Battlecruiser Alamo: Into the Maelstrom

by Richard Tongue

   Salazar drifted down the long, crooked passage, Harper following in his wake, both cautiously watching for any sign of pursuit or ambush. Leonov Station might have been a welcome gift in the early days of interstellar travel, a space station already built and ready for humanity's use, but it had been carved by alien minds, on a pattern that seemed senseless to human eyes. Everywhere the carved pictograms glared down at them, strange, twisted figures on the wall that danced in the lingering shadows, the only illumination from the pale green bioluminescent lights mounted on the ceiling, casting an eerie glow over the tunnel.

   There were easier ways to get to the shuttle maintenance levels, a lateral elevator that would have taken them directly there, but one of the advantages of a station that might as well have been designed by Escher was that there were plenty of hiding places, barely-used tunnels and shafts that were a perfect environment for those seeking to move stealthily.

   He pulled out his datapad, tapping a control to check that the sensor jammer was still working, electronic tendrils reaching out to every pickup they passed, casting the illusion that nobody was traveling this way, that all was still and silent. Station Security wasn't his biggest concern. Long since, the station's sensor readouts would have been cracked by the hackers on the Waldheim, likely content simply to watch rather than make any changes, low-level intrusion that could go unnoticed for years. And certainly, Lieutenant-Captain Bailey was watching them as well, probably already working on his latest ulcer.

   They paused at a junction, hanging back as Salazar spotted a figure in the distance, a man wearing the purple and red of McAllister Shipping, a private transport consortium based out of Mars. There were plenty of reasons why someone working for them would be in this part of the station, but it was an excellent cover for anyone meaning harm. The man was drifting towards them, toolkit in hand, and Salazar pulled out his blade, holding it in his hand, while Harper retrieved her blowgun.

   For the hundredth time he longed for his pistol, but sneaking the weapons they had through the local security had been enough of a hazard, and this was supposed to be a neutral station, even if in reality it was a front in a covert war that had raged since the day the peace treaty had been signed, a war of move and counter-move.

   The man paused, turning to a wall monitor, and started tapping in a sequence of commands while Salazar and Harper waited, their eyes searching for signs of an ambush, alert to the risk that this might be a decoy, a trap. Finally, the man turned, heading back the way he had come, disappearing around a turn in the corridor. With a quick glance and a nod at Harper, Salazar continued along the passage, smoothly swinging around a turn towards the cavernous chamber that was their goal, the vast maintenance section.

   He'd memorized the layout during the trip out from Alamo, had taken the chance to walk the passages once again in virtual reality, refreshing memories of his last visit, but the sheer scale of this place still daunted him, almost a mile of tumbling rock rolling end over end through the sky to produce the artificial gravity the tourists preferred. Hundreds of miles of passages and caverns, many of which were at least theoretically uninhabited, a haven for smugglers, spies and criminals from a dozen worlds.

   Glancing at his watch, he grimaced. They'd been meant to switch back with their doubles around now, and start their return to Alamo. The longer they lingered over here, the greater the risk of something going wrong, and with a United Nations dreadnought hanging close to the station, they couldn't take any chances. He glanced at his datapad again, risking an updated status report, and frowned as the datapad struggled to make a connection.

   “Kris,” he whispered. “Try your datalink. There's something wrong with mine.”

   “Mine too,” she replied, a few seconds later. “Looks like someone's shut down all of the boosters. Or at least revoked our access.” She punched a series of commands into her datapad, and added, “Pavel, we've got problems. There's a general alert up in the concourse. Something about a murder, and a full lockdown in progress in the civilian levels.”

   “Nothing down here yet, though,” he replied, frowning. “What do you think?”

   “I think we've got an opportunity we should take full advantage of. If Security is running around upstairs, they won't spare anyone for any minor disturbances down here.”

