Secrets of the Sphere (Battlecruiser Alamo Book 27)

by Richard Tongue

   With a sigh, Orlova said, “I know you told me you wanted a month, Chief. What can you do in half-an-hour.”

   “Dunno. Recite the Lord's Prayer, maybe. I didn't pull that figure out of the air, Captain. It'll take as long as it takes and there's damn all I can do about right. As it stands, Alamo's just about able to move and jump out of the system.”

   “Orders, Captain?” Imoto asked, all eyes on her.

   She took a deep breath, and said, “Admiral Nelson, before Trafalgar, once said that if in doubt, firing your cannons at the enemy was probably the right thing to do. Good advice then, good advice now. Intercept course, Midshipman. Let's show them what Alamo's made of.”

  Chapter 22

   Harper looked at the hatch, adjusting the mount on the machine gun again. A portable sensor unit issued a series of rhythmic beeps, constantly monitoring the area, ready to alert her of any approaching contacts. On the left, her hand worked the controls of the networking systems, trying to relay information across their rudimentary tactical net. She had only a vague idea of the location of the assault teams, now more than half an hour into their raid. As yet, she'd heard no sounds of battle, had picked up no anomalous spikes of activity on the local communication channels. Everything seemed to be going to plan, at least for the moment.

   And somehow, that scared her. It wasn't meant to be this easy, and something was going to go wrong. It was just a matter of what, and when. She ran her eyes over the machine gun again, checking the ammunition case, the feed locked into the side of the weapon. It was a field support piece, designed for two people, one of the moderately updated relics the Espatiers had adopted when they had been unexpectedly forced into planetary surface operations. Slowly, gradually, they were working their way into the 22nd century, but the conservative troopers were reluctant to abandon kit that worked for any reason, no matter the potential benefits.

   She looked out at the lake, endless and eternal, the faint drip-drop sound of water being gathered from hidden collectors on the surface, slowly filling the vast expanse. It would have taken thousands of years to fill, the work of uncounted generations, and for a moment she tried to put herself in the mind of the original builders, knowing that they were laboring on a project that they would never see come to fruition. Then she thought of the savages, the beasts that must roam these lands late at night, when the shrouds of darkness fell. Were they the descendants of the builders, or some mad experiment gone desperately wrong?

   Her attention jerked back to the sensor display. A contact flashed into view, at extreme range, but heading their way. She looked across at the signal tracker, opened the communications channels to check the location of the two teams. Neither was anywhere close, deep inside the compound. Certainly not heading back towards her at that sort of pace.

   Raising the machine gun once more, she turned it carefully towards the shaft, lining up the sights as best she could. Then the sensor display winked once again, and a beam of light shone at her from the lake, the faint sound of an engine purring in the distance, a boat heading her way. She reached for a pair of low-light goggles, dropping them into position over her eyes, and peered into the distance, spotting a trio of low dinghies heading towards her, filled with troops.

   It had taken less than half an hour for them to mobilize their attack. Textbook strategy for dealing with infiltrators. First cut off any possible retreat, then sweep the installation clean, one level at a time. She'd done it herself, both in simulation and for real, on countless occasions. She looked out at the boats again, trying to work out how long she had. Both forces were going to be moving in at about the same time. She could deal with one threat, but not both. Perfect timing.

   She reached behind her into the holdall, and pulled out a handful of grenades, quickly setting them to proximity detonation before tossing them onto the beach. It wasn't likely that the improvised mines would do any real damage, but it was better than nothing, and it might give her the critical second she needed. She turned back to the shaft, and a cylinder dropped down it, the bright flash emitting from the flare instantly overloading the pickups on her goggles, leaving her eyes watering as she ripped them from her head, her low-light vision ruined.

   The sound of boots ringing on the metal rungs of the ladder forced her to focus, and she fired off a quick burst, hoping to delay the attack, cause them to rethink an assault. As soon as she pulled the trigger, she cursed herself for a mistake. She needed to draw them in, get as many of them with the first burst as she could, not force them back. Risking a quick glance at the water, she saw the boats drawing in, close to the shore, and swung around to fire another burst in their direction, sending them diving to the bottom of the boats, working their way forward with greater care.

   Back at the ladder, she heard the sound of boots once again, the guards daring to press the attack once more, and she opened up with a second burst, fifty bullets flying through the air in less than a second, catching an incautious guard in the foot and sending him dropping to the floor, crying out in pain. A loud report from the beach caught her ear, and she turned in time to see the aftermath of the explosion that had wrecked another of the boats, sending a pair of guards diving back into the water, one of her grenades belatedly taking effect.

   A loud crack echoed past her ear, a bullet slamming into the ground by her side, and suddenly she felt far too exposed, turning her machine gun to respond, firing a desperate series of salvos in an attempt to hold back the inevitable, prevent the assault that she knew would bring her down. Another pair of guards fell back into the water, blood streaming into the lake, but then three more guards slid down the ladder, bright flashes from their pistols as bullets rained into the sleek lines of the vacuum train.

