After the tenth man was on the rope, the moonlet altered course, swinging around, sending the crewman crashing into the wall. Salazar reached out to the cable, almost falling down the shaft in the process, dragging it back towards him, while the crewmen climbing up hung on for grim death, eyes closed in fear.
“I don’t want to die,” he said. “I don’t want to die.”
“Then climb, damn it, kid. Climb for your life!”
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the young man nodded, resuming his interrupted ascent, and the rest of his comrades followed him, the last of them, a grizzled Chief Petty Officer, finally making his way onto the cable, leaving Salazar and Fox alone at the bottom, both of them looking up at the surface.
“After you, Sergeant,” he said.
Frowning, she asked, “Sir, would you be planning to do something unbelievably suicidal?”
“Not at all,” he lied. “Captain’s privilege. Last man up.”
Nodding, she said, “Fair enough, sir.” Taking the cable with her hand, she added, “It has been an honor to serve with you, Captain. I just thought I should say that.”
“Good luck, Sergeant,” he replied, watching her ascent. She didn’t look back. She knew he wasn’t going to follow her, and no words or actions were going to change his mind. He looked up at the surface, satisfied that the wayward Monitor crew were safe, then pulled out his communicator, tapping controls to lock onto the beacon below.
The moonlet shook once more, sending more rubble tumbling from the ceiling, a large piece crashing onto his shoulder. The AI was evidently pushing itself to the limit, and he finally understood why. Alamo was coming. And soon. The moonlet was moving into a position to intercept it. No other answer made any sense at all.
“Damn it,” he said, muttering to himself. “Damn it all.” With a deep sigh, he turned back to the tunnel, making his way back down towards Harper’s chamber. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Kris, and I hope you’re putting up a good fight. Unless Clarke and Mortimer can pull off a miracle, your silver tongue is all we’ve got.”
Chapter 25
Clarke looked down the shaft, his goggles doing little to reduce the intensity of the shapes beneath, the ever-shifting geometric patterns seeming to call for him, to summon him forth. Mortimer shook him, breaking the spell, and gestured down, where she saw one of the humanoids moving about his slumbering comrades, trying to free them from the cabling that enveloped them.
“You Hathor?” Clarke asked, and the winged man looked up. “Captain Salazar sent me. We’re here to try and wreck the core.”
“It won’t work,” Hathor replied. “Check your detonators. They won’t work.”
Mortimer looked in her pouch, then replied, “We can rig them chemically. Back-up system. The core might be able to disrupt computer systems, but I’d love to see it stop acid melting through metal.” Holding up her kit, she added, “I’ve got enough to make a hell of a mess of something.”
Shaking his head, Hathor said, “I came here to free my….”
There was a loud crack from underneath them, an earth-shattering noise that rent the air, and the three of them were thrown to the ground, Mortimer’s pack flung from her hands to fall amid the rocks below, a smashing noise announcing that, by accident, the mechanism had been triggered.
“Heads down!” she yelled, and a loud report echoed through the chamber, rocks tumbling all around, falling through the floor. Daylight flooded into the room, and they saw clouds through the floor, the ground still unstable, boulders falling from the ceiling. One of them smashed into a conduit, and sparks flew through the air.
“Hathor,” Clarke said, looking around for the humanoid, finding him buried under a pile of rocks. “Help me, Ronnie,” he said, scrambling over to him, pulling them out one at a time, struggling to free him from the trap. “I don’t think he’s hurt too bad.”
Mortimer moved cautiously around the crack, replying, “That hole’s getting wider. I must have found a fissure. John, if we stay too long, we’re going to fall, and it’s a hell of a long way down.” She looked up at the core, and added, “It’s stopped pulsing. It’s just possible we’ve done what we came for.”
“That crack won’t reach it,” he replied. Looking up, he cursed, and said, “Besides, this just turned into a one-way trip. Our passage caved in. It must have been ready to go after we detonated the bomb.”
