Battlecruiser Alamo_Cries in the Dark

by Richard Tongue

   And the first shapes were racing from the tunnels, sweeping towards them, ready to attack. He hoped and prayed that Clarke and the others had sufficient firepower to hold them back, but their survival could be counted in minutes at best. The AI would throw everything it had to stop that bomb detonating, had no choice.

   Deep within his heart, he feared that his friends would die there. The odds seemed overwhelming, but if they gave him a chance to infiltrate the moon once again, then at least their sacrifice would mean something, their lives well-spent. Not that it would be any consolation to those destined to fall in battle, but any chance was better than none, especially if Alamo was on the way.

   Trying to distract himself from the sheer drop beneath, the only noise the beat of Hathor’s mighty wings as they raced towards their goal, he looked into the sky, wondering where the wormhole entrance was, the path that would see his ship and his crew safely home, even if he wouldn’t have a chance to join them himself. The best he could hope for was to pave the way for their transit back to Triplanetary space, and knowing that they had made it, that they at least had a chance of seeing their loved ones once more, was more than enough for him.

   “Almost there,” Hathor said. “I set our moon to orbit this one, about a mile out. It’ll give us a place to roost, and to retreat too should it prove necessary.” Nodding at one of the craters, he said, “I’ll drop you right into a shaft, so be prepared to grab onto something when you descend. I and my comrades have work to do.” The surface of the moon approached, and Salazar looked up, nodding in approval.

   “Good luck, Hathor. In case we don’t meet again, I hope you find what you are looking for.”

   “And I hope you and your people get home, my friend.”

   The arms released him, and he fell down the shaft, slowly dropping in the low gravity, his hands reaching to the side walls to snatch at handholds, bringing himself to a stop. Up above, Harper was following, and he reached out to grab her, tugging her close to prevent her from falling. Looking down, he saw the bright light of the AI, shining in the gloom, slowly pulsating.

   “We can’t go down there,” he said. “It’ll just hypnotize us again, and we’ll be right back where we started.” Looking around, he added, “I think I can find a way through to the chamber where we found you. Can you hook back up to the AI from there?”

   “There’s only one way to find out,” she replied, drawing her pistol, swinging nimbly from his grip and down the corridor, Salazar following with haste, his eyes darting around, waiting for the surprise attack he knew must be coming. From outside, he heard the rattle of gunfire, echoed explosions on the surface that heralded the onset of a battle, the AI’s winged servitors launching their attack upon Clarke and his party. A part of him longed to head up there, knowing that he could launch an attack from the rear, one that might make all the difference.

   Though with two pistols, and a couple of dozen rounds of ammunition between them, any help he could possibly provide would be all too limited. They had to continue with the plan, no matter what happened outside. He struggled to recall the rocky corridors and tunnels, honeycombing the moonlet, picking his way though the passages, periodically glancing at his watch, knowing that time was short.

   “This way,” Harper said, and he looked down a side tunnel, looking around for a brief second before following her down the passage, trusting her instincts and knowing that luck was about all they had going for them in this raid. The sound of gunfire was louder than before, drowning out any other noise, making it hard for him to hear her, but also assuring him that Clarke’s team was providing the distraction they needed, even if they didn’t know it.

   Almost without warning, they tumbled into the chamber, the crew from Monitor standing on either side of the room, at a horrible parody of attention, the tubes and cables writhing around their bodies like a sea of snakes. There was only one vacant terminal, that which Harper had used, and she walked tentatively up to it. The damage Hathor had done in extracting her the first time seemed to have repaired itself, the cables moving towards her as she approached.

   “You don’t have to do this, Kris,” Salazar said. “We can find another way. Hit the core again with everything we’ve got. The bomb might work, and...”

   “And what happens to Hathor’s people, Pavel? They’ve earned a chance to determine their own destiny after centuries of slavery.” Looking up at him, a tear in the corner of her eye, she said, “Isn’t this exactly what we put the uniform on for in the first place?”

