Battlecruiser Alamo: Not One Step Back (13 page)

 “You are all under arrest, charged with piracy,” Marshall said, and the three of them looked at each other. “It will go a lot easier for you if you cooperate at this point. Who is in charge here?”

 Finally, a gray-haired woman broke ranks, “I’m Latham, and I suppose I’m in charge of the bridge now.” He recognized the voice from before, the same defeated tone.

 “Lieutenant-Captain Marshall, commanding Alamo. I take it your officers left.”

 She nodded, curtly, “They rode down in the escape pod just before the surrender.” Looking around at the others, she continued, “Captain, none of us are Triplanetary citizens.”

 “I don’t think either the Republic or the United Nations look particularly highly on piracy, Ms. Latham.”

 “No, but we…”

 “Let me guess,” Sergeant Forrest intervened, “You were all hired yesterday, and had no idea that you were doing anything wrong until your nasty bosses told you this morning that you were going to attack a freighter, and you didn’t think there was anything you could do to stop them.”

 Marshall shot a stare at his NCO, then turned back to Latham, “Well?”

 “We have casualties on B Deck, after medical bay. If you’ll see to them, then I’ll tell you everything I know.” She sighed, “I warn you, it isn’t much.”

 “Anything is better than nothing, Ms. Latham.” He picked up his communicator, “Zabek, get your medics down to B Deck. Casualties waiting for them. Make sure you send a fire team along.”

 “They’re on the way now, sir,” she replied, and he could hear her giving orders as he broke the circuit.

 “Do you want to speak in private, Ms. Latham?”

 She looked at the silent crewmen, then gestured towards an airlock, “That will do, I think.”

 “Fine. Sergeant, secure the bridge and get the prize crew up here. Get these two – and anyone else you find – down to one of the cargo bays for processing.”

 “Are we keeping the ship, sir?”

 “For the moment, anyway.”

 “There are twelve of us remaining on board, Captain, out of twenty,” Latham volunteered.

 “Verify that, Sergeant.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Ms. Latham?” he gestured to the airlock, then led the way, making sure that it was impossible for the outer door to open while they were standing inside it. The inner door sealed, and the two of them were alone. She looked up at him, fright in her eyes.

 “I can offer you protective custody, ma’am.”

 “We’re going to need it, once they find out that we have surrendered. Not that we know that much.”

 “Where are you from?” 

 “Thalassa. I’m technically a United Nations citizen, but right now I’m a fugitive as well.”

 His eyes narrowed, “You’ve been hitting the UN colonies as well?”

 “No,” she shook her head, “I was an indent, and technically I’m still under contract for another four years. I broke my indenture, and, well, this was the only job I could get.”

 “Doing what?”

 “Mostly smuggling. This is the first time that we’ve ever actually engaged in piracy, though I have to admit that I was pretty sure they were obtaining their goods this way. Not that it ever seemed that important or high-value; I was just getting paid.”

 “What did you do?”

 “Flight Engineer. The others were on my work crew. I know just about enough to keep a ship in a stable orbit, so McAllister – he was the captain – called us up to the bridge.”

 “Eight in the pod, you say.” He shook his head. “Do you know why they would commit suicide?”

 “They wouldn’t. Didn’t. Captain, I’m fairly sure they’ve got a base inside the gas giant.”

 Eyes widening, he replied, “This wasn’t the launch point for the fighters?”

 “No. We moved into orbit and hooked up with them. Given what they were, I presume they came from the gas giant itself, and McAllister isn’t the sort to take risks, if you know what I mean.”

 “So they cast off, and left you and the others to face the music. Doesn’t seem fair.” His communicator squawked, and he pulled it to his face. “Marshall here.”

 “Orlova, Captain. I’ve tried to get into the computer down in the sysop room, but there’s nothing, and I mean nothing. Total purge and reset to system defaults, which is why the ship’s systems are still working. No data of any interest at all. The memory modules have been pulled out and destroyed.”

 “Could they be repaired?”

 “I think they used a plasma pistol on them, skipper.” She broke off for a moment, “Wait a…” There was a loud crashing noise, and the communicator went dead.

 Marshall looked iron at Latham, “Where?”

