Battlecruiser Alamo: Spell of the Stars

by Richard Tongue

   “Stand by, sir. I'm having real trouble cutting through the interference. Too much traffic, and we don't...got one. I have Sub-Lieutenant Clarke for you, sir, audio only. Little weak, but I'll try and boost it as much as I can.”

   “Salazar to Clarke,” he said. “Do you read?”

   “Pretty weak, but I read you, sir. What the hell was that?”

   “Waldheim,” Salazar replied. “Captain Marshall rode her down to the deck.”

   “Oh,” the young officer said. “Then...”

   “Yeah.” He paused, then said, “Is there a Sub-Lieutenant Mortimer with you?”

   “Then she...yes, sir.”

   “Put her on. I've got a message for her.”

   A moment later, a confused Mortimer replied, “Yes?”

   “Major Pastell wanted me to tell you something. That he knew all along, that it never mattered, and that there was a ring in his quarters that he was going to give you.”

   “He's dead?”

   Nodding, Salazar said, “He died a hero, Sub-Lieutenant. If it wasn't for him and Captain Marshall, we'd have lost this fight. It might be somewhat irregular, but I want you to know that I intend to put him forward for a posthumous commendation for gallantry.” After a pause, he asked, “You're an officer in the Triplanetary Fleet?”

   “Yes,” she replied, her voice distant. “Excuse me, sir. I'll put you back to John if I may.”

   “Of course.”

   “Mortimer,” Harper said, thumbing through a datapad. “Got her. No wonder I didn't find her earlier. Someone cued her file to be hidden to everything other than a specific search. Part of a deep cover operation on Waldheim.” Looking at Marshall, she added, “When we get back, and we'll get back, I'm going to have a meeting with the moron in charge of her mission, and only one of us is going to walk out of the room. If we'd known we had an agent on board…”

   “What's done is done,” Salazar said. “Clarke, you on?”

   “Yes, sir. We've secured the mine area, and taken about sixty prisoners. We're in desperate need of medical supplies and personnel, sir. We've got a lot of wounded down here. And when you get a moment, I've got a list of citations for decorations to pass up to you. So does Ensign Rhodes.”

   Looking around the battered bridge, Salazar replied, “It might be a while before we can get anything down to you.” He paused, then added, “There are some shuttles heading down from Waldheim with escaped prisoners on them. Have Frank contact Lieutenant Foster and ask if she can help. Right now that's about the best I can offer.”

   After a moment, Clarke said, “I've passed that on, sir. Is there anything else for me?”

   “Who's the senior captured officer?”

   “We don't actually have one, sir. It'll all be in my after-action report. I've got a Sergeant-Major, but he's pretty badly shot up.”

   “How much damage did you do down there?” Salazar asked. “Never mind. I don't think I want to know. Stand by on this channel, Sub-Lieutenant, and let me know at once if the situation changes. When Lieutenant Foster lands, tell her that I want to speak to her immediately, and that she is to assume overall control of all operations on the surface.”

   “That will be a very great relief, sir. Clarke out.”

   “Anything from Cosmograd?” Salazar asked.

   “Nothing, sir.”

   “It's looking pretty bad down there,” Ballard added. “More fires, and some plasma weapons fire. I can't get good resolution shots, but there must be a substantial firefight in progress.”

   Frowning, Salazar said, “Ballard, do we have any probes in launch position?”

   “Yes, sir, we do. One Type-Five Atmospheric.”

   “Can you fire it towards Cosmograd, close enough that everyone down there will see it? Maybe rig the engine to flare as it flies over the city?”

   “I think so, sir.” She tapped a series of controls, then said, “Launch mechanism is functioning, and I can route guidance directions through our borrowed shuttle without any problems. When do you want me to launch?”

   “Right away. And I want you to patch me through that probe to every receiver in the city, maximum power.”

   Nodding, she replied, “You won't have long to pass your message, sir, and we're not going to be able to receive anything sent back up that way.”

