Starship Alexander (13 page)

The shuttle burned.

Kasim floated, completely disoriented, watching smoke swirl against his face plate. His whole body hurt. He had a vague, distant sense of urgency, but he couldn't remember what he had to do. Well, he was wearing a suit, and suits had radios. He cleared his throat, then said, "Can anybody hear me?"

There was no response. Not only that, but he didn't hear the usual hum of static from the voice-activated mic.
Wait. Didn't we turn our radios off? Because of the aliens …
He started to reach for the radio switch, and hesitated.
The aliens might hear.

Something bumped his arm, and he put out a hand. He felt a lumpy shape and explored it absently with his fingers. It felt almost like a person. There was only one arm, though. One entire shoulder and part of the chest was missing.

When the full horror of it penetrated his consciousness he flinched and shoved the body away. That sent him floating backward until his head hit a bulkhead. Waves of pain lashed through his skull, and he moaned. He couldn't see a thing through the smoke. There was no way to clear the smoke, though. If he vented the atmosphere …

He would lose nothing but air that was too polluted to breathe. If any of the technicians still lived, they had their suits sealed. Otherwise they would have asphyxiated by now.

He took his time, examining the thought from every angle. He didn't want to kill anyone by accident. Concentration was difficult through the pain and a strange mental fogginess, but he finally decided he was right.

He needed to pop the hatch.

The endless swirling smoke distracted him, so he squeezed his eyes shut and worked by touch. The familiar interior of the shuttle was impossibly strange in the darkness, and it took him an endless time to orient himself. At last he found the outline of the hatch. His questing fingertips found the control panel, and he pressed a thumb against the safety override. That allowed him to grab the release handle, twist, and push.

He felt a brief tug as smoke-laden air rushed past him. He opened his eyes and turned to survey the remains of the shuttle.

A corpse floated past him, the faceplate obscured by blood. He watched, frozen in horror, as the body drifted through the open hatch and out into space. A gibbering voice in his head told him he should secure the body, but he couldn't make himself move.

A hand appeared in the corner of his eye, and he flinched away. Then he took a closer look, and his stomach convulsed. He swallowed hard, fighting an overpowering urge to vomit.

A glove floated in the void beside him. A vac suit glove, with a wrist and several centimeters of arm attached.

With a convulsive motion he reached out, batted at the glove, and sent it tumbling out of the shuttle.

He looked through the rest of the ship. Roberts sat in a passenger seat, staring straight ahead. Kasim touched his shoulder, and the technician floated sideways, his body limp. Kasim leaned in close and peered through the man's face plate.

Roberts was dead. His eyes were wide open, staring blindly straight ahead. Kasim watched the bottom edge of his face plate, waiting for a telltale mist to appear as the man breathed. After thirty long seconds he gave up.

There was no one else in the passenger compartment.

Kasim stuck his head and shoulders into the cockpit. Most of the steelglass window was gone, the edges melted and twisted. The co-pilot's seat was a charred mess. He could see the faint shimmer of an emergency force field where the window had been.

Ahead of the shuttle the Gate loomed at a range of several hundred meters. Just beyond the rim of the Gate he saw a metallic flash, rapidly receding, as an alien ship came through, racing away in the direction of Freedom Station. It was one of the littlest ships, which reassured him until he saw another flash, and then another.

I need to do something.
The thought crept quietly into the back of his mind, like an unwanted guest. He tried to shy away from the thought, but it persisted, and it grew. Another ship came through, and he knew there had to be more that he couldn't see, hidden by the Gate. Just one ship had been enough to destroy the shuttle and kill the technicians. This was a swarm, and it terrified him.

"Come on, Kasim," he whispered. "You think it's bad now? How much worse is it going to be after you've floated here dithering for ten minutes?"

He pulled his head out of the cockpit and moved to Roberts's corpse. He told himself that he hadn't made his decision yet as he unbuckled the toolbelt from around the man's waist.
I'm just looking around. Hell, it's probably safer out there than in here. A man in the suit is a much smaller target.

He braced himself in the hatchway, fingers gripping the edge, legs bent, feet planted against the hull of the shuttle. This was it, his last chance to turn back. He was going forward into real danger now. If he missed the Gate he would sail past it and into the path of the next alien ship to come through. It was a huge risk, an unacceptable risk. He crouched there, dry-mouthed, and knew that he didn't have the courage to go on.

He was already outside the shuttle, though. Already in position. He would feel pretty stupid just giving up and getting back into the shuttle. And what would he do inside that floating coffin with the corpse of Roberts?

