"Far too much. I will give you some other information, however."
"And what is that?"
Leaning back on his chair, the Commandant pulled out another file, passing it to Marshall. "I had this one translated for you. The court-martial and summary execution of the two Legionnaires who hung your crewman down by the river. Battle was one thing, that was something else."
"You had them shot?" Marshall's eyes widened. "How can I trust this?"
"I suppose asking you to trust my honor would be far too much. You may visit the graves if you want, but I suspect that will not suffice either. I would ask that you consider what I might possibly have to gain from a deception." He took another drink, continuing, "We are not savages, Captain, though I cannot speak for some of the men I command, I regret."
"Why am I here, Commandant? To show me this?"
"Partly," the Commandant nodded. "Also because we potentially have an opportunity to discuss terms."
"Where is Captain Miller?"
"Ah, the redoubtable corsair is in his own quarters. We will have to make separate arrangements with his government, unless you now speak for it."
"No."
The Commandant laughed, "You will find the domestic political scene rather disappointing, I fear. Little of the finesse of our civilized worlds."
"You have others?"
"Naturally. Just as naturally I will give you no details, save that this world belongs to the Legion, which in itself is a part of the Cabal."
Raising his glass to his lips, Marshall took another deep swig; the wine tasted remarkably good, but with a somewhat bitter aftertaste. "Cabal is hardly a name to inspire joy and hope in those who belong to it."
"Nevertheless it is a reasonable description." The Commandant leaned forward, "First let us discuss the terms of your release."
"I presume you have already heard them."
Nodding, he replied, "And as your Lieutenant Mulenga suggested, those terms are unacceptable. I could make assurances that you and your crew could leave the system unharmed, even provide you with assistance in the repair of your vessel. Certain citizens who wished could travel with you back to the Confederation, that would be acceptable."
"In short, you are willing to concede anything so long as you remain in control of this planet." Marshall uncrossed his arms, laying them down on the table, "Likewise, I will concede anything that does not leave you in control of this planet."
"You wish to conquer it for your Confederation, as you did Ragnarok?"
Marshall's cheeks turned red. "The Triplanetary Confederation is not some expansionist empire. We will not conquer this planet; Ragnarok chose to join us..."
Raising his hand, the Commandant interrupted, "After a certain Lieutenant-Captain Marshall oversaw the overthrow of the established planetary government in exchange for one that looked more favorably on Triplanetary membership." He shook his head, "You do not have clean hands, Captain, and it is fruitless to pretend you do."
"Perhaps. It didn't seem that way at the time."
Clenching his hands together, the Commandant said, "You are a patriot, Captain. That is understandable; I would be more surprised had you turned out not to be. You are willing to fight for your government despite its foibles. I am the same." He took another drink, then refreshed his glass. "Naturally we cannot come to terms for the future of this planet that will be of satisfaction to us both. Such is out of the question."
"I'm afraid you are almost certainly right about that."
"I will, of course, transmit my offer to your Lieutenant Caine. It is possible she may see things differently."
"I doubt it."
Standing up, the Commandant walked over to a window, looking out across the ocean. "This planet stands on a knife-edge. The future is of greater importance now, though." He turned, resting his arms on the back of his chair. "Tell me, Captain, what do you perceive the Cabal as? What do you imagine it to be?"
"I'll freely admit that we have little knowledge of it."
Raising his hands, the Commandant replied, "Yes, yes, but what do you think it is?"
"A collection of colonies out in deep space, that formed some sort of controlling empire with a desire to control all of human space."
"But why, Captain? Even if you are right – and you only touch on the outer limits of the truth – then what motivation could we have? Might it be that we have just as good reasons for seeking interstellar hegemony as you, and might there be a chance that we are right to do so, and you are wrong?"
Shaking his head, Marshall replied, "Everything I have seen here on Jefferson, and back on Sagdeev for that matter, tells me otherwise."
"Consider. We settled the survivors of failed colonies all over this part of the galaxy here on this planet, where they would be safe and live in peace.
"The peace of the gun, and the safety of slavery."
Smiling, the Commandant said, "I will tell you know, that you are the safest man on the planet. One way or another, you are going to be going home to your people. Either you will win the day – I feel the odds are against you, but no doubt you think the same of me – or you will lose, and we will ship you back home. In either case, I would like you to take a message back to your government."
"I have no intention of serving as your courier."
"The Cabal would welcome the Triplanetary Confederation as a member. I will tell you this much, as it could save much trouble; the Cabal is a union of many, not a single unitary state. We are stronger together than individually. That is important." He leaned forward, "Consider my offer. I speak for my government in this matter. We might be forced to seek other arrangements, if our efforts with you fail."
"The Lunar Republic? The United Nations?" He shook his head, "You've answered your own question. If you would happily work with tyranny, then I can't see how we could ever work together."
"A pity, Captain. Though I venture that your Senate may prefer such terms to a war."
"Is that a threat, Commandant?"
He laughed, "Captain, I would say that the war has begun. Our armies mass on battlefields, our ships will soon clash in orbit. You have launched an attack on a Cabal world, and that cannot stand unpunished."
"You had our citizens held captive."
