TRIPLE-EDGED SWORD
Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 17
Richard Tongue
Battlecruiser Alamo #17: Triple-Edged Sword
Copyright © 2016 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved
First Kindle Edition: February 2016
Cover By Keith Draws
With thanks to Ellen Clarke and Rene Douville
All characters and events portrayed within this ebook are fictitious; any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
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Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,—
Or to victorie.—
Now ’s the day, and now’s the hour;
See the front o’ battle lour;
See approach proud Edward’s power,
Chains and Slaverie.—
Wha will be a traitor-knave?
Wha can fill a cowards’ grave?
Wha sae base as be a Slave?
—Let him turn and flie.—
Wha for Scotland’s king and law,
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,
Free-Man stand, or Free-Man fa’,
Let him follow me.—
By Oppression’s woes and pains!
By your Sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud Usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty ’s in every blow!
Let us Do—or Die!!!
Robert Burns
Chapter 1
Sub-Lieutenant Pavel Salazar, Security Officer of the Battlecruiser Alamo, stood on the flight deck watching the last of the transfer shuttles rising up through the elevator airlock, bringing the last of the replacement crewmen on board. He glanced across at the departure list, now mercifully reduced from the hectic schedule they'd been laboring under for the last week. A thousand last-minute issues had cropped up, crewmen passing back and forth, every department suddenly deciding that they needed a last-minute piece of equipment.
Over on the far side of the room, the Deck Officer, Sub-Lieutenant Bradley, looked over her new pride and joy, the fist-shaped shuttle that was making this expedition possible. A combined fuel extractor and tanker all in one design; which, if it worked as they all hoped, would be able to keep Alamo moving without waiting for fueling stops, untangling them from the worst of the complicated logistic arrangements that had hamstrung previous expeditions into the unknown.
Not that it looked particularly attractive, and when he'd taken it out on its test flight, it had flown like a pig as well. Far more appealing were the Mark Ten Fast Shuttles he'd managed to requisition, all sleek lines and curved wings designed for high-speed atmospheric maneuvering. A real pilot's craft. Bradley looked across at him, a smile on her face.
“Hands off, Pavel,” she said. “These babies are mine. And I think your rookies are coming on board, so stop drooling and get to work.”
“Yes, ma'am,” he replied, throwing a mock salute. Turning back to the airlock, he saw the transfer shuttle resting on the pad, the hatch sliding open as the first of the new intake stepped out. Eight in this batch, the third of the day. He glanced down at his watch, shaking his head. Behind schedule if they wanted to leave Thule on time. There wasn't much chance that Captain Orlova would agree to delay, which meant a lot of extra work in the next few hours.
“Everyone into the office,” he said, waving them on. “Leave your holdalls out here. We'll get them squared away later.”
The new personnel looked at each other, then followed him into the small room, barely large enough to hold them all. Salazar rested a datapad on the desk, the important points of his briefing listed on it, but he wasn't going to need it. By now, he knew this speech by heart. He looked at the crewmen as they walked in, a mixture of seasoned veterans and inexperienced ex-trainees, most of them destined for the maintenance crews. One of them stood out, a tall brunette who carried herself with an air of familiarity, an easy smile on her face. Confidence he would not have expected from a Spaceman Third Class on her first cruise. As he thought about it, she looked a little old for the rank.
“Is something wrong, sir?” she asked.
“Not that I know of,” he replied. Taking a breath, he looked around, and said, “Let's get started, shall we? We've got a lot to cover, and we don't have long to do it. First of all, welcome to the Battlecruiser Alamo. She's a proud ship with a hell of a combat record, and I encourage all of you to look up some of the details of her missions. I can personally vouch that they make for exciting reading.” Frowning, he asked, “Who's the senior crewman of this intake?”
A balding dark-skinned man looked around, replying, “I am, sir. Senior Spaceman Hammond. Late of the Battlecruiser Theseus and the new Hercules.”
Nodding, Salazar said, “There are quite a few veterans of the last Hercules on board, Spaceman. I'm sure some of them would like to know about the new ship that bears her name.” Looking around, he said, “For four of you, this is your first deep-space assignment. Each of you will be paired with a Senior Spaceman for your first week on board. You will watch and you will listen. Don't do anything unless told.” Pausing for a moment, he continued, “Now, this mission has been rated as hazardous, so you'll be drawing combat pay. I see that two of you don't have recently updated wills.” Shaking his head, he said, “Make sure that is dealt with before we leave.”
“No need, sir,” the brunette said. “I don't intend to die out here.”
“I'm sure everyone whose name is written on the memorial wall thought the same thing,” Salazar said. “No sense depriving your next-of-kin of your service insurance, Spaceman, so see that you arrange it. If you need help, talk to Sub-Lieutenant Scott, the Captain's Assistant.”
There was a knock on the door, and Bradley stepped through, looking down at a datapad, saying, “Pavel, I need your opinion on spares for those new Mark Tens of yours. I don't think…” Pausing, she looked up, into the eyes of the brunette, and said, “Cantrell? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Cantrell?” Salazar said. “I thought she was...”
