"Gabi, we just got that report in from Alamo."
"Shit." She stood up, and the two of them ran out of the room, half-expecting to run into a pair of security guards, but there was no-one in sight.
"Now what do we do?"
Esposito quickly looked up and down the corridor, then replied, "Security section. I don't think Gomez was lying to us. At the very least we should be able to arm ourselves."
"And if he was?"
"Then we're in big trouble. You got any better suggestions?"
"Only that we take our time about it. Oh, one thing." She pulled her datapad out of her pocket, and threw it through the open door onto Esposito's bed. Nodding, the ensign followed suit. The two of them walked down the corridor cautiously, then scrambled down a maintenance ladder into one of the lower levels, hoping to make their way to their destination without being detected. As the door slid closed behind them, Orlova could hear the sound of running feet, and she immediately doubled her pace.
Chapter 17
The flickering image of Counter-Admiral Remek winked off the screen as Marshall continued to curse under his breath. He pounded his fist onto the briefing room table, sighed, and held his hand over the communications button, pausing for a moment, shaking his head again before finally tapping it.
"Kibaki here."
"Have the senior staff paged; meeting in the briefing room immediately. Set it up so that Lieutenant Mulenga can teleconference from the surface."
"Will do, Captain," replied the watch officer's calm voice. Marshall envied the older man his equanimity. After only a few seconds, the flickering hologram of Mulenga appeared at the far side of the room, quickly resolving into a solid image. The astrogator was rubbing his eyes with one hand and doing up his uniform jacket with the other.
"Sorry for disturbing you, Lieutenant."
Gesturing at his disheveled form, Mulenga replied, "Mr. Kibaki indicated you wanted to see us immediately. I'd just turned in; I've been out at the ruins all day. It really is astounding to be surrounded by relics of such antiquity. Places everything truly in its proper perspective; I wonder how many of our ruins will be poured over by some younger race, hundreds of thousands of years from now."
"I just hope there is anything left to find."
The door slid open, and Caine walked through, waving at Mulenga as she took her customary place. Shirase was hot on her heels, looking around the room, the grin on his face that had been present since the discovery of the natural reactor still as annoying as ever. Dietz walked in, a datapad held in his hand, and sat next to Marshall; Cunningham and Quinn were the last ones in the room, the latter rushing to sit before the wing commander. All of them were looking at the head of the table, waiting for him to begin, most of them having the appearance of having rushed into their uniform. It was 0200 ship time, the middle of the standard sleep cycle, to be fair.
"Sorry for waking you all up."
Dietz replied, in his immaculate uniform, "I presume something serious has come up."
"All of you have been fully briefed about what we found on Desdemona? Well, now show have the Combined Chiefs of Staff, and I've received our instructions from Counter-Admiral Remek. I'll forward her message to your terminals, nothing especially secret about it, but it boils down to this: Alamo is to defend Desdemona if feasible against any attack."
"If feasible?" Caine asked, grimacing.
"That's exactly the language the Admiral used, Lieutenant."
Cunningham was shaking his head; Quinn looked around the room, asking, "What does that mean?"
"It means, Lieutenant, that the Captain has been placed on the hot-seat. The Combined Chiefs of Staff – and presumably the Senate – want very badly to hold this facility against all comers, and are willing to give him a blank check to carry out that mission." Mulenga said.
"Unless it all goes wrong, in which case the Captain – and probably the rest of us – get hung out to dry," Caine added.
Placing both hands on the table, Marshall looked around the room at his officers, replying, "I have no intention of starting the Second Interplanetary War over this. Not unless the Republic gives me no choice. I will state this now, and for the record – under no circumstances will Alamo strike the first blow."
Shirase's good mood was broken, "We've got to hold this moon, Captain. The future of the Belt – of the Triplanetary Confederation – is dependent on this facility."
"We managed fine without it," Cunningham said. "What's changed to make it worth throwing lives away for?"
