Battlecruiser Alamo: Cage of Gold

by Richard Tongue

   “There’s fighting in half a dozen other streets, Danny,” Caine said. “The Guard seem to be withdrawing to their headquarters, as well as the power station. My guess is that they’re getting ready for a counterattack.” She looked at Higgins, and said, “You going to tell him?”

   With a sigh, Higgins said, “There’s a lot more of them than we were expecting. Their stated strength was a little under two hundred, but there must be that many here in New Jamestown, and I know that there are as many again on their way out to Patton Outpost.”

   “With luck, Cooper will have dealt with them by now,” Marshall said.

   “We know that there has been a battle, sir, but we haven’t any idea who won. All our radios are jammed, from the Territorial headquarters,” Higgins continued.

   “The critical point is that we’re weakening, they’re strengthening,” Caine said. “This is only temporary unless we can knock them out. We know that Salazar managed to infiltrate the headquarters with Harper…”

   Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Potentially, all that means is that they are trapped down there. The Guard can’t have infinite resources, so they need to prioritize. Which means that we’ve got to hit them now, and hit them hard, and draw them away. How much transport do we have?”

   “Not enough,” Higgins said. “We’re beginning to run into power problems, as well. They’ve turned off all our charging stations.” Slapping the side of the jeep, he said, “This baby’s only good for about another ten miles before we have to get out and walk.”

   “That’ll do for what I have in mind.” He looked downtown, at the columns of smoke that were still rising. “Lieutenant Grant is assembling a strike force at the Reserve Depot. Arm them, and with the transport you’ve got, attack the power station. We’ve got to take that back at all costs.”

   “Any risk of damage…” Higgins said.

   “You’ve got a hundred trained technicians on hand to fix anything that breaks, Lieutenant. I think we’ll be able to work out something for you, even without logistic support from upstairs. While you attack the power station, we’re going to launch a strike on Territorial Guard headquarters, try and pin them down. That’ll support Salazar and divert attention from you.” Glancing at his watch, he continued, “Get your force together, and launch your attack in fifteen minutes.”

   Nodding, Higgins said, “We’ll be there.” He hopped back into his jeep, yelling orders as it drove off down the road, a cloud of dust in its wake. A huge explosion ripped through the air from an adjacent street, sending a curl of flame racing for the sky.

   “Chief, stand as many men to as you can, right now. Force march to the power station. Tell Lieutenant Race he has the command, and that he is to follow up as fast as possible.” Glancing around, he yelled, “Winslow, Hooke, with me!”

   “Danny, forward scout isn’t a job for the commanding officer,” Caine said.

   “It is when he’s the only one around to do it,” Marshall snapped in response, as the two crewmen raced up, newly acquired rifles in their hands.

   “Are you sure about this, sir?” Hooke asked, glancing around the streets. A loud burst of machine gun fire echoed from ahead, a warning of things to come.

   “Whatever happens, just stick with me. We’ve got to see what the situation is up ahead.”

   “Sir, get down!” Winslow said, raising his rifle and firing through the space where Marshall’s head had been an instant before, felling an android with a shot right between the eyes.

   “It’s dangerous out here,” Hooke complained.

   “Hell, at least they die like we do,” Winslow replied.

   Waving his arm forward, Marshall drew his pistol, and said, “Let’s go.”

   He raced to the side of the street, running as close to the wall as he could, periodically jumping over pieces of crumbling wreckage, watching for any more android snipers. Hooke snapped a shot over his shoulder, sending one of the red-uniformed figures crashing to the ground before Marshall could react.

   Turning a corner, the next street was surprisingly quiet, no people out on the road, windows and doors closed and boarded up. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Marshall jogged down the pavement, the rest of his impromptu fire team behind him. He could make out the looming shadow of Territorial Guard headquarters just ahead, only another side street to go, but the rattle of machine gun fire sent him crashing to the ground, dragging himself into the only cover he could find, a signboard advertising job vacancies.

   Winslow raced up, bullets tearing all around him, slamming into the board beside Marshall.

   “Caine and Hooke are holed up on the other side of the street,” he said. “I make two guns, in the hotel at the end of the street, top floor.”

   “Agreed,” Marshall replied, nodding, “but I’m not sure that does us any good. We don’t have any heavy equipment to deal with it.”

   “The Army will,” Winslow replied.

   Glancing back, Marshall said, “Spaceman, I’m not sending you back out there.”

   With a resigned shrug, the technician replied, “There isn’t any choice, sir. Someone’s got to go back and warn the follow-up force, or we could lose a dozen people before they can react. I’m volunteering.”

   Nodding, he replied, “Give me your rifle, Spaceman. I’ll give you covering fire. When I open up, run like hell, and don’t forget to zigzag.”

   “Don’t worry, sir, I’m too much in love with myself to take any unnecessary risks.”

   Pausing for a second, Marshall took the rifle, glanced up at the hotel, then ran out into the open, firing three quick shots before racing back towards the signboard. Winslow glanced at him with a look of shock before sprinting for the end of the street, towards the advancing Triplanetary forces, hardly a single bullet coming anywhere near him as all attention focused on Marshall.

