Nodding, Orlova said, “Go to battle stations.”
“Captain,” Nelyubov said, “This could spiral out of control very quickly.”
“I'm aware of that. Spin up the laser and get a missile salvo ready to fire. You will not, however, fire without a direct order from me.”
“Understood,” he said. “Thanks for that.”
“I'd rather at least try and get out of this without a war.”
“Administrator Kelgar is insisting on speaking with you, ma'am,” Weitzman said.
“Very well. On screen.”
“Aye.”
The starfield on the viewscreen winked off, to be replaced by the view of the head of a table, Kelgar sitting in the middle, flanked by Yorax and Raval, the latter still looking uncomfortable at her very presence.
“Captain, I am informed by the Director of Combat Operations,” he glared at a defiant Yorax, “that we are unable to defend our outpost from attack. If losing the freighter was a disaster, losing the outpost would be a nightmare. I therefore am left with no alternative than to formally request Triplanetary assistance in our battle against the pirates.”
Nodding, Raval said, “We're dependent on weekly shipments, Captain. The next one due in two days. If they are able to take control of orbital space, they could demand anything they wanted, and we'd be forced to go along with their requests.”
“This does not come easily, Captain,” Kelgar said. “Understand that. Nevertheless, for the good of my people, I must make this request.”
“Reinforcements are on the way,” Yorax added. “I can't get a gunboat squadron to you for at least an hour, though. By then it might be too late.”
Nodding, Orlova said, “We're already on our way, gentlemen. I intend to do everything I can to bring about a satisfactory resolution to this crisis. Alamo out.”
“Nice and diplomatic,” Nelyubov said. “You haven't promised them a damn thing.”
“Weitzman, I need you to hail the enemy ships. I know they haven't replied to our communications thus far, but I can't negotiate with them if they won't talk.”
“Spaceman Hooke's trying to hack into their systems,” the technician replied. “I could have him force the channels open, if he can break through their firewall.”
“Get on it,” she ordered. “As fast as he can.”
Frowning, Spinelli said, “Ma'am, if I'm correct, Director Yorax was lying to the Council.”
“What do you mean?”
Tapping a monitor, he said, “There's a gunboat squadron positioned right here, permanently on patrol. If they lit their engines now, they'd be in position in ten minutes, not an hour. I suppose there might be some sort of mechanical defect, but it seems odd not to put their best ships on guard duty.”
“You don't think he's working for the other side, do you?” Nelyubov said.
Shaking her head, she replied, “More likely he's arranged this to force the Council to co-operate with us. If he concluded that only a matter of life and death would push them into line, he could have arranged this.” After a pause, she added, “He's forcing my hand, as well. I can't sit back and watch them cut off essential supplies to tens of thousands of civilians, and he knows it.” Turning to Weitzman, she continued, “Get me that comm link, Spaceman.”
“Working, ma'am.”
Looking up from his panel, Nelyubov said, “All decks are at battle stations. Firing range in five minutes, thirty seconds.”
“Plot a firing solution.”
He nodded, getting to work, and she looked up at the trajectory track, watching the sailships move in, smoothly gliding into orbit. Theoretically, they hadn't yet done anything wrong, nothing that would invite aggression, but that base on the surface was extremely vulnerable. A couple of well-aimed missiles would destroy it.
New trajectory plots flashed into life, the gunboat patrol finally on the move, but they'd arrive far too late to do any good. By then, the battle would be over. The seconds counted down, hastening the moment when she'd have to give the order to open fire, or let the ships safely pass by. They had a three minute window of opportunity. More than enough time for a massacre.
“Got them!” Weitzman said. “Open channel, right to their bridge, and they can't shut it off.”
“Good,” Orlova said. “This is Lieutenant-Captain Margaret Orlova, commanding officer of the Battlecruiser Alamo. I order you to stand down, and proceed to high orbit.”
A thuggish voice replied, “You going to shoot us, lackey?”
“Any attempt to damage the station will result in the use of deadly force. I will not permit a vital source of raw materials for the people of this system to be destroyed.”
“We don't want to destroy it. We want our share, and we're going to have it. No longer will we allow the imperialists to deny us essential supplies. No more. If they will not give us what we want, we have no option other than to take it by force.” He paused, and said, “We are holding two of your officers. Stand down, let us finish what we came here to do, and we will release them.”
“As soon as the gunboats arrive, there will be a battle, and you will lose,” Orlova pressed. “There's a better alternative than fighting.”
“Not for us, Captain. Maybe there never has been. This isn't your home and it isn't your fight. We turn over your people, and you can go on your way. We don't want or need you here.”
Pausing, Orlova muted the channel, then turned to Weitzman, and asked, “I'm going to guess that the same system is used on most of their ships, yes?”
“All of them,” he replied. “Hooke just picked the lead.”
“What about the Council. Those gunboats?”
“I can hail them whenever you want.”
“But can you make sure that they can't turn me off?”
He paused, then nodded. “I think so, ma'am.”
“Set it up. Quickly.”
Frowning, Nelyubov asked, “What are you going to do?”