“I don't care what her record says,” Bradley replied, walking up to her. “Go on, you might as well admit it.”
With a shrug, the brunette said, “I figured this would come up sooner or later.”
Hammond looked around, and asked, “Sir, what's happening?”
Sighing, Salazar said, “Once I work that out myself, Spaceman, you'll be the first to know. Take charge of this group, and get them to the Quartermaster for room assignment. Then you all might as well report to Senior Lieutenant Quinn in Engineering. He'll find you something to do. We'll have to handle the paperwork later. Dismissed.”
“Sir,” Hammond said, snapping to attention along with the others, leading them from the room in cramped single file. Cantrell stayed, hands on hips, a smile still on her face.
“Now,” Salazar said. “Could someone kindly tell me what the hell is going on here?”
Pulling out her communicator, Bradley said, “Bradley to Shuttle One.”
“Great answer,” Salazar replied, sotto voce.
“Shuttle One here,” the voice of Captain Orlova, Alamo's commander, replied. “What's up?”
“We have an unexpected guest, Captain. I don't want to put it on the channel.”
With a sigh, Orlova replied, “Barbara, I've been hip-dip in diplomats all day long with th
e treaty signing. Is this urgent?”
Bradley paused for a moment, and said, “Cantrell just turned up. Undercover.”
“What?”
“Yes, ma'am. She's with me in my office.”
“I'll be on the deck in three minutes, Sub-Lieutenant. Don't let her out of your sight. Orlova out.”
Sitting down with a resigned air and a sigh, Salazar said, “If it isn't too much trouble to let a poor, unfortunate Security Officer know what is going on...”
“This...officer,” Bradley began, “is a spy. On our trip through the Cabal, she took the role of a sensor technician, one of the worst I've ever seen, incidentally, and only broke cover when everything went wrong.” Looking at her, she said, “I can't believe you actually thought that it would work again.”
“Actually, I didn't,” she replied. “The ruse was only to get me on board. As soon as we reached hendecaspace, I was going to identify myself to the Captain.”
“Then who is she?” Salazar asked.
“Sub-Lieutenant Lisa Cantrell. Last I heard, she was Intelligence Liaison at Hydra Station.”
“Actually,” Cantrell said, “it's plain Lieutenant now. I was promoted six months ago. Not that I'll bring you up on charges for insubordination, or anything like that.”
Turning to her, Bradley said, “You came damn close to getting my husband killed, and you wanted to assassinate Captain Marshall!”
“That's not quite accurate,” she replied. “I saved his life, and I only wanted to terminate Captain Marshall when he was in the hands of the Cabal, and there was a danger of the knowledge he possessed being extracted.” Turning to Salazar, she said, “I assure you, I'm on the side of the angels.”
The door opened, and Orlova stepped in, Ensign Gabriel Cooper, the head of Alamo's Espatier force, behind her. He shook his head when he saw Cantrell, then glanced across at his wife's furious scowl.
“Gabe?” Cantrell said. “Good to see you again.”
“Likewise,” he said, with a curt nod. “Though I hadn't expected the pleasure.”
Her arms folded, Orlova said, “What are you doing here?”
“That's it?” Cantrell asked.
“If this is some sort of covert operation, you can assume that it has failed.”
Shaking her head, Cantrell replied, “Captain, if this was some sort of secret mission, they wouldn't have sent me. And no, I don't know if anyone has been infiltrated onto this ship, though I doubt it.”
“Then why are you here?” Bradley asked.
Looking around, she said, “I'm reporting for duty.”
“Duty?”
“Wherever you want me, Captain, I will go. After our last mission together, I was ruined as an intelligence agent, so I took steps to rejoin the regular Fleet.” Passing across a datapad, she said, “I completed Advanced Tactical six weeks ago. Third in my class.”
“Lieutenant Daley?” she asked, reading from the certificate.
“Naturally, I had to use a cover name, but I assure you that both the training and my scores are real. I wouldn't risk this ship by faking them.” Stepping towards Orlova, she said, “You're going on a mission that might last up to a year into unexplored space. I want to go with you. If I stay here, I'm condemned to a life of administrative tedium, and that isn't what I signed up for.”
“Are you AWOL?” Orlova asked.
With a beaming smile, Cantrell replied, “An intelligence agent can't be absent without leave, Captain. At my level, we go where we think we are needed, not where we are sent, and it is my judgment that I am needed here. You are short of a Tactical Officer, for a start, and I think that you will find that I can be surprisingly innovative in that role.”
Bradley shook her head, and said, “The last time we crossed paths, you were the most inept technician I have ever seen. Not to mention insubordinate, argumentative and headstrong.”
“All traits that I submit will make me a perfect fit for this ship.”
Cooper glanced at his wife, then said, “If she wants to serve, ma'am, I'd say we should let her. I've seen her in the field, and I'll vouch for her ability.” Bradley glared daggers at him, and he continued, “Though obviously I don't know how she'll be at a bridge station.”
