Battlecruiser Alamo: Cage of Gold

by Richard Tongue

   “Have you ever seen what happens to a body smothered in plasma fire?” Gurung asked. “It isn’t pretty, and by all accounts it is a horrible way to die. You might get off a single round of shots with those popguns of yours, but I doubt it.”

   Taking a step back, Mason replied, “You have revealed your intentions quite transparently, and I will recommend to the Governor that you be ordered to leave this planet at once. We don’t want or need your help.” Turning, he walked through the door, his guards following.

   “He won’t be gone long,” Caine said, as soon as he left. “My guess is that he’s gone to get reinforcements, probably more snipers.”

   “We can deal with anything they want to throw at us,” Gurung said. “The three of us have firepower that exceeds anything they have in their arsenal.”

   “And you would have to kill them all to do it, and probably set New Jamestown on fire into the process. Let’s file that one away as a last resort.” He looked out of the window, the jeep still waiting. “How far down would you say that is?”

   “Twenty feet,” the sergeant replied, his face breaking out into a smile. Without missing a beat, he tossed a cable from his belt to Caine, who secured it to a supporting pillar as he jumped backwards out of the window, lowering himself carefully but quickly to the ground, dropping down in front of the jeep.

   A few rounds of applause came from the slowly dispersing ground, and Gurung turned, making a mock bow, before covering the hotel entrance with his plasma gun. Caine scrambled down next, jumping into the driver’s seat, and at the urging of the troopers, Marshall followed her, sliding his hands down the line, planting his feet in the mud.

   “I think I can work it out,” Caine said. She turned a key, and a satisfactory rumble came from the engine. “There we go. Looks like we’ve got half a tank of fuel, but I don’t know what that’s good for.”

   “Everyone on board,” Marshall said, as the last of the troopers dropped down. He slid into a seat next to Caine, the two troopers hopping into the seats at the rear while Gurung stood on the running board, gripping onto the side of the jeep with one hand while keeping his rifle ready in the other.

   “Hang on,” Caine said, and she gunned the engine. “I think I know what I’m doing. This is a bit like some of those old racing games I used to play.”

   “Let’s hope the designers knew what they were doing.”

   The jeep burst into life, racing down the road, weaving from side to side, as Mason shouted at them from the hotel, he and his guards bursting out onto the street just in time to watch them make their escape. The remainder of the crowd melted back onto the sidewalls, Gurung firing a quick pulse of plasma fire into the air, briefly illuminated the night with an eerie green glow.

   “Was that necessary, Sergeant?” Marshall asked.

   “We’ve got an audience, sir, and the least we can do is put on a show.”

   “Quick question, Danny,” Caine said. “Where are we going? Patton Outpost?”

   “They’ll be expecting us,” Gurung said. “Probably have a roadblock waiting for us. Maybe we could go cross-country, but that will slow us down. We don’t know the terrain like they do.”

   “Head for the crash site of the shuttle,” Marshall ordered. “They might be expecting it, but if that landing was as rough as it looked, the people on board are going to need some help.”

   “Company!” one of the troopers said, pointing to their left. “Pair of jeeps, lighter than ours, with machine guns!”

   “Damn it,” Marshall said. “I didn’t come down here for this. Sergeant, try another warning shot. Just over their heads, enough to give them a tan.”

   “With pleasure, sir,” the eager veteran said, squeezing the trigger and sending another bolt of flame over them. The two jeeps split up, accelerating to try to get alongside, returning fire with a fusillade of shots from their machine guns, high over the jeep.

   “I don’t think they want to play either, Danny,” Caine said. “I’m going to see how fast I can take her.”

   Slamming her foot down on the accelerator, Caine urged to jeep to greater speed, bumping over the dunes as they burst out of town, leaving the buildings far behind. Up ahead was an inky darkness, the looming crater wall filling the horizon, a few isolated spots of light scattered across the terrain, the only marks of civilization on the lonely country.

   “Pull over!” a voice yelled from one of the trailing jeeps. “We have orders to take you to the President!”

   “Like hell!” Gurung called back.

   “Danny, they’re going to be better at this than we are, and they probably have full tanks of gas,” Caine said. “Not to mention that I don’t have the faintest idea where we’re going at this point. One bit of bleak desert looks a lot like another.”

   “Private, give me your communicator,” Marshall said, reaching his hand back to the rear seats. “Marshall to Alamo, Marshall to Alamo, come in. Any station, any station, come in, please!” Shaking his head, he said, “Sergeant, you seem to have the loudest voice.”

   “Comes with the job, sir.”

   “Then please tell them to head back to town or we will open fire.”

   “Will we, sir?”

   “If we have to, as a last resort.”

   Before Gurung could rise, a burst of machine gun fire erupted from out of the night, right into the path of the approaching jeeps. Four quick single shots dosed their headlights, leaving them in gloom.

   “We’ve got you covered, and could take you all out in a single burst. Go back, soldiers, and you can tell Kirk Mason that he can go to hell.”

   “Lady, I don’t care who you are…” a voice replied.

