Battlecruiser Alamo: Malware Blues

by Richard Tongue

   “In the wreck of that planet,” Riley replied. “They as good as admitted that’s where they are stealing their technology from.”

   The hatch opened, and Kline’s leering face peered in, “Launch in one minute. Strap down. We’ve disabled the transmitters in the rear section, but don’t worry. We can hear every word you say, and will take action accordingly. I suggest you sit back and enjoy the ride.”

   “Strap in, everyone,” Riley said.

   Salazar rested back in his couch, glancing to his right out of the viewport. With a loud grind, the elevator airlock engaged, the shuttle sliding through the decks and out into the coldness of space. Whoever was flying the ship was in a hurry, and the engines engaged almost before they were properly clear, hurling them away from Wyvern and on a course towards the planet.

   “Second shuttle launching,” Trent said. “I guess the crew decided to stay with us, after all.”

   “Forty on board,” Riley said. “We can guess that a good number of them were infiltrators. Maybe as many as half. We had a lot of replacements after the Battle of Hades Station.”

   “One of the big personnel transports,” Trent added. “Could get another twenty on that easily. Sir, wouldn’t they have used one shuttle if they could get away with it?”

   “Probably.”

   “Then they must both be full. Twenty-five to thirty.”

   “We’ll have enough time for roll-call when we get wherever it is we’re going,” Ryder said. “I want you all to focus on where that might be. Gather every detail, every piece of information. We’ll need it when we escape.”

   “Assuming we do,” Ortega said.

   “Belay that talk,” Ryder replied. “Our duty is to escape and alert the Fleet about what is happening out here. To recapture our ship if humanly possible, but at a minimum to sound the warning about the danger. All of our efforts are to be focused on that end, and let me be perfectly clear. We will escape.”

   “Aye, ma’am,” Riley said.

   Salazar caught himself smiling, and Ryder said, “Something amusing, Sub-Lieutenant?”

   “Nothing, ma’am. You just sound a lot like Captain Marshall.”

   “I’ll consider that to be a compliment,” she replied, turning back to the viewport. It was apparent that the shuttle pilot hadn’t bothered to follow the safety regulations that Wyvern had labored under, already closer to the ruined planet than they had been permitted to go, and from what he could tell of the flight path, they were going to get a lot closer.

   They were traveling a well-planned course, that much was certain. The maneuvers were slow and steady, following a pattern, no surprise turns to avoid unexpected contacts. He’d tried to work out some course plots when they first arrived, and Wyvern’s computer had refused to co-operate, demanding longer-term baselines of information before even attempting it.

   He looked around the shuttle, at the worn seats, the scuff-marks on the floor, the thousand trifling imperfections which did not indicate any defect in performance, but which were a testament to a well-used vessel. On a ship that had still been in the test-pilot stage, six months ago, but which looked as though it had been deployed out here for far longer than that.

   Something else caught his eye. The passenger monitor might be dark, but the positioning was wrong, out of alignment. They’d caught that in the early testing, that it was poorly placed for many of the passengers, one of the more obvious changes that were made to the final production model. Given access to a datapad and the ship’s network, he could probably date when this shuttle had been taken.

   Looking back out of the viewport, he watched as the shuttle dived into the debris cloud, passing over a pair of large fragments that seemed to be loosely orbiting each other, ducking and weaving like prizefighters trying to land the killing blow, always just out of reach. Beneath them, a trail of debris span around in crazy patterns, glinting even in the dull light of the system’s star, a shower of ice dancing through eternity.

   It was impossible to see where they were going. Try as he might, he couldn’t make out a single star as a reference point, not with all the debris scattered around. The view was spectacular, something to be savored despite their desperate situation, but it was useless, and a glance around the cabin confirmed that everyone else was rapidly coming to the same conclusion.

