Alpha Red

By Dan Sparkman

After the Anaconda 09684 is destroyed during its approach to the Venus 1 space station, it becomes apparent the ship was a duplicate of the original.
To uncover the truth, Commodore Darryl Holmgren must turn to the one man who knows Alpha Red well enough to succeed: a retired pirate living on Earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Sparkman
• Release date: Apr 2, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452398594

Book preview

Chapter One

In the section C control room on deck nine of the Venus 1 space station, Ensign Maureen Smith sat at her desk and stared through the terminal screen, her mind more on her coffee than her work. She wrapped her right hand around the cup, her palm not quite touching the hot mug. The heat from the coffee comforted her. She slid her finger up the smooth glass, testing the heat to see if the coffee had cooled enough not to burn her tongue.

It was still too hot, but the warm steam slipping between her palm and the glass was comforting.  She took her eyes off the screen, leaning over to put her nose over the cup and let the comforting scent slide up her face and into her nostrils. She instantly felt more awake, as if the very scent was infused with caffeine.  

A blip appeared on her screen. Maureen saw the flash out of the corner of her eye, gave herself one more luxurious second of steam, and finally turned back to her controls.

She knew at once the ship was moving fast, much faster than normal for a ship coming so close to the station. She typed in the commands to route the radar, her hands a blur of movement over her keyboard. Pounding the enter key, she waited the few precious seconds for the radar to locate the ship and read its identification. The screen to her left responded by filling up with text.

Ship Name: Anaconda 09684.

Class: Small Fighter.

Pilot: Hans Grucher.

Co-Pilot: None.

Flight Plan: Classified.

Mission: Classified.

Docking Code: X1R289

She flipped the switch to her communications and triggered a command. Anaconda 09684, this is the Venus 1 station, please state your docking code for verification, she said in the practiced, bored voice she used when talking to the pilots.

Silence.

Anaconda 09684, this is the Venus 1 station, do you read me?

She glanced at the radar screen. The ship's speed had not decreased, and its trajectory was still on target with the station. Her fingers flashed to life again typing in several other commands.  The radar at the top of the station was already fixed on the ship and the results of her commands appeared on her screen.

Scanning Life Signs.

Life Form Scan: Positive.

Life Forms: 1

Life Form Status: Alive

Command Complete.

Scanning Movement.

Movement Detected: None.

Command Complete.

Scanning Sound Waves.

Sound Waves Detected: Level 1.

Command Complete.

Damnit, she whispered. One person, still alive, not moving and the sound inside of the ship was so light it could simply be the slight buzz of the retro engines.

She punched in another command to her keyboard. Lieutenant?

Yes, Ensign?

We've got a problem. I have a ship traveling at .04 headed straight for the station. Radar has detected one person on board, alive, but no movement and little sound.

What ship?

Anaconda 09684.

There was a slight pause and then, Holy Mother! Are you sure you read that right, Ensign?

Yes, sir, she said, letting a little bit of her irritation slip into her voice. Is there something I should know about the ship, sir?

Umm, no, just keep track of it, Ensign, and await further instructions.

Of course, sir.

Lieutenants. They wanted you to know what to do but they never wanted you to know what you were doing.  Her hands danced above the keyboard again as she programmed the system to automatically track the ship and alert her to any change in velocity, trajectory, life signs, movement, or sound within the ship.  

Looks like we have an unconscious pilot again, she said to the Ensign beside her.

Second one this month, he noted, whistling. That's rare.

Probably asleep. She snorted. Well, he'll be getting a hard wakeup call soon enough.

She waited, still tracking the ship's movement. Every ten seconds she repeated her hail of the ship, Anaconda 09684, this is the Venus 1 station, do you read?  She wasn't expecting a reply from the ship, but she did expect further instructions from the Lieutenant. When several minutes passed without hearing from him, she became nervous.

She flipped the communications link over. Lieutenant?

There was a slight pause, and then, Yes, Ensign? Has there been a change in the ship?

No, sir. I was waiting for further instructions.

Then why aren't you waiting for them? he rebuffed her.

Yes, sir, it's just that the ship is getting rather close.

I realize that Ensign, please wait for further instructions.

Yes, sir.

Damn. What was going on? Normal procedure would be to remotely activate the ship's computer and guide the ship safely into one of the docking bays. There, the ship's pilot would be in for a rude awaking if he was found asleep at the helm, as had happened just a few weeks previous with a young pilot in his first year. Maureen had seen him sweeping the halls the next week and knew it would be some time before that one was let back into a ship again.

