Battlecruiser Alamo: Take and Hold

by Richard Tongue

   He smiled, and said, “You still do most of your work with the shipping companies, I know that much. How else could you keep track of who moves where so well. What if I was to provide you with something of incalculable value for them, enough that you could retire with enough money to keep you safe forever.”

   Shaking his head, Lester said, “What use is money to the dead? And don’t appeal to my patriotism, Logan, the last person to come in here tried that line with me, and it didn’t work then. I accept Triplanetary Credits or information, and only in the latter case if I consider it immediately useful.” He sighed, and said, “I can offer you some other news, if you wish. There will soon be a scandal involving the President, a big one. The man is on the verge of resignation, though he does not know it yet.”

   “How do you know about it?”

   “I have my sources, Logan. Consider that a partial payment for the debt I owe you, given that I cannot help you out in any other ways.” He paused, then said, “I am surprised, I must confess, that the rest of your contacts have been unable to assist you. Usually there are some who are willing to risk their life for a strengthened credit account.”

   “What was it you were saying about the value of information purchased with money?”

   “Trust is a rare commodity in my profession, it is true.” He gestured towards the door, and said, “I hope you have a safe and swift journey back to your ship. A very impressive ship, I must say. Something of a career change for you.”

   “It’s always interesting to try new things.”

   “Nevertheless I suggest that there is value in returning to old habits. All the best, Logan, until we meet again.”

   Logan walked from the room, glancing quickly from side to side and heading off in a random direction, instead of heading directly back to the shuttle terminal. His stalkers were undoubtedly still following him, and Lester had given him a fairly broad hint that he could expect trouble. He followed the crowds, quickly returning to populated areas, gambling that his pursuers wouldn’t want to expose themselves unnecessarily, though that was simply delaying the inevitable. They’d knocked out a restaurant on one of the main station thoroughfares; killing him and making it look like a botched mugging was of the same sort of scale.

   Behind him, he could almost sense that he was about to be attacked; the crowd was beginning to move away from him, as if preparing to scatter. His visible pursuers had vanished, evidently not wanting any part in what was to come. Glancing ahead, he saw what he had been looking for. An emergency airlock.

   Breaking into a sprint, he raced for the hatch and typed in the ten-digit override code, slamming the door closed behind him. Through the window, he could see three frustrated figures standing outside. He pulled an intrusion card from his pocket, sliding it into the nearest dataport and setting it for defense; that brought him enough time to pull on the spacesuit hanging in the reserve locker, and by the time they were close to opening the inner door, he was opening the outer door; there was no time for him to run through all the suit checks, not until he was on the move.

   The pressure in the airlock gave him a quick boost away from the station, and within seconds he was drifting in free space. Everything seemed to be working, and he ran through the checklists. Thrusters fine, and he tried a couple of quick maneuvers to test them, sending himself spiraling around. Then he reached down for the navigation computer, and was rewarded only with a blank screen.

   He hung limp, cursing under his breath. Without those systems, he didn’t even know where Alamo was in relation to his current position, still less could he attempt to plot a course home. At some point, someone from the station would notice that he was in trouble, but there was no way of telling which side his rescuer would be on.

   “Logan to Harper,” he said, switching frequencies. “Logan to Harper. I’m in trouble, floating free outside Carter Station. I left Airlock One-Nine-Bravo. Repeat, One-Nine-Bravo. In free trajectory.” He set the message to repeat, then sent the same message to Ryder and Quinn, hoping that one of them would pick it up. He continued running down the checklist, and saw that the speakers in his helmet were also out. If any of them replied, he’d have no way of knowing.

   At least the view was spectacular. Jupiter was just rising over Callisto, swirls of orange and red that seemed almost to envelop the moon completely; he could see faint shadows, some of the inner moons still inaccessible to mankind closer in. The radiation counter clicked; it was not wise to spend too long in a spacesuit anywhere in Jupiter-space, but that wasn’t what he was worried about. Not that there was anything he could now do to boost his chances. Someone would come and get him, and he would either live or die. Toss of a coin.

   He turned around, pivoting on his thrusters, and looked at the station, increasingly distant. It wouldn’t be hard to get back there as a last resort; that close a jump he could eye-ball, and scramble his way on the hull until he found an airlock. Of course, there would be someone unpleasant on the other side of the airlock waiting for him, so he dismissed that possibility. The odds were a lot better where he was.

   Tapping a series of controls, he set an alarm to sound in an hour, and did the only sensible thing in the circumstances; he sat back to enjoy the view. He queued some soft music to play, and settled back to relax.

   When the alarm buzzed, he jerked his eyes open and realized he’d managed to doze off. The station was far enough away that he seemed to almost be alone in the sky; he had to throw on an image intensifier to see the slowly rotating disc tumbling in its orbit around the cold, icy moon. There was another point of light, gently moving in his direction, and looking closely at it revealed the lines of a shuttlecraft, standard Triplanetary design.

