The Lion and the Unicorn

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “Aye, sir,” Cook said.

  Thomas smiled. “Helm, take us along the cleared flight path,” he ordered. “We’ll hand the freighters over to the locals before heading to Farnham ourselves.”

  He sat back in his chair as Lion started to move, escorting the convoy towards the planet. The display was crammed with icons, so many of them that it was hard to believe that anything could survive long enough to threaten the planet itself. Thomas knew better. Space was vast, incomprehensibly so. A skilful commander could take an entire fleet through the defences, avoiding detection until he could bring his weapons to bear on the planet and open fire. Twelve fleet carriers, fourteen battleships and hundreds of smaller ships - the largest deployment, outside Earth itself - held station near the planet, enough firepower to take on and destroy the fleets that had fought in the First Interstellar War. Thomas was grimly aware they might not be enough to stop the virus. The allied contingents holding position nearby were a grim reminder that the massed fleets of humanity might not be enough, either. New Washington could not be allowed to fall.

  His eyes lingered on the planet itself. The Americans had followed the same basic pattern as Britain and France, throwing land grants at anyone willing to set up a homestead and settle permanently. Some of the homesteads had failed, according to the reports, but the vast majority had taken root. They were scattered over the planet, hopefully spaced out enough to survive if the defenders lost control of the high orbitals. Thomas shuddered, remembering how insidious the virus truly was. If it managed to establish itself, the planet was doomed.

  We might wind up moving into space permanently, he thought. He’d read a couple of articles that had advocated just that, when he’d been a cadet. The writers had pointed out the abundance of resources in space, the freedoms that could be claimed … the freedoms just waiting to be claimed, while leaving Earth to lie fallow and perhaps produce a second intelligent species. It might be the only way to protect what remains of our people.

  Commander Donker caught his attention. “Captain, the gunboat CO requests permission to run a handful of practice drills against American starfighters.”

  Thomas frowned. The gunboat crews had come together in a way he would have thought impossible, although they had yet to face their baptism of fire. The idea of testing them against foreign starfighters was tempting. And they had time …

  “Signal the Americans. Ask if they can put a drill together on short notice,” Thomas ordered, curtly. It was very short notice. Their orders didn’t allow any time for a meet-and-greet, let alone shore leave. “If not, we’ll just have to cope.”

  “Aye, sir,” Donker said.

  Thomas smiled as his XO tended to his console. The Americans had deployed gunboats of their own - the gunboats had first entered service during the Second Interstellar War - but they hadn’t designed a formal gunboat carrier. Not yet. He had a feeling, reading between the lines, that they were waiting to see how Lion performed in combat. Or simply docking the gunboats to standard airlocks and deploying them from there. It wasn’t as if it would pose any major technical problems. The systems were all standard, off the shelf technology. In some ways, it was easier operating gunboats than starfighters.

  They copy ideas from us, he thought, with a flicker of amusement. And we copy ideas from them.

  He kept his expression carefully blank. The admiral had made it clear, in the briefing notes, that they no longer had time for international rivalries. The Great Powers - and the Lesser Powers - had to hang together or hang separately. His eyes spotted a handful of Russian starships and a Chinese carrier, holding position near the remainder of the coalition fleet. They were all sharing concepts now, building on each other’s ideas to produce newer and better weapons. It was going to be one hell of a mess, he reflected sourly, if the planned political union fell into war. Militaries were always more vulnerable to a deceitful ally than a known enemy.

  And if the virus kills us, he mused sourly, it won’t matter any longer.

  “Captain,” Donker said. “The Yanks have agreed to a handful of practice runs.”

  “Then set them up,” Thomas ordered. He checked the display. Unicorn was heading directly for the Farnham Tramline. She was barely visible, so well stealthed that Lion couldn’t have tracked her if the battlecruiser hadn’t known where to look. “We’ll reverse course as soon as we’ve handed over the freighters.”

