Secrets of the Sphere (Battlecruiser Alamo Book 27)

by Richard Tongue

   “No point,” Lombardo said, looking up at the viewscreen. “There's something moving out there, Pavel.” Shaking his head, he added, “That was fast.”

   “Unless we happened to blunder onto someone's landing strip,” Salazar replied with a sigh. “How long to complete the repairs?”

   “Three minutes.”

   “I'll try and stall.”

   “Pavel,” Lombardo replied, “There's nowhere to run. We couldn't stay in the air for more than a minute with the power we've got, even if we were fully operational. I need to check the hull for damage from those rocks, and...”

   “Then I'll just have to stall a little longer, won't I,” he replied, pulling his pistol from his holster and placing it on the control panel.

   “Won't you need that?” Carpenter asked.

   “I'm guessing they've got more of them than we do, and I didn't have any plans to commit suicide today. If they want us dead, we're dead. Maybe we can talk our way out of this.” He reached for the hatch, and cracked it open, choking clouds of dust sweeping into be cabin, sending him into a brief paroxysm of coughing. He stepped outside, snatching a pair of goggles from the wall, and walked into the dust, peering at the shapes moving around in the shadows.

   “My name is Lieutenant-Captain Pavel Salazar, commander of the Battlecruiser Alamo,” he said. “Who are you?” He could make out a trio of figures now, all of them carrying what had to be rifles, and after a moment, one of them stepped forward.

   “I'm Captain Baldwin, Security Operations Director of Lysenko Station. You and the rest of your crew need to come with us right away. While you are out on the surface, you are in terrible danger.”

   “What sort of danger?”

   A loud howl filled the air, and Baldwin replied, “There's no time to go into details now. Unless you can take off right away and get out of the desert, you'll be dead if you stay.” Gesturing at the flyer, he added, “Your ship will be safe enough. It's you the beasts want, not a piece of machinery.”

   “How can I trust you?” he asked.

   “Good question, and I'm afraid we don't have time for me to give you a good answer. Come with us if you want to live. That's the best I can do.”

   “Some choice,” Salazar said, turning to Lombardo. “Status, Lieutenant?”

   “All green, skipper, aside from the energy problem.”

   “Then secure the ship, and let's get moving.” He reached into the cockpit, snatching his sidearm from the console and sliding it nimbly into his holster. “I take it you have no objections, Captain, if the threat out here is as grave as you say.”

   “As long as we move quickly. It'll be dark soon, and you don't want to be out here at night.”

   “It's been a very long time since I was afraid of the dark,” Carpenter replied.

   “Trust me,” Baldwin said, “If you lived out here, you would be.”

  Chapter 6

   Clarke looked out from his vantage point on the mountains, passing the borrowed binoculars back to Jimmy with a frown. Salazar, Carpenter and Lombardo were being led away by the trio of heavily-armed guards, moving towards a hatch hitherto concealed in the rock face. He glanced at Jimmy, but the man shook his head, turning back towards the battered trail down the mountain.

   “That bastard was right about one thing. You don't want to be out in the dark.”

   “If we move now...”

   “Then at best, you end up stuck down there with the rest of them. If that's want you want, get going, but don't expect me to come running to the rescue. Hell, more likely one of them will find an excuse to shoot you, and be so damned sorry about it all, but that won't matter to your corpse when it is bleeding out in the sands. And don't tell me that it can't happen, because I've seen it happen far too often.” Another howl echoed through the mountains, and Jimmy shivered, continuing, “Let's get the hell out of here. At least back to the buggy.”

   Reluctantly, Clarke followed his companion back to the vehicle, strapping himself into position as Jimmy engaged the silent engine, bouncing them over the dunes on their way back to the hideout. He looked up at the sky, the majestic view still taking his breath away, but was able to see the shadows above racing towards them, the artificial night now moments distant. With a growing scowl, Jimmy threw the engine to high gear, sending them tossing from side to side as he raced across the desert.

   “Got to move,” he muttered. “Got to move. We don't have long. We should have stayed in the hideout.” Wide-eyed, he turned to Clarke, and said, “What have you done! I ought to have left you out in the desert to die! Maybe they'd have done it quickly, but I'd still be safe. What the hell was I thinking?”

   “Calm down,” Clarke said. “We're almost there.”

   “Not soon enough,” he replied, gesturing at the roof. “Look, it's almost on top of us. I know they're waiting, out behind every rock. The wild ones, the ferals. Every time they release them to hunt, a few of them don't come back, and those bastards don't care, not for a moment, just one mouth less to feed, and they can't...”

   “Calm down, damn it!” Clarke yelled, pulling out his pistol. “And watch it! If you crash, we'll die a hell of a lot faster.” Looking around, he added, “There's nobody anywhere near us.”

   “They're good at hiding,” Jimmy said, taking deep breaths. “This is their land, their terrain, and they know it better than anyone else ever could. Don't forget that. Don't ever forget that. I know that they are watching us right now, and they'll be ready to jump on top of us as soon as we leave.” He paused, then said, “If you're behind me when I reach the ship, I'll close the door, I swear. Move and keep moving. Don't wait for anyone.” He paused, then added, “And if I'm the one left behind, shoot me first. Don't let them get me. Nobody deserves that. Not even those bastards back there.”

