Secrets of the Sphere (Battlecruiser Alamo Book 27) Read online

   Forgetting the canteen, he reached for it with his hands, carefully pushing the sand aside, exposing the object. It took him seconds to realize that it was not rock, but bone, the remnants of another wanderer through the desert. Superficially, it appeared human, but there was something strange about it, the teeth sharper than any human mouth had a right to be, the skull oddly shaped, twisted. As he worked, he saw the hands, long double-jointed fingers, arched as though ready to rip at his flesh.

   “You've found it, then,” Jimmy said, as the buggy silently reached the top of the hill. “Electric motor. Any sound carries, out here.”

   “What is this?” Clarke asked.

   “That, kid, is what you are proposing to go up against. You take a good long look, and you tell me whether you still think you have a chance.”

  Chapter 3

   “You should have stopped him,” Senior Lieutenant Max Francis, Alamo's Executive Officer, said to Harper as the two of them stepped onto the bridge. “He's the Captain. He's meant to command Alamo, not go running off into the middle of nowhere. I didn't like that he was spending that much time down on the Sphere, but at least at Base Camp he could be back to the ship in a hurry.” Turning to the communications station, he added, “Bowman, any contact?”

   “Not since they passed two thousand miles, sir,” the technician replied. “We're still getting telemetry, but the bandwidth's too low for anything else.” Throwing controls, he added, “There's just too much interference out there. We're still having trouble breaking through the chatter.”

   “If it wasn't for my leg,” Harper replied, as Francis settled into the command chair, “I'd have gone with him. You know that he's the best pilot on the ship. Besides, there's another factor. If Captain Orlova is out there, then someone with Double-Ultra clearance has to make the initial contact.”

   “We're three million light-years from home, Lieutenant,” Francis replied. “I think we can probably get away with violating a few security regulations. Besides, doesn't Lieutenant Lombardo have just such clearance?” With a sigh, he said, “I just don't like it, that's all.” He looked at the viewscreen, the image of the Sphere as ever dominating the display, and said, “I can't help but feel that we're playing with something that is just too damned big for us.”

   “We don't have a choice if we want to get home.”

   “Maybe,” he replied. “Maybe.” He paused, then said, “Captain Salazar probably agrees with me, though. Or he wouldn't have ordered a general recall.”

   “Pavel just wanted to be careful.” She glanced across at the sensor display, and added, “I issued the command before I left the Sphere. Everyone should have checked in by now.” With a frown, she added, “Some of them are a day from Base Camp. Maybe we should get one of the shuttles down there. It won't have the range of the flyers, but it should be...”

   “Captain,” Ballard said, turning from the sensor console. “There's something strange, sir. Coming from the far side of the singularity. I'm getting momentary readings of energy traces.”

   “Show me,” Francis snapped, and a tactical display appeared on the screen, showing the nearby black hole in all its glory, a menacing maw constantly threatening to snatch everything in its path. Alamo had launched an array of probes into the mouth of the hole, but nobody would consider getting too close to the beast. And yet, the technician was correct. At the edges of the singularity, pin-point traces of heat, the mark of an engine under thrust.

   Harper turned to him, and said, “That hole is a perfect blind spot.”

   “We've got probes out there,” Francis replied. “Covering our back.”

   “Actually, sir,” an embarrassed Ballard reported, “We've had malfunctions with most of them. Thruster failures, placing them too close to the black hole. They're being replaced as fast as they fail, but right now, we've only got partial coverage.”

   “What?” Francis roared. “You didn't think it was a good idea to warn me about that?”

   “Captain Salazar knew, sir,” the red-faced technician replied. “Lieutenant Lombardo was working on an upgraded thruster package for the probes before he left. And the gap is only periodic, sir.”

   “Battle stations,” Francis said, and the familiar sirens wailed as Alamo's crew raced to their posts, clearing the decks for action. The door slid open, Lieutenant Scott diving through them to her position at tactical, her fingers reaching for the controls as she brought the combat systems on-line. Harper dived for her station, quickly bringing up the defensive systems, firming the ship's firewall while keeping a careful eye on the sensor display.

