Battlecruiser Alamo - 7 - Battlecruiser Alamo: Sacred Honor (29 page)

 “Hold fire,” Volski said, peering in. An empty spacesuit lay on the floor on the other side of the door, sprawled on the deck with a dart sticking in it; another crack sounded from a box placed next to it, and Logan grinned.

 “They’ve got a sense of humor, anyway.”

 “Not funny,” Meyer said. “Not funny at all.”

 “Just be glad the bullets aren’t real today,” Harper added with a grin.

 “They aren’t real yet,” Logan said. “Go search; Harper and I will wait here.”

 Splitting into two pairs, the espatiers moved into the next compartment, methodically searching the two long rooms. The aerostat lurched to the side, sending them tumbling into the wall, and another crack sounded from up ahead, followed by a pair of shots, and another crack.

 “That isn’t a speaker,” Logan said. “Come on.”

 His pistol in his hand, he sprinted down the corridor, ducking and rolling into one of the side rooms. Meyer was lying on the ground, twitching; a discarded dart was by her side. Volski was in cover behind a long bank of controls, and there was a shape moving up ahead. Of all the places to choose for a gunfight, Refinery Control was probably one of the worst.

 He glanced over at Volski and blinked three times in quick succession, making certain that the gunman couldn’t see him. The corporal curtly nodded, and nestled back into cover. Counting down in his head, when he reached three he jumped out of his hiding place, shouting and waving his arms about, creating a distraction that lasted just long enough for Volski to get in his shot. With a satisfactory snap, the gunman collapsed to the deck.

 “Good shot,” Logan said, moving forward.

 “Thanks, skipper,” he replied. “Meyer’s fine. They’re using darts too.”

 “She’ll have a hell of a hangover, though,” Logan replied. He slipped a small needle from his pocket, and stabbed it into the gunman, who slumped onto the deck. The tranq shot would keep him out for the better part of a day, long enough that he’d wake up in a nice, comfortable – and quiet – cell back on Spitfire.

 “This one’s out cold. No need to put a guard on him, we’ll pick him up on the way back.”

 “I’ll get Meyer back to the shuttle, skipper.”

 The aerostat jerked to the side again, a strong gust of wind pulling it out of place. If anything, the storm was getting worse; he was beginning to get a little worried about the docking connectors.

 As Volski picked up Meyer, throwing her into a shoulder lift, he walked out into the corridor. The other two espatiers were waiting, standing ready in the corridor, with Harper leaning quietly against a wall.

 “Nothing in the other room?”

 “Storage compartment, sir. All secure.”

 Nodding, Logan said, “There’s a prisoner in there; go and search him. Keep your ears open; if I need you, I want you back out in the corridor in a heartbeat.”

 The two troopers walked into Refinery Control; as soon as they had left the corridor, and Volski had made his way through the hatch, Logan walked over to the opposite end, his pistol at the ready. Before he could open the door, Harper stepped out in front of him.

 “Stand aside,” he said.

 Her head tilted to the side, she replied, “Why did you want the troopers here if you don’t intend to take them with you?”

 “In case I need backup.” Glancing around, he continued, “Finished? I’m in a hurry.”

 She shrugged, stood to the side, and opened the door with the touch of a button. The view on the other side almost sent Logan reeling back to the wall. The forward module was not connected with a hard lock as were the other two modules; the access to the command station was across a long, underslung tunnel – and someone had decided to make it transparent. No doubt it had seemed a wonderfully aesthetic design choice when the aerostat was first constructed, but right now it was making him sick to his stomach.

 Clutching his pistol tight on his hand, he edged out into nowhere, cautiously planting first one foot, then the other, as if he was walking on the clouds. That the corridor was swinging gently from side to side didn’t help, and flashes of lightning surrounded him, swirling amidst the orange and purple. Every step was torture as he forced himself into the void, a voice inside his head telling him that he was going to fall, that there was nothing under him, that this was suicide.

 Another blast of lightning, and he was tossed from his feet once again, his hands reaching for a non-existent handrail. The invisible floor was soft, but it still knocked the wind from him; he edged across on his hands and knees. Someone was using this as psychological warfare, and it was damned effective. While most of his mind was terrified, another part was noting this as a useful tactic to employ in the future.

 Finally, he reached the hatch at the far end, panting for breath. Everything was just about going to plan thus far, but he paused while he dragged the tattered shreds of his sanity back together again, making himself ready for the fray. Taking a deep breath, pistol in hand, he tapped the control to open the door.

 He walked inside, gun at the ready, ducked nimbly into cover behind a convenient pile of boxes, and with a pull of the trigger he sent a figure tumbling down to the deck. Four others were positioned to cover the entrance, but he quickly made out their positions, and tapped a control on his gun, switching it to image acquisition, and sliding a datachip into the butt of this pistol.

