Battlecruiser Alamo: Triple-Edged Sword

by Richard Tongue

   “No,” she replied. “Maintain stand-by alert while I'm over there, and keep in communication with Sub-Lieutenant Salazar. Powell can start deploying his probe network, and when I get back, I want a full run-down on the system. Everything we can work out, including an analysis of Salazar's data.”

   “Will do,” he replied, taking a step back, clearing the elevator airlock. “Have a safe trip.”

   As the hatch closed, she sat down on the nearest couch, making sure to get a window seat. Cooper was sitting opposite her, lost in thought and a pair of Neander troopers were sitting at the front, Corporal Walpis and Private Danus. Apparently they'd made quite an impression during the boarding action, and Orlova couldn't think of a better way to demonstrate the nature of the Confederation to the Council. Cantrell was nowhere to be seen, but she peered into the cockpit to see her sitting in the co-pilot's seat, presumably hoping for a better view.

   She almost missed the slow descent through the decks, the shuttle dropping clear, the engine roaring to take them towards the planet ahead. Powell was still in the middle of his survey, but she had the impression that he was already working on the inevitable paper that would follow. A huge Super-Earth lay ahead, ten times larger than Mars, with a dense atmosphere that was breathable at the higher altitudes, far above the barren, rocky surface below.

   The shuttle dived for the planet, recklessly spilling velocity as it decelerated out of orbit. There was no sign of a space station, or any significant satellite presence, and Alamo's scans had found no trace of such activity. Unusual for an economy that was totally dependent on resource extraction from other worlds, but it seemed to fit the threadbare nature of the civilization they had encountered. Salazar's report had been very interesting, citing dozens of examples of cannibalization that he had found during the repairs, work that seemed to be taken as completely normal by the maintenance crew.

   Thick, viscous atmosphere filled the screen, swirls and eddies of tempestuous storms raging below. The shuttle was cleared for atmospheric flight up to twice Earth normal pressure, but that didn't leave a very satisfactory safety margin. She'd flown in gas giants before, but never without an extremely good reason, and always with one eye on the fuel readouts and a well-serviced engine. One mistake, one error, and you plummet out of the sky to your death, with no chance of rescue. It was even worse in this environment, with a rocky, bleak surface sixty miles below to smash into, one from where they could be no rescue, no salvation, only a slow lingering death, even if she survived the impact.

   A green light winked on, and the wingtips of the shuttle began to glow red, biting into the atmosphere, slowing them still further. The shuttle rocked from side to side, turbulence throwing them about, and the pilot struggled to compensate, to keep them on an even course. On the passenger monitor, the trajectory display was scrambled, the navigation computer reluctant to make any predictions about where they would end up, struggling with an unfamiliar atmosphere. It was a creature of space, not air, and couldn't cope outside its natural environment.

   The stars were gone now, the shuttle carving a blazing trail through the sky as it hurtled towards its destination, finally beginning to level off as they slowed, the view clearing to reveal an endless horizon, peppered with bushy clouds, a strange green sky with eddies and currents. Small gray dots dashed back and forth, and after a moment, Orlova realized that they were natural, some sort of strange creature drifting on the wind..

   “Over there!” Cooper said, pointing to the far side of the cabin, and she turned to see their destination growing closer. She'd been on aerostats before, modules slung under huge balloons to suspend them in the air, but the largest one the Triplanetary Confederation had ever built could barely sustain twenty people. This was a city, floating in the clouds, a quarter-mile across, and the engineering that it must have taken was astonishing.

   As they drew near, she could see the gantries underneath the city, frameworks were other shuttles were supported, a vacant spot for them. Whole levels were green, huge windows to admit the sunlight, lush with vegetation. At the top, there were balconies, tiny figures walking around, admiring the view.

   “Astonishing,” she said, shaking her head. “I've never seen anything like it.”

   “We're about to dock,” the pilot said over the intercom. “Don't get out of your seats until we're secure. This is going to be rather tricky.”

