Battlecruiser Alamo: Aces High

by Richard Tongue

   With a faint smile, Salazar replied, “Thanks. Now come on. Let’s get this done.”

  Chapter 8

   “Wait!” Carpenter yelled, running down the corridor. “Hold on, Maggie, I’m coming with you.”

   Pausing at the port-side airlock, Orlova turned, replying, “I’ve already got my three crew, Susan. Why do you want to come, anyway?”

   “I’m the nearest thing you have to an expert on that weird new alien race out there. If you come across any of them, you’re going to need me.”

   Frowning, Orlova pulled her communicator out, tapping for the bridge, “Orlova to Marshall.”

   “Cunningham here. Captain Marshall’s in his cabin. Will I do, or do you want me to transfer over?”

   “You’ll do, sir. I’m taking an extra over to the station. Lieutenant Carpenter.”

   “Whatever you think best, Maggie. I’ll let the Captain know next time I see him.”

   “Thanks, sir. Orlova out.” Turning back to Carpenter, she said, “Well, get in.”

   Orlova went first, moving forward into the cockpit, sitting next to the waiting Harper. She tapped a sequence of controls, priming the systems and locking the best-speed course over to the station into the computer.

   “Last minute addition?” Harper asked.

   “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Get clearance to launch.”

   “Already done,” she replied. “Ready on your order.”

   “Good.” Hitting another button, the shuttle detached from the side of the ship, tumbling away into space for a few seconds before the engine fired on autopilot, sending them hurtling towards the station.

   “Aren’t we going a little fast?”

   Orlova smiled, then replied, “When did you get so jumpy? I want to get this over with as fast as we can. The sooner we’re over on the station, the happier I’ll be.”

   “Nervous?”

   “Damn right.”

   “Good.”

   Shaking her head, Orlova said, “Keep trying to hack into the station computers. There must be something working over there.”

   “None of the primary or secondary systems are functioning, but there isn’t enough damage for them to have been destroyed. Someone turned them off. I am getting feeds from a few datapads over there, mostly private, but their sensors aren’t telling me anything we don’t know already. There is some atmosphere, but it’s getting damn cold.”

   “As soon as we dock, you take Cook and Morris and see about getting the systems back on-line.”

   “Cook can handle that.”

   “She can’t check for booby traps.”

   Frowning, Harper said, “If those weird not-aliens knew our systems, they’d have tried to hack us when they attacked.”

   “I’m not worried about them. If that station was deactivated by our people, then whoever did it might have decided to throw in a few safeguards. Just in case the wrong people came over for a visit.”

   “Good point.” She glanced up at the sensors, then said, “Lower airlocks are damaged; you’re going to have to come in at the ring.”

   “Great, that makes it nice and tricky,” she replied, entering orders into the computer. Her eyes ran across the station as the shuttle drifted in, closing rapidly on their target. Nothing particularly unusual about the design, a normal Triplanetary prefabricated structure, a rotating disk with a central core, connected by half a dozen spokes. These stations were operating from Proxima Centauri to Wolf 359, built to be constructed in a matter of weeks by a pair of tenders.

   This one had definitely been fired upon, damage to the lower section of the central core, almost torn apart, and other markings to the ring in a few places.

   “Something’s just occurred to me,” Harper said. “If this station had been hit by one of those lasers…”

   “Then there’d be nothing for us to find,” Orlova interrupted. “Get a close-range look.”

   Manipulating the sensor display, Harper zoomed the image as far in as she could, revealing the extent of the damage, and the torn fabric of the hull pointing out into space like a thousand dead hands grasping at the escaping air.

   “Blown out, not in. That was done from inside the station. This is worse than I thought.” Reaching for a headset, Orlova said, “Shuttle to Alamo.”

   “Cunningham here. Go ahead.”

   “We’re getting close to docking now, and I’m pretty sure that the damage to the station was done during a firefight, not in a battle.”

   There was silence for a moment, then Cunningham replied, “You’ve got permission to return to Alamo, if you want. That increases the chance that there are hostiles present on the station.”

