Battlecruiser Alamo: Aces High

by Richard Tongue

   “The enemy are closing on our position, Sub-Lieutenant,” Orlova said.

   “I know, I know. We piled into the three shuttles, twenty-four of us with supplies to last six weeks. Hell of a squeeze, and we knew that we were overloading them. We thought you’d be here in a month.”

   “Then the fighters attacked.”

   “Six of them. The station launched a missile salvo to try and intercept them, but they botched the timing. Four of them made it through, and they tore us to pieces. The lead shuttle turned and attacked, tried to fake them out.” With a thin smile, she said, “At least, that’s what Fitz said. Lieutenant Fitzpatrick. I think he knew what he was doing. They got him in two shots.”

   “The others?”

   “We got down under the cloud layer, and then started to have trouble with our instruments. Communicators don’t work for more than a few hundred meters down here.”

   “We noticed,” Carpenter said.

   “Then both of us saw something strange, a blue light shining from the middle of a crater.” Orlova and Nelyubov looked at each other, and she said, “It’s still there, then.”

   “It is indeed.”

   “Everything went crazy when we passed over it, and it was all we could do to bring the shuttles down in one piece at all. Both of them lost atmospheric containment, so we had to take to the suits, and we’ve been getting everything out of the wreckage. The next plan was to bury the shuttles, try and camouflage the domes.”

   “How had you planned to contact Alamo?”

   “We hadn’t got that far yet.”

   Nodding, Orlova said, “And your other officer?”

   “Lieutenant Carrera was piloting the lead shuttle. He lost consciousness just after the crash, and named me Acting Sub-Lieutenant before he passed out. I’ll be very happy to drop back to Midshipman.”

   “As far as I’m concerned, you performed extremely well.” Glancing around the domes, Orlova continued, “We’ve got about a mile to get the first party back to the shuttle. How long is it going to take to pack everything up?”

   “Well, that’s an interesting question,” Evans replied. “While we were setting up the camp, we had to dig down a little to secure the domes, and we were digging some slit trenches in the event of a ground attack.”

   “You found something,” Carpenter said.

   “Lieutenant Carpenter is our Science Officer,” Orlova explained. “And a paleontologist, by profession.”

   “Then I think she’s going to be interested in this.”

   “Frank,” Orlova said, “Start getting everyone ready to move out. The wounded, and three others.” She froze him with a look, and said, “No protests.”

   “We’ll talk later,” he replied, heading over to the far side of the camp. Evans led Orlova and Carpenter to the perimeter, where a pair of crewmen were cautiously digging at the soil, moving it almost a handful at a time, peering down at their discovery. Leaning over, she could see what could only be a spacesuit, a completely unfamiliar design, a skeleton leering through the cracked helmet.

   “Amazing,” Carpenter said, her eyes lighting up. “Let me in.” She dropped down the hole, pulling out her datapad, and said, “I know we can’t take the body up, but I’m going to get some samples.”

   “We need to keep weight to a minimum, Susan.”

   “This could be the key to everything. Best guess is that it must be a few thousand years old. I don’t see any commonality to the Neander remains we found.”

   “Human, you think?”

   “Not Neander,” she replied. “Could be our new friends, though. I’d need to make a full analysis.”

   “DNA you can take,” Orlova replied. “And a few fragments of the suit.”

   “I think it was deliberately buried,” Evans said. “Lying flat on the ground, arms and legs placed just so, and no signs that one area was exposed more than the rest.”

   “Someone buried him in his spacesuit,” Carpenter said. She frowned, then added, “If this is a spacesuit.”

   “It certainly looks like one to me,” Orlova said.

   “Where’s the oxygen tank? The air intake? In fact, there’s no sign of special equipment at all. I grant you that it might not be recognizable, but I think this was designed to preserve the body.”

   “Is that the answer, then?” Evans said. “God, have we disturbed a burial ground, or something like that?”

