Battlecruiser Alamo: Forbidden Seas

by Richard Tongue

   “Just Alamo, not the Fleet?”

   Shaking her head, she said, “I never really understood what my father was doing before I started to do it myself.” Hearing noises from the corridor, she added, “Your son served, your grand-daughter is serving. Whatever it was you felt back then, they've felt it too. The wanderlust is hard to beat. Trust me, I know.” She kicked off towards the corridor, and said, “I should leave the two of you to work. And talk.”

   Nodding, he replied, “Thanks, Captain.”

   “I told you not to call me that.”

   “Then I guess you'd better stop acting like one. You never know when you might get used to it.”

   Before she could reply, her communicator bleeped, and she fished it out of her pocket, replying, “Go ahead.”

   “Incoming priority shuttle,” Armstrong said, calling down from the bridge. “Priority treatment.”

   “Send them to Alamo,” she replied.

   “We're nearer, and they need to get the patient into a medical facility on the double. Doctor Duquesne's already on the way, and Garland's standing by at our sickbay.”

   “Damned if I know what you need me for, Spaceman,” she replied.

   She paused, then said, “I'm sorry, ma'am, if I've...”

   “Relax,” she replied. “I'm on my way to the docking port. Bring us to standby alert.”

   “Alert?”

   “If something's going on down on the planet, I have a horrible feeling we're going to get the repercussions up here as well. Get Scott up to the bridge to take charge.”

   “Aye, ma'am,” he replied. A second later, the technician's voice reverberated around the corridors, saying, “All hands to standby stations. I repeat, all hands to standby stations. Clear for action.”

   She swam down the corridor towards the docking bay, almost colliding with a clumsy Bartlett in the midst of rewiring a communications relay, and swung into position to see Arkhipov waiting with a stretcher, the medical attachment already booted and waiting.

   “Damn, Armstrong really is on the ball,” she said. “He bucking for a promotion?”

   “Haven't you heard?” the engineer replied. “That kid's spent the last three months studying for the Academy exams. Word is she's planning to apply when we get back.”

   “Crazy. Everyone around here is crazy.”

   The hatch slammed open, and Salazar pushed a female Neander out into the corridor, Rhodes by her side, gently easing her onto the medical stretcher before pushing her towards sickbay, the medicomp making alarming bleeping noises as it registered her falling life-signs. The group followed the stretcher down the corridor as the shuttle detached, dropping away to make room for Alamo's fast transfer shuttle. Harper glanced at her datapad and shook her head. The pilot was breaking all records to get there, doubtless at Duquesne's urgings.

   She hadn't even been in Daedalus' sickbay up until now. Garland was hastily bringing all of the equipment on-line, fumbling with some of the settings, and she shook her head at the antiquity of the systems he was using. It was as though they had floated into a museum, filled with outdated technology that had somehow been preserved.

   “Damn rubbish,” Garland muttered, clamping a respirator to the Neander's face. “Obsolete junk.”

   “Will it work, Spaceman?” Salazar asked, iron in his eyes.

   Nodding, he said, “I hope so, sir.”

   The rear door opened, and Duquesne stepped in, her eyes widening as she looked down at her patient, pushing through the crowd as she swung her medical kit into position, clamping it to the bed. She looked back at Salazar with a glare, then started to reach into her bag.

   “Clear the room,” she said. “I only need Garland and the patient. The rest of you are in my way and wasting my time. Move!”

   Reluctantly, Salazar pushed back out into the corridor, looking back into the room as the others emerged, the doors sliding shut behind him. Harper grabbed him by the shoulders, swinging him around to face her.

   “She doesn't need you for a moment, but I need to know what's going on.”

   “There was an assassination attempt on Captain Orlova and Lostok, and she decided to be a hero and take the bullet. I'll be damned if I let her die for it.”

   “They've got everything in hand, Pavel,”she said, holding him back from the sickbay doors. Shaking her head, she added, “Pavel, what the hell is happening down there?”

   He closed his eyes, and replied, “Everything's falling apart. One of the Neander wants to start a war to the death for the planet, and another has decided that he's going to introduce segregation of the lesser classes. Mindless fool. Meanwhile the general population is beginning to wonder whether they're going to get off this rock in time, and I'd be forced to agree with them.”

   “Great.”

   “It's taking too damn long, Kris,” he said. “All of it is taking too damn long. We're hanging on a knife-edge, and if an enemy task force jumped into the system right now, I don't know what the hell we could do to stop them. Have you looked at the repair reports from Alamo?”

   “Stop shouting, Pavel,” she replied. “It won't do any good.”

   “I know,” he said, softening his voice. “I know. Might make me feel a little better, though.”

   “The Captain will figure something out. She always has in the past.”

   Shaking his head, he said, “There are only two options I can think of, Kris. We stay, and fight to death in a battle we almost certainly can't win, or we run and leave five thousand civilians to their fate.” With a sigh, he added, “I'd love to find a third option, but for the life of me I can't think of one.” Looking at the doors, he said, “I wish I could see what they are doing in there.”

   “You know Duquesne,” Harper said. “If there is any chance of saving her life, she'll find a way to make it happen.”

