Battlecruiser Alamo: The First Duty Page 8

   He’d been wearing part of his uniform, and after a brief pause while he considered changing back into the gray prison jumpsuit, reached for his jacket. Neither outfit was exactly inconspicuous, but he felt better back in Triplanetary field uniform again. Reaching up for his respirator, he checked that it was fully charged, and clipped it to his belt, near the empty holster. Then he tapped the door, and was not at all surprised when it failed to open. Evidently the fail-safe was keeping it closed.

   Shaking his head, he pulled out the inspection panel, and was confronted by a tangle of wires and cables. Pulling the wrong one would likely seal him inside, though that would hardly make matters worse. Struggling to remember his engineering training, he followed what he thought was the correct wire back to its source and gave it a sharp, firm tug, and the door opened.

   Then he waited for a second. There was only one way out, and if a guard was going to come and stop him, he might as well give him a minute to respond. When no-one arrived, he cautiously moved out into the corridor, walking past the closed doors, heading for the turning at the end of the hall. The dining room door was open, and he could hear a groaning noise coming from inside.

   Moving over to the door, he peered inside, and saw a shape lying on the floor in the gloom. Trying to make as little noise as possible, he stepped over to the figure, kneeling down by its side, and frowned. It was one of the guards, unconscious, with a growing bruise on his head. He quickly checked the man’s pulse, found it steady, and made sure he wasn’t in any danger before looking down at his holster. Much to his surprise, there was a pistol present, and he gratefully snatched it out, checked that it was loaded, and stuffed it in his own holster.

   One of the tablecloths, wrapped around and around, served tolerably well as an improvised rope, and he made sure that the guard couldn’t come after him when he woke up, then climbed to his feet and edged carefully out of the room, making his way down the far corridor.

   This was the habitation level, and a plan was beginning to appear in his mind as he headed for the emergency shaft. He might not be able to walk out of here, but he could fly out of here. If he could get back to the Smoke, that would be something – getting off-world was his top priority, and that would be a lot easier if he had a hostage. With luck, he’d soon have a rather high profile figure under his control.

   He scaled down the ladder, braced for the lights to come back on and alarms to ring. Finding the guard unconscious had raised more questions; perhaps he was not the only prisoner here after all, and someone else had been more successful at their escape attempt than he had. It could even have been an accident in the gloom, but that seemed like too big a coincidence.

   Reaching the bottom of the ladder, he pushed the door open a crack and looked out. There was a green light at the far end of the corridor, coming out of the only open door, and the sound of someone moving around down there. Pulling his newly acquired pistol out of his pocket, he started to edge into the corridor, then paused and looked at the sidearm, checking for a trap. Short of firing it, he couldn’t be sure that it would work, but he had no intention of using it in any case. Not unless he had to.

   In twenty quick paces, he dashed down the side of the corridor and stood beside the door, looking inside to see the Commandant sitting at his desk, frantically typing commands into a terminal. Marshall cursed under his breath; he was calling for help, summoning reinforcements. If this was going to work, he’d have to pull it off immediately, and he dived inside, gun pointed dead at the Commandant’s chest.

   “Stay absolutely still,” he said, and the Commandant held his fingers on the keyboard.

   “I was wondering how long it would take you to get down here,” he replied.

   “Stand up, slowly.” Again, the Commandant complied. “Now move over into the corridor.”

   “I really need to finish what I am doing,” he said.

   With a smile, Marshall waved his gun to the right and edged to the other side. “I’m sure you want to, but I’m rather less sure that it would serve my interests. Let’s keep the hands held high for the moment, and not think of doing anything silly.”

   “I assure you, I have no intention of acting in such a foolish manner,” the Commandant said as he complied with Marshall’s instructions. “I would suggest that you should finish my work instead.”

   “You’ve got to be out of your mind,” he replied. “Why would I arrange for my own recapture?”

   “Who do you think knocked out the power? The guards will shortly reactivate it if I don’t complete the sequence, however.”

   Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “Nice try, but I don’t believe you for a second. What would you have to gain?”

   “Everything, perhaps. If you don’t believe me, perhaps you would care to look at the display? I assure you that I will do nothing while you work.”

   “Forgive me for not immediately trusting you,” Marshall said, curiosity compelling him to quickly glance down at the screen. What he saw caused him to look more closely; there were power distribution charts on the display, and the commands in the recent activities file were for deactivation.

   “Why would you do this?”

   “It is really quite simple, Captain. Having failed to stop you on two separate occasions, I am well aware that my life will likely shortly be forfeit, or at the very least, my position. I have no wish to become an indentured worker myself, and you can see that I would be eager to explore alternative possibilities.”

   “Meaning?”

   “Meaning, Captain, that I wish to defect to the Triplanetary Confederation, and I not only formally request this of you, but also your assistance in escaping.”

   Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “I don’t buy it. It’s got to be a trick. You can’t actually be serious about this.”

   “I was the one who knocked out the guard; he found me disabling certain safety systems in the upper level. I presume that is where you acquired the sidearm.”

