Battlecruiser Alamo - 7 - Battlecruiser Alamo: Sacred Honor Page 9

   There was a brief pause, “Yes, sir? Do you need me to come back up?”

   “No,” he replied, “I just want to know if anyone has accessed the Cabal data.”

   “Mostly Tyler,” she said after a momentary delay. “Also yourself, Senior Lieutenant Mulenga, Lieutenant Caine, Major Marshall, and,” she paused before resuming in a surprised tone, “Corporal Cooper?”

   “He accessed it? When?”

   “About eighteen hours ago. Not for long, just enough to check a few files. Mostly patrol routes from what I can tell.”

   “Damn,” Marshall said. “Can you check for any changes?”

   “We have multiple backups, sir. One moment.” He heard some muttering just out of range of the microphone, then she said, “If Tyler had checked the files again, we’d be going to Gliese 442. Listed as rarely used by the files I trust; we’d have been there a while.

   “A trap, then.”

   “By the looks of it, sir. There’s definitely something strange going on.”

   “Inform Mr. Mulenga that I want him to plot a course to that star.”

   “You want to play along with the saboteur, then, sir?”

   “Something like that. Marshall out.”

   He sat down at his desk, his arms folded. Now he knew where the saboteur wanted him to go, and where a fleet was undoubtedly waiting for him. The only thing he had to decide was whether or not he was going to keep the appointment.

  Chapter 10

   The car sped over the endless veld, bumping over ridges, sending Orlova and Durman rocking back and forth in his seat; an angry bruise on the latter’s head from a particularly treacherous descent. Orlova had one eye on the landscape ahead, and another on the autonav as she homed in on the coordinates of the meeting point.

   “Where are we going?” Durman asked.

   “We’ll know when we get there.”

   “Wonderful,” he replied. “Doesn’t a condemned man get a last request?”

   She turned to him, sharply, saying, “You aren’t dead yet, Durman, but don’t tempt me.”

   “It’s just that I’ve never been this far out. Usually we only go for twenty, thirty miles. Just far enough that the tourists can get a chance to see what a real wilderness looks like, then we can head back and get a drink at our so-called bar.”

   “So?”

   “So we’ve only got enough juice on board to last us a hundred, hundred and twenty miles.”

   Throwing the throttle to full with scant regard for fuel consumption, Orlova sent the car lurching around a cluster of rocks, onto a level patch of ground that led into a valley. Durman grew pale, shaking his head.

   “We don’t want to go down there.”

   “I thought you’d never gone this far out.”

   “With good reason. Trust me.”

   “Why not?”

   “People don’t tend to come back. When they were first exploring on the ground, this area became known as somewhere that it was best to avoid.”

   “I don’t believe in superstition like that.”

   “How about old-fashioned common sense.”

   Disregarding his warning, she drove on, and after a few moments winding down a dried-up river bed in between long-dried shrub, she saw a huge object looming overhead at the end of the ravine, a statue a hundred feet tall. Killing the engine, almost without thinking about it she stepped out of the car, walking slowly towards it, her eyes fixed on the majestic, undefinable, alien construct.

   Obviously it had been there for thousands of years, maybe longer; the sand had worn hard on the ancient black material, polishing it to a sheen, and chunks of stone that were obviously once an integral part of the structure had fallen off to slump in the ground. What remained was still the most fascinating object she had ever seen, a truly alien creation.

   “Forster!” Durman yelled, not knowing her real name. “Get back!”

   “What?” she whispered, almost in reverence at the...thing ahead. She couldn’t think of anything to describe it; it was eerily familiar and utterly fantastic at the same time.

   “There’s someone coming. Damn it, I’m helpless like this!” he yelled. It was finally the crack of a rifle bolt that jerked her back into reality, and on pure instinct she hurled herself into the nearest cover behind a cluster of rocks, reaching for her rifle – and swearing, as she realized it was still sitting in the car.