   In an instant, Marshall realized that he would never make the signboard, and riddled with bullet holes as it already was, it would do him little good if he did. Instead he made for the single open door along the entire street, and as bullets crashed into the ground all around him, he dived inside, looking up at the figure of Secretary Mason, a pistol leveled at his head.

   “You have sought sanctuary in the wrong place, Captain,” he said.

   “No, Kirk,” the Governor said. “Not here.”

   Looking up, Marshall realized that he was in the Museum of Earth. In front of him was a huge, slowly spinning model of the planet as it looked in the mid-21st century, when the Thule colonists launched, and lovingly prepared glass cases held a collection of carefully preserved artifacts from those days, posters from long-forgotten political campaigns, pieces of electronic equipment, even an astronaut’s helmet. A model of the Mayflower II hung poised from the ceiling, its tip pointing down at Marshall on the floor.

   Gesturing at the helmet, Mason said, “You realize that was used by one of the astronauts on Ares Three. One of the first four men to walk on Mars wore that. This is history.”

   “And cannot be destroyed in a firefight,” the Governor protested. “All of this is far too precious for that. None of these pieces can be repaired, restored. Once they are gone, the memory will fade, forever.”

   Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “The memories have already faded. Look out there, Governor. Your people are fighting for their freedom!”

   “They are killing themselves,” Mason said, sighing. “The reconstruction process will take far longer than it might have without your intervention. Still, your people will all be dead shortly, and we can begin to rebuild.”

   “Rebuild what?” Marshall asked. “This planet is dying, and its people with it.”

   “Unless the population was drastically thinned.”

   “My God. You wanted this, didn’t you? To trim down the population so that the survivors would be able to live, and to hell with the fact that tens of thousands of people would have to
die to bring that about.”

   “The preservation of the human race is my sole goal. Understand that.”

   Looking down at the ground, Marshall said, “The human race is under no threat of extinction! We’re on a hundred worlds, scattered across thirty, forty light-years, and spreading still further. Our numbers haven’t been this great since the Third World War, eight billion human beings strong.”

   “I know of such colonies, others that were scattered like seeds during the Diaspora. All of them struggle, and the not-men are the greatest threat of all. My analysis is that they are likely to defeat your kind, and that before long, the truth that the colonists believed will be reality. That this will be one of the few outposts left of mankind.”

   “Your kind?” the Governor asked.

   “He’s an android,” Marshall replied with a snort. “Just like the rest of his Territorial Guard. Those bodies,” he said, “the ones we found. Recruits.”

   “They pledged to give their lives in the defense of good order.”

   “That didn’t mean they were willing to be shot and abandoned in the desert, replaced by machines that stole their faces, their lives!”

   “Is this true, Kirk?” the Governor asked.

   “It’s your dream, damn it!” Mason yelled. “You wanted this to be the last haven for mankind, a sanctuary where all humanity could survive the end of everything, and one day return to reclaim the stars. There are still opportunities remaining for such work. With proper exploitation of our labor force and an adjustment to our standard of living index…”

   “Turn everyone on this planet into a slave of your android masters, and work towards a goal that they may never see, that might never happen,” Marshall replied. “That utopia can be here today, Mason! Or whatever you are! That ship up there in orbit…”

   “Will turn this planet into a battlefield, Captain. Where the last war will be fought, one that will lead to the extermination of all humanity. Our only chance is to sit this one out.”

   “So you will annihilate the Neander, enslave everyone who is left, and hope that the great, glorious master plan that you have concocted will work out.”

   Shaking his head, Mason said, “It is a last resort, I grant you. Since we learned what had befallen humanity, we see it as the only path to salvation. As for the Neander, weep no tears for them. Their ancestors almost destroyed yours, in a thousand savage battles among the stars. This was a repository for the worst of them.”

   “A prison,” Marshall said, nodding. “It makes a strange sort of sense, now. A borderline-inhabitable world, one with no real potential.” Frowning, he continued, “Those wars took place ten thousand years ago.”

   “A blink of an eye for a machine, Captain. Our original purpose was to prevent the development of a technological civilization by the Neander, but now we must foster one, and allow the descendants of our masters to retake what was theirs. When we were discovered by Mr. Mason, he gave us the information we needed to begin the work.”

   “I can’t imagine how anyone would sell out their children’s future to the care of a machine that is still fighting a long-dead war.”

   Shaking his head, the Governor said, “You don’t know what it was like, forty years ago, Captain. All was chaos, with factions struggling for dominance while the Neander launched their raids, and our people starved as the crops failed. It turned around when the Guard was formed, and I begin to see why.”

   “We provided the location of aquifers, sites of accessible resources, and even some technological bootstrapping. A starfaring civilization can arise from this brutal soil, Captain, given time, sacrifice, and proper control.” He looked down at Marshall, shaking his head, and added, “Any thought I had about trusting the future of humanity to you was dispelled when I saw how you treated the Neander. They were your enemies, and you make common cause with them when you should be wiping them out.”

   “We’re all one species, damn it,” Marshall replied. “And we are not in the business of genocide.”

