Battlecruiser Alamo: Not One Step Back (14 page)

 “Illegal mining operations?” Cunningham said. “We’ve got every excuse to conduct a thorough investigation, then.”

 “No,” Marshall replied. “Not that we haven’t got the motive and the means, but I don’t want to tip our hand.”

 “Our shuttles could send in assault forces…,” said Zebrova, reaching over for a datapad.

 “And I’d guess that eleven of those aerostats are exactly what they appear to be, Ms. Zebrova. Unmanned flying gas-bags sucking helium-3 from the atmosphere for fuel transfer. I want the pirates to think that they have fooled us.”

 “Fooled us?” Zebrova replied.

 Orlova turned to her, “That attack was a bit convenient.”

 “Exactly, Sub-Lieutenant,” Marshall replied. “We jump into the system and immediately are presented with a nice battle to fight, all tied up into a bow for our amusement. We fight, win, and assume that the battle is over – with a prize ship presented to us with a cargo of prisoners for the courts. Then we go home, and three months later everything starts up again.”

 “That’s a bit of a stretch, sir,” Cunningham said. “How could they arrange a fight for us, timed that well?”

 Caine started typing into the computer, and raised a fist, “I’ve got it. Someone told them.”
 “Lieutenant?” Zebrova said.

 “Moored by Spitfire Station is a ship identified as the Honest Horace,” she said, “flagged as an independent freighter. It was docked at Mariner, left just before we did.” She looked down at her terminal again. “Three hours before, to be specific. Our departure was a matter of public knowledge, and the Horace would have been able to provide them with details of the time. Then all they had to do was pick a freighter to attack.”

 Zebrova stood up, “Sir, permission to lead an espatier force to the Honest Horace.”

 “Denied,” Marshall said, waving her back down to her seat. “For the same reasons that I’m not authorizing an attack on the aerostats. I don’t want the pirates to know that we are on to them.”

 “Then you propose to simply sit here and wait, sir?”

 “For the present, Lieutenant, I plan to do precisely that. Mr. Quinn?”

 “Sir?”

 “I want you to prepare three probes, to be placed in Kumarosynchronous orbit. We’re going to set up a blockade, but I want you to be quiet about it. Rig them to be as stealthy as possible, and try and hide them in some of the debris.”

 “How will we camouflage laying them, sir?” Cunningham asked. 

 “We’ll use shuttles, plant them under the guise of salvage missions or something like that. I’ll leave the details to you.”

 “Five flights, I think,” he mused, “and they’ll have to look real. Let me know when you are ready, Quinn, and I’ll get that moving.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 Marshall tapped a button on his desk, and a new voice echoed across the room, “Ryder here, sir.”

 “Status of the pirate ship, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 “Engineering survey completed, sir, and the damage is not that severe. The major work is going to be the engines, but the hendecaspace drive is intact. I think we can have her ready for space in thirty-six hours, if I can get round-the-clock crews onto it.”

 “Start work immediately, Ryder. Liaise with Mr. Quinn.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 “Keep me informed on your progress. Alamo out.” He looked around the room, “I’d like to salvage that ship if at all possible.”

 “A prize crew to head back to Mariner?”

 “Something along those lines,” he replied. “Ryder can stay in charge for now while I decide what to do with her. Ultimately she’ll be given back to the re-insurers to help pay for their expenses, I suspect, but that doesn’t mean we might not be able to make some use of her ourselves for a bit.” He looked at Orlova, examining her arm, “I want another thorough search of that ship. Are you up to it?”

 “Yes, sir,” Orlova replied, smiling.

 “Head over there after the meeting, then. Take a work crew with you – and no heavy lifting.”

 “That’s exactly what the doctor said, Captain.”

 “Then for once we agree. Mr. Mulenga?”

 The dark-skinned astrogator looked up, breaking silence for the first time in the meeting, “Captain?”

 “Your department’s been a bit under-used since we arrived, and I think it time to put an end to that. I want you to run an analysis of the systems in jump range of here, a focus on those that aren’t settled. Those pirates came from somewhere, and I’d like to know where.”

 “That data will all be in the computer…”

 “Nevertheless, take it again. Good practice, in any case.”

