Battlecruiser Alamo: Ghost Ship

by Richard Tongue

   “And not something we want to be used against us,” Zebrova said. “Can we locate the source of the experiments?”

   “Probably,” Race said. “They’ve been running them regularly enough. All the signs suggest a crash development program.”

   “What are you suggesting?” Marshall asked.

   “Send down a strike team and knock out the data. Perhaps we could offer to take some of the resistance fighters with us in exchange for their help. We should make the attempt, to stop this technology getting into the wrong hands.”

   “The implant, as well,” Harper said. “It’s designed for a human brain, not an alien.”

   “The aliens could be using captured humans, traitors,” Quinn suggested. “I don’t think the local technology is up to making something like that. I’m not sure we could, though once we get a proper look at that implant…” He paused, with a smile, then said, “Direct control of a starship without instrumentation. That could be a complete revolution in ship design.”

   “If we trusted it,” Zebrova said.

   “What about the aliens?” Singh asked. “Through all of this, they have been the missing factor. We know that they are hostile, but we do not know why?”

   “Alien psychology…” Cunningham began.

   “Captain, no rational being fights a war for no reason. Or they would not have lived to enter space in the first place. They have some reason to hate the humans of Haven, and it must be an excellent one. Without knowing what it is, we will not find ourselves able to prosecute a war, or execute a peace.”

   “The underground doesn’t know anything. Though that they are willing to go for peace at any price suggests that there might be an alternative they aren’t ready to share with us,” Logan said. “The Colonel’s quite right. We’ve got a damn big intelligence gap.”

   “We could just leave,” Zebrova said. “Ideally taking pains to reclaim our hendecaspace data first. The aliens might turn over our people in exchange for our departure if we contact them; Alamo can collect them and depart for Spitfire Station. This isn’t our problem, sir.”

   Orlova looked at her, and said, “Isn’t it? This system is on a critical supply line. Suppose some hendecaspace ships do get away? A war across the Shrouded Stars will spill over and become our problem very quickly.”

   “A task force can resolve that more effectively than we, Lieutenant,” Zebrova replied. “Alamo and Buchanan can proceed home.”

   Marshall looked at Orlova, and said, “Recommendations, Maggie?”

   “We need more information. I do think that if we’re going to do anything, it’ll be easier to do now, while there are still two sides to this fight.”

   “Agreed,” Logan said. “Not least is that I don’t know how you’ll sell permitting genocide on a planetary scale to the press boys back home.”

   “This is not our war, and is not our fight,” Zebrova pressed. “No-one can criticize adopting a policy of non-interference in this issue, Captain. Certainly not if we get our people back.”

   “We don’t know that they will do that,” Orlova said.

   “No, we don’t,” Marshall said. “Caine?”

   “Alamo can tip the balance. Hell, Buchanan might be able to deal enough damage to at least prevent a catastrophe. As for who to back, well, I don’t see how we can back the aliens, but I’d be reluctant to help the government of Haven.”

   “And the people of Haven?” Singh asked. “Pray tell me who is looking out for their interests at the moment. They are not our people, but if they will be massacred as a result of our inaction, then they become our responsibility, whether we like it or not.” Silence filled the room, all the officers looking at each other, waiting for someone to speak.

   “He’s right,” Harper said, looking around.

   Taking a deep breath, Logan said, “We need a middle course. Captain….”

   Marshall looked at him, and replied, “I’m going to play it safe. Buchanan’s going home. She can get away before the battle begins, carrying all the information we’ve gathered. All department heads should make sure their reports and recommendations are ready to go with it.”

   “Sir,” Cunningham said, “If Buchanan’s going back, I’m not going to command her. You need me here.”

   Glancing across, Marshall said, “Mutiny, John?”

   “Sorry, Danny. I’d like to see this one through.”

   “I still maintain,” Zebrova began, but Marshall turned to her, and said, “Lieutenant, you will assume command of the Buchanan immediately. For no other reason that one senior officer at least has to get home to provide their personal input on the reports we’re taking back.”

   “Sir,” she began, then said, “I’m the Executive Officer of Alamo…”

   “We can talk about this later, Lieutenant, but my decision is final. The Fleet needs you elsewhere. John, if you don’t mind trading roles…”

   “Hell, it’s how I started this cruise,” he replied. “I might as well finish it.”

   Ryder looked across with alarm, and said, “Request permission to transfer to Alamo, sir.”

   Orlova nodded, and said, “We can use her, skipper. I don’t think it’s fair to let her miss this one. I recommend that those Hercules crewmen who have opted to resign the service upon our return to Mariner crew the Buchanan. Eighteen should be more than enough for the job.”

   “That won’t leave me with any officers,” Zebrova protested. “Someone needs to at least service as my second-in-command…”

   “And that someone should be an officer who has gone all the way on this trip,” Orlova suggested. “And to make it clear, sir, I am decidedly not volunteering for that assignment.”

   With a reluctant sigh, Carpenter said, “I’ll do it. I’ve got a lot of research to take back anyway, and I suppose my input is going to be critical.” She smiled, and said, “I served as Hercules’ Exec for a while, so I can probably manage a short hop home.”

