One red light remained, unwilling to switch back on, and Quinn labored on, his movements growing sluggish as he spent the last of his energy, reaching for a hypo-spanner to make a minute adjustment. Finally, the light turned green, and the power flow resumed. The ship was coming back to life again, one system at a time, and this time the ceiling lights came back strong, the displays along the walls bursting into life, flashing system updates as the primary network restarted.
Harper gestured for him to return, but he shook his head, gesturing at the override controls. She waved at him, urging him back, but he shook his head again, waving his wrist. She looked up at the display on the wall, the clock flickering into life, realizing that there were scant seconds left before Alamo had to make its burn. If she didn't close the hatch now, she'd die with Quinn. There was no way to save him, and the engineer had to have known that when he made the attempt.
Closing the hatch was far easier than opening it had been, simply ripping out the datarod enough to send the blast door slamming shut. Even that was an effort almost too great for her, but finally she tugged it free, the faint hiss of atmosphere seeping back into the corridor within a second, slowly building up once again. Her skin stung, her eyes watering, ears popping again as the pressure came back. Waiting a few seconds, the longest of her life, she took an experimental breath, then a deeper one, oxygen flooding her lungs, instantly reviving her, bringing her back to life.
She looked at the door, through the transparent panel, Quinn still floating in space, his head dipping forward, the last trace of life draining away. There still might be a chance if she could find a spacesuit, but as the loud rumbling of the engines resumed, she knew that all hope had gone as his body drifted through the gap, out into space, destined to join the gathering debris field that threatened to encompass the ship.
A pair of hands reached out to her as she fell to the floor, and she looked up to see the face of Captain Orlova looking down at her, bloodshot eyes locking with hers. Shaking her head, Harper tried to rise.
“You're dead,” she said. “The bomb detonated three minutes ago.”
“Frank took my place,” she replied. “His idea, not mine. He took the hit for me.” Looking at the hatch, she asked, “Quinn?”
“There wasn't a hope of saving him,” she replied. “The power network failed. This was the only way to save the ship.” Grimacing in pain, she continued, “Damn it, Captain, you look like hell.”
“You should see yourself in a mirror,” Orlova said, reaching an arm around the hacker, helping her to her feet. “Come on. We've got to get up to the bridge as fast as we can. This isn't over yet, not until the ship is clear of the debris, and I might need your help. Can you walk?”
With a thin smile, Harper replied, “I'll manage. I suspect sickbay is overloaded, anyway.”
Taking another deep breath, she replied, “Probably.”
“I'm with you, Captain. Let's go.” Arm in arm, the two old friends lurched back towards the maintenance shaft, ready to attempt the long climb to the bridge.
Chapter 24
“Spinelli, report,” Salazar said, turning back to the sensor display.
“Impact in one minute, ten seconds, sir,” the technician replied, shaking his head.
“Wait one,” Fitzroy said, a trickle of green running across his status panel. “The power grid! We're back online, sir! Main engines coming back!”
On cue, the lights flicked back on, white replacing red, and Salazar said, “Maqua, punch it! We've still got a chance. Best speed, any heading, now!”
“Full power, sir,” the helmsman replied, his console finally responding to his commands. “Maximum acceleration, initiating override.”
“Be careful, Sub-Lieutenant,” Fitzroy said, working his controls. “I've no idea why the damn system came back on, and if we push it too hard we might lose it again.” Glancing across at his panel, he added, “I have sensors again, and internal communications are coming back.”
The viewscreen snapped into life, back to the camera feed it was displaying before the power failure, an image of the world they were racing to escape, a halo of debris surrounding it, periodic bursts of white and gold as another installation, another ship died, adding to the destruction behind them. A thunderous roar reverberated from the battered hull as Alamo soared free of the debris field, engines burning at full power once more, picking up the speed that would carry it to safety.
“Come on,” Salazar said. “Come on. Fly, you old beast, fly.”
