Marshall looked down at the status board on his right, the smile still fixed on his face. One quick shakedown cruise to work out the bugs with ship and crew, and they could begin their real mission, a twelve-month patrol of the frontier, working back out towards Jefferson. Unexplored space, once again.
The main engines roared for the first time in six months as Alamo moved away from the station, Imoto gently guiding her towards the egress point as the dimensional compensators charged. Though no one would be showing it openly, he knew that everyone would be feeling the same sense of excitement that he was, the beginning of a new mission.
He rubbed the new insignia on his label, smaller than the Commodore's double-star he'd been wearing for the last year. It might have only been a brevet rank, but Remek had made enough noise about making it a permanent arrangement, giving him a flotilla to command in the Xandari Peacekeeping Fleet. It had taken every favor he'd earned to prevent that, and it was worth it. This was where he belonged, at the heart of the action, not stranded in an office. One day, perhaps, he'd have to take a permanent promotion. But not today.
“Ten seconds, Captain,” Imoto said, his knuckles white on the controls.
“First transition, Midshipman?” Marshall asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Just go smooth and steady, and you'll be fine.”
With a blinding flash of Cerenkov Blue, Alamo flew through the dimensional tear, entering hendecaspace to begin the transit to Proxima Centauri. At last, they were on their way, and somehow, Marshall finally felt as though he'd returned home.
Chapter 4
Salazar pulled himself out from under the wrecked shuttle, his uniform and hands smeared with grime, and looked up at Lombardo, standing next to him with a grim look on his face. In the background, Clarke nervously watched, waiting to hear whether he would be exonerated or condemned.
“I'll be damned if I can find anything wrong with the control systems hardware,” Salazar said. “Not a thing.” Waving a datachip, he continued, “I managed to pull the telemetry data, though, and I think I found out why it didn't transmit an alert to Alamo.”
Looking at the component, Lombardo replied, “That's not a standard fit. Two terminals missing.” Frowning, he continued, “An older design, a lot older, designed for the old Mark Three.”
Nodding, Salazar clambered to his feet, and said, “Now tell me what a thirty-year-old component was doing in a modern shuttle.” Running his finger across the top, he added, “From a quick inspection, they look the same. You'd have to go right into the guts of the system to find it.”
“I suppose it could be a maintenance error,” Lombardo said, shaking his head, “Though it seems like one hell of a coincidence if it was. Midshipman, I'd say you're in the clear.” Scanning down the display on his datapad, he continued, “The parts inventory we received looks fine. Which means the correct chip was installed.”
“Wait a minute,” Clarke said, stepping forward. “This doesn't make any sense. If someone wanted to sabotage the shuttle, why leave any record at all? Why not rig a bypass, or custom-design something that looks exactly correct but stores no data?”
Nodding, Lombardo replied, “The kid has a point, Pavel. Either of us could have done a much better job with a little notice. Hell, anyone with some engineering training would be able to slam something together.”
“Meaning either our saboteur was in a hurry, or that he didn't care whether or not there was a record,” Salazar said. “I suppose he could have assumed that the shuttle would be destroyed, that we wouldn't be able to mount an investigation until we left hendecaspace, but that sounds a little too much like underestimating the enemy for my liking.”
A fierce-looking woman, gray streaks running through her brown hair, stormed across the deck, ostentatiously wearing her flight jacket. Behind her, a pair of pilots followed, one of them smiling as she recognized Salazar.
“How long is all of this going to take?” the woman asked. “We've got simulator training scheduled, and I need to get this man,” she gestured at Lombardo, “to complete a full maintenance cycle on our birds at once.”
“Weren't they checked at Mariner, ma'am?” Lombardo asked.
“I'm not concerned about the condition of the fighters, Sub-Lieutenant, but the training and experience of your deck gang. I need them to be familiar with our new ships, enough that they could complete a full maintenance routine with their eyes closed.”
