"Raven Leader here. I think you can definitely take that as a given, Sub-Lieutenant. I'll see you back at the barn."
Chapter 12
Caine opened the door to Marshall's cabin to the sound of a loud discordant whine; the captain was sitting on his bed in the lotus position, his eyes closed, one hand making hacking motions in time to the music. Smiling, she tiptoed across the deck, moving over behind his shoulder, before tapping him squarely on the small of the back. His eyes popped open, and he looked around wildly.
"What the hell?"
Caine's rolling laughter echoed through the room, competing with the caterwauling from the room's speakers; Marshall fumbled for a panel by the side of his bed and turned the music off.
"Sorry, Danny, I couldn't resist."
His face still red, he smiled in response, replying, "Try harder next time."
"You still listening to that rubbish?"
"Pandatsang Gyatso, I will have you know, was the finest performer the Tibetan Diaspora ever produced. It isn't my fault you have no taste."
"At least my ears work." She passed over a datapad. "First reports from Desdemona."
He took the datapad, flicking across the reports with a finger, shaking his head, "Three moons, three duds. Nothing worth even a second flyby, never mind an actual landing." He frowned. "Why am I getting this now? The flight isn't scheduled to launch for an hour."
"Scanning sections have found something that might be worth a closer look. Tenth page of the report."
He looked at the relevant page and his eyes widened; he looked up at his tactical officer who smiled in response.
"Are they sure about this?"
"Mulenga's checked it five times. A strong heat source coming from the south polar region, ten miles underground."
"I think that classifies as interesting. Have the fighters re-tasked to concentrate on that region."
"Already done, and they should be launching in a few minutes. Cunningham's taking the fighters out himself." She grimaced slightly at the name; Marshall was quick to catch the look.
"Problem?"
She looked around the room for a second, then sat next to Marshall on the bed. He took the queue, reached into a cupboard and pulled out a couple of glasses, filling them with a noisome green liquid that caused her nose to wrinkle.
"What the hell is this stuff?"
"Some sort of flavored vodka I picked up. And don't change the subject."
She paused, saying, "It isn't my place to discuss a senior officer..."
"Don't give me that crap, Deadeye."
"He's not the man he was eleven years ago. Not in the slightest. I know you two had your disagreements..."
"To put it mildly," Marshall interrupted, earning a pair of daggers shooting from Caine's eyes.
"...but he was a good officer, and a good leader. Not to mention a lot of fun off duty."
She smiled at that, and Marshall took his turn at looking embarrassed before replying, "So what's changed?"
"It's as if he's dead inside, Danny. He's made a couple of attempts to seek me out, I guess he wants to apologize, but he hasn't followed through."
"Apologize?"
Squinting her eyes at him, she frowned, "For cheating on me, Danny?"
"What?" he shouted.
"You didn't know? I walked in on him with Samson one night, thought I was going to surprise him. I got the surprise."
"Samson? I don't remember her."
She smiled, "You spent most of that fortnight in a daze, Danny. She got shipped out as part of our replacements, about a month before Second Vesta. Right after the two of you had that shouting match."
"The blonde with the..."
"Yes, that one." Irritation laced through her voice. "It was a long time ago, and hell, she got shot down like most of the rest of them that day. Water under the bridge, but I was glad I got transferred away at the time. What matters now is Cunningham as an officer. He's too tightly wound up, and it's showing. I don't think that being assigned to your ship is actually helping, but that's not it."
"He's acting like he's an autonomous entity. Like he's got his own command and I'm just the taxi driver."
"Oh, he always acted that way. But he's far too protective of his pilots." She paused, then said, "You don't tell your pilots to be careful when on an operation, you tell them to get the job done. You know that." Marshall nodded, and she continued, "He doesn't seem to be acting that way. Since Warren went to Shakespeare he's flown every mission himself, no exceptions. I've talked to the pilots, and he's making every decision for them. Nothing left to individual chance; we might as well set them up so he can fly the whole flight by remote."
"You think that's why he got Teddy over to the station?"
"Probably. Whether he knows it or not is another question entirely, of course. I don't know if he's admitting it even to himself."
The two of them took long sips of their drink, gagging slightly at the taste, looking at the wall in mutual thought.
"There's not much I can do, Deadeye."
"He's too wound up. If something goes wrong, especially with one of the pilots..."
"You think he might crack."
"We just had three years of war, Danny. He had eight, and saw his pilots shot down again and again."
He looked away, out at the viewscreen; the barren gray shape of Desdemona was slowly moving into view, and drained the rest of his drink, pouring himself another one, slipping a fizzing pill into the glass.
"Got to remember I might be needed," he muttered for a second. "Deadeye, I know it better than you. I had a taste of it again four months ago. I know what it is like to send fighters off on missions, knowing that there is only a fifty/fifty chance that you'll ever see the pilots again. To sit in that ready room with people you are responsible for, who have an estimated life expectancy that can be measured in weeks. We lived, Deadeye. We beat those odds." He drained the rest of the glass in one. "But I never forget the rest of them. It's like a gallery of faces in my mind."
"How much worse for him."
