Battlecruiser Alamo - 7 - Battlecruiser Alamo: Sacred Honor (14 page)

 “Thanks, Sergeant. Bridge out.”

 “Good engineer,” Curry said. “He really ought to have been commissioned, but he always turned it down. Said he felt more comfortable wearing stripes.”

 “Maybe we can change his mind when we get back,” she said. “Offer him something fun to work with.”

 “I know he admired Alamo quite a bit when he was on board. Getting to work with new equipment for a change might tempt him a little.”

 “I don’t think we’ll ever get Quinn out of his engine room from what I’ve seen of him, but it might be worth a try.”

 Nelyubov turned to her, his eyes widening. “Dimensional instability! Close aboard!”

 “Damn.”

 “We should go to battle stations.”

 Shaking her said, she replied, “No. Too many workers on board from Hydra Station. We’d be showing our hand.”

 “Don’t you think we’re about to be found out anyway?” Nelyubov yelled.

 “Frank,” Curry said, “We haven’t got any weapons to fire. We’ve got to ride Orlova’s bluff as long as we can. She’s quite right.”

 Turning back to his station, he said, “It’s not very big. Cabal warbook is identifying it as a Bleriot-class Scout.”

 “Useful having that around,” Carpenter said. “What can it do?”

 “Two missile tubes, countermeasure capability. Comparable to the Mariner-class Scouts – on the old side. If we had weapons we could take her easily.”

 “But we don’t,” Curry said. “So we can’t.”

 “They’re hailing the station,” Mathis said. “Tight-beam, can’t pick it up.”

 Frowning, Carpenter said, “Call Price up, remind him that we have priority on repair work.”

 “Huh?” he replied.

 “It’s what we would do if we really were a Cabal ship, Sergeant. Do it.” 

 As Mathis worked, Carpenter rose from her station and walked over to Tactical, leaning over Nelyubov’s station to look at the readings.

 “It’s just sitting there,” he said. “Waiting for docking clearance, probably.”

 “Or passing on some of the news of the battle,” Curry said. 

 “We didn’t see any ships of this type. Odds are it’s coming in from somewhere else.”

 “I hope so.”

 “We’re being hailed by the station,” Mathis said. “Wants to speak to you.”

 “Here it comes,” Curry said.

 Price’s face appeared on the screen, and he immediately began, “The commander of the Dumont has requested top priority for repairs; I don’t know all of the details, but apparently some sort of blockade is being established.”

 “Where?” Carpenter asked, leaning forward in her chair.

 “I don’t know. Classified. In any case, he’ll have to get priority on the supplies.”

 Fixing her face in a scowl, she replied, “I think a full warship has greater priority than a mere scoutship, Mr. Price.”

 “We’ve already established that you can’t be fully repaired in the time window, Lieutenant. Let’s give the Dumont what it wants and get it on its way, then we can concentrate on Hercules again.”

 “Under protest, Mr. Price,” Carpenter said. “Hercules out.”

 “We’re dead,” Curry said as the screen went dark. “As soon as they reach the blockade, they’ll report our presence and we’ll be stuck.”

 “Unless we jump earlier,” Nelyubov said. “Lieutenant, if we forget about the weapons systems…”

 “Forget about our armament?” Curry said, shaking her head.

 Fixing a stare at her, he continued, “We can be out of here in thirty-six hours.”

 “What about Orlova?” Carpenter said. 

 Taking a deep breath, he said, “We leave her behind, and you get us home as Acting Captain. Or yield the chair to someone else if you want. Lieutenant Curry is next in line.”

 “Don’t look at me,” she said.

 “There’s another option,” Carpenter replied with a smile, amazed that she was even considering it. “I want a plan to seize the Dumont.”

 “Capture the Dumont? Are you out of your mind?” Curry said, but Nelyubov sat back in his chair rubbing his hand across his chin.

 “I like the way you think, Lieutenant,” he replied. “We’ve got access to the schematics of that ship, and we might be able to come up with something.”

 “You’ve got twenty-four hours to work on it, Lieutenant,” Carpenter said. “If you can’t think of anything, then we’ll just have to make a run for it and hope we can finish fixing up the ship as we go.” Standing up, she continued, “Curry, you have the deck. I’ll be in the office.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” she replied, shaking her head. “I have the deck.”

