Battlecruiser Alamo: Vault of Eternity

by Richard Tongue

   Foster walked over to him, and gestured for him to follow her to the hatch. Quesada nodded, and headed over to a cluster of technicians working their sensors, the units of two shuttles slammed together for greater efficiency, struggling to reach through the thick atmosphere to get a picture of what was happening in orbital space.

   “Secret meeting over?” Salazar asked.

   “Not what you think,” Foster replied. “We're about at a breakthrough, and Susan wanted to finish what she started. Unless we pick up something on the sensors, I doubt the situation has changed very much. You remember Susan Carpenter?”

   “Vaguely.”

   “Specialist in xeno-archaeology. Did a long tour on Alamo, and eventually ended up getting shanghaied into Intelligence. Which is how she ended up on Pioneer.” Stepping over the threshold, she continued, “How much do you know about our mission?”

   “That you were looking for Monitor, and that there was some suspicion that it was a United Nations plot. Or that Mariner had suffered some sort of catastrophic systems failure. Did you find any trace of her?”

   Foster nodded, and replied, “A beacon, thrown into a high orbit. We managed to knock it out before we fell down the well. Captain Casson thought it best not to advertise the presence of Monitor too widely, and I agreed.”

   “Where is he?”

   “That's one more thing we don't know, Pavel. Our passage through the wormhole was rough. Catastrophic systems failures, life support malfunctions, a host of problems. Too many to deal with. Our first sensor pass told us that this world was borderline habitable, so we made the decision to abandon ship.”

   “And not all of your shuttles made it down?”

   Shaking her head, she replied, “Two of them were damaged in the crossing. That just left three, all of them on the small side. Pioneer's engines were wrecked, and the thrusters just had enough power to push us onto a high elliptical orbit. We managed to make two transfers, get down most of the crew and some of the supplies, but she swung past the ninth moon on her fourth orbit and didn't come out of the shadow. It was a close pass, but she still should have made it through.”

   “Didn't you go up and look?”

   “Too much risk of losing a shuttle, and we needed to cannibalize all of the equipment to have a chance of getting this little settlement off the ground. Santiago and I figured that we might be stuck here for quite a while.”

   “Six weeks more, at any rate.”

   Nodding, she said, “I should have figured you'd run an inventory as soon as you arrived. That's about our estimate. Water isn't a problem, nor power, but we didn't have any luck with the hydroponics, and we don't have materials for a food fabricator. Which leaves us with emergency rations, and we've already gone through more than half of them.” Looking at the wasteland beyond, she added, “There's nothing on this world fit to eat. The atmosphere comes from some sort of sub-surface bacteriological soup, but even on the off-chance it could sustain us, we can't get to it. There's no native life above single-celled stuff. Biochemistry would be a killer, anyway.”

   “So we have a deadline to get off this planet,” Salazar said. “Beautiful.”

   “It gets better,” Foster said, walking along a track towards the side of a nearby hill, in the direction of a cluster of rocks that somehow looked artificial, straight, cut lines, impossible on a world where the dust bit into everything. “We didn't pick this spot out of a hat. Susan saw something...”

   “That's an alloy,” Salazar said, looking at the formation. “Those aren't rocks. That's some sort of metal, tough enough to resist the wind.” Turning to Foster, he asked, “You saw that from orbit?”

   “The whole area is filled with them,” another voice replied, coming out from behind the outcrop. “Lieutenant Susan Carpenter. We have met.”

   “Pavel Salazar,” he said in response. “What led you here, specifically?”

   “We ran a deep-radar scan on our first, fast pass, surveying potential landing sites. The whole underground is honeycombed with caverns and passages, worn away millions of years ago, but in this area, they're regular.” Picking up a small piece of the alloy, she replied, “And this, from the limited analysis we've been able to run, is something far beyond anything we could produce. Lighter and tougher than a starship hull. My guess is that they were mining the raw components around here.” Glancing at the mountains on the horizon, she added, “Lots of minerals down here.”

   “On a planetary surface? Why not use an asteroid?”

