Battlecruiser Alamo: Not One Step Back (2 page)

The portly man, wearing a uniform that he was obviously wearing for the first time – and Fleet Captain’s insignia, as well – chuckled, turning over to another officer standing to his side.

 “Mr. Dietz, please get us to Mariner Station with all speed. Your guidance officer seems to be most efficient, but I think he would benefit from your direct guidance.”

 The officer took the hint, stood sharply to attention, and walked out of the deck, followed the rest of the maintenance crew. It was just Logan and Paine now, facing each other.

 “Get someone else to do your dirty work next time. I’m getting too old for this crap.”

 “I take it the mission was a success, then?” Paine asked, holding out his hand.

 Logan tossed the chip to him, “Everything that my contact knows about the Cabal – everything he could extract from the station computers. I know there is a connection, and I know that it leads to Spitfire Station, but for the moment that’s all I do know.”

 Turning the chip over in his hand, Paine replied, “Anything else?”

 “You need to get a task force out here to clean that station up. Lot of people that we’re going to need to question.”

 “Coincidentally, the assault carrier Overlord will be arriving shortly to conduct exercises. They should be here within a few hours of our departure.”

 “Well-timed.”

 “Indeed.”

 “Something else,” Logan said, “I’m pretty sure they knew who I was. I was ambushed, at the last minute, right at the point of contact.”

 “No other ships in the area,” Paine said, shaking his head, “But that means nothing, it could have been a tight-beam from anywhere in the system. Who was it?”

 “Someone pretending to be Republic. The gun was right, but the holster wasn’t.”

 “Interesting.” Paine smiled again, then tossed the chip back to Logan.

 He snatched it out of the air, looking from the chip to Paine, his face turning red, “What the hell do I want this for?” 

 “You’re going to need it where you are going.”

 “Damn it, Paine, this was supposed to be a one-time mission.”

 That smile again. “And for it, I reactivated your reserve commission. You’re mine for three years.”

 “I know enough…”

 “And I think that Cornucopia Mining would like to speak to you very much.” The smile had turned into a frown.

 Sighing, Logan pocketed the chip with a quick move of his wrist. “Where am I going?”

 “Mariner Station, where you will report to Lieutenant-Captain Marshall on the battlecruiser Alamo…”

Chapter 2

 Rolling applause cascaded through the auditorium; Marshall paused for a long minute, human enough that the enjoyed basking in the praise. Four Senators sitting in a semicircle in front of his dais, their aides, every journalist that could get into the room and a gaggle of well-wishers wearing Triplanetary uniforms, all of them had come to listen to the first public debriefing since Alamo’s return from Jefferson, three months ago.

 He’d spent most of that time on Mars sitting in briefing rooms, talking to a series of uniformed and civilian officials about their flight out, what little they had learned about the Cabal, the discovery of a terraformed world. A surprising number had wanted to skip right to Alamo’s atmospheric dive, and the eager look in the eye of a few of the junior officers he had briefed suggested that it might be attempted again at some point in the future.

 Turning to look at the room, he caught sight of Commodore Tramiel, sitting stony-faced in the middle of a group of cheering lieutenants; as a junior officer he had learned to fear that particular look, though he couldn’t imagine what had brought it on this time. The chairman started to bang his gavel on the table, attempting to return some sort of order to the proceedings, and Marshall focused his attention back onto the highest ranking dignitaries.

 “Captain Marshall,” the chairman, Senator Harper – father of one of his more...controversial crewmembers – began, “I think I can safely speak for the Extrasolar Affairs Committee when I say that your performance at Jefferson was exemplary, and that our recommendation will be for you to receive the highest possible commendation.”

 He paused, waving his hand to pre-empt more cheering. “What we have yet to hear, however, are your recommendations regarding Jefferson. As I speak a company of Triplanetary Espatiers are rising their lives to help liberate that planet from the lingering remnants of the Cabal; what would you do next, if it was your decision?”

 “Senator Harper, my advice would be quite simple. The people of Jefferson should be offered Triplanetary membership in a free and fair vote, once the conflict on the planet has ended. Should they refuse, then we should pack up our kitbags and leave.”

