Battlecruiser Alamo: Spell of the Stars

by Richard Tongue

   “On the bridge...” Harper said.

   “It was the fastest way I could think of to stress the critical nature of the situation to Santiago. It worked. We're safe, for the moment, at least. But let me make one thing clear. Our objective is more certain than ever. Waldheim must be destroyed.”

   “Damn right,” McCormack said, walking into the office. “We can't let those bastards win. Not after what they did to my people.”

   “Our people,” Francis said, with a sigh. “So how do we proceed?”

   “Cruz isn't an experienced starship commander,” Salazar replied. “She made several tactical mistakes during the battle. She'll follow the book, and right now that's left her guarding what is no longer a strategic position.”

   “Sir?” Bowman said, his voice blurred on the speaker. “I have Sub-Lieutenant Clarke. Time delay of one minute, sir, but he's sent a new report.”

   “Pipe it through, Spaceman.”

   “I still don't see how he lived through Dante,” Harper said, shaking his head. “If he was a cat, he'd be on his last life. And then some.”

   “Clarke here,” the young officer's voice said. “I'm working with the resistance. We've secured a facility close to the archaeological mine, about eighty miles south of Cosmograd. You should be able to track us. We're armed, equipped, and ready to take on the enemy, but we're going to need reinforcements if we're going to beat them back. Right now we have the initiative. Captain, I have reason to suspect that General Estrada is dead, and that Major Pastell will shortly be joining him. I also believe that they have abducted civilians on Waldheim. We found an abandoned settlement, and the rebel leaders indicate there are more.” There was a pause, and he added, “I'll be on this frequency, tight-beam, but if Waldheim heads our way, we'll have to pull out. We're vulnerable to an orbital attack. Clarke out.”

   “He doesn't know how bad things are up here,” Francis said.

   Frowning, Salazar said, “Max, you suggested we could get a shuttle down to the surface.”

   “Sure, we could rescue him. Maybe some of the rebels as well.”

   “No,” he replied. “Frank, you and your people up for playing in the mud?”

   “Any time, anywhere,” the Espatier said. “You know that.”

   “I'm going to hold you to that.” A smile on his face, he jumped off the desk, and said, “We're going to free Morana, right out from under the noses of Cruz and her lackeys.”

   “Liberate a planet with one platoon and three assault shuttles?” Francis asked.

   “As soon as we move, Waldheim will come after us,” Harper warned.

   Nodding, Salazar replied, “Which means we will be able to control the time and place of our next engagement. All we have to do now is work out how to make maximum use of that. This game isn't over. It's only just begun.”

  Chapter 14

   Clarke pulled off the handset, resting it on the table, and looked up at the gathered rebels. Outside, the garrison was being restrained, questioned for anything they knew. They'd managed to collect nineteen prisoners during the attack, and it had already taken some blunt words from Mortimer to prevent nineteen summary executions from taking place in the aftermath.

   “Well?” Webster asked.

   “Alamo's sending the whole platoon down to assist us. Twenty-eight troopers, all armed with plasma weapons, full kit. With as much spare equipment as they can fabricate in the time.” Exultant faces turned to him, and he added, “Don't celebrate yet. That evens the odds a little, but we've got to provide ground support for an attack. Apparently the ship's been badly damaged.”

   “Then we were too late?”

   “Thirty seconds later, and there'd have been nobody up there to talk to,” Clarke replied. “As it is, Captain Marshall and several of the senior staff have been captured. If it helps, the acting commander has determined that Alamo will continue to fight for this system. Despite the betrayal of the personnel on Salyut Station.”

   Shaking his head, Avdonin said, “I still can't quite believe that the entire complement gave in without even a fight. In their place...”

   “What could you have done?” Mortimer asked. “No weapons, no supplies, and no sign of ever receiving any help. I don't say that I would have turned traitor, but I'd have had a hard time not immediately surrendering. What did you expect?” Looking around the room, she added, “You had no space-based defenses, no standing military.”

   “We're a small colony,” Avdonin began.

   “And this is going to get us precisely nowhere,” Clarke replied. “We've got to come up with a strike. Something big to through the assault team at, something that will draw their entire garrison strength towards us. There's no question of trying to retake Cosmograd. We'd burn the city to the ground trying to free it.”

   “Then...”

   “Once Waldheim is destroyed, the forces in Cosmograd will almost certainly surrender,” Mortimer said. “They'll be in precisely the situation you were, and with no support, and a hostile population that vastly outnumbers them, there'd be out of options. I've met the garrison commander, and for all his sins, he's pragmatic enough to accept reality. We need another target.”

   “The mine,” Webster said. “Eleven miles north-east of here, with a company-strength garrison. And about a thousand slave workers who will almost certainly rise up as soon as we attack. It's been the primary focus of their attention ever since they arrived. I can't imagine they'd ignore an assault there.”

   “Tell me about the place,” Clarke said.

   “They've dug into the alien ruins, deep shafts underground. We always knew that far more of it was buried than was visible on the surface, and they seem to be determined to expose it all. Miles and miles of it. The work's barely begun. I think one estimate had it at up to four years.”