"The effect on our GDP would be favorable, and there are questions of the balance of power...", Dietz said, before being interrupted by Shirase.
"We found it, we need it, it belongs to us."
"Nevertheless, Lieutenant," Marshall said, "I will do everything possible to avert war. Readings on the Frigate?"
Caine pulled out her datapad, "They went to a lot of trouble to mask the type, but it looks to me like a Type-17. They only built a few of them – fast and nasty. Intelligence reports that they use them to train their crews for battlecruiser operations, which means that they have the pick of the crop and are fresh. We don't have much on this type, so the intelligence advantage will be theirs, though I think I could find a few weak spots."
"We fight, who wins?"
"Toss a coin. I'm afraid that's the best I can do. We could significantly improve the odds if we could maneuver."
"We can't do that!" Shirase yelled. "That would concede control over Desdemona."
"Our espatier force would likely disagree. Mr. Mulenga, how's the garrison coming along?"
"By tomorrow we'll be ready to face three-to-one odds with reasonable possibility of victory. There is substantial risk of damage to the base, though; I'd much rather avoid a fight."
"The reactor is the priority," Shirase said. "What do some ruins matter?"
"They are not yet ruins, Lieutenant, and I would rather avoid them becoming such," Mulenga replied, his brow furrowed. "Captain, realistically, if it becomes a surface battle, victory is unlikely."
"Our fighters, Mr. Cunningham?"
Sighing, the wing commander shook his head, "I've got them ready, but they just aren't suited to this sort of work. Mr. Quinn is modifying them for full-combat duties, but even with all four fighters up, I don't see it providing a tactical edge."
"Find some way to improve those odds," Marshall said.
"I've already told you that can't be done. We need interceptors, not patrol-types. Wrong fighters for the mission..."
Marshall's hand slammed down, "Well, we've got the mission, and those are the fighters we have. Find a way to improve the odds, Lieutenant. Consider that an order – and I don't expect to have to repeat myself again."
The room grew silent as the officers looked at each other; Dietz finally broke the ice, pulling out a datapad, and feeding information into the computer; a series of course projections leapt out from Shakespeare Station to the incoming track of the frigate.
"I have been considering options. Ten hours before the frigate arrives at Desdemona, there is a launch window for the interceptors we have based there to reach the frigate."
"And leave them out of fuel!" Cunningham stood up from his seat, looming over the executive officer. "You'd be condemning those pilots to spiral down into Uranus for a series of mounds of rock."
Looking up, Dietz replied, "Alamo could pick up any survivors twenty-nine hours later."
"Any survivors?"
"Mr. Cunningham," Marshall said, "Sit down. Now." He turned to Dietz, "Good idea, Lieutenant, but that would constitute a first strike attack. We cannot give them any justification for conflict; at present the high ground is entirely ours, and I want it to remain that way."
"As Lieutenant Shirase said, we found the base, and are occupying the moon. All of this is being conducted under legal salvage laws agreed by all powers," Mulenga said. "I am slightly surprised that they are making this attempt."
"They're hoping to get somethi
ng out of the situation. I'd probably agree to grant Republic researchers access to the alien base." Marshall frowned for a moment, then continued, "I would even accept the decision going to arbitration." He raised his hand as Shirase's face began to redden, "Largely because I don't doubt that we would win. We hold all of the cards."
"So the only thing that can go wrong is for the Republic to do something stupid. And they might be many things, but stupid certainly isn't one of them," Caine said. "This could even just be a side-show; it's a good way to tie down a battlecruiser for a while at the cost of a training frigate. More expensive for us than for them."
"For all we know this is simply a badly-timed training exercise," Quinn said, earning a stare from Shirase and Cunningham.
"You don't seriously believe that," Cunningham said, shaking his head.
"We can't rule out options. Nor can we assume hostility."
Marshall nodded, "Mr. Quinn is quite right; we can't leap to assumptions. I suspect that they'll end up writing this one up as a training exercise, simply in order to justify what I think we all hope will be a failed mission. Nevertheless, I want battle stations drills over the next twenty-four hours. Let's make sure everyone is as ready as possible for action in case it comes to it."
