Battlecruiser Alamo: Malware Blues

by Richard Tongue

   “You want the job?”

   “I’m still getting used to Tactical, thanks. Do you think we can talk Joe Kibaki into taking it on?”

   “He’s a Sub-Lieutenant.”

   “Who is up for promotion for, what, the eighth time? Not to mention that he’s the most experienced Watch Officer in the whole damned fleet. I think it would be justified. Or Kelso, perhaps. There’s no rule saying that it has to be a Senior Lieutenant during the job.”

   “Leave it to Captain Marshall,” she said. “Grant isn’t that bad.”

   “You really want to be stuck on out in the dark with him for a whole year?”

   The door slid open, and they stepped out onto the deck. A small crowd had gathered, and they pushed their way through, where a beaming Jack Quinn was waiting for them, the Sensor and Systems Chiefs flanking him.

   “Ah, the Guest of Honor has arrived,” he said. “All tests and simulations are complete, and we’ve passed with flying colors. I’ve already spoken to the dockmaster, and we’re clear for a shakedown test.” Passing her a datapad, he continued, “Twelve hours, slow orbit around the moon and return. With drones already in place for a battle drill. I want to see what we can really do.”

   “Then by all means, lead the way.”

   The doors slid open, and Quinn, Orlova and Nelyubov stepped into the darkened room. Reaching across, Quinn tapped a control, and the main lights flashed on, revealing what had until a few weeks ago been the old Auxiliary Control room. All of the equipment was new, the latest designs of every station, with a holotable at the heart of the room. At the rear, another hologram displaying the status of every system on the ship, all currently a reassuring green.

   Shaking her head, Orlova said, “You’re really done us proud, Jack.”

   An older, unfamiliar figure stepped into the room, looking around with a puzzled frown on his face, before finally locking on Orlova and walking across to her, a datapad in his hand. He ran a hand through his thinning gray hair, pausing to look at the holotable.

   “Sorry,” he said, turning back to Orlova. “I’d better introduce myself. I’m Professor, sorry, Senior Lieutenant John Powell. Your new Astrogation Officer. You must be Margaret Orlova.” He held out his hand, and she shook it with a bemused look on her face.

   “I wasn’t expecting anyone for a week.”

   “I was rather surprised myself,” he replied, “but a berth opened up on the Roger Malone, and I thought I might as well come early.”

   Holding a datapad, Nelyubov said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, sir, but you’re meant to be a Lieutenant Janet West.”

   “Ah, she’s gone elsewhere. The new Hercules, I believe. I’m her replacement.” Looking around, he asked, “What is this place? I’ve served on this class of ship before, but I suppose that there have been more changes than I thought.”

   While Nelyubov glanced over Powell’s orders, Orlova said, “This is our new bridge. You’re arrived just in time to watch us bring it into service, we only finished the final testing a few minutes ago.”

   “What happened to the old bridge? This used to be Auxiliary Control.”

   Quinn stepped over, saying, “We swapped them. Alamo was originally designed as a civilian ship, and there are places where it still shows. The bridge always was somewhat on the small side for a capital ship, but the heart of the ship command and control had always been intended as the sensor decks. Expanding the bridge would have meant a lot of structural work, but Auxiliary Control was right next to Storage Five, and we only had to move one interior bulkhead. It had all the command functions anyway.”

   “And he’s been planning it for the better part of a year, just waiting for someone to give him approval,” Orlova added. “Senior Lieutenant Jack Quinn, Systems Officer.” Gesturing at Nelyubov, she added, “And our Acting Tactical Officer, Lieutenant Frank Nelyubov.”

   “It’s impressive,” he said, looking across at a console. Crewmen were beginning to file in, to take their positions at the half-dozen stations, the crowd outside slowly dispersing. “Can you show me around?”

   “Guidance Control at the front,” Orlova said, pointing at a large console by the viewscreen, where a blonde midshipman was sliding into position, a tall, rangy man peering over her shoulder, “with Midshipman Foster taking the helm. On the left, Communications and Sensors, on the right, Tactical and Defense Systems.”