   “We don’t have a choice, Scott. Damn it, I can’t even see them,” another said.

   “We’re leaving, but come morning, there will be a couple of hundred people coming after you, and they’ll be shooting to kill. You’d be better off coming with us now.”

   The two jeeps turned, and drove off into the night. Marshall stepped out onto the desert, Gurung covering him with his rifle, and walked towards the woman up ahead.

   “Miss Richardson, I presume.”

   “Got it in one, Captain,” she replied. “Now come on. We’ve got to move.”

   “I have people up on the plateau in need of help.”

   “You don’t know the half of it, Captain. Come with me if you want to know the rest.”

   “It’s not as if we’re drowning in options, Danny,” Caine said.

   “I guess not,” he replied. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 11

   Salazar saw brief glimpses of the terrain through the cracks in the side of the cart as it bounced its way towards the canyon wall. He was beginning to get some feeling back in his arms and legs, but was still unable to move. Foster lay next to him, visibly seething, glaring at him.

   “I think we might be able to make a break for it,” she said. “I can move my legs.”

   “You will stay where you are,” he whispered in response. “That is an order.”

   “The first duty of every officer is to attempt to escape.”

   “Use your head for once,” he replied. “Our mission was to make contact with the opposition, and you want to run away just as we accomplish it?”

   “Wait a minute. You planned this? This was your big idea?”

   “It seemed sensible enough at the time.”

   The cart clattered to a halt, and Astris jumped down to the desert, patting one of the horses before making his way around to the back, dropping the gate with a loud clunk.

   “Time for me to give you the antidote,” he replied. “From here you walk.” Stepping into the back, he poured a sour-tasting liquid down Salazar’s throat, and immediately he felt a renewed vigor, stretching his aching muscles. As he moved over to Foster, Salazar glanced out at the black, empty desert.

   “You seem ver
y trusting.”

   “If you want to run, it’s about forty miles to the nearest settlement, and you don’t know the terrain. I think you’re going to stay. Our friends are waiting for us at the top of the hill, and there have been some developments while you have been asleep.” After administering the cure to Foster, he said, “Your Captain managed to start a nice little firefight in town, and is now on the run. More importantly, one of your shuttles crashed in our territory.”

   “Are they…” Foster began, but Astris interrupted.

   “My lord is waiting with transport for us to recover them. He thinks it best that you are all together when he tells you what he has to say.” He gestured ahead, to a thin stream trickling out of the wall, and said, “That cave will take us all the way up. There are canteens in the corner. Once you are ready, we will go.”

   Astris walked over to the horses, pulling something out of his pocket to feed to them, and Salazar jumped out onto the ground, forcing his tired legs to move. After a moment, Foster followed him, canteens in hand.

   “We can take him. Then we’ve got a hostage.”

   “Fun as that might be, that isn’t why we’re here,” Salazar replied. “If you want to try for town, feel free, but be prepared to be captured by the Governor as soon as you get there.”

   “You believe him?”

   “I thought I saw a flash earlier back from the town, and I definitely heard the shuttle flying overhead. If that is one of ours, then whoever is on board might be in dire need of help.”

   “Alamo can send down another shuttle.”

   “If they could, they would have already. Something else must be wrong up in orbit.”

   “They might have brought it down.”

   Shaking his head, Salazar said, “I don’t think so. Why aren’t we dead? They could have killed us quite easily, and no-one would have known what happened to us. Our job is to help negotiate a diplomatic solution down here, and we’re not going to do that if we don’t talk to both sides.”

   “I hope you know what you are doing.”

   “So do I,” Salazar replied, taking a deep swig of the cool water. He wiped his hand across his mouth, then said, “I think we’re ready. Have you got respirators for us?”

   “Cached in the cave,” Astris replied. “Come on.”

   Leaving the wagon behind, the three of them walked up to the cave entrance, stepping into the gloom. The Neander pulled a small torch out of his pocket, flashing it down onto the floor, but it was barely enough light to see by. Soon the outside world was invisible, and they followed the tricking stream up the hill, the rise growing sharper and sharper.

   “You are unusually blessed, you know,” Astris replied. “This cave was the home of our ancestors, and is one of our sacred places. None of your kind have ever ventured here before. I would not take you here now, but there is no other way for us to get to the plateau without being seen. The Army does not know of this route.” He flashed his torch up to the wall, revealing intricate carvings of birds, animals and Neander, lovingly carved over the centuries.

   “Beautiful,” Salazar said.

   Astris smiled, and said, “Perhaps if you can appreciate our creations, we might be able to work together. Your brothers from Earth have not inspired such thoughts. To them our arts, our culture, was savagery to be suppressed. The blood of those who carved the creatures flows in my veins. There is history here, thousands of years of it.”

   Foster shook her head, and replied, “Don’t judge us by the colonists who came here.”

   “I shall make the attempt, though you will excuse an old man for trusting his past experiences over mere words.” He turned the torch back to the passage, and continued to climb.

