Battlecruiser Alamo: Ghost Ship

by Richard Tongue

   “I’m never going to live that down, am I.”

   The two of them sprinted away from the shuttle, racing down the runway, and after a few seconds, a trio of guards started to chase after them. Hoping that this wasn’t a trap, Logan slowed his pace just enough that they would have an easy time catching up, and just made it into the canopy before being grabbed. Singh managed a few more steps, but two of the guards caught his arms, turning him roughly around.

   “Liberty,” Logan muttered.

   “Equality,” one of the guards replied.

   With a smile, Logan said, “Fraternity.”

   “Come with us,” the guard said. “Act as though you are resisting arrest.” He glanced at Singh, and said, “There are two of you?”

   “Change of plan. I’ll explain later.”

   “Say nothing,” the guard said. “Come.”

   Flashing a grin at Singh, Logan struggled in the arms of the guard, allowing himself to be dragged down the runway past the waiting shuttle, and roughly thrown into the back of one of the trucks. There, the guard who had spoken to him before locked restraints onto him, then chained Singh to the wall. Logan looked across with alarm as the curtain dropped, and motioned with his head for Singh to remain silent.

   Not that they would have been heard in any case. With a thundering roar, the shuttle took off, its worthless cargo delivered, and the truck began to move off down the road, thudding over the tracks of the jungle towards its objective. Chaining him up had not been part of the plan, though it could simply be part of the cover, the ruse designed to fool the guards.

   Or he might be the fool, played by Gaxric to provide leverage for demands. Or even the Council itself might be involved. He shook his head, banishing those thoughts. For the present, there was nothing he could do about it, and he would simply have to cope with whatever came as best he could.

   All he saw of the outside world were brief glimpses through the canvas flap as it moved from side to side, rocking with the motion of the truck. They skidded past a ruin that looked as if it had been abandoned for centuries, the cracked remnants of a small pyramid, perhaps a village, a town, or even a single settlement. It disappeared into the night, swallowed up by the darkness, and the truck continued on.

   Delay was reassurance; by the time he’d counted fifteen minutes in his head, he knew that they were not heading for the same pyramid as before. The bumps in the road made it clear that this was not a well-used route, splashing as the truck slammed through puddles, bounced over bumps. The curtain opened again, and he caught a glimpse of the stars as the truck finally skidded to a stop with squealing breaks.

   Gaxric climbed in, looking at the two of them, a smile on his face, and said, “I see this time you decided to take the scenic tour.”

   Brandishing his chains, Logan replied, “I heard these were the fashion down here.”

   “All too true,” Gaxric replied, unlocking the restraints. “Who is this?”

   “Vikram,” Logan said, pointing at Singh. “An associate of mine. We’re here to act as, shall we say, observers of the situation.”

   “And what situation is that?”

   Shaking his head, Logan replied, “Something big is going to happen, Gaxric, within the next few days. You are aware of the fleet heading towards you.”

   Nodding, he said, “I doubt there is anyone on the planet who isn’t. I understand that Captain Marshall has agreed to support the government in the defense if this planet.”

   “From my understanding of the situation,” Singh volunteered, “Captain Marshall has no intention of letting the people of this planet suffer for the sins of their leaders. That does not mean that he is on their side.”

   Sighing, Gaxric said, “I suppose that I can understand his point of view, but we just want this war to be over and done.”

   “We need to get inside the city, and you need to prepare your people for action.”

   “Without knowing what is going to happen? You expect me to put my people at hazard on the basis that you might do something that will help us?”

   Logan looked up at him, smiled, and said, “Sometimes you’ve just got to take a chance. Let me put it another way. Do you have a choice?”

   Shaking his head, Gaxric replied, “I suppose not. Be aware that if either of you let us down…”

   “Then we won’t find the outcome pleasant. I had assumed as much. Shall we?”

