Battlecruiser Alamo: Ghost Ship

by Richard Tongue

   “Can we help them?” Logan quietly asked Cunningham.

   “Not without getting shot up ourselves. We’d have to spill most of our velocity.” Shaking his head, he said, “Brave bastards.”

   Looking back up at the display, Logan saw the two missiles slam into their targets, ripping gashes across their hulls that sent them tumbling. The remainder of the spheres were concentrating on the few remaining modular ships now, unleashing dozens of missiles in impressively co-ordinated salvo fires. Had the Buchanan’s countermeasures been effective, there might have been something they could do; it felt wrong to be fleeing a battle while people they had never met died to protect them.

   “We’re clear of all interception tracks,” Fox said. “I think we’re out of danger.”

   “The enemy ships?” Cunningham asked, while Logan winced. His snap decision wasn’t necessarily a final one, and it might be dangerous to get into the habit of thinking of them that way.

   “Most of them seem to be heading away, out of the immediate area.”

   “What’s the rest of the system like?” Logan asked. “Any obvious targets?”

   “Two planets, the inner one borderline-habitable, the outer a small gas giant with a lot of moons. Inner planet has maybe two dozen moons as well, all small, largest about fifty miles across, mostly pretty distant. Best guess is that the enemy is using them as bases; I’m getting a lot of communications chatter from them, all different to what I’m reading from the modular ships.”

   “And the inner planet?”

   “Half a dozen space stations, the largest bigger than Spitfire, and a lot of ships in orbit. Dozens. As well as an orbital defense network, observation constellations...must be a thousand satellites up there.”

   “They’ll have a lot of redundancy built into their systems at a guess,” Logan said. “Where are we going?”

   “The large station. Lots of docking ports, probably some sort of space dock. I’m seeing a dozen ships in the process of construction, or at least complete overhaul.”

   “We’re not going to dock,” Cunningham said. “Though I don’t mind getting a bit closer.”

   Dixon looked up, and said, “I have Tolxac again, sir.”

   “Put him on,” Logan said, moving back in front of the pick-up.

   “Allow me to thank you for preventing defeat turning into catastrophe,” the man said with a toothy smile. “I’m certain that our continuing relations with the Triplanetary Confederation will remain as strong as those your Lieutenant Curry fostered.”

   “Lieutenant Curry is dead, along with those of her crew who accompanied her home. We have reason to believe that some of her people got away before she jumped.” There was a time to hide your cards, and another to show them. This was the latter. “Frankly, all we know is that she visited this system, and that she died here.”

   “I see. I’m sure that puts you in a difficult situation, Captain Winter. I’ll try to answer any questions you have. As for her crew, the Enemy must have them. Her ship was damaged in a battle when it entered our space, as yours nearly was, and her drive unit destroyed. With our assistance, repairs were made, and when Lieutenant Curry judged it time, she made the attempt. We could spare but few of our ships as an escort, and those were lost in the escape.”

   “Did the Lieutenant leave any records behind, anything at all?”

   “She did,” he replied, nodding. “We’ve left them sealed, naturally, but I shall turn them over to you when we meet on Guardian Station shortly.” He looked up at a monitor, and said, “I need to tend to the rest of my returning ships, Captain. Until later.”

   The screen winked out, and Logan stepped down towards Cunningham, saying, “Well, that explains a few things.”

   “It all seems very convenient, doesn’t it.”

   “Far too convenient, but it doesn’t escape me that we’re a little short on options at the moment. We might have an edge in weapons technology, but not sufficient that we can take on the system if we have to.”

   “Sir,” Fox said, “the modular ships are settling into a formation around us.”

   “That doesn’t tell us anything other than they are cautious,” Logan said. “I’d do the same thing in their circumstances.”

   “So would I,” Cunningham replied. “How long until we reach the station, Sub-Lieutenant?”

   “At this speed, sixty-four minutes. We could halve that at best speed, sir,” Kelso said.

   “Let’s take the time to gather all the information we can.”

   “Not much chance of that if we can’t hack them,” Harper said, sullenly.

   Turning to her, Logan replied, “We’ll just have to go over and take a look ourselves.”

   “You’re going alone?”

   “Frankly, I count as non-essential personnel…”

   “I don’t!” Harper interrupted.

   “Whereas the rest of you are needed to operate the ship.” He walked over towards the elevator, and continued, “I’m going to go and get my bag of tricks ready. If anything goes wrong, don’t make any heroic attempts to rescue me, just use your edge in acceleration and get the hell out of here, and report back about conditions in this system.”

   “Twice in two missions,” Harper said. “You’re making a habit of this.”

   “Goes with the territory. You coming?”

   “How can I pass up an invitation like that?”

   As he walked past the sensor station, Fox turned, frowning, and said, “I’m getting something interesting from one of the smaller stations. Signs of dimensional instability, but small-point.”

   “That far from a hendecaspace point?” Logan asked.

   “I’ve checked twice, sir. Similar patterns to those we picked up back at Spitfire Station.”

