“To be honest, Captain, I didn't know where to start,” Harper said. She glanced at Salazar, and as one, they said, “It's my responsibility,” before glaring at each other.
Orlova shook her head, and replied, “Let me get all of this clear, and please feel free to stop me if I've made any mistakes. I sent you on a mission to obtain sufficient fuel to top up the damaged tanks on Ausori, and you decided that a suitable operation was to instead arrange for the arrival of not one, not two, but three enemy fleets in this system.”
“Well,” Salazar said, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“It was my decision, Captain,” Harper said. “There was no way we were going to arrange for a tanker to get here. The only people who had access to the fuel we needed were the leaders of the three fleets stationed at Testament.”
“We didn't realize the Syndicate were working with the Xandari until the last minute,” Salazar added, silenced by a glare from Harper.
“The combined tanks of the ships might have been just enough to allow Ausori to limp to safety. Failing that, we'd have ships to commandeer to rescue at least some of the refugees, as well as prisoners to barter for the fuel we needed. We figured that Alamo could beat them.”
“You took a hell of a gamble, Harper. Both of you did.”
“There didn't seem to be much choice, given the circumstances,” Salazar replied. “I don't mind admitting that we were in over our heads.”
“So I figured I'd try and work out what you would do given the circumstances,” Harper blurted. “It's all worked out for the best, anyway. Skeuros signaled that he was willing to give us the fuel we need, and we'll be on our way...”
“In nine days,” Orlova said, with a sigh. “This is where we came in, isn't it.”
“What are you going to do, ma'am?” Salazar asked.
“I don't know whether to promote you or court-martial you,” Orlova replied, “so I think the best course of action is for them to cancel each other out. Harper, I want Daedalus ready to return to Testament Station in three days, to escort Skeuros' envoy and make sure there isn't any trouble. I'll be giving you a squad of troopers this time, and Senior Lieutenant Powell will be accompanying you with a scientific team.”
“To keep me out of trouble, ma'am?”
With a thin smile, she replied, “The Professor is the last one I'd send for that, Lieutenant. No, his staff are drooling over the prospect of getting a good look at the station, and there doesn't seem to be much point in waiting for Alamo to depart. You'll have to see to their protection, as well as making sure that the tanker leaves safely.”
Harper's eyes widened, and she said, “That's quite a job, Captain.”
“I know. As for you, Salazar, I've got an even worse job for you.” She gestured at the drifting transport, hanging close alongside Alamo, fresh scars on her flanks from the recent battle. “Have you had a chance to take a look at the transport yet?”
“No, ma'am, I haven't.”
“Well, don't worry. You're going to have an opportunity to become intimately acquainted with her foibles over the next few days. I'm assigning you as the liaison to Kelot, as well as the manager of the engineering teams. Your job is to get that ship operational, ready to go as soon as the fuel arrives.”
“In six days?” he said, shaking his head. “Captain, I've looked at the reports, and I'm not sure we can get her ready in six weeks.”
“All she has to do is limp to Testament Station,” she replied. “One quick hop to the hendecaspace point, under tow if needs be, and a jump to get her and the refugees to safety.”
Shaking his head, Salazar replied, “Aye, ma'am.”
“I think the two of you had better get to work,” she replied, and they snapped to attention. “Dismissed.”
She walked away down the corridor, turning towards an elevator, failing to suppress a smile on her face. Harper was quite right. As crazy as her plan had been, it wasn't much different from some of the schemes she'd come up with during her days as a junior officer. Idly, she wondered if Captain Marshall had thought about her in the same lines, and shook her head as she stepped through the doors, Nelyubov waiting on the other side.
“Centicred for your thoughts,” he said.
“I'm not sure they're worth that much. I was just thinking about some of the harebrained ideas I tried, when I was a humble Lieutenant.”
He smiled, and replied, “I'm not sure I'd describe you as humble, Maggie.”
She snapped him a look, then grinned, “Maybe.”
“Putting them back to work was a good idea,” he replied. “Pavel's going to have fun trying to get three hundred engineers from half a dozen ships and three species working together over the next week, especially while Cooper and his team continue their patrol sweeps.”
“Have they found anything?” she asked.
Nelyubov shrugged, and said, “A handful of die-hards, but nothing serious. I think anyone left who was on the wrong side has melted back into the population, and I doubt they'll surface any time soon. They aren't our problem.”
“No,” she said. “Are the others waiting?”
“Skeuros, Kelot and Kilquan are in the briefing room, and I think all three of them are about ready to kill each other. I've got Cantrell in with them to keep the peace.”
“If we're giving her a diplomatic assignment, things must really be desperate,” she replied, as the elevator continued its rise through the levels. “Damage report?”
