Battlecruiser Alamo: Spell of the Stars Read online

   “Not bad,” Garland said.

   “Two men dead, one unconscious, and nothing to show for it,” Salazar replied. “Come on, let's go in and report. Maybe we can salvage something out of this mess.”

  Chapter 2

   The medical monitor emitted a series of regular beeps as Marshall looked on, the slumbering figure of Caine lying on the bed looking as though she would get up at the lightest touch. Salazar, standing by Marshall's side, looked across at Doctor Strickland, who pulled a datapad from a table, scrolling through the information on the screen.

   “Well, Doctor? What's the prognosis?”

   Looking up at Marshall, Strickland said, “If I remember correctly, Captain. You had a mild attack of xenopsychosis about six years ago, didn't you? During Alamo's mission of Uranus.”

   “Yes. Both Caine and I. We were extracted in a matter of moments, and recovered quickly.”

   “And how often do you have the nightmares?”

   Marshall's face reddened, and he replied, “Far less than I used to. Maybe once a month.”

   Nodding, Strickland said, “It isn't something you ever really get over, Captain. There's nothing too incomprehensible about it. Sometimes, our senses perceive something that we are completely ill-equipped to understand, something that would drive us to permanent insanity if we did. A few cases have been experienced among those working on hendecaspace theory, for example. The mind has a safety mechanism, and essentially shuts down access to external stimuli.”

   “I was back on duty in a matter of hours, Doctor. Deadeye has already been unconscious for more than a day. I need to know when she'll wake up.”

   With a sigh, Strickland replied, “It isn't as simple as that. Understand that we still know far too little about the operation of the human psyche. We've made tremendous progress, but there is still so much that we don't know. In this case, Captain Caine has retreated inside herself, deep enough that I can't bring her back. Only she can do that.”

   “Doctor...”

   “Added to which that I'm just a combat medic, sir. You need a neurosurgeon, and facilities that we just don't have on this ship. There are a few things I can do, but I've already exhausted everything I can think of.”

   “How long, Doctor?”

   “It could be hours, days, weeks...”

   “Weeks?”

   “Captain, it could be years. Or, conceivably, never. If Lieutenant Salazar hadn't had the foresight to don his safety goggles, he'd still be out there with the others. It's almost certain that the two dead members of the survey team both experienced the same phenomenon. Whether both of them committed suicide or one killed the other, then himself, we'll never know.”

   “Then there's nothing you can do?”

   “I've set up electrical stimuli to prevent muscle atrophy, rigged her to be fed intravenously, and that's about all I can do for the present. Naturally, she will be constantly monitored, and if there is any change in her condition, I'll see that you are informed.” He paused, then added, “You're listed as her next of kin. As far as I know, she hasn't left a living will, but if...”

   “No!” Marshall snapped. “She won't give up, and neither will I.” Glaring at Strickland, he added, “And neither will you, Doctor. I want that to be perfectly clear.”

   “Understood, sir. I'll continue to research her condition, and try and figure out some sort of treatment regimen. When we return to Mars, we can turn her over to specialists who might have more luck.” Looking down at the prone figure of Alamo's Executive Officer, he added, “It would be very wrong of me to give you any false hope, sir. The longer she is out, the worse her ultimate prognosis. Having said that, there have been cases where people woke up more than a decade after the initial shock, and in every other respect, she is perfectly healthy.” Glancing at Salazar, he continued, “As Medical Officer, I must therefore inform you that there is no realistic possibility that Captain Caine will be able to resume her duties in the near future.”

   “Noted, Doctor. I want you working around the clock on this, and I expect daily reports on her condition. You will do anything you can to bring her around.”

   “Captain,” Salazar said, “I'm sure that Doctor Strickland...”

   “Is that clear, Doctor?” Marshall pressed.

   Frowning, Strickland replied, “I don't need an order to care for my patients, sir.”

   Glancing at his watch, Salazar said, “Captain, the senior staff will be waiting in the briefing room. We ought to be heading up there.”