   “He just stood there,” Salazar said. “That cold-hearted bastard just stood there while the woman who had risked her life to save his damn near died, and decided it was more important to start ranting about security to the Captain than to do anything about it. He never even bothered calling for his local medical team.” Shaking his head, he said, “I know there isn't anything we can do about it, but I'm beginning to feel sympathetic for the Xandari right now.”

   Perry drifted in silently behind them, and replied, “I can't ever feel that way, sir. I'm sorry.”

   Turning sharply, Salazar said, “How well did you know Lostok? Has he always been like this?”

   With a shrug, the old man replied, “Maybe those tendencies have always been buried somewhere. I've only known him as a fellow slave, not a superior, though he always did seem to enjoy it a little too much when others deferred to him. You have to understand that the Collective is an old culture, with a rich heritage and ancient traditions.” He paused, then said, “Odd, though. We always just assumed he was in charge. Even the Xandari treated him that way, passed our orders through him.” Shaking his head, he added, “Though he was always at the forefront of every escape attempt, and suffered with the others when they failed.”

   “I've heard about them from people who've suffered as a result, Sergeant, and I have to say that I was somewhat underwhelmed.”

   “Then what is your solution? To impose our own ideas of right and wrong, our own culture and ideals on them? To conquer them spiritually, if not physically? That makes us no better than the Xandari, Sub-Lieutenant.”

   “And the alternative is to sit back and allow injustice to take place, to allow someone to be subjugated because of who their distant ancestors were?” Shaking his head, he said, “I can't agree with you, Sergeant.”

   The door slid open, Garland stepping out, ripping off his gloves. He glanced at the three of them, and said, “I've got to go and get some more supplies from Alamo. We're going to be transferring her over in a few hours.”

   “Will she make it?” Salazar asked
.

   “Doctor Duquesne doesn't like to leave her patients to the Reaper, sir. She'll be fine in a week or two.”

   “Then the supplies?”

   “She took one look at the sickbay and immediately ordered improvements.” With a sigh, he added, “I see long hours of work ahead. I'll need to borrow an engineering technician, ma'am.”

   “I'll help,” Perry said. “We're almost finished with the penetrometers anyway.”

   “Fine by me,” Harper replied.

   Salazar frowned for a second, then asked, “Armstrong's over here, isn't she?”

   “Up on the bridge.”

   “I've got to head right back down to the surface to get the shuttle crews moving, but there's something I need to ask her about first.” Turning to Perry, he said, “Good to see you again, Sergeant.”

   “Likewise, sir.”

   Harper's communicator chirped, and she raised it to her ear with a silent curse, saying, “Harper. Go ahead.”

   “Scott here, ma'am. I'm on the bridge. We've just received some new orders. Apparently someone on the surface wants us to make a low pass, inside the upper atmosphere. Technically it's withing safe limits...”

   “What the hell for?”

   “Reconnaissance, apparently. What do you want me to tell them.”

   “Stall them, Kat. I'll be up in a minute. And try and get someone senior from Alamo on the line as well. I'm not going to so much as twitch without authorization.” Turning to Perry, she said, “Does it ever end?”

   “Not from what I've seen, ma'am,” he said with a smile as she pushed off down the corridor, racing for the bridge. Her datapad chirped urgently, reports for her instant approval, and she pulled it out of her pocket and tossed it away, feeling a surge of brief satisfaction as it tumbled through the air, before sighing and kicking back to retrieve it.

   “Oxygen Replenishment Systems Report,” she read. “Sounds gripping.”

   “If I remember correctly,” Perry said, “the butler did it.” He smiled at the dirty look she shot him before kicking away down the corridor, leaving her silently fuming for a moment, staring at the datapad. Her communicator chirped again, a different channel this time, and she looked from one device to the other, shaking her head. How the hell did Orlova do this?

   “Harper here,” she finally said with a sigh. “What's up?”

  Chapter 16

   “Well, that's it,” Nelyubov said, glancing up at the clock, then back across the holotable to Orlova. “As of now, both we and the transport are clear to leave the system.”

   Shaking her head, Orlova turned to Weitzman, and asked, “Contact the surface again, and ask them for an update on the third shuttle flight.”

   “Aye, ma'am,” he said, turning to his board with a sigh as he began to negotiate with the local leaders, attempting to find someone to give him a straight answer to the question. Shaking her head, Orlova moved over to the helm, standing next to Foster.

   “Have you got a course plotted to the hendecaspace point, Sub-Lieutenant?”

   “Ready to go, ma'am. We can be there in eight minutes.” Glancing at a control, she said, “Senior Lieutenant Powell has been updating the dimensional trajectory plot every half-hour. We can depart as soon as you give the word.”

   “Shuttles Two and Three are standing by,” Nelyubov said. “We can evacuate all of our personnel from the surface in one sweep.”

   “Are you suggesting that?” she asked.

   “I can't help think it might concentrate Lostok's mind a little.”

   Shaking her head, she replied, “All it would do is convince him to jump the gun and leave the system. There are still almost two thousand people down there. Weitzman, have you got anything?”