 With a toothy grin, he replied, “I shall endeavor not to let my assistants know that they are engaged in make-work, Captain.”

 “What about the prisoners, sir?” Zebrova asked. “I’ve done some background checks, and all but one of them are United Nations citizens, eight of them still under indentured contracts with various mega-corporations.”

 Cunningham frowned, “Indents. We’re back to that again, are we.”

 “The eleventh?”

 “Belt citizenship, sir.”

 “So at least one of them has origins that aren’t controversial.” Marshall looked around. “I don’t have any particular desire to turn them back to the United Nations.”

 “Their crimes were committed against Triplanetary citizens in Triplanetary space, sir. We have an excellent argument that they should be tried here, and if found guilty, imprisoned.” Zebrova replied. “I was simply asking whether you wish to hold them on Alamo.”

 “I was talking to Jennings earlier, and he’s heading back to Sol in a few days,” Caine said. “I suspect he’d be willing to take them back with him. After all, it was his ship that they were attacking.”

 “There seems a certain poetic justice in that, doesn’t there. I’ll call him up and make the arrangements after the meeting. One shuttle should probably do it.”

 “Should we detach a fire team to escort them back to Mariner, sir?” Zebrova asked.

 Marshall paused for a second, then shook his head, “I’d rather not dilute our forces at this stage, Lieutenant. I don’t think Jennings will take any chances with them, and the hold of a ship tends to make for a rather effective prison.” He looked around the room. “Is there anything else?” Silence answered him, and after a minute, “Then I won’t keep you from your duties any longer. Dismissed. Sub-Lieutenant Orlova?”

 “Sir?”
 “Please stay a moment.”

 The group filed out of the room; Zebrova gave her an icy look before departing, and Cunningham quietly patted her on her good shoulder. After a minute, it was just her and the Captain, and the doors slid shut.

 “Is something wrong, sir?”

 “I wanted to discuss your conduct during the battle with the pirate formation, Sub-Lieutenant.” He raised his hand as her face started to redden, “Don’t worry, this isn’t a dressing-down. After all, it was your first time in the big chair during a battle.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “How would you rate your performance?”

 “We won, sir.”

 Stifling a chuckle, Marshall replied, “I suppose at the end of the day that’s the main thing, isn’t it. However, there is an old maxim – that we learn more from our defeats than our victories.”

 “I missed with the first laser pulse.”

 Leaning forward, Marshall asked, “Why?”

 She took a deep breath, “I made a tactical error, sir. When Alamo moved into firing range, I launched the first wave of missiles prior to firing the laser. That meant that the target was already actively maneuvering, and gave them an advantage.”

 “Correct. Had we been fighting an opponent a bit near
er
our weight, that could have been a critical error, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 Reddening again, she replied, “I know, sir.”

 “Sitting in that chair isn’t much fun, Sub-Lieutenant. You spent the time before the battle thinking it over in your head, plotting move and counter-move, yes?”

 “I wanted to be ready, sir.”

 “That’s why I sent you to Tactical School. So that you would be ready. Space battles are fought in seconds, you know that – but we have hours to prepare for them, which is the curse of our profession. The greatest temptation, and one which all too many commanders and tactical officers have yielded to in the past, is to think every action and move to death before the battle.”

 “Are you saying that I shouldn’t prepare, sir?”

 “Not at all, but there is a great risk in over-thinking as well. There’s a reason that it is humans sitting in control of these ships, rather than turning them over to computers, and that is the uncertainty factor. You never know what the opponent is going to do, so you have to be able to react quickly.”

 Frowning, she replied, “Are you telling me that I should trust my instincts, sir?”

 “Do you know what instincts actually are? Training. Your instincts are the sum of your natural ability and all of the training you have received while wearing that uniform, as well as the battle experience. Take the missiles, for example, that you programmed for atmospheric flight – that wasn’t something you’d planned, was it.”

 “No, sir. I realized when the scout accelerated away that the fighters only had one place to go, and that was down into the atmosphere.”

 “That was good, quick thinking. Sub-Lieutenant, the service doesn’t simply trust to raw instinct, but we demand reaction times fast enough in action situations that we can’t allow you time to think things through. Hence we train your instincts so that when the time comes, you will make the right decision, quickly. I think you have that quality.”