Oh, hell," he muttered, and kicked off.

He missed the ring.

His trajectory took him inside the circumference of the Gate. He expected to sail on through, but he collided with an invisible surface that was hard as steel. He rebounded, started to drift away, and used his navigation jet to steer himself to the ring.

When he was clinging to the back side of the Gate, he reached around with his left hand to explore the inside of the ring. His fingers met a barrier he couldn't see. He shrugged to himself. The physics of Gates were well beyond him.

He started examining the titanium surface that he clung to, looking for bolts or screws that he could remove. He was pretty sure the technicians had removed some sort of cover plate as they did their inspections. He just had to find one.

Nothing showed but a blank, smooth expanse of metal, and he worked his way along, feeling a mixture of frustration and relief. He felt like a fly clinging to a doorway as a war raged around him. He was invisible, unnoticed, and the closest thing he could be to safe. So long as he didn't start to buzz around, and attract a fatal slap in passing …

He pulled himself along, swept the surface of the ring with his helmet light, and moved along further. A quick visual sweep, he advanced again – and he froze. He backed up and re-examined the surface of the ring.

Had he seen a tiny dark circle? He couldn't see it now. He twisted his head from side to side, changing the angle of the light, and muttered a curse when the tiny circle of shadow reappeared, close to the outside perimeter of the ring.

The imperfection in the titanium case was a circle no more than a millimeter wide. Kasim couldn't make out a bolt head or an inset shaped for a tool, so he rummaged through the contents of the belt and pulled out a force driver. He set the miniature force field generator to "Rotate - Counterclockwise", pressed the end against the depression in the ring, and hit the power button.

The head of a bolt appeared like the stalk of a magical plant emerging from fertile soil. The bolt spun and spun, growing longer and longer. It was impossibly thin, and as long as his index finger. At last the bolt came free, and he let it go drifting off into the void.

If there was a seam in the metal it was so perfectly machined he couldn't see it. He searched instead for another bolt, and found it a finger width from the inner edge of the ring. He drew that bolt out as well.

He set the force driver to "Pull", pressed the end against the titanium, and pulled hard. The cover didn't budge. There were more bolts, then. He went hunting, focusing his attention on the inner perimeter of the ring.

He was a dozen meters along before he found the next bolt. He drew it out, then removed the corresponding bolt from the outer perimeter. Then he adjusted the driver and pulled on the case.

A crack appeared, and a long sheet of titanium lifted several millimeters. When he stopped pulling, the titanium cover sank back into place and the crack disappeared.

Kasim stared at the ring for a long moment, then pressed the driver to the titanium and used it as a handle as he swung his body around. He planted his feet on the other side of the gap he had seen, and then he heaved.

For ten long seconds nothing happened. He let go, then took a good big power wrench from the toolbelt. He pulled on the driver with his left hand, and used his right hand to bash the sheet of titanium with the wrench. It seemed strange to hear nothing as he slammed the steel wrench against the metal cover with all of his strength. He couldn't see the vibration he was causing, but he knew it had to be there. Again and again he hit the panel, and then he put the wrench away and grabbed the driver with both hands.

With shocking suddenness the titanium cover popped free.

He flew backward, tumbling, letting out a shout of surprise. He lost his grip on the mass driver, and the titanium panel went spinning away into the darkness. He straightened his body and spread his arms and legs to slow his spin. It was maddeningly difficult, but at last he stopped tumbling and oriented himself, helmet toward the Gate.

The ring slowly shrank with increasing distance. He swore and gave a squirt with the little maneuvering jet on his belt. He wasn't quite lined up, and he had to make several more squirts to adjust his course. Finally he was sailing directly toward the Gate, but he was going much faster than he liked. He twisted his body around, pointed his toes at the Gate, and turned on the little jet.

Air jetted out, and he felt the belt push against him. Then the thrust stopped.

"What the hell?" Kasim looked down, checked that his thumb was on the button, and moaned. The little jet was empty. If he missed the Gate, he would spend the rest of his life sailing along in a perfectly straight line as he watched his air run out.

The metal ring loomed closer and closer, he knew he wasn't going to make it, and he contorted his body, twisting sideways. He couldn't move his center of gravity, but he could make his body turn. He got his hands pointed toward the Gate and stretched just as hard as he could.

The fingertips of his left hand touched the ring. He felt the impact, and his body started to turn. His fingers slipped free, but most of his momentum was gone. He scrabbled frantically at the ring, felt metal slide against his gloves, and then his legs swung around until his knees touched the inside of the ring. He stopped moving.

