Battlecruiser Alamo - 7 - Battlecruiser Alamo: Sacred Honor (4 page)

 “Not military, then?”

 Shaking his head, Mathis said, “Not according to the file.”

 “This might actually work,” Orlova said, and then the communicator crackled into life again.

 “Hercules, we have no knowledge of you or your crew, and no orders regarding your presence. Prepare to receive a boarding party.”

 “We’ll be there, Hydra, but get the rescue and repair teams on the move,” Orlova said. “This ship is on the verge of falling apart.”

 “Will do. Hydra out.”

 “Shuttle launch from the station,” Mathis reported. “They’ll be alongside in fifteen minutes.”

 “Right. That just gives us time to prepare. Nelyubov, I want a new crew roster and new personnel files for the whole crew.”

 “In fifteen minutes?” he said, shaking his head. “Can’t be done.”

 “Not if you
waste time arguing
. We’re all Cornucopia crewmen who have defected, and are now working for the Cabal in an auxiliary role.” Snapping her fingers, she said, “Somewhere in the records sent over from Alamo are the records of the crew of the scout we met at Spitfire Station.  Just change names and faces.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “This is going to be the botch-job to beat them all.”

 “Curry, you have the bridge. Do everything they tell you. Don’t ask questions, and if in doubt, refer them right to me. Carpenter, come with me.”

 “Where are we going?”

 “Hangar bay.”

 Turning from her station, Curry said, “You know that we’ll never get all evidence of the Fleet out of the ship before we dock.”

 “I do. Don’t worry,” Orlova said before the elevator doors closed, “I’ve got a plan.”

 Carpenter looked at her with relief, and said, “Good. Want to fill me in?”

 “Actually the plan is to make all this up as we go. Whatever they say, just back me up. Feel free to step in if I’m floundering.” She smiled, “Worst case, I guess we picked an unorthodox way to surrender.”

 The elevator slowly juddered down the levels, pausing for thought a few times before finally opening on the shuttle bay. The deck was a mess, tattered pieces of equipment scattered around, dust and debris drifting through the air, a half-rebuilt shuttle poised for action on one of the two working elevator airlocks. A few technicians were struggling into jumpsuits; Wilson tossed a bundle of clothes to the two officers.

 “Complements of the tailor, ma’am,” he said. “Two worn worksuits, officer grade.”

 “Just out of interest, what is my name today?” Carpenter said as she struggled into the outfit.

 Glancing at her datapad, Orlova replied, “Carpenter. I only changed my name because I’m in their records. You weren’t even in the fleet a few weeks ago.”

 “Do you actually think that this is going to work?”

 Tumbling around as she tugged at the sleeves, Orlova replied, “It might. By now the Senate will have cleaned house at Cornucopia, so their people are going to
be
wandering around at a loose end. My guess is that most of them will end up drifting out here, at least those who knew who their real bosses are.”

 “And we ended up flying a Cabal battlecruiser because…”

 “I told you, I’m working on it.”

 “Work fast, ma’am,” Wilson said. “Shuttle on final approach.”

 “Damn it, they jumped the gun.”

 “Probably trying to catch us by surprise,” Carpenter said.

 Tossing her discarded uniform into a corner, Orlova stood in front of the open elevator airlock; sirens sounded as it went through its cycle, and a stub-nosed delta-winged shuttle rose up to the deck. Orlova ran her eyes along the lines of the craft in admiration, then managed to float at attention as the doors opened and a wearing looking man floated out, the overhead lights shining from his bald black head.

 “You must be Forster,” he said, reaching out a hand. “Lester Price, Dockmaster.”

 “This is Susan Carpenter,” she gestured, “First Mate.”

 “Pleasure.” He looked at the two of them, then around the deck, “What a mess.”

 “She went through a hell of a battle,” Orlova replied. “Almost wish I’d been on board to see it.”

 “What happened? We know about the task force that went off to intercept Alamo, but nothing since then.”

 Inside, Orlova sighed with relief, though tinged with concern. Price seemed genuinely uninformed, and if he was just the foreman of a repair yard, that would make sense. If he was fishing, though, he’d probably work out the truth quickly enough.

 “Alamo put up a hell of a fight before being taken down. Hercules was at the vanguard of the battle, and most of its crew were killed.”

