Battlecruiser Alamo: Not One Step Back (5 page)

 “This was Shuttle Seven?”

 “Yes, sir,” Harper replied.

 “Thanks.” He continued to frown as he walked over to the waiting officer. If Pioneer had kept to its schedule, he would have been on that shuttle; suddenly his interest in Harper’s report had escalated from looking for a potential recruit to a matter of personal safety.

 “Sir?” the officer said, standing in front of him. He looked her over – young and trim, brunette with neatly-trimmed curls, a little slimmer than he usually liked. Her uniform was well-kept, carefully pressed. Evidently this was a tight ship, and he grimaced inwardly at the prospect.

 “I presume you are my escort?”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Ryder, sir, the officer of the watch.”

 “Senior Lieutenant Winter,” he replied, this time remembering to include his rank. “You taking me to my cabin?”

 “No, sir. Captain Marshall has called all senior officers to a briefing, and asked that you join them immediately upon arrival.” Logan waved his bag and she smiled, replying, “Don’t worry, sir, I’ll have a crewmen drop your belongings in your quarters. I think you are in the VIP room.”

 “Splendid,” he replied, stepping into the elevator. Ryder looked at him silently for a moment.

 “Do you know where you are going, sir?”

 “The briefing room,” he replied.

 She laughed, saying, “No, sir, I mean after the mission. What ship are you taking over?”

 Logan was baffled for a moment, then remembered Paine’s last-minute – he always liked surprising his operatives, for some reason that baffled him – instructions that he was impersonating something called a ‘Prospective Commanding Officer’.

 “I’m afraid I don’t know yet, Ryder. The Fleet works in mysterious ways.” He smiled, he hoped benignly. “Looking for a transfer?”

 “I’m on the list to be promoted to full Lieutenant in a few months, sir, and that will almost certainly mean a transfer.” She looked from side to side, “I was curious what my options might be.”

 “Well, Sub-Lieutenant, I will certainly keep you in mind for my next posting.”

 The doors opened, and the two of them walked out into the corridor. As promised, there was a crewman waiting for them, and Logan passed him his bag without a second thought; anything that was really important was in one of his hidden pockets. Just because he was stuck wearing a uniform didn’t mean he couldn’t customize it a little.

 “Right in there, sir,” Ryder said, gesturing at an anonymous door.

 “Thanks, Sub-lieutenant.”

 “My pleasure, sir.”

 Walking through the door, he found himself the immediate focus of attention, conversation stopping in mid-flow. There were several vacant chairs, and habit caused him to take the one closest to the door. He nodded at the officer at the head of the table, presumably the Captain, though he looked a tad young for the job.

 “Sorry I’m late, I hope I haven’t missed anything vital.”

 “Not at all. I’m Captain Marshall, and we’ll have a chance for a chat later.” He gestured to a tall, graying man on his right, “This is my Executive Officer, Senior Lieutenant Cunningham,” and then to a blonde woman with a severe look on his face to his left, “and my Operations Officer, Senior Lieutenant Zebrova.”

 “A pleasure to meet you all,” he said, looking around the room. “Senior Lieutenant Winter, and I’m just here to watch and learn.” Hopefully, he thought, that wouldn’t translate to having to actually do anything; he was going to be busy enough analyzing the data he had collected for that.

 “We’ll see that you get a good opportunity to do that, Mr. Winter,” Marshall said, nodding. “You can meet the rest of the staff later. We had just finished the ship status report, so you’re just in time for the mission briefing.”

 “Yes, sir.” He was beginning to get used to using ranks again; it had been a long time.

 Marshall tapped a series of buttons in front of him, and a holographic star map appeared over the table, the focus quickly shifting from Sol to Luhman 16, and then zooming in to the largest planet – the only gas giant – in that binary system.

 “That’s where we’re going.”

 “Christ, Captain, Spitfire?” a striking brunette wearing Lieutenant’s insignia replied. “I’ve been there once, and that was enough.”

 “Allow me to introduce our Tactical Officer, Lieutenant Caine.” There was a little sparkle in Marshall’s eye as he spoke, and Logan smiled inside. That was information he was going to find useful, and likely some which wouldn’t be in the confidential files held in the datapad in his pocket.

 “It’s a dump, a smuggler’s nest. Unless we’re going to be cleaning it up?”

