Battlecruiser Alamo: Spell of the Stars Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  SPELL OF THE STARS

  Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 25

  Richard Tongue

  Battlecruiser Alamo #25: Spell of the Stars

  Copyright © 2017 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

  First Kindle Edition: April 2017

  Cover By Keith Draws

  With thanks to Ellen Clarke

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

  Join the Triplanetary Universe Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/A9MdX

  Chapter 1

   Patience had never been Lieutenant Pavel Salazar's strongest feature. He waited by the hatch of the shuttle, keeping one foot inside his ship, his pistol nestled in his hand, waiting for the return of the survey party. Shadows seemed to dance in the half-light, strange, alien shapes moving in the gloom. Twisted patterns decorated the walls, a constant low whine in the background as the unfamiliar systems continued their endless work.

   Five days ago, Alamo had jumped into the system, making a blind leap into the dark as they fled the enemy battleship, their lives bought by the sacrifice of a pair of brave men, hoping to find more clues that would show them a safe way home. This station, tucked close in to a dying red dwarf, was the only tangible artifact in the system they'd found, and excessive caution had kept them clear until this moment, when Alamo could leave at a second's notice should anything go wrong.

   He scowled at the darkness, then glanced down at his watch. This was taking too long. Captain Caine was five minutes overdue with her situation report. Nothing to be too concerned about, not yet. As far as they knew, they were alone on this alien station, the first visitors for decades, maybe centuries, but that thought didn't fill him with the confidence it should.

   Turning to the chamber inside, he said, “Garland, head up to the cockpit and set for remote operation. Link up with Sub-Lieutenant Lombardo, and have him ready to pull you out.”

   “No,” the paramedic replied, pulling a rifle from the weapons locker.

   “Excuse me?” Salazar said. “That was a direct order, Spaceman, and...”

   “No, sir, I'm not going to sit here on the shuttle while you go off by yourself, and I'm not going to be the only one to go home. If we don't make it back with the information we're looking for, then losing a shuttle is going to be the least of Alamo's problems, and rescuing one paramedic isn't going to be much of a consolation prize.” Stepping through the hatch, he added, “Besides, shouldn't you be calling Captain Marshall for permission to leave the shuttle? You know what he'd say if you did.”

   “True,” Salazar replied. “I guess you've got a point at that. Lock her up, but I'm taking point, and if something goes wrong, don't wait for the order and don't be a hero. Run home and warn the ship. That is an order, Garland, and I expect it to be obeyed.”

   “Understood, sir,” the medic said, swinging his medical kit into position over his shoulder. “We following the same path as Caine's team?”

   “That's the basic idea,” Salazar replied, holstering his pistol and pulling out his flashlight. “Keep me covered, and if you see anything, scream good and loud.”

   “Don't worry about that, sir,” Garland said. “They'll hear me back on the ship.”

   The two men stepped away from the familiar shuttle, into the undulating corridors beyond. The designers of this facility had been truly alien, and the layout demonstrated that. Everything was curves, even the floor littered with strange protrusions. The gravity was light, produced by an eternal, slow rotation, and the original occupants had evidently seen in a deep ultraviolet, far beyond anything a human eye could perceive. The effect, combined with the beams of their flashlights, was strange, a deep blue that dominated everything. And the low, steady hum always in the background, pounding through their ears, impossible to suppress or ignore.

   Strange shapes jutted from the walls, likely some sort of control apparatus, but both Salazar and Garland stayed well clear of them, unwilling to take the risk of interfering with something they couldn't perceive, couldn't understand. There was no sign of language, no writing anywhere, nothing that Alamo's linguistic computers could even begin to work with. As though somehow, a culture had managed to reach the stars without written records.

   A faint tang filled the air, a taste of ozone that in normal circumstances would have sent Salazar looking for the electrical fire, but that too had remained steady since the first probe had ventured inside, two days before. The two men turned down a twisted corridor to the left, following in the path of the original survey team, now swallowed up by the blackness for the last four hours without a signal, without a word.

   “Hey, sir,” Garland said. “Is it my imagination, or is it getting brighter in here?”

   Salazar looked around, then pulled out his datapad and flicked on the sensor, replying, “Light levels up by fifty percent in the last five minutes.” Turning to the medic, he replied, “Maybe...”

   He was interrupted by a scream, an anguished cry for help that sent him racing down the corridor towards its source, leaving Garland struggling to keep up. His feet were stepping over the obstacles on the floor, narrowly avoiding a tangle of serpentine cables that seemed to reach up to trap him, and as he turned the final corridor, he saw a shape on the floor, slowly twitching.

   “Caine,” Garland said, kneeling by her, running the filament of his medical sensor over the body. “She's alive. Heart rate through the roof, but I can't find anything else wrong. We'd better get her back to the ship on the double.”

   “Can you carry her?” Salazar asked. “There are still two other crewmen out there somewhere.”

