Battlecruiser Alamo - 7 - Battlecruiser Alamo: Sacred Honor

by Richard Tongue

   “Surrender.”

   “The crew, yes. I’ll go down with Alamo.”

   “You’ve got it all worked out, don’t you. A glorious last stand.”

   “We’ve got the name for it.”

   “That’s a memory to live up to, not something to blindly imitate. Damn it, Danny, I’ve never known you this fatalistic before.” She stood up, fury on her face, “I’m going into this battle to win. Not to do as much damage as possible, but to blast our way through the bad guys and get this ship home.”

   “Don’t you think I want to do that as well? Look, if we can’t get home, if we can’t complete our mission, then we owe it to everyone back home to mitigate that as best we can. This is the best way I can see to do that.”

   “We can get home, Danny. Don’t let one defeat knock you down. You’ve got to get up and fight again. Zebrova’s wrong, and your instincts are right.”

   “We’ll see in about three weeks.” He shook his head. “I just wish Orlova was here. She’d probably have some wild idea to get around this problem.”

  Chapter 3

   Sitting in the hastily-patched bridge of the Battlecruiser Hercules, Sub-Lieutenant Margaret Orlova, by a string of accidents and disasters serving as Acting Captain, looked at the viewscreen and frowned, wondering what would appear when they finally left hendecaspace. Forced to jump without calculating a proper course, she had no idea where they would end up, or even how long it would take to get there.

   She looked around the bridge, the crew working to prepare themselves for anything, without sufficient resources or matériel. The guidance station was a collection of improvised control systems, Lieutenant Curry’s hands reaching to unfamiliar positions as she prepared for emergence. To her side, at the tactical station, Lieutenant Nelyubov ran one battle simulation after another, a waste of time in one sense – for Hercules had no functioning weapons. At least it was keeping him busy. Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter, her third-wheel paleontologist, had no such luck; she was standing behind her chair, staring at the screen, tapping her fingers against a console.

   Sergeant Wilson, the nearest thing she had to a Systems Officer, had quite the reverse problem. Three damage control teams were roaming the ship, trying to do the work of a dozen, and failing. There were so many places they simply couldn’t access, not until they returned to normal space, and most of them were critical to getting Hercules fit for a fight. This deep in Cabal territory, she didn’t dare hope for a safe emergence. Surviving the first few minutes would be a nice bonus.

   For the hundredth time, she looked at the map of local space on her battered datapad. Lots of different options, and none of them good. All she could hope was that the fleet wasn’t on her tail, that they thought Hercules had been destroyed. Just like Alamo. She remembered the shot on the sensor display, the missiles converging on the battlecruiser at the instant of its departure. Nothing could have lived through that.

   “More than an hour now,” Sergeant Mathis said from the sensor station. “Definitely a record.”

   “Speaking personally, I’d have had no objection to letting this record go elsewhere,” Curry said. “No-one’s ever come back from his deep in hendecaspace.”

   “There are stories, though,” Carpenter said. “From the early days of interstellar travel…”

   “That’ll do,” Orlova said. “You can tell each other ghost stories when we’re off duty.”

   Finally, Mathis turned to Orlova, a smile on his face, “Increasing dimensional instability!”

   “Thank God,” Wilson said, shaking his head. “I thought…”

   “We all did. Get in the game, everyone,” Orlova said. “Countermeasures up and running, and Mathis, we need those sensors of yours to sing.”

   The crew seemed to come to life, working their controls as Hercules staggered through the egress point, returning to normal space. It felt like all the molecules in her body were deciding whether to fly apart or remain together, but the familiar blue flash passed across the ship and stars re-appeared on the viewscreen.

   “Jump complete,” Curry said. “Maintaining station-keeping.”

   “Mathis, I need sensors,” Orlova said.

   “Working. Resolution’s lousy...threat warning! Energy spike, close aboard, I think it’s an automated defense grid.”