   As the shuttle lurched back and forth on its thrusters, slowly drifting into position, she looked around at the other docked ships. A few of them were extremely familiar, old UN designs that she recognized from her days as a shuttle pilot, a pair of bulk haulers and a trio of light tankers, all of them connected to the aerostat by a series of long tubes, disgorging their loads. The others were alien, strange designs that presumably made aerodynamic sense, but which appeared ungainly, stout, with stubby wings that barely seemed viable for the atmosphere. Given a choice, she knew which craft she would choose to fly.

   A long series of clangs resounded on the outer hull, and she looked up to see the hatch mechanism engage, the clamps locking into position, securing them to the city. It seemed strange to realize that nothing other than a titanic gas bag was holding them in position, and it took an effort to rise to her feet, scrambling over to the ladder. Cooper moved to her side, shaking his head.

   “Better let me go first, ma'am. Regardless of protocol.”

   “Ensign...”

   With a smile, he added, “Senior Lieutenant Nelyubov's orders, ma'am.”

   “I see,” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “For be it for me to override my second-in-command. After you, then.” Turning to the cockpit, she saw a white-faced Cantrell step through, and was reassured that there was a way to unnerve the usually unflappable intelligence agent. “Spaceman, I want you to stay with the shuttle, and keep it under lock-down. Be ready to launch at a moment's notice, and maintain contact with Alamo.”

   “That might be a little tricky, ma'am,” the pilot replied. “I'm getting a lot of interference from electrical storms in the atmosphere. The signals are pretty distorted, and I'm on triple-confirm on our telemetry.”

   “Do the best you can,” she said, “and keep listening out for any signs of trouble.”

   Cooper climbed up the ladder, pushing open the hatch and stepping out onto the landing platform above. As he rose, she could hear music playing, some sort of discordant noise at first, followed by a reasonable rendition of the United Nations anthem, obviously some sort of recording. With a glance at Cantrell, she climbed after him, to see a group of men waiting at the top, all wearing ornate uniforms, each a different color. As she stepped onto the deck, they glanced at each other, before one of them finally stepped forward.

   “My name is Kelgar, Chief Administrator of Skybase One. I presume you must be Captain Orlova.”

   Nodding, she replied, “It's a pleasure to meet you in person, and to see your beautiful city.”

   “You are in command of that ship?” another asked.

   Waving at him, Kelgar said, “This is Yorax, Director of Combat Operations. I believe you would describe him as an Admiral, if I understand the Earth records correctly.”

   “I am in command of Alamo, yes,” she said. “I gather that is unusual here.”

   Cantrell climbed up after them, earning another stare from the men. She moved over next to Cooper, her face cold as iron.

   “Unusual?” Yorax said. “Downright unheard of. Old customs die hard, no matter how long some of us complain about them. We've wasted too much of our population in the past.”

   “This is a matter for later discussion,” Kelgar said. “You know how I feel about that issue, but I accept that different cultures have different customs. Evidently that have made different decisions, and they must live or die by them, just as we do.” He turned, and said, “In our society, women have no leadership role. Their primary function is family-based.”

   Orlova gla
nced at Cooper, and said, “No doubt we have a lot to learn from each other.”

   With a barking laugh, Yorax said, “Meaning that you are going to try and educate us of the error of our ways, and have a nice big stick to back it up with if needed. Perhaps you can finally smash some sense into a few old heads, eh!”

   “Come, Director,” the third man said, “I am Raval, head of the Surgical Guild. I would like to show you some of our medical records regarding space-faring females. I suspect you might reconsider your career path if you are able to understand them.”

   Her eyes widening, Cantrell said, “I was assuming that this visit would maintain a certain level of protocol. If we're being so blunt, then I consider your system outmoded in the extreme, woefully inefficient and unfair.”

   “I think that is enough, Lieutenant,” Orlova said.

