Battlecruiser Alamo: Cage of Gold Page 2

   “Right.” Sliding a headset on, he said, “Alamo Actual, this is Shuttle One, requesting launch clearance.”

   “Affirmative, Shuttle,” Orlova said. “Be careful.”

   “Always, ma’am,” he replied. The shuttle started to drop through the decks, the elevator airlock snapping into life to launch them into free space. A faint surge ran through the ship as the engines warmed up, the systems locking their projected course into place. As the lower hatch opened, he caught a glimpse of stars beneath, and the spin of the ship tossed them clear of the hull, setting them tumbling.

   A flick of the thrusters stabilized them, and he took his first real look at the planet below. All brown and white, except for the crater that was their destination. He tried to imagine the size of the impact needed to create it, enough to set off earthquakes and volcanoes around the planet, to damn near rip it in half.

   “Engine start,” he said, and the acceleration pushed them back in their couches as the shuttle dropped out of orbit, its curve slowly sliding them down towards the atmosphere. “Watch for turbulence, Midshipman. Keep an eye on the temperature sensors as well.”

   “I am a qualified shuttle pilot, Sub-Lieutenant.”

   Turning to face her with a grin, he said, “I’m the pilot-in-command, which means that worrying about the details is the biggest part of my job. You’d be just the same if the seats were swapped, and you know it.”

   “Let’s just get this over with and we can go our separate ways on the surface.”

   Shaking his head, he said, “Are you ever going to get past this? It isn’t the Academy any more, is it? The star pupil who no longer has her class seniority.”

   “You might have been able to fool Captain Marshall,” she whispered, “but I see right through you. I know who and what you are, and I’m not going to forget that.”

   Turning back to his console, Salazar replied, “I’d be very careful about suggesting that my commanding officer is any sort of a fool, Midshipman. Not going to earn you many marks on your commissioning boards. Atmospheric interface in two minutes. Try and contact that ground station, what was it, Fort Medaris?”

   “On it,” she said, tapping a control. “Shuttle One to Traffic Control, come in.”

   The reply was faint and full of static, the voice badly distorted, “Reading you Strength Five. You’re clear all the way. Wind speed is ten miles an hour, south-west, minimal cloud cover. You should be able to come right in.”

   “Thank you, Traffic Control.”

   “Hell, I should be thanking you,” the voice replied. “First time I’ve ever done this. Beats walking perimeter patrol. Ground out.”

   “That’s inspiring me with confidence,” Foster said.

   “Give them a break,” Salazar replied. “They probably haven’t seen anything fly in years. Here comes the atmosphere.”

   He tugged the nose forward, slamming the shuttle into re-entry attitude, the heat shield starting the glow a dull red as the temperature surged. The ground seemed to be rushing below them, a series of brief glances, the crater now dead ahead as the shuttle slowed. Nursing the thrusters to smooth the ride, he kept one eye on the course plot and another on the external readouts. The autopilot would help, but when it came to re-entry without proper atmospheric modeling, he preferred the personal touch.

   “Skin temperature dropping,” Foster said. “We’re through the plasma sheath.”

   “Should be smooth from here,” he replied. “Landing area is about a hundred and thirty miles north of here, straight line. How’s the weather?”

   “Wind velocity and cloud cover as advertised.” She frowned, tapping a control, and a siren began to sound. “Threat warning. Missile coming up, looks like it’s from the not-men ship. Impact in forty seconds.”

   “Switching to full manual control. Ride the countermeasures and fire up the warbook. See if it’s worth trying jamming it.”

   He slid the throttle to full, ignoring the protestations of the computer that its carefully calculated course plot was being overridden, and pulled the nose down, racing towards the planet, gaining speed as he shed altitude.

   “What are you doing?” Foster asked. “Gain height, abort to orbit.”

   “No time,” he said, “Got to try something different.”