   “It won't come to that,” Clarke replied. “Watch the road. We're almost there.” He looked out at the horizon, the shadows still racing towards them, the mountains behind them submerged in inky blackness. As he looked around the horizon, he could almost make out shapes dancing in the distance, then cursed himself for an overactive imagination before looking back at the road. Up ahead, he could just make out the familiar rocks that surrounded the crashed airplane, the one haven of safety in the wilderness.

   “Hey,” he asked. “What's the range on this thing?”

   “A thousand miles on a charge,” Jimmy replied. “And solar cells, so it's rechargeable.” He paused, then asked, “You're out of your mind. There's nowhere to go, and the buggy can barely make twenty miles an hour. That's not the answer.” He looked around, and added, “Besides, they'd track you down. I saw it once. A pair of Neander, pilgrims I think, passing through on horseback. They followed them for a hundred miles. Once they get on your trail, you're as good as dead unless you can put good solid metal between you and them. And even then, they'll never give up. Never.”

   The shadows chased them across the desert as Jimmy gunned the buggy, throwing Clarke into his harness as he struggled to hold onto his seat, his pistol still clutched in his hand. The end was inevitable, and with less than a mile to go, they lost the race, and darkness swept upon them. Clarke blinked, his eyes struggling to adapt to the gloom before Jimmy threw on a red-light searchlight, and he could well imagine strange creatures watching him from the darkness, eyes boring into them from all directions, sensing weakness.

   He tried to dismiss those thoughts, to convince himself that it was just his overactive imagination at work, but as the searchlight span around, picking up random motions in the distance, he suddenly realized that they were terribly real, a misshapen figure momentarily caught in the beam. Up ahead, the safety of the crashed flyer waited for them, but even though it was only seconds in the distance, each one seemed an eternity as the strange, shadowy figures moved into position all around them, waiting to launch their strike.

   “When I give the signal,” Jimmy said, his
voice suddenly calm and collected, as though someone else had taken over his body, “we both run like hell for the lock. It'll open once I get within five meters, and the emergency control to close it again is on the right side as you enter. A large button. Slam it with your fist, and it'll seal the hatch in less than a second. Even if someone is inside. Don't stop whatever you do, and if you don't get inside, you're as good as dead, and I will do my best to finish the job before they can. I expect you to do likewise.”

   “Got it,” Clarke replied.

   “And holster the pistol. You can't kill them all, and it'll only slow you down. You're better off just concentrating on speed. I'll leave the searchlight on to show you where to go. Just remember, all of this was your idea.” He reached for a control, and said, “Now!”

   The buggy skidded to a stop as the brakes engaged, and Clarke jumped from his seat, and sprinted across the sand towards the crashed vehicle, his boots digging into the dust as he ran for safety. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see figures in the distance, racing towards him, could hear the savage hunting cries as they howled for him, gleaming teeth reflected as the searchlight swept around.

   It didn't seem possible for it to take this long. It was a hundred meters. At the Academy, he'd done it in under eleven seconds even in full gravity. And yet somehow, it felt longer than a marathon, each step taking another eternity as the ravening hordes surged towards them. Abruptly, the searchlight winked out, and it took all of Clarke's discipline to keep running, to find his way towards the ship. Just as he thought he was going to make it, he heard an earth-rending scream, and saw Jimmy falling to the said, his leg caught in a tangle of cable.

   Instantly, he snatched his pistol again, firing wild shots as he raced towards the fallen man, emptying his clip into the air around him as the strange beasts continued their advance, the crack of the gun barely slowing them down. With his last bullet, he caught one in the shoulder, sending it falling to the ground, and that bought him gruesome time as the nearest members of the swarm dived at the prone figure, taking advantage of the momentary weakness to rend into his flesh, blood spurting out onto the desert sand.

   He reached Jimmy just ahead of them, and with all his strength, threw the man over his shoulder and resumed his race to the airlock, staggering across the darkened sands, the weight almost sending him falling to the ground. Finally, with seconds to spare, the door slid open, revealing a blinding light inside, illuminating the pale-skinned figures all around them, their red eyes gleaming in the unaccustomed glare. Clarke hurled Jimmy through the door, then followed himself, slamming his fist onto the emergency control and collapsing to the deck just as the hatch slammed shut.

   Outside, rhythmic pounding echoed from the hull, the predators beyond cheated of their prey, the same terrible cry sounding in the night, chilling Clarke to his core. He looked at the figure of Jimmy, sobbing on the deck, and got the first clear look at the tangle around his legs, some strange twisted cord, braided to toughness that made it all but impossible to remove.

   “Why?” Jimmy asked, looking up. “Why didn't you let me die?”

   “Without you, I'm dead. As you've told me on more than a few occasions.” Finally tugging free the trap, he asked, “What's this?”

   Wiping the tears from his eyes, he replied, “Leave me alone,” and staggered over to a pile of rags in the corner, wrapping himself up in the makeshift bedding, looking away from the watching Clarke. For a moment, he contemplated pressing him for answers, but with a shake of the head, he turned to the viewscreen, getting his first good look at the strange creatures he had barely escaped with his life.

