Battlecruiser Alamo: Cage of Gold

by Richard Tongue

   “Understood, Captain.”

   “Danny, you ought to stay here and organize that yourself.”

   Shaking his head, he said, “Those are my men under attack out there, Deadeye. I can’t just sit here and watch while they are attacked.” Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed a pistol from the other technician and sprinted for the gate, racing out into the street.

   There were already a couple of fires towards the center of town, billowing clouds of smoke rising, the sound of sirens as people hurried to respond. A pair of empty escape pods rested by the side of the road, bullet marks running by the hatch, but mercifully, no sign of bodies.

   “Captain!” a voice yelled, and he saw a pair of Alamo crewmen racing towards him, one of them carrying a captured rifle. “We’re under fire, sir!”

   “I know, Bartlett. Go back to the compound and report to Lieutenant Grant. He’s organizing reinforcements.”

   “Aye, sir,” they said, and Marshall raced on, heading for the heart of town, where the bulk of escape pods had come down. Another crewman waved at him, climbing out of one of the last pods to descend, and he gestured for her to follow Bartlett while he pressed on. It seemed strange to see Triplanetary uniforms down here, mingling with the local population. One of his paramedics was performing first aid on the side of the road, a civilian caught in the crossfire, and he left him to his work.

   The main street was a war-zone, six pods dragged into a rough barricade, the rattle of machine guns everywhere, single shots from Triplanetary pistols in response. Ducking down low, Marshall headed for the stout, gray-haired man in the middle, tapping him on the shoulder.

   “Report, Kowalski!”

   “Captain?” The chief paused for a second, then gestured at the pods, “They got us right after we landed. I lost Hammond and MacDonald, wounded, I think, I’m not sure. A couple of other casualties, nothing serious, Garland’s working on it.” Another burst of fire raced overhead as he continued, “I managed to get the pods into a barricade, and we’ve got about twenty effectives here. What we don’t have is much ammunition, not for a full-scale firefight.”

   “Then we’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t last that long, Chief,” Marshall replied.

   “Excuse me,” a soft voice said, and he turned to see an old woman walking towards the barricade, seemingly deaf to the battle raging around her, limping on a stick. “You must be Captain Marshall. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

   “Ma’am, you’d better get back into cover.” Looking around, Marshall said, “Grogan, get this lady…”

   “There’s no need for that, young man,” she said. “There is an alley over there on the left. It’s a dead-end, but the fire-escape at the end will lead you to a spot that overlooks the position of the guardsmen. You’ll have a better chance than if you stay here.”

   “Who the hell are you?” Kowalski asked.

   “Manners, please.”

   “Excuse him, he’s a senior petty officer. Far too used to shouting at people,” Marshall said with a smile.

   “I am Mrs Schneider, Ginger, to my friends, and Pavel was most complimentary about you. Among other things, I’m with the Army of Liberation.”

   Shaking his head, Kowalski said, “Might want to do what she says, skipper. I think we’re running out of options. And bullets.”

   “Hooke, Winslow, Evans, to me,” Marshall said. “Take a spare clip each, and for God’s sake keep down low.” Turning back to the old woman, he said, “Stay here with Kowalski. If this works, I’m going to need to talk to you again in a few moments.”

   “Of course it will work. No reason to think otherwise.” She reached into her bag, pulling out a pair of beer bottles, and said, “Try these. Home-made.”

   “I don’t think we’ve got time…”

   “Light the fuse and throw them.”

   “I like the way you think, lady,” Kowalski said.

   Taking the Molotov cocktails, Marshall ran down the alleyway, the three crewmen he had named chasing after him. A line of bullets smashed into the ground on either side of him, kicking dust and rubble into the air, before he made it to the safety of the buildings. A guardsman stepped around the corner, rifle raised, but Evans was quicker to the draw, the engineer making short work of him.

   “You’ve missed your calling on the bridge,” Marshall said. “I’ll have to speak to Cooper about a transfer.”