“Then we go around the outside,” she said.
“Won’t work. Can’t you feel the gravity shift? We’re not at the heart of something any more. We must be under the local gravitational field, and it’s dragging us down, all the way. We try and head for the bottom of the moon, and we’ll fall.” The moonlet shuddered again, and the ground below flashed by, faster and faster. “Something’s very wrong here.”
“You think?” she replied, helping shift the rubble from Hathor. “Wake up, damn it! Wake up!” As the humanoid struggled, pushing away the last of the rocks, she asked, “Are you intact?”
“I think so,” he said. “I think so.”
“Next question. Can you fly?”
“Not with both of you,” he said, stretching his wings experimentally. “I don’t think I could even take one of you.”
“That’s not a problem either,” Clarke replied. “Do you think you can get through that gap and fly back to the shuttle, up topside? Tell them what happened?”
“I’ll do my best,” Hathor said. He looked around, his voice dejected, and added, “My people...”
“We’ll do what we can,” Clarke promised. “You go get help. Find the Captain. Or Lieutenant Lombardo. You got that?”
“I understand,” Hathor said. “Good luck.” The winged man jumped, sliding through the crack in the floor, his wings only beating when he was clear, sending him up and around the perimeter of the moonlet, while Mortimer looked at him in disbelief.
“What the hell were you thinking?” she asked.
“No point all three of us dying here, Ronnie,” he replied, softly. “And this way at least he’ll believe he did everything he could for his people. We were dead the moment that corridor closed.” Gesturing at the crack, he said, “That’s too small for us to work our way down without falling, and with the moonlet traveling at this speed, I don’t see how the ship could be maneuvered into position to allow us to get on board. Hell, it doesn’t even have a topside hatch.”
She nodded, smiled, and said, “We’ve still got a job to do, haven’t we.” She looked up a the core, and said, “You think we might be able to do something with a few rounds of ammunition?”
“Smart rounds,” he replied. “Which means that with a little quick reprogramming, we should be able to reconfigure them. If we set them for armor-piercing, position them properly, then I think there’s a chance we could turn them into improvised shaped charges. The yield won’t be much, but if we can get then where it counts, it might make a difference.”
“You’ll never give up, will you, Sub-Lieutenant,” Harper said, her voice echoing through the room. “Take away your shuttle, and you’ll walk. Take away your gun, and you’ll use your fists. But you won’t stop, not until you’ve completed your mission or died in the attempt.”
“It’s all I know, ma’am, and that’s the truth,” Clarke replied, looking around. “Are you inside the core, Lieutenant?”
“At a guess, permanently,” she said. “That’s not important right now. Don’t try and destroy the core. It shouldn’t be necessary, not any more. You’ve done everything you had to do and more, and I have no intention of demanding that you have to pay for that with your life. I think you deserve better than that, and the heart of the machine agrees with me. Besides, you can still fulfill your promise to Hathor.”
For a moment, the moonlet ceased to shudder, and Mortimer moved to Clarke’s side, looking around the room at the thousand slumbering humanoids, an army waiti
ng to be unleashed on the world beyond. As one, a thousand pairs of eyes snapped open, began to focus, and looked at Clarke, as the cables and conduits fell away to the floor, withered and crumpled, piles of worthless debris at the feet of each of the humanoids.
The nearest stepped forward, and said, “You are Clarke and Mortimer?”
Clarke nodded, and said, “Who are you?”
“Mukara.” He paused, then repeated, “Mukara,” rolling the syllables around on his tongue. “It is a good name. I like it.”
“You’ve never said it before?” Mortimer asked.
“I was born but a moment ago,” Mukara replied, a strange smile crossing his face. “As were we all, with the exception of Hathor and his band.” Looking around the nest, he said, “We cannot remain here any longer. The roof will fall, and we will die if we stay. We must leave, and immediately.” Stepping forward again, he said, “There is only room for one of us to pass at once. When two of us have descended, step after us. You need have no fear. We will catch you, and take you to your comrades. It is fitting that our first act as a race should be the salvation of one who was responsible for our liberation.”