   “Multiple contacts, coming around from the far side of the black hole,” Ballard said. “Five, correction, seven fighters inbound.” She frowned, then added, “They've got guts to get that close to a singularity.”

   “They aren't,” Harper replied. “Gravitational effect. They'll have stayed well clear.” Her eyes widened as she looked up at the display, and she added, “And my God, they're moving. They must have got one hell of a slingshot effect from the black hole. I'm reading them at more than thirty gravities.” Turning to Francis, she added, “I don't like this, sir. They can't be manned, and given the fuel they must have expended to get this far, they can't be planning on recovering them. This is a kamikaze run.”

   Reaching for a control on the side of his chair, Francis said, “Squadron scramble. Targets are incoming drone fighters. Bring them down at all cost.” Turning to Scott, he added, “I want a firing solution on the fighters as fast as you can get one.”

   “Working, sir,” she replied. The door behind them slid open, and Lieutenant Maqua, the Neander officer rescued from the Sphere, stepped onto the deck, looking at the strategic display with a frown on his face. He turned to Francis, shaking his head.

   “We thought they might be using drone fighters, sir, though we didn't have any actual proof. And we hadn't seen them operating this close to the black hole before, but it makes sense. They've been studying this system for years. By now they'll know everything there is to know about it, and will be able to operate on a tighter safety margin than us. Recommend we leave the area, sir.”

   “Not practical,” Quesada said, working the helm controls. “We're at relative rest, and by the time we get enough acceleration, they'll be on us. My board says we're looking at intercept in less than six minutes.” Tapping a control, he added, “I'd recommend we hold position, sir, and try for a last-second evade with the thrusters should it be necessary.”

   “I concur, Quesada,” Francis replied. “Let's try and lure them in.” The ship rocked as the fighters raced clear, speeding towards the incoming kamikaze drones. “Harper, any thoughts on what we're dealing with?”

   “We don't have much data on Hegemonic fighters yet. The flight profile looks a little like a Fury fighter. United States Space Force, back around the Third World War, though this is an evolved design.” Reaching for her controls, she added, “They'll have room for a pretty sizable warhead if they've stripped out the lifesystem, and I'm not picking up any residual leaks. Estimate high-kiloton yield.” Squinting at the screen, she continued, “Two missiles, under-slung, conventional type.”

   Nodding, Maqua added, “They'll use them defensively, knock out the incoming fighter assault before slamming right into Alamo.” Turning to Scott, he added, “Kat, it's going to come down to your salvo and the missiles.”

   “I have a preliminary firing solution,” Scott said. “We'll have time for a single laser pulse. If we're holding position, sir, I'd like to get the first salvo into the air now, keep them close to our side for a last shot. We'll be sacrificing the boost from the magnetic catapults, but it might make all the difference at the last minute.”

   “Go ahead. Harper, what prospect of electronic subversion?”

   “Limited,” she replied, her fingers already dancing over the controls. “I'm trying, but their firewall is a design I'm not used to, and they've mad
e a lot of changes since our last encounter. It's as though they've switched over to a completely different operating system.” She frowned, then added, “Given time, I might be able to adapt our intrusion software, but I don't think they're going to give it to us. Point-defense batteries are armed and ready, though, sir.”

   “Good,” Francis said, the frown still locked on his face. “Let's hope it doesn't come to that.”

   “Fighters will intercept in three minutes,” Maqua said, leaning over the sensor station. “They're attacking in one big wave. I'm not sure that's how I would have played it.”

   “McCormack knows what she's doing,” Francis replied. “Her primary job is to make sure that the enemy fighters expend their missiles before they get too close. Then the drones will be wide open for us.”

   Frowning, Harper said, “They must know that, sir.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “She's right,” Scott said. “There's more to this. They had no reason to know that we wouldn't see them coming. They'd assume that we would spot the drones and launch our fighters to intercept.” Her eyes widened, and she turned to Ballard, and asked, “How close do our fighters get to theirs on current trajectory?”

