Battlecruiser Alamo: Malware Blues

by Richard Tongue

   “What was that?” Tramiel asked.

   “I just sealed every inspection hatch on the ship. They’ll have a hell of a time opening them. Probably involving explosives. Keep climbing until you get half-way up, then swing to your right. You’ll find a pair of hammocks.”

   “Hammocks?”

   “Trust me.”

   Her muscles ached by the time she reached their destination, and she gladly pulled herself sideways, sliding into position and strapping herself into the comforting cloth, tugging a black curtain by her side.

   Looking down, Tramiel said, “It’s a long way down.”

   “Better hope the cables don’t break, then. This isn’t exactly the biggest risk we’ve run today.”

   “I guess not. Are we safe here?”

   “I own the internal sensors in this part of the ship. They won’t register as anything other than empty space, with a potential hull stress in this area that ought to discourage any visitors. If anyone I don’t like does try it, they’ll get a nasty surprise.”

   “Oh?”

   “I’ve got control of the fire suppression system as well.” Pulling at a panel, she exposed a terminal, and said, “From here I can cause quite a lot of helpful mayhem. If you pull the other panel, you’ll find some emergency rations and a medical kit.” Taking a deep breath, she started to type, then slammed her fist into the wall.

   “Damn.”

   “What happened?”

   “Alamo must have knocked out the communications system. That means we can’t call them from here.” She glanced across at him, and said, “Whatever we do, we’ve only got the two of us to do it.”

  Chapter 13

   Salazar and Merrick had been forced to a half-crawl as the ceiling dipped and curved. Water dripped onto them, an incessant rattling that threatened to drive them mad. It seemed like hours since they had fled into the tunnels, leaving the others behind. He could still see the look on the face of the man he had shot, killed in order to save him from a worse death. As terrible as it was, he couldn’t help but think that he would hope that someone would do the same for him, were the roles reversed, a thought that horrified and repulsed him.

   The only source of light was an eerie green glow from the ceiling, some sort of bioluminescent algae. Lifting up his boots, he saw the same hue covering their soles. The stuff was everywhere, and his face felt slimy, the muck spreading across his clothes. A disaster for a stealthy operation, that they were faintly glowing in the dark.

   In the gloom, he saw something up ahead, a flickering light, and he raised his hand for Merrick to stop, the other officer almost crashing into him in the darkness. He strained to listen for any sign of activity, but aside from the endless dripping from the roof, he couldn’t hear a thing. All was still.

   “What do you think?” Merrick whispered.

   “I think I’d better go and take a look. Wait here and watch my back.”

   Creeping forward, Salazar ducked under a low dip, his hair getting covered in the goo, then was able to rise to his feet as he walked towards the light. As he grew closer, he recognized it as a standard-issue Fleet hand torch, and he picked it up with relief. The base was wet, and not with with same mess that was covering everything. His hand came away red, and he looked down to see a trail of blood on the floor.

   Wiping it clean on his trousers, he shone the beam around, looking at the walls. There were burn marks everywhere, spent ammunition cases on the floor, even a discarded handgun. He gestured for Merrick to come forward, then looked down at the weapon. As he’d expected, it was empty, all the ammunition used. There was a mark on the wall above it, likely where someone had thrown it in a hasty retreat.

   “We missed quite a battle,” he said. “At least we know that someone got away.”

   “Not necessarily,” Merrick said, looking around, his face pale. “That creature might have taken them.”

   “There’s nothing we can do, either way. We might as well holster our pistols for all the good they did the people here.”

   Nervously looking around, Merrick replied, “This means that one of the creatures is down here with us, doesn’t it? It’s already killed one group of people, and they couldn’t stop it. What possible chance could we have?”

   “None at all if we start to panic.” With a sigh, Salazar said, “Look, I don’t like our odds any more than you do, but there isn’t anything we can do to improve them at the moment. Let’s just push ahead and try to find a way out of this maze.”

   “What if there isn’t one?”

   “Then we go back the way we came and hope the coast is clear.” He paused, then said, “If you want, you can go back now.”

   “Split up? That’s crazy.”

   “Crazy is standing around talking about this when there is something out there in the darkness hunting us down. Stay behind me, and don’t make any wild shots. Only pull that trigger if you see a target. It’ll make us too easy to track down. By anyone. You understand?”

   “Sure,” Merrick said, nodding nervously. Salazar returned to the lead, stepping down the corridor, glancing back at the terrified officer. On paper, Merrick should have more experience than he, a year extra in uniform, but his career had mostly been spent sitting behind a desk, not on active duty. Wyvern had been his first deep-space assignment, and he’d only been on board for a matter of weeks.

   Even so, he’d expect better of a qualified officer than this. Or was it that he’d been through so much in the last four months that it had changed him more than he’d thought. He tried to think back to the man who had reported on board Alamo at Ragnarok, angry and bitter, and couldn’t picture him. Couldn’t conjure up the man he had been back them. Maybe that was for the best.

   Turning off the torch and sliding it into his pocket, he steadily advanced down the tunnel. More light would be useful, but by now some of their guards would certainly be looking for them, and he didn’t see any reason to make it easy. Not that he had a plan for what to do next. Getting out of the tunnels was enough for now.

