by Allen Steele
“Oh, god, no.” Jonas grabbed a handrail. “Magellan, stand down! I repeat, stand down!”
“Gatehouse, this is Drake.” Ana’s voice again. “Magellan refuses to acknowledge that the situation has been resolved. They’re moving in.”
A new display on the screen: a schematic of the relative positions of the Drake, the Magellan, and the Gatehouse. The Drake was parked five miles from the Gatehouse; the Magellan was nine miles away, but rapidly closing in. Carlos grabbed the back of a chair to steady himself. “Ana, it’s over! They’ve given up!”
“I understand. I…” A pause. “The EA is assuming military control of the starbridge. Magellan’s captain says that he wants all personnel…both station crew and unauthorized parties…to surrender immediately and allow a boarding party.”
Carlos gripped the seatback. “Ana, they can’t do this. They don’t have the—”
“Mr. President, the captain says that if you don’t comply, the Magellan will be forced to take drastic measures.” Ana’s voice was terse. “Stand by. Drake out.”
A sharp click, and then he heard nothing but static.
EASS DRAKE / 2305
“Captain Tereshkova, have you relayed our message to the Gatehouse?”
Ana studied the image of the Magellan’s commanding officer, displayed on a miniature screen on her lapboard. Gabriel Pacino had changed since the last time she’d seen him; besides the fact that there were now captain’s bars on the shoulders of his tunic, he’d cultivated a thin mustache, and there was a hint of grey at his temples. Promotion seemed to suit him well; now that he had his own ship, he’d become more self-confident than when he’d been her first officer aboard the Columbus.
“I have, Captain Pacino,” she replied, her tone equally as formal, “and I’m awaiting their response. But as I’ve told you, President Montero—”
“Former President Montero, you mean.”
“President Montero is aboard the Gatehouse. He was brought there to negotiate a settlement. And, as I’ve also told you, he’s reached an agreement with the perpetrators. No one aboard has been harmed, and the station is intact. There’s no need to…”
“Captain, my orders are clear. Assume control of the starbridge and take everyone aboard into custody, pending investigation of this incident.” Pacino sat stiffly in his chair. Magellan’s bridge was identical to the Drake’s; the effect was akin to looking into a mirror, only to find someone else gazing back at you. “Your responsibility is to assist my ship with the completion of these orders.”
“I’ve received no such instructions, Captain, and I insist that this affair has been peacefully resolved. There’s no need to—”
“Ana, please.” Pacino gave a rueful smile as he attempted to appeal to her through familiarity. “This is no affair, as you put it, but a major incident. One of the hijackers is Jonathan Parson…I shouldn’t have to remind you that he deserted his command. Another is the former president’s own daughter. Yet another is a savant, Manuel Castro.”
“I’m aware of their identities. You’ve got a point?”
Pacino raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious? Local control of the starbridge isn’t in our best interests. The colonists can’t be trusted. If they allow…” He shook his head. “Look, they’ve left us with no choice. We need to take control of the starbridge, at least temporarily, until this matter can be sorted out.”
“And if they refuse to let themselves be taken into custody?”
“Then we’ll forced to take drastic—”
“You said that already. What sort of measures?”
Pacino crossed his legs. “We’ve been authorized to use tactical weapons to take out the command center while leaving the rest of the station intact.” He paused. “I’m sorry, Captain. I’ve been given no other option.”
“I see.” Ana struggled to remain stoical. “I’ll relay this to the Gatehouse. Drake out.”
Her hand trembled as she switched off the comlink, and for a long moment she stared out the bridge windows. The Gatehouse hovered only a few kilometers away, a fragile cylinder that once made up the core section of the Columbus. She couldn’t see the Magellan, yet the navigation screen depicted its position as being six kilometers from the torus. If Pacino gave the order, his ship could open fire on the station within seconds.
She could assist the Magellan; indeed, that was what was expected of her. Or she could relay the ultimatum to the Gatehouse, then sit back and wait for events to unfold without any action on her part. Or…
“Captain?” D’Costa stepped closer to her. “What are your orders, ma’am?”
