Battlecruiser Alamo: Not One Step Back (28 page)

 Kibaki added, “All decks report at action stations, all department heads prepared, sickbay ready to accept casualties.”

 “Damage control teams prepared on all decks, systems good.” There was a slight quiver in the voice of Prentis, new to the flight engineering station, but his hands were steady on his controls.

 Zebrova nodded, “Time to intercept?”

 Steele turned her head, “Between two hundred and two hundred ten seconds, dependent on changes to target aspect. Optimum firing range twenty-five seconds after intercept, window of opportunity approximately seventy seconds.”

 “Very good. You may take the spin off the ship.”

 Kibaki tapped in a sequence on his panel, then spoke into his headset, “Flight Operations to crew. Stand-by for zero gravity in ten seconds.”

 Orlova noticed quite a few of the bridge crew slipping their Garn pills into their mouths, Steele squirting a quick gulp of water to wash it down. She counted herself lucky that she was at home in zero-gravity; she’d spent enough time in it over the long hauls of her youth to remove any trace of spacesickness. She glanced up at Zebrova; she hadn’t taken a pill either. Sliding a restraint over her waist, she continued to monitor the ship.

 “Offer them one more chance, Mr. Weitzman,” Zebrova said.

 Working his panel, he said, “Alamo to Demeter. Surrender and prepare to be boarded. This is your last chance. I repeat, surrender and prepare to be boarded.” He looked up, “They’re replying, ma’am.”

 “Put them on.”

 Jennings’ face appeared again, “This action is being undertaken in contravention of the rules of free space, and we deny your request and demand that you cease your pursuit.”

 “I’m sorry you feel that way, Captain,” Zebrova replied, “But you will be receiving our espatiers in a few minutes. Alamo out.”

 “You’re sure they’re unarmed?” she asked Orlova.

 She nodded, replying, “Probably will have basic countermeasures, but there are no visible missile ports or emplacements. They might try and improvise something, but all of our systems are ready if they do.”

 “Aspect change on target!” Spinelli said. “Change to outer hull, aft. Energy spike!”

 “What the hell?” Orlova said, looking at her display.

 “Hidden weapons?” Zebrova stood up, taking cautious steps to stand behind her.

 She craned her head to look up, “Hidden afterburners.”

 “Demeter is gaining speed!”

 “Time to firing range is now three hundred seconds. Three hundred twenty. Three hundred forty,” Steel said, reading from her console. “Ma’am, they will now reach the hendecaspace point before we can intercept.”

 “Damn.”

 Orlova shook her head, looking futilely at her board, the laser ready for action, the missiles prepared to launch. Her eyes widened and she tapped down on her control board.

 “Mulenga, this is Orlova on the bridge. Have you a stand-by course programmed in?”

 “Yes, for Sol, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “Send it up to my station.”

 Zebrova coughed to attract her attention, “You have a course of action to suggest, perhaps?”

 She looked up, “We can’t reach them in time, and we can’t do anything to them at this range, but if I fired a missile within the next twenty seconds, it will get within electronic warfare range.” 

 “What good would that do?” Steele asked.

 “Plenty, if I can hack into their astrogation systems. If I can make a few changes,” she called down the Mulenga again, “Lieutenant, can you program that course to, say, Shakespeare Station?”

 “Easily, Sub-Lieutenant, it’s a minor change. I’ll get started.”

 She looked up at Zebrova again, “I need to fire now, I can make the modifications as we go.”

 “Do it,” she replied, returning to the command chair. Orlova stabbed down on the launch button, and the ship briefly shook as the missile raced away. Calling up the on-board computer, she started to work, frantically; she was going to have to guide it in all the way, make sure that Demeter couldn’t do anything to stop them.

 The missile raced ahead, and she tapped a button to jettison the warhead. Just excess weight now, and the extra acceleration might prove invaluable. When it got close enough for her to begin her hack, she was going to need every second to make it work – and she rather expected they’d have better than normal security to fight through.

 “Missile window of opportunity fifteen seconds,” Steele said. She slowed Alamo down, saving fuel for later; there was no way the battlecruiser was going to catch the freighter until it was too late, in any case. Orlova tapped a series of buttons, turning off all the safety controls, feeding every scrap of fuel she could into the missile’s engine, heedless of the risk; she needed those seconds.