   “Who knows?” she replied. “Maybe the manufacturing process required gravity. All I know is that there's something down there, deep below the surface. To be honest, we've been rather counting on it. I don't think that wormhole is a natural phenomenon.”

   “Someone built it?” Salazar asked. “That's almost...”

   “I know, but isn't it strange that the first stable wormhole ever discovered actually goes somewhere interesting, rather than just out in the middle of deep space? We've been to almost a thousand systems, Pavel, and never seen anything like that before. More than that. There are more than a dozen stars within hendecaspace range. If someone was building some sort of an intergalactic transportation network, this wouldn't be a bad system to choose.”

   “How far have you managed to go?”

   Carpenter looked at Foster, and said, “It might be better for you to just see for yourself.” She turned to the outcrop, walking around behind it, and stepped down into a tunnel leading deep into the earth, recently dug to reveal an ancient shaft. Salazar looked into the gloom, and Foster tossed him a flashlight with a nod.

   “I'm heading back to the base. See if we can pick up anything out there.”

   “Right,” Salazar said, following Carpenter into the underworld, throwing on the flashlight with the flick of a heavy switch. It barely pushed back the oppressive gloom, but he could already make out strange symbols and markings on the walls, a host of pictograms that seemed oddly familiar, as though from some long-distant memory. Carpenter turned to him, a knowing smile on her face.

   “You too, then?”

   “I can't quite place it.”

   “Took me a while, especially as I've only got an incomplete database at my disposal, but it looks like something Intelligence discovered on a world called Abydos, a hell of a long way from here.”

   “Midshipman Clarke!” Salazar said, nodding.

   “His name was attached to the report. You know him?”

   “Know him?” he replied. “The kid's serving on Alamo right now.”

   Nodding, Carpenter said, “Interesting. Oh, a little warning for you. She might be a Senior Lieutenant, but Santiago still thinks of herself as a Chief Petty Officer, and I strongly recommend you address her as such. You should have seen Quesada when they first met. Not a mistake I suspect he'll repeat.”

   The two of them resumed their descent into the darkness, walking down what Salazar quickly realized was a smooth slope, piles of dust hastily thrown to the side in a bid to clear the tunnel. At the bottom, seemingly an endless distance away, a light twinkled, growing larger as they approached.

   For sheer scale, the tunnel was impressive enough, carved deep into the dry rock, the pictograms growing clearer and more complicated as they descended, brief flashes of some long-ago artist's labors. Some of them were obviously depictions of starflight, strange constellations dancing through the field of the flashlight as he swung the beam around.

   “We haven't been able to match them,” Carpenter volunteered. “Hell, we haven't even been able to work out where we are, yet. Too much damage to Pioneer's sensors, and we don't have a complete database down here.” Shaking her head, she added, “Something else that we didn't manage to download in time. Though we've got a complete collection of neo-folk revival music.”

   “I think I'll take a pass on that,” Salazar replied. “How far down does this go?”

   “Ab
out a quarter of a mile.”

   “How come Waldheim hasn't spotted this yet?”

   With a shrug, Carpenter said, “Probably they don't have an archaeologist on board. You can gather as much data as you want, but without someone to interpret it, none of it will be worth a damn thing. It took me an hour to spot it, and if we hadn't done a close pass of this part of the planet, we'd have missed it.” She sighed, and added, “Which suggests there are probably more sites out here, scattered all over the planet. If I could have access to the sensors of a starship for an hour...”

   “That's not a good thought,” Salazar replied. “All it takes is one sharp technician and we're in a lot of trouble. That base wouldn't stand up to attack for more than a minute.” He looked around, then added, “Perhaps we could...”

   “Move down here? Not a chance. If we had any sort of weaponry worth a damn, then I'd go along, but we're not destroying an ancient archaeological site for nothing, Lieutenant. Not while I'm in command.” She paused, her face reddening, and said, “Assuming I am in command.”

   “I thought Chief Santiago was senior?”

