"And no way of knowing whether it is going to be enough," Quinn said, shaking his head. "It seems hopeless."
Marshall replied, "That's not a word in the Triplanetary lexicon, Mr. Quinn. What about the station?"
"The last evidence we have of occupancy is in 2157, nine years ago; the recording you found in the Helium Monitor station. The paperwork indicates that if there was a permanent crew, it left a couple of years before," Quinn said.
"That's nothing I didn't know already."
"I know, sir. The occupants of that station were red-hot with security; aside from a few bits and pieces left lying around, it doesn't amount to very much. I can tell you that it was heavily mothballed. They left enough on board to keep everything operating, and topped up the Helium-3 tanks, but that's all. There are workshop spaces with no tools, no components. The hydroponic systems are working, but at a very low level. Everything was designed to last; the station could easily have continued as it was for another decade without any human intervention at all."
"I presume we can keep it going?"
Nodding, the engineer replied, "We can return it to its mothballed condition easily. If you want to bring it back to full function, it's going to take a month or so. We'll need to fabricate an awful lot of components; we might even need to do a bit of mining."
"Mining?" Dixon said, shaking her head. "Some exploratory mission."
"And a crew of about a dozen to operate it," Quinn continued. "I can prepare some recommendations, if you want."
"Liaise with Mr. Dietz, in case we want to pursue that option. What about the station itself? Any theories?"
Mulenga leaned forward, rubbing his chin, "There are seven stars within range of this system. I haven't had a chance to do a proper analysis yet – but we already know one was inhabited. This could be a strategic strongpoint of some value."
"Then why abandon it?" Cunningham said. "I have a theory; I think this is a U-Boat pen."
"A what?" Quinn asked, frowning.
"During the days of submarine warfare on Earth, it was quite common for hidden installations to be built to shelter warships from attack, as well as to service them. This could be such a facility. A servicing point."
Marshall nodded, "Then this might not have any special significance; someone fighting a substantial war might have them in every important system."
"And with an inhabitable planet, I think this system definitely counts as significant."
"Then why abandon it? Why has no-one been here for nine years; if this was going to justify such an effort, wouldn't they be using it more often? Even if just to make sure it was still intact?" Dixon said.
"Perhaps they won the war, and no longer needed it," replied Cunningham.
"Or," said Mulenga, "maybe they lost the war."
"Of more importance is the use we can make of it. I'm inclined to put...," an urgent red light started to flash on Marshall's panel, interrupting him; he picked up his communicator, "I didn't want any interruptions."
"Sir," Weitzman's said quickly, "I have Lieutenant Caine for you. From the surface. Using an old Martian Service code. I've double-checked; it's legitimate."
Smiles and grins leapt from person to person around the room; Cunningham shook his head in admiration. It was all Marshall could do to stop himself from cheering; Esposito was shaking her head in relief. She'd taken the loss of Orlova as bad as he'd taken the loss of Caine. With a shaky hand, he picked up the communicator.
"Put her through, Spaceman, with pleasure. On speaker."
"Aye, aye, Captain!" Marshall could here his grin through the channel. The voice at the other end was crackly, and he strained to listen.
"I'll have to be quick, sir. Orlova and I are fine, Steele is wounded but should recover, I'm afraid Smythe is dead." Quinn's face dropped.
"I'm sorry about Smythe. Is your situation immediately hazardous?"
"Once this call gets triangulated, yeah."
"There's a satellite control installation in the mountains." Marshall could hear some low voices on the other end of the conversation, and there was a slight lag before her reply.
"The group I am with have heard of it."
"If that can be knocked out, then we can go right into orbit; it's controlling all the orbital defenses. Can you do it?"
Another delay, "No, sir. I'm told the garrison is too big."
Marshall paused, "Big enough for a platoon of espatiers?"
"How are you going to get them past the orbital defense network?"
