Battlecruiser Alamo: Malware Blues

by Richard Tongue

   “I can’t charge the laser,” Nelyubov said. “Can you give me…”

   “It’ll be at least ten minutes before we get the network back,” Grogan said. “I’ve lost contact with two of my teams, and another is cut off.” Pausing, she said, “I know, I know, we’ll do what we can.”

   “Make it fast, Grogan,” Orlova said. “My watch says that this part of space is going to get damn dangerous in seven and a half minutes.”

  Chapter 22

   As the submarine broke surface, Salazar stuck his head up through the hatch, winning the race to be first up the ladder, Cooper and the Espatiers behind him, ready to launch an attack if more of the creatures were waiting for them. The beach looked serene for a second, but then the familiar howl sounded again, and with a sigh, he looked back down.

   “We’re going to need you and your gang, Gabe.”

   “Ready and willing,” he said, and Salazar climbed up the ladder, a borrowed plasma carbine in his hands, Cooper and the squad following him up to the deck. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice was telling him that he should let someone else handle it, that this wasn’t his job, but the responsibility wouldn’t drop from his shoulders that easily.

   More than a dozen of the creatures were wandering around the shuttles, tapping the hulls, as though testing their strength, but as soon as they saw Salazar rising to the deck, they all turned and started to sprint towards the submarine, jumping into the water with a will.

   “Volley fire!” Cooper yelled, and six guns fired as one, the water instantly turning into scalding steam that roasted the creatures alive. Only one of them survived the initial blast, just out of range, and it paused for a moment as though sentient enough to contemplating running for safety, attempting to preserve its own survival. With a final scream, it charged on down the beach, gunned down by a short from Salazar’s weapon.

   “Thought you’d want it,” Cooper said, pulling out his communicator. “Grant, I need your people out on the beach to get the gangplank in position. All hatches open, we’ve got multiple casualties.”

   “On the way,” Grant replied, and Salazar frowned.

   “Grant came along?”

   “He was quite insistent about it,” Cooper said. “Walked up to Maggie and demanded that he should lead the shuttle strike. Did a pretty good job, actually.”

   The hatches opened, and a quartet of nervous crewmen filed out of the shuttles, racing for the gangplank, Grant urging them to greater speed. Another howl froze them in position, but the blast of a plasma weapon galvanized them again, another of the beasts reduced to its component atoms by a quick shot from Hunt’s rifle.

   “Move it!” Cooper yelled. “We’ve got wounded!”

   Slowly, the rest of the survivors were helped up the ladder, laboriously hoisted to the deck. Most of them were covered in bandages, medical armbands pumping painkillers into them in a bid to keep them moving, regardless of the long-term consequences.

   “Good God,” Rhodes said, pointing at the far end of the beach, a mile distant. A sea of creatures was rising from the water, a boiling tide spilling onto the shore, turning to race towards the shuttles. Salazar didn’t even try to count them, glancing across at Cooper as they approached.

   “We’ll never stop that many,” the trooper said, as the gangplank finally dropped into position.

   “Get back to your ships!” Salazar said, gesturing at the dumbstruck pilots. “We’re coming.”

   Hoisting the struggling Lombardo on his back, he bounced along the gangplank, not caring about the risk of falling in this time, sprinting for the nearest shuttles. Grant was heading for the furthest, the one that was closest to the beasts, but would likely get to it in plenty of time, while the others were all heading to the same craft as he.

   “We won’t fit everyone on one shuttle, you idiots!” Salazar said, but the terrified pilots ignored him, clambering on board.

   “Corporal, take the wounded and follow them,” Cooper said. “The rest, with me!”

   Still carrying the protesting crewman on his back, Salazar dashed across the wet sand, trying to ignore the creatures that were charging towards them, more than half the distance already eaten up, a chorus of soul-wracking screams filling the air. A pair of futile plasma blasts crashed into the sand in front of them, but they simply continued to run forward.

