Battlecruiser Alamo: Ghost Ship Read online

  GHOST SHIP

  Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 10

  Richard Tongue

  Battlecruiser Alamo #10: Ghost Ship

  Copyright © 2015 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

  First Kindle Edition: January 2015

  Cover By Keith Draws

  All characters and events portrayed within this ebook are fictitious; any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Join the Battlecruiser Alamo Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/A9MdX

  With Thanks To: Ellen Clarke and Peter Long

  UNYIELDING in the pride of his defiance,

  Afloat with none to serve or to command,

  Lord of himself at last, and all by Science,

  He seeks the Vanished Land.

  Alone, by the one light of his one thought,

  He steers to find the shore from which we came,

  Fearless of in what coil he may be caught

  On seas that have no name.

  Into the night he sails; and after night

  There is a dawning, though there be no sun;

  Wherefore, with nothing but himself in sight,

  Unsighted, he sails on.

  At last there is a lifting of the cloud

  Between the flood before him and the sky;

  And then—though he may curse the Power aloud

  That has no power to die—

  He steers himself away from what is haunted

  By the old ghost of what has been before,—

  Abandoning, as always, and undaunted,

  One fog-walled island more.

  The Flying Dutchman, Edward Arlington Robinson

  Chapter 1

   “Still growing in intensity, sir,” the duty sensor technician reported to Lieutenant-Captain Logan Winter, who swung gently over his shoulder. He looked around Spitfire Station’s operations room, still attempting to get used to the idea that there were sufficient people on board to staff it; life was getting boring around here now that everything was actually being run properly.

   “Keep monitoring,” he replied at the technician's glance, and she turned back to her station. Behind him, a hastily-dressing Lieutenant Ryder, his second-in-command, drifted onto the bridge, struggling to fit her arm into the sleeve of her jacket.

   “What’s going on, sir?”

   Harper, his hacker-of-all-trades, turned from her station and said, “Nothing like it in the records, boss. We’ve got something completely new here.”

   “About fifteen minutes ago, we picked up a source of dimensional instability. Stronger than anything we’d ever seen before.”

   “Missile batteries on-line, Captain,” another bridge technician interrupted.

   “So, there’s a big ship coming in,” she replied, looking around. “What’s so strange about that?”

   “It’s not coming in at the hendecaspace point. Less than fifty thousand miles from the station, according to the latest readings, but it’s bouncing all over the place.” Looking up at the screen, filled with stars, he said, “Whatever’s coming in, it’s violating all the known laws of hendecaspace travel. What time is the Wyvern due to get here?”

   “Not for another five hours,” she replied, glancing up at the clock.

   “Sir, I’ve been able to track the source of the incoming ship.”

   “The signal is that strong?” Ryder said, incredulous. “Where from, Spaceman?”

   She looked up, her glance flickering between the two officers, and said, “A star listed as NKH 102-220-111.”

   “Never heard of it,” Logan said.

   “It’s a little over twenty thousand light-years away, sir.”

   His eyes widened, and he said, “Are you trying to tell me that we have an incoming contact from twenty thousand light-years away?”

   Harper shook her head, quietly saying, “The record – our record – is seven point nine.”

   “That’s the nearest star in our records along that path, sir,” the technician replied. “Of course, it could be further. There are a couple of galaxies on the line, but out of the Local Group.”

   “Which means we’d be talking billions of light-years.” He shook his head, then said, “Could this be some sort of trick?”

   “I’ve already run a full systems check,” Harper said. “No sign of anything unusual, and I’m certain that the only Republic ship in the system isn’t hacking us.”

   “How do you know that?” Ryder asked.

   “Probably best you don’t ask,” Logan said, sharing a brief smile with Harper. “I suspect the answer would tie us up in a mountain of paperwork, and I don’t think we’ve got the time. Still growing in intensity?”

   “Now twice as large as the biggest source of dimensional instability ever recorded, sir.”

   “Turbulence,” Ryder said, glancing sharply across at Logan. “If it really is that big, then I don’t like to think what the gravity waves could do to the station.”

   Pulling out a microphone, Logan said, “Attention. This is Station Operations. All civilians to emergency storm shelters, right now. Drop what you are doing and get there. All station personnel, brace for gravitational turbulence.” Leaving the handset hanging in the air, he said, “Good catch. I should have thought of that.”

   “That’s what I’m here for, Captain,” she replied. “I’m not sure how much protection the radiation shelters will give them, though.”

   “Energy spike!” yelled the technician. “I think we’re about to get a visitor!”

   Logan’s eyes were fixed on the viewscreen, straining to get the first glimpse of the incoming ship. Proximity alarms sounded, Ryder hastily throwing the override to return silence to the deck, and with a blinding blue flash, something appeared. The station shook, sending Logan rocking back and forth, the brief merger of two conflicting dimensions throwing stresses on the very fabric of reality, before the portal snapped shut.