  Chapter 17

   The shuttle sat waiting in the elevator airlock, technicians making a series of last-minute adjustments to the airlock mechanism under the bleary-eyed direction of Quinn; the hangar crews had been working around the clock in a bid to construct a mechanism that would allow the shuttle to mate with the captured ship, even if they had to operate the airlock manually. Inside, Cooper’s Espatier team anxiously waited for the word, sitting in their couches and attempting to keep themselves occupied.

   Up in the cockpit, Orlova was more concerned with the outside of the ship, her console slaved to monitor the bridge sensor systems. Alamo was moving to escort the Buchanan on its exit from the system, a wing of Haven spacecraft alongside. They’d timed the breakout to lure as many Haven ships away from their target as possible, but there would still be lots of opportunity for them to respond.

   Forrest silenced a murmur of complaint from one of the troopers; all of them had been equipped with non-lethal weapons only, tasers and tranquilizers. Nobody was meant to die today, not at their hands, in any case. It would be hard enough to explain away what they were about to do, but were they to take the admittedly easier option of storming on board, killing everyone, and snatching the alien, diplomatic relations would be permanently smashed.

   Not that Orlova thought that was necessarily a bad thing, given what they had done to the Dumont. Four crew dead, and the Neander as well, the old man who had wanted to see Earth up close, to bask in the light of the star that birthed his people. Now he was stuffed in a locker, buried in the archives. One more piece of unfinished business to deal with when they got home.

   She focused her attention back on the display, watching the Buchanan race ahead to the egress point, a pair of Haven ships in pursuit, a cluster of Enemy ships up ahead. At last, the Enemy ships started to move, vectoring in towards the Haven vessels as Alamo appeared to loom forward in support.

   Bradley, her co-pilot, looked across, and said, “We’ve got a clear path through to the target. Transit time of nineteen minutes at full speed.”

   “Not yet,” Orlova replied. “We wait for the battle to start, then go in the confusion. With a little luck, no-one will notice us until we get there.”

   A red light flashed on, and she smiled. First missile launch from the Enemy, and the Haven vessels had responded. Taking a last look at the systems, she waved the technicians away, and the shuttle started to drop down into the elevator airlock.

   “Quinn to Orlova,” her communicator said.

   “What’s the story with the airlock, Jack?” she asked.

   “We haven’t had time to mate the computer systems properly yet, which means a manual docking, and I think most of the system will drop away when you undock again. You’ll have to use an elevator airlock to get back on board.”

   “Wait a minute,” she replied as atmosphere vented away, “Drop away?”

   “Think of it as a design feature. It could take hours for them to sort out the mess and get back on board through that hatch. Good luck, Maggie.”

   “Let’s hope we don’t need it,” she replied. “Barbara, are we good to go?”

   “All systems green, course locked in.” An alarm sounded as a missile started to curve towards Alamo, and she continued, “Let’s get moving.”

   Orlova tapped a control, and the main engines fired, kicking the shuttle onto its planned trajectory. Immediately, the Enemy ships noticed, and one of them started to change course, trying for an intercept; she’d assumed t
hat would happen, and started on a corkscrew evasive, designed to deceive everyone about her actual course.

   Tapping another control, she removed the first layer of safety interlocks, and the shuttle seemed to surge forward, the planet almost visibly growing on the viewscreen as the acceleration built, Bradley struggling to keep her hands on the controls. Glancing up at the monitor, Orlova tapped a button.

   “Everyone nominal back there?”

   “We’re fine, Maggie,” Cooper said. “Just get us there, and we’ll do the rest.”

   “Threat warning!” Bradley yelled. “We’ve got a missile incoming, looks like it deflected from Alamo. Enemy design, intercept in seventy-three seconds.”

   Orlova’s response threw the shuttle into a series of diving maneuvers, swinging around in a bid to throw off the missile’s tracking systems. She glanced across at the physical countermeasures, Bradley’s hands hovering above the controls; they only had a limited supply, and she didn’t want to use them up now.

   “More speed,” Bradley urged, and Orlova nodded, taking the next level of safety off, the acceleration ramping up to force her back in her couch. The time to intercept crept up before leveling off and starting to decline once again; they couldn’t outrun something that didn’t have to support a human cargo, especially one that would be fighting a hand-to-hand battle as soon as the flight ended.

