The Alpha Protocol: Alpha Protocol Book 1

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  It made him wonder where the locals had found the artefacts they had looted. Judging by how little there was out on the streets, they must have broken into one of the buildings. If you were less discerning about how you got in, he supposed, it mightn’t be all that difficult. Samson didn’t fancy having to explain to government scientists why he had cut and blasted his way into one of the buildings. As much as he wanted to know what was inside them, it simply wasn’t worth the hassle.

  ‘This place is dead, and I don’t reckon we’re going to make any great discoveries,’ Samson said. ‘I think it’s time to get out of here. We’ll have to leave the exploration to the scientists. We can move on to the settlement and start interviewing the colonists to see what they know about the site, and if they know anything about the mystery ship. We’ll put the area under naval interdict. Hopefully that’ll stop anyone else from helping themselves until the site can be properly secured.’

  ‘What did you have in mind, sir?’ Price said

  ‘Just some casual chats for now,’ Samson said. ‘If the Admiralty wants more robust measures taken, they can bring in some professionals to handle it.’

  Samson took one more look around the rotunda and spotted something sitting on the ground, obscured by a layer of dust. It was the first artefact he had seen, and he gave in to his curiosity. He walked over and shone his torch over it.

  ‘Souvenir?’ Price said.

  ‘I’m not sure what it is. I think it’s a good idea to secure it though. Just in case. It won’t hurt to have something to show the admiral when he arrives with the Third Fleet. The video of our walk around is all well and good, but nothing says “real” like holding something in your hand.’

  Samson ran his scanner over the object to make sure there was nothing outwardly dangerous about it, then brushed the dust away with his hand. There was nothing remarkable about it, and it occurred to him that it was most likely a discarded piece of rubbish. Nonetheless, one man’s—or alien’s—trash was another man’s treasure. He took a tightly folded mesh bag from a utility pocket on his suit and placed the object in it. It was encrusted with dust and could wait until he got back to the Bounty for a closer look, but he would make sure to include it in his report, and hand it over when the time came. After his research on the depot, he knew only too well what falling afoul of the Alpha Protocol could bring, and had no desire to experience it personally.

  ‘All right,’ Samson said, ‘let’s get out of here.’

  22

  Samson sat in the command chair on the Bounty’s bridge, turning the alien object over in his hands. It was a rectangular piece of shiny metal, as long and thick as his forearm, and was covered with the same inscriptions as the piece they had found in the Bounty’s cargo hold. He was convinced that it was writing rather than decoration—not that it made any sense to Samson. He wondered what had become of the other pieces—back in alien hands, or in the process of being smuggled back to a buyer in the Core?

  None of their scans had been able to determine a use for the object, nor if it actually did anything. They couldn’t penetrate beyond the surface of the metal. If it was more than a simple ingot of metal, it seemed there would be no way to find out other than cutting it in half. And according to the scans he had carried out on it, that wouldn’t be easily done either. It was harder than any alloy humanity had created, and even a diamond cutting tool would struggle to make a scratch.

  There was beauty in its simplicity. There was not a single unintended mark on it, and its edges and corners were crisp. It was as though it was brand new, even though it must have been lying down there for hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years.

  They had spent three days in orbit over the void, with little to do other than observe and make sure no one interfered with it. They had also made a few trips back down to the surface to talk to the locals. Either they were lying, or they didn’t know anything about the ruins, nor what had befallen the inhabitants of the burned-out farm. No one had heard of any unusual ships in the system, and short of conducting a batch of cerebral interrogations—a particularly nasty and invasive interrogation method permitted by the Alpha Protocol—Samson didn’t reckon there was anything else to be learned from the planet’s inhabitants.

  Keeping the crew busy was difficult. They’d done such a thorough job of getting the Bounty shipshape that there were only the most basic of maintenance and cleaning tasks required, none of which were enough to fill a watch. The truth of it was, Samson was getting as bored as any of them, and he was tempted to land by the ruins to continue his exploration.

  ‘I’m detecting an approaching ship, sir,’ Harper said.

  ‘The Peterson?’ Samson said, stirring from his lethargy. She wasn’t due quite yet, but if he were the Peterson’s captain, he knew he wouldn’t have wasted a moment in getting to where the excitement was. Samson knew he couldn’t discount trouble, though. Just because things had been quiet up to now didn’t mean they would stay that way. If it was the Peterson, though, she couldn’t have arrived at a more opportune time to save his sanity from boredom.

  ‘Still too far away to be certain, but the size and power output are about right.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Samson said, although as the words left his mouth, he realised he wasn’t sure that was the way he felt. The strain and suddenness of his command had placed huge stress on him, but he was starting to grow accustomed to it. Even on a patched-together junker like the Bounty, there was an appeal to the freedom and autonomy of an independent command. Once the Peterson arrived, he would be taking direct orders again.

  ‘Sir, I don’t think it’s the Peterson,’ Harper said.

