Battlecruiser Alamo: Into the Maelstrom

by Richard Tongue

   “Then what do you think is going on?”

   “I think we're being distracted. Someone's throwing in a series of feints to keep us off-balance, maybe throw suspicion around, and keep us from whatever is actually going on. And perhaps load us with enough extra work to throw us behind on the maintenance schedule. We're going to have to have repair teams on the outer hull for hours once we get to Leonov, repairing the damage caused by the explosion.”

   “And probably bring supplies over from the station,” she added. “Have you talked to Lieutenant Salazar about this?”

   “Not yet,” he replied. “Besides, I'm sure he's thought about it himself.”

   “And?”

   “And it might not do any harm to have two investigations running at the same time, one without the knowledge of the other, just in case there is something more going on than we know.”

   “Sneaky,” she said. “I approve completely. I take it you have ambitions to see my time wasted on the pursuit of someone who may or may not exist?”

   “I'd rather trust you than Koslowski.” He grinned, then added, “Or Doyle.”

   “Not much of a complement,” Blake replied, shaking her head. “Fine, if you want to turn Sam Spade on me, I'll go along for the ride.”

   “Who?”

   “Sam Spade. The Maltese Falcon.” With a sigh, she continued, “We have got to work on your education. It's been sadly neglected.” Gesturing at the ever-cooling soup, she added, “Finish that mess, and we'll get started.”

   “With the investigation or the education?”

   “Both.”

  Chapter 6

   “Egress in five minutes, Captain,” Imoto said, turning from the helm. “All systems prepared for dimensional transition.”

   “Thank you, Midshipman. You have the call.” Marshall glanced across at Caine, sitting at Tactical, her hands loosely resting on her controls.

   “Want me to go to battle stations?” she asked with a smile.

   “I think we can assume that Proxima Centauri isn't going to be hosting any hostile aliens,” Marshall replied, sitting back in his chair. “Go to alert status, though. Good practice for the new crew, and we might as well give the preparedness protocols a try.”

   “Aye, sir,” she said, turning to her station. “Executive Officer to all hands. Go to Standby Alert. I repeat, all decks to the alert. Report status to the bridge on the double. That is all.”

   The rear door slid open, Francis walking out onto the deck and walking across to the helm, the nervous Imoto glancing up as his superior approached. Francis looked down at the control settings, nodded, and gave the young midshipman a reassuring pat on the shoulder before turning back to Marshall.

   “We're all set, Captain. All clear for transition.”

   “Very good, Lieutenant,” Marshall replied. He looked around the bridge, still getting used to the new crew, the new systems. Memories of his first interstellar jump as a starship commander flooded back, six years ago, when he took Alamo on its mission to Ragnarok, back when systems even a single jump from Sol were unknown.

   They'd found that deep space was a dangerous place, enemies lurking in every corner of the galaxy waiting to attack the Confederation, or even humanity itself, and that menace had driven them out into the furthest reaches of space. During the Xandari War, this ship had completed the longest cruise in history, almost two years away from home, traveling more than a hundred light-years in a sweeping arc away from known space.

   There was history here. First contact with the Neander, the Koltoc, the Xandari, the Cabal, a dozen scattered, lost colonies spread throughout the stars. He looked down at his console, still playing the mission plan he'd been preparing during the transition. A deep space patrol, a cruise of his own design, intended to explore more than a dozen new systems out beyond Jefferson. There were rumors of lost civilizations out there, reports from free traders pushing further than they should hinting at another potential foe. If it was there, Alamo would find it, and with this crew, they'd beat it.

   The door opened again, and Salazar walked out, followed by Harper, the latter moving quickly to take the Defense Systems station, relieving the technician at the console, while Salazar took a position behind Marshall, earning a questioning glance from Francis. Marshall looked up at him, the young officer's face an unreadable mask.

