Battlecruiser Alamo: Not One Step Back (26 page)

 “Alamo to Shuttle Flight, come in Shuttle Flight,” Weitzman said at the rear.

 “You might as well stop, Spaceman,” Zebrova said. “By now the fighters will be on their scopes anyway, and there’s no reason to give them another distraction to deal with. They’ll need to concentrate on the battle.”

 “Aye, ma’am.”

 “There has to be something more we can do,” Tyler said from the helm.

 “Mind your station, Midshipman,” Zebrova said.

 “They also serve, those who stand and wait,” Spinelli muttered as he scrutinized his console for any change. “Wow!”

 “Not much of a report, Spaceman.”

 “Aspect change from Spitfire Station, ma’am! Big time! A shuttle just smashed into the reactor complex – and now I’m getting some serious radiation spikes from it. I’d say we’re looking at a meltdown in progress.”

 “What about the station?” Orlova said, turning in her chair.

 Spinelli shook his head. “I think it’s too far away to effect them, but it definitely represents a serious navigational hazard.”

 “Log it for destruction at the first opportunity,” Zebrova said, turning back to the viewscreen.

 Steele leaned over to Tyler, “Plot a course back to the station, just in case.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” the midshipman replied. “I didn’t think…”

 “You need to learn to anticipate. It’s not as if you have anything else much do while we’re sitting here in orbit.”

 Orlova listened to the exchange with half an ear, still watching her console like a hawk. She glanced up at the freighters, still floating there in free orbit, hanging close to the station. Frowning, she tapped another series of controls.

 “Spinelli, I’m reading an energy spike from Demeter, could you take a closer look?”

 “Probably just powering up to move away,” Steele said. “I would with that reactor around.”

 “Confirmed, energy spike from engines. Aspect change as well, she’s heading for the hendecaspace point.” He glanced down at his console. “The dogfight will be starting down there in a minute or so, want it thrown onto the monitor, ma’am?”

 “There’s nothing we can do to influence the fight. Continue to monitor, and report significant progress,” Zebrova replied. 

 She was quite right, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier. Orlova continued to watch the Demeter, plotting its course to give her something to distract her from the battle below, then started to frown.

 “Spinelli, are you reading what I am from Demeter?”

 “Full-power burn.”

 “Is this germane?” Zebrova asked.

 Orlova turned to face her, “Freighters don’t use full-power burns unless they have to – they don’t want to waste any fuel, it’s their bottom line. They coast. So why are they traveling at full speed?”

 “I’m seeing some shuttles leaving Spitfire now. Heading for Demeter.” 

 Zebrova responded, “There’s no reason to suspect any suspicions behavior. It’s just as likely that they are evacuating some company personnel.”

 “There’s no reason not to suspect it, either. If Cornucopia is involved in this, then we need to stop that ship.” She paused, “I recommend that you attempt to contact them, order them to stop for inspection.”

 “On what grounds, Sub-Lieutenant,” she replied. “I can’t just stop a civilian ship because I have some suspicions about it.”

 “Then I recommend keeping our options open. Break orbit, head for Spitfire. How long would it take, Midshipman?”

 “Thirty-one minutes, ma’am.” 

 “They might need help over there anyway.”

 “Has any distress signal been received, Weitzman?”

 “No, ma’am, but…”

 Zebrova turned to face him, “But what, Spaceman?”

 “There’s a lot of interference building up. It could be the radiation from the reactor, or it could be a deliberate attempt at jamming.”

 “We’d be abandoning the Captain,” Steele said.

 “Five seconds to fighter engagement,” Spinelli said.

 Frowning, Zebrova glanced at Orlova, then nodded, “Break orbit, full speed to Spitfire Station, and I want an interception course for Demeter as soon as you can make it happen, Mr. Tyler.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” the midshipman said with relish as he implemented the course.

 “There’s nothing we can do for Captain Marshall at the moment,” she said, “He’s going to have to work out his own salvation. We’ve got to stop them from escaping. Mr. Weitzman, hail the Demeter.”

 “Aye, aye,” he said, working his console. Orlova started to reprogram all of her missiles for maximum speed, suddenly getting the idea that she was going to need all of the weapons in her arsenal.