   Nodding, Salazar continued down the corridor, knife still in hand, knowing that the agent they were seeking was somewhere in this area. He saw another technician at the far end of the corridor, loitering in a position that made it clear he was a lookout, one of Pastell's goons, who instantly spotted Salazar heading in his direction.

   Raising his knife, Salazar dived towards the guard, reaching into his pocket to stab a needle into his thigh to pump anti-tranquilizers into his system, enough to overwhelm any conceivable attack. He was barely in time, the guard raising a dart gun and firing into his chest, the barbed blades ripping into his flesh as the drugs surged into his bloodstream. For a second, his vision blurred, and he allowed himself to tumble to the side wall, bouncing free into the middle of the corridor as the hapless guard approached.

   Rough hands grabbed for him, but before the guard could secure him, he reached across with his knife, one quick slashing move across the shoulder that ripped through his tunic, leaving an angry red line in its wake, followed by an arm lock that immobilized the startled man, the blade safely at his throat. Behind them, Harper drifted forward, snatching the dart gun from the air and looking at the clip.

   “Five shots left, Pavel,” she said.

   “Good,” he replied. “Now, my friend, you're going to get on the communicator and bring your boss here at once. And if there are any tricks, anything at all, then you will die. I hope this is clearly understood.”

   Defiant eyes looked up at Salazar, and the man replied, “They'll kill me if I help you. Why should I die a traitor when I can die a hero.”

   Shaking his head, Salazar glanced at Harper and said, “There's no need for you to die at all. I'll make a deal with you. Help me now, and I'll see you get amnesty in the Confederation. A new life, a new start. This offer expires in thirty seconds, and I strongly suggest you give it the consideration it deserves.”

   The man looked up, then down at the blade, and nodded, saying, “Inner pocket of my jacket. Tap twice for the recall signal. The Major will come looking.” He frowned, and asked, “How are you going to get me out of here?”

   Harper waved her datapad over him, and said, “He's clean, Pavel. No known record.”

   “Our intelligence team will get you onto a transport bound for Mars. By this time tomorrow you'll be in hendecaspace. Or, if this is a trick, you'll be dead. Understand?” Salazar slid his hand into the pocket, found the communicator, and tapped twice in quick succession, turning to the hatch ahead. Harper leveled her dart gun at the portal, and a moment later, it slid open to reveal a grim-faced, balding man wearing baggy maintenance overalls, but still with an unmistakable air of authority that transcended his attire.

   “Ah, Pavel Salazar and Kristen Harper,” he replied, softly. “I must say that it is a pleasure to finally meet you.” Glaring at the guard, he continued, “This man is of no concern to me. You may release him, and I give you my word as an officer that he will be unharmed.” Turning to him, he added, “Corporal, if you wish, you may accept the good Lieutenant's offer. Indeed, that might be wise.”

   The guard looked around, confused, and a smile crept across Salazar's face as he replied, “I think we will leave things as they are, at least for the present. I don't trust you, and I can't imagine why he should, either.”

   “As you choose,” Pastell said with a shrug. “I suspect that you have summoned me for a discussion about our mutual dilemma.” Glancing at the two of them, he continued, “You will have to accept my assurance that our conversation is not being monitored, at least at my end. We have matters to discuss that transcend the usual games we play here.”

   
Harper nodded, and replied, “I think we're willing to trust you that far.”

   “Then I will open by saying that all here is certainly not as it appears. I am working for the General, not the Colonel, and you may believe me when I tell you that there is a difference.”

   Nodding, Salazar said, “Estrada has always been connected closely with the pacifist faction in the Security Council, and I cannot think of a more rampant hawk than the Butcher of Thalassa.”

   Shaking his head, Pastell replied, “Such savagery is the product of a diseased, deluded mind, and will serve no purpose other than to create martyrs for the cause of the rebels. Stupidity of that order led to your rebellion in the first place, but unfortunately there are many in the high councils of our government who are arrogant enough to believe that force and fear will serve their ends. I am a loyalist, sir, but I am not blind. Nor do I immediately consider that we would win a war with the Confederation, not following your military build-up.”

