The Alpha Protocol: Alpha Protocol Book 1

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  ‘Mister Kushnir, please take this drone to the cargo bay and rig it for launch by evacuation.’

  Kushnir did as he was ordered, and Samson slumped into his chair. If he was going to survive Wright’s race to glory he needed to make a plan, and quickly. He realised how easy it would be for Wright to dress up his actions as those of a gung-ho young officer thoughtlessly striving to make up for past deficiencies. He had no idea how to turn it around. If Wright chose to assassinate Samson’s character, he already had all the ammunition he needed. No matter how the negotiation attempts went, Wright would be able to marginalise or demonise Samson if he needed a scapegoat. Whatever way he looked at it, he was screwed.

  ‘Lieutenant Harper, take us back to the Capsilan system.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  ‘Not a positive outcome to the meeting, sir?’ Price said.

  ‘Is it that obvious?’ Samson said. He cast a hesitant glance over at Harper, but she was busy, and out of earshot of a quiet conversation.

  ‘From the look on your face, sir, yes, it is.’

  ‘Peace in our time, Sergeant. That’s what Captain Wright intends for.’

  ‘Peace with who exactly?’

  ‘Our gangly pink and purple friends.’

  ‘He realises that it’s not peace if they’re shooting at you, right?’

  ‘I’m not sure what thoughts are going through his head at the moment, but I expect most of them involve words like “Admiral”, “President”, or “hero”. He’s running with his sacred site theory, and thinks if we apologise and promise to stay away, all will be forgiven and we can enter into a great, mutually beneficial partnership to explore and civilise the universe.’

  ‘Modest in his aspirations, then,’ Price said. ‘Ain’t he, sir.’

  Samson activated the thrusters. ‘One way or another, I fully expect he intends to hang me, and possibly everyone on this ship, out to dry if his plans fail. He suggested that my actions may have incited war,’ Samson continued. ‘He wants us and our warlike little vessel out of the way so we can’t ruin his peace talks.’ Samson realised he was talking about a superior in the most unprofessional manner possible, but he doubted it would make much difference to his career, considering the other issues in play.

  He wondered what Harper was thinking about it all. Might she see siding with Wright as an opportunity to save her career? The thought sent a chill through him. She could portray him as the bloodthirsty xenophobic lunatic he was sure Wright wanted him to be, justify her mutinous actions in their entirety, and hammer another nail in his coffin. Perhaps he’d be better off signing on with the first pirate vessel they encountered. Or tossing her out of the airlock. He suspected his opportunity for that move had passed, however.

  ‘I don’t know if I’m more curious to see how this plays out, or terrified,’ Price said. ‘He knows they destroyed the Sidewinder without provocation, doesn’t he?’

  It startled Samson to hear Price admit he was afraid of anything. ‘Ah, but they had stolen the poor aliens’ sacred artefacts,’ he said. ‘Wright’s scrambling for whatever glory’s to be had out here before Admiral Khaimov’s squadron arrives. After that the plaudits will be diluted, and he might have to actually work for whatever it is he has in mind for his future. He’ll be transmitting the encounter at maximum power. He’ll want all of humanity to know what he’s doing, so at least we’ll be able to listen in on what’s happening. Along with everyone else.’

  28

  Samson did his best to put the thoughts about what Captain Wright might have in store for him to one side, and go about his duty as best he could. They launched the sensor probe at a spot roughly equidistant between Capsilan’s Nexus portal and Holmwood, then retreated into the darkness of space to run on minimal power and watch who passed by. Anyone trying to smuggle objects from the ruins on Dobson would fall into their net, and then Captain Wright could humbly return the looted objects to his new alien friends. Assuming they didn’t kill him first.