 Waiting impatiently for a green light, he looked around the room, scanning the consoles with care; all systems seemed to be functioning normally, but the most critical controls were up ahead in the master control section. Finally, the gun was ready to fire, and pointing it up into the air, he squeezed the trigger four times, sending four homing darts flying across the room. They instantly ranged into their targets, and with a series of crackles, they dropped down to the floor, limp.

 Carefully pulling himself to his feet, Logan walked from person to person, slipping each of them a strong tranquilizer; he didn’t want them to be talking for a while. He turned with a start as he saw a figure in the corridor behind him, her arms crossed; only his cautious instincts prevented him from shooting Harper in the chest.

 “That’s a nice toy. Why doesn’t everyone have one?”

 “It’s only useful in certain situations.”

 She nodded, “Such as when you have full biometric data on the people you are hunting down? What the hell is going on?”

 “I was under the impression that enlisted spacemen do as their officers tell them.”

 “Forgive me for providing corrections to your world-view.”

 With a smile, Logan replied, “Close and lock that hatch behind you. This isn’t the trap I was fearing, and the two of us will be enough to do the job.”

 She complied, then turned back, saying, “Well?”

 “There is more to this than I can say. Suffice for the moment that yes, I knew who would be here, and yes, I was expecting all of this. Except for that damn tunnel.”

 “That’s why you wanted to stay behind when Alamo left, regardless of what the ship was doing.”

 “Exactly.” He took a deep breath, then said, “Look, you are basically in Intelligence now, whether you like it or not…”

 “Actually, I do.”

 “Which means that should anything happen to me, a file will miraculously appear in your little secret archive that will give you full information, as well as a couple of parting gifts. Until then, I need you to accept that there are things I can’t tell you.”

 “Why?”

 “Because I…”

 “No, why the hell do you trust me?”

 With another grin, Logan said, “A hacker of your skill? I haven’t got much choice, have I?” He glanced up at the door. “Come on. If you are going to be here, you might as well make yourself useful. Cover me.”

 Logan walked over to the far end of the room, and gently tapped the door with a smile, darting through before Harper could follow and slamming it shut behind him. His gun was still in his hand as an afterthought, but he turned around to see a tall, dark man with a beaming smile standing in front of the master control complex, a pistol stuffed into his belt. Logan approached him cautiously.

 “You took your time,” the figure said.

 “Damn it, Bernie, what the hell was with that corridor? I almost had a heart attack.”

He raised his hands, saying, “Don’t blame me, it was Fox’s idea. I couldn’t exactly tell him that we were all meant to get caught, could I?”

 “No, of course not.” Logan looked around the room. “Any more surprises I need to know about?”

 “I should be asking you the same thing. I thought you’d be sneaking on board with a few easily-bribable types, not assaulting this place with a squad of Triplanetary Espatiers. And why the hell are you commanding that station up there now?”

 “Not my plan. Sometimes circumstances change.” He paused. “Have you got everything we need?”

 “Everything’s ready to go. I’ll be glad to get home. It’s been too long.”

 Logan eyed his friend cautiously, “Three years. Was that too long?”

 “What are you saying?”

 He shook his head, “Nothing, never mind. It’s been a long week.”

 “All five of my people are secure?”

 “I doped them myself. They’ll have a sweet wake-up in about twelve hours.”

 Bernie looked at the gun, “That’s pointing a bit too close to me, my friend.”

 “Well, I’m afraid I have to change the plan again.” He gestured at the door. “If you walk out of here conscious, it’s just going to lead to questions we don’t want to answer.”

Sighing, he sat down at the console, “That’s something I never did like about working with you, Logan. You improvise so quickly the rest of us can’t catch up.”

 “Ready?” Logan said, raising his pistol.”

 “I hate these damn things. Bad dreams.” He sighed. “Get it over with.”

He squeezed the trigger, and his friend slumped in his chair. Carefully stepping forward, he checked his vital signs then injected him with the same tranquilizer, then slapped a pair of stiff handcuffs onto him. The door slid open, and he waved Harper forward.

 “Took you longer than normal to hack the door,” he said.

 “I thought I’d give you a little privacy.” She looked at the figure in the chair. “Who’s he?”

 “Bernie Spender.” He turned back, frowning. “Know the name?”

 “I know the UN has a million-credit bounty on his head.”

 “Let’s hope the station isn’t similarly informed. Give me a hand, we’ve got to get him back to the shuttle.”

 As he walked back over to his friend, Logan tapped a pair of buttons, completing the control sequence. As soon as they were safely clear, the aerostat was going to have a malfunction, and slide slowly down into the heart of the storm. It was always good practice to make sure to cover one's tracks, and a gas giant’s gravity well was an excellent place to dispose of unwanted evidence.

If you want to see what happens next, Triple-Cross can be purchased through Amazon at
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00L72526M

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28