Battlecruiser Alamo: Not One Step Back (9 page)

 “Anything, Spaceman?”

 “Nothing, sir. No sign of traffic, but we aren’t really close enough to pick up any tight-beam transmissions.”

 “Vector change, Captain,” Called Yorkina from the sensor station. “Scout is accelerating to catch up with the fighters. The formation is not attempting to follow the freighter.”

 “Saving their delta-v for the battle.”

 “Is there going to be a battle, sir?” Caine asked, a smile on her face.

 “Damn right, Deadeye. Midshipman, implement your course change. Get us there.”

 “Aye, aye, sir!” she replied, working her board.

 Zebrova, by his right, said in a voice soft enough that only he could hear, “Is this needed, Captain? We’ve attained our objective in protecting the freighter, and gathering intelligence might be of greater value.”

 “We’ve got them nailed, right here, and while they are fuel-vulnerable. That formation is no match for Alamo, and they know it. I think the odds that they will surrender are excellent.” Marshall turned back to the helm, “Time to intercept?” 

 “Two hours, ten minutes, sir.”

 Turning to Zebrova, Marshall said, “Battle-stations in one hundred and twenty-five minutes, then, Lieutenant. Pass the word to all hands.”

 “Doctrine calls for a fifteen minute advanced preparation, sir.”

 “This crew knows what to do, Lieutenant,” he began. He was about to argue further, but caught a look from Caine, “but do as you think best. I’m heading down to the mess for a few minutes.”

 “Good idea,” Caine said, standing up and gesturing Orlova to her station.

 “Zebrova, you have the deck.”

 “I have the deck,” Zebrova replied, walking over to the command chair and sitting down as Orlova logged in. Caine followed Marshall into the elevator, waiting for the doors to close before turning sharply towards him.

 “You need to let her have her head more often.”

 He raised his hands, “I know, I know. I’m just not quite used to having someone quoting regulations and doctrine at me.”

 “This is how fleets work, remember. You realize she’s been put here to remind you of that.”

 Smiling, eyebrows raised, he replied, “I do know how Tramiel operates, Deadeye. Not many people manage personnel transfers just to teach lessons to their commanding officers.” He pushed the ‘hold’ button, and the elevator jerked to a stop.

 “This battle we’re about to fight.”

 “Yes?”

 “I’d like Orlova to handle Tactical. Not to be overconfident, but this one should be fairly textbook...”

 “Danny, I’ve never seen a ‘textbook’ battle, and neither have you…”

 “...and we should handle it easily. Let’s see how your backup handles herself in a real ship battle.”

 “I know how she manages in battle.”

 “But not this kind.”

 Sighing, she replied, “Fine, fine. I’ll sit down in Weapons Control and keep an eye on things down there. Probably do the technicians good to have me watching them work for once.”

 “Always good to give the lower ranks something to talk about.” He turned to Caine. “What is it?” 

 “You don’t really think that it is going to be this easy, do you?”

 “Hell no. Even if this is the whole of the ‘pirate fleet’, and I don’t think Cornucopia would have bothered calling us in if it was, they’ll still have a base somewhere.”

 She shook her head, “Where?”

 “That’s your job. Find it.”

 “You love giving me the easy jobs, don’t you. There must be ten thousand places for a group that size to hide.”

 “You always did like a challenge.”

 “I never said that.”

Chapter 8

 The bridge was a hive of activity as Logan strolled through the doors, his eyes wandering from station to station as he looked for the Captain. Up on the viewscreen, a countdown was flicking down, just passing the hour mark as he watched. He recognized the tall blonde sitting in the command chair, and put on his best smile as he walked down to her.

 “Senior Lieutenant Zebrova, I presume.”

 “Mr. Winter, we are all very busy. If you have come to help…”

 “Actually I need to have a word with the Captain.”

 She looked up at him with a withering gaze, “We are going to battle stations in less than an hour.”

 “That didn’t sound very much like directions.”

 “He’s in his office,” she said, looking back down at a collection of datapads gathered in her lap.

 “Good enough,” Logan replied, ignoring her scowl as he walked over to the door. He considered signaling for entry, but given that Marshall was in a hurry, used his security override to open the door and walk in.

