Battlecruiser Alamo: Forbidden Seas

by Richard Tongue

   “I have Lieutenant Harper,” Weitzman said, relief on his face. “It's nice to finally find someone wanting to talk to me.”

   “Don't take it personally, Spaceman,” Orlova said, sliding on a headset. “Kris, I've got good news for you.”

   “Someone's coming to take over?” she replied, her voice oddly flat. “Joe Kibaki?”

   “Transfer One will be with you in five minutes. I want you back on board as soon as you can. Things look like they're beginning to heat up.”

   After a second, she said, “We've got it on our screens now. As soon as he arrives, I'll do a quick handover and be back on board on fifteen minutes.” Summoning some of her usual charm, she added, “Miss me?”

   “Do you really want an answer to that question, Kris?” Orlova said with a smile. “Report to me on the bridge when you get here. And good work, by the way. You've worked miracles over there.”

   “Thanks. Daedalus out.”

   Shaking his head, Nelyubov said, “She's disappointed. I thought she'd be raring to get back here.”

   “Sometimes you get comfortable in the big chair,” Orlova replied. “It can be hard to give up, no matter how long you resisted it.” Looking at him, she said, “That's a Senior Lieutenant command, formally, Frank. If you want...”

   “You have to be joking,” he replied. “When I get my first command, I'd like it to be on a ship younger than I am. Let Joe have it. We've got to do something to give his career a boost, no matter how hard he resists it.”

   “Emergency!” Spinelli said. “Collision warning. Transfer One, change course at once! Take immediate evasive action! Cyndar Twenty-Three, alter your trajectory!” Flicking a switch as Orlova raced over to his console, he yelled, “Damn it, you fools, you're ten seconds from impact!”

   Shaking his head, Nelyubov said, “It's too late.”

   Orlova watched as the two traces on the scope dived towards each other, Transfer One making an attempt to swing away at the last second, the helmsman leaving the corrective maneuver too late. She closed her eyes as the two images faded from the screen, replaced with a small mark indicating a navigation hazard, a cluster of rapidly dispersing debris.

   “I'm getting thirty-one hails,” Weitzman said, shaking his head. “The channels are swamped!”

   Stabbing a control, Orlova said, “This is Lieutenant-Captain Orlova. All ships continue to their destination. Switch your controls to emergency interrupt. If you deviate from your trajectory by so much as a mile, we will take over control and bring you down. Do not contact Alamo unless you are declaring an emergency. Alamo out.”

   “Whose fault was it,” Nelyubov asked with a sigh.

   “Twenty-Three,” Spinelli said, “but Transfer One could have done a lot more to get out of the way.” Bringing up a report, he read, “The pilot was on his tenth flight of the day. Well over recommended hours. Spaceman First Class Raphael Parker.”

   “Everyone is at the moment,” Nelyubov said.

   “At least it was only a supply shuttle,” Spinelli added. “Four dead. No chance of survivors.”

   Turning in his chair, Weitzman said, “I have Lostok, ma'am, as well as Lieutenant Harper.”

   “Go talk to Harper,” Orlova said, turning to Nelyubov.

   “What do you want me to say?” he asked.

   “That she's going to have to take Daedalus out of the system after all. I can't spare anyone else to take command, not now. Once you've done that, start an investigation. Try and find out what the hell happened.”

   “I think I know,” Powell said, looking down at his panel. “Our instruments recorded a spike in that strange signal, just before collision. Some sort of trigger, perhaps, activating dormant programming that overrode the pilot's controls. I find it hard to believe that someone would willingly commit suicide to destroy one of our shuttles.”

   “Weren't they checked?” Nelyubov asked.

   “Only by local personnel,” the scientist replied. “We haven't got the people to handle it ourselves, and they knew their systems better than we did, anyway. All it would take was a single traitor to make sure that the loopholes were missed.”

   “That's got pretty worrying connotations,” Cantrell said. “Any of those Neander shuttles could be a weapon. Ma'am, I recommend that we assume direct control of all vessels in flight.”

