Battlecruiser Alamo: Into the Maelstrom

by Richard Tongue

   “Our saboteur has been at work again, Captain. I'll give you a personal report in a few minutes. I don't want to trust this to the communications net. Could you page Harper to report to your office at once?”

   “Will do, Lieutenant. I'll see you in a moment. Bridge out.”

   Shaking his head, Salazar looked at Lombardo and Kowalski, and said, “If my guess is right, someone's playing games with the database. That fighter can't have been checked.”

   “Meaning…,” Kowalski began.

   “Meaning that you're going to have to start from scratch, and inspect each fighter personally. You'd better get started while I break the good news to the Captain. I'll come down and give you a hand in a minute. And get Clarke to help you, but keep it to the three of you for the moment.”

   “Clarke?” Lombardo replied with a frown. “Pavel, not to throw circumstantial evidence around, but he's been involved in both sabotage attempts so far.”

   “I trust him,” Salazar said, a faint smile on his face. “I've seen his file. He's loyal. Take my word for it.” He paused, then added, “If you find anything suspicious, report to me in person. Just me, no one else.”

   “Not even the Captain?”

   With a frown, Salazar replied, “Not until we know where we stand. Someone is trying to destroy this ship, Chief, and we've got to find him. Whatever it takes.”

   Lombardo's eyes widened, and he said, “Pavel, you can't seriously suspect...”

   “Paranoia, out here, is a survival trait. Never forget that.”

  Chapter 5

   Clarke walked into the Mess, making his way to the food fabricator, punching for the blandest meal he could find on the menu. Experience had taught him that the fewer demands placed on the dining systems, the less the chance that he would be disappointed, and the spicy soup that emerged from the slot seemed testament to that lesson. Of course, they were still close enough to home that there were some real foods mixed into the system, herbs and spices grown in the agricultural domes of Callisto, but that wasn't something he wanted to get used to. Not if this was going to be a long cruise.

   He looked around for an empty table, hoping for solitude, but he'd arrived in the middle of a shift changeover, and the room was bustling with activity. There was an empty seat at the Midshipman's table, the other four rookies sitting with their over-complicated food, expressions of disgust on their faces that brought him a quiet smile. Admitting defeat, he walked over to them, taking the empty chair.

   “Anyone mind?” he asked.

   “Suit yourself,” one of them answered. He'd been introduced to them at the initial briefing, just after they'd entered hendecaspace, but all of them had only been distant upperclassmen when he had attended the Academy, and it felt strange to be sitting among them, wearing the same uniform.

   Siegel looked up from her plate of noodles, brushing back a curl of auburn hair, and said, “That was a pretty wild shuttle ride you had there. They find out what was wrong yet?”

   Doyle turned to him, and said, “Anyone can make a mistake, their first time out.”

   “Maintenance error,” he replied, remembering the cover story. “We've got it traced to a faulty component installed at the last refit. I just finished checking out the other shuttlecraft checked in the same cycle.” Shaking his head, he said, “If I never see the guts of a guidance system again, it'll be too soon.”

   Imoto nodded, and replied, “Such is the price we all have to pay, I suppose. During my last cadet cruise, I acted as Deck Officer. We completed a simulated evacuation of a space station, out at Triton.” Shaking his head, he continued, “The longest thirty-six hours of my life.”

   Koslowski, the last member of the quintet, said, “Any of you had a chance to meet the senior staff yet? I've been stuck in the Captain's office, going over the paperwork. We're already a week behind, and we only left Mariner yesterday.”

   “Senior Lieutenant Francis seems tough, but fair,” Imoto said. “I very much got the impression that every move I make will be closely monitored.” He shrugged, and said, “At least I get to fly the ship, though I suspect that someone will replace me if any serious action starts.”

   “On this milk run?” Doyle replied. “Action? From what I heard, we're just flying out to some derelict brown dwarf to check out a damaged scoutship and finish a survey. We won't be starting the real mission for a month.”