"I venture that the winner will blame the loser for the conflict. Such is often the case in war." His fingers reached under the desk to push a button, and a moment later a guard appeared at the door. "The Captain is to be returned to his cell."
Standing, Marshall drained the rest of his glass, dropping it back down to the desk, and walked out of the room, the guard hard on his heels as he climbed the stairs. He returned to the corridor to find that this time it was well guarded, with two men on each side, both of them conspicuously armed; of the man they had knocked down, there was no trace. Returning to his cell, he found Cunningham and Mulenga sitting on the floor tucking into the remains of a substantial meal.
"Didn't know if you were eating with us," Cunningham said through a mouthful of cheese. "I think we left you enough, though."
"What did he want?" Mulenga asked.
"He made an offer we couldn't accept, and another I certainly hope the Senate won't even consider." Ignoring the food on the floor, he walked over to the window, looking up at the sky through it. Six days from now his ship was going to fight the biggest battle of its life, and as things stood, all he could hope for was a ringside seat.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Playing the suit thruster cautiously to the right, Caine drifted along Alamo's central core, looking across at the long laser assembly, taking stock of the new connectors and power conduits. Quinn's team was still working at the far end of the ship, close to the primary reactor cores, carefully piecing together the complicated circuitry that fed the battlecruiser's primary weapon.
Tapping her thruster again, she span around to look at Alamo herself, and shook her head; most of the outer hull was still off, and the ship looked naked. Inner bulkheads were exposed to s
pace, whole compartments that were normally occupied were bare, empty. The ship looked like it had already lost a battle.
Secured to the walls of the spaceport were huge, long strips of armor that, if all went well, would be fitted to Alamo's key areas before the battle. Anywhere that was not critical to ship or combat operations would simply have to tend to itself, and the damage that a single missile hit would do to an unprotected compartment was something that she was trying not to think about. It was all to easy to picture the ship a cluster of spinning wreckage in high orbit around Jefferson, but if she didn't make the attempt to fight the enemy vessel she was expecting, then that was going to happen anyway.
The thought had struck her – and presumably everyone else on board – that this might be a lot of hard work for nothing. Though the prospecting vessel had sped out of the system, they had no way of knowing how far they were going to have to go to get help. Caine was operating on the idea that help was a single jump away, and hence only a week away, but they could easily have to go much further. That was a hope that was so tempting to cling to, but one she had to resist. With luck they would just be ready to face an enemy in five days' time; any more time they had on top of that was a bonus, an opportunity to get more of their repairs completed, to put more armor on the outer hull. Possibly even leave the system, head home to get help.
A light flashed on in the lower left side of her helmet's heads-up display; she'd booked an hour of EVA time, and there were just five minutes to go. Carefully twisting the controller in her left hand, she carefully ran down the side of the hull towards the nearest airlock, firmly grabbing hold of the handrail and clipping her safety line to it. With a tap of a button, the outer door opened, and she was pushed back a little by the trace of atmosphere – something that Quinn and his boys were still trying to take care of. Swinging into the compartment, she tapped a second button and the outer door closed, the chamber immediately filling with atmosphere, the hiss beginning to fill the air.
"Bridge to Caine," a voice echoed in her helmet, almost drowned out by the growing noise of the incoming air.
"Caine here. Go ahead."
"We're getting a message from the surface. A ransom demand for the Captain."
Her eyes widened, mouth opened; she was glad that there was no-one there to see her. "Can you patch me in?"
"Not a conversation, ma'am. It's already repeated twice; they're bouncing it off our surveillance satellite."
"Right. Have Lieutenants Dixon and Quinn meet me up on the bridge." She paused, continuing, "Spaceman Harper, as well. I'll want Security's view on this."
A voice broke in, "Already up here. I'll have my analysis ready for you when you get upstairs."
Smiling, Caine replied, "Right. See you in a minute."
Green lights flashed up in a row in her helmet, confirmation that there was a safe atmosphere outside, and she stowed her spacesuit in one of the lockers on the wall before drifting back out into the corridor, right to a waiting elevator sent down from the bridge. It sped the length of the ship, opening on a crowded bridge; evidently word of the message had spread quickly. Matsumoto was sitting at Operations, and all three of the watch officers were present, crowded around the communications console; Harper was struggling to work as people drifted around her.
"Clear some space, everyone," Caine said as she drifted onto the bridge. "Could someone play the damn message?"
Ortega reached over Harper and tapped a couple of buttons, and an unfamiliar figure appeared on the screen. He was wearing the same uniform cut that the legionnaires had worn on the surface, but white instead of olive; a thin mustache crept over a softly sneering mouth, an air of superiority on his eyes.
"I am the Commandant of the Legion forces on this planet. I hold Lieutenant-Captain Marshall, Senior Lieutenants Cunningham and Mulenga, Lieutenants Orlov and Esposito, and Ensign Riley." A series of images from a camera flashed onto the screen, of a pair of cells housing the six people he mentioned. "As you can see, all of them are in excellent health and are being well treated. I have no intention of harming any of them, I can assure you of that."