   Shaking his head, Yorax replied, “I've been waiting forty years to hear someone say that to this old fool.” Turning to the others, he said, “The world is not as you want it, it is as it is. The central tenet by which our ancestors lived, and the reason we survived the Cataclysm.”

   “I do not see any reason to remain here,” Raval said, moving in front of Cantrell, glaring at her. “Heed my words, young lady. Your actions will bring you nothing but misery.” The doctor stormed out, Kelgar glancing after them, Yorax still chuckling. The old general turned to Cooper, and nodded.

   “I presume you are the man who led the force that saved Twenty-Two.”

   “Yes, sir.”

   “I've seen some of the footage of that assault. Excellent work. In all honesty I think you the superior of any combat force in this system, whether in space- or ground-based warfare.”

   Scowling, Kelgar said, “I would have thought you would have been the last person to denigrate the brave men of our military.”

   “Those brave men labor on wrecked old ships. This is a fully-functional military organization, and I can at least admire that. Our people do the best they can with what they have.” He sighed, and said, “To have such a force at my disposal just once would be a dream.”

   “So,” Kelgar said, “How can we be of further assistance, Captain Orlova? I presume you wish to continue your journey soon.”

   Shaking his head, Yorax said, “You're going to keep that arrogant attitude, aren't you.”

   “There is nothing in this system that we are not capable of handling for ourselves.”

   Folding his arms, the admiral replied, “All you do is organize the paperwork. I'm the one actually facing these pirates, and I say that we need all the help we can possibly get if we're going to beat them. This is a gift from the Gods, and while you might be prepared to squander it, I certainly am not.” He turned to Orlova, and said, “We need your assistance, and though there are those among us who would perhaps fear it, I'm not one of them.”

   “Go on,” Orlova said.

   With a sigh, Kelgar said, “I don't know how aware you are of the situation in this system. We have installations on Arcadia, and the moons of Itix and Gire, both mining vital resources. Our transport fleet is fully stretched keeping this facility supplied. Recent losses have only made matters worse.”

   “Can't you build more transports?” Cantrell asked.

   Glancing at Kelgar, Yorax replied, “Our shipbuilding facilities are limited. Constructing new vessels in a short period is not an option. The pirates are based on the outer moons, and they've been hitting us with those damn ships more and more often. These days it's rare for a transport to get through unmolested, and my gunships can't be everywhere at once.”

   “And with those lasers, you can't launch an attack on their bases,” Cantrell said, nodding. “They'd melt your ships to slag before you even got close.”

   “Exactly,” Yorax replied. “Though that did not stop my predecessor making an attempt. One which only made a bad situation worse. If things deteriorate much more, then I won't be able to guarantee our shipping lines.”

   “We do have plans in place to resolve this situation,” Kelgar added. “It is not so desperate as Yorax states, though I do concede that the situation is worsening.”

   “The arrival of your ship changes the strategic position completely,” Yorax said, pressing an advantage. “If we could stop the pirates, then we have a lot more options again. Our gunships can be converted to transports, and with the excess capacity, we might be able to start expanding our outposts, potentially strengthen our position in this system considerably.”

   With a frown, Orlova said, “You must understand that my options here are somewhat limited. The Confederation has not officially recognized your government...”

   “Of course,” Kelgar replied. “It is unrealistic to expect that you should become involved in our war. I quite understand your position, Captain.”

   “...Though I have some latitude in this situation. I'd need full details of your strategic situation, as well as a complete run-down on the history of the conflict to date.”

   “I can provide that myself,” Yorax replied. “Frankly, I'm desperate to take a look at that ship of yours in any case.” Turning to Cooper, he added, “My Internal Security people would like to have words with you, Ensign.”

   “Oh?” he said, his face darkening.

   A beaming smile on the old man's face, he replied, “They've been watching your attack on a continuous loop. I know they've got a thousand questions for you.”

   “I'd like to take a look around as well,” Cantrell said.

