“Done,” Blake said, and Clarke wasted no time in rushing down the corridor, trusting that the others would be right behind him. A part of him hated to leave Dubois' body behind, suspecting that it would be some time before anyone would return to deal with it, but they had to warn the Captain that the saboteur remained at large, and that he had been emboldened more than ever. If another power conduit failed, then the results to Alamo would be disastrous.
Dropping his toolkit, he reached for his pistol, gently tugging it free of his holster as he made his way to the end of the passage, the hatch to the lower level seeming beckoning him on. For a moment, he thought they were going to make it without interference, but the all-too-familiar crack of a bullet flying through the air beside him dispelled his brief hopes, forcing him to drop to the deck, firing a wild shot into the darkness.
“Damn, damn, damn!” Hernandez said. “Shoulder.”
“Let me take a look at that,” Blake replied. “Not good. We've got to get you to sickbay.”
“First firefight, and the bastard takes me down with his first shot,” the trooper said, grasping with the pain. “I'm never going to live it down.”
“Give me a hand,” Blake said, gesturing at Clarke.
Shaking his head, he looked into the darkness, and replied, “Sorry, I've got work to do. You should be able to find someone down there to give you a hand. Call Ensign Rhodes, and have him send a squad after me as fast as he can, and to double the guard on the upper propulsion decks. Our friend the saboteur is heading in that direction.” Taking a step forward, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“You can't go out there by yourself,” she said.
“Hernandez has to get to sickbay as fast as he can. I've got to track that saboteur before he gets lost in the tunnels.” Looking back at her, he added, “If he can wreck something more critical, we're all dead anyway. Just make sure the cavalry is riding to the rescue.” Shrugging off her hand, he crawled off into the darkness, quickly losing sight of his comrades to the rear, the only light from the flashlight in his hand. There were a million places a man could lose himself in this tangle of tunnels and shafts, and he had to guess right, or everyone on the ship would pay the price for his mistake.
Chapter 19
Technicians swarmed across the shuttle under Lombardo's direction, checking that the ungainly fuel tanks strapped to the rear were secure, that the connections to the main engines were correct, and that the emergency thrusters fitted underneath the stubby wings were properly fitted. There had been no time for double-checks, no time for anything other than the minimum of preparation, and if they were going to meet their window of opportunity to intercept Waldheim's shuttle, they had to move quickly.
Harper walked across the deck towards her ship, Midshipman Siegel behind her, with Corporal Burgess, the nearest they had to an expert, following at the rear. McCormack looked on with a scowl, having lost the battle to take the shuttle out herself, Marshall finally threatening that if she did, Salazar would be given command of the squadron in her absence, a temporary transfer that might become permanent.
Shaking her head as she climbed into the cockpit, she looked around, searching in vain for the rest of her team. Lombardo, noting her glance, replied with a shrug as he jumped from the top of the shuttle, knees bending as he landed on the deck.
“I did page them both,” he said. “Twice. We're getting reports of some intermittent problems with the internal communications system, though. I tried contacting Dubois, but I couldn't get through.” With a shrug, he added, “I sent Kowalski and a few of my boys to take a look. Probably faster, anyway.”
“Don't worry about Dubois,” Harper replied. “The Captain will deal with him soon enough. I'd get ready for his replacement.”
“As long as he doesn't try and give me the job,” Lombardo said. “You going to manage, two people light?”
Siegel looked nervously at Harper, and said, “I can fly the shuttle, ma'am.”
“Sure, kid, but you don't have to,” Murphy replied, snatching a flight suit from the locker under the withering gaze of McCormack. “I'll take the bird into the sky for you, Kris. Never going to turn down a chance to log some more flight time.”
“Lieutenant Murphy,” McCormack said. “May I remind you that we are on ready-alert, and that you might be needed for more important duties at a moment's notice? Your place is in the crew room, ready to lead your flight into battle.”
Preempting the argument, Harper pulled out her communicator, and said, “Hangar Deck to Alamo Actual. Skipper, do you mind if I borrow Lieutenant Murphy? Midshipman Clarke is out of communication at the moment, somewhere on the lower decks, and my watch says we need to launch in the next hundred and fifty seconds.”
“Good idea, Lieutenant,” Marshall replied. “You want me to send down another medic?”
“After the acceleration that shuttle pulled, Captain, anyone on board won't need a paramedic, they'll need a priest. Murphy will be fine.” At a nod from Lombardo, she continued, “We're all ready down here.”
“Then you have clearance to launch at your discretion, Lieutenant. Don't take any unnecessary risks. If you can't reach your target, turn around and come back home. We'll think of something else if we have to, and I'll probably need you to pull it off. Understand?”
“No risks, sir. Sounds like my sort of mission. We'll contact you when we get to the target. Harper out.” Glancing at Murphy, she said, “Let's go. Siegel, you take the engineering console in the rear. I'll fly right-seat.”
“Yes, ma'am,” the nervous midshipman replied, eagerly moving to her position in the passenger cabin, flashing a quick glance at Burgess, who silently followed on board. As Harper walked past him, she caught a brief glimpse of the anguish running across his face. Eight hundred of his comrades, his friends, had just vanished, probably died, and there had been nothing he could do to save them. And the only way he could preserve their legacy was to work with what he considered the enemy. She couldn't imagine what he was going through, and didn't really want to try.