  As duties went, it was about as boring as could be, particularly on a small ship like the Bounty. There was virtually no traffic between the two systems, and Captain Wright would have known that. Holmwood, though the capital of that sector, was still little more than a collection point for all the sector’s production for transhipment back to the Core Systems. The raw materials for which Frontier systems tended to be exploited were too bulky for the pirates to steal, or for the smugglers to try and hide in an effort to avoid duties. Arlen was the only person they’d encountered smuggling alien artefacts, although Samson realised that didn’t mean he was the only one doing it. Judging by the lack of traffic the sensor was picking up, it was starting to look like he was, though. At least there were recreation facilities and enough crew members to make life a little more interesting on a larger ship. Here, there was nothing to do but stare at the stars and worry about the future.

  With little of interest going on, he brought up the naval database entry for Holmwood on his datapad and started to scroll though. It had all the usual things that made a planet attractive to early settlers: heavy metals, rare elements, and some precious metals. Sooner or later, the very high-value stuff would be discovered—gemstones and the like; every planet had them—but for the time being Holmwood was being stripped of the easily accessible commodities, which were shipped back to the Core to feed its industrial machine. Some would get wealthy, some would be ruined, but once the population grew large enough, the Frontier would move outward, this planet would become like any other, and the process would repeat as another unknown layer of the galaxy was peeled back.

  He spent the remainder of the day watching empty space, other than three freighters hauling their wares away from Holmwood. Samson scanned their registrations and manifests, but there was nothing to raise suspicion. He noted the destination of one, and decided he might give them a closer look for contraband on their way back, if he was still on station. They were headed for a system known as a hotspot of criminal activity and narcotics, which might tempt a freighter captain looking to make a little extra on their next run.

  Just as Samson was about to go off-duty, a ship dropped out of the Nexus Current close enough to Holmwood to suggest it had a very expensive navigation computer. That wasn’t something Samson expected to see out here, and once he had confirmed it wasn’t a small naval vessel, his curiosity was piqued enough to move off-station to investigate.

  They got underway at full thrust, Samson’s boredom causing him to be a little less patient with the Bounty than perhaps he should. The engines thrummed with the increased power being fed to them, and he watched the range between him and the new ship race down.

  The one benefit of being in the Bounty was that there was nothing about her to indicate she was in naval service. The target ship was in no hurry as it idled its way to orbit around Holmwood. If she was even aware of the Bounty, those on board would have seen nothing more than a trading vessel in a hurry. Samson allowed himself a wry smile as his ship clawed away the distance between them—they were going to get one hell of a surprise.

  The main problem with stop-and-search operations in space was the amount of time they took. Their quarry had dropped out of the Nexus very close to the planet, while the Bounty was stationed roughly halfway between the Nexus portal and the planet. Running their power plant and engines hard, Samson had no doubt they would catch up to their quarry, but with such great distances involved, it would take time. A full day, as it happened.

  He took several breaks to make sure he was rested when the time came, but checked in regularly to see what progress they were making or if there was any response from the target vessel. There was none, which made his life easier but also gave him pause for thought—why weren’t they reacting? It was never a good approach to assume you’d gotten the jump on your opponent, but in this case he couldn’t see any reason for them to be suspicious. Again, there was nothing to identify the Bounty as a Navy ship, and she had been a familiar sight in that part of space.
It was the perfect cover for this type of operation, although he knew word of what they were up to would spread quickly enough.

  It was with building excitement that Samson returned to the bridge for the watch on which he expected to interdict the ship.

  ‘She’s an Excelsior Bay,’ Harper said, as soon as he walked onto the bridge. Their sensors were finally within range for more detailed scans. He had been curious what they would reveal, but he hadn’t expected this.

  ‘Seriously?’ Samson said. Excelsior Bay was a prestige manufacturer of luxury space yachts. They were eye-wateringly expensive, and certainly not the type of ship one encountered out on the Frontier. ‘Stolen?’

  Harper shrugged. ‘I’ve never even seen an Excelsior Bay for real. And out here?’

