Traitor's Duty (22 page)

 “Do you think Watson will testify?” Caine asked.

 “He will if we make it, to save his skin.”

 “Coming up in ten seconds, sir.”

 Caine looked up at a readout, and said, “At least Titov’s just a whistle-stop. Just a few missile batteries and a frigate, which we can easily outpace.”

 “Let’s hope you’re right about that, but ride hard on those countermeasures.” Tapping a control, he said, “Quinn, we’re going to need every pound of thrust you can give us in a few seconds.”

 “Already on it, sir. I’ve overridden a lot of the safety cut-offs for the occasion. It’ll be a short life and a merry one for the primary engines, but they’ll certainly get us to Mars in a hurry.”

 “Good,” Marshall replied.

 “Though whether they’ll get us anywhere else again is another question entirely.”

 “For better or for worse, we make our stand in Mars orbit, Mr. Quinn.”

 “Two. One. Now,” Steele said, and the stars appeared in the screen, Sol dead center. It was still a beautiful sight, the star that had shone on mankind as it grew to maturity. To the right, a small disc, Mars in the distance, shining in welcome.

 “Course implemented, Captain,” Steele said, ignoring the moment. “Implementing now.”

 “Threat warning!” Spinelli said from the sensors. “Battleship to our rear, closing rapidly.”

 “A battleship?” Caine replied. “Damn it, Danny, we’re outmatched.” 

 “Are we in its combat radius?” Marshall asked.

 “For another hundred and nine seconds. I’m not getting any energy spikes…”

 “They’re hitting our firewalls hard,” Caine said. “If Logan and Harper hadn’t built in some modifications, they’d own our systems by now.”

 “Make all speed, Steele. Run the systems ragged. We’ve got to get clear.”

 “Captain, we’re being hailed. It’s the Battleship Zeus.” Weitzman looked up at Marshall, his eyes wide, and said, “Lieutenant-Captain Zakharova commanding.” 

 “What?” Caine said. “Danny, she was in prison for mutiny, for twenty years!”

 Steele turned, and asked, “Who is she?” 

 “My first Exec,” Marshall replied, ruefully. “During the Ragnarok mission, she tried to lead a mutiny in the name of Callistan separatists, and damn near succeeded.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “Put her on, Weitzman. We might as well hear what she has to say.” 

 “Enemy missile tubes are opening, sir,” Spinelli said. “They must have a good target lock, and I’m getting signs of buildup from her laser cannons. Eighty-nine seconds to go.”

 Zakharova’s face appeared on the screen, on a bridge at least twice the size of Alamo, far more modern in design and appearance, though oddly devoid of people; only two others were in shot, both at aft consoles and going to lengths to keep their faces turned away from the pickup.

 “I’m going to make this quick,” she said. “Stand down, and prepare to accept a boarding party. I have orders to take all of you into custody.”

 Looking back at her, Marshall replied, “Where from?”

 “President Ackerman.”

 “I see mutiny is a habit for you,” he said. “No surprise that they bounced you out of your cell. Are the rest of your crew jailbirds as well?” Leaning forward, he said, “If you want us, come and get us. If you can.”

 “Fifty-one seconds,” one of Zakharova’s crew said, and the channel closed.

 “More speed, Steele,” Marshall said.

 “Energy spike!” Spinelli yelled. “We’ve got a missile launch in progress. Ten missile salvo on the way.”

 “Get a salvo out to stop it,” Marshall said. “Full evasive maneuvers, Steele!”

 She worked her controls, sending Alamo into a tight dive just in time to miss the laser blast that raced from Zeus’ forward section, while the ship rocked from the launch of Caine’s missiles, six speeding into the darkness against the ten pursers.

 “Level course, Steele,” Ryder said. “They won’t be able to recharge quickly enough to get off a second shot while we’re still in range.”

 “Shuttles launching, sir,” Spinelli reported. “On intercept course. Profile suggests Espatier assault.”

 “Can we outpace them?” Marshall asked, fearing the answer. 

 “In the long-haul, yes we can,” Ryder said. “Interception is currently scheduled for two minutes, thirty seconds from now, well out of the attack range of Zeus.” Looking down at a screen, she said, “We’ve got them, sir. We can outpace them nicely. Best estimates show us getting to Mars two and a half hours early.”

