Battlecruiser Alamo: Tip of the Spear Page 5

  "Spaceman, I don't know what you are doing here, but you might want to take another pass at dressing, then come back."

  "What?" She looked down at the parts of her uniform she'd put on, then shook her head. "No, this is important."

  Kibaki, sighing, said, "You are addressing your commanding officer, spaceman."

  Ignoring the pepper-haired sub-lieutenant, Harper walked over to the scanning station, pushing aside the hands of the duty controller and starting to work. "I had a thought as I was about to turn in. This is the biggest source of titanium on the moon, right?"

  Quinn replied, "According to the orbital survey, yes."

  "Couldn't you have simply called the bridge, spaceman?" Caine asked.

  "Why is it still there?"

  Caine's forehead furrowed. "What do you mean?"

  "This spaceport was built to service ships, right? So why is there no sign that the titanium's been mined? I mean, if we can find it, so can the people who built the station."

  Caine looked at Quinn, then turned back to the monitor, "Ryder, is there any sign of man-made activity down there? Anything at all."

  The line crackled in reply, "....hear, Alamo. Re..."

  Switching channels, Caine called the winch operator on the surface, "Salazar, get them back up immediately."

  "Ma'am?"

  Harsh urgency filled her voice, "You heard, spaceman. Get them up now."

  Harper was still working away at the sensor console, running over the logs of the orbital analysis; she looked up, shaking her head, "Clean."

  "Well, Harper, I appreciate your enthusiasm..." Caine began.

  "No," the young hacker interrupted. "Too damn clean. There's something wrong."

  "Don't you think you might be a little paranoid, spaceman?" Kibaki said, looking over from his station. "Sometimes a failure to find something just means that there is nothing there to find."

  A loud scream echoed through the bridge, and Caine immediately raced up and down the channels. "What's going on! Someone, report, now!"

  Quinn turned to his station, "Tabby, get a rescue team and get out to the moon yesterday."

  A sleepy voice replied, "What's up?"

  "Don't know," Caine said, cutting in, "but something. Get out there right now."

  "On my way."

  The helmet cameras were swinging back and forth as the cable curved, and there was nothing but an ominous silence from the speakers. Harper continued to play with the sensors while Ortega worked the communicators, calling constantly with no reply. Kibaki began to shake his head.

  "Harper, you reading what I am?"

  With a sigh, she replied, "Yeah."

  Caine rose from her chair, drifting over to the tactical station. "What is it?" she asked in a low tone.

  "Explosion on the surface, just near the fissure."

  "Salazar?"

  Harper shook her head, "Nothing up there could have lived through it."

  "What about the fissure?"

  "Relay must have been damaged," Ortega said, as almost on cue, the helmet feed winked out. "I'm not even getting any telemetry."

  Sighing, Caine turned to Kibaki. "Notify Captain Marshall and Lieutenant Dietz. One crewman dead on the moon, two probables, rescue team on the way. I'm going into the office."

  Pushing herself towards the door before anyone could say anything, she slid into Marshall's office, grabbing a handhold to swing from the ceiling. His empty chair sat there, as if he was looking at her. She tried to imagine how he'd be handling it; badly, at a guess, but probably a damn sight better than she was. Acting Captain for three days in dry-dock, and already there was a casualty; she was on the verge of contacting the station to call Dietz to come and take over when the communicator cheeped from the bridge.

  "Caine here."

  "I have Captain Marshall for you, ma'am."

  Blessed relief. "Put him on."

  There was a ten-second delay from ship to surface. "What happened, Deadeye?"

  She paused before responding. "A booby trap on the moon, near that rich titanium deposit."

  "Is there anything you could possibly have done to prevent it?"

  "Harper thought there was something wrong. I should have seen what she did."

  The pause was longer than the speed-of-light delay. "When did she come to you with these concerns?"

  "Just before the explosion."

  "Then there wasn't anything you could have done about it, Deadeye."