  For a vessel that cost more than most could earn in a lifetime, it was certainly a valuable target, not even taking into account what it might contain. His heart started to speed up as he considered the possibilities—might it be the abduction of a wealthy patrician? The Frontier was as good a place as any to hide out while you awaited the payment of a ransom. Equally, it was the perfect place to stash a stolen ship until the heat died down and you’d had a chance to strip and replace all the registration and serial numbers. Either way, it was going to be a good catch but possibly a very dangerous one.

  Samson felt the gentle drag on the ship as the navigation computer switched from forward to reverse thrust to bring them to a halt within range of their target. The process would take several hours more, but they were close enough for Samson’s impatience to threaten his mood. A boarding operation without the aid of a launch was a complicated proposal, but the Bounty wasn’t so large as to make it impossible.

  Samson hit the intercom. ‘Sergeant Price, prepare your people for a boarding action. High likelihood of resistance.’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ came the steely reply. If the prospect of boarding a ship under a hail of weapons fire bothered Price, he’d certainly become very adept at concealing the fact.

  They had hailed the Excelsior Bay, which bore the uninspiring name of Maggie—not at all what Samson thought a ship of that calibre deserved. She had replied quickly and politely, and hove to as soon as Samson ordered them to do so. It was all going so smoothly he was beginning to worry. It seemed a little hard to believe that it might simply be a wealthy dilettante on a jolly to see the wild Frontier.

  Samson set the Bounty on a slow approach to mate their respective airlocks. If the Maggie’s crew were going to try something, that was the time it was most likely to happen. They had a detachable boarding apparatus now, so there would be no issues with explosive decompression and the loss of the ship with all hands. He continued to watch the distance between them, and monitor the sensor reports for any indication the Maggie might be powering something up.

  As he watched, Samson wondered what type of person named a space yacht worth millions of credits ‘Maggie.’ She should be called something far more majestic, as that was the only word to describe her—sleek lines and design features harkening back to classic racing ships. She was painted a rich metallic blue that reflected Capsilan’s light like a sapphire, while sleekly designed exhaust ports hinted at the thrust she was capable of if called upon—certainly far more than the Bounty would ever have, with any amount of upgrades.

  There could be plenty of reasons that she hadn’t tried to run when the Bounty broadcast her naval interdiction signal—the possibility that they’d purchased their reaction matter from the same supplier as Arlen being one. Everything about their behaviour said they had nothing to hide, which to Samson screamed that they definitely had something to hide. Either that, or being boarded and searched by the Navy was all part of the authentic Frontier experience the Maggie’s passengers were looking for. He didn’t like the idea of being a tourist attraction, but that wasn’t going to stop him from doing his job.

  There was a gentle bump as the boarding apparatus clamped onto the Maggie’s airlock, and Samson turned up the volume on his datapad so he could hear everything that was going on with Price and the Marines. He enjoyed the excitement of the boarding preparations vicariously, and regretted not being able to go with them. On any other ship, it would have been one of his duties, although now that he was a lieutenant commander it would be a rarer assignment; but while he was in command of a ship, it was against standard operating procedure for him to endanger himself. Not that he would let that stop him if he wanted to do it badly enough. After his run-in with the aliens on Dobson, however, he thought it better if he played things by the book. At least for the time being.

  ‘Ready on the hatch, Sarge.’

  Samson recognised Corporal Smit’s voice on the intercom.

  ‘Release,’ Price said.

  Samson could hear the sound of an airlock opening, and the characteristic hiss of gas as the final balance in pressures was met.

  ‘Mister Smith will see you in his stateroom,’ an unfamiliar male voice said. Across the intercom, it was impossible to tell if it was artificial or a person speaking.

  Samson resisted the urge to request an update from Price—the Marine knew his business, and would report when he could.

  ‘Terran Union Marines.’ That was Price’s voice, seemingly ignoring the greeting. ‘We’re boarding and searching this vessel under the powers of the Merchant Shipping and Navigation Acts. Stand aside.’

  ‘Mister Smith will gladly answer any questions you might have,’ the voice said.

