Starcruiser Polaris: Nothing Left To Lose Page 8

 “How?” Petrova asked.

   Turning to her, he said, “We opened a hole in the defenses on Jakarta to allow them to find the false data we put in her database. Someone's managed to use that to bounce into the relay satellites.” Looking back at the viewscreen, he added, “Saxon. She had a reputation for being a high-grade intrusion expert. And probably brought some top-of-the -ine hacking software with her when she defected.”

   “We can still intercept, Commander,” Kenyon added. “Now in six minutes, five seconds. We won't have as long in the firing range, and there is now no chance that our fighters or any other ships in the squadron can catch Polaris before it leaves the system.” She looked up at the viewscreen, a frustrated scowl on her face, and added, “We'll have to red-line the engines, though.”

   “Do it, Lieutenant. Get us there.” Turning to Schmidt, he added, “Get me a new firing solution, and use double verification this time. Cut us off from the fleet network, and get somebody into the guts of the system to find out how much damage they might have done.”

   Cursing under his breath, he returned to his chair, ignoring the glare being shot his way by Schmidt. He knew that she was already working out some way to cover up her incompetence, but he could deal with that later. Right now, he still had to deal with Polaris. He grimaced as he watched the fighters scrambling to catch up, knowing that short of a miracle, there was no way that they could make contact with the enemy ship. Though given that it had only been a one-in-a-million malfunction that had revealed the deception in the first place, perhaps he'd already been granted that miracle.

   “Locking on target,” Schmidt said. “We should get a few good hits in.”

   “Polaris turrets ranging on us, Commander,” Dietrich added. “They've turned this into a much more even fight.” He looked across at Schmidt, then added, “Maybe we can corral them. Fire a few shots at long range, wreck their turn.”

   “Do it,” Mike replied, and the hull pounded as the mass drivers unleashed a desperate volley of kinetic projectiles into space, an artificial meteor shower designed to drive the enemy cruiser into a course of his choosing. He grimaced as Polaris returned fire, point-defense cannons locking on, pulsing waves of energy to help the ship pick its way through the storm. The outward trajectory showed the ship cruising out of the system, a long run out to the gravitational threshold, and they'd only have one chance to catch her.

   The seconds dropped away as Canopus closed on her prey, Schmidt stopping the firing sequence as she prepared to unleash the full power of the ship onto the target, one desperate burst of firepower that would either win or lose the battle in a single moment.

   “Stand by,” Dietrich said, leaning over Schmidt's shoulder, watching every move she made. “Waiting for optimum firing time.”

   “Don't go by the computer, Schmidt,” Mike warned. “Use your own judgment.”

   “Firing!” she yelled.

   All sixteen of Canopus' turrets opened up as one, but at the same instant, Polaris killed her acceleration, allowing herself to drift just close enough to the moon that the bulk of the projectiles missed her, the point-defense cannons taking care of the rest. Mike watched, wide-eyed, as the enemy ship almost seemed to dance across the screen, a skilled helmsman demonstrating the best of her craft as she guided Polaris into position, running her engines up again to take advantage of the slingshot, hurling them onto a new trajectory.

   “They dodged our volley,” Petrova said, wide-eyed. “How...”

   Looking down at his console, Mike said, “Schmidt, I thought I told you not to fire at the optimum time.”

   “You told me to use my judgment, sir, and the computer calculated...”

   “They've got computers too, damn it, and I'm certain their helmsman made good use of the knowledge you gave them! We have humans running these consoles for a reason. Your lack of judgment gave the rebels the exact time and trajectory of our strike. We might as well have called in a warning first.”

   “Maybe someone did,” Schmidt said, darkly, rising from her chair. “Commander, all of this was under your order. And you were the one...”

   “Lieutenant,” Mike replied, “if I have my way, you have spent your last day in uniform. You are relieved. Charges for insubordination will be filed forthwith. I suggest you start considering just what sort of defense you might want to present at your court-martial, because I will warn you now, one is coming. And soon. Get off my deck.”

