Starship Alexander (5 page)

When the
Alexander
was ten minutes from Gate Five, Kasim climbed into a shuttle and turned on the cockpit controls. He wanted to know the exact moment they popped through the wormhole. He didn't believe the rumors that were floating around about rogue colonies rising up, or aliens sweeping in from the deep dark. It was absurd.

Still, if something strange
was
going on, he didn't want to miss it.

The shuttle itself was blind while sitting in the landing bay, but it connected automatically to the
Alexander's
scanners. He watched the Gate loom larger and larger, then braced himself when the screens flickered. A moment later he saw the Deirdre system, majestic, serene, and utterly boring, splashed across the shuttle's displays.

An icon glowed green in the corner of his screen, and he touched it. It was a transponder signal from Freedom Station. There were no flags, no alerts. All was normal in the Deirdre system.

"I suppose I shouldn't feel disappointed," he murmured. Still …

Feet clomped on the entrance ramp. "Lieutenant? Are you on board?"

"I'm here, Doc." He looked back over his shoulder as a trio of technicians filed into the shuttle.

Roberts, a sour-faced old geezer who looked as if he wanted to be home telling kids to get off his lawn, dropped into a seat and said, "Let's get this over with. We're supposed to be headed back to Earth already."

Behind him Sally MacKinnon met Kasim's gaze, rolled her eyes, and grinned. He grinned back. He liked Sally. She stayed cheerful no matter what got thrown at her.

The third technician, a young man named Sanchez, was already buckling himself in, eyes squeezed shut. Sanchez was a very poor flyer. Everything about space travel seemed to terrify him. Kasim was perpetually torn between the urge to fly as gently as possible and an unkind impulse to try a few stunts, just to wind the guy up.

"Welcome aboard once again," Kasim said. It was barely twenty minutes since the trio had left the shuttle. So far every Gate inspection had turned up nothing at all. "Maybe this is the trip where you figure out what's been going on."

"Just get on with it," Roberts said.

"Thank you," Sally added. "We appreciate your help." That earned her a sour glance from Roberts, which she ignored.

The bay doors slid open and Kasim took the shuttle out, slow and gentle. He wouldn't be back behind the controls again until they got back to Earth, and he wanted to savor the experience of flying free in a new system.

He took them along the underside of the
Alexander
, the belly of the ship like a steel sky above them. Laser turrets bristled like thunderheads, and a parabolic dish gleamed like a glimpse of sunlight through clouds.

They passed the bow of the ship. A fat yellow star hung off to the right. He squinted in the direction of Freedom Station, but couldn't make it out. There was nothing else to see. Deirdre had only one planet, a cold lump of rock half a light-year from the star. Human activity in the system centered around the station, a deep-space oasis with a few hundred people on board.

He brought the shuttle around in a gentle, sweeping turn. The Gate glittered in the light of the star, a sparkling ring hundreds of meters across. He massaged the controls, bringing the little shuttle to a halt a few meters from the edge of the ring. He was always surprised by how flimsy the Gate hardware was. The ring was only a couple of meters deep, and less than a meter thick. And yet it was able to do so much.

"Here we go again," Roberts grumbled, reaching for his helmet. Kasim grabbed his own helmet and sealed it in place. When everyone was suited up he started the fans that would reclaim at least a little of the air in the shuttle. It also gave everyone plenty of time to notice an open seal on their suits as the pressure dropped.

"Everyone sealed up?" he asked, looking over his passengers. A tiny green light glowed on the point of each person's left shoulder, an easy way to tell that the suits were sealed and ready for hard vacuum. He checked all three lights, returned Sally's cheerful smile, and ignored Roberts's frown. Sanchez looked terrified, but he always did before the shuttle opened. He would be fine once he got outside and started working.

"Opening," Kasim said, and popped the hatch. The three technicians left one at a time, bracing themselves in the hatch before kicking off to float over to the ring. Kasim watched them go, then settled back in his chair to wait. He wasn't bored. He didn't mind having the stars to himself.

His console beeped, and he looked down.

Gate Eleven, a couple of thousand kilometers away, showed as a round blue icon on his screen. Half a dozen yellow triangles surrounded the blue circle.

Unidentified ships.

Kasim leaned forward, feeling his pulse quicken. He magnified the view. The shuttle's sensors were poor things, but he was still connected to the sensor grid on the
Alexander
. The image on his screen expanded, and ships appeared, clear and sharp.

Kasim sucked in his breath, his muscles going rigid with shock.

There were six ships, each of a different design and shape. He muttered, "Computer. Scale," and a grid appeared on the display. The smallest ship measured about three meters by three meters. The largest ship was perhaps ten times that size.

As he watched, though, the smallest ship, a strange craft with protrusion sticking out in four directions, drifted over to the ship beside it. The two ships seemed to latch together.

Then another medium-sized ship broke into two pieces. Each piece drifted sideways and merged with a larger craft.

Kasim shook his head, baffled, then zoomed in. He was seeing a collection of tiny ships which clumped together to form larger craft, or broke apart to form separate ships. It was like nothing he'd ever seen, nothing he'd ever even heard of. Nowhere on Earth and nowhere in the colonies was anyone flying a ship that was even remotely similar.

