A shadow flew across the terrain to the east, and Salazar looked across, spotting a black dot in the sky. A recon drone, flying a regular patrol pattern. Bad enough that Waldheim had placed a satellite constellation in orbit to monitor their every move, but now they were getting a full-scale aerial surveillance network in operation. He raised his rifle, half-tempted to take a futile shot, but sighed and turned back to the desert, continuing their patrol pattern.
The base was a good five miles distant, left under the command of Sub-Lieutenant Lombardo and a single squad, the rest of the troops sent far and wide, moving to forward positions in a bid to buy them time to react to an attack. Not that they had many tactical options at their disposal. Already they were in their final redoubt, their last stand, and if the base fell, surrender would be the only option. He'd considered establishing depots in the wilderness, something for the survivors of a successful attack to aim for, but the drone network had ruined that idea. Even if they'd established them, the UN forces would get to their supplies first.
He glanced down at his watch. Five hours since Harper and her team had descended into the bowels of the alien base, while he was still lying in his bunk. At present he was living on stimulants and duty, and knew that he was going to pay the price in the form of a ferocious chemical hangover in the near future. As long he could keep going for long enough for him to return to Alamo, that wouldn't matter.
Rhodes raised his hand, and the column dropped to their knees, swinging their rifles to the ready. Salazar peered into the distance, mentally throwing on a magnification filter in his bionic eye, the speed of the zoom making his stomach churn. It had been almost two years since he'd lost his real eye, during fighting with the Xandari, and there were times that he thought he'd never get used to the replacement. Even if on occasion it did have some advantages.
After a moment, he spotted the shapes on the horizon, ten men walking in a loose pack towards some distant objective, the black and gray uniforms marking them as United Nations Marshals. No attempt at camouflage, no real attempt at dispersion. In terms of the raw basics, of marksmanship and stamina, the Marshals were the equal of the Espatiers, but the Triplanetary Confederation stressed the value of independent initiative, something that the United Nations Security Council found abhorrent at any level, something to be discouraged, not praised.
Long minutes passed while they waited for the enemy patrol to pass by, sweat still pouring down his back even though the sun was setting, a chill wind roaring over the terrain as a harbinger of the night. It grew cold on Dante when darkness fell, the gloom providing the best cover for their advance.
Even with their precautions, it seemed more than likely that the enemy would know where they were, would be watching silently to establish a patrol path. The one advantage Salazar and his team had was that they were setting the timetable, that there was no intent to establish permanent residence on this planet, and that in less than a day and a half, shuttles would be descending from the sky to snatch them from the surface. If all went well.
The column moved on, keeping close to the terrain in a bid to maintain at least the pretense of stealth, the enemy squad now safely in the distance. Salazar tried to mentally recall the local geography, trying to work out where they might be heading. Some strategic strong-point that meant something to somebody. All Salazar was interested in was scouting the desert, and buying some time for Lombardo to complete work on the defenses back at the colony.
Rocks crumpled under his feet as he started his ascent, pausing for a moment to glance at the spectacular view behind them. Smoke still rose from the smoldering dome, the fires started by the enemy forces during the attack defeating any attempts to deaden them. No firefighting equipment, and far too little water. It was going to be a cold and uncomfortable night, that was certain. Rhodes slowed to a stop, moving behind a pile of rocks, and waited for the rest of the team to catch up with him, Salazar the first to his side.
“We can see for miles from up here,” Rhodes said, gesturing at the view. Pinpoints of light littered the environment, scattered across the terrain. Raising his binoculars, he whistled, and said, “Most of them are vehicles, normal buggies, but I'm making out two domes, one of them with shuttles nearby. Maybe fifty miles away.” He paused, then added, “The second just about follows the track of that long tunnel Harper found, down in the base.”
“A second alien site,” Salazar said, trying to make out details in the gathering gloom. Switching to infra-red didn't help, the distance too great and the required magnification too large. “Ninety-three miles away. That's a pretty long walk.”
“Pavel, this isn't for us, and they haven't set up down here to investigate a dig. They're setting up for long-term occupation.” Looking at his friend, he asked, “Any interesting resources in the rest of the system. Aside from the obvious.”
With a chuckle, Salazar replied, “Nothing out of the ordinary, but there are a hell of a lot of moons swinging around this rock. That means that exploitation would be simple enough, and there's air to breathe down here.” He paused, then added, “As inhospitable as this place is, there'd probably be settlers heading out this way if we were back in our own galaxy.”
“Maybe that's the idea,” Rhodes said. “They figure this could become important real estate once we find a path back home, and they want to claim it for the United Nations.”
“Unless they can magic up a second starship, they'll have to leave here sooner or later, and I can't see them leaving any of their people behind. Would you volunteer for that? Even if they maroon some of the crew, that just weakens them.” He paused, then added, “There's something else going on, something we don't know about. They can't even just be after us, not with the bulk of their resources out in the desert.” He paused, then reached for his datapad, flickering through the images gathered during their hasty descent.
“You've thought of something,” Rhodes said.
