“You've been paid off,” Conway said, looking around the room. “Titan is your biggest rival, and they can see the future just as well as you can, and the last thing they want is a strong competitor pushing them out of extrasolar space. If they can crush you in the cradle, they will.”
Nodding, the moustachioed man added, “They'd finish up the contracts we've got and refuse to take any more, cut investment and wind up the colony. We'd be out of business in five years, maximum.” Turning to Conway, he added, “There'd be an anti-trust suit. We'd fight this all the way.”
“And where would you get the money to do that?” Conway asked. “Not to mention the Titanian lobby putting all the pressure in the world to bear. Do you really think you'd get a favorable decision in time to make any difference?”
Skimming through the datapad, Walensky said, “Now I think we need a recess.”
“A short one,” Conway pressed. “I don't think the pirates will give us much more time.”
Suddenly, a pistol appeared in Moran's hand, and she said, “No recess.” Looking at Conway, she said, “You were talking about a declaration of martial law. You can consider now that one is being enforced, and I am assuming command as Military Governor of this planet.” Standing a little taller, she said, “No one bought my loyalty, Conway. Admiral Knight restored me to active duty four months ago, with the rank of Lieutenant-Captain. I've been operating under her orders since then.”
“What exactly is going on?” Walensky asked.
“You get a front-row seat in a battle that will decide the future of the Confederation, Madam Chairman,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the Mayor. “Moran here, I'm sorry, Captain Moran has sided with a woman who was personally responsible for the murder of almost a hundred people that I know of, and I'm certain the body count will actually be considerably higher than that.”
“If that's what it takes to save the Confederation, those lives will have been well-spent,” Moran said. Shaking her head, she continued, “Do you think that we're the only two groups attempting to find the Stygian homeworld? You can assume that the UN, the Cabal, the Republic are all chasing the same prize, a technology decades ahead of our own. I'm no traitor, Captain. I'll leave that to you. And as for the Titanians, they've been supporting us all the way. This is their reward.” Looking around the room, she said, “All of you will have the opportunity to cash out. Have you seen the long-term projections? This company has a fifty-fifty chance of surviving at best, in any case. I was doing what was best for the shareholders. You've had made a fortune!”
“Your argument might be a lot more convincing if it wasn't being delivered at gunpoint,” Walensky replied, drily.
“He's the only one under arrest today,” Moran said, gesturing at Conway. “Call the guards, and have him taken into custody, as well as every other one of his crewmen on the planet. We can still clear up this mess, despite everything.”
“It won't make any difference,” Conway replied, glancing up at the clock. “In about an hour, Monitor will be arriving with a second fighter squadron.” A smile spreading across his face, he continued, “We had this whole situation worked out right from the start, Madam Mayor. I just had to make sure I put the evidence together in time.”
Reaching into her pocket, Moran pulled out her communicator, tapped open a channel, and said, “Chief, you've got company coming. A squadron and a capital ship. Make a nice mess of them, will you? Load with Hellfire missiles.”
“You brought cruiser-killers out on this operation?” Conway asked, shaking his head.
“Did you think we wouldn't be ready for anything you could throw at us, Captain?” Moran replied. “This operation wasn't thrown together in a few minutes.”
“Message received,” a gruff voice barked in reply. “We'll blow those bastards to hell. Larson out.”
“It'll be quite a fight,” she said, dropping her communicator back into her pocket. “Why don't we sit here and watch for a while? We'll have a front-row seat.” Stepping forward, she said, “My orders regarding mutinous Triplanetary officers are quite specific, and I'll have a few friends coming down as soon as the battle is over. I'm afraid I'm going to have to take a rather more authoritarian hand in running the colony for a while.”
“Moran,” he said, “You're forgetting something. Everything taking place in this room is being recorded, just as I said.”
“It doesn't matter,” she replied. “Do you honestly think that any of you will be leaving this world alive?”
“Actually, I do. Now.”
“What?”
A precisely-aimed bullet, tipped to shatter the armored glass, slammed into the room in a hail of shards, slamming into Moran's hand, her weapon dropping to the floor in front of Walensky, who quickly snatched it from the ground and covered their erstwhile captor, now clutching the bloody mess at the end of her arm.
“It was a nice try,” Conway said, shaking his head. He added, “Angel, you can stand down now. I don't think we're going to be needing a second shot.”
“You had a sniper,” Moran replied through gritted teeth.
“I had two, actually, just in case you had an accomplice. At the end of the day, the solution to complicated schemes is usually surprisingly simple.” Turning to Walensky, he asked, “Do you remember how to use that?”
“Four years in the Martian Marines,” she replied.
“Good answer.”
“What happens now?” Moran asked, while one of the board members made for the medical kit bolted to the wall.
“You're going to help us capture the pirates, of course, in exchange for which you will be permitted to dispose of your share portfolio and retire back to Mars on the proceeds. Naturally, you'll only make about half of what you wanted, but that's still a couple of million credits.”
“And if I refuse?” she asked.
