Battlecruiser Alamo: Not In My Name Page 5

   “We’d better make sure that’s us, then.” The door opened, and they stepped out in front of the officer’s mess. “And this latest mission. Have you heard anything about it?”

   “Only that our first stop is DX Cancri, and that I’ve got to get half a dozen drone fighters and four shuttles in a space built for half that capacity. I hope they aren’t expecting fast launches, because they aren’t going to get them.”

   “Off into the dark again,” he said, stepping into the mess. He looked around the room, a thin scattering of officers scattered around, an old Lieutenant, Grant, he vaguely recalled, sitting with a blonde Midshipman, their conversation perhaps a little too quiet for comfort, and Sub-Lieutenant Kibaki over by himself in a corner. He looked up, saw them, and waved a fork in their direction.

   “What do you want?” he asked.

   “How can I choose when it is all so good?” she replied, smiling.

   He shrugged, and replied, “We’ve restocked with fresh food. It might actually be edible for once.”

   “Fine, then let’s go crazy. Salmon steaks, potatoes, asparagus. Steamed.”

   Shaking his head, he said, “Crazy is the word.” He walked over to the dispenser, inputted her order, and after frowning for a moment, punched for chicken stew for himself. Something the machines couldn’t mess up. After pausing for a second, he doubled his order to two bowls.

   The slot opened, and three trays slid out onto the counter. Two of them looked like food. The third didn’t. Carefully balancing them all in his hands, he walked over to the table and dropped them down, a trickle of stew running down the side of his bowl. He pushed the salmon over to his wife, who wrinkled her nose and reached for the second bowl of stew.

   “I knew there was a reason I married you,” she said.

   “So, how are things, Joe?” Cooper asked Kibaki.

   He shrugged, and said, “Life on this ship is always interesting. I presume you know something about the saga of our latest watch officer?”

   “Salazar?” Bradley replied. “I’ve got to admit that I was surprised to see him here.”

   “Ah, you would have been at flight school at the same time as him,” Kibaki said.

   “One class behind, but I was around for the accident. Surprised they didn’t bury him somewhere.”

   “He’s doing fine for the moment,” Kibaki said. “A little young, a little enthusiastic, but I’m certain that he’ll learn over time.” He glanced over at the other occupied table, and said, “Our Assistant Operations Officer will likely see to that.”

   “What’s that about, anyway?” Cooper asked.

   “Captain Marshall has a slightly soft spot. He’s a couple of months away from being disqualified for flight duty, so I think he’s hoping to ease him into a line role. It’s either that or a desk job somewhere back at Mars.”

   Shaking her head, Bradley said, “Passenger, huh.”

   “What was that?” Grant said, standing up. “Who are you, anyway?”

   “Sub-Lieutenant Barbara Bradley, Deck Officer as of, what, twenty-four hours ago. You must be Grant.”

   “Lieutenant Grant,” he replied, walking over to their table. “Shouldn’t you be on duty? There are still supplies to load.”

   “Even the best of us need to sleep and eat occasionally, Lieutenant.”

   “Besides,” Cooper said, “My wife was on a combat operation less than twelve hours ago. I’d say she’s earned a bit of down time.” He looked up at Grant, narrowed his eyes, and said, “Where were you?”

   “I don’t have to answer to Espatier officers,” he replied.

   “And I don’t have to answer to you. Nor does my wife, who as I understand it, is outside your chain of command. Whatever that is.”

   Grant's eyes widened, and he said, “I will speak to your superior.”

   A grin spreading across his face, Cooper said, “You'll have to shout pretty loud. My company commander’s on Mars.”

   Shaking his head, he walked off, abandoning his meal. After a brief hesitation, the midshipman ran after him. Dunking his spoon into the stew, Cooper stirred it up for a second, then took a sip.

   “Someone who wants to make friends and influence people,” Bradley said.

   Nodding, Kibaki replied, “Fortunately we’re not seeing much of him on Gamma Shift. He seems to be spending most of his time on Alpha, watching Salazar like a hawk.”