   “And speaking personally, it’s a relief that we’ll now have someone dedicated to the countermeasures,” Nelyubov added.

   “Everything looks good here,” Lieutenant Kelso, the duty officer, said from behind Foster.

   “To the rear, Flight Engineering. The central table handles tactical and strategic views, as well as astrogation.”

   “So I’m not stuck down in the lower decks?” Powell said. “I must say that is excellent news. It’ll be nice to be where the action is.”

   “No, we felt that it might be a nice idea to centralize everything a little more.” She pointed at the two doors on the right, and said, “Captain’s office down by the rear holoemitter, with the head up by the helm.”

   “A bathroom right by the bridge? It would appear that this has been designed by someone who has actually served on a starship.”

   “As I said, this has been in the planning stages for a while, but it’s only now that we’ve had the opportunity to actually do it.” The door opened, and a tall, scowling figure stepped in, a pair of technicians following him, rushing to their stations. Orlova gestured at him, and said, “Lieutenant Grant, Acting Operations Officer while I’m Acting Commander. Grant, this is Senior Lieutenant Powell, our new Astrogation Officer.”

   “A pleasure,” he said. “Are we taking her out now? The crew seem to be under the impression…”

   “As soon as we’re ready,” Orlova interrupted. “Which should be any minute.” She walked over to the table and touched a control, saying, “Combat to Bridge.”

   “Bridge here, Sub-Lieutenant Kibaki speaking.”

   “Transfer all control and command systems down to us, Joe.”

   “Ready in fifteen seconds on my mark. Mark.” He paused, then said, “Feels strange to be the last duty officer up here. Like the end of an era.”

   “We’ll still be using the old bridge.”

   “Only as a back-up. It just won't be the same.” There was a brief pause, and he said, “Transfer is complete.”

   Orlova looked around the room, watching as the technicians moved into position, taking up their duty stations. One by one, systems winked into life, updates running across control position, the engineering status display winking red and amber as the start-up system ran its checks. Kelso and Grant went from station to station, monitoring systems, while Orlova started the holotable, a display of the local system appearing to fill a portion of the room. Powell walked around to the far side, looking at his controls with an approving glance.

   “Well, Grant?”

   “All systems appear nominal. I’d still like to run a full cycle before we leave.”

   “No need,” Quinn said. “We can switch back to bridge operations in a microsecond if we have to, and we’re only a short hop away from the station if the worst comes to the worst. In my opinion we can proceed on our shakedown test.”

   Nodding, Orlova replied, “I concur.” Turning to Kelso, standing in the corner, she said, “Lieutenant, take us out.”

   “Aye, ma’am,” he said with relish. “Mr. Weitzman, signal the station that we are proceeding on our planned flight path. Midshipman, initiate course.”

   “Aye, aye,” Foster said. “Main engine sequence start, one-tenth power.”

   As she engaged the control, Spaceman Hooke looked up from the countermeasures station, and said, “Problem, sir. Response time is down.”

   “Same here,” Foster replied. “Thrusters are not properly reacting to the helm.”

   “
I knew it,” Grant said.

   “Let me look at that,” Quinn replied, bounding over to the station in three strides. “This isn’t a defect. There’s nothing wrong with the systems. Someone’s doing a data dump.”

   “On it,” Hooke said. “Tracking signature. They’re in Storage Four.”

   “Just down the corridor,” Orlova said, racing to the weapons locker and snatching a pistol. “Someone call Ensign Cooper, get a squad of Espatiers down here on the double. Take the bridge, Kelso, and hold this position.”

   “Wait a minute!” Nelyubov said, chasing after her, grabbing a pistol of his own, while Grant and Powell watched them leave. The two of them raced down the corridor, Orlova with a good lead and Nelyubov struggling to catch up. “Maggie, this isn’t your job.”

   “We can’t afford to wait. Any second now our hacker will know that we’re onto them.” She raced over to a door, motioning Nelyubov to the other side. “Count of three. Ready?”

