Battlecruiser Alamo: Depth Charge (Lost Adventures of the Battlecruiser Alamo Book 1)

by Richard Tongue

   Stepping to the viewscreen, Orlova said, “There's something we can do to throw a spanner in the works.” Turning to Nelyubov, she said, “They don't know what we know, and it is possible that they don't know what we are looking for. That outer moon, Magog. What do we have on it?”

   “Nothing particularly interesting,” Cantrell said.

   “Come, Lieutenant,” Powell replied, “Every world has something unique about her.”

   “Well, this world looks like any one of a thousand small moons on the books. Less than a thousand miles across, lots of iron, but nothing that could be profitably exploited. One record of a landing during the first expedition, who found it so exciting that there was no follow-up.”

   “Close to the same orbit as the station,” Orlova mused. “Scott, take us into close, synchronous orbit around that moon. Pick a spot at random.”

   “Ma'am?” Scott asked, turning from the helm.

   “Do it. Spinelli, I want you to throw everything you can at that location. Full sensor scan, best resolution that you can. The full works. And a probe, as well, a landing sampler.” Turning to Cantrell, she added, “I want a shuttle ready to go by the time we get there, mission profile for a landing.”

   Shaking his head, Nelyubov said, “Colonel Clarke's going to think we've gone crazy.”

   “Maybe, but at least it'll get him thinking.”

   After a second, Spinelli turned with a smile, and said, “Kolchak has changed its course. Heading for a close flyby of Magog.”

   “He's not sure,” Orlova said, “but he can't take the chance that we might have spotted something he missed. I know something else now, as well.”

   “What's that?”

   “Whatever we're looking for is on the planet, not the moon. If he'd conducted a full investigation of Magog, he wouldn't fall for this. Right now he's either wondering whether we know something he doesn't, or he's playing along.”

   Shaking his head, Nelyubov said, “I've got a headache, ma'am.”

   “I know what you mean,” she replied, with a smile.

   Frowning, Spinelli said, “Professor, could you come and take a look at this?”

   Powell moved over to the scanner, eyes widening, and said, “We've got something. On the surface.”

   “You're joking,” Nelyubov said, racing over to the sensor station.

   Tapping a monitor, Spinelli said, “Down in this crevice, about a hundred feet down. The alloy matches the other one, and as far as I can tell, the design looks similar, though a lot smaller.” He looked across at Orlova, and added, “No sign of activity down there. I don't think the Kolchak had seen it.” Checking his readouts, he continued, “Well away from our surface target, at least.”

   “That's going to change in a matter of moments,” Cantrell said. “Recommend we go to alert stations, right now.”

   “If we do, we risk starting a war,” Nelyubov replied. “Is there any chance they might miss it, Spaceman?”

   “In my judgment, sir, none at all,” Spinelli said.

   “We've got to do something,” Cantrell pressed.

   Taking a deep breath, Orlova said, “No alert, Cantrell, unless Kolchak does. We can let Colonel Clarke take the initiative there, I think. Frank, I want Corporal Stewart and Third Squad on Shuttle One yesterday, and have the deck gang run through pre-flight.”

   “Got it,” Nelyubov said. “I'll tell Bradley where she's going.”

   Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “I'm taking it down myself.” Before he could continue, she added, “I've got to see this for myself. If we're going to risk a crisis, I need to know that it is justified.”

   “I quite agree,” Powell said. “I'll arrange to have a sample kit waiting for me down at the shuttle.” Looking around, a smile on his face, he replied, “I am Alamo's Science Officer, remember. I'm not going to pass up a chance like this.”

   Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “Fine, Professor. Get moving. Frank, you have the conn.” She stepped into the elevator, and Nelyubov, flashing her a glare, turned back towards the helm as the doors slid shut. Powell looked at her, a smile still fixed on his face, a look that made him seem decades younger than he was.

   “I'm surprised he didn't put up more of a fight,” Powell said.

