Battlecruiser Alamo: The Price of Admiralty (17 page)

Esposito rose, looking over at the screen, "That looks like an early model of the Evans Drive. But there's some stuff missing, none of the dimensional compensators, the realspace navigational array?"

"We called it the Quantum Skip Drive. We couldn't get there quickly, but we could get here. The ships were copies of the ones EuroFed were building for the Callisto Project – which I guess worked, given where you say you are from. Let us do the trip in little bunny hops, bouncing around the dimensions. I don't understand how the drive worked, but I didn't have to."

"How long did the trip take, subjective?" Orlova asked.

"Two years. More than was planned. We couldn't get the break-out right, never did manage it. There were ten thousand of us, all but a hundred in sleep for the trip. Rest was minimal livestock, seeds, that sort of thing. Some fabbers to build basic colony materials."

"Enough to colonize a whole world," Hunter said, awed.

"Just about, cobber. Made landing twenty years ago, first batch of us woken up for the ride. We'd expected to see other humans here before us if anyone had survived. When no-one showed up, we figured the worst had happened, dug in, and started building."

"How did you get from that to blowing up aircraft?" Riley asked, draining the last dregs of her coffee.

"Flight Crew decided not to give up power, that's why. Had an election when they made the final jump into the system, elected Captain Namato 'Governor-General of Ragnarok', then broke it to the passengers a few at a time as they woke them up. Didn't seem to matter for the first few years, but as time went on, things seemed just to settle. There was always an excuse not to have an election, and Old Nammy was always a nice enough guy that no-one really pushed for it."

"What happened to push you over the edge?" Esposito asked, obviously fascinated.

Forbes signed, walking to the far side of the room, his hands behind his back. "He died, there was a big funeral, and we all started to figure that there was going to be an election, that things would start getting back to what they were back home. Didn't happen. Isaac Hall took over; he was the old Security Chief. Suddenly those who'd been calling for an election, for a say in how our world was run, we were all just anarchists and agitators to be ignored. They spread us around the outer settlements, put us out of the way. Once he'd done that, he sold us down the river."

"Sold you?"

"Five years back, a couple of years after he'd taken power, a ship comes into orbit. So I heard later. Turned out we had a rich asteroid field they wanted to mine, they wanted to buy food, oxygen, water. Usual space stuff. All of a sudden the terraforming project is 'too expensive' and everything goes to manufacturing stuff for the off-worlders. Not that we're getting anything back from it; Hall and his goons are sitting on a big pile of cash with all the luxuries that can be shipped out, and the ration keeps getting cut."

He heard a call from the other compartment and walked through the door, closing it behind him. The troopers looked around at each other, Orlova looking over some of the equipment again and Esposito pulling out her datapad, looking through some of her historical files.

"This shuttle checks out, anyway. The equipment's a century old, but it isn't a century old. If you follow," Orlova said.

"Is the story plausible, ma'am?" Riley asked.

"It could be. There are a lot of gaps in the records
of
that era. The planetary datanet went down, and stayed down for years. Most of Australia got nuked when they put up a fight to the Sino-Japanese invasion; the continent's mostly a wasteland today. More than a billion dead by war, plague, god knows what else."

"It sounds a lot like what the East Africans did out at Titan," Orlova said. "Throw everything into one big fleet and hope for the best."

"Or the Koreans at Mercury, and look how that went wrong," Hunter agreed.

Esposito nodded, continuing, "Something like six out of ten ships never made it. I'm sure that somewhere buried in the records we'd find an account of a lost group of Australasian transport ships, with a notation that they went off course soon after leaving Earth orbit."

The door opened again; Forbes and the bald man walked out of the rear room, in the middle of a conversation that seemed rapidly turning into an argument. Forbes was carrying a bowl filled with a surprisingly rather appealing broth, smelling of real meat. Orlova looked at the ration pack she was about to open and grimaced; a few of the troopers were quietly sliding their packs back into pockets and bags.

"They're going to run out," the newcomer said. "All of them. Get enough cash to set themselves up for life and leave us all stranded here."