   “If you wanted to get away, surely you could find an easier way than fighting your way out of a secured installation.”

   “Ah, but I would not have had your presence to guarantee my safe conduct once I reached Mariner Station, would I? I need you, Captain, and not to put too fine a point on it, you need me as well. Though if you choose, you can simply shoot me and attempt to get away by yourself. I venture your odds would not be favorable.”

   Glancing down at the screen again, Marshall tapped a couple of commands, enough to confirm that all of the system shutdowns were genuine enough. He looked up at the Commandant, standing in the doorway, and said.

   “Fine. Finish what you were doing. If the lights go on, I shoot.”

   “I quite understand,” he replied, hastily moving over to the console and starting to type. Looking over his shoulder, Marshall watched as much of his work as he could follow; the systems were foreign to him, and engineering had never been his specialty in any case.

   “Almost there. Just like old times,” the Commandant said, and with a triumphant tap, the terminal locked down. “Done it. all the lockdowns are intact. I just left traffic control up and running and the communications beacon.” Before Marshall could say anything, he continued. “The Dauntless would have noticed in an instant if we’d gone dark.”

   “Dauntless?”

   “My ship, up in orbit.” He took a deep breath, and said, “I guess I’ll never see it again. Well, what must be, must be. I suggest we depart as soon as possible. There is a civilian-type all-terrain vehicle waiting outside.”

   “You’ve really planned ahead.”

   “We’ll have to work our way between us after that. My accounts will be frozen as soon as I am registered as a deserter, so we should get off world as rapidly as possible. There are plenty of transports going back and forth from this planet.”

   “So once we reach the Smoke…”

   “I will leave the details t
o you. But first, we have to get out of the building.” The Commandant paused for a moment and snatched a respirator from the rack, quickly running a systems check before putting it in position. Marshall allowed him to lead the way down the corridor and away, keeping his pistol roughly covering him. This sudden change of loyalties seemed far too convenient for the moment, and he half-suspected he was being set up for a ‘shot while trying to escape’ death.

   Nevertheless, they made their way to the ladder, and the Commandant started down to the quarters deck, glancing up occasionally to make sure that Marshall was still following him. He strode out into the corridor with confident strides, glancing up and down, and turned left, heading towards one of the closed doors.

   “What about the rest of the guards?”

   “I issued orders that they should head for Guard Post One. That’s at the far end of the compound. By the time any of them can react, we should be well clear, and it will be some hours before they are able to communicate with anyone. We will need to be off-planet by then, ideally.”

   “With no money?”

   “I’ll commandeer a freighter, and it will be up to you to back that up if necessary.”

   “Your plan seems to get rather vague after we get away from here.”

   A smile on his face, he replied, “I didn’t have much time to make my preparations. I only found out yesterday that there were plans afoot to place me under arrest. Fortunately, I still have some allies left to me.”

   “The day you got me out of hock.”

   “My motivations…”

   “Are transparently obvious.”

   The Commandant paused, turned, and said, “I will not apologize for my actions, past or present, and you would not expect that of me. What I did benefited both of us.” He looked around, then added, “You haven’t formally granted me asylum.”

   “While I am a prisoner, I haven’t got the right. Let’s get ourselves out of here, then we can talk about that.”

   “As long as you intend to hold up your part of the bargain.”

   With a smile to match that of the Commandant, Marshall replied, “Either we will get out of here together, or we will die here together. I trust that I have made myself clear.”

   “As crystal. Come on. The airlock is just this way.”

   They walked down the corridor, Marshall still allowing his prisoner to take point. The airlock systems were all out, and the Commandant pulled down another inspection hatch, pumping a lever up and down, sweat beginning to build up on his forehead.

   “Damn designers,” he grunted. “The thing won’t engage.”

   Finally, with a clunk, it locked in position and the inner door opened; the two of them stepped inside. The Commandant reached over to a locker, and Marshall leveled his gun square at his hand, causing him to freeze.

   “After this, you still don’t trust me?”

   “You haven’t given me a good reason to yet.”

   Shaking his head, he replied, “It’s dark outside. I thought a torch might come in handy. Unless you would rather stumble around out there?”

   Cautiously, Marshall reached over him, pulled open the compartment, and saw a series of torches locked into a charging station. The Commandant reached up for one, tested it, and then placed his respirator into position. Marshall did the same, though trying to put the mask on one-handed while keeping his attention was rather a challenge, and it took him a while before it was comfortably fitted.

   “Ready?” the Commandant asked.

   “I’m ready,” Marshall replied. “Let’s get on with it.”

   Another lever, and more strenuous effort before it locked into position, the doors sliding open into the night air, a thin oily drizzle raining down from the gray clouds. Marshall reached back and took a torch of his own; he could hardly see his hand in front of his face, and the two of them started to make their way across the compound. He flashed his light ahead, and it briefly illuminated a squat, tracked vehicle on the far side. At least that part of the story was the truth.

