Battle of Hercules

by Richard Tongue

   Another shuttle flew past them, dragging a dozen huge spheres on tightly attached cables; another fuel transfer, bound for Alamo or Hercules. Had Alamo’s pumps been working, this wouldn’t have been as bad, but Quinn was having serious problems repairing their one piece of battle damage, and Hercules wasn’t even equipped for fuel transfer in that manner. Given time, they could improvise something, but Marshall was rather hoping that they would be on their way home before that.

   He felt like a bit of a hypocrite coming here at all, after preventing Carpenter; she had a goal to accomplish here, whereas he just felt that he had to visit a spot where people under his command had fallen, see what they had died for with his own eyes at least once. Captain’s prerogative. The shuttle slowed almost to a stop, floating slowly towards the airlock. A spacesuited figure was drifting around, doing some work on the upper mechanism; turning, it waved at the shuttle as it approached, and it took an effort for Marshall not to reply.

   With a loud clang, the docking clamps engaged, the pressure began to equalize, and the airlock started to cycle. Marshall unclipped his restraints, drifting free, and pushed himself to the exit; the hatch from the pilot’s cabin opened, and the shuttle pilot – a blonde he vaguely recognized as one of the crew they’d taken aboard at Mariner, floated through.

   “All secure, sir,” she said.

   “Good flying, Spaceman.”

   “I’m here for the shift, sir, so you’ll need to take Shuttle Three back. Airlock down the corridor.”

   “Thanks.”

   “Just part of the service, Captain.”

   With a nod, Marshall pushed into the station proper, drifting down the long tunnel to the central corridor. He shook his head at the bullet holes in the walls, the thin trace of blood that had remained, a relic of a wound or a fatality sustained here. Ensign Zabek swung around the far end of the corridor, pushing towards him with a speed that suggested the possibility of an imminent collision.

   “Welcome aboard, sir,” she said, saluting. “I’m sorry no-one was here to meet you.”

   Returning the sharp salute, he replied, “Relax, Ensign. I didn’t expect to be piped on board, or I'd have warned you I was coming.”

   “Is there something wrong, Captain?”

   Shaking his head, he said, “This isn’t a surprise inspection or anything ghastly like that; I just wanted to see the place for myself. Can you spare some time for a quick tour?”

   “Certainly, sir,” she replied with a smile. “If you would follow me?”

   “By all means, Ensign.”

   The two of them pushed down the corridor, and Zabek guided them left, nimbly cruising over a pair of technicians working at securing data cabling to the floor. Marshall raised a hand, pausing and looking down at them, then up at Zabek.

   “We’re only here for a few days, Ensign.”

   “I don’t trust the station computers, sir. Mr. Quinn agreed with me; we’re setting up to run the station from whichever shuttle is docked. Our part of the station, anyway. Just enough to keep the fuel pumps working and the life support systems operating.”

   “Good work.”

   The lights flickered, and Zabek smiled, “See what I mean, sir? That keeps happening. They’re playing around with non-essential systems, trying to counter us. We had some sort of music playing on the lower level earlier through the speakers. No-one down there could hear themselves think until we disabled them.”

   “Did you record it?”

   “Record it?” she said, frowning. “I don’t think so, sir. I can ask around…”

   “Pity. Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter would have been interested.”

   Zabek closed her eyes, shaking her head, “I have had some long conversations with her, sir.”

   “Oh?”

   “Can I speak…”

   “Freely. Of course.”

   Nodding, she raised a hand to stop herself, then continued, “Frankly, sir, my people and I have too much to do now, without spending hours listening to lectures on long-extinct human species.”

   “Cooper?”

   “A good man, and has some leadership potential, but he’s green boots, skipper. He found that skeleton, and he has cavemen on the brain. All it takes are a few shadows and a bit of an imagination, and you might see anything in the heat of battle.”

   Inwardly, Marshall grinned; Zabek herself had been a rookie only a few months ago, yet to face her first battle; he reminded himself that in the intervening period she’d seen more ground battles than most troopers had seen during the War.

   “I’ll have a word with her, Ensign,” he replied. “Nevertheless, keep an eye out. On the off-chance that Cooper actually has something, it could be of critical importance.”

   “I understand that, sir,” she said. “But…,” she paused, sighing, then gestured down the corridor. “Control room’s down here, sir.”

   The two of them pushed on down the corridor, floating past the sight of another battle; this time there were hundreds of bullet marks, sprayed all around the room, and a pair of body bags were slung onto the ceiling.

   “Enemy casualties, sir,” Zabek said, noting his glance. “We’ve got them sealed and refrigerated. They’ll keep a while.”

   “Shouldn’t they be buried? We could easily arrange a ceremony.”

   Shaking her head, Zabek replied, “That didn’t seem appropriate, sir. A few days from now their people will have control of this facility again. They can bury them in space themselves, and with friends rather than combatants at the funeral.”

   “Quite right, Ensign, I should have thought of that.”

   They sailed into the control center, where a pair of technicians were operating the consoles, Quinn looking over their shoulder. The engineer turned and smiled as Marshall approached, his face lighting up like a kid being given a new toy.