“Then all I can offer you is the Special Triplanetary Pension Plan, which, the last time I checked, was free room and board for the rest of your life. Given that treason has the only death penalty left on the books, that might be surprisingly short.”
“You're the traitor,” she said, looking around the room. “I have all the authority I need to place all of you under arrest.”
“You might find that difficult,” Walensky said. “Is there any opposition to a motion removing Moran as Mayor of Sinaloa Colony, and calling an emergency election once this crisis is over?” Only silence replied to her, and she said, “There you go.”
“My authority...”
“I think mine has a rather more firm foundation. Chairman Walensky, I hereby recall you to service with the rank, if I remember correctly, of Lieutenant-Major, and name you as Military Governor of this planet until such time as elections can he held.”
“I accept,” she said.
“I'm not going to help you,” Moran said. “And I will still see all of you held for treason.”
Reaching into her pocket, he plucked out her communicator and tossed it through the window, watching it turn end over end before smashing into a million pieces on the street.
“You've already helped me, though, and I'm very grateful.”
Taking a deep breath, she replied, “There are no reinforcements, are there?”
“I'm afraid not,” he said. “I had a feeling that you wouldn't be willing to help us voluntarily, but don't worry. All of my records will show just how helpful you have been to us, and that you were more than willing to change sides when I explained the serious nature of the situation to you.” As her face paled, he continued, “You have some idea, I think, what Knight will likely do to you if she even suspects you of treachery. At this point, you'd better hope I win.”
“I'll tell...”
“And will she believe you?” Looking around the room, he added, “Do you see any friends here rallying to you assistance?”
There as a knock at the
door, which opened to reveal Sheriff McCormack, standing with a trio of guards at the ready. He stepped in, nodded at Conway and moved over to Moran, taking her by the arm and guiding her out of the room. Conway took a deep breath, then turned back to Walensky.
“Well, Major, can you handle things down here?”
“Where are you going?”
“There's a shuttle waiting at the starport to take me up to the ship. I've got a date with a cockpit, and I don't want to be late.”
Nodding, Walensky replied, “On behalf of SinaloaCorp, Captain, good luck, and good hunting.”
“Thank you, Major,” he said, rushing for the elevator, taking a last glance at the shattered window behind them. He reached for his communicator again, tapping for Churchill, and said, “This is Conway. I'm on the move. Execute Omega.”
Chapter 16
Mallory stepped out onto the bridge, looking around at the crewmen working at their stations before taking her seat, tapping to call up a tactical display of the surrounding area. The enemy fighters were still hovering in position, ready to respond at a moment's notice, though by now with weary pilots desperate either for a fight or to return to the surface. Close by Churchill, the freighter hovered, and she turned to Dixon, sitting at Sullivan's usual position, two consoles slaved together.
“Contact Zharkova, Lieutenant,” she said, trying to relax in her seat.
“Aye, Captain,” Dixon replied, punching a series of controls. “I have the freighter for you now.”
“Status report,” Mallory said.
“We're ready over here, Captain,” Zharkova replied. “All hatches are ready, fighters in launch mode. Send me the signal and we'll pull the trigger. I've got our escape shuttle on standby, and we should be able to get down to the surface long before anyone can reach us.”
“Don't take a chance on that, Sub-Lieutenant. Once everything starts to move, there won't be any time to think. Watch your monitors, and if there is any doubt, get out of there. Understood?”
“Worry about Churchill, Captain. I've got everything under control over here. Zharkova out.” Shaking her head, Mallory turned with a smile to the situation monitor, watching the final seconds count down. If everything was going according to plan, by now Morgan would have her distraction well under way, though there was no way she could confirm that she'd been able to launch her attack. Everything was down to luck, and skill, and it was time to find out whether Churchill had a sufficiency of both.
“Take us out, Clayton,” she said. “Take us to the far hendecaspace point, maximum acceleration.” Leaning forward in her chair, she added, “Let's see if the bastards take the bait.”
“And if they don't?” Dixon asked.
“Then we pull an abort and think of something else,” she replied. “It'll work.”
“Change in target profile, Captain,” Finch said with a smile. “The enemy fighters just lit up their engines. They're on an intercept course rigged to catch us at the hendecaspace point, as near as I can calculate it.”
“Just as they should be,” she replied. “Ready to pounce on our theoretical friends before they can get their act together. What about the rest of the fighters?”
“Nothing yet,” Finch said. He paused, then added, “Wait one. Looks like something is happening on the surface. The fighters are warming up, but there's no sign of a launch order.”
“They're waiting,” Dixon said. “To see what comes out of the hendecaspace point. There's no harm holding some reinforcements back for a second wave.” Glancing across at the sensor display, she added, “The fighters are going to have a great view of us opening a portal, Captain, and they're going to know that we're bluffing.”
“Let's raise the stakes,” Mallory added, tapping a control. “Spearfish squadron, scramble.”
“Aye, ma'am,” Bennett's exuberant voice replied. “Come on, kids. Let's go out and play.”
Grim-faced, Dixon turned to her, saying, “They'll be outnumbered, and if something does wrong, it'll be touch and go whether they can get back to Churchill. And if the enemy does what you want, that'll only make it worse for them out there.”