"Good!" Forbes slammed his fist on the table, sending the empty mugs clattering. "Let the rats run out, then we can build the world we want without them. I just want them gone, and whether we put them all up against a wall or someone sells them tickets back to Earth, I don't give a shit."

Esposito frowned, looked up at the newcomer, and shook her head. "Have you any idea where they are from?"

"The Lunar Republic. Descendants of the damn bastards who drove us off Earth in the first place." He placed the bowl on table, dunked a battered mug into it and took a deep drink. "Go on, it'll do you more good than the plastic crap in those pouches of yours."

"Still willing to help us?" Forbes said. "They big bad guys back at Sol?"

Esposito looked at Hunter, both smiling, and the sergeant replied, "I can assure you, sir, that we are bigger and badder."

The officer continued, "We need to contact our ship. I'd like to bring the rest of our men down, and co-ordinate space-based support."

"You think your Captain will go along with all of this? What brought you out here, anyway?"

She pondered for a brief second, before deciding to leave out a few of the details. "We sent an expedition here to survey the system; it's been twenty years, after all, and we were thinking about expanding out this way. It vanished, a follow-up ship was attacked by a pair of frigates, and they sent us in to find out what was going on."

"Three ships missing, was it?" the newcomer asked.

"Yes."

He looked at Forbes, who nodded, and said, "Three ships arrived in orbit a few months ago. I don't know what happened, but I do know that all three ships were brought down, their crews put into detention. Probably going to try and barter them back."

Hunter looked at Esposito. "How did you find that out?" asked the officer.

"One of them got away. He's in a hidey-hole a few miles away."

The sergeant stood up, "We need to speak to him."

Both of the rebels looked at each other, then Forbes climbed to his feet. "Look, we've fought together in battle, so I get the idea that you are the good guys. He's being tried in a couple of days by the Free Parliament. If guilty, he'll be sentenced to exposure."

Esposito rose, standing behind the Sergeant. "We need to speak to this man. Now."

Chapter 14

Marshall looked at the two officers standing in front of him; Dietz on the left and Tyler on the right, then back down at the report they had submitted. The door chimed; he tapped for admittance and an angry-looking Zakharova burst in, shooting a look of daggers at Tyler before taking a place standing behind the captain.

"What you are telling me, gentlemen, is that you came to no specific conclusions," Marshall said.

Zakharova slammed a datapad on the desk, "I don't know what report you read, Captain, but I can see quite clearly that Lieutenant Caine must immediately be relieved of duty and placed under detention, pending court-martial proceedings."

Tyler reddened, gulped for a second, then shook his head, "As Security Chief, I do not consider any such action warranted at this time. The only evidence we have is circumstantial; there is no definite proof that Lieutenant Caine was behind the sabotage of the missiles."

"Nor is there anything to disqualify her," Dietz added. "She is one of half a dozen people, myself included, who had the technical expertise and the security clearance required for such work."

"The others?"

"Mr. Quinn was on duty on the Engineering Deck, and both computer techs were with him. Half a dozen witnesses and work logs indicating where they were working at the time," Tyler said.

"Work logs can be faked, Sub-Lieutenant. Did you investigate that possibility?" Zakharova said, rounding on the young officer.

Marshall looked up at his executive officer, "You are suggesting a conspiracy involving almost the entire Engineering staff. I rather suspect that we would have other evidence of sabotage by now if that were the case."

"Lieutenant Caine is the most likely suspect," Zakharova said, a tone of finality in her voice.

"Perhaps. But I am not taking any further action at this time, Lieutenant."

She slammed her fist on the table, "If she was from Callisto, by now she'd be in the brig under guard! You are letting your own personal bias getting in the way of commanding this ship, and I intend to make a formal record in the log to that effect."

Dietz and Tyler looked at each other; Marshall rose to his feet. "You are at liberty to do so, Lieutenant, but by god you can do so elsewhere. You are contributing exactly nothing to these proceedings. Dismissed."