The door slid open, and Lieutenant Kristen Harper, Alamo's Intelligence Officer, stepped in, her green hair spilling down over the back of her neck. Cantrell beamed recognition as she entered the room, a smile spreading across her face. Pulling out a datapad, Harper began to read.
“Lieutenant Cantrell, you are under arrest on three charges of espionage, one charge of treason, and one charge of conspiracy to commit treason.”
Cantrell glanced at Orlova, and said, “This isn't what it sounds like.”
“I certainly hope not,” Orlova replied.
Harper shook her head, and said, “Lieutenant Cantrell is a rogue agent. Even by my standards. I was alerted to look out for her arrival a few weeks ago, though I didn't expect that she would actually turn up here.” Turning to Orlova, she said, “We should arrange for her to be transferred to Hengist. She has a date with a court-martial back on Mars.”
“No, wait,” Cantrell said. “There's more to it than that.” Looking at Harper, she added, “You know how many damn factions Intelligence has splintered into since the election. Even with your clearance, you don't get access to everything we're doing.”
“This should be good,” Bradley said, a smile returning to her face. “Maybe I should send out for popcorn.”
With a sigh, Cantrell replied, “I traded information about the not-men, as well as everything we have learned about their technology, to agents of the Lunar Republic. Fleet Captain Paine had decided that they needed to know what we were facing, but the Senate was refusing to transfer the material.”
“So you did it anyway,” Orlova said, “and you got caught.”
“They decided to make me a scapegoat,” Cantrell said. “Half a dozen failed operations have been dumped on my head. Maggie...Captain, I was going to come out here anyway. I really did want to transfer back to the regular Fleet. I've done one covert operation too many.”
“What do you expect me to do about it?”
“Let me come with you. There's no official warrant out for my arrest, and only Triplanetary Intelligence is after me at the moment. I managed to arrange that much. The crew won't know what is happening, and by the time we get back, Paine will have come up with some way to settle the issue. Unless they find someone else to throw to the lions.”
Harper looked at Orlova, and said, “You know her better than I do. I will say that her story is plausible. A lot of Senators have been trying to get their grips into Intelligence lately, and a few months ago there was a lot of talk about handing over some information to the Republic.”
“And your recommendation?” Orlova asked.
With a shrug, the hacker said, “Way above my pay grade, ma'am. I wouldn't like to be in your shoes.”
“The safe option,” Bradley said, “is to send her back and let them sort it all out back at Mars. If it turns out that she is telling the truth, then I'm sure her bosses will work out a way to untangle her from the charges.”
“Then we go out without a Tactical Officer,” Cooper replied.
“Take her,” Salazar said. “In my opinion, ma'am.”
“Any reason for that, Sub-Lieutenant?”
He paused, then said, “Anyone who wants to go along on this mission so badly shouldn't be denied the chance. If she was a traitor, she'd find somewhere better to run to than a battlecruiser where she was known as a spy. Gilgamesh is going out as well, from Houston Station. Why not sneak on that ship instead?” Looking at her, he said, “I think her story hangs together well enough to trust her.”
There was a long pause, Bradley engaging in a staring contest with Cantrell that would have been amusing on another day,
Cooper doing his best to fade into the background while Orlova looked at the small viewscreen, watching Thule revolve underneath them.
“Am I going to regret this, Cantrell?” she asked.
“Probably,” she replied. “I know I have a tendency to outstay my welcome on occasion.”
With a sigh, Orlova said, “I'll put a formal transfer request in for you. It can go back with Hengist, and I'll sign you on as Tactical Officer.” Turning to her, she said, “That means that everyone will know exactly where you are, so if the charges against you haven't been cleared by the time we get back, the Military Police will be waiting.”
“Fair enough,” she replied.
“That, and both Harper and I will be watching you. If you do anything suspicious...”
Raising a hand, Cantrell said, “I understand. I'll do my best, Captain. I promise.”
“I hope so,” Orlova said, stepping for the door. “I'll break the good news to everyone at the post-jump staff meeting.” She glanced down at her watch, and said, “I don't know why all of you are standing around looking at each other. We're leaving the system in five hours, and I have no intention of being late.”
As the others walked out, Cantrell loitered behind, Salazar still sitting in his chair, looking at her.
“Something wrong, Sub-Lieutenant?” she asked.
“Probably nothing, but it occurs to me that if Intelligence wanted to place an agent on this ship, your cover story would work extremely well to convince Captain Orlova to take you on board. I have an idea that Harper isn't going to be as cooperative as she has been in the past, and this is a sensitive enough mission that I could see the brass putting an operative in place.”
Raising an eyebrow, she replied, “That's an interesting theory.”
“One that you can be sure Captain Orlova has thought of, as well.” He paused, and said, “You're my senior officer, so I suppose this is technically insubordination, but if you do anything that is not in the best interests of this ship, I will stop you.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Triple-Edged Sword Page 1