   Orlova nodded, then said, “Very well, Director, we can head back to Alamo right away. If that is acceptable to you, Administrator?” She looked at Kelgar, who reluctantly nodded.

   “I'm sure we can look after your people for a little while, Captain.”

   “We'll send a shuttle for you in eight hours,” Orlova said.

   “Aye, ma'am,” Cantrell said. “We'll be there.”

   “See that you are.” Turning to Yorax, she replied, “If you would come with me, Director?”

   “My pleasure,” he said. “I haven't been this excited since my first ride in a gunboat.”

   As she climbed down the ladder, she looked at Cooper, who gave her a reassuring nod. She wished she shared his feelings, but as she dropped down into the cabin, all she could feel was a sense of dread, of foreboding. Something was terribly wrong here, and she was leaving two of her people behind to face it alone.

  Chapter 6

   As far as Cooper could tell, the interior of Skybase was similar to that of the freighter he had seen. Everything kept in good order, though obviously with limited supplies and equipment. Anything that could be reused was, and he walked past a workshop where a dozen men in gray uniforms were dismantling some components, every scrap of material being salvaged for later use. Behind them, a green-uniformed figure watched, occasionally passing on instructions in a language he couldn't understand, but otherwise staying well clear of the work.

   Their guide, a man named Naxos, urged them away as he saw them loitering, guiding them down the corridor. Cantrell was the focus of attention, drawing looks ranging from outright hostility to lascivious glares, and she moved closer to Cooper, her hand instinctively drawing near the sidearm at her belt.

   “You'll have to excuse them, ma'am,” Naxos said. “They don't usually see a female with a weapon, up here in the higher levels.”

   “Am I supposed to be barefoot and pregnant?” she replied, shaking her head. “Your people need a serious attitude adjustment.”

   “Speaking purely personally, I'd be inclined to agree,” the guard replied. “Still, it's a hard habit to break. After the Cataclysm, there were only forty-one women of child-bearing age left alive. You can understand why they had to be kept safe. They were the only hope of a future.”

   Cooper shook his head, and said, “That might have been the case then, but that was hundreds of years ago. Surely by now the situation has normalized.”<
br />
   “We leave those decisions to the Council,” Naxos said. “They're not for us to question. At least not out in public.” He smiled, and said, “I'm just glad I took those English classes.”

   “How many of your people speak our language?” Cooper asked, grasping at anything that might change the subject. “I'd expected it to be limited to a few specialists.”

   “Most of our systems use United Nations technology to one extent or another, and we're always improvising new ways to develop them. If you want any sort of engineering or space-faring career, you learn English. I'd say one in five are reasonably fluent.” He shrugged, and said, “Not to mention that I think we'd always expected to come across some other humans one day. It didn't seem likely that only a single ship would find us. I'm surprised it took as long as it did.”

   “Don't take this the wrong way,” Cooper said, “but you're in a bit of a backwater here. The main thrust of colonial development was in a different direction.”

   With a shrug, Naxos replied, “Not really my field. I'll leave that to the Astrogator's Guild.” He stepped towards a door, pushing it open, and said, “We're here. Upper Security Control.”

   They entered the room, a large chamber with a viewscreen on the wall that was playing the record of his boarding action on the freighter, a couple of dozen blue-uniformed figures watching the display, some of them making notes. It looked rather familiar, similar to the Espatier barracks on Alamo. Weapons rack on the wall, a series of bunks on the other side of the room, tables and chairs, and a pair of small side offices, their doors closed.

   One of the watchers turned, saw Cooper, and raced over, saying, “That was amazing. How did you move so quickly?”

   “And how did you get such accuracy?” another asked. “I don't think anyone on that squad would be beaten by our top marksmen.”

   “Most of it is a matter of training,” Cooper replied. “As well as field experience. Everyone in my team is a combat veteran, with experience both in zero-gravity and planetary surface warfare.”