   Marshall replied, “I agree with your logic, Sub-Lieutenant, and I'll send you back, but I think Sub-Lieutenant Tyler is a better choice as your second-in-command, Lieutenant. As Intelligence Officer, he’ll be urgently needed back home.” Looking around the room, he said, “Understand that I have no intention of dying here, ladies and gentlemen, and that I am simply taking a precaution, nothing more.”

   “Yes, sir,” Quinn said. “Alamo’s ready for anything.”

   “I’ll start work on integrating the Buchanan crew into Alamo, the ones who are staying behind,” Cunningham said, a smile on his face. “It’ll be good to get my old cabin back.”

   “What’s the plan, then, Danny?” Caine asked.

   “I should go down to the surface,” Logan said. “As soon as possible. The underground has given us a lot of information, but we’re going to need more, and I have the feeling that whatever Alamo ends up doing could only benefit from some decent ground support.”

   “Captain,” Marshall said, “We might have to cut and run. You’d be stranded down there – I couldn’t take the risk of sending down a team to get you out, though,” he glanced at Cooper at the far side of the room, “I suspect I could muster the volunteers if it came to it.”

   “I know, and I understand. I’m the best qualified to do this, Captain, and they know me. As a sign of good faith at the very least, we should do this.”

   “Request permission to accompany Captain Winter,” Orlova and Cooper said almost in unison, glancing at each other with smiles on their faces.

   “Denied,” Marshall said, looking between the two of them. “Don’t worry, though, I have something else in mind that you should enjoy. I want that alien.”

   “Sir?”

   “I want you to plan an operation to snatch that alien out of the captured enemy ship, and get her back to Alamo. If her people won’t talk to us, then we’ll have to do this up close and personal, and that means getting her over
here. Haven’s Council won’t let us anywhere near her, and that alone makes me want to get personally acquainted.”

   “They let us see her,” Quinn said.

   Shaking her head, Caine replied, “They let an unprepared team with no equipment take a quick glance at her, enough to impress us with their skills at having captured someone and give us reassurance that we were fighting aliens, but not enough to let us do anything serious about it.”

   “Captain, isn’t this running the risk of alienating Haven?” Race said.

   “So far, Lieutenant, they have stolen our technology, tried to capture one of our ships, betrayed us to the enemy, and sent mobs of people against our negotiating team,” Orlova replied. “Frankly, I think a small commando raid demonstrates real restraint on our part.”

   “Then what, Danny?” Caine asked.

   “That depends on what we learn. Buchanan breaks orbit in forty-one hours. The raid will take place half an hour later.” He looked around the room, then said, “Let’s get this done. Dismissed.”

  Chapter 16

   Most of the hangar bay was quiet, the crews having worked overtime all day shuttling back and forth between the Buchanan, making sure all the captured Cabal equipment had been transferred across to the other craft, exchanging personnel, and making all ready for the jump. Only a few people were on watch for the shuttle flight to Haven, a scattering of personnel ostensibly providing tactical information to the ground defense personnel, some bits and pieces of obsolete equipment and doctrine.

   In his bag, Logan had a set of the local clothes, fabricated according to the specifications provided by the underground. Not exactly flattering or comfortable, but he’d resisted the urge to make many alterations, over than a couple of small pockets hidden away in the lining. He might be down there for a while.

   Over in a corner, a figure was watching, as if trying to make up its mind before coming across. As it approached, he could make out the face of Colonel Singh, wearing an unmarked Triplanetary uniform with a bag identical to Logan’s slung over his shoulder.

   “Now what are you doing down here in the middle of the night, Colonel? I thought you were scheduled to travel back on the Buchanan, keep an eye on United Nations property.”

   “According to Captain Marshall’s instructions, but I have a different objective in mind.” He hefted the bag, and continued, “I wish to accompany you to the planet’s surface.”

   “I don’t think I can even begin to tell you the problems with that plan,” Logan replied.

   Smiling, Singh said, “I am aware of the risks involved, and am more than willing to accept them. The underground will ask few questions of the change of plan. I have made the same preparations that you have for the landing, and you do have seats spare on your shuttle.”

   “Why do you want to do it?”

   “Logan, I’m old. Past retirement age, and ready to be buried and forgotten. The fleet I spent my life serving has decided that I am useless to them, and left me stranded in exile, but I do not accept their decision.” He stepped forward, and said, “We were both party to the worst kind of war, a civil war. These people are on the cusp of armageddon unless we can do something to stop them.”

   “Then stay on board, help Captain Marshall.”

   “On this ship, there are many people better trained than I to provide such assistance. At best I would be a lone voice in the briefing room, or a silent figure standing at the rear of the bridge. No more than that.”

   “And down on the surface you think you can be useful?”

   “I have had some experience in operations of this type, and no, Captain, I cannot tell you the details. Suffice to say that it was before your time.”

   Shaking his head, Logan replied, “You’ll follow my lead, and you will do what I do. You are under my command, and I don’t want to hear anything else while we are down there.”

