Samson nodded. ‘Possibly. Or perhaps they’re simply prioritising the bigger target, and will call here when they’re done with the planet. It’s not like there’s anything out here that can stop them.’
His instructions from the Admiralty hadn’t been especially helpful— ‘Carry out your duties as best as you can and hope the fleet arrives in time.’ What was he supposed to do with that? Thousands of people on Holmwood were going to die. Samson reckoned the best they could hope to do was die with them.
‘Any update on Admiral Khaimov?’ Samson said.
‘They’re communications-dark, sir. Probably Nexus blocked.’
Although the Nexus could be used to transmit signals from ordinary space, they could not be sent or received by a ship within it. They could arrive at any moment, or still be hours away. He had to proceed with the belief that no help would be coming.
‘Is there anything we can do for those people on the planet?’ Harper said.
It shamed Samson that despite racking his brains to come up with something, he was unable. If he could distract the alien vessel for long enough to allow Khaimov’s squadron to arrive—try to get them to chase him around the system for a while—there was a chance, but with the alien ship outgunning the Bounty, and being far faster, any distraction they could create would not last long. Certainly not long enough to do any good.
There had been an idea lurking in the back of his mind for some time, but he had chosen to ignore it up to that point. It would cost them dearly… but more than all the lives on the planet?
He downloaded all the information the depot’s scanners had on the alien scout ship and scheduled it to beam out on the next Nexus transmission. Powerful though it was, the depot’s computer hadn’t been able to hack its way into the alien systems by brute force to pull the data out. If the ship was lost, so was everything but the external scans they’d conducted. It was one of those moral quandaries—where did the greater good lie? With the lives on the planet, or the lives the technology in the scout ship might save? As he thought it over, one option seemed quantifiable, while the other was more speculative. He took a deep breath and committed to his decision.
‘Sergeant Price,’ Samson said over his intercom, ‘I want you to load every piece of explosive material on this depot into the alien ship.’
‘Sir?’
‘Just do it. There isn’t much time.’
‘What are you planning?’ Harper said. Her tone indicated that she already had a fair idea, but wanted to hear him actually say it.
‘I’m going to use the alien ship on the depot as bait,’ Samson said. ‘And when the warship comes to take a look, I’m going to ram it.’
‘Is killing yourself really the only option?’ Harper said.
‘Ultimate sacrifice is not actually part of my plan,’ Samson said. ‘I want you to command the Bounty. Stay close, but run silent. I’m going to light up the alien scout ship with everything I can—hopefully they won’t pay any attention to the Bounty until they’ve taken a good look at my diversion. Once it’s done that, I want you to power up and strafe the alien ship. When its attention is on you, I’ll use the depot’s tractor magnet to shove the captured ship on a collision course and jump out of the airlock. With all that explosive on board, I won’t have to hit it hard. I won’t even have to hit it—just be right next to it. When the warship is destroyed, we all live happily ever after.’ It sounded so simple. So foolproof. Samson wondered if there was even a one percent chance that it might work in reality.
‘I can think of so many things that could go wrong with that,’ Harper said. ‘What if we can’t lure the alien ship close enough to the depot for you to get in range? There has to be something better. Maybe we could rig up an autopilot of some sort so we don’t have to bring it to us?’
‘With the time we have? The depot’s computer hasn’t even been able to scratch that ship’s firewalls. Even if it can break through, it won’t be able to insert parasite control software before the aliens have pounded Holmwood Landing into dust.’
She shook her head and frowned.
‘If you can think of something better,’ Samson said, ‘please let me know. The only other thing I can think of is running and hiding. Leaving the colonists to their own devices. I can’t do that, so we’re running with my plan and we don’t have much time to set it up. Can I leave you to your part, Lieutenant?’
Harper nodded, and left the command centre.
‘There’s a problem, sir,’ Price said over the intercom.
Samson grimaced. Price tended not to report problems; he dealt with them. ‘Go ahead, Sergeant.’
‘The detonation systems. They’ve been left uncharged for too long and the batteries have failed. I can’t get them to hold any power.’
‘What does that mean?’ Samson said.
‘It means you won’t be able to detonate it remotely.’
Samson swore. ‘If I hit the alien warship hard enough, will the explosives detonate?’
‘Probably not, sir. Safety measures. They’re designed to only go off when you really want them to.’
‘So the explosives are useless?’ Samson said.
‘Not exactly, sir. It just means they need to be detonated manually.’
It took a second for Samson to digest what that meant. Someone would have to be on the scout ship.
‘That means the only way to blow up that ship in proximity to the warship is to have someone on board?’ Samson said.
‘Pretty much, sir. The detonators will stay on for a few seconds before the batteries fail. They’ll need to be switched on, and detonated within that window.’
‘I’ve a few seconds to play with, then?’ Samson said, trying to salvage something from his plan.
‘No more than ten. I’d say about five to be on the safe side.’
Samson slumped back in his chair and rubbed his unshaven face in both hands. ‘If I set them on a five-second timer and jumped out of the airlock, what are my chances of survival?’
