“That’s good to hear,” Parkinson said. “You’re on detached duty. You have been assigned a cabin in the lower levels. You may make use of the facilities in Marine Country, if they are not required for other purposes, but otherwise you are not to consider yourself a marine unless I recall you to duty. Your men are no longer under your command. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Alice said. “Apparently, I’m a consultant now. Whatever that means.”
“It means you get paid a great deal of money to be absolutely useless,” Parkinson said. He grinned, suddenly. “You can watch our exercises and tell us what we’re doing wrong.”
Not allowing me to take part, Alice thought, although she knew it wasn’t entirely fair. She doubted she could pass the entry tests right now, let alone the qualifying exams. Or perhaps not taking the enemy seriously.
She shook her head. Major Parkinson was well aware of the threat. He’d seen men under his command fall to the new threat. He’d probably read all the reports too. He wouldn’t let the virus get a foothold without a fight. She had no doubt of it. Parkinson was smart as well as tough. And she didn’t blame him for being wary of her.
“I’ll be sure to nitpick,” she said. If Parkinson wanted her to watch and comment, she’d watch and comment. “When are we starting?”
“We may find something else for you to do,” Parkinson added, without answering her question. “Coming?”
He turned and strode down the corridor. Alice hefted her carryall and followed, resisting the urge to rub her aching jaw. She’d have to find someone to spar with, someone who would give her a challenge without effortlessly overpowering her every time. She tried to recall the roster in hopes of finding someone who taught martial arts, but no one came to mind. The really skilled martial artists tended to remain on Earth.
Invincible felt different, although it took her a few moments to put her finger on why. The atmosphere smelt like a shipyard, rather than a starship that had been on active duty for the past nine months. That had to be a little frustrating for the ship’s crew, she guessed. Their ship smelt as if it had come off the slips yesterday. That would change, as Invincible headed back into deep space; they’d just have to endure it until then. The lights felt a little brighter too. She suspected they’d worked UV projectors into the light panels. The air was probably cleaner than it had been in weeks.
And we’ll all be constantly exposed to UV light, she thought. Does that have any ill-effects?
She dismissed the thought as Parkinson stopped outside a hatch and pressed his finger against the scanner. The hatch hissed open, revealing a mid-sized cabin. It was no larger than the bedroom she’d had at her grandmother’s house, but - compared to her accommodation in Marine Country - it was luxury incarnate. The private bathroom alone was pure heaven. She opened her mouth to protest, but Parkinson was already striding inside. She hoped he’d understand she hadn’t chosen the cabin for herself.
He should know it, she told herself. Whoever assigned it to me didn’t realise I’d prefer somewhere smaller.
“You will remain here, when you are not training or otherwise engaged,” Parkinson said, firmly. “You have access to enough entertainment to keep you occupied for years. If you go outside without permission, you will be in deep shit.”
“Oh,” Alice said. She was a prisoner then, no matter what Parkinson claimed. “And what sort of shit will I land in?”
“The sort that gets you thrown into the brig for the remainder of the voyage,” Parkinson said, sharply. His face softened as he turned to face her. “Look, Alice, things are not what they were. It was all I could do to get you this cabin instead of a reserved room in the brig. Don’t be foolish, okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Alice said. She looked down at the medical bracelet on her hand. By now, the little tattletale had probably established a live feed to the ship’s computers and was feeding data to the medical staff. “I won’t be foolish.”
Parkinson smiled. “There are MREs under the bed,” he added. “Feel free to eat, if you wish, or sleep. I’ll be back soon.”
He turned and walked out of the cabin. The hatch closed behind him. Alice tried to open it, in a spirit of slight experimentation with the rules, and was unsurprised to discover that it wouldn’t open for her. There were ways to get the door open - and she knew several different tricks she could try - but they’d all damage the system beyond repair. It would mark her out as a ...
Alien spy, I suppose, she thought, as she started to search the small compartment. Or someone who can’t follow orders.
She wasn’t surprised when, five minutes after she began her search, she’d discovered no less than seven optical and audio pickups concealed within the room itself. There would be more, she was sure, including a handful too tiny to be seen with the naked eye and completely beyond detection without specialised equipment. She was tempted to remove the bugs she had found, but that would just have upset her minders. Instead, she opened the drawer under the bed and removed a single MRE. Parkinson had crammed nearly thirty into the tiny compartment. It made her wonder, as she opened the packet and triggered the heating element, just how long he was expecting her to remain in the cabin. She’d get cabin fever soon enough.
But at least I’m on a ship, she thought, as she felt the deck quiver beneath her feet. The main drives were powering up, one by one. And I’ll be on my way back into alien space before too long.