   Shaking her head, Harper said, “If there was anyone on board, life support wouldn’t be shutting down. Why fight in spacesuits if you don’t have to?”

   “Unless those systems were damaged in the battle,” Orlova replied. “Sir, I’m going to proceed to the station.”

   “I thought you’d say that,” Cunningham said. “Proceed with caution, Lieutenant. Remember we don’t have any Espatier back-up to help out.”

   “I’ll be careful, sir. Shuttle out.” Turning to Harper, she said, “Let’s hope you’ve got it right.”

   “When do I ever get it wrong?”

   “I’m not going to answer that. Stand by for hard dock.” She tapped a button, and warnings lights flashed on in the passenger cabin. The shuttle’s thrusters pulsed to match the rotation of the station, putting them into a parallel course as the ship grew closer, the docking clamps moving into position. Finally, with a soft tap, the shuttle made contact with the station, the airlocks mated, and the docking was complete.

   “Let’s get on with it,” she said, unclipping her restraint and standing up, walking to the rear cabin. “I’m going first,” she announced to the assembled crew. “Susan, you’re with me.”

   “Hey, Maggie,” Harper said, but Orlova shook her head.

   “That pilot’s license of yours is a double-edged sword. If I don’t make it back, you’ve got to fly this bird home. Lieutenant Carpenter and I will go to the end of the entrance corridor, take a look around, then come back and get the rest of you. Or run back screaming so we can beat a hasty retreat. Understood?”

   “Yes, ma’am,” Petty Officer Cook said.

   “Everyone might as well get suited up,” Orlova said, moving over to the locker. She and Carpenter checked each other over as they pulled on each component, sliding into the suits and locking gloves and helmets into place. After a few minutes, they were ready, and stepped into the airlock together. Carpenter moved her hand to engage the lock control, but Orlova shook her head.

   “Wait a moment,” she said, unholstering her pistol, checking that the ammunition clip was tight. “Go ahead.”

   “Paranoid.”

   “Just because you are paranoid doesn’t mean everyone isn’t out to get you. And if you can tell me what’s waiting for us on the other side of that door, we’re wasting an awful lot of time.”

   Carpenter tapped the control and the hatch slowly slid open. On the other side, Orlova saw what could only be improvised cover, burn marks on the walls testament to some sort of a firefight, spent clips on the floor, splatters of blood everywhere. Stepping over a trio of welded-together crates, she saw a body lying on the deck, looking up with a maniacal grin.

   “Christ,” Carpenter said. She reached down, moving the corpse’s hand to reveal its nameplate. “Alamo, this is Carpenter. Identification on a Warren Tompkins.”

   “Reading you, Lieutenant,” Cunningham’s voice replied. “Senior Spaceman, assigned to Yeager Station as a life support technician.”

   “List him as deceased,” Orlova said, stepping forward. “Likewise a Martha Grayson, Anton Bielski, Phillipa Strong.”

   “Copy,” Cunningham said in a monotone. “What do you see, Maggie?”

&nbs
p;  “Battle. The remnants of one. Looks like they were trying to stop a boarding action, but they lost.” Looking around, she said, “I don’t see any signs of the enemy, but that doesn’t mean anything. If they won, they’d have taken their bodies with them.”

   “Interesting that they didn’t take ours,” Carpenter said. “Means that they must have had contact with us before. Otherwise they’d have wanted to do autopsies.”

   “Come on,” Orlova said. “Let’s keep going. Harper, you and Cook come out here with four body bags. If nothing else, we can get them back to their families.”

   “Roger, Maggie,” a subdued Harper replied. “We’re on the way.”

   Orlova stepped forward, gun still in her hand, and reached the main corridor, the ring around the station. It seemed strangely neat in comparison to the airlock section, no sign of disturbance or battle wherever she looked. Evidently the battle had been short, perhaps a last stand.

   “Wait a minute,” she said, turning back. She looked at the position of the bodies again, and said, “They weren’t trying to stop someone boarding the station, they were covering an evacuation. The station would have had a shuttle out there.”