   With a curt nod, Marshall said, “I'll be back once the meeting is concluded, Doctor, and we can discuss this further.”

   “I do have other patients requiring my attention, Captain, and as I've said...”

   “Later, Doctor,” Marshall replied, turning to the corridor. Salazar hurried to follow, barely stepping into the waiting elevator before the door closed, hurling them to their destination on the far side of the ship.

   “I blame myself,” Salazar said. “I should have left the shuttle sooner, gone to investigate. Hell, I should have led the search team myself.”

   Glancing at the young officer, Marshall replied, “Technically, you shouldn't have left the shuttle at all, Lieutenant. Not without authorization. In the future I would appreciate being informed before my orders are violated. As for the search team, Captain Caine's degree in xenoarchaeology made her the best choice to lead it. We couldn't risk Lieutenant Carpenter. Her knowledge is irreplaceable.”

   “Yes, sir.” The elevator paused, the door sliding open to admit Senior Lieutenant Francis, Alamo's Operations Officer, clutching a datapad in his hands.

   “How is she, sir?” Francis asked.

   “No change.”

   Turning to Salazar, the veteran said, “Then, sir, I suppose the question of her replacement must come into play. I thought I'd make it quite clear now that I have no objection to Lieutenant Salazar assuming the position. Given his status as Second Officer...”

   “No.”

   Raising an eyebrow, Francis said, “If offered, sir, I will accept, but...”

   “No, Lieutenant. Deadeye remains this ship's Executive Officer until further notice.”

   Salazar looked at Francis, then replied, “Captain, the ship needs a second-in-command.”

   “I have no plans to go anywhere, Lieutenant, and I have the utmost confidence that Deadeye will recover in good time, no matter what Doctor Strickland seems to think. Should her situation deteriorate, then I am willing to reopen this discussion, but until then, we will operate exactly as we have done.”

   “Captain, there are certain matters...” Francis began.

   Looking at the two of them, Marshall replied, “It was my assumption that I had a pair of competent officers in, arguably, my most critical command roles, able to handle situations such as this. If I am incorrect in that belief, then I will be more than happy to replace you. Is that understood?”

   Nodding, Salazar replied, “As she will be temporarily unable to handle Tactical, sir, I've taken the liberty of calling Sub-Lieutenant Scott to the meeting. As Weapons Officer, she's second-in-command of that department. Unless...”

   “No, no, that's fine,” Marshall said. “I've been contemplating assigning a permanent Tactical Officer, in any case. Handling that and the Executive slot is a lot for one person to handle, even Deadeye, and as you say, Sub-Lieutenant Scott is in place. Something to consider when things settle down.”

   “Aye, sir,” Salazar said, as the doors slid open. The trio walked into the briefing room, the remainder of Alamo's senior staff waiting for them inside. Senior Lieutenant Santiago, Systems Officer, sat next to Senior Lieutenant McCormack, Alamo's Flight Officer, commander of their fighter contingent. Scott sat on Santiago's left, and Carpenter and Foster sat on the far side of the table. Kristen Harper, Alamo's Intelligence Officer, took her usual seat next to Salazar, glancing briefly at him, rev
iving a curt nod in reply. Just as the doors were closing, a red-faced Ensign Rhodes, Alamo's Espatier platoon commander, raced in.

   “Sorry I'm late,” he apologized, taking his seat. “Weapons testing. Overran.”

   “See that it doesn't happen again,” Marshall said, looking around the table. “Lieutenant Harper, what have you managed to piece together from the data obtained on the station?”

   “Not much,” she replied. “Pavel's guess that it was human-built seems accurate. Underneath the surface, there are a lot of touches that suggest human origins, but we're still talking thousands of years ago.”

   Carpenter, Alamo's Science Officer, nodded, and added, “We've run a full analysis of the metal samples, and the dating goes back ten thousand years and change. And traces of elements not present in the system, which makes an interstellar origin conclusive. I had a careful check of the datapad, but there's nothing of significance. I'm afraid we've drawn a blank.”

