Battlecruiser Alamo_Depth Charge

by Richard Tongue

 “We've got a lot of ground to cover, and it looks to me as if time is of the essence.”

   Nodding, Orlova said, “Very well, make it four. No more, though. Harper, start working on the ship and the forged documents. Pavel, you can head down to the Quartermaster with Foster and pick up what you need. I'll have Cooper meet you there. Frank, take the helm.”

   “Aye, ma'am,” Nelyubov said, moving over to the surprised Foster, who followed Salazar into the elevator, Harper glaring at her as the doors closed. As he punched for the lower decks, Foster looked at him, shaking her head.

   “Thanks, Pavel. I didn't think...”

   “Just remember what I told you,” he interrupted. “Be careful what you wish for. In a few hours, you might be desperately wanting to be back on the bridge.”

  Chapter 4

   The shuttle gently weaved around the asteroids, flying a carefully calculated trajectory, seeding satellites behind it as it went, forming an intricate detection network that would provide Alamo with advanced notice should anything be about to enter the system. Kolchak had issued the expected provocative statement, and the monitors all made it quite clear that their every move was being tracked, but there were enough sensor blind spots that they would just have time to make the transfer. Bradley looked down at her screen, then across to Harper, sitting in the co-pilot's seat, intent on her work.

   “I don't like this,” she said.

   “It'll work. I've done this before.”

   “That's the part I don't like.” She looked up, and said, “One minute to dock. We'll have to get a move on, or they'll see that something is wrong. Assuming Colonel Clarke, or whoever is pulling the strings over there, doesn't work out what we're doing.”

   “Relax, Barbara,” Harper said. “This is going nice and smooth.” She pulled out her pistol, then stepped back into the rear compartment, where Cooper, Salazar and Foster were waiting for all, dressed in their carefully-aged engineering jumpsuits. It was immediately obvious that Cooper and Salazar had done this before, and that Foster hadn't.

   “That isn't a uniform,” Harper said, stepping across and unzipping a pocket, before tugging the jacket forward. “You've worn that for years, remember. Worked in it, eaten in it, probably slept in it. It's a second skin, with no-one around to knock points off from breaking the dress code.”

   “I'll try and remember,” Foster replied.

   “I hope so. If I'm spotting it, the agents waiting for us on the station will see it a mile away.” Moving over to the airlock, she said, “Pistols ready, people.”

   “This looks an awful lot like a hijacking,” Cooper said, shaking his head.

   “With a little luck, it won't come to that.”

   The shuttle engines roared, a series of pulses that matched course and speed with the target, sliding through space until the two airlocks locked, a series of bangs in rapid succession announcing their arrival. Harper raced through the double hatch, gun raised, pointed at a startled technician standing at the entrance, a medical kit in his hand.

   “Freeze!” she yelled, as the others raced on board, Salazar working the controls to close the hatch behind them, the shuttle immediately returning to its original course. While Cooper and Foster kept him covered, she raced past him to the nearest maintenance panel, sliding a datastick into position and running her intrusion programs. As she'd expected, their security was long past due for an update, and she sliced into the mainframe in a handful of seconds, shutting down the communication system with a series of quick commands.

   “That should do it,” she said, turning back to the others. “They're not sending any messages unless I say so.” Looking at the technician, she said, “Relax, kid. We're not here to steal your ship. We're here to do business with you, but I needed to make sure no-one decided to be a hero. Any UN crewmen on board?”

   “I was born on Earth,” he said, his eyes widening.

   “No,” Salazar added. “She means UN Fleet.”

   Shaking his head, he replied, “We've been out for two weeks. They only arrived in the system three days ago. We haven't even contacted them.”

   “Good,” Harper replied, lowering her pistol. Following her move, the others returned theirs to their holster, and she said, “Take us to your commanding officer. We have a business proposition for him that I think he'll find hard to refuse.”

   “You aren't here to hijack us?”

