The watch officer belatedly noticed Marshall's presence on the bridge and stood up at attention, almost knocking his Titanian counterpart flying. The Patrol contingent all followed suit, as did some of the Martians – but none of the Militia did anything except look slightly puzzled.
"At ease, Cellini," Marshall said to the watch officer. "I think for the moment we'd better skip some of the formalities. We're fighting time."
"Aye, sir." Cellini sounded slightly hurt. "Sorry, sir."
"Not a problem, Sub-Lieutenant." The dark-skinned Titanian standing next to him looked slightly amused, and Marshall turned his attentions to him. "Do you have a problem, Sub-Lieutenant Kibaki?"
The pepper-haired man – who had to have been one of the oldest junior officers Marshall had ever seen – looked back and forth a bit, a smile stuck to his face. "All this formality seems rather silly, Captain. Never did anything like that in the Militia, and our ships still flew straight."
It was apparent from the looks on some of the other crewmen that this was a reasonably unpopular position; Marshall elected to nip it in the bud immediately. "You aren't in the Titan Militia anymore. The Triplanetary Fleet is going to do things a little differently. We've all got some adjustments to make."
When the elevator door closed, it was almost a relief. It sped down the decks, then to the far end of the ship. One thing that was immediately apparent was that the layout of Alamo was not particularly well-planned. Would have been much better to have the briefing room as close to the bridge as possible – but on the other hand, that might simply encourage a commander to spend all of his time having meetings with his senior staff.
He pulled out his datapad and started to flick through files once again, brushing up for the last time on what he was planning to do. He'd attended hundreds of meetings like this as a squadron leader or a department head, but this would be the first time he'd ever led one.
The door slid open, and he took a step out with his pad still in his hand, almost crashing into a petite, brown-haired, olive-skinned woman wearing the espatier variant of the Triplanetary uniform. She looked more like she was about to put on dance shoes than lead men into combat, but he attempted to keep his surprise to himself.
"Sorry, ah...", he looked at her sleeves, "Ensign. I didn't know we had our Espatier platoon on board yet."
"Ensign Esposito, sir. My first squad is on board now with most of our equipment; the rest is to follow."
Caine piped up from the back of the briefing room, "I ran into her in the armory, thought she should be invited to the meeting."
Marshall nodded. "Fine, Lieutenant. Take a seat, Ensign." Five officers sat around the table, and he took a few seconds to look at them whilst he was pretending to go over his notes.
Caine sat at the far end trying not to meet his eye-line, Zakharova next to her with her manner essentially unchanged from before. Mulenga, his astrogator, sitting on the other side, was a picture of calm serenity. Dietz sat still and alone, an empty chair between him and the rest of the officers. If it was possible to sit at attention, his Operations Officer seemed to have managed it. The door slid open, and a rather unkempt-looking officer walked in wearing work overalls, brushing dirty hands down his trousers.
"Sorry I'm late, I was working down in one of the FTL access junctions. We're having some problems with the secondary SMES relays."
Marshall did a double take. "Unless your personnel file is completely out of whack, you don't look much like Lieutenant Minh. She's got to be at least ten years older than you, for a start."
"Ah. Sorry about that. Captain – I mean Lieutenant Quinn, reporting for duty, sir. I'm your quantum mechanic."
Zakharova leaned forward in her chair. "Our what?"
"Chief engineer. Or Systems Officer. Whatever they're calling it." He slid into the vacant seat next to Dietz. "Soon as I got on board, I got dragged down into the bowels of the ship. Lots of good damaged stuff to play with down there." There was an odd gleam in his eyes while he talked; obviously he was in his element here.
"What happened to Minh?" Dietz asked.
"Broke her leg. Couple of hours ago. The Commodore called me up and arranged my transfer to take her place."
"Well, Lieutenant," Marshall began, "welcome to Alamo. I would have appreciated it if someone had notified me that my chief engineer had been changed at the last moment, but I can't fault you for immediately beginning your duties given the time constraints. Is the FTL operational?"