“Bennett,” Mallory said. “Don't engage the enemy unless you must. Your goal is to lead them off, not take them down. We'll handle them later.”
“Understood, Captain. We know what to do.”
Shaking her head, Dixon said, “Those rookies have never been in a real battle before, Captain, and to throw them up against odds like these in their first fight.”
“All of them knew what they were signing up for, Lieutenant,” Mallory replied. “As did we all. Return to your station.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Dixon replied, sitting back at her console. “All decks are cleared for action.”
Three new tracks appeared on the sensor screen, the interceptors moving into position to cover Churchill, slotting smoothly into a defensive formation that urged the approaching pirate fighters to greater speed, driving them on ever faster. If they failed to draw the whole enemy fighter force away, then the mission would fail.
Worse still, Dixon was quite correct, and Mallory knew it. She was throwing a pair of inexperienced pilots into a situation they were not equipped to deal with, risking their lives in a bid to buy a few minutes for the strike on the enemy base. That there didn't seem to be any tactical choice was irrelevant, and the weight of the decision bore down upon her, seeming to crush her into the command chair.
Conway had been right, though she hated to admit it. All her life, she'd been the one behind the scenes, not the one with the final responsibility for battle. Even during the battle back at Abydos Base, when she'd taken command of Churchill in Conway's absence, she hadn't really had the final say. The chair had only been hers by default, and by the time she had sat down in it, all the critical decisions had already been made.
This time, everything was down to her. The mission plan, the objective, the command, all of these were her responsibility, and everyone was counting on her to pull it off. The bridge crew, her bridge crew, working under her direction, Clayton and Finch occasionally glancing back at her for reassurance and approval, trusting that she was doing the right thing.
She sat back in her chair, keeping her face set as an expressionless, emotionless mask, and flipped a switch to throw the maximum magnification on the enemy base, waiting for them to make a move. If they hoped to provide reinforcements for the forces they had already dispatched, they would have to move at once or risk leaving them stranded. Doubt and worry rushed through her mind, contingency plans already rising to the surface as she pondered what to do, how to proceed, what else they might try.
The countdown clock sped down as Churchill raced to the far hendecaspace point, now only scant minutes away. Finch turned to her, shaking his head, and she reached down for a control again, sliding on a headset and adjusting the microphone pickup.
“Churchill to Green Leader,” she said.
“Green Leader here,” Bennett replied.
“We're changing the plan. Break and attack, but hold open for an abort if I give the word.”
“Roger that, Churchill,” Bennett said. “You heard the Captain, rooks! Tally Ho!”
Dixon flashed her an accusatory stare before turning back to her station, shaking her head. On the screen, the three tracks of the interceptor squadron dived around, twisting towards the approaching fighters on a series of attack runs. They were outnumbered and outgunned, and even experienced pilots would struggle to overcome the odds they were facing. Punching a series of controls with her hand, she worked out a new course for Churchill, skimming around once they had reached the hendecaspace point and moving in support. At best speed, the fighters would have to manage by themselves for three minutes, an eternity in space warfare.
“That did it!” Finch yelled, waving a triumphant fist into the air. “Energy spike from the base, remaining fighters launching on a
direct intercept course for our ships. Time to contact, eight minutes.”
Mallory looked at the hendecaspace point, then turned to Dixon, and asked, “We can project a rift anywhere, right? It doesn't have to be at the area of gravitational stability?”
Dixon rubbed her forehead, sighed, and said, “Theoretically, yes, but if you want any chance of surviving the trip...”
“We don't intend to use it, Lieutenant.”
“The gravitational forces will be rough as hell, Captain, and if we try it, we could easily find ourselves being dragged through it whether we like it or not.”
Pointing at the base, Mallory said, “They'll only know whether a gate has opened, at least for the first couple of minutes. They won't get a location until the instability clears, and for the present all they'll know is that a gateway has opened out of their sight. Sub-Lieutenant, cut all forward thrust, and execute dimensional rift at your discretion.”
Clayton turned to her, gulped, and replied, “Yes, ma'am.”
Mallory snapped her restraints into place, fastening herself to her chair, and watched as the young officer at the helm played her controls, tentatively setting up the dimensional rupture, gaining in certainty as she worked. She glanced across at the sensor display again, watching as the enemy fighters closed on her interceptors, the odds now ferociously against them, dooming them unless she could work a miracle.
“Three seconds,” Clayton said. “Hang on, everybody.”
She tapped the controls, and a swirling blue mass formed ahead of the ship as she threw the engines to full, accelerating above all safe maximums in an attempt to drive away from the portal she had opened into hendecaspace, the normally stable rip in reality jagged and torn, the ship starting to lurch towards it as though tendrils were reaching out at them, trying to drag them in.
“We're losing speed,” Clayton replied, her knuckles white on her console. “Tying in emergency power.”
“Keep her stable,” Mallory ordered. “Focus our engines against the pull. Ride it out, Sub-Lieutenant!”
Interceptor (Strike Commander Book 2) Page 15