With a deep breath, he said, “That applies to you as well, Ryder.”
She looked back at him, smiled, and said, “Course set for the hendecaspace point. We’re clear to proceed on your command.” She paused, then asked, “Shouldn’t this be harder to pull off? Stealing a spaceship?”
“First of all, we’re not stealing it. I’m operating under a Presidential order.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Second, the fleet apparently assumes that its commanding officers are completely trustworthy people who won’t do things like set up secret backdoors in security systems and decide to head out into deep space without asking first.”
“Perhaps this will teach them to trust a little less easily.”
Stepping into the command chair, he nodded, and said, “Let’s get this over with.” The doors slid open, and two other members of the bridge crew – Spinelli and Steele – took their familiar positions, Ryder easing across to the tactical station.
“No-one else is going, sir,” Steele said. “Looks like you’ve got a crew of twenty-nine.”
“Twenty-nine,” Logan replied. “That enough, Ryder?”
“It’ll have to be,” she said, tapping instructions into the computer. She turned, her eyes widening, and said, “We’ve got company.”
“What?”
“The Cronus. On an intercept course.”
“A battleship?” Logan replied, his mouth agape. “Can she catch us in time?”
Looking up at a panel, she said, “We’ll be at the hendecaspace point in thirty-nine minutes. She’ll be at the same point in forty-one minutes, but that will give her a short firing window.”
“Is Doctor Duquesne on board?”
“Her shuttle’s riding up into the bay now.”
“Any chance of more speed?”
“We’re already at maximum,” she replied.
Weitzman stepped onto the bridge, looked around for a moment, and sat down at the communications station, next to Spinelli.
“What kept you?” Spinelli asked.
“Last-minute touches. Harper needed some help.”
Logan shook his head, and said, “Why do I get the feeling that you’ve all been expecting this?”
“Since Lieutenant Orlova got arrested, as well as Harper, Ryder and Quinn? We’d have been more surprised if you hadn’t pulled off something like this, sir,” the communications technician replied.
The door opened again, and an unfamiliar woman in a flight jacket stepped out onto the bridge, looking around and dropping down into the vacant watch officer's station.
“You must be Jack Quinn's wife,” Logan said.
“Tabby Dixon, at your service,” she replied. “Quite literally, as we seem to be leaving the Fleet behind.” Gesturing at the floor, she said, “We've got four fighters on board, and four pilots – including me – who don't have that much to leave behind back home. You can trust them.”
“Good to know we've got a little teeth,” Ryder said.
Dixon looked across at her and said, “Gone up in the world a little, haven't you? Last time we met you were a Sub-Lieutenant.”
“Blame him,” she replied, pointing towards Logan.
“Everything's my fault today,” he replied with a smile.
Weitzman looked up from his station and said, “We’re through to the Cronus now. Fleet Captain Malone.”
“Never heard of him.”
“He’s new,” Ryder said, looking through a hastily called-up database. “Formerly on the staff of Deep Space Operations. Personnel director.” Frowning, she continued, “No command experience.”
“Good,” Logan replied. “Feel free to put him on. We might as well listen to whatever it is he has to say.”
An image flashed onto the screen, a gray-haired man with bushy eyebrows glaring at him, his bridge a hive of activity behind him.
“I’m not going to waste any time,” Malone said. “Turn over Alamo to me now, and I’ll only press charges against you, not your crew.”
Shaking his head, he replied, “In a word, no. I’m not going to hand this ship to you, not unless I receive a direct order from the President.”
“The lag time…”
“What a pity. In that case I will consider myself to be following the orders I have already received, which are to proceed to Ragnarok at full speed.”
“Don’t think I won’t fire on you.”
“Oh, but I do. You see, right now we all have a nice measure of plausible deniability; everything can be explained away as maneuvers and accidents. Two Triplanetary ships firing on each other – for though I will not fire first, I will respond if attacked – is entirely another question.” Leaning forward, he said, “Feel free to continue the chase if you want to test that ship of yours. Until then, however, I suggest you consider that the media’s sword of Damocles can cut us both equally. Alamo out.”
Ryder looked at him, and asked, “Do you think he bought it?”
“I don’t know. We’re not in any danger here, but if he can guess where we’re going, then we’ll have problems when we get there. Let’s just hope that Ragnarok is about to get an unannounced visit from one of the Fleet’s newest capital ships, shall we.” Turning back to the screen, Logan tried to relax. It was going to be a long half-hour, but the five days to follow would be a hell of a lot worse.
“At least we’re on our way, sir,” Steele said.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Hold on, Danny boy, the Marines are coming.”
Chapter 27
Orlova and Bryce tried to blend into the crowds as best they could, strolling through the crowded markets at the bottom of the Valley, occasionally glancing up at the terraces of vegetation growing along the walls underneath the immense dome that sealed it from the outside atmosphere. Tens of thousands of people lived and worked here, and as many would visit on a regular basis to take advantage of one of the few sources of truly fresh food on Mars, and one of the rarer places where one could imagine one was walking on Earth itself, out in the open air.