   “Not quite,” Salazar said. “We know that something else came through the wormhole at some point, something that was enough of a threat that someone set up the station just to prepare for it. Potentially they were concerned about other ships finding their way through. Given that we found no other traces of ships in the system, however, I'd suggest that we were the first victims. The other ships we're tracking either didn't come this way, or they managed to evade the trap.”

   “No sign of Monitor, then. Or Nautilus,” Marshall replied, with a nod. “It's a big universe. I just wish we could send Waldheim out that way.” Looking around the table, he added, “That was our third system, people, and aside from knowing that there are nasty things running around out here, we're no wiser now than where we started. Our current target represents the only other site within a single jump. After that, we're looking at some long trips.”

   “Sensor data gives us a complex system, Captain, complete with a potentially inhabitable planet,” Carpenter said. “There's a dense asteroid belt close into the star, and I'd recommend that we start there. Half a dozen potential egress points.”

   “Why not just make for the most probable target?” McCormack asked. “I'm confident that we should be able to handle anything we run into.”

   “I wish I shared your faith,” Salazar said. “We're a long way from home, Lieutenant, and a long way from reinforcements. There's no harm taking the safe option. In normal space, that world is only six days away. We'll have plenty of time to look over the system before risking any close encounters.”

   Nodding, Santiago added, “I'd like to take the chance to refuel if we can, also. I know it slows us down, but otherwise we'd be running dry after our next jump. Art's got the refueling shuttles ready, but that's going to tie us to the system for eight days, rather than five.”

   “Subject to the situation when we emerge,” Marshall replied, “I'll sign off on that. But I want maximum protection for our birds while they're on the deck. Ensign Rhodes, you'll assume command of the ground detachment for the mining base. McCormack, I'll want a flight on two minute notice for scramble while we're in the system, and the whole squadron on escort duty for the tankers on their way back and forth. They're irreplaceable under our current circumstances, and without them, we're in a hell of a lot of trouble.”

   “Captain,” McCormack replied, “With respect, I should be in command of the refueling operation.”

   “Why?” Rhodes asked. “It's a ground job.”

   “You're using my fighters for escort duty, and...”

   “Lieutenant, you have more important things to do than sit on a mining station for eight days. There's still an enemy warship flying around out there, and we know that they'll attack on sight. I need you on Alamo, ready to lead your squadron into battle.”

   “And keeping them on two minute notice….”

   “Lieutenant McCormack,” Marshall barked, “Either you will obey my orders, or I will happily provide Lieutenant Murphy with a field promotion, and you can spend the rest of our time in Andromeda working in Waste Reclamation. I trust that I make myself clear.”

   With an angry glare, she replied, “Yes, sir. Perfectly clear.”

   “Very good.” Taking a deep breath, Marshall added, “Francis, what's the status of the crew?”

   “Morale isn't good, sir. When we looked like we had some sort of a lead to follow, it wasn't so bad, but now that we've had several blind alleys, they're beginning to wonder whether we're ever going to get home. I've already got everyone doubling-down on cross-training, and we're trying to fight our way through the maintenance backlog, but we can't keep that up forever.”

   Nodding, Salazar added, “It's a short-term solution at best, sir, and fatigue levels are already rising. Much higher, and we're going to start hitting the bad part of the error curve.”

   “Any suggestions, Lieutenant, or are we only providing problems today?”

   Looking across at Salazar, Francis said, “I'm certain that Lieutenant Salazar was only...”

   “We need to find other ways for the crew to vent their frustrations,” Salazar interrupted. “I'd like Ensign Rhodes to start wider-ranged combat drills, and get his unarmed combat instructors to provide mandatory training. Frankly, sir, I'd rather they worked out their problems in a controlled environment before we start having fist-fights in the corridor.”