   “No,” she replied. “Come on. Let's move.”

   The technician turned, drifting down the corridor towards the elevator, glancing back with nervous eyes every few seconds. She tugged out her datapad and glanced at the readout, noting with satisfaction that the shuttle was back on schedule, moving out of the blind spot at exactly the right second.

   The elevator opened, and a trio of men drifted out of it, armed with rifles, all raised and in good formation. Behind them was a young, arrogant man wearing an ill-fitting flight suit, a sneer on his face and a pistol in his hand. Salazar and Cooper snapped to the draw, covering the approaching group, but Harper drifted forward, hands outstretched, a smile on her face.

   “Relax, Captain Buchanan,” she said. “We're all friends here.”

   “We'll see how much you smile when we turn you over to the Kolchak.”

   “That's not a very nice way to talk to your business partner.”

   He frowned, and asked, “What do you mean?”

   “I didn't pick your ship at random,” Harper said. “Though given your current status with Geneva Orbital, I'm not sure that it's right to call it your ship at all.”

   “Now, wait a moment...”

   “You are five payments behind on your mortgage, and the only reason no-one has foreclosed on you yet is because you've stayed out in the middle of nowhere. Sooner or later, that'll change. Assuming your crew don't turn you in.” Glancing at the burliest of the thugs, she continued, “How far behind is he on your pay?”

   “Three months,” the man said, glaring at his boss. “And counting.”

   Waving her datapad, she said, “I can make all of your problems disappear, Captain, in the blink of an eye. All of your back payments will be paid off, and I will personally make up all the back pay that you owe your crew, with a fifty percent bonus.”

   Shaking his head, he said, “There's a catch, isn't there.”

   “Of course there is,” she replied. “There's always a catch. In this instance, though, I don't think you have much choice whether or not to take the bait.”

   Nodding, the first thug said, “Take the offer, Charlie.”

   “I still want to know what the catch is.” Pushing forward, he said, “There are eleven people on this boat, and I'm not going to sign up to something that's going to get them killed, no matter how fat the paycheck is. I'd rather go broke.”

   “You might get broke,” one of the other thugs said.

   “The four of us,” Harper said, gesturing around, “are now a part of your crew. Have been for weeks, after we joined up as soon as we arrived in the system. I'll make the relevant changes to the ship's records.” She didn't feel the need to tell him that she'd already made them, during her first hack. “I think you're suffering a malfunction with your communications systems, and that means you're going to have to put into the station for repairs.”

   “A ferry mission,” Buchanan said, shaking his head. “All of this to sneak you onto the station. You do realize that we're all Earthmen, right. United Nations citizens. Almost everyone is out here. One way or another.”

   “Fifty-nine hundred credits I'm owed,” the technician said. “Hell, if he won't do it, I will.”

   “And now comes the catch,” Harper said. “The payment is on delivery. Once we get off the station safely, which I believe will be within twenty-four hours, the money will be deposited into your ship's fund, and you will never have to hear from us again.”

   Frowning, the first thug said, “So, if somethin
g goes wrong?”

   “No paycheck.”

   “We're pretty good at this,” Salazar added, flashing a confident smile. “You don't have anything to worry about at our end, as long as no-one here decides that they want to be a hero. Or erroneously decides that the UN might make a better offer.”

   With a sigh, Buchanan said, “I really don't have much choice, do I?”

   “No,” the thug said. “But that means you don't, either.” He pushed forward, tossing his rifle to one of his friends, and held out a hand. “My name's Herb. In charge of, well, security. And now I'm putting myself personally in charge of your security, along with my mates. We're going to be coming over with you.”

   “Wait a minute,” Cooper said.

   “Not actually with you,” Herb added. “Tracking you. Keeping close. Keeping a watchful eye over you. We're going to be your fairy godfathers.” He smiled, and said, “After all, we've got an interest in making sure that this little mission of yours goes to plan, and even more interest in making sure that we get paid at the end of it.”