"Let me worry about that. We've spotted an anti-aircraft missile emplacement around the control center; if we're going to get in, we need those taken out. Have you got the forces to do it?"
"We'll find a way, Danny. When?"
Quickly, Marshall scanned the surface of the planet. "Five days Alamo time from right now. We're coming to get you, Deadeye. All three of you. I'm not leaving anyone behind. Can you signal again?"
"Uncertain, but we'll be there." The line was growing worse. "I think we're
"Get going, Deadeye. Good luck."
The line went dead. Marshall sat back in his chair with relief, folding his arms behind his head as he smiled. Esposito was similarly happy. The only holdouts from the good mood were Dietz and Cunningham, who were looking at each other, doubts flashing through their faces.
"I know, I know, gentlemen," he replied. "We've got to get through that satellite ring."
"Sir, as of now we have no ideas," Dietz said.
Cunningham nodded, "We can't get through the satellite ring without destroying the surface installation, and we can't destroy the surface installation because we can't get through the satellite ring. Catch-22."
"Could we do it from long range, with missiles? If they were guided in?" Quinn asked.
Dietz shook his head, "The particle beams."
"I mean, if we let them drift through? Only becoming active when the reached the atmosphere?"
"It's not a bad idea, but they'd just shoot then down with their anti-air. We need to get them from close range, not give them a chance," Dietz replied.
Esposito nodded, "Third Platoon volunteers to attempt a crash landing on that plateau."
"That's crazy," Cunningham said.
"We could use our best pilots, all personnel in full armor." She looked at Marshall, "The whole outfit would happily take the risk."
"I appreciate that, Ensign, but I can't sanction it," Marshall said. "There's no point stranding another thirty people on the planet. We need a better option, people, and I'd say you've got five days to come up with it. Take any resources you want from any department; I want options, ladies and gentlemen, and I want them quickly. Dismissed."
Muttering among themselves, the officers stood up and left the room, most of them shaking their heads. Dietz alone remained, his arms folded in front of him, waiting patiently for the others to leave before speaking.
"In front of the crew, Captain, I would never disagree with you."
"And now we're alone?"
"We could find a way to send Lieutenant Caine a message to wait."
"You think we should return to Ragnarok, get reinforcements."
Dietz nodded, "That would be the sensible thing to do."
"There's nothing at Hunter Station, Lieutenant. The rest of the Deep Space Fleet won't be back for months; the best case has us back out here in a few weeks. More likely the Combined Chiefs will sit on this one while the specialists back home try and dream up a solution."
"It might come to that, yet."
"And if there is a threat?" Marshall shook his head, "We're the only soldier on this part of the border, Mr. Dietz, and it is our responsibility to stand guard. This is about more than just getting back our crewmen; I don't actually expect to find anything useful on the station. They went to far too much trouble hiding their tracks for us to find anything so easily."
"You hope to find the answers you are looking for on the surface, then?"
"It seems logic
al, doesn't it? Somewhere down there are the people who built those satellites; that's a technology we need. If this is the outer part of a much larger empire, then we need to know about that, as well. For all we know there is a full-scale war taking place a jump away, or a power getting ready to attack. Ragnarok's not that far away." He nodded, almost to himself, "If we head back to Hunter Station now, all we have is a long list of questions."
"Sir, I agree with your reasoning, but..."
"Your job is to offer alternatives."
"A specialist engineering task force could come out here; we could use the fuel stored here to explore nearby systems."
Marshall smiled at that prospect, "Tempting. If we can't find a way to get them off the surface, then it might yet come to that. But I'm not leaving this system until we've exhausted all the options, and we're a long way from that, yet."
"Understood, Captain."
"Dismissed."
Chapter 17
Yreka looked like a nice town, though Caine didn't think she was seeing it at its best. The clouds had lifted, and the stars were blazing down as night settled in, the eerie silver moonlight strong enough to cast shadows on the ground. Jefferson's capital consisted of about a thousand roughly-built wooden buildings, houses, shops and an impressive town hall with a tall flagpole, though the white and yellow flag was one that she didn't recognize. She struggled to keep up with her guide – who looked as if he had yet to be introduced to a razor, but had a cold look in his eyes she didn't like.