   “I’m sure that’s very helpful to the kid,” Bradley said. “Crazy.”

   “We’re lucky on this ship,” Cooper said. “Not that much dead-weight to carry around.”

   “Attention,” a voice said. “Stand by for acceleration. Hendecaspace jump in forty-five minutes.”

   “What?” Bradley looked down at her watch, and said, “They’ve jumped the gun. That’s two hours earlier than planned.”

   “I guess the Captain’s impatient to get going with whatever our secret mission is.”

   “We’re going after the not-men,” Cooper said. He looked around the table, and said, “Come on, it’s a foregone conclusion. They’ve attacked us twice now, and we can’t just sit back and let them keep attacking us.”

   “Which implies we have some sort of idea where they are coming from.”

   The door opened, and Orlova walked in, snatching a sandwich from the machine. Cooper gestured at an empty chair, and with a smile, she placed her tray down and took the vacant seat.

   “Plotting our doom?” she asked.

   “I thought we could leave that to the senior officers,” Cooper said. “Where are we going?”

   “Sorry, Ensign.”

   “More to the point, are you expecting to use my troops?”

   “Probably. I’d brush up on your boarding procedures, though you seemed proficient enough on Caledonia.”

   “We were lucky. Oh, and pass on my thanks to Salazar, as well. We were in the black within five seconds thanks to his advance warning. Any advantage we can get helps keep my men alive.”

   “I’ll pass that on,” she said, nodding. “How are you two, anyway? I haven’t had a chance to catch up since you got back on board.”

   “Ragnarok’s still as cold as ever,” Cooper said, “but we got a chance to take quite a bit of leave. Not that there are many vacation spots, unless you like bleak snowy wastelands.”

   “Didn’t matter during the honeymoon, though,” Bradley said, glancing at her husband.

   “True,” he replied, placing his arm around her.

   “Careful,” Kibaki said. “Grant will probably accuse you two of fraternization.”

   “After the way he was carrying on with that midshipman?” Bradley said. “Doesn’t take much guesswork to see what’s happening there.”

   “Really?” Orlova said. “That’s new. She’s Alpha Watch, as well, assigned to Salazar. I might have some words with them about that, before I have to take official notice.” She took a bite of her sandwich and her eyes widened in surprise. “This actually tastes like beef.”

   “Fancy some salmon?” Bradley asked, gesturing at the congealing plate.

   “Just because the food fabricators are capable of producing fifteen thousand recipes doesn’t mean that you should try any of them,” she said, poking dubiously at the salmon with her fork. “I’ll stick to the sandwich. I need to get back up to the bridge anyway. Lots of extra work with Cunningham staying behind. Deadeye and I are basically splitting the Executive Officer’s job between us.”

   “I’m certain that Alamo could do a lot worse,” Kibaki said.

   “Grant, for example,” Bradley said.

   Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “He’s a seasoned combat veteran, and I think he’s finding it hard to get used to the idea that he isn’t going to be climbing back into a cockpit again. I’m cutting him some slack, and I’d hope that everyone else will do the same.”

   “I’m just glad I report to
Jack Quinn.” Bradley took a sip of her juice, and said, “Though it’s going to be tough stopping him from modifying those drone fighters. He’s already been down with a couple of his engineers.”

   “As long as we can launch the damn things,” Orlova said. “I’ve got a lot of simulator time booked in the next few days. Going to be fun learning how to fly six planes at once. Incidentally, I’ll need your recommendation for a shuttle pilot. Someone with some combat experience would be good, and before you leap to volunteer, it needs to be someone else.”

   Frowning, she said, “I’m the best qualified.”

   “You have got a flight deck to run,” Cooper said. “And a squadron of shuttles to lead. Assuming my boys will be involved in the same battle.”

   “Probably a safe bet. Give it some thought and get back to me.”

