by James Palmer
He fired off a smug look at her, which she easily ignored.
“Come on,” she ordered. “We’ve got to move it before our window of opportunity closes.”
“What?”
“We are on a time table here, Doctor Silver.” she said, biting down on her lower lip. Civilians, she cursed inwardly.
“Do you mind filling us in on it?” he demanded a little too loudly.
“Our vessel monitored several ships on an intercept course with this station.” She watched the realization set in. Leans close to the doctor, she added, “I’d really rather be gone by the time they get here.” She looked at him, her face betraying the seriousness of what she had just told him. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Well, now that you mention it.”
“Good!” she cut him off. “Let’s get to Operations. And Doctor, please hurry it up.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he smiled. It had been a long time since he’d met anyone who could stand up to him as she had. He had only met one other woman as formidable.
As he ran down the corridor, he hoped she was still alive.
Dr. Cynthia Morgan let out a shout of triumph.
After several failed attempts to restore systems, she finally managed to find one that was repairable. The lights once again come on in the Operations Center.
She did not know if the lights were now working on all the station’s levels or not, but at the moment her world did not extend past the walls of the command deck. The rest of the station would have to wait. Her priority now was communications.
“Okay, now that we’ve got some lights, let’s see what we can do about sending out a distress call,” she said, not really talking to anyone in particular. “Lieutenant?” she called, pointing toward the comm-1 interface relay across the room.
Lt. Sheron Vandrell leapt to her feet and sprinted to the communications grid. It was working, but just barely.
“Can you boost the matter gain?” Morgan asked. “I can’t get a narrow band wave to respond.”
The lieutenant worked the controls, frustration evident on his face. “No good,” she admitted after a second. “We’re working at less than thirty percent efficiency. No body will hear that unless they’re actually scanning us.”
Dr. Morgan pulled the faceplate from the panel in front of her. Reorganizing dataports and moving wires, she was trying to increase signal strength. “Try a pinpoint beam,” she told Vandrell.
“But that’s only good for line of sight.”
“I know. You have any better ideas?”
“You’re the scientist, boss.”
“Aim the beam straight for the target destination, location: oh one three, mark two.
Vandrell entered the coordinates. “Oh one three, mark two, aye.”
“We’ll put all power on that one source.”
“That source being...?”
“The starship Pegasus.”
Lt. Vandrell smiled for the first time today. In the confusion surrounding them, she had completely forgotten about the Pegasus. “Consider it done.”
“Good job, Lieutenant. We just might get out of this yet.”
“Providing the Pegasus survived the attack.”
“What the hell?”
With all of the unusual events that had already occurred today, the officers from the Pegasus and the Space Lab survivors figured that nothing else could possibly startle them.
They were wrong.
The station’s power had returned. Illumination flooded the corridors and hallways as the station’s emergency lights flared to life, pouring a dull yellow light into every passageway. Reacting similarly to fog, the dust in the air diffused the light, making it that much harder to see.
“Everyone stay calm,” Captain Harmon said as she toggled her rifle, extinguishing the light beam from it. “Could just be the back up reserves finally kicking in.”
“Doubtful,” Ensign Bailey confirmed. “Reserves are only spotlights just bright enough to see where you’re going.”
“I was afraid of that,” Officer Walsh added.
“This is a good thing,” Doctor Silver said.
“How?”
“It means that someone in Operations obviously repaired the lights, Hanover,” the captain said. “That means someone up there is alive and well.”
“And waiting to be rescued,” Doctor Silver said as he ran to the nearest wall comm-unit. Lifting the receiver, he dialed the Operations Center and waited. Only a crackle of static played in his ear.
“Dammit!” He slammed the unit back into place.
“No answer?”
“No answer. Now what?” he asked the captain.
“How far to the Operations Center from our present location?” she asked, already making her way toward the nearest flight of stairs. “Doctor?”
“Two,” he said, his eyes closed as he tried to mentally recall the station’s blueprints he had seen earlier. “Two flights up and then a make a left.”
She stopped at the top of the first level. “All clear!”
Moving on, the others followed at a modest distance. No sense giving the enemy one big target when several lone targets might save their lives so they spread out, each providing cover for one another.
The stairwell was empty, save for the same debris and dust that they had seen all over the station. The lights were less bright in the stairwell so the group once again turned on their spotlights.
At the first floor they came to, the captain and her security detail checked the corridor while Doctor Silver waited impatiently with Bailey. “Anything?”
“We’re clear,” Hanover said as the door closed behind him.
Once they got moving again it took only a few minutes to reach the doors to the Operation’s Center.
Bailey tried the electronic door release first, but as he expected it did not work. Leaning his gun against the bulkhead, the ensign pried the cover off of a panel and exposed the manual release override inside. With a grunt he managed to twist the lever. It took three attempts before the lever moved.
Nothing happened.