“Your first act as a race?” Clarke asked. “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” Harper said. “Later. For now, you can trust that he will do as he says. Even though he is not under our control any more, I believe in him. I trust him. And so may you.”
Mukara took two steps back, falling with care through the crack, his wings beating as he fell, slowing his fall. Another of his comrades did the same, gesturing for Clarke and Mortimer to follow. The two of them looked at each other, neither readily willing to take the first step.
“We’re dead anyway,” Clarke said, and with a calmness he didn’t feel, he stepped forward, allowing himself to drop. He slipped through the rocks, and before he quite realized, was out in free space, falling towards the surface, hundreds of miles below. For a split second, he was resigned to death, but he felt secure arms wrapped around his waist, Mukara snatching him from the air. Above him, Mortimer had dropped, and another of the winged humanoids had caught her, bringing the two of them to face each other.
The rest of the humanoids were following, an endless stream of shining creatures dropping into the sunlight, each moving to take a part on an intricate formation, one which seemed to mirror one of the geometric shapes from before, now a half-forgotten memory. Clarke reached up to snatch the goggles free, the strap snapping and falling from his hand before he could tuck it into his pocket, destined to fall for hours until it reached the surface.
“Come,” Mukara said, and he led the column of his people around the perimeter of the moonlet. From here Clarke could see the damage the bomb had wrought, even at that range, the underside burned and pitted, jagged cracks ripped into the fabric of the stone. If they’d been exposed directly to the force of the explosion, instead of being protected by the million-tons of rock above them, they wouldn’t have stood a chance of survival.
Onward they soared, Clarke and Mortimer leading the way, around to the top of the moonlet, the silver shuttle waiting for them with Hathor standing beside Lombardo, a cluster of other people standing around. One turned, spotting the flight of humanoids heading towards them, and made for a weapon, snapping the last clip into the machine gun.
“No!” Clarke yelled. “Hold your fire, damn it! They’re on our side!”
“John?” Fox said, as the humanoid carefully placed him down on the surface, Mortimer positioned next to him. Behind them, thousands of humanoids gathered, an aerial armada moving into perfect formation all around, spilling out of every crack and tunnel in the moon to join their brethren. Gone were the soulless, dead faces they had worn before, replaced instead with joyous smiles in the sunlight.
Hathor rose from the surface, his wounds forgotten, and asked, “Am I dreaming?”
“No,” Mukara said. “Lieutenant Harper visited us, each of us, told us that we were free to be whatever we could be, and we were released by the core to join you. She told us to seek you out, that you would help guide us.”
The moon shuddered again, rocks tumbling down shafts, and Clarke said, “You can’t stay here. The whole structure’s falling apart. I think this place will cease to exist in a matter of moments.”
“Our moon lies but a few miles away,” Hathor said, gesturing at a trailing worldlet. “All of you are welcome to join us there. We’d be honored if you would.”
Shaking his head, Clarke said, “We’ve got our own ride out of here, Hathor, and I think your world is your own.” He paused, reached in his pocket for a datapad, and said, “You’ll find the coordinates of a base, about two thousand miles north-west of here. If my guess is right, it will teach you everything you need to know about your history, and allow you to reconnect with the rest of your people. They’re waiting for you there.”
Taking the datapad from him, Hathor said, “Some of our people survived?”
“Some of the dreamers who created you live, yes. Go find them. And good luck.”
“And to you, my friend!” Hathor replied, taking his place at the head of the formation as they raced away from the crumbling moon, flying to their new home, thousands of wings beating as one as they swept through the air, a shining arrow that sped to safety, leaving the others behind. Clarke looked after them for a long moment, soaking in every detail of the sight, the most impressive display he had ever seen, and one that he knew he would never see again.