 While one hand was optimizing the engine, the other was feeding intrusion protocols into the missile, purging every unnecessary scrap of code from the system; no need for guidance control when Alamo’s own systems were doing the job.

 “Demeter is pulsing its countermeasures,” Spinelli reported.

 “I’m on it,” Orlova said, focusing on her work. Naturally enough, they were focusing on preventing a collision, so she played along with that, sending the missile a few degrees to port, not enough to affect her window of opportunity, but enough so they would assume they had been successful. No decoys, nothing that might throw the missile out of its track.

 With a winking light, the course she had requested came up from astrogation. A big file, of course, big enough that it was going to take an appreciable number of seconds to send, but that was not a problem. If she got her initial hack right, she’d have those seconds and more. She paused for a couple of seconds, flexing her fingers. This was going to be a very busy twenty-nine seconds.

 “In range!” Steele said, and Orlova furiously began to type, firing her intrusion software at Demeter’s systems. They had been boosted, but she and her team had been working on improving these programs for months, and all of that work was now paying off. Sneaking through the first couple of layers of protection, she set programs hunting around for the astrogation files, dumping anything she could find back towards Alamo for later analysis; there was one file that almost seemed to throw itself at her when she dived into the system, and that automatically went behind a firewall as a precaution.

 Faster and faster she typed, and quickly she got where she needed to go, setting up a datalink. A lot of the course computations would be similar, so it was just a question of overwriting the system – and at the same time, trying to make it look as if she was attempting the much easier job of deleting it. The enemy sysop was good, but not good enough – he was going after the decoy hack, not her main target. Just as she wanted.

 She spent a brief second glancing up at the clock, fourteen seconds to go. The software was all busy doing its job, she was now just monitoring, feeding the new course into the computer. Grimacing, she quickly started to type again; the sysop had worked it out, and was trying to move the backup course into the system. Ten seconds, now, this one was going to be tight. Her course was in the computer system, locked down, so all she had to do was defend it, make sure that it couldn’t be changed. Once they were in hendecaspace, they would be stuck; they’d have their choice of where in Uranus-space to end up, but that was all.

 Four seconds to, and she was beginning to think they were going to make it, but they were launching a series of attacks on the missile now, probing at it to try and disable it, reacting just a little too late for it to make a difference.

 “Two seconds,” Spinelli said. “One. Zero.”

 With a bright blue flash, Demeter disappeared into hendecaspace, and Orlova continued to work her station, trying to make out whether she had managed to protect her hack or not. Zebrova drifted up behind her, all acceleration now off, looking over her shoulder.

 “Report, Sub-Lieutenant.” 

 “Wait one, ma’am.” She continued to work, then looked up, a smile beaming on her face. “Demeter will be appearing at Shakespeare Station in about five days, ma’am. No doubt they will be disappointed not to be arriving at Sirius.”

 Zebrova smiled, and clapped her on the shoulder, “Good work, Sub-Lieutenant.” She turned over to Weitzman, “Spaceman, that jamming field should be clear now. See if you can contact Shuttle Two.”

 He glanced down at his console, then smiled, “They’re already calling us, ma’am.”

 “Put them on.”

 “Marshall calling Alamo, come in Alamo…” The rest of his message was drowned out by the cheer sounding across the bridge, and it was a good twenty seconds before order was returned; Orlova yelled along with the rest of them, and Zebrova made no effort to stop them, simply picking up an earpiece.

 “Alamo here, sir.”

 “All three of us are on Shuttle Two, we’re in a stable orbit around Kumar, and there are six fighter pilots in orbit that are just begging to surrender.” He paused, “Now could you tell me what the hell is going on out there?” 

 “Alamo broke orbit to pursue the freighter Demeter. It’s left the system, but thanks to a bit of trickery from Sub-Lieutenant Orlova, it will be arriving at Shakespeare Station in the next few days. We should follow them at the first opportunity.”

 “Well, for the present, come back and pick us up. This shuttle is cramped for three with no passenger compartment. Good work all. Marshall out.”

