Battlecruiser Alamo: Shadows in the Sky

by Richard Tongue

   Nodding, Foster added, “I'm afraid I must agree. We should proceed with caution, sir.” She paused, then said, “Though getting to the shuttle would be a good place to start our investigation, and sooner or later we're going to have to spend extended periods on the surface if we're going to get anywhere with our investigation.”

   “Very well,” Salazar said. “Sub-Lieutenant, proceed with caution. I want Koslowski to remain on the shuttle at all times, and be prepared to launch at a moment's notice. Take no risks, John. I mean it. And don't attempt to salvage the other shuttle unless you are absolutely certain that it is flight-worthy. I'm perfectly happy to get the data stored inside.”

   “Aye, sir,” Clarke replied. “We'll head out now.”

   “And no heavy weapons, Sub-Lieutenant,” Salazar pressed. “Sidearms only, and for God's sake, don't fire first. We could have a couple of thousand First Contact situations coming up, and how we act today will influence all of our dealings with the inhabitants of the sphere. We don't want to earn ourselves a bad reputation.”

   “Aye, sir. Koslowski has a plasma carbine armed and ready, just in case, but it will be remaining in the shuttle, and so will we. Pre-flight has been completed, and she's ready to launch on your order.” He paused, and said, “I've set up a sensor relay, and would like permission to deploy a few remote sensor packages on our way.”

   “Feel free, Sub-Lieutenant,” Salazar replied, with an affirming nod from Carpenter. “Good luck, and don't talk to any strange men.”

   “Yes, sir,” Clarke replied. “Shuttle Two out.”

   Carpenter walked over to the sensor console, and said, “With all of this, we haven't taken a proper look at the black hole yet, but it's got to be artificial. Or at the very least, moved into its current orbit. The system is too dynamically perfect.” Gesturing at the display, she added, “And another thing. The interior primary is a red dwarf, a very stable one.”

   “So?” Scott asked.

   “If the primary purposes of this sphere is to collect and harness the maximum energy of a star, I'd have assumed that the builders would have picked one to provide the most energy possible. With a little work – and distance – you could live on one of these spheres if you slung it around a super-giant, and the amount of raw power that could be collected would be extraordinary.”

   “Lieutenant,” Salazar said with a wry smile, “are you complaining that the designers of this structure were thinking on too small a scale?”

   “No, sir,” she said. “Only that there must have been more considerations than we're realizing at the moment.” Tapping the console, she added, “Something else. We haven't yet seen anything inside with remotely the level of technology that would be implied by the construction of the sphere. That suggests that the builders may no longer be in control.”

   “Or they're simply hidden,” Francis replied. “Or this is all some sort of trick on a huge scale.” With a frown, he added, “For that matter, we've seen less than a hundredth of the surface, and that at a low-enough resolution that we've got no real detail. Face it, Lieutenant, even if we could take Alamo inside...”

   “Which we are not going to do,” Salazar pressed, looking at Carpenter's expression.

   “Then it would take centuries to complete even the most cursory survey of the interior. We're going to have to rely on a combination of luck and detective work.”

   “Will we?” Scott asked. “Someone will have seen us by now. Our hosts might already be on the way, ready to roll out the red carpet.” Turning to Salazar, she added, “Or drop an annihilation bomb. You see that black landmass, maybe a million miles away?” His eyes widened as he realized what she was saying, but she continued, “That's the aftermath of a major war. Picking up some radioactivity, and judging by the rate of decay, it was extraordinarily high. Maybe anti-matter bombs were used.”

   “And they didn't crack the structure?” Foster asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

   “We still haven't managed to analyze the alloy, and we're talking about a culture with gravity control, as unimaginable as that seems. You might as well call them magicians. Compared to us, that's exactly what they are.”

   “Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger,” Foster muttered. At Salazar's look, she said, “Tolkien. Lord of the Rings. Seemed appropriate.”

   “I can't help but agree,” Francis said. “We're playing with a raging inferno.”

   “Come on,” Carpenter replied. “This is the discovery of the millennium. It more than justifies everything we've gone through so far.” She tapped the control, and added, “We just sent a probe down a black hole. A black hole. The data we're collecting will revolutionize our understanding of the nature of the universe. Our transit here told us things about hendecaspace we'd never dreamed of before. The possibilities...”

   “Unless we can report our findings back, Lieutenant, there isn't really much point to gathering them, is there?” Francis said. “All of this is for nothing unless we can find a way home.” Gesturing at the sphere, he continued, “That has to be our primary objective.”

   Salazar nodded, and said, “Susan, I want you to focus all your efforts on finding the source of the wormhole builders. Hell, we're not even certain they came from this system. For all we know, this is just a colossal coincidence, or the wormholes were built by someone else to access the place. That's the problem. We don't know enough.” Turning to Ballard, he added, “What's the status of our sensor drones?”

   “It'll be weeks before we get a look at the far side of the sphere, sir, though I can't imagine it could be any different from this side. Naturally, resolution is going to be a problem, but we can certainly get a good overview.” She paused, and added, “I'm running into problems with computer time, sir. I'm going to need a bigger share of the processing power.”