 “Losing sensor contact with surface...gone. I’ve lost the Captain and the others,” Spinelli said.

 “Focus all resolution on Spitfire Station and on Demeter. Anything, Weitzman?”

 “Nothing, ma’am, and I know we’re punching through the interference. They can hear us.”

 Steele frowned, “What if they can’t respond?”

 “They could use a message laser if they wanted, we’re well within range.”

 Focusing on her work, Orlova knew that everyone on the bridge was worrying about the battle taking place on the planet below, trying not to think about it. There was nothing they could do to help – nothing other than watch. It was impossible for them to provide any meaningful support, but breaking orbit and leaving them behind was a very hard thing to do. The acceleration was pushing her down on her chair imperceptibly, a reminder of what they were doing – of what she had advocated they do.

 “Still nothing from Demeter, ma’am,” Weitzman said, “and nothing from Spitfire Station, either.”
 “Shuttles closing in,” Spinelli reported, his head crouched low over his panel.

 “Time to intercept?” Zebrova asked. Tyler started working on his instruments, typing away, consulting his panel, which she stared at him with those iron eyes. Finally, she turned to Steele, who leaned over and worked on the panel for a few seconds, tapping a pair of buttons.

 “Forty-one minutes to intercept with Demeter, at the latter’s current rate of acceleration,” she said.

 “Very good. Take guidance, call Mr. Kibaki to the bridge.”

 Both Steele and Tyler looked at her; she nodded, but Tyler said, “I wanted to make sure the course was as fast as I could make it, ma’am.”

 “Explanations are not needed, Mr. Tyler, nor will they be of any use to Alamo in a combat situation. Sometimes,” she looked at Orlova, “instant decisions are needed. This is not a demotion from the bridge; I will assign you additional simulations later.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” Tyler said, looking down at the deck as he walked off the bridge. He paused, and turned, “Permission to remain on the bridge as standby crewman.”

 Orlova clenched her fist under her station, and Zebrova turned to face him, looking him up and down, pausing for a heartbeat, before finally nodding.

 “Permission granted.”

 Smiling, he moved to the rear of the bridge, wrapping his wrist around one of the arm restraints as the elevator opened, and a heavy-eyed Kibaki walked out, the top button of his uniform undone.

 “Is there a problem, Lieutenant?” he said.

 “Take the bridge operations station, Mr. Kibaki. I anticipate the possibility of imminent hostile action, and want experienced hands at their stations.”

 “Aye, ma’am.” He glanced at Tyler, then walked around the bridge to assume the recently vacated station, sliding comfortably into place before glancing at guidance and tactical, quickly taking a look at the current situation. Raising an eyebrow when he saw their projected course, he turned to the viewscreen and began adapting the console to his settings.

 “The shuttles have docked now, ma’am. Demeter is maintaining its course and speed.”

 “Weitzman, anything?”

 “No, ma’am,” he replied, fiddling with his earpiece. “I’ve got the gain turned up as high as it will...ARGH!” Snatching the earpiece out of his ear, he dropped it to the floor, shaking his head.

 Tyler snatched the medikit from the wall, racing over to him, “What is it, Ott
o
?”
 The technician looked up, tears in his eyes, “Signal. Strong signal.” He tapped the console, “Got it recorded.” 

 “Orlova…,” Zebrova said, but she was already on her feet, walking over to the console. Tapping a few buttons, she nodded, and started to type and extended sequence.

 “It came from Spitfire. High-intensity data burst, very high. I’m unscrambling it now, but it’s headed with a video feed. Putting it on.”

 “Good.”

 The image of Logan Winter appeared on the screen, somewhat battered and bruised, a gash on his forehead that was still wet with blood. He was obviously wearing the bottom half of a damaged spacesuit, hands propping him up.

 “Lieutenant Winter to Alamo. Cornucopia Mining is connected with the pirates, and probably the Cabal as well. All the data we have is included in this broadcast. Critical that you intercept Demeter; the bulk of the conspirators are on board. We’ve got serious power problems, and unlikely we’ll be able to cut through the jamming again for a while. All systems otherwise nominal. Winter out.”

 Zebrova nodded, “You heard the man. Steele, can you shave any time off our path?”