   “I'm aware of that, Spaceman. Just do the best you can.”

   “Aye, sir. Probe away. Signal range in three minutes.”

   “What are you going to tell them?” Francis asked.

   “Surrender or die,” he replied.

   His eyes wide, Francis said, “We don't have anything to back that up with.”

   “The garrison's command ship just smashed into the ocean. They probably don't know the details, and they certainly don't know how much damage we've suffered.”

   “And if they call the bluff?” Quesada asked.

   “Let's just hope it doesn't come to that,” Salazar said. He looked at the command chair, empty at the heart of the bridge. His now. He'd never felt so terrified about anything in his life. More than a hundred people were his responsibility now, and countless more lives on the surface. And there was no senior officer to turn to, no Admiralty to issue instructions. Alamo was on her own as no starship had been in all of history, and whether he and his crew lived or died was now down to him. He walked over to the chair with three precise steps, looking down at it.

   “Try it for size,” Harper said, quietly. “Because no matter what happens next, it's now your chair. Captain.”

   The word stabbed him like a knife, and he looked over at her, saying, “I never wanted it. Not this way. Not...”

   “I know,” she said. “I know. But like it or not, it's yours.” She looked up at him, and in a gentle voice, added, “It's what he wanted.”

   Nodding, he finally sat in the seat, in his seat, stretching out his arms on the rests. He looked around the bridge, watching as his crew worked at their posts, struggling to bring the systems back on-line. Captain Marshall had given his life to bring this little war to an end. All he had to do was finish the job.

   “Ready in twenty seconds, sir,” Bowman said. “You'll have fifty-one seconds before the probe impacts.”

   “Where are you putting it?” Salazar asked, turning to the sensor station.

   “There's a nice ornamental park in the middle of town, sir,” Ballard replied. “I figure that should leave a lasting impression. They can send me the bill if they want.”

   Tapping a control, Salazar thought for a moment, then began, “This is Lieutenant-Captain Pavel Salazar, of the Battlecruiser Alamo.” The words were strange in his mouth, and he continued, “We have destroyed Waldheim, and taken the archaeological mine. In the name of the Triplanetary Confederation, I hereby order an immediate ceasefire. Triplanetary personnel will arrive in Cosmograd shortly to commence peacekeeping operations. Martial law is declared, in the name of the Democratic Underground.” He struggled to remember the details of Clarke's brief report, and added, “Captain Mikhail Webster is hereby named as planetary governor pro tem.”

   “Understand this. The ceasefire takes effect as of now. If anyone breaks it, they will answer to Alamo's firepower. I will do whatever is necessary to protect the peace. No prisoners are to be harmed, or those responsible will answer to me. The rules of the Fifth Geneva Convention now apply. The war is over, people. Go home. See to your wounded, see to your families. Alamo out.”

   “Just about perfect, sir,” Ballard said. “The probe impacted on target. There was a nice crowd close by, so they'll have a got a good look at what passes for our firepower.”

   “Now we just have to wait,” Harper said. “Any sign of activity from the planet?”

   “Hard to tell, ma'am,” the technician replied. “There must be a couple of hundred fires raging in Cosmograd. I don't think there have been any more plasma bursts, though.” S
he paused, then said, “We'll be passing out of line of sight in three minutes. After that...”

   “Signal, sir!” Bowman said. “Tight-beam, right to us. Colonel Volkova, sir.”

   “I knew she'd turned traitor,” Francis said, “but if she's in command of their forces in Cosmograd...”

   “They usually use local quislings when they can,” Harper replied. “Usual occupation strategy. Hell, we just did the same thing with Captain Webster.”

   “Volkova, this is Captain Salazar.”

   “A field promotion?” she asked. “Or were you always hiding a secret?”

   “I don't think we need to worry about that right now, do you?”

   “Perhaps not,” she said. “Captain, I am willing to agree to your terms, on the condition that you provide your personal guarantee that the troops under my command will be protected, and that anyone who harms them after the ceasefire will face suitable punishment.”

