Battlecruiser Alamo: Spell of the Stars

by Richard Tongue

   “Have you explored the rest of the system?”

   “During the first decade or so, when we had a dozen of these ships, we visited every major body in the system. Officially as part of a scheduled survey, but I think some of the original crew didn't want to give up spaceflight too easily.”

   “When did you arrive out here?”

   “A little over a century ago. I presume you found the wormhole?” At Salazar's nod, the pilot continued, “So did our ancestors. They were aiming for Delta Pavonis, but the drive malfunctioned, and we found ourselves in a barely charted system. They spent a year, and most of their resources, in an attempt to escape, but finally fell through to Andromeda. Finding our Morana was a miracle. That it had not been colonized before was surprising. Though there is evidence of an ancient civilization on the surface.”

   “Dating from how long ago?” Salazar asked.

   “Ten thousand years, perhaps. We haven't got the experts for a full analysis, though many of our fiction writers have spun lurid tales of the ancient past. That's become something of a specialty. I can show you numerous volumes of dubious poetry...”

   “I think I can live without that.”

   “Wise.” Tapping a sequence of controls, Fedorov sent the engine roaring, diving into a thick cluster of asteroids, the spacing less than half a mile apart. “A shattered world, we think, and recently destroyed in cosmic time. Eventually it will disperse, but for the present it represents the richest source of raw materials in the system, as well as the easiest to exploit. Though it took years for our astronomers to gather the data to plot a safe course out.”

   “Waldheim and Alamo will be able to do that far more quickly.”

   Nodding, Fedorov replied, “I'm more than aware of our limited technology, Lieutenant.”

   “Call me Pavel, by the way.”

   The pilot's eyes gleamed, and he asked, “Then you are also from Mother Russia?”

   “Indirectly. My parents were born on Callisto; my mother was Russian in origin, my father Mexican. Not that it mattered too much. Both of them were fourth-generation colonists, going all the way back to the original settlement. I've never even been to Earth.”

   “A shame,” Fedorov replied. “I'd love to see it someday. Though I suppose that will never be possible.” Glancing at an overhead sensor, he added, “I'd still like to know why Waldheim attacked.”

   “You don't know?”

   “They arrived late one night, and by dawn our world was conquered. They never told us why. The last signal we had from the Chairman was to lie low and hope for a better day. Perhaps he had some knowledge that your ship was in the area, though I can't see how. We've had no messages from the homeworld since then.” With a sigh, he added, “I have a wife and a young son at home. I don't even know if they're still alive.”

   “We'll fight them off, Dmitri,” Salazar said. “It won't be the first time we've bested them. Even here in Andromeda. Thirty years ago, we threw off the United Nations in a fifteen-year war. Two generations sacrificed their lives to buy us our independence. We're not going to sit by and watch while they conquer your world, not if there is anything we can do to stop them.”

   “Base coming up,” Fedorov said, as the transport ducked dangerously between a pair of asteroids. “Right there.”

   Salazar watched as the ship drifted into position, spotting a familiar double-dome outpost, a design he had seen dozens of times on scattered asteroids and moons back home. There had been an effort to camouflage it, smother it in gray dust from the surrounding terrain, but it was still clearly visible from this altitude. Around the perimeter, a pair of mass driver cannons pointed at the sky, payloads in position, civilian devices brought into military service. Just as they had back on Mars, thirty years before.

   “I've already signaled the base commander,” Fedorov said. “She's waiting to meet you as soon as we land. I presume you'll want to conclude your business with her as rapidly as possible, before Waldheim launches another attack.”

   “They won't attack while Alamo is on station,” Salazar replied. “Not without throwing everything they have into the fight. We're stalemated at the moment, but don't worry. That won't last long.” The transport dropped to the ground, and a snake-like docking tunnel reached out towards them, clamping onto the main airlock, the connection rattling as the pressure equalized.

   Rising to his feet, taking care in the low gravity, Salazar turned to the hatch while Fedorov began the laborious post-flight checks, throwing switches and checking controls, pulling out a clipboard and scribbling notes with a pencil. Shaking his head, Salazar stepped into the docking tunnel, facing a gray-haired woman wearing a green jumpsuit at the far end, a pistol in her hand.

   “This is the only firearm we have,” she said. “And if it wasn't for an old tradition, we wouldn't even have this one. Nevertheless, I assure you that it is in good working condition, and that I will not hesitate to use it if I must. Do you understand?”

   “Of course,” Salazar said. “If our places were reversed, I'd be doing the same. I assume you've already checked me for concealed devices?”

   “Naturally, though I suspect that you have abilities to hide them that we lack. Given that, you will be under guard for the duration of your stay. Thus far, your Captain has kept his end of our agreement. So long as he continues to do so, we will keep ours.”

   “Do I come forward?”

   “Slowly, and carefully.”

   Nodding, Salazar walked down the tunnel towards the woman, who stepped back to allow him into the archaic airlock. All of the equipment looked new, and yet familiar, copies of designs that were still in use in remote outposts scattered across the system, relics of the first wave of interplanetary colonization. Somehow he doubted that the designers would ever have imagined that their creations would be used this far from home.

