Battlecruiser Alamo: Vault of Eternity

by Richard Tongue

 “Sergeant Fox, that is a direct order.”

   She nodded, smiled, then snapped a parade-ground salute, and said, “It has been an honor, and a privilege, to serve under your command, sir. Good hunting.”

   “Good luck,” he replied, walking back to the airlock, clipping his helmet back into position, working the release lever frantically. When the shuttle launched, the hangar wouldn't be a safe place to be, and he needed to give himself as much distance as he possibly could. Already he could see a faint glow from the aft thrusters, a low whine as the engine charged to full power, and as the outer hatch opened, he fired a long pulse from his suit jets to drive him clear, spinning around to watch as the hangar doors opened.

   Rising like a phoenix from the ashes, the shuttle rose on her lateral thrusters, executing a textbook takeoff. The engines fired, and slowly the ship moved away, taking his crew to safety, on a course that would get them back to Alamo well before anyone could attack them. There remained the danger of a fighter attack, but if his plan worked, the enemy were going to have far more problems to deal with.

   He waited for a long minute, watching as the shuttle soared over the horizon, then flicked off his communicator and turned for Pioneer, pulsing his suit jets again to glide smoothly across the surface to the waiting airlock. Tapping the control, he slid inside, taking off his helmet and gently stepping down the corridor to the aft section, the hatch sliding open as he approached.

   Sergeant Fox and her team had done a good job setting the warheads, fixing them along the superstructure, clustered together to cause maximum damage. Left as they were, they'd shatter the ship into a million pieces, taking out anything attempting to board her. Now, he had greater ambitions. Reaching up to the control overrides, one by one he switched them across, set now to detonate on impact where they could do the most good. A combination of that and the kinetic energy of the collision would make a glorious mess.

   Eleven minutes to go.

   Turning back down the corridor, he pushed off towards the bridge, one of the few compartments still airtight. Cables and circuits reached out at him from the wall, remnants of the abandoned salvage operation, and he smoothly slid under them, taking care to keep any of the sharp obstructions well clear of his suit. Finally he reached his destination, the door sliding open as he arrived.

   A row of consoles awaited him, still flashing their readouts though nobody was sitting at the controls, and he moved into the command chair, reaching down for the master control panel and locking it into position over his lap. He called up a sensor display, the tactical projection flickering into life, and noted with satisfaction the shuttle, still holding its course towards Alamo, towards the safety of their ship, so far distant.

   “Need a hand?” a voice asked, and he turned to see Hooke gliding into the room.

   “What the hell are you doing here?”

   “This is my ship, and if you think I'm going to leave it until the last minute, you've got another damned think coming. It was different if we were abandoning her, heading back to Alamo, but you're taking her out for one more mission, and I'm going to be right here to watch, you understand? I'm not letting her go off without me.”

   With a sigh, Clarke replied, “Only one of us needs to die today.”

   Hooke looked out over the moonscape, then said, “I should have died with the rest of them, Midshipman. If I'm going to go down anyway, I might as well go down doing something worth dying for. This sounds like a mission I don't want to miss.”

  Chapter 20

   Harper walked through the gloom, all the tunnels beginning to merge together, flashes of pictograms leering at her in the shadows as the beam of her flashlight played across them. She paused, took a deep breath, and reached for her canteen, sloshing the contents to reveal the distressingly limited supply of water she had. The heat was oppressive, the sweat running down her back, and she wiped a grimy hand across her forehead to clear her eyes.

   In less than an hour, Salazar would be blowing the charges, sealing her down in the darkness forever. There remained the long access tunnel, down below, but given the voices and footsteps she periodically heard in the distance, she knew that choosing that passage meant handing herself over for immediate capture. Until those charges exploded, she wasn't willing to resort to that, not unless she didn't have any choice.