“Threats aren't going to work, not any more. These people are so damn desperate that they are willing to throw their life away for an advantage that might only hold for a matter of days. Even if by some miracle they were able to capture that base intact, they don't have the ships or supplies to keep it going.”
Shaking his head, Nelyubov said, “I hate to put it in such simple terms, but as far as we know, the people on Skybase outnumber those on the outer moons by ten to one.”
“Under conditions that could be considered a crime against humanity. There has to be a better way than that.”
“Channel open, ma'am,” Weitzman said. “At least for a few minutes. I doubt it'll hold much longer. You're on to every ship and installation within one light-minute.”
“That should be more than enough, Spaceman. Thank you.” Taking a deep breath, she began. “This is Lieutenant-Captain Orlova, representative of the Triplanetary Confederation. In about an hour, there will be a battle that will almost certainly destroy both spacefaring civilizations in this system. Not that it matters. According to our analysis, based on studies from other systems, within thirty years, forty at the outside, all of you will be dead, along with your children, your culture, and everything you've fought to preserve for the last four centuries.”
Everyone on the bridge watched her silently as she continued, “Under your current course, all of you are doomed. There is another way, an alternative. If you can work together, put aside your squabbles, and join forces for the common good, you might be able to survive, build something that could last for another four centuries. I call for representatives from the Council and the Coalition to meet here, on Alamo, as neutral territory, to come to a peace settlement.”
“They're trying to shut you off, ma'am,” Weitzman warned.
“Let me add something else. I am temporarily annexing this moon for the Triplanetary Confederation. Any ship entering l
ow orbit will be subject to immediate attack, no matter what side they are on. We will protect and defend the settlement on the moon from any aggressive act. Rest assured that my ship has the power to enforce this decision. The choice is yours.” Looking across at Weitzman, she said, “You can close the channel now, Spaceman.”
“Are we really going to do it?” Nelyubov asked.
“Let's see if those sailships are willing to test us.”
She looked at the trajectory track, watching as the ships moved in, sticking to their original course. Then, at the last possible second, they veered off, picking up more speed to put themselves into a higher orbit, out of bombardment range of the planet, but close to Alamo's current location.
“I have the commander of the sailship squadron for you, ma'am,” Weitzman said.
“Let's hear him.”
The gruff voice returned, asking, “What guarantees do we have that you will not impose an unsatisfactory peace settlement? We cannot bend our knee to the Council, and will not subject ourselves to their tyranny.”
“I have no intention of imposing any sort of a peace on your people,” Orlova replied. “Alamo will serve as neutral meeting ground, and hopefully you'll be able to work out a settlement of your own. If you truly decide that mutual annihilation is what you want, then we'll let you kill yourselves after we leave. All I'm asking is that you try to make peace.”
There was a long pause, and he said, “I will lead a negotiation team of three. Further, we will keep your two officers as hostages against any hostile act on your part. Make no mistake, Captain, our will is as iron as yours. I will board your ship in two hours, Earth time. Squadron out.”
“That's one down,” Foster said.
“I have Administrator Kelgar for you, ma'am,” Nelyubov said.
“What is the meaning of this!” the Councilman yelled. “You were supposed to help us, not seize our station for yourselves!”
“Your enemies seem willing to take a chance on peace,” Orlova replied. “They've agreed to send a delegation. You wanted this situation resolved, and so it is.”
On the screen, she could see Raval whispering something in Kelgar's ear, and her skin began to crawl. After what seemed like an eternity, Kelgar nodded, looking back up at the screen.
“Very well. Raval, Yorax and I will come to your ship. Our gunboats will continue to high orbit to match theirs. If this is a trick, then you will pay dearly for it, Captain. I know that we cannot destroy your ship, but everyone in our fleet will die in the attempt, and give you a battle that you will not soon forget. Skybase out.”
“They both seem nice and friendly,” Nelyubov said, shaking his head. “Are you sure you know what you are doing?”
“Why, Lieutenant, whatever gave you that idea?” she said with a smile. “At least we've got them talking. While they are doing that, they might agree not to shoot each other. It's a start.”
“I hope it's enough,” he replied.
Chapter 12
Cooper sat at the rear of the cockpit, next to Cantrell, watching every move the pilot made as he guided the transport through the atmosphere, on its final approach. Over to his left, Corporal Hunt stood by the sensor station, looking at the display with every impression of knowing what the readings meant. He glanced down at his datapad, making sure that the datafeed from Alamo was intact, passing the telemetry from the transport over for constant analysis. He might miss something, but the monitoring crew wouldn't.
The door slid open, and Naxos stepped in, glaring down at Cooper, saying, “We'll be on the surface in a minute. As I expected, our security precautions were adequate. I think you can stop bothering the crew now.”
“I'd say untested rather than adequate,” Cantrell replied. “Besides, there's a ceasefire, in case you've forgotten. A peace conference.”
His face settled into a scowl, and he said, “Outsiders interfering with our affairs. Not something that should be tolerated. Our gunboat squadrons could smash their sailships from the sky in a matter of minutes. I've already been preparing a battle plan for submission to the Council.”