Damn it. I’m going to hell for this. She took a deep breath. “Mr. Rollins,” she said aloud, “reposition us between the Gatehouse and the Magellan. Ms. Jones, initiate emergency thrust.” She looked up at D’Costa. “Prepare for military engagement, please.”
D’Costa’s eyes widened, even as the helmsman and navigator turned to stare at her. “Captain, are you suggesting that we—?”
“It’s not a suggestion. Please do as I say.” Ana swiveled her seat around to face the rest of the bridge crew. They’d overheard her conversation with Pacino; as she expected, their faces registered shock. “Gentlemen, ladies,” she said, trying to remain as calm as possible, “this isn’t something I thought we’d ever have to do. The Magellan’s captain has been given orders that are unjustifiable, and it falls on us to protect unarmed civilians. I realize that I’m asking a lot from you. If anyone here wishes to be relieved of duty, now is the time.”
Uncertain looks flashed from one crewman to another. A moment passed, then the lieutenant at the weapons control station stood up and walked toward the hatch. Everyone else remained at their stations. It may have been out of loyalty to her, but she suspected that it went further than that. Like herself, many of her crew now lived on Coyote; they might be ESA officers, yet Earth was no longer their home. And they knew how much damage an Alliance takeover of the starbridge would cause to Coyote’s independence.
“Thank you,” she said. “Mister D’Costa, will you assume the weapons station, please?”
“Captain, I…” D’Costa sighed. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned to head for the vacant seat.
“Firing thrusters, Captain.” Jones’s hands tapped against her keypad, activating the auxiliary engines, then she pushed a pair of bars upward. Through the windows, Bear slowly moved away, and now the Gatehouse lay directly ahead. “ETA two minutes.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Ana punched up a tactical display on an overhead screen. The two ships were only a few klicks apart from one another, with the distance rapidly closing as Drake moved to protect the Gatehouse. By now, Pacino would have noticed that her ship was in motion. Any second now…
“Ma’am?” This from the com officer. “Transmission from the Magellan.”
“Vox only. Initiate com buffers.” There was a chance that Pacino might try to transmit a virus; the buffers would prevent that kind of electronic warfare. She prodded her headset mike. “Captain Pacino?”
“Ana, what are you doing? You’re repositioning the Drake.”
“Yes, I am.” She kept her voice even. “We’re putting ourselves between you and the Gatehouse. Do not attempt to fire upon it, or we’ll be forced to retaliate.”
A long pause. Ana almost wished she could see his face, but she was just as glad that she couldn’t. Although she and Gabriel had once enjoyed a brief affair, that had ended a long time ago; it gave her no pleasure to treat him as a possible adversary.
“Ana, don’t do this.” Pacino’s voice was almost pleading. “It’s not worth…”
“You’ve been warned, Captain. Any further action on your part will be considered hostile. Drake out.” She cut the channel, the glanced back at the com officer. “Any attempt to hotwire us, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, ma’am. Buffers registered a subroutine piggybacked to that last transmission. It’s been spiked.”
“Good work.” So Pacino was preparing fo
r battle. Time for her to do so as well. Ana flipped a couple of switches; lights within the ceiling panels flashed to amber and a klaxon howled twice as she activated the intercom. “General quarters,” she said. “All hands to battle stations. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill.”
All around, seat harnesses clicked as hands swept across panels. The window shutters closed, and a glance at a status panel told her the compartment hatches were being sealed. Drake was not a warship, but nonetheless its crew had been trained for combat situations. The time to question or debate the wisdom of her actions had ended; now they could only hope for the best and prepare for the worst.
“Ms. Fleming, cut MC field,” she said.
“Aye, Captain.” The life support officer hit a couple of switches. The klaxon blared again, warning everyone aboard the Millis-Clement was about to be disengaged. A couple of seconds passed, then she felt her body drift upward from her seat. Ana swore at herself as she grabbed the lapboard, then she hastily buckled her harness. She’d been so distracted, she’d neglected to…
“Approaching Gatehouse, Captain,” Rollins said. “Bearing x-ray five-point-two, yankee minus oh-nine-point four, zulu oh-niner point oh-five, distance two point two kilometers.”
