Nothing he did seemed to have any effect, and he could feel his hand slipping, the force of the acceleration almost too much for him. Finally, with one last, great effort, he snatched away at a cluster of cables, dangerously close to the relay, and the shuttle's engine lurched to a halt, the unexpected cessation of acceleration sending him flying from the handhold, swinging ahead of the shuttle into endless space.
“Clarke to Alamo. Shuttle immobilized.”
“Roger, Midshipman. A rescue craft is on the way to free the passengers, and will come to pick you up in a few moments. Are you in any immediate danger?”
“No, sir.”
“That's going to change as soon as you get on board, Midshipman. My office, on landing.”
He gulped, and said, “You never identified yourself, sir.”
At last there was a trace of humor in the back of his voice, as the man identified himself.
“Fleet Captain Daniel Marshall, Midshipman. I suppose it is possible you may have heard of me, but I've got the extreme misfortune to be your new commanding officer. Alamo out.”
Clarke closed his eyes, shaking his head, hoping that this would turn out to be nothing more than a bad dream. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to make himself wake up. As he drifted through the stars, he looked back at the shuttle, the distance increasing by the second, and sighed. Somehow, getting rescued had lost its appeal.
Chapter 3
Alamo's Systems Officer, the white-haired Senior Lieutenant Leo Dubois, stood in front of the desk, turning his datapad in his hands as Marshall browsed through the report on the shuttle.
“How confident are you in this analysis?” Marshall asked.
“Not as much as I would like,” Dubois replied in his precise, clipped accent. “I still believe that pilot error is the most probable cause of the accident, but I am unable to rule out sabotage.” He paused, then added, “That pod had only completed a maintenance cycle a week ago, and I spoke to the lead technician myself. I know the man, served with him on Agamemnon. I trust his competence.”
Nodding, Marshall replied, “And your recommendation?”
“It'll be cheaper to make a new pod than repair it. I've already requested a replacement from Mariner Station, and it's on the way with the last of the new personnel.” He glanced down at his datapad, and said, “As regards disciplinary action, I confess that I would be reluctant to press any formal charges based on the limited evidence we have. In all honesty, the bulk of it is circumstantial. My personal suggestion would be to mandate a resit of the flight examination by Midshipman Clarke.”
Tapping the report on his desk, Marshall said, “Clarke passed out at the top of his class for shuttle training, just three weeks ago.” He paused, then added, “I presume he's waiting outside?”
“Yes, sir. Nervous as a kitten.”
With a thin smile, Marshall replied, “He'll have to remain on edge for a moment longer. Thank you for your quick work, Leo. I'll let you get back to Engineering.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “We're going to break orbit in ten minutes. Anything I need to know about?”
“As far as I'm concerned, sir, we're clear for departure on your command. I'll be monitoring the hendecaspace drive personally during the first transition, just in case there are any unexpected surprises, but I don't anticipate any problems.”
“Let's hope it stays that way. Dismissed.” As the engineer left the room, Marshall reached for a control on his desk, and tried to recall the name of the new duty communications technician, one of the recent group of replacements. “Bowman, I want to place a call to Mariner Station. If I remember correctly, the Deputy Commandant of the Academy is out there on a cadet familiarization tour. I need to speak to him at once, top priority, and scrambled.”
“Scrambled, aye, sir. One moment.”
Another new face to get used to, one of a sea of strangers. He looked around the office, superficially similar to the one he'd had for his first tour on Alamo, but so many minor differences, little changes Orlova had made during her time in command. For the hundredth time, he made a mental note to order a new chair; he had six inches on her, and he still hadn't quite managed to get the comfort settings right.
“I have Captain Rees for you, sir. On scrambler, as requested.”
“Thank you, Spaceman,” Marshall said, tapping a control to call the image of the lecturer to his wall monitor. “Sorry to drag you away from your cadets, Jeff, but I've got a problem.”
“Let me guess,” he replied. “John Clarke.” Shaking his head, Rees said, “Danny, I'm afraid there isn't that much I can do to help you. The four middies I assigned you were from the top ten of the graduating class, the best and the brightest. Watch out for Koslowski. She'll be after your job before you know it.”
“I take it Clarke wasn't one of the ones you assigned.”
“Have you looked over his personnel file?”
“I'd love to, but most of it seems to be classified, aside from the notation that he's nineteen.” Pausing, he added, “Tell me how a nineteen year-old becomes a Midshipman.”
Shaking his head, Rees replied, “I would if I knew, Danny, but I don't. He's a bright enough boy, but that's all he is, at least at the moment. There was some trouble on his freshman cadet cruise, something about a secret mission. All I knew is that he went out as a plebe and came back a Midshipman, with a couple of decorations pinned to his chest. And instructions that come what may, he was to be assigned to Alamo for her next mission. I pushed it with Personnel, but all I got was the run-around, and something about security clearance.” He paused, then added, “I'm only cleared to Most Secret. Maybe you can find out something I don't know.”
“Maybe,” Marshall said with a sigh. “Sorry for bothering you.”