“Lots of one-syllable words, I'm guessing,” Cantrell said.
Shaking his head, Naxos said, “I don't know why I am talking to you. Soon you'll be gone from the system, and we can end the war on our own terms. No words are going to bring this to an end, only action.” He paused at the door, and said, “By the way, so you know. I've been named as acting commander of the ground station.” Rising tall, he turned and stormed out of the room, the door closing behind him.
“Does he realize he's been exiled?” Cantrell asked.
“Maybe he hasn't,” Cooper replied. “Maybe someone on the Council has decided that we need a watchdog. There's something down on the surface that they don't want us to see.” He paused, and said, “Did you need to goad him like that?”
“Sorry, I couldn't resist. He made it so damned easy.”
With a thin smile, he turned to the viewscreen, watching the descent. Flames licked across the screen as the transport slammed into the atmosphere, deep in the plasma sheath, and his datapad winked with the expected loss of signal. After a moment, the view cleared, replaced with a sea of green and brown, land as far as the eye could see, low forests, trickling blue streams, mountains coated in white ice.
Shaking her head, Cantrell said, “If I had the choice between this and that space station, I'd be on the next shuttle down.”
“Maybe,” Cooper said. “It might look like paradise, but I'd bet there is a serpent in the garden. Besides, we're both spaceborn. The product of artificial, regulated environments, manufactured food, treated water, purified air. Down there, none of that exists. I can understand why they'd be reluctant to turn pioneer, not when the nearest thing they've ever done to a harvest is pulled a lever and wait for the food to come out.”
“Still,” Cantrell said, “you'd think that they would take more advantage of all of this. It's beautiful, Gabe. Hell, if they don't want it, we'll have it. Open this world up to colonization, and there'll be ten thousand settlers here by the end of the year.”
“We're coming in for landing,” the pilot said, pointing at a dot on the viewscreen, in the middle of a brown, barren area. “Hold on. There are some high crosswinds today.”
As Hunt sat down in the nearest couch, Cooper looked at the base, frowning. It would have been perfectly at home on Mars, or Callisto, a round dome planted in the middle of paradise, right down to an airlock with a docking collar attached, next to a flat, gray landing strip. A series of tall tanks were mounted to one side, labeled in strange hieroglyphics.
“Over there,” Cantrell said, gesturing at some crumbling ruins at the far side of the desert, on the edge of the horizon.
“Take a look at them tonight,” the pilot said. “Strange in the moonlight.”
“You ever gone out there to take a look?” Hunt asked, and the pilot turned away, a frown on his face.
“Outside? Why would I do that?”
Dust kicked up as the transport settled on the ground, the docking collar extending out to the airlock, a series of clunks as the locks snapped into place. Cooper looked across at the sensors, shaking his head. Atmosphere, pressure, everything was just about perfect outside. Even the gravity was only a fraction heavier than Earth-norm. In every respect, an ideal environment.
“We're down and safe,” the pilot said. “I'm going to start post-flight checks. You can head over to the base now if you want.”
“Actually,” Cooper said, “I thought we'd go outside. Is there any transport on the base?”
“Transport? For what?”
“There must be some sort of vehicle outside,” Cantrell said.
“We don't go out there unless we have to. I've never been outside the dome, except for the outer hull inspection. Most of that is done by remote, anyway.”
“I see,” she said
, glancing at Cooper. “Maybe we should take a look for ourselves.”
“I agree.” Turning to Hunt, he said, “Corporal, go over to the base and take a good look around. Don't get in anyone's way, and don't force yourself anywhere they don't want you, but make sure to get good recordings of everything. If you don't hear from me in an hour, come looking.”
“Aye, sir,” he said, and the two of them stepped out of the bridge, heading to the nearest airlock. Unsurprisingly, Naxos was waiting for them, arms folded, one of his guards standing beside him.
“Where do you think you are going?”
“Through you if you don't get out of the way,” Cooper said. “We're going outside to take a look around. You're welcome to come with us if you want.”
One of the guards glanced at him, and Naxos said, “There's nothing out there.”
“Then you can hardly have any objection to us taking a look.”
For a second, he thought they were going to get into a fight right there in the corridor, but Hunt and his team moved in, looming with as much menace as they could muster, and Naxos finally shook his head.
“Fine. Go out there. Waste everyone's time. I'll be watching you, Ensign. Be sure of that.”
Stepping through the airlock, Cooper watched as the mechanism cycled, shaking his head. Normally, on a world with a breathable atmosphere, both doors would open together as a matter of course, but here they seemed to be taking extra care to make sure that none of the outside air made it into the ship. Finally the green light flashed on, the door opened, and he took a deep breath of clean, cool air.
“Let's go and see what they've got to hide,” Cooper said, climbing down the ladder, Cantrell following him. He dropped onto the hardened field, looking up at the looming transport, and wrinkled his nose as the stench hit him. Cantrell coughed, her face turning green, and they quickly moved away from the ship, the odor slowly fading.
“They're not lying about their cargo,” she said, shaking her head. “That's vile.”
“Good cover, though,” Cooper said. “Would you question it?”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Triple-Edged Sword Page 11