"I'm sure we will succeed in holding Desdemona for the Belt, Captain," Shirase said.
Giving the operations officer a look, Marshall said, "Dismissed."
The officers rose, filing out of the room, talking to each other about the impending battle drills; Mulenga yawned and tapped an invisible button, his image disappearing. Caine lingered for a moment, looking back at Marshall, who was rubbing his hand over his eyes.
"I guess you got about as much sleep as I did."
"Probably less." He raised a hand, "Don't worry, I intend to crash in my cabin for a bit now."
"More than a bit. Dietz and I can handle what's necessary for the next eight hours or so; you should get some sleep."
He smiled, wearily, "Yes, mother."
"Why don't you listen to that music Esposito sent back for you? You can't have had a chance yet."
Frowning, he asked, "What music?"
"Didn't you find it in your office? She asked me to put it there for you. Apparently she stumbled across a box full of that weird music you keep inflicting the senior officer's deck with, and figured you'd be interested. Old recordings, apparently."
"That must be what I've been tripping over the last couple of days."
She shook her head, "I'll remember that when I buy you your next birthday present. Go get it – then listen to it. I don't expect to see you on the bridge until at least 1100."
"Yes, ma'am," Marshall replied, shooting off a mock salute.
Still shaking her head, she left the room, and Marshall followed, making his way up to the bridge. It was quiet on Gamma Watch, Kibaki curtly nodding at him as he crossed the room into his office. Peering under his desk, he saw the bag he had kicked underneath his desk days before, and reached under to grab it. A dusty old box was sitting on the top; he ran his datapad to translate the characters, and smiled. Half a dozen of his favorite composers, and all early editions. Also in the bag was a helmet, similarly dusty, with Mandarin written across the base. Curious, he ran the reader over it.
"Uranus Expedition. 2061."
An interesting footnote to history; at some point China had made it out this far, and ahead of anyone else as well. Something he was going to have to bear in mind when dealing with the Republic, that might be the grounds they were using. Idly, he pulled the receipt out of the bag, reaching for his credit stick to repay Esposito, when his eyes lit on the source of the artifacts. Desdemona. He slammed his fist on the communication circuit.
"Dietz, Caine, my office, right now," he shouted into the intercom, before switching over to the bridge. "Get Mulenga on the line, Mr. Kibaki, immediately! Top priority!"
"Sir?"
"Do it right now, Sub-Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir."
A few seconds later, a tired voice came over the intercom, "Captain, don't think I don't like speaking to you, but I was hoping to get some sleep tonight."
"Have you found any signs of human presence down there?"
Mulenga's voice was instantly sharper, "Aside from the body you found, none. Why?"
Caine walked into the office, puzzled; Dietz was behind her. Both of them saw the helmet placed on the desk and looked at each other, while Marshall gestured to them both to take seats.
"I want a full check of the site. Go over everything again. Get Cunningham to start some more aerial swaps, absolute top priority."
"Yes, sir. What have you found?"
"Where did you dig that up, Danny?" Caine asked.
"I didn't. According to this receipt, it was found on Desdemona."
"What? Who by?"
"Excellent question." Marshall stabbed the communications button, "I want a full-encryption person-to-person to Ensign Esposito on Shakespeare, immediately."
"Will do, Captain," Kibaki's voice echoed.
Dietz picked up the helmet, took a picture with his datapad, and started working on an image search. After a few seconds, he sighed, put his datapad down, and looked at Marshall.
"Mid-21st century Chinese helmet. It matches the writing perfectly."
"There are no records of any expeditions here prior to the Brazilian flight of '68, and they just looped around on a modified space station. No touchdown on any moon until EuroFed in '75. Certainly no record of any Chinese interest at all."
"2061. Just before the declaration of the Lunar Republic," Mulenga noted. "A time when they were most interested in expansion into space, and had the capability for such a mission."