   The crater wall was just ahead, one of the outlying plateaus where the enemy armies were lurking, preparing to attack. Behind him, the missile raced down, and Foster’s face turned pale as she realized what he was planning.

   “Abort, damn it,” she said.

   “Countermeasures on my mark,” Salazar replied, his voice calm and steady as the collision warnings began to sound. The missile was just seconds away, a design that they couldn’t hope to fool electronically. The shuttle was below ground level now, skimming along a narrow ravine, the mile-high wall of the crater just ahead. Counting down the seconds, he reached down for the lateral thrust controls.

   “Now!” he yelled, and as Foster launched the decoys and chaff, he slammed the lateral thrusters to full as he pulled up, the shuttle almost seeming to turn on itself as it followed the crater wall, close enough that he could make out individual rocks, that the vibration was causing avalanches all along the base. With inches to spare, he reached the top, then dived over it, running down the other side of the wall.

   The missile never had a chance, and slammed into the crater, the explosion tearing a hole in the wall, sending debris flying through the air, fast enough to rain off the roof of the shuttle.

   “We’re going to have to get her serviced after this!” he said, shaking his head.

   Glancing at her panel, Foster said, “Someone’s trying to contact us.” Tapping a control, she said, “Shuttle One, go ahead.”

   “Traffic Control here. That was amazing! I’ve never seen anything like that in my life!”

   “Are we still clear for landing?”

   “Hell, yeah! Come on down! The Governor’s waiting!”

   “I guess we’d better not disappoint him,” Salazar said. “Coming around. There’s the inner crater.”

   The shuttle soared in a smooth, gentle arc as he rode the throttle down, spilling the speed he had recently gained. As they passed over the inner wall, he could see green fields, small clusters of buildings, and up ahead, a small city, built around the rusting ruin of a grounded spaceship, one almost as large as Alamo. He carefully played his thrusters, keeping the maneuvers slow and steady, not wanting to do any damage.

   Fort Medaris was easy enough to find on the far side of the city limits, a barracks building near a dilapidated radio telescope, and a parade ground with a line of people standing on its perimeter, waiting for their arrival. On the far side was a launch tower, in the early stages of construction. Evidently the locals didn’t intend to be permanently confined to this planet.

   “Final burn,” he said, pulsing his thrusters to kick up some dust, putting on a little show for the crowd. There were several vehicles scattered around, one of them obviously a ceremonial car, more ornate than the others.

   “Ten meters,” Foster said. “Five. Two. Down.”

   “Engine stop,” he replied. “Landing gear stable. All systems green. Start post-flight checks and contact Alamo, will you? I’d better see to the passengers.”

   Unbuckling his restraints, he rose from his seat and stepped back into the rear compartment. Marshall clapped him on the back as he secured the hatch, Ensign Cooper rising to stand on the other side of the airlock.

   “If I ever need someone for a combat drop, I’ll know where to look,” he said. “Nice work.”

   “I doubt the maintenance team will agree when they see the blast damage, but thanks.”

   “Let’s not keep the dignitaries waiting,” Marshall said, and Salazar opened the hatch, dropping the ramp to the surface. A band started to strike up an unfamiliar song as the door locked back, Marshall taking the lead with Sa
lazar and Cooper following him down to the surface. Behind them, Corporal Vaughan and his fire team scrambled out, plasma carbines very much in evidence, standing to attention in front of the shuttle and returning the salute of the local honor guard.

   A tall man, white hair spilling down the back of his well-tailored suit, stepped forward with his hand extended, walking to Marshall.

   “Captain Marshall?”

   Taking his hand, Marshall replied, “Governor, it’s an honor to meet you.”

   “The honor is all ours, I assure you.” The soldiers burst out into an obviously rehearsed round of applause, and he added, “We’d have played your anthem, but I’m afraid none of us had any idea what it might be.”

   “That’s perfectly fine, Governor. May I introduce the commander of our ground forces, Ensign Cooper,” he gestured to the Espatier, “and my aide and shuttle pilot, Sub-Lieutenant Salazar.”