   Durman had managed to crouch down behind the windscreen, giving him at least an element of protection, but with his hands and feet tied down, he wasn’t going to be any help. Assuming he wouldn’t simply turn the rifle onto the woman who had beaten and kidnapped him. Her eyes darted about, careful to avoid the transfixing statue as she hunted for her assailants. Another bullet cracked into a rock, sending shards flying into the air. Evidently they were using fairly low-impact shells, though as a third showered her with fragments of rock, that didn’t seem much comfort.

   Glancing at the distance between herself and the car, she tried to calculate how long it would take her to reach her weapon, but no matter how she figured it, she couldn’t get a satisfactory answer. Even if she got to it, she only had eight bullets for it – all she could justify taking on a trip of this type. Not enough for any sort of a firefight, or any sort of battle at all.

   As far as she could make out from the shots, there were three gunmen, all in different positions, all seemingly armed with hunting rifles of the same sort that she should be carrying. They had excellent cover – for all she knew, there could be a dozen more hiding in different positions in the undergrowth, waiting for her to expose herself to gunfire.

   “Durman, are these your friends?” she yelled.

   “When the hell did I have a chance to call anyone?” he replied. “And I didn’t even know where you were going, remember!”

   He had a point. Another pair of bullets smashed into the ground uncomfortably close to her; she couldn’t just wait there and hope that eventually they would run out of ammunition, but it was the nearest thing she had to a plan at the moment. Pause, and wait for an opportunity to present itself.

   A loud report from the top of the ravine suggested that just such an opportunity had arrived; she looked up to see a cloud of black smoke up above, and then another, this time followed by a loud scream. Then a third, which yielded nothing but a death rattle. There was some shouting, and a figure began to walk down the side of the ravine wielding the most cumbersome firearm she had ever seen, smoke still curling from the barrel of the weapon.

   As it grew closer, she realized that this was not a man – at least, not in the conventional sense of the word, but one of the Neander. Remaining down in her hiding place as he approached, she frowned as she heard a very human-like peal of laughter.

   “You can relax, Sub-Lieutenant. The hunting party has been captured, and you are quite safe now.”

   Peering over the lip of the rocks, she replied, “You’ll forgive me for being somewhat unusually careful.”

   “Sub-Lieutenant?” Durman yelled. “I thought you were a Commander.”

   “I gave myself a promotion,” she shouted, turning back to the figure, “How do you know my name?”

   “I have much intelligence, about your Hercules, Alamo, and its crews. We have a few friends beyond this world, and they have shared much with us over the years. You’d be surprised what tit-bits of information can come in handy.”

   “Wait a minute, you live here?” Durman said. “All this time…”

   “Normally we live several hundred miles away from your settlement, Mr. Durman. The better to resist the attentions of your friends in the Cabal. But we have friends in, shall we say, high places.”

   Snapping her figures, Orlova said, “Price.”

   “Like grandfather, like son. He discovered us when he crash-landed – it was with the assistance of our forefathers that he stayed alive while waiting for rescue.
The price of our help was anonymity.”

   Standing up, Orlova looked at the face of the stranger; he had a proud bearing, standing straight and tall with his weapon held loosely in his hands. Wearing a brown tunic, his long, shaggy hair was expertly braided around the deep ridges on his forehead, and he had a soft, playful smile.

   “I must have a million questions to ask,” she said.

   “I might be able to help with at least some of them, though I venture that the practicalities of time will prevent me satisfying them all.”

   “Are you anything to do with the others of your race up on the station?”

   “It is knowledge of their fate that makes us wary of our own. We mourn for our brothers, but until now the means of their relief has not been within our power.”

   “If Price is working with you…”

   “Mr. Price is at heart a good man, but there is only so much he can do without exposing his true beliefs. Likely he will be severely censured for helping you, though he might hope to camouflage that with professions of ignorance.”

   “I’m sorry,” Orlova replied.

   “You were not aware that the most likely outcome of your visit to this station would be a firing squad for those who had dealt with you?”

