“Trust me, if I'd wanted a cover story, I'd have come up with something a damn sight more plausible than this.” She looked up at the sky, and said, “We're just setting them up, aren't we. One more distraction for Colonel Cruz, a way to draw Waldheim into the fire.”
“I wouldn't put it that way to the rebels, but that's the general idea.”
“A lot of them are going to die.”
“And they'll free their planet doing it. They might die today, but they'll live forever. Or something like that. I vaguely remember words to that effect on the recruitment poster.”
She turned to him, then asked, “What's your first name?”
With a smile, he replied, “John.”
“Will you do me a favor, John?”
“Sure.”
“Don't die. Because I'm honestly not sure whether or not I can go through with this without a gun at my back. Does that sound crazy?”
“I'm about to launch my second suicide mission of the week, and my team consists of myself, a double- or triple-agent, and a man who gets his kicks by making big explosions, with ambitions of dying gloriously in the name of his dead brother. Crazy's the word of the day. Maybe the year.”
Chapter 15
Marshall looked up as the cell door cracked open, Pastell walking inside with a brutal-faced guard standing beside him, both with pistols in their hands, the barrels pointed at him.
“I don't even rate a firing squad?” Marshall asked.
“Not today, Captain,” Pastell replied, abruptly turning to the guard and shooting him in the chest, sending the surprised figure collapsing to the ground. Marshall leaped to his feet, looking at the dying man on the floor, then up to Pastell, eyes wide. “Come with me, Captain, if you want to live.”
Without waiting to see if Marshall was following, Pastell turned back to the corridor, racing away from the cell, boots ringing against the deck as alarms wailed, alerts of a prisoner on the loose. Wasting no time, Marshall chased after him, muscles sore from his long confinement, glancing to the side at the cells containing his shipmates.
“Wait,” he said. “Can we...”
“No time,” Pastell replied. “They're safe. You're the only one Cruz was going to kill. Aside from me, that is.” Reaching across to a maintenance hatch, he entered an access code, cursing as a red light flashed on. “They've moved quickly. Already locked out my passwords.” Passing him the pistol, he added, “Cover me.”
For a brief moment, Marshall was tempted to end Pastell's life right there, but a pair of advancing guards soon changed his mind, racing down the corridor towards them. Marshall fired a quick shot, sending the leader ducking for cover, and bullets flew through the air as Pastell worked at the controls, struggling to release the mechanism. Finally, a green light flashed on, and the panel slid open.
“Move!” Pastell ordered, hurling himself through the hatch. Marshall dived after him, flailing for handholds that weren't there. Behind him, the hatch slammed shut, leaving them in darkness, falling down the tunnel. Gradually, their weight declined, and Marshall belatedly realized the plan. If this passageway went all the way to the core of the ship, they'd be in zero-gravity at the end.
As they entered no-weight, they passed into a brief halo of lights, and Pastell snatched at a handhold, reaching to grab Marshall as he drifted past, slamming the two of them into the wall with sufficient force to knock the wind from both of them. Marshall recovered first, kicking clear of his erstwhile jailer and raising the pistol to cover him.
“Are we safe?”
Pastell nodded, and said, “For the moment, but we're going to have to keep moving. About sixty seconds ago, nine decks had a decompression alert, and blast doors will be slamming shut all over the ship. That should buy us enough time to get lost.” Gesturing at the pistol, he added, “Unless, of course, you intend to kill me.”
“That's a realistic possibility.”
“Trust me, you'd have to get in line. I believe Colonel Cruz has decided to move herself to the head of the queue. I was to be executed along with yourself, by the man I just killed. It was meant to look like a failed escape attempt.” A thin smile danced across his face, and he added, “I simply decided to make sure that it was successful. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Which side are you on?”
“My own, naturally,” Pastell said. “I have no wish to die, Captain, and if I can find a way to bring this insanity to an end, I will. There are eight hundred people on this ship, and as far as I can tell, Colonel Cruz has decided that they are all pawns to be thrown away for her power games. I think they are somewhat more than that.” Leaning forward, he added, “More than that. Did you know that there are more than two hundred people from the surface up here? Human shields, to try and prevent your Lieutenant Salazar from launching an attack.”
Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “It won't work. He'll never sleep again, but if he must, he'll make the same decision I would. That trading two hundred lives for a hundred thousand, as horrible as it seems, is a deal he can live with. And as for your crew, forgive me if I don't weep too long for them. They chose their fate.”
With a barking laugh, Pastell replied, “More than half of them are indents, Captain. We've already had some deserters down on the surface. I believe our new commanding officer is considering reviving the practice of decimation in order to keep them in line.”
“How does someone like that get into a senior position?”
“A combination of nepotism, ruthlessness and a certain brutal efficiency. That, and prior to our departure, she was restrained by her connections on the Security Council. For all of her talk, I think she's determined to set herself up as a tyrant out here.”
“And she failed to ask you to join her?”