The MRE started to steam. She removed the heating element with the ease of long practice, tossed it into a bin and opened the remaining packets. The army’s curry and rice bore little resemblance to the curries her grandmother had made, once upon a time, but they were edible and filling. Her grandmother had been a bit of a rebel, in her own way. There had been a time when making ethnic food caused people to regard you with suspicion. She wondered, idly, how the army had ever gotten away with serving curry-in-a-bag.
Probably because no one dared say the army was anything but ultra-patriotic, she thought, wryly. And most of the people outside the army probably never knew anyway.
She poured her dinner onto a plate, then sat down and started to eat. Parkinson would be back - or someone would be back. She wanted to be ready for them. And then ... she silently catalogued all the things she could do with the equipment in Marine Country. Hours of exercise - supervised or not - would set her on the road to recovery. And then, she just needed to find a sparring partner ...
And hope I can convince Parkinson to trust me before it’s too late, she reminded herself. If he doesn’t trust me, I’ll never get a chance to return to active duty.
***
Captain Katy Shaw was older than Stephen had anticipated, even though he’d read her file with considerable attention. The Royal Navy normally transferred its officers to a different ship when they were promoted, but Survey was a law unto itself. Katy Shaw had served on HMS Magellan ever since she’d been a young midshipwoman, moving steadily up the ranks until she’d finally stepped into the command chair. Stephen didn’t think that denying an officer a chance to transfer was a good idea, but he had to admit that Katy presumably knew her command from top to bottom. Besides, she was a born survey officer. It was unlikely she could take command of a military ship.
She was a tall woman, with red hair that was steadily going grey. Stephen couldn’t help being reminded of his second governess, a formidable woman who hadn’t put up with any nonsense from Stephen or his brother. Katy Shaw’s record was formidable too. Her ship had opened up new tramlines, located dozens of habitable worlds and - before she took command - stumbled across the Foxes and Cows. Magellan had been lucky to escape without being detected and destroyed. Stephen had read that report very carefully too.
“Captain,” he said. “Welcome onboard HMS Invincible.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Katy said. “Please, call me Katy.”
“Stephen,” Stephen said. Technically, she had more time in grade than he did, but the Royal Navy insisted that warship captains
had automatic seniority over non-warship captains. It was a sensible precaution, he’d always felt, but one that always put noses out of joint. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thank you,” Katy said. A steward brought them both tea, then withdrew as silently as he’d come. “Although I cannot say I like the sound of the mission.”
“We have to know just how much territory our enemy controls,” Stephen said. “And your ship was designed for stealthy operations.”
Katy didn’t look pleased. Magellan and her sisters were designed to be incredibly stealthy in the hopes that they’d be able to locate any potential threats and slip away without making contact. Their cloaking devices and ECM nodes were as capable as anything mounted by a warship. But survey officers were more interested in opening up new areas of space for exploration than spying on enemy planets. They were, at heart, more civilian than military.
“I understand that we have been drafted for the duration of the conflict,” she said, finally. “I have already taken the liberty of offloading non-essential crew members. However ... I should warn you that there will be protests.”
Stephen had to smile. “Tell them to stand in line.”
Katy shrugged. “I’m sure they will,” she said. “We were preparing to depart on a two-year mission when you returned home.”
“You’ll still be exploring unexplored space,” Stephen said. “Or doesn’t it count if someone else got there first?”
“It still counts,” Katy said. She leaned back in her chair. “What do you want from us, Captain?”
“We’ll be probing the stars around Alien-1 in the hopes of determining how much space the virus controls,” Stephen said. “Your specific orders are to accompany Invincible and use your specialised equipment in support of the mission. In the event of us making contact with the enemy, you and your crews will take the lead in a bid to establish lines of communication with the virus. I’ve been told that your communication crews are trained in thousands of ways to communicate.”
“Yes,” Katy said. “We have quite a few ways to open communications. But the system has never really been tested.”
Stephen nodded. The Tadpoles had been the ones to figure out how to speak to humanity, not the other way around. The Vesy had been forced to learn Russian, then English; the Foxes and the Cows had copied a captured Tadpole database. Survey Command might be very proud of its First Contact package, but it had never been used. There was no way to be sure how a completely unknown alien race would react.
They might think we’re being dreadfully rude, he thought, with a flicker of amusement. Or they might be completely bemused by something we consider to be as clear as water.
“We may have a chance to test it, then,” he said, although he was certain that trying to open communications would be a waste of time. “If we encounter hostility, Magellan and Raleigh are to retreat at once while Invincible and the other gunslingers hold the line. Should you lose touch with us, beat feet back to Falkirk and report to Admiral Weisskopf. He can send a message down the flicker network for further orders.”
Katy nodded. “It sounds simple enough,” she said. “And workable.”
“The devil is in the details, of course,” Stephen said, dryly.
“Always,” Katy agreed. “Some of my crew believe you muffed the first attempt at opening contact. What would you say to that?”