  And then go into battle for the first time, his thoughts added. Lion’s first battle. He’d gone into battle before, but never when he’d been in command of an untested vessel. We have to slow them down, or die trying.

  ***

  “I heard a rumour we’ll be getting shore leave,” Private Scott Davies said. He made a show of kissing his fingers. “Have you heard the rumours about colonial girls?”

  “They’ve all got rifles and they know how to use them?” Colin snorted, then shook his head. “I don’t think we’ll be getting any leave, Scott. I think we’re turning and heading into battle the moment we hand over the freighters.”

  “I’d like to believe we’re getting leave,” Davies said. “Just imagine … a beach, a girl, an ice cream …”

  Colin made a rude gesture. “And I’d like to believe I’m a millionaire aristocrat with a girl on each knee,” he said, sardonically. “It doesn’t make it true.”

  “Yes, it does,” Davies said. “And since you’re a millionaire, you can buy the drinks.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Colin said, without heat. “We’re not getting any shore leave.”

  He stared at the datapad without seeing the report. Lion was a huge ship, but the bulkheads had been starting to close in for weeks. There were only so many times they could stage mock battles inside the ship, or go EVA outside the ship, before it started to pall. They’d gotten better, he knew, but it was hard to measure their progress. There were just too few surprises when everyone knew the score. He would have appreciated a chance to match himself against an outside force. They might have managed to bring something new to the table.

  “Maybe we’ll board the alien flagship and do battle with the alien queen,” Davies said, utterly unabashed. “And then seduce her and …”

  “You’re not allowed to watch Stellar Star any longer,” Colin said. He smiled. “And I dare you to propose seducing the alien queen to the major.”

  “You can do it,” Davies said. “He won’t listen to a lowly private.”

  “And I’ll be a lowly private if I dare suggest it,” Colin said. “He can’t bust you down because there’s nowhere to bust you down to. He’ll have to devise a whole new rank just so he can demote you to it.”

  “Civilian, perhaps,” Davies said. “Or … idiot.”

  “More like that guy from the play,” Colin said. “Thick Jack Clot Sits in the Stocks and Gets Pelted with Rancid Tomatoes.”

  He grinned and turned his attention back to the datapad. Major Craig and Sergeant Bowman had reviewed the latest set of exercises, then carefully picked them apart to illustrate what the marines could have done better. Things had definitely improved, Colin noted, although they still faced a bunch of limits. They couldn’t take up position near the enemy beachhead because they had no idea where the beachhead would actually be, at least until it was too late to get there first. Colin had proposed insisting the crewmen start practicing their shooting - the crew carried sidearms at all times, now they were on the front lines - but they simply didn’t have time. There was just too much else to do before they entered enemy territory.

  “There’s no way to speed our reaction time any further,” he said, reluctantly. “Unless you’re hiding a teleporter in your pants.”

  “I don’t have room in my pants for underwear,” Davies said. He struck a serious pose as he considered the question. “We could open the hatches, I suppose …”

  Colin shook his head. Major Craig had pointed out the dangers of leaving the hatches open, even if it would let the marines respond to an enemy boarding party at breakneck s
peed. The risk to the crew was insurmountable. No one, not even the most daring of the marines, would tolerate the risk for long. Better to slam the hatches closed than risk accidentally depressurising the entire ship. They’d just have to cut down their reaction time as much as possible and hope for the best.

  He put the datapad down and stood. “I think we’re just going to have to wing it,” he said. “And I’m probably going to lose my stripe for not thinking of anything better.”

  “I think that only happens if you miss the obvious,” Davies said. “The major can’t demote you for not thinking of something, if he can’t think of something either.”

  “How … reassuring,” Colin said. “How long do we have until the next drill?”

  Davies shrugged. “A few hours,” he said. “Unless they decide to call a drill early.”

  “We’ll see.” Colin headed for the hatch. “I need something to eat. Coming?”

