Battlecruiser Alamo: The First Duty

by Richard Tongue

   Behind Orlova was the only sign of current occupation, a thin column of smoke from their fire slowly meandering into the sky, the faint crackle the only noise she could hear other than her out heartbeat. Perhaps a thin, occasional gust of wind to make some of the dust briefly dance.

   “It’s amazing, isn’t it,” Mulenga, Alamo’s astrogator, said.

   Orlova looked back sharply, then shook her head, “I didn’t see you there.”

   “Sorry if I surprised you.”

   “That’s fine, I was a few million miles away, I think. It is an astonishing sight. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

   Looking up into the night, he replied, “I never grow tired of looking at the stars. I didn’t see them until I was old enough to go into space; the clouds of Titan are far too thick for that. I longed for them, poured over books and images to get an idea what to expect, but when I first saw them for real, all my preparation paled into insignificance compared to the real thing.”

   “I grew up in space,” she replied. “Before the war we were always flying around from one place to another, never staying anywhere for more than a few months. I don’t get tired of them either, but seeing them from a planet is different, somehow.”

   “This is the view our distant ancestors had, Maggie. When they walked tall on Earth, thousands of years ago, they looked up at this and could see the wonders of the universe opening up for them, a field of dreams in the sky. At times I can envy them.”

   “We get to fly among them, though. Isn’t that better?”

   “Ah, the imagination can provide a far richer universe than reality could ever provide. One of the reasons it took almost a century to go from the first satellites to the settlement of Mars, was disappointment. There were no Martians, no strange aliens to meet, no exotic landscapes on which to walk.” He laughed, then said, “Now Mars is turning into comfortable suburbia, and we are forced to indulge our desires for exploration on a far larger canvas than those colonists could ever have imagined.”

   “You sound disappointed.”

   “Imagine what a time it would have been to live in. Daring through space in those old ships, never sure you would make it, always knowing that you would be seeing something new. I wanted to have been on one of those first UN ships, the first starships, reaching out to the void and not knowing what they would find.”

   “Only two out of five made it home.”

   “That is the price you pay, the risk you run.”

   Looking up, Orlova said, “It’s all still out there. Hopefully we’ll get a chance to do some real exploring of our own, not probing into space that has already been settled, but to see something truly new.”

   “I hope so. At least we have the Shrouded Stars to look forward to.”

   “Maggie!” Carpenter’s voice called, as the paleontologist came running over to her, panting for breath. “I’ve found it! A way through!”

   “Calm down,” Mulenga said. “What have you found?”

   “The deep vault our imaging sensors turned up? There’s way into the access tunnel, a natural fissure. We can get in easily, just a small charge.”

   “Explosives? In an archaeological site?” Mulenga said, frowning. “I have little experience, but that seems rather destructive. Would it not be better to proceed with more caution?”

   “I’ve looked at the shaft a dozen times, and all we have to do is knock out a few rocks. Just to get access, we won’t touch the site itself.”

   Nodding, he replied, “We can enter in the morning.”

   Orlova looked across at him with a smile, and said, “I have a feeling that if we do that, our Science Officer won’t sleep a wink. Between you and I, neither would I.”

   “We’ve got everything we need right here,” Carpenter said.

   With a smile, Mulenga nodded, and said, “You two go and have your fun. Ferguson and I will stay up here on the surface; we can go down in the morning at a more civilized hour. I don’t think the artifacts you will find are going anywhere.”

   Carpenter headed off towards the camp while Orlova lingered behind with Mulenga, following at a steadier pace.

   “Eager, isn’t she,” she said.

   “This is her life’s work, and she never expected to be able to practice her profession in person. Now she will have the opportunity, presumably at sites all across this part of the galaxy. She spent weeks with the Neander while you were gone, interviewing and researching. They seemed as interested to learn about us as she was about them.”

   “I’m not surprised. They’ve joined the interstellar community.”

   “Whether they like it or not,” he said, frowning. “I am less certain that we are doing a good thing here.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “These people have lived an idyllic life here on this world, away from the cares of the galaxy, preserving their own culture and society. Now we will be militarizing this world as a forward base for operations against the Cabal, and they find themselves stuck in a war zone.”

   “That’s a little pessimistic, isn’t it?”

   “They haven’t chosen to become a part of our fight. We never gave them a choice.”

   “There wasn’t a choice. This system has a strategic position. Today. In a hundred years from now, it could be anything from a major world to an isolated backwater. I don’t know what the future will hold, but I do know this.” She waved her hand around, and continued, “This world is dying. Without outside intervention, all they have to long forward to is a slow, lingering death as their biosphere crumbles around them. We could prevent that. Isn’t that worth the risk?”

   “Everything dies, Maggie. In its proper time and place, as it should be. We’re risking hastening that process. This world is on a knife-edge, and it wouldn’t take much to shatter what remains.”

   Carpenter ran over, a backpack swinging in her hands, and said, “I’ve got the gear.”

   “Coming, Susan,” Orlova said, looking over to Mulenga. “I don’t think I can agree with you.”