   “Wait a minute,” Bowman replied. “I'm struggling to break down this mess of communications as it is. I was going to put in a request...”

   Before Carpenter could add to the argument, Salazar said, “Priorities, people. We can't magic more processing power out of the air, and we're going to have to make do with what we have. Unless someone has a definitive case that giving them a bigger share of the network will help get us home, we leave things as they are. And before anyone asks, rescinding alert status is not under debate at this time. I will not put the ship and her crew at any additional risk.”

   “Koslowski to Alamo,” the young officer said. “Sub-Lieutenant Clarke and his team have left the shuttle and are preceding to their target. I've got a positive track. I'm also picking up ruins in three other directions, at fifty, ninety and a hundred and thirty-five miles, and all of them look substantially different. The furthest one matches the images I've seen of Neander settlements on Driftwind. The others I don't recognize, and neither does the computer.”

   “Three more targets for exploration, then,” Carpenter said, looking around the bridge. “We can't leave them without an investigation. Proof that our people were out here thousands of years ago would be almost beyond price.”

   “Fifty miles might just be within walking distance,” Francis mused. “Though even then, it would mean more than a day away from the shuttle. More than a hundred miles will require some sort of transport. Using the shuttles too much would risk detection.”

   Nodding, Salazar replied, “Have Chief Santiago start working on some modified buggies. We won't need a life-support system down there, so that can be discarded. I want an emphasis on maximum range and ability to cover rugged terrain.”

   “How many should we build?” Francis asked.

   “As many as we realistically can, Lieutenant. I think it likely that we're going to be here for some time.” Rising to his feet, he said, “You have the deck. I'll be in my office. Let me know if anything changes.”

   “Yes, sir,” Francis replied, smoothly taking the command chair as Salazar mad
e for the exit. Harper followed as he walked into his office, sitting behind his desk and running a hand across his forehead. He looked up at her, and she sat opposite, waiting for the door to close.

   “It's too much, Kris,” he replied. “How can we hope to understand something like this. I feel humbled. Like a caveman shown around a starship.” Looking out at the sphere, he continued, “We could easily spend the rest of our lives and still not be any further forward.”

   She paused, nodded, then said, “I know this will have occurred to you...”

   “I'm a very, very long way from thinking about making this place our permanent home.”

   “We're explorers, Pavel, and in there is a whole universe to wander through. You said that this was the end of the line. Maybe you were more right about that than you knew.” She frowned, then said, “You're thinking about what Francis said, aren't you.”

   “This all does seem pretty convenient, doesn't it.” He forced a thin smile, then added, “That doesn't mean that I'm not desperate to take a look at it for myself. If I thought I could get away with it, I'd be on the next shuttle down there.” Shaking his head, he added, “Exploring a planetary surface is time consuming enough. We'd never finish surveying that. How many billions of square miles, how many civilizations? And humans, as well, somewhere inside.”

   “Contacting them should be a priority. They'll have a greater understanding of this place than we do. They may even have met the original builders, assuming they are still alive. Though I get the sense that this is old, Pavel. Older than humanity, perhaps. And it was built to last.” She glanced out of the viewport, then said, “Monitor.”

   “Something destroyed that ship, and Margaret Orlova is not the sort of commander to put her crew at unnecessary hazard, or to start a fight she couldn't handle. We're missing something, Kris, and until we know what it is, I...”

   “Sir?” Francis said, calling from the bridge. “We've got a problem. Long-range sensors are picking up increased tachyonic disturbance. Something's coming into the system. And the hatch on the surface...”

   “What about it?”

   “It just closed, sir. Locked tight.”

   “Damn,” Salazar said. “I'm on my way.”

   “I guess Francis was right about those wizards,” Harper said.

   “Maybe. I think we're about to find out.”

  Chapter 8

   The four of them walked quickly across the terrain, the shuttle disappearing behind them into the background. Soft sunlight shone down upon them, drifting clouds floating in the sky to cast momentary shadows. On the air, Clarke could hear what had to be birdsong, a distant chorus coming from the forest to the north, maybe a hundred miles distant.

   Up ahead, he could make out the ruins, jagged rocks jutting up from the ground, strange symbols large enough to read from even a mile away, with the shuttle they were seeking nestled at their heart. He glanced at Mortimer, then placed his hand on the butt of his weapon, a frown growing on his face.

   “And there I thought you might be enjoying the walk,” she said.

   “There's something wrong.”

   “Paranoia is a healthy enough personality trait, John, especially under this circumstances.” She swept her arm around, trying with little success to envelop the horizon, and said, “Look at where we are. Cruz would have dreamed of conquest, of an empire that could have encompassed millions, billions of beings. I just want to see some of them. There could be no end to it.”

   “I don't know,” Fox said. “I agree with you, sir. This all seems a little convenient, as though we're being handed the clues we're looking for on a nice shiny platter. Permission to scout ahead, check for an ambush.”

   “No,” Clarke replied. “We're better off sticking together, at least for the moment. Though we'll be heading back to our shuttle on the double. Garland, get a sensor package ready. We'll have to do as much as we can remotely.” He looked up at the dark shapes in the sky, and replied, “I think it'll be dark soon.”

