Battlecruiser Alamo: The Price of Admiralty (20 page)

"Indeed?" The door opened, and a tall, powerfully-built gray-haired man wearing a neat khaki uniform walked in, a crossed sword-and-baton on each shoulder. The three soldiers stood to attention, while Forbes looked on with an air of indifference. Esposito turned and saluted.

"May I present Ensign Esposito of the Triplanetary Fleet, General?" Clive said. "Ensign, this is General Haynes, the commander of the resistance, and Acting Prime Minister of the Free Parliament."

Haynes turned to the lieutenant, "I'm capable of introducing myself, Clive. Why don't you and your guys take Forbes down to the pub while I take our guests from space into my office for a chat? That suit you, Ensign?"

Esposito nodded, "That's what I came here for, sir."

The general gestured towards a door, leading the way down a long curving corridor that seemed to extend around most of the perimeter of the dome, keeping up a running commentary throughout,

"Officially, this is a research installation for genetically modified crops – which means that visitors are extremely discouraged. That research got stopped months back, though, wasn't working out, but we never let the Governor know. Serves as an excellent base for us, and is defended well enough that we could give anyone a bloody nose if they were stupid enough to try something."

"Have you been attacked?" Orlova asked, looking around the room.

"Not yet, but that ass of a Governor's building up the nerve to try something like that. Trouble is that we still have a lot of valuable research materials that we'd be able to bargain with if it came to the crunch, and he's not going to want to risk losing them in a full-scale firefight. Both of us have too damn much to lose."

The group walked into the general's office; he gestured them towards spartan plastic chairs while he made his way over to a cabinet, pouring four generous drinks out of a bottle, then sealing it up with great care. He passed the plastic cups around, took a quick sip, sighed, and sat behind his desk, resting his elbows on its surface in a relaxed posture.

"I
'm afraid
I was listening in to the conversation you were having with the lieutenant. He'll be a good officer when he grows up, I reckon, but a bit stiff these days. If Bill Forbes says that you are on our side, I'm going to believe him, hard as it sounds, and I reckon I'm even willing to let you speak to your crewman, but I have a horrible feeling that I'm going to end up disappointing you."

"In what way, sir?" Esposito asked.

"You're going to want to take him back up to that ship of yours, and I don't think I can let that happen."

Orlova took a sip of the drink, and gagged a little; she didn't think that it deserved the loving attention that had been provided to it by the general. "Why not? What charges have you against him?"

The general's face reddened, and he looked out of the small window at his office as the storm began to fade. "It isn't a question of charges, as it goes. More a question of politics."

"Politics?" Esposito asked, her hand reaching down slightly towards her holster.

The door slid open, and three men – led by the lieutenant – stepped in, each carrying rather deadly looking modern plasma rifles, all of them of a make similar to the weapons they had found on Mariner Station, manufactured in the Lunar Republic. Esposito and Hunter reached down quickly for their pistols before thinking better of it, and instead let them remain in their holsters.

"General, I must point out that our ship is in orbit, and that it has sufficient space-to-ground capability to give you a very bad day when they find out where we are," Esposito said.

"I'm afraid that I don't believe that your commander would put you at such risk. Orbital weaponry is excellent strategically, and even in some battlefield situations, but it lacks finesse. Besides, we have ships up there as well that are more than capable of handling your Alamo."

Orlova smiled, "You don't know our commander. He'll do what it takes to get us back."

The general slid a datapad across the desk towards the young pilot, shaking his head. "I hate to contradict a lady, but I have a full file on your Flight Commander Zubinsky right here. He seems like a good officer, but too rigid, too by-the-book to take risks
like that
."

Zubinsky? Orlova just about managed to keep any emotion from her face, but she noticed a flicker from Hunter that hopefully passed by the general unawares. "You might have read him wrong," she replied. "I haven't known him to be like that at all."

"What do you intend to do with us? Firing squad?" Hunter asked. "And what about the rest of the squad?"