   “Not the command type, by her own admission. She's the one with the flashlight down there.” The light was getting bigger, and Carpenter fumbled in her pocket, pulling out a flare. “Brace yourself, Pavel. The first time around, it'll hit you hard. Remember Tombstone, back at Yeager Station?”

   Shaking his head, Salazar replied, “Three years ago. Feels like three centuries.”

   “That might give you some idea of what to expect.”

   He cast his mind back to his first mission on Alamo, back before the Xandari War, at an isolated station on the far frontier. They'd found a subterranean city, deep beneath the airless sands of that world, that had given them the first hints of the existence of the enemy they had defeated.

   As they reached the bottom of the ramp, Carpenter and Santiago turned off their lights, and the flare burst into life, a blinding glare that raced into the air, illuminating the vast space beyond. Salazar staggered forward, his neck craned back to try and get the scope of the immense cavern, huge pillars supporting it, all of them with the same intricate carvings, the labor of centuries of painstaking work. The light faded, and he turned back to Carpenter, eyes wide from wonder.

   “How big?”

   “Maybe a mile. And an eighth of a mile high. Regular, and no sign of damage.”

   Santiago pulled out her datapad, and said, “Best-guess analysis puts it back thirty thousand years or so. But we haven't got the equipment to be sure of that.” Stepping forward, she continued, “There are hundreds of passages heading off in all directions. We've sent teams down a few of them, and they just keep on going deeper underground. One guy managed a mile and a half.”

   “The pictograms?”

   “Without computer analysis, they could be anything,” Carpenter said. “I could spend lifetimes studying this, and still be no closer to an understanding of what was here. The cavern's empty, though. Nothing at all except the pictures. Could have been religious, some sort of temple.”

   “More a cathedral, Susan,” Santiago said, her voice swallowed up by the darkness.

   “Or the structures could have been temporary, taken away. This could be their version of the colony dome on the surface, intended as a protective structure. Hell, maybe it's a football stadium.”

   “What are the acoustics like?” Salazar asked.

   Carpenter nodded, and replied, “Good question, and pretty damned good, actually, though you'd need every choir in the Confederation to do it justice.” Taking a step forward, she continued, “I'm convinced the answer is somewhere down here, though. It can't be a coincidence. Though we'd need a team of experts to make proper use of it, I suspect. Not to mention time we don't have.” With a sigh, she added, “The greatest discovery of the decade, and no way to properly investigate. I feel like a caveman surrounded by the ruins of a skyscraper.”

   Footsteps echoed down the ramp, and Salazar turned to see Quesada racing towards them, panting for breath. He reached out an arm to stop the young man, who looked up with a smile on his face, gesturing at the surface.

   “Alamo's in orbit, sir! At the wormhole terminus. We just picked her up.”

   “I don't know whether to be happy or sad,” Salazar replied. “We'd better...”

   “Sir, there's more. We spotted Waldheim, and she's on an intercept course for Alamo. Less than two hours.” The young man paused, then said, “I don't understand why they haven't altered course. Right now, Alamo's just sitting there.”

   “Maybe they haven't seen her,” Santiago suggested. “We don't know what sort of damage they've taken. And if we try to warn her, they'll be on us in minutes.”

   Salazar looked at Carpenter, and said, “The discovery of the decade's going to have to wait. If we're going to have a chance to get away from here, we have to take it. Right now.”

   “I won't leave this site,” Carpenter replied. “Not until we've found what we're looking for.”

   Salazar looked at Santiago, who shrugged, then said, “Fine. But let's get up to the surface. It occurs to me that this would be the perfect time for them to launch an attack. All I know is that we've got friends in orbit, and we'd better start thinking about letting them know we're here.”

   “How, sir?” Quesada asked. “One signal, and they'll know where we are.”

   “Relax, Sub-Lieutenant. I've got an idea. Head back up and get more sensor data gathered, and have all personnel stand to. Got that?”

   “Aye, aye, sir!” he replied, snapping a parade-ground salute before turning back to the ramp.

   “So,” Santiago said, “What's this idea?”

   “I've got a nice long walk to think of one, Chief.”