   Of course, he'd been Executive Officer for months during Alamo's return from the Xandari homeworld. Since then, his personnel file was a series of unanswered questions, but unofficially, he knew that both Salazar and Harper had spent Alamo's refit in the service of Triplanetary Intelligence, working for Logan Winter. It was almost surprising that he'd been able to free himself from their clutches, but somehow, the man seemed to be exactly where he needed to be, and the crew seemed more relaxed with him on the bridge.

   He turned to the external systems stations, to Sensors and Communications. Both of the crewmen, Ballard and Bowman, were new to their posts, but not the ship. During the last cruise, they'd served with sufficient distinction to earn a recommendation from a bridge assignment, one written by Salazar during the long flight home. To Marshall, they were only names, so far, personnel records that he had only managed to skim through. Something else to solve, during the next phase of their mission.

   “Two minutes, sir,” Imoto said.

   “All decks at standby alert, Captain,” Caine said, a reassuring twinkle in her eye. She'd been offered her own command, both by him and Remek, but had confidently refused her own battlecruiser each time. She'd made her position perfectly clear a long time ago, that she was more than happy to serve as second-in-command, in what was effectively an administrative role, but that she never wanted an independent command of her own. There was a lot more to holding the Executive Officer's job than being the Captain's potential replacement, and she excelled in every other area. She'd been his wingman, aide and confidant since the Interplanetary War, and there seemed no reason for that to ever change.

   Frowning, Salazar said, “Recommend we go to battle stations, sir.”

   “That is totally inappropriate, Lieutenant,” Francis said, turning with a scowl on his face.

   “We'll only get one chance to practice under realistic conditions before we head beyond the frontier, Captain, and I think we should take it,” Salazar replied.

   Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Not at a neutral station, Lieutenant. Too much potential risk of the local administration asking questions. Bad enough that we're bringing a capital ship into the system without the usual notice.”

   “One minute to emergence, Captain,” Imoto said, moving his hands over the helm.

   “Nice and easy, Midshipman,” Francis said, looking down at the console.

   Marshall glanced back at Salazar, the latter's eyes locked on the viewscreen. There was something different there, a harshness that had been missing when he had last known him, and perhaps greater confidence, as well. He was no longer out of his environment, now seeming completely at home on the bridge, as though belonging there.

   “Sensors ready,” Ballard said. “Full passive sweep on emergence, sir?”

   “Make it a full test,” Marshall replied, “but nothing too obvious. We don't want to alarm anyone unduly.” Looking up at Francis, he continued, “Once we're clear, Captain Caine and I...”

   “Emergence, sir,” Imoto said, with more excitement than passage to a safe system usually warranted, and with a flash of blue light, Alamo dived back into normal space, the familiar dull red star ahead of them. Before Marshall could continue, Ballard turned from her console, shock on her face.

   “Threat warning!” she yelled. “United Nations dreadnought, close to starboard!”

   Salazar strode over to Caine, and snapped, “Battle stations, sir?”

   “Not yet,” Marshall replied. “Bowman, hail that ship and find out their intentions. Ballard, take the gloves off the sensors.
I want a full picture of everything taking place in this system, and I want it yesterday.” Turning to Francis, he said, “Lock down the ship, Lieutenant. Seal all blast doors, and call all hands to their stations. I want to do everything to prepare this ship for a fight other than arming the weapons systems.”

   “No response from the UN ship, sir,” Bowman said, glancing at Salazar.

   “It's the Kurt Waldheim, Captain,” Ballard added. “Our records show her last at Tau Ceti.”

   “She's been doing some traveling,” Harper replied. “Captain, her hackers are probing our firewall. Nothing too serious, not yet, but it could get problematic fast. Permission to respond?”

   “Not yet,” Marshall repeated. “I don't want to start the Second Interplanetary War out here, ladies and gentlemen, and that ship has as much right to be here as we do.”

   Looking up at a readout, Salazar said, “The station's under security alert, sir. They've activated their defense perimeter, and all shuttles are scrambling for cover.” Turning to Marshall, he added, “I can't say I blame them for wanting to stay out of a firefight.”