 “I’m rather busy, Winter,” Marshall said as he scanned reports.

 “Everyone’s saying that at the moment,” Logan replied as he crashed down into a chair. “I need a shuttle.”

 Marshall took a deep breath, laid down his datapad, and looked up, “You need a shuttle.”

 “I was looking through the sensor records, and there’s a hopper out there that’s going around some of the old wrecks.”

 “Just someone pulling junk.”

 “No salvage license. I checked the records.”

 Rubbing his hand across his forehead, Marshall replied, “In about an hour, I’m going to be leading this ship into battle. I expect to be victorious, but nevertheless I have about a thousand things to deal with. Someone stealing stuff that no-one wants is not high on my list of priorities right now.”

 “I’m not asking you to take Alamo out there…”

 “Good.”

 “That’s why I want a shuttle.” He paused. “This can’t really wait; the window to intercept that hopper is closing while we’re talking.”

 The sigh was deep this time, “Winter, I have a lot of problems right now…”

 With a wry grin, he replied, “Well, you can either have one more, or one less. Look, I’m a licensed pilot, so I can handle this one by myself. It’s important.”

 “Is it,” Marshall replied, deadpan.

 “It is. Trust me.”

 “Now you are asking the impossible.” Pausing, he continued, “I’ll call down to the hangar deck and get them to prep one of the transfer shuttles for you. Don’t come back until after the battle.”

 “Fair enough.” Turning, Logan walked out of the room, waving to a disgusted Zebrova, and jumped into the elevator. His finger poised over the button for the hangar bay, but he paused, and instead punched for the brig. He’d been impressed with both Harper and her software, but her unfortunate incarceration had prevented him from speaking to her. Perhaps he’d now have a chance.

 The elevator took its time, traveling almost the entire length of the ship. A part of him almost regretted leaving before the battle, but the potential randomness of space combat didn’t appeal to him that much. Even with a mismatched duel such as this, anything could happen, and he’d rather be watching from a distance. Besides, he had work to do, and he wasn’t getting it done sitting in his quarters on Alamo.

 The door slid open, and putting on his best military bearing he walked out into the corridor. As he expected, one of the espatiers was standing outside the cell door, at parade rest. Vaguely, Logan had hoped that the guards might have found something better to do in the middle of a battle, but presumably Zebrova had decided not to take any chances.

 “Can I do something for you, sir?” the espatier said, snapping to attention.

 Logan looked him up and down, “You can return to your quarters, Private, and give me the pass-key to the cell.”

 “No can do, sir,” he replied.

 “Don’t I outrank you?”

 “Yes, sir, but Captain Marshall outranks you.”

 Nodding, Logan replied, “True enough. I need to speak to the prisoner, though, and you haven’t got the security clearance to hear the conversation. Give me the key, and leave the area for five minutes.”

 “No can do, sir,” the trooper said again. “I’d come back in five minutes to find an empty cell and a court-martial charge waiting for me. Lieutenant Zebrova made it quite clear that she would look extremely badly on anyone who allowed the prisoner to escape.”

 “You aren’t stupid, are you, trooper.” 

 “A childhood spent reading bad adventure novels, sir.”

 He liked this one. “I do need to speak to her. Tell you what, let me in, lock the door behind us both, keeping the keycard, and then go for a walk for five minutes. I’ll even give you a written order to that effect.”

 “A written order?”

 “Why not.”

 Shrugging, the trooper reached into a pocket and pulled out a datapad, passing it over to Logan. This one thought of everything, it seemed, and he quickly typed out his instructions, adding a signature to the end with the flourish of an electronic stylus.

 “That looks fine, sir,” he said, pulling out his datacard.

 Stepping to the door, Logan said, “One last thing. Who are you?” 

 “Private Volski, sir, First Squad.”

 “I see. Open the door, Volski, and then I will see you in five minutes.”

 The door slid open, and the trooper stood aside to let Logan through, “I’ll be counting the seconds, sir.”

 “I’m sure you will.”