   “Please don’t, sir. I very much prefer to work sitting down. When the Espatiers get tanks, I’ll be interested.”

   The impromptu commandos raced to the fire-escape, Marshall leading the way up the ladder while the quick-minded Winslow stopped to snatch the rifle from the corpse, rifling through its pockets for ammunition.

   “Sir?” he said in disgust. “This is a robot!”

   Turning back on the ladder, Marshall said, “What?”

   “The face comes right off.”

   Shaking his head, he said, “Nothing would surprise me on this planet. Leave it and come on, Spaceman. Our people can’t hold out for much longer.”

   Scrambling up the ladder, the four of them raced for the roof, Marshall sprinting into cover behind a low wall. There were a dozen guardsmen laying down suppressing fire, a couple of them setting up mortars from an improvised blockade. People were looking down out of every window, curiosity overwhelming common sense, waiting to see what would happen next.

   “Winslow, start making holes in some of those robots. Hooke, Evans, suppressing fire on those mortars. Slow them down as much as you can.”

   Ripping open his survival kit, the contents tumbling out onto the roof, he found a bundle of kindling, dropped it onto the instruction booklet, the only paper manual the Fleet provided, and cracked a canister over the lot, the chemicals mixing to provide immediate flame. He lit the first fuse, then the second, and hurled them as far as he could, reaching for the mortar crews.

   They’d already been caught by surprise by Evans, who was turning out to be a surprisingly good shot, but they weren’t expecting the flaming death that enveloped them, billowing fire sweeping all around them. Marshall pulled out his pistol, starting to take shots at the enemy below, but one of the machine guns was trained in their direction, spitting bursts of bullets at them, sending them ducking for cover.

   “They can get us whenever they want,” Hooke said.

   “Company!” Winslow said, gesturing to the end of the road, a trio of jeeps driving towards them. A figure in one of them rose from her seat, waving, and Marshall smiled as their machine guns opened up, slamming into the surprised guardsmen.

   “The Army’s here,” he said. “That’s Caine!”

  Chapter 23

   “Quiet,” Salazar said, raising his hand. “I think I hear something.”

   The three of them paused in the corridor, straining to listen, the only reward for their silence the occasional drip of water from the ceiling. Harper shook her head, stepping forward, but Salazar stopped her with his arm.

   “There is something,” Foster said. “From behind.”

   “Footsteps. Someone’s coming after us.”

   Harper shook her head, and replied, “We knew that already. Come on, we’ve got to keep moving.” She shone her torch up, revealing a complicated series of pictographs carved into the wall.

   “Those look familiar,” Salazar said. “Too familiar.”

   “We’ve been here before, haven’t we,” Foster said with a sigh. “Do you think we made a double turn back there without realizing it?”

   “I lost track a quarter-hour ago,” Harper admitted. “Does it matter?”

   “It does if we ever want to get out of here again,” Foster said.

   With a shrug, the hacker said, “If you’re that desperate to get out, sit down and wait. Someone will be along to show you the way out before too long, with the finest accommodation the local jail can offer at the exit.”


   “Come on,” Salazar said, but Foster shook her head.

   “She’s right.”

   “Midshipman…”

   “Look, we’re lost. Completely lost. If we can capture one of the androids, we might be able to work out where we’re going.”

   Frowning, Harper said, “They’re robots. They won’t react to torture.”

   Turning to face her, Foster replied, “I thought you were supposed to be some sort of top-rated hacker. Are you telling me that you can’t think of some way to work out where the signals that command those damn things are coming from?”

   Harper paused, and Salazar asked, “Well?”

   “Actually, that isn’t a bad idea. I’ve got a full toolkit, and there’s plenty of power left in my datapad. If I can…,” she smiled, then continued, “Get me one, and make sure it is intact. As undamaged as possible. It won’t even take that long.”