He looked to his right, and his hands made a motion that suggested he was sliding something in front of him, "I fear that I have no intention of releasing them either, unless my demands are met. They are very simple; I want you to leave Jefferson immediately. I will guarantee you and all your personnel safe passage with an immediate ceasefire, and will even provide you with assistance with the repair of your spacecraft. Any residents who wish to leave with you have my permission to do so, and I will offer an amnesty for anyone who stays. Those are my terms, and they are non-negotiable."
Leaning backward, he folded his fingers together, "I will not hold my prisoners responsible for any attacks on my forces, but should you find my compound and attack it, well, I am unable to guarantee their safety. As soon as you agree to my terms, the prisoners will be released. I sincerely hope that we can come to an agreement and end the fighting; I have no wish to launch any further attacks on your forces. Jefferson out."
Ortega looked over at Caine, "That's being repeated every minute, has been at least three times now. I've been trying to trace it, and the best I can do is the same area that the signal from the moon flashed down to after the first explosion."
Looking over at the technician, Dixon said, "We've taken recon shots of that whole area and come up with nothing, Spaceman."
"It's a reflector," Harper said, still tapping away at the console. "Small enough that it can be hidden from space. The resolution on those cameras isn't up to much."
Leaning forward on her chair, Caine slowly looked around the bridge. There was no defeat in anyone's eyes, the whole crew was eager to do something. An expectation that she would come up with some sort of miracle. She gestured towards Dixon and Quinn.
"The office, I think, Lieutenants," she said, pushing off from her chair towards the door, gliding through as the doors opened just in time to admit her. Catching a handhold, she swung herself around the desk as the others glided in. Quinn had his face buried in a datapad, looking over reports; Dixon just looked combative, balling her hands into fists and opening them again.
"Tell me you're not thinking of accepting their offer," Dixon said as soon as the door closed behind her. "We can't write the planet off like this."
"I've got to give it serious consideration, Lieutenant," Caine replied. "On the face of it, this is an excellent offer." She paused, "If we'd been offered it a month ago, the opportunity to get all of our people off the planet and head home without a fight, we'd have taken it without thinking."
"We've spent a lot of blood since then."
"You want to add the entire crew of Alamo to it?" Caine said.
Frowning, Dixon looked out at the viewscreen, "What do you think Captain Marshall would do?"
"That isn't relevant in the slightest, Lieutenant. He isn't here. I am, and I am in command." She stopped again, looking around the room, "Alamo is in no serious shape for a fight."
That seemed to wake up Quinn, "She'll put a hell of a punch in when the time comes, Lieutenant. The laser cannon will be working, missile bays ready."
"And if we get hit by a missile? Or that incoming ship has particle beams?"
Quinn smiled, "We'll think of something."
"And if we don't have to?" Caine said. She pulled up her datapad, reading over the transcript of the message again.
Dixon pressed forward, "We need to get our people back, and to secure Jeffersonian self-government. That's what we went back down again to do. Do you think the people of that planet would thank us for throwing them back to the Legion – and I don't for a moment believe that nonsense about reprisals. These are the people who hung three of our soldiers. Hung them."
Looking up from the datapad, Caine said, quietly, "He's conceding a lot, isn't he."
"What?"
Tapping the screen, she continued, "He's offering us a lot of perks. No reprisals, safe evacuation, repair of Alamo? Th
at seems like an awful lot."
"It had to be a good deal or we wouldn't go for it."
Shaking her head, Caine said, "Why offer it at all, then?"
"So I'm right, and it's a bunch of crap, and he won't live up to it. There will be some reason why our people can't come home, something like that."
"No. I think it's genuine, but I also think that he's desperate. He's playing poker with a weak hand."
Nodding, Dixon said, "All the more reason to stand and fight, Lieutenant! We can take them!"
"We don't have a particularly strong hand either, Dixon."
The door slid open, and Harper burst in, looking around at the three serious faces looking at her with her exuberant smile. Tossing a datapad towards Caine, she grabbed hold of the desk, swinging into it.
"Come on, we've got them on the run!" she said, smiling.
Dixon nodded, but Caine shook her head, "I admire your confidence, Spaceman, but we don't even know where they are. And perhaps you could knock next time."
"Is that all that you're worried about?" Harper replied. "I know where they are – or at least how to find them."
An eyebrow arched, Quinn looked at the green-haired hacker, "How? We haven't got the manpower to land a team at the reflector, assuming it isn't guarded."
"I thought of that. A good chance they would have anti-air, and we haven't got time to get there overland."
"Walk there?" Harper said, disbelief on her face. "Why go there? We'll just send them a message and follow it."
"Without ground installations to track it? Damn sure it'll be tight-beam." Caine said.
"They've got them, haven't they? Certainly they've got some means of sending and receiving. We just use theirs."
Opening her mouth, Caine replied, "You've cracked their system, haven't you."
"Weeks ago; it's the same one they used for the satellites." A beaming grin leapt across Harper's face. "All we have to do is send a signal through their system, and we'll have them where we want them."
"They'd expect us to try a hack for their reply," Caine said, her brief flash of hope ebbing away. "Damn, I thought you had something."
Battlecruiser Alamo: Tip of the Spear Page 14