Battlecruiser Alamo: Cage of Gold

by Richard Tongue

   “Indeed, but I venture not in the manner that you were expecting. Why do you think my ship has remained on the surface? We arrived in orbit four months ago, and began our survey, but were forced to land within a matter of days when our systems began to fail. Now our ship does not function.”

   “You fired on us,” Foster said.

   “My ship fired upon you, yes, but it was not my will that launched the missile. The ship did it, by itself. Or should I say that whoever is controlling it chose to fire it.” He smiled, and said, “You are welcome to examine it for yourself. I would be extremely grateful if you could find some sort of solution. I and my engineers have failed.”

   “Is there anyone else on board?” Salazar asked.

   “Bradley, but she’s fine. Trying to get the communications system working to contact Alamo.” Shaking her head, she said, “One of the things we were coming down to report was that the external communications system had failed.”

   “It was not dissimilar for us,” the not-man said. “I presume your ship is incapable of landing on the surface of a planet?”

   “No.”

   “Then your problem is even more acute than ours. I have one further piece of evidence that something very strange is happening on this planet.” Ignoring the pistol still pointed at his chest, he walked around to the rear of the jeep and opened the hatch to a compartment, reaching in and dragging out what appeared to be a corpse.

   Bradley stepped out, her hands covered in grease, looking at the scene, “You’ve got some interesting friends, Pavel.”

   “One of the Territorial Guard,” the not-man said. “We captured him for interrogation two months ago, but he died before we could question him.” Glancing up, he said, “We did nothing to him, other than the normal restraints. Perhaps died is the wrong term. Ceased to function might be better. Which of you is the best engineer?”

   Harper stepped forward, looking at the corpse, and asked, “Why doesn’t it smell?”

   “Take a look for yourself, and see.”

   She knelt down, pulling off the cover, and looked at the body. Salazar peered over her shoulder, and could see a scar running down the side of the man’s face, all the way from his ear to his neck. He reached down to touch it, and recoiled as the skin peeled back, exposing a metal skull underneath.

   “What the hell?” he yelled.

   “My thoughts exactly,” the not-man said.

   Peering closer, Harper said, “I’d like to get one of our toolkits and do a proper examination, but this is definitely some sort of, well, android. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

   “Our robots do not look like human beings,” the not-man said. “We have never developed any technology of that time. From what I know of your people, neither have you.”

   Shaking her head, Harper replied, “As far as I’m aware, nothing like this was ever built. We’ve got robots, of course, but not autonomous, and all single-function.” She looked closer, and said, “I’m not sure, but this looks like a communications relay, and a powerful one at that.”

   “After we learned of this, we captured a second android and conducted a full dissection. There is no brain, not that we can find. Our theory is that there is some sort of master control computer, somewhere down in the crater.”

   “You’re saying that all of the Territorial Guard…”

   “We’ve taken three, all the same,” the not-man said. “Whether that is a conclusive sample or not, I do not know, but I believe it significant.”

   “To say the least,” Harper said. “Now we know what is causing the systems failures.”

   “The only question remains what we do about it,” Salazar said.

   “We have to inform the Captain of our discovery,” Foster said.

   “We don’t even know where he is.”

   Looking at the body again, Bradley said, “What about my husband? The last we heard, he was leading an attack against the Neander.”

   “I can take you to him,” the not-man said.

   Rising to his feet, Salazar said, “Can you sneak us back into town without being detected?”

   “Probably.”

   “Then Harper, Foster and I are going back. That computer must be there somewhere, and we’ve got to find it, and work out some way of disabling it.”

   Nodding, Bradley said, “I’ll find Gabe, and start rustling up some cavalry to ride to the rescue. We’ve got twenty-five Espatiers on this planet, and that ought to be enough to do the job.”

   Looking at Salazar, Foster said, “And Captain Marshall?”

   Sweeping his hand across the plateau, Salazar replied, “Is out there, somewhere. Once we get into town, you need to try and find him, while Harper and I start digging.”

   “Great,” the hacker said, rubbing her hands together. “A new computer to play with.”

   “To destroy,” Salazar said, glancing up at the sky. Alamo was just visible, a pair of sparkling lights that seemed almost motionless up in orbit. “While we still have time.”

  Chapter 12

   The engineering display was a mass of amber and red, lights flashing on and off, auxiliary systems snapping into life as the primary functions started to fail. Quinn looked up from his console, shaking his head, while Orlova frowned.

   “It’s getting worse, not better,” he said. “I still can’t get communications back on-line, and Hooke’s not had any luck attacking this from a software point of view.”

   “We’ve still got sensors,” Spinelli said. “There’s some activity around the crashed shuttle. Looks like some sort of a rescue party went up from the crater. And we picked up plasma fire from the town.”

   Grant looked across at the tactical station, and said, “We have missiles and targeting computers. Why don’t you let me put on a little display, try to impress them. Or send down some reinforcements.”

   “You want to lose another shuttle?” Nelyubov asked. “And what is the purpose of that little display of yours? Are we trying to conquer this planet now?”

