“It isn't,” Mortimer said.
“Or the whole thing was staged.” He paused, frowned, and mused, “They'd know roughly when to expect Alamo to arrive. At least, they could take an educated guess. If the Captain is running a high-speed survey, that's five days in each system, and five days transit time. Captain We...”
“Mick.”
“Mick, did they try another one of those attacks ten days ago?”
Nodding, Webster replied, “Yes.”
“Meaning that they thought Alamo might show up then.” At Mortimer's doubtful expression, Clarke continued, “And they set things up to make it look like Salyut Station was still free. A place Alamo could use as a base, a means to feed in false intelligence...”
“And as a trap,” Mortimer said. “If that's true, they've kept Major Pastell out of the loop.”
“You think Colonel Cruz would pass everything onto him? You said yourself that she'd taken personal command of all ground operations, and if she and General Estrada have decided to stop trusting him, then how much would Pastell be told?”
Mortimer's eyes widened, and she replied, “They'll try and kill him. They'd have no choice. I've got...”
“Forgive me for not being too concerned about the death of one of Waldheim's top personnel,” Webster replied. “What are you driving at.”
“Alamo thinks that it's going to a summit meeting. They're heading into a trap. And if we can't find a way to warn them, then Waldheim will be able to launch a surprise attack.”
“You saw the damage reports,” Mortimer replied. “Waldheim took some pretty heavy knocks during that battle, and...”
“And didn't do much in return, did it? If those readings are right, then the primary damage was to their communications array. I'm going to guess that was precisely the intention, in order to cut the ship off from any contact.” He paused, then added, “We could still punch through to them, but we'd need something substantial to do it. A major installation. There must be somewhere on the surface we could use.”
Frowning, Webster replied, “There's a meteorological station about forty miles from here, towards the Luna Hills. That's about the only transmitter I can think of within reasonable range.” Shaking his head, he replied, “It's heavily guarded, and they've set up some defensive works that would make an attack problematic at best.” Rubbing his cheek, he added, “I learned the hard way that machine guns against plasma weapons is a bad idea.”
“We don't know that Alamo is heading into a trap,” Avdonin said, walking over. “It could be that...”
“And we don't know that they aren't, either, and we don't dare take the risk.” Gesturing at the datapad, Clarke said, “The only realistic way you've got of freeing your planet is to help us save Alamo, right now. Without the resources on that ship, you're all as good as dead. Not conquered, dead. Waldheim won't be staying forever, and they won't want to leave a civilized planet behind that might prove to be a threat to future access in this system. If you are very lucky, they'll only burn Cosmograd to the ground and install a garrison. More likely they'll simply throw some missiles down from orbit, kill the bulk of the population and leave the rest of you grubbing in radioactive rubble. Is that what you want? Is it?”
“I've got a responsibility to my people,” Webster barked in reply. “Look around, kid. This is all that's left of our forces. A couple of dozen people, with barely a weapon each. Limited ammunition. We might have enough strength to make a single push, but the odds are that your mission would fail.”
“I'm not talking about a bayonet charge, for God's sake!” Clarke replied. “We scout ahead, we look at the terrain, we find a weak spot, and we launch an attack. We don't even have to hold the station for more than a matter of minutes, anyway. Just long enough for me to punch a signal through to Alamo and warn them of the danger they're facing. Then we can disappear into the shadows again, and work out where to go next.”
“He's right,” Mortimer said. “How much progress have you made by yourselves?”
“We've assembled the beginnings of a resistance force,” Avdonin replied.
“And just what were you planning to do with it?” Clarke pressed. “Sit around a table and play cards all day? If you're going to free your planet, then you're going to have to launch an attack, sooner or later. You can wait out in the forest for the rest of your lives, but if you do, then the people you claim to be responsible for, the people you are fighting to free, will die by the hundreds, by the thousands, while you wait for a day that will never come. The chance to free yourselves is now. Or not at all. And you've got to choose.”
“Wait just a damned minute,” Avdonin said. “How do we know that this isn't a trap? That you aren't luring us into an ambush?”
“Explain Alamo's actions, Lieutenant,” Mortimer said. Turning to Clarke, she continued, “We don't need them, John.”
Raising an eyebrow, Clarke nodded, then said, “Give us two rifles, some ammunition, and directions. We'll find our own way there.”
“No,” Webster said, shaking his head. “We know the valleys, the passes, the forests. You'd spend days where we would take hours. I'll lead you myself. I think I can still manage the trip. Lieutenant, you'll be in charge while we're gone.”
“Understood,” Avdonin said, glowering at Clarke.
“We'll take five men, enough to provide fire support. I can't spare any more than that.”
“It'll do,” Clarke replied. “We'd better...”
“Have something to eat, first. We're going to be on the trail for eighteen hours at least if we're going to send that signal before Alamo runs into trouble. You're not going to get anywhere on an empty stomach.” Walking over to Avdonin, Webster said, “We'll leave in fifteen minutes.” He walked off with his subordinate, and another of the rebels came over with two bowls of steaming broth and a bottle of water, placing them on the vacated chair before leaving the room.