“Report, Sub-Lieutenant,” Lombardo said. “What’s happening down there?”
“I don’t know, sir, but it’s going to happen soon. Harper’s managed to interface with the AI. That much I do know.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Mortimer said.
“Not without the Captain,” Lombardo replied. “We wait.”
“For how long?” she asked.
“Until all hope is gone, or we have no choice.” Looking around, he added, “Though there’s no point sitting around, either. Everyone into the ship. Launch stations. Clarke, take the helm.”
“Is that a good idea?” Mortimer asked.
“He got us this far, didn’t he?” Lombardo replied.
“That’s what I mean.”
Chapter 26
Orlova sat at the helm, working to trim Alamo’s course, guiding it smoothly towards the waiting Sphere up ahead. Another collision alarm flashed onto her panel, and she dismissed it with the quick tap of a control, another warning telling her nothing she didn’t already know. Alamo was on an insane course, diving potentially to its destruction, and one malfunctioning thruster would almost certainly finish the job.
“Ninety seconds to entrance,” Scott said. “Enemy ships will be in firing range in sixty-nine. I’ve prepared a missile salvo, ma’am, but I think we’re going to have to accept the likelihood of impacts on the hull. I’d recommend we hold the ballute until the last possible second. Any damage to the heat shield, and we’re dead.”
“Agreed,” Orlova replied, tapping a control. “Chief, how long to inflate the ballute at full emergency?”
“Five seconds.”
“Then wait until we’re actually in the tunnel before triggering it. Don’t wait for the order, just hit that control and let the magic happen. Understood?”
“Understood, Captain. And watch your course. If you scratch the paintwork I’ll be sending you the bill. Engineering out.”
“Spot on, skipper,” Bowman said, looking at the course plot. “Right down the center-line. Perfect trajectory.” He looked across at the sensor display, and added, “The enemy ships are really pulling it close. Target Beta only misses us by three miles on its current heading.”
“They know exactly where we’re going, Spaceman,” Francis said, “and they know that we can’t afford to alter course in the slightest. That gives them all the cards in the attack.” Turning to the engineering statio
n, he added, “All damage control teams are in position and I’ve ordered the air evacuated from all non-essential areas in the outer hull. The last thing we need is a hull breach releasing atmosphere and throwing us off course.”
“Good thinking,” Orlova said. “Scott, I’m triggering a quarter-second thruster burst when you fire the missiles, to mitigate the kick from the launch systems.” Looking quickly around the bridge, she added, “Hold it together, everyone. One more run, and we’re on our way home. Focus on that.” She looked down at the helm, her hands moving into position, and flashed a smile. This felt right, as though she was meant to be here at this time. She could almost sense Captain Marshall sitting in the command chair behind her, looking over her shoulder.
“Fifteen seconds to firing range,” Scott said. “I won’t have time for a second salvo. I’ve set the point defense guns to fire all at once. It’ll reduce our accuracy, but cut the recoil down to almost nothing.” Looking up at a monitor, she added, “We’re going to have eight missiles to our six, Captain. In about ten seconds.”
Orlova held off, resisting the temptation to alter course, to put the ship into the usual evasive pattern. It would be so easy for her to make that change, but she’d never get Alamo back onto the correct trajectory again, not after all the work they’d done to lock onto it. They had to ride out the attack, no matter what, and trust that the ship was still in good enough condition to live through the impacts. She risked a quick glance at Fitzroy, manning the flight engineering console, and his grim face told her everything she needed to know.
“Two seconds. One. Launch,” Scott said. “Counter-strike is in the air.”
Alamo rocked once, then twice, the thrusters firing on automatic to push them back onto trajectory again, and Orlova checked her heading, firing the yaw thruster for a tenth of a second to nudge them to safety. They had to get their positioning perfect, or they’d come to a sad end at the bottom, dashed into the cold metal of the Sphere before they could do anything about it.
Battlecruiser Alamo_Cries in the Dark Page 18