   The acceleration stopped, the shuttle spinning in place, and a larger fragment, one of the biggest in the cluster, came into view below. Big enough to still have an appreciable gravity field of its own, smothered in gleaming ice, and they were dropping down towards it as the engines kicked on again, slowing them down for a landing.

   Salazar tugged at his restraints, watching as the outer hull began to faintly glow. Though an orbital shuttle, it was cleared for landings on bodies with thin atmosphere, no thicker than that of Mars, and again they were pushing it to its limits as it slowed right down, riding towards the surface. Too thin for clouds, for any appreciable turbulence, it still was a testament to what this world once was, thousands of years ago.

   A mountain range lay ahead, a huge crack gouged at its heart by some unimaginable catastrophe long ago, chunks of rubble bigger than a battleship still scattered across the terrain. The shuttle slowed to a halt, riding its thrusters, and then a hatch opened up, an ancient structure, revealing a tunnel descending deep into the ground.

   All were silent as the shuttle dropped through the hatch, searchlights flashing on as it slowly descended into the gathering gloom. There was turbulence now, rocking back and forth, and he could hear a faint hiss from outside. Panicked eyes looked for the hull breach, but Salazar quickly realized that there was atmosphere coming into the cabin, his ears popping as the pressure equalized with the external air.

   Strange hieroglyphs covered the walls, more of the writing that they had encountered in the past, and he longed for a translator. After what must have been a dozen miles, they dropped through another hatch, and out into the open air, into a cavern that had to be a hundred miles across, more, and filled with a huge ocean of slowly rocking waves, white tips as they crested against a narrow, sandy beach.

   “This is impossible,” Riley said. “This world cannot have retained this.”

   “Someone made it possible,” Salazar said. “Sealed the cavern, protected some remains of this planet, for thousands, tens of thousands of years. That hatch could be just that old.”

   “And still operational?”

   “The computer systems we found on Thule had survived ten thousand years,” he replied. “I guess this civilization believed in building their equipment to last.”

   The pilot was obviously having trouble with the atmosphere, the thrusters firing at maximum to bring it down to the surface, where a cleared landing pad awaited them. With one last roar, the ship touched down, and both airlock doors flew open, removing any doubt that a breathable atmosphere awaited them outside.

   “Come on,” Trent said, throwing off her straps. “We can make a run for it.”

   “Just where do you plan to go?” Salazar asked.

   As the young crewman reached the hatch, Klein stepped out in front of them, and smiled.

   “For once we agree, Sub-Lieutenant.”

   “That was you at the controls?”

   “It was.”

   “Nice flying.”

   “Thank you.” Stepping back, he said, “If you would be so good as to clear the ship, we can begin the second leg of our journey.”

   “Move out,” Ryder said, and the crew started to disembark, stepping out of the shuttle two by two and following Klein to the edge of the field. A loud whine sounded from overhead, and a second shuttle began to descend, a much larger vehicle, this one riding better in the atmosphere it was designed to cope with.

   The cavern ceiling loomed over them as they stepped out of the hatch, all eyes ranging around its vast interior, and Salazar took a breath of clear, fresh air.
It was strange to think that once this had been but a small part of a larger world, and that this was all that remained.

   “You found this?” Riley asked.

   “We did. Our experts were able to open the hatches, and this was waiting for us at the bottom of the shaft. There is more, though. Much more. You will see it in a moment.”

   From the water, a loud gurgle sounded, and as Ortega pointed at the disturbance, a shape began to break through the surface, dark gray on blue water, with a Triplanetary insignia painted on its hull.

   “A submarine?” Ryder asked. “Out here?”

   “I am told that its procurement was a challenge for our logistics team.”

   The second shuttle dropped down to rest beside the first, a cloud of dust rising that almost obscured it for a moment. Seeing the insignia of Wyvern on its side was strange, as though their last link with home was about to be torn away. The airlock opened, and a line of crewmen filed out, led by a defiant sub-lieutenant with a developing black eye.

   “Merrick, what happened?” Ryder asked.

