Free Traitor's Duty by Richard Tongue Page B

oxygen, the ship’s tumbling, and we’ve taken out most of their launch tubes. I’d say they are out of the combat.”
     “Can you get Marshall?”
     “No, sir,” Weitzman said. “Wyvern’s long-range communications are out.””
     “Another hit?”
     “Power failure.”
     Shaking his head, Logan said, “Get a damage control team out there at once. We’re not going to need them, and they might. Is the enemy ship in a mood to talk now?”
     “Oddly enough, sir, yes.”
     An image flashed onto the viewscreen, a man with a pair of gashes across his forehead standing on a smoke-filled bridge, wreckage everywhere. One of the impacts must have been pretty close-by to do that much damage.
     “This act of aggression….” the figure began, but Logan cut him off.
     “We can talk about ancient history all you want, but you and your crew don’t have the time. I want to get medical teams over to you right now, and some engineers from our tender to try and patch you up enough to limp for orbit.”
     “I will not surrender.” He turned, then said, “Hale, prepare for ramming speed.”
     “I don’t want your surrender, I just want a cease-fire! This whole damn battle shouldn’t have happened in the first place. We leave things as they are and let the diplomats sort out the details later.”
     “I have to defend this system…”
     “All you’ll be is component atoms if you carry on with this.”
     Another man stepped in behind him as the Cabal commander said, “I repeat, if…”
     The screen went blank for a moment, and when it cleared again, a different figure – with far less ornamentation on his uniform, was present. “We’re willing to stand down, Captain. Send your medical and rescue teams. I have disabled our defensive/offensive systems, and am willing to trust your intentions.”
     “What happened just?”
     “My predecessor has been taken ill.”
     “I see,” Logan said. “Our support teams are on the way. No Espatiers, though if you do something stupid…”
     “You don’t need to threaten me, Captain. I am aware that our situation is dire, and that we don’t have any options remaining to us except to hope for mercy.” Pausing, he added, “Our dead will be avenged, though. Have no doubt about that.”
     Ryder, moving over to his side, said, “Mutiny?”
     “Looks like it,” he replied, “Don’t get ideas. I just hope he’s wrong about the vengeance.” Resting back in the command chair, he continued, “Now we’ve got to try and put all the pieces back together. What a god-damned mess.”

Chapter 8
     
     Marshall looked at the approaching ship as it grew closer on the shuttle’s viewscreen, his eyes drinking in every detail of the hull as they closed for docking. Caine, at the pilot’s seat, attempted to concentrate on her flying, but kept glancing across at him, a smile on her face. He knew that he’d missed Alamo, but until this moment, he hadn’t quite realized how much she meant to him. Now he was seconds away from boarding her once again, and he struggled to collect himself.
     “Now on final approach,” Caine said. “I think we can let the computers handle the post-flight, can’t we? I don’t want to miss this either.”
     “Fine, fine,” he said, as the shuttle coasted in towards the docking bay, hooking itself into the elevator airlock as it began its ride inside the ship, a hissing noise growing as the pressure rose on the far side. He tugged at his uniform and walked into the rear section, standing in front of the airlock. Cunningham had already unstrapped himself from his couch, and clapped him on the back.
     “Relax, Danny,” he said.
     “Easy to say.”
     A green light winked on, and the hatch slid open, the ramp coming down. He looked around the hangar bay, a couple of dozen people standing at attention, all of whom he recognized. Quinn with his wife, Tabitha Dixon, standing next to him in front of the