Battlecruiser Alamo: Into the Maelstrom

by Richard Tongue

   “Sir, we're already running at maximum safe output, and...”

   “She can give more than you're asking, Lieutenant, trust me. Go to a hundred and ten percent on the primary reactor, and funnel the power to the helm.”

   “Captain, I must formally pro...”

   His temper rising, Marshall said, “File the protest with whoever the hell you want, Dubois, but if you don't obey my orders at once I'll be issuing them to Acting Systems Officer Lombardo! Do I make myself clear?”

   “Perfectly clear, sir,” Dubois replied. “Initiating controlled overload.”

   Shaking his head, Marshall turned to Francis, and said, “Keep an eye on the boards, Lieutenant. I want to make sure we're getting everything we should be.”

   With a curt nod, Francis walked over to the engineering station, and replied, “Senior Lieutenant Dubois is an experienced engineer, but he doesn't have that much time in the field, sir. He'll learn.”

   “At whose expense?” Caine asked, looking up at her monitors. “Boss, the enemy fighters are moving to intercept ours. Thirty seconds to attack range.” She shook her head, and added, “McCormack is requesting weapons free.”

   “Negative,” Marshall said. “Not until I order, or unless they fire first. And even then, I want defensive fire only. Charge the point-defense lasers. We might get some use out of them today. Helm, move us to support the fighters. Close the range as tight as you dare without risking collision.”

   “Aye, sir,” Imoto said. Marshall watched the rookie helmsman as he worked the controls, nodding in satisfaction at the course laid in by the young would-be officer. Training doctrine called for the helm of a starship to be granted to a Midshipman, where one was available, both for the superior reaction time of the young and the potential to gain quick experience in a command environment, but no matter how much promise Imoto had, Marshall still kept his fingers close to the override controls, ready to take the helm himself in an instant should it be needed.

   “Try and hail Waldheim again, Bowman,” Marshall ordered. “Maybe they'll be willing to talk before this deteriorates still further.”

   Shaking his head, the communications technician replied, “I'm still not getting anything other than the automatic signal, sir. A demand for the shuttle and its occupants to be turned over to their custody at once.”

   “Captain, I still think…,” Francis began.

   “We don't dare,” Caine replied, before Marshall could say a world. “If for no other reason than the intelligence that shuttle is carrying, we can't allow them to fall into enemy hands.” Looking across at a control, she added, “Fifteen seconds to combat range.”

   A smile crept across Marshall's face, and he turned to Bowman, saying, “Spaceman, can you transmit a signal authorizing missile deployment in such a way that it will only be picked up by Waldheim, not by our fighters?”

   The man frowned for a second, then nodded, replying, “I could use a tight-beam, sir, and if the ship makes a course adjustment at the right instant, the beam will miss the fighters and hit Waldheim. If we get it right, it'll look like a simple accident.”

   “Liaise with the helm, Bowman, and by all means, get it right.”

   Shaking his head, Francis said, “They won't buy it for a second, sir. I wouldn't, in their place, and neither would you.”

   “I don't want them to believe the transmission, Lieutenant. I just want to give the General an excuse to reopen the lines of communication. He isn't an independent operator over there.”

   “And if they decide to take the message at face value and launch a preemptive strike?”

   “Then I guess we get to find out just how good the improvements to this ship are, Lieutenant. Deadeye, I want you to watch Waldheim closely, and don't wait for my order to start the charging sequence on the laser cannon. Proceed at the first hostile move.”

   “Danny, this is going to get out of control very fast...”

   “Signal dispatched, sir,” Bowman replied. Marshall waited, watching as the pieces moved on the three-dimensional puzzle before him, fighters and shuttles settling into position. The station's defensive network was wisely keeping out of the fight, set to defensive fire only, tasked with keeping any stray missiles from damaging civilian targets. Not that there was anything else in the air. All other shuttles and transports were hiding away, tucked behind the local moon where they could come to no harm.