It had taken some convincing to persuade Orlova to remain in her father's bar; she didn't think the two of them ought to be in the same place, at least until they were ready to leave for the mountains. Though she was eager to be on her way, the Lieutenant had been rather more reluctant, insisting on bringing her to see the leaders of the resistance, assembled in a secret meeting place. Huddled in a rough coat, she walked down a quiet side street, only a few locals out at this time of the night, mostly looking as if they were engaged in some sort of furtive business of their own.
Her heart skipped a beat when she glanced ahead, finding her guide had vanished into the shadows; she could soon see why, as a pair of soldiers dressed in blue coats, wearing kepis, walked down the street on patrol, carrying disturbingly modern-looking assault rifles. Attempting to ignore them, she continued down the street, trying not to make eye contact. As she drew level with them, one of them turned, leering at her, and walked over to her.
"What is a pretty young thing like you doing out on a night like this? You need protection, mademoiselle. This place is full of dangerous people," he said, opening running his eyes up and down her figure.
Biting a sarcastic response, she replied, "I'm going home to my husband, sir."
The legionnaire spat on the pavement, "The man is a fool for letting you roam the streets by yourself. I'm tempted to teach him the meaning of his folly." He ran his hand up and down her arm.
"Come on, Yuri," his partner said, "We can get better than that at Orr's."
"It's too easy." He smiled, exposing his teeth, "This is much more fun."
"Yuri, the commandant will be wondering where we are."
He turned to his friend; Caine could see her guide again, a pistol out, lining up a shot. "You listen too loud to that fool. One day he'll have his back to me in battle, and we will have a new commandant."
The other guard threw up his hands, "Do what you wish; I am going back to the Citadel." He turned and walked away, and after Yuri gave Caine another long look, he shook his head and followed. She breathed a sigh of relief, and the guide returned, returning his gun to his hidden holster.
"I'm sorry about that," he said. "They know my face, I can't afford to be seen on the streets."
"What for," she whispered.
He pulled out a knife, four notches carved on it, "Six more of those and I'll have my revenge. Come."
Moving cautiously behind a large warehouse, he slipped his knife into a crack between two planks, levering out a hidden door. A piece of rope dangled from the gap; he pulled the door open, and gestured inside. Nodding, Caine ducked into the dark room, the guide following her and closing the door. It took her a few minutes to adjust to the darkness; there was a quick flash, and a candle was lit in the middle of the room, five men sitting around in the shadows.
In a gruff voice, one of them said, "You may call me Colonel Bryce, Lieutenant. I understand that you plan to undertake a mission of sabotage, and require our assistance."
Standing in the middle of the circle, she shook her head, "Your assistance would make the job a lot easier, Colonel. But I am an officer of the Triplanetary Fleet, and my Captain has given me an order. The installation is going to be destroyed."
"Bold words," another voice – the Lieutenant, by the sounds of it, said. "Can you back them up with anything?"
She sighed, "Alamo is in a position to launch an attack that will end the threat of the orbital defenses once and for all. Don't you want that? Don't you want to be free?"
Laughter from the rear, and her guide said, "The old men prefer to hide in the shadows, waiting and watching for an opportunity that will never come. Freedom has to be earned, and the point of a blade is as good a way as any to do it."
"Damn it, Clark. You've almost brought the fire down on us all once too often," the Colonel said. "We have an organization that our fathers passed down to us, and we have a responsibility to wait for the day when we will have a chance to strike back."
Caine walked up to the old man, looked down at the lines on his face, the fading gray hair, and replied, "That day is today."
