Battlecruiser Alamo: Tales from the Vault

by Richard Tongue

   One of the guards moved closer to Valeria, placing her in the recovery position. Logan cautiously rose to his feet, every gun in the room pointed at him.

   “This is going nowhere. We can stay like this for as long as you want...but eventually someone's going to snap and there will be a lot of dead bodies littering the floor.”

   The guard looked up from Valeria, a hand tenderly on her shoulder. “Go on.”

   “We'll leave the money, leave the bar, and leave the station. In that order, with our hides intact. Looks like she's going to be fine, and we obviously didn't have what you wanted.”

   A few of the gunmen were looking at each other nervously. Each of them had made a best-case mental calculation of the odds of living through a gunfight, and none of them were happy with their chances. Some of the guns started to waver a little. Anna rose behind Logan, and they slowly began to move out from behind cover.

   Valeria began to stir, groaning slightly. The guard knelt down over her. “Take it easy, little one.”

   She looked up at him with eyes that were briefly confused, then as hard as steel. Still crouched on the floor, she pulled her gun out of her holster, and pointed it square at Logan's chest. Logan braced himself to dive out of the way.

   Then she pointed the gun at the guard and fired twice.

   The room erupted in shouts and confusion. Logan and Anna threw themselves back into cover, and Melissa leaped away, back over the bar; Logan could hear smashing bottles and swearing. With the stance of an expert, Valeria took down another of the guards, another expert shot right into his heart. Boris shot another one, winging him in the shoulder; the other three quickly found themselves some cover. Valeria rolled behind the table with Logan and Anna as a pair of shots rang out, ruining the carpet close to her path.

   “What the hell is going on?” Logan yelled.

   “We need to get out of this room immediately.”

   “Well, obviously! They'll have reinforcements coming. I wasn't asking for a lecture in elementary small-unit tactics, I want to know what the hell is going on!”

   Another pair of shots rang out, and fragments flew off the top of the table. Anna answered with a trio of shots, keeping everyone's heads down.

   “This is a covert operation and we have reached the extraction stage.”

   Anna gave a braying laugh. “Basically, we need to get out of here in fancy military talk.”

   A slight twitch from Logan sent another shot flying his way. Boris answered it. He tried to heft the table; too heavy. He wasn't going to move this one to the door or anything clever like that. He quickly calculated how long they probably had, and it amounted to a very few minutes.

   “Could we rush them?” Anna asked.

   “Probably, but at least one of us would end up leaving the room feet-first.”

   He got a measure of the room. The three of them in one corner, Boris close to the door, Melissa behind the bar. The others clustered in a pair of tables near the screens. Near the screens.

   “I need a drink,” Logan said, looking around.

   “Now?” Valeria asked, with some scorn.

   Anna nodded. “The condemned man gets his last request.” She pushed over a half-empty bottle from behind her. Roughly, Logan smashed the top from it. Carefully aiming, he took a shot – smashing the screen with his first try. Shards of plasteel flew around the room, exposing bare cabling.

   “Grenade!” he yelled. Everyone on the room braced themselves. He lobbed the bottle with a careful overarm throw, and watched it sail through the air – right into the screen. There was an extremely satisfying – and deafening – bang, and Logan sprinted for the door. Anna and Valeria were hard on his heels; Boris waited a moment, letting off a couple of rounds, before joining them. Logan was most of the way through the door when he heard a crack over his shoulder, then another behind him.

   He turned. Behind him, Melissa was holding a small pistol with two shaking hands, and a man was dead on the floor, a revolver spilled from his grip. For general principles, Logan fired a few rounds at the remaining two gunmen, keeping them pinned to the ground.

   “Come on, damn it!” he yelled, sprinting for the maintenance elevator, slamming his fist into the recall button. His eyes darted left and right – no cover. None at all. Boris fired a couple more rounds, then heard a rather worrying click. Then a sweet ring, as the elevator arrived. The group unceremoniously clambered in, and the doors closed behind them.

