Battlecruiser Alamo: Operation Damocles Read online

   “Some other time,” he replied. “I do want to get down there, though. Take a walk down that beach at dusk, say. Quietly, when there's No one else around.”

   “No one else?” she chided.

   “I didn't mean you,” he said, blushing again. She stopped in the corridor, turned to him and shook her head.

   “Pavel, I've seen you face down enemy battleships, squadrons of fighters, legions of enemy androids wanting to tear you apart, and I swear you've never been this nervous. What happened to that implacable warrior I saw on the bridge?” She smiled again, and said, “We'll try and sneak down tomorrow. One of the few joys of command is that I can give myself an evening off.”

   As they resumed walking down the corridor, he replied, “I'd like that.” Looking around the corridor, he said, “I'd like to get some real air for a change. It's strange. I've spent my whole life living in artificial environments, but now that I've walked on a world in the open, without a suit, it somehow seems wrong.”

   “Rain,” she said. “Wind. Snow. Insects. Dirt.” With a smile, she added, “Artificial environments have their advantages, remember. Still, I think I know what you mean.” They walked past a viewport, Copernicus slowly revolving beneath them as they held orbit, preparing for the satellite deployments.

   They stepped into Daedalus' cramped observation room, a half dozen pilots wearing Copernican uniforms waiting, a cluster of bottles clamped to the table. One of them stepped forward with a pair of mugs, thrusting them into their hands, retrieving his drink and raising it into the air.

   “To the hottest fliers of the Triplanetary Fleet,” he said. “Cheers.”

   Shaking his head, Salazar replied, “And the finest pilots of the Orbital Guard.”

   The pilot grinned, took a sip, and said, “We have met, though only at a range of a couple of hundred miles. Lieutenant Jules Deveraux, commander of the Ninth Interceptor Squadron, the most disreputable gang of rogues you'd ever want to meet.”

   “My pleasure, Lieutenant,” Salazar said. “That was some damn good flying, by the way.”

   “Likewise,” a new voice said, another pilot stepping into the room, his arm wrapped around a young Koltoc woman. Both of them seemed familiar, and at Salazar's expression, he added, “Lieutenant Michael Ryan. I think you know my father.” Turning to the left, he said, “And my fiance, Itzel.”

   “I'll be damned,” Deveraux said. “Your old man finally agreed?

   “I haven't told him,” Ryan replied, his face darkening, “and I don't care what he thinks, not any more. It's my life, not his. We're both old enough to get married, and we're damn well going to do it, and you're damn well going to be my best man!”

   Raising his hands, Deveraux replied, “Fine, fine, I surrender! Of course I'll do it.”

   “Both of you must come to the wedding as well,” Itzel said, turning to Salazar and Harper. “My father's booked St. Joseph's, four days from now. The priest's an old family friend.”

   “We'll be there,” Harper replied, glancing at Salazar.

   “I'll even rummage out my dress uniform for the occasion,” Salazar added. “And congratulations to you both.” He stepped over to them, and said, “I'm surprised, though. Your father didn't seem to have a problem with the idea when I talked to him. He was certainly concerned enough about you, Itzel, when you were wounded.”

   “He's always been opposed to it,” Ryan said. “Ever since we first started seeing each other.” He looked at his fiance, and said, “I'd thought we'd win him around, even if it took years, but ever since the attack, all of that just seems unimportant. We know we want to be together, and he's going to have to live with it. If he can't come to terms with us, that's his problem, not ours.”

   “It might not be so easy as that,” Deveraux warned. “Remember, he's our operational commander. He could make your life damned difficult if he wanted to. Postings to out-of-the-way installations, keeping you apart.”

   “If he does, I'll leave the service.” Looking back at Harper, he said, “Maybe I'll ask you for a job. That Neander, Lance-Corporal Akjes, he was telling me that he'd signed on at Thule, that he hadn't been a citizen until he'd joined the fleet.”

