“Follow the rules?” Duquesne said. “You want me to torture him!”
“I’m giving you a direct order, Doctor. You will deactivate the pain relief of this patient immediately, and until I tell you otherwise, it stays off.” He looked down at the figure on the bed, who seemed to shrink back from him. “Maybe then he will be in the mood to talk. Maggie,” he said, glancing across, “This is nothing to do with you. Leave the room.”
She shook her head, and the Major walked over to Duquesne, who was still standing resolutely in front of her controls.
“I’ve given you an order. You will obey it.”
Shaking her head, Duquesne replied, “Go to Hell. You’ll find an eager welcome there.”
“Doctor, I won’t ask again.”
Reaching around, she stabbed a button, and the controls went dark. A smug look on her face, she turned down to the Major, and replied, “I will not do it. And now, neither will you. I locked out the display.”
“Damn it, this man is a would-be murderer…”
“And he will have his day in court.”
“I am your superior officer!”
“I resign,” she said, folding her arms. “What are you going to do, get that grunt of yours to beat me up a few times until I do what you want? Is that how we do things now?” The Espatier imperceptibly shook his head, taking a step back from the situation; the Major pushed Duquesne out of the way, trying to reactivate the panel.
“Unlock these controls.”
“You do it.”
He looked down at the Neander on the bed, crying as he lay there, not knowing what was going on, still in a haze of pain and medications, and started to shake his head. Staring him right in the eyes, he reached down to lean over him.
“I don’t give a damn about you. No-one here does. You tried to kill one of my officers, and were involved in the deaths of two others. As far as I’m concerned, you should share their fate. That would only be fair. Tell me the names of your conspirators. Tell me who else is working for the Cabal, and all of this can end, right now.”
The Neander shook his head as the others looked on, and the Major continued, “If you aren’t going to be of any use to me, if you aren’t going to tell me what you know to make up for what you have done, what you tried to do, then to hell with you.”
In a quick move, the Major took a step back, snatched the pistol from the holster of the surprised Espatier, and pointed it square at the Neander, who recoiled from the gun, panting in terror, looking up at the others in the room.
“Talk, damn it! Talk or I will have no choice but to shoot.”
“Lieutenant, you can’t let him do this!” Duquesne yelled.
“Sir,” Orlova said, “This isn’t going to help. You can’t do this.”
“I’m in command here! Not you! Leave the room.”
“Major, put down the weapon.”
“He talks. Or I shoot. If you haven’t got the stomach for this, get out.”
Time seemed to stand still for Orlova, every second a stretched-out eternity. Her head was pounding, and all she could seem to hear was her own heartbeat. In a textbook fashion, she reached down to her holster, pulled out her sidearm, and pointed it at the Major.
“Put down your weapon, Major,” she said. He hadn’t noticed what she had done at first, and only belatedly did he see her pistol lodged in her hands, leveled on his chest. “Drop your weapon.”
“Not what in the name of hell do you think you are doing, Lieutenant?” he said, calmly.
“Maggie,” Frank said, standing by her side, looking between the two of them. “Is this…”
“Put the gun down, Major.”
“Damn it, Maggie, he tried to kill you.”
“And I put him in the hospital for that. I didn’t think we operated based on revenge. Nor can I simply stand here and watch you threaten a prisoner.”
“Lieutenant, I could have you court-martialed for this.”
Nodding, she said, “Fine by me. As long as you put the gun down, and this ends.”
The Major turned to the Espatier, who shook his head, crossing his arms, and then to Nelyubov, who slowly began to pull his pistol out of his holster, his face a mask of misery as he drew it, raising it to generally cover the room.
“I’m going to give you one more chance, Maggie. Leave the room, and report to your quarters until I come for you.”
“With a gun in your hand? You’ve crossed the line, Major!”
With a deep sigh, he began, “Lieutenant Orlova, you are…”
Breaking in, she started to yell, “Under Fleet Regulations, Article Twenty-Nine, I hereby charge you with material violations of the Treaty of Pallas…”
Continuing in the same, low voice, the Major said, “...are relieved of duty.”
“...and I place you under arrest!” Orlova said.
Looking at Nelyubov, the Major said, “Lieutenant Orlova has been relieved. Please escort her to her quarters.”
“The Major has been charged with a violation of the war crimes statutes. You will escort him to the brig and place him under guard.”
“Frank, get her out of here. That’s an order.”
Nelyubov looked between the two of them, his pistol wavering in the air from side to side, then glanced down at the Neander, still lying barely conscious on the bed, obviously aware of what was taking place over him but unable to influence it.
“What sort of a fleet do you want to serve in, Frank?” Orlova said, quietly.
Looking at her, he replied, “This the hardest thing I have ever had to do, Maggie.” The Major briefly smiled, but it immediately dropped from his face as Nelyubov turned to point his gun at him. “If you will come with me, please, Major.”
“I’ve known you for twelve years.”
“That’s just made this more difficult. It doesn't change a thing.”
Nodding, the Major replaced his gun in his holster and started to walk out of the room, pausing to stand next to Orlova for a moment, looking at her and shaking his head.