“Jammed,” he said, rapping on the heavily shielded door with his fist. It sounded like a gong as it echoes down the corridor. “Lt. Vandrell!” he shouted. “Can you hear me?” He hit it again. “Dr. Morgan?”
“Stand back, ensign.”
The captain aimed her rifle at the center of the door. Dr. Silver and Ensign Bailey stepped out of the line of fire. Having seen her in action earlier, the two men covered their ears.
Harmon pulled the trigger, sending a beam of pure blue energy lancing out of her weapon toward the door. It struck with an intensity that would have fried a human being into nothing.
Unfortunately, the massive shield doors held. It had obviously been designed to prevent just that sort of attack.
“Damn,” Harmon said.
“That went well,” Silver commented.
Scratching angrily behind her ear, she sighed.
“I’m open to suggestion, people.”
Chapter 33
30
Alliance Starship Pegasus
The bridge of the Pegasus was in turmoil.
The ship’s chief engineer had been unable to restart the ship’s engines successfully. With an enemy fleet on the way, nothing was going quite the way Lieutenant Marc Allen had planned when he woke up that morning.
“Lt. Allen?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“I’m receiving a pinpoint transmission being beamed to the Pegasus, sir. I’ll reroute it to your station.” The injured science officer had volunteered to stay on duty and help the lieutenant. Luckily the cut on his head had stopped bleeding and he was more coherent now. At the moment there were only four people on bridge duty. Lt. Allen had arbitrarily picked two crewmen and appointed them pilot trainees. “Consider this an emergency training session,” he had told them. Unfortunately, there was no one qualified to train them on board.
“I beg your pardon?”
; “Consider it learn as you go training,” he said after offering them the basics. “All you need to do is steer. We’ll handle the rest.”
“Is the message from the captain?” he asked, hopeful.
“No, sir.”
“Then where?”
“Space Lab, sir,” Lt. Andersen called from communication as if he couldn’t believe the source of the transmission. “Dr. Cynthia Morgan on line for you.”
“Well that’s something.”
“Transmission’s spotty. Don’t know how long they can maintain it.”
“On screen.”
Instantly a distorted image of an attractive woman filled the main screen. She looked as though she had crawled through hell, but the lieutenant wisely kept that observation to himself. “Thank God,” he said aloud when he saw her.
“Amen to that,” she responded. “This is Dr. Cynthia Morgan, chief administrator of Space Lab. We have been attacked. I believe there are invaders aboard this station with hostile intentions. We require immediate assistance.”
“That’s an understatement if ever I heard one, Doctor. I’m Lieutenant Allen of the starship Pegasus. We have a rescue team aboard Space Lab even as we speak, but the majority of your personnel were able to jettison from the station in the escape pods. We’ve got smaller craft out collecting your people even as we speak.”
“Good. That’s great. Thank you.” A weight seemed to fall from the administrator’s shoulders. “Has everyone been accounted for? Did they all make it off the station?”
“I wish I could tell you, ma’am. Unfortunately, the ship that attacked your station was able to incapacitate us as well. At this point we’re just barely holding enough power to keep orbit with you. We are still unable to resume our rescue.”
“I understand.” She let out a small string of coughing sounds. “Where is your Captain? We need to get help here before it’s too late.”
“Captain Harmon is onboard Space Lab even as we speak,” Allen reported.
Dr. Morgan stiffened at the news. “Here?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lt. Allen continued. “We are having trouble locating them and communications are less than stellar due to the radiation surge. Can you help us find our team? It will help expedite getting you out of there.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Pegasus. Standby.”
“Thank you.”
Before the chief administrator could continue, an explosion of sound reverberated inside the cramped room. Debris fell, adding more dust to the already saturated atmosphere. Lt. Allen immediately recognized the sound even over the spotty transmission.
“That’s a standard issue blaster charge set at high power,” he said before anyone could ask the expected, what was that?
“You can tell that from here?” one of the pilots asked. “Impressive.”
He smiled at the compliment. “That’s what happens when you spend a few good years working infantry. You get up close and personal with all the weapons.”
“Cool.”
“Doctor Morgan,” Allen called. “I believe I have found my captain. If you and your staff will kindly take cover I believe they’ll have you free in no time.”
“Are you sure this is your captain and not the intruders?”
“Trust me, Administrator. That’s my people on the other side of that door. Please take cover.”
“Understood, Pegasus. We will comply.”
He watched the occupants of the room scurry for cover, hoping his assumption that the explosion outside the door was Captain Harmon trying to get inside the Operation’s Center was an accurate one.
If not and the people on the other side of that door were the same people responsible for the attack then they were in deep trouble.
In the midst of the confusion happening all around him, Lt. Allen stopped and said a silent prayer for the lives for whom he had inherited responsibility and wondered, not for the first time, if he was worthy of that trust.
Holding his breath, he waited for the doors on the screen to open.
“Oh, God, let me be right,” he whispered.
31
Marshal’s Office Starship Bounty’s Pride
The Bounty’s Pride led the Alliance fleet to Earth.
