She stepped up to a door, entering a ten-digit sequence into the panel beside it. It failed on the first try, and again on the second, but her persistence was finally rewarded as the door burst open. Inside was a huge room, a long, familiar-looking cylinder at its heart, and as Salazar stepped in, he looked up and down the mile-long shaft, at the perfectly-serviced and maintained equipment within.
“Our laser,” she said. “Built almost five hundred years ago as a missile defense network. It failed in that purpose, but since then it has pushed our ships among the stars, as well as providing our only means of protection against the attacks of the Council. There were twelve originally, all positioned to provide complete coverage of Arcadian orbit, but over the years they've failed one after another, parts transferred to keep at least some of the network going.”
“This is astonishing,” Salazar said in reverent awe. “I've never seen anything like it. It's larger than the biggest installations we've got, and to keep it going for five hundred years is a fantastic achievement. One that you should be truly proud of.”
Smiling, she replied, “It's taken the bulk of our efforts these last few years, and getting harder and harder to keep them operating. Our ancestors built to last, fortunately, but even their handiwork cannot keep going forever. Within a few decades, the last of the lasers will fail, and we'll be reduced to sailing on the solar winds. Our ships will still work, but far less well, and our trading network will fail.” Looking at Salazar, she said, “Captain Orlova's message wasn't news to us. We trust our people to behave sensibly, even in the face of oblivion.”
“And still you go on?”
“I suppose we were hoping for a miracle. For a time, when Wayfarer first arrived, we thought we might have found one, but it all came tumbling down. The Council had to smash our hopes, our dreams.” Clutching at his arm, she said, “We're not the bad guys, Pavel. We do what we must to survive, but would you do any less in the same circumstances?”
Looking out at the laser cannon again, running his eye over the smooth lines and intricate machinery, he marveled at the idea of keeping this equipment going for a period twice as long as Earth had been in space at all. When this was built, his ancestors were riding horses, crewing sailing ships.
“Probably not,” he replied. “I understand, at least to a degree.”
“All of this has been my job,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “Chief Laser Technician. For the last ten years, believe it or not. The first one in my family to get that far. That's why I went out on the sailship. I knew that we were retrieving technicians, engineers, and I hoped that we'd find someone who could help. You know about weapons, don't you?”
“Just the Academy course. My specialty is in the firing of guns, not maintaining them.”
“It's a skilled art.” She paused, and said, “I'd give it up tomorrow if that was what it took. If we could find some other path to the future.” Looking down, she added, “As it is, we're starting to reduce our population, going to a one-child birth-rate. There doesn't seem much point having children who won't get the chance to grow up. I know that the Council are pushing their population to the limit, but they've always been fools. When I think what they inherited.”
“Couldn't you have worked together then?”
Stepping over to the far side of the control room, she said, “Maybe we tried, I don't know. Not many of the records survived from that period. Everyone was too busy just staying alive to keep the paperwork trails going properly. And they did a good job. We're still here.” Tapping the wall, she said, “None of our bases were fully self-sufficient. We had some hydroponics, some carniculture, but we couldn't even produce our own medicines. People went down into the hell we'd made of our world in the last few landing craft to bring back what we needed, volunteers who knew that they were committing suicide but thought it was worth the risk in exchange for the survival of their people. I'm not sure whether they were right or not.” Looking up at Salazar, she said, “Pavel, level with me. Is there a chance?”
“That depends on your leaders.”
“I think I speak for my people when I say we'll be reasonable.”
“Even if you have to submit to the will of the Council”.
Shaking her head, she said, “No better than death. Most of their population live like animals. They don't have any answers that lead to the future. If they'd wanted, they could have settled other planets, moved back to Arcadia, but they've walled themselves up in their own tomb instead.”
“You're going to have to work with them.”
“Why can't they work for us, rather than the other way around? Almost everything that they have now, they took from us. That base on Itix, we built that, set it up, labored on it for decades to get it to full production. Once it was finished, they stole it, claiming that we had stolen their moon.” Shaking her head, she said, “Had we kept it, it would have allowed us to increase our living capacity, expand the population, settle more moons. Instead we stagnate.”
Pausing, Salazar asked, “What would you do, if you had the choice?”
“Fly out of the system with you and never look back. If you're talking about my people, we need to settle Arcadia. If we had the ships to do it, and could trust that the Council wouldn't send their troops down to smash our bases when we reached the ground, we'd already have colonized the planet. I don't think we can maintain a space-based presence, not any more.” With a sigh, she said, “Though I suspect we'd all die down there. We've never grown crops, hunted game. I don't even know how to light a fire.”
“Maybe we could help with that.”
“Odd set of skills for a starship crew.”
He smiled, then said, “You'd be surprised what sort of training manuals we have on board, especially now that we're visiting habitable planets. I'm sure we could come up with something for you.”
Nodding, she replied, “Maybe there's another way. If we combine our resources with the Council, convince them to disband their fleet, we could work together to expand our range, build new outposts, properly repair the ones we have. Especially with your help.” She stopped, shook her head, and said, “Damn it all, I'm starting to hope again. That's a bad habit to get into, but I'm so used to everything automatically getting worse, day by day...” With a sigh, she said, “We'd better get you back to your quarters. Someone's bound to complain if they find out I've taken you here.”