“I thought, when it came to it, you’d do what was right,” he said.
“I did,” she replied.
He walked out of the room, Nelyubov behind him, and as soon as the door closed, Orlova crashed down to the deck, Duquesne racing to catch her, barely stopping her in time. She looked up at her, face pale.
“Damn it, Doctor. Just...damn it.”
“You did what you had to do.” Looking at the Neander, she continued, “I hope there aren’t any consequences for you.”
“I just committed mutiny, Doctor.” Pulling herself together, she rose to her feet, and said, “My one consolation is that this nightmare will be over in a matter of minutes.” Turning to the Espatier, she said, “Private, you take your orders from Doctor Duquesne. No-one else is to be allowed anywhere near him, and you will remain here until relieved. Is that understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Nodding, Orlova walked out of the room, still dazed, and into the elevator. It whisked her up to the bridge, her head swimming as she tried to come to terms with what had just happened. She almost wished that Nelyubov had followed the Major’s orders, taken her back to her cabin. The doors opened, and she almost staggered onto the deck, Steele turning from her station as she approached.
Looking around the room, she said, “All hands, attention. As of this time, this date, I have assumed command of this ship. Sub-Lieutenant, please enter this in the flight log.” All eyes were on her, and she continued, “Hopefully this will be only temporary. Weitzman, please get me Senior Lieutenant Zebrova, on Ouroboros. And contact the station, and tell Lieutenant Steele that the declaration of martial law is hereby rescinded.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the technician said, wide-eyed as he turned to his station.
Steele walked over to her, asking, “What ha
ppened?”
“I had to place the Major under arrest.”
“You what?”
Shaking her head, she said, “It’s a long story.” She looked around, then said, “Where’s Bradley? She’s supposed to be on watch.”
“Over on the station.” Steele glanced up at the clock and said, “She should have been back ten minutes ago, though.”
“I’ve got Ouroboros, ma’am,” Weitzman said, and Zebrova’s face flickered on the screen.
“Maggie, what’s happened?” she asked.
“Get back over here. I need you to assume command of Alamo. I just placed Major Marshall under arrest for violation of the Treaty of Pallas.”
A gasp echoed around the bridge, and Zebrova nodded, saying, “We’ll be back in thirty minutes. We’d better hold the rest of this conversation privately.” She paused, then said, “I’m sure you did what you had to do.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t feel sick.”
“Lieutenant,” Weitzman said. “I can’t get Lieutenant Steele, or anyone on board the station. No response on any channel.”
“Try Sergeant Forrest.”
“I did, ma’am. Private communications are out as well.”
“Keep trying,” she said.
“Ma’am,” Spinelli said. “I’m getting some strange…” He gasped, then said, “Dimensional instability, ma’am! Pretty big, as well! At the nearest hendecaspace point.”
“All crew to alert stations,” she said. “Tell me the news, Spaceman.”
Nodding, he replied, “One ship emerging, freighter-type by the look of it, but I don’t think that’s all we’ve got to expect. Much too small for the size of the instability.” With a frown, he said, “They’re moving pretty fast, as well. Full speed burn towards Ouroboros.”
“We’re being hailed, ma’am.” Weitzman, turned, his face beaming, and continued, “It’s Captain Marshall!”
Orlova closed her eyes for a moment, and felt a huge weight being lifted from her shoulders. “Tell Ouroboros, and open a channel.”
The viewscreen flickered into an image of a freighter bridge, Marshall at the helm, Cantrell behind him and Cooper drifting at the rear. All three of them had made it; the crew were looking at them as though they had returned from the dead.
“Lieutenant, I need to speak to the Major,” Marshall said.
The weight came crushing back, and she said, “I’m in command here at the moment. Long story, sir.”
“Then you get the hot seat for this one. We’re not on our own. There’s a Cabal battlecruiser right on our tails, bigger than anything we’ve seen before. Incoming in two and a half minutes, and they’ll be heading right for you.”
“We could run,” Steele said, but Marshall shook his head, and said, “That’s not an option today. This is the big one, Maggie. We’ve got to stand and fight.”
Shaking her head, she replied, “We’d never get you or Ouroboros out in time anyway.”
“System status?”
“Alamo is just about ready for a battle, and our defense satellites are deployed, though we’re having a few teething troubles right now. I think we’re about as ready for a battle as we’re going to be.”
“Quinn will get them fixed. We’re going to be busy as hell now, Maggie, so I’ll just say this. Don’t take any risks unless you have to, but if you do – go for broke. Marshall out.”
Orlova stood for a dozen seconds, trying to take in what had happened, and failing. At least now she had a job to do, a clear mission to accomplish, and compared to the uncertainties she had just suffered, taking on an enemy capital ship seemed almost easy by comparison.
“Anything yet from the station?” she asked Weitzman. “They ought to think about evacuating down to the surface.”
“Still nothing, ma’am.”
Walking over to the empty tactical station, Orlova started flicking switches, frowning at the lack of response; the status board was even less helpful, and she pushed another control on the console.