   Nodding, Bradley replied, “Might have to reach outside the department. I’m a bit short on shuttle pilots at the moment. Some clever bureaucrat identified a shortfall in the training pipeline last year, so this year all the experienced fliers are back at base catching up on all the pilots we should have trained then and need now.”

   “Give me a name and I’ll arrange the transfer. Rank does hath its privileges.” Pushing her plate away, she said, “I’d better head up to the bridge. Lots to do.”

   Nodding, Bradley said, “Yeah, I should probably make sure that everything is locked down on the flight deck. I’ll try and get back to our quarters later.”

   “Is that a promise?” Cooper said as she stood up.

   “Count on it,” she replied, and the two of them walked out of the room. Frowning, Cooper took his fork, stabbed into a piece of the salmon, and placed it carefully in his mouth.

   “Don’t tell my wife,” he said, “but this actually doesn’t taste that bad.”

   “Not everything is as it seems,” Kibaki said. “A good lesson to remember, Ensign.”

  Chapter 6

   Marshall sat in his office, going over the reports on DX Cancri one last time, making sure that he hadn’t missed anything. Not that there seemed to be that much to see. Surveyed by a United Nations team just before the Interplanetary War, and only a couple of visits by Triplanetary ships since then to fill in a few blanks, both of them battlecruisers on raiding missions who had better things to do than planetary surveys.

   One of them, interestingly enough, had been Alamo itself, from when it flew the Callistan flag, and the commander in those days was unusually garrulous, his log filled with anecdotes and reminiscences. Which meant in practice, given that the ship hadn’t seen any action here, that he had a good recommendation for a bar to visit, and that was about all. The other entry was no more useful, a simple rundown of what was in the system, with an emphasis on tactical possibilities.

   Strategically, the place had some potential. At the moment it was just a frontier outpost, but with Procyon one jump away back towards Sol, and Triplanetary space a jump in the other direction, this could be a key conduit. Officially, there was no listed permanent residence here, but according to his predecessor’s scanty notes, an old bulk freighter had been placed in orbit around one of the gas giants to serve as a refueling station, considered too useful for either side to make the effort to destroy it.

   Which meant that it was smuggling for both sides, and whoever was running it was skilled at keeping the peace and maintaining his neutrality by a combination of bribery and deals with intelligence agents. Harper had hinted as much, but had been reticent when he had asked for details. Just a couple of possible contacts for fuel resupply for him to take advantage of, once he’d tested the water.

   “Tactical to all hands,” Caine’s voice echoed across the room from the ceiling speaker. “Battle stations. I repeat, battle stations. Hendecaspace emergence in five minutes. Captain to the bridge.”

   Turning off his monitor, he stood up, reaching for his jacket and swinging it across his shoulders, sliding into the sleeves. He gave it a quick tug, pulling it into position, and walked through the door onto the bridge.

   “You could just have knocked, Deadeye,” he said, looking across at her with a smile as he stepped to the command chair.

   “I thought I’d make things sound official for once.”

   “I have the conn,” he said. “How are we doing?”

   “Missiles ready, laser arming, ready to extend radiator upon our arrival in the system.”

   Shaking his head, he replied, “Hold on that until we spot a threat. No sense asking for trouble, and unfurling our wings could be seen as provocation. Salazar, what about the ship?”

   The young sub-lieutenant turned, replying, “I have a green board, sir. All decks and stations are cleared for action. Course plotted out of sight of the known in-system facilities.”

   “They’ll know someone is here,” Caine said, “but not who. Assuming they don’t have any ships out this far.”

   “It doesn’t matter that much if they do,” Marshall replied. “Just that we have sufficient lead time, in the event we run into some unexpected company. Mr. Salazar, I want a course plotted to take us to the tertiary in-system hendecaspace point, ready to implement on my command.”

   He nodded, turned to the helm, and said, “Get that set up, Midshipman.”

   “Aye, sir,” she replied, focusing on her work. “Emergence in ninety seconds.”