   Another burst of staccato gunfire broke the silence, somewhere up above her, a brief firefight in one of the tunnels. The sounds of battle had been coming with greater frequency as she slowly made her way up to the surface, too many to be caused by those pursuing her. She'd seen no sign of Carpenter or Weber in hours, not since they'd been forced to separate by the ambush, and the idea of a deliberate search had been a waste of time.

   A loud, rumbling noise ran through the corridor, and for an instant, she looked up, waiting for the dust to drop the ceiling, final call for her surrender. All was silent again. A grenade, a smoke grenade, again, somewhere above her. With one last glance at her watch, she replaced the canteen at her belt, and strode purposefully down the corridor, pistol in hand. She'd waited in the lower levels for as long as she had dared, but now she had to take the chance, or risk being trapped here forever. And worse, risk Alamo never knowing what she had learned, the secret that would give them a way to return to their own galaxy.

   She turned another corner, heading towards what she thought was the surface, then felt something underfoot, a wet patch on the floor. Kneeling beside it, she dipped a finger in the substance, then held it up to the light. Blood. And fresh. There was someone here, close. In the distance, she could hear a faint moan, as though someone was wincing from pain.

   It seemed unlikely that it could be one of the hunters. They'd be staying in place, waiting for a medic to come down and rescue them. It had to be one of her people, Carpenter or Weber, wounded and attempting to escape to the surface. She glanced at her watch again, a brief agony of indecision flooding her mind, but knew that she couldn't abandon one of her friends to the darkness, couldn't leave them to their fate, no matter what the cost.

   Turning down another corridor, she shone her flashlight ahead, racing to follow the tracks, bloody footprints on the ground, the sounds of the wounded crewman close by. She tugged out her datapad, glancing at the display. It might just be possible for them to reach the surface in time. There was a path that led in that direction, less than a mile. Under normal circumstances, she'd be able to walk it in fifteen minutes. Even in this darkness, an hour was more time than she needed.

   Not that she expected it to be that easy. Certainly the enemy would have forces between her and escape, and she'd either have to take detours or risk fighting her way through the blockade. The first option would slow her down, and the second was likely suicide, but the clock was still inexorably counting away the seconds, and trying to save a wounded comrade would slow her down.

   Peering around another corner, she saw a pair of figures slumped by the wall, one obviously unconscious, the other gasping for breath, raising a pistol to confront the approaching figure. Harper held her rifle in her hands, trying to make out the dark shapes in the distance.

   “Who goes there?” she asked.

   “Kris?” Salazar replied. “By all… Get over here. I've got a wounded man with me, and we've got to get up to the surface as fast as we can.”

   “I know,” she said. “I've been watching the clock.”

   “In forty-nine minutes,” he said, “Alamo is sending down a rescue party. We've got a damn tight window to get everyone out.” Lowering his rifle, he continued, “You've noticed all the enemy troops wandering around down here? I took a squad down to try and hold them up, stop them hitting us before we could pull out, but Savina and I got separated from the others.”

   “What happened?”

   “Leg broken in five places. Kid managed three steps before I had to start carrying him. At some point during the process, he passed out, and that's probably a mercy
.”

   “You?”

   “I think I probably cracked another rib. Hurts when I breathe too deep. At least it did before I injected every painkiller in my medical kit into myself.” He forced a smile, and said, “What about the others?”

   “We went too deep, and had to scatter when the enemy troops attacked us. Pavel, we've found it. What we came here to find. At least a lead that will give us something to aim for, rather than just see us randomly wandering around Andromeda for the next century. It's all in my datapad, I'll feed it over to yours.”

   Shaking his head, he replied, “Both of ours were broken in the fall. Just so much scrap metal. I pulled the memory chips and discarded the rest hours ago. We've been wandering around, trying to find a way up to the surface while avoiding enemy contact. Lots of fun.” He paused, then added, “You haven't heard from any of the others?”

   “I keep hearing periodic gunfire, so there must be some sort of firefight going on up there, but nobody's set off the big bomb yet.”