   “Difference of opinion with one of our captors. I wanted to retake the engine room, they wanted me out.” He looked ruefully at Kline, and said, “You should see the other guy.”

   “Anyone turn?”

   “Just Harper. They paraded her around, tried to get us to follow her example, but we refused.” He spat on the ground, and added, “Eighteen here, ma’am. My guess is that the rest were infiltrators.”

   “Fifteen in total, then,” Riley said. “Mostly in the lower ranks.”

   “As enjoyable as this debate is,” Kline said, “I’m afraid I’ve got to bring it to a close.” Two crewmen pulled out a gangplank, resting it on the side of the submarine, and gestured them to climb it. “I’d be careful not to fall off. The water is full of predators, and the biochemistry is compatible enough that they’d only get a slight stomach ache.”

   “You're just full of heart, Kline,” Ryder said, leading the way, Riley and Salazar following. The gangplank wobbled with every cautious step, to the obvious amusement of the guards, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he safely reached the deck, being ushered down a hatch into another compartment. This was far more spartan than the shuttle, just a collection of metal benches running across the room, a trio of small portholes providing a dim, blue light.

   “Tourist submarine,” Merrick said. “When I was stationed on Titan, I took a couple of weeks leave on Enceladus. Over-engineered for this sort of work, though. How deep can it be?”

   The hatch slammed shut as the last crewman reached the bottom of the ladder, and the cabin immediately grew dark. A loud gurgling echoed, and the ship began to descend, rocking free as it dived under the water.

   “No exits from the cabin, ma’am,” Trent said, shaking her head. “I guess they are serious about keeping us confined.”

   “We don’t have anywhere to run, anyway,” Ortega said. “Predators in the water.”

   “I’d bet that’s just something meant to scare us,” Merrick replied. “Don’t trust anything they say without verifying it for yourself.”

   Peering out of one of the portholes, Riley said, “We’re not going down far. Seabed’s just below.” He turned, then said, “You’ve got to see this.”

   Salazar and Ryder won the race to the remaining portholes, and he saw a collection of low, brown domes, scattered across the seabed, connected with long tunnels. The material seemed to be the same as that used for the hatches, and had to be at least as old. Slowly, the submarine inched its way towards the nearest, and Salazar could just make out a portable airlock, heavily modified, connected to it.

   With a loud slam, the submarine drifted underneath the hatch, and the door opened, dropping down into the cabin, an orange light washing through.

   “Up here, on the double!” a voice yelled. “We crack this lock in one minute.”

   Once more, Ryder led the way, and the crew climbed up the ladder into a small chamber. A trio of guards were waiting for them, one of them with Lieutenant’s insignia, holding a collection of black goggles.

   “I am Lieutenant Tarrant, commander of this facility. You will place these over your eyes, and we will lead you to your,” he paused, then continued, “accommodation. Any deviation from my instructions will result in your demise.”

   “Do it,” Ryder said, snatching the first pair from the guard. Salazar took his, turning them over in his hand. Just normal image augmenters, smothered in some sort of black sealant. As he placed them on, his world went dark. He could feel a cable being thrust into his hands, being passed onto the man behind him.

   “Keep hold of the cable. That’s going to guide you. And in case some of you have clever ideas about counting steps, we’ll be taking some unnecessary detours. Move.”

   The cable tugged, and he stepped forward. Thirty pairs of boots rattled on the floor as he walked along what initially sounded like a corridor, before opening up to a larger chamber, the echoes reverberating. He heard a strange noise in the background, a series of loud cracks, and a loud, continuous crackle in the background.

   Then they returned to a corridor again, making a sharp left turn, then a right one. They seemed to walk for hours, on and on, through a combination of corridors and larger rooms, before finally the line drew to a halt, and he felt a hand snatching the goggles from his face.

