Battlecruiser Alamo: Final Testament

by Richard Tongue

   Standing up, she replied, “I am loyal to my people, Captain.”

   “I damn well hope so. From what I can see, right now they need all the help they can get.”

   Without another word, she walked out of the office, leaving Orlova alone. She rubbed her eyes, then pulled out a datapad, skimming over the systems reports from the last battle, smiling as she read the transcript of Nelyubov's meeting with the hapless Technical Officer in charge of the ship's elevators.

   Dropping it down to the desk, she tapped a control, and said, “Captain to Deck Officer.”

   “Bradley here.”

   “Has anyone gone out to take a look at the debris from our friends yet?”

   “Not yet, Captain.”

   “Then have Transfer One readied for launch. I'm going to run the survey myself.”

   There was a brief pause, and she replied, “Aye, Captain. I'll sort out the pre-flight for you.”

   “Thanks. Orlova out.”

   As she walked out of her office, she caught a brief blue flash out of the corner of her eye, for a second waiting for the sirens to sound, warning of an incoming enemy armada, before she realized that it was just Daedalus on its way to Testament Station. That was the sort of mission she had thrived on, a few years ago, and a tight pang of jealously formed in her stomach as she walked through the bridge, making her way to the elevator.

   While she drifted down to the flight line, she pulled out a datapad and started to skim through the reports, Jack Quinn managing to put in two thousand words what he had already told her in a sentence. Alamo was in no condition for a major battle, and wouldn't be until they'd had a chance to go deep into the bowels of the system and complete a refit. That meant spacedock time, at least two weeks of it.

   And Testament Station was only three days away. All she had to do was say the word, and they'd be on their way to safety. Had Ghewon and his Merry Men been able to stop the saboteur in time, they could already have jumped. Instead they were stranded here, waiting, hoping that Harper and Salazar could concoct some sort of a miracle and find enough fuel to get them out.

   Already a range of contingency plans were forming in her head. Even if they packed the ship as full as possible, they couldn't hold more than three hundred people here. Daedalus was already full to the limits of its life support. Ferrying the Neander, even to Testament Station, would take months. The Xandari weren't going to give them weeks.

   That only made it worse. She was stuck here with the rest of them, pondering contingency plans and emergency scenarios, when all she wanted was to get back into the thick of the action.

   With a low chime, the door slid open, and she walked onto the hangar deck, heading right for the long, cylindrical transfer shuttles, rockets with a life-system pod stuck to the front. A stubby, brutal design, lacking even the utilitarian beauty of the landing shuttles, but the architect had prized function over form. Bradley waved her over to the nearest, tossing her a headset.

   “Come on. I've got her ready.”

   “I can fly her, Sub-Lieutenant.”

   “I know, and you are, but you're going to need a co-pilot.” Before Orlova could protest, the deck officer pulled herself up into the cockpit, and with a last look around, she followed, sliding smoothly into the pilot's couch, the controls already positioned for launch.

   “You've covered all the bases,” she said.

   “Naturally.” Throwing a switch, Bradley replied, “We have clearance for takeoff. I may or may not have mentioned who's flying the shuttle.”

   With a smile, Orlova said, “Thanks. You can cycle the airlocks now.”

   “Cycling,” she replied, and with the throw of a switch, the shuttle began to drop through the decks, sliding out through the elevator airlock. “Don't mention it. Captain Marshall used to take a shuttle out every now and then. I suspect for the same reason as you.”

   “Did you chaperone him as well?”

   “I left that to Deadeye.”

   The shuttle dropped out into space with a brief jolt, tossed clear of the ship by the rotation, and Orlova tapped a control to plot a course to the nearest debris field. Alamo's sensors had already given them a thorough examination, but there were a few potential anomalies to examine. Under normal circumstances, debris inspection would either be an urgent priority or outright impossible, but the Xandari warships had done such a good job at matching speed that they'd be hovering next to the wreckage for weeks. Assuming Harper couldn't come up with something before them.

   “I wonder how they're doing back there,” Bradley said, tapping a series of controls to bring up the navigation display. “They might have the task force assembled at Thule by now.”

   “Let's hope,” Orlova said. “Though it will be months before we get to find out. The war could be over by then.”

   Shaking her head, Bradley replied, “You want to be everywhere at once, and you can't.”

   Turning to look at her, she said, “Not a bad guess. I'd like to be heading back home to pass on what we know, but we can't let the civilians go wandering off my themselves.”

   “Thanks, by the way, for sending my husband over there for the next week to throw himself into danger again. I was rather hoping to get a little time with him while we were waiting for Daedalus to come back.”

   “Nothing stopping you hopping a shuttle over there,” Orlova replied. “I'm sure you could put something nice and official about wanting to take a look at the Collective's technology, try and pick up some tips that could be reverse-engineered for Alamo. Kowalski can handle things while you're gone.”

   “Are you serious?” she asked.

   “Why not? I'm sure Gabe can use all the help he can get, and it'll look fine on paper if anyone asks. Not that they will. I think most of the paperwork gets thrown into someone's pet singularity at Mariner Station.”