   A noise came from the Commandant’s pocket, and his eyes widened with alarm. Marshall motioned for him to freeze, then pulled out a datapad, red lights flashing on it. Tapping the control, a sensor display appeared, an object on an incoming approach track, by the looks of it fairly close to a landing.

   “Is this what I think it is?” he asked.

   Turning to look, squinting into the darkness, the Commandant nodded, saying, “Incoming shuttle. There wasn’t one scheduled for tonight. We’d better get moving, fast.”

   The two of them started to race across the compound, heading towards the vehicle, but it was quickly obvious that they were not alone – another figure was rushing towards them, a gun in one hand, the other waving in the air.

   “Incoming shuttle, sir! Not on any of our beacons!” The guard turned to look at Marshall, and said, “What the hell…”

   Before he could say anything more, the Commandant pulled a pistol from a hidden pocket and fired a silent shot into the guard’s chest; he dropped backward to the ground, blood spilling out of his front. Marshall looked down at the twitching form, his mouth wide, then up at his killer.

   “You shot him,” he said, stunned.

   “Let me make it clear,” he replied with an iron tone that had never been evident before. “I am getting off this world. I need your assistance if I am to find a safe haven at the end of my journey. Any price I have to pay is acceptable.”

   “Give me the gun.”

   “Why?”

   “In case you decided that I’m an acceptable price. If this shuttle isn’t one of yours…”

   Sighing, the Commandant said as he passed it to him, “Evidently some of your people decided to launch an escape attempt.” He reached into another pocket, and tossed Marshall his communicator. “Might as well give it a try. Quickly, before someone comes to find out where Jackson went.”

   Giving the dead man a name just made it worse, but Marshall clipped the communicator into the respirator. “This is ground station to incoming shuttle. Identify yourself.”

   “Captain?” Cantrell’s voice replied. “What’s going on down there?”

   “Your timing is excellent. I’ve just managed to get clear of my cell. How long before you can be down on the deck?”

   “Thirty seconds to landing...this is…”

   “Time for that later, Spaceman.”

   “Yes. Hold on, this is tricky.”

   Frowning, Marshall looked up at the sky; he could see a small dot closing rapidly on their position, a trail of smoke behind it. He didn’t even know that Cantrell was a pilot, but anything to get them off this planet in a hurry. Of course, the rest of the guards were bound to spot it; as it slowed to a stop up above, playing its takeoff thrusters to lower it to the deck, he saw more figures heading their way, and fired a pair of shots to discourage them from hasty acts of heroism.

   The shuttle didn’t land, holding position a few feet above the ground, low enough that as the hatch opened, he could step on. He smiled as he saw Cooper looking down in disbelief at him, reaching down to help him up.

   “The Commandant first, Corporal,” he said.

   Cooper looked down at the other figure, shook his head, and helped the Cabal officer climb on board. Cantrell was holding the shuttle extremely steadily, and Marshall had little trouble scrambling after him, a few shots beginning to rattle the side of the hull. The hatch closed shut, and as the cabin filtered out the toxic atmosphere from outside, he took a sigh of relief; the acceleration as the shuttle sped towards escape velocity was a greater comfort than he had ever known.

   “I thought you were dead,” Marshall said to Cooper as he pulled his respirator off.

   “Almost, but not quite. I was expecting a heroic rescue attempt.”

   “Trust me, this is heroic enough. What’s the plan?”

   “Cantrell’s gett
ing us up into orbit, she’s made some arrangement with a freighter captain.”

   “Excellent,” the Commandant said. “With a little luck, we should be out of the system by the end of the day.”

   Cooper pointed his rifle in his direction, and said, “What is he doing here?”

   “He helped me escape,” Marshall said.

   “And now that you are no longer a prisoner, you are at liberty to give me your answer.”

   Taking a deep breath, he replied, “I don’t even know your name.”

   A smile spreading across his face, he said, “Let’s make this more official, then. I, Commandant Pierre Leduc, formally petition for political asylum in the Triplanetary Confederation. Do you accept, Lieutenant-Captain Marshall?”

   Looking down at the fast-receding surface below, Marshall said, “On behalf of the Triplanetary Senate, subject to official confirmation, I grant you asylum. Of course, that’s going to mean a hell of a lot more when we get back to Mariner Station.”

  Chapter Nine

   Cooper settled into the co-pilot’s seat next to Cantrell as she expertly manipulated the shuttle’s controls, sending them coasting up into orbit on at least a semblance of a normal flight path. The sensor display showed them on their own, no other shuttles heading up, but a swarm of freighters and other ships in orbit.

   “It wasn’t this busy before,” he said.

   “A convoy showed up the day of your operation. About a dozen ships and a couple of battlecruisers, both of them rather banged up. Interesting that they feel they have to protect their merchant shipping.”

   “They must know that Alamo is out of the way now, surely.”

   “You’re assuming that we’re the only ones they are worried about.” She reached down, tapping the screen, and continued, “That’s where we’re heading. The Brunel. Deep-space long-range transport, and they’ve done the run to Sinbad Station in the past. Never to Hydra, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”