Clarke nodded, then replied, “Stay at the top of the shaft, and call down every few minutes. If I call for help, get down here as fast as you can. And leave your knife behind. I'd feel a little happier with something to defend myself other than my fists.”
Fox passed her newly-found knife to Clarke, handle first, and as she climbed up the ladder, he looked it over, feeling the weight in his hand. A good, solid weapon, though with a notch to the blade and a rough handle, not properly sanded. Local manufacture, not the product of an advanced civilization. He looked around the walls, and said, “This is a fallen culture, isn't it. In the middle of a Dark Age. I wonder...”
“Not bad,” a gruff voice said, stepping out of the shadows, a gray-haired Neander flanked by two others, all holding rifles, all trained on Clarke and the others. “Where's the other one?”
“On guard, up top,” Clarke said.
Taking a step forward, Mortimer replied, “Thanks, Lieutenant. Out of one trap and into another.”
“Lieutenant Maqua has vouched for you, but in the circumstances, you must understand our need for additional precautions. Our captors spoke softly when the first arrived, and only turned against us when they detected an opportunity for gain.”
Raising his hands, Clarke said, “What exactly is it going to take to convince you?”
“Blood, Sub-Lieutenant.”
“Blood?”
“We have a plan to eliminate the enemy once and for all. You will join us in the attack, and will assist us in exterminating any survivors. They must pay in blood for what they have done.”
“Massacre them all?” Garland asked. “What have they done up there?”
“Enslaved our people. Killed some of our warriors, conquered our city. Every one of them must die if that insult is to be redeemed.” He glanced at the Neander on the left, and said, “If you agree, we will accept your word, though you will be watched. I will expect you and your men to take part in the execution squads.”
Taking a deep breath, Clarke stepped forwards, his hand still raised, until he was only a few paces from the rifles, and said, “Go ahead and pull the trigger. I'd rather be dead than take part in a massacre like that.”
“This is war.”
“Yes, this is war, and yes, people die, but you are talking about a cold-blooded massacre. Have all the enemy troops committed such acts of murder?” The gray-haired Neander shook his head, and said, “Of course not. Some have. In battle, and perhaps later. And they can pay for their crimes in whatever measure is appropriate to your people, but neither I nor any other member of my people will take part in an act of mass murder.”
“You were right, Lieutenant,” the Neander said.
“I told you as much.”
“But I had to be sure.” As the guards lowered their weapons, he said, “Welcome to our Undercity, Sub-Lieutenant. My name is Kepteros. I apologize for the deception, but I had to test your character, and this seemed the most expeditious method. We do have a plan to retake our home, but it does not involve such brutality. In fact, if it works, nobody will die at all. But we're going to need your help to pull it off.”
Clarke looked at Mortimer, who rolled her eyes in response, then said, “What exactly did you have in mind?”
Chapter 11
“Interesting,” Harper said, scanning through the end of the report. “You had a chance to take a look at this yet, Val?”
Foster shook her head, then turned back to the controls, saying, “That the material Endurance sent over for us?”
“Yeah,” she replied. “And I think that what they aren't telling us is a lot more interesting than what they are. Let's just say it looks rather sanitized, and leave it at that. And the material on their homeworld is basically a damned tourist guide, right down to the ten best restaurants in First Landing.”
“What's the story?”
Glancing down at the datapad again, she said, “Short version, and my God, the version I've got takes its time about it, a ship left Earth during the First Diaspora, staging out of the European Federation. Found its way through the wormhole, and ended up on a planet with humans already present. A fallen civilization, recovering from a nuclear war.”
Shaking her head, Foster replied, “They fled one war and ran into another.”
“Something of a historical irony, but they were at least able to skip over a few centuries of Hell. The two populations quickly mixed, the culture they brought with them became dominant, and about twenty years ago, they returned to space, built starships, the usual.”
“Fast work if they only arrived fifty years ago.”
“Reading between the lines, there was a substantial industrial base when they got there, especially orbital installations. Most of it was a question of getting things running again, and an influx of three thousand engineers and scientists was about what was needed.” She frowned, then added, “I don't mind that they've made themselves look like paragons of virtue. Have you ever read the briefing pack we've prepared for First Contact situations?”
“Never got that bored.”
“Masterpiece of propaganda. It makes sense that the Hegemony would be essentially the same, but there are two questions I would like answered.”
“Oh?”
“First of all, why is that ship of theirs armed? According to this,” she said, waving the datapad, “They haven't encountered any other starfaring civilizations. Our first starships were unarmed, just a few hand weapons, the occasional experimental piece of kit. We didn't arm our deep space vessels until the Interplanetary War, aside from the odd prototype.”
“Maybe they had internal problems they aren't talking about. Hell, maybe they're just paranoid. If I remember correctly, there were a few people who wanted our first ships armed to the teeth in case they ran into slobbering green monsters.”
Shaking her head, Harper said, “I might buy that, but why have they called themselves the Hegemony. For a supposedly democratic government, it seems a rather despotic name. And it doesn't have any origins back on Earth from any of their founder countries. I checked.”
“Then you think there's more to this than meets the eye?”