   “That's true,” Salazar said, “though there were special circumstances involved at the time. If you're serious, you should have a word with Captain Orlova at some point.”

   “There's no need to be hasty,” Deveraux added.

   “True,” Harper said. “It'd be a big step.” Turning to Itzel, she asked, “Is that why you signed onto the freighter?”

   “It was meant to be for six months,” she said. “I needed some space-side experience anyway, and I thought that if I gave Mike's father a bit of distance, he might get used to the idea that we were going to be together.” Shaking her head, she added, “I guess he'll never be convinced.”

   “We don't need to convince anyone,” he fiance replied. “Just each other, and I think we've done that.”

   Harper glanced at Salazar, and they moved away from the couple, stepping over to the viewport, a majestic starfield on display, draped across the screen. Deveraux, with a last glance behind, moved in beside them, frowning.

   “They never told me I'd have this sort of problem when I became a squadron leader.”

   “No one said that command was easy,” Harper replied.

   “I guess not.” Looking at the two of them, he asked, “So, how long have you two been an item?”

   Salazar paused, then glanced across at Harper, who replied, “I think I'm still getting him used to the idea.”

   “If I'm prying...”

   “No,” Salazar said, too quickly. “Not at all. I just...”

   “Say no more,” the pilot replied, a smile on his face. The cold, icy moon slid into view on the side of the viewport, and he added, “I guess that's still the main problem.” Shaking his head, he added, “We could deal with that base in a couple of passes, and wipe it off the map.”

   “What?” Salazar asked. Harper started giving him a warning glare, but he persisted. “How?”

   Gesturing at the moon, Deveraux said, “We used to do training flights up there, while they were building the original base. It was a good staging area, lots of rough terrain. Canyons, craters, that sort of thing.” He shook his head, and continued, “The idea, I think, was that we could defend it against attack, but we never had a chance when the Xandari approached.”

   “There's a way in? I couldn't see it from the orbital shots.”

   “You'd have to know what to look for, but certainly. There's a long canyon, high sides, running for about fifty miles to the west of the base. It opens up on the plain, less than a mile away from the target. Just enough time to launch some modified missiles.”

   “Could you tell me why the hell No one mentioned this to us?” Harper asked, fuming.

   “I really have no idea,” he replied. “I submitted the plan yesterday, but I guess the top brass is so stirred up by your visit that they've all forgotten that we're still at war.”

   “And you?” Salazar asked.

   “Lieutenant, I watched dozens of pilots, people I've trained with, had known for years, die at the hands of the Xandari.” Looking around the room, he said, “We all survived by chance, nothing more. A matter of statistics. The remnants of three squadrons slammed together. So yes, I remember that we're at war, and I know what that means. Say the word, and we'll fly the mission.”

   “Right,” Salazar replied, rubbing his hands together. “I'll have to get checked out on your fighter designs. We aren't carrying any at the moment, but I've trained for this sort of mission before.”

   “I'd be glad to have you,” Deveraux said. “At the moment, our fighters outnumber our pilots. I'll contact headquarters, and...”

   “Not yet, you won't,” Harper said, adopting a commanding tone. “All of us have been awake for at least twenty-four hours, and we're in no co
ndition for anything, certainly not preparing detailed mission plans. We've got that base bottled up, and they can't move without us knowing about it.” Gesturing at the drinks table, she added, “I went to a lot of trouble to get hold of all that stuff, and we're going to enjoy it. Then back to work tomorrow with clear heads, and we'll do this properly. Understood?”

   “Yes, ma'am,” Salazar said, with a smile.

   “She must be hell to work for,” Deveraux replied, shaking his head.

   “I could tell you some stories,” Salazar said, earning himself a withering stare. “Though perhaps they can wait for later.”

   “Much later,” Harper said. “Much, much later.” She urged him back to the table, and he acquiesced, looking back at the moon as it slid past. She was right. For tonight, he needed to rest. The war could wait until tomorrow.

