The Alpha Protocol: Alpha Protocol Book 1

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  ‘The Navy is establishing a more visible presence in this sector and I’ve been assigned to that task. Which brings us up to where we are now.’ He gave Smith a moment to digest the news, then continued. ‘I’ll need to see all ownership and registration documents of this ship, and your logs and manifests.’

  ‘Of course, Captain,’ Smith said. ‘Sanders will see you get everything you need.’ He made a few taps on a datapad set in his desktop and sat back, seemingly in the expectation that Samson would leave now that he had what he wanted.

  Samson sat opposite Smith. The fact that he hadn’t been invited to sit had not escaped his notice, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. The Navy was in charge in this system, and Smith was going to realise that before Samson left the ship.

  ‘You never did elaborate on “this and that”,’ Samson said, making himself comfortable in the plush leather chair.

  Smith’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments, but Samson saw it, and took satisfaction in the fact that he was getting under Smith’s skin.

  ‘I own a number of businesses that operate in Frontier sectors—raw material extraction, haulage. That sort of thing.’

  ‘I can’t imagine the Maggie can haul much in the way of raw materials.’

  Smith’s smile had now returned and was seemingly unshakeable. ‘Of course not, Captain. I’m a hands-on boss. I like to keep an eye on my businesses. Make sure the lads aren’t slacking off. That’s why I have the Maggie. I travel a lot, and at my age I reckon I deserve a bit of luxury.’

  ‘Everyone deserves that, I suppose,’ Samson said, studying Smith as intently as Smith was studying him.

  Samson could tell this was a man who’d seen plenty of violence. There was wit and charm in Smith’s expression, but underneath that façade there was more. A hard edge like Price’s, but there was something else here also—the calculating coldness of a man for whom the ends always justified the means. In that moment, Samson felt like a foolish boy who was in way over his head. This man was a predator used to swimming in deep waters. Samson had to remind himself that he was a naval officer, and had the Navy—and his Marines—standing behind him, to maintain his resolve.

  The moment passed quickly. He’d been shot at by an alien species and hadn’t cracked. The fact that Smith had an aura of danger about him wasn’t something worth dwelling on.

  ‘I presume your ship’s logs will tally with the list of businesses Excise has you listed as owner of?’

  Smith’s smile became thin, and Samson wondered if he was being needlessly confrontational. But Captain Wright’s instruction to ‘let them know the Navy is here’ echoed in his head, and he maintained his composure as he waited for an answer.

  ‘Of course,’ Smith said, ‘although many of my operations are small and in their early stages. Not all of the records may be fully filed yet.’

  ‘I’ll make a note of that in my report and ensure it’s forwarded to Excise so they can prioritise your filings. Properly-filed information makes admin work easier for everyone, don’t you think?’

  Smith nodded, but said nothing.

  ‘I’d like to make a close inspection of the vessel,’ Samson said. ‘It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.’

  ‘I’m in something of a hurry,’ Smith said.

  ‘Really? It didn’t look like that when we were observing you.’

  ‘I’ve nothing to hide, Lieutenant Commander. Make yourself at home.’

  Samson smiled at Smith not using the courtesy of calling him ‘captain’ any longer.

  ‘We’ll be as quick as we can, Mister Smith. Plenty of other ships to be keeping an eye on.’

  Smith smiled, but there was no warmth in his eyes. He was studying Samson, appraising him, and Samson couldn’t work out why, which unsettled him. He stood, gave Smith a polite nod, and left.

  Sanders was waiting outside with a datapad for Samson.

  ‘Mister Smith instructed that I should give you this. It’s a full outline of the ship’s manifest and logs. Feel free to hold onto it.’

  Samson took it, wondering why they’d chosen to provide it in this way rather than simply transmitting the data. He gave Price his orders to continue going over the ship with a fine-toothed comb, then wandered back toward the Bounty, scrolling through the information on the datapad.

