Excelsior (11 page)

The room’s PA system crackled. “Ramos here. I think I might have something…”

“What is it, Ramos?” Stone asked.

Alexander’s heart thudded in his chest as he scanned the associated feed. He squinted at the small window, trying to pick out details. Then Stone enlarged the feed, temporarily minimizing the others. The petty officer who’d reported was looking down the sights of his rifle, the barrel swinging back and forth as he scanned everything in sight, checking points of cover where there might be an ambush waiting. Every now and then his viewpoint strayed to one of the food crates at the back of the room, dead ahead. Alexander could see that the lid was cracked open. That had to have happened after the battle around Lewis Station or else the Lincoln’s combat maneuvers would have distributed the contents of the crate all around the room by now.

Ramos crept up to that crate and reached out to lift the lid.

“Watch for booby-traps,” Stone warned.

“Yes, sir.”

Moving slower now, the pilot pressed his helmet to the crack between the lid and the crate and activated his helmet lamp to get a better look.

Alexander caught a glimpse of a group of metallic cylinders lying beside each other at the top of the crate. There didn’t appear to be any wires running between the lid of the crate and those cylinders, so it hadn’t been rigged to blow when opened.

Withdrawing, the MA lifted the lid and peered in again for a closer look.

Stone took a sharp breath. “Those are hypervelocity rounds. They’re all wired together with detcord.”

“It’s a bomb, sir,” Ramos confirmed.

“Whoever planted it had to have access to munitions storage on red deck,” Alexander decided.

“Think you can disarm it?” Stone asked.

“I don’t know. Let me take a look…”

“Careful.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alexander watched as Ramos removed the lid and scanned the contents of the crate. There was no timer, at least not one that they could see, but there was a comm band wired to the munitions.

“Looks like its rigged for remote detonation,” Ramos said. “I should be able to disable it by turning off the comm unit.”

“Assuming it’s not booby-trapped,” Alexander said. “Hold on, Ramos.” Turning to Stone he said, “We might be able to find out who the saboteur is if we leave that comm unit on.”

“Time is critical here, Captain,” Stone said. “We don’t know when our saboteur is going to detonate.”

“No, but we can’t afford to detonate his bomb for him, either. Even if it’s not rigged to blow, he could just plant another one later.”

“We don’t have time to inspect the comm unit’s code and find out if it’s rigged.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but I have a better idea. What would you say the odds are that bomb was designed to destroy the Lincoln?”

“Slim to none, assuming the bomber knows something about size of the payload he’s working with.”

“So if it goes off, what kind of damage are we looking at?”

“We’ll lose most of our food stores to space, and those decks will be torn wide open, but that’s about it.”

“Then the bomber isn’t looking to get himself killed. He probably just wants to turn this ship around and go home.”

Stone blinked. “So…”

“So, let’s get the crew together. We never did organize a proper funeral service for the pilots we lost.”

Stone’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Sir, I don’t think this is the time to be discussing—”

Alexander held up a hand. “Let me stop you there, Lieutenant. I have plan to catch our deviant crewman, but if it’s going to work, we need everyone to be present. The funeral is a good excuse that won’t tip anyone off.”

“What are your orders, sir?” Ramos asked.

Alexander turned back to the feed. “Take that food crate to the amidships cargo-loading airlock and wait for me there.”

“Too heavy for me to move it alone, sir.”

“Get your squad mates to help,” Alexander said.

“Roger, Captain.”

Lieutenant Stone muted the channel. “This plan of yours better not get more of our people killed.”

“Danger is the spice of life, Lieutenant.”

“Variety.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Variety is the spice of life, sir.”

“Well, I’ve never been very good with English idioms.”

Chapter 7

It was standing room only in the cargo bay at the amidships airlock—everyone except for Lieutenant Davorian was there. Since he had reported the bad engine code Alexander had decided that he was probably above reproach, so Davorian was back on the bridge as the Officer of the Deck until Hayes and McAdams returned from the funeral.

Alexander stared dead ahead, through the thick tempered glass at the top of the inner airlock door. The symbolic casket sitting inside the airlock was actually the food crate they’d found rigged with a bomb. Alexander hoped the bomber would notice and start to get nervous, but so far he hadn’t seen any adverse reactions from the crew.

Alexander stood beside the ship’s chaplain as he read a passage from the Bible.

“Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?”

The chaplain went on reading, but Alexander tuned him out. Being an agnostic, he found it ironic that even the chaplain had accepted gener treatments in exchange for his years of service with the navy. Alexander was pretty sure that constituted some kind of hypocrisy—preaching about immortality in the life to come, yet accepting it now in this one.

Hedging your bets? Alexander wondered.

Since the advent of medical immortality, the religions of the world had been relegated to promising life eternal to those who had yet to become immortal, and to those who were afraid they might still die of unnatural causes. If the current service was any indication, Alexander supposed that made some degree of sense. The chances of dying from unnatural causes over the course of an infinite lifespan were a hundred percent. Death was still a certainty, but not from old age. Alexander supposed that was why the northern states kept degenerates out. In a society where everyone was scared to death of dying, violent crime was a very serious concern.

Alexander scanned his crew, looking for someone who seemed particularly edgy. Time was ticking. With everyone here and suitably distracted, it was the perfect moment for the bomber to trigger his device, but if he was smart, he’d already recognized his bomb sitting in the airlock. By now he’d have realized that they were actually gathered here to mourn the loss of a rigged food crate. The saboteur would know that detonating his bomb would actually kill the entire crew—himself included—if he was smart.

Alexander was counting on that. As soon as the chaplain finished reading, Alexander stepped up to makeshift podium, saying, “Thank you, Chaplain. Now I’d like to share a few of my own words of comfort.”