Quinn nodded, "It will be by the time you need it. I've got it off-line while my technicians switch over the relays. Once we get to where we're going I'll want to spend more time on it, though; that system's a bit of a canary."
"Canary?" Dietz's eyebrows were raised.
The unkempt engineer rubbed greasy hands down his trousers. "Warning of further problems to come. Whole system's going to need a complete overhaul." The prospect seemed to please the engineer no end.
"Not until we get back to Sol, Lieutenant. Hopefully our mission should be reasonably short," Marshall began. He started punching up displays, and a series of course computations appeared. "Our orders are to proceed to Lalande 21185 as soon as possible, in no more than nine hours from now. A three-freighter expedition is more than a month overdue, and a ship sent by their owners to investigate has come back in pieces, reportedly engaged by hostile forces."
There was a murmur around the table as the officers looked at each other. "Our mission is to determine the fate of the freighters, and rescue the crews and ships if at all possible. With so little information on what to expect, we're going to have to be ready for anything. Tactical, any ideas?"
Caine shook her head. "Not yet, sir."
"That is not acceptable," Zakharova said. "As Tactical Officer you are expected to do considerably better than 'not yet'."
"I've got no information to work with." Caine punched a couple of buttons, and a picture of the system emerged. "The data from the Yukon wasn't complete. All we know is that there is – or was, as Yukon was more than a week in hendecaspace – a ship out there that was capable of damaging but not destroying the freighter."
"That alone should tell us something," said Mulenga.
"I'm afraid it doesn't. They'd want to capture the freighter if at all possible. Likely they would have pulled their punches."
"Bases? Outposts?" Marshall asked.
"Unknown. No record of any commercial development in the system, nothing much abandoned there. I suspect one of the moons of the gas giant, simply because it would provide more places to hide, but that narrows it down to only forty or fifty possible sites. Assuming they haven't gone into the asteroid field."
"What are your recommendations?"
Caine looked around the table and shrugged her shoulders, "Head in ready for battle and put all sensors on full-active. With luck we might spot something before they can get any precautions on-line. I'll brief the duty sensor operator about what to look for."
"Very well. We'll emerge from FTL at full battle stations, or as near as we can get to it. Hopefully we'll have more time to prepare for a battle – and Mr. Mulenga, I'll expect you to immediately plot a reciprocal course back to Sol as soon as we arrive."
The astrogator nodded, "I will make that my top priority, Captain. Though of course we will have to remain in realspace for at least a week before returning, to avoid dimensional instability.”
A shiver ran through Marshall; occasionally during the war ships had been forced to make hendecaspace jumps without the usual gap, and the results had usually been disastrous. He looked around the table, again, sizing up the officers.
"Let me know the earliest time we can leave the system. Personnel status, Exec?"
She punched some buttons, and a roster appeared over the table. "Alamo is rated for eighteen officers and ninety-five enlisted; right now, excepting the Espatier force, we're running at fourteen and eighty. We can operate the ship, but I am naturally concerned that only about a third of our personnel are
properly familiar with Alamo's systems."
"Further, there is the matter of integration. Three different crews working together is going to create complications," Dietz said. "I would suggest that we should adopt Patrol regulations and operational protocols. That would provide the minimum disruption to current operations, and would allow the current crew to more rapidly train up the others."
It would also, Marshall inwardly noted, put the Patrol part of the crew in the driver's seat, and effectively reduce any senior personnel from the other services to a permanent subordinate role. Likely himself included.
"I think not, Lieutenant. We are better served by attempting to adopt a synthesis of the best of the three services."
Dietz replied, "Aye, Captain. I was simply suggesting an expedient course of action."
"Exec, your absolute top priority is to get the crew ready for space. We can worry about the bells and whistles of service protocols once we have the fundamentals down. We've got plenty of senior enlisted on board, use them. Let's make the mistakes now so we don't make them later. What about the ship, Mr. Dietz?"
"My primary concern is our spares supply."