  Everything he saw appeared to be in order, not that he expected it would be any different. If you could afford an Excelsior Bay, you could devote the resources to counterfeiting logs and manifests. His only hope was that it might show the vessel up as stolen, but nothing he had seen so far supported that theory, and there was nothing in the logs that could justify holding Smith back any longer than they already had.

  He returned to the Bounty and continued to go through Mister Smith’s list of travels. He was a frequent visitor to Holmwood—indeed, it appeared to be his base. It seemed he had interests in half a dozen Frontier systems, and as many systems on the Inner Edge—those which had been on the Frontier thirty or forty years ago but were now enveloped by the borders of what most would consider civilisation.

  Smith seemed to deal with pretty innocuous businesses. If they genuinely did yield a fortune large enough to buy an Excelsior Bay, Samson reckoned joining the Navy had been a very poor career choice. That was, if he was going to accept that the information and Smith’s list of businesses was genuine—which was something he couldn’t bring himself to do. He put the datapad down and scratched his chin. If he remained on duty in the system, he’d be sure to keep an eye out for Smith. The New Portsmouthman might be a dangerous adversary, but Samson would find the truth eventually.

  The intercom beeped, and Price reported that they’d found nothing and were returning to the Bounty. Samson let the air whistle from between his teeth, then smiled. A man like Smith would have made duty on the Frontier more interesting, were it not for the fact there were seemingly two species of aliens fulfilling that task now. He released the docking clamps and sent the Maggie a confirmation that they were free to get underway. That done, he watched her drift off, then fire thrusters to begin her planetary re-entry.

  ‘Sir, I have a new arrival from the Current,’ Harper said.

  ‘Two in one day?’ Samson said. ‘It’s getting busy out here.’ Samson watched the Maggie, with her perfect, sleek lines, for a moment longer, wondering how she’d fare if facing down an alien vessel. If it came to war, countless ships and lives would be lost. Perhaps Captain Wright was correct. Perhaps they did have to pursue a peaceful solution until there could be no doubt of its futility. That wasn’t his responsibility anymore, though, and he had a newly arrived ship to inspect.

  ‘Best go and take a look, then,’ Samson said.

  30

  The next ship proved far less interesting than the Maggie—she was a simple hauler loaded with dried foodstuffs and thirty wide-eyed, optimistic settlers. If the statistics Samson had read in a magazine were correct, then one in a thousand would die a millionaire. Four hundred in a thousand would die paupers, many of them prematurely. The rest might manage to make a decent life for themselves, but he wondered how many of them would be better than the lives they had left behind. Life was difficult wherever you made it, unless you were one of the lucky ones born to money. Harder out here, though.

  A war could make or break this system. If Captain Wright’s efforts failed, Holmwood would be the front line, and among the first systems to be lost if things went badly. Should things go well, it would be a staging post. Military bases always flooded planets with money, more so when sailors or soldiers were unwinding planetside after a combat tour. If there was peace, this would be the connection point for intergalactic trade. Either way, anyone hoping to hide away from civilisation out here was screwed.

  ‘Sir, I’m picking up a transmission being routed through the depot’s Nexus Relay,’ Harper said.

  Samson’s ears pricked up. There was only one thing that could mean: The Peterson must have made contact with the alien vessel. Alt
hough the Peterson could send its signal directly back to the Admiralty, it was common practice to piggyback it along known transmitter relays to make sure the message got through to its destination uncorrupted. Even now, after all those years of use, things went missing in that place between.

  ‘Put it up on the intercom,’ Samson said. ‘I think everyone on board deserves to hear this.’ He waited for Harper to give him the nod, then spoke. ‘All hands, the show’s about to start,’ Samson said. He took his hand off the intercom button. ‘Has there been any communication from the alien ship yet?’

  ‘Nothing. The Peterson’s only just started to transmit.’

  Her signal came through the speakers, as clear as if she were alongside. ‘Unidentified vessel at one hundred thousand kilometres and closing, sir.’

