“You’re third in the command chain, remember.”
“Don’t remind me,” she said with a mock scowl. “That tells you everything you need to know about our current situation. We're tired, Danny, and I’m not sure how the crew will react to another crisis. The ship is fine mechanically, but despite Quinn’s protests, we need some time to check everything over, a proper dry dock rather than one more improvised repair.”
“Yet you think we should go?”
“I think we’re the only ship out here, and that you don’t want to risk delaying the task force you want to lead back to Hydra Station. I also suspect that we’re going to have a fairly quiet mission.”
“With luck, we might find a friendly welcome for once. A fleet anchorage would be useful, and I’m sure the survivors of that holocaust would be grateful for help.”
“Assuming they weren’t the aggressors.”
“Even if they were, what could they do against Alamo? Be honest – we could take down a hundred missiles of that time without too much trouble, especially if we get to pick the time and place of the battle. If they don’t have the hendecaspace drive, they won’t be expecting attacks from that quarter.”
“I hope you are right,” she replied. “Zebrova does have a point. I’m not sure you realize how brittle this crew is. Morale’s reasonable at the moment now that we’re on the way home, though that hellhole we’re orbiting doesn’t help, but it could evaporate in a moment.”
“That’s one of the reasons I want to do this.”
Frowning, she said, “Huh?”
“As far as I can see, there are two possibilities. The first is that we get there and find nothing. In that event, if it looks like they are still on their way, we’ll see about giving them a bit of a head-start – run a planetary survey and place the results in orbit, and mark the world for repeat visits every so often.”
“Sounds like a good thing to do.”
“The second is that they’ve arrived, and one way or another are in the process of colonizing their world. In that event, we can help them. If they are well-established, the crew might even get a chance at some shore leave.” He smiled, then said, “It’s likely to be a lot more restful than anything we’ll get back home. I suspect weeks of debriefings are in our future.”
“I think you’re probably right about that. So you don’t think there is any chance of a battle.”
“Even if they did prove hostile, Alamo’s well ahead of the technology curve. Quinn’s fears aside, they’ve got more important priorities than putting together a space fleet. In any event, we have to follow this one up.”
Shaking her head, she replied, “I just hope you are right about this.”
“So do I.” Pausing for a second, he continued, “I’m damn tempted to take the safe option, though. Just go with a nice, easy cruise home. The crew have been through a lot, more than anyone had any right to ask for them.”
“Regrets, Danny?”
“No regrets, Deadeye. One of the things you learn is not to second-guess yourself. But that doesn’t mean I’m blind to how the crew feels. How bad do you think it could get?”
“They won’t do anything open. No protests in the corridors or anything like that, but it’s the split-second reaction time that we’ll be lacking. No telling what could happen in a crisis. Like the last week of a tour back in the war.”
“The Armistice talks. No-one wanting to be the last casualty.”
“Exactly. I was talking to Maggie…”
“I’m glad you are on speaking terms again.”
“What was it you were saying about regrets a minute ago? The point is, we didn’t exactly get overloaded with volunteers for the shuttle ride, and a few months ago, most of the crew would have signed up. That’s a symptom.”
He glanced up at the clock, then said, “In eleven days, we’ll be home. Then we can rest, for a while. All of us have some leave saved up, probably a couple of months of it by now.”
“Any plans?”
“I’m trying not to think about it. I don’t want to anticipate it too much. I’ve got some business at the Officer’s Club on Mariner, though. There’s a memorial board that needs updating.” With a deep sigh, he said, “I need a chance to process all of this, everything that’s happened. Try and decompress a little.”
“I know a bar in Port Lowell…”
“We’re going to need a few dozen for what I have in mind, but you are on. I’ve got to go to Titan, as well.” He shook his head, “I was going to meet up with Mulenga’s family anyway. You know he had three kids?”
“Danny, stop.”
He jerked up, and said, “Sorry.”
“It’s my fault. In a couple of weeks we can afford to bury ourselves in regrets for a while and let them wash away, but not now. We’ve still got a job to do.”
Nodding, he replied, “Quite right. Thanks for the object lesson, as well.”
“Any time.” She rose, and said, “I should go make myself unpopular. I’ve got a couple of battle drills planned.”
“Everyone’s working the crew at the moment. Keeping them busy is probably the best idea.”
Nodding, she said, “I’d better get on with it.”
She stepped into the corridor, leaving Marshall alone in the room. He glanced down at the datapads, at the reports listed for his approval. Picking one at random, he started to page through statistics on the oxygen reclamations, then tossed the datapad down to the desk. He might be able to order others to keep busy, but no-one could order him to follow suit. Not even himself.
He glanced up again at the holodisplay, looking at Race’s projected course plot of the asteroid out of the system. That was something that could restore the crew’s spirits a bit. Their journey would have been an inspiration, a triumph against the odds. Something they could celebrate, hopefully, rather than dread. With a smile, he snapped off the display, and returned to his makework.