   She took a step forward, then shook her head, walking with calm, cool precision towards the elevator, the mechanism engaging to send her racing towards her cabin, all eyes on her as she left the bridge. After a moment, Dietrich took her place at Tactical, looking over the course projections, a frown on his face.

   “I don't know quite how they did it, Commander, but they've managed to get away. We've just been given an advanced masterclass in starship tactics.”

   “They never had any intention of taking the bait, Sam,” he replied. “This was their game, right from the beginning. We've been played.” Looking across at the screen, he added, “Kenyon, go red-line on the engines, just in case. All the power you can give me. Sam, I want sensors tracking all the way. They're going to be leaving the system soon, and I want to know where they go.”

   “You think they're planning another attack?”

   “I'm damned certain of it. This wasn't our decoy. It was theirs.”

   “Commander,” the communications technician reported. “We're getting a signal from Jakarta. Intercepting a tight-beam they're sending to Polaris.”

   “What?” he replied. “Contact Jakarta at once, and tell them...”

   “Sir,” the technician insisted. “I think you need to see this one for yourself.” He tapped a control, and the viewscreen flickered into life, switching across to an image of the interior of a cell, two men standing in front of a wall, guns pointed at them.

   “...one minute to surrender,” an unseen voice said, “or they will both be shot. Your call.”

   Mike's mouth opened, and he said, “Good God. How far are we going to go?”

  Chapter 10

   “My God,” Cordova said, her eyes wide with horror as she looked at the image on Polaris' viewscreen, Alvarez and Krieger facing their death, implacably looking at the camera.

   “One minute, Curtis,” the unseen voice said. “You get to chose whether they live or die.”

   Curtis looked at Rojek, who said, “There's nothing we can do. Not a damned thing.”

   “Don't do it, sir,” Alvarez said. “Don't do it. Just win the damned war for us. Avenge us.”

   “You're really going to watch them die?” the unseen voice replied.

   With a deep breath, Curtis replied, “I've sent men to their deaths before. Watched them die in Sickbay, dead on the deck. Watched ten thousand screaming civilians in their final moments because a man like you pulled the trigger on them.” Leaning forward, he said, “You're going to see their faces in your dreams every night for the rest of your life, until the happy day that I find and end you. Understand? You get one more chance to avoid that. Let them go.”

   A single crack echoed across the screen, and Alvarez slumped to the deck, blood spilling from a gaping hole in his forehead, crimson splatter across the wall. Krieger never even looked at the dying man, keeping his eyes fixed forward, staring into the camera.

   “Do what you have to do, Teddy,” Krieger said. “And I'm sorry. I'm so damned sorry for everything I did. Forgive me.”

   Frowning, Curtis replied, “There's nothing to forgive.”

   “She didn't...” he began, before a second gunshot cracked across the speaker, ending his life with a bullet to the throat, his corpse collapsing on top of that of Alvarez. The camera panned over the two bodies for an achingly-long moment, before mercifully shutting down, the starfield flashing into place once more, a tactical overlay on the corner of the screen indicating their successful escape.
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   “Canopus can't catch us now, Teddy,” Rojek replied. “We're clear. Eight minutes until we leave the system. We should be able to reach the rendezvous in time.” Looking up at the trajectory plot, he added, “They're heading in the wrong direction. Away from the threshold.”

   “They're smart,” Curtis said, still lost in thought. “They'll figure it out.” Turning to the rear station, he said, “Nice work, Saxon.”

   “That's three times I've saved your lives,” she replied. “Not that I'm keeping score.”

   Looking at Cordova, he said, “Tom was trying to tell me something before he died.”

   “You knew him a lot better than I did, Commander.”

   Frowning, he rose from his seat, and said, “Norton, take the conn. Felix, you're with me.”

   “Where are we going?” Rojek asked, as Saxon slid across to take his console. “I don't get it. We're still in an enemy system...” The doors slammed shut, and he said, “Teddy...”

   “Sickbay,” Curtis replied. “We're going to Sickbay. Has Doctor Grant set up down there yet?”