She watched the dot on her radar screen get closer to the center and began to tap her fingernails on the desk.  She looked over at her mug of coffee, putting a finger up against the glass. It was a nice and warm. She picked it up, bringing it to her lips for a soothing sip, but her eyes never wavered from the small dot crawling closer to the center of the radar screen.

Above her terminals was what appeared to be a large glass window looking out onto space. Of course, it wasn't a window. The station was completely encased in metal several dozen feet thick. But the display was so clear it could easily be mistaken for a window. She stared at the display trying to spot the small pinprick of light moving toward her. There were several ships in orbit around the station, but this one was the only ship in her section.

She had just located what looked like a moving star when the entire display lit up in a blaze of green light.  There was no accompanying sound—the laser turrets on the top of the station above her were out in the vastness of space where sound did not travel. Maureen stared at the display, horrified, and watched the small dot of light flare briefly and then wink out altogether. The dot on her radar screen disappeared at the same time.

What had just happened? She glanced at her comm control, her finger hovering above it, but she didn't press the button. She had already been rebuffed once. If she called her Lieutenant again, it would be written up in her file.

She didn't need to bother; in a few seconds his voice came through the receiver in her ear. Ensign?

Yes, sir?

You are to forget what you have witnessed in the past few minutes.

Yes, sir.

The other Ensigns in your section will be requested to do the same.

Yes, sir.

Good day, Ensign.

Good day to you, sir.

Chapter Two

Maureen was preoccupied . The image of a green flash still floated in her head, and try as she might, she couldn't banish it from her mind.

She stepped into the civilian area of the space station, a fact that she knew only because she knew the station so well. The walls were still colored non-descript gray and the floors covered in a white marble tile that echoed each step. But there was a feeling she got when she stepped into the civilian area, a relaxed air that drifted in through her flesh to soothe her bones.  

Other than that, the area was much like any other portion of the station. Not even the civilians were much different. They may not be enlisted, but they had to suffer through the same security checks for the benefit of about the same pay, which was not that much. Many of the civilians had worked on this station, or other stations, for years and were so engraved in the culture that they were frequently mistaken for being military.

But not where she was headed. It was a restaurant that would have been considered quaint Earthside, but quaint had no business on this space station and so business suffered.

It was Maureen's favorite.

She stepped inside and spotted Jill, the owner and hostess, dealing with a couple of officers. They locked eyes, and Jill told her to find a seat with a nod of her head. Maureen nodded and walked over to her favorite table in the corner.

The table was wood—real wood not a plastic imitation—and so were the chairs. There wasn't a terminal at the table. Instead, a real live person would come by and take her order. Quaint. Maureen dined at the restaurant enough to know the wait staff, and she spotted Frank rounding the bar as soon as she sat at the table.

She liked Frank. He was an older gentleman—not an old man, but an older gentleman—who had been on the station for nearly a decade. He always greeted her with Miss Maureen, was patient in taking her order, and took lavish care of her.

Miss Maureen, Frank said, smiling generously at her. It is so good to see you this evening.

Hi Frank, she replied.

Have you had a chance to look over the menu? They had real menus, too, plastic ones with the names of the dishes accompanied by brief descriptions on one side and the price on the other side. Dear me, you don't have a menu, he said. I'll get that corrected at once.

No need, Frank, she protested. Maureen knew the menu by heart. I can order without it.

Miss Maureen, you know that dinner should be savored, not rushed, he admonished her. If it is an empty belly that troubles you, I can have a salad brought out free of charge. I believe you like our Greek salad?

No, thanks, she said, though the mention of the salad brought the tangy taste of the dressing mixed with feta cheese to her mouth. I am in no hurry.

No Greek salad to start off, then?

Well, yes to the salad, but no need for it to be on the house, Maureen replied. Jill was busy with customers, so I just sat myself. No fault of hers that I don't have a menu.

Nonsense, he said. It matters little who is at fault or if anyone is at fault, a salad on the house is what the situation calls for. I will be back with your menu, and then leave you to your decision while I bring out the salad.

That was another throwback. They treated the customer as if they were valued. It was a welcome change from the other restaurants on base where the meal was ordered by computer, brought out on a cart, and delivered without a word. It was as if both sides were invisible, neither wanting much to do with the other.