 A very young woman, the only one in the room wearing Espatier insignia, looked around nervously, “I can come up with a tactical plan to pacify the station, sir.”

 “That won’t be necessary, Ensign,” Marshall replied. “Our mission is law-enforcement; apparently Cornucopia Mining…

 “Not them again,” another young officer, flaming red hair spilling out over her collar, said from the far end. “This is the second time they’ve had us hauled out of spacedock ahead of schedule to deal with their mess.” She turned to Logan, cracking a smile, “Sub-Lieutenant Margaret Orlova, Security.” Logan smiled back, and noted that Zebrova was fixing them both with an iron stare.

 “I’m afraid so,” Marshall said, leaning back. “They’ve reported a lot of ship losses lately, apparently some sort of – don’t laugh – space pirates are attacking their ships.”

 “Someone’s actually trying to make piracy pay?” Cunningham said, shaking his head.

 Caine replied, “There’s enough surplus hardware flying around that some group might manage it, and Luhman’s the ideal place to try something like that. We’ll be the first warship to visit the place since the War. Almost as if someone has ordered a hands-off policy.”

 Looking around at his officers, Marshall nodded, “Spitfire is – I am told – a critical source of supplies that we sneak through the UN embargo. That’s common enough knowledge, and reason enough that I suspect it was decided some time ago to let sleeping smugglers lie.”

 “Then what’s changed?” Caine said, pressing forward. “This must be pretty bad for Cornucopia to call for a battlecruiser to come and see.”

 “Maybe the situation has spiraled beyond anything they are able to deal with themselves,” the hitherto silent Zebrova replied, “and in any case, it is fruitless to question the reason behind our orders until we know more about the current situation.”

 “And I fear that is all too little; the official files on Spitfire don’t amount to more than some maintenance records and the logs of the ships that visited it during the War.”

 Caine added, “As I said, it’s a smuggler’s nest. Has a reputation for being a place you can go to get anything. There’s a civilian administration, but they don’t ask any questions. I wouldn’t necessarily expect much in the way of co-operation from them.”

 “Quite,” Marshall said, “So I will want you and Orlova to come up with a tactical plan to deal with the situation that is reliant solely on Alamo’s resources.”

 “Captain,” Zebrova said, “such a plan should be supervised by a senior officer.”

 A brief flash of frustration crossed Marshall’s face before he replied, “Very well, Lieutenant, I will leave that in your hands.”

 Neither Caine nor Orlova seemed particularly happy with that idea, so Logan spoke up, “Actually, Captain, I would be a better choice. I don’t have any formal duties on Alamo anyway, so it’s not as if I won’t have the free time.”

 “Surely you should be studying ship functions and operations?” Zebrova said.

 “I agree,” Marshall said with a scowl. “Senior Lieutenant Zebrova is more than capable of handling this, unless you have some special qualifications that aren’t in your record?”

 Logan wasn’t even aware that he had a record, at least, not one that even remotely accurately recounted his life. For a second, he considered arguing the point, but it didn’t seem to be worth it.

 “No, sir,” he replied. “Just trying to be helpful.” At that, Zebrova seemed to relax, though Caine and Orlova looked at each other surreptitiously while Marshall glanced down at a datapad, trying not to notice them.

 “We’ll be entering hendecaspace in about an hour, and it’s a six-day jump. I want your report on my desk in five.”

 “Yes, sir,” Zebrova replied, nodding.

 “One last thing before we go, then, and that is our little shuttle incident. Orlova, any progress to report yet?”

 “My team was just about to recertify the shuttle as safe for use when I came down to the meeting. I’ve ordered a check of all critical systems; the hendecaspace drive is operational, as is life support. If this isn’t urgent, though, I would recommend a delay before we leave Sol-space.” She looked around the table, several of the others nodding with her. “My team will need at least a day to check everything; this was infiltrated deep.”

 “I agree, sir,” Cunningham said.

 “I’m afraid time is of the essence. It seems as if Cornucopia Mining is in a hurry for our arrival; I was told to make all speed.” He sighed, “At least we’re going to a shipyard this time, at least, of a fashion. We should be able to make any necessary repairs there.”

 Caine shook her head, “Ten years and more without a visit, and all of a sudden they want us this quickly? Something’s going on here.”