   Horror flashed across her face, “What?”

   “The Cabal will tolerate many things, but failure it will never accept. Not even once, not even when there was no way to avoid it. I fear their ruthless streak extends that far.”

   Three cracks came from the top of the ridge in quick succession, and a shaggy arm waved from up above. Orlova’s face grew pale; she shook her head in disbelief.

   “Did you just do what I think you did?” she said.

   “The three men who attacked you have now transcended,” he replied. “Had we not sent them onto the next cycle, they would have reported your location and our existence. For the benefit of our children and grandchildren, we did what we had to do.”

   “Those were human beings,” Durman yelled.

   “Who tried to kill both of you, and would have enslaved us. Cabal Special Forces.”

   “Rubbish. There are none of them on this planet.”

   “There are many things you are unaware of, Mr. Durman. Do you really believe that the Cabal would not want to keep an eye on you; they have friends and contacts up on the space station. You will need to be cautious upon your return.”

   Orlova, looking up at the ridge again, replied, “What happens now?”

   “You have two choices, Sub-Lieutenant. If it is your wish, you can return to your car and head back to the starport. Within a few hours, you will be back on your ship. Or you can leave your vehicle behind and come with us, to our camp. The remainder of the Elders are interested to meet you.”

   “What about Durman,” she gestured. “Does he get a bullet as well?”

   “That concerns you?” he replied. “Interesting. We will leave that decision to you.”

   Walking back to the car in a dozen long strides, Orlova pulled a monoknife from her belt, standing over the pale Durman. He looked up at her, defiance on his face, and grimaced as, with four slashing motions, she cut the bonds restraining him. He rubbed his wrists and looked up, frowning.

   “You aren’t letting me go.”

   “I’m giving you a choice.”

   “They’ll kill me if I try and get away.”

   “Will you report them?”

   He laughed, “If they were Cabal operatives, then I’m a dead man anyway. What the hell have I got to lose.”

   The Neander said, softly, “You could of course win back your life and your freedom by reporting our presence to the authorities. If Sub-Lieutenant Orlova decides to let you go, we will abide by her judgment.”

   Looking up at her, he said, “You’re taking me with you when you leave this planet. I’m not going to die for this.”

   “You realize the odds of us getting back to Sol are remote.”

   “Better a fighting chance than no chance at all.” He glanced out at the figure, “I don’t agree with a lot of what the Cabal stands for, but one man can do nothing.”

   “If all men believe that, then nothing will ever change.” He stepped forward, “Allow me to introduce myself; I am Kormax, Elder of Scouts.”

   “Get your people down here,” Durman said, “And I’ll drive.”

   “No,” he replied, shaking his head, “We will travel to where we are going on foot. No tracks to lead anyone to our encampment, no risk of your navigation computer being hacked.”

   “You seem surprisingly well-informed for a wanderer in the wilderness,” Orlova said.

   “Mr. Price has given us access to certain information, but we also have other sources.”

   “And the statue?” Orlova asked, gesturing towards it whilst being careful not to look upon it.

   “That is a relic from a...sad time. The Elders will tell you more about it when we decide whether or not to assist you.”

   Frowning, she replied, “You might not?”

   “Our experiences with your kind have been poor in the past. I am open to changing that, others might not be.”

   Hopping out of the cab, Durman said, “I’m getting the idea that we might not be coming back.”

   “That is a very realistic possibility. You should seriously consider returning.”

   Orlova looked at Durman, then said, “I’m going. Durman, if you want to go back, I’ve give you a message to pass on to Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter on Hercules.”

   “Wait, you’d go by yourself?”

   “Part of the job.”

   “You’re crazy,” he said, reaching into the cab for the pack of rations and strapping it to his back. “I guess I am too.”