 Harper was sitting cross-legged on the floor, not even looking up from the pile of print-outs – evidently Zebrova didn’t trust her even to have a reader – laid out carefully on the floor, seemingly some sort of hacker journal. The door closed, bolts slamming shut.

 “You left a paper trail?”

 “No, your best friend did. My stylus is very good at putting other people’s signatures to documents.” 

 “I’ve got to get one of those.” She looked up, brushing her green hair back over her eyes. “What do you want?”

 “I need to borrow you for a bit. It’ll be more interesting than being locked in here is likely to be.”

 “That won’t be difficult. What do you need?”

 “I don’t know, yet, I just know that I’m going to need a hacker over on Spitfire.” He glanced up, “I presume the surveillance equipment in here is ancient history?”

 “The equipment’s still there. It just desperately needs maintenance.” 

 “Good. Well, let’s get out of here.”

 She raised an eyebrow, “Look, I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

 “Yes you are.”

 “If I was to break out of this cell – even with you watching – that would be a court-martial offense, and that bitch on the bridge would certainly throw the book at me.”

 Smiling, Logan replied, “And if I was to order you to open the door, Spaceman Harper?”

 Reaching over with an arm to a panel, she tapped a code into a maintenance keyboard, and the door slid open. With a grin, she said, “Yes, sir.”

 Volski was still four minutes away from coming back, and neither of them wasted any time as they raced down the corridor to the elevator, slamming the button for the hangar bay. Tensing up, Logan waited for the alarm that would follow a failed attempt to override the system – naturally, his first priority had been to make sure that he had the final say on where they went – but it seemed that everyone was too busy for that. Two minutes, thirty seconds before their disappearance would be missed.

 The door slid open on the corridor immediately behind the launch bay, and they hurried out towards their waiting shuttle, the only one exposed to view. The rest were stowed away in their battle positions, safely cocooned in the elevator airlocks. A pair of technicians were walking around, conducting preflight checks, another over in the corner with petty officer’s stripes surrounded by a collection of portable terminals.

 “All set, chief?” Logan waved.

 Shaking his head, he unwrapped himself from the terminals and walked over, a slight, notable limp. He looked over at the shuttle, then at Logan, and all the time he was thinking that that now he had only a minute to go before alarms would start going off.

 “You’re the one who dragged my men and I away from our actual duties for this?”

 “That’s me, chief.”

 “It better be damned important.”

 “I assure you, it is.”

 He looked across at Harper, shaking his head, “Just keep her well away from anything that can be programmed.”

 The hacker was already climbing into the shuttle’s cockpit, and with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, Logan followed her, settling down into the pilot’s seat and slamming switches down to activate the launch sequence. Tapping a button, he called the bridge.

 “Shuttle Four, requesting launch clearance.”

 “On request, Shuttle Four,” Orlova’s voice replied.

 “Thank you, Sub-Lieutenant,” he replied, tapping a button. The shuttle descended into the airlock, a bang on the door from one of the technicians to see him off, and the last thing that he saw of the inside of Alamo was the red face of Volski running into the hangar bay. Sliding a datastick into the controls to make sure that the lower airlock would open – and to instruct the navicomputer to set the course he wanted – he sat back in his chair and waited for the shuttle to drop out of the battlecruiser and curve off into space.

 After a quiet count down to ten, he was pressed gently back into his couch as the shuttle engines fired, kicking them rapidly away from the rotating mothership and towards their distant target. He began another countdown, and at its conclusion, the communicator began to sound. With a wry smile, he acknowledged.

 “Shuttle Four here. What is it, Captain?”

 “I’m going to ask why you felt you needed to break one of my crewmen out of the detention cell.”

 “Quite simple, Captain, I knew that you wouldn’t give her to me if I asked, and I need her for my mission. I presume that you’ve seen the authorization paperwork I gave the guard?”

 “Yes, and we can have words about forging documents when you get back.”

 “You’re assuming I’m coming back. Captain, my mission starts when I touch down on Spitfire Station, and you’re running around the system chasing space pirates. We both know that I’m doing what I need to do.”

 There was a brief pause, “Do you really need my best hacker for this job?”

 “Captain, do you honestly think that I would have taken the risk of breaking her past a very smart espatier otherwise?”