   “Frank and I have worked together long enough to know that he wasn't going to win, and we're short enough on time that the argument can be postponed for later.”

   “Besides, Cooper, Harper, Salazar and Foster are over on the station having fun, and you're sitting up on that bridge feeling as though you are missing out.” He shook his head, and said, “Quite understandable.”

   The doors opened, and Orlova stepped out onto the flight deck, a dozen technicians hurriedly making the shuttle ready for launch while Corporal Stewart and her men climbed on board, toting large bags of equipment. Bradley walked over to her, an air of disapproval on her face.

   “She'll be ready for launch in two minutes, ma'am. I've loaded up material for a temporary dome, as well as some heavy weapons to guard it.” Glancing down at a datapad, she added, “Kolchak has launched a shuttle of its own, but you're going to beat them to the surface by five minutes. The rest of the platoon is already on the way, and the other two shuttles will be ready to provide reinforcements in ten minutes if needed.”

   “Very good.”

   Bradley, paused, then said, “May I speak freely, ma'am?”

   Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “I already know what you are going to say, Sub-Lieutenant. This is my job. I need you back here to bring down the reinforcements if I need them, or evacuate us if that proves necessary. It'll be a lot tougher once Kolchak gets on station.”

   “Understood, ma'am,” Bradley said. “Good luck.”

   Nodding, she climbed into the cockpit, settling down on in the pilot's couch and running her hands over the controls, the systems already on-line, navigation computer flashing through the projected course. She smiled as she finished the final few steps of the pre-flight, arranging the controls to her customary settings. It had been weeks since she'd last had to chance to do any real flying, and even now, she still relished any chance she could take to sit in a cockpit.

   “Shuttle One to Alamo,” she said, snapping a headset into position. “Requesting launch clearance.” Behind her, the passenger airlock slammed shut, locking in place.

   “Roger, Shuttle One,” Nelyubov replied. “You are clear for departure. Watch yourself down there.”

   “Will do, Frank. See you later.” Throwing a lever, she engaged the elevator airlock, the shuttle slowly falling through the decks, the hatches cycling as the atmosphere outside was pumped back into this ship's reservoir, then finally releasing the shuttle into space, tossing it clear of the ship. She glanced up at the receding hull, then engaged the engines, hurtling them down towards the moon below.

   Looking down at the clock, she shook her head. Five minutes ago, this had been nothing other than a ruse to distract Colonel Clarke and his crew, and now she was heading for the surface at full acceleration. There was a strange purple tinge to the soil, jagged mountains and deep valleys passing beneath her, the result of some long-ago geologic turmoil on a world now silent.

   Glancing at the sensor screen, she saw a second dot in hot pursuit, chasing after her in a race that Orlova was going to win, but not by enough to make any real difference. Five minutes, at best, before the UN shuttle touched down, and from the way it was flying, that might be an optimistic estimate. She reached down and tapped a control.

   “Corporal Stewart, as soon as we land, I want you to form a defensive perimeter around the shuttle and the wreck. Set up your heavy equipment as you think best, but I want everything in position before the other ship comes down.”

   “Understood, ma'am. We're already suited up, and ready to go.”

   She looked back out at the surface, the heads-up display throwing a dotted line ahead, p
lotting down to their landing site. Throwing on a magnification filter, she could make out the deep ravine, a long, serpentine trail carved into the landscape, surrounded by high peaks on all sides. No wonder the ancient craft had been missed by their first scan. Just like the larger one, it had been perfectly positioned to evade detection. If they hadn't known what they were looking for, they'd never have spotted it.

   Which meant that whatever had drawn the Kolchak to this system, it couldn't have been a wrecked ship. Some other intelligence had guided them here, or they'd have spotted the wreck long ago. The shuttle was burning a trail into the dust beneath them as it skidded across the surface, marks that would remain for tens of thousands of years, back blast from the lateral jets as they kicked it towards its destination. It would be impossible for anyone to have concealed a landing.