   Then, as her last words came to her lips, she saw the guards at the beach fall, a series of semi-automatic bursts from the darkness disposing of them in neat batches before they could rally. Taking advantage of her unseen ally, she turned her machine gun again, emptying the belt into the approaching guards, bullets ricocheting from the walls. As the last of the amphibious attack team fell, the guards on the ladder retreated, the last of them receiving a bullet in the ankle as a reward for his tardiness.

   As the last bullet crashed into the wall, she turned to see a silent figure walking down the beach, assault rifle in hand, his face locked into a neutral frown, eyes dark, haunted, wearing the battered remnants of an unfamiliar uniform.

   “You with Clarke?” the figure asked.

   She nodded, and said, “Lieutenant Kristen Harper. You're the man he found on the surface.”

   He barked a laugh, and replied, “I'm the man who saved his life, you mean. That's twice I've got you people out of a mess.” Looking around at the destruction, he added, “Hard to believe we wore the same uniform once.”

   The communicator crackled, a voice briefly breaking through the interference, but before Harper could focus on the frequency, it faded as fast as it had come. The figure walked over to her, stepping carefully over the groaning bodies, and sat down by her side.

   “Happens all the time out here. We never did work out a way to send messages over long distances. Even short-range traffic is lousy.” He paused, then said, “You got a medical kit?”

   “Sure,” she replied, noting for the first time that his arm was limp by his side, a growing stain on his sleeve. She reached for a green pouch, tossing it to him, and added, “Once you've patched yourself up, take over at the gun. I'll see to the wounded.”

   “You've got a good heart, but what would be the point?” he replied. “Better they die quickly than slowly. One way or another, they're going to die. You can count on that.” He glanced at his watch, pulled out a bandage, and added, “The savages will be out soon.”

   “Down here?” she replied.

   “If you had the Sword of Damocles in your hand, tell me you wouldn't be tempted to swing it. They're close, you see. So damned close.” He looked at the trai
n, then added, “How many people did you bring.”

   “Four of us.”

   “Are you that good, or are you just arrogant?”

   “Try desperate.”

   “At least you're honest,” he said, securing the bandage in position. He held his arm up visibly wincing at the pain, and continued, “That should hold it for a while. Long enough, anyway.”

   Harper rose to her feet, and she snatched the medical kit away, saying, “We can't just leave them here.”

   “They tried to kill you, remember,” he said. Taking a deep breath, he added, “Don't you get what has happened here yet? These people are planning to unleash an army of killing machines, nothing more than that, on the Sphere for their own territorial goals, a plague that will sweep across the landscape and kill millions of people. Maybe billions, I don't know. They breed fast enough. And they've got chemical cues now that allow these people to control them.” Turning to the dying guards, he added, “These people would have sat back and watched while whole civilizations fell at their whim, Lieutenant, and you'll forgive me for not thinking that any of them are particularly worth saving.” Moving to the ladder, he continued, “You can do what the hell you want to. I can't stop you. But I've got work to do.”

   “You're wounded,” she said. “You can't...”

   “I should have done this eighteen months ago. Four of my friends died in the first attempt to blow this place.” He paused, turned, and said, “You know, I made it as far as the flyer. Got into the cockpit, had the controls all worked out. I was a minute away from getting into the air, finally putting this place behind me, but I just couldn't do it. I can't leave this job unfinished. One way or another, I'm going to see this base destroyed, or die doing it.” Gesturing at the machine gun, he added, “You probably want to get that reloaded. They'll almost certainly attack again.”

   Moving to the nearest casualty, she said, “I'm going to help them.”

   “Your business, not mine.” He frowned, then added, “You think they'd lift a finger to help you if the roles were reversed?”

   “That's no good reason.”

   “Good enough for me. They watched my friends die. I'm just returning the favor.” He glanced up the shaft, then walked over to the train, and said, “Spare some ammunition? I'm out.”

   As she walked over to the wounded men on the beach, quickly beginning to triage as best she could, she replied, “Take anything you want. Though I'd rather...”

   “Thanks,” he replied, snatching up a combat rifle and stuffing a handful of clips into a pocket. “Where'd Clarke go?”

   “To find the nuclear charges.”

   “Figures. Smart kid. Pity his life expectancy's so short. Heroes don't tend to live very long. You noticed that?”

   “If you think that,” Harper replied, kneeling behind a groaning figure, clutching his shoulder, she said, “then why in God's name are you going.”

   “Simple, Lieutenant,” he said. “I'm already dead. None of this matters to me. Maybe when I've finished this mission I'll finally get to go to heaven. Or hell. I'm past caring where. So long.” He started to climb the ladder, and she briefly looked after him, shaking her head as he ascended. A part of her longed to go with him, but he was right about one thing. They'd attacked once, and would almost certainly attack again. Logic suggested that she probably should ignored the wounded, focus instead on defense.

   She couldn't do it.

   “Hold still,” she said, to the man sprawled on the sand. “This is going to hurt.”

   “I don't want to die,” he replied, tears streaming down his face. “I don't want to die.”

   “Then hold still,” she repeated. “You aren't dead yet.” She looked up at the shaft again, then said, “Come on, Pavel. This is taking too damned long.”