Sliding into the co-pilot's couch, she watched the cool Murphy at the controls, running through the final stages of the pre-flight sequence as the shuttle began its descent through the elevator airlock, out into the cold depths of space beyond, and more importantly, the eternal pull of the anomaly. Waldheim's shuttle had managed to gain enough speed to throw it into a high orbit, at least for a time, but their best projections showed that it would be drawn down to its doom within only a handful of passes. Matching course and speed would be tricky, and would force them into the same, desperate trajectory.
Glancing at the status board, Harper shook her head with a smile. She'd never seen a shuttle so heavily-laden with fuel, with so many emergency thrusters bolted onto the side. Lombardo had emptied the stores to give them this chance, though that also meant that should something go wrong, they'd have no hope of rescue. There simply wouldn't be time for a recovery craft to be modified to retrieve them.
“Ten seconds to full acceleration,” Murphy said. “Hang on, everyone. I'm going to have to burn her red-hot if we're going to make our appointment. Kris, stand-by on the emergency thruster release. I'll be using those first to lighten the ship as much as we can. Same with the supplementary fuel tanks. By the time we complete the trip out, I'd say we'll be back to a normal configuration.”
“All engineering systems are ready!” Siegel said, evidently relieved that she had not been called upon to take the helm. “Hull stress sensors are green.”
“Glad to hear it,” Murphy replied. “Full boost, now.”
As soon as the shuttle dropped away, the fighter pilot threw the throttles to full-open, and the engines roared into life, the force of the acceleration pushing them back into their couches, making it an effort to reach the controls. On the viewscreen, the navigational computer was struggling to cope with the unfamiliar sensor data, the usually-reliabl
e trajectory plot instead a thin dotted line, waving back and forth as the system compensated for the intense gravitational field at the heart of the system. One that, on this course, they were voluntarily heading towards.
“First thruster, away,” Harper said, tapping a control, an empty booster rocket falling behind them as they roared on, the acceleration growing as the ship lightened. “First fuel tank, away.”
“Good,” Murphy replied. “She's riding smooth, now. Steady on course.” The pilot's hands danced across the controls with precision as she tweaked their trajectory, keeping them stable on their path to the shuttle ahead. Reaching across to the engineering panel, Harper fired a few intrusion programs at their target, attempting to handshake with the other system. There was a still a chance that actually boarding the shuttle would be unnecessary.
“Any luck?” Murphy asked, glancing across from her systems for a moment.
“No,” Harper replied, shaking her head in frustration. “Full encryption pattern, and they're using their latest codes. I can crack it given time, but we're talking days, not minutes.” A frown spread across her face, and she added, “I think I can detect the work of Colonel Cruz here. You'd have thought they would have made it nice and easy for us to obtain the data.” For a brief second, a triumphant smile flashed across her face as she discovered a cache of uncoded data, only to be dispelled when she realized what she had found.
“Nothing useful?” Murphy asked.
“Last letters from the crew,” Harper replied. “I'm setting up a datalink to Alamo. I'll dump them in a dead-end database and go over them when we get back. Half of them probably have all sorts of coded messages embedded, but I'll be damned if I stop any real messages getting back to their families. We'll find some way to transmit them, somehow.” Shaking her head, she said, “They've really dug this in deep.”
“Will you be able to access the information when we get to the shuttle? If you can't extract it now, then...”
“Give me five minutes and Siegel's help, and I'll rip out the damn memory modules. Once we get them back to Alamo, I'll have all the time in the world to process the data, and crack the latest UN codes into the bargain. We might actually get something useful out of this yet.”
Nodding, Murphy said, “On trajectory. Drop the second pair of thrusters, and stand by on the second fuel tank.” She frowned, then added, “We're using them faster than I'd hoped. I think we're getting a greater pull from the anomaly.” Shaking her head, she added, “Can its gravitational field be increasing? I didn't think that was possible.”
“More likely that our initial readings were wrong,” Harper replied. “We're still gathering data from the probe network.” She reached for a control, and said, “Shuttle One to Alamo. Can I speak to Lieutenant Doyle?”
“Sorry, Kris,” Salazar replied after a moment. “She's not on the bridge, and I can't get through to her down in Astrogation. We're still having trouble with our interior communications, and we still can't get in contact with Dubois about fixing it.”
“That sounds...”
“I know, I know,” he said. “We're on full alert over here, and I think we'll be going to battle stations in a matter of minutes. I'm watching you on the monitors, and it looks to me as though you're going to be marginal. I recommend you consider aborting the mission.”
“What do you think, Jess?” Harper asked, turning to the pilot.
“We're only going to get one shot at this,” she replied. “I'd hate to give up until we have to. Right now, we've still got enough of a safety margin to make it there and back with some fuel to spare.” Glancing at Harper, she said, “Let's give it a try.”
“I heard that,” Salazar replied. “Just be careful. The latest updates from our sensors don't look promising. If we have to gather the data ourselves, we will. Keep us posted. Alamo out.”