   “There’s evidence from some Neander cultures on Earth that they used the remains of their people to mark their territory,” Carpenter suggested. “Though why this place would have been significant, I couldn’t guess. If this body was meant to be preserved, it could add a lot to the age of this corpse, though. I won’t know until I can do a full analysis.”

   “Something’s just occurred to me,” Orlova said. “Look at the way the body is pointing. Right towards the crater with the blue light.”

   Her eyebrow raised, Carpenter tapped a few controls and her datapad, and replied, “You aren’t kidding. Within a quarter of a degree. That can’t be a coincidence. This is some sort of a marker.”

   “Was there any evidence the body was here before you found it?” Orlova asked, turning to face Evans. “Any marker on the surface, something like that?”

   “Not a thing,” she replied.

   “After all this time, it could have been disturbed,” Carpenter said.

   “Maggie, look up!” Nelyubov said. “Something up in the sky, coming down fast and hard.”

   “Weapons ready!” she yelled. Her heads-up display locked onto the target, some sort of missile, heading right for the camp. The trajectory plot had it landing within a quarter-mile of their position, and it wouldn’t need much of a yield to wipe out the camp.

   “I make landing in one minute,” Carpenter said. “Anyone care to disagree with me?”

   “Afraid not,” Orlova replied. The seconds ticked down, and then a parachute opened, retro-rockets firing as the object swung in closer to their position. As it descended towards the ground, a voice began to crackle over her communicator.

   “Marshall here. We’ve sent down a probe to analyze the communications blackout, and to relay this message. We’re going to get all of you out. In five hours from now, we’ll be dropping a fuel tank close in to the shuttles, within half a mile, we estimate. Two hours later, Alamo will be in a position to get you back up into orbit. Make sure you stand clear. This probe is heading back up with its findings. Good luck, and hang on. Marshall out.”

   With a blinding blue flare, the parachute dropped away and the probe accelerated again, boosting back up into space. Orlova and the others watched it race over the horizon, gaining speed, until it disappeared from view.

   “Right, you heard the Captain,” she said. “Get everyone to the shuttles. We’re moving out.” Turning to Carpenter, she added, “I guess you can take our buried friend up after all.”

  Chapter 15

   Salazar crawled out from under the master panel, brushing dangling wires out of his face, and looked around Operations. He wiped the sweat and grease from his forehead and reached for a toolkit, just out of reach, cursing as he struggled to his feet to clamber over to it.

   “Ben, where the hell have you gone?” he yelled

   “Over here,” a voice replied, coming from around the corner with a box in his hands. “It’s way past fourteen-hundred, and neither of us has had anything to eat since breakfast. I knew you’d tell me not to bother…”

   “So you decided to just go. What is it?”

   “Sandwiches,” he replied, waving a half-eaten one in the air. “No idea whether this is ham or beef. Or chicken. I think there’s lettuce, though. Fabricators don’t seem to have heard of the concept of flavor.”

   Reaching into the box, Salazar fished one out and took a bite, finding to his surprise that he was hungry. Bartlett dipped his hand into a pocket and came out with
a flask of fruit juice, passing it over to him, before sitting down at the Tactical station.

   “Any news?” he asked.

   “Nothing,” Salazar replied. “I’m beginning to get a bit worried.”

   “You can’t do anything about what’s happening down on the surface. Unless you’re thinking about launching some sort of a daring rescue mission on your own initiative, and I can just imagine what they’d say about that over on Alamo.”

   “It should be me down there,” he said, taking a bite. “That’s all.”

   “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full?”

   “Sorry,” he said, seeing crumbs drop onto the floor. “Damn.”

   “Don’t worry about it, sir. Cleaning up officers’ mess is what we enlisted types are here for.” He broke into a grin, but Salazar shook his head. Before he could reply, he saw a series of readouts flash across the tactical display, and frowned.

   “I didn’t know you’d got the sensors back online.”

