The Alpha Protocol: Alpha Protocol Book 1 by Duncan Hamilton (free ebook reader for iphone .TXT) 📗

‘We knew there was a possibility this might not be a human ship.’ Was it the alien civilisation, come to destroy them for trespassing? He fought to make sense of the notion. The ruin—or ship, or crashed orbital city; whatever it was—had been down there a very long time. If they were still a living society, why had it been left undisturbed for such a long time?

‘Are there any similarities between the ship and scans we took down on the planet?’

‘No, sir,’ Harper said. ‘The ship’s alloys don’t tally with anything we’ve seen from the ruins’ civilisation so far. The energy signatures are different to the orb, too.’

‘Well, aren’t we lucky,’ Samson said. ‘Two alien races in one week.’

‘She’s still closing, sir,’ Harper said.

What did she want him to do about it? There seemed little left but to sit back and wait for the inevitable. He looked down and saw that he was still holding onto the alien object. It was disappointing to think that he’d never get the opportunity to find out what it was, or who the people that made it were. Then a thought occurred to him.

‘Lieutenant,’ he said, ‘vent the cargo bay on my command.’

‘What?’ she said, but he was already running from the bridge.

The arrival of the mystery—now mystery alien—vessel had taken Samson by such surprise that he had forgotten to order the rigging of the ship for battle: the sealing of all the airtight bulkheads, the shutting down of nonessential systems, and the donning of vacuum suits for those crew members in a position to do so. It was something he was grateful for now, however, as he ran through the narrow corridors toward the cargo bay as quickly as his unconditioned spacer legs would allow, without any obstacles or delays. He promised himself that he’d make better use of the exercise facilities on his next ship—if there was a next ship.

He got to the cargo bay and unceremoniously flung the object through the hatch onto the deck, then sealed it behind him. As it closed, he hoped Vachon and his drones had properly secured the new banks of power cells. If not, they would be blown out into the vacuum along with his souvenir from the dead alien city.

‘Vent the cargo bay,’ he said.

‘Aye, sir.’

A klaxon went off, and a red light started to flash on the other side of the hatch’s window. The ship lurched violently as the bay door cracked open and the gas inside blasted out. He had to hang on to the handle on the wall to remain on his feet. He could see the sliver of visible space grow as the bay door opened and watched the alien artefact fly out into the void along with all the air in the cargo bay. Happily, the new power cells remained in situ.

‘Close the door,’ Samson said.

‘Aye, sir.’

The cargo bay door started to lower again.

‘Status on the pursuing vessel?’ he said.

‘She… she’s broken off.’

Samson allowed his feet to slide away from him, and slumped to the deck.

‘What did you do?’ Harper said.

‘The artefact,’ Samson said. ‘They wanted the artefact. We have however long it takes them to pick it up to get a head start. All power back to thrusters.’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘Set course for the Nexus Point. We’re heading back to Capsilan depot,’ he said. ‘Hopefully the Peterson will be there by the time we arrive. She should have some guns big enough to make whoever or whatever that was think twice.’ He didn’t care how relieved his voice sounded. Perhaps he would survive and get a chance to find out who had made the artefacts after all.

23

When the Capsilan depot finally appeared in the viewport, Samson’s adrenal glands, which had been working overtime up to that point, finally threw in the towel. The excited energy that had kept him alert during their flight from the alien ship, and vigilant as they watched and hoped that they had managed to get away, left his body as abruptly as the air he had vented from the cargo bay. He needed sleep—and just as importantly, a few waking hours where it didn’t feel like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

The Peterson hadn’t arrived yet, something Samson was actually glad about. Assuming the alien ship hadn’t followed them and they didn’t have need of the Peterson’s heavy guns, he welcomed the opportunity to rest a while before having to deal his new commander.

Torn between duty and exhaustion, he decided that reports would have to wait until he had rested. He wanted his account of everything to be coherent, not the ramblings of a sleep-deprived lunatic. The things he would put in his report felt enough like the ravings of a delusional idiot already. He also wanted to make a good impression on the Peterson’s captain when he arrived. The last thing he wanted was to be reassigned somewhere else in the galaxy. Samson knew he was too caught up in what was going on here to be content doing anything else. He needed to know what was going on, needed to be part of the process that uncovered it all.

Before the Peterson arrived, Samson knew he needed to come up with a good reason to demonstrate that the Bounty was valuable to the Navy’s efforts in the sector for the foreseeable future. That was going to be a hard sell. He supposed he and his crew might get reassigned to other vessels in the Third Fleet when it arrived, but he liked the idea of holding onto his own command. The longer he remained part of the Alpha Protocol mission, the greater the likelihood of him continuing to remain on it. There would never be anything like this in his career again. To be excluded now would be heartbreaking.

With the Bounty safely docked, Samson headed straight for the commander’s quarters, having given the order not to be disturbed until the Peterson