   “How?” Nelyubov asked. “Most of them don't have fully compatible datalinks. We could take over one or two, I think, but there are seventeen up in the sky right now.”

   “Watch them like a hawk, Spaceman,” Orlova said, turning to Spinelli. “Call your relief to the bridge to help out.”

   “I have Lostok, ma'am,” Weitzman said, wincing. “He seems rather keen on speaking to you urgently.”

   “I'll take it in my office,” she replied. She paused for a second, then added, “Brief Salazar, Frank, once you've spoken to Harper. Tell him everything, and tell him that I'll support any move he feels he has to make on the surface.”

   “That's a lot of authority for a Sub-Lieutenant,” Nelyubov said.

   “Whatever the situation demands,” she replied. “You have the bridge.”

   “If I can find the time,” he said, shaking his head. She stepped through the door into her office, her terminal urgently bleeping. Rubbing her forehead, she took a quick drink of water, then settled down behind her desk and tapped the control, revealing the snarling face of Lostok on the screen.

   “One of your pilots,” he began, but she broke him off.

   “You were right. There are saboteurs among your people. A few moments ago, just before the collision, one of our remote probes intercepted a signal that we believe triggered hidden programming on Cyndar Twenty-Three, causing it to crash into our Transfer One. Two of my crewmen were killed in the collision, Lostok.”

   He paused, nodded, and replied, “My condolences on your loss, Captain. I'm sorry to see my theory confirmed at such cost, but I cannot say that this news surprises me. I only wish it did. Rest assured that I will take all necessary steps to see that those responsible are brought to justice, and that they suffer the appropriate penalty.”

   Shaking her head, she said, “I'm not sure we have time for any of that. All three of our ships are clear to leave the system...”

   “Excellent news. My shuttle will be launching in half an hour.”

   “And we need to move with the evacuation. There are still sixteen hundred people on the surface.”

   “I assure you, Captain, that we will rescue them as long as the Xandari provide us with the opportunity. Once the last of our essential stores are transferred to the freighter, I will personally see that the Undercastes are taken to safety. However, I cannot agree that we can ignore such a major security leak.”

   Rubbing her head again, she replied, “I never suggested that it should be ignored.”

   “Forgive me, Captain. My understanding of your language is not perfect, despite the best efforts of Sergeant Perry. I will make sure that Sub-Lieutenant Salazar and Ensign Cooper are updated with our discoveries.” He smiled, and said, “I believe I already know where to look for our prime suspect.”

   “We're going to want to speak to him on Alamo,” Orlova said, fear rising at the back of her mind. “Our Technical Intelligence staff have a lot of questions to put to him.”

   “I'm afraid that will not be possible, Captain. This is an internal matter, and we will deal with it ourselves.” As the smile grew on his face, he added, “Our interrogators are experts. Have no fear, they will extract any information you require. You have my personal guarantee on that. Cyndar out.”

   The screen faded to black, and she looked at it for a moment, shaking her head. She reached for the control to call Ensign Cooper, ready to order him to move in and take over on the surface, and to hell with the consequences. Lostok wasn't planning on launching an investigation. He'd already decided who was responsible, rega
rdless of whether or not he was actually guilty.

   And all she could do was watch, and wait. She'd told Frank that they didn't have the strength to take over, and she was right. She pulled back her hand, took a deep breath, and drained the rest of her glass, before rising to her feet and returning to the maelstrom of chaos on the bridge.

  Chapter 17

   Half-walking, half-sliding, Cooper ambled down the slope towards the plain, the rest of his strike team following behind. Glancing left and right, he saw the decoy teams making their own trail, three on one side, five on the other, all with orders to proceed along carefully calculated tracks. Behind him, he heard swearing, and turned to see Rhodes sprawled in the ground, scrambling to pick himself up.

   “Come on, Private,” he said. “We've got to keep moving.”

   “Just a minute, sir,” Rhodes gasped. “Lost my breath.”