The chaplain looked bemused, but he nodded and stepped down.

Alexander surveyed his crew, studying each of their faces in turn. The ship’s MAs were scattered around, guarding the entrances and exits, just in case the saboteur tried to make a run for it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as far as I’m concerned we already mourned our losses. I’ve actually brought you all here for another reason.” Puzzlement flickered across countless faces. Alexander smiled grimly and went on, “Less than an hour ago a bomb was discovered in the ship’s food supply.” People gasped. Faces paled. Crew traded looks of shock and betrayal. “Yes, I know—unconscionable. But don’t worry, our food supply is safe. We’ve relocated the bomb to the amidships cargo airlock.”

It took a moment for that to sink in, and then all eyes turned to the airlock they were standing next to. People began backing away. Murmurs of discontent filled the air.

Alexander made a settle down gesture with his hands. “There’s no need to be alarmed! We brought the bomb here because one of you planted it, and we need that same person to step forward now that so we can disable it without any loss of life.”

“You brought a bomb here?” Max Carter demanded, pointing an accusing finger at Alexander. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Yes, I am, Max. Now, unless you have something to confess to, please keep quiet so the bomber can speak up.”

The ambassador’s eyes flashed. “Let us out of here right now, Captain!”

“Can’t do that, sorry.”

Commander Korbin spoke up next. “What are you waiting for? Just blow it out the airlock!”

“We could, but then we’d never find out who our bomber is, and he or she might just find a deadlier way to sabotage this ship at some later date.”

“He could also blow all of us up, right here and now!” Korbin insisted.

“True, but if that was the bomber’s intention, then the bomb should have been planted on Red Deck with the ship’s munitions, or next to the fusion reactor. Since this bomb was planted with the ship’s food stores, we believe the intention was to make us turn around, not to destroy the ship or cause any harm to its crew.”

“You’re willing to stake all of our lives on that?” Max demanded.

“Yes, I am. In fact, I’ll bet that whoever planted this bomb will rather confess than allow it to go off and kill us all.”

“That’s a court-martial and a summary execution,” Korbin said. “Where’s the incentive to confess?”

“Good point, Commander. Tell you what, I promise I won’t execute the saboteur,” Alexander said, placing a hand over his chest and another one in the air, as if he were about to give sworn testimony. “I’ll also make sure that they never see a court-martial. How’s that? Now, whoever you are, you can save your crew and your own filthy skin while you’re at it. Any takers?” Alexander searched the room, but no one spoke up. Everyone was busy looking at one another accusingly. Promised leniency notwithstanding, the saboteur was still better off to disown his handiwork and keep his lips zipped.

Time to up the ante.

“All right. Let’s do something,” Alexander said, stepping down from the podium and striding toward the airlock. He snapped his fingers at the nearest MA. “You, Ramos, open the door.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me. Open sesame.”

“Yes, sir…” The security officer opened the airlock with a hiss of equalizing pressure and an accompanying whoosh of wind as the heavy door slid aside.

Alexander walked in, right up to the rigged crate. “This bomb is a bunch of jury-rigged munitions from Red Deck. That gives us some idea about who it might be. We found some other clues, too. Turns out the bomb has a remote detonator. It’s wired to a comm band. So all it’ll take is a whisper from our secret friend, and boom—we all get to see firsthand what the chaplain has spent his life preaching about.

“Naturally, we should have disarmed it on the spot, but just prior to discovering the bomb, we found signs of sabotage in the ship’s engine code. That means that our saboteur knows how to use a computer, so he may have also tampered with the comm band’s code and rigged it to blow the bomb if we try to disarm it. That’s just a guess, mind you. We don’t know for sure.” Alexander went down on his haunches beside the crate. “I suppose there’s an easy way to find out. Any bets it’s rigged?” Alexander reached for the crate’s lid and removed it, revealing the bomb inside.

The murmurs of discontent were back and growing louder by the second. Suddenly Max Carter stepped forward. “That’s enough! It was me. I did it. Now stop this nonsense before you get us all killed.”

“Really? You know how to tamper with the ship’s engine code and rig a bomb using hypervelocity rounds and a comm band? How did you get access to Red Deck? Or the engine code? Or even to the storage levels where we found the food crate? You have a civilian clearance on this ship. That means you’re barely authorized to wipe your own ass.”

Max sneered. “I’ll explain how later, Captain. You have your confession. Don’t be stupid. Arrest me.”

“I would love to, but there’s just one problem, Max… I don’t believe a word you said.”

The ambassador’s eyes widened, and he looked genuinely scared. “I said enough, Captain!”

“Sorry, I’m not done yet. Anyone else? Last chance before I pull the plug on this thing.” Alexander scanned the crew one more time. No one else said a word. Alexander shrugged. “Fine. Have it your way.” He looked up to the chaplain. The man had turned white as a ghost. “Say a prayer for us, minister.” Alexander reached into the crate and lifted the comm band from the bomb assembly. It was trailing wires and detcord. “Red or blue? Hmmmm… Well, I’m no expert, so I guess I’ll just have to cut them all…”

“Wait!” the voice was shrill, but not feminine. Alexander turned, and so did everyone else. Alexander couldn’t believe who it was.

“Williams?” Then again it made sense. The sensors operator had taken first watch on the bridge while everyone else was in the officer’s lounge attending the wake for the dead Rapier pilots. Williams would have had the time to plant his bomb, and as the ship’s quartermaster and a member of the bridge crew, he had all the clearance he needed to do just about anything.

Problem was, Alexander had known Williams for years, and sabotage was the last thing he would have expected from the man. “Why?” Alexander asked, feeling genuinely confused.