Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
SHADOWS IN THE SKY
Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 26
Richard Tongue
Battlecruiser Alamo #26: Shadows in the Sky
Copyright © 2017 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved
First Kindle Edition: May 2017
Cover By Keith Draws
With thanks to Ellen Clarke
All characters and events portrayed within this ebook are fictitious; any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
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Prologue
The woman walked across the fringes of the eternal desert, endless footprints following her through the sand. She wore the tattered remnants of a uniform jacket, ripped and torn in a dozen places, with a battered cap perched on her head to protect her from the sun. Pausing to take a drink of precious water from her canteen, she looked around the horizon, tired eyes scanning the environment, seeking something she could only barely remember.
And all around her, the universe unfolded. Endless land curving to the heavens in every direction, lush forests, green fields, blue-green oceans, black, angry wastelands. Every environment she could possibly imagine and a dozen more besides, all out there to explore. Lands that would take thousands of years to reach.
She ran a hand across her forehead, wiping away the beads of gleaming sweat, and took a second drink from her canteen before returning it to her belt. Her hand ran across the pistol still in its holster, three cartridges remaining, and her combat knife next to it, notches on the blade from constant use. Her best survival tool, in an environment where she could depend upon nothing other than herself.
Behind her, the trail stretched, across the thousand miles she had already walked, thousands, millions more awaiting her up ahead. An infinite realm, or at least as close to infinity as she could ever want or need. She didn't know how far the desert might stretch. She'd been following its perimeter for weeks, trying to find a path past it, periodically dipping back into the lush grasslands to the east to hunt for game, to refresh her canteen.
Her goal, her destiny, still lay ahead. Whatever it might be. Her past was a distant memory, but a name still flashed into her mind, forcing itself past the shadows of yesterday. A single name, and one that had once meant more to her than life itself.
Alamo.
Chapter 1
Clarke raced down the corridor, rifle in hand, desperately struggling to evade the beast that was chasing him through the alien ship. Safety lay somewhere ahead, a shuttle that would take him back to all that was familiar, to his friends and comrades, but for now, he was on his own. Faint whispers seemed to call to him from the shadows, cries for help echoing down every corridor, but there was nothing he could do. His only chance to survive was in swift flight, and that was scant enough as he charged around a corner. As he looked down the gloomy corridor, he could see something swinging from the ceiling, and after a moment, as he grew closer, he realized with disgust and horror that it was a body. One of his crewman, Sergeant Fox, lifeless eyes glaring at him in the dark.
He pushed past her corpse, the roar of rage of his pursuer echoing from the walls. The voices seemed to be stronger now, ripping into his very soul, protests for help, cries that he was betraying his friends by seeking to save his own life, whispered threats of his imminent annihilation. The walls seemed to close in on him, flickering green lights casting strange shadows in the air, and he felt himself slipping, falling, sliding to the floor as tangled cables reached out towards him.
Turning to face his pursuer, he raised his rifle, ready to spend his final bullet in a bid to extend his life for one more instant, one more breath. His feet were helplessly caught, and his panicked cries filled the air as he saw the creature racing towards him with rending claws held high, a beast with a human face.
His face.
Sub-Lieutenant John Clarke greeted the morning with his customary scream. Baked in sweat, he looked up at the clock on the wall. Almost oh-six-hundred. Time for him to be reporting to duty, anyway. One benefit of being a department head was that nobody would question him heading to his office hours early. To an extent, it was expected, welcomed. The mark of a good officer.
Staggering over to the mirror, he saw his face staring back, eyes heavy, weary, his hair a tangled mess, lines of worry on his face. He was a nineteen-year-old man who looked thirty years older. Every night, it was the same basic story. Sometimes he was back in the jungles, fighting the United Nations troops once again, watching the men he had led into battle die, one by one. Sometimes on the bridge of a ship, surrounded by enemies he couldn't defeat, tearing his ship apart. And sometimes he was alone, abandoned, the voices of the dead calling on him to join them.
He splashed icy water on his face, trying to wake himself up, then reached for a bottle of emergency oxygen, strapping on the mask and taking a dozen deep breaths of the elixir-like air, instantly sending a surge of energy through his body. A month ago, he'd only needed one breath. Now, a canister was only lasting him a couple of days, and he knew he'd soon be topping up his supply every night.
Looking at himself again, he ran his hands through his hair, trying to straighten himself up, then selected a clean uniform from the rack on the wall, sliding on the uniform jacket and fumbling with the clasp. At least the figure in the mirror now looked as though he could pass as an officer, as long as nobody made too close an inspection.
He reached for his datapad, calling up the mission specifications for the day. Alamo would be emerging from hendecaspace in fifteen minutes, another new system to explore, their fifth in less than two months since leaving behind the lost human colony they had found. Captain Salazar and Lieutenant Harper had managed to piece together a trail from a series of hints on an abandoned alien city, but so far they'd found nothing other than empty worlds and enigmatic ruins, a path that seemed to have no end.
