Battlecruiser Alamo: Ghost Ship

by Richard Tongue

   Logan opted to stand in the middle of the room, trying to keep clear of the crowds. Without any way to contact Alamo – which in any case seemed to be having problems of its own at the moment – he felt helpless, but everything that was about to happen was his doing. He looked around at the eyes of the workmen, most of them alert and fully aware of what was happening, only a few in the corner who had been carefully shepherded down by their colleagues.

   Another group bustled down the stairs, one of them wearing the armband that indicated that the wearer understood English. Logan headed over to him, and was met with a sharp scowl in return.

   “You were the one who has brought this down upon us.”

   “I’ve changed the rules of the game,” he replied. “Consider it payment for the lives this plant has destroyed over the years.”

   Pointing up at the ceiling, the man said, “Up there, dozens of my friends are going to die at your hands. I almost hope this shelter collapses if it will take you with it.”

   “Why save us at all, then?” Singh asked.

   “Orders from the Commander in orbit. You are to be dealt with after impact. Assuming any of us survive this. Why did you come here? Why?”

   “If they hadn’t,” Gaxric said, “by now our cities would be in ruins, destroyed by the Enemy. We’ve been spared destruction, and freed, on the same day.”

   “You expect me to sing your praises and march behind your banner to glory, perhaps,” the man said. “If I had my way you would be dead. Your places taken by those who can use them. Do you think I was anything up there? I was a storage supervisor. My work crews…” He shook his head, and said, “What’s the point. We’ve probably only got minutes left to live.”

   “There is every point,” Singh replied. “Tomorrow will be another day, and your civilization is going to change whether you like it or not, if only because the war is over, forever. How many people died each time you fought a battle in orbit? Now all of that is ended.”

   “It’s time to bury our dead,” Gaxric added. “Time to try and return to what we had before they came, if we can. Or would you rather make a last stand to hold on to the Council’s tyranny.”

   “What are you going to replace it with? Most of the people you are freeing wouldn’t know the first thing about the freedoms you are going to foist on them. You’ll turn into a tyrant yourself, not a great savior.” He smiled, and said, “That’s what all of this is really about, isn’t it.”

   Singh looked across at Logan, and said, “All this is about is saving lives. And perhaps saving souls, as well. How many have been stunted by the drugs you have produced?”

   “We kept our civilization alive…”

   “At the cost of ruining everything that made it worth defending. If this is the price of your war, is it worth paying?”

   Overhead, there was a loud boom, loud enough to echo throughout the chamber, followed by the sound of a crashing slam, a door being thrown into place by someone doomed to remain on the other side. Logan counted seconds in his head, and only reached six before the whole world seemed to tumble, a roaring explosion above that went on, and on, and on, growing in intensity as the missile did its deadly jump.

   As the explosion died, he could hear the screams and cries of terrified people huddled around, dust crumbling down from the roof, pieces of debris coming in, and a huge, jagged crack appearing on the ceiling. Finally, all was silent, broken by the occasional sob and a worrying grinding noise coming from above; Logan could almost see the crack expanding as he watched.

   “That’s going to come down. We’ve got to get these people out of here.”

   “There could be a firestorm up there,” Gaxric protested.

   “Unless that hatch is pressure-sealed, we’d all be dead already if there was. Everyone down here will be dead anyway unless we get them topside.” Logan looked up, a stream of people sprawled across the stairs, the last entrants to the bunker before the impact desperately seeking safety. The air smelled of dust, blood and sweat, and he could already see the casualties mounting as he watched.

   With a glance back at Singh, he made his way up the stairs, piecing his way from step to step as he tried to avoid hurting any of the wounded lying in the dark; he was about half way when the lights went out, sending him stumbling forward. With a muttered Russian curse, he pulled his way back to his feet and resumed his climb, fumbling his way up as Singh tried to get the trapped people together.

   Behind him, the man who had argued with him earlier was pushing his way upstairs, careful to follow the trail that Logan had established, and the two of them reached the door at the same time. A faint blue light started to come on from points in the wall, emergency lighting, but he could see it dimming; it wasn’t going to last for long.

   The door was a solid piece of metal, a huge dent in the middle, the handle twisted and bent. He looked up at it and smiled; there was nothing particularly special about it, no blast seal, nothing. There were even hinges on the door, on this side.

   “We used to use this room for storage,” the man volunteered. “Most of these bunkers were built years ago, and there was never any money to upgrade them.”

   “That could end up saving our lives today,” Logan replied in the gathering gloom. He tugged at the handle, but it refused to turn. A harder pull moved it by an inch, and he glanced at his debating partner, who placed his hands by his. The two of them pulled it up and down, gaining a little ground each time, as alarming sounds of creaking came from the bottom of the stairs.

   “Hurry up, Logan!” Singh’s voice called. “I don’t think it’s going to hold for much longer.”

   “Nearly there,” he grunted in reply, his hands covered in rust and damp as they pulled the handle harder and harder. Finally it dropped down into place, and he pushed at the door; it was stuck fast, and he shook his head.