"By now they have all been placed under lockdown in the crashed shuttle. You three will be placed into detention with your countryman, until you can be transferred to the Luzhou. None of you will be mistreated, as far as I am concerned you are prisoners of war."

"Don't get the idea that we want to do this," Lieutenant Grainger said. "Under the terms of our agreement with the Lunar Republic, we have to transfer any non-nationals to their jurisdiction as soon as possible. They'll take you back to Sol, and then as soon as the situation here is
re
solved and a democratic government re-instituted, you will be repatriated back to your homeworld."

"I see," said Esposito. "I formally protest on the behalf of the Triplanetary government this action; I will also indicate that we will make every attempt to escape at the first opportunity."

The general shook his head, "Textbook, Ensign, but it is twenty miles from here to the nearest settlement, if you knew where it is."

"One question," said Orlova, "If I may, General?"

The old man nodded, sadly, "I suppose it's the least I can do."

"Why is the planetary government holding the rest of the crewmen hostage?"

"Extortion. The Governor's hoping that he can get enough money from your government to pay for some bread and circuses for the people."

Grainger added, "Bastards only got those crews by blind luck anyway." The general stopped him with a glare.

Draining her drink in on gulp, Orlova rose, the guns trained on her, "Shall we get on with it, then? If you are going to throw us in the cells. Or are you planning on forcing us to drink more of this swill?"

"In my day, young woman, junior enlisted types were seen and not heard. If I were your commanding officer I would put you on report." He gave Esposito a look.

"You putting me on report, Ensign?" Orlova said, looking over at the officer.

"Oh, I would always expect that you would
always
treat any officer with the respect he deserves."

Hunter laughed at that, attracting a glare from the two rebel officers. "I think our meeting is over. Grainger, have them escorted to the holding cells. Give them a meal; might as well have them well-fed for the journey."

With a nod, Grainger rose his gun, pointing it at the door. Hunter and Esposito left their unfinished drinks in the office as they filed out of the room, their weapons taken from their holsters as they went out into the corridor. As the door closed, they could hear the general pouring himself another drink.

They were escorted around a long corridor, decorated with murals painted on the wall, all of them showing stylized landscapes of a future, transformed Ragnarok – jungles and forests, sandy beaches dominated by Gatewood hanging in the sky. Such a world was centuries away. The last three murals were unfinished, though a small boy was busily working on one of them, painting in seabirds arcing over an inviting ocean, waves crashing over the rocks.

The lieutenant pointed his gun at a door, and the trio walked in, a series of bolts slamming home behind them to restrain them. Sitting on a plastic chair in the corner was a man wearing a spacer's jumpsuit, a shaggy brown beard on his face; he looked up at them with pity in his eyes.

"So, they bagged you three as well, then. I'm Jennings, Second Mate on the Bill Barker. At least, I was until those damn Loonies splashed us." He looked at them again, frowning. "What company are you with?"

Esposito looked around at the others, then back at Jennings, "I'm not with any company, Mr. Jennings. I am Ensign Esposito, Triplanetary Espatier Corps. This is Lance-Sergeant Hunter, and Spaceman Orlova."

The crewman rose to his feet, slapping Hunter on the shoulder, "The cavalry's here, then! Fantastic! Are you here to spring me, or have you managed to negotiate my release? We need to get everyone else out, as fast as we can, and we need to get moving too."

"I regret, Mr. Jennings, that we are prisoners as well," Esposito said, watching the man's face turn from a grin to a scowl. He sat back down on his chair.

"Useless, then."

Orlova sat down on another chair, "Hardly. What happened? We've yet to get the full story from anyone."

"We were sent into the system to conduct surveys of Ragnarok and the
outer moons
; the company crews with us were red-hot about setting up a base of operations out here, and when they spotted the satellite networks and what we thought were a pair of space stations, we headed right in, despite Captain Moraine's protests. Damn stupid. We should have kept at least one ship back. How did you find out about us, anyway?"