Allah preserve me, are my feet in the wormhole? Can some alien on the other side see my feet kicking?
He was pretty sure that wasn't how it worked, but he was filled with horror nonetheless.
I can feel my toes. That means my legs are still attached, right?

He moved one hand down and gripped the inner edge of the ring with his fingertips. Then he straightened his legs, taking a quick glance to be sure they were unharmed. With infinite care he worked his way around until he once again clung to the back side of the Gate.

It was the same position he'd been in when he removed the panel, but knowing that his maneuvering jet was empty made it all seem infinitely more perilous. He had trouble getting himself to straighten his arms, pushing his head far enough back from the ring to take a look around. He could see where the panel had come loose. A dark opening showed, perhaps a dozen meters away. He took a deep breath, reminded himself that he'd done this before, and started pulling himself along the ring.

There was nothing inside the metal circle that he recognized. The exposed inner workings of the Gate were a lot of incomprehensible dark shapes moulded from metal and plastic. Kasim stared, frustrated, and worked his way along, looking for something vulnerable.

A blue glow caught his attention. Deep inside the metal case, mostly obscured by lumpy plastic protrusions, he saw a long tube that glowed a bright, eerie blue. He didn't know what it was, but it gave the impression of great power. He imagined sticking a wrench into that stream of cerulean fire and being instantly electrocuted.

"I need to think of something else." He lifted his head, looking out at the stars, seeking inspiration.

Instead, he saw ships.

Three or four of the little ships, and then something from a nightmare. It was a mass of metal, growing bigger and bigger as it emerged from the portal. All around that steel behemoth he saw smaller craft, swarming like flies. They spread out, forming a protective cloud around the larger craft, moving out in every direction.

They'll see me. They'll come around behind the Gate. But I'm small. If I hold very still, if I don't do anything, they might not-

He screamed, a primitive howl to drive back the terror that filled him, and then he pawed at the toolbelt, grabbed a tool at random, and drove it with all his strength into the shining blue line in the depths of the Gate.

And the galaxy vanished in a terrible flash of blue-white light.

"We still can't get through."

The cadet looked frazzled and weary, but Hammett didn't care. "Well, keep trying!" He looked at Cartwright. "What's your status?"

She threw her hands up, then banged a frustrated fist against the console in front of her. "I can't reach any of the forward thrusters. I just lost another aft thruster, too. I can move the tail up, or I can move it to starboard. That's it."

Even if the cadets found a way through the obstacle course of depressurized compartments and fires that separated the bridge from the forward end of the ship, it would take a hopelessly long time to run messages back and forth. A few lucky shots had cut more than half the copper wires that connected the bridge to the rest of the ship.

Never mind what you've lost. Focus on what you have. Focus on what you can do.
"Fire that port thruster. Bring us around." The ship would have to swing through almost 250 degrees before the tail would be pointing toward the Gate. Now he just needed to get word to Lieutenant Rani to fire the engines at the right moment to send them fleeing for deep space.

The people on Freedom Station would have to look out for themselves. Hell, they'd probably outlive Hammett and everyone aboard the
Alexander
.

By a few hours, at least.

A man backed his way into the bridge, a fat coil of wire over each shoulder. Two long wires trailed out behind him. He was a civilian, a stranger, and he clearly didn't care much about military protocol. He stopped in the middle of the bridge, looked around, then headed for the line of telephones along the starboard bulkhead. He dropped one coil, shifted the other coil to his left hand, and said, "Which sets are dead?"

A cadet with an earpiece in one hand and a mouthpiece in the other said, "My station is the only one that's live."

The man nodded, dropped the second coil of wire, and pulled a pair of pliers from his hip pocket. He spent several seconds cutting wire, stripping back insulation, and twisting wire ends together. Then he grabbed a mouthpiece and spoke into it. "Can you hear me?" He listened. "Engine room," he said, and grabbed the second spool of wire. "This one goes to the starboard lounge." He got to work with his pliers.

A couple of cadets hurried over to man the phones, and Hammett barked, "Tell the engine room to get ready. We'll need full speed in just a moment."

He heard a cadet repeat the order into a handset. Then the cadet beside her said, "Are you sure?" She looked at Hammett, her eyes shining with hope, and said, "The Gate just closed, Sir."

Her eyes went out of focus as she listened, and then she said, "There was a great huge ship coming through. Then it just got … cut in half." She shuddered. "The gate failed when they were part way through."