“You think he's worrying too much?” Harper asked, jettisoning the third set of thrusters.
Shaking her head, Murphy replied, “I just hope we're worrying enough. They may have better data than we do. Though the telemetry feed from that shuttle alone ought to be worth the risk. More information than we could get from a dozen probes.” Looking down at her display, she said, “That's it. We're now on a course that will see us dive into the anomaly unless we change it. Intercept on target in sixty-seven seconds. Just as advertised.”
“I hope so,” Harper said, redoubling her efforts with the electronic warfare systems, trying to find a way to infiltrate the target's database. Even at range, she'd be able to suck all of the information free in less than a minute, remaining at a safe distance. She didn't have to make any changes, just copy the information.
“Final fuel tanks, jettison,” Murphy said, and there was a rattle from the hull as Harper worked the release mechanism, the acceleration jumping for a second before the pilot pulled back on the throttle, bringing the engines down from the red-line. “Now we've just got the load-out the manufacturer gave us.”
“Engines still running fine,” Siegel reported from the rear. “Stress on the hull is well within safe margins, all systems nominal.”
“Let's hope they stay that way,” Harper replied. “Corporal, stand by at the airlock if you can. You might have to engage the docking clamps manually, and I don't want to waste a second.”
Silently, the orphaned Waldheim crewman nodded, pushing himself out of his couch with an effort and walking over to the airlock, grabbing the control panel and starting the command sequence. Harper turned back to the viewscreen, the slender shape of the UN shuttle just visible at maximum magnification, the trajectory plot showing them gliding into an uncertain intercept.
Sweat was building on Murphy's forehead as she carefully adjusted their course, working with the struggling navigation computer to guide them to the target, knowing that if they were as much as a meter out of position, they'd have to abort and return to Alamo without their prey. Harper looked at the fuel readouts, frowning again as they ate into the reserves they'd hoped to use to get home. Based on their projections, they should still have enough, but it was looking more and more marginal by the second.
And over in the far corner of the screen, she could almost see the anomaly, or at least, sense its presence. A black disk that blotted out any star that approached it, from which light itself could not escape. It might not be a singularity, but for all intents and purposes, it was the same manner of trap. So far, five ships had vanished inside, and none had returned to tell the tale.
“Twenty seconds to docking,” Murphy said. “Stand by, Corporal.”
“I'm ready,” Burgess replied.
The shuttle was growing closer now, Murphy firing brief pulses on the thrusters to settle them into position, warning alarms sounding to alert them that they were closing too rapidly, that they needed to slow down, ease into position. They didn't have the time, had to ignore the usual safety checks, and dive right in on the first try.
“Five seconds. Hold on.”
“Ready on thrusters,” Harper said, hovering over the controls. The computer should be able to handle the fine details of the approach, but she still preferred to be ready for any unforeseen eventuality, especially with the anomaly still close by, dragging them down. Finally, Murphy cut the throttle, and the two shuttles slammed into each other, a series of ringing jolts from the side hatch as the clamps locked into position.
“Now that is how we do that,” Murphy said with a grin, throwing off her restraints. “We've got six minutes before we have to head back to Alamo. I'm going to see if there's any fuel at all left over there, siphon it off into our tanks. Even topping up our thrusters might make the difference.”
“Hatch ready,” Burgess said. “I'm getting a green light on the environment over there. Life support seems to be working fine. We're clear to proceed at your discretion.”
Nodding, Harper walked to the hatch, toolkit in hand, and turned to Siege
l, “Midshipman, as soon as we get on board, get all sensor systems operational, and start a full data-dump back to Alamo. When this ship drops into the anomaly, we'll get some great data from the last few seconds of descent. Then assist Lieutenant Murphy with the fuel transfer.”
“Understood, ma'am,” Siegel replied.
“Then let's get this over with,” Harper said, stepping into the airlock, releasing the outer door with the manual control, lever snapping into place. Lights snapped on as she stepped into the other shuttle, revealing a deceptively empty cabin beyond. The place felt eerie, as though the crew had just left for a moment, the signs of hasty activity all around as the now-lost launch team had worked to prepare the ship for an escape they couldn't share. Scrawled on the wall with some sort of chalk, she read, “Remember Us,” and shook her head.
Siegel moved past her, heading for the cockpit, and Burgess looked up at the scrawl on the wall, eyes not moving, fixed on the last message left by his shipmates. Shaking her head again, Harper walked to the rear of the cabin, tugging the inspection hatch free, revealing the bulky memory modules beyond. Only one of them was required to operate the shuttle's systems for the descent, the remainder free to take back to Alamo.
“Got some fuel!” Murphy yelled. “Not much, but it might make all the difference.”
“I hope so,” Harper replied, struggling with the catch. “Corporal, give me a hand.” Burgess looked on for a moment, and she added, “Corporal, your friends spent their last seconds making sure we had access to this information. Give me a hand.” He nodded, kneeling beside her, reaching to unclip the cables at the rear. The first module came free with a worrying snap, and a series of red lights flooded the status monitors, protesting the removal of the storage unit.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Into the Maelstrom Page 18