   Salazar was now beginning to gasp for breath as the air grew thinner, the exertion getting harder and harder as they rose out of the dense atmosphere of the crater to the rarefied air of the plateau. It was a relief when they stopped again, Astris reaching into a hidden crack to bring out two bulky respirators, orange tanks connected to rubber masks with hoses.

   “A little primitive,” Foster said. “How long do we have?”

   “About five hours before you have to change tanks. Your people made these, not mine. We don’t need them.”

   “You can breathe up there?” Salazar asked.

   “We notice the change, and the air is preferable in the crater, but yes, we can live up on the plateau.” He shook his head, and said, “Not that we have much choice. Live free and watch our children gasp for breath, or descend to the human settlements and see them taken from us. I can understand why some have made that choice.”

   “They take your children?”

   “For re-education. To ensure that they are properly indoctrinated into human culture, and learn their proper place in society. At the bottom. I would rather die free than live as a slave, and there are many who feel the same way.”

   “We need to contact Alamo, pass this on. The Captain needs to know about this.”

   “As I said, my information is that he has fled New Jamestown. Either he will be captured by the government or the human rebels will give him sanctuary. Or he and his friends will die in the desert.”

   Throwing a heavy switch, Salazar turned the respirator on, and immediately felt a rush as oxygen entered his lungs. He looked for controls, for a regulator, but couldn’t find anything. The mask stank, and there was a copper tinge to the air, but after what he had been breathing, it felt beautiful.

   “Not much further now,” Astris said, continuing his climb. He gestured ahead, where a faint glimpse of moonlight was just visible. With renewed energy, they doubled their speed, striding easily over the jagged rocks and muddy floor, the occasional drip of water upon their heads from the stalactites above. Finally, they stepped out onto the surface, where a battered jeep was waiting for them, a not-man sitting at the wheel.

   “At last you join us,” he said. “Perhaps you are beginning to realize that you are fighting on the wrong side.”

   “You don’t seem to realize that we aren’t on anyone’s side. We want to see peace on this planet, not to conquer it in the name of one or another.”

   Shaking his head, the not-man said, “You wish to bring this world into your sphere of influence to use as a forward base for operations against us, and we wish to do the same. The only difference is that we are more honest about it. For today, I have no reason to do you harm, and see every reason for us to work together.” He pointed along the cliff-side, and said, “The crashed shuttle is a few miles distant. I believe we should hurry.”

   After a moment’s hesitation, Foster and Salazar climbed into the back, Astris remaining behind at the top of the cliff, watching as the jeep drove away. The engine stuttered, faltering in the thin air, struggling to keep forward movement. Despite the bumpy ride, the view was astonishing, the crater spread out beneath them, a sea of stars twinkling in the night, each one a farm or a settlement.

   “No black-out regulations. If we’d wanted to, we could have captured this planet in a matter of hours upon our arrival,” the not-man said.

   “I’m surprised you didn’t,” Foster said.

   “It’s always easier if a population wants to be ruled, and working through local leaders greatly reduces the risk of rebellion. Nevertheless, someone must intervene here, and I don’t just speak of the present conflict. In less than a thousand years, all life on this planet will end.”

   “We’ve come to the same conclusion,” Salazar replied.

   “Then you further understand why this planet’s value is merely temporary. An accident of history that it lies in between two nations determined to wipe each other out.”

   “We don’t intend any such thing.”

   “Then you will lose, and yourselves vanish into the sands of time to be forgotten, your people enslaved or exterminated. The strong live, the weak die. Such is the rule of the universe, cold and u
ncaring as it is. And when we, or I admit, another, stronger race, have supremacy, then we must war with the universe itself for survival.” He smiled, then added, “That, however, is a matter for a day long in the future, when we are all naught but dust.”

   Up ahead, Salazar could just make out the crash site, and could see someone moving around, a figure emerging from the wreckage with a torch in hand, the beam connecting with the jeep as it raced towards them. He waved his hand, despairing that he would be seen, but the figure waved back, stepping back into the shuttle.

   “At least someone survived the crash,” Foster said.

   “I am glad,” the not-man said.

   “I’d have thought you were hoping they had died,” Salazar replied, frowning.

   Shaking his head, he said, “I have need of them at this moment, and so do you. Pragmatism must sometimes override philosophy, after all.”

   The jeep pulled up short of the shuttle, and Salazar stepped out, walking towards the wreckage. The pilot had obviously come close to pulling off a landing, the gear deployed and digging into the soil, the remnants of a parachute dragging across the dirt, twisted and battered. There was a gouge running all the way down the side of the hull, and the engine was a total wreck, a ruin of beaten and tangled metal.

   “Pavel?” Harper said, shaking her head. “What’s that contraption you came in?” She peered into the gloom, and added, “What the hell is going on?”

   “It’s a long story,” he replied, but before he could say anything further, she pulled a pistol from her holster, leveling it at the not-man, who raised his hands over his head.

   “I am here to help, as strange as it might sound. If Midshipman Foster will check, you will find that I am unarmed. Tell me, is your ship experiencing unexplained systems failures, ones that cannot be accounted for by anything other than sabotage?”

   Nodding, she replied, “Looks like I’ve found the answer I came down for.”