   “To hell with that,” he replied. “To hell with all of it. You don’t need to take this risk.”

   “Yes, I do,” she said, softly, touching his cheek. “And you know it.”

   “Then I’m going with you.”

   Shaking her head, she replied, “You can’t. Even if there were two terminals, you shouldn’t. For some reason, the AI seems to accept me, to allow me inside. I don’t know why, and I don’t know what would happen if you went in there with me.” Looking at the frozen figures of the Monitor crewmen, she added, “You could easily end up just like them.”

   “So could you.”

   “I don’t think so,” she replied. “And don’t ask me how I know that, but somehow, I know that this is going to work out. It wants to talk, and I’m willing to listen. And maybe convince it that we can bring all of this to an end without bloodshed. That’s got to be worth a try.”

   With a reluctant nod, Salazar stepped back, and asked, “How do you link yourself up?”

   “I’m going to have to let the AI do that for me, I think. It managed it last time. One more thing. Don’t try and disconnect me or anyone else. You heard what Hathor said. It would leave a blank slate. If my guess is right, then their consciousness is locked in the archives somewhere, and it might be possible to reverse the process and bring them back. Wait for me to give you a signal, and trust that I will find a way.”

   “Kris,” he said.

   “And if I don’t, if something goes wrong, and you have a chance to get out of here and get back to Alamo, take it. I mean it. No crazy heroics. I know they’re your specialty, but this time, there’s nothing you can do except keep watch.” She gave him a brief hug, kissed him on the cheek, and stepped back to the wall, letting the cables tangle around her again, the serpentine firms embracing her.

   Her eyes dulled as Salazar watched, her expression growing blank, and he cursed under his breath as she fell back into the grips of the machine once more. He looked around the room, blinking away the tears, and fumbled in his pocket for the communicator, hoping that he’d be able to punch through the interference for at least a minute.

   “Salazar to any station, any station, do you read? Salazar to any station, any station, do you read?”

   “Lombardo here, sir,” a thin voice replied. “Where are you?”

   “Inside the moonlet, trying a last-ditch plan. What’s your situation?”

   “Desperate, sir. We’re coming under heavy attack. Clarke and Mortimer are attempting to position the bomb in a geological fault, but every time we move, they send more of those damned beasts after us. We must have taken down dozens of them, but they’re just coming. It’s as if they don’t give a damn whether they live or die, sir.”

   “They don’t. They’re under the control of the AI. We’re trying to work the problem from down here, but we’re not having any luck yet. How long before you’ll be in a position to detonate?”

   “Ten minutes minus, boss.” He paused, then said, “You can’t be that far from us, sir. I think we might be able to open up a corridor for you and Harper to get back up here. The ship landed intact, and we’ve got plenty of room to take the two of you with us when we leave.”

   “That’s a negative, Lieutenant. You’ve got enough problems up there.”

   “Hate to leave without you, sir.”

   “And I’d hate that as well, but there’s nothing you can do fo
r us down here. Try and give me a two-minute warning before detonation if you can, but if you can’t reach me, go ahead and crack this damned rock anyway. That’s your top priority. Do you think you can hold out long enough?”

   “We’ll find a way, skipper!” Lombardo replied, the staccato burst of machine gun fire behind him. “Don’t worry about us. We’ve got this. Just concentrate on pulling out a miracle.” He paused, then said, “We’ll do the same.”

   “I’ll hold you to that, Lieutenant,” he replied. “Good luck. Salazar out.” He snapped his communicator shut, dropping it back into his pocket, and looked at Harper, standing still and dead, as though she might simply be asleep, rather than engaged in the greatest fight of her life, and one in which he couldn’t intervene. There was nothing he could do but wait, and the seconds of their lives were ticking away as he watched.

  Chapter 21

   Clarke ducked behind a rocky outcrop, shards of ancient stone raining down all around him as explosions tore into the ground, a dozen of the winged humanoids soaring through the air as he struggled to prepare the antiquated arming mechanism. Mortimer was pinned down to the right, firing a few quick shots from her sidearm before slamming a fresh cartridge in to replace the one she had exhausted.