   He looked at the trap again, and finally realized what it was. Hair. Tangled, knotted and knitted together, connected to a trigger mechanism lost somewhere in the sand outside. This was no simple device, but something that had been designed, built by someone with skill in their hands. The savage creatures outside weren't beasts, but humans.

   “It took me longer to realize that,” Jimmy said, his back still to Curtis. “That the creatures I had fought and killed were men like me, long ago. I found one of those traps, and later one of the huts they'd built out of stone. Occasionally they manage to control themselves for long enough to build a few of them together, start some sort of settlement, but the other creatures in the camp always make sure that they're crushed soon enough. Though sometimes they don't have to. Sometimes they fight each other, first. They'll fight anything. Even each other. As long as they have something to kill.”

   “Is it always like this, out there?” Clarke asked,

   “Usually. Sometimes they're on a hunt somewhere else. Most nights they come here as soon as it gets dark, and they don't stay until dawn. I don't think they like the light. Though whether that's something genetic or just their preference I don't know. You don't usually see them during the day. Sometimes I spent months hunting them through the peaks, trying to find their lairs, but I only ever found a few of those stone houses, and I was always too late.”

   “You hunted them? In God's name, why? And why not leave here on the buggy? I don't buy that you couldn't have made it clear, found somewhere else to go. Hell, if that can go a thousand miles on a charge, you could keep running….”

   “Don't you understand!” he yelled. “I'd still be here! I'd always be here! No matter how far I ran, I'd never get away.” The tears flowed to his eyes again, “I'm dead already. You should have let them finish the job.”

   “Not a chance,” Clarke said. “I told you. I don't leave anyone behind.”

   Jimmy turned, glared at him for a moment, his eyes as cold as a corpse, then turned back to the wall, and said, “There are some more sheets in the locker by the hatch. I suggest you make yourself as comfortable as you can. In the morning we can go out again and see if we can do anything for your friends. Assuming any of them are still alive by then.”

   Nodding, Clarke said, “Jimmy?”

   “Yes?”

   “Thank you.”

   “Don't thank me. Don't ever thank me again. Save it for someone who deserves it.”

   After another brief glance, Clarke walked over to the locker, pulled out a bundle of bedding, and spread the contents out on the floor, underneath the viewscreen. Lying on the improvised bed, he looked out at the hordes outside, their voices still echoing an unearthly chant, banging on the walls in a futile attempt to get at them.

   Could there be some sort of civilization out there, no matter how elemental, how barbarous? Might there be some sort of meaning to the chanting, other than the war cries of savage beasts? There was a great mystery outside, and one that his friends, his comrades, had fallen into. And with the capture of the second flyer, their rescue was now down to him, and the near-madman on the far side of the room. Restlessly, he tossed and turned, finally settling down to rest, even if he didn't believe that he was capable of anything more.

   Finally, sleep managed to trap him in its comforting embrace, sending him cascading into a dreamworld. Mercifully, his nightmares vanished from his memory when he woke with the dawn.

  Chapter 7

   Lieutenant Jezebel Murphy settled down into the cockpit of her fighter, running her hands over the controls as the elevator airlock deployed, ready to toss her out into the cold darkness beyond. She looked around the flight deck, the fast shuttle she was escorting finishing its loading sequence, Harper limping on board with a holdall swung over her shoulder, then turned back to the sensor display, watching the feeds flowing down from the bridge. Everything seemed to be going according to plan, the rest of the squadron heading out on a wide tangent, trying to draw away the enemy drones. They had every reason to expect that their unseen opponent, hiding behind the black hole, would take the bait. She was the insurance policy in case they didn't.

   “Alamo Actual to Lieutenant Murphy. Scramble. Good hunting.”

   “Thank you, sir,” she replied, throwing a series of controls. Above her, the
hatch slammed shut, atmosphere sucked away to form a vacuum, ready for the drop. She reached for her navigational computer, working the course one last time, trying to ignore the glaring amber warning that made it all too clear that she was flying too close to the black hole, not so close as to guarantee a disaster, but sufficient that even a brief engine failure would see her trapped forever in its gravitational embrace. Her imagination had been working overtime ever since she had first seen it, and the terror of such a phenomenon still gripped her soul. That someone might have actually built one seemed inconceivable, but the evidence suggested that it was all too true.

   With a loud report, the lower hatch opened, and the fighter fell away from the side of the ship, dropping into open space, the engine immediately roaring into life to send her immediately onto the plotted trajectory. Behind her, seconds later, the shuttle followed, moving into formation behind her, bulky booster rockets firing in a bid to keep pace with her. She looked across at the sensor display again, nodding with satisfaction as she saw the rest of the squadron arcing way, another flotilla of drone fighters hard on their tail.

   “McCormack to Murphy,” her communicator barked. “We've done our part. The road to the far side of the singularity should be clear now. Good hunting.”

   “Thank you, ma'am,” she replied. “Murphy to Shuttle One. Midshipman, do you read?”