   Anna pushed for the spaceport terminus, but Logan shook his head, opening the emergency panel and turning the shutdown key. The elevator jerked to a stop, in limbo between levels. Logan pointed his gun at Valeria.

   “Now before we do anything else, all of us are going to get an explanation.”

   Valeria arched an eye and raised a hand to push the gun away. “No harm can come of it now, I suppose. Three years ago, I joined Imperial Special Forces as a deep-cover agent. My assignment was to infiltrate the anarchists here on Khiva Station, to collect intelligence and to disrupt their operations.”

   Anna shook her head in disbelief. “And you couldn't simply have told us this in the first place? We could have arranged a far better means of extraction than that farce.”

   “I didn't know. Part of my cover; I was placed into deep hypnosis and a psychological profile implanted. If I didn't know I was an operative, there was no way that I could talk if captured.”

   “And the noises and symbols deactivated the programming, restoring your original self.” Boris nodded. “I've heard rumors of this technique, but it is a violation of the Article of Rights.”

   “I volunteered for this assignment,” Valeria insisted, gesturing with her hands. “It was my free choice to participate in this mission. Your assignment now is to return me to base.”

   “By which I presume you mean Zemlya. As long as someone pays the bills for this job, I don't actually care whether you are a terrorist or an agent.”

   “You will be well paid.”

   “I'm absolutely sure of that.” Logan turned the key, and the elevator resumed its descent to the spaceport level. “As long as we all survive for our payday, I'll be happy to serve.”

   As the elevator descended, periodically Boris tapped the override button to prevent the doors from opening. Probably it was nothing but innocent travelers, but it was an unnecessary complication either way. The levels clicked down, and as they approached their stop, they braced themselves for a fight, pistols in their hands and reloaded. The elevator pinged, and the doors started to open.

   “On three. One...two...three!” Logan dived and rolled out of the elevator, quickly looking around. Valeria followed, crouching behind an advertising hoarding. Logan turned and nodded, and the other three ran forward to take further cover.

   Then Logan shook his head and stood up. “They aren't here. This is a lousy place for an ambush anyway, we've got all the cover. Come on.” He started to jog down the corridor.

   The concourse was quiet, far too quiet; the party moved forward cautiously, figuring that there was probably a reason why everyone had gone to ground. The answer came when they reached their ship – and saw four people standing outside it with rifles.

   Logan cautiously looked out; they might be well-armed, but they didn't appear to be paying very much attention. He looked over at Valeria.

   “How many have they got?” he whispered.

   “Not much more muscle. Half a dozen, perhaps.”

   “So we don't need to worry about an ambush, at least. Just getting past four guys with big guns and a clear field of fire.”

   Boris looked around. “No cover within fifty yards. I presume this is where the term 'killing zone' came from.”

   Logan pulled out his pad. “That's it, I'm calling the cops.”

   “The cops? What will that do?”

   “Even they'll have to do something about this level of firepower on the r
ing. Besides, a dangerous terrorist is attempting to flee the station.”

   Valeria grabbed his elbow. “You're going to turn us in?”

   Logan shook his head. “You're just going to have to trust me.”

   He made the call, and waited for a few brief minutes. The rattling of boots on the decks and some shouting heralded the arrival of station security; unlike either Logan's gang or the terrorists, they had full body armor. A range of shots rang out across the concourse.

   “Time for us to move!” Logan leapt out over his cover and began to sprint towards his ship, gun out, firing shots wildly – not intending to actually hit anyone, rather to ruin the aim of anyone shooting at him. He skirted the wall, the other four hard on his heels. Without hesitating, without even thinking, he ran straight into the gunman nearest the airlock, sending him flying to the deck.