 “I hope so, Captain.”

 “I know so, or you wouldn’t have sat in that seat. You’ll sit in it again.”

 She looked down at the desk, “I made a mistake, sir.”

 “And you won’t next time. That’s all. Dismissed.”

 Orlova stood, managed a salute, and walked out of the room, lost in thought.

Chapter 13

 Logan sat behind a dirty desk, looking at a picture of a bald man surrounded by his family attached to its surface, presumably the last head of station security. He hadn’t left many other traces of his presence, though there was a worrying splatter of blood on the rear wall close to where he was floating that he suspected might match the man in the photograph.

 Glancing up, he saw Boris fumbling with a first aid kit, treating the two gunmen; neither of the resident doctors had been willing to provide any assistance whatsoever, preferring to remain uninvolved, but Boris then volunteered that he’d been a field medic during the war. Neither of them were seriously injured, and a bit of combat surgery was all that they needed, but he would have preferred if they had been in a position to talk in the near future.

 “You’re pretty handy with that medical kit, Boris,” Logan said. “What was it you did during the war again?”

 “I was a combat engineer with the UNSF. Spent most of my time trying to stop you guys smashing everything we’d just built.”

 “Well, I’m glad you were paying attention during your training. That was a pretty good shot down there in Lilith’s.”

 Boris paused, scowling down, “Pretty good?”

 “There’s always room for improvement, isn’t there? I have to admit I was a bit surprised, but I’m certainly glad you’ve decided to throw in with me after all.”

 Waving his hands, the pilot protested, “Wait a minute, I never volunteered for any man’s army. I did enough of that during the war.” He glanced up at the gunman, “I just don’t like to see someone shot in the back, that’s all.”

 “Looks like you’ve volunteered to me, Boris.”

 “I could get into my hopper right now and never look back.”

 Harper, leaning over in the corner over an antiquated data terminal, said, “You don’t think they’d get you before you’d flown a hundred miles?”

 “I think that the bad guys have probably concluded you’re working for me now. Besides, I don’t think you’ve got much choice.”

 “Huh?”

 Logan gestured at the unconscious form on the ceiling, “You pulled out a gun and shot a man, Boris. Now I personally am very glad you did, don’t get me wrong, but technically that’s still attempted murder.”

 “You’d turn me in?”

 Mustering a hang-dog expression, Logan replied, “Well, I might not turn you in, Boris, but his boss might. Or he might make some sort of complaint when he wakes up.”

 “Twenty years for attempted murder,” Harper said, chiming in.

 “Don’t worry, Boris, I’ll testify for your character at the trial.”

 “They’ll give me forty years,” he replied. “You’d sit back and let that happen?”

 “Well, it doesn’t have to be this way at all,” Logan said, smiling. “If you were in the Triplanetary fleet, for example, then you were simply following orders to protect your commanding officer from danger. That’s the sort of thing that gets you commendations and medals, Boris.”

 “Who wants a medal? And I’m not in your military.”

 Shrugging, he replied, “I did make you an offer to that effect on the ride over, Boris. Let’s just say that I’m giving you a chance to retroactively take me up on it.”

 Boris looked over at Harper, then back at Logan, “I don’t have much choice, do I?
 “I’m glad you agree, Spaceman.”

 “At least give me my old rank back.”

 “Sure, that’s no problem. What was it?”

 “Admiral?” Boris squinted back. Logan shook his head.

 “Let’s say Petty Officer, that sounds about right.”

 “So this is some sort of intelligence operation I’m in, then,” Boris said. “I guess you’re an officer.”
 “In a manner of speaking, but most of the time I’m an acquisitions expert.”

 “A thief?”

 “That’s a very unjustified and unfair statement, Boris. People want certain information, and I see that they get it. This intelligence agent business is really a bit of a sideline, these days.”

 “What does she do?” he said, gesturing at Harper. Logan tilted his head towards her.

 “I’m a hacker. And Senator Harper’s daughter.” 

 Slumping resigned against the wall, Boris said, “This is crazy. You’re planning on taking on the whole station with a hacker, a thief and a dru...pilot.”