  He rubbed his forehead as he made his way down the corridor. Major Craig had put the marines on relaxed duty, with a grim reminder that the system might come under attack at any moment. It was the closest thing to shore leave they’d have, Colin was sure; they couldn’t risk being caught on the surface if - when - the virus attacked. He smiled at a pair of crewwomen as he left marine country, feeling warm inside when they smiled back. The marine uniform was good for attracting girls. It was just a shame he was too busy training to appreciate it.

  Just wait until you get home for leave, he told himself. You can chase girls to your heart’s content then.

  The thought made him smile. He’d never had any trouble attracting female company at school, once he’d realised girls were more than just strange creatures from another world, but there’d been limits. His father would have beaten him to within an inch of his life if he managed to get a girl pregnant, certainly outside wedlock. The old man was forever grumbling about how he’d been entrapped by his wife. Colin had never been sure if that was true, but he’d learned a lesson regardless. An inch of prevention was better than a pound of cure.

  He walked into the ship’s mess and looked around with interest. The marines had often joked the navy was soft, with luxuries everywhere, but it wasn’t really true. The food wasn’t much better than what he’d eaten during training, although it was unquestionably better than the slop he’d eaten at school. He had no idea what the Beast was serving his students, but he had a sneaking suspicion it came from the very lowest bidder. Or the Beast had hired from the dregs of society. A lifetime spent cooking food for a school full of children struck him as a fate worse than the gallows.

  “A couple of pretty girls and a boy over there,” Davies muttered, as they collected a tray and piled it with food. “You want to join them?”

  “Nah.” Colin glanced at the stripe on his shoulder. He was meant to be the responsible one or else … he wondered, sometimes, if he had the stripe through sheer luck. He knew he’d handled himself well, but there were old sweats who’d been in the military when he’d been in diapers. He wasn’t sure if he was being tested or if someone had been asleep at the switch. “We need to keep ourselves out of trouble.”

  Davies shot him a sharp look. “That stripe is changing you.”

  “I’m not going to take it off for anything,” Colin said. It had taken commando training to force him to knuckle down and actually work. He’d had problems, at first, coming to terms with the simple fact that men who’d been there and done that weren’t remotely impressed with his achievements. He hadn’t wanted to admit there was nothing special about his victories on the playing fields of Liverpool. “I worked hard to earn it.”

  He tucked into his meal, feeling as if he were on holiday. The mess felt more like a school dining hall than a barracks, with different groups keeping themselves to themselves. He spotted crewmen from a dozen departments, ranging from tactical staff to engineering and gunboat pilots. The latter seemed odd, as if they didn’t quite fit in. He supposed that made a certain kind of sense. The gunboat pilots had no role on the ship. They were even less useful than the marines.

  A pilot raised his head and looked at Colin, then looked down. Colin stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. He’d been told there were crewmen who hated, feared or simply resented the marines, although he’d never been able to understand why. The marines might be handsome and sexy and more muscular than an army of models, but they spent half their time crawling through mud or being shot at by enemy troops. He snorted as he returned his attention to his food. The pilot probably thought the marines were homicidal maniacs, like the fictional Lieutenant Wolfcastle. Colin hadn’t been a marine that long, but even he knew that anyone who acted like the star of a dozen action movies would spend the rest of his life in Colchester, if his commanding officer didn’t summarily strangle him first. Senior officers were not supposed to lay hands on their subordinates, but Colin was sure the court-martial board would look the other way.

  Davies coughed. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing.” Colin didn’t want to try to explain. “I was just thinking of a joke.”

  “Oh, help,” Davies said. “I’m sure you’re meant to have your sense of humour removed when you get your first stripe.”

  Private Willis joined them before Colin could think of a response. “Have you heard the latest?”

  “Oh, dear,” Davies said. “What’s happened now?”

  “We’re heading straight for Farnham,” Willis said. “Unicorn’s already there.”

  “And we’re either sitting on our butts looking stupid or fighting to save ourselves,” Davies said. “What are the odds we’ll be boarded?”