   “Five seconds to firing range,” Caine reported. “Our fighters will be in the battlespace for a hundred and nine, and will intercept the shuttle in two hundred and thirty.” Looking across at a second display, she added, “Waldheim will be in position to attack the shuttle at about the same time.”

   “Anything from the enemy ship, Spaceman?” Marshall asked, turning to the sensor display.

   “No change to target aspect, sir. Still closing as before, in full alert status but without weapons hot.” Shaking her head, she added, “That could change awfully quickly, sir.”

   “McCormack is again requesting the release of her weapons,” Caine said. “At least we know she didn't hear us.”

   Marshall burned a couple of seconds looking at the fighter formation, a conventional double-arrowhead with the squadron leader at the front, flanked by her two flights. Normal enough, and at least for the first moments of battle, they'd enjoy a two to one advantage. Though the enemy Dreadnaught had another fifteen fighters on board, a strike force more than capable of reducing Alamo to her component atoms, even without any support from the mothership.

   “That's it,” Caine said. “Our fighters are in the firing line. Danny, without support, they'll be cut to pieces should Waldheim launch her alert squadron. We've got to change our approach vector and move to intercept.”

   “I'm more concerned…,” Francis began.

   Frowning, Bowman interrupted, “Signal, sir! General Estrada!”

   “Put him on, at once,” Marshall asked. “Deadeye, keep watching. Just in case this is an attempt at a distraction.” The image of Estrada, standing on his bridge, red-faced in fury, appeared on the screen, and Marshall began, “General, I demand that you cease the harassment of our officers immediately, and allow them to return to Alamo without further disregard of the neutrality of Proxima Centauri. Rest assured that I will be making a full report on this incident to my superiors.”

   “Will you also be reporting that one of your officers went berserk and hacked one of my people to death with an illegally-smuggled combat knife, that another of my officers is in surgery right now, and that there has been a gunfight resulting in the death of three of my security team on the station?”

   Francis shook his head, but Marshall replied, “I wasn't aware that you had security personnel operating on a neutral station.” Leaning forward on his chair, he continued, “Your people made the first move, General, and I have the footage to prove it. I strongly recommend that you withdraw, or I will be forced to order my squadron to open fire. Trust me when I say that you will come off the worst in a missile exchange.”

   “I demand that the officer involved be turned over to United Nations custody for trial.”

   “Any offenses that theoretically took place were carried out on a neutral space station, General, beyond the jurisdiction of either government.” Turning to Bowman, he asked, “Spaceman, have we received any formal requests for extradition from the administration of Leonov Station?”

   “No, sir. No signals of any kind, Captain.”

   “I suggest, General, that you take this matter up with the local authorities, and I assure you that we will cooperate fully with any investigation they choose to make. There are diplomatic channels to follow, but neither I nor my government respond particularly well to threats. The last war should have made that perfectly clear, and if necessary, we will not hesitate to begin another one.” Looking at Francis, Marshall could see his subordinate shooting daggers at him with his eyes, and continued,
“Having said that, I am mindful that one of your undercover agents has been killed, and will gladly consent to a public release of all information relevant to the affair. We have nothing to hide. Can you say the same?”

   There was a brief pause, and Estrada turned away from the pickup, talking to someone off camera. Marshall looked at Caine, and saw her hand poised in position to activate the laser charging sequence, to extend Alamo's heat radiators and begin final preparations to fire. If she twitched a finger, Waldheim would have no choice but to respond in kind, and the next war would begin. Assuming any of the combatants survived to report back to their governments about what happened here.

   “Change to enemy squadron aspect!” Ballard reported. “Enemy ships altering course, moving to close attack formation on our fighters. Seven seconds to optimum firing range.”

   “Captain…,” Caine said.

   “No,” Marshall replied. “It's a test. He wants to see if I'll blink first.”

   “That,” Francis added, “or he wants us to start the war.”

   “Four seconds,” Ballard said.

   “Captain, McCormack…,” Caine said.

   “No.”

