Battlecruiser Alamo: The First Duty

by Richard Tongue

   “You spoke to the Captain?”

   “This morning, to warn him that we would be moving out ahead of schedule. He seemed a little hesitant.”

   “You think that there might be a problem?” Cooper asked.

   “Let’s be honest, we’re asking him to commit a pretty major violation of the law for our benefit, and we’re not offering him that much. A hundred thousand credits is a lot to pay for passage, but not for chartering a ship.”

   “We’ll offer him a cargo.”

   “He’s got to take our word for that.” She gestured towards the rear compartment, where Marshall and the Commandant were talking, and continued, “I wasn’t expecting to have those two on board, either.”

   Cooper turned to her, and said, “You didn’t tell him about the Captain?”

   “Use your head. He’d have been well paid for selling our little commando raid out, wouldn’t he. Besides,” she added, “I didn’t think we’d pull it off.”

   His face fell into a frown, and he replied, “You thought we’d end up shooting him.”

   “Yes, if I’m honest. I couldn’t believe it when he just walked down the field towards the shuttle. I’m still having trouble buying it.”

   Nodding, Cooper replied, “So am I. This is all going too damn well at the moment. You think it might be a trap?”

   “Yes, but I generally think that everything I run into might be a trap. It’s the safest way to operate in my profession.” A pair of lights flashed on her console, and she threw a switch. “We’re getting close to docking now. Take a look.”

   Switching on the forward view, Cooper examined the ship that he would hopefully be calling home for the next month. A pair of spheres, one larger than the other, connected by a tangle of girders and cables, solar arrays almost randomly scattered around in between antenna and docking ports. It reminded him of some of the last-century inter-system transports, and it dawned on him that there was a good chance that was exactly what it was; a few of them had been equipped with early models of the hendecaspace drive, though none of them had been in service since the War. It looked old, battle-worn, but there was a comforting familiarity in its lines.

   Turning to the back, Cooper said, “Captain, you and our...guest...had better stay clear until we get everything arranged on board.”

   “Understood, Corporal. You’re in charge for this part.”

   “This is Sub-Lieutenant Cantrell’s show, not mine,” he said, stressing the rank to Marshall’s confusion.

   “Sub-Lieutenant?”

   “Long story.”

   With a resounding clang, the shuttle locked into position at the docking port, and the primary hatch opened, a nervous-looking man standing at the threshold, looking between the two of them as they moved to face him. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, shaking his head.

   “Are you ready? I want to get rid of this shuttle as soon as possible.”

   “Do we still have a deal, Captain?” Cantrell asked.

   “Yes, yes, we do. Come on, the last thing we need is the Proctor showing up.” He looked at Cooper, and said, “You must be the fugitive. You don’t look that dangerous.”

   “Appearances can be deceptive,” he replied with as menacing a tone as he could manage. “We’ve had to change the deal a little.”

   “Change it?” he said. “How?”

   Pushing through the hatch and into the ship, Cantrell said, “There are two more of us than we were expecting. We all still want to go to Hydra Station, though.”

   “Two more? Fugitives? Listen, I don’t want any trouble.” Another pair of figures drifted up beside him, a man and a woman, both wearing crew jumpsuits. The man had a pistol in his hand, an antique that still looked extremely deadly; he stayed clear of the others, keeping his firing lines open. The woman, long red hair curling around, frowned.

   “What’s going on, Philippe?” the woman asked. “Are these the passengers you told us about?”

   Cantrell drifted closer, and said, “We’re willing to go to a hundred thousand credits, as long as you don’t ask any annoying questions about the others.”

   “A hundred thousand?” the man said, shaking his head. “That’s a lot of money, skipper.”

   “Too much money,” he replied. “What are you hiding?”

   Marshall pushed forward, the Commandant just behind him, and said, “We are fugitives, but I give you my word that we are not dangerous. We just need to get to Hydra Station. I understand that you have been promised a valuable cargo; we are at liberty to provide it.”