   The tactical display flashed on, and Marshall turned to look at it. Five planets and a smattering of moons, moving in their set orbits and a small green dot to represent the station. He waved his arm to focus inward, drawing the view to a closer look at their egress point. A superjovian, three times larger than Jupiter, with a couple of hundred moons around it, most of them too small to trigger a dimensional shift. It meant there were lots of places to hide in the system, but not many ways to escape.

   “I can see why the smugglers like this place,” Caine said.

   Tapping a control, Marshall said, “Maggie, you ready with your fighters?”

   “Yes, sir, and Cooper’s got three squads ready to go in case we find something to assault. One thing, though. I’ve not had a chance to try these babies out in real-world conditions yet.”

   “You’ve had time in the simulators, though?”

   “Twenty-five hours, but they’re not always completely accurate. It might be a little messy the first time out, but I’ll try and put on a good show for you.”

   “Let’s hope it isn’t needed.” He leaned forward, and said, “You have the call, Midshipman.”

   “Aye, sir. I have the call. Ten seconds to emergence, and I have your course plotted.”

   Marshall turned to face the screen, watching the countdown clock click away the last few seconds, and with a bright flash of Cerenkov blue, Alamo returned to its native dimension, the stars appearing on the screen, a dim red star on the fringes of the display. The planets on the tactical display jumped almost imperceptibly as the computer updated its data, and a series of small dots appeared, trajectory tracks overlaid.

   “Lots of activity, sir,” Spinelli said. “More than we were expecting. I’m reading sixty-three different ships in the system, all of them small. Shuttles, prospectors, I think. A few other points on some of the moons, temporary bases, maybe.” He turned, and said, “No other military craft that I can see at present. I’ll have a more thorough report in a few minutes.”

   “Comm traffic just went through the roof, sir,” Weitzman said. “I guess they’ve spotted us after all. Lots of coded signals. but I don’t recognize any of them as UN or Cabal, mostly civilian algorithms. I’m dumping the whole lot down to Security for analysis.”

   “Hold our current position,” Marshall said. “Lot more crowded than we were led to believe, Deadeye.”

   “Nothing that could threaten us, though, and most of them are well away from us.” She looked up at her display, and said, “In fact, I’d say they’re vectoring to avoid us completely. Lots o
f people on the move.”

   “Check that,” Marshall said, turning to Spinelli.

   “Lieutenant Caine beat me to the punch on the report, sir. About a quarter of the ships are on new courses, heading for the far side of the planet.”

   “Which means that there is something here that they are trying to cover up, and given what happened to us last week, I’m inclined to think that there is a connection.” He looked across at Weitzman, and said, “I think it’s time to break communications silence. Hail the commander of the station, and inform him that I want to speak to him privately.” Rising from his seat, he said. “Secure from battle stations, but maintain standby alert. You have the conn, Deadeye. I’ll take the call in my office.”

   “Sure you don’t want company?”

   “I suspect that whoever is running things here would be rather happier with privacy.”

   As he walked towards his office, Spinelli turned to him, saying, “Something interesting here, sir. More than half of the shuttles seem to be of the same type, and a similar age.”

   “Oh?”

   “United Nations Roughrider-class, sir.”

   “A military type,” Foster said.

   “They were,” Caine replied. “Standard UN landing shuttle during the war, but they built thousands of them. Most of them ended up being sold. This isn’t that strange.”

   “But of a similar age?” Marshall asked. “Interesting. Try and get serial numbers if you can, Spaceman. Anything we might use to tie them together.”

   “At this range, sir?”

   “Do the best you can, Spaceman.”

   Weitzman turned, and said, “I have Administrator Miller for you, sir. Standing by on encrypted channel.”

   “Whose?”

   “Ours, sir. An out-of-date Fleet code. We haven’t used it in five years.”

   “Which means the odds are that only a few other people in the system will be listening. I’d better not keep him waiting.” He stepped into his office, sat down behind his desk, and tapped the monitor to reveal a portly, balding man, red-faced, looking back at him.