  Chapter 11

   Cooper had been sitting in his cell for hours, his datapad unread on the floor next to a barely-touched ration pack. The cold white walls seemed to glare back at him, and the thought of his failure echoed through his mind. He should have been more careful, should have taken more precautions, should have brought someone else in at an earlier point. Now he was stuck in a cell for a crime he didn’t commit, and the saboteur – and Matsumoto’s murderer – was loose on the ship.

   The door rattled, and he waited for someone to come in. He’d been expecting someone to arrive to interrogate him again, another round of questions that he couldn’t afford to answer, or perhaps for one of his friends to attempt to cheer him up, assure him that everything would be fine in the end. He knew that the Captain would get him out as soon as he could, but if the ship fell to the Cabal because of his actions, none of that would mean a thing.

   A hand tossed a pistol into the room; it bounced on the floor before coming to rest at Cooper’s feet. He looked up, and heard the sound of running footsteps. The door was still slightly ajar. Wary of a trap, he cautiously moved over to the door and peered outside. There was no-one standing outside, nothing between him and the elevator. With a smile, he snatched the pistol from the ground, checked the loading – tranq shots, very good – and made his way outside, still half-expecting someone to jump out at him.

   Racing to the elevator, he waited impatiently for it to respond to his summons, and anxiously climbed inside, setting a destination in the lower engineering levels, down at the heart of the ship. Someone had decided to throw him a break, possibly even the Captain himself, and he wasn’t going to let him down again – though within a few seconds the security systems would undoubtedly detect that there was no-one in the cell. Almost on cue, sirens began to peal and the elevator jerked to a halt.

   Espatiers were trained in escape and evasion. The final exercise of basic training saw them released into an abandoned space station and ordered to hide as long as they could, while their erstwhile instructors attempted to hunt them down. Cooper had been the last of his class to be caught after thirty-one hours on the run. Reaching down to the floor, he
pulled up the maintenance hatch and slid down, hooking his arms and legs onto the emergency ladder.

   Sliding down as rapidly as he dared, he moved from level to level, barely registering his location. His goal at the moment was to get lost in the bowels of the ship, and it didn’t matter for the present whether he knew where he was or not. At the sixth deck he stopped, and tapped in an override code to open the door. Crawling out into an empty corridor, he glanced around, racing away from the shaft. This level was near the rear of the ship, forming a complete circuit around the side of the ship; he’d held races down here in happier times with his squad.

   Shouting behind him warned him that his time was running out; it belatedly occurred to him that Lane might have orchestrated his freedom in a bid to shoot him while attempting escape. His suspicions seemed confirmed as he noted her voice, shouting orders to what sounded like Duggan and Duvalier. Stuffing his pistol deep into the pockets of his jumpsuit, he raced away, trying to make it to a side hatch.

   The elevator arrived behind him as he sprinted, and figures raced after him onto the deck. He couldn’t afford to stop, turn, or wait for even a second; instead he began a textbook evasion, waiting for the bullets to fly. If this was a trap, he had placed himself in it fair and square, cursing himself for an idiot.

   “Shoot him!” Lane yelled, and when only silence answered her, she said, “Then I will,” and two cracks echoed down the corridor. The first missed Cooper by inches, the second didn’t, tearing into his arm, blood running down his uniform.

   “What the hell are you doing?” Duggan yelled.

   “Bringing down an escaped felon, and Private, you are on report.”

   Cooper couldn’t see what was going on behind him, but he could guess. Gritting his teeth in a desperate attempt to avoid the pain shooting down his arm, he reached the hatch he was trying for and climbed in, sealing it behind him. The lock would hold for only a few seconds, but it shouldn’t need to last for any longer.

   Reaching for the maintenance locker, he selected a long cable that looked as if it might support the weight of a man, hundreds of meters of it. Locking one end to the hatch, he tossed the other down the shaft, disappearing into the darkness beneath. As a series of bangs sounded from outside, someone trying to force it open, he ripped strips from his sleeves, tied them around his hands, grabbed the cable, and with a muttered prayer, leapt from the ladder.