“Er, yes, sir, I mean, no, sir.”
“Interesting answer. Have you considered work in the Diplomatic Corps?”
“Sir?”
“A little joke, Private, that’s all.”
Mercifully, the elevator only climbed two levels to the quarters deck, and Cooper stabbed for the hangar bay, breathing a sigh of relief as the doors closed behind him. Tapping his foot on the deck, he waited as the car moved between the decks, down to the far end of the ship, pausing twice to fill up with others making the same journey. The talk was all on Hercules; that was inevitable enough. He stepped out as the doors opened, right into a full-blow argument in progress.
“Fine, put me on report! But you’ll have to say why, and I don’t think disciplining me for refusing to contravene safety regulations is going to work, is it?” Barbara was building up a full head of steam against Petty Officer Nakamura, the grizzled old deck chief.
“Captain wants, Captain gets, Spaceman. You ought to know that by now.”
“You aren’t the one going down there, damn it. It’s not just me, we’re taking a full passenger load each trip. This isn’t that urgent.”
Nakamura shook his head, then looked over at Cooper, “What the hell do you want?”
“I’m refereeing,” he replied, with a smile.
Turning back to Barbara, he continued, “If you want, I’ll pull you from the flight roster, but it will be permanent. I will not accept pilots who question orders.”
She looked back at him, “I’ll fly the mission. But I want it in writing. If this goes wrong, I’m not having ten deaths blamed on me – or my corpse.”
Nakamura shook his head and walked off, leaving her to look over at Cooper with a scowl, “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I thought you were going off shift, I figured I’d meet you.”
“And…”
He sighed, replying, “And Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter has decided that the report on that skeleton I found on the surface needs to be filed tonight for some crazy reason. What was all that about?”
“Naki told the flight crews that we were skipping the five-flight maintenance on the shuttle to complete the evacuation more quickly. It’s stupid – we can’t leave the system for four days anyway, so what’s the rush?”
“I guess they want to be out of their prison as fast as they can. I can understand how they feel.”
“How will dying in a crash help? There’s a reason we run those checks.”
Cooper shook his head, “Is it really wise to wind up the deck chief, though?”
“Hell, lover, I’m the best damn shuttle pilot they’ve got, and they know it – and he can hardly throw me in hack for refusing to disobey orders. He’s just blowing off steam, I doubt he’s any happier about this crap than I am.” She glanced down at her watch. “How much time have we got, anyway?”
“We can grab dinner, I reckon. Depends how long it takes to put that report together. I don’t know what the hell she wants me to say, anyway. We found a skeleton in a tunnel. End of.”
“Creepy, though. I bought the thing up. It’s lying in the science lab right now while she hacks chunks out of it, or whatever she does.” She smiled, grabbing his arm, “Tell you what. My roommate’s going to be spending the next six hours down on the surface; why don’t we pick up something from the mess, go back to my place, and get your homework done between us. Then, if there’s time, I’ll give you an extra credit assignment.”
“Sounds good, teach,” he said with a smile, as they headed to the elevator.
Chapter 8
Holding a switch down on the primary control panel, Major Marshall paused as he looked around the control room of Discovery. Orlova sat in the pilot’s couch, looking at the old, antiquated equipment, running her fingers over the keys as she tried to imagine what it must have been like to take this ship out into uncharted space, being one of the first humans to leave Sol System and see what lay beyond. The crew of this ship were the real pioneers; they were just following in their footsteps.
Standing at the rear of the room were the two members of the Major’s senior staff – the fierce Captain Lane, her sparring partner from her first meeting with the crew, and the quiet Captain Diego, Marshall’s executive officer. Both stood at parade rest while their commander paused, lost in thought, glancing around the room.
Abruptly, he said, “I now conclude my final log entry as acting commander of this vessel, upon my relief by the T.S.S. Alamo, commanded by my son. We have done our best to care for this stranded ship and uphold the memory of her crew, and I charge anyone who follows us to similarly maintain the dignity of this vessel and those who once served on her. Data uplink to Alamo mainframe, all log entries made by Major William Marshall, and re-set command codes to default settings. I hereby yield command.”
“After everything we went through to get access to those damn codes,” Lane said, shaking her head.
“We might as well give the next people here an easier time of it,” the Major replied. “Though I rather hope that she is left just the way she is, a memorial to those who died here.”
“Did you ever find out what happened to the crew?” Orlova said.
Shaking his head, the Major replied, “We found a few bodies when we first moved in, and there was the one you found outside, but the last few weeks of log entries were erased. Everything after the ship assumed orbit of this planet.”
“We really should have named it,” said Lane.
“Call it Discovery,” Diego said. “Seems to fit.”
“It does indeed. We’ll register it when we get home.”
Lane and Diego looked at each other, and she said, “We should head for the shuttle. There’s no-one else left down here now.”
“Are we sure that we have everything we wanted?”
