Battlecruiser Alamo: The Price of Admiralty (25 page)

"Drop your weapons, all of them down now!" Esposito yelled. With little choice, the two guards handed their weapons to the prospector, who popped out the clips onto the ground.

"Anyone in there?" Orlova asked, waving her pistol menacingly in the air.

One of the two guards responded, "Just your men. We locked it down when we got the word from the General. Bill, you'd better have a damned good explanation for this."

"Simple, cobber. I'm sick of the General and the Governor." He waved his hand around. "They want to knock both of them out and see if we can get something that works instead. I don't know about you, but I'm sick of all the bullshit that passes for government around here."

Coop walked calmly into the fray, her rifle down at her side. The two guards seemed to instinctively stand to attention when she reached them; she smiled and waved her hand, and they relaxed slightly.

"Granny? What are you doing here?"

"What I should have done a long time ago, Akama. I'm poking my nose in where it doesn't belong. We're not asking you to help us, we're just asking you to stay out of our way."

Orlova added, "It'd be nice if you didn't tell anyone about this, either."

The two of them looked at each other, Akama sighing. "Fine. Forbes, if this turns out to be some sort of trick, you'll regret it."

"It's no trick," he replied, looking at his watch. "We're running behind schedule. That shuttle's due to come down in forty minutes, and we're going to need time to set up."

"Right," Esposito replied, cranking open the hatch and climbing down the ladder; a chorus of calls suggested that the troopers below would be only too eager to get out and see some action. Orlova looked across at the truck again, still wondering how they were going to fit ten people on it. She quietly made her way over to it and sat down; a few of them were going to have to ride outside, probably, and she wasn't going to be one of them. It was no surprise to her that Coop did likewise.

Chapter 21

Less than twenty minutes to go. Marshall watched the clock slowly count down the seconds until they changed their orbital trajectory for the intercept with the transport, and then eight and a half minutes after that, the moment of decision. A twelve-second window during which he might be forced to bring the Lunar ship down.

He weighed the consequences in his mind; the reason he was in his office rather than sitting on the bridge was that he didn't want it to show to the rest of the crew.
While a Captain can be many things, he cannot be indecisive.
Still, he considered that he probably needed to go onto the bridge; battle stations in five minutes to give everyone time to prepare for the battle he still hoped wouldn't happen.

The bridge was a hive of activity; a lot of people seemed to have found excuses to be up to watch the action. Zakharova, showing no signs that he had recently informed her that she was to be transferred, had once again usurped the watch officer's chair; Cellini was standing at Guidance next to Sub-Lieutenant Okello. Dietz was on the bridge, sitting at Tactical; Caine had been called away to deal with a problem with the radiator release. The elevator doors slid open; he turned to see Tyler walking out of them, accompanied by
Khachaturian and Cole, all of them with ship-safe sidearms.

"I thought I'd ordered you to cease the additional security, Sub-Lieutenant."

Tyler looked around at his men, then back to Marshall, "Given the critical time, sir, I thought that it would be best not to take a risk. Khachaturian is one of my deputies, and he was off-duty anyway."

"Next time, let me know before you make a change to my orders. You might as well stay now that you are here."

The viewscreen displayed the plotted course; Mulenga had worked on it a dozen times to provide the best possible firing window, the least possible margin of error. The only way the transport could possibly evade Alamo would be to brake into an orbit, and once caught by Ragnarok's gravity, it would lose a lot of its maneuvering advantage. The confident way they had plotted the aerobrake worried Marshall a little; it suggested that they had done this before, enough times that they were willing to rely completely on the automatic systems.

With two minutes to countdown, he pulled out a datapad and started looking at a checklist. Glancing over at Dietz, he realized he hadn't had a report on the status of the radiators since Caine had gone down, and made his way over to the station to take a look at the systems display. At a first glance, he didn't see anything immediately wrong; Dietz was busily flicking switches and typing control commands, a frown on his face.

"Mr. Dietz, have you any idea what exactly is wrong with the radiators?"