Raising an eyebrow, Salazar said, “I don't think we've been introduced. Lieutenant Pavel Salazar, Security Officer, and currently I'm in the middle of an investigation into potential sabotage.” Gesturing at the pilot to the woman's left, he added, “Hello, Jessie. Congratulations on the promotion.”
“All down to you, Pavel,” Lieutenant Jezebel Murphy, a veteran of the dying days of the Xandari War and Salazar's former wingman, replied. “It's nice to be back.”
“Ah, so you are the infamous Pavel Salazar,” the woman replied, her frown growing. “I've heard all about your performance at Phobos, Lieutenant, and it is a mystery to me why you are still in the service. Certainly I wouldn't have you in my squadron.”
“Fourteen,” Murphy said.
“Excuse me?”
“Lieutenant Salazar is one kill away from being the only Triple-Ace in Triplanetary service, and has personally accrued more kills than the whole squadron put together, ma'am.”
“We will talk about your attitude later, Lieutenant,” the woman said, stabbing Murphy with a glare. “As for you, Salazar, you can play Sherlock Holmes on your own time, not mine.”
Taking a step forward, Salazar replied, “Ma'am, I am engaged in a critical investigation under the direct orders of the Captain. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with him.” Turning to Lombardo, he continued, “Art's deck gang is the best in the fleet, and they've had experience with fighters and shuttles of every type. All of them are veterans, all of them have served on this ship before, and I have never found them to be less than exceptional. Right now they have far more important things to attend to than a superior officer's whims.”
Her eyes widened, and she replied, “You are addressing a senior officer, Lieutenant.”
Flashing a smile, Salazar said, “As I said, ma'am, you can take it up with the Captain, but based on your attitude, I'm more of the opinion that I'm addressing a potential saboteur. Why else would you be attempting to hinder my investigation?”
“You haven't heard the last of this,” the woman replied, turning to the elevator. One of the pilots followed her, flashing an apologetic glance at Salazar, but Murphy remained, shaking her head with a smile.
“Who the hell was that?” Salazar asked.
“Senior Lieutenant Deborah McCormack, Ace Pilot,” Murphy replied. “As she takes every opportunity to point out.”
“Is she any good?”
“As a pilot, yes. As a human being, no. Whether or not that will be a problem remains to be seen.” Looking at the shuttle, she said, “Any progress?”
“I can't definitively prove it, but I'm damn sure we've got a saboteur on board. Good start to the mission.” Shaking his head, he added, “Just for once, I'd like a nice, boring tour of duty.”
“You'd hate it,” Lombardo replied.
“Maybe,” he said with a smile. He looked back at the shuttle, and said, “What are you going to do with her?”
“Strip her for parts, I think. The superstructure's a write off, and most of the hull plating is gone, but the internal components are still sound. Should save us a lot of fabricator time.” Lombardo frowned, then added, “I suppose we could try and repair it, but the work involved would be extraordinary. And Mariner was nice enough to send us a new pod.”
“What is our load-out, this trip?”
Lombardo's eyebrow rose, and he replied, “Better than last time. Seven Hurricane II Space Superior
ity Fighters, the latest in service. Fast and nasty.”
“I know,” Salazar replied with an enigmatic grin. “I had a chance to play with one, a few months ago. Maybe I'll get to tell you that story someday. Shuttles?”
“Two refueling shuttles this time, both modified versions on the ones we had before, four landing shuttles, four shuttlepods, two search-and-rescue ships.” Shaking his head, he continued, “I'm glad they installed that extra elevator airlock. We're going to need it.”
“Sounds like you're going to have fun with your new toys.”
“I'm just glad someone decided to give me an assistant.” He gestured at Clarke, working with a team of technicians on the nearest fighter, already beginning to strip down the lateral thruster.
“I thought he was meant to be Systems Officer's Mate.”
“The Systems Officer had other ideas. I don't think he trusts the kid.” Glancing at Clarke, he continued, “Between you and me, I've got Kowalski keeping an eye on him. He seems happy enough, at least for the moment.”
