The two crewman picked up the stretcher, and started to walk down the concourse, Salazar standing over the procession with his pistol raised, his eyes darting around. He spotted a figure hiding behind one of the stalls, raising a rifle, but his finger was quicker, and with a loud crack, he caught him in the arm, sending him dropping back against the bulkhead. The crowd froze, all silent, waiting for someone to make the next move.
“Everyone stay still!” Salazar yelled. They were halfway to the shuttle. It was unlikely that anyone could have hacked into its systems, not with Alamo’s security team running interference, but the odds were that they would have company waiting for them at the airlock. The group moved forward, Orlova arcing back, moaning, while the temporary bandage that Garland had placed on turned deep crimson.
Another couple of Alamo crewmen waited at the airlock, a body by the ground to their side. The hatch was open, and Salazar raced in, heading for the cockpit, while Garland secured Orlova in the aft compartment. He threw switches, not bothering to request launch clearance. Stabbing a dozen override commands in a row, he closed the hatch and unlocked the docking clamps, kicking the engine to put the shuttle on a course back to Alamo.
“...to Shuttle. What’s happening over there?” Kibaki’s voice echoed as the communicator burst into belated life.
“Medical emergency, Garland will give you the details. I’ll be on board in,” he looked down at the navigation computer, frantically working on a course, “thirty-one minutes.”
“Pavel, what…”
“Get me Actual, Joe. I need to speak to the Captain. Urgent. And get the ship on alert status. You’ll understand why in a minute.”
Chapter 8
“Why the standby alert?” Caine said, tugging on her uniform jacket as she sprinted to catch Marshall before he caught the elevator.
“Something on the station,” Marshall said. “Maggie’s been shot. Critical condition, on her way back, while Duquesne’s pulling her hair out trying to give Garland instructions by remote. Salazar said something about inbound shuttles.” He stepped through the door, tapping for astrogation.
“This is the bridge,” Kibaki’s voice echoed. “All hands, battle stations. Repeat, all hands, battle stations.”
“Your decision?” Caine asked.
“Not all of the watch officers are as eager to take us into battle as Salazar. I’ve got Frank Nelyubov heading up to mind the store for a moment.”
The doors opened, and the two of them walked down the short corridor to the astrogation room. Lieutenant Race already had everything set up, Alamo resting at the heart of the tactical display, Grant standing at the far side of the room, his arms crossed, shaking his head.
“I make more than fifty,” he said. “Look at that cluster up by the rings.”
“What have we got, Lieutenant?” Marshall asked.
“By the look of it, fifty-nine shuttles, on time-on-target collision courses with us. Whoever’s running them is being clever. They’ve still got ample maneuvering reserves.”
“What about an analysis of the shuttles? Any special modifications?” Caine asked.
Grant tapped another control, and a holographic display of one of the approaching craft appeared. He gestured at the rotating image, and said, “Nothing. They match the Block III model. Spinelli managed to get a couple of identification numbers from local craft, and they are definitely of United Nations origin.”
“Time to intercept?”
“That partly depends on us,” Race volunteered. “We can change course and head away from the system, but they’ll be here long before we can jump clear.”
“Surely we can outmatch some shuttles,” Caine said.
“They can always break their formation in two,” Grant said. “Or three. I wouldn’t like to see the aftermath of an impact by twenty shuttles. We’d be sitting ducks for an attack, likely for weeks, and we know that the system is close to hostiles. They’ve planned this perfectly. Those shuttles are far enough away, spread out enough, that they have the initiative.”
“Communications?”
“Negative,” Grant said. “The duty commtech’s been trying, but someone’s set up discriminators on their internal systems. It’s unlikely that they’ll even know that we’re trying to talk to them.”
“They must know that they’ve been hijacked,” Race said. “That their course has been altered, and that the shuttle isn’t under their control.”