 “Knocking them down, Danny!” Caine said, triumphantly. “Four enemy missiles destroyed for two of our own, six running. Countermeasures are doing their job.”

 “We’ve got a laser pulse of our own, sir,” Steele said. “I can set up a shot without too much trouble. Zeus isn’t running an evasive pattern.”

 “They fired on us,” Danny,” Caine said.

 “No,” he replied. “Not yet. If we can get away from this without firing on one of our own ships, I’m very happy with that outcome.”

 “Another one down, and I’m slamming in with our remaining missiles,” Caine said.

 “That leaves us one short,” Marshall said.

 “Use the laser, and they’ll have time for another salvo,” Ryder warned.

 Pausing for a second, looking up at the tactical display, Marshall said, “Knock it down if you can, or we’ll just have to take the hit.”

 “Aye, sir,” Caine said, furiously working over her controls. Within a few seconds, almost all of the incoming tracks cleared from the screen, leaving only a single one remaining as it tracked in closer and closer, Steele revolving the ship to present the least vulnerable aspect to the enemy. Marshall gripped the
arm
rests of his chair, bracing himself for the impact, counting down the seconds.

 “Detonation,” Spinelli said. “Missile exploded nine hundred meters short.”

 With a deep sigh, Marshall said, “Good work, Deadeye.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “Thanks for the compliment, but I didn’t do anything. Someone must have set if off at the far end.”

 “Maybe they wanted us to get away,” Steele said.

 “Or perhaps we’ve got friends on board,” Marshall mused. “Assessment, Deadeye?”

 “It’s a damn powerful ship, but they aren’t using it to their best capability. My guess is a small and inexperienced crew on board. Zakharova didn’t actually have that much time in the center seat, and she’s been in prison for three years. Not much chance to keep up with the state of the art.”

 “Something else this confirms is that they don’t have many people to work with. If they’re scraping the barrel this low, then we must really be pushing their manpower,” Ryder said. “How many people do they need, anyway? This must be concentrated in the political and officer grades. They wouldn’t necessarily require that many people from the lower ranks. After all, if they pull off their plans, they’ll have control of the Fleet by default.”

 “Sir,” Spinelli said, “You should take a look at the tactical situation.” He punched series of buttons, and the tactical display expanded to show the whole system. “All three battleships appear to be in position. Ares is at Mariner Station, and Cronus at Carter.” Glancing down at a display, he said, “Ares is on the move, sir. Heading for Mars. Estimated time of arrival is three hours and nine minutes after we arrive.”

 “Which means we have an edge,” Marshall replied. “As long as we can pull this off quickly, we stand an excellent chance of winning this battle.”

  “Why Zakharova, though?” Ryder asked. “There must be other officers who could have the command.”

 With a smile, Caine said, “My bet would be plausible deniability. If anything goes wrong, they can blame everything on a rogue officer who, I suspect, will have been reported as breaking out of confinement fairly recently.” Her smile turned to a frown, as she said, “That suggests that they knew what we were doing.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “Not necessarily. Titov was always going to be our best way into Sol System;
they'd have assumed we'd find the others too well-defended.
What about the shuttles?”

 “Turning back to rendezvous with Zeus,” Spinelli reported. “Zakharova couldn’t have thought that we’d just let them on board.”

 “Maybe she thought just that,” Caine said. “Or was just going through the motions. Danny, we’re being herded to Mars.”

 “Which is exactly where we’re wanting to go,” Marshall replied. “Weitzman, get me the President. The real President.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 “At least we got away from them,” Steele said.

 Her face going white, Ryder replied, “I don’t think we did.”

 “What do you mean?” Marshall asked.

 “They’re not heading for us, they’re heading for Mars.” She turned, looking at him, and said, “Dead on, right for the outer atmosphere.”

 “Mars’ atmosphere isn’t up to much…,” Steele began.

 “But if they get it right, they can aerobrake enough
of
their velocity that they can start their deceleration later than us,” Ryder said. “Sir, I don’t know that this is what they are doing, but that’s what I would do if I were in their place.”

 “Run a projection,” Marshall said.

 “I have,” Caine replied, “Just now. The answer is just about zero, Danny. They’ll reach Mars orbit – and a potential intercept – less than twenty seconds after we get there. With matching velocities that will give them all the time in the world to wipe us out.”

 “Sir,” Weitzman said, “I have the President.”