   “Less than thirty thousand miles, Lieutenant, but they'd never...”

   “Fragmentation bombs.”

   “Damn it,” Harper said. “Sir...”

   “I'm on it,” Francis replied. “Alamo Actual to Squadron Leader. Break and run. Enemy fighters are armed with fragmentation warheads, and if you get too close, you'll be diving right into a trap. Launch missiles now, and we'll guide them in as close as we can. Repeat, break and run.”

   “Roger,” the crackling voice of McCormack replied. “Executing evasive course.”

   All eyes were on the viewscreen, watching as the fighters weaved clear of the enemy drones, a dozen new contacts appearing on the display as missiles futilely raced towards their targets, at a range extreme enough to give them little chance of success. Harper locked eyes with Scott, both aware that if they had guessed wrong, they might have doomed Alamo to imminent destruction. There was little chance that the missile and laser screen could save them.

   “Fighters clear,” Ballard said. A heartbeat later, she added, “Energy spike!”

   The seven drones exploded, shattered clouds of debris flying through space, the remnants of the drones no longer able to pose any threat to the warship. Harper released a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding, then looked up at the screen. All clear, at least at any range that could have presented any hazard to the ship.

   “All hands, stand down from battle stations but maintain alert status,” Francis replied. “Get our fighters back home, Maqua.” Turning to Harper, he continued, “I think we've just proven Captain Salazar right. There's an evident risk to the safety of the ship, and we're going to have to prepare to pull out at a moment's notice if the situation deteriorates.”

   “Sir?” Ballard said. “I'm getting something at extreme range. In the outer belt. It looks like a point heat source, possibly large enough to be a starship.” She paused, then said, “Gone again. There's a lot of debris out there, sir. Plenty of places for an enemy ship to hide, and there's no way we could ever lay a probe network sufficient to cover them.” Reaching across for a control, she added, “I could target one that that specific area, but it would be hours before we got a clear look at it.”

   “No,” Francis replied. “They're probably working on the assumption that we haven't seen them, and for the present, I think we're best playing along with that misconception. An enemy three or four billion miles away isn't going to be able to do much harm to us. They're just watching and waiting.” He turned to Harper, and added, “I'm a lot more concerned about what might be hiding behind that black hole. There's an egress point behind it, out of sight.”

   Nodding, she said, “I'd recommend not launching another sensor drone. We'd only be wasting it, and right now, they have the same problem that we do. Both of us are blind.”

   “Wait a minute,” Scott replied. “We can't just sit back here and wait while they prepare another strike. If they could muster more drones, pick a time of their choosing, then they could wipe us out. They almost took down our fighter force this time. We might not be so lucky in the next encounter.”

   “I quite agree,” Francis replied, looking up at the sensor display. “How long until our fighters are back home?”

   “Thirty minutes, sir,” Ballard reported.

   “And another thirty minutes to rearm, refuel. Which means that they'll be expecting an attack within the hour.” With a wry smile on his face, he continued, “They'll be wanting us to launch a strike. I don't think that we should let them down.” Rising to his feet, he said, “I'll be in Astrogation. Lieutenant Scott, you have the deck. Continue working to evacuate our people from the surface. I don't want more people down there than we can evacuate in a single shuttle pass.”

   “Sir,” Bowman said, turning from his station. “I've received signals from all of our expedition teams except Number Seven. The rest are heading back to Base Camp, and the last of them should be home in twelve hours at the outside.”

   “Where was Seven?”

   “A cluster of ruins about a hundred miles from the camp,” Harper replied. “That's Foster's team. She wouldn't ignore a recall order unless she had a damned good reason. Request permission to take out a search and rescue team.”

   “Denied,” Francis replied, throwing her a glare. “I need you here, Lieutenant, not limping your way across the Sphere. If we're planning to launch an attack within the next few hours, my top command staff has to be at their posts. Losing the Captain and Foster is going to hurt us enough without unnecessarily adding to that.” Turning to Scott, he added, “Have Ensign Rhodes dispatch a team in one of the buggies, and make sure he leaves enough space to bring back all the potentially stranded personnel. This could be nothing more serious than an equipment breakdown. Stress that his is a snatch and grab, Lieutenant. No attempt made to salvage anything from the site. They're to grab what they can and head back to Base Camp at once.”