“Quinn's apoplectic, but we've only added to our shipyard time. I think we're going to be stuck at Testament Station for at least two weeks.” Pulling out his datapad, Nelyubov said, “Harper's report on the station facilities was pretty good, anyway. If she gets bored of the military, she'd have no trouble getting a job with the Martian Tourist Bureau.”
“Short version?”
“It's going to cost, but we'll be able to get the ship back into fighting trim. The facilities there are better than Mariner, and they've got a lot of advanced equipment. Don't tell him I said so, but I think Jack's looking forward to it.”
“Of course he's looking forward to it. He's an engineer.”
The doors slid open, and they stepped out onto the bridge, Foster standing to attention as they walked in, before returning to her work at an affirming nod from Orlova. Prime Crew had just stood down after a twelve-hour stretch, and the night shift had moved into their stations, starting work on clearing up the mess that followed the battle.
Nelyubov paused at the engineering station, glancing up at the display and shaking his head. It had been a far closer-run thing than any of them would have liked to admit. A few missile hits in the wrong place, and Alamo would have joined the collection of tangled metal filling the system. Orlova glanced at the sensor display, a couple of dozen shuttles moving around, scavenging components for the repairs, or for later analysis by the intelligence teams when they got back home.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the briefing room, Cantrell on her feet, turning sharply as she saw Orlova entering, the others sitting at the conference table, Kelot glaring at Skeuros while Kilquan looked on. Without a word, as though everything was perfectly normal, Orlova sat down at the head of the table, Nelyubov opposite.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. “The aftermath of a battle is usually crazier than the fight itself. Skeuros, I've had a word with Doctor Duquesne, and she should have finished the medical checkups on your crew within the hour.”
“Thank you,” he replied, still looking sharply at Kelot. “You've got excellent facilities on this ship, Captain.”
“After what you did, it's the least we can do.”
“I don't mind sacrificing a ship to watch those bastards burn.”
“And yet you and your group ran away, just when we needed you the most,” Kelot snapped. “If your grandfather hadn't stolen the Th
ird Fleet...”
“My grandfather didn't want to die a slave,” Skeuros replied. Leaning back on his chair with a smile, he continued, “Why fight for them? Why die for them? The Starborn have never done a damn thing to earn our loyalty.”
“Gentlemen,” Orlova said, looking at the two of them. “We're not here to have an argument, but to decide upon a course of action.”
“About that,” Kilquan said. “My ships expended a lot of ordnance during the battle, Captain Orlova, as well as sustaining significant damage. You can expect an inventory of the expenses we have incurred shortly, and we will expect prompt payment.”
“Payment?” Kelot raged. “You came here as thieves...”
“And we became mercenaries, as soon as we arrived. I'm sure Captain Orlova will understand the niceties of our business relationship.”
Nodding, Orlova said, “Kilquan, let me come immediately to the point. We both know why you came here, and we both know what your intentions were. I'm willing to forget what both you and Skeuros did to the Daedalus crew on Testament Station.”
“Wait a minute…,” Skeuros began.
“And I am also willing,” Orlova pressed, “to provide you with payment in kind for your services. For example, you will be given new missiles from Alamo's own supplies to replace those you used. Mark Four appeared to be the nearest equivalent.”
Frowning, Kilquan said, “We would prefer your latest hardware.”
“Of course you would,” Orlova replied. “As for you, Skeuros, I offer you the same.”
Shaking his head, the Neander said, “You don't need to bribe me.”
“I'm not bribing either of you,” she said. “I'm rearming you.”
“You're joking,” Kilquan replied. “As soon as we can, we're leaving, and we will be staying at Testament Station.” Looking at the Neander on either side of him, he said, “This isn't our fight.”
“Who stopped them when they came for us?” Nelyubov said.
“Excuse me?”
“An old saying from Earth. The general idea of which is that sooner or later, you will be targeted. You might not be at the top of the Xandari hit list, but eventually, they'll decide to subjugate you.”
“He's got you there,” Skeuros said, folding his arms. “We both know that the only reason no one has decided to attack you yet is because the Collective and the Xandari have been at war for four decades. Sooner or later, one of them is going to win, and they'll come after you next. The Xandari with warships, the Collective with traders. Their industrial capacity will dwarf yours.”
“Unless both sides fight each other to extinction.”
With a beaming smile, the Neander rogue replied, “That little scheme might have worked, until they arrived.” He gestured at Orlova, and continued, “Your people are coming this way. Oh, I know there isn't any organized operation, no big sweep into this region, but now that you know what is out here, someone will follow up. It might take years, but eventually it will happen. Nothing will ever be the same out here.”
“I concede your point,” Kilquan replied. “Why, however, would I wish to speed this process?”
Orlova looked at the albino, smiled, and said, “How does a trade and supply contract sound?”
“For what?”