   “Ready,” he said, pistol in hand.

   “Three, two, one, now,” she replied, opening the door and throwing all the internal lights to maximum, stepping in with her weapon raised, Nelyubov right behind her. The room was filled with crates, stacked five high and tied down, a few boxes open and scattered around the floor.

   A gunshot cracked out, the bullet smashing into the bulkhead to her right, and she dived into cover, taking a shot on instinct, Nelyubov diving forwards. She glanced at the far door, a red light flashing overhead, and smiled.

   “You’ve got nowhere to go,” she yelled. “Give it up!”

   A siren started to sound, and a jet of foam lanced across the room at her, the high-pressure pulse of flame retardant tossing her out of cover. She struggled on the slippery deck, Nelyubov reaching up to snatch her back into safety, but a trio of shots rang out, one of them close enough for her to feel a bullet rushing past.

   The far doors opened, and Ensign Cooper burst in, a pair of Neander troopers at his back, and before the gunman could fire again, they took him down with a trio of perfectly aimed shots.

   “Damn!” Orlova yelled, diving forwards towards the dying hacker. He was wearing a Triplanetary uniform, that of a Senior Spaceman, a datapad clutched in his hand. She looked down at him, and saw the light fade from his eyes as blood spilled out onto the deck. His head slumped to the right, and she clambered to her feet.

   “I had to take him down, Maggie,” Cooper said. “He’d have killed you with his next shot.”

   “I know,” she replied, looking down at the corpse. She reached down with a hand, brushing it across his face to close his eyes, then rose from the deck. “I want a full autopsy and identification check immediately. We need to know who he is, and where he came from.”

   “I’ll see to it right away,” Nelyubov said.

   Before Orlova could give any more orders, Harper’s voice began to echo around the room, briefly sending everyone back into cover, alert for any more signs of attack.

   “If you are hearing this message, it means that someone has attempted to use the intrusion software I designed to infiltrate a Triplanetary starship, probably the Battlecruiser Alamo. Let me first assure you that their attempts to hack your systems have failed. I made sure of that, and built in some defects to guarantee that they would be detected.”

   “Nice of you,” Nelyubov said.

   “The Scoutship Wyvern and her crew have been captured by forces under the command of Commodore Tramiel, a rogue officer who has seized this vessel with the goal of overthrowing the civilian government of the Confederation. In my judgment, this situation represents a clear and present danger to Triplanetary security, and as such I request immediate assistance. We’re in close orbit around Phaeton, and will be there until December 21st, 2170 at least. Good luck.”

   “Six days from now,” Cooper said, shaking his head. “Tight on time.”

   “What do you want to do, Maggie?” Nelyubov asked.

   “Start preparations for departure.” Her communicator chirped, and she said, “Orlova here.”

   “This is Kowalski. Someone’s just burst into the hangar deck and is holding Sub-Lieutenant Bradley hostage. Wants a shuttle and safe passage out of the system. I’ve evacuated everyone else.”

   “Tell him I’m on my way,” Cooper said, racing for the door.

  Chapter 4

   Cooper stepped out of the elevator into a crowd of deck technicians, Chief Kowalski waiting for him by the door with an anxious Corporal Hunt standing next to him.

   “What’s the story, Chief?”

   The grim-faced man replied, “A woman wearing Triplanetary uniform burst into the room, fired a pair of shots into the air. I started to get everyone off the deck, and in the confusion she was able to grab Bradley and get into Shuttle Three.” He glanced at the nearest monitor panel, and said, “All shuttle systems are off, and there’s no way she can do anything from in there. Except for the in-system communicators, I left those on so we could negotiate.”

   “Corporal?”

   “Third Squad is covering the other exits in case there is any trouble, and Sergeant Gurung and Second Squad are waiting in Airlocks Nine and Twelve. I’ve got First Squad with me, but Fourth Squad is staying in the barracks on standby with Lance-Sergeant Francis, in case anything else happens. This could be a diversion.”