   He’d lost track of their path five turns ago, lost count of his paces even before that. The place was such a tangle that any thought of map-making was futile. If he’d had a datapad, by now they’d be on the way to getting a complete floorplan, and retracing his steps would be simple. Without such technological aids, he was reduced to fumbling in the dark.

   As he turned a corner, his foot was caught in something, and he went tumbling to the ground, rolling end over end. Merrick raced forward, firing a wild shot into the air, the ringing of a ricochet over a groaning sound. Salazar turned, looked up accusingly at Merrick, then down at the man on the floor. Pulling out the torch again, he ran it across the prone form, at the mess where his right leg had been, hastily bandaged. There was another pistol by the man’s hand, all the bullets discharged.

   “Is he dead?” Merrick asked.

   “No, not yet. I don’t think he’s far off, though.”

   “I don’t recognize him. Not someone from Wyvern. One of our captors.”

   “Pick him up.”

   “What?”

   “We’re not leaving him here, and I’m safer with a gun than you are.”

   “These people…”

   Rising to his feet, Salazar said, “Fine, go. Get out of here, and try not to leave a yellow trail behind you as you go. Whatever he has done, whatever you think, that’s still a fellow soldier down there, wearing the same uniform as we are. We are not leaving him behind, no matter what the risk. Pick him up, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

   A howl echoed through the tunnel, an ethereal sound that filled them both with dread. Unwilling to argue any longer, Merrick picked up the groaning figure, and the two of them hurried away. It was impossible to tell which direction the noise was coming from, as likely that they were racing towards the nightmare as away, but there was nothing else to do. Salazar held his pistol t
ightly as he raced forward, his eyes straining in the shadows.

   He kept the torch on this time, judging that the threat of the beast outweighed that of recapture. Behind him, the man continued to groan as Merrick carried him, periodic grunts from the officer as he tried to keep up. Another roar, and if he could judge, they were getting closer to it, but up ahead he could see a hatch cover, at the far end of the corridor. Given how lost they were, it was quite possible that they had walked a full circle, but it promised at least the chance of safety.

   Merrick dashed forward, dropping the wounded man to the ground and frantically working the handle, ignoring the cry of pain from his abandoned charge. Before Salazar could chastise him, there was another howl, and he could see the creature racing towards him, this time clearly enough to haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.

   It looked like a grotesque parody of a man, tentacles reaching up from its shoulders with stingers at the end, a wide, grinning mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth, armored carapace across his chest. While Merrick continued to turn the handle, Salazar opened fire, emptying his clip into the creature to no effect. Either he had missed with five shots at rapidly closing range, or the carapace was bullet proof.

   As Merrick finally got the hatch open, the creature leapt at him, one of the stingers catching him in the back, sending him collapsing to the ground, convulsing in desperate agony. Belatedly, Salazar remembered the other pistol, but it was far too late before he could take his shot, the young officer locking desperate eyes with his as blood trickled from his mouth, the creature ripping and tearing at him.

   Though he quickly glanced around him, Salazar had nowhere to run. Even if he sprinted, the creature was faster than he was, had greater endurance, and he could only postpone the inevitable by a matter of moments. He looked down at the wounded man on the ground, the pain of being dropped having roused him, his eyes full of fear. At his belt was a combat knife, and Salazar reached down, snatching it from its sheath, feeling the weight of it in his hand.

   Instinct was all that was left. No-one had ever taught him how to fight an alien creature during close-quarters combat training at the Academy, but he figured the principle was the same as ever. Go for the weak spots and hope for the best. He slashed down with the blade, hacking at one of the tentacles, and it dug into the beast’s flesh, causing a scream to issue forth from his mouth, Merrick’s body tossed against the wall, broken and forgotten like an unwanted toy.

   Another tentacle swung high, and Salazar ducked under it, trying and failing to hack at it. The arms reached forward, still covered in Merrick’s blood, and he took a step back, the knife rebounding from the carapace as he tried to stab it. Fingers reached at him, catching at his jacket, razor-sharp claws tearing through it and gouging into his flesh. Somehow he resisted dropping the knife, instead diving in for another attack.

   This wasn’t working. He could parry with the beast for a few moments more, but sooner or later he was going to die. There was only one chance left, and taking advantage of the tentacle swooping to his left, he found an opening and plunged his blade into the eye of the creature, pushing himself back, slipping on the floor and tumbling out of control, wrenching his ankle in the process. He braced himself for the death blow, but looked up to see the creature recoiling, frantically reaching for the knife, human-looking blood pouring down to the floor.

   It staggered to its knees, and noisily expired, spending its last breath on a blood-curdling scream that echoed down the tunnels, finally collapsing on the ground in a heap of dying flesh. Salazar gasped for breath, looking at the creature, eyes wide. He tensed for another attack, tried to move back, but it never came. Cautiously, he reached forward, pulling the knife free, wiping the blade clean. At least he knew where the weak spot was.