   “Not the escape pods?” Cook asked.

   “With an enemy ship hovering around outside with megawatt lasers to throw around as expendable munitions? I’d want to be in something I could maneuver. I’ll bet that we find the same sort of mess down below, on the lower level.”

   Sighing, Carpenter said, “A shame they died for nothing.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “As soon as we jumped in system, they’d have seen us. Besides, all of this didn’t happen long ago. We’re talking about, what, an hour? That’s barely time for them to get down to the surface.” She paused, then said, “We could run a sensor sweep, take a look?”

   Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “If I was commanding that shuttle, I’d hide. Hide and wait for something to happen. Remember, we weren’t scheduled for another month. They’ve got no reason to think that there is a Triplanetary ship in orbit. Besides, if they did signal, they’d give away their position, and the enemy ship might get there first.” Tapping a button, she said, “Orlova to Alamo.”

   “I’m still here, Maggie,” Cunningham said.

   “I think there are survivors hiding on the surface. Have Kelso run a check on possible launch trajectories, see if he can find likely places that would elude sensor sweeps.”

   “On it. Out.”

   “Harper,” Orlova said, “I think we can assume that no-one’s going to come out and jump at us, or they would have by now. Go and see if you can get life support working again, look at what might be needed to get this station up and running.”

   “Is that really a priority?” Carpenter asked. “I thought this was a smash and grab.”

   “Right now it is, but this station does have defensive systems and armament we can use. If the damage wasn’t too severe, it could be a help, even if just as another target. Besides, long-term we’re going to need it. Come on, let’s take a look at Operations.”

   The two of them walked around the ring, a shiver running down her spine as they passed out of sight of the airlock, one closed hatch after another as they moved on.

   “Shouldn’t we be checking these out as we go?”

   “Not if we want to get this over with today.”

   “At least let’s look at one at random, just to check,” Carpenter said, walking over to a hatch labeled ‘Enlisted Mess’. “This one.”

   Shrugging, Orlova said, “If you’re hungry, go ahead.”

   Tapping the button, Carpenter stepped back as the hatch slid open, her pistol in her hand. Inside were the chilled remnants of lunch, meals left half-eaten on the table, drinks frozen solid in their mugs, uniform jackets left thrown over the backs of chairs where they were left. Orlova stepped into the room, looking at the far corner, then turned back.

   “They had a little time, at least. The emergency ration packs for this area are missing.”

   “Could they last a month on those?”

   “At starvation rations, maybe,” Orlova replied. “Hopefully it won’t come to that. Harper?”

   “I’m listening,” the hacker replied.

   “How are things going back there?”

   “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the life-support systems from a malware point of view. Cook’s working on testing the units now.”

   “Then follow me up to Operations. I’m going to need you up there.”

   “Roger. On my way. We found another body, by the way. Sub-Lieutenant Collins, Systems Officer. Guess he decided to stay with the station. Morris has gone to get another body bag.”

   “Understood. Orlova out.” She turned to Carpenter, then said, “Five dead. That leaves thirty-three unaccounted for.”

   “Three shuttle flights, if they crowded them in.”

   Stepping out of the mess, they walked on around the ring, stopping near another barricade outside Operations, the door sealed shut. Another body lay in front of it, grasping a rifle in a death grip, Senior Lieutenant’s insignia on his shoulders.

   “He went down with his ship,” Orlova said. “Alamo, we just found Senior Lieutenant Diaz’s body.”

   “Read you, Maggie,” the voice of Captain Marshall said. “We’re watching and waiting, and the enemy ship isn’t twitching.”

   “Thanks, sir.” She reached to a wall panel, entered in a twelve-digit sequence, and the hatch opened to the nerve center of the station. Stepping over the late commander’s body, she walked into the room, looking around. No sign of damage, no sign that anything had been touched, and no sign of any bodies.

   “Tactical’s been locked onto computer control,” Carpenter said, looking over at the far side. “I can’t even get a status report.”