“Thanks,” Mortimer said, taking a swig of the hot liquid. “Nice to have real food for once.”
“Corporal,” Clarke said, frowning, “You've changed sides pretty quickly.”
“Have I?” she replied. “Sam's dead if Cruz springs her trap. A success like that will propel her into command. I'm guessing she's forcing Estrada to go along with it based on that. If she fails, though, then whether or not Alamo smashes Waldheim, she'll lose enough face that Sam will be able to oust her.” She shrugged, took another sip, then said, “Crazy, I know. But the way I figure it, the only chance I've got is to help you take out one of our installations.”
“Just to make it clear...”
“You'll be letting me take the lead, and have your rifle at the ready the whole time in case I decide to do something stupid. I'd do the same in your place. Now have some of the soup before it gets cold. We've got a long walk.”
Chapter 11
Marshall stepped onto the waiting transfer shuttle, Midshipman Siegel saluting as he climbed on board, ducking through the hatch. Inside, Foster and Carpenter were waiting, looking over a datapad, while he made his way to the cockpit. On paper, Siegel was his pilot, but he wasn't about to pass up the chance to log some flight time.
“Marshall to Salazar,” he said, settling into the pilot's couch. “Requesting permission to launch.”
“You have clearance, Captain,” Salazar said.
“Alamo's yours until I get back, Pavel. Take good care of her.”
“Don't worry. I'll fill up the tank and check the paintwork before I give you back the keys. Have a good flight, sir, and good luck.”
“And to you.” Marshall threw a switch, and the transfer shuttle dropped through the elevator airlock while he completed the pre-flight checklist. The craft was tossed clear of the ship as its engine fired, hurling toward the waiting shuttle, out in the void. Glancing back at Alamo, he took one last look at the sleek lines of his ship, admiring it in the gleaming
sunlight, before turning back to the task at hand.
“Marshall to Lombardo,” he said.
“I'm here, sir. We've finished our sweep of the shuttle, and I can confirm that there are no explosive, tracking or other devices on board. She's clean, sir. We're packed up and ready to board the transfer shuttle on your arrival.” He paused, then added, “You also have clearance all the way to Gagarin base through the perimeter.”
“Roger, Sub-Lieutenant, and thank you.” Turning back in his chair, he asked, “You three all set back there?”
“Ready to go, sir,” Foster said. “Susan and I have prepared a list of data topics to discuss. It'll be interesting to see what they've uncovered on the surface. Though I suspect they're going to get more out of this deal than we will.”
“What makes you say that?”
“If they'd found an easy way home,” Carpenter replied, “They'd have left the system already. I think they're fishing, sir.” Turning to Foster, she added, “Still if we can leave this system in one piece, it'll be worth it. I've made sure that we haven't included anything they couldn't have already found out the hard way. And Kris rigged it with a dead man's switch. If it doesn't remain within five feet of me, all the data gets wiped automatically. Or if my vital signs stop.”
“We're all hoping that doesn't happen, sir,” Foster added.
Nodding, Marshall said, “Don't volunteer anything, and watch for any sign of trouble or deception. Don't be afraid to speak out and call them on a point. We're not diplomats, and neither are they.” With a wry smile, he added, “Which probably significantly increases our chance of getting something out of this meeting.”
Turning back to the controls, he looked over the shuttle as he approached, a long, cylindrical vehicle with retractable wings. Alamo had four different types of small craft aboard, not counting the fighters, but the United Nations had gone for an all-purpose design. Which meant that it could do anything, but not particularly well. He'd have been happier on one of his own ships.
“Interesting,” Foster said. “I've run the serial numbers, sir, and the vehicle we're approaching is eight years old. That's about the duration of her design life. Looks like they've given us the oldest buggy on the lot.”
“Doesn't mean anything,” Carpenter replied. “They're probably as worried about some sort of trap as we are. Or it's a calculated insult. We'd have likely done the same thing in their place.”
“I'd like to think we're above that sort of thing,” Marshall said, “but I think you're right. Still, if Lombardo says that the ship is clean, I'm willing to trust his judgment. Nevertheless, make a full check of all systems as soon as we board.” Glancing at his sensor panel, he added, “Estrada's ship is on the way. Should be docking at about the same time. Just as expected.”
Carefully, he brought the shuttle into final approach, the docking clamps sliding into position as the two craft locked together, airlocks quickly cycling to equalize the pressure. Rising to his feet, kicking out of the couch, he drifted towards the hatch as it opened, Lombardo drifting in.
“All systems go, sir. The General's craft is on final approach,” the engineer said.
“Thanks, Sub-Lieutenant.” Gesturing at the cockpit panel, he added, “She's all ready to take you home. Safe flight.”
“Good luck, sir,” he said, and he and his team drifted past Marshall, taking their positions in the cabin. With one last look around, Marshall led the way into the shuttle, just in time to hear a loud report from the lateral hatch, Estrada's shuttle locking into place underneath them.
Moving to the control panel, Siegel said, “All green, sir. No problems. Security scan green.”
“You've reviewed the flight path to Gagarin Station?”