   “Ah, so you are the one responsible for that impressive aerobatic display. I remember seeing something similar at Montgomery when I was a very young boy. Brings back a lot of memories. My compliments, Sub-Lieutenant.”

   “Thank you, sir.”

   Leading Marshall towards a row of decorated officers at the rear, he began to introduce the Captain to a series of military dignitaries, leaving Cooper and Salazar behind at the shuttle. The trooper reacted with a start, pointing at a figure working at the end of the parade ground.

   “My God, that’s a Neander!”

   “Are you sure?”

   “Damn sure!”

   “Is there a problem?” the Governor asked.

   “Ensign,” Marshall began, but Cooper interrupted him.

   “There are Neander here, sir. Working on the field.”

   “Ah,” the Governor replied. “Those are the problem we have to deal with. It is their people who are threatening our colony, Captain, though I stress that many of them live and work in our community.”

   Salazar looked at the row of officers, and said, “None in the higher ranks, sir?”

   “Indeed not. I fear the level of their education is not suited to such a role, at least, not yet. For the present, they serve best where they are. I will be happy to introduce you to some of their civic leaders, Captain, later on.”

   Nodding, Marshall said, “I need to contact my ship, make a few arrangements.”

   “Take all the time you wish, Captain.”

   As the Governor walked away, Marshall turned to the two junior officers, and said, “Take a look. Quietly. Remember that this is a diplomatic mission.”

   “They should have told us, sir,” Cooper said.

   “Maybe, but this might all seem perfectly normal to them. I’ll be back in a minute.”

   While the Governor and his officers were deliberating, a younger lieutenant stepped forward from the guard, taking a glance back at the Neander still working on the far side of the field. He looked admiringly at the shuttle, then turned to Salazar.

   “I’d love to take a ride in her someday.”

   “That might not be too hard to arrange,” Salazar said.

   “Oh, sorry,” he said, holding out his hand. “Second Lieutenant Al Higgins.”

   “Pavel Salazar,” he replied, shaking the proffered hand. “Gabriel Cooper.”

   “Pleased to meet you.” Looking up at the shuttle, he said, “That really is a sweet ship. I was watching from the observation tower.”

   “You ought to see Alamo,” Cooper said. Gesturing at the launch tower, he added, “You hoping to go up yourself one day?”

   “Maybe. We’re working on satellites at the moment, just experimental stuff. We’ve got all the textbooks, but there are so many steps to work on, and we don’t really have the industry.” Looking back at the two of them, he added, “Not that it’ll be a problem now. With your help, we'll be launching from here within a year.”

   “How bad are things down here?”

   Shaking his head, Higgins said, “Been a while since I’ve been on patrol, but someone’s got the tribes really stirred up out there. The aliens, I guess, though they’ve always been a problem, ever since we landed here.”

   “They’re native to this planet?” Salazar asked.

   “So they say. Not all of them are bad, though. Some of the tribes, down here in the crater, we get along with them well enough. Maybe a couple of dozen of them work on the base. Territorial Guard watches them, just to make sure.” He gestured at a red-uniformed man on the perimeter, eyes locked on the shuttle. “Governor McIntyre came up with the idea, about forty years ago.”

   “We’ve fought alongside them on other planets,” Cooper began.

   “Hell, so have I. Lots of them out on the border posts. When I was at Outpost Patton…” He turned as a senior officer called to him, then said, “Guess I’m wanted. I’ll take you up on that ride sometime.”

   As the young lieutenant jogged away, Salazar said, “There’s something seriously wrong down here.”

   “Don’t jump to conclusions too quickly,” Cooper replied. “Until we know exactly what the situation is on this planet, we can’t judge. The Captain will make the decision, when the time comes. One thing, though. Our weapons are a couple of orders of magnitude above theirs. Old rifles, a few machine guns, nothing we couldn’t handle if we had to.”

