Battlecruiser Alamo: Spell of the Stars

by Richard Tongue

   “Well?” Harper asked.

   “In a minute,” he replied, flicking through data on Alamo's outer hull, skimming over the damage reports Santiago and her teams had compiled. They'd sustained a lot of damage, micro-fractures all along one side of the ship. Enough scarring to cover what he wanted to do. The doors slid open, and he stepped into the corridor, almost walking into the waiting Francis.

   “What's happening?” he asked. “Kris?”

   “Don't ask me,” she replied. “He isn't talking at the moment.”

   Santiago walked out of Engineering, wiping her hands on her jacket, and asked, “What's the story?”

   “Try this. Chief, can you set explosive charges between the two hulls, shaped to rip off parts of our skin without causing any actual breaches?”

   Her eyes widened, and she replied, “You feeling alright?”

   “Can you?”

   “Probably. Why would we want to?”

   Waving his datapad into the air, Salazar pulled up a simulation of the attack to come, and narrated, “They'll launch their fighters on a targeted strike, expecting to draw us away. Say we don't let that happen, but make it look as though they've managed to get through our screen.”

   Nodding, Francis replied, “That won't be easy. You'll need some very fine work with the point-defense guns and retaliatory shots to make it look convincing.” Turning to Salazar, he continued, “The hull breaches are designed to help the story, right? Make it look as though they've really done some damage to us.”

   “By that point we'll be in close orbit. We let our escape pods go, and launch our shuttle assault. It'll look as if we're abandoning ship after serious damage. Cruz is arrogant enough to think that she'll have beaten us, won the battle, and left Alamo as a prize.” Looking at the three officers, he continued, “Meaning that she won't finish off the ship. She'll send a crew over instead, close the range...”

   “And then we let fly with everything we've got,” Harper said. “Laser, missiles, fighters. We throw everything at them in one coordinated time-on-target strike, and hope that we do enough damage to their combat systems to finish them off.” She paused, then added, “And if we move quickly, they won't see what we're doing. That damage to their forward sensors will reduce their resolution enough that the ship won't be more than a blur. They'd never spot work crews.”

   “Even if they did,” Scott added, “They'd probably just think that we were making repairs.”

   “Are you out of your mind?” Santiago replied. “You want me to deliberately lay charges on the hull, rip free armor plating? You realize that if I make one mistake, we could lose half a dozen decks?” She paused, then said, “I could rig feeds from the auxiliary oxygen reservoir. Make it look as though we're venting air.”

   “Won't that cause problems for the helm?”

   “Not if I route the controls up to the bridge. It'll be a second set of thrusters, at least for a while.” She paused, then added, “I can switch over to the auxiliary reactor, cut power to non-critical portions of the ship, make it look superficially as though we're experiencing a series of brownouts. I take it you don't want to use the fighters until the last second?”

   “No.”

   “Then we can have them ready and resting in the elevator airlocks, prepared for immediate launch. The laser can be charged as well, but there's no way of hiding that.” She paused, then added, “Though I could add some surface debris to the cannon. Make it look as though it has been damaged.” Turning to Salazar, she continued, “If I was commanding Waldheim, I'd blow this ship right to hell if I thought I could get away with it.”

   “You would, and so would I, but she won't,” Salazar said. “The idea of taking Alamo back home under a prize crew will be too tempting for her to pass up. That, or adding a second ship to her fleet. Remember that she's working on two ambitions. Either to build an empire of her own out here, or to head home in triumph and gain political strength back home. A triumph like that would get her a seat on the Security Council.”

   “And if you're wrong?”

   “Then she'll have a chance to blow us to pieces, but I know I'm right.”

   Nodding, Harper said, “We won't do enough damage to finish the fight on the first pass, even if we can catch them by surprise. And there are still the fighters to worry about.”

   Shaking his head, Salazar replied, “If we get the timing right, alter our course to limit our time in the battlespace, then it will all be over in a matter of minutes. We'll have knocked out the forces on the ground and in orbit with a single strike.” Looking around, he added, “If anyone has any other suggestions, any other plans, I'll listen.”

   After a silent minute, Francis replied, “Sorry, sir. I guess we don't all have your particular level of crazy.” Looking at Santiago, he added, “Maybe we can throw a few more touches into the fight. What about another broadside from the point-defense cannons to knock out their assault shuttles?”

   “Keeping this power buildup hidden is going to be fun,” she said. “How much do you care about long-term damage?”

   “There's a spacefaring culture on the planet below that will be extremely grateful to us if we pull this off, Chief. As long as you think you can put the pieces back together again, I'll take the hits.”

   “Then I'll run the laser as hot as I dare, hide the extra power there. Unless they've got someone with telepathic powers, they'll just assume that we're planning a high-energy pulse, but I can use the same trick I did before to feed power into the other systems. Though it'll burn out half the relay links when we do. This had better be a pretty short fight, sir.”

   “We're not going to win a war of attrition, even against Colonel Cruz. We're going to have to smash them to pieces quickly, while we have the advantage. Kat, I want you to reconfigure the missiles for maximum speed. I know we'll lose accuracy that way, but we can't let them have any more time than absolutely necessary to shoot them down.”