   The security force, seeing an opportunity, moved in. Logan dropped and rolled on the deck, slamming his hand down on a button to open the airlock, then heard the click of a pistol followed by the crack of a shot. He looked up, and saw the gunman he had knocked down falling to the deck, an angry red hole in his shoulder. Boris ran straight into the ship, racing for engineering; Anna sprinted through to the flight deck. Valeria led Melissa in, Logan was the last to enter the ship, closing the lock behind him. As the door closed, he heard another crack, and a ping. A ricochet off the lock mechanism.

   And Valeria crumpled to the deck, blood spilling out onto the floor.

  Chapter 9

   Logan looked down at the crumpled form of Valeria, stunned for a brief second. His attention was brought back when he heard an alarm; someone was trying to open the airlock door. Whoever it was, he didn't want to know. Grabbing two wires, he disabled the lock, then hit a button on the intercom.

   “We're taking off now. Unless you want us to take some of the station with us, disengage the docking clamps!”

   He knelt down on the floor and took Valeria's pulse. Weak. Breathing shallow. She'd been shot in the back, he couldn't see an exit wound. Not a good sign. He looked up to see Melissa standing over her, horror on her face.

   “Hold it together, girl. I'm going to get us all out of here. Valeria included. Run up to the cockpit and tell Anna to take off, to get us out of here. Then come back down and help me treat her. Bring the large medical kit from the lounge.”

   “She's...she was standing in front of me,” she whispered.

   “And you can sit down and think about that later. Right now go and do as I say.” Logan had pulled a medical kit out of his pocket, sprayed the area with antiseptic. He heard sounds on the deck that told him that Melissa was doing what he had asked. He pulled out some gauze, started to staunch the blood. It still kept on coming; he threw the first, then the second piece to the deck.

   A loud rattle indicated that the docking clamps had been released as he had asked, and the ship began to accelerate away. Then Boris' voice echoed over the intercom.

   “Logan, we've been sabotaged. The hyperdrive has been damaged. I can repair it but I need at least ten minutes.”

   Logan looked up from his work for a minute. “Anna, do we have ten minutes?”

   Anna, sitting in the pilot's chair, looked around the instruments. “If Boris needs ten minutes, he'll get them. As long as the two incoming targets agree.”

   Logan shook his head, though no-one but his patient could see him. “Keep the ship stable. We've got wounded here. Boris, get back here as fast as you can.”

   No response. They were obviously too busy with their own tasks. Melissa stumbled back down the corridor carrying a large green case with a cross on the front, then placed it carefully on the floor.

   “Right.” Logan looked up. “Take this gauze and staunch the blood. I should be able to stop it cold but it'll take a few minutes.”

   “Can she...will she...” Melissa was still standing there, a horrified look on her face.

   “I saw a lot worse than this in the war. Get down here.”

   Melissa quickly moved to staunch the blood. Logan pulled out a mediscanner, set the filter as fine as he could. It picked out the bullet in a second. She'd obviously been hit by one of the security types, it was a low-impact round. And still intact, which was a nice bonus.

   “Logan, there's so much blood!”

   “It'll be alright.” He grabbed a vial out of the larger kit and thrusted it at Melissa. “Pour this in there. Anticoagulant.”

   She nodded quickly, and with a jerking action poured in the vial. The blood trickle began to slow, but still kept coming. Valeria began to groan.

   “Damn it, she's coming round. Valeria, I'm going to have to get this bullet out, and I'm going to knock you out again.” Logan reached into the kit for a face-mask, but an iron grip stopped his wrist.

   “Logan.” Valeria gasped. “I know what hit me. I know the odds.” She took a hacking breath. “I need to make my report. I can bear it. Let me record my report.”

   “Damn it, the shock could kill you.”

   “Let me report!” she insisted. Logan looked up at Melissa, then looked back and nodded. He pulled out his pad, started the recorder, and dropped it in front of her.

   “OK. Start talking.”

