“There they are!” Harper said, gesturing at the screen. “One of them just launched a flare.” Throwing in a magnification filter, she continued, “Positive identification on two figures, both of them wearing Triplanetary uniforms. We’ve found them, Captain, alive and well.”
“At least for the moment,” Cooper warned. “Captain, I still think...”
The two figures were scrambling to the top of a narrow column of rock, open water all around. Orlova looked at the fuel gauge, warning lights reporting that they were perilously close to the point of no return. She reached for the controls, then turned to the rear.
“Sergeant, get suited up, and take the longest line we’ve got. We’re only going to get a single chance to make this work, and I’m not sanguine about our chances at that. I’m going to bring the shuttle as close as I can, hover over them, and try and pick them up. Got it?” She brought the ship down, moving to within fifty feet of them, trying to keep the shuttle as stable as she could.
“Got it, ma’am,” Gurung replied, already putting on his suit. He turned to the airlock, then said, “The outer hatch is open, Captain, and I can’t close it from here.”
“Sorry,” Riley said, pulling out a pistol and covering the room. “My fault. We’re going to sit right here for a few minutes, until we haven’t got any fuel left.” With a smile, he added, “Then I’m going to send a distress signal, one urgent enough that both ships will come in closer in a bid to pick us up. And then, I’m very much afraid, all of us are going to die.”
“Including you,” Harper said. “But that doesn’t matter, does it, because you’re serving a different master now.” Turning to Orlova, he added, “It all fits. He was the one who got Kolchak here, found the trail that led to this planet.”
“Quite true,” he said. “Though I only discovered the evidence that had already been seeded. Just as another of our operatives seeded some information close by. Unfortunately, you took him into custody before he could help us any further, but he already did everything that was necessary. I can finish the job by myself.”
“It was all a trick,” Cooper said. “Right from the beginning.”
“Oh, there’s an alien civilization down there. Or at least there was. As far as we can tell, they died out thousands of years ago, but they left such secrets down there, Captain. Total conversion of matter into energy, for one. But they lacked the urge for exploration and conquest, cared only about being left alone to contemplate the infinite, even willing to contemplate racial suicide if that was what it took to maintain their precious solitude. When our first ships came here, long ago, we had a narrow escape of our own. But we remembered, Captain. Those treasures might be lost to us, but they created a weapon deadly enough to defend us from your attack.”
“It won’t save you,” Orlova said. “We won’t be the only ships sent out this way.”
“As you said on Kolchak,” Riley replied, “there will be a delay. Perhaps months, waiting to assemble a new expedition. By then we will be more than ready to move, and you’ll find yourselves walking into a trap. Not that any of you will be alive to see it.” Moving to stand by the far wall, he added, “Now, we’re all going to sit very quietly for a few moments, and all of this will be over. Captain, if you wish to occupy your time, you might contemplate your options for a water landing. I might be wrong. Alamo might be able to send someone down in time, snatch us all from the boiling waters and get us to safety before the end. I doubt it, but while there is life, I suppose there remains hope.”
Cooper glanced at Orlova, and nodded. At the same instant, the two of them raced forward, trying to cover the ground between them and Riley in time, but two cracks echoed through the cabin, both of them felled with bullets in their legs, sending them sprawling to the floor.
“Foolish. Now I fear we have no chance at all. In ten minutes, we will all be dead.”
Chapter 23
Salazar looked up at the shuttle, then glanced at Foster, a mask of confusion on his face. It didn’t make any sense. The ship had descended on a textbook path, hovering over them with precisely-tuned pulses on its landing jets, and the outer hatch had opened as if they were preparing to land, but that was as far as it had gone.
“I can’t get through to them,” Foster said. “Not on any channel. Except that I thought I heard a noise from inside. It sounded like gunfire, but that’s impossible.” She shook her head, and added, “They can’t hold position for long without running out of fuel. Minutes at best.”