The operations officer looked over his shoulder and replied, "Nothing on my console, sir. I've been looking at it for the last few minutes. Would you like me to page Lieutenant Caine?"

"Yes, at once." He sighed. "Don't tell me someone's got at our cautionary warning systems now. The last thing we want is to have engineers swarming all over the ship looking for problems that aren't there." As he turned to return to his seat, the lights momentarily flickered, and when they came on, Zakharova, Tyler, Cole and Khachaturian were pulling out handguns.

"Take cover!" Marshall yelled, taking his own advice as he threw himself behind his chair, a bullet cracking past his ear. Three more shots fired before he rolled over to see Tyler pointing a gun directly between his eyes. With a wry grin, he slowly rose his hands, scrambling to his feet.

"Tyler," he began, "tell me this is the worst-conceived security drill ever devised."

"I'm afraid not, Captain.
Move o
ver by the wall."

He looked around the room. Muttai was on the ground by his communications console, a slowly growing pool of blood
showing
that he had died at his post. Spinelli was moving over by the wall, clutching his shoulder as crimson oozed out into his uniform, and Okello was standing next to the guidance station, his hands raised in the air. Dietz was still sitting at Tactical; Marshall shot him a savage look then made his way over to the wall.

Zakharova walked up to him, hitting him in the arm with the butt of her pistol, "Stand still and do as you are told."

"I'm getting the medikit for Spinelli. One death was too many for this madness, two would be worse."

"Let him do it,"
Cole
said, "They might as well be comfortable until the Swagman turns up."

Tyler
muttered, "Stupid bloody name for a spaceship anyway."

Spinelli's wound wasn't particularly deep; the bullet had missed the artery and made more of a mess than anything else. Marshall quickly bandaged the entry and exit holes, then rubbed some contact analgesic to ease the pain; the sensor technician nodded, swallowing twice in succession, sweat pouring from his brow.

"You'll be fine, Spaceman," he said, before turning back to the bridge. Khachaturian had taken over the sensor console, Cellini sitting at guidance. The course that had been laboriously calculated had been removed from the screen.

"What next, Zakharova? As soon as the rest of the ship finds out about this, you are going to be in a world of trouble."

"I think not, Captain Marshall." She laced the rank with biting scorn. "What makes you think I only staged this little coup up here on the bridge? By now we should be in control of most of the key areas of the ship."

"How much are the Loonies paying you? Enough to betray your homes and families?"

Tyler sneered, and turned to Zakharova, "Can't I shut him up permanently? I'm tired of his bullshit."

Cole shook his head, "No. That's not going to happen. He was right, Muttai was one too many."

"We've committed no crime against our people, Captain," the former Exec replied. "I am a citizen of the People's Republic of Callisto, not of some Triplanetary melange. No interests of our people are being hindered; I won't weep if a Martian asteroid company goes bankrupt. Let the Loonies have this planet."

Marshall sighed, and shook his head, "So you get two birds with one stone. The Triplanetary Fleet is stillborn when its first mission goes wrong, and one of the biggest competitors of your national mining outfit gets knocked out. In return, the Lunar Republic gets twenty thousand slaves to service its new asteroid mines." He looked around the room. "Don't have any illusions about what you are doing here. These people will end up as indentured servants at best. But as long as your people back home aren't affected, I suppose that doesn't matter to you at all."

"Words, Captain. Just words. And I think we've heard quite enough of them." She sat down in the captain's chair, looking over the instruments, while Cole and Tyler kept the prisoners covered.

"How many of you are there, anyway? How many traitors on my ship?"

She shook her head, smiling, "It isn't your ship any more. And even if it were, I wouldn't tell you anything."

"Have I managed to hit a nerve? Is that what this is really about? That Alamo was given to me instead of you? Are you that petty?"

Grunting between clenched teeth, she pulled out her handgun, "Shut up, Captain."

"What have I got to lose? You'll have to kill me if you ever want to get home. Or perhaps I'll end up a slave down on the planet. I said it before, Zakharova, and I'll say it again right now – I think you are a terrible officer."