   “As far as I know. Sickbay reported ready to receive casualties.” He paused, and said, “It hurt, didn't it. Seeing your son on the screen.”

   “It was me, Felix. Me, twenty years ago. At Mareikuna. It was like looking into a time-delayed mirror.” Frowning, he said, “Would I have done the same? Is that what I did, when I led a squadron against the rebels during the Uprising?”

   Placing his hand on his friend's shoulder, Rojek replied, “You did what you had to do, and you played the game brilliantly. You didn't kill anyone today. They did. And there wasn't a thing you could do about it. Neither of them wanted you to surrender. They knew the risks they were running, and they were more than happy to take them.”

   “Today I took my ship into action against a ship commanded by my son, then had to watch two people die in front of me. One of whom I've known for twenty years.” Turning to him, he added, “I wouldn't call that a brilliant performance.”

   “We came here to do a job. We did it. And you and I both know that there was more to it than that. Right now they're second-guessing each other, someone back home asking your son to justify his failure. He might not even be in command of Canopus by this time tomorrow. And before you start blaming yourself for anything else, they're the ones making the decisions, not you. That includes your son. He had a chance to switch sides.”

   “With a Political Officer standing behind him on the bridge?”

   “A good officer finds a way.” He paused, and added, “For all you know, he already did.”

   “Threw the battle?”

   “Maybe.”

   Shaking his head, Curtis replied, “Doesn't feel right. But then there are a lot of things not adding up.” As the elevator reached its destination, he looked at Rojek, and asked, “Do you know anything that you aren't telling me, old friend? Anything you think I should know, or that I'm about to find out in the next few minutes?”

   “Attention,” Norton's voice barked. “Stand by for transition to superluminal flight.”

   “Looks like we managed a clean getaway,” Rojek said. Looking Curtis in the eyes, he added, “Nothing like that. Why?”

   “How do I look?”

   “Pretty good. Like your old self. Grey hair, a few more wrinkles, but...”

   “Exactly. Not bad for someone who's spent the last twenty years propping up a bar.”

   They walked down the corridor, stepping into Sickbay, Grant waiting for them at a desk, Haggard nowhere in sight. The doctor looked at the empty beds, a satisfied smile on his face, and gestured for them to take a seat.

   “Nice to have so few patients. I'm hoping it stays this way for a good long while.”

   “I'll do my best, Doctor, but for now, I've got a question. Have you had a chance to take a look at the physical examinations Haggard conducted when the crew first boarded the ship.”

   “Yes,” he replied, frowning. “Not all of them would pass a military examination, I admit, and there are a couple of people I want to keep an eye on, but...”

   “What about mine?”

   Turning to a console, Grant tapped in a series of commands, and said, “Excellent, Commander. You've got nothing to worry about, I assure you.” With a thin smile, he added, “I didn't take you as the hypochondriac type, I must admit.”

   “I'm not,” he replied. “How's my liver function?”

   “Excellent. For a man of fifty-five, you're in very good health. Hell, you'd be in pretty good shape for a man of forty-five. You don't have anything to worry about there.”

   “I see.” Curtis held out his arm, and said, “Run a blood test. And make sure that the equipment you are using is clean. I was an alcoholic for twenty years, and do you know something that has only just occurred to me? I haven't wanted to touch a drink since Titan. Not a drop.” Turning to Rojek, he added, “My uncle, when I was growing up, was a recovering alcoholic. It's not something you just get over in a day. So how the hell did I manage it?”

   Rojek frowned, and said, “In all the chaos...”

   “Haggard told me that was a cover story,” Grant said, reaching for a cannula. “I'm going to have to take a bit to do the work you're talking about.”

   “Did Haggard say that?” Curtis asked. “Felix, page her. On the double.” He paused, then said, “No, wait a moment. Someone else might hear.”

   “I've known Haggard for years...”

   “How big a player in the Underground is she?”