“Not necessarily,” Caine replied. “Lots of those shuttles were on constant-boost trajectories anyway. If someone has taken over their control systems, they could easily have taken over their sensors as well.”
“Just a minute,” Race said. “They’d…”
“Oh,” Caine interrupted, “They’ll work it out sooner or later. But every second they wait is one less second in which they can try and fix their problems. How long have they got?”
“Twenty hours is the shortest estimate.”
“Even if some of them do manage to retake control,” Grant said, “how can we be sure that all of them will? Captain, I think this presents a clear and present threat to the ship, and that we must take appropriate action.”
“What do you recommend?”
“We have three shuttles at our disposal. And can probably requisition more from the station in relatively short order. In the time we have left, Ensign Cooper’s platoon can intercept at least nineteen of the incoming ships, rescue the passengers, and destroy them. I’ll deal with the compensation claims later.”
“That leaves a flat forty, Lieutenant,” Caine said.
He took a deep breath, and said, “They’ll be easy to pick off as they approach, ma’am.”
Shaking her head, she said, “Well, Lieutenant, you can sit at Tactical and do that, because I won’t, and I’m damn sure that Frank Nelyubov won’t either. I didn’t join this Fleet to shoot down civilian ships. Last minute course changes…”
“Ma’am, they have higher acceleration than we do, especially at short bursts.” Shaking his head, he continued, “We don’t have a choice. There’s a chance some of them will save themselves anyway, and we can shoot to damage rather than destroy.”
Reaching down for a control, Caine highlighted two freighters, hovering out at the far hendecaspace point, and said, “If we did that, the UN would go mad. Footage of a Triplanetary Battlecruiser picking off civilian shuttles one at a time? That coverage would be on the news for weeks, and the General Assembly would use that as an excuse to start a war. Damn it, this might be the whole damn plan.”
Turning to Marshall, Grant said, “Sir, you’ve made it clear that Alamo is on an extremely important mission, one critical to Triplanetary security. Can we really afford to put that at jeopardy? Hell, for all we know those pilots all volunteered for this, might be not-men…”
“That’s not what Salazar reported,” Marshall said. “He and Orlova got close to getting one of those ships themselves. Far more likely that they’re being used.”
“Maybe,” Grant said. “I’m looking at trading forty lives for a hundred and twenty. Or more, if Alamo fails to complete its mission.”
“Lieutenant,” Marshall said, looking him in the eyes, “I have no intention of committing what I consider to be a war crime with this ship. I tolerate this as a suggestion, but recommend that you do not repeat it.”
“Aye, sir,” he said, looking down at the deck.
Race frowned, then said, “He might be onto something, though, sir.” He withered under Marshall’s glare, and added, “No, sir. I think that intercepting one of those shuttles at least might be worth it. If we could work out the control systems, we might have a chance at knocking out the whole system.”
The door opened, and Harper walked in, clutching a datapad. She looked up, shook her head, and said, “I doubt that would work. If we approached one of the shuttles, they could shut down th
e systems.”
“There might still be evidence, though,” Race pressed.
“Not unless they’ve done something at the molecular level. My guess is that they’d blow up the shuttle. One way or another.”
Nodding, Marshall said, “Which leaves us nowhere. We’ve got to find out where they are controlling the shuttles from.”
Caine looked at the system schematic, sighed, and said, “There are a hell of a lot of moons in this system, Danny. Hundreds of places they could be hiding. It would take months to search them all, and we’ve got hours at best. I don’t even know where we could start looking.”
“What about hacking into their systems ourselves?” Marshall asked Harper. “Any chance on that?”
“I’d need to be able to get into their systems first, and they’ve left no way in.” She smiled, and said, “Give me five minutes at their controls, and I’ll have those shuttles dancing for you.”
Grant reached over to a headset, put it on, and said, “Bridge, this is Astrogation. Execute course change. Pick up on the shuttle to get it on board faster, and then over to the far hendecaspace point.” He looked at Marshall, and said, “It’s one way of finding out.”
