Battlecruiser Alamo: Ghost Ship

by Richard Tongue

   They reached the bridge, occupied only by the panicking Vorzan shouting something into a communicator. Cooper couldn’t understand a word, but he didn’t need to, shooting him in the chest with a taser bolt and sending him crashing to the far wall, twitching from the charge, while Forrest plucked the communicator out of the air and stuffed it into a handy pocket for later analysis.

   “Cole, Christie, stand by here. Don’t touch the walls – remember that they are active control panels, and don’t be surprised by anything that happens next.”

   Up ahead lay their goal, the alien, protected by a security field that he was going to have to hack the old-fashioned way; both he and Forrest had explosives in their pocket. They raced into the room, Cooper surprised that, for the moment, everything was going so well, only to encounter two more guards waiting opposite the alien, both of whom were ready to fire.

   The blasts echoed around the small room, the two Espatiers relying on carefully-honed instinct to get out of the way just in time, returning fire while the two troopers in the room behind came forward. Two more shots rang out, and Cooper heard a yell from behind him, but this time his shot was true, sending one of the guards down, and Cole managed to hit the other in the shoulder.

   Droplets of blood dripped out of a wound on Christie’s arm, and Cooper pushed back to take a look at it, pulling the tattered sleeve back to reveal a long gouge down his arm where the bullet had traveled. The trooper forced a grin, and glanced over at Cole.

   “I’m fine, sir. Just a light wound.”

   “Get him bandaged, Sergeant,” Cooper said. “I’ll go and get our friend.”

   “You think she’ll come voluntarily?”

   “If not, then we’ll find out how she manages under taser fire.”

   He pushed back into the room, cautiously looking around, then glanced at the alien with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He pulled one of the charges out of his pocket, made an exploding motion with his hands, then gestured for her to pull back to the far wall; she seemed to understand, nodding as she withdrew.

   It was difficult to force patience on himself as he set the charges, three of them in equidistant positions near what he hoped was the control machinery. No doubt there was a very simple way to open the barrier, but he didn’t have time to work it out, instead planting the detonators in the explosives and moving back to the corridor, pulling out his datapad.

   “Heads down!” he yelled, lightly tapping the button. Three simultaneous pops followed, and the barrier shattered, pieces scattering everywhere. He dived back in, sweeping shrapnel out of the way with his arms, and tossed a uniform jacket to the alien. She managed to force it over her shoulders, providing her with at least some protection, and he gestured to the corridor.

   She shook her head, and then the room went dark; from what he could see, every room on the ship went dark. Writing began to swirl into the air, from some hidden holoprojector, in languages he couldn’t understand – one of them looked like the swirls of Haven’s language, another looked at least vaguely familiar, and then English appeared.

   “That’s mine,” he said, more in hope than expectation of a reply. “I don’t know if you can understand, but we’ve got to get out of here.”

   It was then that he realized he was moving, slowly drifting towards the wall, and his communicator began to urgently chirp. He didn’t need to respond to know what was happening; the alien ship was on the move.

   “Haven’s forces are coming,” he said. “I can get you safe conduct to my ship, and then back to your people. All we want to do is talk to you.”

   “You come in force?” the text replied.

   “None of them are dead, just stunned,” he replied. “In only a few minutes we’re going to be hit by missiles from a dozen directions. Alamo can stand them off, but this ship can’t.”

   The lights came back on, and the alien nodded, the text replying, “I will assist.”

   Belatedly, Cooper plucked out his communicator and said, “We’re on the way. Details later, but the ship is under control.”

   “I get that, Cooper. We just changed course, heading towards Alamo. We’ve also got about twenty ships coming our way. We’ve got to get on the move, right now.”

   “We’re coming, we’re coming,” he said, turning to the alien. “This will be a lot easier in zero-gravity.”

   She nodded, and the acceleration instantly ceased. Cooper pushed back off from the wall, heading to the bridge, and she swung after him, effortlessly dancing down the corridor, her arms pulling her on hand holds with enviable fluidity. Up ahead, Forrest was looking at her, Cole just finishing bandaging Christie’s arm.

   “What the hell is going on, Cooper?” Forrest asked.

   “Later, Sergeant. We’ve got Haven ships inbound, and I think they’ll be shooting first and asking questions later.” Turning to the alien, he said, “Follow us,” and she nodded in response.

   The squad moved down the shaft, and as Cole left the bridge, the lights all went out behind them. Having someone on their side who could control the ship with a mere thought was a definite advantage, something to take full advantage of; hopefully, the others on the ship were being nicely disoriented at the moment.

   As they approached the bottom of the shaft, Cooper heard cursing, followed by a loud crack; a firefight was taking place in the corridor below, and he dived down with his taser ready, only to see a man with a gun pointed square at his chest. Before he could fire, the air recirculators overloaded, a titanic gust of wind slamming his enemy into the wall; Talbert finished him off with a taser shot, though by that point it hardly seemed necessary.