“Not a problem. Any time. And the rest of the kids I sent you should be fine once you knock the rough edges off. Imoto's one of the best helmsmen I've ever seen, and Doyle's a born gunner. You won't find any problems there.”
“I hope not. Thanks for the help, anyway. Hopefully we'll get a chance to catch up when we get back from our mission.”
“I'll have the drinks lined up in the O-Club. Oh, and congratulations on your demotion, by the way.”
With a chuckle, Marshall replied, “Thanks for that, Jeff. It is good to be back.”
“Well, have fun. But not too much.”
“Will do. Alamo out.”
As the screen faded, Marshall looked down at the datapad on his desk, scrolling through the limited report on Midshipman Clarke. The first few pages were conventional enough, describing a typical first-year career at the Academy, albeit that of one of the more promising students of the class. Then the cadet cruise, and suddenly the record faded to nothing.
He punched in his access code, and his eyes widened as scrolling text flashed onto the display, informing him that his clearance level was insufficient for the information he was requesting. Shaking his head, he looked up at the door, knowing that the young would-be officer was probably sitting through his own private hell, and decided to let him off the hook, at least to a degree.
“Lieutenant Doyle,” he said, paging the officer of the watch. “Please have Midshipman Clarke report to my office on the double.”
A heartbeat later, the door opened, and the pale-faced Clarke walked into the room, snapping to attention before his desk.
“Midshipman Clarke, reporting as ordered, sir.”
Looking up at the young man, Marshall frowned. He seemed barely old enough to shave, far less serve as an officer on a starship, but the little information suggested he was something special. The decorations listed on his file, ribbons he wasn't wearing on his chest, told him that much.
“Midshipman, I've had the initial report from Senior Lieutenant Dubois. It is his opinion that there is a strong chance that the accident with the shuttle was the result of pilot error. Wh
at is your judgment?”
Clarke's eyes widened, and he replied, “No, sir. I didn't make any mistakes. How could I? A flight of that distance didn't require any real flying. I did every step according to the manual.”
“Then your assessment?”
“Maintenance failure, sir. Either accidental or deliberate.”
“You're suggesting sabotage?”
“Yes, sir. I certainly think that the possibility shouldn't be ruled out.” He paused, then added, “I didn't do anything wrong, sir. The thrusters started to misfire, then the main engine. None of the control overrides worked. Technical Officer Blake and Lieutenant Doyle will vouch for me.”
Nodding, Marshall tapped a button, and said, “Lieutenant, could you step into the room for a moment? I need to consult you about the shuttle incident.”
Doyle walked into the office, clapped Clarke on the back, and said, “If you want, sir, I'll happily countersign the recommendation for his citation.”
“Citation?”
“For gallantry.” Shaking her head, she said, “I don't think I would have had the guts to go out on the hull like he did. Saved all three of our lives.”
“The report...”
Interrupting Marshall, she said, “Senior Lieutenant Dubois wasn't there, sir. Midshipman Clarke did everything possible to correct the situation, and he didn't make a wrong move at the controls.” She glanced across at Clarke, and added, “Don't take this personally, Midshipman, but I was watching you at the helm like a hawk. I've had bad experiences with rookie pilots before. You, however, I would gladly fly with any time.”
Holding up the datapad, Marshall replied, “The other alternative suggested in this report is sabotage, Lieutenant. What have you to say about that?”
Raising an eyebrow, she replied, “I'd want to have a strong word with whoever performed the last maintenance check, Captain. Especially regarding the control system relays. Didn't the investigation reveal any damage?”
“Not according to our inspection team.”
Frowning, she replied, “I find that hard to believe. Do you have any objection if I look into the matter myself? I know I'm just a humble biochemist, but I've taken some courses in shuttle maintenance.”
“Feel free, Lieutenant, though I intend to place Lieutenant Salazar in charge of the investigation. You can liaise with him.”
“Yes, sir.” She glanced at the clock, and said, “May I return to the bridge, Captain? Assuming we're going to be keeping our scheduled time of departure.”
“Of course, Lieutenant. Dismissed.”
Standing to attention, she turned and left the room, leaving Clarke standing alone at the opposite side of the desk. Marshall looked down at his datapad again, scanning through the report, then looked back up at the nervous youngster.
“Given the circumstances, and given the testimony of Lieutenant Doyle, I don't intend to take any action at this time, Midshipman. Other than to order you to take at least ten hours of simulator time on that design of shuttle, following similar course plots. Liaise with Lieutenant-Captain Caine.”
“Yes, sir.”
Marshall paused, then added, “You're a mystery, Clarke. How does a nineteen-year-old plebe suddenly become a Midshipman with a Star Cross to his credit?” Gesturing at the front of his uniform, he continued, “One that he doesn't seem interested in advertising.”
“I did my duty, sir, nothing more, and I don't feel that I earned a medal for it.” Looking down at the deck, he continued, “I'm afraid I am under orders not to go into the details, Captain.”
“And if I made it a direct command?”
“Then I would have to refuse, sir.”
Nodding, Marshall replied, “I wouldn't have accepted any other answer, Midshipman, so you can relax. At least on that subject. I won't deny that I will be paying more than a minor personal interest in your performance during this cruise, and that you will certainly have a harder time with the promotions board than most, given your limited Academy training.”