It had been almost three months since they'd been stranded here in Andromeda, hurled through a phenomenon they couldn't understand, lost in space millions of light-years from home. They couldn't even see their own galaxy from here, hidden in a sea of stars. Two months since he'd earned his field promotion, an honor that was rapidly becoming a curse.
The door slid open, and Sub-Lieutenant Mortimer stepped inside, her face cold. She'd been a double agent when first they'd met, infiltrating the enemy craft that Alamo had destroyed, the United Nations Dreadnought that Captain Marshall had given his life to bring down. They'd worked together on the planet, and occasionally, he caught her looking at him oddly, as though seeking something she couldn't quite detect.
“I'm on to you,” she said, as the door slid shut.
With a sigh, he replied, “I've got to get to my duty station.”
“Not for two damned hours, John, and we're going to have a conversation first.” She sat
down on the rumpled bed, and said, “Have you looked at yourself lately? When was the last time you actually had a good night's sleep?”
“I only just woke up.”
“Not what I asked.” She closed her eyes, ran her hand across her forehead, and said, “It hurts, John. Trust me, I know. Better than you. But you've got to live with the consequences of your actions, and I think you can.”
“I'm fine, Ronnie,” he said, trying with limited success to brighten his tone. “Maybe I haven't been sleeping that well lately.”
“What did Doctor Strickland say when you asked him about this?” she asked. At his expression, she continued, “You haven't been to see him.”
“I'm not sick.”
“Yes, you are, and you don't really think that I'm the only one to notice, do you? You're wandering around the ship like a damned zombie, and I'm certain that the Captain is beginning to realize that he's going to have to do something about it.” Putting her hand on his shoulder, he said, “Nineteen years old, and you're carrying a burden meant for someone ten years older.”
“I can handle it.”
“If you choose to,” she countered. “Right now you're stuffing it all into a box, burying it deep inside your soul, and hoping that it won't escape at the wrong moment. I've seen this happen to friends of mine, John, and sometimes it's a road you don't come back from. As it stands, you're on a one-way ticket to a nervous breakdown.”
Rising to his feet with an effort, he replied, “I'll work it out.”
“You don't have to do it alone.” She shook her head, and said, “Typical kid. You still think that you can take on the entire universe before breakfast. Let me tell you...”
“No,” he snapped, gesturing dangerously with his finger towards you. “Take my word for it, I've had more proof than I care for that I can't handle everything by myself. In fact, I've had ample proof that I can't handle anything! I'm a curse, Ronnie. Everywhere I go, people seem to end up dying, people I'm supposed to be responsible for.”
“You can't save everyone,” she replied, quietly.
“Maybe not, but the fact remains that I've screwed up, more times than I care to count, and people have died as a result of my mistakes.” He pulled the rank insignia from his shoulder, clutching it in his palm, and added, “How much blood do you think this cost, Ronnie? Because that's a price I don't think I'm willing to pay, not any more. I ought to go to the Captain and put an end to this farce right now. I'm not an officer, and I never will be. Better that I get put somewhere where I can't do any harm.”
Mortimer rose to her feet, and slapped his face with sufficient force to send him tumbling to the deck. She looked down at him, a sneer on her lips, her eyes blazing with fire.
“You sniveling coward. I thought you were an officer, actually thought you were a man, but I guess I was wrong. At the first sign of weakness, at the first setback, you go running home to mama.” Gesturing at the door, she said, “Go see the Captain. Tell him he was wrong, that you're not an officer, that you're just a worm. Then you can spend the rest of your career in hiding, buried somewhere on the lower decks. And all of those people will have died for precisely nothing.”
The wind knocked from him, Clarke lay on the floor, then looked up at the savage Mortimer, tears glistening from his eyes. He struggled to speak, and she knelt down beside him, contempt smeared on her face.
“What?”
“It hurts!” he yelled. “It hurts so goddamned much!” He looked up at her, and said, “That planet, three weeks ago. Remember? Just a collection of alien ruins on an airless world, and I took down a team to run a quick survey.” He gulped, then said, “One of the rocks was unstable, and when we landed, it must have been disturbed by the thrusters. The whole pylon came down, and I watched as it fell, and I froze. I couldn't move a muscle. If Ballard hadn't been quick off the mark, three people would have died.”
“It happens.”
“It can't happen!” he yelled. “Hell, if it happens at the wrong time, we could all die!”
Her face softened, and she replied, “It isn't fair, is it? You should be worrying about passing a test, whether that girl will go out to dinner with you. Instead, we've placed the weight of the universe on your shoulders.” With a sigh, she continued, “I can't tell you that it gets any easier, John, because that would be a lie, but after a while, you do get used to it. And if it is any consolation, when you are in action, you're hell on wheels. I understand completely why Captain Salazar named you Security Officer, and I'd happily serve with you any time.”