   Finally, Salazar reached the airlock, racing into the cabin and placing Lombardo gently on one of the passenger couches, before heading for the cockpit. With a roar, the first shuttle lifted off, Grant having realized that no-one was heading his way. For a second, he cursed, before watching the vessel dive towards the creatures, using its lateral jets to draw a trail of fire in the sand, trying to corral them away.

   The second shuttle launched, the pilots forgetting any idea of heroics, instead racing for the launch tunnel. Cooper slid into the co-pilot’s seat, sliding a headset on, and gestured at the aft cabin.

   “Fox is getting on board now. Looks like that madman’s bought us the time we need.” “Board looks green, I’m skipping pre-flight checks. Lateral thrusters on, outer hatch closing.” Salazar reached up and threw a selection of switches over his head, seemingly at random, and the main engines began to roar, kicking a cloud of sand up into the sky.

   “Shuttle Two to Alamo, do you read me?” Cooper said. “Shuttle Two to Alamo, come in, please.”

   “Nothing?”

   Looking down at his panel, Cooper said, “Everything’s working on our end. No sign of jamming.” He looked across at Salazar, and added, “Let’s hope we’ve got somewhere to return to.”

   “There’s the tunnel,” Salazar said, pitching forward, playing the thrusters around to line up. “I’m going through at full speed.”

   “Is that safe?”

   “Safer than not having any momentum built up to dodge the missiles that Wyvern will be raining down on us when we get out into free space. Hang on.”

   Reaching down, Salazar threw the throttle to full, the acceleration pushing them back in their seats. The autopilot, registering its protests with a series of warning alarms, followed the twists and turns of the passage, ducking just underneath a low-hanging rock formation, before flashing a new series of alerts.

   “Going to manual,” Salazar said.

   “What?”

   “The configuration of the tunnel has changed. Orbital bombardment. Don’t distract me.”

   Keeping a light hand on the thrusters, trying to avoid doing more damage with over-enthusiastic pulses from the maneuvering jets, he guided the shuttle through the tunnel, skimming from one side or another to keep a straight heading, before bursting out onto the surface with a wave of flame and a sigh of relief.

   “Hit the sensors,” he said. “I need to know where I’m going.”

   “Shuttle Three to Shuttle Two! We’re under fire!”

   “Hold low,” Salazar said. “The terrain is your friend, use it. They’ll struggle to get you if you hug the canyons.”

   “I’ve found Alamo. Just curving over the far side of the planet. She’s suffered a lot of damage to the outer hull, and doesn’t seem to be maneuvering.” Looking across at the pilot, Cooper said, “She’s in a bad way. Wyvern is overhead, closing on our position.”

   “Shuttle One to Shuttle Flight,” Grant said. “We’ve got multiple missiles in-bound, but Alamo will be providing us with countermeasure support. All we have to worry about is the particle beam, so don’t get too close.”

   “Easier said than done,” Cooper replied. “Wyvern is on an intercept course.”

   “We beat them coming down, Ensign, and we’ll beat them now. Ride long and low for Alamo!”

   With a shrug, Salazar tipped the nose down, the viewscreen filled by the dead surface of the planetoid, and ramped the engines up to full thrust again, the navigation computer spitting out electronic profanities in the form of disgruntled collision reports
while plotting a path through the canyons.

   “Heat spike!” Cooper said. “Two missiles up, heading for Shuttle Three.”

   “Time to play chicken,” Salazar replied, pulling back on the power and sliding the ship across on its thrusters, getting dangerously close to their counterpart. The other shuttle fired its engines, trying to widen the distance, and the pilot snatched up a microphone.

   “Hold still, damn it, I’m trying to save you!”

   “Shuttle One to…”

   “Later! Three, do what I tell you when I tell you to do it.”

   The missiles grew closer and closer, Cooper working the countermeasures station to little effect. He looked across at Salazar, the pilot’s tight on his control board despite everything he had been through in the last twenty-four hours, or, perhaps, because of it.