  Chapter 14

   The cyclopean ruins stretched as far as Cooper could see, all the way to the horizon. Tall, mysterious towers of obsidian stone rose to the sky, twisted fragments of unknown alloys tangled around each other in a mysterious spiral, eldritch runes carved into the metal in some alien language, unknown and possibly unknowable, while well-worn paths twisted their way through the ancient city, serving as silent guide for Cooper's meandering walk.

   He looked up at the stars, uncountable thousands of them filling the sky, as though scattered by some ancient hand across the cosmos. One of them seemed to wink at him, and he knew that was Alamo, waiting in orbit for his return. After a while, he found himself at a carved bench, upon which someone had attempted to crudely imitate the symbols, the effect ruined by three generations of graffiti that he found oddly comforting, a touch of humanity in a truly alien environment.

   Staring up at the towering remnants of this lost culture, he found himself pondering who they might have been, what they had thought when this city fell, wrecked by some unknown catastrophe. For while humanity knew little about the builders of this place, they knew how it had met its end, tongues of violent flame lashing down upon it from afar, melting the metal and laying waste the scurrying multitudes who had once dwelt here.

   All that remained of their civilization, dead ten thousand years, were a few scattered ruins, here and at other sites on the planet, unintelligible writings that preserved the hidden wisdom of this race, hidden in plain sight, writing in a text that in all probability would never be read. It all seemed pointless, meaningless.

   He returned his gaze to the comforting stars, endless and eternal, their light already thousands, maybe millions of years old. Some of them he had visited in his travels through space, others, he knew, had eyes of their own staring back at him, pondering the mysteries of the infinite, attempting to bury themselves from the horrors of today in the lost oceans of time. The tide of history had washed over this place, once before, then receded into nothingness. Now they built up once again, the wave growing to the peak of its ferocity, battering all who attempted to stand in its way. A familiar figure walked over to him, then sat down on the bench beside him, looking up at the stars.

   “Strange, isn't it,” Powell said. “The first colonists began to excavate here, more than a century ago, and the work has continued season after season since then. And still they know nothing, not of any significance. Lots of theory, lots of speculation and guesswork, most of it more bad fiction than science, and no hard facts to work on.” He turned to Cooper, and said, “A team from Alamo is coming down in the morning to take a look. I doubt we'll be able to add anything, but they are all determined to try.”

   Cooper nodded, and Powell continued, “There's quite a party going on in the city. All the bars are open, crowds singing in the streets, someone speaking in every hall about the wonders that are to come.” Shaking his head, he said, “And yet the two of us are still sitting here, alone in eternity.” He paused, then added, “I went to the hospital. All they could tell me was that you'd headed in this direction. I guessed that this must be your destination. Somehow it seemed inevitable.”

   “I didn't set out to come here, Professor,” Cooper finally replied. “I just started walking, and it was easier to keep going than to stop.” He looked at the old man, and said, “Forty-nine dead. Forty-nine people killed because I was too slow.”

   Nodding, Powell said, “And how many people did you save?”

   “I should have been faster. Moved a shuttle down to the lower level right away, brought a medical team with me during the assault. I watched while one of the Xandari executed a Koltoc, no more than a boy. Planted a bullet in his chest.” He closed his eyes, and said, “I thought he was going to make it. We kept him going all the way to the deck, right to the hospital.” Shaking his head, he said, “He died on the operating table.”

   “And did he die with hope, or fear?”

   “What?”

   “Did he die knowing he had no chance, that he was doomed, or did he fight to the end, along with all those who were with him? Did you give him the best chance you possibly could?” Placing a hand on Cooper's shoulder, he continued, “You're never going to save everyone, Gabe. You've been at this job long enough to know that, to know that there are times that people are going to die. The Xandari are to blame, not you, and from what I've been told, you avenged their deaths.”

   “Walpis talked, did he?”

