Shaking her head, she hurried after him, but as they reached the end of the corridor they could hear loud music echoing up one of the emergency shafts. Marshall peered down, then scrambled down the ladder towards the sound. He dropped down into an old maintenance room, which by the look of it had gone unused for years, probably forgotten in one refit or another, but which was now occupied by Alamo's fighter pilots – and Doctor Duquesne, who was pouring some sort of pink concoction into glasses. The pilots looked up as she arrived, Dixon cut off in mid-giggle; Duquesne simply shrugged and poured two more glasses.
"Got to have a squadron rec room, sir," one of the pilots said.
Dixon added, "Quinny signed off on it." Looking from side to side at the rest of the pilots with a growing grin, Dixon continued, "Care to join us, Captain?"
Smiling, Marshall pulled up a crate and accepted the drink.
Chapter 6
Leaning forward in the command chair, Marshall anxiously waited for the screen to clear. The bridge was filled with senior officers; Dietz had grabbed the watch officer's chair, co-opting Ryder, who loitered over the already nervous Midshipman Zabek at the guidance station. Cunningham was leaning on the guide rail by the tactical holoprojector, Caine was at Tactical – at times, she almost seemed to live at that station – and Quinn had displaced Spaceman Makala from the Flight Engineer's station. When he'd seen the senior staff drifting in over the last few minutes, Marshall had almost been tempted to send Alpha Watch off-shift; only Mulenga was missing, and he was down in Astrogation waiting for the first sensor feeds to come in.
"Zabek, you're getting an amber light," Ryder said.
"Er, yes." The young midshipman tapped a button. "Displacement from hendecaspace in thirty seconds."
All that was in the Triplanetary records about FL Virginis was what could be ascertained by interstellar-range observation. A red dwarf fourteen-and-a-half light years from Sol with a scraggly system of rocky planets hanging close to the star. Not even a gas giant in-system. The five planets were close enough into the primary to make it easy enough to transit between them; Marshall had picked the one planet that was in the 'Goldilocks Zone' where the temperature would be suitable for life, though without any expectation of a habitable planet. None of the worlds in the system were any bigger than Mars, far too small for any reasonable atmosphere. Still, there was always hope.
"Five seconds," Zabek said. "Three, two, one, transit!"
The viewscreen winked on, the stars returning after nine days' absence. The sensor station began to light up as data flowed in, and the tactical hologram burst into life, displaying the projected orbits of the five planets and an ever-growing sphere as information reached them. The orbits jumped, moving slightly in position, the system automatically making observation-based adjustments. Marshall's eyes were immediately drawn to the nearest planet, a faint image in a low orbit around it. Cunningham turned to face Marshall, nodded, then enhanced the image; four jagged chunks of debris slowly rotating around each other.
Turning to the sensor operator, Marshall asked, "Analysis, Bryant?"
She peered at her instruments for a second, then replied, "Long-period space debris, no heat signature. Deep cold, and I'm picking up some micrometeorite damage. I'd say its been there for a while. Not a ship, a station; no sign of engines, or anything that might have been engines."
Weitzman looked over from his communications station, "Signal, Captain!"
With two paces, Marshall leaped up from his seat to the technician, "Details, Spaceman."
"Assistance requested, Sagdeev Colony. It's already repeated twice. Played in three languages, computer reads them as French, Russian and Tatar. Originating from the far side of the fifth planet, I think they're using the station as a reflector."
"Tatar?" He paused, "Aimed at us?"
"No, sir. General broadcast. Strong, too."
Marshall turned to Dietz, "I'd say we have an obvious target for our first survey, Lieutenant."
"Indeed." Dietz turned to Zabek. "Midshipman, plot a course for the fifth planet, best-speed."
"Aye, sir." Marshall was slightly surprised at the delay; in her position he'd already have started plotting the course when he heard his commander expressing an interest. He waited impatiently for half a minute before a course appeared on the viewscreen, duplicated on the tactical hologram.
"Course plotted, sir, on the screen."
Nodding, Marshall replied, "Then by all means, implement. Time to target?"