 “Deck A, Section Nine.”

 He was running to the elevator quickly enough that he grazed his shoulder on the door of the airlock as it opened, his communicator still up to his mouth.

 “Fire team to Deck A, Section Nine, right now. Medic to the same area.”

 Even under normal circumstances, elevators usually moved a lot too slowly for Marshall, but this one was dragging. The door opened just up-corridor from the room, and he heard the grunts and clangs of reinforcements – he hoped – on the way. Pistol out, he tapped the door release, and when it didn’t open, he smashed the emergency override with his elbow and pulled it free.

 Instinct took over; he fired at the figure looming over the unconscious body of Orlova, sending her flying towards the wall and him back to the corridor. He kicked into the room and grabbed her assailant, wearing the uniform of a maintenance technician, now dead. A pair of troopers dived into the room, one heading for the body, the other – a medic – for Orlova.

 “She’s alive,” the medic said after a quick examination, “but I think she’s broken her shoulder. No point waking her up until we get her back to Alamo.”

 “Take her. The body of the assailant as well, have an identity check run on him.”

 The other guard looked up, “Nice shot, sir.”

 “Thanks, Private.”

 He looked down at the two bodies, shaking his head, then pulled his communicator out again, spending a second tuning it to the ship’s internal communications frequency, his reward for success a brief feedback whine.

 “This is Lieutenant-Captain Marshall. One of my people has been attacked; the assailant is dead. Any further attacks on our people will likewise be met with such force; if anyone else is hiding, they should disarm immediately.”

 “Forrest, sir,” a reply came quickly. “Latham wants to speak to you.”

 “Put her on.”

 “Captain, I assure you that we didn’t know.”

 “Whether I believe you or not is besides the point, Ms. Latham. This ship will be searched from stem to stern, and I will hold you responsible for any further attacks.”

 As Orlova was taken out, he looked at the computer systems again, shaking his head. Suddenly, he really didn’t want to be on board this ship any more, and he kicked off after the medic.

 “I’ll fly the shuttle back, Private,” he said. “You can ride shotgun.” He flicked frequencies for Alamo, “Marshall to Alamo. I’m on my way back…”

 “With a casualty, I know,” Cunningham’s voice replied. “How is she?”

 “Broken shoulder, apparently, but nothing worse. Have Doc Duquesne standing by anyway.”

 “You think I have to ask her? Are you coming back? If that ship has saboteurs on board…”

 “Way ahead of you. Send, ah, Ryder over here to take charge for the moment. She’s to give me an indication on whether this ship can be brought back to operational capacity, I’d like to send it back to Mariner with the prisoners if possible.”

 There was a pause longer than the communication lag before the reply, “I’ve already got a cargo bay ready to take the prisoners, sir.”

 “I don’t want them on Alamo for any longer than I can help, and the ship is now an asset for a prize court; I reckon the re-insurers will be very interested in seeing what they can make of her after the forensic boys have finished.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 “And tell Caine to concentrate her search on the gas giant itself.”

 “Inside?”

 “Afraid so.”

 “That’s going to complicate things a bit, Danny.”

 He was coming up to the shuttle dock, an espatier standing beside to help Orlova into the cabin; the young officer was beginning to groan from the pain.

 “I know. See you in fifteen. Marshall out.”

Chapter 12

 “Does that hurt?” a harsh voice asked Orlova, as she felt a finger prodding her in the shoulder, sending her gasping in agony on the bed.

 “Yes.”

 “Good. Might teach you not to head off by yourself without backup next time.”

 She opened her eyes to see Doctor Duquesne looming over her, shaking her head. Craning her head around, she could see that she was the only one in sickbay, at least; the rest of the boarding operation must have gone reasonably well.

 Noting her concern, Duquesne said, “Yes, you’re the only one stupid enough to get ambushed.”

 “What sort of doctor are you?”

 “The only one for six light-years.”

 With an effort, Orlova attempted to sit up, found her head swimming and her vision start to blur. Taking a deep breath, she tried again, and this time felt a supporting arm behind her back, propping her up on the bed, leaning her against the wall.

 “Let that be a lesson to you.”

 “I’ve got to get back on duty, Doctor.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “I suppose you want to attend the staff meeting, then.” 

