Battlecruiser Alamo: Not One Step Back (3 page)

 “Can I speak freely, sir?”

 “Yes, damn it.”

 Taking a deep breath, Marshall replied, “I know my crew a damn sight better than you, Commodore, and I know that they all wanted to get their friends back off Jefferson. The Espatiers were hell-bent on bringing them out, and everyone worked like hell.”

 “I was not criticizing your crew, Captain.” He leaned forward, a sneer on his face. “Just you.”

 Leaping to his feet, Marshall replied, “What the hell was I supposed to do, Commodore? What the hell was I supposed to do? I knew that the Republic were heading out there, and soon – their presence on Sagdeev confirmed that. That planet out there is the most valuable piece of real estate in the known galaxy. The only planet other than Earth where human beings can live without technological aid. At the very least, it had to be protected and defended.”

 “Finished?”

 “No, sir! I arrive, I find that it is guarded by a weapons system decades ahead of anything we have – a system that our people can now study – and that the inhabitants of the planet are being held in a state of oppression by a hostile foreign power. I couldn’t help but remember how we were before the war began. What if someone had come and helped us, Commodore? We needed the help every bit as badly as they did. How could I just fly away and leave those people behind?” He smiled. “They might be squabbling, but Jefferson’s on the right track now. The track to freedom and self-determination. I hope that leads them to the Confederation, but at any rate, it will lead them somewhere better than they were. And their kids can now dream of flying in space again. That meant a lot to me, at any rate.”

 “Have you quite finished?”

 Nodding, Marshall replied, “Yes, sir, I have. I guess you can be free to turn Alamo back over to Zubinsky now.”

 “Don’t be stupid. Sit down.” As the younger officer sat, he began to smile, “You build up a good head of steam, Danny. Good to see in a commanding officer, and it’s nice that you are able to yell back to me now. Sign that you’re maturing, it usually takes a few years for a skipper to learn how to shout at his boss.”

 Frowning, he replied, “Thanks, I suppose, sir.”

 “Right now, Zubinsky’s in between assignments; there are a lot of people joining the Fleet now. Hundreds. We’ve got every FTL-capable craft in the three defense fleets, and our technical staffs are going over the mothball fleets to see what they can scavenge for us. The Senate just past its third bill to increase our appropriations, the third in two years, Danny.”

 “Wow.”

 “This isn’t the rag-tag jumble of ships you joined. We’re an actual fleet now, and we have a lot of commitments to fill. Speaking of which, I’ve got to take Dietz away from you permanently.”

 Marshall’s mouth opened, “The psychiatrists gave him the all-clear…”

 “And I need him elsewhere. We’re hurting, and badly, for experienced cadre at his rank. Those old Ranger-class scouts, remember them?”

 “Only in the Martian Smithsonian.”

 “Don’t go there expecting to see one. We’re bringing all seven of them back into the fleet, and I’m giving Pioneer to Dietz. He’s just got back from his shakedown flight, actually. Cunningham can stay on as your permanent Executive Officer, and I’ll get you someone new to cover Operations.”

 “I’m glad to hear it. Glad he’s still in the service, I mean. The psych boys weren’t optimistic at first.”

 “Worst case of xenopsychosis they’d ever seen, but they can work miracles these days. I know that seeing any alien triggers some...problems, but these ones…” He sighed, “The Cabal is still a total blank, Danny, and one that we desperately need to fill. That’s why you are here.”

 “I thought…”

 “Big mistake.” Tramiel frowned. “Are you familiar with Spitfire Station?”

 Making a face, Marshall replied, “Orbits Luhman 16, doesn’t it, six and a bit light years out? I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard the stories.”

 “All of them are true. The place is a smuggler’s paradise, and one we tolerate because we need to be able to sneak things through the UN embargo.”

 “Things?”

 A smile cracking his face, Tramiel replied, “Best not to be too specific, I think. Technically, it’s ours, but we’ve been hands-off; that’s now changing. There have been some attacks, probably rival smuggling groups fighting it out, but the administrators have been putting pressure on us to deal with the situation.”

 “Who are they?”

 “Our old friends at Cornucopia Mining. Seems that they have an interest in the station, as well as sending prospecting ships out all over the place.”

 “I see.” 

