete than a currency I may or may not be able to do anything with.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Final Testament Page 8