   Shaking her head, the sensor technician said, “Three and a half times stronger than anything ever reported. We got a lot of amazing data about hendecaspace here.”

   “Priorities, Spaceman!” Ryder said. “Details on the new target. And I want a firing solution as soon as possible.”

   “Working,” a voice yelled from across the room.

   “Small ship, ma’am. Spherical in appearance, and doesn’t match any known ship designs.” With a sigh of disappointment, she said, “Human in origin.”

   “How do you know that?” Logan asked.

   Tapping her display, she said, “The word ‘Dumont’ is stenciled on the outer hull in four places.”

   Harper, her hands, moving across her console, said, “No signals, but I’ve managed to get into their primary computer system.”

   “How the hell did you do that so fast?” Shock moved across Logan’s face as he pushed over to her panel.

   Glancing up, she replied, “I’ve done it before. That’s a Cabal ship out there.” Looking down at her readouts, she said, “Telemetry says the ship’s dark, boss. Power systems on minimal, all computer controls engaged. That ship brought herself here.”

   “Life support?”

   “Operating, but again at a very low level. Carbon dioxide levels...there’s someone alive on that ship, or at least there was recently.”

   “Let’s try to make contact in a more orthodox way,” Logan said, reaching for the microphone. “This is Spitfire Station to the Dumont. You are in Triplanetary space; please state your reason for this visit. Do you require assistance?” Glancing across at Ryder, he said, “Get a medical and engineering team ready.”

   She glanced up, nodding
, and replied, “Already in the works.”

   “This is Spitfire Station,” he repeated into the microphone. “Come in, please.”

   “I don’t think you’re going to hear back from them,” Harper said. “I don’t think anyone’s listening. No increase of computer activity, and the communications systems seem to mostly have been deactivated. I’d say they’re dead in space, Captain.”

   Nodding, he said, “If they aren’t going to talk to us over the communicator, we’d better get up close and personal. Have a shuttle ready for launch, Ryder.”

   "Espatier team, or the medical/rescue squad?”

   “Neither, but have both on standby if I send for them.”

   Raising an eyebrow, she said, “If you send for them? You’re going yourself?”

   “I guess we are,” Harper said, signing off from her station. Looking at Logan, she said, “You’ll need me to get you inside.”

   “You could do that remotely,” Ryder noted.

   “And miss all the fun?”

   Nodding, Logan said, “Fine. That’s all, though. I want to keep this a small team. Keep the missiles locked on, and if the thing so much as twitches, blast it out of the sky, whether I’m on board or not.”

   “Understood,” she replied.

   Frowning, he said, “No arguments? No protests? No concern for my well-being?”

   With a wry smile, she replied, “I doubt any of them will work, and you probably are the best-equipped for the mission. I assure you I’ll have no compunction about blowing you up, sir.”

   “I hope that’s your burgeoning sense of humor at work, Lieutenant.” Gesturing to Harper, he said, “Let’s get moving. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

   “Never occurred to me.”

   The two of them pushed out of Spitfire’s control room, making their way down to the nearest shuttle bay. Ryder’s voice washed over them from speakers as they passed, bringing the station to full defensive readiness, running through the familiar checklists. Six months ago, the idea that such preparedness would be possible would have seemed insane, whereas now the station was becoming a smooth, well-oiled machine. Not what he signed up for at all. It was beginning to feel too much like work.

   They reached the shuttle, a technician leaning through the airlock running a series of status checks. As they approached, he ducked out, snapping a salute with a greasy hand; Logan replied while Harper ducked into the shuttle, throwing switches as she went.

   “Good luck, Captain.”

   “Thank you, Spaceman,” he replied, following in Harper’s wake, quickly settling down into the command chair. Ryder had provided the smallest, nimblest shuttle they had; there was barely room on board for the two-man crew, and a flight duration that was measured in hours rather than the usual weeks, but it could crowd acceleration high enough to throw any occupant into unconsciousness if the pilot chose.

   “Course is logged into the navicomputer,” Ryder’s voice echoed from the console. “All systems ready to go, and I handled pre-flight from up here.”

   “Are you that anxious to get rid of me, Lieutenant?” he asked.

   “I thought you were in a hurry.”

   “Quite right,” Harper said. “Let’s get on with this.”

   The airlock door slid shut, and with a quick jerk, the shuttle dropped away from the station, spinning slowly out into free flight. Logan counted to ten under his breath, waiting to get to what he considered to be a safe distance before firing the main engine, the course plot lancing out towards the Dumont.

   Conventional piloting would have him build up a little speed before coming to a stop, taking his time to properly measure his approach. Ryder was right, though; he was in a hurry. The shuttle would continue to accelerate all the way to the mid-point, saving a few potentially precious minutes. He looked over the Dumont as the shuttle raced towards it, his eyes scouring the hull for a docking airlock.

   “Still nothing from the ship,” Harper said. “All nice and quiet over there.”

   Tapping a series of controls, he replied, “We’re going for the topside airlock. Hopefully it’ll be reasonably close to their bridge. We’d better get our suits on.”