   “All bases covered. Good. Do we have monitoring?”

   Nodding, Kowalski said, “All internal detectors are functioning, and I’ve got people manning the monitors right now. Nothing’s moving in there without us knowing about it.”

   “Sir,” a technician said, “We’re getting a message from the shuttle, for you.”

   “For me?” Cooper asked.

   “By name, sir.”

   He walked over to the monitor panel, and asked, “This is patched into the new bridge, right?”

   “Yes it is,” Orlova’s voice said. “Speak to them. I’m willing to offer leniency for information, as long as this ends right away. We’re hungry for intel.”

   “Thanks,” Cooper said, pausing for a second to think. “Shuttle Three, this is Ensign Cooper. Could I first have assurances that Sub-Lieutenant Bradley is alive and well?”

   “Bradley here,” his wife replied. “I’m fine.”

   “And what is your favorite color?”

   “Turquoise. This isn’t a recording.”

   A different, higher-pitched voice took over, “Ensign, this is Spaceman Scott.”

   “Giving me your real name would be a good start.”

   “You aren’t in a position to make demands at this point.”

   “Neither are you. We have you surrounded on every side, and all your shuttle systems are under our control. By now you must know that your hacking software has been compromised, so you have no hope of escaping. If you surrender, I guarantee you a fair trial.”

   “Not much of an offer.”

   He paused, then said, “I’m in a position to sweeten the deal. My commanding officer will trade information for a recommendation of clemency. If you are willing to provide details of your mission, your organization, we’ll recommend that you are given a lighter sentence.”

   “How about this,” the voice said. “I want safe passage out of the system to a destination of my choice. The Sub-Lieutenant will come with me, and I will personally guarantee her safety and repatriation.”

   Kowalski looked at him with a grimace, and he said, “You can’t possibly think for a moment that I would agree to such a demand.”

   “How badly do you want your wife back? And don’t think about putting anyone onto the deck, or I’ll be forced to take steps that neither of us will like. How do you look in black?”

   Cooper paused, flicked a switch, and said, “Any thoughts?”

   “You can’t give into her,” Hunt said.

   “Of course not. I might have been willing to allow her to escape after
giving us the information we need, but I’m certainly not letting her take a hostage along for the ride.”

   Frowning, Kowalski said, “What about pretending to go along with it. Set up an ambush on a transport or something. As soon as the shuttle docks, hit them with everything we’ve got.”

   “Wouldn’t work,” Hunt replied. “No reason for them to leave the shuttle. They’ve got food and air for a hundred man/days on board. All we’d be doing is passing off the problem to someone else. Can’t we do something to the shuttle life-support, turn the pressure down to put them to sleep?”

   Shaking his head, Kowalski said, “If I was on that shuttle, I’d have a pressure reader sitting on my lap, and be ready to go out firing if that started. Besides, there are plenty of respirators on board. Odds are we’d only be knocking out Bradley.”

   “Wait a minute,” Cooper said. “Is there a way of getting into the elevator airlock while it is in use?”

   Kowalski’s eyes seemed to bulge, and he replied, “There’s an inspection hatch, but it’s only meant to be used in emergencies. There’s almost no room in there when a shuttle is passing through. The thing is only really designed to allow a shuttle crew to get out in an emergency, and even then, it’s chancy.”

   “Let’s double up. The explosive bolts on the shuttle airlock doors. Can you arm them without anyone on board knowing about it?”

   “Well,” the chief frowned, “we own their systems, so I don’t see any reason why not.” He paused, then said, “Wait a minute, do you realize what you are talking about doing?”

   “Hunt, be ready to take your squad into the hangar deck the second I give the signal. Kowalski, arm the explosive bolts, and fire them on my signal.”

   “You won’t fit. Not wearing a spacesuit.”

   “Who said anything about a spacesuit?” he replied, heading to the access hatch. He pulled out his communicator, and said, “Patch me in. I want to still be able to talk to the shuttle.”

   “Ensign,” Hunt said, “If something goes wrong, you’ll be killed.”