"I've got my boys working on repairing the stuff we're pulling out, but that only goes so far," Quinn interrupted.
After silencing the engineer with a look, Dietz continued, "It has been depleted by the withdrawal of supplies for Patrol facilities, as well as the unauthorized removal of equipment since we arrived at Mariner Station. As for ship systems, I am confident that with the exception of our FTL, they are currently operational within standard working parameters. I began a series of overhauls and upgrades on the basis that we would be at dock for two weeks, but these are correctable within the time alloted."
"Any luck getting more spares?"
"Sorry, skipper," Quinn said, "I already called Mariner's Q. Apparently they haven't got them, or haven't got the authority to release them. Most of them are probably in private warehouses anyway by now. Security doesn't seem to care either; probably been paid off."
Marshall rubbed his hand across his face. "And without them?"
"We get one battle. Then we get out some cabling and pull the pieces of the ship back home again," the engineer replied.
"I am forced to agree with the Lieutenant's assessment," Dietz added.
"Get me an inventory of everything that shouldn't have been taken, the 'unauthorized' material."
Dietz pushed a button, and a worryingly long list of parts appeared over the table. "I have already done so, Captain."
"Then I won't keep you any longer from your duties. We depart at 2330, station time. I want reports on the effectiveness of your departments by 0800 tomorrow, and I'll have one-on-ones with all of you while we are en route. Dismissed."
The officers stood to attention with varying degrees of success, and saluted. Marshall remained seated as they began to file out of the room; he gestured at Caine and Esposito to remain in their seats, waiting for the rest of the officers to leave. After the rest had departed to their duties, Zakharova hesitated at the door for a second before leaving with a sour expression.
"Ensign, how many of your troopers have you on board right now?"
A frown crept across her face. "Ten, sir. First Squad, my platoon sergeant, and myself."
"And you have all of your equipment?"
"Danny, what the hell have you got in mind this time?" Caine asked with a knowing smile.
"Ensign?"
"For the men I have, yes, sir." She glanced down at a datapad, “Both ship and surface weapons came on board with the troops. The rest is scheduled for around three hours from now.”
"Good." Marshall pushed a button on the desk, and Weitzman's face appeared on a side wall, engaged in discussion with a cluster of other crewmen who were out of the camera shot. It took a few seconds for the young communications tech to notice that he was being watched; as soon as he did, he turned up to face the screen.
"Sorry, sir. I was distracted."
"You're forgiven. I need a tight-beam communication to Mariner Station, to Harry's Bar."
"Harry's Bar?”
Caine was desperately trying not to break out in laughter, while Esposito and Weitzman simply looked baffled.
Marshall tried to adopt a 'don't-you-know-anything' tone to his voice, "Hangout for the civilian shuttle pilots in the under-ring. There must be a secured terminal around there somewhere. I want a person-to-person on a secured line to one Margaret Orlova. Top priority."
"Sir, you want me to open up a tight-beam encrypted transmission to a public terminal to talk to one of the tramp shuttle pilots? In a bar?"
"That's the idea, spaceman."
He sighed, "Just a moment, Captain. I'll see what I can do."
The monitor blinked out, and Marshall sat back in his chair, a couple of squeaks sounding from the base. The espatier officer still looked bemused by the whole situation, Caine was diplomatically looking at the wall. A couple of minutes passed; Marshall had his finger out to contact the bridge again, before a voice channel opened up with Weitzman's voice at the other end.
"Putting you through now, sir. I'm afraid I wasn't particularly discrete; I had security put out an urgent call for her to go to the nearest station house."
"Best you could do in the time, Weitzman. Good work."
The channel crackled for a minute; evidently one end or another was having some problems with their equipment. The voice at the other end came through loud and clear, causing Caine to finally crack and burst out laughing.
"Cap'n Danny! If you missed me that much, you could have come over. You've still got my jacket."
He sighed, "This is not a social call. I need you to do a job for me."
"You've got every other shuttle pilot hopping back and forth anyway. I was just about to make a run to the Kepler."