   “You softskins are all alike,” Kelot replied, reaching down and grabbing the trooper, hauling him to his feet. “No stamina.”

   Rhodes looked up at the fearsome Neander and turned pale, trudging down the slope, Cooper shaking his head with a smile as he resumed the lead, careful to avoid any hidden rocks that might cause him to suffer the same embarrassing fate at his subordinate. He glanced down at his datapad, watching the progress of the others, and nodded to himself as the team on the farthest left turned to the side, heading for one of the distant passes, making its way to the planned pickup point.

   In an open environment such as this, there was no such thing as stealth. The suit heaters would give them away in a second, and the cover down on the plain was next to non-existent. An advantage when they got close, as they'd be able to get a good look at everything that was going on, but for the present it made things complicated. The only plan he'd been able to conjure up in the time was to flood their detectors with false images, send decoy teams down to draw away their patrols and interceptors, or to make them think that a full-scale attack was in progress.

   Looking down at the pistol at his belt, he shook his head. Carrying plasma weaponry would have effectively shown a beacon into the night for anyone around to detect, and they were going to have enough problems getting across the plain as it was. More, he was rather hoping that the Xandari would conclude that it was only Neander, local forces, not his Espatier force. It had occurred to him that all of this might be some sort of deception to draw them away, but Corporal Stewart and Private McBride were sitting up at Battle Pass with fifteen carefully-positioned plasma rifles ready to fire at a moment's notice. If anything larger attacked, then the presence of the rest of the platoon wouldn't make any difference anyway.

   “I still say we should just attack,” Kelot grumbled, turning up to Walpis. “I'd have thought that you would be the first to agree with me.”

   “What the officer says goes, Kelot. He knows what he's doing.”

   “Our job is recon,” Cooper said, “with a side order of deterrence. As soon as your wise and noble leaders get themselves moving, we can leave this planet forever.” Shaking his head, he replied, “We ought to be done with it now, already be on our way.”

   “Assuming we're allowed to just leave like that,” Kelot replied. “I'm not so sure.” Hefting his rifle, he added, “And if we run into one of the Xandari, I'm going to make him pay for everything he's done over the last few years.”

   Two more of the teams turned back, and Cooper's force dropped down into a low shaft, a crack in the ice that provided the only vague cover in the area, though even that left a good thousand meters between the team and its target. He shook his head, spotting a winking light on the ground, and stepped over to it, hefting the small device attached to it in his hand.

   “Sensor drone,” Walpis said.

   Tossing it over the side of the crack, Cooper replied, “Well, they know we're here.”

   “You aren't planning on aborting the mission,” Kelot said.

   “No.” Pulling out his communicator, Cooper said, “Corporal Stewart, we've been detected. I'm switching our roles. You're Prime, we're First Reserve. We'll take the lead for a little while now, try and draw them away. Understood?”

   “Understood, sir. We seem to be having a clear run of it at the moment. I'll contact you if we spot the enemy. Stewart out.”

   Turning to Kelot, Cooper said, “Relax. We're still going to get close enough for you to have a good look at them.”

   “I hope so,” he said.

   The column filed along the crack, carefully pushing forward, Cooper periodically checking his datapad to watch the rest of the unit file off, all of them taking their routes back to Battle Pass. Anyone watching with a modicum of tactical intelligence would have realized what he was doing, but that didn't matter overmuch. What was more important was to put them into a defensive mode, to cause them to draw in. He didn't intend to get close enough to engage their defenses, but the fewer outer patrols he had to deal with, the better.

   It might have been noon, but if anything, it felt colder than ever, the chill of the wind sweeping through his heated jacket, finding its way in through any small gap. The temperature was lower than it had ever been since he'd arrived, and clouds were gathering overhead, a snowstorm pending in the immediate future. He shook his head, pausing for a moment to take a drink of juice before moving on. Glancing at his watch, he realized that by now, it was just his team and Stewart's on the plain. Everyone else was on their way to safety.