   “Let me start the laser charging sequence, Danny,” Caine said. “At least it might get them talking, if it doesn't do anything else.”

   “Or make them start shooting,” Francis retorted. “Bowman, try the emergency frequencies.” Running his eye over the viewscreen, he continued, “I don't think they're expecting us. They're in a lousy position to guard the egress point, and they don't have a fighter screen in the air.”

   “Enemy ship is turning, sir,” Ballard said. “Thrusters only at present, but she's swinging in our direction. They could be in combat range in ninety seconds at full acceleration.”

   “Should I initiate evasive action, Captain?” Imoto asked.

   “Negative, Midshipman, but turn us to face them, and match them move for move.” Turning back to the sensor station, he said, “If there is even a hint that they start preparing an attack, Spaceman, I want to know at once.”

   “Nothing yet, sir. They're just sitting there.” The technician looked at his controls, frowned, and added, “I'm picking up two United Nations Fleet shuttles, likely in transit to Leonov Station prior to our arrival, but they're heading to a safe distance. Personnel shuttles, as far as I can tell. Other than that, I'm only detecting civilian traffic.”

   “No sign of offensive action from the Kurt Waldheim,” Caine reported.

   “They're waiting to see what we're going to do,” Marshall said. A smile curled across his face, and he said, “Midshipman, proceed to a parking position at the station, normal approach pattern. Bowman, contact Traffic Control and request formal permission for shore leave.”

   Francis turned to him, and asked, “What are we going to do, Captain?”

   “Not a damned thing, Lieutenant. If they're happy to leave us alone, we're going to leave them alone. Though we will be remaining on alert stations at all times while the ship is in-system, and I want a maximum effort to monitor their every move. Deadeye, I want probes launched to shadow their shuttles. Keep them well clear, but I want to know where they are going and why.”

   “Aye, sir,” she replied, tapping a control. “Probes deployed.”

   Alamo's engines roared into life as Imoto guided the battlecruiser onto its approach path, heading towards the rotating station ahead. The viewscreen remained locked on the silent United Nations ship, a readout of her tactical potential streaming down the side of the monitor. On paper, Waldheim would have the edge in a firefight, but Alamo was fresh from a refit, with all the advantages that implied.

   “We'll win, Danny,” Caine said, as though reading his mind. “But we'll tear ourselves to pieces doing it.”

   “Suggest we launch a fighter patrol, sir,” Salazar added, looking up from the display. “They can remain in close defensive formation, but it might give them something to think about.”

   Nodding, Francis replied, “That would be normal protocol in a situation such as this, Captain. Though we should clear such an action with the local authorities first.”

   “Signal from the station, sir,” Bowman replied. “I have the dockmaster.”

   “Put him on,” Marshall ordered.

   Shaking his head, the technician replied, “I can't, sir. We have permission to assume a parking orbit, but he seemed extremely reluctant to speak to anyone on board.” Glancing across at a side panel, he continued, “We also have approval for shore leave, sir. The paperwork just arrived.”

   Salazar looked at Marshall, and said, “They're running scared, sir. Not sure which way to jump, so they're trying to keep out of it as much as possible.” Gesturing at the communications station readout, he added, “We're on the opposite side of the station from the Kurt Waldheim. With the defense perimeter between us.”

   “Readout on the Waldheim, sir,” Harper said. “Commanded by General Mario Estrada.” She frowned, then added, “Not a political appointment. Career military, worked his way up through the ranks.”

   Nodding, Marshall replied, “I recall a Major Estrada in the war, a squadron commander. Had a reputation for methodical tactical doctrine.”

   “The same, sir. Though there's no record of him being assigned to this command, as of our latest intelligence. It must be a new assignment.” Glancing at Salazar, she continued, “Perhaps even some sort of special mission. Usually, capital ship commands are reserved for the top political families, to ensure the loyalty of their key fleet assets.”