   “Not very. Just another sleeper agent. No actual operations over than some minor information-gathering until you showed up. Though she's more than made up for it since.” Looking at the readout, he added, “She signed onto this ship ten years ago. I'd trust her with my life.”

   “Would she know about some sort of phantom deep-cover operation I was on?”

   “I guess not.”

   “And who would?”

   “Cordova.” Rojek's eyes widened, and he said, “Teddy….”

   “That's it,” Grant replied. “Just give me a minute to run the analysis. If you want something more detailed, that will take longer.” He pulled out a medical scanner, and asked, “Could you take off your jacket? I can get through a thin shirt, but not a flight suit.”

   “Sure,” Curtis said, shrugging off his coat, letting it drop to the floor. He glanced down at his holster, pistol in place, then looked across at Rojek. “Just being alert. There's more going on here than I've been told, and I don't like that. I don't like it at all.”

   Grabbing Curtis' wrist, Rojek replied, “Watch yourself, Teddy. The strain you've been under in the last half-hour...”

   “Have you ever known me make a command decision based on personal feelings?”

   Rojek shook his head, and replied, “No, I'll grant you that.”

   “Liver function normal,” Grant said. “Just as advertised. No sign of any damage.” Looking back at Curtis, he asked, “Twenty years? What were you drinking, sarsaparilla?”

   “That's a damned good question. The whole time is just a blank in my mind. I get the occasional flash, but I can't seem to remember any details. Everything up to Mareikuna., then the trip to Titan, but from about nineteen years or so, I don't recall a thing.”

   Moving over to the console, Rojek said, “It's impossible.”

   “What is?”

   “Let me have a look at those samples, Doctor. I need to run an analysis.” He paused, then said, “I could do with getting Saxon down here.”

   “Saxon?” Curtis asked.

   With a glance at the door, he said, “She's far more familiar with new-generation suppressants than I am. I haven't had clearance for years.”

   “Suppressants?” Grant said, as Curtis sighed, dropping back in his seat. He reached across and tapped a control, saying, “Saxon, Cordova, report to Sickbay on the double.” He pa
used, then said, “Dixon as well.”

   “Dixon?” Rojek asked. “He can't have had anything to do with it.”

   “No, but he's fast as lightning with a gun, and I think he's probably a safer bet than Cordova at this point.” Looking up at the monitor, he asked, “Well, Doc?”

   “There's something there that shouldn't be, but it doesn't look like any suppressant I've ever seen,” Grant replied. “If anything it would...”

   “Stimulate the memory centers of the brain,” Saxon said, walking into the room, “and correct long-term chemical imbalance induced by the long-term application of a variety of suppressants. We used to call it the Good Morning Cocktail.” Looking at the monitor, she said, “I see you've managed to beat me to the draw. I was on my way to see you, anyway.”

   “You knew about this?” Curtis asked, anger rising in his voice.

   “For about an hour,” she replied. “I worked it out just before the battle. I would have told you then, but I thought it best that you didn't have any unnecessary distractions in the middle of a firefight. You'd have done the same thing in my place.”

   “I'm missing something,” Grant said, looking at the three of them, as Rojek collapsed into a chair, looking up at Curtis, horror in his eyes.

   “My God,” he said. “My God.”

   Cordova walked into the room, Dixon behind her, and with a move born from years of practice, Curtis snatched his pistol from his holster, leveling it at the surprised Cordova. Dixon reached down towards his holster, but at a quick glance from Rojek, left his hand safely clear of the butt of his gun.

   “Did you ever plan on telling me, Major?”

   “No,” she replied.

   “Then it's true?” Rojek asked.

   “There doesn't seem much point denying it at this stage. Can I sit down?”

   “No. And this gun stays on you until I decide whether or not I'm going to use it.” He paused, took a deep breath, and asked, “When did it start?”

   “Nineteen years ago. It was my father's idea. The Purges were beginning to kick into high gear around then, and it seemed inevitable that you would be sucked in. At the time, you really were a drunkard, and you weren't in a fit state to protect yourself, or go undercover. Turning you into a figure that presented no real threat was his idea.”