Since their hurried departure from Mars, Marshal Maxwell Vortex had his crew check every system before having them rechecked, and checked again. His senior staff had seen to the weaponry and verified the stores of supplies they might need in the upcoming confrontation. The marshal wanted to be prepared for any contingency, expected or otherwise.
Expected problems, he knew his team could handle. It was those rare, unexpected problems that popped up at the most inopportune times that generally caused the biggest headaches. In this case, he wanted no headaches whatsoever.
Sitting in the command chair on the bridge of the Bounty’s Pride, his mind raced through endless possibilities, filing each in a special corner of his brain before carefully moving on to the next.
All systems were prepared for the battle that was undoubtedly waiting for them at Earth. At least as ready as one could ever be for a war.
“Marshal?”
His daughter’s voice brought him out of his mental prep. Natalie had been working the long-range scanners, trying to detect any sign of an enemy fleet, friendly vessels, or anything that seemed out of the ordinary.
“Natalie?” he called, standing, stretching, then walking to her console. “What have you got?” He peered over her shoulder at the console screen. “I’m hoping good news.”
“Yeah? I wish I had some for you.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It isn’t. Look at this.” She pointed to the screen.
“What is it?” he asked, fearing he would not like the answer.
“Long range scans are detecting a, well… an armada of ships converging on the Earth system. There are quite a few of them, but most are small one and two manned fighters. The look like holdovers from the last war,” she said as she pulled up a schematic on the console. “Dad, many of these ships are old enough to be considered antiques.”
“Antiques?”
“Some are older than I am,” Natalie added for emphasis.
“What?” Allison Grady asked as she came to stand by the marshal.
“Scavengers, Grady.” He turned to his executive officer. “They can’t exactly afford new ships, now can they? They’ve learned to make do with what they have, but lets not underestimate these ships or their pilots based on their looks alone.”
“Would you like a work up on the ships, Dad?”
“Yes, but not by you.”
Natalie shot him a look that said she was expecting a damned good reason to be forthcoming. Instead, the marshal turned back from his daughter to Grady and Dexter Freeman.
“Grady, I want you and Dexter to start a search. Find out weaknesses, armor class, top speeds, weaponry, everything. Let’s not go into this thing unprepared. Natalie will pipe the information to the terminal in Grady’s office.”
“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.
“The works. Right,” Grady said as she and Dexter exited the bridge.
“Natalie?”
“Sir? I’m sending the information to Grady’s computer now. Did you have something else in mind for me?”
“Yes. Keep a constant scan on those ships. I want numbers, profiles, heat signatures, power flux readings, and whatever else you think might be important. Grady and Dexter can find out how tough they are. You tell me how fast they are.”
“You got it, boss.”
On his way back to the command chair, he stopped, and turned back to his daughter. “Can you get all of that without their knowledge?” She seemed to think it over.
“I need you to be sneaky.”
“Oh, I can do sneaky,” she assured him. “Unless they are actually looking for my scanning signature, they won’t even know I’m there.”
“Good, girl. Before you start your investigation, send an update to Adm
iral McKeen aboard the Ulysis.”
“Yes, sir. Standard hail?”
“No. Code it ultra priority. Tell him to get his butt moving or he’ll miss the fireworks.”
“Fireworks? Right. Transmitting now.”
With his orders being carried out, the marshal leaned back in his comfortable chair, his thoughts drifting once again to the upcoming battle. Although he despised war, the old saying someone has to do it applied. And there was no one better suited on the playing field at the moment. The job was his.
“Marshal,” Natalie called out. “I have the Ulysis.”
“Did you relay my message?”
“Uh, no, sir.”
“Why not, Nat?”
“There’s a problem.”
“Of course there is.” Vortex sighed before motioning toward his small office just a few steps off the bridge. Natalie advised the Ulysis’ communication’s officer that she would be transferred to the marshal’s office. The woman on the screen acknowledged, apparently familiar with this kind of runaround.
The marshal paused at the hatchway leading to his office. “Natalie,” he said. “Get Grady up here and the two of you join me in my office.”
“Yes, sir.”
Once her father’s office door closed, Natalie placed the call to Deputy Grady’s office.
Maxwell Vortex sat behind his desk.
All business as he clicked on the monitor, he introduced himself to the attractive officer on the screen. “What seems to be the problem, Commander… uh?”
“Lt. Commander Andrea Hall, sir.”
“My apologies. What seems to be the problem, Lt. Commander?”
“Hold for a moment, Marshal while I connect you with Captain Andrews.”
“Of course.”
Her image blanked out. The next sight he saw was that of his old colleague, William Andrews, who did not look happy.
“Bill?”
“Max. We have a situation here on the Ulysis. I’m afraid it isn’t good.” All business, Bill Andrews went straight to the point. Some things never changed.
The marshal ran his hands through his thick, dark hair, letting out a deep breath as he leaned back against his chair. “So what else is new,” he said, half jokingly.