   “One minute to go,” she said, running through the landing procedures, following a checklist long-ago burned into her brain through constant practice. There would be no time to make a second try, not unless she wanted to gamble on the other pilot making a mistake. She'd have to get down on the first attempt, right on target.

   Playing her jets around, she spotted the ruin, a barely regular shape covered in dust, almost the same shade as the surface. Next to it was a flat piece of terrain, mercifully free of large rocks, and she lowered the landing legs as she guided the shuttle down, gently guiding it forward, to the left, then back across with a curse as she overshot. As a warning alarm began to ring, a proximity alert, she settled the craft onto the ground, turning the engines off as the landing legs bit into the dirt, anchoring them in position.

   “Alamo, this is Shuttle One. We're down.”

   “Roger,” Nelyubov replied. “Be advised that I have brought the ship to alert status as of thirty seconds ago, following Kolchak's lead. Their shuttle is two hundred and sixty seconds from touchdown, by our reckoning.”

   The passenger airlock opened, and Stewart led the way out onto the surface, directing her troops into useful cover, barking orders as two of the troopers dragged out the plasma cannon, setting it up on the surface next to the shuttle, locking onto the incoming vessel as its first target. The weapon only had a range of less than a mile, but was instant death for anything that crept within its killing field.

   While the squad did its work, Orlova set the controls to begin the post-flight procedures under guidance from Alamo, then began to tug on her spacesuit, Powell pacing impatiently through the cabin, waiting for the last of the troopers to climb down to the surface. After a moment, she gave a thumbs' up, then stepped through the pilot's airlock, dropping to the ground, Powell eagerly following her with his testing kit nestled in his hands. Without waiting for an order, he bounded over to the wreck, while Orlova walked over to Stewart.

   “What's the story, Corporal?”

   “Not a bad position short-term, ma'am, but I'd hate to have to defend it for any length of time. Resupply would be a nightmare, and it would be child's play to set up installations on top of those cliffs and cut us off completely.”

   Nodding, Orlova looked around, the towering sides of the ravine reaching up hundreds of feet, leaning slightly towards them as though ready to collapse at any moment. They were in the widest area, the crack narrowing to a small path on either side, winding its way through the wilderness through a field of colored rocks, purples, greens and reds.

   “Amazing,” Powell said. “The date matches the other one. About six thousand years. And the design looks identical. It's just a lot smaller.” He shook his head, and said, “I think it was landed, by the way. There isn't any impact damage underneath. I'd say someone brought it down, then wrecked it later, maybe to stop it falling into anyone else's hands.”

   “Why go to all that trouble?” Stewart asked. “If you're going to wreck it anyway...”

   “It's a marker,” Powell said. “Someone wanted it to be found, but only by someone who knew what they were looking for.”

   “Shuttle landing, ma'am,” Private Faulker said, gesturing into the air. The pilot was coming down less than fifty feet from the wreck, the plasma cannon trained on it, watching its every move. Orlova watched, impressed, as it dropped onto the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust that sprayed across the valley. Stewart raced forward, gun raised, covering the airlock.

   “Captain Orlova to United Nations Shuttle,” she said. “Do not step out onto the surface. This area is under the control of the Triplanetary Confederation.”

   “As I believe you told me,” Clarke replied, “you have no right to claim any part of this system. Under the terms of that tiresome treaty, this is neutral territory.”

   Orlova fought to suppress a smile. Suddenly, she knew this man. There was no way he could have known that his counterpart had led her expedition to the surface. He'd come down for the same reasons she had, to see the wreck for himself.

   “Two of you, then. You and one other, Colonel. I've got ten troopers here who agree with me on this one.”

   “Sound, logical reasoning,” he said. “Opening airlock.” The hatch opened, and two figures stepped out, dropping to the dust in bounds, one of them stepping towards Orlova with his hand outstretched. “Fancy meeting you here.”

