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“The small reconnaissance ship started transmitting a coded signal,” Letra reported when I got out of the cabin of the IL plane, “Perhaps I was very much mistaken about its affiliation with the rebels.”
“What does it communicate?”
“It appears to be a pre-recorded distress message. Automated reconnaissance ships are not designed for manned flight, but this ship seems to have passengers. If the report is to be believed, there are two medical pods with people in the cargo bay, immersed in a state of low-temperature sleep. I don't understand how they crammed such bulky equipment in there, the hold in this ship is very small.”
“Where did the recon ship get damaged?”
“This drone is assigned to the destroyer Consul Pran. The Metropolis lost control of it at the very beginning of the rebellion. The report says that the crew members who were not affected by the virtual psychosis and did not die during the hijacking of the ship, were isolated by the rebels in the medical bay and the hangar adjacent to it. For almost a year they were subjected to various experiments and just plain torture. After a while, however, the rebels partially lost their guard, and the two prisoners managed to recover a small recon ship that had been damaged in one of the skirmishes and to somehow escape from the destroyer. There are no details, but there is a request for urgent help.”
“Who are they?”
“A man and a woman. Civilian professionals. I forwarded you the decoded message. It repeats cyclically, but other than the names, which are not in my databases, it doesn't say anything else about these people.”
“How did they get on the destroyer?”
“No data.”
“Can the reconnaissance ship's instruments detect satellites in orbit?”
“No, they can't. From this distance its scanners will not penetrate the camouflage fields of the satellites. Also, this scout ship is damaged and may not be able to use active scanning systems, but I wouldn't count on that.”
“Do you have strict program directives for such cases? Are you obligated to respond to a distress call?”
“There are directives,” Letra answered after a moment's hesitation, “I must render all possible assistance to a ship in distress, regardless of its affiliation. I think you realize that these directives were drawn up long before the mutiny.”
“Have you answered the call?”
“No.”
“But…”
“It is highly probable that this is a provocation. If I make contact, I will inevitably be detected. Do we need a destroyer here, or even a whole fleet of rebels?”
“What about the unconditional directive?”
“It doesn't really matter. I can't help them actually, even if I wanted to. I have no ships, the entrances to the upper levels of the base are destroyed and littered with tons of debris. All base personnel except you are dead, and you are on Earth and unable to leave it. My making contact with the ship won't make them any better, but it will give us away completely.”
“So if there really are people there, they will inevitably die?”
“The resources of the medical pods and the ship itself will last for some time, but it's very difficult to determine exactly for how long. Maybe for a few weeks, maybe for a year. The small reconnaissance craft is not designed to fly in the atmosphere, so the most it can do is get close to Earth or land on the surface of the Moon. Neither of these would help its passengers.”
“But why did they come here? It only makes sense if the fugitives knew about the Moonbase and hoped it had survived.”
“There is logic in what you say, but don't forget that it could all be a provocation.”
“Don't you think such a scenario is too difficult for a provocation? Damaged scout ship, strange distress signal… Wouldn't it have been easier for the destroyer to just show up here?”
“I don't have ehough data to analyze,” Letra replied with a note of regret, “Don't forget that it's been over a year since the mutiny began. Perhaps the Consul Pran has lost its bases and is operating autonomously. In this case, his commander is unlikely to want to waste fuel on blind jumps. Besides, an entire rebel cruiser disappeared here without a trace a year ago, and the destroyer is not likely to come here without reconnaissance.”
“It's all guesswork…”
“That's what I'm saying,” Letra said. “It's dangerous to make contact. So for the time being, all we can do is wait. We'll have to see what our guest will do, if it does anything at all.”
“That is very impressive, Comrade Nagulin,” Stalin was obviously in a very good mood. “Even Churchill grudgingly acknowledged our success, and American journalists spare no epithets to describe the results of the "Russian Polar Campaign," not forgetting, of course, the outstanding contribution of their volunteers to this victory.”
“The press, of course, is always prone to exaggeration, but they certainly played their part,” I tried to gently temper the Chief's sarcasm. “To underestimate the Americans is dangerous. They know how to fight, although they take any losses very painfully.”
“I see that you are imbued with respect for potential allies,” grinned Stalin, “and they have not neglected you. The Medal of Honor looks good on your uniform. It was presented to you personally by President Roosevelt, wasn't it?”
“That's right, Comrade Commander-in-Chief. That is the tradition.”
Stalin nodded silently and looked around the members of the Headquarters of the Supreme High Command.
“There is an opinion that Comrade Nagulin deserved more than an American award for his actions,” he said after a short pause without the shadow of a smile. “He received the overseas medal for shielding the President of the United States from a sniper's bullet, seriously wounding him, and then continuing to fight in spite of his wounds. I think Comrade Nagulin has honestly earned the highest award of the United States and has done our country a great service. But the other thing is more important to us. He led a nearly lossless convoy that delivered seven hundred thousand tons of military supplies to the USSR, and in addition our fleet was joined by two heavy cruisers and a modern battleship. How do you think, comrades, how should the Headquarters of the Supreme High Command assess Comrade Nagulin's contribution to our victory?”
Molotov, from whom, frankly, I did not expect such a thing, suddenly took the floor. “The Headquarters of the Supreme High Command should appreciate this exceptionally highly.”
“At the suggestion of Vice-Admiral Golovko, supported by the higher command staff of the fleet, the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet approved a new award for outstanding achievements in the organization and conduct of major naval operations,” said Marshal Shaposhnikov. “At the moment it is the highest naval order of the USSR. I think Comrade Nagulin deserves the honor of becoming the first Knight of the Order of Nakhimov in the Soviet Union.”
“Does anyone have any objections, comrades?” Stalin grinned slightly again. “No? Well, then the holder of the USSR's first highest naval order will not be an admiral at all, but a land general. I don't remember similar precedents in world history, but there is a first time for everything.”
“The order is a good thing,” Marshal Zhukov, who received the new rank for breaking the siege of Leningrad, joined the discussion, “but no end