  ‘I’ll speak with Mister Smith when I’m ready,’ Price said. ‘Stand. Aside.’

  That seemed to confirm there was a person waiting to meet them at the airlock. The fact there hadn’t been shots fired meant things were already going as well as could be hoped for. He was curious as to who Mister Smith was, and it occurred to him that if he was wealthy enough to own an Excelsior Bay, then he was perhaps a man to be treated with a little more consideration than most. Samson had already created enough ammunition to be used against him—the last thing he needed was to have a billionaire baying for his dishonourable discharge over a heavy-handed interdiction.

  He gave in to temptation and hit the intercom button. ‘Sergeant Price, as soon as you have the ship secure, I’ll come across and meet with Mister Smith.’

  29

  A man in a perfectly pressed suit was waiting for Samson at the airlock. He proved to be the source of Price’s welcome on board, and introduced himself as ‘Sanders’. The Marines were spread out along the corridor behind Sanders. They were in a combat stance, always ready to deal with any threat, even though they’d deemed the ship safe. Seeing a ship like this out on the Frontier was too odd a thing for them to be able to relax, even when there was nothing obviously threatening about it.

  The difference in the surroundings represented an abrupt change for Samson. Although the faded, stained, and dreary panelling in the Bounty had been given a naval update and appeared fresh and ship-shape, the Maggie’s interior made it look like a garbage scow. Everything was lined with contrasting stitched leather and wood panelling. Recessed lights in various intensities and hues gave the ship a warm and intimate atmosphere.

  Samson followed Sanders to meet with the mysterious Mister Smith, with his Marines at regular intervals behind him, carbines at the ready. Sanders brought him to a large door at a T-junction in the corridor, and waved his right hand over a panel at its side.

  ‘Mister Smith, I have Lieutenant Commander Samson for you.’

  ‘Show him through,’ came the voice from inside.

  Samson thought it odd that the servant had a more refined accent than the master, but it was not unknown—the galaxy was a place where a person could start with nothing, and finish with an entire star system in their grasp. He crossed the threshold, and Price made to follow, but Sanders held up his hand.

  ‘Just Lieutenant Commander Samson,’ he said.

  Price looked to Samson, who nodded.

  ‘It’ll be fine.’

  He continued into a large st
ateroom that was even more luxurious than the corridors. The room was dominated by a large desk of brilliantly lacquered wood, inset with all the touch-sensitive displays a billionaire could want.

  ‘Captain Samson, thank you for coming to see me. My name is Kingston Smith, master of this ship.’

  Mister Smith was a slight man, dwarfed by the desk he sat behind. He was bald with a neatly trimmed goatee and looked to be in his late fifties, although his eyes had an energetic alertness that made him seem younger.

  ‘It’s Lieutenant Commander,’ Samson said.

  ‘If you command your little ship, then you’re a captain, now, aren’t you? Even if the Navy chose to call you something different.’ He smiled in a cheeky, charismatic way and paused, seemingly waiting for Samson to agree with him.

  Samson didn’t indulge him.

  ‘Can I ask what your business in Capsilan is?’

  Smith shrugged and held his hands up. ‘This and that.’

  ‘You’re going to have to do better than that. You don’t see too many Excelsior Bays out this way.’

  ‘Beauty, isn’t she? Had her a couple of years now. Named her after my old mum.’

  Samson noted the diversion of topic, but decided to play along. ‘That accent,’ Samson said. ‘New Southampton?’

  ‘New Portsmouth,’ Smith said, making it sound like ‘Portsmuff’.

  Samson nodded. ‘New Falmouth, myself.’

  ‘Virtually neighbours, then,’ Smith said, with that same charismatic smile.

  Both systems were in same sector of space, which had been mainly settled by colonists from the British Isles. New Portsmouth had a reputation for producing a disproportionately large number of pirates, something of which they tended to be proud. It made Samson suspicious of how Smith had come into possession of the Maggie ‘a couple of years’ ago.