   “You’re still young.” He took a deep breath, and said, “I think I’m going to call Alamo and get to bed. Let me know if you need anything.”

   As he walked away, Carpenter asked, “What was that about?”

   “The future,” Orlova replied.

   “Right now I’m more interested in the past. Do you realize how significant this discovery could be? We’ve learned so much, but all it’s given us so far is a lot more questions. I’d like to see if we could answer some of them.”

   “You called it a vault,” Orlova said. “How old?”

   “Old enough to date back to the original settlers of this world,” she said, shaking her head. “Maybe ten thousand years, more. As old as the oldest civilizations on Earth, and back then people were flying among the stars.”

   The rocky outcrop Carpenter had found loomed over them, and Orlova could see a thin crack, far too small to enter, in which the scientist started to carefully place explosives. She looked back at Orlova.

   “Must have been an earthquake at some point. The fissure opens up after only a few feet, then it’s big enough to walk down.”

   “That suggests it was artificial.”

   “Probably. They had to get down there somehow. Give me a hand.”

   Gingerly molding some of the explosives into position, she replied, “I wonder if someone will be doing this on Mars in ten thousand years from now, or on Earth.”

   “Interesting thought.”

   “We blindly assume that our civilization will continue to progress, always continue to advance, but I’m sure they thought the same when they first settled here all those years ago. Now their descendants are scattered, scraping a living from the dirt.”

   Carpenter paused, and turned to her, “You’re in an odd mood tonight.”

   “Mulenga got me thinking a little. I guess it’s an occ
upational hazard.”

   “I think that’s the last one. We’d better stand back.”

   The two of them slowly walked to a safe distance, kneeling down behind a cluster of squat trees, and Carpenter pulled the detonator out of her pocket. With a single tap, they exploded in one titanic thunderclap, and a cloud of debris shot into the sky, rubble raining down all around them. Orlova looked at her, an eyebrow raised.

   “Think we might have overdone things a little?”

   “No, we had to get down deep enough. Look!” she said, pointing at the slowly dispersing cloud. Much of the outcrop had collapsed, but there was a shaft leading down, heading underground. Carpenter turned with a triumphant stare, then rose, walking towards it with purposeful strides.

   “Wait for me,” Orlova said, rushing after her. She looked down at her holster, making sure that her pistol was in position and ready; something in the back of her mind was warning her of trouble ahead. Carpenter seemed not to have noticed, though; she pulled a pair of torches out of her pack and tossed one to Orlova, turning the other on and pointing them ahead. Then she paused, looking down.

   “I didn’t expect this.”

   “What?” Orlova replied, moving to her sides. Instead of a long tunnel down, they had uncovered a series of worn steps, heading down into darkness, and the remnants of a metal handhold ran down the side.

   “This wasn’t a vault, it was a shelter. There was a war here, remember,” Orlova said. “Perhaps this will be even more interesting than you were expecting.”

   “Thousands of years since anyone has used these,” Carpenter said as she took the first uncertain step, then continued to walk. “Let’s see what’s down there.”

   After a few dozen paces, the shaft abruptly turned to the left, and soon what little light from the surface was gone, the gloom illuminated only by their torches, shafts of illumination cutting into the darkness. Orlova shone her torch up around the room, and confirmed her suspicions. This tunnel was far too smooth to have been hacked out with picks or stone tools – it had been machine built, and built to last, at that.

   “Maggie, shine your torch down to the right,” Carpenter said. “I think that’s writing!”

   Peering at the shadows, Orlova could just make out a series of carved lines and crosses on the wall, circles and dots scattered seemingly at random around them. Carpenter looked closer at them, holding her torch high to get a closer look, while Orlova pulled out her datapad.

   “I’ll get some pictures,” she said. “Anything you recognize?”

   “No,” she replied. “I’d like to get one of the Neander down here, see if this matches any of their old languages. They’re post-literate, but I’d bet that some of them have samples of writing hidden away somewhere.”

   Orlova pressed a pair of buttons on her datapad, and jumped as it read out, “Wolf. Sky. Arrow.”

   “What was that?” Carpenter said.

   “Translator kicking in,” Orlova said in disbelief. “It’s reading it!”

   “That’s impossible.”

   “Not if it is a language somewhere in the databank.” She tapped the screen again. “Proto-Indo-European, with an estimated accuracy of twenty-one percent.” Frowning, she continued, “That isn’t very good.”

   “That’s a bit out of my field,” Carpenter said, “but that language isn’t as old as the Neander departure from Earth. Not back that far. Unless it goes back further than we thought. This is amazing!”

   “Have we got it all?” Orlova asked, flashing her torch around the bare walls.

   “I think so. We can set up some proper lighting later on, anyway, get a better look at it.”

   “Could you read it?”

   “With a big enough sample, the computers on Alamo might be able to take a decent crack at it. We might need some special software, though, and I’d hate to have to ask the UN for help.” She looked down, shaking her head, and said, “Well, that’s the final proof.” Kneeling to the ground, she picked up a long pick, glistening slightly in the light.

   “What is it?”