   “We'll be close to United Nations Trust Territory,” Clarke said. “Not something to take lightly.”

   With a smug smile, Doyle said, “Come on, you don't think they'd start anything over a dead star in the middle of nowhere?”

   “Anything is possible,” Imoto replied. “He is right to be cautious.”

   “Don't you start,” Siegal said, shaking her head. “Anna's right. The sooner we get onto the frontier patrol, the better. That's what I signed up for, to explore deep space, and this is the ship to do it in.” Looking around the room, she continued, “The Cabal Cruise, the Hades Raid, the Xandari War. This ship was right in the middle of some of the most important missions over the last five years. And we're going to have front-row seats.”

   “Four of us, anyway,” Doyle replied, glancing at Clarke. “Tell me, Cadet...”

   “Midshipman,” Imoto corrected.

   “What exactly did you do to get out here so early? How does a plebe graduate from the Academy?”

   “Technically, I never graduated,” Clarke said. “As for what happened...”

   A hand dropped on his shoulder, and Salazar loomed over him, saying, “Can I borrow you for a moment, Midshipman?”

   “Of course, sir.” As he rose, he saw Doyle leveling a smug stare on him, and forced a wry smile in response. They walked over to a corner of the room, and Clarke said, “If this is to do with the shuttle...”

   “No, not directly,” he replied. “Midshipman, there are I believe two officers on this ship who are aware of the manner in which you earned your rank, and I'm one of them. Lieutenant Harper is the other.” He smiled, and added, “You ought to wear that ribbon of yours more often.”

   “Why don't you wear yours, sir?”

   “Touche. In any case, I wanted to tell you two things. The first is that my door is always open if you want to drop in for a chat, especially about matters you can't divulge with anyone else. I've been where you have, Midshipman, and I can speak from experience when I tell you that you aren't going to get over what happened easily.”

   Remembering the nightmares that still haunted his sleep, Clarke nodded, and said, “I think I might take you up on that, sir.”

   “The second is that I'm going to be making what use of you I can.”

   “Sir?”

   With a smile, Salazar replied, “You are no ordinary Midshipman, and everything I've been told about you suggests that you have a genuine flair for covert operations. I intend to see that we make full use of your talents.” Glancing around, he added, “And while Kris will probably kill me for this, if you want help in staying out of the claws of Triplanetary Intelligence, I might be able to manage that as well. Assuming you don't want to angle your career that way.”

   “I've always dreamed about serving on a starship, sir.”

   “Me too,” Salazar said. Before he could say anything more, Koslowski walked over to the two of them, her cobalt eyes locked on Salazar.

   “Sir, I apologize if I'm interrupting...”

   “Not at all, Midshipman, I was just finishing up.” Turning to Clarke, he continued, “Remember what I said, John, and drop around to see me when you have some spare time.”

   “I will, sir.”

   “Does that apply to all of us, sir?” Koslowski asked.

   With a glance at Clarke, Salazar replied, “Of course, Midshipman, though I would imagine that Captain Marshall will be better able to provide you with assistance than I, and in your position...”

   “It's yo
ur tactical insights I would like to discuss, sir.” She pulled out a datapad, and said, “I wrote my final-year thesis on your battle strategies.”

   “My what?” he replied.

   “From Squadron to Starship Command, the Tactics of Acting Captain Pavel Salazar,” she read. “It discusses your use of unconventional combat tactics during the Xandari War, both in command of Random Walk and Alamo, as well as your use of squadron command protocols in starship command.” Her eyes remained locked on him, and she continued, “It received top marks. I've studied your career in depth, and there are a lot of questions I'd like to ask, if you could spare the time for a personal interview.”

   Salazar looked around, his face reddening, and he replied, “You should talk to Lieutenant Harper, as well. She was involved in all of those fleet actions, as a commander in her own right, and I think you'll find her perspective of use. I'll arrange a time for you to meet us both before we leave hendecaspace.”