He looked up at her, "I don't think you realize the journey you are talking about. That installation is three hundred miles away; you're talking about doing it in five days. Less than that, now. Most of that through jungle, then up over the Mountains of the Moon to the plateau. I'm not sure we could mount that sort of an expedition in weeks, not days. Marshalling that many resources in secret, slipping them out of Yreka." He shook his head, "Not practical, young woman. Not practical."
"My fellow officer and I will go by ourselves if we have to."
"What's the secrecy for," Clark said. "We pull this off, the damn war's won! Death from above, for god's sake! The lieutenant's ship can provide the aerial cover we need, we'll have real soldiers," he placed a strong emphasis on the 'real', "to lead our irregulars into battle, proper arms – isn't this what we've been waiting for since the invasion?"
The lieutenant sighed, "We've been waiting for a lot more than a couple of people to drop out of the sky with vague promises of hope. With all respect to you, Lieutenant, this is a big risk."
"Too big," the Colonel said. "We can provide you with intelligence, and other assistance, but throwing away our military strength at this time is just out of the question. Out of the question."
Caine nodded, and turned towards the door. She looked back at the Colonel, "We're going anyway."
"I can't stress again how dangerous a course of action you are planning to undertake, young woman. You and your counterpart will be fortunate to get out of town without being caught; you had a narrow escape getting here. The Legion are tough, brutal soldiers; they'll stop at nothing. Even if you make it to the base, taking that installation would be impossible."
"I was hoping to find soldiers, allies. Not a group of tired old men sitting around a candle dreaming of old times and hoping for a miracle that's never going to come. Dreams have to be earned."
The Colonel rose to his feet, "I can't convince you to abandon this course?"
"No."
He pulled out a gun, and she heard a click, "Then I'm afraid you don't give me any choice. If you move, I'll shoot you. The Legion won't complain when they find your corpse."
Clark yelled, "What the hell are you doing? The first help we get in decades, and you draw on her?"
"I'm doing what I have to do to protect the Minutemen. You're too young to understand."
"I hope I never do." With a swift movemen
t, Clark pulled a gun of his own, pointing it at the Colonel. "We're leaving now."
"I will fire if I have to. Kill me if you must, but I'll not let decades of work be tossed away on a madman's folly."
The silent three faded from view, disappearing deeper into the shadows, presumably making their own ways to safety. Only the Lieutenant remained seated, looking between the Colonel and Caine. Clark's arm was unwavering, his gun pointing between the eyes of the Colonel.
"We'll keep you imprisoned until the five days are up. Then you can contact your ship again," the Colonel said. "I'm not turning you in."
"Just my corpse. Alamo's attack will be for nothing, you'll have thirty lives on your conscience. Lives who died trying to save you." Caine was talking to the Colonel, but she was aiming at the Lieutenant; she saw his eyes wavering.
"Colonel, perhaps...," he said.
Shaking his head, the Colonel interrupted him. "If you won't listen to sense, you'll listen to lead."
Caine sighed, and turned away, "I don't have time for this. If you're going to shoot, get it over with. Clark, let's get out of here. I'll need you to take me back to Orlov's."
Clark slowly backed towards the door, reaching for the rope, and Caine took careful strides towards him, her back to the Colonel, her eyes half-cold. She was expecting every breath to be her last, but got to within five paces of the door before she heard two shots in rapid succession, one crack just by her ear.
Turning, she saw the Colonel crumple to the ground, a shocked look on his face as he stared up at the Lieutenant, muttering under his last breath as blood dribbled down his chin. The Lieutenant replaced his pistol in his holster, shaking his head as he looked down on the old man, then back up to face Caine. There were more noises from the shadows, more clicking noises, and the Lieutenant shook his head.
"Make this count. Git!"
She turned to run, leaping through the door just ahead of a series of gunshots, Clark just in the lead. The last thing she heard from the warehouse were a final pair of shots, followed by a loud yell – the Lieutenant. She paused for a second, turning, shaking her head.
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