   “We’d make that much in a normal run,” the balding man replied. “Not worth the risk.”

   “You would,” the woman said. “We wouldn’t. You said you’d split this.”

   Snapping at her, he replied, “I’d share the prison sentence as well. You want to become an indent? Either of you? This isn’t worth it.” Turning to the man with the pistol, he said, “Tarrant, these men are to be encouraged to leave, immediately.”

   Cooper had his pistol out within a second, and Marshall was only a little slower. “I’d advise against that course of action.”

   “This is piracy, damn it!”

   “No,” Cantrell said. “We’re still willing to honor the terms of our agreement. A hundred thousand credits to get us safely to Hydra Station.”

   “I recognize him,” the woman said, pointing at the Commandant. “Isn’t he the commander of Dauntless? What is he doing here?”

   “What I am doing here is my business,” the Commandant replied, “and you are being offered a considerable sum of money in order to keep it that way. I would strenuously recommend that you take it.”

   “This could be official,” the woman said.

   “Miss Newton, if it was official business, he’d be wearing a proper uniform that wasn’t splattered in mud, and would be wielding all manner of documentation. He’s as desperate to keep this quiet as are. A million credits or you are leaving,” the captain said to Cantrell.

   Cooper looked at Newton, and asked, “Are you the First Mate?”

   “Yes.”

   He glanced at Cantrell, smiled, and said, “We’ll make you the same offer. You can command this ship and get it to Hydra Station, a hundred thousand credits, and title to the ship.”

   “This ship is not yours to offer!”

   “The pistol in my hand suggests otherwise.” He turned to Tarrant, and said, “We’ll set the two of you up with a two-ship company, and guarantee you an exclusive trade route.”

   “You’re lying!” the captain yelled, leaping for a button on the wall. Before Cooper could stop him, alarms were echoing throughout the ship. “Take him, Tarrant!”

   “Wait a minute,” Tarrant said. “That’s a very generous offer. Too generous.”

   “Our need is urgent,” Cantrell said.

   “They’re making it all up. This other ship, trade routes…”

   “Then you still have a hundred thousand credits, half in advance.”

   Newton paused, and said, “More. Tell us who you are. No lies. I know he’s a Cabal officer,” she said, gesturing at the Commandant, “but I want to know about the rest of you.”

   Cooper glanced at Marshall, who nodded, and said, “I am Lieutenant-Captain Daniel Marshall, commanding officer of the Battlecruiser Alamo. This is Sub-Lieutenant Cantrell, and Lance-Corporal Cooper of my Espatier force.”

   “Alamo? You’re the ones who took on the fleet at Gliese…”

   “Yes, they are,” the Commandant interrupted. “I would strongly recommend that you consider your next moves extremely carefully. I will testify that they are able to follow through on their promises.”

   “Call the Proctor,” the balding captain said, as four more people moved around the bend in the corridor, all of them armed. “We’ll get a nice fat reward for this day’s work.”

   “The question being
whether your crew will ever see any of it,” Cantrell said.

   “That is none of your affair,” he said.

   One of the men behind him mumbled, “A hundred thousand credits is a lot of money. Even split sixteen ways.”

   “These people are traitors,” the captain said, “and Singh, you are verging close to mutiny.”

   “Hell, I’m crossing over that line,” Tarrant said. “You’d better keep your word, Captain.” He turned his gun to cover his erstwhile boss. “Let’s have the hands up.”

   Cooper turned to cover the rest of them, but none of them seemed to have any particular stomach for fighting. Newton looked at the two groups, as if weighing up the odds in her mind, and finally nodded.

   “I’ll skipper Brunel for you. Tarrant, you can get the other ship.” Pulling a small pistol from a hidden pocket, she said, “We’d better get rid of this waste of space. Anyone here want to go with him? I get the idea this won’t be the safest trip we’ve ever done.”

