The Lion and the Unicorn

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “Airlock online,” he said. “Datalink established … docking in five …”

  “Linking now,” Marigold said. She’d argued they could automate the whole process, but the more experienced officers had overruled her. “Linking …”

  A low thud echoed through the gunboat. The gravity field seemed to grow stronger, just for a second. Tobias felt his head spin. It was hard, sometimes, to comprehend how gravity fields curved in space. It might have been easier to operate in zero-g, but the health risks made it prohibitive. He’d seen some of the asteroid-born. They looked so thin and willowy that it was hard to believe they could survive in a low-g field, let alone on Earth. The hatch hissed open, but he ignored it. They had to power down the gunboat before they boarded the battlecruiser.

  “All systems check out,” he said, running his hand down the console. “Main power going offline, secondary power drawing from mothership.”

  “Confirmed,” Marigold said. “Datalink established, all A-OK.”

  Tobias stood, picked up his knapsack and headed for the hatch. The gravity field seemed to shimmer, very slightly, as he stepped into the battleship. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it. His stomach felt light, almost uneasy. It was hard not to feel as though he was completely and totally out of place. Lion wasn’t the first starship he’d visited, but she was the first true warship. The low thrumming echoing through the hull was a grim reminder they were on the verge of going into war. He felt queasy. He didn’t want to go.

  You made your choice, he told himself, as Marigold joined him outside. It’s too late to back out now.

  They walked down the corridor and stopped in front of an airlock. The hatch hissed open, revealing a second hatch and a bioscanner. Tobias winced as he put his hand against the scanner, feeling a pinch as the sampler tested his blood. He’d been told, in no uncertain terms, that the slightest hint of infection would result in the outside compartments being depressurised until medics could arrive to collect him for inspection and treatment. Cold logic told him there was no choice, but he couldn’t help feeling as though it was terrifyingly unfair. No one asked to get infected. No one willingly exposed themselves to the virus.

  There’s umpteen billion people in the human sphere, he thought, sourly. And some of them are crazy enough to want anything.

  The inner hatch hissed open as soon as Marigold’s blood was checked and confirmed free of infection. Tobias breathed a sigh of relief, then led the way into the inner compartment. It felt shiny and new, yet utterly soulless. Gunboat Country was bigger than the barracks at the academy, but … he caught himself before he started moaning. There were limits to how much space could be assigned to him and his comrades. Even the colonel had to bed down with his men.

  “The washrooms are in there, if you want to freshen up,” Bagehot called. He was standing by the briefing compartment, reading a datapad. “Choose your bunks or have them chosen for you.”

  Tobias nodded and hurried into the sleeping compartments. It was definitely larger than the barracks on the moon, but still … he shook his head and picked a bunk, dropping his knapsack on the blankets. It would be safe there, he knew. One definite advantage the navy had over school was that the rules were very definitely enforced. Someone who stole from another officer or crewman would be in very deep shit indeed. Marigold claimed the bunk next to him, then headed for the washroom. Tobias sighed and followed her.

  The compartment started to fill up as he splashed water on his face, checked his appearance in the mirror and headed for the briefing compartment. He’d never really cared about his looks - or so he’d told himself - but the navy had insisted on personal grooming. So had the Beast, he supposed, but the Beast had been a … beast. Tobias had a private suspicion the key to looking good was to note what the headmaster did, then do the opposite. It made as much sense as anything else in the school.

  You’re out of it now, he told himself, sharply. The Beast was in the past. He needed to look to the future. You don’t need to keep dwelling on it.

  “Welcome,” Bagehot said, once the entire squadron was assembled. Twenty-four young men and women, assigned to twelve gunboats. “This is, to all intents and purposes, your first cruise. Unfortunately, it is also very experimental.”

