Battlecruiser Alamo - 7 - Battlecruiser Alamo: Sacred Honor Read Online Free Page B

for anything, without sufficient resources or matériel. The guidance station was a collection of improvised control systems, Lieutenant Curry’s hands reaching to unfamiliar positions as she prepared for emergence. To her side, at the tactical station, Lieutenant Nelyubov ran one battle simulation after another, a waste of time in one sense – for Hercules had no functioning weapons. At least it was keeping him busy. Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter, her third-wheel paleontologist, had no such luck; she was standing behind her chair, staring at the screen, tapping her fingers against a console.
     Sergeant Wilson, the nearest thing she had to a Systems Officer, had quite the reverse problem. Three damage control teams were roaming the ship, trying to do the work of a dozen, and failing. There were so many places they simply couldn’t access, not until they returned to normal space, and most of them were critical to getting Hercules fit for a fight. This deep in Cabal territory, she didn’t dare hope for a safe emergence. Surviving the first few minutes would be a nice bonus.
     For the hundredth time, she looked at the map of local space on her battered datapad. Lots of different options, and none of them good. All she could hope was that the fleet wasn’t on her tail, that they thought Hercules had been destroyed. Just like Alamo. She remembered the shot on the sensor display, the missiles converging on the battlecruiser at the instant of its departure. Nothing could have lived through that.
     “More than an hour now,” Sergeant Mathis said from the sensor station. “Definitely a record.”
     “Speaking personally, I’d have had no objection to letting this record go elsewhere,” Curry said. “No-one’s ever come back from his deep in hendecaspace.”
     “There are stories, though,” Carpenter said. “From the early days of interstellar travel…”
     “That’ll do,” Orlova said. “You can tell each other ghost stories when we’re off duty.”
     Finally, Mathis turned to Orlova, a smile on his face, “Increasing dimensional instability!”
     “Thank God,” Wilson said, shaking his head. “I thought…”
     “We all did. Get in the game, everyone,” Orlova said. “Countermeasures up and running, and Mathis, we need those sensors of yours to sing.”
     The crew seemed to come to life, working their controls as Hercules staggered through the egress point, returning to normal space. It felt like all the molecules in her body were deciding whether to fly apart or remain together, but the familiar blue flash passed across the ship and stars re-appeared on the viewscreen.
     “Jump complete,” Curry said. “Maintaining station-keeping.”
     “Mathis, I need sensors,” Orlova said.
     “Working. Resolution’s lousy...threat warning! Energy spike, close aboard, I think it’s an automated defense grid.”
     “Countermeasures are running,” Nelyubov said, “but weapons are still o ff line. I can’t fire back.”
     “We’re being hailed,” Mathis said, frowning. “I can manage an audio feed only. Exterior antenna arrays are still out.”
     “What are you going to do?” Carpenter asked.
     With a grin on her face, Orlova replied, “Play it by ear. Put them on. And give me any information you can about where the hell we’ve ended up.”
     A crackling voice came over the speaker, “This is Outpost Hydra calling Hercules. Why have you not provided your identification signal?”
     “Hydra, this is Hercules, Acting Commander speaking. We have sustained serious battle damage including database malfunctions, and require immediate assistance.” 
     There was a long pause, then, “Identify yourself, Acting Commander. What happened to Osborne?”
     “Dead along with four-fifths of the crew, Hydra. My name is Margaret Forster,” she paused for a second, then continued, “latterly of Cornucopia Mining. Can you tow us in? Our sensors are down.”
     “Wait one,