   Marshall watched the trajectory track as the fighters swept towards their target, finally moving out of combat range. A smile curled at his lips as Estrada returned to the screen, the fury still in his eyes.

   “I'm glad to see that sanity still reigns, General,” Marshall said.

   “On one bridge at least,” Estrada replied. “I restate my demand to interrogate Midshipman Clarke in connection with his crimes.” Marshall locked eyes with Caine, knowing that they had been granted an important concession, if they chose to accept it.

   “As long as that interrogation takes place aboard Alamo, I will consent,” Marshall replied. “You and one other officer, General, and I assure you that a squad of Espatiers will be with you for the entire duration of your stay.”

   With a curt nod, Estrada said, “I will concede that point, if you will concede that should your officer be found worthy of arrest, that the trial takes place in a United Nations court.” Pleading eyes looked across space, and after a long second, Marshall nodded.

   “If, in my judgment, Midshipman Clarke has committed such a crime, then I will concede custody.” Sitting back in his chair, Marshall continued, “As long as you concede the same point regarding any officer found to have committed offenses against any member of my crew on Leonov Station.”

   Now it was Estrada's turn to smile, and he replied, “We have, I trust, committed no crime, Captain, and I will gladly concede such a point. I suggest our respective ships return to their holding pattern for the present. Waldheim out.”

   “He blinked,” Caine said, shaking her head. “I would have thought...”

   “Estrada doesn't want a war any more than we do,” Marshall replied. “That was about giving both sides a chance to save face with their governments. And I suspect there is nothing he would like better than to embarrass any of his people who have gone too far.”

   “Sir,” Imoto said, turning from them helm, “We cannot consider that the United Nations will offer a fair trial to Midshipman Clarke. If I may say so, sir, agreeing to turn him over was a mistake.”

   Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “If I thought there was any chance that the charges would come to anything, I wouldn't have agreed, Midshipman, I assure you. And Estrada doesn't think so either, or he'd have just shot that shuttle out of the sky when he had the chance, and let the diplomatic dice fall as the may. If he had incontrovertible proof, he'd have used it. As for the interrogation, I suspect we'll learn more than they will from the questions they ask, assuming they go ahead with it at all.”

   “Enemy fighter wing returning to base, sir,” Ballard reported. “Waldheim is moving back to her original orbital position.”

   “Secure from battle stations,” Marshall said. “Have Alpha Flight escort the shuttle home, and the rest can immediately come back to the barn. As soon as the shuttle is on board, proceed to our parking location.” Turning to Francis, he said, “I want all of our people back from Leonov as of five minutes ago, Lieutenant. See to it immediately.”

   “Aye, sir,” Francis replied. He paused, looked at Marshall, and asked, “Would you have blinked, Captain?”

   “I guess we'll never know,” Marshall replied with a thin smile. Rising to his feet, he said, “In any case, Lieutenant, you have the deck. I'm heading down to the hangar bay. And after I've finished with Salazar, Harper and Clarke, a United Nations interrogation will seem like a picnic in the park.”

  Chapter 13

   Salazar stepped out of the shuttle, and the first thing he saw as he walked onto the deck was the scowling face of Captain Marshall, standing next to the elevator. With a glance back at Harper and Clarke, he made his way over towards him, gesturing for the deck crews to start the post-flight work on the shuttlecraft. Lombardo looked across the battered hull, shaking his head.

   “Damn it, Pavel, what the hell have you done to the poor thing?” the deck officer asked.

   “Blame the previous owner,” Salazar replied. “Have Engineering conduct a full stress test of the hull, and take some sample readings from the telemetry records. Then send it direct to my terminal, priority encrypted.”

   “I'll get on it right away,” Lombardo required.

   “Lieutenant,” Marshall said. “I almost started a war today. I think we need to have a conversation.”

   Nodding, Salazar replied, “Of course, sir.” Stepping into the elevator, he tapped a ten-digit sequence into the control panel as the Captain looked on with a frown, and added, “There are a lot of things you need to know, sir, and we've got to make sure that no one else does. Especially with a saboteur still running around the ship.”