   “I think you’ll find that it was used to write on those walls. That’s a diamond-coated pick, and I’d bet you’ll find it was created artificially.” She smiled, then said, “This is nothing like the books I read. All the digs I studied were of primitive sites. We need an industrial archaeologist or two. We must make sure that a scientific team comes out here with the reinforcements.”

   “I’m not sure I like that,” Orlova said. “These people aren’t exhibits.”

   “They can teach us so much,” Carpenter pressed. “They have legends dating back fifty thousand years. We’ve got to get them recorded and preserved.”

   “Let’s get going,” Orlova replied, taking the lead down the steps. Somehow, she was beginning to feel that she was intruding here, venturing into a sacred place. The last time anyone had been here, the first cities had been abuilding on Earth, civilizations rising and falling through time. It was an odd feeling, to say the least.

   “Here we are,” Carpenter said, flashing up her torch. A pair of twisted metal doors hung in the threshold, obviously having been destroyed, and there were burn marks everywhere. It was obvious that a pitched battle had been fought for this spot, and equally as obvious that the defenders had lost their fight.

   Stepping through the door, Carpenter looked around, making her way immediately for the far side of the room. Orlova followed her, flashing her torch around; there were scattered piles of debris everywhere, piles of rubble and shattered glass, even after millennia. She coughed a couple of times, the air smelling worse than usual, and then heard a tapping sound from behind them.

   Turning, she saw a small canister rolling down the stairs, and as she watched, a thick green gas started to leak from it, sending her choking. Immediately, she looked around for cover, kneeling down on the ground, and found a dense pile of rubble.

   “Get over here, Susan! Right now!”

   “What’s going on?” she said, choking as she stumbled over to her.

   “Don’t know. Get under cover.”

   The two of them dived under the rubble, and Orlova swung her torch into the wall, sending more dirt and dust showering onto them. It started getting harder to breathe, and the green gas was filling the room. Carpenter was out cold, her breathing getting shallow, and she was fighting unconsciousness, her eyes flickering shut, until finally they closed, the rubble swallowing her up. With her last act, she turned out the torches, and all was darkness.

   Her mind played tricks on her as she slept, and she could see people moving around the room, as though she was with them for their last battle, bestial forms chasing out of the night as she fought for her life, surrounded by old friends – Esposito, Carpenter, Cunningham, Caine, Zabek, some dead, some just distant. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she woke up.

   The room was just as before, but the gas had dissipated. Carpenter was snoring, a deceptively normal sound in the situation; tapping her datapad, she saw that nine hours had elapsed since she had fallen unconscious. Pushing the rubble away, she climbed to her feet, pulling her pistol from her holster. Carpenter started to groan, and Orlova shook her until her eyes opened.

   “What the hell happened?”

   “We were attacked. A gas grenade.” She glanced around, but it was gone. “Don’t ask me who did it, but we’ve been out for hours.”

   “Hey, it’s gone!” Carpenter said, looking over to the far side of the room.

   “What?”

   “There was a body, a skeleton, over in the corner. I was just taking some photographs when you called me. It isn’t there.”

   “Are you sure?”

   “Look,” she said, flashing her torch around. “There’s an outline where it was in the dust.”

   “And footprints on the ground,” Orlova said, looking at the floor. “We were lucky.”

   �
��What about the others, on the surface?” she replied. “Shouldn’t they have come looking for us by now?”

   “They must have been attacked as well. No other way down here.” She flashed her torch up the stairs, half-expecting them to have been blocked, but they seemed clear. “We’d better get out of here.”

   Anxiously, they climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time in their haste to return to the surface. Daylight shone down the shaft as they ascended, the sun high in the sky as they walked out into the desert floor, sprinting over to their camp. Orlova looked around, and the footprints head off towards the horizon, something to chase up later.

   “Good God!” Carpenter said, first to arrive at the camp. The bodies of Mulenga and Ferguson lay in the dust, blood dried around the bullet holes in their corpses. A thin layer of sand coated them from the morning dust devils, as though the planet was already starting to lay them to rest. Orlova closed her eyes, counted to ten, then pulled her communicator from her belt.

   “Orlova to Alamo. Request immediate Espatier force and forensic team.”

   “Alamo here!” Steele said. “We’ve been trying to get you for hours. There’s a shuttle on the way now. What happened?”

   “Mulenga and Ferguson have been murdered.”

  Chapter Eight

   Marshall was just about to turn the page when all the lights went out. He dropped his datapad down on the bed, and cautiously walked over to the window, giving his eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness. Outside, the searchlights had all gone dead, and he could see a pair of guards running around, one of them carrying a toolkit. Some sort of malfunction, and hopefully a serious one. He took an experimental breath, but that meant nothing. If the life support system had failed it would be hours before the air went bad.

   Not that he had any intention of staying here that long. No matter what the Commandant had told him, he knew full well that he was under surveillance at all times, hidden cameras and microphones tracking his every move. Which was exactly what he would have done in their place, it wasn’t anything he was arguing with. Still, he had an opportunity that he had to exploit.