Ana glanced up at the tactical display. The Drake was between the Gatehouse and the Magellan. “Ms. Jones, match orbit with the Gatehouse and hold position, then turn our bow toward the Magellan.” She turned to the weapons station. “Mr. D’Costa, arm torpedoes and open weapons bays.”
“Yes, ma’am.” All trace of reluctance had vanished; her first officer knew his job. “Targeting solution?”
“Drive nacelles only.” With luck, she might be able to demobilize Magellan only, and cause the minimal loss of life.
“Magellan closing in.” D’Costa’s voice was tight. “Range three-point-two klicks, velocity—”
“Signal from the Gatehouse, Captain.”
“Not now, Lieutenant.” Ana tapped at her keypad, gazed up at one of the overhead screens. An external camera caught an image of the Magellan: bow-first, heading directly toward her ship. She gently slid a fingertip across a trackpad, and the image zoomed to maximum focus. Dark areas along the ship’s forward section showed her what she expected: Magellan’s torpedo doors had opened wide.
“Magellan has acquired us,” D’Costa said. “They’re locked on, preparing to fire.”
“Ms. Jones, bring deflector array to maximum intensity.” Drake’s outer hull wasn’t thick enough to withstand a direct hit, yet its electromagnetic deflectors, designed mainly to ward off interstellar dust, might foul a torpedo’s internal guidance system enough to cause it to miss its mark. Or so she hoped.
“Captain, President Montero wants to speak to you. He says it’s urgent.”
Damn it! “Put him through, Lieutenant,” she snapped, then she impatiently slapped her mike. “Mr. President, this is a really bad time.”
“Ana, stop! You don’t have to do this!”
“Sorry, but we’re past that.” She looked at her first officer again. “Mr. D’Costa, on my mark.”
“Shut up and listen! There’s another way!”
D’Costa’s hand hovered above his board. His eyes were upon the screens, waiting to see if the Magellan would fire the first shot, yet for a moment they flickered in Ana’s direction. A faint nod. Ana hesitated, then nodded back.
“I’m listening,” she said. “Make it quick.”
STARBRIDGE COYOTE / 2312
“Government House online.” Jonas looked over his shoulder from the com panel. “You’re on, Mr. President.”
Grasping a ceiling rail, Carlos peered out the windows. He didn’t need to check the traffic control screen to see where the Alliance ships were positioned. Drake hovered nearby, its stern turned toward the Gatehouse; several kilometers farther away was Magellan, visible by its formation lights. In the far distance he could make out the starbridge, a small silver ring floating among the stars. A stand-off in space. His hand trembled as he touched his headset mike. God, I hope this works…
“Wendy, do you copy?” he asked.
A slight pause, caused by the two-second delay in transmission between the Gatehouse and Coyote. “I’m here. So is Dieter. Would you like to speak to him?”
“Just a moment.” Carlos cupped his hand around the mike, turned to Jonas. “Are the Drake and the Magellan patched in?” Jonas nodded, and Carlos released his mike again. “Ambassador Vogel, thank you for being here.”
Another pause, then Vogel came online. “You’re welcome, but I doubt anything you say will change the situation.” His voice was tight, lacking the affability that had marked their earlier conversations. “My government requested that you turn the hijackers over to us and relinquish control of the Gatehouse. You’ve refused to do so. That leads us to believe that the Coyote Federation doesn’t intend to abide by the terms of its treaty.”
“We do, Ambassador,” Carlos replied, “but I ask…I insist…that the Coyote Federation treat this as an internal affair. The treaty clearly states the starbridge and the Gatehouse fall under our jurisdiction, not the Alliance’s. The EA has no right to assume control of the starbridge. I assume that my wife…that is, President Gunther…has explained this to you.”