   A beaming smile crossed her face, and she replied, “I see the stories I heard about you are true. Come on, Lieutenant. Let's see what the three of us can come up with.”

  Chapter 3

   Midshipman John Clarke raced onto the hangar deck, toolkit in hand, the last to arrive for the rushed briefing. The harried Sub-Lieutenant Lombardo, called from his other duties to assemble the mission team, flashed him a glare as he moved to join the group. Sixteen crewmen, the eight-man Espatier squad under Lance-Sergeant Fox, and his engineering crew, a pair of damage control teams mashed together. And Technical Officer Blake to act as paramedic, though from what he'd seen, the chance of any survivors being present seemed small.

   “Listen up,” he said. “We don't have any guarantees for you about the condition of Pioneer. All we know is that she's crashed onto a moon, albeit one with little enough gravity that she might have survived the impact. There is power, and possibly life-support, but don't take any unnecessary chances on this. The minimum, and frankly what the Captain and I are expecting, is that you will salvage the ship's database and any other potential sources of intelligence.”

   “We're not hoping to recover the ship, sir?” Spaceman Conner, one of the engineers, asked.

   “Under the current circumstances, we consider that unlikely. Though we certainly won't rule it out as an option.” Gesturing at the second shuttle, he added, “I've given you four Mark Nine missile warheads. Your first task upon arrival will be to position them in a way that will allow for the destruction of the ship, in order to prevent it from falling into enemy hands. We know that Waldheim must be somewhere in local space, and for all we know, she's bearing down on us at this very moment. As a result, we're willing for this to be a snatch and grab operation.”

   “Any sign of life down there, sir? Any enemy contacts?” Fox asked.

   “Not that we're aware of at the moment, Sergeant, but that's subject to change at any moment. Proceed with extreme caution. I don't know what you're going to find out there, but I very much doubt that it is worth even a single life.”

   “Aye, sir,” she replied.

   “Saddle up, and good luck to you all
. Midshipman, could I have a moment?”

   “Of course, sir,” Clarke asked, as Fox started to usher the assembled team onto the two waiting shuttles. He walked over to Lombardo, who was watching the technicians scramble on board with an envious eye.

   “Midshipman, you are catching something of a break here, though it might not feel much like it at the moment,” he began. “Under normal circumstances, Lieutenant Salazar or I would be commanding this mission, but in his absence, and with my presence required on board, the Captain has concluded that you are the best choice for the job. And by best, I mean only. Don't get any high ideas, Midshipman. You're taking this team because we're short-handed, and because this mission has a low priority.”

   “Understood, sir. I won't let you down.”

   Nodding, Lombardo replied, “It isn't a question of that, Midshipman, and that attitude worries me a little. You're going to be responsible for fifteen lives, son, as well as your own, and I don't want you to lose a single one. If something goes wrong, or if Waldheim comes over the horizon, bug out and run for home. Never mind unnecessary risks. Don't take any risks at all.” Glancing at the shuttle, he added, “Now tell me. What is your job?”

   “To make the decisions, and tell Sergeant Fox what needs to be done. To listen to her advice, and that of the other senior technicians.”

   “Not bad,” Lombardo said. “Usually takes years for an officer to work out that his senior enlisted not only know what they are doing, but can be trusted to do it. Usually. Just keep everyone on-mission, and keep them moving. Conner can be a little too fastidious for her own good sometimes, but she's a good organizer. And Fox is as tough as old boots.” Clapping him on the shoulder, Lombardo said, “You'll be fine, kid. I've assigned Petrova as second pilot. She'll back you up. And remember that you have seniority, not her. Don't take any crap. Got that?”

   “I'm in charge, within reason,” he replied. “Does that about sum it up, sir?”

   “You'll do, Midshipman,” Lombardo said, nodding. “You'll do. Good luck, and happy landings.” The engineer walked over to the elevator, a technician already racing towards him with news of some new crisis, leaving Clarke alone on the deck, most of his mission team already on board their shuttles. He made his way over to the cockpit in a daze, sliding into the pilot's seat and running through the pre-launch checklist on instinct.