‘I… uh… There’s always a chance you’d be blown clear, but I’m not sure it’s one I’d be happy putting money on. The explosion will give you one hell of a kick. If you survive that you’ll be streaking through space like a comet, and there’s still the risk of damage to your suit, either from the explosion or from debris. If all that works out, you’ll need to be picked up before your air and power runs out.’
‘So you’re saying there’s a chance,’ Samson said, doing his best to convince himself that it could work. The explosion would be little different to an atmospheric evacuation, and people survived those if they were wearing suits. Admittedly there’d be quite a bit more power than an atmospheric evacuation, but the pressure wave caused by the explosion would dissipate quickly in the vacuum of space. If he could launch himself out of the airlock, might he get far enough away before the shockwave reached him to… surf it?
In his head, the physics of it seemed to be possible. He’d be working with very fine margins, but considering how many people would die if they did nothing, the benefit seemed to outweigh the risk.
‘Set up the explosives, Sergeant, so that the detonator is close to the ship’s hatch.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Samson left the bridge and made for the main airlock to get into his boarding suit.
‘Mister Vachon, I’m going to need a little help,’ Samson said as he walked. Not being present on the station added complication to his plan, but he didn’t think it was anything that couldn’t be overcome.
‘What do you need, sir?’ Vachon said.
‘Can you set me up with a system to remotely control the depot’s tractor magnets?’
‘All the code is stored in the Bounty’s new computers. It’s just a case of telling it what you want it to do and transmitting.’
‘What if I’m not on the Bounty? Can you put it onto a portable control unit? Something that will fit in the alien ship—my wrist datapad, perhaps.’
‘Um, I… I’ll
sort something out.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘How long do I have?’
Samson glanced at his datapad. ‘Thirty minutes.’
‘I should be able to rustle something up. Not sure how much power and range it’ll have, though.’
‘Just do your best, Mister Vachon. That’s all I can ask.’
Samson wrestled his way into his environmental suit, then sat for a moment and tried to think of what else he might need. The suit, when paired with its helmet, was only designed for short-term emergency exposure to space, but he was heading off with the certainty that he would be out in the void, and not at all sure how long he might end up out there. He took an extra oxygen cylinder and battery from the storage lockers and placed them in the thigh pockets. There wasn’t room for more, so he hoped it would be enough. And that Harper would collect him in the Bounty as quickly as was possible.
‘How are we coming along with the ordnance, Sergeant Price?’ Samson said.
‘We’ve got enough in there to blow a hole in a battle cruiser, sir. If that doesn’t put a dent in them, nothing will.’
‘That’s exactly what I’m looking for,’ Samson said. ‘I’ll need you to show me how to use the detonator.’ He stood and headed for the cargo bay.
When he arrived, the Marines were to one side clearing up after their flurry of activity. Price and Vachon were waiting by the alien ship’s open door.
‘I’ve set up this datapad with an external transmitter and battery,’ Vachon said. He turned it over and showed Samson a blocky addition to the back of the unit, held in place with standard-issue environmental suit patching tape. ‘I’ve set up the pad to use parasite software similar to the SBB, and created an open connection so there’s no problem getting access to the station’s controls. The transmitter and battery should be able to give you about twelve hours of control.’
‘Good work,’ Samson said. He took the pad and looked through it. He’d taken a moment to look through the depot’s tractor controls. It was only intended for moving and manipulating objects in and out of the cargo bay, but it was capable of dealing with large-mass items, so he hoped it would be able to toss the scout ship at its bigger brother with enough velocity to stop the target from being able to get out of the way.
‘The tractor magnet is the only control over the ship,’ Vachon said. ‘And its range isn’t great. Much more than fifty metres from the station, and you’ll be adrift.’
That wasn’t a problem for Samson. He was only going to have one try at this.
‘There might be a breathable atmosphere on board the ship when it’s powered up,’ Vachon said, ‘but there might not be. Keep your helmet on and suit pressurised to be on the safe side.’
Samson nodded as he continued to look at the tablet. He was glad he’d brought along the extra oxygen cylinder.
‘There’s something else I need to mention to you. It’s kind of a big danger, sir.’
‘What’s that?’ Samson said. ‘A big danger? Kind of? I’m about to get into a ship I can’t fly that’s packed with explosives with the intention of ramming it into an alien warship which has obliterated everything we’ve sent against it so far, by using a tractor magnet to fire me out like a slingshot. Is there something I should be really worried about?’
Vachon shrugged. ‘Comparatively speaking. We’ve not been able to get into the ship’s computer systems, but I can take a guess at what some of it does. There’s a pretty sophisticated comms system. Well, everything looks sophisticated when you don’t understand it, but it seems to have deep links into the rest of the systems. What I’m getting at is, there’s a possibility the alien warship will be able to take control of this ship once it’s powered up.’
‘All right,’ Samson said. ‘That could be a pretty big problem.’
Vachon nodded, with an expression that proclaimed his sense of vindication.
‘What can we do to stop that from happening?’ Samson said.
‘Without any worthwhile understanding of the systems, not a whole lot. There’s enough in this one little ship to keep Fleet Engineering busy for a decade.’
‘There won’t be by the time I’m done with it,’ Samson said.