 “Something about not wanting it to stay in Cabal hands,” Carpenter added.

 “It must rankle,” Price said. “I can understand how they would feel. If one of our ships ended up under their control, I’d want to take it back as well. Where’s the crew?”

 “Mostly injured or dead,” Orlova said. “Our orders were to bring the ship here for repairs while the rest of the fleet proceeded to Innes’ Star to establish a blockade.”

 Nodding, Price said, “Why you?”

 “We aren’t military personnel. Look, we just came out here looking for work. Most of us were freighter crewmen with Cornucopia, and when the Senate launched its crackdown we ran for it before we could be arrested. I guess the Commandant figured that we could be spared.” She snorted, then said, “Given the mess this ship is in, expandable was probably more like it. We almost didn’t make it through the jump, and we lost a lot of data when the computer crashed.”

 “Including your orders, I presume.”

 “Everything we’d had for the last week.”

 “I presume you’ll have no objection to my technicians checking that out?”

 Taking a deep breath, Orlova said, “Look, how long is this damn interrogation going to last? I have dozens of fractures on the hull, communications and sensors are out, and I’m not sure how long this ship is going to hold together. Can we continue this conversation at Hydra, or would you rather salvage the wreck than repair the ship?”

 Nodding, Price replied, “I suppose I can see your point. Very well, I’ll get the tugs on the way to bring you in. My team will be checking your story, and I can promise…”

 “Yes, yes, we’ll be arrested, tried, shot, whatever you want. Let’s just get this moving, can we? This ship needs to get back into service quickly.”

 His eyes widening, Price said, “We’ll get her back into service, but I think you might be being a little optimistic if you want a fast job. It’s going to take weeks at best.”

 “Then can we get on with it?”

 He looked at her, then around the hangar bay. Turning, he ducked back inside the shuttle, having a quick, quiet conversation with someone inside before emerging again, a datapad in his hand.

 “The tugs are on the way. I’ll be heading back now; you will report to me with your logs and records upon arrival. If I am not satisfied, you and your crew will be placed in detention until all of this has been cleared up. Is that understood?”

 Orlova looked at Carpenter, then back at Price. “Completely. Everything will be ready by the time we dock.”

 “Fine.” He tossed a datapad at her, then continued, “Landing protocols, the works, and you can put all the information I’ve requested onto it. Make things a lot easier.” 

 He turned again, ducked into the shuttle, and closed the airlock behind him. Orlova watched wordlessly as the vessel disappeared into the deck, and with a loud bang, dropped away from Hercules on its path back to the station.

 Carpenter looked across at Orlova, relief on her face, “I can’t believe that worked!”

 “That’s because it didn’t,” she replied. “He doesn’t trust a word I said, but getting us to the station is going to make it a lot easier to capture is.” With a deep sigh, she continued, “It always was a bit of a long shot.”

 “So what now?”

 “We need to continue with the plan, follow it to the letter.” Pushing off, she slid into the elevator, Carpenter hard on her heels.

 “What’s the point, though? If they know that we’re not who we made ourselves out to be?”

 “It was a lousy cover story, Susan. I wouldn’t have believed me. I’ve bought a little time, and that’s all – and we might be able to use it to our advantage.” The ship shuddered, the elevator pausing on its tracks for a moment. “Looks like the tugs have locked on. That’ll make it easier, anyway. I’d hate to have to try and bring this ship in with the few thrusters we have left.”

 The doors opened on the bridge, and Curry turned as she floated in, rising from the seat and waving her hands in the air.

 “Our guidance system is being controlled from the station. I’m just sitting and watching at this point.”

 “Good, you can help with the faked flight logs.”

 “This isn’t going to work,” Nelyubov said. “We can’t put together everything they need this quickly.”

 “No, it probably isn’t. Nevertheless, I want you to make the attempt.” She punched a button on the side of her chair, “Sergeant Wilson, you there?”

 “Still working with my needle and thread.”

 “Stop working on them, and get down to missile control.”

 “We haven’t got any missile tubes working.”

 “No, but we’ve got some warheads, right?”

 Every eye turned to look at her as he replied, “We do, ma’am.”

 “Distribute the warheads around the ship, place them in positions where they will not be easily found, and rig them to detonate on demand. Put in a dead man’s switch.”

