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

to be a great spotlight placed on the actions of every ship and officer in the early days of first contact, and no one wanted to be seen as having sat on their hands, nor as having made the wrong choices. Samson comforted himself with the thought that, through it all, he’d never had the opportunity to think things out and work to a plan of his own making. He’d been forced to react out of an instinct for survival, with the best reference to duty that he could accommodate. Nonetheless, he had a sinking sensation in his gut that if things went wrong, he would be the one the finger of blame pointed at.

Other than his foray with Sergeant Price’s hand grenades, there was little he felt could attract too much criticism, and even that seemed to fall within the best traditions of the Navy. Since the Fifth Fleet mutiny, he had given up hope of a glittering, lifelong naval career, and had contented himself that he was serving out the remainder of his commitment before it was time to find something else to do with his life. That might change now, and being at the leading edge of the most exciting event in human history, he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardise his involvement.

There was little for the Bounty to do on the reconnaissance mission other than bolster numbers and follow Captain Wright’s orders. Although her refit had made her much more functional, her systems were still far behind what the Peterson and the Nautilus brought to the equation. Their scanners had higher resolution and greater range, and their weapons systems were more numerous and packed a greater punch. If the alien ship turned up it would be his job to run and hide while the bigger ships showed the aggressor that the human race was not easily pushed around. The thought galled him, but that was the reality.

It would probably have been better to leave them back at the depot, but he suspected Wright wanted to keep an eye on him after the grenade incident, and make sure he stayed out of trouble. He reckoned that in the back of his mind, Captain Wright still entertained the possibility that peaceful negotiations would be sought—and the less damage done, the more likely that eventuality was. It came as a surprise to Samson, considering the encounters they’d already had with the aliens, but although Wright wouldn’t be the man to bring the alien race to their knees—or whatever equivalent they had—with his little flotilla, he might be the man to establish peaceful dialogue, which would be more than enough to secure his name in the history books.

Every day at noon, Wright held a commander’s conference, which he included Samson in. As Samson had more opportunity to observe his new commanding officer, it struck him that Wright was convinced there was a sacred motivation for the aliens’ behaviour—that in some way the humans who had been killed had brought that fate upon themselves by desecrating the aliens’ important sites.

Samson found that notion very difficult to swallow, and he suspected Gutierrez did also, although the quiet captain refused to nail his colours to the mast and express an opinion that would put him at odds with Wright, or for which he could be held accountable later. Samson, of course, had no such luxury. He was the only human known to have killed an alien, so his position needed no further elaboration.

Samson had his view on Wright’s theory but kept it to himself, if only for the fact that he knew neither of the other captains were interested in it. He was nothing more than the junior officer on the scene, included in the command discussions out of courtesy, and he knew that as soon as the fleet arrived, his presence at the high table would end.

‘Peterson to Bounty.’

Samson was lounging in the command chair nursing a mug of coffee and daydreaming when the signal came through. For a fleeting moment, he hoped it might mean something exciting, but there had been many messages like it over the few days of their patrol in strength, and none of them had led to anything. Considering the monumental occurrences of the past couple of weeks, how things could have slid so far back to the standard tedium of quiet station duty was beyond Samson. Obviously, some commanders had a knack for creating it.

‘Go ahead, Captain Wright.’ Samson nodded to Harper, the only other person on the bridge. The ship felt empty again since the Peterson had taken back her volunteers. He took a mouthful of coffee and grimaced. He hadn’t had any great success upgrading the decrepit machine on the Bounty, but he had hoped the fresh beans from the depot—one of the few luxuries afforded to naval personnel on active service—and the overhaul of the filters would make a difference. He was sadly disappointed. He swallowed, and as he was hit by the toxic aftertaste, he realised it might be time to admit defeat in this particular battle.

‘I think we’ve got all the intel we’re going to get from these sweeps,’ Wright said. ‘We’ve detected a number of weak signals that our computers have been trying to decipher. I think the results we’re getting are starting to look pretty conclusive. We’re going to discuss it on the Peterson. In person. I’m sending my launch to collect you.’

The line went dead, and Samson raised an eyebrow. What could he want to discuss that couldn’t be carried out by the usual video conference?

‘I wonder what he’s come up with?’ Samson said.

‘He seems pretty confident with his theory that the ruin is a religious site of some sort,’ Harper said. ‘Maybe he’s found something that confirms it.’

‘Maybe,’ Samson said. What he didn’t say was that he was becoming increasingly convinced that Wright wanted to own this situation, and make sure it was his career that benefitted as a result. Samson worried his single-minded