“All enemy fighters destroyed,” Scott reported, shaking her head. “All missiles clear, and I don't think there is a single satellite left in orbital space.” Looking back at Salazar, she continued, “We've really clobbered them, Pavel. They'll never recover from this.”
The ship shook from an impact, a siren sounding for a second before Fitzroy cut it off, saying, “Aft section. Nothing serious. For once.” Looking up at his monitors, he added, “We're starting to get damage reports from all over the ship.” He paused, then said, “Sub-Lieutenant Lombardo reports that he is prioritizing Elevator Control, and that he expects full access to all decks will be available in a few minutes.”
“Sub-Lieutenant Lombardo? Is Jack out of contact?” Salazar asked.
Looking down at the deck, the engineer replied, “Senior Lieutenant Quinn is listed as missing, presumed dead, sir.”
“Casualty reports coming in, Pavel,” Foster said, shaking her head. “It's bad. Estimate twenty dead, twice as many injured. Doctor Duquesne is in surgery now, and all the triage facilities are overloaded.” She paused, and added, “Storage Nine was exposed to space during the last wave of attacks. Eight dead just from that section, including Doctor Zargham and the secondary medical team. She's on her own down there.”
“Enemy activity, sir!” Spinelli said. “Fighter squadron coming around from behind the moon, estimate fifteen bandits, thirty missiles total. Looks like they managed to get a few clear after the encounter with Due Diligence.” Turning to a panel, he said, “I haven't got good resolution, Lieutenant. Only about a fifth of my pickups are operational, but they're on an intercept course. Estimate five minutes to contact.”
“Scott?” Salazar asked.
“Not a hope, sir,” she replied. “I'm down to two working tubes now, and we lost the combat fabricator during the power drain. That area of the ship is still on emergency power.” With a sigh, she said, “We're helpless. There's nothing we can do. Right now a couple of Xandari could bring us down with a well-placed kick.”
The elevator door opened, and Orlova stepped through, Harper beside her, both of them struggling to stand. Salazar rushed over to support them, guiding them into chairs with the help of Foster. All eyes on the bridge were on Orlova, seemingly back from the dead, and Salazar looked down at her.
“Nelyubov?” he asked.
“Knocked me out with a tranq gun, and took out the bomber himself. Report?”
“See for yourself, Captain,” he replied, gesturing at the screen. “Total saturation. The entire orbital infrastructure is gone, as well as the bulk of the enemy fleet.” Gesturing at the sensor display, he added, “We've got bandits incoming, I'm afraid. We might not live long enough to enjoy our victory.”
“There it goes,” Maqua said, the engine dying again. “Total power drain, sir, but not as catastrophic as last time.” Tapping the controls, he added, “Main circuit overload.”
“Confirmed,” Fitzroy said. “The patch must have failed.”
“Did it do its job, Spinelli?” Salazar asked.
“We're clear, sir,” the technician replied. “Only just, but we've passed escape velocity. It's going to be a while before we can link up with the rest of the fleet, though.” Frowning, he added, “Enemy fighters now four minutes from combat range.”
“I have the conn,” Orlova said, struggling to her feet. “Fitzroy, tell Lombardo that we'
ve got to get the combat systems online as quickly as possible. They've got to be the top priority.”
“Aye, ma'am,” Fitzroy replied.
“You know about Jack Quinn?” Salazar asked.
“I was there,” Harper said, her face pale, cracks of burst blood vessels on her cheeks. “He gave his life to save the ship. Went out into vacuum without a suit to patch the power network, and didn't have time to get back before the engines came back on.” Looking up at Salazar, she continued, “It wasn't your fault, Pavel. There was no time, nothing we could do.”
“Nelyubov and Quinn,” Salazar replied, shaking his head. “And far too many more.”
“Signal from Profitable Venture, ma'am,” Weitzman said. “Colonel Kilquan on the line.”
“Can you put him up on the big screen?” Orlova asked.