He slammed the glass down on his bedside table, replying, "Don't you think I know that? Damn it, Deadeye, I agreed to give him a chance to rescue his career. He's got to want it, and he's got – at least to some extent – to earn it. Tramiel should have put him with Flynt, or Ben-David. They haven't got the same baggage we've got."
"Maybe he decided to kill two birds with one stone."
"Am I the bird or the stone?"
That earned a smile from Caine, but before she could reply they felt the ship turning, the engine beginning to fire. Marshall leapt for his communicator, but it started to beep before he could contact the bridge.
"Marshall here. What's happening."
"Dietz here, Captain. I've just initiated a course change to put us into orbit around Desdemona. Raven Two has found something interesting; your presence is requested in Astrogation immediately."
Looking at this clock, Marshall replied, "I'm on my way. Leave Ryder to see to the burn and meet me there. Have Shirase come down as well." He looked up at Caine, smiling, "I guess something paid off after all."
The two of them raced out of the door and down the corridor to the elevator; as the doors slid closed Marshall willed it to move faster. A short eternity later, the doors opened again in the sensor section. Cheering was resounding around the corridor, coming from astrogation, and they walked in to see a holographic image of Desdemona revolving in the middle of the room, course plots of the three fighters curving over its pole, and zoomed in images of what was obviously an artificial structure over the heat source. Shirase had beat them to the room, and was clapping Vivandi on the back with evident glee, while Mulenga looked on serenely, smiling.
"What have you got?" Marshall asked.
"We found what we were looking for, Captain!" Shirase yelled.
Vivandi smiled, nodding, "Raven Two picked up signs of a complex close to the south pole of Desdemona, almost precisely over the heat source we pick
ed up when we got close. I ordered a closer inspection, and the images we're getting back cannot be anything else. It doesn't match anything we've seen before, either – I think we're looking at a new alien race, one that visited our system millions of years ago. Do you realize what this means, Captain?"
"The first sign that an alien race has ever visited our system," Caine said in awe.
"What about this heat source?" Marshall asked.
"I think it might actually be some sort of active power plant, Captain. This base could be intact, it could be operational! I can hardly conceive of what we might find inside, the answers to secrets a million years old, undiscovered technology centuries ahead of ours, anything. We've got to go down there right away."
Dietz walked into the room in time to hear the last sentence, saying, "We will be in a stable orbit in about ten minutes, Captain. The extremely low gravity means that we can't establish an unpowered Desdemonosynchronous orbit, so we'll have to be content with a series of passes."
Mulenga added, "I have given the bridge a trajectory that will allow Alamo to continue to survey the rest of the moon."
"I hadn't thought of that! There might be other facilities on the moon as yet undiscovered,” Vivandi exclaimed, rubbing her hands together in glee.
"Mr. Dietz," Marshall began, "have the duty communications officer contact Mariner Station, and inform them of our findings to date. State that I am officially registering a claim on this moon under the Treaty of Quetta on behalf of the Triplanetary Confederation, and I would like it confirmed as rapidly as possible." He looked around at the eager officers. "Obviously we're going to need to take a look at this."
"I'll get a landing team ready immediately!" Vivandi began to walk out of the room, only to be restrained by Marshall.
"Not so fast, Doctor. The first priority is to make sure the area is safe and secure. We'll keep the first team small. I'll take Shuttle One down with Corporal Clarke, Dr. Vivandi and Third Lieutenant Douglas."
The protests began instantly across the room, with Dietz getting in first, "Captain, this is extremely irregular."
"I'm going, Lieutenant. That discussion is ended. Doctor?"
"If you're going, so am I," Caine said. "I'm the liaison with the science team, remember, and I probably have more experience with aliens than anyone else on Alamo."
Shirase was looking at the monitors again, then turned to Marshall, saying, "My people have a strong stake in this, sir. They should be represented."
Sighing, Marshall nodded, "Caine, you can come along, but not you, Mr. Shirase. I need the operations officer to remain on board and monitor the situation. Lieutenant Caine has qualifications that could help the landing party." Left unspoken was Marshall's lack of such training. "Doctor, do you want anyone else?"
"I suppose I should take Cross, as well."
"Very well. We'll balance out with a couple more espatiers, I'll let Clarke pick the ones he wants for the landing. We leave in thirty minutes; you'd better get yourselves ready."
The room began to empty, until only Mulenga, Dietz and Marshall remained. Dietz was looking at Marshall with a stern expression on his face; Mulenga simply looked entranced by the sight of the base.
"Get it out of your system, Lieutenant," Marshall said to his exec.
"Captain, your place is here in command. Lieutenant Caine is fully qualified to command the landing team; I certainly agree with you that we can't let the science team down there alone until we are certain it is safe and secure."
"I have full confidence in your abilities to command this ship in my absence, Lieutenant. I don't really expect to find anything dangerous in a million-year-old base, and I have four espatiers to guard me in the event something goes wrong."
Dietz nodded, and thinly smiled, replying, "I have the distinct impression, Captain, that no argument I could make would convince you not to go."
"Our Captain is a born tourist, Lieutenant," Mulenga said, "I don't think anything other than a full-scale attack on Alamo would keep him from the surface."
