Battlecruiser Alamo: Tales from the Vault

by Richard Tongue

   Shaking his head, Zhu replied, “My apologies, sir, but I'm afraid that isn't going to be possible at present. We're experiencing communications problems, and this settlement has not been deemed important enough for a transit shuttle to be permanently stationed here.” Gesturing at the horizon, he continued, “Our forecasts have a dust storm moving in within the next few minutes. It'll be a while before you can go anywhere. Nevertheless, I'm happy to offer you all the hospitality of our settlement. What is ours is yours.”

   “That is unacceptable,” Burton replied.

   “I'm afraid it is the best that I can do,” Zhu said. “If you would come with me?”

   “One moment,” Burton said, turning to Curtis. “Lieutenant, I assure you that I will place the blame for this disaster where it belongs, on your shoulders. Your careless action in...”

   “It was not his fault,” the priest said. “There was an explosion underneath the shuttle. Likely an emplaced charge. This was an act of sabotage.” With a curled smile faintly visible through his helmet, he continued, “Someone tried to assassinate you, and if it was not for the quick reflexes of Lieutenant Curtis, they would have succeeded.”

   “Who...”

   “Father Sherman Pierce. At your service, sir.”

   “I will report your insubordinate attitude to your superiors as well.”

   Glancing at Curtis, he replied, “You might find it very difficult to complain to my ultimate superior, Governor, though I would be more than happy to assist you with such an endeavor.”

   Shaking his head, Burton stalked off, while Zhu's rescue team moved in to snatch the rescue balls from the shuttle, bundling them into the cargo space of the buggy. Curtis ducked down underneath the remnants of the heat shield, careful to play his helmet camera across the damaged surface.

   “I think you're right,” he said. “Most of this scoring can only have been caused by an explosion. A bigger question is how this managed to pass inspection.” Looking back at Pierce, he continued, “Want to tell me how a man of God knows about explosive charges?”

   “I wasn't born in my robes, Lieutenant. And I spent some time in uniform myself, before I decided to seek a different path.”

   “Call me Teddy,” Curtis replied. “All my friends do.”

   “Come,” one of the figures from the colony said. “We must get in before the storm.”

   “What's the hurry?” he asked. “I saw the same readings you did. All it'll do is smother the solar panels and the antenna, nothing more. And I'd have seen worse disruption when we came in. Hell, as far as I could see, it looked like it was going to be lower intensity than expected.”

   “Orders,” the man said. “Hurry.”

   Glancing at Pierce, Curtis followed the figure into the back of the buggy, taking one last look back at the shuttle. The last figure emerged, a body bag draped over his shoulder, dropped into the cargo hatch with the other rescue balls.

   Unsurprisingly, Burton had taken the most comfortable seat, and Curtis sat down next to the airlock, opposite Pierce, pulling off his helmet and taking a breath of the stale air within, the usual tang to the atmosphere that suggested that the lifesystem was in urgent need of maintenance. Or out-and-out replacement.

   The buggy bumped over the track, each jolt bringing a fresh scowl to Burton's face, the calm Zhu sitting implacably next to him. Curtis looked out of the viewport, surprised to see them driving past the airlock, instead heading to the far side of the complex. Another buggy raced past, heading towards the shuttle, and he looked at Pierce with a frown on his face, the priest nodding in response. It hadn't taken long for him to catch them out in a lie, almost as if they didn't care whether or not they were caught.

   “Tell me, Director,” Curtis said. “What exactly is the trouble with your communications system? I was Communications Officer on Antares, a few years back. I might be able to help.”

   “My people can handle it, Lieutenant.”

   “If it is sabotage, then surely…

   “We can handle it,” Zhu repeated, “and we will be able to contact your people shortly, I assure you. All is in readiness.” The buggy stuttered to a halt, then started to reverse, backing to an auxiliary airlock. “You will understand more clearly in a moment.”

   “Actually, Director, I think I understand rather clearly now,” Curtis said, reaching for his sidearm, Zhu beating him to the draw.

