"Does that show?"
"Not at that range. I think if it came to it we might be able to break for the egress point, though."
Marshall shook his head, "We've spent too much blood here to do that."
"That's the price of admiralty, isn't it?"
"Huh?"
"Kipling."
He returned to his chair, strapping himself back in. If there was going to be another battle, he'd know in the next few seconds. The telltales were flashing back onto his console, some of the auto-repair sequencers kicking into life, but they tale they told was not a happy one. The last battle had been far too close, and a fight with an undamaged vessel might be too much. He sighed with relief when he heard a loud whoop from the communications console.
"I take it you have something to report, Mr. Weitzman?"
"They've thrown it in! Someone called Wing Commander Delprat just surrendered on behalf of all Ragnarok spacefaring forces. They're shaping for orbit now, spilling out their missiles."
Marshall tapped a button, "Captain to crew. All hands, stand down battle stations. Return to standby alert status until further notice. The enemy has surrendered – I say again, the enemy forces have surrendered." He turned to Caine, "You have the bridge, I'll be back in a moment."
Her face was all smiles as she replied, "Aye, sir."
He drifted into his office, looking up at the picture of his father on the wall staring down at him, then started to cry at his desk, a combination of relief and guilt overwhelming him. It would be nearer ten minutes before he returned to the bridge.
Chapter 27
Alamo's medical section was a lot less crowded than it had been two days ago. Most of the casualties were either back on light duty, confined to their quarters with instructions to rest, or set to become long-term residents of a medical facility when they returned to Sol. Marshall hovered over Dietz's bed, watching the monitors, as Duquesne approached, startling him with her hand on his shoulder.
"How is he, Doctor?"
"About as well as could be expected. He had the good fortune to get shot before business got brisk around here. I'd just finished surgery when the battle began."
"And?"
She looked up at the monitors again, "Touch and go for a little while, but I think he's going to be fine. I've got him in induced unconsciousness for a while, help him relax a little. Keeps the patients a lot quieter, less likely to discharge themselves."
"Long-term?"
"A pair of scars that will no doubt be excellent conversation pieces at parties, but aside from that? I think he'll be up and about by the time we get back to Mariner Station, on light duty at least."
He looked down at the man lying on the bed, slowly breathing in and out, tubes connected to him in half a dozen places, and then back up at the doctor, asking, "Has he regained consciousness?"
"I have to take him out a couple of times a day to take readings."
"Lucid?"
"Just about. Why?"
"Next time you do it, tell him that I've given him a battlefield promotion to Senior Lieutenant, and that I've officially put in for him to be my new Exec."
Her brow furrowed, eyes narrowing, "Why? Because he saved your life?"
"No. Tell him that as well." He looked back at Dietz for a second. "Keep me informed, Doc."
"Will do, skipper."
"Thanks."
He walked out of the medical bay, grateful that they had finally managed to get the habitation ring spinning again, past a couple of crewmen who were trying to clean some of the stains out of the walls. That was certainly a good sign – if Quinn had some people on clean-up duties, it meant that they were probably about ready to shape out of orbit. There was too much damage for them to repair it all out here, with no space-based support; Quinn's best guess had them stuck at Mariner for six weeks at least. An opportunity for a bit of leave, certainly much needed by the crew.
The elevator closed behind him as it whisked its way up to the bridge. The stain where Dietz's blood had spilled onto the floor was just a memory, but enough of a one that he still made sure to stand by the doors. It was going to be a long time before he got over that particular jinx. Twenty-one bodies in the ship's morgue never would; judging by the losses they had experienced, it almost felt as if they had lost the battle.
Striding out onto the bridge, Sub-Lieutenant Ryder nodded at him from the guidance control station, reaching the end of a twelve-hour shift; Franklin was still not fit for duty. Weitzman seemed to be having an argument with someone on the surface and had missed him completely, and Spinelli smiled as he approached, snapping a quick salute from his station with his good arm. Standing by the door of his office was a puzzled-looking Orlova.
"Captain, what's this about?"
"In my office, I think, Spaceman," he said, making his voice as formal as possible. He stepped into his office, sitting behind his desk, assuming that she was following him. Turning back, he saw her staring at the picture on the wall, almost transfixed, as the doors slid shut.