Chapter 6
Logan looked around the bridge, mentally trying to put names to faces. They’d had no trouble putting a crew together for the Buchanan; rather, it had been hard work persuading people to stay behind. Five days in hendecaspace had just about given them the time to shake down all the problems, get the ship into some sort of fighting trim. At least they had the luxury of artificial gravity to enjoy; ten months in the weightlessness of Spitfire Station had become wearying.
Cunningham sat in the command chair as if born to it, his eyes quietly dancing from monitor to monitor, keeping track of the ship’s functions as it prepared to return to normal space, to meet whatever had left the Dumont a tumbling, abandoned wreck. Standing next to him, Ryder looked up at a countdown clock on the wall, then down at Cunningham, who nodded in response.
“It’s that time, everyone. All hands to battle stations.”
A series of red lights flashed on the overhead displays as the crew prepared the ship for action. At the tactical station, the red-headed Sub-Lieutenant Davis flicked controls, preparing the two hastily-reactivated missile tubes for firing, locking the countermeasure programs into position. It struck him that the Dumont had probably done the same things, and had come to a sad end. Hopefully the crew he had put together would do a better job.
Over at the engineering station, Colonel Singh ran through a series of precise checks, with the manner of applied carelessness that spoke of long experience. He didn’t need to think about what he was doing – instincts could take over. The mark of a seasoned veteran. The two technicians flanking him at the sensor and communications stations were rather less experienced, and while the quality of their work didn’t seem to be suffering, the look on their faces told him everything he needed to know.
The helmsman was an interesting mix of the two. Every sub-lieutenant on the station and on Wyvern had volunteered for the mission, and Cunningham had cherry-picked Kelso from the mix; a veteran
entering his second term at the rank, which would normally lead to some questions of competence, but a little quiet investigation had revealed that he had suffered from bad luck in his recent assignments. Perhaps this would give him a chance to shine.
A smile crept across Logan’s face as he watched the crew work. While nominally he was on the books as Mission Commander, in reality he was in the position he preferred – able to sit back and observe, to watch what took place and make his own interpretations. He could command, but never relished it. He was happiest when working alone, or with a partner he trusted. Not that there were many of them left.
The door opened, and Harper stepped out onto the bridge, tossing him a wink. Her duty station was comfortably below decks, but she’d obviously decided that she could be of more use on the bridge. That, or she’d got bored; Cunningham, with previous experience of her unconventional approach to military discipline, had insisted on bringing along a by-the-books security technician, over Logan’s objections.
“One minute to egress,” Cunningham said. “How are we doing, Ryder?”
“All stations except life-support and medical are ready. I’m chasing them.”
“I’ll have some words with the respective Petty Officers later.”
The last lights reluctantly winked green, and Ryder said, “All decks cleared for action, sir.”
“Good. Stand-by, everyone. Don’t be too quick on the trigger, Davis. This is still nominally a first contact situation.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Instant reports when we get into the system, Fox,” he said to the sensor technician. “Full read-out on anything within threat range, then start a full electromagnetic sweep.”
“I’ve already got it set up, Captain.”
“Good. Brace yourselves, everyone. We don’t know what to expect.”
Logan moved to stand behind the command chair, his eyes fixed on the viewscreen. The last few seconds counted down, and the familiar blue flash swept them back into their own dimension, a dim brown star centered on the display. Warning alerts sounded within a few seconds, and a red-faced Fox turned to face Cunningham.
“Multiple threat warnings, all vectors, with energy spikes everywhere! I’ve got positive tracks on a dozen missiles!”
“Evasive, Kelso. Random walk. Dixon, start punching out signals to anyone who will listen, tell them that we are neutral.”
“It’s a trap!” Davis said, slamming controls home to deploy electronic countermeasures.
Shaking his head, Logan replied, “They had no way of knowing we would be here.” Gesturing at the tactical display, he continued, “There are two distinct styles of ship. I’d say that we’ve jumped into the middle of a battle.”
“Right now the effect is the same,” Cunningham said. “Kelso, try and get us the hell out of here. Clear of the combat area. Any direction, we’ll work out a better course later.”
“Aye, sir. Coming about, stepping up to maximum acceleration.”
“We’ve got a missile on our tail,” Fox said. “Locked on and homing, impact twenty-one seconds, bearing directly!”
“Just launched?” Logan asked.
“No, sir. Already in flight.”
“Countermeasures are having no effect,” Davis replied. “Can I fire a missile?”
“Do what you have to, Sub-Lieutenant,” Cunningham replied. Logan moved over to the display, trying to switch off the disturbance of the battle all around him and focus on the area. Two ship design types, one modular, one spherical, and the former were decidedly outnumbered. The spheres seemed to be concentrating on a target close to the hendecaspace point, some sort of stationary object. As he watched, a wing of the spheres changed course, moving to follow the Buchanan.
“John…,” he began, but Cunningham looked up at him.
“I see them, Logan. Dixon, have we got anyone yet?”
“Lots of jamming, sir. Want me to try anyone in particular?”
“Try the planet,” Logan suggested. “Less likely that there’ll be affected.”