  Samson brought up the sensor data on his console. The screen flickered in protest, a reminder that the Bounty was still an old ship despite all of their improvements and was past the end of her intended service life. No amount of cleaning, upgrades, or overhauling would change the fact that deep within her, beyond the reach of their overhaul, she was old and tired.

  ‘The exhaust signature looks the same as the one we detected after the Sidewinder was destroyed,’ Harper said.

  Samson realised the same thing as she said it. ‘Mister Kushnir, I need full power output, now,’ he said, without missing a beat.

  ‘Lieutenant Harper, set a course for anywhere but here. We need to go, fast. Very fast.’

  Samson felt the forces on his body as the Bounty broke out of orbit and blasted away from Dobson as fast as her thrusters could drive her. Putting an old ship like that under the stress of going from stationary to maximum thrust was not a good idea, but hanging around to get blasted to bits was an even worse one. Their upgraded thrusters had a greater output than she would have originally been designed for—much more than the overhauled dampeners could accommodate—so it was no great surprise to Samson when the alarm klaxon went off.

  ‘Hull stress at one hundred twelve percent of maximum operating level,’ Harper said.

  The thrusters roared, filling the bridge with noise, forcing Samson to shout to be heard.

  Let’s just hope the repair drones were able to strengthen the hull enough; otherwise getting away from that ship won’t do us much good, Samson thought.

  ‘I think they’re giving chase, sir.’

  Samson’s heart sank. ‘Target her. We’ll try and slow her down if we have to.’

  ‘She’s closing. Fast.’

  ‘Hail her.’

  ‘No response.’

  Samson swore under her breath.

  ‘Try again.’

  He listened to Harper hail them, and chewed on his lip as he waited for a reply. There was still nothing.

  ‘Fire a warning salvo.’

  He felt the ship judder as Price fired the Gauss guns.

  ‘They’re still coming, sir. I can detect a power surge. I think she’s powering weapons.’

  Samson swore again. Suddenly, the appeal of an independent command did not seem so very great. He thought furiously, but could see no options. They were
already going as fast as they could. He looked to the viewscreen, but the image it presented from the Bounty’s antiquated cameras—something he hadn’t had time to upgrade—was small, and it pixelated badly when he tried to magnify it. The effect gave it a more sinister appearance than perhaps it deserved, but even in the poor image, the design looked unusual. From the angle they were at, it looked like the round, leading edge of an enormous horseshoe. Samson couldn’t think of any human vessels that used a design like this.

  ‘Sergeant Price, lock onto her hull and fire at will.’

  The Bounty juddered at regular intervals as the Gauss guns fired their ordnance at the pursuing vessel.

  ‘Harper. Anything?’

  ‘Looks like the rounds are just bouncing off its hull.’

  Samson swore for the third time in as many minutes. Their Gauss guns were the smallest calibre of ship-mounted weapons, and were only effective when fired against targets with lighter armour, but he had hoped they’d be enough to dissuade any pursuit.

  ‘Cease fire,’ Samson said. ‘All power to sensors and power the Nexus Relay.’

  ‘Sir, that will cut thruster output.’

  ‘I know. We can’t outrun them, and we can’t outfight them. All we can do is try to give the Peterson some idea of what she’ll be up against.’

  There was a delay in Harper’s reaction. ‘Aye, sir.’

  His heart sank further as he realised there was no way out of it. They were at the mercy of whoever was chasing them, and he knew already that mercy did not seem to be their default approach.

  ‘Sir, I’m getting good data.’

  ‘Make sure it’s transmitted.’

  ‘Yes, sir, but there’s more than that,’ Harper said. ‘There’s nothing about the ship that’s human. Design, power signature, exhaust traces.’

  ‘We knew there was a possibility this might not be a human ship.’ Was it the alien civilisation, come to destroy them for trespassing? He fought to make sense of the notion. The ruin—or ship, or crashed orbital city; whatever it was—had been down there a very long time. If they were still a living society, why had it been left undisturbed for such a long time?

  ‘Are there any similarities between the ship and scans we took down on the planet?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Harper said. ‘The ship’s alloys don’t tally with anything we’ve seen from the ruins’ civilisation so far. The energy signatures are different to the orb, too.’

  ‘Well, aren’t we lucky,’ Samson said. ‘Two alien races in one week.’

  ‘She’s still closing, sir,’ Harper said.

  What did she want him to do about it? There seemed little left but to sit back and wait for the inevitable. He looked down and saw that he was still holding onto the alien object. It was disappointing to think that he’d never get the opportunity to find out what it was, or who the people that made it were. Then a thought occurred to him.

  ‘Lieutenant,’ he said, ‘vent the cargo bay on my command.’

  ‘What?’ she said, but he was already running from the bridge.

  The arrival of the mystery—now mystery alien—vessel had taken Samson by such surprise that he had forgotten to order the rigging of the ship for battle: the sealing of all the airtight bulkheads, the shutting down of nonessential systems, and the donning of vacuum suits for those crew members in a position to do so. It was something he was grateful for now, however, as he ran through the narrow corridors toward the cargo bay as quickly as his unconditioned spacer legs would allow, without any obstacles or delays. He promised himself that he’d make better use of the exercise facilities on his next ship—if there was a next ship.