  Samson wondered who the sensors officer on the Peterson was. Her voice was utterly emotionless and professional, just as they were trained to be. Faced with the approach of an alien ship, her mind must have been racing as much as her heart. He wondered if he would’ve been able to maintain the same sangfroid.

  ‘Acknowledged.’

  Samson recognised Wright’s voice, brimming with self-assuredness. He was risking a lot, and Samson couldn’t decide whether to admire his courage or despise his arrogance. History would decide which attribute to apply, and as much as Samson hoped he was correct, he did his best not to place self-interest above his desire for the crews of the Peterson and the Nautilus to be safe.

  His own small crew started to arrive on the bridge as the speakers burst into life again. It was Captain Wright speaking this time.

  ‘Unidentified vessel, this is the Terran Union Ship Peterson. We come with peaceful intentions. We seek to open dialogue with you.’

  Samson supposed it was better than ‘we come in peace’, but he couldn’t help but cringe. It was difficult to fathom how serious a situation it was. The next few moments could dictate the future of humanity for centuries. Samson had a hollow feeling at having been left on the sidelines for such a pivotal moment. This was probably the one that would be remembered, with the events and lives that had gone before fading into the scenery.

  Silence stretched, and the tension on the Bounty’s bridge was palpable. If it’s like this here, Samson thought, what must it be like on the Peterson?

  Wright’s voice broke the silence again. ‘Is it possible they use an alternative form of communication?’

  ‘I couldn’t say, sir. It’s possible. Their ship showed no reaction to our transmission.’

  Silence. Samson shifted uneasily in his seat. It wasn’t a good time to find out a hostile ship doesn’t communicate the same way humans do.

  ‘Open the channel again.’

  Wright repeated his message, but his voice wasn’t quite so full of certainty any longer. ‘Translate it into every language and communication system, and send those too.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘No, sir. Nothing.’

  ‘Fifty thousand kilometres, sir. Still closing.’

  ‘Start working through the Alpha Protocol’s First Communication list.’

  Samson could detect the frustration building in Wright’s voice. While the meaning of his first efforts had been broadly in line with the Protocol, the wording was all his, likely pored over carefully in his stateroom for posterity.

  In the background, Samson could hear a communications officer running through the list of greeting methods—tonal, mathematical, and AI generated greetings based around the structures of all recorded human languages in history, calling each one out as he tried it. The sensors officer was silent throughout, meaning she wasn’t detecting a response of any kind.

  ‘Get me a closed and encrypted channel to the Nautilus.’

  Wright’s voice was starting to betray stress, and Samson realised he was gripping the armrest of his own command chair with white knuckles. Likely Wright was as well. The only thing to suggest this wasn’t going horribly wrong was the fact that no shots had been fired yet. Samson could hear a hushed discussion with Captain Gutierrez on the Nautilus, but he couldn’t make out what was being said.

  Still there was nothing from the alien vessel, and Samson wondered if Wright was starting to get worried. He tried to imagine the scene, the two naval corvettes dwarfed by the far larger horseshoe-shaped alien ship. There wasn’t much left in the Alpha Protocol playbook but to power up weapons, and Wright still seemed determined to avoid that. He broadcast his message a final time.

  As admirable as Wright’s persistence may have been, the time he was using up was allowing the alien ship to get close—more than close enough to be within weapons range. Wright needed to make a choice, and soon.

  Wright’s composure finally cracked.

  ‘Goddammit. Why the hell won’t they respond? Even if they don’t understand us, surely they can tell we’re trying to communicate. We’re not taking any more chances.’

  ‘I’m detecting a power surge on the alien vessel.’

  ‘Comms?’

  ‘No. Definitely not. Too much power.’

  Samson gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly he worried he might rip them off. He was as tense as if he were there himself. As much as he disliked Wright’s agenda, his failure meant failure for everyone, not just the men and women directly under his command.

  ‘Goddammit.’ Captain Wright’s voice again. ‘Power up the weapons. Prepare to fire main battery. Rig for battle. Full combat power. Lock weapons. Captain Gutierrez, initiate option two.’

