“Good God, that’s half the ship,” Grant added, his eyes wide as he looked at the board. “No internal damage, though. I’ll call that a near miss.”
Looking across at a panel, Grogan said, “Main engines on-line! Don’t ask me how long they’ll stay that way.”
“Foster, punch it!” Orlova said.
“I don’t have any control at all. We could end up anywhere.”
“Anywhere is better than here!”
The young officer reached down, throwing a trio of levers, and Alamo’s main engines opened up. For a moment, Orlova thought that the navigation computer would crash trying to work out the course, the ship tipping and diving on its axis, rolling around as thrust built-up. With a herculean effort, Foster was at least keeping the ship vaguely heading in one direction, and a series of warning lights flashed off as Alamo lurched out of firing range.
“Quinn to bridge,” the engineer desperately yelled. “You’ve got twenty seconds, then the whole system goes!”
“What’s the story, Lieutenant?” Orlova asked Powell, who was frowning at the display, his hand rubbing his chin.
“I think we’re safe for the moment. A guess is the best I can do, I’m afraid.”
“Shut her down, Foster,” Orlova said, stepping forward. Nodding, the helmsman pulled back on the acceleration, letting the engines settle back down again. Turning to the tactical display, she watched Wyvern as the scoutship slowly drifted away. Even now, they could catch up with ease if they chose.
“Four missile hits on the enemy ship,” Nelyubov said. “I think we got their communications control with the laser blast, and their missile tubes are destroyed. I don’t see them repairing it soon.”
“We aren’t in much better condition,” Grogan said. “I’m still collating preliminary damage reports, but it doesn’t amount to very much.” The lights flickered again, and without a pause, she continued, “It looks like the temporary patch on the power distribution network has failed. It could be at least a day before we get back to full capacity.”
“Which means we can’t charge the laser again,” Nelyubov added.
“Casualty reports,” Orlova asked, bracing herself.
Looking down at his station, Grant reported, “Fifteen dead, twenty-nine wounded. That includes the boarding party. Most of the wounded were in the hangar deck area.” He looked across at Foster, and said, “Midshipmen Petrov and Vivendi are both among the casualties.”
The helmsman looked pale, and Orlova said, “If you need a few minutes, Lieutenant Grant can take the helm.”
“No, ma’am,” she replied. “I’m fine.”
“What do we do now?” Powell asked.
“We lick our wounds, and we work out what to do next.” She looked back at the display, Wyvern now well behind, hovering near the hendecaspace point. “Pass the word to all hands that we hurt the enemy as much as they hurt us, and that I have no intention of leaving this system until we have secured a victory.” Looking around the room, she added, “Frank, you have the deck. I’m going down the Engineering to find out just how badly we’ve been hurt.”
“Aye, ma’am,” he said. “I have the deck.”
Orlova stepped into the elevator, waited for the doors to close, and then permitted herself to collapse to the deck, holding her head in her hands, tears beginning to flow. Fifteen dead. Others likely to join them. More blood on her hands. She sat on the ground as the elevator skirted around damaged sections. Finally, with an effort, she rose to her feet, tugging her jacket back into position, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
The doors opened, and she walked into the pandemonium of engineering, a dozen technicians scurrying about, Quinn holding court by a systems display.
“Well, Jack,” she asked, stepping over to him. “Where do we start?”
Chapter 12
The decompression alarm screamed across the compartment, Harper and Tramiel reacting instantly to the warning, scanning the outer wall to find the gap. Curls of debris twisting through the air quickly pointed them in the right direction, a slowly expanding crack that would suck all the atmosphere from the room in a matter of moments.
“Damn it!” she yelled, tearing at the emergency kit. “Someone’s taken out all the hull patches. We’ve got no way to seal it.”
“Wouldn’t do any good if we had any,” Tramiel replied. “That breach is getting wider. Must be a weak spot in the inner hull plating.”