  Chapter 23

   “What was that?” Mortimer hissed, forcing Clarke to a halt in the corridor. “I thought I heard weapons fire, back the way we came.” She frowned, then added, “They might have attacked the train. If they've overwhelmed Harper...”

   “Then we'll just have to retake it when we want to go home,” he replied. “There's nothing we can do for her at the moment over than complete our mission.” With a wry smile, he added, “Getting a little jumpy, partner?”

   “Take a look around you, John. Then tell me that I'm not justified.”

   Turning back to the corridor, Clarke cautiously led the way to the junction at the end, keeping close to the wall, looking up for surveillance cameras, expecting at any second to come under attack. Periodically, he heard the crack of a gunshot in the distance, either from the rear, back towards their only way out, or up ahead, where Lombardo and Fox were striking out, trying to locate the Captain.

   He and Mortimer were still sneaking through the lower levels, taking their time to pick their way cautiously through the outer defenses, unwilling to risk coming under heavy attack. There was no point taking unnecessary chances, not at this stage. He glanced at his watch, and frowned. Eighty-five minutes, and they'd have to be back at the train. He'd already mentally committed to missing that appointment if he felt they were close to the charges.

   Stopping at the junction, he peered both ways, the flickering lights casting strange shadows on the walls, tricking his eyes into thinking there was movement up ahead. Mortimer stepped to his side, pistol in hand, as a loud wail echoed through the corridors, one that Clarke found all too familiar.

   “That's one of the savages,” he said. “Their hunting cry.”

   “Hunting cry?” she replied. “I don't like the sound of that.”

   “Nor do I, but it doesn't necessarily mean trouble. They've probably got some locked up around here somewhere. Ready to conduct some sort of experiment. That's what these ghouls are here for, anyway.” He grimaced, and said, “The sooner this base is a cloud of radioactive particles, the happier I'll be.”

   With a frown, Mortimer said, “I'm not sure I like that. We're still taking about tens of thousands of sentient beings, John.”

   “Who will murder their way across thousands of miles of territory, killing millions, maybe billions of people. I'm sure there are civilizations out there who can stop them, but how far will they run until they meet one? And by then, the threat could have grown worse. They're using tools, Ronnie. Building shelters. But that doesn't seem to have tamed their natures at all.” He reached down to his canteen, taking a deep swig, and said, “Mankind's always been on top of the pyramid. King of the hill, master of the world. Well, now we have a natural predator, one that some maniac tailor made to hunt us down. They show no mercy….”

   “So we shouldn't, either?”

   “You really want to take the chance? I've fought them, first hand. I know what they can do.” He shivered, and said, “I never want to have to do that again, and I certainly don't want to condemn anyone else to suffer the same fate. You ready to move on?”

   Nodding, she asked, “Which way?”

   “Left, I think.”

   “You think?”

   Tapping his forehead, he replied, “I'm doing this from memory. There wasn't a chance to get actual blueprints, and we don't even know for sure that they put the charges in Secure Storage.”

   “We don't even know if they still have them,” Mortimer gloomily replied.

   Shaking his head, he said, “We're talking about a group of people who's goal was conquest of a considerable portion of the Sphere. They kept them, right enough. To use.”

   The two of them walked down the corridor, passing unlabeled doors with the briefest of glances, knowing that there would be more evidence of security than they displayed. Finally, they reached the end of the passage, and Clarke paused at the corner, peering around the side to see two guards standing outside a reinforced blast door, an obvious addition to the original architecture. He gestured for Mortimer to look, then took a step back, a frown on his face.

   “We
could take them,” he said. “One shot each. No problem.”

   “Except that every siren in the place would sound, and we'd have reinforcements heading our way.” She paused, smiled, and said, “You're thinking what I am, aren't you.”

   Nodding, he replied, “Lombardo and Fox were meant to be our decoys. We didn't make a point of it, but that was the basis of the plan. Maybe we can turn it around and give them a hand in getting back out of the complex again.” He looked back the way they came, then said, “You know the way back to the train?”

   “Sure.”

   “I think I can work out a different route. We take them, I grab the charges, and...”

   “Hey, wait a minute. You're going to set them?”

   With a shrug, he replied, “You're going to have to distract the reinforcements and run them back to Harper at the train. Assuming, of course, that you aren't running right into an ambush. We're both taking pretty big risks on this run.”

   “Except that you're the one playing with nuclear charges. Let me do it. Or at least...”

   “Ronnie, we don't have time for an argument, and I hate to put it this way, but I'm the ranking officer. Which in the Triplanetary Fleet means that I'm the moron who gets to put his life on the line. You've worn the uniform long enough to know that.” He looked back around the corridor, then said, “We do this quick, and by the numbers, and for God's sake, don't miss.”

   She nodded, then said, “We're going to have words about this when we get out of here.” Waving a finger at him, she added, “And if you don't get out of here, I'll kill you.”

   “Something to look forward to,” Clarke replied. “We fire on three, at the same time, and shoot to kill. Then make as much noise as you can. I'll try and stealth my way out of it.” He paused, glanced at his watch, and said, “And for the record, detonation in seventy minutes, mark.”