   “That is understood,” Singh said. “I simply wish to be something more than a voice in a crowd. I am a trained negotiator and an excellent shot, skills I think will be valuable on Haven in the coming days.” With another smile, he continued, “I will also pledge not to pass on any information to my comrades of the United Nations. Not that I venture they will make use of any intelligence I provide to them, in any case.”

   “Come on, then,” Logan said, heading for the shuttle. “I’ll have word passed back up to the ship that you decided to join this expedition at my request.”

   “You don’t have to take responsibility for my actions, Captain.”

   “I have a reputation to think of, Colonel. There’s no point spending all this time cultivating the image of a master manipulator if it is learned that I can be surprised like this.”

   “Why, I think I have uncovered your greatest secret with little effort. That you are as influenced by random events as the rest of us, but that your skill lies in making it appear that you are in control of the situation.”

   “Experience has taught me that if you appear to be in control, such control is usually yielded to you by others,” he replied, climbing into the cabin. “Incidentally, we leave the ranks on the ship. My name is Logan.”

   “Vikram.”

   The two of them settled down at the rear of the cabin as the shuttle dropped through the elevator airlock on its way to the surface. The other four passengers were wearing hastily fabricated officer’s uniforms, identifying them as Triplanetary Lieutenants; he’d briefed all of them on what to say and how to act on the surface, keeping their exposure to the planetary population as limited as possible.

   Glancing out of the window at the planet below, he turned to see Singh staring at the view with rapt attention, soaking in every detail of the surface. Logan looked at his face, watched the years begin to fade away, and smiled. Just another born tourist like the rest of them. Usually he spent most of his time, by choice, buried in the bowels of a slum.

   “Amazing, isn’t it,” Singh said. “That worlds such as this can exist. I would love to wander those jungles.” He turned to Logan, and said, “Have you ever been to Thalassa?”

   “I’m a Triplanetary citizen, remember? The amount of paperwork I’d have to do to qualify just for a visit rather rules it out as a destination.”

   With a smile, he said, “As ever, you refrain from truly answering a question. I spent a tour of duty there when I was a Major, just after the war, when we started to seriously open the planet up. There we patrolled the oceans, sailing across alien seas, breathing in alien air. An experience I never thought I would repeat.”

   “I wouldn’t go out without a respirator down there,” Logan said. “I know what you mean, though. I’ve spent most of my life wandering around in one sort of habitat or another. Now that we’re operating on Ragnarok or Jefferson, that’s liable to change.”

   “And there, my friend, are the seeds of destruction for your Confederation. Or at least a change that you must weather. How many will voluntarily live in a dome or a station when they can walk on fresh soil, breathe clean air, eat real food? You’ll find your population longing for the new worlds you are opening up.”

   “I think you might be underestimating the resistance of people to change, Vikram,” Logan replied. “Besides, Ragnarok isn’t exactly a vacation spot. I understand they’re thinking of setting up the Espatier Training Camps there.”

   “Would that not be classified information?” Singh replied.

   “Not when we’re discussing it in the Senate and preparing recruitment advertisements.”

   Chuckling, Singh said, “You are merely confirming my beliefs. This is to be used as a tool to encourage people to sign up. The tides of history have swept you to prominence, but they can recede just as rapidly. Speaking purely as an impartial observer, it is fascinating to watch.”

   “I think the Triplanetary Confederation still has life left in it.”

   “But will its member worlds be Ragnarok, Jefferson
and Haven in a hundred years from now?” That is the more interesting question, is it not?”

   “Perhaps. We’ve got to get to that future, though,” Logan said.

   “True.” He looked out of the window as the shuttle coasted into the atmosphere, and said, “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m a dreamer in a very practical age.”

   “Nothing wrong with that. Sometimes dreams can come true. After all, despite everything else, we got out to the stars in the end.”

   A voice over the speaker crackled, “We’re on landing approach. Make sure all restraints are secured, there might be some turbulence on our way down.”

   “Conservative pilot,” Logan said, shaking his head while he checked his harness.

   “Better safe than dead,” Singh replied.

   “Where’s the fun in that?”

   With a squeal, the shuttle touched down on the runway, gently coasting along the concrete, the usual trucks waiting at the far end. This time a lot more guards were present than had been the case before. Pulling on his respirator, Logan braced himself to prepare to be captured.

   As the shuttle stopped, the airlock lights lit, and he and Singh stood in front of the hatch. The door opened, and they stepped down, looking around at the jungle. Oddly, it seemed far more natural at night than it had during the day; darkness was expected, the shadows dancing around by the light of the moons.

   He and Singh slowly strolled to the rear of the shuttle, looking out towards the jungle, and when he considered that they were out of sight, started to hastily change out of their uniforms, dumping their jackets and trousers down by the shuttle’s engine, where incineration would be guaranteed upon takeoff. With an effort, he pulled on the jumpsuit, noting that Singh was well ahead of him.

   “Now, run for the trees,” he whispered. “Don’t be surprised by anything that happens, all of this is part of the plan.”

   “As long as this isn’t you taking advantage of changing circumstances again.”