  "Damn it, Danny, three people are dead!"

  Another long pause, a crackle of noise. "One person is dead. Two are unaccounted for. Sheltered by the cavern, I'd bet they're fine. You've got a rescue team on the way?"

  "Dixon's on her way out there right now. Danny, you need to put Dietz in command."

  Somehow, Marshall had managed a slight chuckle. "For someone who professes not to want a command, you spend an awful lot of time ordering me around, Deadeye."

  "I mean it."

  "How long have you known me?"

  "What?"

  "Answer."

  "More than ten years."

  There was a soft, gentle tone in his reply. "Do you honestly think that I would hesitate for a single moment – our friendship aside—from relieving you of command if I thought for a single second that you were not up to the job, that you were culpable in the least over what just happened down there?"

  She thought about that for a few seconds. "No, probably not."

  "I should have seen it as well, Deadeye. Not finding any traps on the spaceport may have lulled us into a false sense of security."

  "Why did you call so quickly?"

  "Because I knew that if I didn't, you'd be stewing up about this until I did, and I figured it would be easier to stem your self-pity now."

  The door knocked, and Harper glided in. Caine looked up, "Spaceman, I'm in the middle of a conversation."

  "Huh? This is urgent. I found something interesting."

  Caine caught herself before snapping back a reply; Harper might be many things, but if she believed that something was urgent, then it probably was. As recent events had proven.

  "Stand by one, Captain," she said, then looked up at the hacker, "What have you got for me?"

  "I think I've found a message embedded in the explosion."

  Her eyes widened. "You're going to have to explain that one more carefully."

  "One microsecond before detonation, there was a beacon signal, one pointed at the planet. If we hadn't been in contact with the surface at the time we never would have spotted it, not on that tight a beam."

  "A tight-beam signal? To where?"

  Harper leaned over the desk and started tapping out instructions, "I've got a first-guess plot, and it looks like about a thousand miles up the coast from Yreka. I'm going to bet that it's some sort of secret base on the planet, something that we definitely want to take a much closer look at."

  "No bet, Spaceman. Captain, did you get any of that?"

  "Enough to insist that you get the co-ordinates to me immediately. I'm not sure quite what we can do about it at the moment, but I certainly want to do something."

  "Good work, Harper. Keep doing what you are doing."

  "Thanks, Lieutenant," she peered down to the microphone, "Captain."

  She slid out, the door drifting shut behind her as Caine glided around to the other side of the desk. There were periodic voices on the other side of the speaker, Marshall dictating something to someone. It was more than a minute before he spoke again; she welcomed the opportunity to go over her thoughts.

  "Still there, Deadeye."

  "Right here, Danny."

  "Good. Looks like Salazar didn't die in vain; that's going to be useful. It's slap in the middle of Caribbean country, and getting in touch with them is way up on my to-do list in any case."

  She shook her head, "How can you just write him off like that?"

  "Antonio? I'll miss him at the mess, he was always good for a song, and he told some excellent dirty j
okes, but as with everyone else, he knew the risks going in. You might want to hold off on the memorial service until we all get back on board."

  "He's dead, Danny."

  "And if I could change that, I would." He paused. "I can't. We've got to grit our teeth and move on."

  She shook her head, searching for something to change the subject, "What's the situation on the surface?"

  "I'm just in the middle of another meeting with the local provisional government. I couldn't tell you if we were making any progress or not."

  "Sounds like fun."

  "At least Orlova's father runs a decent bar. You need to get down here at some point. Schedule yourself some leave."

  "Can I do that?"

  "Once things settle down. No point you missing out; the shooting's just about stopped, and I think it's only fair to give the maintenance crews a bit of leave."

  "Won't they get that at Ragnarok?"

  Another long pause followed, "I'm not sure we're heading back as quickly as that. If we get some decent intel that the Cabal are close at hand, we're going to have to take a look. Which is why it's critical that Alamo gets back up to full flight status as quickly as possible."