   “Countermeasures are running,” Nelyubov said, “but weapons are still offline. I can’t fire back.”

   “We’re being hailed,” Mathis said, frowning. “I can manage an audio feed only. Exterior antenna arrays are still out.”

   “What are you going to do?” Carpenter asked.

   With a grin on her face, Orlova replied, “Play it by ear. Put them on. And give me any information you can about where the hell we’ve ended up.”

   A crackling voice came over the speaker, “This is Outpost Hydra calling Hercules. Why have you not provided your identification signal?”

   “Hydra, this is Hercules, Acting Commander speaking. We have sustained serious battle damage including database malfunctions, and require immediate assistance.”

   There was a long pause, then, “Identify yourself, Acting Commander. What happened to Osborne?”

   “Dead along with four-fifths of the crew, Hydra. My name is Margaret Forster,” she paused for a second, then continued, “latterly of Cornucopia Mining. Can you tow us in? Our sensors are down.”

   “Wait one, Hercules.”

   Orlova made a chopping motion with her hand, and as Mathis silenced the channel, she turned to Wilson, “What’s the status of our fabricators?”

   “Lousy.”

   “I need uniforms for all of us. Cornucopia Mining jumpsuits.”

   Carpenter stared in disbelief, saying, “That’s the plan?”

   “Plan? I’m making this up as I go along.”

   “Beats surrendering,” Wilson said, rising from his station. “I’ll start working on the uniforms.”

   “Get the first batch up to the bridge. And try and make them look used.”

   “I’m not a fashion designer!” he protested, but he retreated from the bridge before Orlova could reply. Mathis looked over from his station.

   “We’re at NN 3737,” he said. “Four planets, one of them borderline-inhabitable, and that one has a station orbiting it. Looks like that’s where we ended up. According to the database, we’re looking at a repair facility for civilian ships.”

   “Not military, then?”

   Shaking his head, Mathis said, “Not according to the file.”

   “This might actually work,” Orlova said, and then the communicator crackled into life again.

   “Hercules, we have no knowledge of you or your crew, and no orders regarding your presence. Prepare to receive a boarding party.”

   “We’ll be there, Hydra, but get the rescue and repair teams on the move,” Orlova said. “This ship is on the verge of falling apart.”

   “Will do. Hydra out.”

   “Shuttle launch from the station,” Mathis reported. “They’ll be alongside in fifteen minutes.”

   “Right. That just gives us time to prepare. Nelyubov, I want a new crew roster and new personnel files for the whole crew.”

   “In fifteen minutes?” he said, shaking his head. “Can’t be done.”

   “Not if you waste time arguing. We’re all Cornucopia crewmen who have defected, and are now working for the Cabal in an auxiliary role.” Snapping her fingers, she said, “Somewhere in the records sent over from Alamo are the records of the crew of the scout we met at Spitfire Station. Just change names and faces.”

   Shaking his head, he said, “This is going to be the botch-job to beat them all.”

   “Curry, you have the bridge. Do everything they tell you. Don’t ask questions, and if in doubt, refer them right to me. Carpenter, come with me.”

   “Where are we going?”

   “Hangar bay.�
�

   Turning from her station, Curry said, “You know that we’ll never get all evidence of the Fleet out of the ship before we dock.”

   “I do. Don’t worry,” Orlova said before the elevator doors closed, “I’ve got a plan.”

   Carpenter looked at her with relief, and said, “Good. Want to fill me in?”

   “Actually the plan is to make all this up as we go. Whatever they say, just back me up. Feel free to step in if I’m floundering.” She smiled, “Worst case, I guess we picked an unorthodox way to surrender.”

   The elevator slowly juddered down the levels, pausing for thought a few times before finally opening on the shuttle bay. The deck was a mess, tattered pieces of equipment scattered around, dust and debris drifting through the air, a half-rebuilt shuttle poised for action on one of the two working elevator airlocks. A few technicians were struggling into jumpsuits; Wilson tossed a bundle of clothes to the two officers.

