Battlecruiser Alamo: Forbidden Seas

by Richard Tongue

   “Sir, most of them have thousands more hours logged than I...”

   “I gave you an order, Cadet. If you don't understand it...”

   “No, sir,” Maqua replied. “I'll do my best.”

   Clapping him on the shoulder, Salazar said, “That's all I ask.”

   Nodding, he said, “I'd better go back and see if anyone else needs a hand, and go over my notes again to amend for transit and maintenance.”

   “Do that.” As the Neander stepped back into the lecture room, Salazar looked after him, shaking his head. He heard footsteps coming down the corridor towards him, and turned to see Lostok, Molpa and another figure he didn't recognize heading his way. He shook his head for a moment, realizing that speaking and working with Neander was becoming a matter of routine. A race thought extinct, and he was teaching a class of them how to fly.

   “How are things going, Sub-Lieutenant?” Lostok asked.

   Turning to the door, he said, “Probably about as well as can be expected for a group of people who haven't seen the inside of a cockpit for years. I've had a look at a few of the craft, and almost all of them seem to be configured for your people.”

   Nodding, the stranger said, “Most of them were stolen from us in the first place, or were copies of our designs. There were a few we didn't recognize, but I gather those were of Triplanetary origin.”

   “Oh, I don't think you've met Ghewon,” Lostok said. “Section Leader of the Navigation Department, and responsible for ship functions. He'll be assuming command of the transport when it arrives in orbit.”

   “A pleasure,” Salazar said, extending his hand. “Always good to meet another ship driver.”

   “Ship driver?”

   “Slang for helmsman, sir.”

   “I thought you were a shuttle pilot?”

   Nodding, he replied, “I've flown most of the craft our Fleet has to offer at one time or another. Before I became Security Officer, I was one of Alamo's primary helmsman. These days, I spend most of my time on liaison work of one sort or another, and it's just more convenient for me to fly myself.” With a smile, he added, “Besides, I've yet to meet a pilot who won't take any excuse to sit in a cockpit.”

   With a smile, Ghewon said, “I think our peoples have more in common that I thought.”

   “Anyway, to answer your question, the shuttles at the end of the field are ours, including one that our Intelligence teams are going to be very interested in. The thirty-seater, specifically.”

   “Why?” Lostok asked.

   “We never built it. Not beyond a structural prototype, anyway. The model ended up at the Academy as a ground-test simulator, but they rejected the design.”

   “It is safe, isn't it?” Ghewon asked, a frown spreading across his face.

   “Oh, that wasn't the problem. Cost, as I recall. Turned out to be cheaper to build two smaller shuttles, and that gave more flexibility. I had to do some serious digging around in Alamo's database to find the technical specifications. Fortunately, our Systems Officer is a bit of a hoarder of information.”

   “I'm pleased to hear it,” Lostok replied. “Then you don't think there will be any problem?”

   Shaking his head, Salazar said, “I didn't say that, exactly. As far as I can work out, it's going to take three trips to get everyone up to the transport, even if we fill every shuttle to capacity. Two or three more flights to load the supplies they're going to need. Ordinarily, that wouldn't be a problem, but we're going to struggle with servicing and maintenance.” Rubbing his chin, the stubble just enough to be annoying, he added, “Add to which we're using pilots that haven't flown in years.”

   “If you don't think you can train them sufficiently...” Ghewon began.

   A smile on his face, Salazar said, “Feel free to take over, if you want. I've got less than ten hours left to train a hundred and seven pilots...”

   “A hundred and seven?” Lostok asked.

   “...and we've only got enough simulator capacity for each of them to take two test trips. They're going to be dependent on the automatic systems, and either myself or one of the other flight controllers talking them through any problems, and with dozens of ships in the air at once, I'm afraid there are grave risks of an accident. Ordinarily, I'd want to spend a couple of weeks making the transfer.” Turning to the lecture room, he said, “First one into the simulator. I'll be along in a minute. Start on Program Five.”