  "Understood."

  There was a more respectful knock on the door; this one waited for Caine to acknowledge, before it opened to admit Kibaki.

  "Wait one again, skipper." She looked up. "Any news?"

  "Looks like there's been a little subsidence, enough to open a gap. We're getting some telemetry from Ryder and Carpenter."

  "And?"

  "Both fine, Lieutenant. Dixon will be there in an hour, with a little luck we'll have the site opened again in six."

  "Exercise extreme caution. Where there was one explosive there might be others."

  "Definitely agree, ma'am. Shall I inform the ship?"

  "By all means."

  He smiled, nodding as he left the office. "I heard that, Deadeye," the communicator crackled. "I told you they were fine."

  "That doesn't help Salazar, though, Danny." She paused. "I'd better get back to work."

  Hesitation was in Marshall's voice, "Call me if you need anything, or even just to talk. I know it hurts."

  "Just another ghost for my collection. Alamo out."

  She sat in the office, staring at the stone walls of the spaceport through the office viewport. Try as she might, she couldn't picture the dead crewman. Turning down to the computer, she started to run his personnel file; the computer had already updated, and 'Deceased' flashed across it as the file opened.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Replacing the headset on the wooden desk, Marshall took a quick sip of his coffee – marveling once again at the taste of real coffee with real sugar in it – and stepped back out into the impromptu conference center. Half a dozen people were sitting in the shadow of a tennis net on folding chairs, a couple of tables scattered around, with about another dozen in uniform. Presumably the children that usually used this sports hall were playing elsewhere today, Marshall mused; it seemed unfair that they were being displaced for a lot of pointless political chatter, but all the sensible places that had been considered were still being searched for traps and hidden bugs; no-one thought that the Legion might have wired a tennis court for sound. Not that Marshall hadn't made sure that it had been discretely checked beforehand.

  Cunningham was rolling his eyes at a comment from Green, who as usual seemed to have managed to say exactly the wrong thing; Montgomery – the only Jeffersonian there who was still wearing a uniform, a prediction Marshall took no satisfaction in having come true – was guffawing, taking a deep drink from his battered mug. Sanderson was the one that interested him the most; he wasn't saying very much, but he seemed to get to the point – to his point – very quickly with everything he did say. Looking around the group, Marshall sat back in his vacated chair.

  "If you've finished chatting to your friend, Captain, we still need to decide on the location of this Triplanetary barracks," Green said.

  "One of my crew is dead," Marshall replied. A look of shock flew around the table, largest on Cunningham's face.

  "Who?", his Operations Officer asked.

  "Spaceman Salazar. He found a booby-trap up on the moon, the hard way. Ryder and Carpenter are fine; rescue team on the way."

  Howe frowned, rubbing his hand on his chin, "What were they doing on the moon anyway?"

  "Geological survey party, Mr. Howe," Marshall replied. "Prospecting for titanium for repairs to our outer hull."

  "My commiserations for your loss, Captain, but that's something we should have been consulted about first, I think," Green said. "That is, after all, Jeffersonian property."

  Shaking his head, Marshall replied, "You assured me that I could take what I needed to repair my ship. One of my men has died, Mr. Green, and..."

  Sanderson cut in, "Quite right, Captain. It's not as if we have – as yet – reached our moon. Would you be willing to share your survey data with us, though? It would save us time later."

  Marshall saw a warning look from Cunningham a second too late, replying, "Certainly." Damn that Sanderson; that data would have been a useful bargaining chip in later negotiations. Green and Howe were nodding, and there was nothing he could do about it now except try and bring the meeting back under control.

  "We have some new intelligence that I do intend to share; a microsecond before the explosion, a communications pulse was sent down here, to Jefferson. To a point a thousand miles up the coast, which I understand is in Caribbean territory."

  A new addition to the group, a teacher named McIntosh, replied, "Surely that isn't a problem, Captain? One of your shuttles should be able to make it there quickly enough."