Tapping a control, Marshall said, “Mr. Kibaki, execute that command.”
The group looked up as Alamo’s engines began to roar, the ship moving from its previous position in synchronous orbit, curving around the moon and towards the station, the trajectory plot curving past it, arcing out to its final position. There was no attempt at any intricate maneuvering, no attempt at deception, just a simple straight-line course.
“Look,” Race said, after a few minutes. He pointed up at one of the shuttles, and said, “Course change. And another.”
Nodding, Grant said, “I’m running the numbers now. Got it. Based on total light-speed delay, those orders came from close-by. Somewhere within a hundred thousand kilometers of us.”
Frowning, Marshall reached for Grant’s headset, and said, “Kibaki, how long before we have the shuttle on board?”
“Docking sequence under way now, sir.”
“As soon as they are on board, I want a new course change implemented.”
There was a brief pause, and the watch commander replied, “Where to, sir?”
“Wherever the hell you want, Sub-Lieutenant. Clear of our current trajectory.”
After a longer paused, Kibaki replied, “Aye, sir.”
“That’s going to read well in the log,” Caine said with a smile. The engines paused for a moment as Alamo swung around into a new trajectory, Kibaki locking the ship on a course that would eventually take it on a slingshot course around the local star, in a few thousand hours.
“Going for the scenic route,” Race said.
“That’s Joe Kibaki,” Caine replied. “The man’s a born tourist.”
“Course change!” Grant said. “They’re onto us. I can narrow it down more finely now. He frowned, then said, “Far side of the station. What looks like a small communications relay. Either that, or the station itself.”
“Anyone want to toss a coin?” Harper asked.
“My guess is the relay,” Caine said. “Something that our friends can control completely. On the station there would always be a chance of discovery, or infiltration.”
Shaking his head, Grant replied, “I think it’s the station. With the relay as a decoy.” He shrugged, and said, “Split the difference. Launch a boarding action on the station and destroy the relay.”
Harper looked at the display, and said, “We can’t do it.”
Grant’s eyes narrowed, and he said, “It’s a small satellite, no more than a dozen people, and they’ll all be…”
“One,” the hacker replied, “If it is a decoy, we’re killing civilians. Two, I think that it won’t make any difference. Any sensible programmer will have built in a fail-safe should the link-up fail. It’ll need to be disconnected.”
Shaking his head, Grant said, “If that’s the case, we can just maneuver out of the way. Recover the crews at our leisure.”
“No,” Caine said. “They’d just set them to self-destruct. Plot them on a course for the nearest gravity well. Or for the station, wiping that out as well.” With a deep sigh, she said, “They’re still holding us to ransom whatever happens.”
“Where on the station would we start to look, anyway?” Race said.
“Operations,” Grant replied. “A full-scale assault, and get Harper here into the network. Push it till it gives. Our sensor crews can check for heat dispersal, see if someone’s powering a second network. It can work.”
Marshall looked from Caine to Grant, then turned to Harper, and said, “Are you sure you can hack their network if we give you a clear run? They might be using an unknown code.”
“They aren’t,” she replied. “Not if they are interfacing with UN systems. And if they managed to work out a way to blend the two together, we’ve got bigger problems than this.”
“Look, sir,” Race said. “The trajectory plots are changing. I think they’re already wise to us.”
“They’re splitting into two groups,” Caine said. “One for a first strike, the second on standby. Covering their bases.”
“That’s that, then,” Marshall said. “Bridge, this is the Captain. I want a message sent to the Station Administrator right now. Tell him that I am commandeering his station under, ah, Section Nine-Twenty-Eight of Treaty of Vesta. An Espatier force will be along presently. Any further communications from the station are to be ignored.”
“Sir, you can’t telegraph our actions like that!” Grant said.
“Cooper?” Marshall asked into his microphone. “What’s your status?”