  ‘Our ships are powering up weapons,’ Harper said.

  The Peterson was transmitting all its data back to the Admiralty, including all sensor and status information as well as the audio and video.

  ‘Looks like Captain Wright’s about to learn what you told him the hard way,’ Harper said.

  ‘At least it seems he’s prepared for this eventuality. I’m curious what option two is going to be. I hope it’s not option too late…’ It wasn’t the time to be glib, and Samson immediately regretted his sarcastic tone.

  ‘They’re getting into it,’ Harper said. ‘The alien ship has fired. The Peterson’s returned.’

  Samson held his breath. He wondered if two modern corvettes, fully manned and equipped, would be able to deal with the alien ship. He prayed that they would. He felt sorry for Wright. Whatever his motivations, peace would have been the best result for everyone, and chasing it was a noble thing, even if his motivation might not have been. For Samson, the idea of peace had died the moment he saw the alien collect the disembodied head on Dobson.

  The intercom filled with the sounds of battle. Wright’s voice stood out amongst it all, calm and collected, issuing orders and demanding status updates as he manoeuvred his ship in conjunction with the Nautilus. Samson could hear the regular reports of the Peterson’s main weapons batteries. He was going out of his mind sitting there, unable to take part. They were too far away to get there in time. The fight would be long over before the Bounty even reached Capsilan’s Nexus portal. There was nothing worse for a naval officer than knowing your comrades were in harm’s way and there was nothing you could do about it.

  ‘Sir, the smaller batteries don’t seem to be having any effect.’

  ‘What about the main rail gun?’

  ‘We haven’t hit with it yet.’

  ‘Well then, hit the bastard!’ Wright said.

  The conversation was interrupted by the sound of an impact, and damage reports started coming in. Wright let out an audible curse as the Peterson fought for all she was worth. The constant chatter of activity on her bridge had Samson’s heart racing. Samson wondered how the Nautilus was faring, and likewise what impact they were having on the alien ship. The ordered chaos of battle played to the beat of the Peterson’s main batteries firing as soon as they were charged.

  ‘There’s been a large energy discharge,’ Harper said. Her voice dropped a tone. ‘I’m not getting a transponder signal from the Nautilus.�
��

  ‘Give the thrusters enough power to maintain evasion patterns. Everything else to the main battery. Keep it firing!’ Wright’s voice was barely audible over the sound of impacts and explosions. Nonetheless, Samson could hear the fear in it.

  ‘We’ve lost the starboard exhaust sponson. Cargo bay and starboard quarter sections are depressurised.’

  ‘Evacuate all crew to system vital compartments.’

  ‘Damn it,’ Samson said. ‘I told that bloody fool what he was walking them into.’

  The intercom went silent.

  ‘Sir, the Peterson’s gone now too. The data stream cut off.’

  Samson rubbed his brow. Another two ships gone. Hundreds more lives lost, all due to the ambition of one man.

  ‘What do we do, sir?’

  Samson thought for a moment. There didn’t tend to be survivors after such an abrupt destruction.

  ‘Have any emergency beacons activated?’ Samson said.

  Harper stared at her console, then shook her head.

  ‘Keep scanning the distress frequencies and for the alien ship. I want to know if she comes into this system, the second she gets here. Set a course for the Nexus portal. If we haven’t detected any distress beacons by the time we get there, we’ll return to the depot and wait for the fleet. There’s no need for anyone else to be endangered for an empty gesture.’

  31

  Wright’s last order to Samson had been to make good the debt he had accrued by his visit to Holmwood Landing. It seemed like a better way to spend their time than hiding away on the depot or patrolling the system for a ship they could do nothing to stop. The voyage back to the planet from the Nexus portal, where they’d detected no distress signals, was a sombre time of contemplation. While the Navy could bring far greater firepower to bear than the Peterson or Nautilus, the aliens had destroyed three human warships now, seemingly with minimal effort. If that was what one ship could do, what if there were more? Many more?