   “What is the meaning of this?” Burton asked.

   “Simple,” Curtis said. “This was a trap. Rising Dawn was the only target I could choose, and the good Director here knew it.”

   “I demand...”

   “You aren't making any more demands,” Zhu said, looking at the flustered politician. “I believe that is now my role.” The buggy locked into position on the side of the dome, the hatch sliding open to reveal two more technicians, both of them armed with crackling tasers. “If you would kindly move of your own free will, this will be a far simpler process.”

   Nodding, Curtis rose, then turned and raced towards the nearest figure. He'd barely made two steps before a pulse of agony swept through his system, sending him tumbling to the deck, the pain hammering into him. When unconsciousness belatedly came, the darkness was a blessing.

  II

   Curtis felt something poking at him, and opened his eyes with an effort to see a grinning Pierce looking down at him. He struggled to sit up, leaning against the cold metal wall, dull green lights shining from the ceiling.

   “How do you feel?” Pierce asked.

   “Like someone hit me with a few thousand volts,” Curtis replied. “Where are we?”

   “Somewhere in the habitation dome. They blindfolded us, made sure we couldn't get a good idea of our exact location, but I managed to get a few glances down my nose.” He smiled, then added, “Of course, all of this could still be a trick.”

   “As soon as we get out of here,” Burton said, sitting in the only chair, “Everyone here will pay dearly for this. Lieutenant, if you can think of a way to get us out of here, I will make it clear in my final report to your commanding officer.”

   “Very gracious,” the third person, the technician from earlier, said. “I don't think we've met. Roxanne Norton. Call me Roxy. I work in shuttle maintenance up on Sentinel.” With a rueful smile, she added, “I was coming down to spend a few weeks with my boyfriend. I guess that won't be happening any time soon.”

   “How long has it been?”

   “They took my watch, but we haven't had any food yet,” Pierce said. “And I'm not that hungry. I'd say less than six hours.”

   “What are you going to do?” Burton asked.

   “Escape, sir, one way or another. All we have to do is make it to a communications terminal, and a five-second distress call to Sentinel will bring the Wrath of God down on these bastards.” Belatedly looking at Pierce, he added, “No offense, Father.”

   “None taken.” Slamming his fist against the wall, the priest added, “I hope you weren't thinking of a tunnel. And we must assume that they're watching every move we make.”

   “Certainly,” Curtis replied. He rose to his feet, looking around the walls. “Bugs must be embedded, but they'll be there, right enough.” Turning to Burton, he asked, “Have they made any demands yet?”

   “Demands?”

   “They've captured the Vice-Governor of Mars. I'm damn sure this was intentional, and they wouldn't have taken a risk like that unless they wanted some sort of big payoff. The only question is whether they want cash or power. My money is on the latter.”

   Nodding, Norton said, “Lot of easier ways to make a buck.”

   “Agreed.”

   “I will never agree...”

   “I doubt it will be your choice,” Pierce replied, “but I think you're right. Mid-level bureaucrats can be replaced surprisingly easily, and if you had any real influence, you wouldn't be in this job in the first place.
” With a smile, he added, “There's a reason I ended up out here.”

   “Mid-level bureaucrat?” Burton said, leaping from his chair, fists balled. “I've worked twenty years for this job, and that desk-warmer Vasquez wouldn't be able to put through a requisition for a datachip without my help.”

   “Sure,” Pierce said. “Power behind the throne. Only it isn't much of a throne, is it.”

   Burton didn't reply with words, instead jumping at the priest, swinging his fist in a dangerous arc that only missed Pierce's jaw by an inch. Curtis raced towards them, trying to separate them, while Norton remained on the floor, sitting cross-legged, a beaming smile on her face. Pierce swung this time, catching Burton in the gut, knocking the wind from the politician's lungs, sending him sprawling to the floor. The door abruptly jerked open, a pair of guards racing inside.