   “Running low,” she said. “One left after this.”

   “That’s one more than I have,” Clarke replied. “I’ve got exactly four shots left.”

   A burst of machine gun fire riddled the air, Fox unleashing a precious salvo upon the enemy, sending them scurrying away, out of range, and giving Clarke a chance to duck out of cover, returning to the arming controls, datapad in hand to translate the archaic text upon it. Mortimer looked up, pistol in hand, shaking her head.

   “Smart bastards,” she said. “We didn’t get a single one with that burst.”

   “And we probably won’t with the next one, either,” Clarke replied, his eyes locked on the screen of his datapad. “That doesn’t matter. If we light this little firework, the whole moon should be torn into a million pieces.”

   “If. Should.” Looking up at the enemy humanoids, hovering in the air, she continued, “I’ll feel a hell of a lot better when it happens.” Gesturing at a control, she said, “That one. I thought this was supposed to be simple to operate, anyway?”

   “Only if you don’t mind a front-row seat for the largest explosion to grace these parts for a few thousand years. There’s a timer control, but I’m having trouble getting it to work. This thing is older than the Great Pyramid. It’s a miracle the damned thing works at all.”

   “Here they come again!” McCormack said. “Take cover!”

   Clarke rolled behind his outcrop once more, just in to avoid a shower of rocks falling down all around him. The stink of smoke was in the air, and he looked up to see one of the creatures flying above him, taking the opportunity to fell him with a snap shot, the humanoid falling out of control, tumbling over the side of the moon and out into the endless space beyond, destined to fall for hundreds of miles. A fate they could still share, if they were careless. He was wearing a parachute on his back, just in case, but the odds of it being of any use at all were remote at best.

   Another rattle of machine gun fire, and this time Fox was able to catch one, a stray bullet slamming into the wing of one of the humanoids, sending her sprawling to the ground, close to the bomb. She continued to crawl towards it, only stopping after Mortimer fired two shots into her chest, blood spilling into the sands.

   “What the hell is it going to take to stop these bastards?” she asked.

   “Ask the machine that controls them,” Clarke replied. For a moment, the enemy retreated once again, and he raced out of cover, back to the bomb, continuing where he had left off with the arming sequence. Only a handful of controls remained, some of which with imprecise translations, and he was forced to attempt to mirror the thoughts of the engineer that had designed it, epochs ago. There were only so many ways to lay out a panel, and he reached to what he thought was the timing mechanism, tapping a series of controls, lights winking on and off.

   “That’s it!” he said. “Back to the ship!”

   As though the enemy had heard him, a loud wail went up from the flying creatures, and he looked up to see them diving towards him, hundreds of them, some with rifles, others with sharp talons. He dived back underneath his outcrop as they swooped around him on either side, raining fire and fury down upon him. Mortimer, close beside him, faced the same onslaught, as did Fox and the others at the ship, unable even to reach the hatch without facing the certainly of death.

   One after another, the lights winked out. He reached for his communicator, hoping to warn Salazar that his life could now be measured in seconds, but the signal was hopelessly jammed, static roaring from the speaker as soon as he activated the unit.

   “It’s no good!” Fox said. “Run for it. I’ll cover you!”

   “We wouldn’t get five feet,” Mortimer replied. “Can you get on the ship?”

   “Not a chance!” McCormack yelled, over the rattle of gunfire all around. “We’re completely pinned down.” She looked up for a second, three bullets flying through the air towards her, and only ducked back into cover in the nick of time. “How long, Clarke?”

   “Four minutes and change, ma’am,” he replied. “Sequence running fine.” He looked up, contemplating making a move, knowing it would kill him but hoping that it might give the others a chance to race to safety, but he’d have been gunned down almost as fast as he could rise, and he knew it. He’d be throwing away his life for nothing.

   And yet, they’d all be dead in a matter of moments anyway.