   “Alamo’s turning,” Bradley said, and Orlova looked across at the sensor display. The battlecruiser was a majestic sight with its radiators deployed, and the duty helmsmen was struggling to line it up for a shot at the missile. One brief laser pulse, and they would no longer be threatened.

   “Cutting evasive,” Orlova said. “We’ve got to try and keep that damn thing steady.”

   Shaking her head, Bradley replied, “And if Alamo misses?”

   “Get ready on the decoys.”

   “Great,” she said, her hand poised for action. Orlova watched the ship swinging around still further, the missile straightening its course as it raced towards impact, the clock counting down remorselessly. Caine was taking her time, making sure of her shot, and with a flash that came almost too quickly to see, the laser blast caught the missile, a brief explosion obliterating it from the sky.

   Breathing a sigh of relief, Orlova engaged the acceleration safeties again, and the pressure quickly disappeared. She ran her hands across the controls, running a series of checks, watching for other firing arcs. That brief pulse of engine overload had thrown them well clear of the battle, and of everything else, for that matter. Haven didn’t have any ships that could intercept them in the time, but they’d be well within the firing arc of at least half a dozen of them, not to mention the rudimentary orbital defense network.

   “Buchanan has jumped,” Bradley said. “Alamo’s coming around to follow us in. The Haven forces are still engaged with the Enemy.”

   “Let’s hope it stays that way,” Orlova replied. “Watch out for any jamming or hacking. We don’t need to give them any hostages to play with.”

   “No sign yet,” she replied. “Contact now in thirteen minutes, ten seconds.”

   With difficulty, Orlova settled down, trying to relax. By now, Captain Marshall would be speaking to Guardian Station, spinning an explanation about the shuttle launch. None of the explanations would stand up under real scrutiny, but they wouldn’t have to. The diplomatic niceties in full force, Haven would accept – for a short while – any explanation that seemed even remotely credible. The problems would come when their target began obvious.

   Three minutes passed, five, seven. Bradley tapped the sensor screen, and Orlova nodded in response. Haven’s ships were on the move, curving back towards them, trying for an intercept. Alamo was hard on their heels, ten minutes behind the shuttle, hopefully long enough for their quick snatch and grab.

   She’d spent hours going over all the images from their previous visit to the captured ship, every detail that their datapads had managed to capture, but she took one last look, checking to make sure that she hadn’t missed anything, but she knew that it was just something to try and distract her. The docking that was coming up would be one of the most difficult of her life, and there had been no opportunity for any accurate simulations. A few millimeters out, and the link-up would fail, and the plan abort.

   Technically, they could attempt to break in wearing suits, but they’d be at such a serious disadvantage in the shirt-sleeve environment on board that they might as well just turn themselves in and spare everyone the trouble. That wasn’t an answer. She spent the next few minutes running a series of quick diagnostics on the pinpoint thrusters; Quinn had no doubt made sure that they were working perfectly, but the last thing they needed was a last-minute malfunction.

   “All systems are green, Maggie,” Bradley said. “We’re sixty seconds from docking.”

   “Right,” she replied. “You have the helm for the final approach. Just get me in the ball park, and I’ll do the rest.”

   Nodding, Bradley threw a switch, and said, “I have flight control. Docking thrusters are all yours.”

   Rapidly, Orlova’s world began to shrink, collapsing down to the docking view on her monitor, and the eighteen buttons that operated the thrusters. She rested her hands on the controls, flexing her fingers, and watched as the shuttle drew closer and closer to the target, lining up as closely as possible with the airlock. Alarms sounded, warning of ships on an intercept course, but she blotted them out of her mind, desperately trying to concentrate on the task at hand.

   The airlock moved into view, a target track appearing on the screen, and the shuttle’s engines faded to nothing, the craft coming to a stop. The only noise now was the air recirculators, a low, buzzing hum deep in the background. With a gentle tap, Orlova put the shuttle on its final course, guiding it down the path with a few tweaks, first one thruster, then another.