 “I’ve been going over it ma’am, but I don’t think so. Tyler set a pretty good trajectory.” The midshipman beamed at the praise, but Zebrova simply nodded. Orlova started paging through the data, looking at random files.

 “There’s enough material here to keep Senate committees tied up for months. Most of this material is fabrication blueprints, but there’s also listings of ship design specifications, personnel files, psychological profiles. They were info-jackers, working for the Cabal, at a guess.” She stood up, shaking her head, “If this can be connected to anyone specific, it’s the biggest counter-intelligence coup for a decade.”

 “We can worry about that later, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 Nodding, Orlova walked back to her station, “Yes, ma’am.” 

 Weitzman, after a few painkillers, had returned to his station and gingerly replaced his earpiece, starting to cycle through the frequencies again. He turned sharply to Zebrova.

 “Demeter responding sir. Captain Jennings speaking.”

 “Very good. Put him through.”

 Jennings appeared on the screen, wearing a fresh jumpsuit; the control room behind him was a hive of activity, and most of the figures behind him were a lot more disheveled; Orlova recognized a couple of the captives from the pirate ship.

 “You wanted to speak to me, Lieutenant Zebrova?”

 “Captain, I’m ordering you to cease acceleration and stand by to receive boarding parties. You have on board individuals wanted by the Triplanetary Confederation on charges of murder and treason. Heave to.”

 He shook his head, “I’m operating under company orders, Lieutenant, to proceed to Sol immediately.”
 “This is a military order, Captain Jennings. Under Triplanetary law, you must heave to.”

 “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Do you have a warrant from a judge?”

 “Damn it, you bastard,” Orlova interrupted, “we risked our lives to save you. We’ve got everything we need to convict the people you are protecting of treason.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant,” Zebrova said, sharply. “Control yourself or leave the bridge.” She turned back to Jennings, “Unless you cease acceleration immediately, I will be forced to take measures to compel your compliance.”

 “You do what you have to do, Lieutenant. As will I. Demeter out.”

 The screen winked out, and Zebrova turned to Orlova. “As the officer in command, Sub-Lieutenant, I will speak for this ship. That is my prerogative, not yours.”

 “Yes, ma’am.”

 “I do not expect a repetition of such behavior. Do I make myself absolutely clear, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “Yes, ma’am, you do. I apologize for my actions.”

 “Very well, apology accepted. This time,” she replied. “Call all hands to battle stations, if you please.”

 With a wolfish smile, she nodded, tapping a series of buttons. Sirens began to sound as Zebrova addressed the ship, “All hands, report to your battle stations. Repeat, all hands report to battle stations. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill…”

Chapter 25

 Grimacing, Marshall pulled his shuttle into a tight turn, swinging around his target. His sensors were drifting in and out of missile lock, and he struggled to pull around to get his shot, his finger dancing close to the railgun in an attempt to take him down the old-fashioned way. The two of them were thrown to the right by a gust of wind, a storm brewing in the sky. He caught a quick flash of explosion to his right, Cunningham’s missile tracking into its target.

 Shaking his head, he dived down towards his prey like an avenging angel, and was finally rewarded with a flashing green light, the missile locking on, and took the shot. Curving lazily away to the left, he glanced down at the missile camera as it sped towards its target, and pumped his fist as another explosion reduced the enemy numbers to one.

 Still one left, and he looked around the sky, his sensors drawing him to the rear. Acting on instinct, he hurled his craft to the left, and his countermeasure warning lights all flashed on, a missile in the air, targeted at him. He tapped another button twice, and a pair of his anti-missiles flew from the rear airlock, catching their deadly target from both sides, slamming in with a satisfactory explosion.

 Caine dived in behind him, using the brief distraction, and a beam of dancing light leapt from the nose of her shuttle, ripping through the clouds until it connected with her target, tearing it to pieces as the fragments crumpled into nothing. Marshall glanced at his fuel gauge; he still had plenty of time on target before he had to return to the safety of orbit.

 “Shuttle One to Shuttle Flight. Good work, everyone, now let’s continue to the target.”

 “Shuttle Three to Shuttle One, these railguns are great. We need to get some for Alamo.”

 “Not sure we’ll be doing much dogfighting with battlecruisers.”