   “I'm trying to reach Section Leader Ghewon, ma'am. I understand he's in some sort of a meeting, and orders have been left that he should not be disturbed.” Shaking his head, he replied, “I've already suggested that he might want to amend those instructions.”

   “Shuttles launching, ma'am,” Spinelli said. “Sub-Lieutenant Bradley has them on positive guidance control, tracking them to the transport. Estimated time of arrival is thirty-one minutes.” Before she could ask, he added, “Manifest suggests fifty-nine people, as well as engineering stores.”

   “What sort of stores, Spaceman?” Nelyubov asked.

   “That's all the information there is, sir.” Looking back at the officer, he said, “That's been pretty standard over the last few flights. We're not getting much in the way of information.”

   “And you didn't flag it with anyone?”

   “Everything's been in such chaos down there, sir, I just assumed that they were skipping the paperwork.” He glanced around, then added, “I'm sorry, sir.”

   Shaking his head, he replied, “Go back through the records and see if you can work out how much material we're talking about. They should have finished loading their supplies yesterday.” Glancing at Orlova, he said, “They're dragging their feet. All of this is taking too damn long.”

   “Or they're making sure that their luxuries get priority over the people they're supposed to be helping. Lostok and his group don't seem to care about the lower orders very much.

   His voice low, he replied, “We've got a long journey with that man in command of the Neander contingent, and that prospect is becoming less and less appealing.” Shaking his head, he said, “We should be on our way right now, not loitering around here waiting for a task force to attack us.”

   “I agree, but we don't have a choice. I can't abandon them to their fate, and even if I wanted to assume direct command of that ship, we don't have the people to do it. We're struggling to cover Daedalus.” Shaking her head, she said, “Nevertheless, we're going to start moving things along, one way or another.” Moving to Cantrell, she said, “Lieutenant, I want all decks to proceed to standby alert, and pass the word to Daedalus that they should do likewise. Landing shuttles to prepare for immediate launch on one minute's notice.” Quickly scanning the launch itinerary, she said, “Salazar ought to be landing in three minutes. As soon as he does, Weitzman, I want to speak to him.”

   “Aye, ma'am,” he said, before grimacing. “Damn…” He looked up, sighed, and said, “I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't seem to get them to understand that the situation is urgent. I was just told that Ghewon will contact us after lunch.”

   “You're doing the best you can, Spaceman,” she said. “Just keep trying, and set up that call for me.”

   “Aye,” he said.

   Powell walked onto the bridge, his face glum, a datapad in his hand. He passed it over to Orlova, who quickly flashed down the readouts, frequency reports and sensor logs for the last three days, a jump of unintelligible data.

   “Got the short version, Professor?”

   “Lostok was right. There are traitors down on the surface. That's the records of our Alpha-Nine probe, out beyond the ring system. Someone is sending brief, coded messages to a station on the planet within a quarter-mile of the Admin Dome.”

   “How the hell did we miss that?” Nelyubov exploded.

   “The transmission was buried very carefully in the background noise, made to resemble the local readings from the gas giant. Until we had a baseline of readings, we never had a chance to pick it up. I've sent the information down to Intelligence, but they don't seem to have any idea where to start. The code is unlike anything we've encountered before.”

   “That does it,” Orlova said. “I'm going down there.”

   “You can't,” Nelyubov said, shaking his head. “Not given the situation as it stands. If there are traitors down there, you'd be making it clear that we know about them, as well as giving them a target, or worse, a hostage. Pavel can handle it.”

   Nodding, she said, “You're right, damn it all.” Tapping a control, she said, “Lieutenant Kibaki, report to hangar deck on the double. You'll have orders waiting fo
r you when you get there.” She paused, then added, “Swing by your cabin and grab a few things. You'll be on Daedalus for a while.”

   “Aye, ma'am,” he said, reluctance in his voice. “Is there...”

   “On the double, Lieutenant!”

   “On my way, ma'am.”

   Nelyubov nodded, and said, “You're relieving Harper?”

   “If we're going into combat, I've got to. According to the latest status reports, Daedalus is ready for a fight. They've even managed to improvise some sort of armament.”

   “I hate to admit it,” he replied, “but she's done a good job over there. I was going to suggest having a word with Jack Quinn about some sort of more permanent arrangement, maybe have her formally working with the Systems gang.”

   “It would be nice to get something out of this,” she said.

   Cantrell turned, and replied, “Transfer One is ready for launch, ma'am. Just waiting on the arrival of Lieutenant Kibaki.”

   “Weitzman, any luck with Salazar yet?” she asked.

   “Delayed landing, ma'am,” the technician replied. “Another wave is getting ready to take off. Two hundred people, I checked. He won't be on the deck for another five minutes. I can contact him anyway if you...”

   “No,” she interrupted. “It's never a good idea to interrupt a pilot on final approach, and while this is pretty damn urgent, it isn't an emergency. Get me Daedalus.”

   “Transfer One is on the way,” Cantrell said, watching it depart on her monitor. “They'll be there in five minutes.”

   “Excellent,” she replied.