"With the big war a few years later to conceal it from the records. Or if it failed, there may never have been a record."
"What makes you think it might have failed?" Caine asked.
Dietz nodded, replying, "Why abandon what appears to be a perfectly functional helmet? Possibly it could have been an oversight, but it would be strange to find just a single artifact."
Waving the box of music around, Marshall shook his head, "Not just one artifact, Mr. Dietz. I'd bet that this music originated from exactly the same source."
"Our top priority must be to confirm age and establish that they did indeed come from Desdemona. Certainly the helmet is likely to have been used on the surface at some point, so there will be particulate residue."
"Worth checking the music crystals as well, in case they were cached. I've already ordered fighter overflights of the area of the alien base to look for recent activity; I want Alamo to change its orbit to cover the entire moon in the next twenty-four hours. If there is a stray particle on the surface, I need to know about it."
"Yes, sir," Dietz replied.
"This gives them the edge, Captain," Caine said. "If they have proof of prior occupancy of Desdemona – hell, if some of their people died there..."
"Then they have all the arguments they need to make a claim to the base."
"Except possession. But an unlawful claim to the planet does not put us in a strong position to negotiate," Dietz added.
"I agree." Marshall paused, then asked, "Where's that comm link?" He stood up, walking to the door, and peered into the bridge towards the duty communications technician, "Ortega, why haven't you got through to Shakespeare yet?"
"Their duty controller states that both Ensign Esposito and Sub-Lieutenant Orlova are missing, sir. I was just about to call you."
His eyes widened as he replied, "Put me through to the duty controller, immediately!"
She flicked a switch, and passed across a headset, "You're on, sir."
"Captain Marshall speaking. What's happened to my people?"
There was a slight delay as the message went from Alamo to Shakespeare and back again, "Lieutenant Tokubai here, Captain. I really have no idea; they haven't reported for duty. Our security teams are looking for them now."
"Lieutenant, I will be cal
ling again in one hour, and by then I expect to be talking to my people or hearing a damn fine explanation as to why."
"If I might ask what the problem is, Captain?"
"No you may not, Lieutenant! Where is Lieutenant-Major Akimoto? Patch me through to him at once."
"I'm afraid he is in sleep shift at this time, and I cannot disturb him. I will arrange for him to contact you when he awakens. Shakespeare out."
Slamming the headset down on the console, Marshall turned to Caine and Dietz, who had followed him out of the office. His face was red, and he was shaking his head in barely-controlled rage.
"What the hell is going on over there?" Caine asked.
"Under other circumstances, Captain, I would recommend immediately proceeding to Shakespeare Station," Dietz said.
"We don't dare. I'd like to, but right now, we can't. It would be an open invitation to the frigate," Caine replied.
Marshall nodded, reluctantly, "I know. Tempting, though. We'll wait that hour, see what happens next. Mr. Dietz, get those tests run immediately. Have you got the personnel on board to do it?"
"I understand Dr. Vivandi reported back on Alamo two hours ago with some samples," he replied, heading towards the elevator, the bag in his hand.
"Get that in works now, I want a report at the earliest possible opportunity. Probably too much to hope that this all some sort of a clever fake, but let's get that possibility comprehensively ruled out."
Ortega looked over, panic in her eyes, from the communications station, and in a high voice said, "Captain? We're getting a message handshake from the incoming frigate!"
Marshall looked at Caine, saying, "A month we've been trying to contact them, and they want to speak with us now?"
She glanced at her wrist computer, thinly smiling, "If someone on Shakespeare – maybe even Tokubai – immediately sent a message to the frigate..."
"Then by now they know that we're found something other than the alien base. I'll take the call in my office, Spaceman." He looked up at Caine, "Get on the electronic warfare packages, just in case."
"If I spot an opportunity?"
"Don't take it unless I say. Feel free to do a bit of light snooping, they'll expect that in any case."
Fermi's War Page 14