   “Understood,” she replied. “I'll get Petrova to start work on the modifications right away. She might be a pain in the ass, but she's pretty good as a weapons tech.”

   “Sir,” Scott said, “There's something else. I've spoken to Sub-Lieutenant Lombardo and Ensign Rhodes, and...”

   “I thought we'd settled that earlier,” Harper said, glancing at Salazar.

   “We want to attempt a rescue mission, during the battle. Pull out Captain Marshall and the others. I've taken a look at the deck-plans of Waldheim, and there's a docking port only four decks down from the detention area. We already know that they've got a lot of troops on the surface.”

   “No.”

   “Sir...”

   “No, Kat. We're not going to take the risk.” He looked sadly at her, and said, “If there was a chance in a hundred of getting him out of there, I'd be flying the shuttle myself. There isn't. I can't spare the troops from surface operations, I certainly can't risk the shuttle with that much hell flying through the air, and I can't spare you from Tactical. With Lieutenant-Captain Caine out of action and Lieutenant Foster captured, you're the only one qualified to ride that console.”

   “There's a chance, sir...”

   Placing his hand on her shoulder, he said, “You've made your pitch, Kat. I can't authorize it. If Colonel Cruz surrenders, then I'll make the safety of our people the top priority, but until then, we've got to see the wider picture. If Captain Marshall was here, and I was captured on Waldheim, I would expect him to make the same decision. You understand?”

   “Yes, sir,” she said. “I didn't think you'd go for it. But I had to try.”

   “And if I was in your place, I'd have done exactly the same,” he said. “You'd better get moving. We've got a lot of work to get through, and we need to have the bulk of it completed before Waldheim finishes repairs on its sensors. Dismissed.” The officers in the corridor snapped to attention, all of them aside from Harper drifting off in different
directions, proceeding to their stations. Harper looked at Salazar, a mournful smile on her face.

   “It hurts, doesn't it,” she said. “Having to write him off.”

   “He was my first commander. The man who saw something in me that everyone else had missed, and gave me a chance to stay in the Fleet. The man who commissioned me.” Looking up at her, he continued, “It hurts like hell, Kris. And when I spoke to Scott, I lied. I'd have taken odds of one in a million if I thought I could get him and the others home. Val, as well. I've known her for eight years. She saved my life on Thule.”

   “And you saved hers, as I recall.”

   Nodding, he said, “I'd go over to Waldheim on my own in a transfer pod to rescue them, but I can't afford the distractions! We're going to have a difficult enough time making this work as it is, without trying a long-shot rescue mission.” Clenching his fists, he added, “And I know what Cruz will do when she realizes what has happened. She'll take it out on them. Put a gun to Captain Marshall's head on the viewscreen and demand that I surrender.”

   “But you won't, will you.” It was a statement, not a question.

   “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I can't.” With a deep sigh, he added, “I feel as though everything's been thrown on my shoulders, Kris. If I make a single wrong move, we're all dead, and a hundred thousand people are doomed to slavery.”

   “And when you get it right – when, not if – you'll save all of those lives, all of those people, and we'll be able to leave this system in triumph?”

   “Then what?” he asked. “We're still millions of light-years from home, following a century-old trail of breadcrumbs. So far, the best lead we found killed two people and put the third in a coma.”

   “We'll think of something,” she replied. “We've got to.” A smile on her face, she said, “Game face on, Pavel. Time to rally the troops.” She walked towards the elevator. “You coming?”

   Shaking his head, he said, “I wish I had your faith, Kris.”

   “We've been in worse situations,” she replied with a shrug.

   “When?” he asked, as the door slammed shut.

  Chapter 18

   “I don't get it,” Pastell said, watching the image of Alamo on the small repeater screen. “As far as I can tell, she's just cruising right for the planet. On this course, we'll intercept with a nine-minute window in seventy minutes. Waldheim will tear her to pieces.”

   Marshall looked across at his confederate, and replied, “Pavel Salazar is an experienced combat commander, and one of the most innovative tacticians in the Fleet. I'd bet my life that he's come up with something. This isn't what it appears to be.”

   “You realize that you are betting your life on that, I hope,” Pastell replied. “And mine, for that matter.” Frowning, he added, “Any idea what he might be doing?”

   “At the very least, he's forcing Cruz to dance to his tune. He wants Waldheim to engage Alamo at that place and time, and we're just going to have to trust that he has good reasons. What we need to do is come up with some way to help him.”

   Frowning, Pastell said, “We're not going to have much luck with additional sabotage. All critical stations are going to be guarded, and they'll have changed the security codes in all sections by now. My staff will be doing everything they can to cooperate. Or they'll already have been liquidated. We can't count on anyone helping us.”

   “We don't need them,” Marshall replied. “All we need to do is cause so much chaos to throw their preparations off. Give Cruz something else to worry about, and provide cover for whatever Salazar is planning.” He paused, then said, “And I think I know exactly what to do.”

   Rolling his eyes, Pastell said, “I'm not going to enjoy this, am I?”

   “An escape,” Marshall said. “Break out everyone in the detention area. My people, the civilians from the surface, any of the indents. Hell, anyone who wants to get off the ship before it gets destroyed.”