   “Not too late for you to change sides, Major,” Harper said with a smile.

   With a shrug, Pastell said, “At present, it is my judgment that you are better off with me maintaining my current position. I will offer you a piece of information. We are here investigating the disappearance of four starships at the as-yet unnamed brown dwarf one jump from this station.”

   “Four ships?” Salazar asked.

   “Monitor, Pioneer, Conor Cruise, and a civilian freighter, the Altmark. She was the first to go missing, seven months ago, after an unscrupulous Assemblyman elected to use her access to classified information for personal profit.” A faint smile danced across his lips, and he continued, “She will have few opportunities to take such advantages in the future. Siberia is a cold land.” Looking at the two of them, he added, “Your turn.”

   Harper and Salazar locked eyes for a moment, and he offered, “Our mission is the same as yours, though I confess we didn't know about Altmark. To be honest, we were under the assumption that you were responsible.”

   “Not so, though I know there are members of the Security Council who are all too quick to assume that any minor setback is the fault of the Triplanetary Fleet.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Hence the somewhat ambiguous nature of Waldheim's current command structure. General Estrada commands the ship, but Colonel Cruz is in charge of all security matters. Other than mine, I hasten to add, but my opportunities for independent action are limited.”

   Folding her arms, Harper said, “Then you are here to prevent a war.”

   “Until such a time as we can guarantee a victory, yes. Make no mistake, Lieutenant, I firmly believe that mankind should be united under a single government, and that the United Nations remains the best chance for the survival of humanity in the long-term, but such matters can wait until another day. For the present, I consider it my duty to protect our people, and prevent a war we might not win, and one that would yield untold destruction.”

   “And Colonel Cruz and her faction either believe that the Confederation is responsible for the disappearances, or they simply don't care, and are willing to take any excuse to launch a war, no matter what.”

   “Correct,” he replied. “I confess I am unsure what the good Colonel actually believes, but she is too intelligent to be anyone's puppet for long. My assessment is that she sees this as an opportunity to restore her reputation and achieve flag rank, no matter who suffers for the stars on her shoulder.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Further, if there is some menace only two jumps from Sol that is eating starships, I consider that a serious enough threat to override any considerations of war, at least at present.”

   “Agreed,” Salazar said. “Though you must understand...”

   “That neither of us dare to trust each other, and that we cannot rule out that either of us might be attempting to bluff their way through this problem. Consider, though. It was your spy ship that was the first military vessel on the scene, and while you claim that you know nothing about the disappearance of the freighter, that claim sounds hollow given your current interest in the system.”

   “What took you so long to respond, anyway?” Harper asked. “I find it hard to believe that you waited six months to follow up on the loss of Altmark.”

   “Politics, Lieutenant, pure politics,” he spat. “The good Assemblyman didn't report the disappearance for three months, and even then attempted to use her remaining influence to keep the matter quiet, stirring up rumors of some secret Triplanetary base.” Shaking his head, he added, “All she has done is make things worse for us all, and given the hawks an excuse to try for their war.”

   “And your position in all of this madness?”

   “I'm trying to make sure that the situation doesn't get any worse than it already is. If there is something out there powerful enough to destroy capital ships, there is a chance that we might need to work together to defeat it, especially if it is the first move of a hostile power. If there is something else going on, then I see no reason to start a war because of some sort of mechanical failure.” He paused, then added, “Waldheim will be heading to the brown dwarf soon. I presume Alamo will be, also.”

   Nodding, Salazar replied, “Not hard to guess. And that's only going to increase the potential for difficulty, especially if Colonel Cruz gets her way.” Shaking his head, he continued, “I take it General Estrada will view things more reasonably?”

   “As I believe he has already told your Captain Marshall, he has no intention of starting a war. Make no mistake, though, he will finish it. If your commander's reputation is accurate, then my assessment is that he will have the same attitude. Are there people on your ship who think differently?”