   With less than a second to spare, he yelled, “Break right!” and pulled in the opposite direction, Cooper pumping the physical countermeasures into their wake, a brief cloud of chaff forming. The missiles ceased to burn for a second, then locked onto Shuttle Two, the rescued ship gratefully arcing away, leaving them with two missiles on their tail.

   “Lock re-acquired,” Cooper said. “Looks like we’ve got an impact coming up in less than ten seconds.”

   “We’ll have an impact with something,” Salazar replied, tipping the nose towards a nearby mountain, a double-peak with barely enough space between them to pass through, He rode the throttle, pulling back a little, drawing the missiles in before opening up to full blast again. At the last second, he threw the shuttle to the right, diving through the narrow gap, the two missiles slamming into the peaks on either side, rocks tumbling down all around them as the warheads hit home.

   “That, Cooper, that is flying,” Salazar said, swooping down the side of the mountain range before tipping the nose up again, looking with satisfaction at the course controls. “A nice, long, easy run back to Alamo now, with any luck.”

   “Shuttle Three to Shuttle Two. Thanks.”

   “Any time, Shuttle Three.”

   Grant’s voice broke in, saying, “Salazar’s stunt would not have been needed if you’d followed his advice, Shuttle Three. Stay low, and watch for more missiles. We’re not out of this yet. And as for you, Sub-Lieutenant, I remind you that there are a dozen other people riding with you.”

   “Noted for future reference, Lieutenant.”

   “I’m glad to hear it,” Grant said, his shuttle radically changing course, turning back the way he came.

   “Shuttle One, what the hell are you doing?” Salazar asked.

   “Wyvern’s got time to get another missile spread up. I’ve got extra fuel on board, and the capacity to give them a better target. Don’t worry about me, Sub-Lieutenant. I still just about remember how to fly this thing, and I might be able to give Alamo some help out here as well.”

   “But…”

   “Get those wounded crewmen back on board, Pavel. I’m giving you command of the Shuttle Flight. And don’t get any stupid ideas about coming out to help me. If Alamo is in as bad a state as it looks, they’re going to need everyone they can get. Grant out.”

   “Missile launch,” Cooper said. “Heading right for Shuttle One. I guess he was right.”

   “To hell with that,” Salazar replied. “Plotting course change.”

   “Pavel, there are…”

   “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. Just a little high-vector burn to give him a little assist. Then one long burn home.”

   Placing his hand on his shoulder, Cooper said, “And the rest of us?”

   Salazar turned to him, and said, “If you were in my place…”

   “Then I’d go home. And consider myself lucky. If I was alone on my shuttle, or if it was just the two of us, I’d be working on countermeasures for you right now.” Glancing down at his panel, he added, “We don’t have enough chaff to make a difference anyway.”

  Looking resentfully at the sensor display, Salazar replied, “I just…”

   “I know.”

   “Plotting course for home. See if you can raise Alamo. I need to know if there is anything wrong with the docking systems, and I want Orbital One ready for immediate launch when we touch down.”

   “Pavel…”

   Carefully adjusting the course, Salazar said, “Everything Grant said is true while I’m carrying a hold full of passengers. None of it applies once we get down on the deck. He’s going to need help out there, whether the stubborn old bastard wants to admit it or not, and I’m damn well going to give it to him. Is that understood?”

   “You’ve done everything you…”

   “I will not leave him out there alone to die,” Salazar said, half-yelling. “Sitting back on Alamo and watching the action is not an option.”

   “Is this a good time to point out I have seniority to you?”

   Tapping his wings, he said, “In the cockpit, these make me the lord of all I survey. Tell Shuttle Three to get a move on. I want to be on Alamo’s deck in three minutes.”

   Shaking his head, Cooper said, “Yes, sir,” a smile crossing his face. “Shuttle Two to Alamo, come in, please.”