   That, of course, meant nothing. He couldn’t make out the markings on the side and had no way of knowing who it belonged to. Not that there was anything he could do about it if it proved to be hostile; even using every ounce of fuel he had, he couldn’t buy himself more than a few moments grace. Better to simply watch and wait, and remember the revolver he had hidden in a pocket. If nothing else, he could probably manage suicide by firefight.

   The shuttle grew closer and closer, looming towards him. In the far distance, he could make out a second point of light, and he started to smile; there seemed to be a competition for the pleasure of his company. It was clear who was going to win, and he opted to reward the nearest shuttle for its speed, hanging still, waiting for it to approach.

   Whoever was flying it knew what they were doing; the shuttle rested by him, matching his course and speed, its airlock turned to face him. He played his thrusters across and moved towards the airlock, glancing across at a blank space where the identification insignia should have been. No reassuring image of the battlecruiser to greet him; he looked across at the other shuttle, but it was too far away to reach, too far away to influence what would happen. Instead, resigned, he tapped the control and stepped in through the outer door, waiting for the hatch to deflate.

   As a series of green lights flashed on, he cracked open his helmet seal and stepped into the cabin, his hand reaching down for his pistol; if the worst happened, he still might be able to bluff his way out of it.

   “Logan, we need to move,” Harper said, turning from the pilot’s seat. “You probably ought to be sitting here, as well; Ryder’s been flying her from the deck officer’s console.”

   Nodding, he slid into the proffered pilot’s seat, shrugging out of his suit trousers, and started to program the course back to Alamo. The other shuttle was still on an intercept course, tracking in towards them.

   “They launched from the station just after us. We got a little creative with the safety overrides; I think they’re going to suspend my pilot’s license.”

   He glanced across at her and asked, “When the hell did you get a license?”

   “Half an hour ago, when I needed clearance to launch. They’re surprisingly easy to forge.”

 
 “I think the idea is that you can forge the ID, but not the skill. Why didn’t Ryder come herself?”

   “Watson’s got the crew on some sort of drill. Started soon after you left. Action stations or something like that. I had to sneak out. What did you learn?”

   Logan tapped a button, and sent the shuttle racing towards Alamo fast enough to push him back into his chair, then replied, “Lester’s been got at, but he knows who he wants to work with. He told me what I wanted to know.”

   “And that was?”

   Shaking his head, he replied, “Someone in the Government. Not Intelligence; he wouldn’t have got away with what he did tell me if it was. He said something about patriotism, which suggests an amateur. Lester’s got pride, and he doesn’t need tricks like that to get him to do something. It’s big, as well. Very big.” He looked across at her again, and said, “None of my contacts are talking. Someone’s sent the whole network down into hiding, and I don’t know why. Is anything happening back there?”

   “News broke an hour ago; apparently the Senate’s going to be asked to vote on a peace treaty with the Cabal.”

   “A peace treaty?” he said, raising his eyebrow. “What about the attack on Hades Station?”

   “No-one seems to be mentioning it. I thought it was secret.”

   “It is, but I don’t see how the hell the President can reconcile it with coming to terms. Reinforcing Hydra is one thing, but we’re talking about an actual attack.” Shaking his head again, he said, “Lester told me that something big was about to break, but I don’t know if this was what he was talking about.”

   “Logan, the Senate’s in full session over this, and all the pundits are going mad – on both sides. Isn’t this big enough?”

   “Yes, but...Lester said it involved the President. Personally.”

   “And this doesn’t?”

   “Maybe. There’s more going on, though, and we need to know what.”

   “Is this where you ask me to volunteer to risk my life again?”

   “Well…”

   She smiled, and said, “I already had a word with some of my old friends. None of them have been sent undercover. There’s something big going on, but they’ve got some new spooks on the network.”

   “Better than you?”

   “No, but we’re in a hurry. Face-to-face is a lot harder to hack. I’m going over to the station in a few hours to meet with some people.”

   Sighing, he said, “I’m not going to tell you not to go, and I’m not going to tell you to take anyone with you, but I am going to tell you to be careful. I mean it – you need to watch your back on this one. Someone just tried to kill me…”

   “Logan, you’ve got the resources of a battlecruiser at your disposal.”

   “That doesn’t help you if someone sticks a knife in your back.”

   She nodded, and said, “I know. I’m still going.” Gesturing up, she said, “Shouldn’t we be getting to work on the docking sequence?”

  Chapter 11

   Marshall sat quietly in his cabin, skimming over the latest set of reports from the Hadfield, stunned at the efficiency of their engineers; they were racing to get their ship ready for action. Dropping it to the bed, he looked out of the cramped viewport at the dull red star beyond. Two weeks, and they’d be going into battle, and despite all of the planning and preparations, all he could do was sit back and watch.

   It was bad enough normally, sitting in the command chair, knowing that all of the decisions had already been made and he could only wait to see how they played out, but this was going to be a new kind of hell – he wasn’t even going to get to make those decisions. He was simply a passenger this time, an observer. And he hated it, every minute.

   The door slid open, and he looked up to see Cunningham walk into the cramped cabin, tossing a rumpled jacket on the chair behind his desk as he sat down.

   “Normally when I share my cabin, she’s a cute brunette with as few morals as possible,” he said. “This is a first.”

