Straightening up, he walked out of the hatch and walked down the corridor. The hatch at the far end was sealed, unsurprisingly, but he pushed the stolen implant against the sensor and it hissed open on command. The Captain had full authority on his ship, even to override a lockdown if necessary. Smiling to himself, Peter kept walking. The countdown was moving faster now.
“Admiral, they attempted to use the codes,” Parnell reported. “The entire ship is in lockdown.”
He hesitated. “And they may be going for the bioweapon.”
Ted swore. He’d missed the bioweapon… but it made sense. If the Russians wanted to upset the peace terms, using the bioweapon would work perfectly. Either the aliens would be exterminated or the war would resume, more ruthless than ever before. And now his ship was under threat…
“Sweep up the diplomats,” he ordered. “And then secure the entire ship.”
“I’ve already got a team heading to the bioweapon lab,” Parnell said. “But the security systems there may have been compromised. There’s a Russian researcher as part of the team.”
“They can’t be compromised without two researchers,” Ted said. He’d checked the security precautions himself. “One person can’t override them alone.”
Parnell snorted. “They’ve used blackmail, sir,” he said. “They could have someone else compromised… or they could just force someone to open the hatches at pistol point. Not everyone has enough courage to refuse.”
Ted went cold. “Lockdown the entire ship,” he ordered. “Everything has to be completely secured.”
Polly MacDonald barely heard the alarm as she sat, wearing nothing apart from a pair of bikini panties, in front of a handful of aliens. The heat and moisture in the air made wearing anything else inadvisable, although she still felt embarrassed to show herself to anyone human. She doubted the aliens knew or cared that she was practically naked. Indeed, they were naked themselves.
She smiled, remembering some of the more absurd suggestions for what the aliens wanted from the war. Women was one of them; the theorists, who had watched too many stupid movies for their own good, had speculated that the aliens wanted to crossbreed with humans to produce a superior form of life. Given that alien and human DNA were completely different — that had been established right from the moment the first alien bodies had been recovered — it was clear that it was biologically impossible. But that hadn’t stopped an increasing number of silly stories — I Married An Alien was the tamest she’d seen — spreading through the datanet.
“We talk to solve problems,” the alien said. It’s companions said nothing audible to human ears, but the sensors picked up their words. “We discuss every last detail before we proceed.”
That, Polly decided, might explain the somewhat scatterbrained approach the aliens had taken to diplomatic meetings. Instead of deciding what they wanted beforehand, the aliens had changed their minds several times, probably because their internal consensus had kept shifting from one point to another. On one hand, she could see the value of having the most comprehensive consensus possible; on the other, she could easily see it causing another war in the future. To humans, it suggested that they weren’t serious about negotiating.
She looked up, sharply, as the hatch hissed open. It wasn’t locked — the crew didn’t want to convince the alien guests that they were actually prisoners — but Polly had thought there was an understanding that she wouldn’t be interrupted unless she called for help. The last time someone had entered the chamber she’d covered her breasts — and then had to explain her reflexive motion to the aliens. It had been an embarrassing and completely pointless conversation.
The man who had entered the chamber was carrying a large gun in one hand and a box in the other. Polly opened her mouth, but he shot the lead alien before she could say a word. She gasped in horror, which only succeeded in drawing his attention to her. His eyes were cold and utterly dispassionate as he looked her over, then returned to shooting aliens. The aliens themselves either tried to swim away — a hopeless task — or lunged forward. Polly, frozen to the spot, could only watch in helpless disbelief as the aliens were slaughtered.
And then the man pointed his gun at her. Polly watched him, too shocked to feel anything, as he studied her, then turned and walked away. She started to shake the moment the hatch closed behind him, clutching at one of the alien bodies. It felt leathery against her bare skin…
Gathering herself, she reached for her communicator and hit the emergency alarm. But no one came.
“Security alert,” the tech said. “The alien diplomatic lounge.”
Charles nodded, grimly. There were meant to be several Marines keeping an eye on the aliens, but he’d withdrawn most of them to prepare to swoop down and seize the Russians before they could act. His mistake, he cursed himself, silently promising his dead men that he would avenge them. They’d clearly underestimated the Russian capacity for deception — or skill at hiding their talents. If they’d done so well, they were commandos or other special operatives. The Russians were masters at producing unstoppable men.
And they were clearly trying to sow as much confusion as possible.
“Move the reinforcements to secure the bridge and the other priority-one locations,” he ordered. “And tell the team heading towards the biological lab that they’re to haul ass.”
The tech nodded once. “Aye, sir,” he said.
Charles ground his teeth in frustration. The Russians had been tipped off in advance, he knew, which meant there was another spy on board. Probably someone assigned to the diplomatic sector, he guessed, and probably one of the diplomatic assistants. They’d have the access to see the treaty, even if it wasn’t shared with the observers just yet. One of them had sent the data to the Russians and triggered their operation.
And there were too many problems and he couldn’t react to them all with the forces he had on hand.
“Sir, Midshipwoman Jenkins just raised the alarm,” the tech said. “The Captain’s been shot!”
Another diversion, Parnell asked himself, or something more sinister?
“Tell her to do what she can for him,” Parnell ordered. Under lockdown, the bridge crew wouldn’t be allowed to leave the bridge, even for a piss. Jenkins — he vaguely remembered her as a young officer, still wet behind the ears — would need help as quickly as possible. “And order a medical team to get to Officer Country as quickly as possible.”
He cursed, wishing he was out there with his men. It had been so much simpler on Target One. There, they’d known the enemy and how to engage him. Here… he wasn’t even sure where the enemy were or how many of them there were, save that they were on the ship. It would take far too long to sweep the entire hull, sealing corridors, passageways and maintenance tubes off as they moved. But what other choice did he have?
“Start working through the sealed compartments,” he ordered, bluntly. “I want their inhabitants to sound off, then remain where they are. It should shorten our search time.”
“Aye, sir,” the tech said.
Parnell rubbed his shaved head. This was not going to be easy.