 Bushy eyebrows furrowed from Senator Knox, sitting on the extreme left; one of the senior members of the Patriot Party, he was renowned as a great friend of the Triplanetary Fleet – as an instrument to bring the United Nations finally to its knees and conquering the Lunar Republic in order to make the universe safe for his notion of democracy.

 “Captain Marshall,” he began, “as we speak the Triplanetary Fleet is spending an inordinate amount of blood and treasure to liberate the people of Jefferson, and you think that we should simply walk away once the job is done?”

 “I would certainly attempt to negotiate trade and mutual defense agreements, but essentially, Senator, I would indeed walk away once the job was complete. Jefferson does not belong to us, it belongs to its citizens.” He looked the old man square in the face, matching his gaze. “Make no mistake, sir, I believe that they should join the Confederation. I think it would be the best thing for Jefferson and its people. But I would not force them, sir, or else we are no better than the United Nations.”

 “Hmm...you imply that you would refuse such an order.”

 Marshall shook his head, replying, “I would never refuse a lawful order issued by my superiors through the chain of command, sir.”

 Glancing at Knox, Senator Cartwright – the youngest senator on the panel, recently elected by the surprise death of her predecessor in an accident – turned back to face Marshall, quickly scanning a datapad in front of her before speaking, her lips pursed into a frown.

 “You suggest that you would not refuse an order? Yet your trip to Jefferson was in fact a violation of your sailing orders, was it not.”

 Senator Harper glared at her, “Senator, I really do not think that…” 

 Interrupting him, Marshall replied, “Yes, ma’am, it was. However, there was a measure of discretion built into those orders, and it was apparent to me that there was an urgent need to reach Jefferson as quickly as possible. Had I not, I suggest that the Republic’s Central Committee would now be discussing the future of its latest Province – Jefferson.”

 “You are suggesting that…”

 Marshall didn’t let her finish, “That a ship captain operating weeks away from his superiors must have the autonomy to react to changing situations and new discoveries. I and my fellow battlecruiser commanders spend much of our time far beyond Sol System, ma’am, and we usually do not have the luxury of returning home and receiving new orders. We must therefore follow the dictates of our training and our conscience.”

 “I see,” she replied, shaking her head. Obviously he had failed to convince her, but he could tell that every uniformed figure in the room was nodding in agreement with him. Senator Harper was looking at her, then glancing up at the clock.

 “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, “I must now conclude this meeting; we have a critical Senate vote within the hour. Thank you all for attending, and once again, my thanks and congratulations to Lieutenant-Captain Marshall.”

 The applause rolled on again for a full minute before petering out; Marshall, looking around, began to make his way to the exit, shaking hands and being clapped on the back as he left, then found himself standing face to face with Senator Harper; the man was a darn sight quicker than he looked to have made his way down from the platform in such a hurry.

 “Captain Marshall, I have one more thing to say; I’d like to thank you for taking on my daughter.”

 Smiling, he replied, “As far as I’m concerned, she’s just another crewman, Senator. I’ve given her no special treatment or attention. An excellent computer warfare operator.”

 Nodding, the older man replied, “If someone had done that to me when I was commanding a ship, I hate to think what I would have said or thought. It was unfair to do that to you, and I apologize.”

 “Senator, her presence was critical to the success of our mission.” He watched the old man beam, and raised his hand, “But please don’t do it again.”

 “I won’t, Captain. I just wanted to say that I appreciated your help. She was going off the rails in a hurry, and a bit of service discipline...well, it straightened me out when I was a kid.”

 Raising an eyebrow, Marshall looked at the Senator – and former General – in a new light, “You got into trouble?”

 “All the time. I ended up with my commission in the UN Fleet back before the war because the judge suggested it, and I did well enough in the tests.” He chuckled, “I really wish I could thank Colonel Alvarez. The things I made him put up with…”

 Placing his hand on the Senator’s shoulder, Marshall replied, “If you want a suggestion, talk to your daughter about this.”