   Cantrell ducked back into the shuttle, disappearing from view for a second, while two of the men moved up behind the former commander of the Brunel, Cooper glanced after her, then, guessing what she was doing, smiled.

   “Can you fly a shuttle, Captain?”

   “What?” the man grunted. “I’ll see you all shot for this. All of you. This is piracy.”

   “Answer the question.”

   “He can,” Tarrant said. “Not very well, despite his boasting, but after a fashion.”

   “Good,” Cantrell replied as she ducked out. “I’ve knocked out the communicator and set you on a course that will bring you down to at least a semblance of a landing in about six hours. You’ll have to do some tinkering if you don’t want to crash. I’d say the shuttle is worth about thirty thousand, but the owner will likely be expecting back.”

   “Relax,” Tarrant said with a sneer. “You’ve got insurance you can cash in.” Then he smiled, and said, “No, wait, you were too cheap to pay for any. I guess you’ll have to hope some idiot’s willing to promote you a loan.”

   “Fifty thousand credits if you stop this madness.”

   “Sorry, you’ve been outbid,” Tarrant said, tossing him into the shuttle cabin and securing the lock with a slam. There were a loud crash as it detached from the side of the freighter, heading on its long path down to the planet.

   With one last glance at the lock, Newton said, “Right, everyone to their stations. We’re going to have to break out of orbit, and if the trail on the four of you is as hot as I suspect, we need to do it now. Tarrant, get down to engineering and get the drive ready. Standard course for Hydra Station, we’ll use the shortcut.”

   “Shortcut?” Marshall said, his eyes widening. “The brown dwarves, you know about them?”

   “Of course,” she said. “You don’t think this ship hauled legal cargoes, did you? Best way to get past the border controls, and it’s usually a hell of a lot quieter out here. Hell, we’ve been as far as Spitfire Station before.”

   “You’ve been to the Confederation?”

   “The Cabal rather considered Spitfire to be in their sphere of influence,” the Commandant said, “though I understand that situation has changed with the imposition of direct military control. My guess is that the routes between Spitfire and Hydra will be snarled for some time.”

   Tarrant paused, then said, “That wasn’t the route you were offering, was it?”

   “After a fashion, but we’ve got a shortcut of our own,” Marshall said, glancing at the Commandant before continuing, “We’ll fill you in on the details later.”

   “Another passage?” the Commandant said. “Most interesting.”

   “Come on, then,” Newton said. “We’ve got to get moving.” She pushed off down the corridor, gracefully swinging down towards the elevator, the four of them following, sliding inside just as the doors closed.

   “I get the impression you’re not new to this,” Cooper said.

   “My predecessor was rather more of a hands-off captain. And in case you were wondering, he got this ship essentially the same way, though he used some creative accountancy rather than the barrel of a gun. Weep no tears for him.”

   “Good,” Marshall said. “I wasn’t planning too.”

   The doors opened on a surprisingly well-appointed bridge, with a pair of men floating in front of the helm controls, pistols pointed at the car. Cooper and Cantrell were ready, their own pistols pointed. Newton gestured at one of them with a smile.

   “Our former Captain’s nephew, and even fewer wits than he had. Put that stupid thing away, Anatole, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

   “I won’t,” he said. “Not until I get some assurances. I was meant to be the next commander of this ship, my uncle promised me.”

   “I wouldn’t trust you with command of a wrench,” Newton replied. “You’ll get paid. That will have to do for now.”

   Reluctantly, he put the gun away and drifted towards the rear of the bridge. The other man looked at him, holstered his weapon, and moved over to one of the consoles.

   “I’m John Fuller, comm-tech, and I guess I don’t mind a change in management. It wouldn’t be the first time. You’re finally taking command, Anne?”

   “At long last. Five captains, and each one a bigger fool than the last.”

   “Just do a better job than they did.”

   “Where’s the rest of the bridge crew?” Cantrell asked.

   “On the way up, I hope.”

   “To hell with that,” Marshall said, moving to the helm. “I reckon we’ll do better. Cantrell take sensors. Cooper, can you monitor flight engineering?”