   “And we don't know what caused this, sir. We ought to head back to the ship, call for reinforcements, get an Espatier team...”

   “Contact Alamo as soon as you get back to the shuttle, Spaceman, but I'm not going to wait around for a rescue team while people I'm responsible for are dying.” Turning to the corridor, he added, “If you don't hear from me in ten minutes, get out of here. No heroics, remember? Just bug out and don't look back. With my recommendation that no rescue team be dispatched.”

   “I can't leave you here, sir.”

   “You've got a patient who needs you a lot more than I do. On your way, Spaceman!” Without waiting for another argument, he continued cautiously down the corridor, pistol in hand. The light levels were rising rapidly now, and he could feel heat pulsing from the walls, sweat running down the back of his neck.

   They'd managed to map the interior of the station from Alamo, and Caine had managed to put together a comprehensive search pattern with the data. They ought to have been halfway through their sweep, as far from the shuttle as they would get, somewhere in the maze of corridors at the top of the station. The gravity was weaker here in the core, and each step send him bounding into the air, his eyes still locked upon the path ahead.
r />    Belatedly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of goggles, strapping them on with one hand while keeping his pistol raised with the other. Immediately, his view simplified, reduced to a low-resolution display that would block any harmful visual signals, any attempt at hypnosis. In an alien environment such as this, anything could happen, and he didn't want to take any unnecessary risks. They'd taken too many already.

   His communicator chirped, and with a wry smile he raised it to his mouth, and said, “Salazar here, sir.”

   Captain Marshall replied, “Get back to the shuttle at once, Lieutenant. That's an order.”

   “In just one minute, Captain. I'm almost at the location of our search team. One more turning, and I'm there.” In reality, he was far further away, stalling for time, but Alamo didn't need to know that. “Anything happening outside?”

   “We're picking up a power buildup, Lieutenant, and the station's toppling. As though that antenna complex...”

   “If that's what it is, sir.”

   “Is trying to acquire a target,” Marshall continued. “Report back to the shuttle on the double, or I'll have to order it to leave without you.”

   “Just a couple more minutes, sir,” Salazar protested. “If the survey team found something out here, then we've got to know what it was. We haven't finished our job yet.” He turned another corner, then added, “I've spotted something. They're here, sir, and they aren't moving.”

   “Proceed with caution, Pavel,” Marshall said. “Power's still building.”

   Salazar redoubled his pace, but as soon as he got close, he realized that he was too late, the patterns of blood splattered on the floor confirmation of his worst fears. The view he was receiving was blurred, indistinct, the visual censor doing its best to protect him, but he could clearly make out the pistol in the hands of the technician, locked in a death grip.

   “Alamo, they're both dead. Looks like a murder-suicide.”

   “Don't try and recover the corpses, Pavel,” Marshall insisted. “We'll send a recovery team if we get a chance. Just head back for the barn, on the double.”

   “Yes, sir,” Salazar replied, leaning over to snatch the datapad out of the dead man's hand, struggling to release it from the death grip. “Heading home. Have Garland begin pre-flight.”

   “Will do, Pavel. Be careful. Out.”

   Salazar raced through the corridors, ripping the goggles from his head after he cleared the first corner, bizarre images burning down upon him, twisting and turning as though suddenly brought the life. The light was blinding now, leaving afterimages when he blinked his eyes, and the ever-present hum seemed to be pulsing, as though the station's heart was beating louder and louder, as though it was a living thing, at least on some level, desperate to retain its prey.

   He paused at a crossroads for a moment, struggling to remember the path back to the shuttle. It had been a T-junction when he first passed this way, the station's internal layout twisting and altering. Taking a gamble, he picked a path at random, trusting to luck that he would find the right way, as all around him, silent screams filled the air, something calling deep within his soul. He fought back the images that danced on the walls, knowing that he was being tricked, that something was dragging him back.

   They'd come here to find a clue. Instead they'd found a trap. That much was obvious. And one that was working, as he turned another corner that hadn't been there the first time, racing in a desperate hope to find his way back. He was getting perilously close to his self-imposed deadline, almost hoping that Garland would leave without him, would at least get Caine back to the safety of the ship. A part of him almost wanted to give up now, to drop to his knees and accept his fate.

   For a second, he did pause, realization finally hitting home. This wasn't an alien installation. This was human, just disguised. No alien race would know how to disorient a human so well, would have such a grasp of human psychology. There still might be a clue here, if he could find it, but he had all too little time left for the search.

   Somehow, on a subconscious level, his realization helped, and he was able to consider the displays theater rather than reality, a game that a long-dead psychologist was playing with him. Now he could stride with confidence through the corridors, sorrow in his heart that the original search team had failed to make the same realization, and at last found himself in a familiar area.