   “We don't have a choice,” Ghewon said. “We've got to move as quickly as they can, and be ready to move as soon as the transport has completed its jump preparations.”

   Holding up his hands, Salazar replied, “We'll find a way to make it work. I'm just warning you that this might not go smoothly, and that we need to try and keep the number of flights to the absolute minimum.”

   Nodding, Lostok turned to Molpa, and said, “Go back over the inventory list again, and try and reduce the requirements.”

   With a sigh, the engineer said, “I'll do my best, sir, but I've already trimmed it five times. I'm afraid there isn't that much left to cut. Nevertheless, I'll see what I can do.”

   “One more question, Sub-Lieutenant,” Lostok said. “You said one hundred and seven. We only have one hundred and six qualified personnel. I ran the checks myself.”

   Shrugging, Salazar said, “Everyone seems to know what they are doing, sir. Maybe there was an error in the listings.” With a smile, he added, “We're all rushing around so much, things are bound to slip through the cracks. Besides, we've already got more shuttles than pilots. I won't begrudge an extra one.”

   “True. May I watch the first simulator run? I'm interested in the progress of the class.”

   “Of course,” he replied, extending his arm. “Be my guest.”

   Lostok stepped in, looking at the monitor screen, an image of the shuttle rising from the surface on display. Salazar glanced across at the telemetry, nodding at the textbook takeoff, the thrusters kicking the vessel onto the calculated trajectory, rising through the clouds on a smooth curve through the atmosphere. All around, the other Neander were watching with a mixture of resentment and admiration as the skillful pilot soared into a perfect orbit, one of them moving over and talking to Lostok, whose face darkened.

   “End this. Now,” Lostok said.

   Glancing up at the monitor, Salazar said, “Forty seconds to docking.”

   “I said, end this.” Turning to Ghewon, he said, “If he won't do it...”

   “No one is doing it,” Salazar replied. “This is Triplanetary hardware, remember.” He gestured up at the transport, the shuttle approaching the huge hulk as the pilot spun on his thrusters, decelerating perfectly in time to lock onto the selected docking port, a series of green lights running down the screen. “Ladies and gentlemen, that is what you call a perfect flight. Next cadet stand by.”

   Maqua climbed out of the cockpit to a series of glares and walked over to Salazar, asking, “How was that?”

   “Textbook, kid. I'd fly with you any time.”

   “Then I must question your good sense,” Lostok said, looking at Maqua. “You are not qualified to fly a shuttle. Your place is in the maintenance section, and I suggest you head over to the loading docks to make yourself useful, rather than intruding in the roles of your betters.”

   “Wait a damn minute,” Salazar said, stepping between the two of them. “I don't know or care about your cultural idiosyncrasies, but that boy is the best shuttle pilot you've got down here. Not only is he a born flier, but he's been spending the time stuck down here studying.” Looking back at Maqua, he asked, “Right?”

   Nodding, the young pilot replied, “I had my flight textbook, and I read it every day.”

   “You should have turned that in,” Lostok said. “Besides, learning by rote...”

   “I agree,” Salazar said. “Application is what counts.”

   Frowning, Molpa said, “I
must point out that we desperately need all of the shuttle pilots we can get if we are to get our people to safety in time.”

   “If we give up who we are...”

   His eyes widening, Salazar shouted, “Perhaps I haven't made myself perfectly clear, Lostok. I put that kid up first as an example to the others. If he had been born on a Triplanetary world, I'd be strongly urging him to consider applying to the Academy. Yes, he's that good, and the fact that he's pushed on despite all of this crap tells me something about him that I like. You requested an instructor from Alamo because none of your people have so much as seen the inside of a cockpit for years, and as far as I'm concerned, that means that I make the call on who flies and who doesn't.”

   “I don't think you understand who you are dealing with.”

   Snatching a datapad from a surprised student, Salazar dropped it to the floor, the screen smashing with a crash as it hit the plasticrete.