Zakharova shot a look at Dietz, who shook his head. She threw a last glare at Marshall that would have curdled any milk in the room, then spun on her heels and walked out. Dietz for a second looked as if he was considering following her, but thought better of it and remained.

"Recommendations, Mr. Dietz," Marshall said, breaking the silence.

"All sensitive systems should require authorization by two senior officers instead of one until we have caught the saboteur. Computer access should be monitored."

"Mr. Tyler, anything to add?"

"No sir. I agree with Mr. Dietz's recommendations."

Marshall nodded, "I don't think the extra security is doing any good at this point; you might as well stand your men down after the honor guard ceremony, Mr. Tyler. Have the espatiers return to their normal training schedule."

"Yes, sir," he replied, looking doubtful.

"Make sure that all security precautions are enhanced, Mr. Dietz. Get that done forthwith. How extensive is the priority list?"

Dietz pulled a pad out of a pocket and slid his hand across it, reading from a list, "All officers ranked Lieutenant and higher, and Sub-Lieutenants Kibaki, Cellini and Ryder. The three watch officers."

"Very well. Go and see to it, Mr. Dietz." The operations officer stood to attention, then left the room. Tyler turned to follow him, but was stopped by a hand from Marshall.

"Please remain a moment, Sub-Lieutenant. Take a seat."

Nervously, he took the preferred seat. Marshall was again struck by how young he was; he'd barely completed his training at the Lacus Solis before being transferred out here, and a little cut on his cheek suggested that shaving was not one of his specialties.

"Sir, I am aware that my performance in this matter thus far has been sub-par..."

Marshall cut him off, "Are you? I'm not. You have a stripped-bare department that is structured essentially to keep law and order on this vessel, one that is not designed on the assumption that there is a cabal of saboteurs on board."

"Thank you, sir. But sabotage is still happening, and I can't seem to get a grip on stopping it."

"I am not the saboteur, Mr. Tyler. I can assure you of that. However, I want you to start work on the assumptions that anyone else on this ship might be, including the entire senior staff."

"Including Lieutenant Caine?"

The captain bristled slightly, "Absolutely. No matter what Lieutenant Zakharova thinks, I am capable of a professional level of behavior regarding those I have served with before."

"My log will show no such bias, sir. And you are perfectly at liberty to use it, or myself, as evidence should it come to any investigation into your actions during this mission."

"Let's hope that it doesn't come to that, Sub-Lieutenant. I want a plan to catch the saboteur. Don't use the computers, and consult no-one other than myself. Assume that you can only trust me for the present, unless you are absolutely certain of your staff. I want something by this time tomorrow, Mr. Tyler."

Tyler stood to attention and saluted, "Yes, sir. I'll see what I can come up with."

"Dismissed."

For a few moments, Marshall sat in his office, pondering, looking out at the stars in search of the inspiration he was lacking. Slightly different to anything he had ever seen before, the constellations twisted and bent in numerous small ways, thin wisps of Gatewood's atmosphere beginning to come into view as the ship slowly rotated around Ragnarok.

Everything was pointing to a pattern he didn't like; enough politicians back home disliked the idea of a unified military that they might subtly try to sabotage him, and even what happened to the missiles was perhaps in the outer limits of plausibility; but two weeks ago, someone had tried to gun him down outside his own quarters. Whatever was happening was a long way beyond mere politics.

His hand reached for a battered leather-bound copy of 'On War' resting on his desk, flapped open to a marked page, his grandfather's scrawl
covering
the margins. The old maxim; war as simply an extension of politics.

He walked out of his office, hastily moving through the bridge, noting briefly how quickly that had become a routine, taking a salute from Cellini and Ryder in the middle of their shift changeover, then stepped into the elevator. Cellini placed his fingerprint on a datapad and hustled after him, getting in just as the doors closed, stumbling slightly into him.

"Sorry, Captain," he said.

"In a hurry, Sub-Lieutenant?" Marshall said with a smile.

He blushed, shaking his head, "I, er..."

"Don't worry. Sometimes I had off-duty activities that I didn't want to burden my commander with either. As long as it doesn't affect the ship's routine."