“Our base,” he replied. “It's well camouflaged...”
“At least it was.”
“And it was the sand that did it. The dust storms. The party from Pioneer didn't have to lift a finger to conceal it from Waldheim. They'd already done it. So why are we assuming that they were the only ones? There have been a lot of ships out this way already.”
“You think Monitor might have landed a team out there?”
“It's a possibility,” Salazar said, “though I doubt it. They'd have signaled when our shuttles came down. It wouldn't have been hard to work out who they belonged to.” He peered back out onto the desert, dusk falling over the landscape. “Someone else is out there.”
“Sir,” one of the troopers hissed, gesturing to the rear. “There's someone moving in the shadows. A hundred meters south-west, coming around behind us.”
Nodding, Rhodes turned, raising his rifle, and gestured for Salazar to move around behind the intruder. It had almost been surprising that they'd managed to get this far without being intercepted, and having a prisoner to take back for interrogation had been right at the top of his wish list when this patrol had set out.
Creeping down low, Salazar glanced up, and saw a smiling figure rise to his feet, brushing the dust from his uniform, and walk towards him, as though without a care in the world. He looked all around, trying to find some reason for the intruder's confidence, and as the man walked out of the shadow, he suddenly recognized him.
“Major Pastell,” Salazar said. “Fancy meeting you out here.”
“It was such a nice evening, that I thought I'd go out for a walk.” Gesturing to the rear, he said, “As far as Colonel Cruz is concerned, I'm leading a deep patrol. She seemed almost eager for me to leave our base. I almost suspect that she was hoping that I didn't come back.” He paused, then asked, “Will I be permitted to return?”
“That depends very much on how our conversation goes.”
Nodding, Waldheim's Security Officer replied, “
I suppose that under the circumstances, you cannot be blamed for being suspicious. Would it help if I could tell you that I'm not here with the knowledge of any of my superiors? Neither General Estrada or Colonel Cruz know that I am here, and for the foreseeable future, I think that it would be best for it to remain that way. The punishment for treason is unfortunately severe.”
“Are you planning any?”
With a smile, Pastell said, “That depends very much on how our conversation goes.”
“Touche.”
“I have a question.”
“I can't guarantee an answer.”
Nodding, Pastell asked, “Why did your ship attack ours? General Estrada was willing to open negotiations. He is a reasonable man, and there was no need to launch a preemptive strike.”
“We didn't,” Salazar replied. “We tried to contact you, but nobody was listening.”
“Besides, you were fast enough to move against the Pioneer survivors,” Rhodes added.
Raising a hand, Pastell said, “We were looking for them, I grant you, and we would have taken them into, shall we say, protective custody on Waldheim, but we certainly didn't have any plans for the sort of carnage that took place earlier.”
“Those soldiers were of course planning to provide us with a welcoming salute from their plasma rifles,” Salazar replied. “Major...”
“Thank Cruz for that,” Pastell said, a grimace on his face. “She dragged together everyone she could find on the ship for that assault. I think stealing her shuttle rather soured her mood.” His grimace turned into a smile, and he added, “Nice work, by the way. Though I warn you that it wouldn't have worked if I'd been in charge of your arrest.”
“Somehow I didn't think it would,” Salazar replied. “You don't seem like the type to fool easily. Though you have been more than willing to step into this particular trap.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “Just so we've got some sort of time-line. to work with, how long before the drone strike takes place?”
“Fifteen minutes, unless I countermand it. The craft is under the control of one of my people, someone I would trust with my life.” With a shrug, he added, “As I think you can tell, given the circumstances. I can delay it once for an additional ten minutes, but after that I must be away from here, on my way to rejoin my men. Also, I am certain that Cruz has agents watching me, and if I tarry for too long, it will lead to questions that I don't really wish to answer.”
“You asked a question, so I get one,” Salazar said. “Have you found a way home?”
“If we had, do you think we'd still be here? Even Cruz isn't crazy enough to loiter in a worthless system to bring down one harmless battlecruiser.” He paused, then said, “You didn't attack first, did you?”
“No. During the whole encounter, we were trying to signal your ship and request terms for a ceasefire. We're certainly not going to surrender, but I know Captain Marshall was willing to cooperate in order to find a way to escape this galaxy.”
Nodding, Pastell said, “All those political differences that were so important last week do seem rather insignificant now, don't they. Nevertheless, while I suspect General Estrada would be happy with such an undertaking, Colonel Cruz will continue to block it.”
“Who the hell is in command over there?” Rhodes asked. “Estrada or Cruz?”
“Good question, Ensign, and as soon as I have worked that out, I'll be happy to pass that on. The truth of the matter is that both control factions of significant size, and that Estrada's command is essentially subject to a veto from Cruz. At least, while she continues to hold the current level of influence. We can certainly hope that this will change in the near future, but I very much fear that we cannot depend upon it.” He frowned, then added, “And to answer your next question, I consider myself a neutral in this little game. Even the good General is a little too inclined to play the political game. Ironic, given that his goal is to prove the worthlessness of the political appointees we have been faced with of late.”