 She gently slid into the office and swung herself down into the chair, waiting for the door to close before she allowed herself to panic. Not only was she facing the real possibility that she’d end up commanding this ship long-term, but she’d just ordered
Nelyubov to start
planning a battle with an enemy warship.
Where she would have to command Hercules in combat.

 On the viewscreen in the office, Sandveld was rising, its sepia rear hemisphere, shining as the sun passed behind it. She stared down at it, looking at the swirling clouds and thin rivers cutting through the deserts, longing to be on the surface, or anywhere other than where she was. Orlova was somewhere down there, no doubt having an amazing adventure, while everything started to fall to pieces up there.

 The scout moved into view as it drifted in to dock with the station, a sphere that seemed to be trailing a cage containing its engine systems, long missile tubes at its heart. An antenna on the top of the ship seemed to point towards Hercules for a second before drifting away, locking onto another target.

 Picking up a datapad, she began to search for a file. Finding it, she settled down for a read, punctuated by the occasional panic as she glanced up at the clock, watching it slowly counting the seconds before she would have to decide whether to run or fight.

 “Damn it, Maggie, you’d better get yourself up here. This isn’t what I signed up for.” She turned her attention back to the datapad and began to read.

 ‘An Elementary Course in Three-Dimensional Warfare, Chapter 1...’

Chapter 14

 Orlova walked across the desert with Durman by her side, a pair of the Neander behind them sweeping away their tracks. Not only would that prevent anyone pursuing them, it would also make it next to impossible for them to find their own way back. While she was trying to
spot
landmarks, one rock looked very similar to another.

 They’d been walking for what felt like hours, and her legs were aching in the gravity; she resolved to spend more time in Hercules’ gym when she got back, then caught herself. At some point she’d started identifying herself completely with Hercules, to the point that Alamo was beginning to seem like a distant memory, despite having walked on its deck less than a month ago. By now it was all destroyed, and she stopped for a moment and looked up; it was getting dark, and the stars were coming out. Comforting, and yet familiar; Kormax stopped, and turned to face her.

 “Is there a problem?”

 “Just some memories catching up with me. Nothing to worry about.”

 Durman said, “We’ll, I’ve got a problem. My feet hurt. How much further are we going to have to walk?”

 “Not far. We are almost there.” He turned and pointed, and as she squinted, Orlova could see a curl of smoke on the horizon. “The fires of my people have been lit for the night.”

 “Aren’t you worried that they might show up from orbit?”

 “There are many volcanic vents on this planet, enough that no-one will ask any questions about one more heat source. Besides, no-one has ever really looked for us. That has been seen to.”

 “By Price, among others,” Orlova said. “I’m looking forward to speaking to him properly when we get back. I
think we might be
able to help each other.”

 “I would certainly hope so. Come, there is food, drink and shelter a few paces ahead.”

 Orlova looked at Durman, who grimaced; there was no way of telling what a ‘few’ paces would be, though it was likely to be far more than they were used to. Her shoes hadn’t been designed for this sort of wear, and already she could feel hot sand through some slits in the soles, and grimaced at the occasional sharp stone.

 As they grew closer, they could start to make out individual structures; a dozen tall tents, scattered around a fire, with a thin fence made of sticks placed around the perimeter. The smell of roasting meat filled the air, and the prospect of eating real food made Orlova salivate. What was obvious at the start was that everyone there was Neander; she could see children being ushered into the tents to safety, people looking at her in fear, even hatred.

 A trio of men wielding guns came from the rear of the encampment, heading towards them with grimaces on their faces, as though they were about to do a job they found unpleasant; Kormax jogged up to them, exchanged some words in a language they did not recognize, and they moved to the perimeter, taking up positions that would allow them to see Orlova and Durman wherever they went, though she didn’t imagine that the guards were for their protection. 

 “My people are understandably wary of your kind,” Kormax said. “You feature in many of our oldest stories.”

 “We do?” Durman said.

 “As demons and monsters, Mr. Durman. A recurring theme is that your kind expelled us from paradise. I’m sure you can understand where such legends could have originated.”