Gesturing ahead at the approaching Dyson Sphere, she added, “Enough that you're going to be giving me a distraction when we get down there, long enough for me to play a few little games with their shuttle's database. If there's something strange going on, I should be able to find out what in relatively short order.”
Raising an eyebrow, Foster said, “You're that confident you can slice into their systems?”
“Either they are what they appear to be, and I won't have any problems at all, or they've got more than their wrists up their sleeve, and I'll work that out just as quickly. Maybe I'm worrying about nothing. Sometimes a name is just a name. There's only one way to work that out that I know, though.”
“And if you get caught?”
“I'll work that out on the fly. I'm really hoping not to be. Just give me cover for a few minutes, and I'll see what I can do.”
“I hope you know what you are doing,” Foster said with a soft sigh. “Transfer Two to Dyson Base. Preparing for landing.”
“Roger,” Lombardo replied. “Clear on Beacon Three. Make sure you land dead or you'll skid all over the place, and have your thrusters set to station-keeping the whole time you're on the surface. We'll be waiting.”
Harper looked out at the collection of shuttles scattered across the surface, most of Alamo's craft transferring personnel and equipment back and forth. They'd spent more than a day trying to crack open the hatch with no success, and while Foster had hopes for the laser torch they'd brought with them, Harper did not. Any race capable of building the sphere was more than capable of wrecking any attempt they made to breach it, especially with the crude technologies at their disposal.
She ran her eye up and down the endless metal wall, bar
ely able to distinguish even the faintest curve. Even for an ultra-technological culture, this must have been the labor of centuries, thousands of years. Longer than human civilization had even existed. The magnitude of the task daunted her as much as the technology involved.
“Alamo to Transfer Two,” the speaker barked. “Scott here. We've got the latest results from the deep star survey. Do you want the news?”
“Go ahead, Kat.”
“We've found signs of three more.”
Harper looked at Foster in shock, then said, “Three more? You're joking.”
“No joke. Nearest is about eight hundred light-years away, furthest three thousand, all with matching black holes attached. Just in case one of these things isn't enough for you. That just about confirms that we're dealing with a galaxy-spanning culture. And we went over the charts from home again. No sign of anything like that in the Milky Way, nothing we've ever spotted, anyway.”
“Four of them,” Foster said. “Is there anything in the Hegemonic files about that?”
“Nothing, but they are a bit spartan on scientific information,” Harper replied. “We're dealing with an interstellar civilization that built multiple Dyson spheres. I'm beginning to agree with Max. Maybe we ought to run as far and as fast as we can.” She looked at the sphere again, and said, “What about this system, Kat?”
“Still nothing. We've run good checks of about a thousandth of the outer belt, and we've got a couple of probes heading in that direction, but it'll be weeks before we get any decent readings from them. Carpenter's cosmologists are still lobbing sensor packages down the black hole, and every time they do we get a nice big spike of processing power. They're having the time of their lives, I think. I'm just sitting up here waiting for the axe to fall.”
“I know what you mean. Keep listening out, and stand by for a secure datalink in a few minutes.” She paused, then asked, “Any progress on the Monitor data?”
“Nothing new. It's going slowly, but it is moving. I guess we'll get there sooner or later, but I don't think there's much we can do to speed the process along. The fragments are getting larger, though. We're making progress.”
“Good. When it comes, it'll likely come all at once, so let me know at once when it does. Harper out.” Turning to Foster, she said, “This just makes it more likely that we've found the wormhole builders.”
“I don't see that,” Foster said. “If we're talking about an intergalactic culture, as unimaginable as that seems, then why wouldn't they build structures like this in the Milky Way? And more to the point, where are they now?”
“Probably laughing themselves to death at our pitiful attempts to understand them.”
“Maybe,” Foster replied with a smile. “Engaging landing thrusters. This is going to be fun.”
The shuttle slowly dropped to the surface, landing legs engaged, periodic bursts of gas as the thrusters killed the last traces of their lateral velocity, allowing them to smoothly touch down. As they reached the repulsion field, they skidded for an instant, before Foster's quick corrections stabilized them, seeing them secure on the surface of the sphere. A pack of engineers walked forward, a mix of Triplanetary and Hegemony spacesuits, as Foster carefully made the final adjustments.
“Down,” she said. “Or as much as we're going to be. We're still moving, but only a millimeter or so a second, and the thrusters are working on it.” She looked up at Harper, and said, “Did I mention yet that this is a weird place to visit?”
“I think I've got that impression,” Harper replied, looking out of the viewscreen. “Still glad I made it down here. Poor Pavel is desperate to make the trip, but can't quite justify it. Yet.” She started to tug on her spacesuit, grabbing her helmet out of the overhead compartment.
“He'll just have to live vicariously through the rest of us for the moment,” Foster replied. She reached into the locker for her spacesuit, throwing a control to open up the cargo bay, allowing the engineers to start unloading. The shuttle lurched to the right as the doors slid open, only steadied by a series of frantic corrections.
“Damn, this world is strange.” She paused, then added, “Clarke's shuttle didn't have it this bad. Something must have changed down there. Maybe we're finally having some sort of effect.” Running her eyes over Harper, she added, “Your suit looks fine.”
