The Alpha Protocol: Alpha Protocol Book 1 Duncan Hamilton (affordable ebook reader .TXT) 📖

‘Print scanning confirmed. Harper, A. Lieutenant. Officer two, present for scanning.’

Samson stepped forward and took his place in front of the panel. The computer took him through the same scans, and he let out a breath of relief as each one confirmed his identity. There was an uncomfortable pause.

‘Hopefully that’ll do it,’ Samson said.

‘I don’t see why not. The scans were all fine. This process exists for a reason. The Navy knows things go wrong, and personnel might need access to a facility.’

‘That’s great, so long as you still have two officers alive,’ he said.

He hadn’t intended to imply that it was lucky he hadn’t carried out a summary execution, but she didn’t respond—either by choice or because there wasn’t time.

‘Biometric scans confirmed,’ the computer said. ‘Welcome to Capsilan Depot. Your distress incident has been logged and transmitted to the Admiralty.’

‘That was nice of it,’ Samson said. He’d need to make a full report, and soon. The Admiralty could take control of the station from Naval Command in the Core and cause them all sorts of problems if there was suspicion of unauthorised access to a depot.

Upon opening the depot’s airlock, Samson was presented with the security panel on the depot’s access door. He scanned the biometric chip in the back of his hand, and pressed his thumb on the glowing outline on the screen. With a hiss and a short gust of stale air, the depot opened. Internal lights blinked on, as the depot came to life for its new human inhabitants.

That done, he returned to the Bounty’s airlock to bring the rest of his people through. They were gathered by the hatch when Samson got back. Everyone’s lives had hinged on this, so the relief was palpable.

‘Welcome to Capsilan Depot,’ Samson said. ‘We’ll take up residence here for the time being. Make yourselves at home.’ He caught himself on the last part too late, a relaxed utterance caused by his relief at having finally gotten them there. He had to remain firm with the mutineers, and didn’t want them to think they were off the hook now that the danger had passed and everyone had behaved themselves.

‘Lieutenant Price, please see Ms Harper to the brig.’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘The rest of you may continue on the terms of your parole. Mister Vachon, please transfer the station from autonomous to manned control. Rating Kushnir, help him as needed.’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘Corporals Féng and Smit, keep an eye on things until Lieutenant Price relieves you.’

‘Aye, sir.’ There was no uncertainty in what he meant by ‘things’, as they trotted off after Vachon and Kushnir.

He walked ahead of the others toward the operations centre, while the depot continued powering to life. He could hear the fans working hard to recycle the stale atmosphere now that there were people on board once again, and the temperature was quickly rising to a comfortable level.

He followed the directions on the wall panels to the command deck. Although all naval depots followed roughly the same layout, he had never been on one so small before. It had everything it needed to have, though. There was a mess hall, galley, accommodation on the lower level, and a munitions arsenal on the one below that, as well as a hangar that Samson suspected might just be large enough to dock the Bounty in. That reminded him of his earlier thoughts on how to while away the time as they waited for relief.

The level he was on contained the guard room, the officers’ quarters, and the command centre. In busier systems, depots were permanently manned. Perhaps one day—a day not too far off—this one would be too, but for the time being, it felt like Samson’s personal little kingdom.

He got to the command centre and flopped down in the duty officer’s chair, which was far more comfortable than the master’s chair on the Bounty. When the door hissed shut, leaving him entirely alone, he let out a deep sigh and tried to allow some of the stress of the past few days to leak out with it. He had slept only intermittently since the attack, and the fatigue was starting to take its toll. If he was being honest with himself, he had to admit it already had—he was exhausted. However, he wasn’t quite at the end of the ordeal.

He powered up the control panel and started to activate all the command systems. Although he was eager to get in contact with the Admiralty, the depot’s security was his first duty. A quick diagnostic told him that everything was functioning as it should. The crew areas were airtight, the environmental and artificial gravity controls were within required parameters, and the weapons system was active and monitoring against outside threat.

Satisfied that everything was as it should be, and that he had brought the remnants of the Sidewinder’s crew to safety, he activated the communications relay and prepared himself for a conversation he had been going over in his head ever since the attack.

16

Samson didn’t bother going through the intermediary stages usually required to consult with someone in a position of authority high enough at Naval Operations Command at the Admiralty to actually make a decision. He transmitted a distress message on the emergency channel; although there was no longer any immediate danger, he felt the recent loss of a warship warranted the urgency.

It took a moment for the Nexus Relay to generate enough of a charge to beam the signal back to Sol system and to the Admiralty at Mare Crisium on the Earth’s moon. The screen flashed up with the successful transmission notification, followed by the Navy’s automatic response placeholder, helpfully requesting him to wait.

A stern looking woman in a lieutenant commander’s uniform appeared on the screen a moment later.

‘Please state the nature of the emergency.’

‘TUS Sidewinder destroyed in Oculus 414 Frontier System, with loss of all crew bar seven souls.’

‘Patching you through to Frontier Command Operations.’

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