 “But Mr. Price…”

 “Very few of my people have ever encountered yours. I myself have only met Mr. Price on a few occasions, though we have conversed more frequently.”

 “You have communications equipment here?” Orlova said. “I need to contact my ship.”

 “That will be for the Elders to decide. I can promise you a fair hearing.”

 “And if they decide against us?” 

 Grimly, Kormax replied, “Then you will be buried according to the customs of your people.”

 “Wonderful,” Durman said.

 “Wait here until I summon you. I will see that you are provided with food.”

 He directed them to a patch of ground outside the perimeter, and Durman gratefully crashed down into the dust while Orlova sat cross-legged next to him. A moment later, a woman came over with two wooden bowls and a clay jug, the former filled with bubbling broth, the later with water. She placed them on the ground and raced away, never once making eye contact.

 “We’re not flavor of the month here, are we,” Durman said, looking down at the soup. “I guess they don’t believe in spoons, either.”

 “I’m too hungry to stand on ceremony,” Orlova said, reaching for the bowl. Durman placed a hand on hers.

 “You don’t know if that’s safe. Most of the animal life around here isn’t compatible with humans.”

 “They’re close enough to us that if they can eat it, so can we. If they wanted us dead, then they’d have shot us and left our bodies in the sand.”

 “That can still happen, remember.”

 “Then why die hungry?” she said, tipping the bowl to her mouth and taking a big gulp. She swirled the hot liquid around with her tongue as it went down; it tasted wonderful, fragments of meat mixed in with finely diced vegetables she didn’t recognize. The water was cool and clean, better than anything she’d had since Jefferson. Durman watched her for a moment, then followed suit.

 “What’s the plan, then?” he said as he ate.

 “That depends on them. Hopefully we’ll be able to come to some sort of an understanding.”

 “You’ve had training at this, right? Negotiation, diplomacy, they’d be courses in your Academy.”

 “Never went,” she replied, taking another swig of soup. “I was commissioned from the ranks.”

 “That can happen?” Durman said, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t be heard of here. Either you’re born Officer caste, or you aren’t.” 

 “That’s no way to get the best officers.”

 “It doesn’t happen in your Fleet?”

 She shook her head, “No. Oh, there are quite a few sons who follow their parents into the military; Alamo’s Captain was the son of another battlecruiser commander, but anyone can aspire to the high ranks.”

 “Your parents?”

 “My father once served on Hercules as a pilot, long ago. My mother is a smuggler, a thief.”

 “She’s a criminal, and still you are allowed into the fleet?” He shook his head, “Extraordinary.”

 Kormax walked out, three others by his side; he was now wearing a gray robe embroidered with patterns of stars. Orlova recognized them as the constellations visible from Earth, slightly distorted by time, a little echo of the world they had left behind so many thousands of years ago,

 “I introduce my comrades,” Kormax intoned. “Aydar, Reader of Histories, Caradox, Master of Hearths, and Vargon, Watcher of Stars. We lead our people through their time on this world, in this cycle of their existence.”

 Glancing to the left, Orlova said, “I am Sub-Lieutenant Orlova, commander of the Battlecruiser Hercules, and this is Durman, leader of the Crashlander Starport.”

 “Guess you are taking the lead then,” Durman whispered with a smile.

 “Battlecruiser,” Caradox spat. “Always you think of war and weapons.”

 “Our Scouts walk the desert with rifles,” Kormax said. “The difference is simply one of degree. And our ancestors had similar ships, remember.”

 “And paid dearly for that,” Aydar said, nodding. “To forget the lessons of the past is to repeat them.”

 “Why did you bring them here?” Caradox said. “You know it means their end.” 

 Orlova frowned, “We were told we would receive a fair hearing…”

 Interrupting her, Kormax said, “They are here because our world is dying, Caradox, and the hearth fires you tend will flicker and die if nothing changes.”

 “That will not be for many centuries,” Vargon said. “The life
story
of our world is not yet complete.”

 “But it will have an end, and that will mean the end for our people. I would have it
be
not so, and we need their help.”

 “You have always been impatient, Kormax,” Aydar said, raising a finger. “Time still serves as our ally. Time for our descendants to develop a technology once again, with the aid we are already receiving.”