   “You have my word as an officer in the Triplanetary Fleet,” he replied. “I suggest you move into a single area, and prepare for the arrival of my people. I can have a shuttle with you in ten minutes.” He paused, then added, “This offer doesn't protect you from a war crimes tribunal, Colonel. I trust you understand that.”

   “I expect to die for what I have done, Captain. That I was acting in the best interests of my people won't make a difference when that day dawns. Nevertheless, I retain a responsibility to protect those under my command as best I can. I'm ordering the ceasefire now.”

   “Thank you, Colonel. And for what it's worth, I would do the same in your place.”

   “I thought as much. Cosmograd out.”

   “Wait a minute,” Fitzroy said. “Did we just win?”

   “We did,” Salazar replied. “The war's over. Max, contact Rhodes. I want him to get a squad to Cosmograd right away, and to place Colonel Volkova under arrest. She and the rest of the prisoners are to be moved to a secure location and placed under guard until the reestablished civilian government can deal with them. Harper, start handling damage control. Max, you have the deck.” Rising to his feet, he said, “I'll be in the...in my office.”

   “Very good, sir,” Francis said, moving back to the communications station.

   Salazar walked calmly from the bridge, through the door into the office, then looked up at the wall. Four holoimages looked down at him, a collection of captured memories from Captain Marshall's past. He stepped behind the desk, sat down, put his head in his hands, and quietly wept. He had a few moments to mourn, before he had to be strong for his crew once again.

  Epilogue

   A vast crowd had gathered in the renamed Pastell Memorial Garden, almost the entire crew of Alamo and thousands of the local population assembled before the hastily constructed stand. Salazar, wearing his uncomfortable, and new, dress uniform walked over to the rostrum, Harper flashing him a quick smile as he began.

   “We are assembled here today to pay our last respects to Fleet Captain Daniel Marshall. To me, he was far more than my commanding officer. He was my mentor, the man who helped make me what I am today. He was my friend, a man to whom I could turn with my troubles, personal or professional. He was my shipmate, a man upon whom I could always depend, even to the end. And so, in this case, did it prove.”

   Running his eyes across the ranks of his comrades, he continued, “Captain Marshall's career was a monument to dedication, to duty, to honor, to sacrifice. And he leaves a legacy that will shine across the stars for a thousand years, testament to his bravery. When called upon to make the final sacrifice, to give his life for his crew, and for everyone on this planet, he didn't hesitate, not for a second. His instinct was to protect and defend others, and he willingly devoted himself to that cause throughout his entire career.”

   “We are all richer for having known him, and we are poorer for his loss. His memory, and his legacy, will continue to guide us and inspire us in the years to come. We have no body to commit to the earth, but he needs no monument. The world he saved is his monument, from now until the end of time. I now call for a moment's silence.”

   He took a deep breath, and looked down at the podium, his mind flashing over the events of the last few weeks. Gathering the former crew of Waldheim, and trying to work out who had chosen life in the Fleet and who had been forced into service, while protecting them from the wrath of a justifiably angry population hungry for vengeance.

   And up on Alamo, struggling to repair the ship while installing an orbital defense network, security to ensure that the planet would never again sit defenseless against a hostile galaxy. They'd had to make a start on a new space station just to get Alamo working again, most of the crew forced from the ship for days while Santiago and her team forged a miracle.

   Now, three weeks later, they were ready to depart once again, to resume their journey through the unknown stars of Andromeda. Carpenter had looked through the ruins, judged that the original assessment had been correct. It would be years before anything useful could be salvaged. A dead-end in the search for the lost wormhole builders.

   He glanced across at the senior staff, all but Santiago down here on the planet to pay their last respects, all resplendent in their dress uniforms, many with hasty promotions. Foster moved up to Acting Senior Lieutenant, Scott finally getting her long-overdue promotion to full Lieutenant, and Lombardo receiving the same bump in rank. And the enigmatic Mortimer, looking odd in Triplanetary uniform, standing close to Clarke at the end of the rostrum, as though seeking the only familiar part of a strange and hostile universe.