 Carpenter yelled, “You can’t be serious.”

 “The crew deserve better than this,” Mathis said.

 Shaking her head, Orlova said, “Wilson, get it done.”

 After a long pause, the engineer replied, quietly, “Aye, ma’am.”

 “There’s no point to this,” Curry said. “Hercules has been in enemy hands for years, it won’t give away any secrets if they take it again.”

 “That isn’t the reason. If we have any problems, I want an ace up my sleeve.”

 “Fix our ship or we blow up your space station?” Nelyubov said, frowning. “Isn’t that a little desperate?”

 “I thought we had already reached ‘desperate’,” Mathis replied. “What have we got to lose at this point? It isn’t as if we would actually use it.”

 Orlova sat, quietly, watching the station grow closer. A standard design, long central column surrounded by spokes. It would be nice to be in gravity again.

 “Lieutenant?” Mathis said. “You wouldn’t detonate it, would you?”

 “They need to think so,” she replied. “And as a last resort, I damn well would.”

Chapter 4

 “What is it, Gabe?” Orlowski said as he continued stripping down his plasma rifle, another fistful of components scattering across the table in the barracks.

 “It’s getting to me a little,” Cooper replied, trying to think of something plausible. Waving his hand around, he said, “Look at all this empty space. There should be twenty-four people in these bunks, not four. It wasn’t as bad when we had some of the crew bunking in here, but now…”

 “I know what you mean,” Duggan said from across the room. “I keep looking up, waiting for the Sergeant to yell at me for something, or for one of my squad buddies to...ah, it’s silly, isn’t it. I wish they’d left those crewmen here.”

 “No,” Cooper said, shaking his head. “We’re going to need the space when we get our people back.”

 “Gabe,” Orlowski said, quietly, “That isn’t going to happen. If they aren’t dead, the Cabal has them, and I don’t see them giving them up. Short of being captured by them ourselves, we aren’t ever going to see them again.” He glanced across at Duggan, who looked down at the deck, “You’re going to have to get used to that idea.”

 Cooper jumped off the bunk and looked at his friend, “I don’t think I can.” Sighing, he continued, “I’m going for a walk. I think I need to be alone for a little while.”

 Orlowski grabbed his sleeve as he walked past. “If you need anything, call.”

 “Thanks, buddy.” He walked out of the empty barracks, hearing muttered conversations – no doubt relating to his current mental equilibrium – behind him, and out into the corridor. A part of him longed to enlist his friends, to get their help in his investigation, but he knew the risk he was running. For all the Captain had said, there was only so much he could do to protect him. For all he knew, an assassin already had a bullet with his name on it.

 He turned around a corner, his feet taking him in a random direction. At this point, he might as well; he didn’t have any idea where to start looking. The suspect had to be someone with engineering experience, but that didn’t narrow it down enough. Almost certainly it was one of the crewmen from Hercules, but even that wasn’t necessarily so; before leaving Mariner Station, they’d taken a lot of new crewmen on board. Himself included, he mused. Perhaps he was the assassin.

 Explosives were the key. As he had left, Quinn had slipped him an inventory check, and it had revealed that nothing was missing from the ship’s stores. Not that Alamo routinely carried that sort of equipment on board, anyway. Which meant it had to have been manufactured. With a smile, he turned to the nearest elevator and stabbed a button for Fabricator Control.

 Next to the reactor, the ship’s fabricators were the heart of Alamo. Without them to provide spares and replacement, the ship would be a tumbling ruin in a matter of weeks. Much of the interior of the ship was devoted to the material tanks used to feed them. The elevator doors slid open, and he stepped out onto the deck, almost walking into a red-faced Petty Officer.

 “Can I help you?” the man sneered, and Cooper took a step to the side, allowing the elevator to close.

 “I was wondering if there is any spare capacity in the fabricators. There are a few bits of equipment I could do with.”

 “Ha,” the man snorted. “You’ve got to be joking. We’re running the machines around the clock to keep up with Quinn’s repair schedule. I haven’t even had a chance to service these babies in a week.”

 “No capacity at all?”

 “I told you, Corporal, not a thing. If you have something you need that badly, you’re going to have to push it in through channels. Though the waiting list is pretty damn long, so I would prepare to be disappointed.”