 “Naturally, they will be very happy when they learn that we are sending Alamo out to deal with the problem.” Crossing his hands, he leaned back on his chair. “Now, what I am about to tell you comes direct from the President – and I mean direct. You will be the fourth person in the loop on this one, and that’s as far as it goes. Counter-Admiral Remek and I got these orders direct this morning.”

 Marshall leaned forward, an eager smile on his face, “And they are, sir?”

 “Once you have dealt with the situation at Spitfire, you are to refuel and proceed out. Into deep space at your discretion. Fuel dumps have been established at FL Virginis, out at the seventh planet – well away from our outpost on Sagdeev. That’s there if you want it.”

 “Two jumps from Spitfire to Sagdeev, then we go where we wish?”

 Shaking his head, the Commodore replied, “No, son, you go where you want from Spitfire. We need to learn everything we can about the Cabal – while we are so completely in the dark, we cannot plan, cannot prepare ourselves. We might be at war with them tomorrow, or they might have nothing to fight with. All we know is that potentially they represent the greatest threat we have faced since the Interplanetary War.”

 Rubbing his hand over his chin, Marshall replied, “No restrictions on my orders?”

 “Not after Spitfire. Your cover is that you are proceeding on a routine patrol and training mission to Proxima, and we’re going to make sure that no Triplanetary ship heads out that way. Not that we will make a big deal of it. I’ve prepared your ship as thoroughly as I can; a full Espatier platoon, extra support for your astrogator, one of the new science officers. I can’t spare any fighters, not with the carriers coming back into service, but you’ve got plenty of shuttles.”

 “This...sounds too good to be true.”

 “The catch is that there is no rescue. If this mission goes wrong, we will have no idea where Alamo is – but the whole point is that we can’t know. The only solid information we got from Jefferson is that the Cabal has an intelligence network that has us well covered; if we gave you orders, there is no guarantee that they would not be compromised.”

 “I see.”

 “You will need to watch for sabotage, take additional precautions. Your crew are not to be briefed until you leave Spitfire – until you are actually in hendecaspace on your way out. I’ve made sure you have copies of everything we have, and I didn’t draw Spitfire out of a hat, either. One of our agents has a lead that heads in that direction, and I suggest you follow it up.”

 “I will, sir.”

 “You’ll need to watch for the Republic, as well. With them grabbing Wolf 359 and Sirius...the situation is poised to get nasty, very quickly. I would not be surprised to see them out there.”

 “You think they might be considering an alliance with the Cabal?”

 Tramiel paused, frowning, “I don’t think we can rule it out.”

 “I’ll be on my guard, sir.”

 “It gets better, I’m afraid; Intelligence wants you to take a man with you out there.”

 His brow furrowing, Marshall said, “Do they know about the mission, sir?”

 “I damn well hope not.” Sighing, Tramiel shook his head, “But who knows how many pies those spooks have their fingers in. Try and find some use for him.” He scanned a datapad, “Logan Winter. Had a reserve commission, served during the war, so we reactivated him so he’d blend in better. I’ve listed him as a PCO.”

 “A prospective commander? Is he?”

 “No, but this way he can be around without actually doing anything.”

 “I see,” Marshall replied, his frown growing.

 “Alamo departs as soon as you get back to Mariner Station. I booked passage for you on the next shuttle, in about two hours from now. Zubinsky has seen that your bags are packed and you are ready to go.”

 “Thank you, sir.”

 “Just get the job done, Danny. And try and come home in one piece.”

Chapter 3

 “Come on, fifth out of twelve isn’t that bad,” Esposito said to her friend, Sub-Lieutenant Margaret Orlova. The young officer shook her head in frustration.

 “I should have done better than that, Gabi. I was the only one in that class who had actual combat experience…”

 “And the only one in the class that didn’t attend a service academy. You had a big gap to get over, and you did pass, right?”

 With a reluctant nod, Orlova replied, “Right. I’m tactical-qualified now. Assuming that the Captain will let me anywhere near the weapons with those test scores.”

 Sighing, Esposito said, “This isn’t like you, Maggie. I’ve never seen you like this.” She paused, “Is it your father?”

 Shaking her head, she said, “Hell, no. I’d have liked to spend more time with him, but we at least managed to spend a couple of weeks together at Port Lowell. It’s…”

 “What?”