Three times now, Orlova had attempted to lose Bryce in the crowd, but the journalist was nothing if not tenacious, and she finally decided to give up for the present, making her way over to a fruit stall, smiling at the bamboo frame carefully crafted to provide an ‘old-world’ feel to it. belied by the titanium struts it was sitting under.
“Want something?” she asked.
“Sure, I’ll take an apple,” she replied.
“Make that two,” Orlova said. “Your expense account can cover the damages, I presume?”
Shaking her head, Bryce swiped her card through the proffered reader, accepting the fruit in a thin paper bag, before the two of them walked on.
“Where exactly are we going?” she asked.
“Nowhere,” Orlova replied. “We’re just trying to keep a low profile.”
Bryce stopped and said, “What the hell are we doing here, then?”
Turning with a smile, she said, “As I said, we’re trying to throw off unwanted attention. Right now everyone’s looking at you instead of me, so I guess it’s working.”
“Not quite,” another voice said, and she could feel an object pressing into her back that felt suspiciously like the barrel of a gun. “You two are coming with us, and you aren’t making any trouble.”
“Tell me who or my dying scream will give you away.”
“Cool customer, aren’t you. Triplanetary Intelligence. Now, come along.”
She felt herself being guided to one of the carved out galleries by the side of the stalls, and the two of them walked along the sealed tunnels to a metal hatch on the floor, which slid open as they approached to reveal a ladder heading downwards. With a quick look at Bryce, Orlova stepped onto the ladder and began to descend, cautiously taking the rungs one at a time. The journalist followed her
, but her assailant remained at the top as the hatch slammed shut.
“Great,” Bryce said. “Now we’re trapped down here.”
“I thought you wanted a story?”
“Ideally I wanted to live long enough to report it.”
“Relax. If they were going to kill us we’d be dead already. They had plenty of chances to dispose of us quietly on our way here.”
“That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.”
Pausing on the ladder, Orlova asked, “Just out of interest, is this your first assignment?”
“Not exactly,” she replied.
“What does that mean?”
“That normally I’m on the gossip desk.”
With a laugh, Orlova replied, “Your organization considers secret agents as sources of gossip?”
“He doesn’t know I’m here. Look, I didn’t get into the business to report on drunken parties and naked actresses. I wanted to report the news, and this seemed like the story that could make my name.”
“You’ve picked a hell of a first piece, you know that,” she said, once again climbing down the ladder.
“I know, I know,” she replied. “Don’t worry, I’ll write a good story for you.”
“Just as long as I’m the good guy, I don’t care what you write.”
They reached the bottom of the shaft, and started to walk along the passage at the bottom, illuminated by an eerie green glow from old bioluminescent lights running across the ceiling. As they neared the end, a blinding flash erupted, and Orlova’s eyes began to water as she moved her hand to try and block out the glare.
“Lieutenant Orlova?” a voice asked.
“That’s me.”
A different voice said, “Voiceprint matches, sir. And the DNA sample we got upstairs.”
“Good,” the first voice said. “You can go. I don’t think I have anything to fear here, do I?”
“Not from us,” Orlova replied. “Who are you?”
A figure stepped forward, blocking out the light, hand outstretched. “My name is Fleet Captain Paine. Director of the Triplanetary Intelligence Service. I’m very pleased to meet you at last.” Looking past her, he said, “I’ve no intention of taking hallucinogenic drugs, and I’m not having an affair, so I’m not sure what you are doing here, Miss Bryce.”
“She’s here to cover the story,” Orlova said.
“Most people on infiltration missions don’t take embedded journalists with them.”
“It wasn’t exactly my idea, sir.”
“Ah, so we’re returning to the formalities. Cut out the sir, it isn’t necessary with me. My name is Tom, and you can settle for that.”
“Now I understand.”
“What?” he asked with a crooked smile.
“Where Captain Winter gets it from.” Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Who’s side are you on?”
With a smile, Paine replied, “The Triplanetary Confederation. Because I suppose someone must be. We’re not involved in short-term political disputes, nor the intrigues of the Combined Chiefs. We are and always have been an independent group.”
“That sounds dangerous,” Bryce said. “Who watches the watchdogs?”
“I do, and you are quite right; the situation is fraught with potential concerns, but I don’t think that we’re the problem at the moment. There is a threat to the stability of our Confederation, Lieutenant, and that is something we need to deal with. Do you not agree?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Yes, I got your message.”
“You sent a message to him?” Bryce asked.
Before she could reply, Paine said, “Not as such, but when she wrote to fifteen people in the Valley asking how the Loganberries were this Winter, I got the message instantly. You took quite a risk there, Lieutenant.”
