Victory or Death Read online

  He'd been trying to suppress that thought, but now it came racing back, "My father's ship was last heard from out at Procyon."

  "I have concerns, Captain, that you might choose to expand your mission parameters. That's why you aren't heading out that way – though it means next to nothing. Hercules had full tanks, and could easily have made its way into your exploration area."

  "Admiral, I hope you know that I will dedicate myself entirely to this mission. Exploring deep space has been my dream since, well, the war. I have no intention of passing up the chance."

  "And if you find evidence of Hercules out there? Evidence of your father? What then?"

  He weighed his answer for a few seconds, before replying, "That would have to depend on the circumstances, Admiral. I can give no more honest answer than that."

  She actually smiled in reply, "I don't think I would have believed any other answer. I know, Captain, that if you find direct proof that your father is out there, you are going to go to any lengths needed to bring him home. You would do that whatever I said, and all we'd get is an embarrassing court-martial. Am I close to the truth here?"

  "Yes, Admiral. If you think that means that I am not suited to this mission, I can only apologize."

  "Not at all." She looked down at a datapad, then slid it across the desk, "I know that Captain Flynt at least would probably do this anyway, but I've made Hercules a secondary mission objective for Dampier. Any information relating to the disappearance of that ship is to be brought back. If returning the ship is reasonable in the circumstances, then by all means bring it home. Bring me a good case and I'll put together an expedition to retrieve it if necessary."

  "Thank you, Admiral."

  "I want you to do something for me in return."

  Marshall frowned, "Admiral?"

  "Don't do anything stupid, and don't take any unnecessary risks. I'm going somewhat against my better judgment in sending you on this assignment, and I would appreciate it if you don't do anything to undermine Commodore Tramiel's faith in you. Is that absolutely clear?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Then have a good trip, and by all means, good hunting."

  She stood up, and saluted; Marshall rose to attention, snapping off as good a salute as he could manage in return.

  "By your leave, Admiral?"

  "Dismissed."

  He walked from the room, heading to the elevator, but his head was in another place entirely. As the door closed behind him, he started a data search for the three stars that Alamo would shortly be exploring, then tapped a button to recall the crew. He tapped for the shuttle bay, then paused, and added another search term - 'MSS Hercules'.

  Chapter 2

  Alamo's security room was a mess. Quinn's technicians had only just finished moving in the specialized programming workstations for the hacker team; what had been a wardroom for half a dozen security guards was now meant to be a sophisticated electronic warfare defense suite. Orlova looked around her new home, shaking her head – a small cubicle-sized office on one wall, dominated by a desk with a couple of chairs seemingly squeezed in as an afterthought, and five workstations in various states of repair, lockers filled with grudgingly acquired and badly packed spare parts. Taking off her uniform jacket, Orlova started to tidy up the room, picking up some of the more delicate components and putting them away.

  There were two schools of thought regarding the role of a security officer; the Patrol way, and the Martian way. In the Callisto Orbital Patrol, security chief meant bodies walking the decks with guns, men standing outside critical installations to protect against physical sabotage. For the Martian Space Service, security meant hacking. Computer warfare, protecting ship systems and aggressively attacking those of an enemy. When Captain Marshall had given her the job, just a fortnight ago, he'd made it clear which of the two he was expecting her to focus on. The Espatiers could pound the deck if need be; she, on the other hand, had managed to demonstrate a knowledge of basic hacking techniques.

  A stocky woman with beady eyes walked into the room, shaking her head, wearing the uniform of a Chief Petty Officer. The seams were crisp and fresh, the Alamo patch new to her shoulder. She walked over to a workstation, ignoring Orlova, and started to log into the system. When the young officer stopped to walk over to her, she turned back, scowling.

  "You've got a lot of work to do, Spaceman. I suggest you stop gawking and get on with it. Have you seen the Security Officer?"

  Silently, Orlova walked over to her jacket and slid it on, making sure that the rank insignia were visible; she could swear that the chief rolled her eyes when she saw the officer's marks on the shoulder.

