Secrets of the Sphere (Battlecruiser Alamo Book 27)

by Richard Tongue

   The door rattled open, and Robertson stood at the threshold, looking down at him with barely disguised contempt, while Mendez waited behind her, carrying a ration pack. He struggled to his feet, flashing back a smile, and moved to stand in front of her.

   “I was wondering when room service would get here.”

   “I haven't come here to trade insults with you, Captain,” Robertson replied. “I think we need to talk. There is still a chance that we can come to some sort of mutually satisfactory arrangement.”

   Raising an eyebrow, Salazar said, “This is going to be an extremely interesting discussion.” Placing his hands on his hips, he continued, “I honestly can't think of anything you can offer me that will convince me to help you, but I'll listen to your pitch. My social secretary's told me that I don't have anything else scheduled for the moment.”

   “Captain,” Mendez said, “Really, I must point out that we were more than willing to permit you to return to your ship in good order, you and your two friends.”

   “And what of Captain Orlova and Sub-Lieutenant Mortimer?”

   “Captain Orlova would have been able to return with you, had she not elected to scurry into the caverns. In any event, it appears that you have already seen to that.”

   “Mortimer?”

   “She is Earth-born,” Robertson replied, as though providing an explanation for everything. “We needed a chance to complete a full genetic pattern. Your second assault team has rendered that moot, however.” Stepping forward, she added, “We may have somewhat underestimated your abilities, and for that I apologize. Nevertheless, we have much to share with each other.”

   “Go on.”

   “The secret of the wormhole network,” Robertson said. “Would that be a suitable opening gambit?” She smiled, then said, “I think I might have piqued your interest, at least.”

   “No sale,” Salazar replied. “If you had that, you wouldn't be sitting here.”

   “We have no ships of our own, Captain,” Mendez replied. “That significantly limits our options, as you will understand. Though with access to a starship...” He paused, then continued, “Tell me, have you any other Earth-born among your crew?”

   “We do.”

   “The tests we need to run are uncomfortable, yes, but there is no lasting damage, no risk of serious injury. Recovery will be swift. And it is possible that you have techniques we do not, abilities the Hegemony has not yet mastered.” Raising a hand, she added, “Yes, we were originally a Hegemonic outpost, but that all changed a few years ago, once we realized just what we'd been established to do.”

   “And that was?”

   “Provide information for a program of eugenics for the Hegemonic population. To harvest new genetic material to introduce into our own people, back home,” Mendez said. “We're scientists, Captain, nothing more than that. Eager to learn, and this Sphere gives many opportunities for that. Yes, we've done work with the savages, but that's only because of what they represent. Someone created them, Captain, and the traces of their work are littered through their genetic code. If we can learn the techniques, then we can take a great step forward...”

   “To what, Doctor? Controlled evolution? Where would you choose to take humanity?”

   “It isn't about that,” Mendez said.

   “And what about the savages? You seem to have them well-controlled.”

   Glancing at Mendez, Robertson replied, “We have a mutual enemy, Captain, in the form of the Hegemony. Certainly they will launch an attack on your ship, if they have not yet done so, and when they do, you'll end up deciding to do as many have in the past and settle the Sphere. A stranded crew, far from home...”

   “And the wormholes?”

   “A long, hazardous journey though alien space,” Mendez replied. “You'd be safer staying here. This Sphere has existed for millions of years, and our studies suggest that it could exist for billions more. Billions of years, Captain. Think of that. Think of the well-being of your descendants, if nothing more than that.”

   “More to the point, you'd have to cross through Hegemonic space to get there. I doubt your ability to do that.” Folding her arms, Robertson replied, “You have three choices, Captain. The first is to continue on your present course, one that will force us to escalate further. I will admit that we have an element of control over the savages, one that has taken years to establish. We have the ability to unleash them at will.”

   “Unleash them?” Salazar asked, his eyes widening. “On what?”

   “All around us,” Mendez said, “are barbarous, fallen civilizations, existing on the battered remnants of former glory. Oh, we've seen evidence of great empires far away, ones with technology we can only dream of, but here, now, we have an advantage. We can restore civilization to this region, build up an empire of our own, one ruled to the benefit of all. With our new army, we can maintain order, defeat the warlords that currently dominate the region, and set the people of this part of the Sphere back on the path towards enlightenment.”

   “As long as they don't mind you being in charge.” He paused, then asked, “You said three options. Let's hear them.”

   “The second sees you leave in peace. We would wish to trade genetic material, a full work-up of Sub-Lieutenant Mortimer and any other Earth-born members of your crew, and in exchange, we will provide you with a route that will take you home. All the way back to your galaxy.”

   “What guarantee do I have that you won't simply send us flying off into unknown space, or into some hazard we don't know about? Surely you don't expect me to take your word?”

   “No,” Robertson said. “Of course not. That is why I believe that you will consider the third option. We're going to win, Captain. We're going to beat you in a fight, and at the very least, drive you from the Sphere. Already we have chased your people from your Base Camp, and...”