Frank returned with the menu, as well as a set of utensils wrapped in a white napkin. Is there anything else I can do for you while you make your decision?

Yes, she said. Can I get a drink? Vodka and cranberry?

Certainly, Miss Maureen, he replied. I will bring it out to you immediately so that you may begin enjoying it before the salad arrives.

She smiled at him and nodded. Yes, Frank took lavish care of her. And, after the day's events, lavish care is what she needed. It wasn't every day that a ship was blown up right before her eyes. But better to not think about that. She had learned that the silence order is best obeyed by silencing the thought as well. A lesson not so easily learned, as several demerits in her file demonstrated.

Are you doing okay over here Maureen? Jill asked. She had disentangled herself from the irate customers and had Maureen's drink in her hand. She sat the drink down on the table and smiled.

Jill had a way of smiling that induced others to do the same. Yes, Maureen answered, I'm doing fine.  She nodded in the direction of the officers. Trouble?

First time here, Jill said. They didn't know we prepare each meal from scratch when it is ordered.

They probably don't understand the concept, Maureen replied. The military has a nuke and serve mentality when it comes to food. It was true. Meals on the station are often quick affairs where you line up, get your food, take a seat, eat, and then leave. The idea of taking time to eat was one long forgotten by those who had served for decades.

Jill shrugged. They'll learn, or they won't be back, one of the two. She looked wistful. Too often it's the latter.

You aren't thinking of closing down, are you?

Oh, no, Jill reassured her. Not anytime soon, at least. Our contract is such that if you were our only customer, we'd still turn a slight profit. Part of the military's campaign to provide culture and the arts to those serving out here in space.

Good, Maureen said, sighing.

Jill laughed. It wouldn't be that bad, would it?

I would survive, she replied. But just barely.

Well, I don't think you have to worry about it for some time. Is Frank taking good care of you?

Always.

Good. I need to run into the kitchen to take care of some things then check on the officers again. Yell if you need anything.

I will.

Maureen was left to nurse her drink for a while in silence. It was a good silence, a needed silence after the bustle of her job. Frank had passed by during their conversation and wordlessly placed her salad down in front of her. It looked delicious, but for now she just wanted to sip on her drink. She'd eat the salad after she had ordered; it would pass the time until her meal arrived.

She tried not to think about her day, and instead she focused on the novel she was reading. It was an old story written around the same time the first lunar colony was under construction. It was about aliens that had landed on the dark side of the moon centuries before to keep close tabs on the people of Earth. The aliens did not have hostile intent, but when the humans discovered them, they reacted much the same as humans normally do by lashing out. So scared were the people of Earth that they nearly destroyed the moon in their attack, which had the effect of causing natural disasters across the globe. Maureen had just reached the point in the story just after the city of Los Angeles was swept into the ocean by the gigantic tides while the aliens were trying to find some way to communicate with the earthlings and offer their assistance.

Maureen found it interesting that both the first lunar colony and the city of Los Angeles had been destroyed the same year the novel had been published. That art mimics life is natural, but when life mimics art, it was sometimes disturbing.

So, she tried to think about the book instead of that flash of green light, but no matter how hard she tried, she could see that little white point blaze for one tiny moment and then wink out.

Who was Hans Grucher? What had he looked like? Did he have a wife (now a widow) and kids (now fatherless)?

She dove into her meal, but while the food was good, it could not keep the questions from circling through her mind.

Cindy Logan and Brian Davies arrived just as Maureen was finishing up her meal. Cindy was wearing a formal black dress and too much makeup, while Brian was still wearing his uniform.

What are you two doing?

Looking for you, Cindy said. I knew we'd find you here. She looked around. This place is so somber, I don't see how you can stand eating here.

I find it refreshing. She shrugged. They know me here. It seems like home.

Frank arrived promptly. Can I get you some menus? Or perhaps something from the bar?

Beer, Cindy said.

Beer here, too, Brian said.

Another vodka and cranberry, Maureen added.

Frank nodded and left.

I heard there was some excitement in your section today, Cindy said. Gag order?

Yes.

Cindy nodded. Maureen knew she wouldn't ask anything further about it. No one asked about gag orders. That was a good way to be transferred to a distant asteroid field for the next few decades. You are all dressed up. Special occasion?

I am going dancing, Cindy said. I'm headed there now, in fact, I just wanted to find you and see if you wanted to come.