  "That would be me, Chief. Sub-Lieutenant Orlova."

  "Chief Petty Officer Washington." She looked around the room. "You just arrived as well?"

  "Just transferred down from the bridge. Mr. Quinn was a bit reluctant to get us set up."

  "Those engine jockeys don't understand software. Answer to everything is to hit it with a hammer. We got a crew yet?"

  "They're supposed to be along shortly."

  Washington frowned, "Don't you know?"

  "No more than I knew you were coming. Alamo's had a lot of new personnel in the enlisted ranks we weren't expecting this morning."

  "Huh. Well, I'll set up the duty rosters for your approval once I've met them." She gestured towards the office, "I expect you'll want to get yourself set up in there, Sub."

  Orlova looked at her cubby-hole of an office as the chief made herself at home, and replied, "I tend towards a more hands-on style of command, Chief. Once we have our new staff, I'll go over the roster. I'll have a one-on-one with each of them when they arrive."

  The Chief turned from her workstation, "This is your first department head position, right, Sub?"

  "Yes."

  "Let me give you some advice..."

  "Officers tell the NCOs what to do, Chiefs get on and work out how to do it."

  That caught the chief by surprise; an eyebrow rose. "Usually it takes a while for that to sink in."

  "I was enlisted myself not that long ago."

  The chief smiled, "Ah, a mustang! That's a bit better. So you've actually worked for a living, then."

  "Yeah."

  "I think you might be a bit easier to break in. I don't know much more about the roster than you, Sub, but we've got one rookie coming in. That much I know. Figure I take her on Beta Watch, you and the second-best guy on Alpha, and the best one on his own on Gamma. Use the spare to fill in gaps."

  Nodding, Orlova replied, "That's about what I would have done."

  "Probably take us most of our next transition to get everything set up. Any idea if we're going into combat?"

  "All I know is that something big is going on. Captain was just in some meeting with the brass."

  "Always means trouble."

  A tall, gangly man peered around the door, wearing a spaceman's uniform. He looked around at the piles of components on the floor as if he was about to have second thoughts about entering.

  "Senior Spaceman Chapman, reporting, ma'am?"

  "Come on in, Spaceman," Washington said. "There are a lot of boxes around here with your name on them."

  He looked around, shrugged, and made his way over to the heaviest before replying, "The rest of the division is on the shuttle after mine."

  "Fine. Put them to work as soon as they get here," Orlova said. She was interrupted by her communicator buzzing, and she pulled it out of her pocket, "Orlova here."

  "Executive Officer here, Sub-Lieutenant. All department heads wanted in the observation room."

  "The observation room?"

  "That is correct, Sub-Lieutenant. Immediately."

  "On my way, sir."

  As she placed the communicator back in her pocket, she felt the gravity begin to change, the rotation slowing down, replaced by acceleration. Alamo was on the move. As she walked out of the room, Washington was shaking her head.

  "Trouble, like I said."
>
  Orlova ran down the cramped corridor; Alamo's sensor decks were essentially the 'bowels of the ship', and showed it. Always the last to get the cosmetic maintenance, and with all the stores they had received lately, even more crowded than usual. The elevator came as soon as she called it, priority to her hand-print; as the doors were about to close the dark figure of Senior Lieutenant Mulenga, Alamo's Astrogator, stepped inside.

  "Ah, of course. You will be attending these meetings henceforth," he said.

  "More meetings. Is that what promotion means, sir?"

  "Usually. The mark of a good officer is getting eight hours work done in whatever time remains after dealing with administrative requirements." He smiled, white teeth glaring, "I suspect, though, that this meeting might be worth it. I take it you were not notified of our departure, either?"

  "You weren't? Sir?"

  He shook his head, "I would be wary of informality with Mr. Dietz, or Mr. Cunningham, Sub-Lieutenant. I called the bridge; apparently the Captain returned from his meeting and ordered an immediate departure. The remaining transit shuttles are burning to catch us up, I understand. Obviously we are in a hurry."