   “Or survival, it would appear.” A torrent of shouting came from outside, gunfire and explosions from the street. “Our mutual reinforcements have arrived.”

   “Wait a minute,” the Governor said. “Kirk, you can’t kill him.”

   “I must,” he replied. “And you know it.”

   “Yet you hesitate,” Marshall said. “I wonder why?”

   “Even a machine can lament fate, Captain.” He smiled, then said, “And for everything we do, there is a good and logical reason.”

   He leveled his pistol, but the Governor jumped at Mason’s hand, trying to slap it away. Mason turned, pushing the Governor into the model of Earth, sending it crashing to the ground and rolling away, buying Marshall the time he needed to tackle the android, bringing them both to the floor. Mason kicked out, pushing him away, and he snatched his gun from where it had fallen, pulling the trigger just as the Governor dived towards him, the force pushing him back to the ground. Marshall retrieved his pistol and fired before the android could react, drilling a neat hole in his forehead with the bullet.

   “Too late,” the Governor said, blood pouring from a wound on his chest. “Too late.”

   “We’ll get you out of here,” Marshall said.

   “No point, no need.” The Governor looked into his eyes, and said, “Look after them. Don’t let the dream end.”

   “I won’t,” Marshall said, as the Governor breathed his last. The doors burst opened, and Cooper raced in, Caine on his heels, looking at the scene.

   “What happened?” Caine asked.

   “I made a promise I do not intend to break,” he replied. “Ensign, how did you get here?”

   “We smashed through the Guard out in the desert, and hooked up with General Daniels and some of his men. I have fifty effectives ready to attack, and we’re pushing the androids back on three fronts now.”

   Nodding, Marshall rose to his feet, and said, “Let’s finish it, then.” He looked down at the Governor’s body, lying on the floor, and quietly said, “You’ll not be forgotten, sir. You saved your people. Both of them.” Taking a deep breath, he walked to the door, and said, “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 26

   A rhythmic crashing echoed from the sealed door, the sound of a gaggle of androids attempting to break it down. Salazar stood in front of it, pistol in hand, watching the dust and debris of centuries fall from the ceiling, hoping that it would hold. Ultimately, they would bring up the equipment they needed to smash their way inside, and it would come down to the four bullets he had left in his gun.

   “Harper, now would be a good time to get that second door open,” he said, looking up the corridor.

   With a frustrated snarl, she replied, “I’m working on it, I’m working on it.”

   “Hurry. This door won’t hold forever.” He looked down at Foster, gently propped against the wall, her head drooping down onto her chest. “You still with us, Midshipman?”

   “Not going anywhere,” she mumbled.

   “Keep it that way.”

   The noise abruptly stopped, which filled him with a greater sense of dread. It didn’t seem likely that they would just give up, and he feared that they were going to deploy something more effective. Unless this was simply a matter of psychological warfare, trying to unnerve him. Which was succeeding.

   He glanced at Harper, who had almost dismantled the lock in a vain effort to open it. If she couldn’t open the second hatch, then they would have little choice but to surrender. They had no food, and only a few mouthfuls of water left in their canteen, and next to no ammunition. Even if supplies had been plentiful, Foster needed medical attention in a hurry.

   A high whine began to sound, and the door began to grow warm. They were cutting their way through, increasing the level of brute force at their disposal. Unlike almost everything else, the door was a conventional enough alloy, and wouldn’t last for ver
y long.

   “Harper, now would be a good time.”

   “Hold on. I’m getting somewhere.”

   Holstering his pistol, Salazar knelt down on the floor and picked up the groaning Foster, carefully rising to his feet with her in his arms, his aching muscles protesting at the load. He walked down towards Harper, who glanced up at his approach.

   “Don’t rush me.”

   “The androids are rushing you. They’re cutting through the door.”

   She tapped the hatch she was working on with her fist, and said, “They won’t get through this one, but I will. Three more connections.” Her nimble fingers pulled components back into position, and the battery discharge light on her datapad started to wink as though sending some sort of secret signal. With a rumbling, grinding noise, the door began to slide open, Harper racing through without a word.

   Salazar began to ease Foster through, and as he stepped across the threshold there was a loud report from the other end of the corridor as the door gave way, bullets cracking all around him as the androids charged through after him. Harper began to work controls again, and just as Salazar stepped in with his precious burden, the door slammed shut behind them, sealing the androids off once again.

   “You sure we’re safe here?” he asked.

   With a shrug, the hacker replied, “Safe is a relative term, but I think we’ve got a little while.” She turned to the far side of the room, and said, “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

   Carefully placing the now-unconscious Foster on the floor, Salazar followed Harper to a huge computer bank on the far wall. Even to his untrained eye, he picked out strange, alien equipment, crudely merged with long-obsolete computer components bearing the name of defunct companies from the 21st century. All of it was tangled together with a complicated series of cables and improvised connections, fiber-optic traces everywhere in a spider’s web of data.

   “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Harper said in awe, entering commands on the keyboard. “Really old programming language, but I can use it. Lots of security safeguards. Whoever designed this was a genius.”