   “You attacked my people?”

   “You attacked us, Captain,” Mendez said. “Consider this an escalation of a war that you began. Several of our people have been killed or wounded by yours. One in a corridor less than a quarter mile from your location. Have we not the right to defend ourselves against an unprovoked attack?”

   “If you hadn't been so quick on the trigger with those missiles,” Salazar replied, “We'd never have come to this base at all.”

   “True, and once more, I apologize for that.” Taking a deep breath, Mendez continued, “Surely it is in the best interests of all of us to settle things down, rather than push for further conflict. We are few, and you have a technological lead. Why not join forces with us? Work together for the benefit of the local civilizations of the Sphere, take a leadership role that will see them return to their former glory in a few generations. Yes, it will be under our direction, but surely we will have earned that right?”

   Shaking his head, Salazar said, “I thought it would be something like that.”

   “Will you at least consider it?” Mendez asked.

   “Not for a minute. Not for a second. I don't make deals with murderers, slavers, and would-be conquerors. How about another deal. Release me, release the rest of my people, and evacuate your base. Then I'll make sure every trace of it is destroyed, all of your work wiped from the map. After that, I don't care what you do, but that way, no more of your people have to die. If you truly care about them, you'll take my offer.”

   “You have to be...”

   Shaking his head, Salazar said, “I'd think about it more carefully, if I were you. Evidently you aren't as secure in your position as you want me to believe, or you wouldn't have made this offer at all. Let me put some of the pieces together. You know that I managed to send two of my people back to Alamo to get help, and while you might have launched an attack on Base Camp, you have no ability to project any power outside the Sphere itself. Meaning that Alamo is still sitting out there, waiting, loaded for bear and with a large Espatier contingent.”


   “I don't have to listen to this.”

   “And the train is on its way back,” Salazar pressed. “Probably fully-loaded, and you have some idea of the weaponry at our disposal. It's one thing to launch a surprise attack against an unprepared target, but a full Espatier strike team is something else. They'll come, and they'll sweep this base clean of anything that moves until they've completed their mission, and no matter how many of the savages you can throw against them, they'll win. So really, you only have one option left. Surrender. While you can.” He paused, frowned, then said, “I suppose you could run for it now, but I wouldn't like your chances out on the desert after dark. Would you?”

   Turning to him, Robertson said, “I made you a serious offer. One day, not too far in the future, we will rule everything for ten thousand miles in every direction, be a power to be reckoned with in the Sphere. There are forces working here, Captain, of which you know nothing. Clearly you are destined to be crushed under our heels, just like the rest of them. Good day.” She stalked off, leaving Mendez behind, looking after her.

   “You don't agree with her,” Salazar asked. “Indeed, this meeting was your idea in the first place.”

   “She's in charge,” he said.

   “That doesn't mean you have to blindly follow her orders, does it?” He paused, then said, “Your people attacked Base Camp. How many dead?”

   “Your crew? Three, and maybe another dozen injured.”

   Salazar closed his eyes, whispered a quiet prayer, and asked, “And yours?”

   “More than a thousand.”

   “More than a thousand,” he repeated. “Was I correct that it was a surprise attack?”

   “We caught your people completely off-guard, in the middle of an evacuation. The tactical situation couldn't have been better.” Looking across at Salazar, he continued, “And you came close to winning anyway. I'm not a fool, Captain. Our force only works against those with a lower technology. None of our attempts to get the savages to use any tools more advanced than a stone axe have failed, and I have no expectation of any progress in the future.”

   “Meaning that you are setting out to conquer the Sphere with an army that you know is vulnerable. Why not stop now, before it goes too far. Three of my people are dead, but I think that the person responsible is going to pay, whatever you say.” Stepping forward, he continued, “How are the savages controlled.”

   “Chemical tells, mostly. They're a strongly scent-oriented people. Though that's as much information as I'm going to give you.” He paused, then continued, “It's worse than that, Captain. We found them underground, buried, a relict population from some ancient, forgotten time. While we know there are others of their kind down there, these are the first ones to find their way to the surface in uncounted ages. And there are moments when I wonder whether or not we've fallen into some sort of trap. They're learning, Captain. Though not the lessons we're trying to teach.”

   “Are they out of control?” Salazar asked, panic rising in the back of his mind.

   “Not yet. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't have nightmares that we'd lose them. That they could sweep through the desert to the settlements in the south, and that it would be almost impossible to stop them. Oh, their masses could be defeated by an army such as yours, but they'd scatter across the Sphere, a thousand serial killers let loose on an unsuspecting population. We might never be rid of them.”

   “There has to be an alternative.”

   “Perhaps.” He paused, then said, “Perhaps. Captain, I will think about this. You'll have to give me time to consider.”

   “How much time?”

   “Less than five hours,” the psychologist replied with a smile. “After that, the arrival of your reinforcements might make it a moot point. By then I will have decided which side I dare be on.” He turned to the door, then asked, “You'd spare our lives?”