  The doors opened, and the two of them were the last to arrive, attracting an irritated stare from the stiffly formal Executive Officer, sitting bolt upright on one of the chairs. Quinn was lounging in his work jumpsuit as usual; Orlova strained to remember the last time she had seen him wear a formal uniform. Esposito was sitting next to Cunningham, the new Operations Officer, and Caine next to Dixon, the new fighter commander. The Captain had been looking around at the view; when he heard the elevator he turned to face the room.

  "I'm afraid we're out of chairs."

  "I can stand, Captain," Mulenga said. Orlova perched on the arm of Esposito's chair, getting another look from Dietz.

  "First, sorry for not warning you about our departure. My orders were that Alamo should sail at the earliest opportunity, and aside from a couple of shuttles that should be with us in a quarter-hour, we were ready to go." He looked around at his officers, a smile on his face. "This mission is top priority, and involves the entire Deep Space Fleet. Basically – we're going exploring."

  Orlova and Esposito looked at each other, smiling; Mulenga seemed content as well, though Dixon was frowning; the fighter pilot asked, "What are my guys going to do? I get that you might need some grunts," she gestured at Esposito, "but what about us?"

  "You are here because we don't know what we're going to be facing. We know – at least, we assume – that the Republic is poking around out there, and if we end up toe-to-toe with a battlecruiser, I want a fighter group ready for launch."

  Dietz's brow furrowed, "Is that a realistic possibility, sir?"

  "Hell, its a big galaxy," Orlova added.

  "That I don't know. There is also the possibility of contact with a hostile alien power, or even another human culture such as that on Ragnarok. We're going out to see what there is to be seen. I have no intention of provoking a fight, but I certainly want to be ready to face one if it comes to it. I expect us to be out for at least six months, possibly longer. Thoughts?"

  "All bridge stations are ready. I'm still concerned about having midshipmen as guidance controllers, though," Cunningham said.

  "Consider it a good sign that we have midshipmen now. This should be good experience for them. Tactical situation?"

  "A lot of unknowns. I'll have a rummage through the files. Where are we going?"

  "Starting at FL Virginis. See if you can come up with a briefing pack for the crew. Mr. Mulenga, our course is FL Virginis, Wolf 358, Ross 128, then back to Lalande. Run through the course computers, see what other options we might have if it becomes necessary."

  "I would recommend not altering our flight path, Captain," Dietz said.

  "Always good to have options, Lieutenant. For that matter, Caine, expand your search to every star within range of those. If something might be about to leap out at us, some advance warning would be nice."

  "I'll see what I can do, skipper."

  "Mr. Quinn, your thoughts."

  "Should be fun."

  Marshall rolled his eyes, then replied, "Engineering reports?"

  "Usual wartime routine, I figure. I'll get the lads cannibalizing spares rather than throwing them out, get the fabricators on repair projections for a long cruise, and keep a close eye on the hendecaspace drive. Normal stuff. Going to take us a while to inventory all the stuff we got loaded on."

  "Make that a priority."

  "Aye, sir." He looked over at Orlova, "Can I talk about the computer security situation now, Cap?"

  "My department should be fully operational by the time we reach FL Virginis, sir," Orlova said, attempting to forestall a debate she knew might prove difficult to win.

  "Good, Sub-Lieutenant. Mr. Mulenga, given that we don't have a scientific team on board for this mission, I'd like you to do double-duty as Science Officer. Your scanning section will be doing most of the work, anyway."

  "I will take a look through the personnel roster, sir; it may be possible to transfer some people with useful qualifications into the Astrogation department, at least on a temporary basis," Dietz said.

  "What about the small craft, Lieutenant Dixon?"

  The pilot leaned forward, shrugging; she was still wearing her flight jacket, patches of half a dozen squadrons proudly sown onto the sleeves. "I found out about Quinn's fifth fighter; if I can tap some of the wings on board, should be able to put up all five fighters without any trouble at once. Already got my guys dueling in the simulators."

  Cunningham rubbed his chin, "What about the shuttles, Lieutenant?"

  "Technical Officer Salgada has that covered. All six look good."