   “Break it up!” the first one said, but before he could move, Pierce turned and slammed his elbow into the man's face, Curtis quickly following up with a savage kick to the other, knocking the pistol from his hand. Snatching the weapon from the floor, he leveled the barrel at the first man's chest.

   “Hold it,” he said. “Nice and still, or you'll be on a one-way ticket to Hades.”

   The two guards looked at each other, then raised their hands together, Norton moving forward to snatch the pistol from the second man's holster. Burton rubbed his chin, glaring at a smirking Pierce, who shrugged and offered the politician a hand.

   “Sorry about that, sir, but it had to look convincing, and if I'd warned you in advance, they'd have known what I was planning.” Burton grimaced, nodded, and accepted the help, Pierce tugging him back to his feet. “I used to do some amateur boxing. Nice to know I've still got what it takes.”

   “I could have lived without the knowledge.”

   Turning to the guards, Curtis asked, “Which way to the communications center?”

   “Two floors up,” the first man replied. “Down the corridor, and to the right.”

   “Let's go,” Burton began, but Curtis shook his head.

   “They've just told us where the ambush is, but I'm more interested in getting to a terminal. Where is it? And the truth, this time.”

   With a sigh, the second man said, “Down the corridor, maintenance shaft at the end of the passage, take one floor down. You can't miss it. It's guarded, though, around the clock. You don't have a chance.”

   “Roxy,” Curtis asked, “find a...”

   “Medical kit?” the technician replied, passing it to him. “Some nice sedatives in there. Want me to handle it?”

   “Do it,” he replied, and Norton pulled out a hypodermic, looking at the guards with an insincere smile, waving the medical instrument dangerously around.

   “Relax,” she said. “This won't hurt a bit. Probably.” She stabbed both of them in the arm, watching as they dropped to the floor. “I gave them a two-hour dose. Should be long enough to give us a chance of getting out of here.”

   “You know how to use that?” he asked, gesturing at the pistol in Norton's hand.

   “Fleet Reserve. Petty Officer,” she said.

   Nodding, Curtis led the way down the corridor, moving quickly, knowing that there were cameras watching their every move, that enemy reinforcements were probably already on the way. He looked around the corridor, the doors robustly sealed, red lights flashing on as the alarm was raised across the base.

   “This way,” Burton said, but he shook his head again.

   “Just another trap,” he replied. “All of these bases are a standard design. If I'm right, we need to go up this shaft.” Pulling at a maintenance hatch, he swung through the gap onto the ladder, beginning his climb to the top. The others followed, Burton at the rear, slow to climb, and at every second, Curtis waited for the angry shouts, the crack of a pistol, signs that the enemy had found them. It never came.

   Pulling his way to the upper level, he swung out again, reaching for the stiff hatch, struggling to force it open. He paused as the first crack appeared, peering through the gap. As he thought. A lone figure was waiting, pistol in hand, prepared to shoot anyone who came out into the corridor. They'd left the hatchways unlocked for a reason.

   He glanced at the bottom of the shaft, knowing that the enemy forces wouldn't wait forever, and looked at the narrow gap he'd opened. Not big enough for the barrel of his stolen gun, and he couldn't take the risk of shooting through it. That left an option he didn't like. Reaching for the override, he raised his pistol, then slammed his fist on the control, swinging wildly to the left on one hand, firing wildly into the corridor, slamming into the wall from the force of the shot.

   Both pistols fired as one, the waiting guard's shot ringing from the ladder, missing Curtis' hand by inches, while the other bullet crashed into the bulkhead. Curtis had more time for the second shot, enough to catch the guard in the knee, sending her tumbling to the deck, screaming in pain. As Curtis raced through the hatch, a second figure raced around the corner, felled by a precise shot from Norton, slamming into the man's shoulder.

   “Nice shot,” Curtis said.

   With a shrug, Norton replied, “I was aiming for his head.”

   “Another old movie buff,” Curtis said with a smile.