   “I haven’t,” Bartlett replied, turning to the console. “I guess the damage wasn’t as bad on the lower decks as we thought. Oh, Christ.”

   “What?”

   “Incoming targets, coming around in a low orbit.”

   “Battle stations,” Salazar said, and sirens started to sound across the station. Unsure of what to do next, he stood behind Bartlett, poking at the console to try and get a more detailed report.

   “This really isn’t my line,” he said. “Four contacts, same pattern as the fighters that attacked our shuttles, heading for us, direct.”

   “We know they had troops on board,” Salazar said, stabbing a button. “This is Operations. All hands arm yourselves. Prepare to repel boarders.”

   “Repel boarders?” Bartlett asked. “We’ve only got sidearms, and the last crew that tried that trick ended up dead.”

   “I agree,” a throaty voice added as Petty Officer Cook walked in. She looked around, then said, “We’d better make our way to the shuttlecraft. This facility isn’t worth dying for.” She glanced at Salazar, making it clear that she didn’t think he was worth dying for either.

   “Eight missiles suggest that the shuttle isn’t safe at the moment,” Salazar replied. “We’re better off right where we are. Go and organize a damage control party.” When Cook hesitated, he said, “Move it.”

   After a quick glance at Bartlett, she turned, walking out into the corridor, almost knocking down Grogan as she entered Operations.

   “Let me take it, Ben,” she said, moving to Tactical.

   “I’ll be a lot happier at communications,” he replied, switching stations. “Want me to call Alamo for instructions?”

   “They’ve got a lot to worry about at the moment,” Salazar said. “Time to contact, Grogan?”

   “Three minutes, nine seconds,” she replied, her eyes locked on her work. “Collision course.”

   “Kamikazes?” he muttered. “That doesn’t make sense. Counter-measures?”

   “Physical counter-measures are working, but I doubt they’ll do much good. Missiles are still off-line, and so are the combat fabricators.”

   “Define off-line.”

   With a frown, she said, “Targeting computers are out.”

   “But we can still fire something.”

   “We don’t have anything to fire,” Bartlett said.

   “Sure we do,” Salazar replied, pulling out his communicator. “Operations to Cook.”

   “Cook here. Are we heading for the shuttle?”

   “You really want to get away from me that badly? Head down to the storage locker and pull any spare spacesuit backpacks you can find, then load them into the launch tubes.”

   “What the hell for?”

   “Before you put them in, make sure that the control circuits are all set to remote activation. Operations out.”

   “I’m going to go ahead and ask the same question she did,” Bartlett said.

   Moving over to one of the unused stations, Salazar replied, “I’m going to make us a little anti-missile defense.”

   “With spacesuit backpacks? You realize that they only have a maneuvering threshold of…”

   “It doesn’t matter what their threshold is. Relative velocity, right? I’ve just got to make sure that the missiles hit them first. Or set up the computer to do the same thing.”

   “It’ll never work,” Grogan replied. “They just aren’t agile enough.”

   “Ben, I want to speak to Alamo,” he replied, his hands furiously typing. “Make sure that the transmission is broadcast.”

   Turning, Bartlett said, “I can get a message laser on with no trouble.”

   “And uncoded.”

   With a smile, Grogan said, “I get it. This is a very old trick, though.”

   “Maybe they haven’t heard it before. Give me my channel.”

   An image flashed onto the screen, and he frowned when he saw Grant staring back at him, evidently helping out on the bridge during the battle.

   “Why aren’t you evacuating?” he asked. “Get over to Alamo now.”

   “That’s a negative, sir. We’ve got the primary weapons system back on-line, and we’re deploying the array now.”

   “Array?” Grant looked across, then said, “Midshipman, this is an open channel!”

   Attempting to blush, Salazar replied, “Damn. Wait a moment, I’ll switch to a message laser.” Reaching across, he closed the channel, then said to Bartlett, “If anyone asks, I’m out. Grogan, launch the backpacks.”