   “That's no problem, Pavel,” Rhodes said. “We're ready to go when you give the word. Maybe some sidearms training, as well. We've got the simulated battle exercises, and if you can let me have an empty Storage Module, I think I can put together something that will keep people interested.”

   “Make it happen,” Marshall replied. “Morale is our top priority at the moment. I want you all to pay close attention to your departments, and make sure to liaise with Doctor Strickland. The last thing we need is for the crew to grow dependent on sedatives.”

   “We're in an unprecedented situation, sir,” Foster said. “It wasn't so bad down on Dante. We were fighting for survival every day. Up here, I think everyone's a little too comfortable. Too much time to think, regardless of the workload we place them under.”

   “What about the ship, Santiago?”

   “No problems, sir. All damage repaired, and we're in excellent condition for an extended flight,” the engineer replied. “That make-work means we're slightly ahead of the curve, sir. We're working on non-essentials now, just to keep things moving.”

   Nodding, Marshall replied, “I want it to be made clear to all hands that we have every expectation of finding the lead we're looking for at our next port of call, and that my expectation is that we will work out a way home soon. Carpenter, if there is anything you need, take it. No questions asked. I think it goes without saying that you have absolute top priority. Anything else?”

   “Sir,” McCormack said, “given the incapacitation of...”

   “Meeting adjourned,” Marshall said, ignoring the pilot's interjection. The officers rose to their feet, and walked out of the room, Salazar, Harper and Francis leading the way. The trio turned down a side corridor, Salazar quickly glancing back to check that Marshall wasn't following, then walked into Harper's office, locking the door behind them.

   “Surprising,” Francis said, looking around the orderly room. “Don't take this the wrong way, but I'd expected a mess.”

   “Never use the place,” Harper replied. “Easier just to work out of our quarters. Don't tell anyone, though. Might need it one day.” Looking at the two of them, she asked, “What the hell happened back there? I've never seen the Captain like this before.”

   “Nor have I,” Salazar said. “It's Caine.”

   “They go back a long way, don't they,” Francis said.

   “Since the War. They've been close for years, and Caine's always been his confidant. Even when she wasn't actually second-in-command, she's usually acted as his chief adviser.” Shaking his head, Salazar added, “That doesn't change the fac
t that we seem to be facing a little problem.”

   “I never thought I'd say this,” Harper replied, “but McCormack was right. She ought to be in overall charge of the landing operations. Putting Rhodes in charge...”

   “He doesn't like McCormack,” Francis said, bluntly. “She's not my favorite person, but it doesn't alter my opinion of her ability. Nevertheless, that isn't really that big a problem. I'm sure we'll work out the details. More critical is that at this moment, Alamo doesn't have an Executive Officer. Even if Caine wakes up tonight, she'll likely need a long rest before being fit for duty.”

   “You mean...”

   “No,” Salazar said. “He didn't make the decision.” Turning to Francis, he added, “Max, as Second Officer I suppose I'm next in line, but as Operations Officer, you've got a claim.”

   With a thin smile, Francis replied, “The last thing we need right now is to make things more complicated. I'm happy for you to take the role, though given the lack of any official status, our actual ability to do anything is limited. And I don't need to tell you that we're right on the line simply having this conversation.”

   “What conversation?” Harper asked. “I thought three friends were just discussing hypothetical situations.”

   “You hold onto that, Kris,” Salazar said with a sigh. “Hold onto that real tight, because we're a hell of a long way from home, heading deeper into unknown space, and with an enemy battleship on our tail. I'm certain that they'll have repaired themselves by now, and if we can find the trail, so can they. We're playing Russian Roulette the longer we stay within one jump of Dante.”

   “If it helps,” Francis said, “If anything happens, I'll back you. No matter what.”

   “It helps,” Salazar said, “but I don't think it will come to that.” Looking around the room, he continued, “For now, we just proceed, and see. With luck, he'll snap out of this on his own, given time. Maybe even before we leave hendecaspace.”