   Turning, he saw the alien nimbly gliding after him, a hunter’s smile on her face, a look that he knew all too well. She wasn’t just ready to fight, she actually enjoyed it. There was an element of revenge, perhaps, but there was something more behind it, deep in her eyes.

   “Come on,” Forrest said, pushing past him, and Cooper nodded.

   “Let’s move out.” Taking the rear guard, he drifted down the corridor, communicator back in his hand. “I can see the airlock, Maggie. We’ll be in the shuttle in a moment.”

   “Less than the estimate,” she said. “Great work.”

   “We’ve got to get away with it yet,” he replied. Lomax was clutching his leg, a wound similar to Christie’s hastily bandaged, a thin sea of blood droplets hanging in the corridor. Two light wounds and a successful mission; Cooper was happy to settle for that, and the airlock closed behind him, as he settled into the safety of the shuttle.

   He wasn’t prepared for what happened next, as a quick blast of acceleration sent him tumbling to the deck, twisting his ankle; a chorus of complaints came from around the room. Only the alien seemed to have been ready for the acceleration, and he looked accusingly up at her.

   “That wasn’t me,” Orlova yelled over the communicator. “She’s still in the driving seat!”

   Looking up at the alien, Cooper said, “Unlock us. We’ve got to make our link up with Alamo!” It belatedly occurred to him that her ability to understand English might have been provided to her by the ship’s computer, but his doubts were washed away as the shuttle rocked to the side, tumbling away as Orlova hastily attempted to regain control.

   “What’s happening?” he yelled.

   “The alien ship’s still on the move, curving back towards Guardian Station. Looks like its on a collision course.”

   “Can it hit?”

   “There are about three dozen Haven ships that are going to try to stop it. Alamo coming up in three minutes, stand by for evasive action. We’ve got hot missiles in the air.”

   Cooper moved over to one of the viewports, looking out. He was lucky; he could see Alamo up ahead, the long, thin shape with its reflectors shining in the dull sunlight. Beside him, the alien peered into the darkness, but her attention was fixed on the planet, not on the ship, and there was a
new expression on her face. Longing.

   She gestured out at the planet, and said something in her language, obviously some sort of song, and though he couldn’t understand the words, the meaning was quite clear. That was home, at least on some level, and the sounds tugged at his heartstrings. He nodded, then gestured to Alamo.

   “We’ll see what we can do. The Captain will want to talk to you when we get back.”

   “Good,” she replied in a heavily-accented voice, enough that he strained to understand her. “I will answer his questions, now that you have opted not to back the Thieves.”

   “Thieves?”

   “Those who infest our home, who prevent the Seekers from claiming what by all right is ours. We will return, and we will avenge, and be reborn.”

   “Reborn?”

   Alarms sounded before she could answer, and the flash of a missile coming to a violent end briefly illuminated the sky, far too close to the shuttle. Alamo was growing large in the screen now as Orlova guided it in, and he glanced around at his squad, all of whom seemed to be as relieved as he was. It was only when he heard the loud clang of the docking cradle that he finally allowed himself to relax.

   “Stand-by to disembark. Christie, Lomax, get up to Sickbay and have the doctor take a look at you; you can escort our new friend as well.” The alien frowned for a moment, then nodded. “The rest of you to standby stations. I think we’re going to be at alert for a while.”

  Chapter 19

   “Something is happening up in orbit,” Gaxric said, looking down at Logan as he walked into the room. “My sources tell me that Alamo has launched a hit-and-run raid on our captured alien spacecraft.”

   Looking up and wiping the sleep from his eyes, Logan replied, “Did they pull it off?”

   “The alien ship was destroyed by a combined salvo from thirty-one monitors, but Alamo’s shuttle got away. For public consumption, they’re claiming that it was a weapons test that went better than they anticipated.”

   “People buying it?”

   “They don’t care.” He sat down, and said, “I do, though. Did you know about this?”

   “Not in detail, but I knew what they were planning, yes. You must understand why I couldn’t tell you.”

   “Are there any more surprises in store for us?”

   With a grin, Logan replied, “Absolutely, but from now on they will be as much of a surprise to me as they are to you, I assure you.”

   “You aren’t filling me with confidence.”

   “I’m not down here to give you a pep talk.”

   “What are you here to do, then?”

   “I’m here to observe, report, and act at my discretion.”

   “Then you can come with me,” Gaxric said, a frown on his face. “I think it’s time we gave you both a look around the city for real, not the brief glimpse the Council permitted you. Get dressed.”

   Logan pulled himself to his feet and reached for the top of the jumpsuit, pulling it on over his shoulders with a struggle. By the time he was dressed, Singh had walked into the room; somehow he had actually managed to make the jumpsuit look smart. Running his fingers through his hair, Logan walked to the door.

   “I always sleep better in real gravity,” Singh said.

   “Sleep’s about the one time I’d rather be in free fall.” Looking to Gaxric, he said, “Is it safe out there?”

   “No-one is expecting you to be in the city, so I don’t think you should experience any difficulty. If you are feeling nervous, on the other hand, then you can remain skulking in the shadows.”

   “Let’s get going.”