“I have, sir. Everything looks fine.”
“Take it nice and slow, Midshipman. No risks. We've got all the time we need.”
The second hatch slid open, and Estrada pushed up into the cabin, followed by a sullen Cruz. The two docking ports closed, and both shuttles detached, leaving them alone inside. Wordlessly, Cruz moved to a passenger couch at the rear, while Estrada glanced back at her, obviously embarrassed.
“My apologies, Captain,” he said, quietly.
“I'm slightly surprised,” Marshall replied. “I'd have assumed you'd leave your second-in-command in charge while you were away.” Looking at the sulking Cruz, he added, “Though I suppose it makes sense, now I come to think about it.”
“Ready to go, sir,” Siegel said, turning from the controls.
“Proceed at your discretion, Midshipman. Have you made contact with the fighter force on the surface?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “We're clear all the way through. No sign of unexpected contacts.”
“Very good,” Marshall said, taking a seat. Estrada sat down next to him, glancing out of the viewport.
“I suppose there's no reason to wait for us to land before starting our talks,” he said. “Certainly there will be a lot of details to work out, but for the present, I'd like to establish at least a starting point to work from.” Folding his hands together, he said, “Naturally you would never accept a combined command, and neither would I. I think having our two ships working closely together simply wouldn't work.”
“I agree,” Marshall said. “Lieutenant Foster has suggested that we work out a two-path search pattern, and arrange for meetings on a regular basis to exchange information. We don't even need to come within a million miles of each other, and can use different hendecaspace points to travel. At least we'll be able to cover the territory a lot more quickly, and if one of us finds the way home, then they'll be able to pass the information to the other ship.”
Nodding, Estrada replied, “And how do we know that all the information will be exchanged? Are you proposing an exchange of senior officers? Perhaps Colonel Cruz in exchange for Lieutenant Foster?”
Cruz looked daggers at her commanding officer, and Marshall replied, “With all due respect, I think that we would both have an extremely difficult time finding volunteers for that sort of duty. In any event, I don't believe it necessary. Ultimately, if one ship finds the way home and disappears without passing on the information to the other, then the remaining vessel will have a finite number of systems to search, as long as we exchange flight path data regularly. I'm certain that our scientific teams can come up with some data to check, something to help verify the information passed on.”
“I suspect they well,” Estrada replied. “Almost a month,” he continued, looking out at the stars, “and I'm still struggling to get used to this. My scientific team has identified more than a dozen potential sites for exploration, stars of a type we simply don't find back home. Even that of the world you named Dante, a rare type indeed. We could be learning so much.” He sighed, then said, “Though I suppose we must deal with the baggage we brought with us first.”
“Unfortunately, I agree.” The shuttle skimmed through the asteroids, the base spreading out below them, and Marshall continued, “As for the planet...”
“I don't see what role the settlers need play in these talks,” Cruz said. “They can come to terms with us themselves. We'll be leaving soon enough.”
“Having destroyed their space-based infrastructure, and killed dozens of people,” Marshall said. “At the very least, I'm going to need guarantees that no permanent garrison will be installed, and some form of compensation for the damage they've sustained. And for the families of those who lost their lives.”
“And if the locals want to join the United Nations, become a Trust Territory?” she asked.
Rolling his eyes, Marshall replied, “You don't really expect me to believe that they would request that, do you? Even if you did find some local puppet to dance to your tune, they'd never receive the support of the general population. For that matter, I could offer them membership in the Confederation, and it would mean about us much.
Our governments are four million light-years away. Dozens of generations distant. What do you think you can offer?”
Shaking his head, Estrada replied, “Should we make it home, the strategic importance of this system will be magnified beyond all comprehension. My government would certainly act to protect its interests, and I suspect yours would as well. It would be bitterly ironic if we should come to some sort of agreement today, only to bring about a war as soon as we return. Whatever form of agreement we make must be something that our governments can live with.”
“Far more important is to come to an understanding that the local population can live with,” Marshall pressed. “Ultimately, it is their world.”
“At present,” Cruz replied, “it is ours, and we are in a position to keep it that way. Suppose we never do find a way to get home? That little world could be a valuable haven for our crew, and the heart of a new civilization in this alien galaxy. One that naturally will be led by us.”
“And why do you say that?” Foster asked.
“There are more of us than there are of you, and we have the bigger ship,” Cruz replied, bluntly. “Once look at the tactical situation should convince even you of that, Lieutenant. Though I suppose we'd be able to offer you citizenship of our new nation, should you wish.”
“This is getting us nowhere,” Estrada said. “Captain, can we table discussion of the fate of the planet for the moment? I think that we might be able to establish some sort of a deal for mutual cooperation, but...”
“She's in charge down there,” Foster said, “and is reluctant to give it up. That much is obvious. If you think that we're simply going to sit up here and watch while you...”
“Lieutenant, that's enough,” Marshall said.
“In the United Nations Fleet, we keep subordinates under far better control,” Cruz said.
“Evidently not,” Marshall replied, glaring at Estrada. “The planet must remain on the table.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Spell of the Stars Page 10