  Quinn turned to the pilot, "I'll come round and work on some maintenance schedules, if you want."

  "Sure, have a word with Salgada next chance you get." Quinn's face dropped slightly; evidently maintenance schedules weren't the only topic on his mind.

  Going past the disappointed engineer, Marshall walked over to Esposito, "What about your platoon, Ensign?"

  "I wasn't expecting to get Third Squad back, but they're all old Alamo hands, so it should be fine. Sergeant Kozu's setting up a revised training program right now."

  "Good." Marshall looked around, "Speaking purely personally, this is the mission I joined the service to fly. Let's make it good. Mr. Dietz, we should get back to your cross-training program as soon as possible. Put a focus on our middies. Actually, Caine, fancy being training officer?"

  "No, sir." She grimaced at the prospect.

  "Thank you for volunteering. I'm hoping your department will have the quietest time, but..."

  "Keep the lasers ready and the missiles hot. Aye, Captain."

  "There is one other matter, one that I believe most of you are aware of. Aside from keeping an eye out for the Lunar Republic, our secondary objective is to look for any sign of the MSS Hercules."

  Orlova looked up, "She was lost in this area."

  "Last around Procyon-way. I'll be preparing a briefing pack for everyone myself, but you should all review the materials on the ship. Any trace, any sign, is to be reported and thoroughly investigated."

  Cunningham frowned, replying, "This is an official mission objective?"

  "It is indeed, Lieutenant."

  "I'm missing something," Dixon said, looking around the room.

  Caine volunteered, "The commanding officer of MSS Hercules – lost, what, twelve years ago – was Major William Marshall."

  "My father. Sub-Lieutenant Orlova's father was on that ship also. I won't deny that I have something of a personal stake in this, but I assure you all that I will remain objective." Orlova nodded, not at all certain whether she was capable of the same level of objectivity. Come to that, she wasn't sure that Marshall was, either.

  The Captain continued, "We'll be jumping for Virginis in about nine hours. If we're missing anything vital, we need to know before then. That's all, dismissed. Sub-Lieutena
nt Orlova?"

  "Sir?"

  "Would you hold on a minute?"

  "Aye, sir." The rest of the officers filed out of the room, most of them excited, even if some of them wouldn't admit it. Dixon looked the most disappointed; her pilots were likely destined to spend more time flying shuttles than fighters. Not quite what she would have expected given Alamo's combat record. The door closed, leaving the two of them alone in the observation room as Ragnarok appeared in the viewscreen, slowly receding as Alamo gained speed.

  "Don't worry about Quinn, Sub-Lieutenant. Just do a good job and you'll stay an independent department."

  "I was planning to do a great job, skipper," she replied, smiling.

  "How's Washington?"

  "Bit of butting-heads, but I think we'll get on."

  "She's good. I put in a request for her. Ten years ago she bashed some sense into a rookie squadron leader who thought he knew it all."

  Orlova smiled, and nodded, "Is that all, sir?"

  "No." He pulled out a pocket holoprojector, and displayed a head-shot of a teenager; green hair sprouting from her hair in a semi-random style. She looked vaguely familiar; it took Orlova a few seconds to recall.

  "Isn't that Senator Harper's daughter?"

  "I'm afraid so. He's been on the fence with the Fleet, and I gather he decided to get someone at Personnel to do him a favor."

  "She's not..."

  "She is. According to the proficiency tests, she's actually a pretty good hacker. I think we'd better try doing something useful with her rather than instantly assigning her to scrubbing the decks."

  "Sir, I know that my start in the service wasn't exactly orthodox..."

  "You were a smuggler when I hired you. That's probably as far from orthodox as I can imagine, especially for a security chief." He paused, "I hate to dump this on you, but she fits most logically in your department."

  "Her reputation..."

  "Is none of our business, Sub-Lieutenant." Marshall crossed his arms, "She's just another Spaceman Third Class. If she becomes a real problem, then I'll bury her somewhere she can't do any harm, but I think the Senator would look favorably on the fleet if we could, well..."