The two of them walked back down the quiet corridor, Salazar again looking at the mural as they passed it, pausing to examine the detail once again.
“Why didn't he finish it?” he asked.
Valya shook her head, and said, “He died before he could. Radiation exposure's higher out here, not enough shielding. I'm not that far off our average life expectancy myself.” Looking across at Salazar, she said, “It's a savage life we live out here, but at least we get to live it. Get to enjoy the fruits of our labor.” As they reached his quarters, she added, “I've got to get back to duty now. That cannon of mine is a harsh taskmaster, and we're expecting some components from Oron in a few hours. Maybe we could meet up for breakfast tomorrow.”
“I'd like that,” he said. “Hopefully by then we'll have some good news from Alamo.”
“There's that word again,” she said, as the door closed behind him. He stepped over to the bunk, lying down on it, fishing out his datapad. A transcript of their conversation was already on its way back to the ship, but he wanted to go over it again, strangely feeling like a traitor for having recorded it without her permission.
The door opened, and Harper burst in, a smile on her face. She waited for the door to close, then started to look around the room, pulling out her bunk, then her table, before finally looking up at a spot on the ceiling. Reaching up with her hand, she felt around the stone before her fingers found a thin panel. Tugging it open, a microphone came dangling down, attached by two wires, and she pulled it loose.
“So do I, but you go first.”
“He's ready to make a break for it. There are two other agents in the engineering section, and one of them has access to a sailship. We can launch and hook up with a gunboat in nine hours if we want.” Raising a hand, she said, “I know, I know, the peace conference, but it would give Captain Orlova more freedom of action if we weren't confined. What do you think?”
Shaking his head, he replied, “I think we're doing more good here than we would on the ship. We ought to preserve it as an option, yes, but I don't want to use it. Not yet. Did you learn anything on the lower decks?”
Waving a printout, she said, “Long want list, most of which I think we could fill, one way or another. Even if we can't, I'm sure Quinn could do something about it.” Frowning, she replied, “We can't trade for our release.”
“No, I know, but if they need the components, perhaps we ought to provide them. They're dying, Kristen, and they know it. Maybe we can stop that from happening, do a little good out here.”
Perching on her bunk, she replied, “I'm going to keep working with Tarak. He's been deep-cover as a double-agent for a few years now, and he's got access to a lot of useful information.”
“He'll have his own agenda, remember. Or worse, that of the Council.”
“I know that, but the raw data can still be useful. I've got ways of making sure that it is accurate.” She paused, then said, “Are you sure you aren't the one getting too attached?”
“It's hard to avoid.” He looked around the room, and said, “I want to help these people. I want that very badly. They've been through so much already, and we've got the opportunity to put all that right.”
“They've got to help themselves first, remember. And so do we.”
“I know,” he said with a sigh. “I know.”
Chapter 14
Orlova stood to attention as the Council shuttle rose through the decks, Sergeant Gurung leading a squad of Espatiers in an honor guard, wearing their seldom-used dress uniform. Next to her, Nelyubov twitched, trying to inconspicuously stretch an itch, earning him a brief glare.
“Why do we need to wear these damn things?” he muttered. “They won't know the difference.”
“I will. And we need to show them some respect. If we can smooth their egos a little, it might make things easier at the conference table.”
“The Coalition group didn't care.”
“Quiet,” she hissed, and the hatch opened, a trio of people stepping out onto the deck looking around. Kelgar led the way, as expected, with Yorax and Trant flanking him. Stepping forward, Orlova snapped into a salute, and a hastily-researched recording of the Council's anthem blared over the ceiling speakers.
“Welcome to the Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo,” she said, holding out her hand. “It's a pleasure to have you here, especially under such circumstances.”
Frowning, Kelgar ignored her hand, replying, “We are here at your insistence, Captain, and for no other reason than that. I think it would be best to get on with this.” Gesturing to his right, he said, “Raval will join us at the second session tomorrow. He had urgent business to take care of first, and Trant was appointed in his place.”
“An honor, ma'am,” Trant said, snapping a salute. “Speaking for myself, it's a great pleasure to see this ship for myself. From what I can see, everything Ensign Cooper told me was true.”
“We'll try and arrange a tour for you both later,” Orlova said. “We have VIP quarters prepared for all of you, if you want to freshen up.”
Shaking his head, Kelgar said, “They can wait until later. If we must proceed with this farce, let's get it over with as quickly as we can. I understand that the Coalition delegates have already arrived?”
“A couple of hours ago,” Nelyubov said. “Like yourselves, they are eager to meet, and hope to reach an agreement that can resolve your differences.”
“And you are?”
“Senior Lieutenant Frank Nelyubov, Alamo's Executive Officer.”
“You presume much, Senior Lieutenant. I do not believe that any agreement is possible with our ancient enemies. This is not the first time that we have attempted to talk terms, and they have always been unreasonable in the extreme. Certainly we will make the attempt, but I have every expectation that these talks will fail.” Looking at Orlova, he added, “It isn't too late for you to see sense. Our gunboats are in position...”