“There’s a big station in low orbit, sir,” Fox offered.
Kelso took the ship into a long, low dive, and to their rear, Davis’ missile found its target, sending pieces of shrapnel to add to the already confused display. The spheres were lining up in obvious attack runs, now within normal firing range. Harper had taken over the standby console, running a series of security checks, sending out some hacking probes; she looked up in disgust.
“I don’t know what sort of a mess they call a computer system, but I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“Can you hack it?”
“Give me a while, and I might,” she replied. “Not in time to do any good today, though.”
“Two more energy spikes, close astern,” Fox said.
“Time to impact?”
“Sixty-three seconds. Moving more slowly than our missiles; I’m working on a tactical profile.”
“Sir,” Davis said, turning from her station, “Am I clear to engage the enemy? From what I can see we’re not going to be able to outrun them.”
“Agreed,” Kelso said. “If anything, they’re gaining on us a little.”
Logan looked down at Cunningham, and said, “Do what you have to. I’ll accept the responsibility.”
“For starting a war?” Ryder said.
Cunningham locked eyes with Logan for a second, nodded, and replied, “They’re the ones who have just decided to attack us out of the blue. Davis, knock those missiles down any way you can, then fire a salvo at the lead sphere. Try and shoot to disable.”
“Aye, Captain,” she said, tapping a control and sending two missiles spiraling behind them, heading for the approaching ships. She frantically worked controls, reloading the tubes while the fabricators struggled to piece together replacements for their expended ordinance, keeping pace with the flow of the battle.
“Captain, I have a message from the planet. In English,” Dixon said, a triumphant grin on his face.
“Interesting,” Logan said.
“You handle it, Logan,” Cunningham said. “I’m a little busy at the moment.”
Nodding, he walked over to the communications station and picked up a headset, looking at the image that appeared in the overhead monitor. A tall, bald man, with prominent cheekbones wearing a thin golden band around his head, appeared on the display.
“My name is Tolxac. I presume you are from the Triplanetary Fleet.”
“Lieutenant-Captain Logan Winter, and yes.”
“Is this all the military might you could spare?”
“That’s a long story. You are flying the modular ships?”
“Indeed. The spheres are our mutual enemy. I will notify our vessels that we are on the same side. We were on the point of withdrawal to our orbital defense line; I suggest that you help cover the retreat.”
Logan paused for a moment, realizing that this was committing them to one side in the war. On the other hand, the spheres had attacked them, and the planet must have had contact with the Dumont, meaning that the late Lieutenant Curry might have made this decision already.
Turning to Kelso, he said, “Turn us to bring us closer to the modular fleet. Full speed. Try and co-ordinate some sort of defensive formation.”
The helmsman looked up at Cunningham, who nodded, then said, “Aye, sir.”
“Few of our spacemen can speak your language, Captain,” Tolxac said, “so any communications will have to go through me, for the present. I will arrange for our Flotilla Leader to follow your ship’s lead.”
The Buchanan banked as Kelso turned her around, her engines beginning to slow her relative to their pursuers, buying time for a longer pass. While the first salvo raced towards the incoming missiles, Davis raced to ready the tubes for a second shot, scanning the sensor images in an attempt to identify any vulnerabl
e spots that would not simply destroy their ship.
Cunningham looked up at Logan, still frowning, and said, “Are we sure about this?”
“Do we have a choice? At least Tolxac’s people aren’t shooting at us. I just wish we’d manage to get hold of some of Dumont’s log entries.”
The helmsman was an artist, smiling as he played the thrusters around to keep the ship in its random walk pattern. Evidently Davis was faster on the draw than her foes, a missile diving towards each of them, sending them spiraling away in the strangest evasion sequence Logan had ever seen.
“Harper, monitor those missiles. They’ll try to hack them,” Cunningham said.
“Not much chance of that,” she replied. “I can’t even read the gibberish they’re calling a programming language. What chance could they have?”
“Do it anyway, Spaceman,” he ordered.
Shaking her head, she tapped a sequence of controls on the console, and frowned as she skimmed the readouts. Her brow furrowed as she continued to dig, and Logan broke his attention away from the tactical display for a moment to take a look.
“Is that showing what I think it is?” he asked.
“They aren’t even trying. No attempt at all.”
“Physical countermeasures launching, sir,” Fox said. “Some sort of chaff, I think. It’s working with some of the other missiles in flight.”
“Chaff? That’s a bit of a last resort, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps here the last resort is the first response. We need a good look at their technology, but I have the distinct impression that we might be flying one of the more powerful ships in the system, at least from a software point of view,” Logan said.
“A lot of good that does us with incompatible software,” Harper replied.
The spheres turned again, each unleashing a single missile, obviously attempting to target the Buchanan’s salvo. Taking advantage of the distraction, Kelso swung the ship around again, taking it back towards its original course, regaining the speed he had shed in a bid to drive towards the planet. Most of the modular fleet was running, a few remaining in what was obviously a desperate last stand.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Ghost Ship Page 6