   “Four years?” Clarke replied. “That about answers the question of whether or not they're going to stay, if they've begun a project on that scale. Unless they're looking for something specific.”

   “We don't have the experts to know,” Avdonin said. “Aside from a few amateurs, we don't have any archaeological researchers. It's just not something the original settlers prioritized. And there's always been something more important, a greater priority for our budgets.”

   Glaring at him, Mortimer replied, “A world with a long-dead alien race, and you don't think investigating it is a priority? Did any of you idiots ever stop to think that there might be a reason that they died out, something that might still affect you today?” Rubbing her forehead, she added, “The mine, then. Defenses?”

   “Three prefabricated bunkers, a patrolled perimeter fence. Drones on permanent station covering every entry point, controlled on-site by a monitoring station at the heart of the mine. The workers are kept in four large barracks, made of wood. They'll burn, so we'll have to be careful making our attack.” Frowning, Webster continued, “The drones are going to be our biggest problem. They'll give too much advance notice of our attack. We'll need to find some way to knock them out.”

   “Next question,” Clarke asked. “Would it be possible for a small team to sneak into the mine, under the drones, and make it to the monitoring station?”

   “Maybe,” Webster said, “but the timing would have to be perfect. You'd have minutes to get in and out. Lieutenant, what is our explosives situation?”

   “If we use everything we've got, it should be enough,” the young man replied. “I'll have to set it myself, though. I'm the only trained demolitions man we have.” Turning with a smile, he added, “Before the invasion, I blew things up for a living.”

   “Then a three-man assault team,” Clarke said. “Moving out tonight.”

   “Isn't that too soon?” Webster replied.

   Shaking his head, Mortimer said, “Not with Waldheim off-station. They'd have to ship in replacement components, and that's going to take time. It's a gamble...”

&
nbsp;  “I want them on alert,” Clarke said. “Our attack won't be hitting until planetary dawn. If we launch our first strike near dusk, they'll have the whole garrison on alert all night. Tired troops loose their edge, and we need every advantage we can get if we're going to make this work.”

   Nodding, Webster said, “What about the rest of us?”

   “Someone's going to have to stay here to guard the prisoners and keep an eye on the sensors. Four men ought to be enough, as long as they're properly secured. Pity we don't have enough tranquilizers, but we can't have everything.”

   With a menacing gleam in his eye, Avdonin said, “I can think of a more permanent way to deal with them, Sub-Lieutenant, and we've got a lot more ammunition now.”

   Turning to him, Clarke said, “Tell me again why we're liberating your people?”

   “It's our world!”

   “But if you're going to act just like them, then all of this is a waste of time. We're going to win this little war, Lieutenant, and when the dust settles we're all going to have to live with ourselves. I've already killed half a dozen men since I landed on this godforsaken rock, and I'm probably going to have to kill more before I leave it, but the day I sanction the murder of a man in cold blood is the day I hand in my resignation and go back to the farm.” Tugging at his uniform, he added, “This means something. It has to. Or the enemy have already won, without firing a shot.”

   “Words,” Avdonin said. “They're not going to free us.”

   “But they'll keep your people free, when the war is won,” Clarke replied. “You want our help?”

   “Of course.”

   “Then we do things our way, according to the rules of war, no matter what the enemy does.”

   With a scowl, Avdonin replied, “I'd better start getting everything together. It's a long hike.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “We should wait until dark. Ten hours. I guess we can all do with some sack time until then. Excuse me.”

   As the angry man walked out, Webster said, “Don't think too harshly of him. His older brother was a good friend of mine. Until Waldheim came.” Looking after Avdonin, he added, “He's got a knife with four notches on it. I don't think he intends to stop until he doesn't have room to carve any more.”

   “Are you sure he's the only one we can take with us?” Mortimer said. “He sounds like a man looking for a bullet.”

   “Unless either of you have some skill in that area, he's the only explosives expert we've got, and the equipment we'll be using is pretty sensitive. And for you, I expect rather old-fashioned.” Turning back to them, he added, “Don't worry. He'll do what must be done. You can depend on him.”

   “I hope so,” Mortimer said. “Heroes like that tend to get their friends killed.”

   As the door closed, leaving them alone in the command center, Clarke reached over to a tuning knob, turning the gain up until there was a low rumble of static erupting from the speakers, then said, “I think it's past time for us to have a conversation.”

   “You might be right about that,” she replied, taking a chair.

   “Right now, I'm in no position to refuse help,” he said, “but I'm sure that I could find someone else to take with me on the assault.”

   Eyes narrowing, she replied, “Nineteen, and already you think you can take on the universe by yourself. I'm trying to remember that far back.”

   Sitting opposite her, he folded his hands together and said, “Oh, I'm living in a state of perpetual fear, and I've got a nervous breakdown scheduled for when I finally get back to the ship. This isn't the first time that I've been stranded alone in a strange, hostile environment, and at least this time I've got the training to know at least vaguely what I'm doing.”

   “If it helps, you're doing fine.”