“Don't be absurd, Kelgar,” Yorax said. “We're here on a peace conference, not to launch a surprise attack. Besides, their laser is focused on this area and ready to fire. My gunboats wouldn't stand a chance, and even this ship would be at hazard.” He looked at Orlova, and said, “I presume that you will stand ready to defend us?”
“This ship is neutral territory,” Orlova replied. “Any attempt to attack this ship or the base below us from either side will be met with deadly force, I assure you. Alamo isn't here to start a fight, but if needed, we will finish one.” Turning to Gurung, she said, “Sergeant Gurung will show you to the conference room. The session will begin in ten minutes.”
“Very well,” Kelgar said.
“This way, please,” the Espatier said, somehow managing to insert an air of menace into his welcoming smile. The Council delegation stepped towards the elevator, the two soldiers looking around, their eyes absorbing every detail they could find, a mixture of envy and awe on their faces, while Kelgar simply looked forward, as though attempting to imagine himself somewhere else through sheer force of will.
Nelyubov looked at Orlova, and said, “I don't envy you the next few days.”
Shaking her head, she replied, “He'll talk peace in the end. They don't have a choice, long-term. Either they come up with some sort of understanding, or they're going to be wiped out, and within the lifetime of most of the people in this system. He must know that they have to come to terms. All I have to do is make him accept it.” She paused, then said, “I've got Powell for company, anyway.”
“And a low-profile Espatier squad on stand-by.” He passed across his datapad, and added, “We're set for a nice little confrontation if they decide to push for it. Four gunboats and five sailships, all in the same orbit, watching each other with Alamo in the middle. I've got the ship on a standing alert, and there's a salvo of missiles ready to go at a moment's notice. Corporal Stewart's squad is on Shuttle Three, and can be in the air in two minutes.”
“I think that just about covers it. Mind the shop, Frank, and if you get any messages from either Cooper or Salazar, let me know at once. If anyone out there twitches, go to battle stations, but don't fire unless I give you the word.”
“Maybe it'll shock them into submission if I do,” he replied. “Or perhaps I'm hoping for rather too much. Good luck, anyway. I think you're going to need it.” His datapad bleeped, and he said, “Smith's bringing the Coalition delegation to the conference room now.”
“Right. I'd better be on my way.” She looked at the exit, and asked, “Remind me. Whose stupid idea was this?”
“Some idiot called Orlova.”
“Put her on report.” She stepped into the elevator, the system automatically taking her to her destination. Pulling out her datapad, she skimmed over Powell's hastily prepared list of recommendations, measures that might save technological civilization in this system. Both delegations had received copies, but whether or not they had read them was another matter.
Normally, she'd be urging the elevator on, but this time she was mentally trying to slow it. She was stepping into uncharted territory, and she knew it. Without Senate approval, she couldn't offer more than mild support from the Confederation. If they were closer to the Core, or Alamo was able to head right back to Thule, she'd have been tempted to just throw Protectorate status at them, see what that brought about, but t
he Technocrats would be unlikely to ratify it. Assuming the Senate ever broke its deadlock for long enough to make any decision at all.
Theoretically, none of this was necessary. The Confederation didn't have a dog in this fight, and she could just bring Salazar, Harper, Cooper and the Espatiers back to the ship and continue on their way in three days' time. There were other routes into unexplored space, other avenues of expansion. Shaking her head, she dismissed the possibility. One way or another, this had to be resolved. Tens of thousands of lives depended on it.
The doors opened, and she stepped out into the hastily adapted observation room, a round table with a dozen chairs filling the room, a holoprojector placed at its heart. Yorax, Trant and Kelgar were already in their places, and even the hard-faced Administrator was unashamedly enjoying the spectacular view, Arcadia rising in the distance with a bright starfield behind. Powell, sitting next to her empty seat, smiled, and she made mental note to personally thank the sensor technician who had put that display together.
She moved around to take her seat, and the elevator door opened once again, Sub-Lieutenant Scott, her assistant, leading the two-person Coalition delegation into the room. They glared at the Council, then nodded at Orlova before taking their seats. Placing her datapad on the table in front of her, she looked from one delegation to the other, cleared her throat with a quick cough, and began.
“For the record, I recognize Poltis, Coordinator of the Coalition, Vyram, Squadron Leader of the Coalition Fleet, Kelgar, Administrator of Skybase, Yorax, Director of Combat Operations for the Council, and Trant, Deputy Director. I am Lieutenant-Captain Margaret Orlova, of the Triplanetary Fleet, and assisting today are Senior Lieutenant John Powell and Sub-Lieutenant Katherine Scott.”
“Now that you've got that mouthful out of the way,” Yorax said, “Can we start?”
She fought to suppress a smile, and continued, “The matter on the table is quite simple, gentlemen. There must be peace in this system, and both factions must work together, or everyone on Skybase and the outer colonies will die in a matter of decades. Lieutenant Powell has a more detailed analysis.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Triple-Edged Sword Page 13