   “I don't know where to begin with this plan, Captain. I honestly don't believe that you have the faintest idea what you are throwing yourself up against. We'll skip over the security measures. I operated them for years, designed more than a few of them, so I might be able to help you there. Instead, I think we'd better move to being outnumbered a hundred to one on the assault.”

   “As soon as we start freeing people, we can arm them.”

   His eyes widening, Pastell said, “You want to give weapons to untrained civilians and let them loose on the decks of a starship? We won't need Alamo to launch an attack. Friendly fire will shoot us to pieces first!”

   “All the better,” Marshall said. “Even fifty armed escapees fighting their way to the escape pods and shuttles will be enough of a distraction to throw Cruz off, and remove one of the few advantages she's got. Alamo will certainly help with the breakout, assuming we can get things moving. Besides, we can't just leave them all behind.”

   “This sense of morality is going to get us both killed,” Pastell said. “You do realize that, I hope.” With a sigh, he said, “I don't know which is crazier. That you are proposing this or that I'm seriously thinking about it. Better than even odds we get shot long before we've rescued anybody.”

   “Come on, Major,” Marshall said. “Between the two of us, I'm sure we can come up with something that will make this work. You said yourself that you designed a lot of the security apparatus. There must be a way of making that help us.”

   “Maybe,” he said, frowning. “We're not concerned with details like stealth, are we? This is strictly a rescue mission, with as much violence and fury as possible.” Looking up at Marshall, he added, “And you realize, of course, that the death toll is going to be high, on both sides. A lot of people are going to die here. If we wait for Alamo…,” he paused, shook his head, then said. “No. Cruz would space the decks before surrendering. It's just the sort of thing she would do. Those people are dead already, but we might be able to bring some of them back to life.”

   “That's about the only way we can think about this.”

   Taking a deep breath, he said, “Fine. You've convinced me. But when we both get killed, don't start complaining, and remember that I thought this was a bad idea.”

   “Noted for the record. I'll be sure and pass that on to Saint Peter.” Rubbing his hands together, he said, “Now, where do we start?”

   “So I get to come up with the battle plan as well?”

   “I'm the idea man in this operation,” Marshall replied with a smile. “It's your ship.”

   “That it is,” Pastell said, and a brief flash of regret passed over the man's face. “We'll have to hit this in three stages. First we're going to need to rescue your officers. That's four more people we can trust with weapons.”

   “Six, surely.”

   “You didn't know?” he replied. “Damn. Captain, I'm truly sorry.”

   “Who?”

   “Sub-Lieutenant Morris, Sub-Lieutenant Moraine. Cruz didn't think they'd be of any use as bargaining chips, and she apparently wanted to prove some sort of point. I couldn't get to them in time.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “And if you're thinking what I think you are thinking, you're going to have to get in line. There are a lot of people standing in front of you.”

   “We've got to get her,” he replied. “No matter what else happens, we've got to get her.”

   “Hey, wait a minute,” Pastell said, placing his hand on Marshall's shoulder. “If this is about you getting revenge, then I'm making my way to the nearest escape pod and you can work out a way to make this mission work by yourself. If we're talking about saving lives, then that's one thing, but if all of this is so that you can get her blood on your hands, you're on your own.”

   “Since when did you discover morality?” Marshall asked.

   “Just common sense,” he replied. “I don't mind dying for something important. I do mind dying for nothing. And what you are talki
ng about certainly qualifies.” Kicking off down the corridor, he added, “We move fast and hard.”

   “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

   Cracking a smile, Pastell replied, “That's more like it. If we hit the bastards quickly, we might have a chance at catching them by surprise. That's about the only advantage we've got. Do what I do, and keep me covered all the way.” Drifting past a nondescript box, he tapped in a command sequence, and grinned as the cover snapped open. “Grab some sidearms. We'll need to hit the main armory sooner or later, but that can wait until we've got more warm bodies.”

   “On it,” Marshall said, snatching four pistols, stuffing them roughly into his belt, before sweeping the clips into his pocket. “As long as my trousers don't fall down, we're in business.”

   “Good. Now get one thing straight, Captain. No heroic rescues. If someone gets shot, we leave them behind. And that includes me. Got that?”

   “Better be careful, Major,” Marshall replied. “You're beginning to sound like a hero.”

   “I've been hanging around with fools like you for too long,” he said. “Must be contagious.”

   The two men drifted down the shaft, Pastell leading the way as he swung down a side corridor, careful to dodge a series of junction boxes jutting out from the wall. A strange, acrid smell filled the air, and Marshall stifled a cough as it hit his lungs, the sign of a life support system being overloaded beyond normal capacity. One more problem that Waldheim was facing, more evidence that it was nearer the end of its lifespan than the beginning.

   Pulling a datapad out of his pocket, Pastell tapped a series of buttons, and for a second, the lights winked out, replaced with a dull red glow that cast eerie shadows all around. He gestured at a security camera, now dark, and grinned.

   “I built some loopholes into the surveillance system within a few weeks of arriving,” he said. “You never know when you might have to sneak around somewhere.”