   “Foolish,” Francis said. “Though if they've chosen to ignore their normal routines, that suggests that something important is taking place here. Lieutenant, does Intelligence have any record of anything taking place out here?”

   Marshall caught the instant of hesitation in Harper's eyes, before she replied, “Not that I'm aware of, sir. Nothing on Leonov Station.”

   “And…”

   “Signal from the Kurt Waldheim, sir. General Estrada wishes to speak to you, personally and privately. By name, sir.” Bowman looked up from his station, and asked, “Shall I transfer it to your office, Captain?”

   Marshall nodded, rose from his seat, and said, “Deadeye, you have the conn, but take no aggressive moves unless you have no other choice. Any change, report at once, and don't worry about interrupting.” Pausing opposite the defense systems station, he added, “Harper, you can start probing their systems now, but don't be too aggressive. Just match their expectations.”

   “Aye, sir,” she replied, her fingers dancing across the console.

   Walking into his office, Marshall sat down behind his desk, then reached down to bring up a tactical display of local space, a small holoimage flashing to the side. There seemed little harm in allowing Estrada to wait for a moment, and he quietly counted to thirty before reaching across to accept the call.

   On the far wall, the image of a stout, balding man wearing United Nations battle fatigues appeared. That was interesting enough by itself, the first time he'd ever seen a UN General in anything other than full dress finery.

   “Commodore Marshall, I presume?”

   “Fleet Captain,” he replied. “As of a few weeks ago, anyway.” Pausing, he continued, “We have met before, General, though last time it was in battle. Second Vesta, if our intelligence reports are accurate. I believe you commanded the Ninth Tactical Squadron.”

   “Your memory and your intelligence reports are commendably precise, Captain. I will get immediately to the point. My ship is currently here to enjoy the facilities of Leonov Station. We have been on deep patrol for some weeks, and are looking forward to some rest and relaxation. Naturally, we were surprised to encounter your ship, given the lack of prior notification by your government of your visit.”

   “Your government has been equally remiss in reporting the movements of your capital ships in neutral space, General. I was as surprised as you were to find a dreadnought in battle stance.”

  �
�“Battle stance? That would imply aggressive action, and I stress that we are merely here, albeit unexpectedly, on shore leave.” Sitting back in his chair, he reached across to a button, and said, “Can you speak freely, Captain?”

   “Of course.”

   “Then I will tell you that I have no wish to start a war, not today. I suspect our motivations for coming here are the same as yours, and that you too do not desire to start a fight you cannot win.” He smiled, and added, “Though I suspect your strategic advisers are telling you the same as mine, that victory is likely, but not certain.”

   “Something along those lines,” Marshall replied, with a faint smile. “Presumably we each feel that we know something the other side does not.”

   “Quite so.” Nodding, he continued, “It was a lot easier when we were fighter pilots, was it not. Then it was a duel, two warriors facing each other, the best and the luckiest proving victorious. As we were at Second Vesta.”

   “And we were at Third.”

   “True. The War is over, almost a generation ago, and the memories begin to fade.” Folding his hands together, Estrada continued, “We both have business here, Captain, and I will come to an understanding with you. I will refrain from interfering with your activities in this system, so long as you adopt the same eminently reasonable course of action. I will not start a fight, if you do not.”

   “I think we can agree to that,” Marshall replied.

   Shaking his head, Estrada said, “It comes so easily, Captain. There are moments I envy you. Unlike you, I am not completely the master of my own destiny, and there are those I must answer to, even on a ship that is theoretically under my command. They might not feel as I do, and are likely to seek any potential excuse for conflict. Be wary of such men, Captain.”

   “I'll remember that, General. Alamo out.” Marshall closed the channel, shook his head for a moment, then tapped another control. “Lieutenant Salazar, report to my office on the double.” He looked down at the strategic display again, watching as the enemy ship held to its constant vigil, watching and waiting as Alamo moved to its parking position. The door slid open, and Salazar walked in, standing to attention in front of the desk.