   “And if they’re keeping out these tribes of theirs…”

   “Then we’re going to be able to make a decisive difference, one way or another.”

   One of the Neander was looking over the lines of the shuttle, the same spark in his eyes that Higgins had shown, and Salazar moved away from Cooper, heading towards him, but before he could reach him, the red-uniformed man stepped out onto the field, the Neander scurrying away, back to his work.

   “I think you might be right,” Cooper said. “There is something seriously wrong down here.”

   Marshall stepped back out of the shuttle, looking around the field, and the Governor stepped back over to him, holding his arm outstretched.

   “Captain, if you have concluded your business with your ship, I’m anxious to provide you with details of our situation, and a little of our background.” He glanced across at the guardsman and said, “Doubtless we have a lot to explain.”

   “Probably we both do,” Marshall replied. Caine stepped out behind him, Foster by her side. “My Tactical Officer, Senior Lieutenant Caine, and her aide. She’ll be conducting the tactical assessment.”

   “I’d like to take a look around the base, get a feel for your capabilities. If you’ve got any samples of enemy equipment, I’ll want to see that also,” she said.

   “Lieutenant Higgins can see to that,” the Governor said.

   “Only too happy, sir,” the young officer replied with a beaming smile.

   “The limousine will take us to our meeting. I think it best that it be held in private.”

   “Agreed,” Marshall said. “Did you say limousine?”

   “There are a few perks to this office, Captain, and we have managed to reconstruct a few of the comforts of home.”

   “Lead the way, then, sir,” he said, and he and Salazar followed him to the waiting car.

  Chapter 3

   “Got it,” Grant said, looking up from his console. “Buried deep in the records, but I think I’ve managed to match it. As best as I can figure it, that ship down there is a Dyson-class freighter.”

   “Dyson-class?” Orlova asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

   “I’m not surprised. Officially, none were ever constructed. During the run-up to the Third World War, they were experimenting with all sorts of designs, trying to speed up the colonization of Mars. This was an Orion-drive ship, propelled by nuclear bombs.”

   “You have got to be joking,” Nelyubov said, looking up from the tactical station. “Bomb-powered starships?”

   “Spaceships,” Grant said. “This was never intend
ed for interstellar travel, just for Mars, maybe Callisto at a stretch. I presume they fitted a similar drive that the colonists of Ragnarok employed. As I said, there are no records that one was built or launched, but that matches the designs in the computer.”

   “When was it designed?”

   “2033, according to the records, at Redstone Arsenal under the auspices of the United States Army Missile Command. I’ll dump all the details into your personal database, but it would have been capable of putting a couple of thousand people into space, along with colonization equipment. And that was for an uninhabitable planet. The idea was a one-launch sustainable settlement.”

   “A lot of people tried that, and a lot of people died,” Nelyubov said.

   “But here they could breathe the air, drink the water,” Orlova replied. “I presume that helped. So they launched maybe twenty years later, during the Final Exchange, and headed out into deep space.”

   “That seems to be as good a theory as we're going to get. The records do show a ship launching from Redstone during that period, listed as making for Mars, but there’s no evidence that they ever made it.”

   “Not surprising. Less than half the ships that launched during that period got to their destinations,” Nelyubov said. “I guess they managed to get lost in the shuffle.”

   “With a war going on, record-keeping was somewhat vague. There are a lot of missing files from that period. Presumably they’ll fill in all the blanks for us when we establish firmer diplomatic relations,” Grant said.

   Frowning, Orlova said, “Nuclear bombs. That’s got some pretty serious implications.”

   “I’ve run a complete check,” Spinelli said, “and if they have any nuclear material, it’s hidden well enough that it is concealed from all of our sensors. I don’t see any evidence that they have that sort of technology.”

   Walking over to the viewscreen, Orlova looked at the planet below, hanging still in space, the crater facing them like a green scar ripped across the fabric of the world. All the life on the surface was gathered in that small area, an oasis in a global desert.