Battlecruiser Alamo: Into the Maelstrom

by Richard Tongue

   “They'll be guarded,” Blake replied, nodding, “but not as tightly as the docking areas. With a little luck, we ought to be able to pick up something. And as long as it at least has thrusters, we should be able to make it back to Alamo, at the price of a minor diplomatic incident.”

   “Assuming Waldheim doesn't shoot us down first.”

   “At this stage,” Clarke said, “I don't think we have much choice.” He peered up into the gloom, knowing that there would be footsteps echoing on the rungs above in a matter of seconds. “Come on. Let's move.”

  Chapter 9

   Marshall frowned as he scanned the personnel roster, going through the lists for the tenth time and setting up a new series of cross-reference checks. Leaning back in his chair, he turned to look out at the tranquil starfield, the station edging into view on the extreme right of the display, the slowly tumbling rock that was at the heart of his problems.

   The door slid open, and Caine walked in, saying, “We've just had a message from Ensign Rhodes. He's apparently got a couple of dozen undercover operatives on his tail, and I've gone through the images he's sent. Lots of big names over there, according to the files. I guess there is something big happening over there.”

   “You're probably right, Deadeye,” he replied. “Though I'm beginning to think we're never going to find out what it is. At least, not until it is too late.” Turning to her, he said, “We've not been told everything. That much is obvious. And it is just as obvious that there are people on this ship who have.”

   “Harper and Salazar?” she asked. “If this is about Midshipman Clarke, well, if it's an old intelligence mission, we probably don't need to know about it, and...”

   “Deadeye,” Marshall interrupted. “How many personnel in the Triplanetary Fleet under the rank of Counter-Admiral have Double-Ultra security clearance?”

   “I haven't the faintest idea.”

   “Fifty-two. Mostly specialists, drafted in for one reason or another for special assignments. More then half of them are warrant officer grade.” Looking up at her, he continued, “Of the rest, we are blessed with seven. Seven out of twenty-four who I would describe at least loosely as line officers.”

   “Seven?” Caine asked, taking the seat opposite Marshall.

   “Harper, Salazar, Lombardo, Scott, Strickland, Clarke, Blake.” Shaking his head, he added, “How in the name of hell does a Midshipman end up with that sort of security classification, and why did someone go to such lengths to have him assigned to my ship? More than that, Salazar knows him, trusts him. My gut tells me that he was the one who pulled the strings to get him on board.” With a sigh, he continued, “There's something going on here, Deadeye, and with a dreadnought in-system, we can't afford to take risks. I damn well need to know what's happening.”

   After a brief pause, Caine replied, “Do we?”

   “I think we do.”

   “Someone out there doesn't agree, and it's just possible there's a good reason for that. I agree that it seems strange that so many personnel with that clearance are on board, but four of them at least have been with the ship for a long time. You don't think they'd have done everything they could to stay, regardless of the mission?”

   “The others, though? Have you seen Strickland's record? For ten years, the man's had the most boring career I can think of. One brief starship tour, on a frigate that never went any further out than Saturn, and a collection of nowhere outposts and stations. Until suddenly, there's a huge blank spot in his file, about at the same place as Clarke's, and he reappears with Double-Ultra clearance and a surprise assignment to this ship.”

   “Danny...”

   “And what the hell did happen to Maggie, anyway? Some sort of secret mission that went wrong, taking a lot of good people with her. The nucleus of a command staff, in fact.” Looking up at her, he continued, “Check out Pioneer's personnel file.”

   Looking at the list, Caine said, “I don't recognize anyone.”

   “Neither do I, and isn't that interesting. There aren't that many people assigned to deep space duty, and we're a pretty tight clan. Somehow, that ship has a commander who has apparently served since the War, and I've never heard of him. Nor of anyone else on that ship.” His eyes bored into hers, and he continued, “I think the personnel files were faked.”

   “Orlova and the others?”

   “Possibly.”

   “Why keep it quiet, though?”

   “If they were on some sort of a secret mission, Deadeye, something that might prove embarrassing or dangerous to the Confederation, then someone, including our old friend Logan, might have instituted a cover-up.”

   “About a dead star in the middle of nowhere?” Caine asked. “Did Doyle give you anything new?”

   “Only confirming what we already have in the files,” he replied.

   Pausing, Caine said, “Do you trust Salazar and Harper?”

   “I don't know.”

   Shaking her head, she replied, “That's not much of an answer, Danny. They're out there on that station right now risking their lives for this ship, and for the Confederation. So I'm going to ask you again. Do you trust that Salazar and Harper will act with the best interests of the Fleet in mind?”

   “Yes, I suppose so.”

   “Then I don't understand what the problem is.” Sitting back on her chair, she continued, “If there is information we don't have at the moment, then there has to be a good reason for it. I think I know Pavel well enough to tell you that if he could brief you, he would, and that if he thought you needed to know, he'd have found a way to tell you. Kris too, probably, though I admit her loyalties might be a little divided.” Frowning, she added, “There's a bigger problem here, Danny.”