   “Looks like a rockfall on the other side,” Logan said. “It must be holding the door closed.”

   The man looked at him, panic creeping across his face, and said, “If that door gives, it’ll take out everyone on the stairs.”

   The creaking continued, and Logan replied, “We haven’t got a choice. I need a screwdriver, and I need everyone to get clear of the stairs and leave a space at the bottom. Everyone flat against the wall, that understood?”

   “What are you going to do?”

   “Something incredibly stupid that with luck will save all our lives. Get moving.”

   The man reached into a box on the wall, pulled out a strange-shaped screwdriver, and passed it carefully to Logan. He turned, and started to encourage people down the stairs, the unwounded helping the wounded, while Logan turned to the hinges. They were already in danger of giving from the pressure on them; there could easily be a ton of rubble above. Or a hundred tons.

   Singh yelled, “What’s going on?”

   “I’m making an emergency exit. Hurry up!” he replied, placing the screwdriver in the first hinge. The trick was to weaken them enough that when they went, they would go all at once, and preferably in such a way that the door would only swing rather than collapsing altogether. He was taking an extraordinary risk, but he had no compelling eagerness to commit suicide.

   As the staircase cleared, he worked on the first screw, fumbling with the rusty metal as he struggled to turn it. Five full turns, then a sixth, and it was coming loose; he moved down to the next screw, and repeated. By the time he was on the fifth, and the bottom hinge, he couldn’t see anyone on the stairs, but visibility had fallen to the point that he could hardly see his hand in front of his face.

   “All clear!” a voice yelled. “The roof’s beginning to go!”

   He tried to focus on his job, desperate not to rush. The final screw turned, and the door seemed to jolt forward, but didn’t go. Shaking his head, he started again, this time working his way down from the second screw to the seventh, leaving the top ones in the hope that th
ey would control the release a little. By the time he reached the fifth screw, the door was making alarming noises, and it only required a quick turn of the sixth screw before the metal finally gave, and with a crack, the door burst open.

   In the split-second he had, Logan moved to the far side, and as he hoped, the door bent rather than simply breaking, forming a barrier between him and the avalanche. Rocks rang against the door, roaring down the stairs with a cloud of dust sweeping out, shards of sharp stone rattled down on him, tearing his cheeks and sending blood running down his forehead. He coughed and spluttered as the dust seeped into his lungs, the occasional loud scream coming from below.

   After what seemed like a thousand years, the noise began to abate, and as the dust slowly cleared, he could see daylight up ahead. Sliding out from behind the door, he could see a gap leading down to the basement, the first few brave souls climbing up over the rubble. Waving at them, he scrambled up the rockslide – which fortunately seemed to have been about the ton he had estimated – and pulled himself up the remains of the stairs, after a few moments reaching the surface.

   The sight which met his eyes was a landscape of devastation. To the right, the pyramid that had been the missile’s target was shattered and crumbled; nothing could have survived inside. Outside, a few people were beginning to struggle about, the beginnings of an aid station being established, and he waved to attract their attention as behind him, the first of the wounded were brought up to the surface.

   The man who had argued with him was one of the first to arrive, carrying a woman in a fireman’s lift; he placed her carefully to the ground and walked over to him, shaking his head.

   “I don’t understand.”

   “What?”

   “You are the one who brought all this down on us, but you risked your life to save us.”

   With a painful shrug, Logan replied, “No man should be responsible for the sins of his leaders. Sometimes the cost of doing the right thing is people’s lives, but I don’t like to spend any more of that particular currency than I have to.”

   Up above, there was another sonic boom, and Logan flinched for a moment, wondering if Alamo had decided to try a follow-up shot. He smiled as he made out a winged dot on the horizon, rapidly growing as it swooped towards them.

   “And that, my friend, is demonstration that the rest of my people feel the same way.”

   He looked up, waving his hands again to attract attention, as Alamo’s shuttle began its final approach.

  Chapter 25

   Marshall sat behind the desk in his office, skimming over the report on the datapad. In front of him, Duquesne stood, tapping her foot on the floor, next to Cunningham, who was glancing across at the doctor with a smile on his face.

   “So we can transfer the last of the patients back down to Haven this watch.”

   “We’ve done our miracles, Captain,” she snapped in reply. “Time for those primitive bastards down there to finish the clean-up.” Shaking her head, she said, “Didn’t it ever occur to you that it’s inefficient to bomb someone back to the Stone Age and then offer to clean up the mess for them?”

   “Did we have a choice, Doctor?”

   “I’m just getting a little tired of having to clean up one more mess, Captain,” she replied. “Permission to leave?”

   “Go.” He paused, then said, “I’m putting you up for a commendation, by the way.

   “Keep the medal, Captain. Just try and make my life easier next time.”

   The door slid shut behind her, and Cunningham looked after it, shaking his head.

   “She never changes, does she.”

   “The one constant in an ever-evolving universe,” Marshall replied. “How are things down there, down in the cities?”