“My platoon is in the hangar deck, shuttles ready to launch in two minutes. Maggie’s in a hell of a mess, sir.”
“Get over to the station. Orders to follow once you are in the air.” He glanced at Harper, and said, “Launch when Harper gets to you.”
“Aye, sir,” the Espatier replied. “Consider it done.”
“I’m already on the way,” Harper said, racing from the room.
“You’ve warned them,” Grant said. “Sir, you’re sending those men into a trap.”
“Wrong, Lieutenant,” Marshall said. “I’ve chosen to trigger the trap at a time and place of our choosing. I’m sending them over to the relay. My guess is that Caine’s right.”
“Then…”
Looking up at the image of the station, Marshall said, “Last time we fought these not-men, their superiority complex did the damage. I think this time we can use that to our advantage again. Cooper’s going to have to take a little detour.”
Chapter 9
With one last scan at his datapad, Cooper looked up at his men, and said, “Listen up! This is how it works. Third Squad gets the action this time.” Flashing a smile, he continued, “That’s why you get the pleasure of my company. Sergeant Morton gets to have some fun over on the station showing off, but our job is to keep a low profile. At least, to start with.”
“What are we doing, sir?” Lance-Corporal Stewart asked.
“Third Squad got the best marks for zero-gravity combat, as well as spacesuit warfare. We’re going to need both of those today. Brace yourself for this one. We’re doing a five hundred kilometer spacewalk.”
“That’s impossible,” Private Watkins blurted. Shaking his head, he said, “We never trained on anything like that.”
“Relax,” Harper said, lounging at the back of the shuttle. “Belters do hops like this all the time, out on the double-rocks.”
“With shuttles ready to pick them up, and no-one shooting at them,” Watkins replied.
Corporal Vaughan frowned, asking, “Sir, you realize that they will still pick up our heat signatures. There’s no way to avoid that. And you are talking about a spacewalk lasting more than three hours
.”
“Both true,” Cooper said. “Sergeant Morton, I hope, will be causing enough of a distraction to divert attention for a while, but there is another option that should pay off for us. This shuttle, as well as the others, is going to start seeding decoys all around the station.”
“Physical countermeasures…,” Watkins said.
“It’ll work, Private,” Harper said. “We’re not missiles, shuttles, or anything heavy like that. Basically we’ll be swimming in a sea of confetti, all the way from the contact point. The cover will be a close-range sensor run by the shuttles of the station.”
“Why not just use the shuttles?”
Shaking his head, Cooper said, “Our pass will be at more than two hundred kilometers. We’re hoping that the enemy will conclude that we’re still looking for the source of the transmissions. Those shuttles will be conducting similar runs on both the freighters close-in on the station. Besides, we’re going to need surprise on our side.” He smiled, then said, “As we have less than sixty seconds from breaking the airlock to getting our tame hacker into their control center.”
“One minute?” Stewart said, shaking her head. “It doesn’t seem possible.”
“I seem to recall you taking a medal in zero-g gymnastics at the Triplanetary Olympics last year. I saw that routine of yours, and you executed it in forty-five seconds.”
“That was different, sir,” she replied. “I had months to practice, knew every detail.”
“You do this time.” He looked around the squad, and said, “I know that you can do this. We’re talking about a UN installation, and that means we have a good idea what the internal layout will look like. Four spokes to a core, with the core as the target. They won’t be expecting us until we’re right on their laps, so no time to defend, and you’ve got plasma rifles to play with.” He gestured up at the weapon racks, and smiled, “Just don't power them up until the last minute.”
“What if something goes wrong?” Watkins asked.
“Well, then, Private, you will die a slow and painful death. Or one of Alamo’s SAR shuttles will pick you up, more likely. Your navigational computers are up to this, and there’s nothing intrinsically difficult about the jump. You’ve all done untethered spacewalks before in your combat training. This is just a little longer.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Not In My Name Page 7