  Chapter 23

   Harper and Tramiel raced down the corridor, sirens sounding all around them. Periodically, they were blocked by security bulkheads, one of them having to rapidly enter an access code to allow them to pass. She almost skidded into the last one, banging her elbow on the door, Tramiel hurriedly tapping his code.

   “How many more of these damn things?” she asked.

   “This should be the last. Just one long run down a corridor and a turn at the end.”

   As the door slowly slid open, she said, “How can such a small ship seem so big?”

   “Poor layout,” Tramiel replied, springing through.

   The pair had managed to get most of the way to their destination without running into any opposition, the crew too busy with their battle to allow them to chase down potential saboteurs, but as they approached the storage bay, they saw a pair of guards at the end of the corridor.

   With a cry, the two of them drew pistols, charging towards them, but Tramiel dived into cover, pushing Harper out of the way, and as bullets cracked over his head, brought them both to the ground with two shots, looking coldly at their bodies on the deck as he rose to his feet.

   Her eyes wide, Harper said, “No second thoughts, no hesitation?”

   “If we succeed, they’ll be dead anyway. All I’ve done is given them a head-start.” He paused, then said, “They’ve betrayed everything they ever stood for, Lieutenant. Don’t forget that.” Tapping the panel by the door, he said, “Time for you to work your magic.”

   Nodding, she slid a datarod into position, tapping a series of commands. The security here was tight, tighter than anywhere else on the ship, and the status report on her datapad made her frown.

   “Can you do it?” Tramiel asked.

   She nodded, and replied, “Every alarm on the ship will sound if I do.”

   “To hell with that. Push the button.”

   Turning back to the panel, she tapped in a long command sequence, and red lights began to flash on, warning signals everywhere alerting the bridge of what they were planning. Footsteps raced towards them, pounding the decks in a desperate bid to reach the pair before the door opened, but with a few seconds to spare, the security hatch cranked open for a second, just long enough for them to enter before it crashed shut again.

   At first glance, the anti-matter bomb was unimpressive, a vast collection of ordinary-looking cylinders and boxes connected to a central cyclotron, a low, irritating hum emanating from it. It filled the room, cables reaching across on all sides connecting it to the ship’s power network. Only a second glance revealed the complexity of the latticework surrounding it, the size of the cables a hint at the amount of the power running into the device, keeping it going. Somewhere insid
e was a kilogram of anti-matter, kept suspended by a network of complicated magnetic fields, a balancing act that could only end catastrophically. A year’s production from the Forward Array at Saturn, all in this room.

   “Doesn’t look like much, does it,” Tramiel said. “We didn’t have time to make it look attractive. Most of the outer casing is re-tasked standard components. The guts of the thing are special, though. That's where the magic happens.”

   “It must weigh ten tons,” she said, shaking her head. It was cold in the room, well below freezing, and she began to shiver. Imperfect insulation from the containment field.

   “It’s just about shuttle-portable, with enough internal power to keep it going for four minutes.”

   “Four minutes?”

   “A shuttle could get close enough to a planet in that amount of time to have the right sort of effect. You wouldn’t want to use one of these against a moving target anyway.” He looked at the tangle again, and said, “The end-product of a half-billion credit project. And that was just on our end. As I said, we had backers.” He sighed, and said, “And I wonder which of those backers was supporting Kline’s goal, rather than mine.”

   “The researchers…”

   “All went back home last month. We’d finished the work, and were entering the operational phase. Not that any of that means anything now.” Gesturing at the door, he said, “You’d better make sure that we aren’t disturbed.”

   “How…”

   “Oh, setting it off is remarkably simple. Once the magnetic pressers go down, the bomb explodes. It’s eating about thirty percent of Wyvern’s power right now. That’s why I wanted to mount it on Alamo.” He shook his head, and said, “This ship was stranded in-system. It would have taken a capital ship to move it.”

   Grabbing his arm, she said, “This ship couldn’t leave the system?”

   “I counted on you to summon more impressive help for me. If I’d been able to talk to Danny Marshall,” he paused, sighed, and said, “We’d better get on with it.”