Battlecruiser Alamo: The First Duty

by Richard Tongue

   Sighing, she said, “We don’t have the software and I don’t have the skill. It’s like, well, proto-proto-Indo-European, and damn garbled at that. It’s like knowing Hindu and trying to use that to read Sanskrit. The computer’s having a real try at it, but it isn’t getting very far. We’re going to have to wait until we get home, and even then...it could take months. Years.”

   Leaning back, Orlova said, “You must be able to make some of it out, though?”

   “Not enough to make any sense of it. That’s the frustrating part. Just a few words come through the translation, just enough to give me a hint, but nothing more. The dating is interesting, though.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “Well, the computer was able to give me an estimate of linguistic drift, and it points to around 10,000 BC. Which is a lot later than the figures we had for the last contact with Earth. Of course, the computer could be wrong. This is all guesswork. The earliest writing we found dates back from about 6,000 BC, found during the Tigris Reclamation Project. Of course, that was right before the war, so the UN never gave us all the data, and...” She looked at Orlova, smiled, and continued, “Why am I bothering you with all of this? You’ve got problems enough of your own.”

   “Don’t worry about it. From what I’ve seen so far, my primary job is to listen to people complaining, whilst not being able to do very much about it. I’ve been running training sessions all day, and having some time off from that is nice enough.”

   “If there is anything I can do to help…”

   “Actually, that’s why I’m here. The Major’s focusing all our efforts on investigating the station, not the surface, and I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I want to take a look at what is going on down there.”

   “Order a scan.”

   “I can’t. Not safely, anyway. Why do you think I’ve got this job rather than Zebrova.”

   “You’re kidding.” She shook her head, then said, “We’re going to have a fun ride home with him in charge, Maggie. Can’t you take command? I trust you.”

   Her face growing stern, Orlova said, “I really hope that you just made a rather poor attempt at humor. You are talking about the commanding officer of this ship.”

   “Sorry. What is it you want me to do, then?”

   “It occurred to me that you might want to investigate any other possible archaeological sites on the surface, and that you might consider asking me for permission to undertake such an investigation.”

   “Really? You think I could get access to the sensors for a sweep like that?”

   “You’ve got friends in high places, remember. Put it in, and I’ll give approval, and if anyone asks, we’re covered. Of course, while you are looking for potential dig sites, who knows what else you might stumble across.”

   “You’ll have my request in writing in an hour.”

   “Good, I’ll approve it when I get back,” she said, standing up. “I’ve got to head over to the station, sort out some equipment requisitions.”

   “Have fun!” Carpenter said with a smile.

   “Not much chance of that,” Orlova replied as she left, making her way down the corridor to the elevator. She hadn’t realized before just how much administrative work she was meant to keep up with, especially during the refit, how many tedious jobs that were her responsibility, many of them seemingly make-work. Such as this job, inspecting equipment requisition forms. The computer could have handled it quite easily, but when she had tried to just click through it, a requirement that she conduct it in person had appeared. Then the door opened, and Caine walked in, glaring at her.

   “Enjoying your promotion?” she asked with a sneer.

   “Not much. You’re welcome to it if you want it.”

   “I don’t care what the Major thinks or what you have said to him. I still think that you were a coward, and that you chose the easy way out, and I mean to make sure that the proper authorities deal with you appropriately.”

   She turned to her, face flushing red, and said, “I’m sure that’s what Captain Marshall would have wanted. For you to waste the rest of your life on a personal vendetta against me.”

   “Don’t you…”

   Orlova jammed the hold button and said, “Like it or not, I’m the second-in-command of this boat, and that means that when I talk, you have to listen. Don’t you think for a moment that I would have given my life in trade for his? Don’t you know that? He was my friend as well, and I owed everything to him.”

   “All the more reason…”

   “I couldn’t go back. It wasn’t about me. If it had just been me on board, I’d have gone back without thinking twice, but when you are in command, you have the lives of others in your hands, and you cannot just throw them away because of your own personal whims or ideas. That isn’t your call to make. If I’d turned, thirty people would have been captured or killed, and two people would have thrown their lives away for nothing.”

   She took a deep breath, and continued, “The easy option would have been to go back. To try some sort of mad heroic rescue, but that would not have been the right thing to do. It isn’t what he would have wanted me to do. And if I’d been on that station, I’d have screamed at you all to get away, to get home. What would you have done? Screamed for help?”

   “No,” Caine said, quietly.

   “Do you really think that little of Captain Marshall, that you think he would have wanted us all to sacrifice our lives for him? That doesn’t do much justice to his memory, does it?”

   She released the button, and the doors slid open, Caine stepping out, shaking her head. Orlova wasn’t sure that she had got through to her, but was not unaware that she was actually talking to herself, more than to Caine. She wasn’t quite sure that she believed herself, anyway. When the elevator opened up at the hangar deck, she was still lost in thought as the deck chief walked up to her.

   “Shuttle Two’s ready to go, ma’am,” he said. “Want a pilot?”

   “No, I’ll take her myself.”

   “I thought you’d say that. Course is already plotted and you’ve got launch and docking clearance, pre-approved.”