“Yeah, I'm all green.” Tapping a control, Harper stepped into the airlock, datapad in hand, and slid through the narrow passage out onto the surface, falling onto her back before her thrusters could fire, struggling to return to her feet.
“Don't worry,” a new voice said. “Happens to us all the first time. Welcome to the BDB. I'm Lieutenant Maxwell. Structural engineer.”
“BDB?” she asked.
“Big Damned Ball,” he replied. “Can't think of anything better to call it.” Looking around, he added, “I've been here five times. Inside once. It's strange in there. Like nothing you've ever imagined.”
“Cut the chatter,” Hanson said, moving over. “Let's get the cutter unloaded and see if we can crack through the alloy.”
“I'm going to take another look at the control panel,” Harper replied.
“Suit yourself,” Hanson said, “but it won't work. We've tried it every few minutes. Something inside must be keeping it closed. We're working on the theory that if we can crack it open even a little, we might be able to force it free. At least wide enough to get someone down there, or contact anyone still alive inside.”
“Still alive?” Foster asked. “It's that dangerous down there?”
“Sometimes,” Hanson replied. “Sometimes. Let's get working. And Lieutenant, as soon as you've finished wasting your time with the controls, I think your Lieutenant Lombardo could use some help with the drill. He doesn't seem to be having much luck anchoring it.”
Flashing him a scowl, luckily invisible through her helmet, she walked over to the controls, pulling out her datapad and placing it carefully on the surface. On instinct, she tapped the release button, unsurprised when nothing happened, and looked behind her to watch Hanson staring at her, only breaking away when he realized she had spotted him.
She glanced over at the fist-like shuttle from Endurance, parked on the far side of the airlock, and lined up the transmitter on her datapad. If they were from Earth, then their software would at least have common ancestry, and have inherited at least some of the weaknesses of earlier versions. First access was simple enough, and she smiled as she saw a familiar loading screen, the image of a company still selling software today. At least that part of their story was true.
Now for the fun part of the exercise. She started to tap in commands, sending in some of the intrusion software she'd brought along, dug up from deep in the historical archives, programs that hadn't been used for long decades pressed into service for the occasion. She grimaced at the frustratingly slow speed of the shuttle's network, her attack hindered by the physical limitations of her target, but a piece at a time, she started to slice into the system, access growing stronger and stronger by the second.
Then new text flashed up, writing in an unfamiliar language, one that her systems recognized as the same sort of Proto-Indo dialect used by Neander settlements back in the Milky Way, the offshoots of that long-ago interstellar war. For some reason, it was set as an optional language for the command processor, and it took a few commands to clear it out of the system.
On a hunch, she called up the life support settings for the shuttle, and frowned. The aft section had configuration options for Neander. Dimmer lights, lower temperature. Alamo had similar settings in the crew quarters, for the comfort of Neander crewmen. She reached for her sleeve, ready to open a channel, but felt a gun in the small of her back, underneath the double oxygen tanks.
“So you worked it out,” Maxwell said, his voice transmitted through physical contact. “If you do exactly what I tell you, I won't hurt you. You're going t
o have to listen for a moment.”
Harper reached out with her tongue, and rubbed against a hidden button in her helmet. A second later, her suit thrusters fired, the blast slamming into Hanson and sending him tumbling across the surface of the sphere, end over end, his suit thrusters unable to cope with the pressure. Harper's compensated instantly, pinning her against the controls, and she turned around to face the stunned collection of engineers, reaching for the pistol in her holster.
“Don't move, anyone,” she said. “Lombardo, Foster, corral our supposed friends from the Hegemony together.” She looked down at her controls, and said, “Someone contact Alamo. My antenna must have been damaged in that little fracas.”
“Wait a minute,” Maxwell protested. “Look, it isn't what you think, I swear. If you just wait a moment, I'll try and explain.” She sighed, and added, “I said we should have told you right from the start, but I was overruled.”
“It had better be one hell of an explanation.”
“Damn it, Kris, my communicator is out as well!” Foster yelled.
“Mine too,” added Lombardo.
“Someone head over to a shuttle,” Harper replied. “Try one of their systems. Maybe...”
Before she could finish her words, a loud, deep rumble echoed from beneath her, and a thin crack of light appeared, flashing into the night. Somehow, the hatch was opening, and they were all trapped upon it. With a hundred mile drop waiting for them underneath.
A voice crackled into her helmet, overriding her systems, and barked, “Surrender in the name of the Hierarchy, or fall to your deaths. Your call.”
“Some choice,” Foster said. “In the name of the Confederation, I surrender our landing party.”
“Wait a damned minute,” Hanson said.
“While there's life, Lieutenant, there's hope,” Harper replied.
Chapter 12
Clarke followed Kepteros, the rest of the team behind them, walking along the narrow corridors, carved deep into the rock many thousands of years ago. Ahead, they could see a flickering flame, dancing from the ground, with shapes gathered around it, kneeling in homage. Kepteros walked ahead, and one of the figures at the fire rose with an effort, his shape indistinct in the shadows beyond.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Shadows in the Sky Page 10
