Battlecruiser Alamo: The Price of Admiralty (18 page)

"Nothing like that, sir!" he insisted. "We've got a poker game scheduled. I mean, some of the other junior officers and I, sir."

"I see." The door opened on the upper habitation deck; Cellini saluted and stepped up, making his way down the corridor. Either he was a good liar, or junior officers lived less interesting lives than they used to, Marshall mused.

The door slid open again on the lower deck, senior officer's country, though aside from the carpet being a different color it looked almost the same as the deck above. He walked to the third door along, and tapped the buzzer under the name, 'Caine, LT.
L
.'. He rang twice before the door slid open.

She'd obviously had more time to arrange her quarters than he had; most of his possessions were stuffed in bags around the room or under his bed. The usual arrangement of uniforms on an open hangar, medal case on the wall, but he walked over to one of the two display cases filled with exotic knick-knacks –
ever
ything from a piece of Plutonian rock to the last remains of a race long-dead. He pointed at a strange stone, an intricate pattern of lines carved into the rock forming a symbol that made his eyes itch slightly looking at it.

"This one's new, isn't it?"

Caine, lounging on the bed, shook her head. "Found on an abandoned Toltac mine at Proxima.
So said the guy who sold it to me, anyway. Don't tell me you're just hear to talk about my collection, not after the day I've had.
"

"Damn it, Deadeye, what choice did I have."

"None at all. I know that. But it's downright humiliating to be questioned about a crime by the man who probably caused it!" Her voice was loud enough that anyone walking outside would hear it; Marshall looked nervously from side to side.

"I'm standing right here. Stop shouting." He paused for a second, then continued, "So you suspect Dietz?"

"He had the expertise to do it, the security access, and he'd set someone up to make it look suspicious."

"Too obvious. I don't buy it." Marshall perched himself on the edge of the bed. "While I'd naturally have to undertake an inquiry, they would have known that it would show that the only evidence was circumstantial, not enough to convict on."

She shook her head again, "That wouldn't stop some commanders we've shipped with in the past."

"I'm not 'some commander'. At least, I damn well hope not."

Caine sat up, sending her hair cascading down her back. "Are you concerned about being viewed as biased because of our friendship? You realize that right now Zakharova is probably saying that we're sleeping together, or something stupid like that?"

Marshall laughed. "I don't pretend to know what that woman is thinking. I only know that I've given her enough rope; once we get back to Sol I'm going to be hunting for a new Exec. Always leaps to the obvious conclusion first, always pushes her point too far. Even Dietz didn't push to have you arrested."

"He didn't?" She raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. I trust him less than I do her. They're spending a lot of time together. Hell, most of the Patrol types are too damn clannish. The Martians and the Titanians seem to be working together better."

"All reservists, not surprising. I don't think there are more than half a dozen of our Martian contingent who were in uniform a month ago. Not counting our boys-with-guns."

She sat up on the bed, folding her legs under her. "What are you going to do, Lieutenant-Captain Marshall? There are two frigates loose somewhere out of sight, three freighter crews we now know damn well are stuck on the surface of Ragnarok, not to mention an espatier squad, a colony that popped up out of nowhere, and you can't trust anyone on board."

"Except you."

"There you go again. You're not suspicious enough, Danny. I could be a plant, this could all be a big double-bluff."

He frowned in mock seriousness, "Are you a spy, Deadeye?"

"Of course not, but that's not the point."

"This all seemed a lot easier ten years ago, when we were bitching in the Rec Room about Colonel Zinowitz, or Major Cunningham." He walked over to the far side of the room, looking at the rows of medals, most of them the same that he had in his office. "We were going to set the solar system to rights, Deadeye, and when we got commands of our own, we were going to do a damn sight better than they ever
di
d."

She stood behind him, placing her hand on his shoulder, "Time to deliver, Danny. Never mind what you are going to do. What do you want to do?"