"What's that picture doing on your wall?" she asked.
Surprised, he looked up at it, and down to her, "It's the last holoimage I have of my father. Taken just before he went off on his last mission."
"On the MSS Hercules," she replied, almost whispering.
Frowning, he replied, "You've been looking up my personnel file."
"No. My own. My father was on the Hercules, a First Lieutenant. Alpha Watch Guidance Officer." She sat down in the chair, still looking up at the picture.
"Sergei Orlov. Missing in action. Good god, I must have looked at that name a dozen times on the memorial wall at Mariner."
She looked across at Marshall and shook her head, "I should have guessed the first time I saw you. You look a lot like him." She paused. "My father served with yours for two years. He'd just been promoted, went off for one last mission before being transferred down to Mars. I remember how much we'd been looking forward to having him home again."
"I'm sorry."
"It was a long time ago. But thank you."
Marshall smiled, "Remind me to introduce you to Commodore Tramiel sometime. He knows the stories of those days a lot better than I do; he'd have commanded your father for a while."
"I'll take you up on that, sir." She glanced up at the picture, then back at Marshall. "What was it you wanted to see me about?"
He slid a datapad across the desk to her, "These are the reports from your little escapade on Ragnarok. Filed by Ensign Esposito, Corporal Clarke, and myself, incidentally. There's even one from Group Captain, sorry, Acting Governor Cooper in there."
Glancing down for a second without reading, she looked up and replied, "I can guess what's in there."
"We could start with you disobeying orders and staying behind in the first place, but I personally loved the moment where you blew the airlock on a shuttle that had just gone transonic. The rest of the squad didn't know the risk they were running, but I've done that myself. There's the matter of you – an enlisted spaceman – negotiating a deal with a rebel leader on behalf of the Triplanetary Confederation without getting prior approval from a senior officer."
She arched an eyebrow, "You did the same thing. I read the briefing notes, and I'm not sure you were authorized to negotiate Ragnarok's incorporation into the Confederation as an Associated State."
"I'm the Captain. I get to make calls like that, and the Senate can either back me or fire me."
"They'd be bloody stupid to fire you."
He laughed, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, spaceman. The point I'm trying to make is that you are a terrible crewman. You disobey orders, you wildly exceed your authority, heck – at one point you assumed command of the squad during the assault on the shuttle."
Rising, she slammed her hands on the desk, "I did what was necessary."
"Sit down, spaceman. Consider that an order."
Reluctantly, she acceded, shaking her head with disbelief, "I'm sitting. Sir."
Sm
iling, he slid a second pad across the desk, and gestured towards it. She looked down at it, then up at him in surprise.
"What is this?"
"You're a terrible enlisted, spaceman. But I have a feeling that you are going to make one hell of an officer. Either I court-martial you or I commission you, so," he tapped a button on his desk, starting a recorder, "for outstanding service in the highest traditions of the Triplanetary Fleet, and the performance actions which were critical to both the success of this mission and the survival of TSS Alamo, I hereby grant Margaret Orlova a battlefield commission to the rank of Sub-Lieutenant, seniority effective as of four days ago." He turned the recorder off.
She looked back down at the pad, then up at him, "What was all that about?"
"Captains have to have their fun, Sub-Lieutenant. One day you might end up finding out what that's like. And you had to know why you were getting the promotion." He shrugged his shoulders before continuing, "Of course, you did enlist only for the duration of this mission, and I won't hold you to anything more. This can be a nice parting present if you want, or..."
"Or?"
"Turns out I have a position vacant for an Alpha Watch Guidance Officer. I'd planned on offering it to you in any case, but it seems even more appropriate in the circumstances, don't you think? You've got most of the training prereqs anyway; if you spend the trip back in the simulators you should be certified by the time we dock."
"What makes you think I'll make a better subordinate as a Sub-Lieutenant than I did as a Spaceman Second Class?"
He looked up at the picture on the wall again, then back at the young pilot, "Instinct. Without you this mission would have failed. All these reports highlight that. I rather suspect that if I didn't offer you a commission Esposito would be pulling strings to get you into the grunts. That's if Cooper didn't get you a job in the Ragnarok Aerospace Force."