"Cornucopia sent in another ship to see what had happened. When it came back shot to pieces, they called for us."

"Huh. Well, we broke into orbit, started signaling, wanted to negotiate with the planetary leaders for basing rights, purchase of foodstuffs, that sort of thing. I mean, there's the support network for a big mining operation. Our sensor crews saw that there was some work taking place out in the trojans already, so we even figured we might be able to buy someone out, purchase the data we were looking for."

"Let me guess, those 'space stations' opened fire on you," Orlova said, shaking her head in disbelief.

Jennings nodded, "Yeah. We were hit first, skipper ordered all hands to the escape pods. He tried to bring the ship down – we had a marginal capacity to land on low-gravity worlds. Don't think he made it, though."

"We saw a crash-landed freighter when we were coming in," Hunter said, "I guess he didn't quite pull it off."

"He deserved a damn sight better than that. The Felix Pedro got pummeled and the crew made for the pods, the London surrendered. At least, I guess so – we never saw any of the crew, but the guys from the Pedro said that it was captured intact. When we got down on the deck, we were all rounded up pretty quickly. Good thing to, it's damn cold down here."

"I'd noticed," Orlova said, sardonically.

"Then we found out that we'd been captured by the other side. The Government boys denied knowing anything about a battle in orbit, certainly denied that they were operating any frigates, but took us to a holding area.
We
soon worked out that it was a prison camp, though they treated us well enough."

"Do you know where that camp was?" Esposito asked anxiously.

"I could find it on a map easily enough. I had three weeks to get to know the landmarks. We all decided that one of us should try and make a break for it, and I drew the short straw. I don't know what we were hoping for exactly, though we'd got the idea from some of the guards that there were rebels out in the hills. Took some doing, but I broke out one night. They weren't expecting it."

"Then you managed to hook up with the rebels, only to find out that they were the ones who had shot you down in the first place," Orlova said. "How long have you been here?"

"Three days. I was told that it would be four before I was transferred to one of the frigates upstairs, they must have an FTL tender out there or something, because we're being taken to Luna. I know this much – the crews aren't just Loonies up there, but they've got Rockies up there as well."

"Rockies?" Hunter asked, lines of confusion in his forehead.

"Ragnarokites, whatever you want to call them. I've heard some of the guards asking for transfers up there. I get the impression its a big team effort."

Esposito sighed, "With the Lunar Republic backing a rebel group in order to knock the government out of power and put their stooges in place. Then when other ships come out here they find an outpost belonging to the Republic, all signed, sealed and delivered. I wonder if they know what they are getting themselves in to?"

"They don't. At least, I don't think most of them do. They all seem to think that they'll have a free and fair government that will re-start the terraforming project," Jennings said.

"We've got to get out of here, get word of this back to Alamo," Esposito said. "We need a communications relay."

"First of all, we need to get out of this cell," Orlova said. "Anyone got any ideas?"

Hunter patted one of his pockets, revealing the outline of a long cylinder, and smiled.

Chapter 17

The observation deck was all but empty; Alamo was well into the night shift, and the majority of the crew were asleep, the remainder at their posts, waiting for trouble. Marshall stood in front of the viewport, watching a pair of moons slowly transiting Gatewood, passing under its thin, fragile ring.

Beyond, Lalande was rising over the huge gas giant, the dull
orange
glare provid
ing
little in the way of warmth through the millions of miles of space. His thoughts were on the far side of the gas giant; they'd have some warning if the frigates appeared. Enough for him to decide whether to fight a battle in orbit or a battle at the transit point to
hendecaspace
.

A datapad dangling in his hands held what little the sensor operator had been able to discern during the brief encounter on their arrival into the system; it was sufficient to worry him, but not enough to allow him to resolve his fears. He barely heard the door sliding open behind him, just registering the figure of Mulenga walking up to his side.

"Isn't it an astounding sight, Captain. A gravitational dance with dozens of partners acting as one."