“I think so, Captain,” he replied. A second later, the image of the Koltoc commander appeared, his bridge a ruin behind him, technicians frantically scurrying in the background.
“Shouldn't you be dead?” he asked.
“A last-minute change of plans, Colonel,” Orlova replied. “What's your status?”
“We're just hanging on, Captain. There's nothing we can do to help you. Even if we were at full strength, we can't make the course change in time.” Shaking his head, he replied, “Allow me at least to be the first to congratulate you on a successful mission. If nothing else, the war is over.”
“Three minutes to contact, Captain,” Spinelli said. “Enemy fighters moving into arrowhead formation, setting up for an attack run.” Shaking his head, he added, “Doesn't seem fair. Not after everything we've gone through.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” Orlova said. “We'll contact you later, if we can. Alamo out.” She looked around the room, and continued, “By our actions, we have saved the lives of billions of people, and ensured the safety of our homeworlds for generations to come. Even if we die here, today, at least we can go to the next life knowing that we've done everything we set out to do.”
Salazar moved over to Harper, sitting next to her, abandoning his console, and said, “Are you sure you shouldn't be in sickbay? Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like death.”
“Exposure to vacuum will do that to you,” she replied, placing her arm over his shoulder with an effort. “I'll go down when all this is over. Right now they've got people in greater need than I.” Looking up at the sensor display, she added, “That's it. The last major strike force of the Xandari Empire. Fifteen fighters and a few short-range cruisers.”
“Lots of communications traffic, Captain,” Weitzman said. “I think the outer system is starting to see the battle. By now they must know that all hope is lost.” He turned, and added, “Major Cooper sends his complements from Due Diligence, ma'am. I'm getting casualty reports from the assault team.”
“How bad?”
“He came back with forty-nine survivors, ma'am.”
Shaking her head, she replied, “I thought we'd had it bad. Half of his people wiped out.”
“It was worth it,” Salazar said. “All of it. The Xandari will never be a threat again.”
“One minute to contact,” Scott said. “I've got two missiles ready to fire, Captain, and that just about sums up our combat potential. I can't even direct them from here. Not enough bandwidth to run the remote control systems.”
“Save them,” Orlova said. “Just in case, try for defensive fire, but wait for them to open up.” She looked over the ship status screen, and added, “She's really in a mess, isn't she.”
“I tried to keep her in the best condition I could, Captain,” Salazar said. “I promise I'll go out and touch up the paintwork before I hand back the keys.”
“Relax, Pavel,” she replied. “No point dying all tensed up.”
“Thirty seconds, Captain,” Spinelli said. “Still on trajectory, no change.”
All eyes were on the trajectory track, only Fitzroy still working his panel, trying to coax something out of the ship, a last measure of defiance against the enemy that was about to destroy them. Orlova looked up at the holotable as the tactical view snapped back into life once again, showing the swirling clouds of debris that shrouded the Xandari homeworld.
“We've left one hell of a legacy,” she said, turning back to Salazar. “You did good, Pavel. As good as anyone could have hoped.”
“Firing range,” Spinelli said. He paused, then added, “No change to target aspect, Captain.”
“Maybe they're waiting to get in close,” Maqua replied.
“Why?” Scott asked. “They must know our condition, know that we don't have a chance of defeating their attack. We're wide open.” Looking across at her console, she said, “They'll be out of range in less than ten seconds. And on their current course, into the debris field in forty.”
“Can they get out of that trajectory?” Salazar asked.
“I don't see how, not unless our estimates of their fuel load are way out.” Shaking her head, she added, “They're out of firing range. I don't believe it.”
Weitzman turned from his station, his eyes widening, and said, “Signal from the lunar surface, ma'am. The Procurator of the Outer System would like to speak to you. By name.”
Turning to the viewscreen, she said, “Put him on.”
The image of a battle-scarred Xandari appeared, standing at attention, a pair of flags flying behind him. As they watched, he pulled his pistol out of his belt, held it for a second, then tossed it to the floor, placing his hands by his side.