   On the monitor, the course track began to dance away; she had overcompensated, and hastened to correct, tapping three controls in sequence to bring the shuttle back into line, following the course projection. Bradley was staring silently at the display, as if willing the mechanism to lock. There would be only one shot at this; if they tarried too long, they wouldn’t have time to grab the alien before reinforcements arrived. The battle plan had been carefully put together based on their previous visit; Orlova tried to dismiss fears that they might have moved the alien from her mind. One more thing that they simply couldn’t do anything about.

   A series of lights began to flash on the console, collision warning alarms as the system tried and failed to handshake with its nearby counterpart, the automatic alarms testifying to the danger they were about to be in, the other hazard of an imperfect approach. Sweat began to bead up on her forehead as they entered the terminal phase of the docking, past any abort possibilities. They were going to link up with the other ship, it was just a question of how forcefully.

   “Five seconds,” Bradley said, quietly, as Orlova gently tapped a thruster, guiding her in, cursing unimaginative software engineers under her breath as the green lights remained steady, the cross-hairs still locked on the target. “Two. One.”

   With a loud, grinding noise, the shuttle made contact with the target, a loud cacophony of bangs heralding contact established. Quinn’s hastily gimmicked mechanism did its job, the improvised clamps firmly bolting into place in a worrying permanent lock. Orlova reached up, threw a dozen switches, and started the post-flight systems.

   “Manual override on the airlock is working,” Bradley said.

   “Right, everyone,” Orlova yelled. “Begin assault. We’ll be taking off in exactly eight minutes, so get moving!”

   She looked at the Espatiers moving out, wishing she was going with them. Two years ago, she wouldn’t even have given it a second thought, leaving Bradley to deal with the problems back here, but there were too many things that might go wrong at her end, too many last-minute items she had
to deal with, not least were the increasingly substantial number of Haven vessels on intercept course.

   “Get a move on, Cooper,” she said. “Get this done.”

  Chapter 18

   “Go, go, go!” Cooper yelled, bursting through the airlock and out into the main ship. If all went according to plan, they could be in and out in less than five minutes, with a decent safety margin to fall back on. If all went well. The first thing he saw were a pair of guards in the corridor, belatedly aiming their weapons at the invading Espatiers; he got off a quick shot with his taser, Forrest firing in unison, and the two figures tumbled back, out of the way.

   “Fire at anything that moves,” Forrest said. “No hesitation, troopers, that’s why we’re non-lethal today. Lomax, hang back as guard with Cox. The rest, keep moving!”

   Cooper led the way, drifting down the corridor with his taser in one hand and the other outstretched, reaching for any hand-holds he could find to speed his progress. The corridor twisted a little, and he curved round, reaching for the shaft that led to the bridge. His communicator was mercifully silent – any news it was going to give him would be bad, and his troopers couldn’t hold out for long against a full-scale assault.

   Not even with the plasma pistol he had concealed in his belt, a little detail he’d decided Captain Marshall and Lieutenant Orlova didn’t need to know. A furtive glance convinced him that Sergeant Forrest had made the same decision, opting not to keep him in the loop; that was the mark of a seasoned NCO, knowing what not to burden an officer with.

   Up the shaft now, his men following two by two, still following the plan. Talbert and Bryce pulled short at the bottom, hanging back, following the plan in every detail. Two would hang back at each checkpoint, ready to provide cover for a hasty retreat, and by the sounds coming from the shuttle, this plan had already proven itself necessary, the crackle of taser fire echoing around the corridor.

   Cooper pushed off up the corridor as quickly as he could, setting a fearsome pace that he hoped the others could keep up with; there wasn’t time to check, only to trust that his men were following along as the plan required, moving as rapidly as they could to match his advance. Another figure appeared at the top, and Forrest beat Cooper to the draw, unleashing a quick bolt of energy to send the guard spiraling out of the way.