   Nodding, Salazar replied, “We're trying to pull the bastards up into a trap. Bury them under a few thousand tons a rubble. Should slow Estrada and his buddies down for a while, at least. We were supposed to get up to the Vault in about twenty minutes. Any idea where to go?”

   “Good news,” she said, “is that it's about a mile away. Bad news is that we aren't the only ones running around down here, and I'm pretty sure there are some UN troops in our way.”

   “Fine,” Salazar said. “You go on ahead. I'll follow with Savina when you clear the path for us.” The young man groaned, his head falling to the side. “Don't worry. I've carried him this far, and at least I know where I'm going. I'll be right behind you.”

   Harper looked down at him, raised an eyebrow, and reached down to pick up Savina, sending another groan through the young man's body. Salazar looked up, sighed, then pushed himself to his feet, helping her carry the wounded trooper, trying to keep his shattered leg from the floor.

   “If you think I'm leaving you down here to die, you're very much mistaken,” she replied. “It's your turn to clean our quarters, and you don't think I'm letting you get away with skipping on the chores that easily.”

   “I'd laugh, but it hurts too damn much,” Salazar replied. “There's one condition.”

   “You aren't...”

   “Kris, if you have to break and run for it, do it. If what you say is true, then Alamo needs the information you've got in that stubborn brain of yours, and there are more than a hundred lives at stake. And if you don't agree, then I'm sitting right back down and having a sleep.”

   “We're going to have to have words about this martyr complex of yours at some point.”

   “Later. Much later.”

   Carrying Savina between them, the two of them stumbled up the corridor, struggling under the dead weight of the wounded soldier, neither willing to abandon him to his fate. After a moment, Salazar shrugged off his rifle, letting it drop to the floor behind them with a clatter, more dead weight that was unlikely to save their lives. Outnumbered as they were, winning a firefight would be the height of uncertainty. Their safety lay in stealth and speed, not firepower.

   The seconds dragged on, Harper glancing across at Salazar's grimace-laden face, knowing the agony he must be laboring under, trying to ignore the brief flashes of pain that passed across his eyes. Painkillers or no, sheer determination was all that kept him on his feet, and Harper made a silent pledge to ignore his last order. Three would live, or three would die. As for her secret, Carpenter and Weber had the same chance to make it home. Though the gunfire she had heard shortly after they had gone their separate ways made it likely that at least one of them had fallen.

   Up ahead, Harper could see figures moving, and she gestured at a side passage, taking them on a longer path around, adding another quarter-mile to their journey. She'd used her time alone in the darkness to memorize this part of the route, though all the tunnels and passages looked so alike, too few landmarks that she could trust. The mass of hieroglyphs on the wall helped not at all, simply adding spice to the visual sea.

   “Ach,” Salazar said, shaking his head. “This was a bad idea. How long?”

   “Thirty-one minutes,” she replied. “Plenty of time. Just keep moving.”

   “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.”

   They staggered ever onward, the sound of gunfire up ahead urging them to greater speed, a longer sustained burst of fire than either of them had heard so far. The ringing explosions rattled along the walls as they raced towards the Vault, the last passageway to the surface, now only a few hundred meters distant. Under normal circumstances, they could have sprinted it in a minute, but the groaning Savina weighed them down.

   Out of the darkness, a figure raced towards them, and Harper drew her pistol, dropping the wounded soldier to the ground as she dropped into firing position, her finger squeezing back on the trigger before she recognized a familiar face in the darkness.

   “Susan!” she yelled, and the archaeologist raised her hands.

   “Hey, I'm on your side!” she replied. “Pavel?”

   “Come on,” Salazar said. “We'll have time for the reunion later. We've got to keep moving.”

   “Let us take him,” Harper said, “You go ahead, cover us.”

   “Not...”

   “Damn it, Pavel, you've got three cracked ribs, and don't think I haven't noticed that limp! You're wounded, we aren't, and it's a miracle that you've made it this far. Susan and I can carry Savina. Take point.”