   Leading the way, Gaxric started down the corridor, taking a trio of twists and turns to bring them back out into the main concourse. Logan looked around at the drab environment, noticed the dulled look on a lot of the people about, beyond simple boredom and resentment.

   “Oh, yes,” Gaxric said, noting Logan’s interest. “Many of our people have their food dosed with depressants. Keeps them quiet, stops them rebelling, and if the suicide rate is through the roof, well, we have a population problem at the moment.” He shook his head, saying, “Bastards.”

   “Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

   “I wanted you to see it for yourself,” he replied. “Now you can see what we are fighting for, and why most of us don’t care whether we win the war or not.”

   “How do you…,” Singh began, but Gaxric interrupted.

   “Military rations. Naturally, they’re of a somewhat higher grade than the civilian muck, so we raid their depots every so often. That’s why most of the rebels are ex-military; we’ve seen what the world really looks like without the chemical haze.”

   They came to a shaft, and Gaxric stepped out onto a ladder that looked barely able to support his weight, and started to slowly descend. Logan stepped after him, followed by Singh; the rungs creaked as they made their way down to the next level, swinging off into a dark, empty corridor.

   “Overcrowded we may be, but there are parts of the city no-one but us goes to,” Gaxric said. “We use this level quite a bit.”

   “What for?” Singh asked.

   Gesturing to the right, he replied, “See for yourself.”

   Logan stepped in first, then sighed as he saw the sight that met his eyes. The room had been outfitted as an improvised hospital ward, more than a hundred men on beds, a few people moving from one to another. Each had stenciled above them a series of unintelligible hieroglyphics; a few of them struggled to rise as Gaxric stepped in, and he said a few words to them in a comforting tone.

   “What happened here?” Logan asked.

   “One does not retire from the orbital garrisons,” Gaxric replied. “When your usefulness is at an end, you are abandoned as these men have been.”

   “Zero-gravity adaptation,” Singh said, shaking his head. “How long were their tours of duty?”

   “You don’t understand. These men just stayed up until they were wounded too severely to put them back into the fighting. Most of them were up for years, decades. Their bones are brittle, their hearts weak. We keep them alive, as best we can.”

   “They ought to go back into orbit, if they’d survive the flight,” Logan said. “They could at least live a semblance of a normal life up there.”

   “The United Nations requires at least two months in gravity for every nine in weightless conditions,” Singh replied. “I understand the Triplanetary Confederation has similar restrictions.”

   “That’s why most of our ships have rotational gravity,” Logan added. “Better for the men.”

   “Our leaders care rather less about their people than you care for yours. Selection to join the protectors of our world is a great honor, you understand. One that is awarded by lot, though the sons and daughters of our leaders always seem to slip through the cracks.”

   Shaking his head, Singh said, “We’ve got to do something about this, Logan.”

   Nodding, he said, “We will. Gaxric, while we’re here, I need a buccal swab and a few minutes. Are you set up for that?”

   “A genetic sample? We can take it, but we haven’t got the equipment to do anything with it once we’ve got it.”

   Tapping his concealed datapad, Logan replied, “Don’t worry, I have.”

   “I’ll see to it.” The rebel walked over to one of the doctors, and started to collect equipment, while Singh moved over to Logan.

   “This is worse than we thought.”

   “Dammit, if we’d known about this from the outset…”

   “Then what exactly would you have done differently? This remains a military problem at its core; we must prevent the destruction of the people of Haven. Only then can we deal with this situation.”

   “True, but I’m beginning to think that the two are one and the same.” One of the patients groaned, and Logan said, “We’ve got to do something about this.”
<
br />    “End the war. That would seem to be the logical solution to the problem.”

   “I don’t think it’s going to be as simple as that.”

   Gaxric walked over, a small jar in his hand, and said, “I’ve got what you wanted.”

   “Good.” Logan took the jar, placed it on a nearby counter, and pulled a long needle from his datapad, poking it into the sample and setting it to transmit. The signal strength was lousy, even with Alamo overhead, and the progress bar dragged slowly across the screen.

   “We can give you any medical data you want,” the rebel volunteered. “I have another datachip prepared with that material.”

   “We’ll take it,” Logan said. “What’s your set-up down here? No specifics, of course, just give me a rough idea what we have to work with.”

   Shaking his head, he replied, “Our numbers have never been exactly excessive, I fear. We have strike teams in position that can assassinate key members of the Council, and seize communications links. After that, we will be reliant on assistance from your vessel to prevent retaliation.”

   “Alamo hasn’t got anything like the ground forces capability to undertake such an operation. Not even when we were at full strength.”

   “We do not need you to land personnel,” the rebel leader said with a smile. “Just hold off the loyalist elements of the space fleet and be ready with an orbital bombardment.”

   “Bombardment?” Singh said. “You believe we would sit in orbit and destroy your cities?”

   “Once the drugs wear off, I venture there will be a mass uprising, but it is controlling it that would be the problem. The war would be over in a day if we did that, though I suspect the population would be slaughtered in the process.”