Maureen shook her head. I need to work on my reports.

Come on, Cindy said. Tomorrow is your day off, isn't it?

I like to do them while it's still fresh in my mind.

Your loss, Cindy said. What about you, Brian?

I have to report early in the morning.

You are two spoil sports, she said, frowning in such a way that it looked more like a smile than a frown. Well, I'll leave you to your drinks then.

What about your beer? Brian asked.

You drink it, she said, flashing him a quick smile. I'm going dancing.

Maureen watched her friend leave then turned back to Brian. She knew it was a setup. Brian had been using any excuse to be alone with her for the past month. He was persistent, but not pushy. He hadn't gotten upset when she had spurned his initial advances. But he hadn't given up either. At least he wasn't obnoxious about it like some men. He was cute and easy to be around. And, who knows? He might just succeed if he stayed patient.

Tough day, huh? Brian said.

Yeah, tough.

Did you hear about Ell-Seven?

No, Maureen said. Something happen?

They threatened to leave the treaty, he said. They said if the council won't renegotiate their rate, they would be forced into the drastic action.

The council won't like that, she said.

No, they won't, he replied. Nor will they let it happen. In the end, Ell-Seven needs the council more than the council needs them. Where will they get food and supplies?

They wouldn't do that, Maureen objected. The press would have a field day.

The press could do anything they wanted, it wouldn't change a thing, Brian said. The council can't let Ell-Seven leave the treaty. It would set a bad precedent.

But the treaty is voluntary, Maureen said.

Sure, it's voluntary, Brian said. And it will stay that way up until the time one of these stations tries to leave it. They aren't about to let even the smallest base leave, much less one as important as Ell-Seven. It's too dangerous.

Dangerous?

To their eyes, it is. Brian shrugged. There is only one way to ensure peace. And that is for there to be one government. If you have two governments, you have the prospect of war, and if you have the prospect of war, you have the inevitability of war.

But we have many governments...

We have many puppets, Brian said. Since when did they do anything that the council did not ask them to do?

Brian, you act as if we are living under a dictatorship of some kind.

Aren't we? he asked. When was the last time you voted for a chancellor?

We vote for our senator, she said.

And a find lot of good that does, he said. Do you know how many times Senator Wade has voted in direct opposition to his constitutes wishes? If you do the math, it comes out to around thirty-seven percent of the time. That is more than one out of three votes.

You can't always trust the opinion of the people, she said. Most of them don't know thing one about the issues.

As if Senator Wade knows anything about the issues, he said, snorting. He was a musician, for God's sake. Just because a guy puts out a couple of number one hits doesn't mean he can adequately represent you in congress.

You really think they'd withhold food and supplies?

Oh, you can bet your sweet ass they would, Brian responded. He smiled. And it's a very sweet ass at that.

Maureen smiled back at him. That was part of Brian's charm. He wasn't pushy, but he always managed to bring something sexual into their conversations just to let her know he was still interested. She played his game. It is very sweet, she said. But that's just something you'll have to trust me on.

Hopefully, not for long, he said.

Oh, do tell, she replied. What plans have you to get beyond my cloth? She raised her drink to her lips and let the liquid moisten her tongue. Ply me with drinks, perhaps?

Better, he said with a smile and a sly wink. I'm having a camera installed in your apartment as we speak.

Quite the voyeur, huh?

If it is the only way I can see you in your skin, it is the route I must take.

You might fair better with drinks, she said. I have a habit of scanning for such devices each night. You aren't the only one wanting to see me in my skin.

But I am the truest of heart, he said.

Maureen put her glass down and looked at him. That, you might be, she said in all seriousness. The words caused a flash of color to rise in his face. Was he blushing?

Well, soon enough I'll be flying, Brian said. And maybe then I'll be able to impress you enough to drop your guard.

And my pants? Maureen smiled. Flying? So, have you heard something?

I've been told that I should expect to be flying soon.

Congratulations, Maureen said. When do you think you'll get the promotion?

Well, no one said anything about a promotion.

Nonsense, Maureen responded. They won't raise you to flight status without a promotion. And then you can stop playing those silly video games.

Hey, we take the simulators seriously.

Don't you go lying to me, Maureen said. I've been in the simulators. They are nothing but a big, fancy video game.

You've been in the sim?

I have connections, Maureen said, winking at him. It was fun.

"Yeah, but