   Valeria started to speak into the recorder; it sounded like gibberish to Logan, probably some sort of code. He pulled out the surgical kit and tried to recall his combat medical training. He looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath, and started to operate.

   The bullet was lodged in tight. It had made a mess going in, but didn't seem to have done a vast amount of damage. After two nerve-wracking minutes, Logan dropped the bullet to the deck; it bounced twice and rolled away.

   “Laser suture. Where the hell is it?” Logan started to rummage through the pack. Melissa tapped him on the wrist – with the suture.

   “I thought that would be next.”

   “Yeah. Stand clear, this could get messy.”

   The blood flow had almost stopped dead. He looked back into the wound once again; neither he nor the mediscanner could see anything too permanent, but Valeria had a prolonged date with a hospital bed as soon as they got back to Zemlya in any case. He played the laser over the wound, cauterizing and sealing it as best he could. Then he reached for a bandage, and wrapped it around the room. Through it all, Valeria had continued her running commentary into the recorder, punctuated by cries of pain.

   “Keep an eye on her, Melissa. I'm going down to see if I can help Boris.”

   Logan sprinted down the corridor to the engine room, leaving Melissa to attempt to clean up the mess, only to find another one waiting for him. Boris had components scattered all over the floor, cables dangling out of cases.

   “There you are,” Boris said. “Whoever did this knew what he was doing.”

   “Do you?”

   “Certainly. Pass me the tuner.”

   Logan reached into a toolkit, passed it to Boris. One quick adjustment, and a series of lights began to wink across from red to amber. None of them turned green.

   “I'm afraid that's the best we're going to get until we have time to break the system down properly.”

   “As long as it works.” Logan clapped Boris on the shoulder, then hit the intercom. “Anna, you're clear for hyperspace.”

   A faint reply. “Hold on. We're caught in some gravitational shear. This is going to be rough.”

   Logan ran forward to the bridge, but barely got halfway before he felt a shattering vibration pass through the deck into his body. The lights flickered briefly, then returned to normal. He gasped for breath, then looked down the corridor to Valeria. She was humming something, the tune to one of her songs by the sound of it.

   “Melissa, is she alright? That was one of the worst dimensional transitions I've ever been through,” Logan gasped.

   “I think...”, Melissa was interrupted by a hand clawing at her, Valeria snatching at whatev
er she could reach.

   “Where am I!” Valeria cried. “What happened! Daddy!!!”

  Chapter 10

   The four of them sat in the lounge, the monitor showing Valeria fast asleep in Boris' bed, vital signs all stable according to the mediscanner. Logan finished topping up his drink, then sat back in his chair.

   “She's got no memory of the last three years. The last thing she remembers is being checked into her dorm at university.” Melissa took a deep swig of her drink before continuing. “Nothing since then at all. She keeps asking for her father. But...”

   Boris looked up from his drink. “What?”

   “There are a few seconds, no more than that, where there is someone else there. You can see it in her eyes.”

   Logan drained his glass and placed it carefully on the table. “There were two levels of programming, not one. Intelligence got to her, indoctrinated her, then implanted the false memories on top of them.”

   Boris frowned. “That will have made a fairly comprehensive mess of her psyche, Logan. Like being addicted to that dream dust you used to peddle for Lonnigan.”

   “With the key difference being that people choose to take dream dust. No-one gave her the choice.”

   Anna poured herself another drink. The second bottle was almost empty.

   “What are we going to do now, Logan?”

   “Exactly what we set out to do in the first place. We're going to return her to her father. He'll have the funding and contacts to get her fixed up.”

   Melissa looked up at the monitor again. “It's going to be a long job. She's in a bad way.”

   “Boris, will that patch job of yours on the hyperdrive hold for another jump?” Logan asked.

   “If you don't mind your teeth itching.”

   “And stores and supplies? Can we do a short hop without anything other than fuel?”

   “The carniculture vat is still burping away nicely, so I suppose so. You don't plan on lingering on Zemlya?”