"We'll be entering orbit in ninety-seven minutes, I think."
Sharply, Dietz asked, "You think, Midshipman?"
Zabek haltingly replied, "Ninety-seven minutes, sir."
Standing up, Marshall made his way over to the elevator, turning to his executive officer, "The bridge is yours, Mr. Dietz. I'm going down to Astrogation to get a close look at the data. Alert Ensign Esposito; I want her to be ready with a squad in Shuttle One as soon as we reach orbit."
"What's the hurry, Captain?" Cunningham asked.
"That's a call for help. I'd hate to arrive five minutes too late." He paused for a moment, "Better have Doctor Duquesne report as well."
"That'll leave one empty seat, sir. You'll need a tactical assessment," Caine leapt in. Quinn looked as if he was about to speak, but closed his mouth; evidently Caine had managed to jump the gun on him.
With a smile, Marshall shook his head, "I'm afraid my Tactical Officer will have to remain here. I'll be leading the party myself."
"Sir, you should remain on board. Lieutenant Caine is perfectly qualified to command this flight," Dietz said.
"Not this time, Mr. Dietz. You have the ship while I'm gone."
"Very well, Captain." Dietz stood up and moved over to the command chair; Ryder quickly moved back to the watch officer's chair before someone else could grab it. As Marshall made his way over to the elevator, Cunningham walked over to join him. As soon as the doors had closed, he'd pushed the 'hold' button, stopping the elevator car in between decks.
"May I speak freely, Captain?"
"I don't think I could stop you, Lieutenant. Go right ahead."
"This is a mistake."
"Wow. That's pretty frank of you, Lieutenant."
"You are the commander of this ship, and have no business leading the first landing team."
Crossing his arms, Marshall replied, "Lieutenant, this is my decision. This is a rescue party, and I want to lead the first landing myself."
"That spot should be given to another officer. Frankly, one that is expendable."
"If the worst came to the worst, Mr. Dietz could step into my shoes and complete the mission. I'm not indispensable, Lieutenant, though I'm flattered that you think so."
Shaking his head, Cunningham said, "Is this going to be normal procedure for landing missions, sir?"
"Everyone's going to get their turn, if that's what you mean. I want everyone to get experience at this sort of mission; if we're lucky, we might be doing a lot of missions out here. Now, shall we proceed, Mr. Cunningham, or do you want to argue some more?"
Reluctantly, he took his hand off the button, "You told me you wanted me to warn you if you are being reckless, sir."
"I know. This time I think I have to lead from the front." The doors opened, and Marshall stepped out; Cunningham remained in the elevator as the doors closed behind him. Astrogation was crowded; Mulenga had corralled the off-duty midshipmen to assist him with the sensor interpretation, though probably it didn't take much persuading. Walking into the room, he looked up at the holodisplay, shaking his head as the computer continued to highlight points of interest.
"Captain," Mulenga said, turning his head, "We're making some fascinating discoveries today. Just in the last few minutes."
"Any more detail on the settlement?"
"Not until we get into orbit. That space station, though, matches a type used by the Russian Space Agency in the middle of the 21st century. I'd say the chances are excellent that we are looking at another Ra
gnarok, Captain."
"The signal was in a language called Tatar."
Steele walked over, brandishing a datapad, "I ran a quick data search, Captain. Sagdeev was the last name of a prominent Tatar space scientist in the 20th century. Tatarstan was a component state of the Russian Federal Union, before unification."
"Interesting. So another culture that might have had the capability to throw itself out to the stars."
"I presume you are heading the landing party, Captain," Mulenga said.
Frowning, Marshall replied, "Don't tell me you're going to complain as well."
"Not in the least. I would not presume to judge my commanding officer, and your instinct for such matters is usually good. I should be interested in any astrographic data they have gathered over the decades, though; anything we can get as a baseline could be valuable. Also, a team should take a look at that space station."
"That's just a drifting hulk. No heat, no power."
"Nevertheless, it may still have computer systems to access."
"I'll have Orlova take one of the small shuttles over there. Give her a chance to stretch her legs a bit. What about the rest of the system?"