“They fired on us,” Stephen said. “And opening fire is also a way of opening communications. It says die, you bastards.”
He looked down at his desk for a long moment. He’d spent enough time in the upper crust to know that ambassadors and translators always worked hard to clarify messages and make allowances for mistakes. It was hard enough to avoid accidental mistranslations and insults when both parties were human, even if they didn’t speak the same language. Aliens were ... well, alien. It was impossible to be sure they’d meant to give offence. A smart diplomat left as much room as possible for manoeuvring around potential insults.
But opening fire? Without provocation? Stephen couldn’t believe that indicated anything but naked hostility. Humanity wouldn’t fire on an unknown alien ship unless it presented a clear and present danger, yet ... it would be easy, so easy, to believe that the aliens did pose a threat. It was one of the nightmare scenarios he’d studied during his time at the Luna Academy. A human ship, believing itself to be in danger, firing on a hyper-advanced alien starship ...
... And, the next thing they knew, the aliens made the sun go nova.
“We know our duty,” Katy said, breaking into his thoughts. “And we won’t let you down.”
Stephen nodded. No one reached command rank, even in survey, without a degree of hard common sense. Katy might bemoan the failure to open communications, she might try to open communications if she got a chance, but she understood the dangers. Her ship wouldn’t be risked unless there was a very real chance of ending the war. And Stephen wouldn’t blame her for trying.
“Thank you,” he said. He leaned forward. The next question had to be asked, even though it was a technical breach of etiquette. “Do you know Captain Hashing?”
“He’s a good man,” Katy said, calmly. If the breach of etiquette bothered her, she didn’t show it. “Worked his way up through the ranks like me, although he was always more interested in gas giants than Earth-compatible worlds. He had - still has, for all I know - a theory that we’d be abandoning planetside habitats forever, once our tech reached the point it could keep us alive in space indefinitely. The future generations of humanity would grow up in habitats orbiting gas giants, or sailing between the stars in immense ships. I believe he was considering retirement when the news hit.”
Her lips quirked. “He’s quite a rich man, thanks to some nifty investments with his share of the reward money. He was talking about establishing his own colony in orbit around Jupiter or Saturn. He’s certainly rich enough to do it when he retires.”
Stephen frowned. “But he’ll do his job?”
“Yes,” Katy said, flatly. “He’ll do his job.”
Chapter Eight
“Captain,” Commander Newcomb said. “All systems check out A-OK. Your starship is fully at your command.”
Stephen leaned back in his command chair. It had been a long week, with barely any time to catch some rest between inspecting his ship from top to bottom and stowing away as many supplies as she could carry in each and every nook and cranny, but they were finally ready to depart. And they’d met the First Space Lord’s deadline. His little flotilla would have no trouble reaching Falkirk on time.
Which makes a pleasant change, he thought, as he checked the displays one last time. Our shakedown cruise was nowhere near as uneventful.
“Communications, inform System Command that we are departing on schedule,” he ordered, calmly. “Helm, take us out as planned.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Stephen smiled, feeling a flicker of anticipation as the drives grew louder. There would be no more micromanaging once his ship crossed the tramline, no more contradictory orders that were cancelled bare seconds after he’d read them ... no, they’d be cut off from Earth and he would be in sole command. Going into enemy space would be dangerous - he had no illusions about that - but he’d also be isolated from his superiors. He would definitely be in sole command.
“We’re underway, Captain,” Lieutenant Sonia Michelle said. The helmswoman kept her eyes on her console. “We’ll be crossing the shipyard boundaries in two minutes and we’ll be crossing the tramline in three hours, seventeen minutes.”
“The remainder of the task force have fallen in behind us,” Lieutenant Alison Adams added, shortly. “They’re keeping pace, as planned.”
“Good,” Stephen said. “Communications, please extend my compliments to the other commanding officers and inform them that I’m inviting them to a dinner, to be held once we’ve crossed the tramline. Once they acknowledge, forward the details to the galley.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant
Thomas Morse said.
Stephen nodded and turned his attention back to the display. Sol was teeming with activity, from warships and freighters heading to the front to asteroid miners buzzing about like angry bees. The solar system hadn’t been so active since the last interstellar war, even though the massive colonisation program had been underway for years. Hundreds of thousands of people were leaving the planet each month, heading for their new homes on a distant colony world. Stephen had seen the incentives being offered to the colonists. He just hoped they’d have the sense to realise that life on an untamed world would be nothing to write home about.
He pushed the thought aside as he checked his inbox. There was nothing new, save for a single update from the family’s private news service. Stephen glanced at the header, decided it wasn’t immediately important and put it aside for later consideration. He’d feared that their orders would be changed on short notice, but it seemed as though they were going to be allowed to proceed as planned. That was a minor miracle in its own right.
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