   He looked down at his datapad again, small flecks of snow beginning to tumble from the sky, drips of moisture on his screen as he looked at Stewart's trajectory track. She seemed to be making good progress, but was still behind his team. The base was just ahead, less than three miles away. An hour, even on this terrain, though he was growing less certain that the weather would give him the chance. Kelot looked back at him, and for the first time, he saw concern on the Neander's face.

   “We're heading for something nasty,” he said. “Could last an hour, could last a day. I've seen people freeze solid in conditions like that.”

   “How long?”

   “Soon,” Kelot replied, looking up at the clouds. “Hard to tell. Not my field. Though certainly within four or five hours, we could be in a white-out.”

   “We've got our night-vision,” Rhodes said, tapping his goggles. “How bad can it get?”

   “Bad enough that you can't even see your own hand in front of your face, Private,” Cooper said. “That every step takes you in the wrong direction, and that when your suit power runs out, you die of hypothermia within minutes. No chance of rescue under those conditions, either.”

   “Three more hours,” Kelot said. “Once we get back to Battle Pass, we'll be fine. I say we press on. I'm reasonably sure we can make it in time, and it's got to be worth the risk.”

   Frowning, Cooper replied, “You're the expert. If you say that we can make it, then I'll go along with you, but if it looks like the situation is worsening, I expect you to warn me instantly.”

   Nodding, the Neander said, “I've got a lot of Xandari left to kill, Ensign. I can't do that if I'm dead.”

   Taking one last swig of juice, Cooper turned back to the trail, trudging along the surface, trying not to think about the approaching storm ahead of him, and the fact that underneath him, less than a hundred meters away, was a sea that might as well be bottomless, reaching down tens of thousands of feet through an endless gloom. He looked down at his feet, wincing as he heard a loud snap, before pushing on.

   A patter drummed onto his head, the snow beginning to gather, cutting down their visibility. In a strange way, though, it was a blessing. The Xandari were unlikely to move under these conditions either, more inclined to the sensible approach of hiding in their shelter and waiting for the skies to clear. The closer they got, the better.

   For half an hour they continued onward as the snow slowly worsened, dropping out of the sky and gathering on the ice. Their boots cracked on the
ground, digging in to keep them upright, night-vision goggles dropping into place to help them find their way. At any moment, Cooper still expected an attack, even now, or at least some sort of trap hidden in the ice. This was such an obvious avenue of approach, that he couldn't believe it wouldn't be guarded in some way. It was almost a relief when he turned a corner to see a Xandari buggy parked on the floor of the crack, it's cannon aimed right at them.

   “Hit the dirt!” he said, diving to the ground, rifle in hand, looking up at the menacing vehicle, waiting for the blast and the roar as it fired. After a second, when nothing happened, he peered up, inching around the corner, rifle in hand. He waved the barrel in the air, and after a second, his hand as well.

   “What the hell?” Rhodes asked.

   Climbing to his feet, Cooper walked towards the vehicle, spotting the hatch open at the rear. Inside, a pile of snow was building up, and the controls were all dark, several components torn out to render the vehicle useless. Kelot followed him, shaking his head.

   “Damaged?” Cooper asked. “Abandoned in place for repair later?”

   “I don't think so,” Kelot replied, poking at the control console. “I've seen enough of these to know what makes them tick. This buggy has been deliberately abandoned, sabotaged to stop anyone from using it.”

   “Can you make it work?”

   Frowning, the Neander said, “Maybe, if you give me half an hour, but we'll never get it up to Battle Pass.” He pointed at the wheels, and said, “You'd need far more traction to make that slope. This is designed only for light work.” The two of them looked at each other, and he added, “What the hell is it doing here anyway?”

   Ripping out his datapad, Cooper called up the last projections of the enemy base, zooming in as far as he could, fuming at the diminished detail. He thrust it at Kelot, who snatched it from him, peering at the parked vehicles and nodding.

   “All the same design. There were only a couple of rugged buggies, anyway, that we knew of. I'd assumed they had some more hidden somewhere, but now...”