“And there’s no way we’ll still be here when another shuttle makes it down. Water temperature’s rising all the time,” Salazar replied. He looked up at the hatch, and said, “Forty feet, I think. There might be a chance yet.” He reached for his wrist controls, tapping out a series of instructions, and said, “If I make this work, a line will drop down in a minute. Grab it and hang on, because I’m going to have to punch out quickly if we’ll have any chance of making orbit.”
“I’m scared to ask, but...”
“It’ll work,” he said with a smile, aiming the jets on his suit thrusters to the ground, feeding the oxygen from his backpack into the mix. If this went wrong, he’d be dead in a matter of minutes, but at this stage, that was probably inevitable in any case. There was one last ride to orbit, and they didn’t dare miss it. He jammed on his thrusters, burning his fuel recklessly, and reached up for the airlock as the force of the gas jets hurled him into the sky.
It would last for seconds, wouldn’t even be possible at all were it not for the low gravity, but he reached out for the handholds on the underside of the shuttle. He was falling short, couldn’t make the airlock, but all he had to do was wrap his fingers around one of the protruding bars. As the last sputter of gas raced from the jets, he grabbed hold of a panel on the surface, an access port to the aft engine array. The bar began to bend under his weight, and he swung around to a true handhold, kicking his now-useless backpack away to lighten his load.
He swung from one handhold to the next, finally reaching the airlock and tumbling inside, struggling to catch his breath. There was no time to waste, and he snatched out the pistol on his belt as he worked the emergency cycle, pressing himself to the side of the wall to buy himself all the time he could, praying that it would be enough.
His prayers were answered. An unfamiliar figure was standing at the rear of the cabin, covering the rest with a gun, and he turned a heartbeat slower than Salazar’s trigger finger, three precisely aimed shots slamming into his chest. On the floor, Orlova and Cooper lay, bleeding from wounds in their legs, and Gurung stood by the wall, half-wearing his suit.
“Sergeant,” he said, “Go get Foster, on the double.” Tossing off his helmet and gloves, he dropped into the pilot’s seat, and glanced at Harper, adding, “Kris, I need a low-fuel ascent to orbit. Or as close as you can manage.”
“On it,” she replied, as Gurung cycled the lock. Salazar waited impatiently for it to cycle again, for Foster to climb on-board, and scanned the control systems. No malfunctions, nothing wrong that he could see, just a series of fuel warning lights growing brighter by the second. Any more loss, and they’d never make orbit, not with the load they were carrying. Quietly, he started to dump oxygen from the life support systems, reducing their reserve to a bare minimum. From the looks of the terrain all around them, if they didn’t get clear of the planet below on the first try, none of it was going to matter anyway.
Finally, the lock cycled, and without waiting for them to strap in, he killed the lateral jets and threw the throttle to maximum, the engines roaring in response as they swept up, racing for safety, Harper’s hands dancing across the controls to feed course data to the helm.
“Someone take a look at the Captain and Cooper,” he said, and Gurung ripped a medical kit from the wall, setting quickly to his task. Salazar glanced back at them for a second, muttering a half-remembered prayer under his breath before returning to his work
.
The trajectory plot curved up, ranging towards orbit, but no matter how many times Harper reworked the calculations, it ended with the same inevitable result. Insufficient fuel for escape velocity. He might be able to manage an atmospheric skip, but the ability of the shuttle to survive the maneuver was marginal at the best of times, and if the nightmare he feared was about to take place down on the surface, they’d never get enough speed to get away.
“Can we dump?” Harper asked.
“I already did,” he replied. Glancing back at Riley, he added, “Dump that corpse out of the airlock, and everything on board that isn’t bolted to the bulkhead. Keep your suits, but dump everything else. We’ve got to strip ship if we’re going to make altitude.” He nursed the throttle, urging it to greater speed, one eye on the fuel calculator as he struggled to make it last a little longer, to obtain a little more thrust from what remained in the tanks. “What about the casualties?”
“Both should be fine. Bullets went through nice and clean, but the medical scanner indicates that there was some sort of sedative built in. They’ll be out cold for a while. Nothing much I can do about that here, though.” Looking at his datapad, he added, “All life signs are stable.”