Racing to the door, Harper tried to force it open, but the room had been sealed to prevent decompression spreading to other areas, the prisoners inside evidently deemed expendable in the interests of the ship. She pounded futilely on the door, but she could hardly hear herself over the cry of the alarms. There was no chance that a theoretical guard would hear her.
She looked at the gap, still slowly widening. It was only a matter of time before it breached totally, tossing the two of them out into space. Tramiel had staggered over to the far side of the room, tearing at the wall as he gasped in the thin air. Her oxygen-starved brain took precious seconds to work out what he was doing, trying to activate a rescue ball, and she crawled over to help him, collapsing to the deck, her head swimming.
“Hold on, Lieutenant,” Tramiel said, as the wall panel popped out, a plastic bag sliding onto the floor. From here, the whole process was automatic, the survival kit’s sensors detecting the drop in pressure and automatically inflating, swelling to its full size in a matter of seconds.
Harper felt hands around her waist, Tramiel pushing her into the expanding airlock before climbing in after her. The air inside felt thick enough to chew, and she took huge breaths, the fog lifting from her head, her eyes clearing. Tramiel was collapsed on the floor, the effort almost too much for him, and she pulled an oxygen mask from the wall, strapping it to his mouth. The effect was almost instant, and he began to sit up, rubbing his forehead where somehow he had acquired an angry gash in the confusion, the blood slowly dripping down his face.
“Medikit,” he asked, and she snatched the box from its compartment, tossing it to him. While he bandaged himself up, she looked at the sensor panel. All readings had zeroed, no remaining atmospheric pressure outside. Suddenly, she felt herself tossed to the floor, the ball rolling away, the crack rapidly expanding, tossing them from the ship.
“Damn, we were lucky,” she said. “Luckier than we had any right to be.” Looking back towards Wyvern, she saw a jagged tear down the side of the ship, almost the whole width of the compartment. To one side, she could make out other impacts, three of them, each presenting their own angry face to the cosmos, black and gray a contrast to the pale white hull.
Removing his mask, Tramiel said, “When we get back, I’ll be having words with the shipyard that built this crate. Ever since she launched, she’s been a maintenance nightmare. The whole damn class has.”
“I think we’ve got bigger problems,” Harper replied. “I’ve no idea who won the battle, but someone’s going to be coming after us soon.” She looked down at Wyvern’s hangar deck, a smile creeping across her face. “Though not Kline’s happy band, not for a while.” Reaching up, she tapped a ten-digit code into the control computer, and a series of red lights began to flash across the panel.
“What did you do?”
“The beacon would have activated in sixty seconds. I thought it was a better idea that no-one knew we were on the run.” She looked back at Wyvern, and said, “They’re enough of a mess that they probably won’t notice us for a while. I don’t even think we’re the biggest piece of debris. We can wait until they move away, then contact Alamo.”
Frowning, Tramiel said, “Rescue ball beacons aren’t designed to be deactivated.”
“Let’s just say there are a few trapdoors in the control software. This isn’t the first time someone has used one of these to escape.”
Shaking his head, he replied, “You amaze me. But we�
�re not going back to Alamo. We’ve got to get back on board Wyvern as quickly as we can.”
“Commodore, neither of us is armed, and even if we were, two people against a whole crew is bigger odds than I like. Right now it makes a lot more sense for us to report what we know, get some back-up.”
“There’s more at stake than you know.”
Frowning, she said, “If you are thinking that there is a chance for you to salvage your plan, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you.”
With a sigh, he replied, “We’ve been working on a lot of advanced weaponry over the last year. Finishing up projects that were started by the gray labs.” Looking down, he said, “We had some wealthy backers, and some good technicians.”
“I know,” she said. “Why do you think I came out here?”
“Intelligence knew what we were doing?”
Nodding, Harper said, “We knew that you’d managed to escape with a group of like-minded officers, and that you had established a base of operations somewhere beyond our borders. When we finally tracked you down, Wyvern’s mission was to confirm the location of your base, and take appropriate action. If we could handle it ourselves, we’d bring you in. Otherwise, I’d arranged for help to be on the way.”