"I need you to come over here instead. I'll arrange for you to take a load of equipment. Make sure you come to one of the emergency docking bays, aft. Don't call dock control for access, go through Tactical instead – Lieutenant Caine."
"Work is work. You smuggling something in? If you are I want a cut."
"You told me that you knew about the equipment that has been stolen from Alamo. Specifically, I need to know where it is. At least the bulk of it."
The young pilot's tone suddenly became a lot more serious. "That's going to cost. No offense, Cap'n Danny, but it's going to make me a few enemies around here. Can't you just get new stuff?"
Marshall looked around the room, shaking his head. "Not in the time. If I can't get the equipment back, I'd have to risk going without, and that's too risky. How does ten thousand credits sound? And with a bit of luck, no-one will know you said a word. I'll have our people slap some pointless charge on you to cover this conversation."
There was a long minute of hesitation at the other end of the line, and uncertainty in her voice. "This that important?"
"Yeah."
"I'll be there in twenty minutes. Set up a secure link and I'll have the information with you before I land. I somehow get the feeling you want to borrow my ship as well..."
"Got to get my people over there in something."
"Triple rates. And one-way only, they can find their own way home. See you soon, Cap'n."
The line closed; Marshall quickly deleted the record of the conversation. The expression on the young espatier had gone from confusion to consternation as she had realized what he was about to ask her to do; Caine was becoming unreadable. Marshall elected to break the ice.
"Ensign, I want you to plan an operation to get back those stores. Assume that you will be using the personnel you have now, and that you will be departing in one hour."
"You want me to break into private property and steal equipment?"
Caine laughed again. "The Captain wants you to find a load of boxes with 'Alamo' stenciled on them and bring them home. I doubt the crooks will report you for stealing back stolen property. Even if they do, what're the security forces going
to do? Arrest you for doing their job for them?"
"Sir..."
"I hate asking this, Ensign, but the safety of the ship isn't giving me much of a choice. One more thing – this mission does not leave this room until you get back. Lieutenant, I need you to handle the ship end of it. I suppose you can bring Weitzman in, but no-one else. Clear."
She nodded. "You don't know if anyone who sold the spares is still on-board." A statement, not a question. "I'll have a full investigation started – after the Ensign gets back."
"Dismissed, then. And good luck, Ensign."
The Ensign walked out of the room, looking slightly dejected at her first assignment. Caine remained in her seat, watching her leave the room; when the door closed, she rested her hands on the table. Marshall waited for a moment, then stood up, sitting on the table.
"Go on, Deadeye."
She looked up at him. "First of all, sorry for calling you Danny in front of the Ensign. Won't happen again."
Marshall arched his eyebrows. "You apologizing for breaking protocol? What do you really think?"
A pause. "The troopers will love it once she gets through telling them that they are using non-lethal force only. They tend to enjoy that sort of work. Lousy first day for the poor kid, though. She joins up for high adventure, and you give her a warehouse heist as her first mission."
"Can't all be death or glory."
"We both know that this is a dodgy thing to do. Under any normal circumstances I'd be advising against this. Not that these are particularly normal circumstances, but it potentially sets one hell of a precedent."
"Eight hours and fifty-eight minutes." Marshall looked back up from his watch.
Caine stood up, making her way over to the door. "I'll go and start cleaning up the paper trail from all of this. See you at the mess later?"
"I'll try and get down there in a bit."
She smiled. "Don't worry, Cap'n Danny. I'm sure it'll work out fine." Her laughter was cut off by the closing door.
Chapter 5
Ensign Esposito had chosen the quietest part of the ship she could immediately find to gather her squad together. There'd been quite a bit of grumbling at losing the opportunity to grab the best bunks for themselves, but their Lance-Sergeant, a grizzled old veteran named Hunter who had only joined the Triplanetary Espatier Corps because the Martian Marines were about to throw him on the scrapheap, had pointed out that it actually meant that they wouldn't spend the day carrying heavy boxes around.
Battlecruiser Alamo: The Price of Admiralty Page 4