   “Thanks, Chief.”

   Walking over to her shuttle, she swung into the cockpit and settled down into the pilot’s couch. This was far more to her taste, one little ship, with no responsibility to anyone other than herself, just heading out into the void to have fun. There were a moments when she longed for her past, but despite everything, they were getting fewer and fewer. The time before she wore the uniform was beginning to seem distant, almost a dream.

   The deck technicians had already completed pre-flight, and she activated the launch sequence almost absentmindedly, letting the automatic systems do all the work. Her datapad pinged with a series of status updates, and she quickly muted the volume; she wanted some time to herself, even if was just a few minutes of peace.

   Settling back to enjoy the ride, she watched the rotating station slowly grow in the screen as the shuttle cruised towards it, occasionally glancing down at the status boards to make sure everything was still working. On a trip as easy as this one, a pilot wasn’t really necessary anyway, the computer able to handle the work.

   After too brief a time, the shuttle closed in on the station, and moved up to lock with the docking clamps. She waited for the familiar clang, ready to head on board, but nothing happened; the shuttle just pushed away from the hull. A part of her was almost glad, and she reached down to try again, manually, with the same result. There was no sign of malfunction on board; the defect had to be on the station.

   She flicked a switch on the console, saying, “Shuttle Two to Hydra Station Control.” After a moment with no response, she tried again, “Shuttle Two to Hydra Station Control. Come in please. Shuttle Two to Alamo. Any station.”

   The status board still showed no malfunction, and she felt like giving it a sharp blow to express her f
rustration. Turning the ship on the thrusters, she tapped the main engines to head back to Alamo, but predictably, nothing happened. Reaching down to her datapad, she saw that she was out of signal range. Someone was jamming her signals, probably the same person who had played tricks with the sensors earlier.

   Eventually, someone would spot that there was a problem and come and get her, but there didn’t seem any reason to wait that long. Heading over to the rear compartment, she pulled a spacesuit out of the locker at random, checking to make sure all the systems were functioning before putting it on. The only thing that wasn’t working was the communicator, but that didn’t surprise her – hopefully it would start functioning again as soon as she was clear of the jamming field.

   Walking over to the airlock, she gently tapped the control, half-expecting that to be out of order as well, but the inner door slid open and she stepped through, letting it gently depressurize before stepping out into space. Her first step was to the docking port, still only a few meters away, and she tapped the manual override, the hatch slowly sliding open. She turned to the shuttle, taking a quick visual inspection. Nothing seemed to be wrong, which confirmed her suspicions. She tried her communicator again, but there was still no reply.

   She turned back, operating the lock, and the inner hatch slid open. There should have been some sort of alert from her unauthorized entry, some response from security, but no-one was there, and the corridor was dark. Taking her suit off as quickly as she could, she hung it in the storage compartment and headed for the elevator, until she heard a sound from behind her, a footstep.

   On instinct, she turned around, diving behind a storage rack, as a crack flew through the air where her head had been a moment before. She peered down the corridor, and saw a figure hiding in cover, a pistol casting a long shadow on the wall. Reaching for her communicator, she saw what she had expected – that it still wasn’t working. Likely she had found the source of her recent trouble.

   Another crack, and she eased herself further down into cover, looking for something to use as a weapon. The rack held heavy tools, and she picked up a wrench, the weight comforting in her hands, but her unseen assailant was staying well out of reach. On the other hand, for all she knew there might be reinforcements on the way, from one side or another. She looked up at the door sensor, temptingly close, then reached for the lightest object she could find.

   As she started to take some deep breaths, tensing herself up, another crack flew over her head, someone trying to keep her pinned down. She hurled the lighter tool behind her, activating the door sensor and opening the doors, and taking advantage of what she hoped was a distraction, raced forward out of cover, weaving from side to side, the wrench high in her hand.

   Two cracks passed dangerously close, but she collided with her would-be assassin, striking him quickly over the head with the wrench and forcing the pistol out of his hands. Cabal-make, just as she had expected. She looked down, and saw to her surprise that it was a Neander, not a human, albeit wearing a station jumpsuit. He looked vaguely familiar, one of the freed slaves from the Dumont now working with the local maintenance gangs. There was a datapad in his pocket, running a series of encryption algorithms, and as soon as she turned it off, her communicator began to chirp urgently.

   “Come in, Lieutenant,” the Major’s voice said. “Reply at once!”

   “Orlova here, sir. I’ve been attacked, lower docking level on the station, airlock nine.” With a loud clang, her shuttle docked, at last able to complete her program.

   “Are you injured?”

   “No, but my attacker is a different story. I need a medical and security team here on the double. Neander casualty.”

   “Neander? We’re on our way.”

   She gave the figure a quick examination, checking to make sure he wasn’t too badly wounded. His head wound was oozing blood, but his vital signs were stable enough, and his breathing seemed strong and steady. The door opened, and half a dozen people raced towards her, led by the Major; two security guards taking position to cover the scene while the medical team knelt down to begin their task.

   “Good work, Maggie,” the Major said. “Are you sure that you are alright?”

   “I’m fine, just a little disconcerted.”