"Aliens," he said. Then, louder, "Aliens!" He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and looked again. He was just in time to see the last few smaller craft latch themselves onto an amalgamated ship about thirty meters across. The ship expanded on the screen as the alien vessel surged forward.

Toward the
Alexander
.

Toward the Gate that led home.

Toward Kasim.

He toggled his helmet microphone and shouted, "Everybody back on board. Now!"

There was an immediate babble of voices, which went silent a moment later. A crisp voice said, "Shuttle Five. Get your ass back into the landing bay."

"Working on it," he said, then cut the connection. "Oh my God. Oh, God. Oh my God." He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to lift his hands to his face, and had to settle for pressing his gloves against the faceplate of his helmet.
First contact. I'm witnessed to the single most significant event in human history.

No I'm not. First contact was weeks ago, in Calypso. Then they came through the Gate to Tanos. Then Aries, then here. The three systems, and not one ship ever got away to raise the alarm.

His initial panic was starting to subside, aided by the fact that he had absolutely nothing to do until the technicians were back on board. He found himself analysing the situation, if not calmly, at least without hysteria.
I bet they were hiding on the far side of Gate Eleven. Then they saw a warship come through, and they knew they had to do something.

We need to keep them from coming through Gate Six. We have to keep them out of Naxos. There are hundreds of thousands of people there.

His stomach constricted as realization hit him.
We have to destroy the Gate.

He switched his microphone back to the suit network. "Hurry up! It's an emergency, and if we don't get back to the
Alexander
in time …"

The ship will pop through the Gate and destroy it from the other side. We'll be left behind.

With the aliens.

It's war.
There was no way to be certain but he knew it in his gut. Three Gates had gone silent. That wasn't something caused by diplomacy.

War. They could put me into the cockpit of a fighter. I could fly actual combat missions.
A prickle of excitement washed over him, quickly followed by sour disgust.
If there are dogfights, they will be fought by drones. Maybe, if I'm really lucky, I'll fly a drone by remote control.
It was the bitter reality of modern combat. Drones were smaller, harder to hit, and could take vastly more acceleration. No pilots died when a drone was destroyed. And the reactions of a computer were infinitely faster than those of a human being.

Did those enemy vessels contain pilots? It was one vessel now, a ship just smaller than the
Alexander
, closing at high speed. Even as his heart thumped madly in his chest he wondered how it worked. Did the ship get better thrust with all those smaller ships locked together? Did it make communication faster? Maybe it let them share shielding.

Something slammed into the shuttle window right in front of him, and he flinched back, giving a low shriek. For a moment he thought the shuttle was under attack. Then he recognized Sanchez, palms splayed flat against the window, eyes wide, his face no more than a meter away. The man had panicked, thrust too hard, and slammed into the shuttle.

Kasim shook his head. If Sanchez was falling apart already, what was he going to do when he learned about the aliens?

Roberts came through the hatch and pulled himself into a seat. Kasim caught a brief glimpse of Sally's shoulder through the window. She murmured to Sanchez over the radio, her voice low and soothing. "Come on. The hatch is right here. You're doing fine."

"Shuttle Five," said another voice. "Get a move on. We have to go."

"Hurry up," Kasim told the technicians. "Get in here."

"What's the big emergency?" said Roberts.

"You don't want to know."

Sanchez came through the hatch feet-first, and Kasim smiled, relief flooding through him. Then something moved in the corner of his eye, and he turned his head.

And swore.

The
Alexander
was moving away, picking up speed as she raced to intercept the alien ship.

"Okay," said Sally. "We're on board. Kasim? Kasim, what's wrong?"

He turned to look at her, shook his head, and said, "It's too late."

Hammett stared at the screen in front of him, distantly aware that his fingers ached from gripping the arms of his chair. The bridge was filled with an unprofessional babble of excited voices. The junior lieutenant at the communication console, a man named Singh, was piping in radio chatter from the rest of the system. It was the same mix of panicky voices that filled the bridge. Hammett closed his eyes. It sounded more like an asylum than a warship.

"Silence!" He opened his eyes. Every eye was on him, and he made himself loosen his grip on the chair. With a calmness he didn't feel he said, "Keep your mouth shut unless you have something to say."

No one spoke, but a frightened voice came over the bridge speakers. "Sweet Buddha, what is it? Can you reach Port Albuquerque? I can't raise them. I think those ships – that thing, whatever it is-"

The voice went silent, and Carruthers, with no more emotion than a man discussing the weather, said, "Her transponder just went silent. That's the
James Joyce
. Local freighter. Crew of six."

Hammett looked at Singh. "Try to raise Port Albuquerque." Albuquerque was a space station with a dozen scientists on board, doing some kind of long-term analysis of changes to the local star. "Where is Albuquerque right now?"

"About two hundred thousand kilometers on the other side of Gate Eleven," Carruthers reported.

"They're not responding," said Singh.

More panicky voices came over the speakers, someone calling out to the crew of the
James Joyce
, someone else demanding to know what was happening. "Cut that racket," Hammett said. "Let me know if you hear anything useful."