“Good,” he replied. “Good. That’s something, at least.” He looked at the planet, and said, “Good God, Kris, look at that!” The last remnants of the ice sheet were breaking up, thousands of miles of clear ocean where once the endless white expanse lay, and he said, “I’m not going to like the answer, but I need to know how much energy that’s taking.”
Leaning over the computer, Harper replied, “Enough to tear the planet apart.”
“Those bastards have triggered the galaxy’s biggest self-destruct mechanism, and we’re sitting right on top of it. If you can, we need some sort of projection on the blast area.” Reaching for the communications panel, he said, “Shuttle, ah, Two to all stations, all stations. The planet below will shortly be destroyed by a…,” he looked at the controls, and said, “teraton-level blast. There’s no mistake, and no chance of error. Get out of orbit as fast as you can. Spartacus, the debris field is likely to reach you in a matter of minutes. I strongly urge immediate evacuation to the far side of the nearest moon. You’ll be safe there.”
“Teratons of explosive,” Harper said, shaking her head. “It doesn’t seem possible.”
“I’m almost relieved,” Salazar said. “We shouldn’t have that level of technology. Not until we’re a little smarter about where we’re going to throw it.” Glancing at his readouts, he added, “We’re out of the atmosphere now. Just as well. It’s getting wild down there. Pressure’s rising, temperature rising. Damn, I think the ocean’s beginning to boil away, and that’s just incidental waste heat!”
“Getting something on the sensors,” Harper said. “A ship coming around the far side of the planet.” Her eyes widened, and she said, “My God, it’s Kolchak! They’re coming right for us, maximum acceleration.” She looked down at the controls, and a smile spread across her face as she said, “I think they’re going for an intercept. Pavel, can...”
“You’re damn right I can!” he yelled, his hands flying across the controls as he altered course, struggling to bring the wayward shuttle back onto course. Fuel was under ten percent now, but if he was careful, there would be just enough to bring them to a link up, even if it wouldn’t last for long.
“Can you dock?” she asked.
“Not a chance,” he replied. “Different control software, and we don’t have time to make the needed alterations.” He looked at the monitor, and said, “We’ll have twenty seconds to cross from one ship to another. Everyone suit up, and get ready to abandon ship. See that Cooper and the Captain get into rescue balls.”
“I’ll see to the Ensign, sir,” Gurung said, reaching for the wall panels.
Nodding, Harper added, “I’ll make sure Maggie finds her way home, Pavel.” She reached down from an overhead locker, quickly attaching a fresh thruster pack to Salazar’s suit before heading for the airlock. “Don’t wait too long.”
Salazar tarried at the controls, making final adjustments to their course, knowing that every second, every millisecond would count in their desperate flight to safety. Finally, satisfied that he could do no more, he clipped on his helmet and his gloves, taking his place at the rear of the lock, as the looming mass of Kolchak grew ever nearer by the minute.
With a loud report, the outer hatch blew, tossing them all into space, suit thrusters firing to stabilize them as they came onto trajectory, racing towards the capital ship. Colonel Clarke had been quick off the mark, had men already waiting for them with nets and grapples, primitive techniques still highly effective as they snared the passengers of the shuttle, one after another.
Salazar was at the rear, firing his jets frantically for the second time in less than ten minutes in a desperate bid to reach the airlock, finally grabbing onto a flailing technician and being dragged inside with seconds to go. He turned, spinning to take a look at the planet below as the hatch slammed shut, steam enveloping the planet from a hundred sources now, other dormant heat exchangers bursting into dreadful life to incinerate the world.
If this had happened before, no wonder no life could exist down there. If the power ceased now, there might yet be a chance for the world to live, though it would take thousands of years to reverse the damage that had been done in a matter of hours. Somehow, he knew that the power grid would reach its end, and judging by the acceleration that surged through the ship as Kolchak raced for safety, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.