   “Must we? That ship has atmosphere on board.”

   “And sensor readings could be faked.” She looked up at him, shaking her head, and he replied, “I know you’d almost certainly be able to tell that, but is there any point taking a risk? We don’t have to wear the helmets, but we’re safer with the option. Come on.”

   Leaving the computer to handle the approach, he reached over to the locker on his side, starting to struggle into his suit, not an easy task in the tight confines of the cockpit. As he pulled his gloves on, his stomach briefly twitched as the acceleration paused, the shuttle spinning around to start decelerating towards the target.

   As he finished cycling the suit checklists, he kept an eye on the exterior monitors, waiting for any sign that the Dumont was doing anything, taking any action against them. Harper was somewhat less passive, interrupting her preparations a dozen times to check displays and run hacking probes.

   “Nothing at all,” she said. “I’m willing to concede that there might be no-one on board after all.”

   “The carbon dioxide levels…”

   “Rats. Or some sort of malfunction. I don’t know.”

   Logan looked to one side as the shuttle began to close and frowned. There was damage down one side of the ship, hastily patched hull plates to restore structural integrity, and jagged metal where the antenna arrays had been. This ship had been through a battle, and it looked very much as if they had lost.

   “You detecting any battle damage?”

   Harper shook her said, then said, “All I’m getting right now is base-line readouts. I’ll need better access before I can actually hack into their database. Lots of bypasses and overrides in use, though.”

   “Radiation?”

   “No alarms, and interior sensors don’t tell anything that’s worrying me. Wouldn’t we be picking signs of it up by now on the shuttle?”

   Glancing across at the hacker as the shuttle closed on its goal, he said, “Ships don’t fly themselves, not through hendecaspace. What’s worrying me more is that the Cabal know something we don’t about long-range FTL travel.” A light flashed on his console, and he added, “Stand by for docking. At least they’ve got standard fittings.”

   With a series of clangs, the shuttle locked onto the hull, clamps slamming down into position as the airlocks mated. His helmet under his arm, Logan pushed off and over to the hatch, his finger poised over the control for moment. He looked down at the pistol in his holster, nodded to himself, and opened the door.

   Slowly, as if hesitant to yield its secrets, the door opened. Inside, between the two hatches, was a body – a man wearing a long out-of-date Martian uniform. A bandage had been applied to his arm, blood seeping through it; there was a peaceful expression on his face, and forcing his hand open revealed the reason why, as a hypodermic tumbled out.

   “He killed himself,” Harper said. “Wanted to make sure it was nice and clean.”

   “The wounds don’t look that severe, though,” Logan replied. “Run a check of the environment again. Just to make sure.”

   Looking down at her suit sensors, she said, “Atmosphere normal if a bit stale, temperature low but within safe ranges, no radiation, pressure a little high if anything. I’d say no-one’s properly adjusted the life support in a while, but I don’t think there’s any risks here.”

   “Plague?”

   “Hard to tell, but could we get it from a dead man?”

   “Until we know more, we’d better get into quarantine.” He looked over at the wall, then tapped a section; a rescue ball popped out. “Get him sealed up. We’ll toss him out of an airlock and they can take a look at him safely on the station.”

   “Doesn’t sound like a nice way to
go.”

   “We can give him a proper funeral later. Or get him back to his family.”

   The two of them carefully sealed him into the bag, then pushed him out into the corridor, Logan cautiously looking to make sure no-one – or nothing – else was around. Aside from a few pieces of floating debris, there was nothing to be seen. Silently, they placed him into the next docking port, a few meters down, sealed it up, and cycled the lock.

   “Ryder, this is Logan. We’ve found a body. Have someone take a look at it and try and work out the cause of death. No-one else is to board this ship until I give the word. Clear?”

   “Clear. What’s it like over there?”

   “Eerie. Logan out.” He gestured down the corridor, and said, “Lights are still working, and the elevators should still be operating. Let’s see if we can get to the bridge.”

   The two of them pushed off, heading away from the theoretical safety of their shuttle as they followed the curve of the ship out of sight. The elevator door slid open, jerking for a second before permitting them access, and Logan tapped a control for the bridge. Nothing happened, and Harper reached over, sliding a datarod into position; then the mechanism jerked into life.

   “Some of the emergency cut-offs are working. I’d guess the ship was placed on lockdown.”

   “A while ago,” Logan replied. “That man’s been dead for more than a day. Which means he killed himself only hours from safety. They knew where they were going.”

   The door slid open, and they floated out onto the bridge. Harper closed her eyes while Logan moved forward, looking at the three tumbling figures. They’d found the crew, too late. All of them were wearing the same uniform as the others, and their faces suggested a far less peaceful death, one of them with a fixed scowl on her face, her eyes wide. There was a foul smell in the air, the fans working overtime to try and keep it out with a low, rattling howl.

   “They died a damn sight longer than a day ago,” he said.