“I didn't like the price,” Pastell said, his face darkening. “You've got no reason to trust me, Captain, but as far as I can see, you don't have a choice. I will allow you to retain the pistol if it makes you feel more comfortable. You're a better shot than I am anyway. As long as it is understood that we have to get on the move, and that we both have the same objective.”
“Which is?”
With a sigh, Pastell replied, “The destruction of this ship. We both know that Cruz won't rest until she's dead. I had hoped to inspire a mutiny, but with her control of the ship's security systems, I'm afraid it simply isn't an option. We're going to have to do this the hard way.” Gesturing at the tunnel, he added, “Of course, all of this is completely academic if we're captured. Shall we?”
Nodding, Marshall gestured with the pistol, and Pastell led the way deeper into the tunnels, swinging around a handhold into a side passage with the air of a seasoned spacefarer, gently gaining speed by kicking off the walls, careful to avoid the power transfer cables strapped to the wall.
“Did Alamo make it away clean?” he asked.
Shaking his head, Pastell replied, “They sustained two hits from the mass drivers. They must have had some warning, though. They were already beginning to maneuver, and they managed to get away from the fighters. You should have seen the look on Cruz's face when Alamo ducked through the asteroids. I swear she was seconds away from attempting a pursuit, though that would have simply been a very quick way of committing suicide.” Turning back to Marshall, he added, “They're hanging free and waiting at the moment.”
“That won't last long,” Marshall replied. “If I know Pavel, he's already working on something down on the surface.”
Nodding, Pastell said, “Probably with Sub-Lieutenant Clarke.”
“What?” Marshall said, reaching for Pastell with enough force to send them both spinning. “Clarke's dead! Back on Dante!”
“No, he isn't. I've had the pleasure of several long conversations with that young man, though I doubt he enjoyed them as much as I did. My complements, by the way, on the quality of your junior officers. I wish
I had a few people with that much drive and initiative under my command.” At the look in Marshall's eyes, he continued, “We already had a rescue shuttle in the air, trying to retrieve one of our pilots. There was a minimal window to retrieve Clarke, and we managed to snatch him just in time. General Estrada wanted to question him, and Colonel Cruz wanted to lynch him. Fortunately, I was able to take charge of his interrogation myself.”
“Where is he?”
“Down on the surface, with my mistress,” he replied with a smirk. “You see the extent to which I trust him, Captain? His escape was arranged at the first opportunity, though I fear it ruined what was left of my working relationship with Colonel Cruz. Despite a complete lack of evidence, she opted to blame me for his departure. I swear, that woman takes paranoia to new heights.”
“She's right, though.”
“That has absolutely nothing to do with it.” Ducking through another passage, he added, “I'm hoping that he managed to make contact with one of the rebel factions on the surface. Up here, there wasn't much he could do, not without my direct assistance, and I'd rather hoped that your victories would convince Estrada to come to the table.” Gritting his teeth, he added, “I hadn't known about Salyut Station.”
“Do you really expect me to believe that?”
“In your place I would not, but it happens to be true. My mandate is for internal security only, and I was kept completely out of the loop regarding combat operations. Cruz managed to take charge of the planet. Frankly, I'd rather thought she'd overextend herself, and I'd have a chance to undermine and bring her down. We're operating on what amounts to my last resort at present.”
“That's not particularly reassuring,” Marshall said. “Where are we going?”
“Forward Sensors,” Pastell replied. “If Alamo is planning a surprise attack, I think it would be in everyone's best interests that they get as much time to prepare as possible. You already did enough damage to the aft array that resolution's terrible. If we can match that, then Cruz will be lurching blindly across the system. More than that, it'll ruin the targeting for the laser cannon.”
“Surely they'll get repair teams on it.”
“Naturally, but it'll take time, and it'll take them away from other areas. She's got more than a hundred of the crew down on the surface playing at being soldier. You did a real number on our ground forces at Dante, Captain, and we're going to reap the dividends of that now.”
Pausing, Marshall asked, “You seem to be changing sides rather quickly, and writing off...”
“We're talking about a hand-picked team of savage thugs led by the most degenerate field commander I have ever seen. Picked for their brutality and their willingness to ignore even the most rudimentary rules of war.” He closed his eyes, and continued, “They've already perpetuated at least one massacre on the surface that I know of, and that I helped with that will haunt me for the rest of my life.” Turning to Marshall, he continued, “I've always thought that Earth stood for something better than that. Maybe it was the War, but something changed, and not for the better. Things are bad back home, and getting worse by the year. It's not so bad out on the frontier, as long as you get the right commander. But that's the problem. Less and less oversight, more infighting.”
“You could always defect.”
“I was considering that,” he replied, and Marshall raised an eyebrow in response. “Don't look so shocked, Captain. I'm sure you've met traitors before.” With a deep sigh, he added, “I swore an oath that meant something to me once. It only stopped when I realized I was one of the few people taking it seriously.”
“You've killed men in cold blood.”
“Only when I knew they deserved it. And shooting someone in the back is a good way of avoiding getting killed yourself. Besides, Triplanetary Intelligence had pulled similar stunts in the past. It's a dirty game, Captain, and you get filthy when you roll around in the mud whether you like it or not. I haven't had the luxury of keeping myself clean.”