“But Ryder…”
“Didn’t know.” With a sigh, she said, “That part wasn’t my idea, I assure you, but the work you had stolen was so highly classified I barely had access to it. We couldn’t take the risk of it getting out. What we didn’t know was that you’d continued to recruit. I guess we underestimated you.”
“Then you realize why we have to get on board.”
“My mission was to retrieve the data if possible, destroy it if I couldn’t. I think the first goal is thoroughly wrecked, but I can still accomplish the second part of my assignment, and I think that is best served by heading over to Alamo.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “If you are thinking of pulling rank on me, I’m forced to remind you that it has already been revoked.”
“I know,” he said. “Nevertheless, we’ve got to go back. We got further than you think.”
“Particle beams? That was…”
“Why do you think we came out here? To a world which was almost certainly destroyed by some hostile power, using weaponry that had never been dreamed of.”
Her eyes widened, and she said, “You damned fool.”
Nodding, he said, “We’ve built an antimatter bomb. Which right now is sitting in Wyvern’s Storage Four.”
“That violates every damn treaty we ever signed!”
“Then why were we working on it? Ask your superiors that.”
“I don’t have to, and I shouldn’t have to tell you about it.” With a sigh, she said, “Deterrence is about having the potential ability to build such weapons, not actually doing it. Policy was to work to a point where it could be completed in six to twelve months, so if we found out that anyone else was building one, we could get there first.” Shaking her head, she added, “And what we never talked about too loudly was that every other known power was thinking along similar lines.”
His face fell, and he said, “You didn’t know we’d taken it, did you?”
“You did a very effective job covering your tracks, Commodore. We knew that something had been stolen, but we didn’t know what. Our guess was that you had grabbed the Cabal technology we’d been researching, some of the archeotech projects. Hell, what good is an antimatter bomb to you anyway? It’s useless in space warfare, you’d never need that much firepower to destroy a ship. The only reason…” She looked up at him, cold fire in her eyes, and said, “You were going to use it, weren’t you. You bastard.”
He looked out of the viewport, and said, “The Cabal present a clear and present danger to the future of the Confederation. They run what is essentially a slave-based empire, a tyranny that must be destroyed.”
“By killing millions of people?”
“It wouldn’t come to that,” he said. “Our intelligence is that their leaders have their own world, hidden away. My plan was to find it and destroy it. The Cabal would then collapse, and the Fleet could move in.”
“Nice and perfect,” she replied. “Only killing a few thousand people, only destroying a single planet. You disgust me.”
“Which is better, Lieutenant? A surgical strike that kills a few thousand autocrats…”
“And their children. Don’t forget that.”
“Or a war that would kill millions, kill indiscriminately, and one that might lead to the end of everything we hold dear, the principles of freedom and democracy that we cling to.”
“Principles that you were willing to abandon. Don’t you know what would have happened if you had used such a weapon? What you have risked by building it? If the other interstellar powers know, they’ll build their own. The Republic, the United Nations, maybe even the Belt. Congratulations, Commodore. You’ve reintroduced mutually assured destruction to the twenty-second century, and unleashed a weapon that can destroy whole worlds.”
“It would have happened eventually. The technology was well within our current knowledge.”
“Maybe,” she said. “That doesn’t justify what you have done.”
“We can argue about all of this for days if you want, but regardless of the ethics of my actions, we have to face the reality of the situation.”
“That you have given a planet-destroying weapon to someone willing to sell it to the highest bidder.”
Looking down at the floor, his face reddening, he said, “I cannot and will not allow it to remain under his control. We’ve got to find a way to stop him, or die in the attempt. It is our duty as Triplanetary officers.” He glanced up, and said, “I’m sure you have something in mind that can help us out.”