“Exposing an innocent youth to the wiles of our Quartermaster?” Salazar replied with a smile. “Are you sure that's a good idea?”
“Hell, skipper, he's got to learn sometime.”
Salazar's face dropped, and he said, “Careful, Art.”
“What?”
“This ship has a commander, and his name is Daniel Marshall.”
Frowning, Lombardo replied, “What do you mean?”
“Call me Lieutenant, Sir, Pavel, or anything you like, but I don't think 'Skipper' is appropriate.”
Shaking his head, Lombardo replied, “Sorry, Lieutenant. I guess it just slipped out.”
“Make sure it doesn't slip out again. Especially not where someone like McCormack could hear. She'd nail you to the wall, and we both know it.” Glancing at the elevator, he continued, “If she gives you any more trouble...”
“She's empire-building,” he said. “Thinks I should be working for her, not the Systems Officer. If we were on a carrier, she'd be right, I know, but Lieutenant-Captain Caine was quite clear about the chain of command.” Shaking his head, he continued, “I don't mind about myself, Pavel, but I don't want any of my people to run into problems.”
“And the flight leaders?”
“Jessie's fine, of course. Still as wild as ever. I guess a year with a training squadron didn't knock all the sharp edges off. The other one, Kerry Bryant, he's the quiet type. Seems competent enough, but until I see him in action...”
“Smart,” Salazar replied with a nod. “Not my problem, I guess. Still...”
Before he could finish, a siren sounded, and he turned to the fighter, racing towards the sound of the chaos, Kowalski hastily clearing the gaggle of technicians away. Clarke leaned down towards the hard-point, his eyes widening as he turned to Salazar, face growing pale. A missile had been placed inside the launch tube, and the trickle of red lights cascading around the side warned that it was armed, ready to detonate.
“Art, get on the telemetry and try and disable the damned thing!” Salazar yelled, diving underneath the fighter. “Kowalski, get me a Number Three Toolkit. Clarke, evacuate the deck, and that includes you! Close all blast doors behind you. We've got to keep this contained.”
“Damn, it's a Thunderbolt,” Lombardo said, looking at the warhead. “Ten kiloton yield. It could rip the ship into small pieces if it detonates inside the hull.”
“All the more reason to stop that from happening,” Salazar said. “Chief, where's my toolkit?”
“Right here,” Kowalski said, sliding in next to Salazar, cracking the box and rummaging through the contents. “And don't say anything stupid about me leaving, or I'll just have to ignore a direct order.”
“Wouldn't dream of it,” Salazar said, looking around the deck as Clarke ushered the technicians away, the doors slamming shut as the last of them fled the hangar. Up above, he could hear the cockpit cover sliding open as Lombardo slid inside.
“We're locked out,” the engineer said, shaking his head. “Give me a minute, and I'll try to crack in. Someone's really done a number on this baby.”
“Magnetic screwdriver, Chief,” Salazar said, and Kowalski placed the tool in his hand. “Be ready with a Salzberg servospanner when I tell you.” He started to work the bolts free, one after another, easing open the inspection hatch to allow access to the missile tube within. A glance at the launch mechanism convinced him that the warhead was clamped in place, ready to detonate if he attempted to remove it. Somehow, he was going to have disarm it where it was.
The inspection panel dropped free, and he gently lowered it to the deck, peering at the gloom within. Kowalski pulled out a flashlight, shining the bright beam through the gap, and Salazar nodded with approval as he took the servospanner, frowning at the warhead within. In theory, he knew how to disarm the warhead, but he'd never worked with a live model before.
“Damn!” Lombardo yelled. “The targeting computer just went live. It's working on a firing solution with something, I think one of the simulator programs kicked in. You've got a hundred seconds before the damn thing launches!”
“Great,” Salazar muttered, reaching inside. “Just great. Chief, you got a pair of work goggles handy?”