   A flash of disappointment crossed Koslowski's face, and she replied, “Thank you, sir.”

   “Well, I'd better not delay you both from your dinner any longer.” Tapping the datapad sticking out of his pocket, he continued, “The Security Officer's work is never done. Carry on.”

   He walked out of the room, and Koslowski looked after him for a moment before turning to Clarke, and asking, “What did he want you for? Something to do with the shuttles?”

   “Security Department business,” he replied. “I'm afraid I can't talk about it.” Looking at the retreating Salazar, he added, “You really wrote your thesis on him?”

   “I've got a Top Secret clearance,” she pressed. “I did my second-year cadet tour with Intelligence.” Looking at him, she added, “Have you worked with him before?”

   “Not until I came on board,” he replied. “Come on, let's finish our meal.”

   As he resumed his seat, Doyle asked, “More grunt work for you, Cadet?”

   “Actually,” Koslowski replied, “It was ship's business.”

   “Besides,” Clarke said, “Aren't you going to be getting your hands dirty down in the missile control room later? I think I saw something about a full overhaul of the guidance systems on the maintenance assignments for tomorrow.”

   “My role will be essentially supervisory,” Doyle said. “Making sure that all procedures are followed, all safety protocols checked.” Rising from the table, she continued, “I have a meeting with Lieutenant-Captain Caine in fifteen minutes.”

   “Be sure and tell her what you expect to do,” Siegel said, a smile spreading across her face. “I'm sure she'll appreciate your input.” Doyle shook her head as she walked out, and Siegel continued, “That's one meeting I'd like to sit in on. She was just the same at the Academy. Always thinking she was better than everyone else.”

   “To be fair,” Imoto replied, “She did graduate at the top of our class.”

   “That won't last if she won't get her hands dirty,” Clarke said, shaking his head. “There's a lot more to starship duty than simply following regulations and protocols.”

   “You seem to speak from experience,” Imoto said.

   Blake walked into the room, stalking over to the food fabricator and snatching her plate from the dispenser as soon as it emerged. She looked around the room, then took Doyle's vacated seat, dropping her dinner before her.

   “Ted Strickland hasn't changed a bit,” she replied. “We just finished a full-test disaster run on the medical fabricator, and of course we found half a dozen settings out of tolerance, so we're going to be doing it all over again tomorrow.” Looking around the table, “What we need is a nice distraction, so if any of you want to be kind and give us some business, feel free. Not you, though, Clarke. I've sewn you up once too often already.”

   Koslowski looked from Blake to Clarke, and asked, “Excuse me?”

   “Technical Officer Alexandra Blake,” Clarke introduced. “Surgical Assistant and Doctor-In-Training.” He rubbed at his side, still able to feel the scar through the fabric of his uniform, and continued, “And don't worry, I have no intention of getting shot up on this mission.”

   “You said that last time.”

   “Last time?” Siegel said, looking at Clarke through narrow eyes.

   With a sigh, Clarke replied, “It's a long, long story.”

   “Speaking personally,” Imoto said, attempting to change the subject, “I am gratified to learn that the medical department is taking steps to ensure that all is well. It would be disastrous to discover serious problems in the middle of a battle.”

   “Better still if the damn maintenance technicians had done their jobs right in the first place.”

   “True,” Imoto conceded.

   “You've served together before, then,” Koslowski said, looking at the two of them.

   “Briefly,” Clarke said. “And it isn't something we can talk about.” He took a spoonful of his congealing soup, and added, “This isn't bad. I think the chilies are real.”

   “That won't last,” Siegel replied. “Enjoy it while you can.” Looking down at her abandoned meal, she added, “And someone remind me to be more sensible when I order next time. This ship is meant to have the latest food fabricators.”

   “It does,” Blake said. “Something I find rather depressing. Hopefully we'll have a chance to stop off at Leonov Station. That place has some of the finest restaurants this side of Thalassa. And if you get a chance to play tourist, do. Any of you ever been there?” When the others shook their heads, she continued, “My parents and I went out when I was a kid, a short tour. The station's ten thousand years old...”