  Tobias nodded. The entire gunboat concept was experimental. It was why the navy had recruited him and his fellows as … he wasn’t quite sure what they were. They were naval personnel and yet they weren’t quite naval personnel. Tobias figured the navy wasn’t sure what it wanted to do with them, not yet. The gunboat squadrons had been allowed a quite astonishing amount of latitude, compared to the regular navy, but that would probably change once they worked out some answers. He wondered, idly, if it would matter that much to him. Perhaps if he stayed in the navy …

  “We’ll be spending the next month drilling,” Bagehot continued. “Your time will be divided between the simulators, live-fire exercises and your bunks. You might just have time to cram a ration bar or two down your throats, when you have a free moment. Hopefully, we’ll work out the kinks before we have to actually take the gunboats into battle.”

  Tobias smiled as a handful of chuckles echoed around the chamber. Navy food wasn’t bad. He didn’t understand why the more experienced personnel kept complaining about it. He’d had worse at school. Sure, the food was a little bland, but there was plenty of it. Maybe he was missing something.

  “Things will be different,” Bagehot warned. “You’re on a warship now. I strongly advise you to stay in Gunboat Country, unless you’re on the gunboats or invited out of the compartment. If someone invites you, that’s fine; if not, stay here. You don’t want to get in someone’s way. The crew outside” - he waved a hand at the bulkhead - “are working their asses off to get Lion ready for deployment. They don’t need you running around, gawking at them.”

  “So I can’t take a selfie of myself in the command chair?” Tammy Hedge had acquired a reputation as a joker from the moment he’d joined the squadron. His jokes were often silly, but bearable. “I promised my father I’d send him a picture …”

  “No,” Bagehot said, sharply. He didn’t like repeating himself. “Stay in the compartment, unless you’re invited out. You do not want to run afoul of the captain.”

  Tobias nodded. He was no expert on naval regulations or interstellar law, but he’d been forced to sit through a couple of classes on the basics. The captain had immense authority over his crew, with only a handful of limits on his behaviour. In theory, the crew could refuse certain orders, but in practice it wasn’t clear how far that right actually went. The precedents were a little confusing. It was possible that officers who refused an illegal order would be commended, condemned or some combination of the two. The legalities baffled him. The classes had certainly discouraged him from ever going into law.

  “You need to be aware that this is a full-fledged capital ship,” Bagehot continued. His eyes swept the compartment. “The captain will have far less patience with you - and tolerance for you - than any of your instructors back home. The ship itself is divided into tribes - command crew, engineering, medics, marines - and while they’re all meant to be pulling in the same direction, it cannot be denied that rivalry is rife. I want you to stay out of it as much as possible. The gunboat squadron is new and untested. I do not want you to ruin it by picking fights with anyone else.”

  “As if we would,” Tobias muttered to Marigold.

  Bagehot had very sharp hearing. “Glad to hear it,” he said. He made a show of consulting his watch as Tobias reddened and the rest of the squadron tittered. “Now, we’re heading for the simulators. Remember, you have to treat them as though they are real. Next time, it might well be.”

  Tobias felt sick. “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Wake up!”

  Colin jerked awake, suddenly unsure of where he was. Five months of training, then a month on deployment had taught him to catch up on his sleep whenever he could, but … he forced himsel
f to stand as his memory caught up. He was on a shuttle, heading to Lion … no, the shuttle had reached the battlecruiser. The old sweats wouldn’t have woken him if there was nothing to do.

  He glanced from side to side, noting the remainder of his fire team. Their hands reached for their weapons before they stopped themselves, a grim reminder of patrols on the wrong side of the Security Zone. Colin had no idea who’d come up with the expression ‘no peace beyond the line’ but it suited the Security Zone perfectly. The old sweats said it had been a nightmare before the virus established itself, a haven for religious fanatics, terrorists and criminal rings that had been almost completely lawless. The handful of refugee camps had had to be heavily guarded, just to keep one or more of the factions from gaining control or targeting them for destruction. Now … the virus had turned vast swathes of the population into deadly threats, sending them crashing against the defence lines in a bid to break into the civilised zones. It had been a hellish nightmare.