   “Imagine the engineering required for that,” Mortimer said, looking up, eyes wide. “Damn it, this is what I signed up for.”

   “Me too,” Clarke said, “but I'd like to live long enough to enjoy it.” He redoubled his pace towards the waiting shuttle, now easily able to make out 'Monitor' scrawled on its side, the paintwork rubbed and faded. One look from outside convinced him that any attempt to take off would be futile, the landing legs dug in deep, buried in the dirt, and the wings beaten and battered.

   “No signal from the on-board systems,” Fox said, holding up a datapad. “Could have been left on standby, isolated from outside infiltration, which would suggest that there is a serious threat in the area.” She frowned, then added, “Could just as easily be a catastrophic systems malfunction. That ship doesn't look to be in very good condition.”

   Clarke's communicator chirped, and he placed it to his ear, saying, “Go ahead.”

   “Shuttle here, sir. I'm out of communication with Alamo. The data feed has died, and they're overdue on their last message. Request permission to leave the shuttle. I want to drop a sensor package down the shaft, see if something is interrupting our signal.”

   Looking at Mortimer, he replied, “Not yet, Midshipman. Give it fifteen minutes first, and run a full diagnostic check on the shuttle's systems. This could still be a malfunction at one end, so let's do our best to rule that out first. Contact me before you leave. Clarke out.”

   “Trouble?” Fox asked.

   “At a guess, the hatch overhead has closed.”

   “That was to be expected, surely,” Garland said. “It was probably on some sort of a time delay. Shuttle Three should be up there in half an hour, and they can open it again without any trouble, even if we don't find another set of controls down here.”

   “I hope so,” Clarke replied. “I really hope so.” Looking up at the ruins, he added, “There's nothing much we can do about it in any case. We continue as planned, but I hope you've all been putting in your time on the treadmill, because I want to be back at the shuttle in an hour.”

   “Six miles?” Garland protested.

   “A bit of exercise will do you good, Spaceman,” Fox replied with a gleaming smile.

   “Sergeant,” Clarke said, “I want you and Garland to investigate the ruins. Take as many images as you can, and collect samples for analysis. We've got to get this area dated. And naturally, if you see anything that looks like writing, feed it back to the shuttle's computer. Given time, we might be able to translate it even if we can't reestablish contact with Alamo. Ronnie, we'll take the shuttle. You do a systems check, I'll get the database fired up.”

   “Right,” she said, following him through the labyrinthine ruins, as Fox and Garland curved away, taking a tangled path around the debris in a bid to get the fullest possible analysis. The shuttle's airlock was open, waiting for them, and they stepped inside, the musty smell of the air within hitting them like a thunderbolt as they walked into the cabin.

   Dust and decay was everywhere. Judging by the smell, animals had been using it as a place to hide, and scurrying eyes looked out at them from dark corners, a chattering noise from the cargo compartment followed by a loud squeal. Shaking her head, Mortimer walked up to the cockpit, while Clarke headed for the rear terminal, brushing a tangle of fur and dirt from the seat.

   The emergency power came on almost instantly at his command, enough residual energy left in the batteries to run the console for a time. Data flooded onto the screen, and he tapped controls to set up a datalink back to the shuttle, draining the computers of every scrap of relevant information. The last reported entry in the maintenance logs was three months in the past, after the abandonment of Monitor. This had perhaps been the last refuge of her crew, seeking sanctuary in the massive alien structure.

   “I've got thruster control,” Mortimer said, shouting back from the cockpit. “Hull breaches in four places, but
we could seal them if we had to. Long-range communications are shot, and the sensor array is gone. Looks like it was removed. Along with the emergency hydroponics tank and a lot of other stuff. Technically, I suppose we could make this ship ready for space, but I wouldn't want to try unless we absolutely had no other choice. Too big a risk.”

   “Everything's working back here,” Clarke said. “Midshipman, are you getting this?”

   “Loud and clear, sir,” she replied. “All systems green, I have a good datastream. I still haven't reestablished contact with Alamo, though, and there's no malfunction at our end. It must be the hatch cover.”

   “If it is, there's nothing we can do about it for the moment, Midshipman. We'll be back in a little over an hour. Clarke out.” He looked around the room, and continued, “They've stripped out a lot of the portable equipment. Anything that might have been used. Even the spacesuits.”

   “That seems reasonable. If they knew they'd lost their ship, there'd have been no choice other than to make the best of the situation down here on the surface. Which would mean totally committing with everything they had.”

   “I don't disagree, but if that's the case, where are they? They must have known that there was a chance that someone was going to follow them sooner or later. If I'd been in command, I'd have stayed close to my entry point, used this as a base of operations. Even if it wasn't suitable for long-term occupancy, I'd at least have stationed someone here, or left some sort of message.”

   “Maybe we're missing something obvious,” she replied, as the diagnostic check finished its cycle, a parade of depressing news flickering on the screen. “Perhaps there were only a few survivors, and they wandered off somewhere. Maybe they were rescued already, or they died.”