“I am aware of that, sir,” he said, looking for a moment as though he wanted to say more than he could. “I won't let you down, sir. Wherever I'm assigned.”
“For the present, I think that you fit best as Systems Officer's Mate. You'll be working with Senior Lieutenant Dubois and Sub-Lieutenant Lombardo. It might interest you to know that the latter is a mustang, so you might find seeking his advice invaluable, seeing as you are essentially following the same path.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Raising an eyebrow, Marshall replied, “Not disappointed?”
“I'd have liked a spell at the helm, sir, but this way I'll get to know the ship better than any of the others. There's no substitute for walking the decks and getting into the guts of the systems, and I'll have a head-start on working in a supervisory role, at least on work details.”
“I'll give you this, Midshipman, you seem to have an excellent handle on turning lemons into lemonade. This assignment won't necessarily be permanent.” Looking down at the datapad again, he said, “You'd better go and report to the hangar deck. I'm sure they'll be needing all the help they can get with the final unloading. Dismissed.”
Clarke snapped to attention, saluted, and walked out of the room, Marshall watching him as he left. While he was obviously nervous, there was still a hidden confidence, both in his steps and in his words. There was something about him he liked, a hint of the officer he was one day going to be, and regardless of the cause, his actions during the shuttle accident were downright heroic. Under normal circumstances, he'd have recommended him for a decoration.
Rising to his feet, he walked out onto the bridge, just as Caine stepped from the elevator on the far side of the room. He looked around the control center, running his eyes over the consoles, the crew smoothly completing the final preparations for hendecaspace transfer. Noting his arrival, Doyle rose from the command chair, stepping over to the helm to stand beside Midshipman Imoto, the young man nervously glancing up at the Captain's arrival.
“All systems clear for deep space, sir,” Doyle said.
“Very good,” Marshall said, sitting in the command chair, the cushion feeling more comfortable than it had any right to be. Taking his place at the heart of the bridge felt right, better than anything he had done for months, ever since he had reluctantly yielded command of his ship to Margaret Orlova at the onset of the Xandari War.
He'd been needed elsewhere, required to command a task force that had guarded the frontiers of the Confederation, fighting off two waves of enemy warships before sweeping into what had been the Xandari Empire in the wake of Alamo's decisive victory. Though the details were still a highly guarded secret, the crew had been feted as heroes upon their return, resulting in the second movie to portray Alamo's activities to a mass audience. Though if anything, this time it had been even worse than the first one.
The bridge was just like the office. Familiar, but different, enough changes to make him feel slightly uncomfortable, like a girlfriend unexpectedly turning up with a new haircut. The crew were the same story, though he'd gone over all of their service records, personally hand-picked the new duty shifts. Given time, he'd get accustomed to them.
Caine walked over to him, a faint smile on her face, and said, “Our fighter squadron has finished boarding now, sir, and Senior Lieutenant McCormack wants to talk to you as soon as we reach hendecaspace. The last of the Espatiers are on board, and there's a last minute change you need to know about. I'm afraid we don't have Ensign Finley in command.”
Frowning, Marshall replied, “What happened?”
“No one seems to know.” Pulling out her datapad, she said, “Brace yourself. Frank Rhodes is our new Espatier Commander.”
His eyes widened, and Marshall said, “Frank Rhodes?”
“Apparently he completed Officer Candidate School, and Personnel assigned him at the las
t minute, though I suspect I can detect the hand of Kristen Harper in this.”
Shaking his head, Marshall said, “If that man is as crazy an officer as he was a recruit, we're in for a lot of trouble.”
“Pavel vouches for him, sir. Apparently he served with him on Random Walk with distinction. He was the one who signed off on his appointment to OCS, back when he had my job.” The smile grew, and she continued, “I never thought I'd be replacing him as Executive Officer.”
“Any other surprises I need to know about?”
“If there are, I don't know either. Anyway, the last shuttle is on board, so we're clear to proceed at your discretion.”
Turning to the communications station, Marshall said, “Spaceman We...Bowman, contact the dockmaster, and inform them that we wish to depart at once.”
“Aye, sir,” the technician replied, looking down at his console. “We have flight clearance all the way out of the system, and Commodore Chung wishes us a safe voyage.”
“Return my complements, Spaceman.” He glanced up at Caine with a grin, then looked at the helm, and said, “Midshipman, take us out. Best-speed course to the hendecaspace point, with transit to Proxima Centauri as soon as we arrive.”
Nodding, Imoto tapped a series of controls, and said, “Course plotted, sir, and I am engaging main engines now. Estimated time to egress is two minutes, ten seconds.”
“Very good, Midshipman, you have the call.”
“Aye, sir,” he replied. “I have the call.”
Leaning down to his side, Caine said, “You're enjoying this, aren't you.”
“I haven't felt this good in a year and a half,” he whispered.
She nodded, a smile on her face, then moved over to the vacant tactical station, dropping into position and turning to watch the viewscreen, the stars slowly sliding to the right as Alamo turned, gliding smoothly towards its target.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Into the Maelstrom Page 3