The Alpha Protocol: Alpha Protocol Book 1 by Duncan Hamilton (read more books .txt) 📕

The lack of inertial dampeners that Samson had initially enjoyed quickly lost its novelty as he was thrown about in the master’s chair, the padding on which proved to be long past its usefulness. He held on with white knuckles, but the violent jolts of their descent were impossible to brace against. He would have plenty of bruises on his backside in the days to come.

‘Temperature readings?’ he said. He could see the gauge for himself, but he had no idea what the safe operational limits were. Harper had that information on her display. It made him wonder how Arlen had managed to last as long as he did. Luck, probably.

‘Within normal limits and holding steady,’ Harper said. ‘It looks like the heat sinks are doing their job.’

It was a relief, but they weren’t out of danger yet. ‘Let me know if there’s any change.’

The Bounty continued to rattle and judder furiously, as if it were trying to shake itself apart. He could barely hear his own thoughts, and he’d never experienced anything like it. Did naval landing vessels experience the same, and merely hide it with their dampeners? It was hard to believe any ship could survive such a beating. Anything that wasn’t secured down fell and rolled around on the deck. He had to duck out of the way from a flying multi-tool, and was hopeful that there wasn’t anything else loose that could cause a fatal head injury.

Trying to manage the little ship felt like a comedy of errors at that moment, but with the humour entirely lacking. It was intensely claustrophobic on the bridge with the external blast shield in place over the viewport and their suits sealed. Most modern vessels used crystal compounds for their viewports, which were more than strong enough to resist an atmospheric entry, but Samson wasn’t willing to take the risk with the Bounty. The viewscreens showed nothing but a raging inferno outside as atmospheric gases ignited from friction with the hull.

An alarm went off, and Samson was convinced the ship would start to come apart around him. He furiously scanned through several poorly laid-out menus on his console before he found the culprit. A sensor on the hull had burned out, but it was nothing critical. He took a deep breath of relief, and could tell by Harper’s face that she felt the same way.

‘I’ll never complain about any Navy ship, ever again,’ Samson muttered under his breath.

‘What was that, sir?’ Price said.

‘Nothing,’ Samson said. ‘Just looking forward to being on the ground.’

He cast a glance over at Harper. Their time on the planet would be a test. It would be the ideal opportunity for her to get rid of him and take the ship, or abscond. He wondered what he would do in her place. Probably exactly that, even with the danger of Price and his Marines. She had to know it was a virtual certainty that she’d face a firing squad. Perhaps part of her refused to believe that, and she was continuing in the hope that she might avoid that fate. He’d have to keep a careful eye on her, even more so than he already was.

As quickly as the tumult had started, it stopped. The ship went from thrashing stallion to a docile pony in an instant, and Samson allowed himself a smile.

‘We’ve decelerated into the lower atmosphere,’ Harper said, the tension easing from her voice.

‘Raise the blast shield. I want to see where we’re going. I want to know if it still works.’

Harper keyed in the command and the bridge was filled with the sound of groaning gears. Slowly, the blast shield lifted, opening the viewport and revealing Capsilan 2-B—Holmwood—below. Their trajectory was programmed to take them to Holmwood Landing, the planet’s only spaceport and city of any note. The landscape raced away beneath them—an arid terrain, punctuated by the large green swaths of farming. Prior to being terraformed a century earlier, Holmwood would not have been able to support life. Mankind was gradually shaping it to fit their needs, and Samson knew that in another hundred years it would be completely unrecognisable—and a great distance from the Frontier, just like Price’s home planet.

‘CV Arlen’s Bounty requesting permission to land,’ Harper said.

They had to wait for a response. The voice that answered was casual, and not at all what Samson had expected.

‘Sure,’ the female voice said. ‘Find a free spot and set her down wherever you want.’

Harper looked back to Samson and raised an eyebrow.

‘I guess they don’t have to deal with as much traffic out here,’ Samson said. ‘Find somewhere you like the look of and we’ll set her down.’

Samson held his breath as the Bounty touched down. With everything else he’d been through on her, he reckoned he ought to be developing a little faith in what she could manage, but he still got anxious as the hull’s weight came to rest on her landing struts. They complained with a loud groan, but after a moment they fell silent and the ship remained motionless. Samson let his breath out with a hiss between his teeth, and turned his mind to the dilemma of how to organise the shore party. In an ideal world, he’d have left the former mutineers—Harper in particular—on the ship, confined to quarters and under guard. However, he needed Harper with him to select the equipment they’d need. Bringing everyone would mean more firepower in the event of trouble, but a larger group would also attract more attention.

He reckoned their time on the surface was the mutineers’ best chance to get away from naval justice. The only drawback would be that they’d spend the rest of their lives as fugitives, unable to return home. Still, it was a big galaxy, and if they were willing to forego contact with friends and family, chances were they could live out the rest of their lives in freedom.

Samson had a sinking feeling