   “Not that I'm aware of,” Salazar replied. “I won't pretend that we don't have our hawks, but given our recent confrontations with the Cabal and the Xandari, there's little mood for war at the moment. There's an election coming up, and I know the Patriots are hoping to take back the Presidency. Certainly there will be no major changes to foreign policy until then.”

   “Unless they are brought about by aggressive action from your government,” Harper added. “I'm beginning to think that we are equally in the dark.”

   A thin smile crossed Pastell's face, and he replied, “Not a bad assessment of the situation. There is only so much information we can reap from long-range sensor sweeps, and as yet, we have no knowledge of anyone actually returning from the station except that cursed transport, and our operative hasn't reported in yet.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Nor has yours, I presume.”

   “They'll barely have reached Barnard's Star,” Salazar said. “Assuming, of course, that our two agents haven't managed to cancel each other out.”

   “An amusing thought,” Pastell replied. “On behalf of my commander, I am empowered to offer, shall we say, an understanding. Not a formal agreement or anything remotely along those lines, of course, but I'm willing to concede that no hostilities will be initiated by either government, and that should there prove some sort of scientific explanation, we will be willing to cooperate to at least a limited degree.” Raising an eyebrow, he added, “Demonstrating our superior technical prowess will play well back home, and potentially open up the possibility of a renewed wave of deep-space exploration on our part. Rest assured that we are well aware that the Confederation is leaving us in its wake in that quarter.”

   “That's what happens when you devote all your resources to oppression, rather than expansion,” Salazar replied. “Though this isn't the time for a debate over the merits of our rival political systems, I concede.” Glancing to the rear, he added, “I take it you want us to take the Corporal with us?”

   Looking at the terrified guard, Pastell said, “I believe that would be best. I cannot necessarily trust that our mutual adversaries won't opt to interrogate him, and that could prove embarrassing at best, disastrous at worst. See that he is set up with a new life on Mars. I chose someone with no serious ties back
home. Expendable.” Before he could continue, Pastell's datapad chirped, and a frown crossed the agent's face as he said, “May I check that?”

   “Carefully,” Harper said, keeping the dart gun leveled on Pastell's chest. “No sudden moves.”

   “I wouldn't dream of them,” he replied, pulling out the device with two fingers, sliding his hand across the display. His eyes widened, and he said, “The damned fools.”

   “What?”

   “Three of your agents have killed one of ours.” Shaking his head, he said, “Cruz, trying to set up an ambush, or to frame your people to start an incident.” Looking up at them, he continued, “Waldheim is at battle stations, and so is Alamo. The war might be about to start, right here. And both sets of agents are heading this way.”

   Holstering her gun, Harper said, “If there's any chance of stopping a firefight, we've got to move, and quickly. Does your agreement still stand?”

   “Until the shooting starts,” Pastell replied. “After that, I promise nothing. Come on.”

  Chapter 11

   Shaking her head, Blake asked, “Do you have any idea where we're going?”

   Peering uncertainly down a side shaft, Clarke replied, “Roughly. The gravity's getting lighter, so we must be heading in the right direction.” Glancing above them, he continued, “Besides, I'm not hearing anyone behind us at the moment. If we're lost, so are they.”

   “I still can't get any signal on my communicator,” Koslowski said. “Maybe we should try and find one of the relay boxes, set up some sort of data transfer, call for help.”

   Looking back at her with scorn in her eyes, Blake replied, “I thought you were supposed to have done some sort of tour with Intelligence? Everyone on the station would know where we were in a second if we tried a stupid stunt like that, and the bad guys are a lot closer to us than the good guys are.”

   “Sorry,” Koslowski replied with a sarcastic sneer. “I'm not really used to crawling through shafts in the dark with assassins on my tail. I wasn't really expecting this when I woke up this morning.”