Battlecruiser Alamo: Operation Damocles

by Richard Tongue

   He looked down at the fragment he had found, carefully brushing it clean. At first he'd thought it was just another rock, but he'd seen enough bodies to know what bone looked like. Taking another series of shots with the datapad, he glimpsed to the side and saw another object, a piece of flint with a straight edge, carved to fit a human palm.

   “Hey, I've got something here,” he yelled, and Clark raced over, followed by Bradley and Powell. He gestured down at his find, and said, “A fragment of bone, and a tool he was using when he died.”

   “Stone tools in a city made of an alloy we can't duplicate?” Bradley said.

   “Yes, yes, this is possible,” Clark said. “Think about it. We know that the city was destroyed by some sort of cataclysm, most likely war, but even the most devastating bombardment would have left some survivors. Even if they weren't here, they'd have returned after a time, to salvage what they could from the wreck.”

   Nodding, one of the local archaeologists said, “We've found some skeletons to the south of here, buried in a mound. Not enough for us to reconstruct the bodies, though. Most of the pieces were gone. And this whole area was hit by a series of tidal waves, maybe a hundred years before we arrived. Washed the place clean, worse luck.” Peering over Cooper's shoulder, he said, “I've never seen anything like that, though.”

   “It means that not only were there survivors of the attack, but that they lived long enough to start to develop some sort of new culture, even if they reverted back to the Stone Age.” Powell frowned, and said, “That's a primitive tool, probably something I might come up with myself if there was no alternative, if I was stranded out here without any recourse to civilization, any fragments of our technology. I'd be interested in a dating on that bone.”

   “Coming right up,” Clark said, holding out a portable sensor with one hand, before playing with her datapad with the other. She frowned, tapping the controls more vigorously, her hand beginning to shake. She turned to the Copernican archaeologist, and asked, “All the remains you've found were alien?”

   “Every one.”

   “You're certain. No trace of anything else. Nothing that could have been misinterpreted?”

   “What have you found?” Powell asked.

   “This,” she said, “is human. Good old homo sapiens sapiens.”

   The Copernican replied, “Are you sure?”

   “And it dates back a little under ten thousand years. When back on Earth we were busy inventing agriculture, this person was working out how to cut an edge on a flint.” Shaking her head, Clark added, “How much excavation have you done in this city?”

   Shaking his head, the archaeologist said, “Less than we'd have liked. We've been working on a small scale since the first winter of our arrival, but it's only in the last decade or so that we've had the resources and personnel for a full-scale excavation. We only discovered the second site eight years ago, when we finally managed an orbital survey.”

   “Second site?” Bradley asked.

   “A couple of hundred miles south of here, in the middle of the Wide Wood. Most of it's buried, far more so than this area.”

   “That would have been the tidal wave,” Powell replied. “What possessed you to set up a colony in such an exposed area in the first place?”

   “The soil was excellent, and the cause was nothing to do with this planet. A half-mile-wide asteroid smashed into the ocean, five hundred miles out to sea, and the resultant tsunami did the damage. One of our submarines found what was left of it, just before First Contact.”

   Looking up at the sky, Powell said, “Looks about noon. Probably time for us to break for lunch.” Turning to the archaeologist, he suggested, “Perhaps you should call in some of your colleagues and run some tests of your own.”

   “I will,” he said, still dazed by the discovery. Cooper lay down his tools, rubbed his hands down his trousers to remove the worst of the dirt, and rose to his feet as they started the lazy walk back to the base. Bradley jogged up beside him, at the head of the column, and shook her head.

   “Next time, Gabe, I pick where we go on holiday.”

   “Blame the Professor,” he replied, with a smile. “All of this was his idea. And it's a good one, actually. We might actually have found something important.”

   “And I'm certain all of the local scientists will be only too glad to hand over the credit to a foreign soldier. By the time we get back, the whole area will be cordoned off and we'll be back to where we started.”

   “Then we'll just start again from somewhere else, and see what we find there. Our scan picked up half a dozen possible sites.”

   “Half a dozen?” she asked. “That could take weeks!”

   “Maybe,” he replied. He paused, then said, “The Captain called me up this morning, just before breakfast.”

   “I thought it was odd that you weren't at the head of the chow line.”

   He made a face at her, and replied, “She's offered to post me here. When Alamo goes back, I'd stay behind, until the task force arrives.” Looking around at the ruins, he added, “She wants someone to look out for Triplanetary interests, and make sure everything's ready for the fleet when it comes. Apparently she thinks I'd be a good choice for the job.”

   She was silent for a moment, then said, “It'd be a good step up for you. You'd have a good chance of being picked as military attache to the embassy, and the Senate is certain to send an ambassador on the next ship.”

   Nodding, he replied, “My promotion has promoted me out of the firing line. I might end up as second-in-command of a company, but that still means sitting at home handling paperwork. More likely I'd end up commanding a training company.”

   “Would that be so bad?”

   “Actually, no.” He glanced up at the sky, and said, “I've been at this a long time, Barbara. Maybe I've just watched one too many people die. There's probably a reason they like to rotate people out of the combat roles every year or so. I'm starting my fourth year in a couple of months.”