   “Tension slowly rising. I think our rebel friends are going to have a hell of a time putting a lid on things, but it’ll be interesting to see what happens after they hold their election.”

   “Interesting in the Chinese curse sense of the word, presumably. The bigger question is whether they will keep everything ticking over until help arrives.”

   “The Seekers have agreed to help, and releasing the orbital defense force back down to the surface has given them a lot of manpower. It’s going to be messy as hell, and I really don’t think we’ve solved all their problems, but I think we’ve bought them the time they need to do it themselves.”

   “I hope so,” Marshall replied. “I just hope I’m not making one assumption too many.”

   “That the Senate will agree to build a base here? I’m damn sure they will. One look at the industrial projections should convince them that we need to have these people on our side. I’m sure the Seekers will come out of this nicely, if nothing else.” He pushed over a datapad, and said, “We’ve already had half a dozen of them asking to join the Triplanetary Fleet.”

   Marshall’s eyes widened, and he replied, “I hope you gently put them off.”

   “Pointed out that the situation is still fluid until the Senate makes its decision. I’m going to guess that we’ll be seeing some of them in our uniforms before long, though; there are a lot of out-of-work spacemen in this system now, and a lot of ships that ought to be convertible to hendecaspace drive.”

   With a smile, he said, “We might have just created one hell of an economic rival.”

   “Or a hell of an ally. Maggie told me that both sides already asking questions about applying for associate membership status. You could end up being the first man to get two planets into the Triplanetary Confederation. At this rate we’ll have to change the name.”

   “Or the member worlds,” Marshall muttered. He looked up, then said, “Nothing, just talking to myself.”

   “That’s a bad habit when someone’s talking to you,” Cunningham said with a smile. “As for the rest of it, the ship is ready to proceed to the hendecaspace point as soon as the last of the casualties are unloaded, say in around four hours. I’ve already got Lieutenant Race plotting our course home.”

   “Home,” Marshall said. “Five days to Spitfire Station, and just over two weeks to Mariner. Hard to believe we’re this close.”

   “I’d say that nothing could stop us, but I don’t particularly want to tempt fate now that we’re this close. I know the crew’s eager, as well; we’ve already been here three days too long for most of them.” He raised a hand, and said, “I know, I know, we had an obligation to clean up the mess we made, and we could hardly clear out right after the battle.”

   “I just hope that they get someone out here right away. Another battlecruiser at best, or at least something with some teeth.”

   “Six months down the road, they’ll be a fleet base with a permanent garrison. They might even name it after you.” He paused, then said with a smile, “Though Cunningham Base has a rather nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

   “Absolutely wonderful,” Marshall replied, returning the smile.

   Standing up, Cunningham said, “Colonel Singh wants to see you, by the way, before we leave.”

   Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Why the hell did Logan agree to bring a UN Colonel along for the ride anyway?”

   “He did shanghai a UN ship to get us here,” Cunningham said. “Want me to put him off?”

   “No, have him come in. Tell Kibaki that we’ll be breaking orbit as soon as the last of the shuttles has got back, and make sure everything is ready for hendecaspace.”

   “I think that might be one of your more popular orders, Danny,” he replied, heading to the door. Colonel Singh was standing at the threshold as he opened it, and Cunningham waved him in as he stepped out onto the bridge.

   “Thank you for agreeing to see me,” Singh said, immediately taking a seat. “This is a very impressive ship, Captain. You should be proud.”

   “Thank you, Colonel. And for your assistance down on the planet, not to mention providing the Buchanan. What is it you want
ed to see me about?”

   He paused for a moment, then said, “You are pulling out in a few hours’ time, returning to Spitfire Station. Do you not think it hazardous to leave while the situation in this system remains so fluid? There are still tensions bubbling below the surface.”

   “Indeed, but I don’t have much choice. I think the crew would riot if I told them we were going to hang here in orbit for another two weeks. They’ve earned the chance to go home.”

   “I would not for a moment dispute that, Captain, but the obvious solution is to leave someone behind to help advise the people of this system, to serve as a liaison with, well, the rest of the galaxy.”

   “And you are volunteering for that position?” Shaking his head, Marshall said, “I can’t take the risk, Colonel. With all due respect, I cannot leave a representative of a government that is frankly hostile towards us as our representative on a world that wishes to join the Confederation.”

   “Are you concerned that I might undermine your position?” Singh said with a smile. “Do you believe your case is that weak, that one old man could break it?”

   “I believe that there is a cult down there that worships Earth, and as Earth’s representative…”

   “That is precisely why I am the best choice for the job, Captain. With the people down there that count, I will speak with extra authority given my place of birth.” He slid a datapad across the desk, and said, “As for my loyalties being a potential obstacle, I think that this should answer those objections.”

   Marshall reached for the datapad, and started to scroll through it, frowning as he saw the UN seal at its head; his frown turned to astonishment as he continued to read finally replacing it on the desk.

   Singh nodded, and said, “I trust that you will see this reaches the relevant authorities as soon as you return to Sol. You are now free to put me on your payroll.”