“Wanted on the bridge,” his rescuer said, as Salazar removed his helmet. “Elevator at the end of the corridor. It’s programmed to take you right there.”
“Thanks, Spaceman,” he replied, dropping the pieces of his suit to the deck.
“My pleasure, sir. That was some damned nice flying.”
Gurung paused, uncomfortable at being back on a United Nations ship, so far unrecognized by the security scanners. Salazar gestured for him to stay with the others, Harper running after him, slipping through the doors just as they closed.
“I take it this wasn’t part of the plan?” he asked.
Shaking her head, she replied, “What plan? We went off-script when some strange alien creatures decided to blow up a world for kicks. I’m not sure quite where we’re heading at this point, but at least we have a fighting chance now.” The acceleration surged again, rising to a level sufficient to weigh Salazar down, making every step difficult. The doors slid open, and the two of them walked onto the bridge, a pair of chairs waiting for them close to the threshold.
“I thought you’d want to watch the departure,” Clarke said, quickly turning to them. “Don’t worry about Alamo, by the way. She’s docked at Spartacus Station, completing the evacuation. Our best guess has them safe for at least half an hour. I presume neither of you have any idea what’s happening down there?”
“Some sort of ancient power grid is building up towards overload,” Salazar said. “A trap, a booby trap left behind to guard the last remains of an alien race. The not-men knew about it, triggered it to try and take both of us out of the game, and damned near succeeded, at that.”
“Maximum acceleration, sir,” the helmsman said. “I can’t give her any more power.”
“Kick in your aft thrusters,” Salazar suggested. “That’ll give you an extra one-twentieth gravity acceleration for a few minutes.”
“You head the man, Lieutenant,” Clarke said.
“We have escape velocity,” the helmsman added.
Harper looked at the sensor display, painted across half a wall, and said, “If those readings are as bad as I think they are...”
“Colonel, the planet!” the helmsman yelled. The inevitable had happened. The power network had finally overloaded, titanic explosions ripping across the face of the world from half a hundred sites
, all at the same instant. The last remaining water was gone, blasted from the planet in an instant, and molten rocks rained through space, a sweeping cloud of ever-expanding debris racing towards them.
“All hands, brace for multiple impacts!” Clarke warned, and Salazar gripped the armrests of his seat tightly, waiting for the shock he was anticipating, waiting for the debris to catch up with them. His eyes remained locked on the viewscreen, still covering the death of the world, the once icy surface now bathed in lava.
“More speed, helm!” Clarke ordered.
“I’m giving her everything,” the helmsman replied.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Kolchak was making ground, beginning at last to outpace the cloud of debris following behind, warning lights winking out one after another as they sped to safety. The hull rattled, sirens sounding from the engineering station, small shrapnel raining off the outer hull armor, harmlessly rebounding away into space.
“We’re clear, sir,” the helmsman reported. “Free and clear to navigate.”
“Set course for Alamo,” Clarke replied. “We can take on some of the survivors of Spartacus Station, and get our friends back where they belong.”
Salazar rose from his seat, walked over to Clarke, and said, “Thank you, sir. Thanks for coming after us.”
“You’d have done the same for me, Sub-Lieutenant.”
“You know, sir, I think I would,” he replied with a smile.
Epilogue
Orlova looked up as her office door opened, Clarke stepping inside, followed by Nelyubov. She winced in pain as she turned to face the visitors, gesturing them to take their seats before the door slid shut once again.
“First of all, Colonel, allow me to once again express my gratitude for your actions in rescuing my people. If there’s anything we can do for you...”
Shaking his head, he replied, “You’ve exposed a conspiracy in United Nations Intelligence that we’re now going to be able to deal with, Captain. I should be thanking you.” He looked down at his datapad, and said, “We’re fully loaded with refugees, ready to escort everyone back to friendly space. As agreed, for the record, we’ll drop them off at a neutral settlement. At least, those who don’t want to go back to Earth.”
Battlecruiser Alamo_Depth Charge Page 18