Hammett started to speak, and she held up a finger, silencing him. He watched as she listened. Then her eyes met his, and she seemed to realize what she'd done. Her face turned bright red, and she said, "Sorry, Sir."

"Never mind that. What's happening?"

"The big ship, the one that was cut in half, it's breaking apart. Little ships going in every direction. Some of them are crashing into each other. And the ships close to us are pulling back."

This is our chance. We can break free while they're in disorder. We can run for it. We can-
He smothered the rising wave of exultation and terror, crushed it, drove it ruthlessly into a shadowy corner of his mind. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
This isn't your first scrap. Don't get excited. Don't let adrenalin do your thinking for you.

He opened his eyes. "Cadet."

The girl who had been speaking to the starboard lounge said, "Yes, Sir?"

"Tell me when we're facing directly away from the Gate." He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to separate terror and battle lust from rational thought. "Belay that. Tell me when we're facing directly
toward
the Gate." He pointed to the cadet beside her. "Don't tell me. Tell her. I want Lieutenant Rani to give us full thrust toward the Gate. We're going after the swarm that just came through."

The words were barely out of his mouth when the cadet said, "Now!"

Instantly the cadet beside her said "Engines, now," into her telephone. Hammett felt his body sway ever so slightly as the ship accelerated.

A bustle at the bridge entrance drew his attention. Hammett hadn't seen the civilian leave, but he was back, with a civilian woman beside him. They carried a metal bar between them, with a dozen coils of wire hanging from it, unspooling as they walked. "We found a pipe that runs all the way to the tail," he said. "Once you get one wire through, you just use it to pull the others. Now, somebody give me a hand making splices." He pulled several pairs of pliers out of his pockets.

Cartwright was able to reach the engine room and almost every navigational thruster by the time the
Alexander
reached the thick of the enemy fleet. She made the ship spin and dance, and the forward rail guns tore up three different clusters of enemy ships as fast as they formed, before they could move in to tear up the
Alexander's
hull.

Finally the alien ships fled in every direction. Dozens of them survived, more than enough, Hammett suspected, to overwhelm and destroy the
Alexander
. It seemed they couldn't recover quickly from a devastating blow. The enemy could do terrible damage, but they cracked under pressure.

It was a heartening sign, but, as Carruthers had pointed out, the aliens were learning. And they kept gaining reinforcements, while the
Alexander
picked up damage and refugees. Speaking of which …

"Bring us about," he said to Cartwright. "Let's get back to Freedom Station and pick up the rest of our people."

"Aye aye, Sir."

"That's odd," said a cadet.

Hammett looked at her. "What's that, Cadet?"

She frowned. "The starboard lounge says the Gate is flashing."

Hammett blinked. "Flashing? What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "They say there's a red light on the edge of the ring, and it keeps flashing on and off. They say it's some kind of pattern."

Hammett said, "Well, we know the gate is malfunctioning, so it probably-" He frowned. Why, exactly, had the gate failed at such a perfect time? "Pattern?" he said. "What pattern, exactly?"

The cadet said, "Flash, flash, flash, flash-flash-flash, flash, flash, flash. Then it repeats."

"It's Kasim," said Hammett, and he smiled. "He knows his Navy history. Him or one of the technicians." When the cadet gave him a blank look he said, "It's an SOS." He laughed. "I wonder if anyone has used Morse code in the last hundred years." He looked around the bridge. "Does anyone have a working line to the shuttle bay?"

Carruthers said, "I don't think we had one even before the battle."

"Never mind," Hammett said. "The runabout is probably fried." He turned to Cartwright. "Take us to the Gate, but gently. Our people are out there."

Thirty long minutes passed before a tired-looking cadet arrived from the shuttle bay. "We retrieved two survivors, Sir. That's all there is."

"Get us to Freedom Station," Hammett told Cartwright. He turned back to the cadet. "What else can you tell me?"

"Lieutenant al Faisal is in pretty bad shape. He's unconscious. They took him to Medical."

"He's unconscious?" Hammett said. "Then who was signalling us?"

"It was one of the technicians, Sir. I don't know his name. The young man with the big nose. He says he was floating behind the Gate when he saw a big spark. Mr. al Faisal went floating past, leaking air from his glove. The technician got him patched up. There was some kind of electrical fire inside the ring, and he used an emergency suit patch as a mirror, reflecting the light toward us."

Hammett shook his head in disbelief.
Fire and mirrors? This is what we've been reduced to?

Well, it worked, didn't it?

"Were coming up on Freedom Station," Cartwright announced.

"Good," he said. "Let's get our people and go."