“Already configured,” he replied, snapping the eyepiece over Salazar's head, the interface working with his new artificial eye to provide a heads-up display, an image of the components within overlaying reality. Carefully, tentatively, he reached in, starting to free the side panel, working his way into the bowels of the missile. At least everything seemed to match the design specifications, no obvious sources of sabotage in evidence. Someone had simply activated the missile, tricking the computer to begin a launch sequence. Given time, he could hack into the systems and disable it safely, but he didn't have that sort of time.
“Art, open the nearest elevator airlock,” he said. “I'm going to have to go for the clamps. We'll never disable the warhead in the time we have left.”
“You're going to throw it out into hendecaspace?” Lombardo asked, working his controls.
“Can you think of a better place for it? Micro-Hydrolic, Chief.”
“Here you go, sir,” Kowalski replied, passing him the wrench. The trick would be to disable the magnetic clamps without disrupting the data connection, and that meant taking a piece of the fighter along for the ride, going for the launch mechanism rather than the missile. He moved to tool into position, listening for the faint whine that told him that his plan was working, and caught the first bolt as it dropped away, reaching for the next one.
“Seven in total, sir,” Kowalski said. “Watch yourself.”
“If this blows up, Chief, I don't think my exact location on the hangar deck will matter.” He gently slid the wrench to the next position, hearing the clamps lock into position, the motor engaging to smoothly tug the bolt free. Four down, now. Three to go, but they were going to be the hardest, on the far side of the missile. He reached over, then felt the wrench start to slide out of his sweat-laden hand, tightening his grip just in time.
“Sixty seconds,” Lombardo said. “Elevator airlock open, and I've set for emergency decompression as soon as you drop the missile inside. We'll need the atmospheric boost anyway.”
“Right,” Salazar said, trying to find the final bolt, sweeping the wrench gently around in a bid to locate it. Finally, he heard the reassuring click, and the last piece of the puzzle broke free, the missile dropping away from the launch tube, mechanism with it. With a glance at Kowalski, the two of them reached in, carefully tugging the armed warhead free, supporting it with their weight as they guided it out of the tube.
The pair raced to the elevator airlock, Salazar leading the way inside as he gently placed it into position over the hatch, taking a cautious step back, his heart skipping a beat as the missile rolled to the side with a soft thunk.
“C
ome on!” Kowalski yelled, and the two of them burst from the airlock, Lombardo hastily working the controls, the airlock slamming shut. A thunderclap followed, the noise of the atmosphere within being expelled, the outer hatch twisted and tangled by the force of the erupting air leaking into hendecaspace.
Racing to a wall communicator, Salazar crashed his fist on the control and said, “Hangar Deck to all sections. Stand by for explosion, close aboard! Seal blast doors and hang on!”
The ship shuddered as the missile detonated, an angry grinding noise from the hull evidence of damage. Kowalski raced over to the status monitor, Lombardo hard on his heels, punching controls to bring up a damage report.
“Well, Chief?” Salazar asked.
“Outer hull breach in two areas, but the inner hull is fine. Elevator Airlock Four is a wreck, but we expected that. We shouldn't have any trouble making repairs as soon as we emerge from hendecaspace.” Shaking his head, he said, “That was far too close, sir.”
“You won't get an argument from me,” Salazar said. He stepped over to the fighter, then said, “Now, could someone tell me what the hell a missile was doing in the launch tube of one of these birds while we're in hendecaspace?”
Kowalski pulled out his datapad, shaking his head, and said, “I honestly don't know, sir. There's no record of one being drawn from the fabricators, and we've only made one testing model since the refit. Safely detonated last week. I did it myself.” With a frown, he replied, “That has to have come from Mariner.”
“All of the fighters were checked by the deck crews when they arrived,” Lombardo protested. “If there had been anything anomalous, we'd have noticed.” He tapped the status monitor, and said, “You can see the signature of the testing team attached to every one.”
“Bridge to Hangar Deck,” Marshall's voice yelled. “Pavel, what the hell is going on down there? We've got a pair of incipient hull breaches, and we just registered a missile explosion close to...”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Into the Maelstrom Page 4