 “As for the sabotage, it was definitely targeted at the shuttle alone.”

 “What makes you say that?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow.

 She turned to him, replying, “If they wanted to target Alamo, they would have had the shuttle collide with us. Plenty of critical moments during a docking procedure, moments where there would be nothing at all we could do to stop it.”

 “So it was the shuttle? Or someone on it?” Marshall was looking at Logan. He might not be able to admit it to the crew, but he knew precisely who that accident was intended for.

 “That’s my theory. I’m going over the roster, and I have interviews scheduled with everyone who was on board during our jump to Spitfire Station.”

 “That I would like to help with,” Logan said, looking back at Marshall.

 The captain nodded in response, “I take it you have some special expertise in this area?”

 “I’ve done some security work in the past.” That much was, at least, true.

 “In that case you can handle the interviews for Sub-Lieutenant Orlova.” The young officer smiled at being relieved at what would likely otherwise be an extremely tedious burden, and one unlikely to expose anything that she was particularly interested in. “I think that’s everything,” Marshall continued, “so I’ll let you all get back to your stations. Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter,” he nodded at another officer at the far end of the table, a somewhat baffled looking woman, “I’ll speak with you and Senior Lieutenant Zebrova separately. Mr. Winter, if you would remain?”

 “Certainly,” Logan replied, lounging back in his chair as the others left the room. He waited for a few moments as they filed out, several of them turning to look at him as they went through the door, crossed his hands in front of him on his lap, and turned to Marshall.

 “I want to get this one out of the way right now…,” the captain began, before Logan interrupted him.

 “You don’t want me here. If it’s any consolation, I don’t want to be here.”

 Marshall narrowed his eyes, replying, “You’d better quantify that.”

 Pausing for a second, Logan asked, “What’s your security clearance?”

 “Top Secret, same as any other capital ship commander.”

 “Then I suppose I can tell you a part of the story, at least,” Logan began. “First of all, would it make you feel any better to know that this uniform isn’t a costume?”

 The captain visibly relaxed in his chair, “You’re in the service, then?”

 “During the war, I was a Captain in Martian Intelligence, and, well...you don’t just resign from an espionage agency. I stayed as a reservist, did a bit of work from time to time when needed, mostly on a freelance basis. Three months ago I was recalled, and drafted into Triplanetary Intelligence. Hence the uniform.”

 “Three months ago?”

 “About a day after you returned from Jefferson, telling everyone that our whole intelligence network had potentially been compromised.”

 “I suppose they decided to take no chances.”

 “Let’s just say that you made me rather busy.”

 Leaning forward, Marshall said, “I was told that you’d been working on the Cabal.”

 “That’s right. I’ve been following some corporate leads, and I’d managed to get the trail out to a prospecting station in the Neptunian Trojans. A contact there indicated that there was some...unusual activity out at Spitfire. I was planning out heading out there anyway, though not in a battlecruiser, I must admit.”

 “Corporate leads?”

 “My boss figured that the Cabal had to be getting their intelligence from somewhere. We’ve got operatives working on other leads, my job was to see if any of the prospectors were involved. They do most of the commercial interstellar flight, after all.”

 “That makes sense. Have you any information?”

 He thought of the chip in his pocket, and shook his head, “Just rumors and hints, I’m afraid, and the testimony of someone who in all likelihood is now dead.” Taking a deep breath, he continued, “The sabotage on the shuttle was meant for me.”

 “I assumed as much. Why do you want to conduct the interviews?”

 “Don’t take this the wrong way, Captain, but you can’t rule out having a spy on board. It’s happened before.”

 Marshall’s eyes turned cold, “I am aware of past incidents, Mr. Winter. I was personally involved in them. Are you telling me that you suspect Cabal involvement?”

 “We know they had approached Ragnarok in the past. We can’t rule it out.”

 Standing up, the young captain paced around the room, “I agree. I’ve already – quietly – taken additional precautions.” Turning back to the agent, he continued, “How do you want to proceed when we reach Spitfire?”

 “That depends on what we find when we get there. I’ll have to work it out as I go.”

 “I want to know everything you learn, Winter.”

 Pausing, Logan shook his head, “I will promise to inform you of anything connected with the Cabal, Captain. That’s all I can do. I have orders to follow as well.”