  A low thump echoed through the shuttle. He stumbled to his feet, feeling as though he hadn’t slept at all. The last night on Earth had been pathetic. He wasn’t sure why - he’d had no trouble finding a bedmate for the night - but he couldn’t deny it. The woman had screamed at him when he’d paid her for her time … he shook his head in irritation. He wasn’t sure what he’d really wanted, let alone what she’d wanted. Perhaps he’d simply drunk too much. His throat felt parched and dry, suggesting he hadn’t drunk enough. He made a mental note to drink more water as soon as they were in Marine Country.

  “Form up.” Sergeant Ron Bowman’s voice echoed through the air. “Prepare to disembark.”

  The hatch hissed open. Colin watched the sergeant lead the way into the battlecruiser, then followed him. The air smelt funny, reminding him of the first and only time he’d sat in a new car. A handful of his friends could drive, but the combination of heavy taxes and rationing ensured they couldn’t afford new vehicles. The tanks, lorries and jeeps he’d encountered during basic training had been worse, many so badly outdated they were older than he was. The military got the good stuff, he’d been told, but most of the good stuff went to the front lines.

  He felt his heart start to pound as they marched down the corridor and into Marine Country. The naval crewmen stepped aside to let them pass, studying them with a combination of interest, dispassion and scorn. Colin nodded to himself, remembering what the older and more experienced men had said. The marines weren’t always welcome on ships, at least until they proved themselves useful. They were regarded about as kindly as the marines regarded the redcaps. The thought made him want to roll his eyes - he didn’t want to be a policeman, perish the thought - but he supposed it made a certain kind of sense. They were the shipboard police. If the crew got out of hand, it was the marines who’d have to deal with it.

  And then the captain and senior staff will be in hot water, he thought. He couldn’t recall if there’d ever been a mutiny on a naval vessel, at least since the Troubles, but he doubted a captain who’d lost control to the point the marines had to be called in would be trusted with another command. They’d probably bend over backwards to avoid things getting so badly out of hand.

  He put the thought aside as they swept into Marine Country and split up to drop their rucksacks in the barracks. The bunks were about as much as he’d expected, although better - infinitely better - than sleeping in the great outdoors or standing on guard outside a military base in the middle of nowhere. The virus had a habit of infecting large dogs and sending them against the defences, just - he thought - to be unpleasant. Thankfully, the virus didn’t seem to be capable of mimicking canine behaviour. The troops had orders to shoot any animals that seemed to be acting suspiciously. Better to shoot first and ask questions later than risk being bitten and infected instead.

  The fire team followed him, three men … all as green as himself. Colin wasn’t sure if his promotion was a compliment or a test to see how well he handled command under fire. The Royal Marines were short on experienced manpower - the draft hadn’t yielded as many willing recruits as the higher-ups had hoped - but they weren’t that short. He’d been warned he could be busted back to private at a moment’s notice, if he screwed up. It wasn’t a pleasant thought. He would almost have preferred not to be promoted.

  Of course, if you refuse promotion, you’ll never be offered another, he thought, as he hurried into the briefing room. The entire company was assembling, senior officers speaking quietly amongst themselves as their subordinates took their seats. There was less room for formality onboard ship, he’d been told. He had a feeling that had its limits. Woe to the marine who forgets to salute an officer.

  He allowed his eyes to roam the compartment. It was bare, the bulkhead unmarred by maps or charts or anything else he’d seen on Earth. A single holographic projector sat in front of the podium, deactivated. He guessed they didn’t have a specific mission yet, for better or worse. The briefing notes hadn’t been clear, and there were a lot of details that were very definitely above his pay grade, but Lion was an experimental design. Assignment to her was something that would make or break his career … probably. He snorted at himself a moment later. He was a corporal, only a step or two above private. He couldn’t be blamed for anything unless he screwed up spectacularly.