   “They’re going for the bomb!” Fox said. “I’m running low on ammunition. Can either of you accelerate the timer?”

   “Not a chance,” Mortimer replied. “No way we’ll be able to get to it.” Clarke looked across at her, then looked at the cover again. He might be able to reach it in time, but it would be his final act. Two steps, two buttons, two seconds. Taking a deep breath, he rolled out of cover and sprinted for the panel, slamming his hand on the controls, an ear-splitting siren wailing all around, a desperate whine that announced their imminent death.

   He waited for the bullets to strike, but they never came, the winged humanoids instead diving at the bomb, three of them snatching it in their arms, dragging it away. Clarke reached up, grappled with the nearest, but was dismissed with a savage kick to the jaw. Fox turned her machine gun around, firing another burst, taking one of them out, but the others remained, and they tumbled from the moon, the bomb still in their arms, falling and falling, faster and faster.

   “Heads down!” Clarke yelled, not knowing what would happen, trying to calculate the blast radius and the range of the shockwave in his head, trying to recall almost-forgotten lessons in shaped demolition charges. “One, one thousand, two, one thousand, three...”

   The world beneath him shook and tumbled as the blinding flash filled the air, followed by the thunderclap of a multi-megaton bomb detonating, mere miles away. He held his hands clamped over his eyes, waiting for everything to settle down, hearing a terrible grinding noise as cracks and gauges opened in the world all around them.

   “Fifty miles down!” Lombardo said. “Good God, look at the cloud!”

   Clarke rubbed his eyes, looking down at the huge ball of fire and smoke expanding through the sky beneath them, mercifully over a wide expanse of desert, now destined to receive a blast of fallout in the near future. They’d checked to see what was beneath them, had satisfied themselves that nobody on the surface would be endangered, but the reality of what they had done only sunk in when he saw the cloud of angry black smoke expanding ever wider, a stain in the very fabric of the Sphere, one of their creation.

   “The surface is unstable, but it’ll settle down soon,” Lombardo said, turning to McCormack. “Ma’am, is the ship secure?”

   “I can’t see,” McCormack said,
holding herself together with obvious effort. “I saw the blast. And that was the last thing I saw. My optic nerves are gone.” Before anyone could say anything else, she said, “When we get back to Alamo, Doctor Strickland can repair the damage. Someone get me inside the ship. Clarke, take over.”

   “Lieutenant Lombardo...”

   “Line beats staff, damn it, and I gave you an order! Clarke, take over!”

   Taking a deep breath, he turned to Lombardo, still unsteady on his feet, and said, “Try and get a status report. If we’ve lost our ride out of here, we need to know it now. Mortimer, I need...”

   “Radiation levels elevated. We don’t want to hang around here for any longer than we can help, John, but we’re probably safe as long as we limit our exposure to less than an hour. We’ll probably need a dose of decontamination drugs when we get back anyway, just to be on the safe side. Which is all theoretical, given that we’ve failed in our mission.”

   “Not yet, we haven’t,” Clarke said.

   “Damn it, John, what’s it going to take? We lost the bomb! It’s gone! What the hell do we do now?”

   Clarke paused, stood up, turned to Fox, and said, “Where did our friends go?”

   “Back inside the moon, probably,” she replied. “I had my eyes closed the whole time.”

   “Then that’s where we’re going.”

   “We’re going to attack them?” Mortimer said, disbelievingly. “I’ve got five rounds left. Five. You can’t have any more than that.”

   Fox frowned, pulled out her combat knife, and said, “Ready when you are, sir.”

   “Lieutenant,” Clarke said, “Prepare for immediate takeoff. We’re going inside to find Captain Salazar and see if there is anything we can do to help. Maybe we can find a way to destroy the AI from the inside. At any rate, we’re not going to know unless we try.” Looking at the others, he continued, “Alamo could be here in a matter of minutes, and if we haven’t cleared the way for them, a lot of our friends are going to die in sight of home. We’ve got to find a way to bring this bastard down, and we’ve got no time in which to do it.”