  He got to the cargo bay and unceremoniously flung the object through the hatch onto the deck, then sealed it behind him. As it closed, he hoped Vachon and his drones had properly secured the new banks of power cells. If not, they would be blown out into the vacuum along with his souvenir from the dead alien city.

  ‘Vent the cargo bay,’ he said.

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  A klaxon went off, and a red light started to flash on the other side of the hatch’s window. The ship lurched violently as the bay door cracked open and the gas inside blasted out. He had to hang on to the handle on the wall to remain on his feet. He could see the sliver of visible space grow as the bay door opened and watched the alien artefact fly out into the void along with all the air in the cargo bay. Happily, the new power cells remained in situ.

  ‘Close the door,’ Samson said.

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  The cargo bay door started to lower again.

  ‘Status on the pursuing vessel?’ he said.

  ‘She… she’s broken off.’

  Samson allowed his feet to slide away from him, and slumped to the deck.

  ‘What did you do?’ Harper said.

  ‘The artefact,’ Samson said. ‘They wanted the artefact. We have however long it takes them to pick it up to get a head start. All power back to thrusters.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  ‘Set course for the Nexus Point. We’re heading back to Capsilan depot,’ he said. ‘Hopefully the Peterson will be there by the time we arrive. She should have some guns big enough to make whoever or whatever that was think twice.’ He didn’t care how relieved his voice sounded. Perhaps he would survive and get a chance to find out who had made the artefacts after all.

  23

  When the Capsilan depot finally appeared in the viewport, Samson’s adrenal glands, which had been working overtime up to that point, finally threw in the towel. The excited energy that had kept him alert during their flight from the alien ship, and vigilant as they watched and hoped that they had managed to get away, left his body as abruptly as the air he had vented from the cargo bay. He needed sleep—and just as importantly, a few waking hours where it didn’t feel like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

  The Peterson hadn’t arrived yet, something Samson was actually glad about. Assuming the alien ship hadn’t followed them and they didn’t have need of the Peterson’s heavy guns, he welcomed the opportunity to rest a while before having to deal his new commander.

  Torn between duty and exhaustion, he decided that reports would have to wait until he had rested. He wanted his account of everything to be coherent, not the ramblings of a sleep-deprived lunatic. The things he would put in his report felt enough like the ravings of a delusional idiot already. He also wanted to make a good impression on the Peterson’s captain when he arrived. The last thing he wanted was to be reassigned somewhere else in the galaxy. Samson knew he was too caught up in what was going on here to be content doing anything else. He needed to know what was going on, needed to be part of the process that uncovered it all.

  Before the Peterson arrived, Samson knew he needed to come up with a good reason to demonstrate that the Bounty was valuable to the Navy’s efforts in the sector for the foreseeable future. That was going to be a hard sell. He supposed he and his crew might get reassigned to other vessels in the Third Fleet when it arrived, but he liked the idea of holding onto his own command. The longer he remained part of the Alpha Protocol mission, the greater the likelihood of him continuing to remain on it. There would never be anything like this in his career again. To be excluded now would be heartbreaking.

  With the Bounty safely docked, Samson headed straight for the commander’s quarters, having given the order not to be disturbed until the Peterson arrived unless there was an emergency. He could not discount the possibility that the alien vessel would follow them, although at least the depot had more potent weapons than the Bounty. They were, however, a stationary target. All in all, he reckoned it was best not to think about it unless he had to.

  Tired as he was, Samson couldn’t help sitting down in front of the viewscreen in the commander’s quarters to review all the footage they had taken of the alien vessel. The ship was ominous looking. Like a giant, cylindrical horseshoe. The surface was entirely smooth, and it struck him that it was not dissimilar to the buil
dings in the ruined city. Harper’s scans had indicated the power signatures and construction materials were distinct from what they knew about the ruined aliens, so that brought up some interesting questions. Were they the ancient aliens’ descendants? Were they using similar—perhaps scavenged—technology?

  He played through the video file several times, up to the point where the ship had come to a halt by the item Samson had jettisoned. There wasn’t much to learn. It seemed to behave very much like a human ship, needing time to accelerate and decelerate in accordance with the known principles of physics. It would have been truly terrifying if it was capable of defying them. An enemy that had to play by the same rules would be a lot easier to deal with.

  Were it not for the unusual design and the readings the sensors had provided, there wouldn’t be any reason to think that the ship might not be human. Samson entertained the possibility that someone had been able to extract enough alien technology and knowledge to construct an entirely new type of ship, but it didn’t seem likely.

  The question remained whether the aliens on board the attacking ship bore any relation to those who had lived in the city. That led him to the thought that Dobson might not be the only world with remnants of this civilisation. The entire sector could be littered with remains. What he had seen so far certainly hinted at technology advanced enough for long distance space travel. He hadn’t been able to identify the function of any of the alien items he had seen, a fact which did suggest that they had been more advanced than humanity. A lot more.