   “Harper can handle that when she gets here,” Orlova said. “Let’s see if the station commander’s log is salvageable.” She tapped in a control sequence, then shook her head. “Damn.”

   “What is it?”

   “Requires a hand-print DNA test.” Orlova reached down for her glove, but Carpenter was there first, grabbing her arm.

   “Tell me you aren’t planning on doing anything that stupid.”

   “Pressure’s still fine, and the temperature’s only ninety below.”

   “Only.”

   “Suit heat outgassing will resolve some of that, and I’ll have my hand back in the warm in less than a minute.”

   “Or you could wait for the life support systems, which will be back online shortly.”

   “Not for a couple of hours. Take that long to bring the station safely back to temperature. I’m not sure they’ve got that long on the surface, and before you suggest doing something noble yourself, this requires a Senior Lieutenant’s authorization.”

   Shaking her head, she said, “Fine, but I’ll take off your glove, and put it back again the second you get approval.”

   “Makes sense.” Reaching over to the console, the system still waiting for the required identification, she said, “Do it.”

   Carpenter unlocked the glove, snatching it loose from her hand, and Orlova jabbed her finger down into the slot, waiting for the machine to do its work. It was cold, incredibly cold, biting at her skin despite the warm air seeping down through the gap in her suit, and alarms started going off in her helmet, warning of pressure and temperature leak. She almost missed the green light flashing on the console, the test successful.

   “Move, Maggie! I can’t put it on while it’s stuck on that console,” Carpenter yelled, and Orlova snatched it away as she rammed the glove back on, locking it into place. The suit ramped up the heating compensating for the loss, and her hand immediately started to warm. Flexing it a couple of times experimentally, she looked up at Carpenter with a smile.

   “No harm done.”

   “I hope n
ot.”

   “Alamo, I’m dumping the station’s log entries to you now,” Orlova said. “See what you can get out of them. Some sort of location would be useful.”

   “Will do, Maggie.”

   “No!” another voice cried, and the two of them turned to see an unfamiliar spacesuited figure rushing towards them, a knife in his hand, glistening in the darkened room. “I won’t let you find them!”

   “Wait, damn it!” Orlova yelled, “We’re Fleet! From the Alamo!”

   He stopped, looking at the two of them, then shook his head, saying, “You aren’t here. Not for another month. You can’t be here. It wouldn’t be fair.” He took a step towards them, screaming, “It wouldn’t be fair!” Without warning, he crumpled to the floor, revealing Harper standing behind him.

   “What did you do?”

   “Turned his oxygen down enough to knock him out,” she replied, holding up a datapad. “Is this a good time to report that I’ve found a way to remotely hack into our spacesuit computers?”

   “Maggie,” Marshall’s voice said. “What’s happening over there?”

   “We’ve found a survivor. I repeat, we’ve found a survivor.”

   “Vital signs look fine,” Carpenter said, pulling the knife away and tossing it into a corner. “He’s just asleep.”

   “Wake him up,” Orlova said.

   “Is that a good idea? Shouldn’t we get him back to the ship?”

   “We don’t have the time. Wake him up.”

   “Be careful, Maggie,” Marshall said.

   “Roger, Alamo.”

   The man’s eyes flickered open, Harper and Carpenter holding him back as Orlova knelt in front of him. He looked around again, as though he couldn’t quite accept what was happening.

   “Identify yourself, spaceman,” Orlova said.

   “Sub-Lieutenant Maurice Delgarde. Tactical Officer.”

   “Senior Lieutenant Margaret Orlova, Operations Officer of the Battlecruiser Alamo. We’ve been in-system for the last twenty minutes.”

   “The enemy ship?”

   “On the far side of the planet.”

   Nodding, he said, “Hiding. That’s what they did the first time. Came into the system and hid, took out our orbital relays and waited. Then they attacked, without warning. Diaz wouldn’t let me fire.” He looked at the door, then shouted, “I told you we should resist, you dead bastard! I told you! Help was on the way!”