“You are Lieutenant-Captain Margaret Orlova, of the Battlecruiser Alamo?” he asked. “And I see Lieutenant Pavel Salazar and Lieutenant Kristen Harper behind you, bearing the scars of battle. Is my information correct?”
“It is,” Orlova said. “I am the commander of all Triplanetary forces in this system.”
Nodding, the Xandari said, “On behalf of my government, and on behalf of all of our people throughout space, every outpost, settlement and colony, every military installation, I am empowered to offer our unconditional surrender to the Triplanetary Confederation, effective upon transmission to our installations. We will accept whatever terms and conditions you see fit to impose, and throw ourselves unreservedly upon your mercy.”
Silence reigned across the bridge once again, and Orlova struggled to hold her composure, replying, “On behalf of the Triplanetary Confederation and our allies, I accept your terms of surrender, and call for an immediate ceasefire pending the signature of a formal peace settlement between our respective governments.”
“It will be enacted immediately, ma'am.” Nodding his head, he continued, “The strong shall rule, and the weak shall either perish or serve. So was it mandated by our ancestors, and so shall we obey. It was our hubris to believe we were the strong. Your actions against our homeworld have proven our inferiority for all to see, and we shall respect the wisdom of our ancestors and the might of your weapons. We serve, Captain.” He dropped to his knee, looked up, a tear in his eye, and say, “Your will shall be obeyed throughout our Empire.”
“Very well,” Orlova said, struggling to remain calm. “I shall transmit further instructions forthwith. For the present, all military equipment is to be destroyed, and all forces will follow the ceasefire or accept the consequences. I expect to meet with your representatives within the hour to commence negotiations. Alamo out.”
“Wait a minute,” Scott said, shaking her head. “Did we just win? The whole damned war?”
“I think we did,” Harper said, shaking her head.
“Their philosophy,” Salazar added, looking up. “We should have realized, Captain. Once we demonstrated our power, showed that we were willing and able to fight on their terms, they have no choice but to surrender.”
“You think they'll follow the terms?” Maqua asked.
Nodding, Salazar replied, “I'd stake my life on it
. In their socio-cultural context, they don't have a choice, not and hold true to who they are.”
“Socio-cultural context?” Orlova asked, shaking her head. “You've been hanging around with the science team again, haven't you.” Turning to Weitzman, she said, “Spaceman, please connect me to the entire ship, as well as the Koltoc forces in system.”
“Aye, Captain,” he said, a triumphant grin on his face. “You're on, ma'am.”
“This is Captain Orlova,” she said, speaking into her microphone. “A moment ago, the surviving leader of the Xandari Empire formally offered unconditional surrender of all enemy forces. I have accepted on behalf of our alliance. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my unreserved pleasure to announce to you all that the Xandari War is over.”
Epilogue
There was a knock on the door, and Orlova looked up from her desk, pushing the datapad away, grateful for the interruption. The legal texts of the draft peace treaty were headache-inducing reading, taxing her knowledge to the limit. Everything they agreed would be subject to ratification by the President and the Senate, but their approval might not make it out this far for a year. Before they left, something had to be in place, even if it was only provisional.
Salazar walked in, taking a seat opposite her, datapad in hand. Already he had adopted the traditional harried expression of the Executive Officer, deep bags under his eyes testament to the same lack of sleep as the rest of the ship's complement. At least soon they'd be back in the safety of hendecaspace, beginning their long journey home to the Confederation.
“They're almost ready down there, Captain. The last of the delegates will be boarding in a couple of minutes.” He scrolled through the file on his datapad, and added, “Sub-Lieutenant Lombardo reports that the ship will be clear for hendecaspace in an hour, but we're going to be making running repairs all the way home.” Looking around the office, he added, “I foresee a long, long refit for this old girl when we get back to Mars.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Final Orbit Page 21