   “Once this base is destroyed, you'd never be able to recreate your work. Doctor, if what you fear is true, then the savages have to be stopped, here and now. You know that, right?”

   “Five hours, Captain. I will return then, and you will have my answer.” He turned, then passed him the ration pack, adding, “Tastes lousy, but you have to keep your strength up.”

   “Thanks,” Salazar said, as the door slammed shut. He opened the pack, grimacing at the collection of pastes and gels within, and sat back down on the floor, his back to the wall. Three of his people dead, and he wasn't there to help them. Whatever happened to Mendez, Robertson would pay for what had happened here. If only to make sure that it could never happen again.

   Five hours.

   It couldn't go quickly enough. Somehow, Salazar guessed that it would feel like five eternities.

  Chapter 19

   Orlova stirred at the incessant beeping of the medical monitor to her side, straining to focus as she looked around the familiar room. Alamo's Sickbay. She'd been here hundreds of times in the past, but she'd never felt happier to be in a medical bed. A white-uniformed figure walked over, looking down at her with a benign smile on his face.

   “Captain Orlova?” he said. “I'm Doctor Strickland. Alamo's Medical Officer. How do you feel this morning?”

   “Like I've been shot,” she replied.

   Nodding, he said, “Good diagnosis, Captain. The good news is that we got you here in time for no serious harm to be done, but you've lost a lot of blood. I've given you a full transfusion, patched up the holes, and you should be fit for light duty in a couple of days. But no wandering off the ship, not for a while. Doctor's orders.” He paused, and said, “It's funny. I've never met you before, but I feel like I already know you. You're a bit of a legend around here.”

   Shaking her head, she said, “I need to speak to Captain Salazar.”

   “Sorry, no can do. Senior Lieutenant Francis will be down in a minute. I paged him as soon as you regained consciousness.” He glanced up at the monitor, then continued, “Knowing commanding officers as well as I do, I suspect that it would be a complete waste of time for me to order you to take it easy, so I'll just tell you to be careful. You can have as many visitors as you want, go over any reports you wish, but I'll be watching your readouts all the time, and I pull the plug if I have concerns. Understood?”

   “Thank you, Doctor,” she replied. “You're a lot more reasonable than most of your kind.”

   “Bitter experience, Captain.”

   The door slid open, and a gray-haired man walked into the room, moving over to Orlova at the receipt of a curt nod from Strickland and taking a seat by her side, shuffling to sit next to her, datapad in hand.

   “Captain Orlova? I'm Max Francis. Alamo's Executive Officer. It's a pleasure to meet you at last, though I'd rather it was under better circumstances.”

   “What's the situation, Lieutenant? Where's Pavel?”

   “I was rather hoping that you could tell me,” he replied. “All I know is that Harper, Fox and Lombardo are heading back out into the desert in an attempt to rescue the others and destroy some sort of hidden base. We haven't had any contact with them for hours.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “If what Lombardo's report said was correct, they should be there in a matter of minutes.”

   “Lombardo's report?”

   “We found his datapad stuffed into your jacket. Meaning that I know some of the details now, but there are a lot of gaps.” He paused, then said, “I have a question for you, Captain, and I'm going to need an honest answer. What chance do they have of actually completing their mission and executing a return to the ship.”

   “With Pavel, Harper and Clarke on the job, I'd say better than even.”

   “That's what I figured.” He reached over to the wall, tapping a control to bring a hologram into life, a projection of local space flickering into existence over Orlova's bed. At her surprise, he added, “A little modification from Alamo's last refit. Captain Marshall had these scattered all
across the ship. They've been surprisingly useful.”

   “Captain Marshall?” she said. “I thought Pavel was in command.”

   With a sad nod, Francis said, “Captain Marshall's last act was to grant him a field promotion to Lieutenant-Captain and assign him as Alamo's new commanding officer.”

   “Last act?”

   “I'm sorry, Captain. Daniel Marshall died about ten weeks ago. He managed to bring down a United Nations Dreadnought, saved an entire world. He went down a hero, and I suspect that's exactly what he would have wanted.”

   “You're probably right about that,” she replied. “You're sure he's dead? No chance?”

   “The ship he was riding re-entered the atmosphere and exploded well before landing,” Strickland replied. “There were no survivors.”

   Looking across, she saw a familiar figure lying on the long-term biobed, and said, “Deadeye? What's she doing here?”

   “Severe xenopsychosis. She's in an induced coma in the hopes that she'll snap out of it,” Strickland said. “There's a limit to what we can do for her with the facilities we've got. She's going to have to find her own way home. Though the longer it takes, the lower the odds.”

   Shaking her head, she looked at the projection, and said, “Clear screen. Seems safe enough.”

   “Except that we found out the hard way that the black hole masks dimensional instability, and the shifting gravitational fields mean that keeping probes in position to cover it is problematic at best. I'm expecting an attack by Hegemonic forces at any time.” He paused, then said, “If the odds are even, I'll fight it out, but if I think the odds are against us, we're going to have to pull out.”

   “No,” she replied. “You can't leave Pavel and the others stranded down there.”