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

was as bad as he had feared. Wright didn’t want to just get himself into the history books; he wanted to make sure the limelight was entirely his, and that meant throwing Samson to the wolves. Samson hadn’t felt this ill since being told he might face court martial—and the firing squad—after the Fifth Fleet mutiny.

Captain Wright intended to stand at the fore of it all—the man who established peaceful relations with the first aliens encountered by the human race. Samson had already taken most of the other accolades—encountering them, exploring the city, killing one—leaving Wright only this one thing to make his career on. Samson wondered what he was after—Fleet Admiral Wright? President Wright? Samson felt his stomach turn over, and was gripped by anxiety that made him feel as though he was about to throw up and pass out.

But he was putting the cart before the horse. This all assumed it was possible to broker a peace at all, something Samson was not at all convinced of. Wright’s evidence to support his conjecture was thin at best—and deluded at worst, which was the end of the spectrum Samson reckoned this line of thinking was on. If Samson was correct, then all of Wright’s manoeuvring would count for nothing.

‘Were the standing orders not to await Rear Admiral Khaimov’s squadron, and the diplomatic officers with him?’ Samson said, already aware that he was beaten on this occasion, but unable to resist the urge to rattle Captain Wright’s cage as best he could.

‘I’ve given that due consideration. We need to move fast on this, to repair the damage that has been done, and to make sure that no more occurs,’ Wright said. ‘If we’re to make a success of this, we cannot afford to delay.’

No, Samson thought, not if you don’t want to share the credit with Admiral Khaimov. ‘If that’s all, sir, permission to return to the Bounty?’

‘The Bounty is known to the aliens, and to have her—and you—present at the encounter would be counterproductive. I’m ordering the Bounty to return to the Capsilan system to carry out standard patrol operations. Smugglers, pirates, and malcontents, Samson. Let them know the Navy is here now, and we will impose order on this sector of space. I won’t have any independent elements causing problems in our negotiations with this new species. Am I clear?’

‘Perfectly, sir.’

‘You’ll deploy a sensor buoy on the approach to the planet from the Nexus portal and start monitoring all traffic into and out of the system. I also understand you made a deal on naval credit for communications equipment with someone on Capsilan 2-B?’

‘That’s correct, sir.’

‘This might be a good opportunity to make good that debt,’ Wright said. ‘If we want to maintain popular support, we must be seen to be fulfilling on our promises.’

‘I’ll see to it as a matter of priority.’

‘Good. You can return to the Bounty.’

Samson stood and made to leave when Captain Wright spoke again.

‘Aren’t you forgetting something, Lieutenant Commander?’

‘I’m sorry, sir?’ Samson said.

‘You forgot to wish us luck. This is a momentous undertaking with huge implications for the future of the human race.’

‘Of course, sir. Good luck,’ Samson said. He wasn’t able to force a smile. He saluted, and left.

Samson sat on the launch back to the Bounty with the ignominy of having a sensor buoy sitting on his lap. With none on the Bounty, he’d had to borrow one from the Peterson. He had a nauseous worry in the pit of his gut as he wondered how Wright would react if—or when, as Samson expected—his efforts at negotiation failed. Would he try and lay the blame on Samson, citing his encounters with the alien race as being instrumental in ruining any chance for peace between the two races? As exciting as it had felt to be on the point of a momentous event, Samson realised it would quickly become a pressure cooker for careerist officers making or breaking their futures. Sadly for him, one of them had already arrived, and it was looking like Samson was going to pay the price.

Those who stood in the way would be cast aside by whatever means available, and with his heavily blotted service record, Samson knew he was an easy target. It was another mark in favour of Frontier service. In the short time he had been out there, Samson had all but forgotten how political and cutthroat the officer ranks manning Core fleet vessels were. There was only so much reputation to go around, and even fewer promotions.

When he got back to the Bounty, he walked from the airlock to the bridge with the sensor drone cradled in his arms. It looked like an enormous egg in its dormant mode, but once activated it would extend solar panels and antennae like a germinating seed. He felt like a marked man when he set foot on the bridge, which was exacerbated by the odd looks he got from Harper and Kushnir.

‘Mister Kushnir, please take this drone to the cargo bay and rig it for launch by evacuation.’

Kushnir did as he was ordered, and Samson slumped into his chair. If he was going to survive Wright’s race to glory he needed to make a plan, and quickly. He realised how easy it would be for Wright to dress up his actions as those of a gung-ho young officer thoughtlessly striving to make up for past deficiencies. He had no idea how to turn it around. If Wright chose to assassinate Samson’s character, he already had all the ammunition he needed. No matter how the negotiation attempts went, Wright would be able to marginalise or demonise Samson if he needed a scapegoat. Whatever way he looked at it, he was screwed.

‘Lieutenant Harper, take us back to the Capsilan system.’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘Not a positive outcome to the meeting, sir?’ Price said.

‘Is it that obvious?’ Samson said. He cast a hesitant glance over at Harper, but she was busy, and out of earshot of a quiet conversation.

‘From the