   “Thank you,” he replied with a curt nod. “Now, which is it? Corporal or Sub-Lieutenant?”

   “I'll leave that to you,” she said. “I was born on Earth, just as I said, but at fourteen my parents managed to escape. We were on Thalassa, some money changed hands, and we managed to get onto a transport heading for Titan.” She paused, eyes closed, and said, “United Nations Intelligence got to them before we touched down. I had forged papers, was claiming to be the foster daughter of the ship's captain, and they didn't think to check for me. My death had been arranged before. Part of the cover story.”

   “Captured?”

   “Dead. Slow poison. Enough to make them suffer. My father was a weapons researcher, and he was hoping to defect to the Confederation with some of his designs.” Taking a deep breath, she continued, “When I made it to Titan, I lived with the captain's family for a while, fostered for real that time, and as soon as I was old enough, volunteered for the Fleet. That was nine years ago.”

   “You never made it,” he replied. “Intelligence intercepted your application.” With another nod, he continued, “Something not dissimilar happened to me.”

   “Two years of training, during which I was quietly commissioned, and I was sent back to Earth with orders to build up a profile over a few years, then join the United Nations Fleet. In the event of another war, I was to either gather intelligence or undertake acts of sabotage. Depending on the circumstances. I presume there are others like me.”

   “And probably counterparts in the Triplanetary Fleet,” he replied. “Major Pastell?”

   “Getting assigned to his security division was something of a coup. That got me some attention back home, and I was requested to develop a relationship with him, as close as I could manage, in the hope of either gathering intelligence or turning him. Our profile team determined that there was a chance that we could find a way in, that he might choose to defect. The propaganda coup would make it worthwhile, to say nothing of the information he could provide.”

   “When was that?”

   “Three years ago, as I said. And since then, well...”

   “You're in too deep.”

   “What can I say? He's a surprisingly charismatic man when you get to know him, and he's got a real heart down there.”

   “I watched him kill three people in cold blood.”

   “All of them assassins working for Colonel Cruz, all of whom had plenty of blood on their hands. You don't find that many innocent people on a dreadnought.” Looking out of the window, she added, “I'm not blind to what he has done. I just think that he's trying to find a way to redeem himself, and I'm hoping to be a part of it.”

   “Or he's found out who you really are, and he's keeping you close in a bid to feed your false information,” Clarke replied. “That must have occurred to you.”

   “Of course it has,” she snapped.

   “And if you received orders to kill him?”

   “I honestly don't know,” she replied. “I honestly don't know.”

   “That's about the only answer I would have trusted.” With a sigh, he said, “I'm not qualified to judge on this, nor do I have any ability to prove or disprove your claims. Without a secure communications link to Alamo, there simply isn't very much I can do. Other than offer you my sympathy.” He paused, then said, “You realize that there is a good chance my question could become very real? That our work down here on the planet will hopefully lead to the destruction of Waldheim and everyone on board.”

   “That's different,” she said. “If it's a question of sacrificing a life to save hundreds, maybe thousands of others, I can do that. But a cold-blood assassination, that I'm less sure of.”

   Frowning, Clarke asked, “Pastell. With Cruz in charge, what do you think will happen to him?”

   “He's a born survivor,” she replied. “He'll find some way to make it through. Probably by paying lip service to her insanity for as long as he can. I know he was pushing heavily for some sort of deal with Captain Marshall on Alamo.” With a pause, she asked, “Either that, or he's already dead. That's about as likely.”

   “And you?” Clarke asked
.

   “What do you mean?”

   “Well, Sub-Lieutenant, it strikes me that you've got a chance to come home to the Fleet. Assuming your story checks out, and there are at least two people on Alamo in a position to verify it, then I'm sure that Captain Marshall will want you to return to duty. You get to go home.”

   She stood up, walked across to the window, and looked out at the forest beyond, finally replying, “Home is Fairbanks. Four million light-years from here. You think you can give me that? I spent most of my life there. Hell, I moved back as soon as I could. I was thirteen when I left. Nobody was going to recognize me, especially not with the work they did to my face. Intelligence gave me a damn good cover story.”

   “And they did it because there would come a time when you were needed,” Clarke said. “I guess this is that day. It might not be fair, it might be a bastard, and you might have to write off everything you thought you knew and wanted, but you're going to have to face it.”

   “How does a kid like you get this old?”

   “I had to make the same choice myself,” he replied. “Last year. Which is why I'm in this crazy mess now, rather than worrying about my sophomore exams. There's a lesson buried in there somewhere, but I'm damned if I know what it is.”

   “Something about staying out of things that don't concern you,” she said. “I've said I'll fight, and I'll fight. And we'll just have to see where the dice fall.”

   Shaking his head, Clarke moved over behind her, and said, “That isn't good enough. I need to know that you'll pull the trigger if it has to be. And that if I don't make it through, that you'll see the mission is completed.” Cracking a smile, he added, “Assuming, of course, that this isn't some sort of trick, and you've just managed to come up with a way to fool a stupid kid who isn't old enough to know better.”