   “I think you should shake the Captain's hand off, and take the job,” she replied.

   He shook his head, and said, “I told her I was thinking about it. I'm to let her know before we leave. I gather if it isn't me, it'll be Sub-Lieutenant Scott instead.”

   “You'd be a better choice. Especially if some of the Free Peoples are staying. You've worked with all the top people, in all of the allied forces. Not to mention that a lot of the work will be training, and there isn't anyone better suited to getting this militia of theirs combat-ready.” Shaking her head, she continued, “If I'm frank, there isn't that much of a space force left to train. A couple of fighter squadrons and a half-modified civilian transport.”

   “There'd be a small detachment left with me,” he added. “A few Espatiers, maybe Sub-Lieutenant Lombardo.” He looked down, and said, “Except you'd be heading back on Alamo, and I'd be stuck here.”

   “Leave that to me,” she replied. “I've got to make a shuttle run tonight anyway. I'll have a word with Captain Orlova, and by the time I've finished I'll be the one staying behind with you. It makes sense anyway. I can give a better evaluation of what little spacefaring capacity they've got left than anyone else on the ship except Jack Quinn, and if something goes wrong with the defense network, well, I installed more than half of the damn thing.”

   “You'd do that?” he asked, a smile curling across his lips. “She as good as said you'd be getting a promotion when you got back.”

   “I'm not in this for the career prospects,” she replied, “and be honest, neither are you. Tell me the truth. Your tour of duty comes to an end in nine months. Are you thinking about leaving the fleet?”

   He looked down at the ground, nodded, and said, “I've been trying to work out how to talk to you about it for weeks. Look, Barbara, I've come to about the end of my front-line career. Almost all Espatier actions are fought at squad or platoon level. We
just fought the second company-scale assault since the war.” Shaking his head, he said, “I didn't join up to push paperwork.”

   “Neither did I,” she replied, taking his hand. “I signed up to fly shuttles. No one was more surprised than me when Captain Marshall gave me a commission.” Shaking her head, she added, “And these days I seem to spend more time sitting in my office than I do in the cockpit. This is a nice little holiday for me, as well.”

   “We don't have to make a decision right away,” he said. “And in a sense, it doesn't matter what we do. While we're in a state of war with the Xandari, even if we did resign our permanent commissions, we'd just switch to reserve ranks for the duration. We could still be fighting for years.”

   “Then if we do, our main objections are dealt with,” she replied. “One thing I do know is that you need some real time off. A job where you're working office hours, rather than dealing with one crisis or another every five minutes. Adrenaline can push you only so far, Gabe, and I think you're getting close to the limit. I know I am.” She looked around, and said, “We'd be here for four months. More than long enough to work out what we want to do next.”

   “That sounds like a plan. Do you think the Captain will agree?”

   “I think she'll go along with the idea. It's not that I'll be needed much on the flight back, anyway. It couldn't be simpler. Two jumps to Testament Station and four jumps back to Haven. Refuel there, and we're at Thule in a week. A long, dull voyage punctuated by complaints from our so-called allies.” She rubbed her forehead, and said, “I've got to work out new shipping schedules when I get back. Someone decided this morning that we needed to ship eight shuttle loads of Koltoc parts up to the ship within the next forty-eight hours, without affecting any of the other launches.”

   “A working lunch, then.”

   Gesturing at the black-haired Clark, she said, “Why don't you flirt with Lydia while I'm yelling at my pilots? I'm sure you'd both enjoy it.”

   The sound of an engine roared ahead, and they saw a pair of buggies bouncing towards them down the trail, one of them driven by the base commander, Sergeant Rojek. He slid to a halt and jumped out of the cab, holding a box over his head like a trophy.

   “Anyone want a picnic?” he asked, and Cooper shook his head.

   “I think I could get to like it here,” he said, stepping forward. “You got any ham sandwiches in there?”

   “Probably,” Rojek replied. “I brought damn near everything in the canteen.”

   “I may settle here permanently,” Bradley said, reaching in for a foil-packed bagel. “You start. I'll see if I can get my shouting match over with quickly, and we can enjoy our lunch.”

   “Have fun,” Cooper said, earning himself a dirty look. As he took the first bite of his sandwich, so much better than anything he'd find up on the ship, he looked around at the enigmatic ruins. There was something strangely compelling about this place, a mystery he'd like to solve. Maybe he'd get the chance.

  Chapter 18

   The Red Avenger was the strangest ship Orlova had ever visited. On the surface, everything was different, control designs using different ergonomic philosophies, holographic displays everywhere instead of the more reliable flat-screens, even the overhead lights were a dull orange rather than a bright white, simulating the glare of an alien sun. Neander technicians bent over their consoles, manipulating the displays with gestures of their hands rather than the touch of a button, communicating with their controls with sign language rather than simple, direct commands.

   And yet, for all the superficial differences, she was convinced that a Triplanetary crew could be trained to operate it. A spaceship was a spaceship, the same functions required for survival in space, and these were still humans, albeit a different branch of humanity. Aside from the light levels, she was comfortable, the air clean and fresh, the temperature a little colder than she was used to, but not unpleasant. The babble of conversation, even in a different language, was still the same chatter she'd find back on Alamo, an endless stream of systems updates and gossip. Much of which, judging from the looks she was getting, was about her. No different to when the Neander first visited Alamo.