   “What?” Siegel said.

   “It's true,” Koslowski replied. “An abandoned alien installation, discovered by the first exploration team, back at the turn of the century. It became the focus of attention in the system anyway, even before the mining expeditions began, and the corporations simply moved in when the archaeologists left. I've always wanted to go there.”

   “You should have a chance,” Imoto said. “We'll be there for five days. I imagine the Captain will grant at least limited shore leave. On the return journey, if nothing else.”

   “When I was there, the University of Syrtis Major was conducting an investigation, and they'd opened up a lot of the old tunnels,” Blake said. “My father knew the lead researcher, and she managed to arrange a tour for us. I've never seen anything like it, before or since.”

   “Something to look forward to,” Siegel replied, looking down at her food. “I should be heading up to the bridge. My shift starts in fifteen minutes, and I get the impression that Senior Lieutenant Francis admires promptness. See you later.”

   “I should be leaving as well,” Imoto added. “As should you, Connie. We've both got to complete those briefing reports for the senior staff briefing.”

   Nodding, Koslowski rose to follow the others, then looked back at Clarke, and said, “If you need any help with your Security assignment, don't forget that I've got Top Secret clearance.”

   “I won't,” Clarke said, as the trio left the room. Blake shook her head, a smile on her face.

   “She's playing you.”

   “Only as a way to get close to Lieutenant Salazar.”

   “From what I hear about his relationship with Lieutenant Harper, she doesn't stand a chance. Though she might end up walking home if she pushes it too much. I saw the poor man running for the elevator.” Her smile spread, and she added, “A man with a Red Shield, a Star Cross and citations for gallantry, and she had him scared.”

   “I'm sure he can handle her.” He paused, then asked, “Why did you bring up all that stuff about Churchill? You know that none of them are cleared for it.”

   “Your wound stripe and Star Cross are a matter of public record.” She grimaced, then said, “That Doyle got on my nerves, if you must know. She was talking to one of the technicians about you on the way out, and I d
idn't like her attitude. Far too arrogant with nothing to back it up.”

   “At least she completed the Academy.”

   “You earned your rank, every bit as much as she did. More, because I already know what you're like in action, and we're going to have to wait to find out how she handles it. I guess Salazar had a talk with you, as well?”

   “You to?”

   “It seems he's managed to get the impression that we make a good covert operations team. I guess we're going to be stuck with some entertainment after all.” Shaking her head, she added, “The maintenance schedules on the medical fabricators were fine when we left. All settings perfect.”

   “More sabotage?” he asked.

   “Salazar told me about what you found on the shuttle. And about the missile. Someone's playing games with us, and I like that less than I like Doyle. I take it you're involved in the investigation?”

   “Lieutenant Salazar is in charge. I'm just helping out.”

   “But you've got some ideas.”

   “A few,” he replied. “A few.” Keeping his voice quiet, he added, “Who signed off on the medical fabricator check?”

   “The Systems Officer.”

   Nodding, he said, “The same man who tried to label the shuttle malfunction as pilot error, and personally vouched for the maintenance technician involved.”

   “It's a bit obvious, isn't it?”

   “I've been thinking,” he continued. “I don't think any of these problems were meant to actually do serious damage.”

   “If that missile had exploded...”

   “If being the question. Why would the saboteur try something like that? They'd be committing suicide. Even if the missile was loaded before the fighter came on board, it had to be activated by someone on the ship.” Shaking his head, he continued, “And there must have been a thousand things they could have done to hold up our departure, delay the refit.”

   “I hate to break it to you, but we were nearly killed on that shuttle.”

   “And would it have delayed Alamo if we were?” He shrugged, and said, “The three of us could have been replaced in half an hour, brought across on the new shuttlecraft. Alamo would have mourned, but it would have moved on, maybe only an hour behind schedule.”