   “We’re here,” Tarrant said. They were in the middle of a huge dome, empty aside from a stack of crates deposited on the ground. “I assure you that there is no value to this place whatsoever, and that you will not be disturbed. You’ll find survival equipment for a month, if you are careful with your rationing, and we’ll be making supply runs for a while.” He gestured at a nearby corridor entrance, and said, “We have this place very well-monitored, so if you need any help, just shout.” Looking around, he shook his head, and said, “Or if you decide to switch to the right side.”

   “No chance of that,” Ryder said.

   “Your choice,” Tarrant said, turning on his heel, the two guards following him. He walked into the corridor, and a pair of doors slammed shut behind him with a very final thud. A long silence filled the chamber, everyone looking around, before Ryder stepped to the front.

   “Come on, people, we’ve got work to do. Merrick, I want a full survey of our equipment. Everything we have, and any alternate uses we might put it to. Ortega, see if you can find any of the monitoring equipment. There must be some pickups around. Riley, you and Salazar will walk the perimeter, in opposite directions. I want a full sweep of this place, and I want it yesterday.” There was a pause, and she added, “Move, people. I don’t intend to stay here a second longer than I have to. Let’s find a way out of here.”

  Chapter 3

   “I really wish Captain Marshall would get back,” Senior Lieutenant Margaret Orlova said, tossing the last of a stack of datapads across to Lieutenant Frank Nelyubov, acting Tactical Officer. “How does he work his way down all this paperwork?”

   “Based on the backlog, I don’t think he does,” Nelyubov replied. “We’re almost caught up, though.” Shaking his head, he added, “Didn’t Alamo used to have an Administrative Officer at one point?”

   Nodding, she said, “Remind me to suggest that we get a new one.” Her communicator buzzed, and raising it to her head, she said, “Orlova here. Go ahead.”

   “Quinn here. We’re finished.”

   “Already? That’s two days ahead of schedule.”

   “All systems go, Maggie. The gang’s been working around the clock on this one.”

   “I’m on my way,” she said, dropping the communicator into a pocket. “Come on, Frank, let’s take a look.”

   The two of them left Orlova’s cramped office, walking down the corridor to the nearest elevator, passing a gaggle of technicians arguing about one of the life support monitors. A series of crates were stacked along the wall, labels suggesting that
they were ultimately destined for different parts of the ship, dumped for expediency in a dozen semi-random places.

   “Have you had the official word, yet?” Nelyubov asked, as they turned a corner.

   “About what?”

   “Maggie, you know that you’re going to be offered the Exec spot.”

   “Captain Cunningham…”

   “Has been corralled to Titan for fighter training. That’s no temporary assignment, he’ll be there for the better part of a year. Caine doesn’t want it, and neither does Quinn. Skipping over that, you are the best qualified anyway.”

   They stepped into the elevator, and she punched a control, sending them on their way.

   “There must be a hundred better qualified officers in the Fleet.”

   “Not with anything like your experience on this ship, or on the frontier.”

   Shaking her head, she replied, “I’m happy as Operations Officer.”

   “Why else would the Captain leave you in charge for the refit?”

   “He had to take Deadeye with him to give the Tactical briefing, and with Ryder out on a mission I’m the senior officer in the system. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re shorthanded at the moment, especially with Peter Race on his way back home.”

   Waving a datapad, he replied, “There are four ships coming on-line this year needing Lieutenant-Captains to command them. To say nothing of the normal rotation. There aren’t as many Senior Lieutenants out there as you think.”

   A smile crossing her face, she said, “You’re saying I might get it by default?”

   “No, I’m saying that they’ve got every reason to assume you’ve got the job.” He took a deep breath, and said, “The reason I’m bringing this up now is, because Jack and I both think that you’re a foregone conclusion, is that we’re going to need a new Operations Officer.”

   “Not Grant?”

   Sighing, Nelyubov said, “The man has a habit of getting on my wrong side with everything he says. I know a lot of the crew feel the same way, and there is still the Salazar business to resolve. He’s only in the job temporarily, and I think we can do better.”