He turned to face her, a wry smile on his face, "Get all of our people off the surface, knock out those two frigates, and make this Triplanetary Fleet stick long enough to make it actually mean something. Oh, and chuck Zakharova out of the nearest airlock with 'pain in the ass' stapled to her butt."

Both of them laughed at that. "The Governor will be coming up in about an hour, Danny. What are you going to tell him?"

"I intend to speak softly, and carry a big stick. Which I will beat him over the head with if necessary. We're going to get our people back, whatever it takes." He looked over at Caine again, then over to the uniforms on her rack. "Best look out your dress uniform, Deadeye. Our guest wants all the pomp and ceremony he can get."

Chapter 15

Corporal Stiles and his men
made no attempt
to suppress the looks of contempt on their faces as they formed the honor guard for the Governor's shuttle. Sirens sounded as the elevator airlock began its work, air hissing into the compartment below.

The officers stood in formation, unfamiliar dress uniforms itching in a dozen places, while a pair of maintenance technicians stood about in the background, with special instructions to get as much information from the shuttle as possible whilst they were servicing it; Quinn had spent considerable time arguing that he should be one of the 'technicians' assigned to the job – whether it was simply an excuse not to have to wear dress uniform or whether it was eagerness to have a look at unfamiliar new equipment, Marshall couldn't say.

The first impression of the shuttle when it rose up into the bay was age; the swept wings, curled back over the airlock in a raked formation that made it look like a bird-of-prey about to swoop onto a target was impressive, but behind the times. The paint was discolored in several places – something that would make no difference to the handling of the shuttle, or the safety of its systems, but which would not be the case with modern metallic blends. With a loud grind, the shuttle's airlock began to open, and there was a faint – and not pleasant – odor from inside, evidently the tang of the shuttle's air purifiers not quite being up to the job.

Striding down the ramp was a figure out of a
history book
; a khaki uniform topped off with a tall, red, domed helmet, a feather carefully placed at the top. The Governor looked around at the assembled guard, and with a quick look from Zakharova, the guard snapped to attention. A pair of aides stepped out of the shuttle, both similarly impeccably dressed, and the Governor walked up to Marshall, his eyes burrowing in as if they were trying to find a weakness to exploit.

"Welcome to the Triplanetary Starship Alamo, Governor." Marshall held out his hand; the Governor looked down for a brief second and took it, shaking with a firm grip.

"It's a pleasure to be on board, Captain. You appear to keep a well-disciplined ship."

"May I introduce my senior officers?"

"By all means."

Marshall walked the Governor down the ranks, introducing each in turn, taking careful note of any reaction by either the Governor or the officer involved, but none made any sign of recognition. Such a discovery would have been useful; he made a note to review the camera footage later on, in case he'd managed to miss anything. There was somehow a sense from the Governor that he was going through the motions, that the pomp and ceremony he had insisted upon was simply in order to prove a point.

"Governor, perhaps you would be interested in a brief tour of Alamo?"

He shook his head, "I think we have rather pressing business to discuss, Captain, do you not agree? Though I feel certain that my aides would benefit from such a tour?"

And be recording every nut and bolt in the ship, no doubt, Marshall thought. "Delighted. Lieutenant Zakharova, if you would conduct these two gentlemen on a tour of the ship?"

She looked venom at him, obviously frustrated about being left out of the meeting, but it was not lost on Marshall that the Governor was making sure that he was alone as well. He looked at the aides to see how they felt, catching a quick glimpse from one to the other that suggested that all was not well in their world. Marshall directed him into the elevator, and they silently rode up to the bridge. In a carefully choreographed, move, Ryder stood to attention as the elevator doors opened, the remainder of the crew joining her.

"As you were, Sub-Lieutenant," Marshall said, and the crew returned to their posts. "This way, Governor."

The office doors slid closed, and the Governor sat down, looking out over Ragnarok with a familiar air. "Spaceships have certainly come a long way since we left Earth, Captain. My complements on your technical skill."