   “I know precisely what I'm dealing with. The immutable laws of the universe. Gravity doesn't care where you were born, and celestial mechanics works on anyone, no matter who their fathers were. Unless, of course, you know different.” His eyes boring into Lostok, he asked, “Do you?”

   “Rest assured that I will be speaking to your commanding officer about your conduct, Sub-Lieutenant. You can expect a severe reprimand.” Turning to Maqua, he added, “This is no precedent. The softskins might not care that you are Undercaste, but I do. Once we get back home, I will see that you never step onto a ship again. I hope all of this is worth it. Come, Molpa.”

   Lostok and Molpa walked out of the room, leaving Ghewon standing at the door, frowning as he looked at the assembled class, shock on their faces. Salazar turned to all of them, rage still on his face.

   “What the hell are you waiting for? We're on a tight schedule, people. Next one into the simulator, now!”

   One of the Neander moved into the cockpit, Maqua looking at the simulator readout as the pilot began his flight, far less smooth than the first time, stuttering on his thrusters as he clumsily made altitude.

   “Will you get in trouble?” he asked.

   “If I hadn't stood up for what I believed in, I'd have earned the reprimand,” Salazar replied. “Don't worry about me. I'm more concerned about you. Are you going to face any repercussions from this?”

   Nodding, he said, “Lostok will make good on his threat, and I'll probably find myself working in waste reclamation for the rest of the trip home.” With a deep sigh, he said, “Perhaps if I was to go after him, apologize...”

   “Don't,” Salazar said. “He's wrong.”

   “He's Highborn!”

   “I don't care if his mother was God-Empress of the Pink Panther People. Just because he's in a position of authority doesn't make him right. He's not a pilot, or a training officer. I'm both. You don't listen to him, you listen to me. Understand?”

   “Yes, sir,” he said.

   “I'll be watching you during your second simulator run, and I might throw in a few little surprises for you along the way. If you handle them as I expect you would, then I'll personally make sure that you're flying one of those shuttles. And if Lostok or anyone else gives you any trouble, refer them to me.”

   He paused, then said, “Did you mean what you said? About the Academy?”

   “Sure,” he replied. “If we were back on Mars, I'd be making you an appointment with the admissions office.” Gesturing at the crowd, he said, “You'd better go and see what the others are doing. Learn from their mistakes. I have a feeling I'm going to be hearing some harsh words from my commanding officer in a minute. But that's my problem, not yours. On your way.”

   As Maqua moved back to the crowd, the others parting as though they didn't want to stand near him, Ghewon walked over to Salazar, standing next to him, watching the pilot at work.

   “One of our older fliers,” he said. “Not so good.”

   “Bare minimum,” Salazar replied. “Tonight I'm going to go over all of these and give them some notes for improvement. There's enough time to run maybe another thirty of them through the simulators for a third try.”

   Nodding, Ghewon said, “Why did you stand up for Maqua like that? What is he to you?”

   “A pilot who deserves a chance to see how far he can fly. I can sympathize with that.”

   “Then in the Confederation, all appointments are meritocratic?”

   With a smile, Salazar said, “I wouldn't say we've got a perfect system, but you certainly won't get into the Academy without damn good test grades, no matter how important your father is. Not that there weren't a few military brats running around with chips on their shoulder...”

   “What?”

   Frowning, he said, “Arrogant because of their background. Still, you at least knew that they had some raw talent to back it up. That makes a difference.”

   “I suppose it would,” Ghewon said. “If it matters, I agree with you on Maqua's skills. I wish that the others in this room had gone to such lengths to hone their abilities, though I fear that he will never get a chance to exploit them to the full.” With a sigh, Ghewon added, “We are no saints, Sub-Lieutenant. Please do not judge us too harshly.”

   “It isn't my place to judge you at all.”

   “Then why did you intervene?” he replied with a smile, as the simulator pilot narrowly averted a disaster on docking. “I think that one has earned himself an additional flight, Highborn or no. Before we were captured, she was Lostok's personal pilot?”