   Inside, the dome was about as he had expected, a cluster of compartments surrounding a central command core, where a team of technicians nursed their equipment into life, monitoring local space on a large screen. The datapad in his pocket had more power than all of their systems, but they were using what they had to the full.

   “I am Colonel Anna Volkova. Currently the head of all free military forces in this system. Not that they amount to very much.” With a thin smile, she added, “I have one terrified Corporal under my command, and the two of us are only here on loan. And until this nightmare began, I was a Captain. The Chairman promoted me as his final act.”

   “I understood you didn't have much in the way of a military?”

   “My commission is from the Colonial Police. I was here to launch an investigation into suspected corruption in contract work. Before my change of careers, I was a cosmonaut.” She smiled, and added, “In happier times.”

   “She pioneered the original exploration of the Belt, during our return to space,” Fedorov said, stepping after Salazar. “That this base exists is largely due to her work.”

   “Not that I expect it to last for very much longer,” she replied. “Though I suppose your arrival might help us with that, Lieutenant.” She paused, frowned, then added, “Your Captain has indicated that you are willing to help us. Just what do you have at your disposal?”

   With a smile, Salazar said, “Alamo is a battlecruiser, Colonel, with a full fighter squadron and a platoon of Espatiers at our disposal. With her recent modifications, she's one of the most advanced ships in the Triplanetary Fleet, and the last time we tangled with Waldheim, they came off worst. I'm quite confident that what we did once, we can do again.”

   “A capital ship,” Volkova said, shaking her head. “That you can have such ships at your disposal makes our inferiority all too clear. How many such ships do you have?”

   “Out here, just Alamo, but we've got a dozen more battlecruisers. And three battleships, the equivalent to Waldheim, though they don't leave Sol that often. We've been essentially in a col
d war with the United Nations since we secured our independence.”

   “We've been alone for a century,” Fedorov said. “It seems strange to know that humanity has moved on without us. Our flight from Earth was desperate, and there were times we truly believed that we were all that was left.”

   “Not uncommon,” Salazar replied. “It's only in the last decade that we've really begun to move out to the stars again, and we've found lost colonies scattered all over local space from your era. Dozens of transports reached out, and many of them found a safe haven of their own.” He paused, then said, “We're the first ship from the Confederation you've encountered?”

   “Only the second starship to ever visit this system, since our settlement here.”

   Frowning, Salazar replied, “You're certain?”

   “Trust me, Lieutenant, I would know,” Volkova said. “Why?”

   “We've been looking for one of our starships, the reason we found the wormhole in the first place.” He paused, then said, “No other ships, ever? Nautilus?”

   Volkova's eyes widened, and she added, “I know of the ship. She launched at the same time as our Komarov, and was heading in the same direction. Our two nations had been at war, and we received extensive intelligence briefings.” With a shrug, she added, “My great-grandmother was Komarov's Executive Officer. I received many of the records as an inheritance. Our last link to home. Why were you expecting her?”

   “We're following her trail,” Salazar said. “We know that she came out here, through the wormhole to Andromeda, but more importantly, we know that she managed to find her way back. We contacted the descendants of her crew, back in our own galaxy, a few years ago. They'd reverted to barbarism, lost all of their records, so we couldn't find anything that would help, but we do know that they found a way home.”

   Fedorov and Volkova looked at each other, stunned, and the latter replied, “Our ancestors never even looked. Never thought that we might return to our own galaxy, see our own people once again. Finding our new world seemed like such a miracle...”

   “Our ship was in pieces when we arrived, Colonel,” Fedorov said. “Perhaps they simply didn't think that venturing on was a practical proposition. As for Nautilus, well, there might be something.” He paused, looked at his superior for confirmation, and with a curt nod, continued, “I told you about the ruins, less than a hundred miles from Cosmograd. Naturally they were the source of much attention in the early days of our settlement, but we found some evidence that someone had been there before us. What seemed to be the remains of a shuttle landing site.”

   “We discounted it,” Volkova said, “on the expectation that anyone who had found our world would have wished to stay, just as we did. No matter what side of the war they had been on. This far from home, any political disputes would have been meaningless.”

   “A pity General Estrada doesn't feel the same way,” Salazar replied. “Go on.”

   “There isn't that much more to tell,” Fedorov said. “There wasn't much other evidence. Just signs of what could have been a landing site. When we explored the ruins, nobody was really looking for any trace of human activity.”

   “The ruins,” Salazar said. “Are they covered in strange symbols, alien hieroglyphs of some sort? Made of a material that obviously didn't come from the system?”

   “Yes, but we've made little other progress,” Volkova replied. “Archaeology wasn't something we were prepared for. We didn't have any experts, and only a few textbooks. Reaching into space has always been a far higher priority for us.” She paused, then added, “And we haven't found any other signs of previous activity in the system.”

   “Your planet,” Salazar asked. “Like Earth?”