   “Looks like we’ve traced our target, but I hadn’t expected a Neander. One of the locals?”

   “No,” she said, shaking her head, “From the Dumont. Not the first time we’ve seen them working with the Cabal. I’m pretty sure he was waiting for backup.”

   “We’ll have scared them off by now with all this firepower, I suspect. What were you doing here anyway?”

   “Computer-flagged regulations; I needed to check some equipment inventory.”

   “What inventory? I thought all our spares were on Alamo already.”

   Orlova pulled out her datapad, looked at her paperwork backlog, and shook her head, replying, “Suddenly it appears to have disappeared. Which means that someone has managed to get into my scheduling software. Dammit.” She looked up, and continued, “It’s a low-priority system.”

   “Someone is definitely targeting key personnel.”

   With a sigh, she said, “Or just me. Mulenga and Ferguson might have been incidental.”

   “Nevertheless, I’m not going to let this go. If he did have helpers, they might strike again.” The elevator door opened, and Lester Price, the Station Commander, walked out, heading directly for Orlova before stopping to look at the scene on the floor, the medical crew fighting a battle to stabilize the wounded Neander.

   “What happened?”

   “He jumped me. I had to improvise,” she replied. “One of your crew?”

   “Yes, I hired him last month from the Dumont technicians.” He looked at the Major, and said, “You don’t think I have anything to do with this, do you?”

   Glancing at Orlova, the Major replied, “You wore the wrong uniform for me to trust you unconditionally, Mr. Price. Based on this incident, I have no alternative but to issue a declaration of martial law. Lieutenant Bailey will assume duties as Military Governor for the duration of the emergency, and we will take steps, I assure you, to deal with all of his associates and root out the traitors.”

   Price’s eyes widened, his face reddened, and he replied, “That’s outrageous! After everything I did, everything I risked, you still think I might be an agent? I could have betrayed you a dozen times over to far more profit.”

   “Sir,” Orlova said, “I do think that Mr. Price has proven his loyalty…”

   “He’s a friend, Maggie, and I know that you can’t be objective. Nevertheless, I think you are probably right.”

   “Probably?” Price exploded.

   “We haven’t much time to purge this station, less than a fortnight. I want to leave behind a facility that will still be under our control when we get back with reinforcements from home, and if that means going through the station one compartment at a time, we’ll do it. Is that clear?”

   “Yes, sir,” Orlova said, while Price just glared.

   “Have that person,” he said, gesturing at the Neander, “taken back to Alamo…”

   “Our medical teams are more experienced with Neander,” Price said.

   Ignoring him, the Major continued, “...and placed under close supervision. I want an Espatier with him at all times; his associates might try to rescue or kill him. We have some questions for him when he wakes up.” Looking at Orlova again, he said, “Get yourself checked over by Duquesne, as well, just to reassure an old man’s worries”

   “Aye, sir.”

   “Good,” he said, striding towards the elevator. “Carry on.”

   The door slammed shut, and Price turned to her, saying, “He can’t do that. He doesn’t have the authority.”

   “Technically, he does, but usually martial law is only issued when all civilian authority has broken down. A last resort.”


   “It hasn’t. Can’t you do something about this?”

   “I’m just a Lieutenant…”

   Walking away, he said, “Fine. You carry on just following orders.”

  Chapter Thirteen

   All eyes were on the sensor station as the Brunel eased her way out of hendecaspace, the enemy battlecruiser close behind her. A countdown appeared on the viewscreen, ticking down the estimated time of arrival of the Dauntless; the new system was last on anyone’s minds. Cooper lingered at the back of the bridge, anxiously watching what was happening. There wasn’t anything he could do now except wait and see what happened next.

   “Jump successful,” Marshall said from the helm. “We’re close in on the fourth planet, just as advertised.”

   Romaine, hovering at the back, said, “They’d be out of hendecaspace by now if they were coming. I guess they aren’t following us after all.”

   “Didn’t anyone ever teach you about the speed of light?” Cantrell said from the sensor station. “We decoyed them out to the second planet, twenty million miles away. Besides, dimensional travel can be pretty rough. There can be temporal variations.”

   “Our drives are obviously better than yours,” he replied.

   “That’s enough,” Newton said. “Take us into orbit, Danny. Standard path, normal acceleration, let’s take it easy.”

   “I still don’t see why he’s at the helm,” Romaine said.

   “Because he’s a better pilot than you are,” Cantrell said, bluntly. “We’re getting a full picture of the system now. No changes from our last visit here, nothing to report at all. No sign of the Dauntless, but we’re still seventy seconds away.”

   The planet appeared on the viewscreen, and Cooper shook his head. A cold, white ball of ice, punctuated with deep cracks and gouges. No trace of atmosphere, no sign of any sort of life at all. Just another dead world whose only purpose was as a place to hide. The Brunel closed on the planet, Marshall keeping the acceleration steady.

   “Threat warning!” Cantrell said, and everyone on the bridge turned to look at her. “Dimensional instability, near the second planet. Capital ship emerging.” She looked up, and said, “It’s the Dauntless. Right on schedule.”