   “Having fun, Lieutenant?”

   “Absolutely, sir. I get to break and fix stuff I’ve never seen before.”

   Frowning, Marshall replied, “How different is this to Jefferson?”

   “These controls are a lot more sophisticated. Pity we can’t use them; I managed to shunt in some new software, the ones we use for fuel transfer stations back home.”

   “What were you doing with that on file?”

   “You’d be surprised what I’ve got stashed deep in Alamo’s databanks, sir.”

   “I see.” He looked around the room, “There wasn’t much damage here, by the looks of it.”

   “No, sir,” Zabek said. “My people took it nice and clean.”

   Looking back at the engineer, he said, “I trust that you are taking steps to ensure that this is not returned in the same mint condition?”

   Gesturing up at a box on the ceiling, Quinn replied, “Absolutely, sir! I'm leaving lots of fun surprises for the owners when they get back.

   The lights flickered again, then winked out completely; a series of emergency flashlights came on as one of the technicians began to swear. Quinn leaned over her shoulder, poking at a few controls.

   “What is it, Lieutenant?”

   “Another hacking attempt, sir.”

   Looking around the gloomy room, Marshall said, “Looks like a bit more than an attempt.”

   “Got it!” the technician said, and the lights came back on. “They won’t sneak in that way again.”

   Quinn turned, saying, “We’ll have our own data network up and running in less than an hour.”

   “Can’t you pull the connectors?”

   “Buried in the rock. We’d have to tear the asteroid apart to do it.”

   “What? What about maintenance…”

   Shaking his head, the engineer replied, “I don’t think they expected the system to need any. This network is old, sir. It matches no design I’ve ever seen.”

   “But the consoles…”

   “The consoles have
been designed to interface with them. It’s not one complete system, these systems are bolted on, almost as an afterthought. I’ve got some samples heading back to Alamo for study when we get home.”

   “Keep me informed, Mr. Quinn.” He looked around again, then continued, “And get back to the ship as soon as you can. I want to start stripping this place down.”

   “Do you think we might need to make a fast exit, sir?”

   “I want Alamo on the move as soon as we have enough fuel to make Spitfire Station, Lieutenant. We’re not staying here one second longer than we must.” He turned to Zabek, “Let’s take a look at the lower levels.”

   “Aye, sir,” she replied, pushing back down the corridor. He followed, twisting down after her, almost crashing into a pair of espatiers on the ground, fixing metal plates into position. The two of them saluted as he flew overhead.

   “What are you doing? Repairs?”

   “No, sir,” one of the troopers said. “Building some cover.”

   Zabek added, “We’ve got the squads putting fire positions on both the levels we hold. If we get attacked – when we get attacked in my opinion – I want to be able to fall back in some sort of order.”

   “Will that stop a plasma round?”

   “If they start throwing plasma bolts around in here, sir, we’ve got all sorts of problems to worry about. Besides, you can’t shoot what you can’t see. The hatch is here, sir.”

   Gesturing to a panel on the wall, she pulled a lever and swung in as the door swung open, dipping out of view into the shaft. Marshall peered after her, then pushed himself down into the darkness, a few hand torches barely providing enough light to see by. Shadows crept across the walls as he and Zabek slid down the long tunnel to the lower level; she paused at the end, and this time he did manage to crash into her, sending them both tumbling back up the corridor.

   “Sorry, Ensign.”

   “That’s fine, sir, I should have warned you I was stopping here.” She knocked on the panel, four times in quick succession, and it slid open, a trooper on the other side offering an arm to pull them out. Marshall drifted out into the corridor – which looked like a copy of the one above, right down to the construction of a metal barricade – and shook his head.

   “Isn’t that a little primitive?”

   “Sometimes it’s best to keep things simple, I think.”

   She pushed off down the corridor, bobbing down under the working troopers, and drifted across to another door, tapping it open with the push of a button. Marshall drifted after her, and into a huge chamber, hundreds of feet across, filled with a dozen gargantuan tanks connected by pipework and cables; a dozen technicians were scattered across the room, reading instruments or making measurements. He craned his neck back in a doomed bid to absorb the scope of it all.

   “I know, sir,” Zabek said. “I felt the same way.”

   “This has to be three, four times as large as the depot at Jefferson.”

   “I checked. This is the largest single fuel depot in space – at least, that we know about.”

   He turned his head sharply towards the espatier, “That wasn’t in your reports.”

   “It wasn’t germane, I thought, sir.”

   “There’s enough fuel here to supply a fleet of starships.” He frowned, “The design…”

   “The technicians are working on that now, sir. The metal is an alloy we’re unfamiliar with, and the fuel stored at pressures a lot greater than anything we can manage. We’re liable to be bringing some very interesting information home with us.”

   A frown crossed Marshall’s face, and he reached down for a communicator, “Marshall to Alamo.”

   “Steele here, sir.”

   “Any sign of any activity in the system? Anything at all?”

   “Not as of our last check, sir.”

   He paused, then said, “Check again.”

   “Yes, sir,” she replied, hesitantly.