   “Complements of the tailor, ma’am,” he said. “Two worn worksuits, officer grade.”

   “Just out of interest, what is my name today?” Carpenter said as she struggled into the outfit.

   Glancing at her datapad, Orlova replied, “Carpenter. I only changed my name because I’m in their records. You weren’t even in the fleet a few weeks ago.”

   “Do you actually think that this is going to work?”

   Tumbling around as she tugged at the sleeves, Orlova replied, “It might. By now the Senate will have cleaned house at Cornucopia, so their people are going to be wandering around at a loose end. My guess is that most of them will end up drifting out here, at least those who knew who their real bosses are.”

   “And we ended up flying a Cabal battlecruiser because…”

   “I told you, I’m working on it.”

   “Work fast, ma’am,” Wilson said. “Shuttle on final approach.”

   “Damn it, they jumped the gun.”

   “Probably trying to catch us by surprise,” Carpenter said.

   Tossing her discarded uniform into a corner, Orlova stood in front of the open elevator airlock; sirens sounded as it went through its cycle, and a stub-nosed delta-winged shuttle rose up to the deck. Orlova ran her eyes along the lines of the craft in admiration, then managed to float at attention as the doors opened and a wearing looking man floated out, the overhead lights shining from his bald black head.

   “You must be Forster,” he said, reaching out a hand. “Lester Price, Dockmaster.”

   “This is Susan Carpenter,” she gestured, “First Mate.”

   “Pleasure.” He looked at the two of them, then around the deck, “What a mess.”

   “She went through a hell of a battle,” Orlova replied. “Almost wish I’d been on board to see it.”

   “What happened? We know about the task force that went off to intercept Alamo, but nothing since then.”

   Inside, Orlova sighed with relief, though tinged with concern. Price seemed genuinely uninformed, and if he was just the foreman of a repair yard, that would make sense. If he was fishing, though, he’d probably work out the truth quickly enough.

   “Alamo put up a hell of a fight before being taken down. Hercules was at the vanguard of the battle, and most of its crew were killed.”

   “Something about not wanting it to stay in Cabal hands,” Carpenter added.

   “It must rankle,” Price said. “I can understand how they would feel. If one of our ships ended up under their control, I’d want to take it back as well. Where’s the crew?”

   “Mostly injured or dead,” Orlova said. “Our orders were to bring the ship here for repairs while the rest of the fleet proceeded to Innes’ Star to establish a blockade.”

   Nodding, Price said, “Why you?”

   “We aren’t military personnel. Look, we just came out here looking for work. Most of us were freighter crewmen with Cornucopia, and when the Senate launched its crackdown we ran for it before we could be arrested. I guess the Commandant figured that we could be spared.” She snorted, then said, “Given the mess this ship is in, expandable was probably more like it. We almost didn’t make it through the jump, and we lost a lot of data when the computer crashed.”

   “Including your orders, I presume.”

   “Everything we’d had for the last week.”

   “I presume you’ll have no objection to my technicians checking that out?”

   Taking a deep breath, Orlova said, “Look, how long is this damn interrogation going to last? I have dozens of fractures on the hull, communications and sensors are out, and I’m not sure how long this ship is going to hold together. Can we continue this conversation at Hydra, or would you rather salvage the wreck than repair the ship?”

   Nodding, Price replied, “I suppose I can see your point. Very well, I’ll get the tugs on the way to bring you in. My team will be checking your story, and I can promise…”

   “Yes, yes, we’ll be arrested, tried, shot, whatever you want. Let’s just get this moving, can we? This ship needs to get back into service quickly.”

   His eyes widening, Price said, “We’ll get her back into service, but I think you might be being a little optimistic if you want a fast job. It’s going to take weeks at best.”

   “Then can we get on with it?”