   “Only to me. And only because I promised not to pass it on. You've got a very loyal group of troopers there, Gabe. I truly think they would go anywhere, do anything, if you ordered it. That speaks well of you as an officer.”

   Looking across at him, Cooper replied, “I have been at this job a long time. Four years, and in that time I've amassed more combat time than ten other officers of my rank. I've seen friends die, and even ordered them into missions that I knew would kill them. I killed them. No matter that someone else fired the bullet, I pushed them into its path.” With a deep, harrowing sigh, he continued, “And that was different. They'd volunteered, all of them, to a man, and they all knew the risks that they were running. They took them, even welcomed them, and they all died for something.”

   “And on the station?”

   “They were civilians, damn it, people who had been thrown to the wolves by the own government, sacrificing the few to save the many. That's cold comfort to their mothers, their wives, their husbands, their children. Our job was to look after them when No one else would, No one else could, and I just failed them as well.”

   “As I understand it, they volunteered in order to protect their fellow citizens. As hostages, while the President stalled for time, waiting for our arrival. They're heroes, Gabe, and they won't be forgotten.”

   “Volunteered?” he replied, shaking his head. “Not the story I heard, time and again. Not from the widows and orphans.”

   “Have you told the Captain?” Powell asked.

   “What would be the point?” he said, with a sigh. “It won't change anything. We need that station, spinning around in orbit, so that this glorious war can go on.” He looked down at the ground, and said, “Good God, I don't know if I can take it any more. When I saw those bodies, up there on the station, tangled and twisted, I didn't feel anything but rage. I wanted to kill them, all of them, rip them to pieces, with my bare hands if necessary.”

   “That's perfectly natural. You'd be out of your mind not to be affected by what you saw.”

   “Professor, I'm responsible for the lives of more than a hundred men. I can't afford to let emotion cloud my judgment, not if it's going to get them killed. I've already written enough letters home. I don't ever want to have to write another, and certainly not because I made a mistake.” Looking up at the stars again, he said, “We got lucky this time. Only a few wounded, none killed. The next time we won't be.”

   Nodding, Powell said, “I've never been where you are, Gabe, so I don't know how much advice I can give you. Only that you're one of the best officers I've ever met. You care about your people, and while you might sp
end their lives, you always get the best possible price for them. I've read the reports about what you did during the Cabal cruise, going off into enemy territory to rescue your platoon, and you weren't even their commander at the time.”

   “They were my friends. What was I supposed to do?”

   “True, but how many others would have done what you did?” Shaking his head, he said, “You have to ask yourself this question. Are you still the best person to command the Espatier force? Can anyone else do as good a job as you? You're never going to be perfect, because none of us is, and you're never going to save everybody. Would anyone else have saved more people over there? From what I heard, you were the only reason that second force launched at all. No one else came up with the idea.”

   “One of my trademark crazy plans,” he said, cracking a smile. “Maybe you're right, Professor, at least for the moment.” He sat up taller, and said, “Who sent you?”

   “The Captain. Off the record, she's worried about you. Officially, you're having the night off, just like half a dozen other officers are at the moment.”

   “Barbara?”

   “Still ferrying people around, up in orbit. All the shuttle pilots are working double-time at the moment to get everything organized after the battle.” He smiled, and added, “You got lucky. I don't think she even knows you went walkabout.”

   “No, I guess not,” he said, shaking his head. He rose to his feet, and turned back to Kepler City, lasers shining in the sky, the noise of the crowds audible even at this distance. Powell stood up next to him, and gestured to the left.

   “I thought you might not want to go back through all of that, and I think that if anyone has earned an early night, you have. There's an Orbital Guard station a couple of miles away, just a landing pad with a small garrison. With a shuttle that's getting ready to take the two of us back to Alamo right now.”

   “Thanks,” Cooper said, heading in the indicated direction. “I don't think I could face a crowd right now. Maybe tomorrow, if I get some sleep.”