 Marshall looked ahead for a second, silent, then said, “I’d better brief him. Ryder, take the conn, and try and work something...anything out.”

 He glanced up at the clock as he walked into his office, counting down. In twenty-one hours, they’d be closing in on Mars. The way it seemed now, they’d die within sight of it.

Chapter 22

 “Wake up, Maggie,” a voice said, shaking her as she lay in her bed. She blinked twice and looked up to see Nelyubov standing over her, another figure – President Newton – behind him.

 “Not often I get woken up in the middle of the night by the President,” she mumbled as she rubbed her eyes. “What’s going on?”

 “All hell’s broken lose. Alamo jumped into the system nine minutes ago…”

 “They’re back?” she replied, instantly awake.

 “And fought a brief skirmish with Zeus on their arrival before heading right for here.”

 “Skirmish implies that both sides fought, Lieutenant,” Newton said. “Alamo did not fire at the enemy, and only discharged missiles to disable those of its enemy. Commendable constraint. I’m not sure I would have done the same in his place.”

 Senator Harper raced in, and said, “I’ve got to get back in forty-five minutes. The Senate’s been called into emergency session. Joint request of the Progressives and the Technocrats.” Looking at Newton, he said, “I think there is an excellent chance that you will no longer be President within the hour.” Looking down at the bed, he added, “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

 “Let me clear my head for a second. As soon as the Senate session opens, they’ll immediately vote for impeachment?”

 Nodding, Newton said, “They could have done it at any time over the last four weeks. The only thing holding it up is the desire of the Progressives to win the election, dragging some of the Technocrats with them. They wanted maximum advantage from the scandal, but now Captain Marshall’s going to end their little game.”

 “And once they get the impeachment through, no peace treaty. We’re at war, and the Progressives get Ackerman in as a puppet.”

 “Don’t underrate him,” Newton said. “He’s smart enough to be dangerous.”

 “We’ve got to do something to stop them,” Nelyubov said. “Senator, can’t you hold things up? Alamo will be here in less than a day. There must be some sort of procedural mechanism for this.”

 “I’m afraid my credit is just about exhausted,” he replied. “Even some of my
own
party loyalists are talking about replacing me after the election. We need a miracle.”

 “I’ll testify,” Orlova said. “Right now.”

 “You wouldn’t get within a mile of the Senate, Lieutenant,” Newton said. “The place will be bristling with security.”

 “What if we sent our troopers with them?” Nelyubov asked.

 “A firefight outside the Senate Dome?” Newton said, shaking his head. “No, thank you. I’d rather resign in disgrace than be the President who ordered troops into the Senate.”

 “Damn it, sir, we don’t have any other options. We’ve got to get Maggie into that building to tell what she knows.”

 Looking at the frustrated officer, the Senator said, “Even if we did get her into the building, there is no guarantee that anyone would listen.”

 Joining the gaggle outside the room, Sub-Lieutenant Chambers, latterly Logan’s Political Officer, appeared, “That’s correct. The Senate is only obliged to listen to its own.”

 “Great,” Nelyubov said. “Who wrote this stupid set of laws? Unless we can make Maggie an instant Senator, we’re stuck.”

 “She is constitutionally eligible,” Chambers said. “You’re what, twenty-seven?”

 “Last month,” Orlova replied.

 Chambers looked at the Senator, whose eyes lit up. “Get the Ambassador here, right now!” Turning back to Orlova, he said, “Come on. We’ve got to get you to a conference room. Get changed, and quickly. We’re light on minutes.”

 As the others ran from the room, Orlova struggled with her uniform, Nelyubov tossing her jacket over to her from the chair she had left it resting on the night before.

 “What are they planning?”

 “No idea,” he replied, “But we’d better hurry up. Hell, the Senator’s going to have trouble getting back in the time. It’s a good forty-minute flight from here.”

 “Makes you wonder why they put the Embassy so far out of the way.”

 The two of them raced down the corridor to the nearest conference room, where the bleary-eyed Ambassador from Ragnarok stood in his nightgown, the orange an odd contrast with the flag hanging on the wall behind him.

 “Have you got him yet?” Newton yelled at a technician, working the controls on a viewscreen.

 “Senator Morley coming on the line now, sir,” he said, and the image of a middle-aged woman appeared on the screen, the only one of them not obviously just woken up, wearing a pressed suit.