   With a reluctant nod, Salazar pulled his pistol from its holster and moved forward, keeping a few paces ahead of the struggling trio, Savina beginning to return to consciousness, periodic groans coming from him as they continued up the slope. They could see searchlights up ahead, hear familiar voices calling towards them.

   “Down here, Corporal!” Salazar yelled. “Medics, on the double!”

   “Sir?” Quiller said, racing down towards them with a pair of troopers on his tail. “Where the hell did you go?”

   “I don't know, and I know that I don't want to go there again any time soon, soldier,” he replied. “Get a stretcher down here on the double, and see Lieutenant Carpenter has an escort up to the surface.” Turning to see the look on the scientist's face, he continued, “I'm guessing you've got the same secret that Kris has in your head, right?”

   “Yes, but...”

   “Then we've got to make damned sure it finds its way back to Alamo.”

   “You found it?” Quiller asked. “Webster, get down here! We need a two-man team to get the Lieutenant up to the surface.” Looking at Salazar, he added, “Maybe you should think about going topside yourself, sir.”

   “Like hell,” he replied, and Harper flashed him a knowing smile. “What's the situation?”

   “I had to pull everyone back up to the Vault about an hour ago, sir. We've been fighting a running gun battle for the last five hours or so. No dead, two wounded, one of them still walking. I got the other one back up topside.” Gesturing towards the ramp to the surface, he continued, “Jamming's getting bad, but I have intermittent contact with the surface, and Ensign Rhodes reports that the enemy are massing for an attack, pretty much as you expected.”

   “Figures,” Harper said. “Catch us from both sides. How long?”

   “Twenty-two minutes before the shuttles come down, ma'am. We're getting sensor readings of Alamo on her way down to us now. Still no communication, though.”

   “They'll attack as soon as the shuttles launch,” Salazar said. “Try and overwhelm us before they can load, stop us from getting on board.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “Nothing's changed, Corporal. We've still got to hold them for as long as possible, then try a fighting retreat back to the surface. Is the Vault secure?”

   “For the moment, sir.”

   “Then we'd better make damned sure that it stays that way, Corporal
. Kris, you fancy a little target practice?”

   “Always good to get some time on the range,” she replied with a gleaming smile. “Might need something better than this popgun, though,” she said, brandishing her pistol.

   “I think we can fix you up, ma'am,” Quiller said. “This way.”

  Chapter 21

   “All hands, stand by your battle stations,” Caine said, leaning over her console. “Five minutes to combat range. Point-defense crews, prepare for close-range salvo fire.” Turning to Marshall, she continued, “Board's damn near clear already, sir.”

   “They've had enough notice,” Francis replied, standing behind Marshall.

   “Change to target aspect!” Ballard reported. “They're closing the range, sir. Just as we expected. All elevator airlocks and missile tubes have opened, ready to fire.” Glancing across at a readout, she added, “Some action on the ground, sir. Heat signatures consistent with plasma weapon discharges.”

   “We expected that,” Marshall said, reaching across for a control. “Bridge to Hangar Deck. Lieutenant Foster, you may launch Shuttle Flight at your discretion. Good luck.”

   “And to you, sir,” Foster replied. “Executing launch sequence now.”

   “McCormack, Red Flight to launch as escort for three minutes, then commence decoy attack run,” Marshall added, sitting back in his chair with a smile. Hours of preparation and simulation, all of them coming into focus for a couple of hundred seconds in the firing line.

   Eyes widening, Ballard said, “Shuttle launch from the eighth moon, sir!” She frowned, then added, “I've never seen anything like it. It looks as though two shuttles have been smashed together to make one. Power signature's all over the place, engine power way down, but she's on an intercept course. No signal, sir, but there's too much jamming at the moment.”

   “Monitor all channels,” Marshall said, turning to Caine. “Looks like Clarke managed to work a miracle after all.”