   Pulling off his jacket, he draped it across what remained of Merrick’s corpse, shaking his head. The wounded man whimpered again, and he turned his attention back to the living. Blood was spilling out of the bandage on his leg, and without a medical kit there was no way he could treat him. Just ahead of him, the hatch dangled free, open and inviting, but with his ankle as it was he would struggle to climb it by himself, still less with a man over his shoulder.

   His second pistol still had a pair of rounds in the chamber, and looking up with a rueful smile, he fired them in quick succession. If they hadn’t already made enough noise already, that would guarantee it. Slumping back to the ground, he tried to make the wounded man as comfortable as he could, hoping that help would arrive in kind.

   After a few minutes, he heard footsteps echoing down the ladder, cautiously descending, and he yelled up, “It’s all clear down here. The beast is dead.”

   There was a pause, and the footsteps grew quicker, a man dropping down the last few rungs, looking at the body of the creature in disbelief, then across at the two people on the floor.

   “He needs help,” Salazar said. “Urgently. You’ll need to get him to a medical facility at once. I just need help to stand up.” Squinting at him, he recognized Spaceman Lombardo, one of the traitorous crewmen from Wyvern. “Have you at least got a medical kit?”

   “Fitzroy’s coming down with it,” Lombardo replied. “You killed it?”

   “With this,” Salazar replied, holding up his knife. “I guess this is the moment when I give myself up. As long as I get a drink of water, that’s fine with me.” Looking at Merrick’s corpse, he added, “We’ll need to get him out of here, as well. I won’t leave him for the creatures.”

   Nodding, Lombardo said, “Lieutenant Tarrant will want to talk to you at once.” He paused, then said, “I’d better take the knife.”

   Shaking his head, Salazar said, “You can have my parole, but I’m not giving this up. If you want to try and take it off me, you are more than welcome to try.”

   With a glance back at the creature, the guard shook his head, and said, “I’ll pass on that. Let’s get moving. There are more of those beasts about.”

  Chapter 14

   Cooper looked across the barracks, shaking his head at the mess. Corporal Vaughan was running a pressure tester over the hastily repaired bulkhead, periodically gesturing for Private Watkins to add a new layer of sealant to one spot or another. Technically, they didn’t have anything to worry about, five compartments in from the outer hull, but no-one was anxious to take any chances.

   All around, the platoon were trying to put everything back into order. Bunks had to be moved back into position, rifles secured to the wall and stored for charging, and a distressing collection of debris was liberally scattered over the whole area, hastily being thrown into bags for removal later. He tried not to think about the men he had in the medical bay, ten wounded from the brief attempt to take the ship, another caught here in the barracks when the hull was breached.

   “Just about ready,” Vaughan said. “I think we’re airtight again. I’ll have one of the lads repaint the wall when we’re done.”

   “Come on, Corp, is that really important?" Watkins asked, sensing that he would be chosen to wield the brush.

   “We want to have everything nice and tidy, Private. Something I hope you remember before my next inspection of your bunk.”

   “Yes, Corporal,” he replied, shaking his head, stowing the sealant back into its box.

   Over in a corner, Scott sat on a bunk, a half-filled bag in her hands, her eyes locked on the wall. Nodding at Sergeant Gurung, he moved over to sit next to her, offering her the canteen in his hands.

   “You can go and get something to eat, if you want. If you can’t face the mess, there’s some emergency rations in the next room. Cleaning this up is our job.”

   She looked down at the bag, up at him, and said, “I’m sorry, my mind must have been wandering.” She paused, then said, “I can’t stop thinking about it. It all keeps running through my mind, again and again.”

   “Happens to everyone,” Gurung said. “You did good.”

>    “I’ve never killed a man before. Never even shot at one. Just at targets on the range.”

   Nodding, Cooper said, “Want to know a little secret? Everyone feels like this the first time. After my first battle, I made a hell of a mess on the floor. The Sergeant’s right, though. You did fine. You’ve got good instincts, and you used them well.”

   The door opened, and Grant stepped in, looking down with disdain at Scott, saying, “Is this really an appropriate place for her to be, Ensign?”

   “Well, considering she is literally surrounded by Espatiers, Lieutenant, it seemed logical enough to me. Besides, we’re short-handed and in the middle of a clean-up, and I need all the help I can get.”

   Looking down at her belt, he said, “Are you aware that she is armed?”

   “I gave her the holster.”

   “Ensign, I think I had better take her personally into custody right away. Based on what I’ve seen of the security footage, there are grounds for another round of interrogation. Secure that weapon.”

   “No.”

   “Excuse me?”

   “No, I will not secure that weapon, and no, she is not going into your custody. I was assigned to guard her, and that is exactly what I am doing. I don’t know what you think you saw on the security footage, but in my judgment, there is no grounds for any suspicion.”

   “She was working with the enemy!”

   “Captured by the enemy, to be more precise. Granted that they probably thought they were rescuing her from us, something she herself has admitted.”

   Shaking his head, Grant said, “I want to question her again.”

   “Doctor Duquesne has confirmed that she has no memory of her time with Commodore Tramiel and his men. What would be the point?”