   “What do you mean?” he replied. “Bigger than a cover-up that might be threatening the safety of this ship and her crew, to say nothing of the survival of the Confederation? Let's not pretend that Triplanetary Intelligence hasn't played tricks on us before.”

   “True, but that isn't the real problem.” Looking around the office, she says, “Nice, isn't it. Shame it isn't yours. Have you got around to fixing that chair yet?”

   “No, I haven't.”

   “This is still Maggie Orlova's office, Danny, and this is still her ship, and more importantly, her crew.” With a sigh, she continued, “And to an extent, Pavel Salazar is your biggest problem. You've come back on board, and tried to start where you left off, two and a half years ago.” Shaking her head, she continued, “The problem with that is that the crew has moved on, and you haven't.”

   “Deadeye...”

   “They went through Hell during the Xandari War, and that they got back at all is largely due to the actions of four of their senior officers. Orlova, Clarke, Salazar and Harper. There are forty or fifty people on this ship who served under Pavel and Kris while they were commanding their own ships. During the escape from the Xandari homeworld, Pavel was in command, and he served as Executive Officer for the return to Confederate space.”

   “What are you implying?”

   “Orlova's gone, Danny, and so is Clarke, but the others aren't, and they're still the ones they're looking too. Salazar especially.” Taking a deep breath, she continued, “I'm going to have to notice someone addressing him as 'Skipper', soon. I've caught three or four of the technicians doing it. Not that Pavel's encouraging it. You should have heard what he said to Lombardo on the subject.” Glancing at the door to the bridge, she continued, “He picked and trained the command crews, with the exception of some of the senior officers. More than seventy percent of the lower decks served on this ship during her last cruise. They know Pavel. They don't know you. And that's the problem.”

   A scowl grew on Marshall's face, and he replied, “I don't think Pavel would ever...”

   “Pavel is being a loyal, dedicated officer, and I suspect he's having serious problems wrestling with his conscience about everyth
ing going on at the moment. He isn't the problem, though if he has received any orders to keep you and I in the dark on matters related to the mission, that's only making things worse. For all concerned. Especially with other officers on board he can brief. Maybe your suspicions are correct to a degree, but I doubt the situation is intentional.”

   “This is my command, Deadeye, and I've been...”

   “Come on, Danny, you know better than that. The Combined Chiefs can assign an officer to assume command of a starship, but without the support and respect of the crew, you can't operate.”

   “And I don't have that?”

   She paused again, then continued, “You made a mistake, Danny. You should have named Pavel as Operations Officer. I know that Francis comes highly recommended, and I know that it's a senior role for his rank, but the crew expected it. That's led to a little resentment, especially among the bridge crews.”

   “Fleet would never...”

   Cracking a smile, she interrupted, “We both know that Salazar has enough friends in both high and low places to smooth that over. No one would have questioned it, and it would have settled this down. What I'm trying to say, Danny, is that when there is a crisis, Salazar's the one they're looking to, not you. Did you catch Bowman on the bridge when we entered the system?”

   Nodding, Marshall replied, “I did.”

   “Ballard as well, and Fitzroy at Flight Engineering.” Shaking her head, she replied, “I see three options, Danny, none of them good.”

   “Go on.”

   “The first is obvious. Transfer Salazar and Harper. You could do that right now, and move them into the Fleet Liaison office over on the station. It's woefully understaffed anyway. Odds are they'd either be back with Intelligence or serving on another starship within a month, so you wouldn't be hurting their careers in the slightest, and it would smooth over the issue.” She frowned, then added, “Lombardo as well, maybe, and Scott.”

   “Four of my best officers.”

   “Which is the problem. It would leave us short-handed for the remainder of this cruise, though we'd be able to pick up replacements as soon as we get back to Mariner, and we're overloaded on Midshipmen to take at least some of the slack. Though if there is more to this mission than we know, we might need everyone we can get.”

   “The second option?”

   “You really won't like this one.” She pulled out a datapad, placed it on the desk, and said, “I've gone over the regulations, and you are completely within your right to name Pavel as Second Officer. I know it would mean bypassing several other officers, not least Senior Lieutenant Francis, but I can find a dozen precedents that permit you to take this action.” She frowned, then continued, “Following which, you would essentially turn command over to him.”

   “You've got to be out of your mind.”

   “He's an experienced command officer, who has a dozen battle stars, some of them earned sitting center-seat on his own ship in time of war. Frankly, he's better qualified than Francis, Dubois or McCormack for the job. If you followed this recommendation, you would essentially be stepping back to become Mission Commander, and I would retain my current role. The crew would accept it, though I think you'd get some resentment from the senior staff...”

   “That's putting it mildly.”

   “Nevertheless, I would strongly recommend that you at least consider it. The third option is the most difficult.”

   “And that is?”

   “You've got to take command. Earn the full loyalty of the crew once again.”

   “Any suggestions, Deadeye?”

   “Only that if you don't know how to do it, you probably should turn command over to Pavel.” Before she could continue, a light flashed on Marshall's desk, a call coming in from the lower decks.

   “Marshall here. Go ahead.”

   “Doyle, sir. I'm picking up something strange on the short-range sensors. Some sort of pulsing effect from the lateral array. I was thinking it looked a lot as if someone was trying to send a covert message to Waldheim.” She paused, then added, “Given the current problems with sabotage, I thought it best to report directly to you on a sealed channel.”