 “Staff meeting?” She started to struggle again, “Doctor, I’ve got to get going.” Looking down at her shoulder for the first time, she could see it encased in a plastic shell, immobilized, her hand sticking out of the other end; she experimentally tried to wiggle her fingers, and just about managed it.

 “I thought you’d be one of my stupid patients, so I arranged for the cast.” Orlova felt a brief jab in her good arm, and suddenly her vision began to clear. “That’ll stop the disorientation and nausea. Now technically you should stay here for at least a day, and in your cabin for two or three more.”

 “Three days?”

 “I love how you assume the best-case scenario. Given that I don’t want to have to listen to you moaning for the next half-week, I’m going to release you on restricted duty – but I mean restricted, Sub-Lieutenant! You can sit in an office and do paperwork and boss people about, but no more than that. No heavy lifting, no flying, nothing. I’m serious.”

 Smiling, Orlova clapped the doctor on the shoulder with her good arm, “Thanks, Doc.”

 “Don’t thank me, Sub-Lieutenant. Come back every eight hours and I’ll top up that injection for you. The cast can probably come off tomorrow if you are sensible, the bone’s knitting together pretty well.”

 Struggling to her feet, Orlova reached for her uniform jacket, and with an effort, managed to drape it over her bad arm, shrugging her good arm into the sleeve. Duquesne, shaking her head and muttering, quickly helped her dress, and then propped her up as she got to her feet.

 “Don’t you dare fall over and mess up all of my work. That shoulder took me half an hour to treat, and I don’t want to have to do it again.”

 “I’ll be careful, doc.”

 “Careful presumably meaning that you will try very hard not to get into a fistfight with someone. I know you, Sub-Lieutenant. Now get out of here and head for the briefing room.”

 “Thanks, doc!” she said as she raced out of the room – that injection was really working, whatever it was. The elevator was waiting for her at the corridor, and she belatedly realized that Duquesne must have called it for her. She stepped inside and pushed for the briefing room, holding onto the guard-rail as the doors slid shut and it began to speed on its way.

 Voices came from inside the briefing room as she stepped inside, and the officers looked up, varying degrees of surprise on their faces; Zebrova looked almost startled, but Marshall simply waved her down to an empty seat with a faint smile on his face.

 “Sorry I’m late, sir,” she said as she sat down. “The doctor had to help me get changed.”

 “Should you be here at all?” Zebrova said, shaking her head almost imperceptibly.

 Orlova managed a smile as she replied, “Doctor Duquesne cleared me for light duty, so here I am.”

 “You haven’t missed anything but the preliminary chatter anyway, Sub-Lieutenant,” Cunningham said from his seat next to Marshall.

 “I still think that we are running a wild goose chase,” Quinn said. “There’s no reason not to think that we haven’t already accomplished our mission here.”

 “It’s all too easy, though, Lieutenant,” Marshall replied. “For a start, there is no evidence that the fighters were operating from the scoutship.”

 “All of the prisoners agree on that point,” Zebrova said, “even under close cross-examination. Sub-Lieutenant Ryder’s report indicates that she failed to find any support equipment or spares for the fighters, nothing that could have been used to maintain them. I conclude that the pirates have another base in this system.”

 “I agree,” Marshall said. “That escape pod was going somewhere, after all.”

 “The risks…,” Cunningham said, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t want to catapult myself into a gas giant, even in a modified escape pod.” 

 “What if they had a rescue ship waiting?” Orlova said. “A shuttle in the upper atmosphere, hiding in one of the eddies. Our sensors don’t work that well in an atmospheric environment that thick, and there was a lot of debris flying around.”

 “I’m working on some sensor modifications right now,” Zebrova said, “I agree with the reasoning.”

 That made Orlova’s eyebrow rise. “It also suggests that there is a base on the gas giant itself, in the atmosphere, then.”

 “One of the prisoners suggested as much, though she didn’t have any evidence,” Marshall said. “Your thoughts, Caine?”

 “I’m glad you’ve decided to consult Tactical at last,” she replied, shaking her head. “I ran a check, and there are about a dozen aerostats floating in the upper atmosphere – which is six more than should be there according to our records.”