“Again, that all seems pretty damn irrelevant under the current circumstances,” Salazar said. “Isn't there any way to get through to Cruz?”
“Short of a bullet in the brain, I fear that she will be impossible to convince. Her dream, I believe, is to carve out an empire in this part of space. Either for the United Nations, assuming that we can find a way home, or perhaps for herself.” With a sigh, she added, “All too many of the crew are thinking along similar lines. I won't pretend that her viewpoint isn't popular. I'm afraid megalomania appears to be an occupational hazard among our flag officers these days.” He looked out at the plain, and said, “The city you have found.”
“Now what city might that be?” Rhodes asked.
“The one that we have had under close observation for the last six hours. I understand Lieutenant Harper has taken a team to explore it. Does it represent a way home?”
Frowning, Salazar replied, “If we did find a way home. Could that be used as leverage to push Colonel Cruz out of power? Perhaps demand that she be turned over to us as part of the price of your salvation.”
Pastell's eyes gleamed, and he said, “General Estrada would be reluctant to accept such an offer for the precedent it would set. Should it become common knowledge among the crew, however, then I suspect that a mutiny could be aroused in short order. You will understand that my department is responsible for all internal security measures, though I am aware that Cruz is watching over my shoulder at all times. My job is to discourage such actions, but that naturally means that I am aware of those among the crew who might be, shall we say, easily persuaded.”
“Why do I get the idea that Major Pastell is loyal primarily to Major Pastell, rather than to the United Nations Security Council?” Rhodes asked.
“Perhaps because you are a perceptive judge of character. And perhaps because such an attitude is encouraged, even fostered on Earth in these days. There are times…,” he paused, smiled, and continued, “but that is neither here nor there in the circumstances.” He rose, looked up, then said, “There is going to be a battle in this system soon. I think we both know that. I will do my best to make sure that you are treated well afterward.”
“In exchange for the same consideration, after we've won the battle.”
A smile spread across Pastell's face, and he replied, “There are many matters of which you are unaware, but I bow to your tactical expertise.” He paused, then said, “It is possible that Cruz may lose face, should you triumph. There may be options for a peaceful settlement yet. Were you to find a way back home, I can promise you that all would be forgiven, especially given the offer you propose to make.”
Shaking his head, Salazar said, “So our two ships are going to fight it out, and our forces wage a war down on the surface, because of the mad dreams of a single senior officer.”
“Such is life, sometimes, my friend.” He paused, then added, “Watch for the treachery within your own ranks. Colonel Cruz has been bragging about the operative in your lunar settlement, and I know that she is planning some sort of strike against them. If you've found something important to our mutual survival up there, then I caution you to protect it at all cost. I begin to suspect that she would rather be ruler of an empire than a servant of the Security Council. Good luck.”
Pastell moved into the shadows, melting back into the night, and Rhodes turned to Salazar, asking, “Should we go after him?”
“No,” Salazar said. “No point. We've only got one friend on Waldheim, and it seems a pity to waste him. Not that I actually trust him, but at least we have a chance to open a line of dialogue.”
“You realize he means to take command himself.”
“I could live with that outcome. A lot more happily than I could if Colonel Cruz was in command. Though given the tactical genius she has displayed so far, we might want to encourage her success.” He paused, then asked, “Frank, maybe I hurt my head wors
e than I thought, but did he talk about our lunar colony?”
“He did.”
“Pioneer,” Salazar said, a smile on his face. “Midshipman Clarke. He's got something planned. Cunning bastard.” Looking back towards the dome, he said, “We'd better get home before it gets dark. No point encouraging the boogeymen. Or Colonel Cruz. If that isn't the same thing.”
Chapter 16
All the tunnels seemed to look the same to Harper's untrained eye, miles of decorated walls blurring into each other, even as Carpenter continually evinced enthusiasm about a new fresco, another image that attracted her eye. Taking up the rear, Weber cautiously looked down each side shaft, pausing for brief excursions along connected tunnels, anxious about the possibility of a surprise attack.
Paranoia bred in the dark. Their single sensor pulse had given them little reassurance, the detectors failing to pierce much deeper than they were, and the tangle of tunnels and passages extended for miles under the surface, an intricate and inexplicable pattern carved out of the rock by some long-dead race. Periodically, Harper glanced at her datapad, the soft glow of the monitor providing a last link from home, and checked their route.
“Shaft coming up,” she replied. “We're going to have to rappel this one. A hundred and fifty feet, straight down.” Turning to Carpenter, she added, “There must have been some easier way to get down here. I can't imagine that anyone would fill their city with tunnels they couldn't use.”
“For all you know,” the archaeologist replied, “they could fly.”
Shining her flashlight ahead, Harper moved towards the shaft. She carefully set pitons in position, clipping the safety line in place and giving an experimental tug to check that it would hold. Looking up at Weber with a shrug, she tossed the line down, watching it fall away into the inky darkness below, then strapped her harness into place for the descent.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Vault of Eternity Page 15