“Three times,” he muttered. “Three times, and I've come damn close to killing everyone. It didn't seem to matter as much at first. When it was only my life at risk, not anyone else, but they keep raising the stakes, and I don't know what to do about it.”
“Trust your instincts,” she replied. “You know what your real problem is?”
“No.”
“You think too damned much. After a while, it gets in the way, and you start second-guessing yourself. Bad enough when you're sitting alone in your cabin with a bottle of something in front of you.” Looking around the room, she asked, “Where is your stash, by the way?”
“I don't drink.”
“That's another mistake,” she replied. “A good officer knows that there is a time and a place to get well and truly drunk.” Cracking a smile, she continued, “Why do you think they give everyone a flask of emergency oxygen? Just accepting the reality of the situation. John, ultimately you are right about one thing. You're going to have to fight your way past this, but that doesn't mean you have to do it alone.” She sat down next to him, and said, “You think you've got problems? Try walking in my shoes for a while.”
“It must have been tough.”
“The man I loved, the man I'd planned on having a future with, died. Along with most of my friends, and the others are lost to me forever. You've got somewhere to go home to, kid. I don't. I'll never go back to Earth again.” Tugging at her uniform, she added, “And I'm not sure this really fits, either. Everyone knows I used to be United Nations Fleet, and I don't think most of the crew believes that I'm really one of them. I'm not even sure if I am.”
Looking up at her, Clarke said, “I trust you. If that helps. Or I don't think that we'd be having this conversation.”
“I'm sure enough of that,” she said. “And that does help, a little. That's why you're going to have to straighten yourself up, kid. I don't have many friends on this ship. I can't afford to lose one of the few I have, and that's what will happen if you don't pull out of this spiral.”
Nodding, he replied, “I just don't know what to do.”
“Want some free advice?”
“Sure.”
“Talk to Doctor Strickland. Get some REM suppressants, and treat yourself to a few real nights of sleep. You can't use them for long, but just a couple of days will help you more than you know. And I know we don't have a psychiatrist on board, but there are counseling programs. Use them. You think most of the crew don't need that release from time to time?” She paused, then asked, “I almost never see you around when you aren't on duty. The paperwork backlog can't be that bad. Captain Salazar doesn't seem like the sort to let the clutter back up that high.”
“It isn't,” he replied. “I just...”
Nodding, she said, “I get it. You take any self-defense classes?”
“Just the usual Academy curriculum, more at Intelligence School. Dirty tricks stuff, mainly.”
“You fence?”
“Fence?” he asked. “I tried out for the Academy fencing team. Took a few classes. I was planning on taking it further, but the next term, well, never came.”
“Foil or epee?”
“Foil.”
Her eyes gleamed, and she replied, “Good. I've been looking for a new sparring partner, and you just got yourself volunteered. We have a date
with the gym tonight, nineteen-hundred. Don't be late.” She paused, smiled, and said, “And don't get any other ideas. I've got fifteen years on you.”
“Huh?” he replied, blushing crimson red.
With a chuckle, she said, “Never change, kid. Really, never change. You're too damn much fun as it is.” Reaching down with a hand, she pulled him to his feet, and said, “We're meeting up for lunch, as well, twelve-hundred. I'm going to drag you out of your shell if I have to get the whole damn crew to help. I'm not the only one worrying about you.”
“I don't...”
“You made a hell of an impression on quite a few people when you rode that scoutship down. Pretty much everyone with you on that moon would quite happily follow you to Hell, and that's a good start. Tell me. Did you spend hours agonizing over that decision, or did you just do what you thought was right?”
“Just instinct.”
“Then you don't have anything to worry about. And as for the planet, I'd bet that you froze because of fatigue, not any inherent weakness. Go see Strickland. Don't worry, he doesn't talk. Not unless it would affect the safety of the ship and her crew, and you aren't there. Not yet. Keep walking down this road, and you will be.”
“Yeah,” he replied, nodding. “I'll swing by later this morning, after sick call. Don't want to get caught up in the rush.”
“Or for anyone to see you,” she countered. “Fine, but I expect to hear a full account in the mess. Got that? I'm going to be riding you on this.” Cracking a smile, she added, “Even if technically, you're two spots above me in the chain of command.”
“Don't give me another nightmare,” he replied. “Command is the last thing I want.”
“Pity,” she said. “It suits you. I really mean that.” The overhead speaker barked into life, the voice of Max Francis, Alamo's Executive Officer, echoing through the room.
“Attention. All decks prepare for emergence to normal space. Sensor crews to full operational readiness. Proceed to standby alert. Sub-Lieutenant Clarke, report to the bridge on the double.”
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