   “They’re attacking us,” Grant yelled. “Either half the ship is working against us, or this isn’t any damn saboteur. That not-man ship. We could strike that. Six missiles…”

   “Would be no more likely to reach their destination than the shuttle did.”

   “Not if we used dead-man. Get them onto the trajectory on the first try, and disable all of their systems ourselves. It can work, Lieutenant, and it’s about damn time that we took some action. Before every system on this ship fails.”

   “Grant,” Orlova replied. “You are perfectly right. We must conclude that there is some sort of hostile force on the surface, though I am less than convinced that it is the not-men. Maybe some other buried installation, something hidden away. Frank’s right in that a missile strike would be futile. Even if we could get a salvo off, they’d be taken out of our control before we could get them onto trajectory. I wouldn’t want to risk another shuttle for the same reason.”

   “Then are we just going to sit here and do nothing?” Grant asked. “While a full-scale battle takes place on the surface, and our people are at risk?”

   “What can we do?” Nelyubov said. “Other than what we are doing right now? Continue to try and solve the problems, tidy up the malfunctions, and work on some way of protecting our systems from the attack.”

   Shaking his head, Grant replied, “Simply going on the defensive hasn’t worked. We’re going to have to go onto the offensive, try and regain the initiative. I still think a point-strike might be effective. We could fit one of the shuttles with ordinance, or perhaps a parachute drop.”

   “We have one shuttle left capable of making a landing,” Nelyubov pointed out. “I’d be extremely wary of throwing it away for nothing. Assuming that the shuttle wasn’t redirected to an area with an atmosphere too thin for that trick to work.”

   Orlova walked across the bridge to the
command chair, and asked Quinn, “In your judgment, Jack, what are the prospects of our correcting the systems failures?”

   “There are only so many workarounds we can manage. Sooner or later they’re going to catch us up. Grant’s right about one thing. We’re not going to win a defensive war. Right now we are losing decisively.”

   Nodding, she said, “I agree.”

   “Then you will approve an attack,” Grant said. “I’ll start to work out a trajectory plot.”

   “No,” she replied. “That isn’t going to work, and we both know it. My instincts are just like yours, to launch some sort of attack, to take some steps, but I can’t think of anything that is feasible. We don’t have enough information about the tactical situation on the surface. Not without communications from the ground.”

   “Then what do we do, Maggie?” Nelyubov asked.

   Looking down at the deck, she said, “In my judgment, we have no choice now but to consider the safety of the ship over that of the people on the surface.” Taking a deep breath, she continued, “We’re leaving. Frank, have all decks prepare for hendecaspace, and I want Lieutenant Race to calculate a course for home. Grant, take the helm, and plot a course to the egress point at maximum speed.”

   “You can’t!” Grant said. “We’ve got almost forty people down there.”

   “And we have more than a hundred people left up here, as well as information that we need to bring home. Those people down there are my shipmates. Don’t think that I am making this decision lightly.” She shook her head, and said, “We’ve got to get out of the system while we still can. Don’t worry, Lieutenant, we’re coming back.”

   Turning to face her, Nelyubov said, “All decks report cleared for space, ma’am.”

   Grant looked at her, as though trying to change her mind with a stare, before turning back to sit at the helm. His hands paused over the controls for a second.

   “Lieutenant?”

   “Aye, ma’am,” he said. “Course is computed to the egress point. We will be leaving the system in thirty-one minutes.”

   Taking one last look at the planet, she said, “Then by all means, Lieutenant.”

   With a curt nod, he tapped the control, and Alamo’s engines began to roar as the ship pivoted on its axis, turning to the correct position. The viewscreen switched to an orbital plot, the apoapsis rising while the periapsis fell, the ship gaining speed and rising on course. Then she felt a lurch, the ship changing direction, starting to spin.

   “Wait one,” Grant said, frantically working his console. The engines died, and Alamo began to coast again. “The helm is not answering control. Manual override does not respond.”

   Orlova leapt forward, leaning over Grant and working the station herself, with the same result. “Jack, I thought we still had flight control.”

   “So did I. My board is green.” He shook his head, tapped a control, and said, “Auxiliary Control. Initiate course change. Break us out of orbit.”

   There was a brief pause, and the duty technician replied, “Negative on engine burn, sir. I have no helm control.”

   “Thrusters firing,” Grant said. “I’m not doing anything. Looks like we’re stabilizing, correcting the spin.” He tapped the controls again, and added, “Still not accepting my input, and the manual override is still not responding.”

   “The computer’s locked us out completely,” Quinn said. “We can’t correct our course.”

   “It gets worse,” Grant added. “Look at our orbit.” He gestured at the screen, where the lowest point of the ellipse that marked Alamo’s path flashed red. “That takes us into the upper atmosphere. Enough that we’ll start seeing a serious drag effect.”

   “How long?” Orlova asked with a sigh.

   “Best guess is that we burn up in four hours. I’ll start working it out to the second if you want.” Turning to Quinn, he said, “We’ve got to try a manual burn. Without computer control. Even a few seconds of thrust would throw us clear and buy us some time.”

   “Can’t be done,” Quinn said. “There are thousands of millisecond-to-millisecond adjustments needed to fire the main engine. No way to correct all of them manually, humans just can’t react quickly enough.”