   “I could say the same thing, Colonel.”

   “May I introduce my Field Officer, First Lieutenant Monroe.”

   Nodding at the other figure, she said, “Corporal Stewart, one of my squad leaders, and the man clambering over the wreck is my Science Officer, Senior Lieutenant Powell. Shall we take a look, before you return to your ship?”

   “Forcing us away so soon?”

   With a sigh, Orlova replied, “If I was to propose that we launch a joint investigation of this site, sharing all of the intelligence that we have gathered so far, would you be in a position to accept? And if you did, would you trust the information you received?”

   “No more than you would.”

   “Exactly. I suggest that you have words with your sensor team...”

   “Trust me, they're not going to enjoy the next few hours. Very well, as we don't have much choice, let's take a look.” He stepped forward, Orlova by his side, Monroe loitering in the rear, looking at the defenses, as though sizing up whether it would be worth the risk to launch an attack. Stewart and Faulkner were covering the whole group with their rifles, another team at the airlock.

   Powell turned as they approached, taking photographs, standing by a huge gash in the hull. The ship was a lot smaller than the first one they had found, battered wing stubs suggesting that it was nothing more than a shuttlecraft. The scientist already had a sample bag in his hand and a triumphant look on his face.

   Shaking his head, Clarke said, “Amazing, isn't it. This has lain here for thousands of years, and now two of the largest powers in known space are fighting over the remains.”

   “Metaphorically, I hope,” Powell said.

   “For the moment, anyway,” he replied, turning to Orlova. “My congratulations on your find, Captain. I mean that most sincerely. Nevertheless, I must warn you once again to be careful how far you follow the trail. You'll find we have a very good head-start.” Gesturing to Monroe, he said, “Come on, Lieutenant. I don't think we're going to find any more here.”

   As the two of them walked away, Stewart said, “You think they'll leave us alone?”

   “I think they already know what we're going to find,” Orlova said, turning to Powell. “Full analysis, Professor, and use any resource from Alamo that you need. I need to know where on Marzanna that ship touched down, and I need to know yesterday.”

   “We'll do our best, Captain. I promise you that.”

  Chapter 6

   Salazar stepped through the docking port and looked around the concourse, curving around the slowly spinning ring of the station. The air was filled with the smell of hot spices, and he saw a row of food vendors lined up along the corridor, half a dozen people with a variety of exot
ic dishes on sale. He stepped forward to the nearest, tossed over a credit chit and received a pair of kebabs, loaded with meat, covered in some sort of red paste.

   “Here, have one,” he said, passing the smaller of the two to Foster. “I haven't had any real food in months, and neither have you.”

   “What is it?” she asked, taking it with two fingers.

   Taking a bite, he fought back a cough from the intense blend of spices attacking his taste-buds, and tossed over another chit for a bottle of fruit juice, washing it away with two quick swigs.

   “Guinea pig, I think.”

   Her eyes widened, and she looked for a moment as if she was going to throw it into the nearest bin, before gingerly taking a small bite, chewing it around, waiting for the effects to kick in. Salazar smiled, then turned down the corridor, heading into the main thoroughfare of the station.

   “Pavel, this is terrible,” she said.

   “I know, but at least it tastes of something. Spacer food, nice and strong. Zero-gravity dulls your sense of taste, remember, and it takes a strong blast like that to get them going again.” He took another bite, and added, “It gets better. A bit of an acquired taste, I think. Want some juice?”

   “Is that guinea pig as well?”

   “Pomegranate. Goes quite well.” They walked past a holo-brothel advertising 'exotic stimulations from across the galaxy', and a pair of shops selling a range of narcotics that were illegal throughout most of known space, through a crowd of crewmen from the Kolchak who were clustered together, their eyes ranging around.

   “This takes me back,” he said.

   “To what?”

   “The Academy.” He glanced at her, and added, “For God's sake, try and relax. We're meant to be on leave, not exploring a hostile planet.”