Mulenga turned back to face the display again, "Plenty of targets that we should consider taking a look at in-system, but I'm taking another look at the long-range sensors. Now that we're closer, we might be able to get more information on nearby systems."
"Make sure the system we are currently in is the priority, Lieutenant."
"Naturally, sir, but we can handle both jobs at once."
"Prepare a list of priority targets, though I have a feeling that we're going to be orbiting the fifth planet for a while."
"We could at least reach the fourth planet with a shuttle configured for long-range flight, Captain. Its orbit is taking us well within range."
"Have Mr. Quinn prepare Shuttle Three, just in case."
"Yes, sir." Mulenga turned to the other midshipman, "Varlamov, have you finished your initial analysis yet?"
"I have, Lieutenant," he said, passing over a datapad and turning to the Captain. "In brief summary, the planet below is incapable of supporting any kind of life. Thin trace atmosphere only, mostly nitrogen and methane. Some polar ice caps, probably carbon dioxide rather than water. Gravity about that of Mars."
"Not a place to try and plant a seed, then," Marshall mused. "If anyone settled this planet, then I doubt they had much of a choice about it."
"I would tend to agree with your assessment, sir," Varlamov said. "I have prepared a chart of the most likely sites for colonial establishment on this side of the planet. Until we get to the far side, we'll be unable to scan any colonial activity."
"Any signs of settlement at all, Midshipman?"
The young officer walked over to the display, and manipulated some controls, "In one of the prime sites for establishment, our scanners have detected a large crater. Almost certainly man-made."
"How large?"
"Maybe half a mile in diameter."
Marshall whistled. "You're talking about an asteroid impact, Midshipman. How can you tell it isn't just a fluke, even if it is recent?"
He manipulated the display again, "The impact is dead center on the computer's projected site of the colony. Of course, that was based on our preliminary mineralogical analysis. It could still be a coincidence, but the odds are dramatically against it."
"Even during the war, neither side tried throwing asteroids at each other, Midshipman. Do you realize what you are suggesting?"
Steele piped in, "Sir, that was because of the balance of terror. Neither side could risk being the party to start that, so neither side did."
"I'm familiar with the Armstrong Accords, Midshipman," Marshall said. His communicator beeped, and he pulled it out of his belt, "Marshall here."
"Weitzman, sir. The signal has just changed, cycling. Now it's broadcasting in Mandarin."
His eyes widened, "Any other changes?"
"A burst of code before each message. Not one we've decoded, but definitely the Lunar Republic. I've started a cryptographic analysis."
"Dietz here, Captain, cutting in. Given the circumstances, I would suggest once again that you remain on board."
Visions of Ragnarok flashed through his mind, "No, Mr. Dietz, I still intend to go down. But have the balance of the espatier platoon ready and waiting on the other two shuttles, and have Dixon put up a pair of fighters to escort us down. Put Alamo on stand-by alert."
"Aye, sir."
Mulenga reached over, putting his hand on Marshall's shoulder, "Is going down yourself still wise, sir?"
"I need to start leading from the front, Lieutenant. I'm not going to sit up here and wait while others risk their lives, not this time."
He smiled, "As you say, sir."
Steele turned, again, "Permission to fly the Captain to the surface, sir."
"You have a current certification?"
"Top of the class, sir," she replied, standing taller."
Mulenga shrugged, and reluctantly, Marshall nodded, "Very well, Midshipman. Report to the hangar bay for preflight, and co-ordinate our approach with Lieutenant Dixon."
A smile beaming, she saluted, then ran down the corridor, Marshall shaking his head as he looked after her, "I hope I wasn't that big a pain in the ass when I was a Third Lieutenant."
"Mr. Cunningham seemed to think so, as I recall."
"So he did." He looked down at his watch, "I'd better go and get ready. See if you can have a report on the system when I get back."
"Good luck, Captain."
Nodding, Marshall turned and walked down the corridor, moving past a couple of crewmen, a spring in his step as he made his way to the hangar deck.