   Nodding, Salazar gestured at Foster, and they took up positions on opposite sides of the corridor, pistols in hand, dousing their torches. They stood in total darkness, listening to the perpetual dripping and the approaching footsteps, now clearly audible. Two sets, by the sound of it, marching in time.

   “Shoot the first one in the head, the second in the legs and arms,” Salazar whispered. “I don’t care whether it is a machine or not, it can’t do anything with its limbs blown off.”

   “Got it,” she replied, and they waited in the darkness. Their vigil did not last long, as a pair of dark shadows walked around a corner, heading in their direction, weapons raised and ready for action. The figures moved closer, drawing within range, and Salazar raised his pistol, kneeling on the ground in precisely the position described in the training manual.

   “Now!” he yelled, the crack from his pistol echoing around the corridor, the figure collapsing to the ground. A pair of shots replied, blasting into the darkness, and the two of them fired again, Harper turning on her torch, pointing it towards the remaining guardsman. Legs first, then the arms, and it dropped by its companion, limbs jerking in a strange series of spasms.

   Salazar raced forward, emptying another bullet into the first, ruined guard, while the others followed up, Harper already beginning to unpack her toolkit. As he gasped for breath, Foster hurled herself at him, sending them both tumbling, as another pair of shots opened up at them. He could feel blood dripping onto him, Foster’s face turning white, as Harper drew her pistol and fired a pair of shots, dropping the two androids with practiced skill.

   “Damn,” she said. “Why weren’t you paying attention?” she gasped.

   “Always my fault,” Salazar said, tugging his medikit from his pocket. “Hold still.” The bullet had caught her shoulder, and blood was running down her side, down her uniform and onto the floor. “Harper, get to work.”

   “You might need…,”

   Turning to her sharply, he said, “I need you to do your job. I’ve got this.”

   “Slave-driver,” Foster whispered, her voice growing weaker.

   Shaking his head, Salazar injected an anticoagulant, then tugged off her jacket, exposing the wound. “Don’t you dare faint on me.”

   “Not my boss,” she whispered, her eyes drifting in and out of focus. “Can’t give me orders.”

   “Watch me,” he said, wrapping bandages around the wound. The blood flow was slowing, though the sterilized fabric was staining crimson as he watched. He continued to bind, tighter and tighter, cutting off the flow as best he could. He shone his torch into her face, and she struggled a faint smile back at him, nodding her head.

   “That’ll hold it until we get you up to Alamo,” he said, wrapping her jacket back over her shoulders. He rummaged through the medikit, finding the strongest painkiller he was authorized to give, and stuffed the pill into her mouth, following up with a drink of water from her canteen, much of which dribbled down her chin.

   “Thanks,” she said, her breathing growing more steady.

   “Just sit there,” he replied. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

   Resting her gently against the wall, he raced over to Harper, who appeared to be ripping at the guts of the android with a knife, pulling out components, her torch resting on a ledge. She glanced up at him, then looked back at her work.

   “Can you do it?”

   “I think so. There’s only so many ways you can design a transmitter, and the power system is pretty obvious. Actually, that’s the strange thing. I noticed it with the first one I looked at.”

   “What?”

   “This doesn’t look that alien. Not all of it, anyway. A lot of this looks pretty old, last-century tech. The relay booster, some of these circuits. This is all familiar stuff.” She pulled out a wire, sending a spark shooting through the air. “See. I knew that would happen.”

   “Of course you did,” he replied. “How long?”

   “A couple of minutes. You realize that they’ll have alerted everyone to our location.”

   “I figured that would be a part of it.”

   “Which means that more company is on the way.”

   “Yeah. Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

   She rested her datapad next to the android, connecting cables, and replied, “I learned from the best. I offer lessons at very reasonable rates.”

   “I might have to take you up on that.”

   A faint groan came from Foster, and Harper asked, “How is she?”

   “I think I’ve got the wound patched, but she’s going to need real medical attention, and fairly soon. She’s going into shock.”