   Shaking her head, Foster began, “You'll blow this mission! If they spot you...”

   “Agreed,” Harper said. “I wouldn't trust me either, not under the circumstances. Pavel, you'd better head up to the bridge and help the good Captain with our approach to Spartacus Station. We want to make sure that everything goes according to the manual.”

   “Don't worry,” Herb said. “It will. Right, skipper?”

   With a resigned sigh, Buchanan replied, “Right.”

   “I'd better take a look around,” Cooper said. “I'll let one of you give me the grand tour.”

   “Come on,” Harper said, tapping Foster on the shoulder. “We get to sort out the files. Your e-suite is through there, isn't it?”

   “If you own our systems that well…,” Buchanan said.

   “All she had to do was look up the blueprints back on her ship,” Herb said. “God, the apple fell far from the tree in your family.” Looking back at Harper, he said, “His mother was a lot sharper. Assuming he wasn't adopted.”

   “Damn it,” Buchanan began, but Herb pushed in front of him, poking a finger in his chest.

   “You had this ship and its contract dropped onto your lap for the asking, and in less than a year you've run both into the ground. This miracle isn't going to change a damned thing. I'm cashing out as soon as we get this crap out of the way, and you can find someone else to keep the ruined junk you call a primary power plant working.”

   “Wait a minute...”

   “Shove it. I just quit.” Turning back to Harper, he said, “Right through there, ma'am.”

   “Ma'am?” she asked.

   “I always treat my boss with respect.” Pushing Buchanan out of the way, he kicked down the corridor, Cooper following, looking back at them with a smile on his face before turning around a corner. Leaving the disgruntled prospector in the corridor, Harper floated into the e-suite, looking around at the out of date equipment, shaking her head.

   “Just once I'd like to have some state-of-the-art kit to play with.”

   “Alamo's computer systems are top of the line,” Foster said.

   “Yeah, but I can't play with them. I think Maggie might get annoyed if she found out I'd manage to turn off all the toilets again.”

   “Again?”

   Harper smiled, then said, “Long story.”

   Shaking her head, Foster replied, “So, what are we doing?”

   Picking a datarod and sliding it into a socket, Harper swing in behind a station and said, “I'm going to do a bit of digging through the files, make sure that everything is as it appears to be. I gave the ship a through examination from a distance, but I always think you have to go up close and personal to get the best data. If nothing else, I want to dump all of their sensor info to Alamo.” She gritted her teeth, and swore. “Crap.”

   “What is it?”

   “Cheap bastard. There's only one month's storage here. Everything else must just get dumped. Well, I suppose we'll have to make do with what we can get.”

   Looking around, Foster asked, “What do you want me to do?”

   “Can you tap dance?” Smiling, she continued, “Just keep a look out for any uninvited guests. I think I picked the most desperate ship in the system, but there's always a chance that someone will do something terminally stupid.”

   Pulling out her pistol, she turned to face the door, and said, “I did take the combat hacking course at the Academy.”

   “I'm sure you did, and I'm sure that you ticked off all the boxes and probably came top of the class. How often have you actually done it in the field.” She paused, then said, “And no, I'm not talking about that wander through Cerberus with the sealed bulkheads and the life support computer. I didn't program that to challenge anyone too much, and if you'd done well enough that you'd be useful in the field, I'd know.”

   “You programmed that?”

   “Two years ago. My boss owed the Academy brass a favor. And I owed him one. It worked out well.”

   “Half the class failed that test.”

   With a shrug, Harper replied, “It was just an elective. Not required to pass.” She ran her fingers across the keyboard, entering code and firing files through the system, gathering all of the information she could find, whether or not it might be relevant, hurling it back to her database on Alamo in easily transmittable chunks. “This is hacking, right here, and the only way you get good at it is long experience.” She paused for a moment, and added, “Maggie's not bad, but she's getting a bit out of practice.”