  Cunningham rolled his eyes, "I suspect the Captain was considering that this area is claimed by another government."

  The gray-haired man peered at him through his glasses, replying, "I thought we were at war."

  "We are," Marshall said, "but that doesn't mean we can simply ignore territorial borders." Unless we have no choice, he thought. "We need to open communications with them immediately."

  "Easier said than done, Captain," Montgomery said. "I sent a few scouts downriver this morning, though. Nothing back yet."

  “Perhaps we should bring Pemberton in on this,” McIntosh suggested, frowning.

  “Who?” Marshall asked.

  With a snort, Montgomery replied, “He's a trader, runs the shipping line between here and the coast. And skims quite a bit off both ends, I assure you.”

  “Mr. Pemberton is just a businessman, Captain Montgomery,” Green said with a wry smile. “I will happily contact him when he comes into town. Perhaps his connections may serve us where your riders fail.”

  "There are more immediate concerns, I feel," Howe said, raising his hand as he looked around the room. "We are still a leaderless mob, at present. Civic order must be reestablished."

  Montgomery rolled his eyes, "Damn it, we have better things to do than have an election. The shops are still open at the moment, and now the last of the legionnaires has been shot, the streets are quiet enough. We're still in the middle of a war at the moment."

  "And we need strong civilian leadership to promote that war," Green replied, a steely look on his face suggesting that he knew full well who should be in charge of it.

  "I will not acknowledge any government that does not have the consent of the people," Marshall said, looking squarely at Green. This sort of crap had come up time and again during the Interplanetary War; somehow the Confederation had danced around the issue without falling to dictatorship or collapsing into anarchy, though there had been a couple of narrow escapes.

  Green puffed himself up, "This is an internal political matter, Captain, regarding the Government of Jefferson."

  "The American segment of it, anyway. Unless the Tatars and Caribbeans are involved, this is simply the civic government of a city, nothing more than that," Marshall insisted.

  Nodding, Montgomery added, “I think
the farming settlements will want a say as well.” He looked at Green, “They are, right now, providing most of the military.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  Sanderson looked at Green and Montgomery, then back at the group, "The Captain is quite correct. I suggest that we select an interim Mayor of Yreka, to hold office for, say, three months, and that at the end of that time an election should be organized." Marshall couldn't see anything wrong with that, and the tone of the room seemed to be going along with the idea. Sanderson smiled thinly as he continued, "I suggest Mr. Howe; as head of the Chamber of Commerce he has already been elected, albeit by a limited electorate."

  Howe looked around from side to side. It was obvious that he hadn't considered this possibility at all, and Green looked as if he was about to explode. Sitting back in his chair, Marshall admired Sanderson's artistry; he didn't have a stake in this decision, and who was running the civil government of the city didn't seem to matter that much as long as they were doing a good job and not getting in his way.

  "I accept the nomination," Howe said.

  "Captain?" Sanderson said, turning to him. "Would you object to running the meeting for a moment? As an outsider, no-one can question your neutrality."

  Cunningham looked over at him, smiling as he shook his head. Another trap, and there just wasn't much he could do to avoid it. Now whatever decision this committee made was going to have the stamp of Triplanetary approval, whether he liked it or not.

  "I think it's a splendid idea," McIntosh said.

  "Very well, if there are no objections, I will take the chair. Are there any other nominations?"

  Green looked around, waiting for someone to suggest him; when the silence in the room continued, he shook his head, obviously realizing that if no-one was going to nominate him, no-one was going to vote for him either. When there was no comment from anybody, Marshall nodded.

  "Then I think we have it that Mr. Howe is Mayor of Yreka for the next three months, pending an election."

  There was a brief, perfunctory round of applause that Marshall used to take a swig of coffee; Howe seemed to sit a little stiffer on his seat, and Green looked towards the exit, before turning back to the group. Sanderson just sat in his chair, smiling; this was exactly what he wanted, and Marshall could not figure out why.