Chapter 7
Orlova walked down the crew quarters corridor, passing half a dozen barracks before stopping at a door marked 'Female Spacemen, F-K'. There was a short wait before a sleepy spaceman opened the door, her eyes blinking from the light. The room was dark inside; evidently she'd managed to wake someone up.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" a tired voice said.
"I'm looking for Spaceman Harper."
"She doesn't bunk here any more, ma'am, I'm afraid."
"The roster says she does."
"Not since the first night, ma'am. Took her bags and moved out. I don't know where."
Frowning, Orlova nodded, "Thanks, spaceman. Sorry to disturb you."
"Sorry I couldn't help, ma'am." She closed the door, and Orlova went back down the corridor. She didn't particularly want to knock on anyone else's door, especially as she didn't know which of the rooms Harper might be in, so reluctantly decided to turn this into a formal security issue – another entry in the growing file of complaints.
"Bridge, this is Sub-Lieutenant Orlova. That Bryant?"
"Yes, ma'am. Can I help you? I've sent the data package on the station to Transit One."
"Thanks, but this is something else. Can you run a trace on Spaceman Harper, please? I can't find her."
"Log says she's in her quarters, ma'am."
Shaking her head, Orlova replied, "I've just been there."
There was a brief pause before Bryant said, "Odd. Apparently she's in the crawlways. Two decks up from your current position."
"The crawlways?"
"Stationary."
"Send the location to my datapad. Thanks, Spaceman."
"My pleasure, ma'am."
Looking at her datapad, the young officer shook her head; the elevator didn't run anywhere near there, so she was going to have to do this the hard way. Opening a service hatch, she climbed up a ladder, muttering under her breath. Suddenly, it went dark; she looked up and saw that a long shape was swinging back and forth, periodically blocking out the lights. She could hear a low rumbling noise coming from the shape, and deduced what it was.
"Wake up, Harper!" she yelled at the top of her voice.
The shaking increased rapidly, gyrating from one side of the crawlway to the other, "Wha?"
&
nbsp; "Harper, what the hell are you doing in here?"
"Trying to sleep."
"Do you realize how many regulations you're breaking? Get down from there at once."
"Gotta unstrap." The hacker fumbled at her waist, then swung herself up and down out of the hammock.
"You have a perfectly good bed in the crew quarters, Harper."
Grunting, she replied, "Didn't get on with them."
"Then move to a different set. You get assigned alphabetically when you join the ship, but no-one cares if you swap with someone as long as it's logged. You can't just move into the crawlspaces."
"Why not?"
"What if there was an accident and someone had to get past you?"
"I'd move. Besides, I looked at the specs. No critical systems round here."
Sighing, Orlova replied, "That's not the damn point. You're a long way from your damage control station, as well, not to mention off the elevator routes. If we got called to battle stations now..."
"I'd be there in ninety-four seconds. I checked already. Relax."
"With you around?" She shook her head, "I'm going to get one of the maintenance crews to clean out this walkway tomorrow. By then I want you sleeping in a proper bed."
"You propositioning me?" Harper looked up and down at Orlova, "I mean, you're not really my type, but I might go for it as a one-off."
"You know what I mean. Now get into your uniform, we've got a mission."
"Huh?"
"We're braking into orbit around FL Virginis V now. Captain wants us to check out some sort of bashed-up space station."
"Send someone else. That slave-driver had me working the last four days."
With a quick move, Orlova reached out and unclipped one of the straps of the hammock, sending it sliding down to the side of the walkway, almost catapulting Harper out of it before she could grab onto the hand-holds. Her eyes burning, she looked down at her.
"What the hell?"
"What the hell, ma'am. Now move it."
The sullen Harper pulled on her uniform jumpsuit and slowly climbed down the ladder, Orlova leading the way and peeking up to make sure that she was still being followed. They emerged in the corridor and walked towards the elevator, the officer glancing at her watch. Only ten minutes before the shuttle was meant to launch. The car slid down the decks, Harper staring at Orlova with ill-disguised contempt all the way. Finally she broke the silence.
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