   “Come on, Pavel!” Garland yelled, his voice fighting with the ever-growing hum, and Salazar raced on, turning the last corner to find the shuttle waiting for him in the cavernous hangar deck, the seal of the breaching airlock ready to activate. The hatch was open, waiting, and he raced inside, sparing a second for a quick glance at Caine, lying sprawled upon one of the passenger couches as though she was asleep, even a faint snore rumbling from her mouth.

   “Pre-flight complete,” Garland reported, as Salazar slid into the pilot's couch. “We're clear all the way to Alamo.”

   “Fire up the sensors,” Salazar said, tossing the dead man's datapad to the medic. “And upload that to the ship, just in case we don't make it back.” Throwing a series of switches, he added, “I'm going for emergency override, open both hatches at once, so hang on.”

   “Wait a minute,” Garland said. “You'll decompress the station, and if...”

   “Trust me, the universe is better off without that place.” With a loud report, the double hatches open, the shuttle tossed through the gap, riding a fountain of escaping air as the attitude thrusters fired to stabilize the craft. Hitting a second override, Salazar fired the main engines, kicking the ship onto a course for home, Alamo already on the move towards the hendecaspace point.

   “There's something odd out there,” Garland said. “Some of the asteroids are moving. Not much, but definite changes to their orbits. As though they're trying for an intercept.”

   “We shouldn't have any trouble outmaneuvering them,” Salazar replied with a confidence he didn't feel. “Salazar to Alamo. Are you...”

   “Confirmed, Pavel,” Marshall replied. “We see the same thing. Alamo is making for the hendecaspace point at maximum burn. Can you catch up?”

   “One way or another, sir,” Salazar answered with a quick glance at the trajectory plot. “We'll find a way. Garland, can Caine handle high acceleration?”

   “Punch it as far as you want, sir. I don't think it'll make any difference now.” The medic leaned over the sensor display again, and added, “Some of the smaller rocks are really beginning to move, Lieutenant.”

   Nodding, Salazar replied, “Initiating course change. They can't move faster than us, and we've got the advantage.” Frowning, he added, “Which means there must be something else going on.” He paused, flicked a switch, then said, “Salazar to Marshall. Recommend immediate battle stations and activation of all weapon systems.”

   “We're at alert,” Marshall protested.

   “The asteroids, sir. I don't think they're trying for a collision. What if they're set to explode? It'd be like sending waves of shrapnel rippling through the system.” Glancing at the trajectory plot, he added, “We've got to deal with them before they can detonate.”

   “Damn,” Marshall replied. “Proceeding as advised, Pavel, but I'm going to have to put the safety of the ship first. I can't spare anything for the shuttle.”

   “Don't worry about us, sir. I've got this.”

   Throwing the shuttle's throttle past the red line, he raced over the star's corona, the protesting engine roaring as they sped from the spinning station behind them. His forehead gleamed with sweat, from fear rather than heat this time. Up ahead, Alamo fired a wave of missiles, targeting the nearest cluster of asteroids, and spun briefly on its axis to take a shot with its laser cannon, a beam of light leaping forth for an instant before dying away once again, her radiator wings glowing red as they struggled to disperse the heat into cold vacuum.

   “Getting a little close, Pavel,” Gar
land warned.

   “And they will,” he replied. “There's nothing much we can do about that right now. I've got to burn long and straight or we'll never make our linkup with the ship. If any of those rocks detonate, we'll have to outrun the debris.” He smiled, then added, “This one's going to be close.”

   A cascade of explosions rippled through space all around them, waves of deadly shot flashing in the darkness as the asteroids exploded, some caught by Alamo's missiles, the rest choosing their moment with care to throw the maximum wave of shrapnel after the fleeing shuttle. Their long-dead opponent had decided that it was no longer possible to catch the starship, and had chosen instead to gamble on the destruction of the smaller craft, stopping them reporting the secrets they might have uncovered.

   “Five debris fields, interlocking patterns, first contact in five seconds!” Garland yelled.

   “The first wave should be pretty light,” Salazar replied. “The hull armor should protect us. And we'll be home in sixty seconds.” Alamo was just visible at extreme range, seemingly calling them in, a pinpoint that represented the nearest thing they had to a home. All the other stars, the constellations, were unfamiliar.

   The hull rattled as the first wave of debris reached them, a cluster of klaxons echoing in the shuttle's cabin as damage began to build. It was only going to get worse as the mass of the approaching fragments increased, and the sensors reported ever-deeper waves of rock heading in their direction.

   Suddenly, fire erupted all around them, and Salazar whooped before saying, “Alamo's firing her point-defense cannons! Clearing us a path home!”

   “Thank God for that,” Garland said with a relieved sigh. “For a moment...”

   “Docking in ten seconds,” Salazar replied, gently guiding the wounded shuttle into position under the ship, drifting into the docking cradle. The mechanism burst into life, pulling them to safety as the point-defense guns roared on behind them, dragging them into the waiting hangar deck. As soon as the lower hatch closed, there was a brief flicker, the indication that Alamo had found its way safely out of the system.