   He looked at her, then around the hangar bay. Turning, he ducked back inside the shuttle, having a quick, quiet conversation with someone inside before emerging again, a datapad in his hand.

   “The tugs are on the way. I’ll be heading back now; you will report to me with your logs and records upon arrival. If I am not satisfied, you and your crew will be placed in detention until all of this has been cleared up. Is that understood?”

   Orlova looked at Carpenter, then back at Price. “Completely. Everything will be ready by the time we dock.”

   “Fine.” He tossed a datapad at her, then continued, “Landing protocols, the works, and you can put all the information I’ve requested onto it. Make things a lot easier.”

   He turned again, ducked into the shuttle, and closed the airlock behind him. Orlova watched wordlessly as the vessel disappeared into the deck, and with a loud bang, dropped away from Hercules on its path back to the station.

   Carpenter looked across at Orlova, relief on her face, “I can’t believe that worked!”

   “That’s because it didn’t,” she replied. “He doesn’t trust a word I said, but getting us to the station is going to make it a lot easier to capture is.” With a deep sigh, she continued, “It always was a bit of a long shot.”

   “So what now?”

   “We need to continue with the plan, follow it to the letter.” Pushing off, she slid into the elevator, Carpenter hard on her heels.

   “What’s the point, though? If they know that we’re not who we made ourselves out to be?”

   “It was a lousy cover story, Susan. I wouldn’t have believed me. I’ve bought a little time, and that’s all – and we might be able to use it to our advantage.” The ship shuddered, the elevator pausing on its tracks for a moment. “Looks like the tugs have locked on. That’ll make it easier, anyway. I’d hate to have to try and bring this ship in with the few thrusters we have left.”

   The doors opened on the bridge, and Curry turned as she floated in, rising from the seat and waving her hands in the air.

   “Our guidance system is being controlled from the station. I’m just sitting and watching at this point.”

   “Good, you can help with the faked flight logs.”

   “This isn’t going to work,” Nelyubov said. “We can’t put together everything they need this quickly.”

   “No, it probably isn’t. Nevertheless, I want you to make the attempt.” She punched a button on the side of her chair, “Sergeant Wilson, you there?”

   “Still working with my needle and thread.”

   “Stop working on them, and get down to mi
ssile control.”

   “We haven’t got any missile tubes working.”

   “No, but we’ve got some warheads, right?”

   Every eye turned to look at her as he replied, “We do, ma’am.”

   “Distribute the warheads around the ship, place them in positions where they will not be easily found, and rig them to detonate on demand. Put in a dead man’s switch.”

   Carpenter yelled, “You can’t be serious.”

   “The crew deserve better than this,” Mathis said.

   Shaking her head, Orlova said, “Wilson, get it done.”

   After a long pause, the engineer replied, quietly, “Aye, ma’am.”

   “There’s no point to this,” Curry said. “Hercules has been in enemy hands for years, it won’t give away any secrets if they take it again.”

   “That isn’t the reason. If we have any problems, I want an ace up my sleeve.”

   “Fix our ship or we blow up your space station?” Nelyubov said, frowning. “Isn’t that a little desperate?”

   “I thought we had already reached ‘desperate’,” Mathis replied. “What have we got to lose at this point? It isn’t as if we would actually use it.”

   Orlova sat, quietly, watching the station grow closer. A standard design, long central column surrounded by spokes. It would be nice to be in gravity again.

   “Lieutenant?” Mathis said. “You wouldn’t detonate it, would you?”

   “They need to think so,” she replied. “And as a last resort, I damn well would.”

  Chapter 4

   “What is it, Gabe?” Orlowski said as he continued stripping down his plasma rifle, another fistful of components scattering across the table in the barracks.

   “It’s getting to me a little,” Cooper replied, trying to think of something plausible. Waving his hand around, he said, “Look at all this empty space. There should be twenty-four people in these bunks, not four. It wasn’t as bad when we had some of the crew bunking in here, but now…”