   “Very much like,” Volkova replied, nodding. “To the point that some of our people have speculated that it was terraformed, created in that pattern, though we've never found any comprehensive proof. We had to introduce a lot of our own wildlife from our genetic banks, and by the time we'd managed to start serious investigations, we'd hopelessly contaminated the evidence.”

   “What is all of this about, Pavel?” Fedorov asked.

   “You wanted to know why Waldheim was here, and why they had conquered your world,” Salazar said. “I think I have the answer. I think I know what they are doing here, and if I'm right, we might need to move faster than I thought. I need to speak to Captain Marshall, immediately.”

   “Security...”

   “The last time we found a site like that, they were willing to eliminate with orbital bombardment to stop us exploring it. How far did you say it was from your capital?”

   “I'll set it up right away,” Volkova said. “You don't think...”

   “No, but I fear,” Salazar replied. “And so should you. Trust me, Colonel. It can get a lot worse than this. I know.”

  Chapter 6

   The pod dropped to the ground, rolling to the side as the parachute billowed in the wind, and Clarke peered out of the viewport, a smile on his face, before reaching for the emergency release. With a series of reports, the explosive bolts fired, ripping away the hatch and tossing it into the air, landing in a cluster of foliage. As the first breath of outside air raced inside, Clarke frowned.

   “Something wrong?” Sokolov asked.

   “I've never been on a world where you didn't need a spacesuit,” he replied. “Going to be hard to get used to.” Turning to the guard, pistol still in hand, he asked, “The least you can give me is your name and rank.”

   “Corporal Mortimer.”

   “Well, Corporal, you get to be the first outside. Don't try anything foolish. There's a cliff about ten meters away, and it's a long drop to the bottom.”

   “Couldn't you have guided us away?” Sokolov asked.

   “Now why would I want to do a foolish thing like that?” Clarke replied, turning his pistol on his erstwhile cellmate. “You two get to be the muscle. Move.”

   “What are you doing?” Sokolov asked, sweat beading on his forehead.

   “We talk after we work. Out.”

   Mortimer clambered out of the pod, Sokolov following, and Clarke ripped the survival kit from the wall before leaving, swinging it over his shoulder on a single strap. He emerged into glorious sunlight, a lush woodland that might have come from an old storybook, the air filled with fragrance and life. Just beyond, the red and blue parachute drifted in the wind, winding around itself, the pod slowly rocking back and forth.

   “Push it over the edge,” Clarke ordered, standing well clear of his prisoners.

   “What in God's name are you planning?” Sokolov asked.

   “Do as I say. And hurry.”

   Mortimer moved to the rear of the spherical pod, Sokolov following, and the two of them quickly managed to set it rolling, tumbling over the bumpy ground towards the edge of the cliff. Finally it gathered enough momentum to carry itself, and as the two prisoners stepped back, it fell over the side, rolling end over end, smashing into a million fragments on the rocks below.

   “Good,” Clarke said, still careful to keep the pistol leveled. “We can talk now. Corporal, I assume you have some way of contacting Major Pastell and informing him that the mission has begun?”

   Her eyes widened, and she said, “How...”

   “It really wasn't that difficult. I was taking a bit of a gamble, but the good Major was dropping enough hints that he was interested in changing sides that I figured I'd be in with a chance. You were his handpicked guard, and I'm guessing that precludes the level of incompetence that would be required to allow a prisoner to escape so easily. Still less telling me where to go.”

   Nodding, she replied, “I'm impressed. You moved a lot faster than the Major thought. I was meant to feed you more hints later. You escaped a lot earlier than we'd anticipated.”

   “Then this was a trick?” Sokolov asked. “John, you don't need...”

   “First-name terms, now?”
Clarke replied. “Corporal, search him. You're going to find a small transmitter, probably of a similar design to the one you are carrying. Likely in a similar spot. Feel free to go as far as you need in the search, and when you find it, toss it over the cliff.” Glancing up, he said, “I spotted some orbital satellites on our sensors, coming in. I think we're out of line-of-sight at the moment, but we're going to have to hurry.”

   “Not a problem,” Mortimer said, turning to Sokolov. “The Major arranged for a malfunction that will give us at least an orbit to get into cover. He didn't want anyone to disturb us for the present.” She paused, frowned, and added, “I was meant to be your hostage. To provide you with some security.”

   “You armed?”

   “Obsidian knife.”

   “Feel free to draw it. I don't need a hostage now.” Gesturing at Sokolov, he added, “Keep searching until you find it.”

   Taking off the man's jumpsuit, she ripped through the lining and pulled out a slim cylinder, her eyes widening as she recognized the design. At Clarke's nod, she tossed it over the side of the cliff, down to the crashing waves below.

   “How did you know?” Sokolov asked.

   “It was too obvious,” Clarke replied. “Not to brag, but I'm an important enough prisoner that I wouldn't be placed with someone else. Especially not someone who might be able to give me the information I needed. Let me guess your mission, just for the practice. Colonel Cruz turned you, and your mission was to accompany me to the surface, make contact with the resistance, and expose them. Thereby discrediting the Confederation, as well as eliminating some of the opposition. How am I doing?”