Vachon winced.
‘I know, I’m not happy about it either. We’ll just have to hope for the best,’ Samson said. ‘I can’t think of any alternatives. Now, Sergeant Price, the detonators.’
Price walked him through the steps of setting the detonators on a five-second delay. He had set the controls up so Samson could reach them while standing in the open airlock. Every second would count.
‘Everything aboard that needs to be aboard?’ Samson said, when the demonstration was complete.
‘Aye, sir,’ Price said.
‘No point in delaying. Let’s get everything set up so we’re ready to go.’
Price saluted, and the sense of inevitable defeat hit Samson like a freezing cold wave. The plan might be crazy, but he wasn’t dead yet and stranger things had happened. He returned the gesture, then stepped into the alien scout ship.
He stood there for a moment, the enormity of what he was trying to do finally hitting him. No one could see him now. There was no one for whom to put on a show of bravado, and he felt afraid. Afraid and alone.
42
‘Release the tethers,’ Samson said. He checked the transponder on his suit once again, although he knew it was too late to do anything about it if it wasn’t working. The result was the same as the first and second times he had checked it—operating normally—but the thought of drifting alone through space to a cold and lonely death had lodged itself in his head, and he couldn’t shake it out. He wasn’t sure if the alternative of dying in the hellfire of the explosion was any more attractive, though.
He powered up Vachon’s jury-rigged datapad and let out a sigh of relief when he saw it light up with all the station’s tractor magnet controls. He tapped the movement icon, and felt the ship judder. All was well.
‘I have control,’ Samson said. ‘The parasite software seems to be working perfectly.’
‘Good luck, sir,’ Harper said. ‘We’ll be here to pick you up on the other side.’
‘Don’t take any chances,’ Samson said. ‘The whole key to this plan is you being able to fish me out of space when it’s all done with. Run silent and keep your distance. If it goes wrong, turn tail and run.’
‘Aye, sir,’ she said.
He manoeuvred the ship out of the hangar bay, to a position just short of fifty metres from the depot, then stopped. Samson’s datapad was still connected to the depot’s command network, so for the time being he had access to all of its sensor data. As soon as he launched himself away, he would lose all of that and would only know what he could see on the viewscreen. The alien warship was still headed for the planet, so it was time to see if it would be able to detect one of its ships. It seemed they cared enough to stop for their abandoned comrade, so hopefully the scout ship would be enough to make them curious.
He brought up the alien’s voice file on his datapad, and spared a thought for Smith. Unconventional, dangerous, and at times distasteful, but Samson couldn’t deny their brief association had been fruitful. He took a deep breath, and played the file over his suit’s loudspeaker. The panels all around the ship’s cockpit lit up, displaying a plethora of strange, unintelligible symbols. The door slid closed behind him, and he checked his suit’s atmospheric sensors.
The air was a little lower in oxygen than Earth normal, but for the moment it was breathable. That could change once the ship’s systems had the chance to recycle its atmosphere. He elected to keep his suit on and pressurised—one less thing to worry about with five seconds to play with—then flipped his datapad’s screen back to the depot’s sensors. The ship was still heading for Holmwood.
It was too soon to panic, but the lack of an instant response came like a gut punch. He continued to watch, hoping for any indication of movement. He saw the seconds tick by on his data
pad out of the corner of his eye, but still no change of course. He wondered if they would spot him and take interest if he got closer and was already moving. Samson calculated a simple trajectory on his wrist console that would take him away from the station and the planet, but across the alien warship’s path. It was an awkward way to do things and, considering the distances involved, one that could fail spectacularly. It was using up his only shot, but so far the powered-up scout ship didn’t seem to be attracting the warship.
There was a chair of sorts in the cockpit, too high and narrow to be comfortable for a human, but Samson was too agitated to sit. He leaned on its back and stared at his datapad.
‘Come on, you bastard,’ Samson said. Still no sign of altering course.
If only he could transmit something from the scout ship. Its power signatures might not be noticed on a passive scan if the aliens had all their attention focused elsewhere.
He tapped his datapad to open the depot’s communications system. He transferred the alien sound file, and overlaid several interference filters. It would be garbled, but identifiable. It wasn’t a distress signal, but all he needed to do was get their attention. He boosted the transmitter’s power to maximum, and sent the signal on all bands. With luck, it would be odd enough to provoke curiosity.
He waited the few seconds it would take for the signal to get to the ship, and had to remind himself to breathe as he did. It always struck him as odd that he could send a message to the Admiralty at Mare Crisium on the moon almost instantaneously, but there was a delay in cross-system communication dictated by the speed of light. The power required to send a message through the Nexus was enormous, and it was far too expensive to use for in-system messages when the delay was only a few seconds with normal communications transmitters.
Try as he might to distract himself with the complexities of long-distance communication, his eyes were locked on the information the depot’s scanner relayed to his datapad. He blinked twice to see clearly when he first thought he saw a deviation in the alien’s course. He smiled and let out a sigh of relief as the change of direction became obvious. That was short-lived, though, as the realisation hit him that the hard part was yet to come.
The Alpha Protocol: Alpha Protocol Book 1 Page 29