 “Even now, she is barely speaking to me.”

 “Try. I think she might like to have more in common with you than she thinks.”

 A familiar figure tapped Marshall on the shoulder; he turned to see a figure he remembered with some distaste from a year ago standing in front of him – the previous commander of Alamo, Zubinsky, from whom he had taken over in somewhat controversial circumstances. He was now wearing a freshly pressed Triplanetary Fleet uniform, and one with the insignia of a full Captain, so now he even outranked him.

 “Lieutenant-Captain Marshall?” Zubinsky laid a heavy stress on the first half of the rank. “Commodore Tramiel needs to see you urgently in his office.”

 “Of course, sir,” Marshall said, getting the last word out with an effort. “Senator, if you’ll excuse me?”

 “The work of a soldier is never done, Captain, I am well aware of that. Perhaps you will join me and my family for dinner when next you are on Mars?”

 “I would be honored, Senator,” he replied, shaking his proffered hand before turning away, following Zubinsky through the door. Both men were silent as they walked through the corridors of the Senate building, walking past windows giving occasional glimpses of Port Lowell and the beautiful, bleak Martian landscape beyond. Evidently the Commodore had managed to requisition an office from some functionary; a lot of brass had been here for the briefings, but notably he hadn’t seen the Commodore since the official reception when Alamo came in.

 “Wait outside for a moment, Marshall,” Zubinsky said, knocking on the door and stepping through. The moment – and several like it – passed, and Marshall perched himself on the wall, pulling out his datapad and running through the latest reports from his ship. He hadn’t seen Alamo in three months, and was having to run the refits remotely; not that he didn’t trust his staff, but there were so many details that would have been a lot easier to handle if he was actually there.

 The door opened, and Zubinsky beckoned him in, then walked out of the room, heading off down the corridor. Inside, Commodore Tramiel sat alone, looming large behind a desk that was too small for him, strong arms resting on the table with a datapad in one hand. Marshall saluted, but he only scowled in reply, motioning him to take a seat as the door closed behind him.

 “Have you quite finished with the Extrasolar Affairs cheerleaders, then, Marshall?” he began.

 His eyes widening, Marshall replied, “Sir, I…”

 “Have been very outspoken, Captain. We’ll skip over your unorthodox decision to once again dictate Triplanetary policy for the next decade, and I’ll even overlook your decision to change your flight plan without consultation.” He waved a hand in the air. “I admit in your situation I would probably have done the same.” With a clatter, he threw the datapad down on the desk in front of Marshall.

 Looking down, he saw a list of names – Alamo’s casualties sustained on Jefferson, both during the initial assault on the spaceport and the later ground conflict. Some names that would never be coming home, others that were so badly wounded that even 22nd-century medicine was unable to restore them sufficiently that they could return to service.

 “I stand by my actions, sir.”

 “You risked the lives of every member of your crew in that stupid stunt, Captain. More than a hundred lives at risk to save three – four if you count Lieutenant Orlov. That, sir, was an unjustified risk.”

 “We needed the information on the planet, sir.”

 The Commodore was shouting now, “All we know, damn it, is that a hostile force called the Cabal is lurking out there somewhere in deep space. They covered their tracks nicely, Marshall, and your blundering failed to help matters.”

 Looking to his right then back at the Commodore, “All of my crew volunteered for the flight. All of them. They all had the chance to wait at the starport.”

 “And you think they would reject a mission? You don’t know your crew very well if you think they would watch their friends and comrades die while they sat in safety. Then you put the bulk of your crew – including yourself, incidentally – on the ground and left someone in charge who you had doubts about. I’ve read your logs, Captain, and they make very interesting reading.”

 “Sir…”

 Tramiel wasn’t giving Marshall a chance to get a word in, “You decided that the Triplanetary Confederation needed to be tied into Jefferson, committed us to an ongoing military presence on the planet – because weeding out those bastards is going to take years. A lot of people are going to die there, Captain, and they die because you decided they must.” Marshall sat in silence for a moment. “Have you got anything to say?”