Two seconds went past. “She has. With all due respect, we disagree on our interpretation of the treaty.” A momentary pause. “Mr. President, this is a minor incident. There’s no reason why it should be exacerbated. The Gatehouse crew isn’t at fault, so I have no doubt they’ll be released promptly. And I assure you that the participants will be treated fairly.”
“And the starbridge? How long do you intend to control it?”
The next pause was longer than before. Carlos could easily imagine the scene in the Government House communications room: Wendy and Dieter, arguing the finer points of the treaty, while aides and staff members nervously lingered nearby. Carlos took advantage of the delay to cup his hand over the mike. “You got a camera on the Drake?” he asked Castro.
The Savant pointed to a screen above his head. Carlos looked up, saw a close-up view of the EA starship. “Good. What about the port?” Castro pointed to another screen. Here was an image taken from a camera mounted on the starbridge: formation lights showing the two ships, the Gatehouse behind them, with Bear providing the backdrop. “Excellent. Keep it steady. We’ll need—”
“President Montero, I’ve told President Gunther that we’ll retain control of the starbridge only so long as we need to assure that nothing like this will happen again.” Dieter’s voice was terse, his promise unconvincing. “But we cannot allow something like this to—”
Wendy broke in: “Carlos, do whatever you have to do. We’ll stand by you.”
“Thank you.” Carlos waited a second, then went on. “Ambassador Vogel…and Captain Pacino and Captain Tereshkova, too, since I’ve been assured that you’re listening…I agree that this incident shouldn’t cause a breakdown between our respective governments. However, neither should it become a pretext for the Alliance to gain control of the sole means of access between Coyote and Earth. We’ve fought too hard for our independence to sacrifice it now, so there’s little else that we can do but prove our sincerity.” He paused. “We’re transmitting images from the Gatehouse and the starbridge. I assume you see them, yes?”
A couple of seconds passed. “We see them, Mr. President,” Vogel said, “but what—?”
“Captain Tereshkova, are your weapons locked on the starbridge?”
Ana’s voice immediately came over the channel: “Yes, Mr. President, they are.”
“Fire.”
A brief spark from Drake’s starboard side. Carlos glanced up at the screens to see a tiny lozenge sprint away from the starship, its engine flaring as it hurtled toward the starbridge.
“Ana!” Pacino shouted. “What the hell are you—?”
“Stand down, Magellan!” Carlos snapped. “Drake, if they fire on you…”
“Understood, Mr
. President.”
He stared at the screens. Six…five…
“Captain Tereshkova!” Vogel was on the verge of panic. “Are you out of your—?”
“Shut up, Dieter!” Carlos felt a hand against his shoulder. Looking around, he found Susan standing beside him. Four…three…
Pacino: “Weapons control! On my mark!”
He wrapped an arm around his daughter, drew her close. Two…one…
On the screens, a bright flash as the torpedo detonated a kilometer from the ring. There was no sound, of course, yet Carlos could have almost sworn he heard the blast. Looking down from the screens to the windows, he caught sight of a brief, orange-red splotch, appearing less than a finger’s length from the starbridge.
“Carlos!” Wendy’s voice in his headset. “What are you doing?”
“Just a sec.” He silenced his mike again. Releasing Susan, he turned to Jonas. “Status?”
“No major damage, so far as I can tell.” Jonas was bent over the console, closely studying the ring’s sensors. “Fragmentation dispersed widely enough that it didn’t damage the torus. We may have to replace an antenna or two, but otherwise…”
“Good.” Carlos sighed with relief, then unclasped his mike again. “Ambassador, you saw what happened. If the torpedo hadn’t been detonated prematurely, it would’ve destroyed the starbridge. As it is…”
“Captain Tereshkova, this is Ambassador Vogel.” His voice quaked with barely suppressed rage. “You’re to cease-fire and surrender immediately to the—”
“With all due respect, sir, we refuse.” Ana’s voice was eerily calm. “This vessel is no longer under command of the European Alliance.”
“Ana, don’t do this.” Pacino again. “We’ve got our weapons locked on you. If you don’t surrender…”
“Captain, we have a second torpedo locked on the starbridge. Fire on us, and you and your crew won’t go home again.”