Ducking into a side passage, he added, “We're almost there. One long stretch. There will be two guards, and I know that one of them is loyal to Cruz. We'll have to kill them both.” At Marshall's expression, he angrily added, “You'd lob a missile at them without thinking! What's the difference? Don't want the blood on your hands? Give me the pistol, and I'll do it.”
“I'm a little less cold-blooded about it than you, and killing my shipmates...”
“Fine, you want to surrender? I can call Cruz right now.”
A scowl on his face, Marshall replied, “Let's get this over with. I still don't trust you.”
“That's the smartest thing you've said yet.”
The two of them ducked down the corridor, keeping to the sides, pushing free of the tangled cables that dropped from the ceiling. Evidently routine maintenance was confined to those parts of the ship that received regular inspections, visits from senior officers. Some of the equipment was decades old, long out of date, seemingly kept working by perspiration and hope.
“The whole ship's like this, isn't it,” Marshall said.
“A glass cannon,” Pastell confirmed. “Why do you think we stress fighter combat so heavily? I don't think Waldheim's had a proper refit since the War. Oh, we take her into dry dock for a while, make it look good, but that's all. If we spent a little more money on keeping the Fleet in proper condition and a little less on vanity projects of the Security Council, we might not be falling into second place economically right now.” Turning his head back to Marshall, he added, “Don't get smug. Wounded animals tend to fight back, and we've still got a more powerful fleet than you. Even if you won a Second Interplanetary War, we'd do enough damage to scar you forever.”
“You're still proud of your people, aren't you.”
“Wouldn't you be, in the same circumstances? That much will never change.” Gesturing at a final shaft, a ladder leading down to an access hatch, he added, “Through there. Then about thirty meters. We take the guards, then you cover me while I do horrible things to the sensor software. I shouldn't be more than a minute.”
“You can do that much damage with software?”
With a grim smile, Pastell said, “I've been running security on this ship for the better part of five years, Captain. Trust me, if I want something broken, it gets broken. Are you ready?”
“I'm ready.”
“Then let's go.”
The two men descended down the ladder, gravity rising as they descended the shaft, the hatch opening automatically as they reached it. Dropping to the deck, Marshall raised his pistol at the two guards, firing a single shot to scatter them, triggering an alarm. A bullet flew through the air by his side, and he rolled to the deck, firing a second shot that caught one of the guards in the arm, his weapon falling out of his grip. The other guard managed a quick shot, but Marshall's third bullet found its mark, and the man crumpled to the wall, blood flowing from a wound in his shoulder.
“Get started,” Marshall said, and Pastell raced to the controls, clutching a datapad in his hands, the connecting cable swinging back and forth. Moving to the wall, Marshall found a medical kit, and turned to the first guard, pulling out a bandage and carefully placing it into position, following it up with a sedative. Pastell barely looked up, only sparing a second to shake his head, before returning to his work.
The other guard looked up in fear as Marshall approached, his face pale, blood continuing to stream down his shoulder from the gaping wound. As he pulled out a second bandage, the guard pulled away, desperation in his eyes.
“Don't worry,” Marshall said. “I'm not here to finish you off, but if you don't let me give you something, you'll be dead before your medics can get here.”
With a curt nod, the guard relaxed, and Marshall quickly injected a trio of drugs into his wrist, sedatives, painkillers and coagulants, before tugging free the remnants of his sleeve and placing a dressing
in position.
“They wouldn't have done the same for you,” Pastell said.
“And that, Major, is the most important difference between us. How long?”
“Forty seconds. Watch the corridor.”
Footsteps echoed in their direction, shadows in the distance preparing to launch an attack. The alarm had evidently done its work, and was needed no more. Marshall raised his pistol, moving forward to take advantage of the dubious cover of a protruding cable junction, and waited for the enemy forces to make their move.
He wasn't left waiting long, but he managed to take the first shot, momentarily causing the leading elements to hesitate, but fear of what was behind them override the fear of his weapon. A half-dozen figures charged towards him, unleashing a salvo of bullets that rang from the walls and the ceiling, desperate fire not intended to kill, but to pin.
“Got it!” Pastell said, turning to the hatch. Marshall glanced back at him, a scowl on his face, as his supposed ally raced clear, leaving him alone to deal with the aftermath of the attack. A bullet passed close enough to his face that he felt the rushing air, and he prepared to spend his last round well before another siren sounded, blasts of high-pressure carbon dioxide slamming into his assailants, clouds of dry ice filling the air.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Marshall raced for the hatch, a hand swinging down to help him up, and Pastell pulled him to safety. As the two of them scaled the ladder, returning to the safety of zero-gravity, Marshall glanced back at the corridor, the hatch slamming shut behind them.
“I thought you'd left me behind,” he replied, panting.
“You're about the only friend I've got left on this ship,” Pastell replied. “I'm not going to give you up so easily. Besides, I prefer it when they have more than one person to shoot at.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Spell of the Stars Page 14