   Colonel Skeuros ducked through a round hatch, dropping to the deck, and asked, “What do you think of my ship?”

   “It's certainly a lot different to anything I'm used to,” she said. “I like her, though.”

   He beamed, and said, “I've been with this girl for fifteen years, as second-in-command to my father, commander, and now fleet commander. Felt strange handing the day-to-day stuff over to Ingros, but the ship deserves someone who can give her all the attention she needs.” Tapping the hull gently, he added, “Never let anyone tell you that these ships aren't alive. They've got a soul, a character all of their own, and it only grows with age.”

   “You won't find an argument with me, Colonel. Are the others here?”

   “Waiting in the rec room. I just came to get you.”

   She nodded, allowing herself to be guided down a corridor. A group of Free Peoples troops raced past her, led by Major Segna, saluting as they went. They'd been dispersed throughout the Neander squadron, a handful of them remaining on Alamo. Before long, they'd lose their individual identity and become a part of whatever community they found. More than a few of them had expressed an interest in Copernicus, but President Wulf was refusing to give them the time of day. One other problem to worry about, but ultimately, Copernicus' loss would be the Confederation's gain.

   Skeuros led her into the rec room, a series of holotables scattered around a central drinks dispenser. Her meeting was only occupying a small corner of it, though the room looked as though it could comfortably hold the whole crew.

   Replying to the unasked question, Skeuros said, “We're on these ships for a long time, sometimes for months. Alamo is an assignment to, well, most of your people, but to ours this is home. I'm not the only one who's been here for decades. I don't think I could ever get used to living planetside again.”

   Kilquan turned from the table, frowned, and said, “Can we proceed, please? I still don't know what this is about.” He looked pointedly at Ixtab, and added, “Apparently you're going to be providing the briefing for all of us.”

   Orlova took her seat at the table, Salazar and Harper on either side, with Deveraux, Itzel, Kilquan and Skeuros also present. She'd kept the list short, vetoing any requests for aides or assistants. Only those who truly needed to know where here, and even then, she'd waited as long as she dared before bringing them into the loop.

   Looking around Skeuros said, “Lieutenant, don't take this personally, but you seem a little junior to be representing the Orbital Guard. I'd have expected Commander Ryan, or...”

   “None of them know of this operation,” Orlova said, “and we're going to be keeping it that way, at least until this is over. Lieutenant Deveraux is here because his unit will be heavily involved in the action we are here to discuss.” She pulled out a datapad, placing it on the table in front of her, glancing down at her notes. “Put simply, we must reduce the Xandari base on the moon before we can leave this system.”

   Nodding, Skeuros said, “My people have been looking at the prospects of a direct assault, and it doesn't look promising. Not much doubt that we'd win, but we'd lose at least two ships doing it.” Shaking his head, he added, “Those bastards would happily sacrifice themselves to weaken us for the kill.”

   “Our forces are stretched right now,” Kilquan added. “If it wasn't for our agreement with the Consortium, I'd be forced to withdraw. I cannot countenance a plan that will involve placing my ships at unnecessary risk.” Looking at Deveraux with a sneer, he added, “The government of Copernicus has made their attitude towards the Koltoc quite clear over the last few days. It's their moon, their problem, and as far as I am concerned, they can deal with it themselves.”

   “Colonel,” Ixtab said, “It isn't as simple as that, and you know
it. We still need Copernicus as a trading partner, and our government has made significant investments that must be defended.”

   “Don't take the actions of the government for the will of the people,” Deveraux added. “The President's trying to blame the Koltoc for everything from unemployment to the rain, and some of the hot-heads are beginning to listen. Most of the population doesn't agree.” He shook his head, and said, “Hell, if it wasn't for your technology I'd probably be sitting on a fishing boat right now. And I hate fish.”

   Tapping a control on her datapad, Orlova said, “The plan is actually quite simple. A squadron of Copernican fighters, augmented by personnel from Alamo, will mount a low-level assault on the refinery, using a series of gullies and canyons to cover their attack.”

   Nodding, Salazar added, “It'll require precision flying, but we've been in the simulators for the last twenty-four hours. We can pull this off, I'm sure of it.” Harper looked at him with a frown, but said nothing.

   Folding his hands together, Kilquan asked, “And what do you need our forces for?”

   Orlova replied, “The fighters can launch the assault, but we'll have to both cover the planet and provide a distraction. The Koltoc squadron will move into position to form a defense of Copernicus, in the event the Xandari have something else up their sleeve, and the Consortium forces will make one low-level pass at high speed, launching a series of specially modified missiles. Our expectation is that the Xandari will intercept them, and that should occupy their defensive forces for long enough to allow the squadron to press home its attack.”

   “And Alamo?”

   “Will be standing off in high orbit, acting as a base for the fighters and to provide emergency support where needed, for either the attack on the refinery or in the defense of Copernicus.”