"In that case, I will wish you good luck, Captain."
Marshall smiled, then looked up at the hologram again. "Mulenga, I want you to come down with the balance of the science team and the rest of the espatiers once we have made sure the facility is secure. I intend to leave you in command of the garrison on the surface."
"In the event that the frigate attacks, you intend to defend this facility?" Mulenga asked.
Marshall looked at Dietz, then nodded, "This just became the most valuable piece of property in the Uranian sub-system. I can't turn it over to the Lunar Republic without a fight; I'd rather give them Shakespeare. Alamo will remain in orbit until I receive orders to the contrary. Your priority will be establishing a defensive perimeter around the alien base; if you need anyone or anything from Alamo, I expect to hear about it instantly."
"I will start making my plans immediately, Captain."
"Mr. Dietz, while I'm on the surface, keep Mariner updated constantly. You'd better get in contact with Shakespeare Station as well."
"Should we try and keep it secret?"
"No. I want the whole system to know that we've found this base – emphasis on the 'we'. If we keep it a secret we're almost inviting the Lunar Republic to try a covert snatch and grab operation."
Nodding, Dietz said, "I will make the necessary arrangements."
"Bring the fighters back in and have them readied for immediate launch; get them ready for action. How's Quinn doing with his hangar queens?"
"At last report, he had one of the two fighters operational."
"Good. I hope we don't need them. I'll see you when I get back."
Marshall turned, walking out of the room down the corridor towards the elevator, a smile on his face. This was what he had signed up for.
Chapter 13
The ceiling was painted in specifications, blueprints and diagrams; Orlova furrowed her brow as she tried to follow the complicated pattern, constantly referring to one or another of the datapads strewn across her lap. For the last day she had been locked in her room, trying to work out what could have gone wrong; a long-dead cup of coffee sat mouldering by her side as she was lost in a sea of engineering. It didn't help that the systems on the station were old; she could see the beams projected by the hologenerator, and the flickering lights were beginning to give her a headache. There was a knock on the door.
"I'm busy," she said.
Despite her protest, the door slid open to reveal the concerned face of Lieutenant Warren, who settled himself in a dilapidated old plastic chair at the foot of her bed that creaked alarmingly under his weight.
He gestured down at the chair, "Still can't get used to all this damn gravity."
She sat up, blueprints covering her cheek where the beam hit her, datapads clattering to the ground. She reached over for her coffee, took a sniff, then thought better of it.
"Sorry, Lieutenant."
"Call me Teddy, for god's sake. Everyone else does. Not much use for ranks out here."
"Fine. Are we going up again?"
"Not until the technicians get finished working out what's wrong with our bloody missiles we're not. Smug bastards have been giving me grief since we touched down, rubbish about how they were right all along. I still say they weren't; I'd rather find out about misfires now then when our lives are depending on those missiles hitting home."
"You were right."
He smiled, "Thanks for that, Maggie. Mind if I call you Maggie?"
"Not at all. And that wasn't a moral argument. I've spent the last twenty-four hours reading up on these missiles, and fired a bucket-load of questions to Quinn. I don't trust these Belter tinkerers out here."
Leaning forward, a frown crept across his face, and he replied, "What have you found?"
"That there is no possible way for all the fail-safes to have gone wrong in that way. Too many safety features built in – at the worst, there are two redundant destruct systems."
"God
yes. Last thing we want is for a bird to spin around and hit us in the butt! I remember back on the Wright,..."
She interrupted him, "We were sabotaged."
He fell silent, rubbing a hand across his face, pausing before responding, "Are you sure?"
"No other explanation makes sense." She tapped a button, and a series of circuits lit up. "So many things would have had to go wrong with that missile that it wouldn't have launched at all. That's another thing – our own auto-diagnostic systems should have caught it, and they didn't."
"Which means?"
"That someone tampered with the missiles, probably at the programming level. Of course, with your missile destroyed, we have no way to be sure, but that is the only solution that makes any sense."
"So we can't trust our ordinance. Damn it."
Frowning, she said, "It means that someone here is actively working against us, probably for the Republic. We have infiltrators on board."
"Maggie, I know that what happened on your first mission might have colored your viewpoint a bit, but we don't have spies and mutinies every time we leave dock, you know."
"Lieutenant," she couldn't quite bring herself to call him Teddy, "just because it happened once doesn't mean it won't happen again. There is something strange going on out here."
"Oh, I'll let Danny know about it in my next data packet. I'm firing one off to him in an hour, anyway. What I came here for was to tell you about the party – I want you to attend."
Her eyes widened, "Excuse me? I've just told you that there is evidence that someone is sabotaging our missiles, that they may well be doing all manner of things to our fighters, and you are telling me to go to someone's party?"
"Yes. Has it occurred to you that the programming could simply be off? Your conspiracy could just be some drunken computer tech passed out on his console."
"Or it could be something a lot more serious. We need to get station security on this right away."
He shook his head, "Already done, but if there is some sort of plot, what makes you think they aren't involved?"
That stopped her for a moment, but she continued, "What good are we without our missiles?"
Fermi's War Page 10