   “That's as good an explanation as any.” She paused, then said, “I'll have the application on your desk within ten minutes of us getting back.”

   “If you want to head home now...”

   “No. I can wait for an hour or two, but you need a little time to relax, and some gentle piloting is just what the doctor ordered.”

   Raising an eyebrow, Orlova said, “Tell me you're being metaphorical.”

   “Nothing of the sort. I think this would have been prescribed to you at some point anyway.” Looking to the side, at the gleaming hull of Alamo reflecting the sunlight, she said, “That beast can be a harsh mistress.”

   “Tell me about it.”

   “Any regrets?”

   Orlova paused, then said, “No. Not really.”

   “Good answer.” Glancing down, Bradley said, “We're coming up on Object One. Looks like a tangle of alloy to me.”

   “And to me. Polished piece of hull, I guess. We've got plenty of samples already. No need for any more.”

   “Agreed.”

   Running her hands over the controls, Orlova said, “Changing course for Object Two.”

   “If things had been slightly different, if Captain Marshall had still been here, then you'd be commanding Daedalus yourself right now.”

   “Almost certainly.”

   “Then you'd have the same set of worries that you do right now. The same problem, but from another angle.”

   Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “You trying for Ship's Psychiatrist?”

   “I don't think we're going to get one of those any time soon. I just thought you might want to have a talk.” With a shrug, she said, “Unless you're worried about sharing dark secrets with the lower ranks.”

   “The only dark secret I've got is that I'm making all of this up as I go along.”

   “If it helps, it really doesn't show.” A light flashed on the panel, and she frowned, saying, “Wait a moment. I'm getting an energy reading from Object Two. Power build-up.”

   “Executing evasive course. I'm t
aking us back to Alamo.”

   “Energy spike!” Bradley yelled. “It's a missile, damn it! Intercept course, bearing directly, projected time-to-impact of thirty-five seconds!”

   “Contact Alamo, and get Cantrell to give us some covering fire,” Orlova said, her hands dancing across the controls. This was what she knew, what she was comfortable with. She'd been flying shuttles like this since she was fourteen, and threw every trick in the book as she rattled the helm through a series of evasive maneuvers.

   None of them did any good, but she didn't really expect them to. The dead head of the enemy tactical officer had done his job well, and the booby trap was working with perfect precision as the missile homed in on the shuttle, the seconds towards intercept counting down. To her right, Bradley was frantically calling Alamo, but they both knew that it would be next to impossible for Cantrell to get a strike together in the time. Even a laser pulse was out of the question, the shuttle and the missile in between Alamo and Ausori.

   “Wait one,” Orlova said, throwing the shuttle into a turn. “I've got an idea.”

   “Suicide?” Bradley asked. “You're taking us back into the debris field.”

   “In about ten seconds.”

   Shaking her head, Bradley reached up to the overhead locker and pulled out the hull patches, placing them on her lap where she could get to them in seconds. Should a large piece of debris hit them, it wouldn't make any difference. Especially given that the odds were that one of them would be directly hit by the impact.

   The hull rattled as the lighter debris bounced off, the sensors quickly losing resolution as the pick-ups were smashed, one after another. After only a few seconds, they were flying blind, Alamo feeding them as much information as it could, while Orlova tapped split-second corrections into the computer. She had to walk a fine line, keeping them out of the worst of the debris while luring the missile into it, keeping the acceleration down low to avoid disrupting the very shield they were hoping to use.

   “It's changing course,” Bradley said. “Moving around, as though it's trying to...” She paused, frowned, and said, “A signal! From Ausori! We just passed through a tight-beam.”

   Behind them, with a handful of seconds to go, the missile finally found a piece of debris it couldn't work around, dying in a brief flash of light that sent the field flying in all directions, a second rattle of impacts sounding from the rear of the shuttle. The engine abruptly died, red warning lights smothering the screen to alert them of serious damage, and Orlova shook her head.

   “I guess someone's going to have to get us.”

   “Someone already is,” she replied, pulling off her headset. “Bryce is on his way with Transfer Two. Don't worry, we'll fix it.”

   “That's not what I'm worrying about. Someone took manual control of that missile in the final seconds, trying to get it through the debris. And for that matter, the timing of that launch was pretty damn perfect.”

   Nodding, Bradley said, “And it had to have been concealed. If it had been floating in free space, we'd have picked it up on the first salvo.” Shaking her head, she replied, “Damn it, there have been shuttles moving back and forth for hours. Anyone could have dropped it off. Or set it off, for that matter. Someone decided to target one of our shuttles.”

   “Get someone to do a check of the flight paths, just to be sure.” Looking at the huge bulk transport hanging to the side, festooned with repair crews on the hull, she added, “There's no doubt any more, no question. There are traitors on Ausori, and ones with the technical skill to pull off an attack like this.”

   “I guess I'd better get over to Cooper as soon as I can.”

   Looking sharply at her, Orlova said, “When you get over there, don't trust anyone. Report any findings directly to me.”

   “Then what?”