  Major Chuck Craig stepped up to the podium. The marines straightened to attention. Craig had been in a dozen major engagements over the past five years, from boarding enemy starships to establishing evacuation camps and holding the line long enough for the navy to pull the evacuees - and the marines - out of the fire. He was a short, wiry man with curly dark hair and an air of calm confidence that put Colin at ease. The Major knew what he was doing. It was more than could be said for many of the pen-pushers he’d met over the years.

  And the Beast, Colin thought. He’d had mixed feelings about the headmaster, but … he’d spent enough time in the military to question the man’s credentials. It wasn’t something he could put his finger on, yet … the headmaster just hadn’t had the right vibe. He’d never been understanding, never compassionate, never … willing to let someone go, if they weren’t up to it. Did he really know what he was doing?

  “At ease.” The major’s eyes swept the room. “This regiment was thrown together at very short notice. As is always the case, there was a sudden requirement for troops and the units intended to serve on Lion were assigned elsewhere. This unit, therefore, was put together from a number of other units that have never served together before. You may have noticed.”

  Colin nodded, wincing inwardly. Ideally, he would have been the sole FNG in a platoon or even a company. The old hands could have ridden him hard, testing his mettle until they knew what he was made of. Instead … he tried to look from side to side without making it obvious. There were a dozen unfamiliar faces within view, marines drawn from other units or released from hospital or … or something. He didn’t know, but he was starting to feel he was looking at the start of a major headache. The recruiting sergeant had claimed that bootnecks were interchangeable, that a marine could move from unit to unit without any problem at all; Colin knew, from grim experience, that was nonsense. If nothing else, it would take time for the newcomer to fit in. No one would trust a newcomer unless they had no other choice.

  “We will therefore be drilling extensively,” Craig continued. “I know some of you are new and inexperienced, while others have only just returned to the military. I don’t care. I expect you to learn to work together before the enemy starts shooting at us. We’re going to be working endlessly, until we know what we’re doing. And then we’re going to make the country proud.”

  He paused. “First assignments are as follows …”

  Colin nodded to himself. It wasn’t going to be fun, except … it might be, once they worked out the early headaches. And then, who knew?

  Time to get started, he thought, as they were dismissed. Better to get the mistakes out of the way before someone actually starts trying to k
ill us.

  ***

  Thomas stood by the hatch and waited, trying not to feel impatient, as the shuttle docked on the far side. Royal Navy protocol insisted that a captain greet an equal or superior officer in person, but that a junior officer should be met by the XO and escorted to the captain’s office in recognition of his junior rank. Thomas had been unsure precisely how to meet Captain Campbell, as they shared the same rank even though Thomas had seniority. He’d decided, finally, to meet the younger man in person. It wasn’t as if he commanded an entire fleet as well as his starship.

  The hatch hissed open. Thomas straightened as Captain Campbell disembarked, saluting the flag before saluting Thomas himself. Thomas returned the salute, then held out a hand as he studied the other man. Mitch Campbell was not classically handsome, he decided, but he had a certain charm that suggested he’d have no problem finding female company. He was tall and gangly, with floppy brown hair and brown eyes that looked as if they could turn from charm to ice within seconds. Campbell was one of the younger commanding officers in the navy, Thomas recalled, although he hadn’t beaten the record. That had been set by someone with more patronage than common sense.

  “Captain Hammond,” Campbell said. If he was surprised Thomas had met him in person, he didn’t show it. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  “Welcome onboard,” Thomas said. “It’s good to meet you at last.”

  “Likewise,” Campbell said. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that suggested he wasn’t being entirely honest. “I read your file with some interest.”

  Thomas nodded. “And yours,” he said. It was easy to see why the admiral regarded Campbell as a fire-eater. He was brave and bold and lucky, dashing enough to be a movie star … but, sooner or later, luck ran out. “I wouldn’t have risked charging into the teeth of enemy fire.”