   “I'm guessing he didn't do much traveling.” Raising his voice, he said, “Aussketi, that was ludicrous. We're hoping to use these shuttles more than once, and ideally without scaring the passengers to death. Go over Maqua's flight and compare the two. I expect your performance to be a lot better the next time around.”

   Bursting out of the cockpit, she said, “I will not be judged by the standards of the Undercaste. Not unless I was engaged in a competition to shovel fecal material.” A babble of laughter rippled across the crowd.

   “Well, from where I'm standing, that's probably something you're more suited to,” Salazar said, Aussketi's face a mask of horror amid gasps from the other students. “You might have been the hottest thing in space five years ago, but today you're downright dangerous. Two choices, rookie. Either do as I order, or get out of here. Maybe if you whine to someone loud enough they'll override me.”

   She looked at him, fuming, then snatched up a datapad, skimming over the data. Peering at the display, Salazar could see the records of Maqua's flight brought up, and he smiled.

   “Third pilot, you're up. Let's see if you can do better than that. Here's a hint. The goal of the exercise is to dock into a ship, not crash into it.” Behind him, Ghewon chuckled as he left the room, the door closing behind him.

   “Hurry up, pilot!” Salazar shouted. “I don't have all day, even if you do. Move!”

  Chapter 11

   The airlock door slid open, and Harper watched anxiously as Sub-Lieutenant Scott, nominally the Captain's assistant, drifted onto Daedalus, clutching a pair of holdalls and a datapad, a beaming smile on her face. She tossed one of the holdalls to the hacker, who quickly recognized it as a hastily assembled collection of her more accessible belongings, then passed the datapad over to her.

   “You've come to take command, then,” Harper said, with a sigh of relief. “The next time I see the Captain...”

   “Nope,” she said. “I'm your guidance systems officer, and second-in-command. Captain Orlova was extremely clear on the subject.” Indicating the datapad, she continued, “Those are your orders. Everything's nice and official. I think she's actually enjoying this.”

   “She might be, but I'm not,” Harper said. “What the hell does she think she's doing?”

   “I don't know, but that's way above my pay grade.” With a shrug that sent her bobbing up and down, she added, “Why worry? This way you'll get a command c
itation on your next combat star. Not that many of those around.”

   “Combat?”

   “You'd better read your orders,” she replied. “Her assessment of the tactical situation, and...”

   “Alert, alert,” the loudspeaker sounded, a nervous Spaceman Arkhipov at the other end. “Battle stations. Battle stations. This is no drill. Captain to the bridge.”

   “Already?” Scott said. “We weren't expecting them...”

   “Tell them that!” Harper said. “Scott, I don't care what your orders were..”

   As sirens began to drone, Scott pushed the hacker down the corridor towards the bridge, saying, “Read the datapad. It's all on there. If everything goes well, we won't have to do a thing. And if everything doesn't go well, it isn't going to matter where you were when the missile hit.”

   “Great. Just great.”

   Drifting through the doors, Harper swung into the command chair as Scott took the helm. Arkhipov turned with a relieved smile on his face as she entered the bridge. Perry drifted in after her, his granddaughter hovering at the entrance, looking inside, while the old veteran ran his hands across the tactical controls.

   “Not much I can do here,” he said, “but I wouldn't feel right to miss a battle.”

   “What's going on?” Harper asked, turning to Arkhipov. “Tactical view.”

   “Aye, ma'am,” he replied, tapping a control to bring up an image of the battlespace. Alamo was moving at high speed, taking position behind the planet, while a pair of objects marked 'unidentified' closed on Cyndar, heading for a low orbit. One of them was the largest starship Harper had ever seen, five, six times larger than Alamo, far bigger even than the titanic battleships the Fleet had recently brought into service.

   “Where are they going?” Harper asked. “Shouldn't they be closing for battle?”

   With a sigh, Scott replied, “The Captain wanted to draw them in as close as she could, lure them into orbit to reduce the odds of them getting away. Our orders are to remain on station, and look as if nothing has happened. They're expecting to see this ship in orbit, after all. Once the enemy vessel gets close, Alamo can swing around and get them.”