 Zebrova turned to Tyler, who was still standing at the rear of the bridge, a smile on his face. She gestured towards the guidance control station.

 “I think you can resume the helm now, Mr. Tyler. We can run through a few battle simulations later.” Turning back to the front, she said, “Mr. Kibaki, you may return to your quarters now.”

 “Thank you, ma’am, but I’m wide awake now,” he replied, smiling.

 “In that case you might as well go down to the hangar deck and assist with the incoming prisoners; no doubt Captain Marshall will wish independent interrogation.”

 Nodding, he pushed himself off the console, drifting clear, “I’ll see to it, ma’am.”

 As he left the bridge, Zebrova turned to Orlova, “I’d like to see you in the Captain’s office. Steele, you have the conn. Have spin returned to the ship as soon as possible, and inform me instantly if anything changes.”

 “Yes, ma’am.”

 Zebrova drifted with ease into the office, Orlova turning to follow. They both took positions facing each other, hanging close to the floor to prepare themselves for the return to gravity.

 “I’d like to discuss your performance during the battle, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “Yes, ma’am.”

 “Do you think you made any mistakes?”

 She nodded, “I should have anticipated that Demeter might have hidden modifications; we might have been able to change the battle plan to compensate.”

 “Perhaps, but unlikely; I didn’t consider that option either.” She frowned, continuing, “I had an initial impression of your abilities that was, I feel, to an extent unjustified. Your service record to date is somewhat unconventional, but I am confident that it will improve over time.”

 “Thank you, ma’am.”

 “And I trust that, in your assessment, I performed well in the battle as well.”

 Orlova’s eyes widened in disbelief; she was teasing her. “I think you did a good job, ma’am.”

 “I’m glad to hear it.” She turned, looking out at the starscape again, “You may or may not be aware that I turned down a command of my own to take this assignment.” At Orlova’s raised eyebrow, she continued, “I had reasons for being here, and still do. Nevertheless, when Alamo’s current tour is completed, a few months from now, I anticipate receiving my own command, and I intend to request you as my Tactical Officer.”

 “Ma’am…”

 She raised a hand, “Naturally, you have no obligation to accept, but I would suggest you consider it.”

 “Thank you, ma’am.”

 “Now, shall we go and capture the remaining pirates?” She began to drift out of the office, and Orlova followed her, an eager smile on her face.

 “Aye, aye, ma’am!”

Chapter 27

 “You can’t be serious,” Logan said over the communicator.

 Marshall, sitting behind his desk, nodded, “I’m totally serious. You are the obvious choice as military commander of Spitfire Station.” 

 “Except that I don’t want the job.”

 “Hmm...let me see. I’m a Lieutenant-Captain, and you are a Senior Lieutenant. That means I outrank you, and if I chose, could assign you as Officer Commanding Zero-G Toilets. You’re getting off lightly.”

 “Damn it, Marshall, this whole thing was supposed to be temporary.”

 Waving a datapad in the air, he replied, “Read your contract. You agreed to sign on for a minimum of three years…”

 “Yes, but that was with the understanding I wouldn’t have to.”

 “Really?” Marshall smiled, “I wasn’t at that meeting.” He paused, shaking his head, “I know you want to get back to your life of crime, but right now I need you on that station. I’m sure that it will only be temporary; no doubt Admiral Delamar will send a more senior replacement shortly.”

 “Can’t you spare one of your people?”

 “No. I’m already losing one, and I can’t strip the ship further. To be blunt, Lieutenant, I don’t need you. Besides, you did well on the station, and they actually seem to like you over there.”

 “I resign.”

 “Not accepted. And no, you can’t accept your own resignation when I’m gone, either.” 

 “What makes you think I won’t deliberately screw things up?”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “You’ve got just enough pride in yourself – and even in the bits of uniform you are wearing – not to do that.”

 With a deep sigh, Logan replied, “I want a bribe.”

 “What?”

 “A bribe.” He looked to his left, “Look, I’m on my own out here, and you don’t think I can run a station by myself, do you? I’ve got to sleep sometimes.”

 “What do you want?”

 “Ryder’s up for a promotion, isn’t she?”