   “Is it worth a try?” Orlova asked.

   “If we did, at best we’d wreck the engine permanently. At worst we’d lose the ship.”

   “We’re going to lose the ship anyway,” Grant said. “What about the thrusters, then? We’d have to damn near empty the tanks to do it, but we could fire those on manual. They’re basically just gas jets.”

   Hurriedly, he started to enter in commands, isolating the thruster controls from the core system. With a triumphant smile, he turned and nodded.

   “We have thruster control.”

   “Try it,” Orlova urged Grant. “One brief pulse to test it first.”

   Quinn frowned, and said, “We won’t be able to refill the tanks without computer control. Once the tanks are empty, that’s it.”

   “Will it be enough?”

   “Toss a coin. I'd rather trust that than the navigation computer.”

   “Here we go,” Grant said. “Quarter-second burst, at minimum power.” He tapped a control, and the stars slowly began to rotate. “It worked!”

   “Let ‘er rip, Lieutenant,” Orlova said, leaning back on her chair.

   Grant threw a pair of levers, then jammed his hand down on the thruster controls, tapping four buttons at once. There was a faint surge, the ship sluggishly responding to commands, the systems reluctantly engaging to provide Alamo with the speed to fly clear of the atmosphere. Escape from the system was impossible at this point, all that mattered was preventing the fiery death that awaited the battlecruiser and her crew if the plan failed.

   The orbital plot remained on the viewscreen, the focus of attention for everyone on the bridge as the crucial numbers began to rise, albeit all too slowly. The thrusters were only meant for maneuvering, just for attitude control or pinpoint course adjustments. No-one had ever intended to use them to actually fly the ship.

   Focusing on his controls, Grant carefully balanced the thrusters, keeping the thrust as even as he could, using every pound of thrust as efficiently as he could. The lowest part of the orbit was slowly starting to climb, but remained resolutely in the red, Alamo still dipping down into the atmosphere. The apogee was rising as well, but that didn’t matter. Escape velocity was out of the question. Orbital velocity would do.

   “Come on,” Nelyubov said. “Keep firing.”

   “Not far to go,” Grant muttered. “Losing Thruster Four.”

   “Can you redistribute the fuel?” Orlova asked Quinn, already knowing the answer.

   Shaking his head, he said, “Not without computer control.”

   The ship was rising more slowly now, more of the fuel wasted in keeping the ship on a steady course, compensating for the loss of the thruster. Still it climbed, higher and higher, not a sound audible on the bridge as the crew willed their ship up, out of the atmosphere, into the safety of the cold space where it belonged.

   “That’s it,” Grant said. “Two and Five are out. I can’t give her any forward momentum.”

   “Disabling thrusters,” Quinn added. “We don’t want anyone undoing our work.”

   “The final score?” Orlova asked.

   “Not enough,” Nelyubov said. “Better, though, we’ve bought some time. We’ll burn up in about thirty-nine hours from now.”

   “That doesn’t give us much time to come up with something,” Orlova said. “Any ideas?”

   “Could we try for an atmospheric skip?” Grant asked. “Adjust our trajectory so that we’d bounce back out into space again?”

   “Maybe,” Quinn said, “but I’m not sure that we could manage it manually. Even if we had the thruster fuel left, and we don’t.” He shook his head, and said, “We forget just how much of our job the
ship’s systems do for us. If a couple of things break down, we can work around them, but I don’t think that we can trust any systems at the moment.”

   “Controlled release of atmosphere, using the airlocks? Or shaped charges, if needed?” Grant suggested. “If we timed it right…”

   “Without the computer?” Nelyubov asked. “Let’s face it. The ship has been hopelessly compromised. As things stand, I don’t think there is anything we can do to fix it. Not without knowing what is attacking us. Even if we could, there’s no reason to think that we wouldn’t immediately be infected again.”

   “How about that, Jack?” Orlova asked. “Is there any way to totally protect the ship’s systems from exterior feeds?”

   He frowned, then said, “You’re looking at a hell of a job. We already take firewalls pretty seriously, but you’re talking about isolating the key command systems from the rest of the ship, actually break the relays and links to outside.”

   “Can it be done?”

   “With everyone on the ship working around the clock, I think we might do it in twenty-four hours. Maybe. Navigation would be a nightmare, but we’d at least be able to break orbit, buy ourselves some more time.”

   “Then let’s get started,” Grant said.

   “Wait a minute,” Quinn replied. “It isn’t as simple as that. The system is infected right now, and we’ve got no way of purging it.”

   “Yes, we do. And the other systems as well, maybe long enough to get us out of the system. The original control software is still in storage, all buried deep with the daily updates.”

   “Sure.”

   “And that system is totally safe.”

   “Sealed in a Faraday cage, and one of the technicians swaps out the storage database manually every day. A bit primitive, but we’ve never thought of anything better.” He paused, then said, “Maggie, you don’t know what you are asking.”

   “Nor do I,” Nelyubov said.

   “Purge the system. Delete everything, from every system on the ship…,” she began.

   “And all the autonomous computers as well. Every datapad. Everything that can transmit,” Quinn interrupted.