"Nice to be wanted, I guess."
Marshall held out his hand, "Take the offer, Sub-Lieutenant. For old time's sake, if nothing else."
She looked up, smiled, and shook it, "You're probably going to regret this, you know. Sir."
"Probably, but I actually like to live in interesting times."
The door slid open, and Caine walked in, a smirk on her face as she saw the two of them holding hands across the desk. Leaning against a wall, she shook her head with mock outrage.
"Should I leave you two alone for a bit?"
"Don't be silly, Deadeye," Marshall replied.
"I take it you've had your fun with our newest officer?"
Orlova looked up at Caine, "Is he always like this?"
"Mostly. You'll get used to it – eventually."
Waving his hand at a stack of datapads on the side of his desk, "You know, I do have some work to do, ladies, if you want to take this elsewhere."
"Actually," Caine said, "I was asking if you were coming down to the wake. Coop – sorry, Acting Governor Cooper, sent up a couple of crates of, well, something, for the espatiers. There's quite a crowd gathering down on the landing bay. The paperwork can wait until we get into hendecaspace, can't it?"
"I suppose it can at that. Come on, let's go."
The three of them walked through the bridge to the elevator; Mulenga was already inside, a frown on his face. Marshall clapped him on the shoulder.
"If this is about the breakdown of discipline on the landing bay, I'm just going down to join in now. I'll warn the doctor to have some pep pills ready if we need them."
He shook his head. "No, it isn't that at all. I need to speak with you privately. It's important."
Shrugging, Marshall gestured towards his office. Orlova and Caine continued into the elevator, laughing and joking as it sped away. The astrogator looked extremely serious as he sat opposite Marshall, a series of printouts clutched in his hand.
"Where did you get those?" Marshall asked.
"I just got back from the surface. I was curious about the drive that the colony used to get out here; it seemed somewhat different to that used today. And decades earlier than the first reported hendecaspace drive research."
"Not much good, though. Eighty years to get eight and a half light years isn't exactly up to much unless you were desperate."
Mulenga shook his head, "They were unlucky. I ran some simulations through the computer. We know a lot more about hendecaspace now than they could possibly have known back then. Eighty years is about as slow as it was ever going to get. Three or four times faster was quite possible. One more thing – none of our ships can manage more than about nine light-years, but I don't think this drive has that restriction."
"Now that is interesting. Do you think we could apply the same principles to the systems we use?" Visions of thousands of stars opened up for exploration shot through Marshall's mind, before Mulenga dragged him back down to Earth.
"Perhaps, but that isn't the point. I almost missed it myself." He pushed the top printout across the desk, and Marshall glanced down at it. A long list of names.
"So? This is a hundred years old. All of them must be long-dead by now, if they didn't die in the war."
"Most of the researchers weren't Australasian, Captain."
"Your point?"
He jabbed a finger down on the paper, "These two were from the Central Asian Union, one from Greater South Africa, another from – Captain, there are representatives of at least half a dozen spacefaring powers on this list. Several of which did not participate in the solar system colonization that followed the war."
Marshall's eyes widened, and in a quiet voice he responded, "Lieutenant, are you suggesting that..."
"That Ragnarok might be the tip of a very large iceberg. There could be human colonies scattered across local space."
The captain rose from his chair, turned out to face the starfield, trying to locate near stars in the dark.
"I'd say you've given us a new mission, Lieutenant. If there are other Ragnaroks out there, then we need to find them. For our sake, and for theirs." He walked around the desk to the door, then back to the astrogator, "Let's go down to the party. You've just given us something more to celebrate."
Dozens of new worlds, societies that were lost to Earth decades ago to find. Not to mention the alien races that were out there to contact for the first time, the new discoveries to make. Suddenly all of it seemed closer than it ever had before. Marshall looked back out at the stars, and smiled, before turning and heading out to the bridge.
Thank you for reading 'The Price of Admiralty'. For information on future releases, please join the Battlecruiser Alamo Mailing List at http://eepurl.com/A9MdX for updates. If you enjoyed this book, please review it on the site where you purchased it.
The writer's blog is available at http://tinyurl.com/pjl96dj
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
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Battlecruiser Alamo: The Price of Admiralty Page 24