“Quinn, why can’t I take control of the defense network?”
“I was just about to call up. As soon as we got the message from the Captain, we lost all controls, everything. Someone’s thrown a switch over on the station. They’re deactivating, moving out of their orbits.”
“We need them back on.”
“I know, I know! The weapons systems are still armed, we just don’t have any attitude control. Someone on the station is playing games with us!”
“Maybe the Major was right,” Steele said.
“Ma’am,” Weitzman said, “I have Mr. Price for you, from the station.”
“Good, put him on,” she said. “You having systems problems over there?”
“No,” he replied. “I’m sorry about this. I really am.”
Her face turned to cold steel, and she replied, “About what.”
“I’ve got no choice but to take this station back from Triplanetary control, at least for the moment. We’ve taken over the satellites, and we’re going to have to keep them for a while. Your people will be returned.”
“Returned? Damn it, there’s a battlecruiser heading this way, and…”
“We will deploy the weaponry on the satellites to protect the station.”
“Just not Alamo.”
“I have my reasons. I’m not a traitor, but I’ve got to do what I can for my people.”
“Lieutenant, without the orbital defense systems, the odds aren’t exactly in our favor,” Steele said, quietly.
“We need to co-ordinate if we’re going to win! I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but it can wait until after the battle. Where is Bailey?”
“She can’t talk to you right now. I wish you luck. Station out.”
Nelyubov walked in, the elevator doors closing behind him, and he made his way over to Tactical, saying, “I heard that. Lieutenant, if the specifications we’ve got are accurate, that ship out-guns us considerably. We ought to consider pulling out.”
Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “Not with so many of our people scattered around the system. We’d never get them back in time. Captain Marshall has ordered us to stand and fight, and as far as I’m concerned, that is exactly what we are going to do.”
Steele replied, “Without the orbital defence network, we don't have a chance. That ship will tear us to pieces.”
“You've got the command, Maggie,” Nelyubov said. “What are your orders?”
Calmly, she covered the distance back to the command chair in three steps, and settled down on it, every eye on the bridge looking for her to make the next move. Tapping a control, she poised herself for a second, then started to speak.
“This is Lieutenant Orlova. All hands, report to battle stations. This is no drill.”
Chapter Twenty
All was quiet and calm on the bridge of Brunel, the calm before the storm. Marshall sat at the helm, setting a steady course away from the hendecaspace point, heading over towards the still-silent Ouroboros, with Cantrell hovering around the communications station, ready to unleash her electronic weaponry on the enemy when it arrived. Tarrant was hovering by the engineering monitors, and Singh had been brought up to cover the sensors, his eyes locked on the countdown that was projected over his console, the estimated arrival time of the Dauntless. Cooper was at the back of the room, holding onto a handhold, slowly drifting back and forth, waiting for it all to begin.
At the heart of it all, Newton sat in the command chair, and tried to watch every station. Marshall had been in her position more times that he cared to remember, and for a civilian freighter skipper, she seemed to be covering her fear rather well. For his part, it felt strange not to be sitting center seat for once, though actually having something to do during the battle would at least ease his tensions somewhat. He tried to focus on his job, rather than second
-guessing what Orlova would be doing on Alamo.
The temptation to try and command the ship remotely was almost impossible to resist, but he was managing thus far. There was too big a time lag for him to give the orders, and if Dauntless realized that he was commanding from Brunel, the freighter’s life expectancy was likely to be short. Why his father or Zebrova weren’t in command worried him still more. What had happened in his absence?
“Forty seconds,” Singh said, looking up at his console.
“We’re getting a message from the station, sir!” Cantrell said, looking at Marshall. “Direct tight-beam from Lieutenant Bailey, direct to you.”
With a quick glance at Newton, he said, “Put her on.”
Bailey appeared on the screen, blood running from a cut on her left cheek, the sounds of raging battle behind her, bullets cracking against hull metal, a scream from a wounded man. Cooper drifted forward, eyes wide.
“I hadn’t expected the pleasure, sir. There’s a mutiny on the station, and we’ve been pushed back from Operations. The enemy have control of the defense satellites…”
“Damn,” Marshall said.
“Sergeant Forrest is leading an assault now. There’s a chance that we might be able to retake in the time, but I’m warning you to keep away from the station. Most of the docking ring is a war…”
The screen died, and Marshall yelled, “Get it back!” to Cantrell.
“Shut off at the source, sir,” she replied.
“Captain…,” Cooper said, edging to the door.
With a quick glance at Newton, who nodded, he said, “Go. Quickly. And watch yourself.”
Cantrell looked incredulously as he pushed out of the room, diving for the elevator, and said, “What chance do you expect him to have out there?”
“He’s doing what he needs to do. As are we all.”
“Reinforcements heading from Alamo now, sir. A shuttle is on its way to the station,” Singh said.
Looking down at her console, Cantrell said, “Message from the shuttle for you, Captain. Three words.”
“What are they?”
“I’m sorry, son.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: The First Duty Page 19