   With a smile, he replied, “I think I know enough to warn you if any lights are flashing red.”

   “Tarrant knows his stuff,” Newton said. “Everything should be fine. Well, Captain Marshall, set a course for the egress point, maximum acceleration, and I’ll start work on our course. Fuller, let Traffic Control know about the change of plan, that we’re shaping earlier than expected, and tell them that we are heading for Goliath.”

   Marshall settled down at the helm, Cantrell moving over to the communications station, alert for any potential treachery, while Cooper settled down to enjoy the ride. The engines fired, acceleration pushing him back in his seat, and slowly they began to move away from the planet, the dull brown ball at last beginning to recede.

   “On course,” Marshall said. “Egress point in one hour, forty-two minutes.”

   “Good. Cease acceleration,” Newton said. “I want to follow a standard exit profile. No point bringing more attention to ourselves.”

   “Uh-oh,” Fuller said. “I just got a fugitive warning. A Corporal Cooper is wanted on charges of grand larceny and murder. No mention of the rest of you by name, but he has an accomplice that looks remarkably like you from the description.”

   “Just an alert?” Newton asked. “Nothing more than that?”

   With a deep sigh, he said, “We’re to pause for inspection by customs cutter. They’ll match our course and be with us in an hour.”

   Newton turned to Marshall, and said, “I’m about to take a big risk with nineteen lives. Tell me that it is justified.”

   “We will follow through with everything Cooper said, always presuming that we make it back to Hydra Station. You have my word as an officer in the Triplanetary Fleet.”

   “In that case, Captain, engage maximum acceleration. Get us there as rapidly as possible. We’ve got enough of a head-start that we ought to outpace them.”

   “Anne, is that wise?” Fuller said. “If they catch us, that goes a couple of steps further. No-one’s going to care too much about our latest ex-Captain, but this is serious business.”

   “Engaging maximum acceleration,” Marshall said. “Hang on, this could get rough. I’m cranking her up to five Martian gravities. New estimated time to target is twenty-one minutes, bu
t we’ll be using up a lot of our reserves.”

   “That’s fine,” Newton replied. “We can refuel at one of the depots on the way.”

   “What depots?” Cantrell said. “We didn’t spot any on the way out.”

   “You just have to know where to look. You’d be surprised how well the Guild can hide its caches when it wants too.”

   “Guild?”

   “Dauntless is on the move,” Cantrell said, looking over her station. “Making course for the egress point, and they’ll have a few seconds for a firing solution. Missile battlecruiser by the look of it, unless they have any surprises. What about it, Commandant? It was your ship.”

   “They have particle beams for point-defense, but only missiles to attack us here. I suspect that they won’t have much of an opportunity to do us any real damage, so long as you proceed quickly.”

   “They’re hailing us,” Fuller said. “Want to speak to the commanding officer.”

   “Ignore them,” Newton said. “Let’s pretend that we’re deaf and dumb.”

   The crew focused on their tasks for the next twenty minutes, the enemy battlecruiser inexorably drawing closer and closer as it ranged in for the kill. Cooper sat, fuming, knowing that there was nothing he could do but watch; he was out of his element again.

   “Firing range in twenty-two seconds,” Cantrell said. “Egress point in fifty-nine. Wait a second. Energy spike!”

   “They’ve got a longer range than we thought.”

   “If I may?” the Commandant said, walking over to the communications station. He entered a rapid sequence of commands, and the incoming missile tracks winked out, vanishing from the screen.

   “All missiles detonated,” Cantrell said, looking up at him. “We’re clear.”

   “Don’t be too impressed. That trick won’t work twice. I suggest we depart.”

   “Good idea. Captain, you have the call.”

   “Aye, ma’am, I have the call. Activating drive.” As he manipulated the controls and the comforting blue light flashed to herald their entry to other-dimensional space, Cooper breathed a sigh of relief, before Cantrell turned to them.