   “Not much else to do on long flights,” she replied. She reached down for the wounded woman's pistol, tossing it to Burton. “You must be able to do something with this. At least try and look menacing.”

   “Politicians are good at that,” Burton quipped.

   Turning to stare at him for a moment, Curtis replied, “You're cracking a joke? Things must be worse than I'd thought.” Gesturing with the pistol, he continued, “This way.”

   The group jogged down the corridor, Norton taking the lead, Curtis glancing from left to right, waiting for the arrival of the assault team. Still, they proceeded without incident, his suspicions rising by the second. Even if they only had a limited number of armed guards to deploy, there was no sign of anyone around, no noise, no calls over the intercom. This settlement was home to thousands of people. None of them were in evidence.

   “Down here,” Norton said, turning to a door. “Locked. Give me a minute.”

   “I'll cover you,” Curtis replied, glancing at her work. She seemed to be attacking the lock with greater than usual skill, her fingers dancing across the controls as she hacked into the controls, cracking her way speedily through the defensive firewall. “Do I want to ask how you got so good at this?”

   “Not if you want my help,” she replied. “Let's just say that McMurdo City is a pretty rough place to grow up if you come from the wrong part of town.”

   Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and Curtis said, “Come on, come on.”

   “Wait one,” she replied. “Got it.” The door slid open, and Curtis sprinted inside, aiming at the two technicians sitting at the communications console. The equipment was old, but serviceable. More than sufficient for their needs.

   “Go to the wall,” Curtis said. “Move!”

   The two operators hastened to obey his orders as the rest of the escapees entered the room. Norton closed the door, sliding the lock into position and beginning a sequence of commands on the mechanism, working now to prevent anyone from forcing their way inside. Burton stood on the far side of the door, pistol in hand, and Pierce found a piece of metal tube from somewhere, swinging it dangerously around.

   “I can't hold them for long, Teddy,” Norton said. “Hurry.”

   “And be discreet,” Burton ordered. “I don't need too many people to find out about this. We want a surgical strike, not something that they'll be screaming about all the way back to Earth.”

   Sitting at the console, Curtis slid on a headset and started to seek out the emergency frequency, trying to lock onto the nearest satellite, throwing in an encryption filter to prevent anyone else overhearing their message.

   “Calling Sentinel Station. This is
Lieutenant Edward Curtis calling Sentinel Station. Reply at once, tight-beam, on this frequency, by order of the Vice-Governor.”

   “Sentinel here,” a stilted voice replied. “Pass your message.”

   A rhythmic pounding echoed from the door, followed by the dull whine of a cutting laser ripping into the metal. It would take time for them to burn their way through, but every second was going to count.

   “Vice-Governor and party captured by insurgent forces at Rising Dawn. Hostiles estimated at fifty-plus. Request immediate strike, assault and rescue. Party currently holed up in lower communications facility.”

   “Wait one, Lieutenant.”

   “Not my call, Sentinel.”

   Burton looked on as Curtis waited for the reply, long seconds while the technician passed the message up to his superiors. In theory, a Marine strike force was always ready to go, equipped for counter-terrorist assault, but in practice, he knew that the orbital garrison had become a place where careers went to die. His certainly had. A year ago he'd aspired to the command of his own ship. Now he was a passed-over Lieutenant on a liaison role that was going nowhere, an Admiral's son using his last name to obtain the prized command he had sought.

   “Sentinel to Curtis,” a different, softer voice replied, breaking his reverie. “We're suiting up now. Be down on the deck in eight minutes minus. Can you hold out until then?”

   “We'll find a way, sir,” he replied. “Good hunting.”

   “Good luck.”

   Pulling off his headset, he turned to the others and said with a smile, “The cavalry is on the way. Eight minutes minus.”

   “Good,” Burton said, turning his pistol to the console, firing four times in quick succession, wrecking the panel and reducing the controls to smoldering ruin. “Stand clear, Lieutenant. Norton, open that door at once.”

   “What the hell?” Norton asked.