Dietz turned in his chair, rose, and made his way over to Tyler, "Tactical systems disabled."

"Disabled?" Zakharova leapt up from the chair and dashed over to the tactical station, looking over the readouts, then looked up at Dietz, "I wanted them deactivated, damn it. We might still need the internal systems."

Marshall looked accusingly at Dietz, smiling at the mistake, before noticing that the officer had crossed two of the fighters on his right hand,
making sure
that only he could see them. He tried not to betray any hint of what he was beginning to suspect, as Dietz leaned back over his station.

"It will take a few minutes to correct."

"Damn," Zakharova slammed a fist into the console, then walked over to the communications station. "I'll get in touch with our friends behind Gatewood, let them know that we have the ship secured. Cellini, once I've established the
relay
link, contact the Swagman and we'll work out an approach vector to transfer our prisoners. I want them off my ship."

She started to tap out a sequence on the panel, hitting send, while Cellini began to work. Dietz, without anyone noticing other than the prisoners, had made his way over to Cole, rose his hand, and hacked at the traitorous guard's wrist, sending his pistol knocking to the floor. Zakharova turned, shooting at the first target she saw, and Okello collapsed onto the deck; Marshall leapt towards Tyler, crashing against the security guard, using the medikit as a makeshift club, but the younger man cracked him around the shoulder with a flying arm, sending him crashing into the elevator, the doors opening behind him.

Spinelli dashed for the open doors as another pair of shots rang out; sparks flew across the bridge from damaged consoles, and the unmistakable ozone smell of an electrical short filled the air.

"Get into the elevator, Dietz, we've lost this one!" Marshall yelled, turning to the controls. With one leap, Dietz jumped into the elevator, and saw what Marshall didn't; Zakharova aiming her pistol at the small of the captain's back. The operations officer hurled himself into Marshall, sending him sprawling to the deck; the bullet fired as the door slid shut.

Blood spilled out across the deck; Dietz started to cough, red
spittle
trickling down from his mouth. Marshall carefully placed the operations officer onto the deck and threw the medikit down
beside him
. Spinelli tapped for the medical bay, jamming down the emergency button with his good hand.

"Damn it, Dietz, don't you dare die on me!"

The operations officer spluttered, "Couldn't warn you," he coughed, spending blood splattering on Marshall's uniform, "Tried to stop them." He coughed again, savagely, as Marshall looked at the hole in his chest, shaking his head.

"What if they control medical, sir?" Spinelli asked, looking at the dying man on the floor.

"Then we're screwed."

Dietz fell unconscious, slipping into shock, and Marshall hurled the useless medikit at the wall. It was designed only for first aid, minor wounds such as Spinelli's, not to deal with serious injuries. He willed the elevator along its run faster than he ever had before, and finally the doors opened into the sickbay corridor. A couple of espatiers were standing by the door, nervously holding their rifles.

"Whose side are you on?" Marshall yelled. "Give me a hand."

"Yours, sir!" The captain breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the two troopers ran forward, helping drag Dietz into the room. Duquesne was sitting at a console, talking over a commlink; as soon as she saw the wounded man she leapt towards the door, gasping as she saw the size of the wound.

"Get him onto the treatment bed. I'll operate immediately." She ran her hands under the sterilizing rays, then pulled out an instrument package from the storage locker.

"Doctor, tell me you aren't with them," Marshall said, grabbing her arm.

She looked down at Marshall's hand, then up at him. "I'd have let you die if I was. Now go stop the mutiny while I save this man's life. Caine's on her way up here."

Marshall looked at Duquesne for a heartbeat, then turned back into the corridor. Caine was just walking out of the elevator when he left the room, her eyes widened as she saw the blood on his jacket. He looked down, then shook his head.

"Not mine. Dietz."

"Dietz?"

He turned to the closed door, a puzzled look on his face, then replied, "He took a bullet for me. The bastard took a bullet for me. I don't even know why."