Alamo, of course, was more than two decades old, but Marshall wasn't about to let that show. "Thank you, Governor. Would you like something to drink?"

"Nothing, thank you. I suggest we immediately proceed to the matter at hand."

Pulling a datapad out of a draw, Marshall handed it to the Governor. The picture on the screen was the freighter hull
the shuttle
had photographed during its landing run; Khachaturian had managed some excellent shots. "I believe you have something belonging to us, Governor. Am I to presume that the other two ships are similarly being broken for parts on your world?"

"You can presume that three ships that entered orbit without permission and acted in a menacing manner, sufficient that our planetary defense apparatus had to be utilized to contain a clear threat to our sovereignty, have been disposed with in a manner that is for the ultimate benefit of the people I am responsible for."

"No-one is recording us, Governor. If all of your responses are so long-winded, I venture that we might be here for some time." Silence filled the room for a moment, and Marshall pushed home. "Where is your defense apparatus now?"

A flicker of uncertainty shot across his face, before he replied, "Safe, behind Gatewood."

"Two frigates. Of an unknown type. You have no significant space-based infrastructure, Governor, so how are you supporting those ships? Not to mention the mining operations being undertaken on your outer moons."

"I don't think that I am here to answer your questions, Captain," the Governor said, mustering some bluster.

"I want my people back, and I suspect that Cornucopia Mining will want compensation for their ships," Marshall said, folding his arms. "What do you want?"

The Governor stood up, walking over to the viewport in three long strides, looking out over the moon, contemplating it for a moment. "I am responsible for twenty-three thousand human beings, Captain, half of them under eighteen. Can you imagine what that feels like, what that means? They are totally dependent on the decisions I make next, the consequences of the choices I make. What do I want, Captain? I want them to be safe, well-fed, and healthy. Those are the limits of my ambitions."

And ego, Marshall silently added. He turned in his chair, saying, "I can understand the salvage value of the freighters to a small colony like this. What about the crews?"

"Understand my position. Ragnarok is self-sufficient – just, but we still lack so many of the necessities. We're out to build a new home for humanity out here, Captain. So rest assured that I bear neither you nor your Triplanetary Confederation any ill-will."

"What is it you want?"

"I will return your people, Captain Marshall. But I will require a hundred million Triplanetary Credits as reparation payments. Which, of course, we would he happy to spend with some of your corporations."

That would about cover the cost of two Alamos, and then some left over; he replied, "That amount of money is out of the question. More than a million per crewmember?"

"I am prepared to negotiate. Perhaps you would rather provide goods in kind
instead of
currency? I have a list of the materials we would be willing to accept on such a basis." He slid over a paper printout, the ink slightly smudged. Marshall quickly scanned it, and placed it on one side of the desk.

"On what basis do you demand reparations, Governor? Our people were here on a prospecting expedition, nothing more."

The Governor's eyes darted around the office. "We are not all masters of our souls, Captain. They were here to exploit my people, to employ them as a servile labor force to support their theft of the resources in our system. Someday we will need them, will want to develop those worlds to support our own industries. That won't happen if someone else has sucked them all dry."

"Dreams of the future, Governor?"

"The near future, I hope. I was an officer on a starship myself once, and I like to think that my daughter might have a similar opportunity, even if it is denied to me."

Rising, Marshall walked around the office to the Triplanetary flag,
black and green
, draped over a flagpole in a corner. He ran his hand down the material, then turned to face his honored guest. "There is perhaps an alternative that you might not have considered."

"Believe me when I say that my staff and I have considered all of the alternatives open to us at this point."

"Join the Triplanetary Confederation as an Associated State."

His ears twitched for an instant. "What would that mean?"

"Full access to technological advances; your shuttle suggests that you are somewhat behind the times. Education and economic aid packages to support you, a say in the running of a multi-planet alliance. Defense against any possible enemies," Marshall noticed the Governor's eyes widening at that, "and assistance in the exploitation of your own resources."