Orlova pulled a datapad out of her pocket, flipping down the list with her finger. “Everything on the manifest has been loaded aboard, all the equipment indicated by your staff, and a few things Alamo hands noticed. All the data in Discovery has been uploaded to Alamo.”
“Sir, we’re finished here now,” Lane said.
Nodding, he replied, “I know.” Looking around for one last time, he tapped the captain’s chair. “Strange. I’ve been here for years, desperate to get home, and when the time comes to leave, a part of me wants to stay.” Turning to the others, he nodded, saying, “What’s done is done. Let’s get up to Alamo.”
As Lane and Diego left, he turned to leave, paused for a second, and turned the control room lights off, looking out over the view of the planet through the primary viewport until it as well went dark. Orlova could almost see the ghosts of the original crew working their stations, a part of them still here, before she turned out of the room to follow the others.
The elevator was waiting for them, the lights in the corridor going out as they stepped in. With the evacuation of Discovery, the ship was conserving power for the day when it might once again be occupied. Everything seemed quiet, and she realized that the life support systems had been turned off, the constant low hum of the circulators dead. There would be more than enough air to keep them going until they left the ship in a few moments, and after that, no-one was going to need it.
At the airlock, a few crewmen were waiting by Alamo’s shuttle, split into small groups, their chattering voices swallowed up by the silence. All stood to attention as the Major approached; he smiled, saluted, and gestured them towards the airlock.
“Captain’s always the last to leave,” he said, as Orlova hesitated. “Go ahead and start your pre-flight checks; I’ll be up to the cockpit in a minute.”
“Aye, sir.”
Orlova turned to see him standing in the corridor, taking one last look as he made his way to a maintenance panel, throwing switches one after another to manually deactivate the last of the systems. She stepped through the
airlock, past the silent evacuees, and settled down in the cockpit, burying herself in the familiarity of the shuttle systems. After a moment, the Major settled into the co-pilot’s seat next to her.
“Mind if I ride up here, Sub-Lieutenant?”
“Not at all, sir,” she replied, tapping a button, “Alamo, this is Shuttle One. We’re about to take-off.”
“Roger, Shuttle,” Zebrova’s voice replied. “Have a good flight.”
“Thank you, Alamo.” With a loud thunk, the airlock door sealed shut, and she gently tapped at the lateral thrusters to kick them away from the ground, then activated the main engines to send them flying up into orbit, gently pushing herself back into her couch with the brief acceleration. She turned to the Major.
“We’ll be docking in about ten minutes, sir.”
Smiling, he replied, “You always do manual takeoffs?”
“I think it’s a good idea to keep in practice.”
Nodding, he continued, “I’m twelve years out of date, Sub-Lieutenant. Feel like helping an old man catch up a little?”
She ran a quick eye over the systems, then said, “What do you want to know?”
“How well do you know my son?”
Orlova’s eyes widened. “I’ve served under him for almost two years, if that helps.”
“What sort of commander is he?”
“That isn’t what you really want to know, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
His eyebrow rose. “Oh?”
She pushed the control column away, turning to face the Major; once again she was startled by how closely father resembled son.
“He’s never spoken of you with anything other than pride, sir. Whenever we got a clue about the location of Hercules, he followed it up – even if he had to stretch his orders to the limit to do it. He never stopped thinking that you were alive, and I know for a fact that the last holoimage he has of you is one of his most prized possessions.”
The Major sat back in his chair, his cheeks reddening. “I see.”
“I have a different perspective on this, sir. When we found my father, it took me weeks before I could work out how I felt about it. Both of us had moved on, there was that gap, but it was one of the greatest moments of my life. When I gave the Captain your message…”
“You're the one who found it?”
She nodded, “After we engaged a ship back at Luhman 16. The look on his face said everything you could ever want to know.” Putting her hand on his shoulder, she said, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. And to answer your original question, he’s an exceptional commander.”
“Thank you for that.” He paused for a moment as the curve of the planet slowly appeared, the shuttle inexorably gaining speed as it reached for its rendezvous with Alamo up ahead. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“How did you get into the service?”
“You can blame your son for that, sir.”
“I think in private you can call me Bill. I don’t tend to keep a very formal ship.”
“Thanks, s...Bill. I was a freelance shuttle pilot, and after I did a favor for the Captain, he offered me a uniform as a place to hide.” She chuckled. “Almost the first thing he did when he took command was dispatch a team of Espatiers out to steal some supplies. Steal back some supplies,” she added. “The previous captain had been rather lax at the end of his tenure, and hadn’t been watching what his deck officer was doing.”
“He gave you a commission for that?”
Shaking her head, she continued, “No, that came a few weeks later, down on Ragnarok, at the end of their short little civil war.”
“A field commission? In peacetime?”
“The Triplanetary Fleet was about a month old at that point, and it was touch and go whether it would last at all; I don’t think it would happen today. The bureaucrats are moving in.”
“Hmm. I was wondering whether I should try to switch over to the unified fleet. I suppose that’s where the action is now.”
Taking another quick look at the controls to make sure everything was in good order, she replied, “I would. You’re staying in, then?”
