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

control yoke and watched his console to keep the docking crosshairs lined up with the indicators on the depot’s number three airlock. It was something he hadn’t done since he had trained with small launches in the Academy. Even their meagre attitude thrusters had been more responsive than the Bounty’s, but the size of the ships wasn’t all that different. Each reaction was delayed by only a few fractions of a second, but it felt like an age and Samson started to sweat with concentration as he worked the yoke, which was so stiff it made the Bounty feel like a battlecruiser.

The airlock expanded on the screen, and each small movement became more pronounced. The delay meant that each correction became even more time sensitive. An overly heavy flick of his wrist to make a minor alteration, and the airlock indicators drifted from his screen. The alarm klaxon started ringing and Samson swore under his breath. He inched the Bounty back more carefully, ever aware of the distance readout, which was racing down to zero far more quickly than he liked. The indicators came back into view and, with the crosshairs drifting back towards them, Samson didn’t want to touch the controls and send it out of alignment again.

He watched the distance counter and prayed that it would hit zero at the same moment the crosshairs lined up with the depot’s indicators. He cursed the Bounty for not having an automated docking system before tapping the thrusters one final time and waiting for the ship to respond. The klaxon stopped, and the Bounty clunked into the depot’s airlock with a shudder that broadcast to everyone on board how out of practise Samson was.

‘What now, Ms Harper?’ Samson said. He still refused to address her by her rank.

‘Two active officers need to present themselves in the airlock for biometric screening.’

Looks like I was right not to space her, Samson thought. ‘What happens if we fail it?’

‘The lock will be flooded with toxic gas.’

‘And of course we’ll have to take our boarding suits off for the scans?’

Harper nodded.

‘Great. Let’s hope the depot’s systems are working properly, then.’ He scratched his chin for a moment. With both him and Harper needed in the airlock, he needed to leave someone in command of the Bounty. Vachon was the only sailor experienced enough for the responsibility, but Samson was damned if he was going to give it to him.

‘Sergeant Price, congratulations,’ Samson said.

Price looked at him in bemusement.

‘I’m giving you a field promotion to acting sub-lieutenant, and placing you in command of the Bounty until I return to the bridge. If the docking process fails, decouple the ship immediately, and get away as fast as you can. Understood?’

Price nodded. ‘Aye, sir,’ he said, still clearly digesting his sudden change in status. He cast a glance over at Vachon, who did not meet his gaze. ‘Understood, sir.’

If the emergency access procedure failed, Samson wanted to give the rest of them at least a fighting chance of surviving. There was no way the Bounty could outrun a Gauss round, but he supposed they might be able to dodge them, or survive a couple of non-critical hits before getting out of range and returning to the planet surface.

‘The ship is yours, Lieutenant Price.’ Samson felt odd saying it, and wasn’t at all certain that he had the authority to do what he had done. He was the senior officer in the sector, however, so until someone above him said differently, he would act the part.

There were plenty of things that could go wrong when mating a vessel of the Bounty’s age to the much more modern airlock on the depot. Samson resolved to change his inclination to puzzle out the worst possible consequences, and focused on his boarding suit. He’d tied himself in knots of worry with what might have gone wrong at each step, yet they’d made it through. He needed to have more faith in his judgement, his equipment, and the people around him. Well, some of the people…

Harper was waiting for him at the airlock, already dressed in her suit. She gave him a nod, and they both donned their helmets. The seal was confirmed by the green light in his visor heads-up display, followed a moment later by a second that indicated his suit was up to the correct pressure. He opened the airlock, and they both stepped in. The door shut behind them, its motors grinding and whining as it did. A green light flashed above the outer hull door to indicate pressure on both sides was even, so Samson hit the button and waited to see if the Bounty’s sensors were correct in indicating that the join between ship and depot was sound. Things would get ugly fast if it wasn’t.

The open door revealed the pristine white of the naval depot’s hatch. A large red T-shaped handle invited pulling, so Samson did. The depot’s hatch slid open soundlessly, its newer and well-maintained gears showing up the Bounty’s neglect. That revealed the promised land of the depot’s airlock. Should they pass the biometric screening, all would be well. If they didn’t—well, he hoped the gas used would give them a humane, painless death.

They moved into the depot and shut the hatch behind them. Once the airlock was confirmed as up to pressure, they were officially safe from explosive decompression. Samson and Harper removed their helmets and gloves. Harper went to work at the control panel.

‘Officer one, present for optical scanning,’ the depot’s computer said.

Harper opened her eyes as wide as she could, and moved her face closer to the panel. Samson watched, but couldn’t see any sign of a laser or whatever was used for the scan.

‘Optical scan confirmed. Harper, A. Lieutenant. Present implant for scanning.’

She held her wrist up to the panel, and gave Samson a hopeful look.

‘Implant scanning confirmed. Harper, A. Lieutenant. Present right hand for scanning.’

She pressed her hand against the screen. This time Samson could see flashes