   Glancing down at the shining rank pins on his uniform, he could understand that. Lieutenant-Captain. A rank he hadn't expected to attain for years, maybe a decade. Though almost appropriate, given his predecessor. Daniel Marshall, at twenty-four, had attained the equivalent rank in the old Martian Space Service. Two years younger than he was now.

   The moment was over.

   “Thank you all,” he said. “Dismissed.”

   A band struck up the familiar strains of the Triplanetary anthem, the black-and-green flag rising to the sky, fluttering in the breeze, while Alamo's company snapped to attention before making for the waiting shuttles gathered all around, preparing to depart for their next target. An obscure brown dwarf, only a few burned-out old rocks gathered around it, but a step on the road to the next spot on the starfield they had discovered on Dante.

   As the crowd slowly began to disperse, Webster walked over to him, wearing a modified Triplanetary uniform for what would be the last time. Strickland and his surgical team had found the time to work a minor miracle on his face, repairing most of the scarring inflicted by the plasma burn, but still the wound seemed to be there, as though permanently burned into his soul.

   “He'll not be forgotten, Captain,” Webster said. “Not while this colony lasts. We've already decided to name our new station in his honor.”

   “Thank you, Chairman,” Salazar replied. “I'm sure he would have appreciated that. And congratulations on your appointment, by the way. I know you'll do your people proud.”

   “The truth of the matter was that nobody else wanted the job,” he said. “We've got a lot to do, and our resources are stretched thinner than ever.” He paused, then asked, “Have you reconsidered our offer?”

   “Don't think we aren't grateful, but we can't stay here. My crew want to go home, and they deserve the right to make the attempt.”

   “This could become your home very easily, Captain. With the help of Alamo and her crew, we'd have starships of our own in five years. It wouldn't be giving up on returning to your galaxy, only postponing it for a while, proceeding from a better base of operations.” He smiled, shook his head, and added, “It isn't going to work, is it?”

   “No. But as I said, we very much appreciate the offer.” Looking up at the sky, he continued, “You don't need us as much as you think. Within a year, Marshall Station will be fully operatio
nal, and in ten years, you will have starships of your own. We're leaving you most of Waldheim's shuttles, and that more than makes up for your ship losses. And as long as you are careful, her crew will give you all the help you need.”

   “Don't worry, I remember our agreement,” he said. “That's just one more job nobody else wanted. There will be formal trials, and the death sentence only for those who truly deserve it. With Volkova at the top of the list.” He grimaced, and asked, “How can you know someone for decades, and never truly know them? She was a hero.”

   “You never really know how you will react in a situation like that until and unless it happens to you. Put yourself in her position. Stranded on a half-built outpost, knowing that nobody is coming to help you, that you have limited supplies and will face constant attack.”

   “That would more than excuse surrender, Captain. Not treachery.”

   “I can't argue with that.”

   Looking out at the crowd, Webster said, “You and your crew made a hell of a difference here. You'll always be welcome.”

   “We might take you up on that,” Salazar replied. “Don't think that you've seen the last of us. If we do pioneer a safe route back to the Milky Way, then we won't be the only Triplanetary ship sent out here. Your world will be the first stop on the greatest trade route in history. I might even come back out here myself someday.”

   “I hope so,” Webster said, offering his hand. “May you get to where you're going. Wherever that ends up being.”

   “Thank you, Chairman,” Salazar said, shaking the proffered hand. “Good luck.” He walked over to Clarke and Mortimer, looking at the latter, saying, “I take it that you've decided to rejoin the Fleet on a formal basis.”

   “I have, sir,” she said, glancing at the memorial plaque she had sealed into position at the dedication of the park. “There's nothing holding me here now, and my presence among my former crew would only provide unnecessary complications. I think it's better for all concerned that I leave.”

   “Well, Alamo needs a new Weapons Officer, and I believe you'd be a good choice for the job.”