   Folding his arms as the door closed, Harper and Clarke barely making it through the doors in time, Marshall replied, “You're a heartbeat away from a court-martial, Lieutenant. Don't get the idea that you have any cards to play in your hand.” Turning to Clarke, he continued, “As for you, Midshipman, I think the odds of you ever becoming an officer...”

   “Are excellent,” Harper interrupted. With a glance at Salazar, she added, “Don't blame Pavel for any of this, sir. He wanted to brief you as soon as we were informed, but our orders directly forbade it. Technically, they still do.”

   “I'll take the responsibility,” Salazar replied, shaking his head. “You should have been told in the first place, Captain. Would have been, if anyone had listened to me. This situation is deteriorating rapidly enough as it is, without making matters worse.”

   “Pavel…,” Harper began.

   “Damn it, Kris, if Major Pastell knows about Monitor, I'm damned sure the Captain should, and I'm not going to put this ship and her crew at risk to cover up some fool stunt by Triplanetary Intelligence.” Taking a deep breath, Salazar continued, “I'm sorry, sir. It's been a long day.”

   “For once we agree,” Marshall replied, a puzzled expression on his face. “Just where are we going, anyway?”

   “Somewhere not on the blueprints,” Harper said. “A little surprise we managed to work into the design specifications before we left. I ran a full systems check while we're in hendecaspace, and everything is working perfectly.”

   “I hope so,” Salazar replied. Looking at Clarke, he added, “It's about time we brought you up to speed with our little secret as well, Midshipman. I apologize for leaving you in the dark, but I didn't want to risk you releasing anything under interrogation. I'm sorry to admit that we decided to use you as a decoy.”

   “A decoy?” Clarke said. “You mean...”

   Raising a hand, Salazar said, “And as it turned out, you did more to accomplish the mission than Harper and I did. Captain, this man deserves a commendation, not censure. He managed to get his team out of a rather nasty United Nations ambush, and fought his way free of the station with minimal
exposure of the mission to outside personnel. I'm going to bet that you never hear a word from Station Security about the incident. It would expose far too many issues to some of their corporate backers. Most of the groups using Leonov value their privacy.”

   “Including Triplanetary Intelligence?” Marshall asked.

   “Naturally,” Harper replied. The doors slid open, the elevator locking into position for long enough for the four of them to step into the darkened room beyond. Once they were all across the threshold, the door slid shut, isolating them in the room, and the lights came up to reveal a half-dozen chairs clustered around a table, a monitoring screen on the wall.

   “Just another meeting room,” Marshall said.

   “One totally isolated from the rest of the ship,” Harper replied. “There's only one way in, and only Pavel and I have the access codes. I'll see that you receive a copy, Captain, but you'll only be able to use this with anyone cleared for Ultra or higher access.”

   Taking a chair, Marshall replied, “That seems to be a surprisingly significant proportion of the crew, Lieutenant. I take it this was no accident.”

   “Logan thought it might prove useful,” she said.

   “I might have known he had something to do with it.” Shaking his head, he said, “Perhaps you'd better start from the beginning.”

   Harper walked over to the monitor, pulled the box of datacrystals from her pocket, and slid one into position underneath, tapping a series of controls to unlock the information stored within. Sitting in the nearest chair, she turned to Marshall with a smile on her face.

   “I think Maggie Orlova will be able to tell you more than I can.”

   “What?” Marshall said, as the image of Lieutenant-Captain Orlova appeared on the display.

   “Log entry five, Day 283, 2172. Analysis of the debris confirms that at least one ship has already disappeared into the anomaly, and Monitor remains trapped in close orbit. Science Officer Masada believes that a slingshot might prove effective in releasing the ship and giving us a chance to reach the hendecaspace point, and despite my personal qualms about the plan, I intend to make the attempt in six hours, unless something better shows up before then.”