“Our bases out here, for the next twenty years. It's a gamble, I know, but not much of a one. You know that we're at war with the Xandari, and Skeuros is right. In five years, we'll have outposts scattered all over this part of the galaxy, and it'll be a lot cheaper to supply them locally than have to drag everything out from Sol. I'm sure the Combined Chiefs will agree.”
“This has to be ratified?”
“As a capital ship commander, I have surprisingly broad powers of negotiation. There is, of course, a catch.”
“Naturally.”
“What about us?” Skeuros asked.
“I thought you were willing to help your fellow Neander?” Kelot sneered. “Or is that dependent only on payment.”
Glaring at him, Skeuros said, “In another time, I would...”
“You both need each other,” Orlova interrupted, bluntly. “And your people need you to stop butting horns and get used to the idea that you will be working together. Kelot, what are your intentions?”
Taking a deep breath, he said, “I'm not sure. We can't go back to the Collective, not now. Testament Station is the best choice.”
Nodding, Skeuros said, “We'll take them. Sell that hulk of yours for scrap, and divide the proceeds among the refugees. That should be enough to give them all a reasonable stake.”
“And your cut?”
He shrugged, and said, “A thousand or so skilled technicians and engineers coming out to join our settlement? We're not going to force them, but I'm sure at least some of them will be interested, especially once I've talked to them.” Looking at Orlova, he asked, “Never mind our intentions, Captain. I'm pretty sure that your intentions are going to bring the house down.”
“A question first,” she said. “Is there any traffic between Testament Station and the Collective?”
“A couple of ships a month,” Kilquan said. “More, sometimes. If it wasn't for the war, it would be one of our most profitable shipping routes.”
“And those ships carry passengers?”
“I understand,” Kelot said. “You're telling me that there is no way to stop some of my people getting home.” He looked at Nelyubov, and continued, “There are a lot of hot-heads taking about freeing our people, starting a revolution. Enough of them will get back to start it running. And there will be a bloodbath, our defenses will weaken, and we will lose the war.” He slumped back in his seat, shaking his head. “Short of imprisoning them all, there's no way to stop it, and I will not do that.”
“It's about time,” Skeuros said. “Maybe we can go home someday as well.”
“You made your choice,” Kelot replied.
“To live in leaky domes and holes carved out of asteroids, to scavenge and fight for survival every day. I was two cycles old when we left, but I can still remember what it was like back home. Don't you think I'd like to breath the air of homeworld one last time before I died.” Looking at Orlova, he continued, “We've never had anything like the strength to fight our way through. Maybe that will change.”
“There will be a civil war,” Orlova said, “and both sides will lose. The Xandari will conquer your worlds, either by force or a treaty with the Starborn.”
“Probably,” Kilquan replied.
“Unless we stop them,” Orlova concluded.
“That task force you spoke of,” Kelot said. “Could they get here in time?”
“We don't even know if the fleet has been assembled yet,” Nelyubov said. “And even if it was, if we left to bring them today, they wouldn't arrive for three months. By then it could all be over.”
“Then I don't see what you can do,” Kelot replied. “Maybe we should try and head for Mars. At least we'd have a chance. Even Testament Station won't be safe once the Xandari have broken my people.”
Looking around the room, Orlova said, “Between us, we have nine ships. I'm sure that we can find enough Neander volunteers to fill out the crews where necessary.”
“We've already had a dozen applications to join the Triplanetary Fleet,” Nelyubov added.
“You include our ships in that total,” Kilquan replied. “I presume this is the price of that trading contract.”
“Correct,” Orlova said. “We can't win the war, but we might be able to give the bastards a bloody nose. Hit their front-line fleets hard enough that their offensives are held up, long enough for our fleet to arrive. We've got enough strength forming up to end this, if we can buy enough time to get them into the fight.”
Kelot smiled, and said, “That's a plan I can live with.”
Skeuros sighed, and added, “My men
will bear the brunt of this.”
“If you join us,” Nelyubov said, “We can equip you with the latest weaponry in our arsenal. Enough to double your combat potential.”
“You'd be fighting in the defense of your homeworld,” Orlova said, and Kelot turned to him.
“If you did this,” the veteran said, “all that bad blood would be washed away in one day.”
Kilquan said, “The risk of death on one hand, the ruin of our civilization on the other. You drive a hard bargain, Captain, but I agree.”
Skeuros looked down at the table, and after a long moment, nodded, “I'm in.”
“Well then, gentlemen,” Orlova said, “let's go to war.”
Thank you for reading 'Final Testament'. For information on future releases, please join the Battlecruiser Alamo Mailing List at http://eepurl.com/A9MdX for updates. If you enjoyed this book, please review it on the site where you purchased it.
The writer's blog is available at http://tinyurl.com/pjl96dj
Look out for Battlecruiser Alamo: Operation Damocles, coming in July 2016…
Battlecruiser Alamo: Final Testament Page 23