   Cunningham and Logan looked at each other, and the former said, “They’ve worked out the hendecaspace drive.”

   “Probably using what the crew of the Dumont gave them. This could change the picture a little.”

   “Not to mention explain why they are trying to keep the egress points as clear as possible. They’d be wanting to clear the way for a test flight.” Looking back across at the sensor station, he said, “Full report on everything you can determine about their progress, Spaceman. Co-ordinate with the Systems Officer.”

   “I’d take a look at the historical records as well,” Logan suggested. “That’s my next step. Come on, Harper.”

   “This just gets better and better,” she grumbled, following him from the bridge.

  Chapter 7

   Orlova walked into the science lab, seeing Carpenter alone inside, totally engrossed in her work. She walked up behind her, looking at the screen; somehow, she’d managed to interface with the datacrystals they had found. Equipment was strewn across the table, most of it Cabal, and she started to pick through it, shaking her head at the tangle of cables connecting it all. Suddenly, Carpenter looked up with a start.”

   “Damn it, Maggie, you scared the life out of me.”

   “Captain sent me down to take a look at your progress.”

   “Everything I had hoped for and more. This whole trip has been a scientist’s dream. I’m going to have enough material to publish my own journal when I get it all written up.”

   “Specifically, for the present?”

   “I had the idea that the Cabal had probably worked out how to access these old datacrystals, if they’re been scavenging old technology from the relics they’ve found…”

   “So I see. What’s on the crystals?”

   “The first one just had an archive of images, about a thousand years of the changes that took place on the planet. That’s going to be great for the climatologists back home. The information we’ve gathered will take years to dig through. You realize that this has been one of the most productive scientific expeditions for decades?”

   “Keep going, Susan.�
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   Gesturing at the screen, she said, “The second one’s been even more interesting. It looks as if someone wrote an archive of what happened on the planet, a record. It’s written in an offshoot of our old friend, Proto-Proto-Indo-European, but evolved on for thousands of years. If the writer hadn’t made a real effort to make it understandable, I’d have no chance at all.”

   “And?”

   “There was a war in the sky, when death rained down from the demons in the heavens, and the faithful gathered their souls and ventured forth to seek salvation.”

   “That’s it?”

   “That’s the best I’ve been able to come up with. There’s a hell of a lot more of it I just can’t read yet. I will, though, before I’ve finished with it.” Frowning, she said, “I’ve sent the third crystal over to Doctor Duquesne. It seems to be a lot of genetic data.”

   “Genetic data?”

   “There were some theories about producing living creatures from such information, weren’t there?”

   “Only in bad novels,” Orlova replied. “We’re decades away from being able to do anything like that, even in theory. Probably centuries.”

   “Perhaps they had such technology?”

   “And slower-than-light starships?”

   “They might have developed very differently to us, Maggie. Or perhaps they hoped that whoever found this might have had the ability. That’s probably more likely, actually.”

   “How many more crystals are there?”

   “Four. It’s taking a long time to crack into each one. I doubt I’ll be into the next one before we leave hendecaspace.” She paused, then said, “What are we going to do when we get there?”

   “Depends on the situation. Don’t worry, though, I’m sure the Captain will give you lots of chances to gather as much data as you can. The more we know about this area of space, the better, and I’d guess the Cabal know a damn sight more than we do.”

   Nodding, she said, “That’s slightly depressing. To think that there are people out there who’ve been working on this for a century. I just hope the Captain doesn’t classify any of this. Half my research on the Neander is already out of bounds.”

   “Think of the positive. If they want anyone to research it further, you’re the only paleontologist with Top Secret clearance. I think you’ve got a job for as long as you want it.”

   “I hadn’t thought about it that way. Do you think they’ll want me to stay in?”

   “I think they’ll want to keep you on the payroll, but I suspect they’ll let you ditch the uniform if you want to. Though I also bet that right now the Fleet is sponsoring half a dozen students in your specialty through university. They soon will be when they take a look at your data.”

   “Maybe I could actually get a teaching job.”

   “I thought you were going back to work at your father’s company.”

   She shrugged, and replied, “That was what I was going to do, it doesn’t mean it’s what I want to do. I’d rather stay in my specialty.” After a pause, she said, “I admit going back out on a starship again is beginning to have a bit of an appeal, but I’ll spend the next ten years going over all the data I’ve found.”

   “I suspect the Admiralty will insist on that.”

   “They won’t have to twist my arm too hard. What about you?”

   “I’m a career officer, these days. That means I’ve got eighteen years left in my mandatory service period.”

   “Eighteen years?”

   “I can always resign if I want to, but I wouldn’t get a pension. Not that it matters much; I hadn’t given any thought to leaving any way. Not any more.” She looked down at the uniform, then said, “You’d be surprised how much this grows on you after a while, and it beats anything else I might be doing.”

   “You’ll stay on Alamo?”

   Shaking her head, she said, “I doubt that will be an option. Probably a ground-side assignment, maybe a training school. I’ve still got that fighter pilot certification, so that might give me some options.” She chuckled, then said, “If they’ve finally worked out where they’re going to put the Triplanetary Academy, I might end up as a teacher myself.”