   “What is it, Captain?” Zabek asked.

   Marshall looked around at the swarms of people working in the room, then turned back to the Ensign, replying, “How many people are over here now?”

   “Forty-three, sir.”

   He shook his head, “That’s too many.” The communicator chirped, “Marshall here.”

   “Nothing in space, sir. Some movements on the moon below, I think some atmospheric transports. We’re keeping an eye on it, but it looks like routine traffic.”

   “Watch it like a hawk, Steele. I’ll be back shortly.” He turned back to Zabek, “I want the numbers down, right now. There are only two shuttle docks; I want only twenty personnel on the station at any time.”

   “I can’t, sir.”

   He turned to her with his harshest glare, “Why not, Ensign?”

   “I need that many to keep watch on all the hatches, as well as the support systems. That doesn’t count for the fueling process and everything else.”

   “I see.” He glanced up again, “Anyone who isn’t involved in any operations over here that are critical to the defense of this little toehold or the refueling process goes home now. And no-one else comes over here without my express permission.”

   “Yes, sir.” She managed a half-smile, “Does that include you, sir?”

   His frown broke into a grin, and he nodded, “It does indeed, Ensign. Fill up my transit shuttle, and if anyone complains, tell them to take it to me. I hadn’t realized how much mission creep had taken place over here.”

   “Sorry, sir.”

   Raising a hand, he replied, “Not your fault, Ensign. Carry on.”

   “Yes, sir,” she replied, kicking up to give the technicians their marching orders. Marshall turned back to the corridor, and started to drift back to his shuttle. He paused to inspect some of the crude barricades that the troopers had welded on, giving one an experimental tug, then returned to the tunnel, shaking his head.

  Chapter 17

   “Done,” Doctor Duquesne said to Orlova. “All twelve fragments, extricated and sealed. You should be grateful I make house calls.”

   “Thanks, doc,” Orlova replied, reaching over for a datapad, trying to disentangle her arm from the backless surgical gown.”

   “That’s it? I finish surgery and you start work after a rest period of perhaps ten seconds?”

   She looked up at the doctor with a smile on her face, saying, “I feel fine, doc. Besides, this is top priority.”

   “Can’t someone else do it?”

   Shaking her head, she replied, “We’ve got a spy on board. I’m convinced of it. I can’t let anyone else see this until I can present it to the captain.”

   “Sub-Lieutenant – you just got caught in an explosion that knocked you cold. If you hadn’t landed on Lane and Curry, it would have been a hell of a lot worse. Hell, for Lane it was.”

   “How's her arm?”

   “She’s not going to be playing squash for a bit, but she’ll be fine. I’m getting too damn good at this sort of thing. My point is that you need to at least acknowledge some sort of limits.”

   “Doctor, am I fit for duty or not?”

   Sighing, Duquesne replied, “Yes, you are fit for duty.”

   “Then I need to get back to work.”

   Closing her medical kit with a slam, she said, “Why don’t I ever get any easy patients? I’m heading back to Alamo, so if you blow yourself up again, please give me some sort of advance warning. This ship doesn’t even have a medical officer, and I have better things to do than hop back and forth patching people up.”

   “Got it!” Orlova yelled.

   “Got what?”

   “What I was looking for.” She reached over to a communicator on the counter beside her, but before she could reach it Major Marshall walked in, frowning at her current attire, a small box in one hand and a bag in the other; he placed the bag down on the floor.

   “Shoul
d I come back later?”

   “No, sir, I was just about to call you.”

   Duquesne broke in, “She’s clear for duty, Major.”

   “Thanks, Doctor, I appreciate you coming over here as quickly as you did.”

   Glancing back at Orlova, she replied, “You were damn lucky, Sub-Lieutenant, and I don’t think you appreciate just how lucky you were. That’s not something to rely on.”

   “I know, and thank you.”

   With a grunt, Duquesne nodded, then turned back to the Major, “I suspect you have things to talk about that are well above my clearance level, so I’ll let you have some privacy. I’ll have a word with your sick-bay attendant before I go, make sure you have everything you need over here.”

   “Thank you, Doctor. Dismissed.”

   As the door closed, the Major passed the box over to Orlova.

   “I managed to coax some grapes out of the fabricator. Well, they look like grapes. Sort of. I tried one and it tasted more like a fig, but at least it is vaguely fruit.”

   Orlova chuckled, replying, “Thanks for the thought, Major.” She waved the datapad in the air. “I got what I was looking for, sir.”

   He leaned forward, saying, “The encryption key?”

   “No, sir, I didn’t think there was a chance that any trace of it would have been left unattended. That’s probably sitting in someone’s pocket right now, or ejected from one of the trash airlocks. I wanted to find out where the message was sent.”

   “The asteroid, surely?”

   “Exactly where. Down to the meter.”

   “Why?”

   “Because whilst we might not know where the encryption key is here…”

   His face lit up, and he interrupted, “We can find it over on the station, and if they’ve got some sort of communications installation, they can’t simply put that in someone’s pocket!” Racing over to the wall, he tapped a button and the battered face of Curry appeared.