   “Sorry,” Marshall replied. “I’ve got plenty of morals. Though I am rather cute.”

   “No offense, Danny, but you really aren’t my type.” He glanced down at the datapad and said, “I guess you’ve seen the Admiral’s plan.”

   “Operation Charge of the Light Brigade?” he replied. “It’ll work, in a crude sledgehammer sort of way, assuming that we aren’t facing much in the way of opposition. Frankly, it looks like the work of Lord Nelson in comparison with the Espatier plan.”

   Shaking his head, Cunningham said, “A lot of people are going to die in a fortnight, aren’t they. Damn it, why the hell won’t Pierce see reason?”

   “He’s spent the last ten years running a shipping company, for God’s sake – while sending in the obligatory articles to the service journals second-guessing all the decisions we’ve been making out here. Now he has a chance to show us how it should be done.”

   “That wouldn’t be so bad if he had any ideas worth a damn. What was Tramiel thinking, giving him this task force? Even if there had been political pressure, relieving Hydra Station…”

   “Is realistically the more important job,” Marshall finished. “That has people on board that we are obligated to protect, whereas this is finishing off a strategic backwater. We’re putting on a show, and that’s all – something for the cameras. That and proving to the taxpayers that it will take more than one ship to deal with the Cabal.”

   “You think this is the carrier mafia?”

   “I think they’re trying to show that battlecruisers need to be kept to a supporting role. Stupid. Someone’s using us to play political games with the budget, and they don’t give a damn about the people’s lives they are using.”

   “I’m not so sure,” Cunningham said, shaking his head. “That isn’t like Tramiel, and I don’t see the rest of the Combined Chiefs going along with that. They’re getting their battleships, in any case. What more do they want?”

   “Meaning?”

   “Meaning that there is something more going on here than we know about, something bigger. Not that I have any idea as to what, of course, but…” He looked down at Marshall, and said, “I really wanted to talk about you.”

   “Let me guess, you and Deadeye have been talking about me behind my back.”

   “Someone has to. You realize that this is your career from now on, I hope.”

   “Stuck in dead-end assignments and desk jobs?”

   “Even being somewhere in administration would give you some sort of influence in how things went. My guess is that you are being set up to be the hero of the fleet, a figure to be trotted out to schools, to complete a patrol of the talk shows, before quietly being put out to pasture.”

   With a smile, Marshall replied, “They don’t trust me. I suppose I can’t blame them.”

   “The question is what you are going to do about it?”

   “They try and put me into a PR role, I’ll resign from the fleet that afternoon. I’ve done the time in service, and I still come under the Wartime Retirement Act. I can quit at the end of any tour of duty with no loss to reserve rank or pension.”

   “Unless we go to war again, in which case they’ll keep you.”

   “We go to war, I’ll get to the front. Even if I have to stow away on a battlecruiser to do it.”

   “Time was you’d have talked about stowing away on a carrier, planned to ride fire on a fighter again.”

   He shrugged, and replied, “Things change. I can’t complain, John. I had a hell of a good run on Alamo, and I’m sure I can think of something to do in the civilian sector.”

   “Run for office.”

   “Don’t be stupid.”

   “I’m quite serious. The Progressives would have you in the Senate at the next by-election, and we both know it. If you want to carry on making a difference, perhaps you need to change arenas. Deadeye’s willing if y
ou are.”

   “For what?”

   “Ten years as a journalist should make her a pretty good campaign manager. As for me, well, there’s still an outside chance I might be able to get one of the battlecruisers.”

   “You should have got Alamo.”

   He looked up at him and replied, “I’d have liked her. Don’t get me wrong, after a while I wanted to command that ship.” With a shrug, he continued, “Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.”

   “Logan’s only commanding her for a few months. You wait; he’ll get out of it.”

   “Unless he decides he likes it.”

   “I don’t think that’s his style. God only knows what’s he’s getting up to back at Callisto.”

   Cunningham smiled, then said, “What about the battle?”

   “What would I do? Jump in with the battlecruisers first, move in and take a look at what was going on, with the carrier to follow fifteen minutes later and the auxiliaries an hour later. Scouts with the battlecruisers to act in support. Check out the situation and then attack if it warrants it; I’d have the option of using the carrier or not, depending on the circumstances.”

   “You’ve thought this through.”

   “Someone has to. All of us jumping in at the same time like this is crazy.”

   “Agreed. Given that, though, what are you going to do?”

   “Well, the auxiliaries are both ready. How’s our salvo fire practice coming?”

   “Deadeye’s up on the bridge putting them through their paces again. We’re making progress, but these are new ships. Hell, Griffon’s on her shakedown cruise, a rookie crew. That doesn’t make for optimum combat efficiency.”

   “That’s what we’ve got, though. We’ll just have to make it work, one way or another. I want to hold that in reserve; we’ll stick with the auxiliaries and hope that the sledgehammer smashes the enemy. If something gets through, then we need to be prepared to deal with that as well. Another fighter attack is a distinct possibility.”

   “There’s still the big question left, of course. Are they waiting for us?”