   Looking up, Harper said, “You know what I’m going to say.”

   “I don’t want to hear it.”

   “We’re going to have to move fast, and the odds are we’re going to be in another firefight.”

   “I’m not listening, Harper. Get on with your work.”

   The hacker paused for a second, words seeming to press to her lips, before shaking her head and looking down at the remains of the android again. Salazar watched her assembling components, running cabling into the datapad, then reassembling some of the components, pulling what had to be an aerial out of the guts of the machine and running it against the floor.

   “Pavel,” Foster said, and he went back to her.

   “I’m here, Val. What’s the story?”

   “She’s right, and you know it.”

   “Look…”

   “You’ve got to leave me.”

   “No,” he said. “No, I don’t have to leave you, and no, I won’t. I will carry you on my back, for as many miles as it is going to take to get this done, and as soon as we’ve knocked out the computer, I will get you out of here and to a doctor. Under no circumstances will I abandon you to the tender mercies of those robots. You will not be left here alone in the dark to die, and that is the end of this discussion.”

   Shaking her head, she said, “You don’t even like me.”

   Closing his eyes, he sighed, and replied, “I rather thought it was the other way around. Besides, that doesn’t have a damn thing to do with this. You are under my command, and I am responsible for you. That’s not something I mean to abandon, not ever, and if that means I’m a lousy officer because I can’t make the tough decisions, then that’s fine by me.”

   Harper plugged in the last component, and said, “Do you might keeping it down? They’re not going to need to home in on signals if you keep on shouting like that. I’m getting a trace now.”

   “What will it give us?”

   “Not a treasure map, if that’s what you are hoping for, but I’ll get a direction and distance. We’re still going to have to pick our way through this maze. Just give me one more minute.”

   “Right,” Salazar said, gently sliding his arms under Foster, struggling to his feet. Her eyes were sliding shut, her breath softening, as she drifted away into unconsciousness. She shook her head, struggling for
a brief second, before relaxing into his arms.

   “Don’t worry, Midshipman. You’ll get home,” he said. Harper packed up her toolkit, sliding it into the pouch on her belt, then retrieved her datapad from the jumble of components.

   “A quarter-mile, north-north-east. Not that either of the tunnels go in that direction.”

   “You take point,” he said. “I’ll trust your homing instincts.”

   “More than I would.” She turned to the corridor, and replied, “I’ll say this, Pavel. You might not be much of an officer, but you’re a good man. Let’s move.”

   With a curt nod, he followed her down the corridor, his ears straining for any sign of pursuit. As it stood, there was no chance that he could reach his pistol in time to do any good, leaving them dependent on the quick instincts of Harper while he held his burden, sweat already forming on his forehead from the load.

   Her datapad held in front of her with one hand, her pistol in the other, Harper led the way as Salazar trudged behind her, struggling to keep up. He could hear footsteps again, moving quickly after them, and knew that their pursuers would not pause for breath or fatigue, but would remorselessly track them down until they had reached their prey. Unless, of course, they could knock them out first.

   Down a long slope they walked, past intricately carved drawings, depictions of things long dead, at least on this world, of stylized starships flying through surrealistic space, racing for all eternity in the rock. He could have stared at them for hours, but the torch only brushed across them for seconds, only long enough for him to get the faintest impression of the work.

   His boots started to ring on the floor, and he realized that they were no longer walking on stone, but on metal, and the walls were a dull, burnished brown, seems where plates had been fused together. Harper’s pace was quickening as she homed in on her target, the signal strength growing stronger as they approached the source of the control transmissions. Surely it would be protected, defended. They wouldn’t be able to just walk into the room, would they?

   Salazar’s suspicions were confirmed when he saw a pair of guardsman standing at the door, but Harper’s gun cracked twice before they reacted, sending them toppling like puppets with cut strings. She stepped up to them, then looked back at Salazar with a smile.