“I’m not that old. I still have another twenty years or so before I hit retirement age. Maybe they’ll even let me keep Hercules after we bring it home.”
Orlova furrowed her brow, “That computer virus…”
“Of course, you’re Security Officer, aren’t you. It was my spook’s idea; he created a Borgia virus. Half of it is already in the system, buried in the system scheduling software. It looks completely innocuous, but when I add the second half of the code – which I have – then all of a sudden everything goes onto lockdown, and the ship reverts to demanding my command codes. They’ll barely be able to flush the damn toilets without my say-so.”
“Clever,” she replied. “I’d like to have a word with whoever programmed that.”
The Major’s face dropped, “That won’t be possible. He died on Ghawar. Colin never even knew that we got a chance to use the damn program.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“We lost half a dozen people on that hell-hole. They didn’t have much consideration for their workers. Shaved money on the maintenance costs, made us repair our own spacesuits without giving us proper tools or spares.”
“How many people were there?”
“More than a thousand. We were all kept segregated for the most part, but I rather got the impression that they were using the place as a dumping ground for dissidents. The graveyard was not a small one.”
“Damn.”
He turned to look at the stars, a faint smile on his face. “Space again. After all these years. I know it’s just trading one ship for another, but it’s not the same at all. To be on the move, and to strike a blow against those bastards – that’s something I intend to relish.” Glancing at her, he continued, “They need to be stopped.”
“I know,” she replied. “I’ve lost men in battles with them as well.”
“When?”
“Leading troops on the ground, down on Jefferson.”
“I thought you were Security Officer?”
With a wry grin, she said, “I think the Captain has a somewhat loose definition of that term at times; I was moonlighting as second in command of our ground forces at the time.” Her smile changed to a frown as she remembered. “I lost a lot of men during the final battle. Not something I want to repeat.” Turning back to him, she said, “I know they need to be stopped, Bill. You won’t get an argument from me on that score, and I doubt you’ll find anyone up on Alamo who feels differently.”
“And my son?”
“Commodore Tramiel hand-picked him to head up the hunt for the Cabal.”
“I see.”
A light flashed up on her console, and she glanced up to see the shape of Alamo ahead. Turning off the automatic systems, she started to play the thrusters around again, and looked back over at the Major.
“Sorry, I need to concentrate on this.”
“By all means. May I?” he gestured at the communicator, and at her smile, he pressed a button and said, “This is Shuttle One, requesting docking clearance.”
This time Zebrova’s voice was somehow warmer, “Clearance on request, Shuttle One, and welcome to Alamo, Major Marshall.”
Gently, Orlova eased the shuttle into the elevator airlock, nodding as the clamps locked down and the doors slid shut, air hissing into the surrounding space. As the upper doors opened and the shuttle rose up to its place in the bay, she saw a crowd of people gathered around – all of those that had been rescued from the ship below. She looked across at the Major, who smiled.
“You’d think after all this time they’d realize I was no good at making speeches,” he said, throwing off the seat restraints with a flourish and making for the cockpit
airlock. Orlova stood up, standing in the doorway as he clambered out onto the deck. A spontaneous round of applause echoed around the cavernous bay, and he shook his head.
“I don’t know what you are all cheering me for,” he said. “We owe our salvation to the crew of this ship. It’s taken nine years, but we’re all standing on the deck of a Triplanetary battlecruiser once again.” Another cheer rose up. “Nice as this ship is, though, I know it’s not the one we wanted. Well, we’re going to fix that. In a few days now Alamo is breaking orbit to get back our Hercules. We’re going home in style, ladies and gentlemen, back on our own ship again!”
He spoke through the applause, “I know you’re all tired, and I know it has occurred to all of you that we could just go home now. I know it has to me; I want to get back to safety, see Mars again. But I want to put our flag back on Hercules’ hull, and I want that ship to be serving in its own fleet once more. She deserves a damn sight better than to be commanded by a bunch of mutineers and pirates. One more mission, then we can all go home. What do you say?”
This time, the cheering didn’t stop for a long time.
Chapter 9
Scrolling down the datapad, Marshall nodded as he approved the list of temporary crew assignments. Zebrova sat on the far side of his desk, her eyes wandering to the slowly shrinking planet behind them.
“This looks good,” he said.
“I didn’t see much point in giving any of our temporary crewmen critical functions; having them shadow some of the Alamo crew will give them an opportunity to sharpen themselves up ready for the transfer to Hercules.” She paused. “There is another file there you should take a look at.”
Frowning, he switched across. This was a very different list, and mostly consisted of Alamo officers – several of them rated with brevet ranks. A few Hercules crewmen were listed, but none of them in key roles; it took him a second to realize that this was her proposed crew list for Hercules after the recapture of that vessel.
Anticipating him, she said, “I am aware that this will not be what they were hoping for, but it’s been nine years since they crewed a starship, and I must question their current competence to do so. Two weeks is woefully insufficient time to conclude refresher training.”
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