   Shaking her head, she said, “Away.”

   “Right,” he replied. Tapping a series of controls, he spun them into a circular formation, moving them away from the station to point towards the incoming fighters, as though ready for some sort of attack. Cranking up the thrusters to maximum, he sent the backpacks spinning, faster and faster.

   “Looks impressive, anyway,” Bartlett said.

   “Alamo is moving in,” Grogan replied. “Fighters still heading right for us, and they’ll be in firing range in ninety seconds.”

   Nodding, Salazar moved over to another console mounted on the wall, leaving the backpacks to do their thing, and started to throw switches, watching lights wink from green to red, one after another.

   “Shouldn’t we be getting into the escape pods before we launch them?” Bartlett asked.

   “I’m not launching them, just arming them,” he replied. “Give me a count from twenty seconds to firing range. Ben, I want to speak to Alamo again. Open channel.”

   “That’s a coincidence,” he replied. “Grant wants to speak to you.”

   Grant’s face flashed on, and he yelled, “What do you think you are doing? Get off the station right now. That’s an…”

   Raising his hand, Salazar replied, “Escape pods will be launching in sixty seconds.”

   “You’re still on an open channel.”

   “Problems with the message laser, sir. Salazar out.”

   Shaking his head, Bartlett said, “I guess you’re still not home when he calls back.”

   “Isn’t this a little obvious?” Grogan asked. “Seventy seconds to go.”

   “Maybe. Right now I want them to think that I’m panicking.”

   “I’ve got news for you, sir,” Bartlett said. “I am.”

   “Feel free to broadcast a few anguished screams to the enemy.”

   Tapping a series of controls, Salazar started to enter in a command sequence for the escape pods. Normally, with a friendly ship so close, they’d simply aim for that, wait for the SAR shuttles to come and pick them up, but that was the last thing he wanted. Instead, he set them to head directly for the planet, down to the same location as Orlova’s rescue party.

   “Thirty seconds,” Grogan said. “Nearly there.”

   He looked up at the clock, a hand poised over the controls, wa
iting for the seconds to tick away as the fighters approached. If he’d read the situation wrong, they might be dead in a couple of minutes. There’d be no chance to try anything else.

   “Now!” Grogan said, and he lowered his hand, sending a dozen escape pods tumbling away into space, their attitude jets firing to start their descent towards the planet, on a course that would take them close to the approaching fighters. He moved over to stand behind Grogan, his eyes locked on the sensors.

   “Come on,” he said. “Come on, take the bait.”

   “Energy spike! Missile launching!” After a brief pause, she said, “Alamo is responding.”

   “Targets?”

   “The pods,” she said, turning to him. “How did you know?”

   “If they wanted to destroy this station, they could have done it already,” he replied. “They had enough of a chance. They want it intact, either because it saves them the bother of building one or because there is something on board that they want.”

   “They’d begun a search,” Bartlett said.

   “Exactly. They want us dead, and they want Alamo distracted, and shooting at helpless escape pods will do that job nicely. Get a message laser on Alamo now, Ben, tight-beam and all the encryption you can manage.”

   “There go the escape pods,” Grogan reported. “If we’d been in them, we wouldn’t have had a chance. And the backpacks?”

   “They had to think I was panicking, trying any dumb idea I could think of. From what I’ve heard, our enemies have a bit of a superiority complex. I figured they’d assume the worst of us.”

   “I’ve got Captain Marshall, sir,” Bartlett said.

   “Smart play, Midshipman!” Marshall said as his face appeared on the viewscreen. “You had a few of us worried over here for a moment.”

   “Only play, sir. Only thing I could think of.”

   “Doesn’t matter. You can sit back and watch the show. Moving in on enemy targets. You still don’t have weapons on-line?”

   “Sorry, sir, too much damage. They should be operational soon.”

   “Get your damage control ready, just in case, but they seem to be concentrating on us, now.”