 “I felt like a fraud. All of those people spoke the same language, had the same training, most of them knew each other. Here I was, an outsider breaking into their world. I spent the whole time thinking there was something I was missing.”

 Grabbing her friend by the shoulders, Esposito said, “I outrank you now, so I get to tell you this – don’t be stupid. You’re a mustang, and one with an unconventional service record to say the least, but you also have more battle experience than anyone in the fleet with your rank and seniority. I doubt you’ll ever have a conventional career, and certainly there will always be people riding you because of it, but that doesn’t mean you don’t belong in the uniform.”

 Looking over her garish dress, Orlova smiled, “I probably should put one on.”

 “I was going to ask when the Captain had changed the dress code,” Esposito said with a twinkling chuckle.

 “Some sort of shipping snafu, all my bags went out on the last shuttle. I just hope someone’s stowed them in my cabin for me – and that Harper didn’t get there first.”

 “You’re going to have fun with her.”

 “Not so much fun as before. I’m going to miss you, dammit.”

 Glancing down at her insignia, Esposito replied, “It’s going to be strange watching Alamo fly off without me, that’s for certain. I don’t want to spend the next year babysitting recruits, but they gave me what I wanted. Another year and they fund my Masters, then I come back for another three-year tour. Buys me time to decide what I want to do.”

 Orlova looked up at the shuttle display, shaking her head. For the last twenty minutes it had registered that the shuttle was waiting for docking clearance; it should have taken less than five. The concourse was crowded with Alamo crew making their way back after their leave was cut short.

 “How was your leave, anyway?”

 Sighing, her friend shook her head, “Trouble at home. My kid brother got himself mixed up with the law again, and we were trying to handle it by remote.”

 “I thought he’d emigrated?”

 “That’s the problem, he ended up out on Thalassa.”

 “Good place for someone wanting to be an oceanographer.”

 Shaking her head, Esposito replied, “A Triplanetary citizen on a UN colony world is always going to run into problems, and it just gets better if he gets mixed up in politics. They caught him at some sort of protest meeting.”

 “Ouch.”

 “I had to go down to Armstrong Station to sort it out. Almost a month out there yelling at one official or another – I tell you, I was tempted to call in for reinforcements. An Espatier platoon would have cut through the paperwork in a hurry.”

 “Bureaucracy through superior firepower.”

 As the two of them laughed, the light over the shuttle dock finally flashed green, and the doors slid open, the crowd of crewmen beginning to tumble inside; Orlova was almost knocked off her feet by a tall blonde she didn’t recognize, and flashed her a quick, dirty look.

 “Shuttle Seven now boarding,” a speaker redundantly announced.

 “You’d better get going,” Esposito said. “Let me know when you get back, we’ll get some leave together.”

 “Damn right.” The two quickly hugged, and Orlova walked onto the shuttle; all of the good seats seemed to have been taken, and the only empty one she could spot was an aisle seat next to the woman who had knocked her earlier. Crashing down onto the seat, she quickly tucked her legs in.

 “Aren’t you going to fasten your restraints?” the woman said, frowning.

 “For a hop this short?” Orlova replied, belatedly looking to her left; her eyes widened slightly when she saw the insignia of a Senior Lieutenant on the blonde’s shoulders, and an assignment patch that made it clear that she too was bound for Alamo.

 “Who are you, anyway?”

 “Sub-
L
ieutenant Margaret Orlova, Security Officer.” The woman coughed, and she finished,  “Ma’am.”

 “Ah, yes. I’ve read your file,” she replied in a neutral tone. “Senior Lieutenant Natalya Zebrova, Operations Officer.” While she didn’t actually add ‘worst nightmare’, it was definitely implied.

 “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

 “I take it you work undercover?”

 “Ma’am?”

 Gesturing at her, Zebrova replied, “You have a somewhat unorthodox uniform, Sub-Lieutenant. Though I suppose given your record, that’s not to be wondered at.”

 “There was a mix-up with my baggage, ma’am. We parted ways at Mars; this was all I could get out of the ship’s store.”

 “A good officer does not let ‘mix-ups’ happen, Sub-Lieutenant, and I trust you will see that it does not happen again. Submit yourself for uniform inspection in my office within half an hour of your arrival on Alamo.”