  “What are the odds we’ll be trying to board a brainship?” Willis grinned. “I heard we’re going to sneak onto a brainship and take out the brain.”

  “I doubt it,” Colin said. There’d been only one marine who’d boarded a brainship in a bid to take control and she’d had an unfair advantage. She hadn’t survived the experience. “More likely we’ll be taking a nuke onto the ship and blowing it to hell.”

  “Blowing us to hell, too,” Willis said.

  “Yeah,” Davies agreed. “I like my idea better.”

  “Which idea?” Willis smirked. “You haven’t come up with one.”

  “I think we should take our sick leave,” Davies said. “And then run for our lives.”

  “So you’re a coward,” Willis said. “A coward and me. Do you know what that makes?”

  “Two cowards,” Davies said. “That joke’s older than you are.”

  Colin let out a breath. “Eat while you can,” he said. “We’ll be back on ration bars soon enough.”

  A low tremor ran through the ship, the background hum growing louder. Colin shivered, even though the compartment was warm. They were altering course, heading for the tramline and the enemy system beyond. He swallowed, hard. It wouldn’t be his first taste of combat, but …

  “Eat up,” he told his men, even though he had to force himself to do exactly that. “We’re about to go to war.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mitch shivered as Unicorn glided towards the tramline. The display was clear, suggesting there were no allied or enemy starships near the invisible line of gravitational force, but he knew that was meaningless. An entire fleet could be lying doggo, watching with passive sensors and waiting for the chance to pounce. He felt alone, even though there were hundreds of friendly starships only a few light-hours away. There was no way they’d be able to intervene if Unicorn ran into something she couldn’t handle. They wouldn’t even know something had happened until it was far too late.

  “Captain,” Lieutenant Sam Hinkson said. The helmsman’s voice was hushed. “We’re ready to jump.”

  “Tactical, prepare to engage,” Mitch ordered. “Helm, take us through the tramline.”

  He braced himself as Unicorn jumped. His stomach clenched painfully, a grim reminder that his ship was simply too small to mount proper compensators. The display blanked, then hastily rebooted. M
itch tensed, half-expecting to see missiles or angry starfighters blazing towards them. Unicorn was incredibly stealthy, even without her cloaking device online, but no stealth system was perfect. The cloak would have fluctuated the moment they crossed the tramline. If there’d been someone in position to see them jump, they might have had just long enough to establish a secure lock and open fire before time ran out. But there was no one …

  The display started to fill with data. Farnham had never been considered very important. The Americans had only claimed it because the system was a single jump from New Washington. There was no gas giant to provide fuel, just a handful of rocky planets and a small cluster of asteroids drifting at the edge of the system. The population came from hardy stock, if the reports were to be believed. They’d chosen to settle Farnham to keep their distance from Washington and New Washington. They hadn’t been very keen on signing up for GATO either. And now whatever was left of the colony was either in deep hiding or infected. He felt a twinge of pity. The colony would never recover.

  “Captain,” Lieutenant Hannah Avis said. “I’m picking up the enemy fleet.”

  Mitch leaned closer. They were several light hours from Farnham itself, which meant the sensor readings were several hours out of date, but it was unlikely the virus had chosen to adjust position in the last few hours. A cluster of starships - he couldn’t help noticing it had increased in size, since the last recon flight - held position near the planet. The enemy fleet looked to be waiting for something. Mitch guessed it was waiting for the order to attack.

  “Deploy the first sensor platforms,” he ordered. “And hold us here.”

  He forced himself to be patient as the platforms were deployed, even though he wanted to leave the tramline and sneak closer to the enemy fleet. The ships could move at any moment, unleashing a juggernaut that would punch through the tramline and force the Americans to stand and die in defence of their world. Mitch silently tallied up the ships, fighting the coming battle time and time again in his head. Five brainships, seven battleships, nine carriers and fifty smaller ships. The Americans should have the edge, he figured, if they fought the fleet alone, but the admiral had warned there was a second prong. The Americans might defeat one fleet, only to be defeated by the next.