   “I hadn’t thought of that,” she mused. “That might be an interesting place to end up.”

   Chuckling, Orlova replied, “I’d never have thought a fleet training school would need a paleontologist on staff, but given what we’ve found, that’s probably a good idea at that. Might be a good compromise.” Nodding, she said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they make you an offer, anyway. The brass would get to keep you on hand, and in uniform, if something else crops up.”

   “I wouldn’t mind staying in the service,” she said. “Not that it ever occurred to me before, but I could go along with it. With a little luck you’ll need a scientist or two on your next command.”

   Her cheeks reddening, Orlova said, “That’s probably jumping the gun a little, isn’t it.”

   “Come on, you’ve had a great cruise. Shining record of service from your tour on Alamo.”

   “Maybe. It didn’t feel like it at the time.”

   “Don’t be so damn hard on yourself. We’re almost home, and we can begin to enjoy this a little.”

   “Not until we actually get back to Mariner Station, we can’t. We don’t have any idea what we might be facing up ahead. I seem to remember someone telling me something about demons a few minutes ago.”

   “You don’t actually believe that, do you? I’m translating this using a language that basically belonged to cavemen. I doubt they had a word for spacefarers, and if they did, it hasn’t survived.” She frowned, then said. “We’re going to need a paleo-linguist as well. That’s a pretty damn rare specialty. Offhand I don’t think we’ve got anyone in the Confederation.”

   “Sounds like you’re putting together a research team. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were getting used to the idea of ordering people about,” Orlova said with a smile.

   “This place has got me into some bad habits,” she replied. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try and get out of them as soon as we get home.”

   Orlova’s communicator squawked, and she pulled it out, sighing as she read the message.

   “Bad news?”

   Looking up at Carpenter, she replied, “Time to walk the Commandant. The Captain’s insisted that an officer has to be with him at all times when he leaves his quarters.”

   “Want me to do it? I thought you were going off duty.”

   “No, I might as well get this over with. I’ll be glad when he can turn him over to the bureaucrats back home.”

   “And the interrogators?”

   “Remember, he’s here under a flag of truce. It might be a little tattered and threadbare, but we can’t expect them to honor them if we don’t.”

   “I’d buy your argument, Maggie, if they were honoring them. So far I haven’t seen much evidence of that.”

   The communicator chirped again, and Orlova said, “Sounds like he’s in a hurry. Catch you at the mess later.”

   Carpenter made a face, and said, “We really need to improve the cuisine around here if you want that to be in the least enticing.”

   Smiling, Orlova walked out of her room, making her way down the corridor and towards the elevator. The Captain had installed their guest in what passed for Alamo’s VIP quarters, using the excuse of cleaning the little-used room to have Quinn and Nelyubov install every bug and detector they could piece together, hoping that the Commandant would say something to incriminate himself. By all appearances, he was spending his time reading and meditating; he didn’t even talk in his sleep.

   Stepping into the car, she tapped the control, waiting patiently for it to make its way to its destination. Half-way through, the door opened, and a pair of technicians stepped in, their conversation turning to cold silence as soon as they saw it was occupied.
She recognized them as shuttle engineers, the familiar flashes on their sleeves.

   “You don’t need to stop talking because of me,” she said.

   “Sorry, ma’am,” one of them volunteered.

   “Is it something I shouldn’t hear?”

   The two of them looked at each other, and one said, “Ma’am, this detour. Is it really necessary? I mean, it’s adding extra time to our flight home, and I heard something about demons.”

   “Superstitious, Spaceman?” She wondered which of the officers had decided to neglect discretion.

   “No, ma’am, but that doesn’t sound good. Haven’t we done enough?”

   For a moment, she didn’t have an answer to the question. They’d gone far above the call of duty, time and again. Collecting herself, she composed a reply.

   “The Captain thinks this could represent a threat to Triplanetary security, and if it is worth anything to you, I agree completely with that assessment. We didn’t join the Fleet for the safe and easy options.” Smiling, she said, “With luck, this will just be a quick layover before we head back to Spitfire. Might even be a chance for some leave.”

   The second technician, looking down, said, “I want to take my next leave with my wife and daughter, ma’am. She’ll be walking by now. I might have missed her first words. I just want to get home.”

   “We’re getting home, Spaceman. Last lap now.” The door opened, and she stepped out, pausing at the door to say, “Just keep it together for two more weeks, then you can relax. I think you’ll get all the leave you want when we get home.”

   “Don’t get me wrong, I’d sign on again,” he said. “Just...that this mission has been so damn long.”

   The door closed on his words, and Orlova walked down the corridor. She’d been gung-ho to carry on the mission, have one last adventure, and assumed that at least most of the crew would feel the same way. Undoubtedly some of them did, but perhaps they were becoming a minority. She shook her head, then tapped the chime outside the Commandant’s door. It quickly opened, and she stepped inside.