Singh nodded. After a moment he said, "There's an Administrator Carmichael demanding to speak to you. I think he just wants you to tell him what's going on."

"He can wait. What's our time to intercept?"

"Eight minutes," Carruthers said.

We could retreat. We could duck through the Gate. It's important to get word back, right?

But three Gates have gone silent, and no one has ever escaped. And there are hundreds of people on Freedom Station. I can't just leave them.

Hammett looked around the bridge. Carruthers was focused completely on his own screens. Velasco sat at the next station over, staring at Hammett.
You're not much use in a crisis, are you?
Most of the bridge crew was watching him, and he made himself lean back in his chair. "This enemy may be unfamiliar," he said. "But a ship is a ship. We are all experts in naval combat. I don't know yet what that ship out there can do. But they're up against Spacecom's mightiest warship, and they are about to see what we can do."

It sounded hokey to his ears, but it seemed to work. Some of the fear left them as they remembered what they were.

Warriors.

"Before we blow them into scrap," he said, "is there any chance that their intentions are benign, or even friendly? Are we certain that they're hostile?"

"Three Gates are down," Carruthers said. "Port Albuquerque is silent, and it looks like the
James Joyce
was destroyed."

Hammett looked around the bridge. "Anyone else?" When no one spoke he said, "I'm inclined to agree with Lieutenant Carruthers. This is a hostile force. I think we are at war. I think all of humanity is at war."

There was a moment of bleak silence.

"We are going to protect Freedom Station," Hammett said. "And the Naxos system, and Earth."

"We should destroy Gate Six," Carruthers said.

Hammett said, "If we win …"

"If we win, we can take our time getting word back. But if we lose?"

If we lose, they'll sail right past our shattered hull, through the Gate, and pillage Naxos.
Hammett nodded. "Lieutenant Singh. Get me the pilot of Shuttle Five."

There was a pause, and then Singh turned and nodded.

"This is Captain Hammett."

A young man said, "Yes, Sir?" His voice sounded only a little unsteady.

"Lieutenant al Faisal, is that you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Lieutenant, this is important. I need you to send those technicians back outside. I need them to destroy the Gate."

There was a moment of silence. Then the pilot said, "I understand, sir."

"What?"

Hammett looked up. Velasco was staring at him, her eyes too large in a bloodless face. He gave her a hard look, but it didn't seem to register.

"You can't do that! We need the Gate to get home."

"We'll get home. Man your station, Commander."

"Look, you can't destroy the Gate!" She looked around wildly, as if seeking support. "You have to call them back. You have to rescind your order." She stared at Hammett for a moment, and when he didn't move, she turned to her console. Her hands chopped at the air as she worked through menus. She was going to contact the shuttle directly, Hammett realized, and he stood.

"Captain?" came a voice over the bridge speakers. It was Kasim, the pilot, sounding regretful.

"Don't destroy the gate!" Velasco cried. "You can't!"

"I'm afraid that's not an issue," Kasim said. "I've got a little mutiny on my hands. The technicians have refused to disable the gate."

"Oh, thank God," Velasco said, and slumped in her seat.

Hammett shot her an irritated glance. He would have to deal with her, but first … "Mr. al Faisal," he said. "Please take your shuttle around to the far side of the gate."

"Aye aye, Sir."

"Make sure you can't see the
Alexander
. I'll be sending a missile your way."

There was a long moment of silence. Then Kasim said, "That might not work, Sir. Hang on. I'm going to connect you to Miss MacKinnon. She was willing to disable the gate, but the other two won't let her."

Static crackled on the speakers, and then a woman spoke. Her voice quavered, but it grew steadier with every word. "I don't know if a missile would do the trick, Sir. These gates are tough. They're designed to survive an accidental collision from a ship moving at a fairly high speed. The outer casing's titanium, solidly made. It's really hard to damage a Gate without opening the casing first."

Hammett thought for a moment. "I have six nukes on board. Would one of them do the trick?"

"If you managed a direct hit, yes. That would do it."

Hammett tried to imagine what would happen if the missile was just slightly off target. It would sail through the wormhole and come out in the Deirdre system. And what would happen then?

"Get on the other side of the Gate," he said, and gestured to Singh to break the connection.

The enemy ship loomed closer and closer on his screen. He was running out of time to consider his options. "Jim," he said, and Carruthers looked up. "Nuke that gate. Don't you bloody miss."

Carruthers nodded.

"Detonation on impact only. Let's not fry the shuttle crew if you do happen to miss."

"Aye aye, Sir."

He turned to Velasco. "Commander. Pull yourself together or get off my bridge. I won't tell you again."

"Missile's away," said Carruthers.

He desperately wanted to drop back into his chair and watch the progress of the missile. Instead he made himself stroll around the bridge, hands clasped loosely behind him, the picture of unconcern.

"Impact," said Carruthers. "I can see the shuttle, so the gate must be down." After a moment he said, "I can see debris. The Gate's destroyed, all right."

"Lieutenant al Faisal says the shuttle is intact," Singh reported.

"Tell him we'll be along presently to pick him up." Hammett returned to his seat. "Now let's deal with that ship."