   “Damn,” Marshall replied. “Contact Sergeant Fox, and have her scramble everyone she can muster to the sensor decks. I'm on my way.” Rising from his feet, Caine following on his heels, he strode out onto the bridge, and said to the surprised Francis, “Go to Battle Stations, right now, and lock down all internal communications. Command access only.”

   “Sir,” he replied, “Given the current situation...”

   “Those are my orders, Lieutenant,” Marshall replied. “I'll be down on the sensor deck.”

   “Have McCormack prepare for immediate scramble,” Caine added, racing Marshall to the elevator. “Thirty-second standby for launch, tactical disposition to follow.” Before the bemused officer could reply, the doors slammed shut, and she said, “You realize this is going to escalate the situation, Danny? They'll know we're at full battle alert and will respond in kind.”

   “If someone on board is sending tactical information to the enemy, we're at risk of losing the fight before the shooting starts. We've got to try and take back the initiative, and I don't know any other way to do it.” Tapping his foot on the deck, he said, “Come on, come on, hurry up.”

   “It's a quarter-mile,” Caine replied. “Give it time.”

   Finally, the doors opened, a pair of troopers standing on guard near the door, the deceptively slight Lance-Sergeant Leticia Fox waiting for them. She gestured down the corridor, leading the two officers through the cramped passage, to a sealed compartment with two other troopers waiting outside, one of them tearing at the locking mechanism, trying to open it. Footsteps raced towards them, and Marshall looked up to see Doyle heading their way, communicator in hand.

   “Definitely that compartment,” she reported.

   “Open the door,” Marshall said, looking at the working trooper.

   “Working on it, sir, but the primary seals have been locked down. It's going to take some time.” Shaking his head, the field hacker added, “They really did a number on this one.”

   “Sergeant, do you have explosives on hand?” he asked.

   Her eyes widened, and she replied, “Yes, sir,” with a nod.

   “Then by all means, go ahead and use it.”

   Gesturing for the troopers to move well clear of the door, she pulled a thin tube from her pocket, running the explosive gloop down the side of the hatch in a smooth line, top to bottom. Waiting a few seconds for it to set in place, she pulled out a detonator, inserted the trailing wires into the explosive, then took quick steps away, urging the others to take cover.

   “Fire in the hole!” she said, tapping a control on her combat datapad. A loud report echoed from the walls, sirens sounding as the internal monitors registered the detonation. Clouds of smoke billowed through the air as Marshall moved forward, taking a proffered pistol from Fox as he led the way into the room, waving his hand in a futile attempt to clear the air.

   In the room, crumpled on a console, was the body of a man wearing the uniform of a communications technician, blood dripping from his mouth onto the controls. Two of the troopers moved forward, gently resting the body on the floor, and Doyle raced to the console, quickly tapping out instructions on the panel.

   “Someone did tamper with the array, just as I thought,” she said. “If it's a code, it's a damned simple one, though. Just a series of pulses, maybe a few hundred of them. I think it was entered manually.” Nodding, she continued, “No sign of any complicated computer interface. I'll send the pattern to Security, see if Salazar can make sense of it when he gets back from the station.”

   Peering over Doyle's shoulder, Caine added, “It doesn't match any code I'm familiar with, that much is certain. You couldn't pass much information that way, though.”

   “How much do you need?” Doyle
asked. “It could be as simple as one word, or a short number. Anything. If Waldheim is planning some sort of attack, then we don't know what they might need from us.”

   “Captain,” Fox said, kneeling by the body, “I don't think this was the saboteur.”

   “Who was he?” Caine asked.

   “Spaceman Third Class Lance Green. Communications specialist, assigned one month ago, and this is his work station.” Looking at his chest, she added, “He's been shot, sir, and placed carefully to make sure we wouldn't spot that instantly. Sometime within the last ten minutes, as well.” She paused, then added, “If we'd gone in all guns blazing, we might not have worked it out until the autopsy.”

   “I want a full search of the sensor decks,” Marshall ordered. “The ship should be on lockdown by now, though I have a horrible feeling our saboteur will have already thought of that. Doyle, I need you to get this station back on-line, then start a full monitoring program to make sure nothing else sneaks through.”

   “On it, sir,” she replied.

   Marshall's communicator beeped, and he tugged it out of his pocket, saying, “Go ahead.”

   “Bridge here, sir,” Francis' voice replied. “Waldheim has gone to action stations, and has broken parking orbit. Leonov Station has gone on alert, and our personnel report that the UN forces on the station are heading for the shuttles.”

   “Maintain current position, but initiate evasive action at your discretion should Waldheim move our way. Under no circumstances are you to take any aggressive action without my direct authorization.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Try and contact Salazar for a status report. I'll be up in a minute.”

   “Trouble?” Caine asked.

   “I think we might be a heartbeat away from a shooting war,” he replied. “Come on. We've got to get to the bridge before this situation can get any worse. If that's even possible.”

   “Oh,” Caine replied, “It is.”

  Chapter 10