“Let’s just say that I anticipated this course of action.” She glanced out of the tiny viewport at Wyvern, slowly drifting away, and reached up for the control panel. “This is going to be entertaining.”
“You’ve got an override for the rescue ball thrusters.”
“We only get about a second’s burn, remember. Really, they’re only intended to help boost someone clear of a hull. Certainly they aren’t up to docking maneuvers. Not that we have an airlock anyway.” She looked at him, and said, “Fancy a swim?”
His face dropped, and he said, “In space without a suit?”
“I can get us to within ten meters of one of the airlocks. It should just be a case of letting escaping air push us across, hitting the emergency release, and we’re good to go. We’ve got the respirators, and they’ll give us three minutes of air. For a crossing that ought to take seconds.”
“Meanwhile exposing ourselves to vacuum.”
“Which, I grant you, is going to hurt like hell. Remember, this isn’t my idea, but I’m willing to take the risk if you are.”
“One of us could go, and return with a suit for the other.”
Bouncing a hand off the wall, Harper said, “You think we could put on a spacesuit in this bubble? Besides, as soon as we open the airlock, alarms will go off all over the ship. We’ll have a minute or two to get moving. I’ve got somewhere in mind, and it’s only a short run from the airlock I’ve selected.” She glanced up at the status monitor, and said, “We’ve got about a minute to make the decision.”
“Do it,” he said, shaking his head, “I don’t much like the idea, but I don’t think we’ve got a choice.”
“Fine,” she replied, tapping a pair of controls together. There was a quick jolt, anti-climatically tossing them back towards Wyvern, drifting the way they had come, rising up towards one of the near-side airlocks, just over the damaged section of the ship, Harper could see a faint star behind them, with a narrow trail behind it. Alamo, almost certainly, making a burn. For a second, she contemplated overriding Tramiel and using the second pulse to throw them towards it, the thought of the safety
of a friendly ship almost overwhelmingly tempting, but before she could make a decision, the second pulse fired, bringing them to a stop.
Tramiel pulled down the respirators, tossing one to Harper while placing the other on his head. The two of them donned gloves, covering as much of their skin as they could, before moving to face the airlock – a thin, flexible door, held tight with a flimsy seal. Even so, under normal circumstances, it would be impossible to open. Reaching down to the sole of her shoe, Harper pulled out a narrow, plastic blade, and held it above the door.
“Ready?” she asked, and Tramiel nodded. Before second thoughts and nerves could overwhelm her, she ripped at the seal, and felt herself being popped out of the rescue ball, the force of escaping atmosphere dragging her towards the ship. Her skin tingled all over, a strange chill that she knew was mostly her imagination. The respirator clamped tight to her face, a fog forming over the eyepieces.
She crashed into the hull, bouncing back as she scrabbled for the handrail, her fingers missing it by inches. A firm hand grabbed her belt, tugging her back, and she saw Tramiel swinging from the rail, throwing her back towards the airlock as he worked the emergency control.
The hatch slammed open, and the two of them tumbled in. Crashing into the wall by the controls, she engaged the repress circuits, and the outer door slammed shut, air quickly filling the vacuum. As the warning lights flashed off, she felt warm all around her, pulling off her respirator, a red ring around her face where the seal had pressed in.
“Six seconds,” Tramiel said. “I was counting.”
“Come on,” she replied. She felt like hell, but they still needed to get to safety, or the risk they had just run was for nothing. The inner door opened, and the two of them staggered down the corridor, Harper in the lead. Footsteps echoed from around a far corner, shouting and cursing, but she reached the inspection hatch she was looking for, swinging it clear with a five-digit code and a thumb-print.
“In,” she said. “Climb.”
Nodding, Tramiel clambered in, gasping for breath, and she pulled herself after him, closing the door just as she saw figures racing down the corridor towards her, guns drawn. Before climbing the ladder, she entered another code into the nearby access panel, and a series of lights began to flash red.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Malware Blues Page 10