   “Then we'll do what has to be done to get us home. All of us.” Shaking her head, she pushed herself out of her chair, and added, “Come on. Let's get a start on the damage report.”

  Chapter 6

   “Five names,” Cooper said, shaking his head. “I don't like this at all.”

   “I don't see why?” Morigna, his aide, asked. “The four senior officers of the ship and a computer technician from the Undercaste. As far as I am concerned, this investigation is over.”

   Bradley, sitting back on her chair, replied, “We've only been at it for three hours.”

   “Then I am happy to have completed our work so rapidly. Evidence of our efficiency.”

   “Just because this Oktu is Undercaste?” Cooper asked. “You're willing to assume he is a traitor that quickly?”

   “Think. We know that the unrest comes from those with a more limited understanding of the way in which the universe works, and those who are determined to overthrow our society...”

   “Lostok was a Guild Master,” Bradley said. “And he's sitting in a cell, waiting to be executed for treason, assuming someone doesn't get around to it before we get there.”

   Frowning, Morigna replied, “He had irrational fears about the future of our civilization, and had been imprisoned for a long time. You can't assume...”

   Shaking his head, Cooper said, “Neither can you. As far as I am concerned, we have five suspects, as distasteful as that sounds. And that assumes that these records are accurate, and no one else has managed to acquire the necessary skills.”

   “I'm willing to grant that possibility, but Oktu should be arrested and interrogated at once. I am aware that you have been placed in charge of the investigation, but I must warn you that if you fail to take this action, I will proceed myself.” Rising to her feet, the Neander added, “I presume you wish me to make the arrangements to confine him?”

   Cooper looked at Bradley, then said, “No. Find out where he is, but don't alert him yet. If there is some wider conspiracy, I'd rather not alert them to our discovery until we have to.”

   Nodding, Morigna said, “Agreed. I will return in a moment.”

   As the Neander walked out of the room, Cooper turned back to the list of names, running his eyes over the search filters again. Bradley rose, moving to stand behind him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

   “It's too easy,” she said. “You think Morigna is hiding something?”

   “Maybe. It's about as likely that she can't accept that someone from the mighty higher castes could be capable of something as base as treason. You heard what she said about Lostok.” Glancing at the door, he added, “Besides, if she was working for the other side, I have a feeling that she'd be doing a better job of concealing her thoughts.”

   “Unless it's all a double bluff.”

   He sighed, then said, “I need to read more detective novels.”

   Bradley paused, then said, “What are you going to do about Oktu?”

   “Irrational prejudices aside, I don't think we have a choice but to investigate him. Though I'll be damned if I condemn an innocent man, no matter what the reason.” Frowning, he said, “We'll take him back to Alamo.”

   “That isn't going to go down well.”

   “He tried to kill you.”

   “Even so.”

   The door slid open, and Morigna stepped in, holding a datapad, a scowl on her face. Cooper rose to his feet, moving to the door.

   “He's gone missing.”

   “Missing?”

   “According to the work schedule, he was meant to be working on overhauling the access terminals on the lower support decks, but according to his supervisor, he didn't report for duty this morning.”

   Closing his eyes, Cooper said with a sigh, “You contacted his supervisor?”

   “Of course. I wanted to make sure...”

   “That anyone involved in the conspiracy would be alerted that we were on to him, perhaps? We know that whoever is involved has the ability to hack into the ship's mainframe. They can be watching everything we do, potentially.”


   Morigna took a step back, and said, “I was only acting according to procedure.”

   Shaking her head, Bradley moved to the corridor, and said, “We'll try his quarters first. If that fails, we'll have to start a search.”

   “Habitation Level Two, Dormitory Nine,” Morigna replied. “This way.”

   The three of them jogged down the corridor towards the elevator, ducking past a group of technicians in the corridor, sullen expressions flashing onto their faces as they saw the Triplanetary uniforms. Cooper shook his head as they ducked through the doors, Morigna working the controls as she pulled her pistol from its holster.

   “Put that away,” Cooper said. “We're not a group of outlaws.”

   “We're hunting a dangerous criminal,” she protested.

   “We're questioning a suspect,” he replied. Gesturing at the doors, he said, “Why did those technicians act like we were the bad guys?”

   “There are stories circulating around the lower decks that you are planning to hijack the ship, force us to return to your Confederation rather than going home.”

   Shaking her head, Bradley replied, “We're risking our lives to give you a chance to make it back to the Collective in one piece!”

   “I am aware of that, but you have to understand that those of limited intelligence cannot perceive the situation as it truly is. They listen to the demagogues, allow their fears to be roused.”

   “Where are these leaks coming from? These ideas that we're some sort of evil power?”

   “That I could not say.”

   “I bet.”

   The doors slid open, and they ran out along the deserted corridor, Cooper almost tripping over a bundle of cables on the floor. Evidently this area was a low priority for maintenance, and the condition of the equipment would have led to the deck being condemned if it was on a Triplanetary ship, the technicians responsible court-martialed for incompetence.

   “What's that?” Bradley asked, pointing at scrawled graffiti on the wall.

   “Just an obscene comment,” Morigna replied. “Don't worry about it.”