   Shaking her head, Foster said, “I can't believe you talk about the Captain like that.”

   “Why not? I've known her since she was just a Sub-Lieutenant. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her.” She paused, then said, “That costume you wear, back on the ship? That's all it is. Just cloth. It doesn't come with any special magic powers, and all the formality you can slop on top doesn't add a damn thing. What matters is what's in here.” She tapped her chest. “That's what all of this is really about. Maybe once you understand that, you'll know what being an officer actually means.”

   “You're the least officer-like officer I've ever seen. I can't believe you're still in the Fleet.”

   Harper paused for a second, then said, “Nor can I. Hell, I'm not a real officer, and don't get the idea I pretend to be one. Why do you think I don't mind letting Pavel take the lead on ground ops? He's smart enough to know what he's doing, and despite himself, wise enough to know why. Hard combination to beat.”

   “You really have a lot of time for him, don't you.”

   Turning from her work again with a sigh, she continued, “Look, I decided a long time ago that I was in this for the long haul, but that doesn't mean I didn't apply some conditions to myself. I've seen enough supposedly senior officers who couldn't find their butt with a map. If I'm going to be in this Fleet, I'm damn well going to make sure I'm serving under someone I trust. There are exactly four people who qualify, maybe five. Maggie Orlova is one of them. So is Pavel Salazar.”

   “And if Fleet gave you orders to go elsewhere?”

   A roguish grin on her face, she replied, “They won't. I can guarantee that.” At Foster's shocked expression, she added, “Hell, if I thought it was important, I'd do it. Which I guess is why you're out here, rather than back at the helm like you should be. You don't have any special skills or training for undercover work. Cooper, he's done this before. Just ask Cantrell. Pavel, well, this is his job. You're out here because you want to be. How different are we, exactly?” Foster looked at her, silently, and she added, “Come on, I'll show you how this is done. In a way that I can guarantee no-one taught you at the Academy.”

  Chapter 5

   Orlova looked at the holotable, scrutinizing the planet below, Powell making a series of notes into his terminal, annotations flashing up onto the display
to highlight key areas. He looked up at her, a smile on his face.

   “It's a fascinating world. I wouldn't mind leading an expedition down there some day. Oceanic worlds are always interesting, and icy ones more so. Can you imagine? A subsurface ocean, more than forty thousand feet deep. With enough lava flows at the bottom that I'm reasonably sure that some sort of life could potentially exist down there, possibly complex life.”

   “Sentient life?” Cantrell asked, turning from her station.

   Powell paused, shook his head, and said, “I'd presume we'd know, one way or another. And I find it difficult to see that intelligence would be a survival trait down there.” He stopped again, then added, “Though it might be interesting to see what sort of sentience could develop in such an environment. How would they perceive their world, and for that matter, how would they perceive ours.” He looked around the room, smiled, and said, “Sorry, I'm drifting.”

   “Don't worry, Professor,” Orlova replied.

   Turning back to the map, he said, “The UN forces are conducting a standard search pattern, covering the entire surface of the planet. I can't make out any special focus, but I suspect I'm not meant to.”

   Nodding, Cantrell said, “It's a smokescreen, a decoy. They know what they are looking for already, but with Alamo in-system, they want to make sure we can't follow their trail. Are we sure it is even on the planet?”

   “What exactly is it that we are looking for?” Powell asked. “There are no obvious signs of strange ruins in system, not on the surface, nor on the moons. I would expect that even an abbreviated survey would have spotted anything we could detect in such a way, which means that it is well-hidden.”

   “Always assuming,” Nelyubov added, “that there is anything at all.”

   “That's perfectly true. Nevertheless, the presence of the Admiral Kolchak, and the efforts they seem to be making to distract us, suggests that there must be something. Though I find it strange that a UN vessel should choose this moment to investigate.” Shaking his head, Powell continued, “I need to have a closer look at the files.”