   “And have them keep an open communication frequency at all times,” Harper added. “If something happens to them, we've got to have a full recording of it. Just in case.” Turning to Francis, she asked, “What exactly do you have in mind, sir?”

   “In a couple of hours, Lieutenant, you'll find out with the rest of them,” he said with an enigmatic smile, stepping into the elevator.

  Chapter 4

   Clarke staggered into the battered structure, the remnants of wings dug into the sand, engines jutting from the side, half-dismantled. The interior, obviously an old cockpit from the instruments decorating the walls, had been long-ago stripped bare, only a pair of couches left at the rear to testify to the former use of the structure. He looked across at Jimmy as the man walked in, moving over to a tap on the wall and filling a canteen with water.

   “You want some?” he asked, passing it across to Clarke. “Comes from an aquifer, maybe a couple of hundred meters down. Not my doing, the former owner. I just found the place, fixed it up a little.” Looking around the room, he added, “I never did find out who flew this thing into the deck, but it's been here for a damned long time.” Gesturing at the instrumentation, he added, “Solar-powered. Still works, sometimes. I guess they built this beast to last.”

   “Have you got a sensor package on this thing?” Clarke asked, taking a deep swig of the water. “Damn, this is cold.”

   Nodding, Jimmy reached up to a bank of levers on the ceiling, throwing them with a sweep of his hand, and replied, “That's how I saw you coming.”

   “Wait a minute,” Clarke said. “You saw us coming in, and you didn't warn us?”

   Raising his hands, he replied, “How the hell was I supposed to know who you were? For all I knew, you were with those bastards up in the mountains! You were certainly headin
g in that direction.” He paused, then asked, “Where were you going, anyway?”

   “We heard about a hidden vault about three thousand miles on from here. Some of the Neander we encountered took pilgrimages out that way.”

   Jimmy's face clouded, and he said, “You're here to scavenge secrets and technology, then?”

   “Not quite,” he replied. Clarke took a deep breath, and said, “We're trying to find a way home. A few months ago, we were caught in a wormhole and tossed out of our own galaxy into this one. I presume your ancestors went through the same thing. Since then, we've been attempting to get back, and we found evidence that the builders of the Sphere made use of the wormhole network. There must be a way to get back to the Milky Way.”

   Nodding, Jimmy said, “That's all, though? Nothing more?”

   “We won't pass up anything we can find. Especially anything that might relate to the original construction of this place, but our primary objective is a wormhole chart. As soon as we find that, we're out of here and on our way home.”

   “Where are you from, then?”

   “The Triplanetary Confederation. I'm the Security Officer of the Battlecruiser Alamo. We were on a scouting mission, trying to find that vault, when that missile knocked us down. That came from those people who attacked us?”

   “I tracked it all the way up. You never had a chance.” He paused, and said, “You think anyone else might have more luck? Have you got any armed flyers?”

   “Not unless they've done some serious modifications, but we've got some great pilots back on the ship. Way better than me. They'll find a way to make it through.” Looking over Jimmy again, Clarke asked, “What about you? What's your story?”

   “I don't have a story. I just want to get the hell away from this place, and I don't give a damn where I end up. As long as it's way from this damned desert and those beasts that roam it.” He looked out through the hatch, shivering despite the heat, and said, “Some nights, they let them loose, hunting down anything that moves. There's not much life out there at the best of times. A lot less now. As soon as the sun goes down, I lock down that hatch and wait for the dawn. I never know when they might find a way in. They don't use technology, and that's an armored hull, but sooner or later they'll find a weak spot, and they'll tear me to pieces.” His eyes grew distant, and he added, “These aren't ghost stories, kid. I've seen it happen. And I only escaped by the skin of my teeth.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “You still want to go into that place?”