“Maggie,” she replied. “If we’re disposing with the formalities. And I gambled that you’d get to me before anyone else could.”
“It was a surprisingly close-run thing, but some of my associates are dealing with that situation right now. You don’t need to worry about it; if you leave here then we will make sure that you get out without any trouble.”
“If?” Orlova asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You might choose to remain here under our protection…”
“If I wanted that I’d have stayed in the Ragnarok Embassy.”
“...or we might prefer that you remain here under our protection. So tell me, Maggie, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a dank hell-hole like this?”
With a sigh, she said, “I’m trying to stop a war. And stop the Confederation collapsing into a pile of ruined hopes and shattered dreams. That enough for you? What are you doing about it?”
“As much as we can,” he replied. “Understand that we’re in a hell of a position here. We’re politically neutral, and we might be at war any minute, which means that we can’t afford to become an enemy of whoever wins this little dispute. Ultimately, if the worst happens, we can deal with it long-term while we focus on the main enemy out in deep space.”
“Which means you aren’t going to do a damn thing.”
“I didn’t say that,” he said. “My personal preference is that we wait for the war to come to us rather than racing out and starting one; I haven’t spent the last decade putting out one fire after another to let us crash into war that easily.” He looked at her, up and down, and said, “I’ve heard a lot about you, Maggie. Enough that I’m willing to let you run on this one.”
“And what else?”
“I can’t afford to take a gamble on anything less than a sure thing. When you make your move – and I know you well enough to know that you will find a way to make it – then you let me know, and I’ll back your play any way I can.” He paused, then said, “I’ll trust that you’ll only make a run for it if you know you can win. Don’t use this card unless you need it.” Looking past her at Bryce, he said, “And I’ll guarantee you a good story if you keep your mouth shut until the time comes. Otherwise the only one you’ll get will be ‘Gossip Columnist Mysteriously Disappears’. Understand?”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”
Orlova glanced back at her, then turned back to Paine, saying, “I understand, sir.”
“We’re back to that again, are we. If it all goes to hell, I will promise you that I’ll find a way to use you. You won’t sit the war out if I have anything to say about it. Unless whatever it is you try lands us both in front of a firing squad.” He smiled, then added, “For the immediate future, we’ll get the two of you out to Port Lowell. That’s anonymous enough that you should be able to blend into the background. The rest is up to you. One of my people will be here in a few moments.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said while he was walking away. “I’m putting you in one hell of a spot, and I know it. No-one should be forced to deal with what you’ve been thrown into. That’s our job.”
The light abruptly died, and Paine seemed to vanish into the gloom, Orlova blinking in an attempt to adjust her eyes to the darkness. She moved cautiously over to Bryce, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Still want to come along? We can go our separate ways, you know.”
“You think journalists aren’t patriotic?” she replied. “I came here to help as well as get a story. You’d be surprised the low-life places I’ve trawled in the past, and I know how to hide when I have to. We’ll manage.”
“Good,” she replied. “Just remember that what Paine said goes. You don’t print a word until I say.”
“I know, I know,” Bryce said, shaking her head. “Do you think I’m stupid enough not to know a good thing when I see it? This is going to be the story of the decade – and even if I can’t break all of it, I’m damn sure I’ll get some sort of a scoop out of the deal. What
are we going to do now?”
“Well, I’d rather hoped that Intelligence would be willing to help, which leaves us back at the start again. We’ve got to find out who is involved in the conspiracy, and we’ve got to try and find some sort of a weapon we can use against them.”
“Now I know that you’re going to need me.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re winning the media war against you right now, aren’t they? You and the President both?”
“I’m not really used to being mentioned in the same breath as the head of state, but I think you’ve got the gist of what’s going on.”
“Then we’re on my territory. Drinking habits, mistresses, old skeletons in the closet. That’s the angle of attack we need to exploit.” She smiled, and said, “Where do you want to start?”
“Fleet Captain Tarrant, Counter-Admiral Tramiel, Senator Norman. Those names we can guarantee are tied up in this. And the Vice-President, of course, though I’d guess that if there was anything substantial on him, someone would have exploited it by now.”
“You never know what you’re going to find until you start digging.”
With a smile, Orlova said, “You sound like an archaeologist I know.”
“What? Look, I’m going to get some guaranteed stories out of this after all, and with a Fleet officer around to help me get access...it’s a dream come true.”
A figure stepped out of the gloom, taking pains to remain in the shadows, and said, “We’re ready for you now. Anywhere in particular in Port Lowell you want to go?”
“Definitely,” Bryce replied. “We’ll start on the Red Strip and work our way out. If you can wangle us a couple of VIP passes to the Hilton it’ll help; I’m not sure I can manage it on this little notice.”
“The Hilton?”
“Fanciest bar in town. We’ll need proper clothes as well, not these jumpsuits.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Take and Hold Page 23