The Admiralty has just over three hours to send us some new orders, Stephen reminded himself, grimly. There had been some talk about Invincible escorting a convoy to Falkirk, but the convoy organisers had kept falling behind until the Admiralty had dropped the plan. But once we cross the tramline, we’re free.
He studied his console thoughtfully, noting that the starship’s drives and life support were functioning well within acceptable parameters. He would have been surprised if they weren’t - they’d ironed out all the bugs during their shakedown cruise - but it was better for any problems to manifest within the solar system, rather than in an alien star system. Being rescued - and towed back to the shipyard - would be embarrassing, yet it would be preferable to being caught by a fleet of alien ships. Stephen knew what fate awaited Invincible’s crew if they were captured. He’d already determined to blow up the ship rather than see her fall into enemy hands.
“Cruising speed achieved, Captain,” Sonia said. “We’ll be crossing the tramline in three hours.”
Stephen had to smile. One thing the civilians never realised was that space was big, unimaginably big. Invincible might be one of the fastest things in space, certainly when compared to the giant fleet carriers, but even she took time to get from place to place. He didn’t really begrudge the time, even though part of him wanted to cross the tramline before his superiors could send him new orders. The gulf between the shipyard - and Earth - and the tramline was a buffer between humanity and an invading fleet. He dreaded to think what would happen if the Royal Navy ran into an enemy that wasn’t bound by the tyranny of the tramlines. They could jump into orbit and lay waste to Earth before the defenders could react.
And it might be theoretically possible, Stephen thought, grimly. He’d read papers suggesting that there were ways to fold space that didn’t require more power than the entire Royal Navy generated in a year. Someone more advanced than us might be able to do it and then ...
He pushed the thought aside and concentrated on the reports. Nothing seemed to be going wrong, yet. He eyed his console suspiciously - in his experience, something always went wrong when a starship left the shipyard - and then forced himself to relax. They’d just have to deal with any problems as they cropped up. He had a good ship and a good crew. He didn’t need to worry himself to death.
Not yet, anyway, he thought. We’ll be facing the aliens soon enough.
Time passed, slowly. Stephen watched and waited, feeling a flicker of relief as they reached the tramline and made transit. The display blanked, just long enough to worry him, then started to fill up with icons. Terra Nova’s endless civil war hadn’t put a stop to activity in deep space, well beyond the reach of any of the factions. There was going to be a political headache, the analysts said, when Terra Nova evolved a government that controlled the entire planet. Legally, that government would have jurisdiction over the entire system; practically, the off-planet governments and corporations and independent settlers wouldn’t recognise the government’s authority. And some of them were loaded for bear. Stephen suspected that the planetary government would always be at a major disadvantage. They simply couldn’t afford to build a fleet capable of imposing their authority without making their plan blindingly obvious.
“Captain,” Morse said. “The other commanding officers have informed us that they will be attending the dinner party.”
Surprise, surprise, Stephen thought. It would be a rare officer who’d decline such an invitation, unless there were extreme extenuating circumstances. But I do have to talk to them before we reach the front.
He stood. “Commander Newcomb, you have the bridge,” he said. “I’ll be in my Ready Room.”
“Aye, Captain,” Newcomb said. “I have the bridge.”
Stephen kept a wary eye on the live feed from the bridge while he worked in his Ready Room, although he wasn’t really expecting trouble. The miners-turned-pirates who infested parts of the system weren’t likely to pick a fight with either of the destroyers, let alone the whole flotilla. It said something about the general lack of law and order in the Terra Nova system that space pirates actually existed. Anywhere else, they’d be cut off from their supply bases and hunted down like dogs. He suspected it was just a matter of time before the spacers crafted their own government, with the power to impose law and destroy pirate gangs. There was nothing romantic about space pirates.
He worked until late afternoon, then changed into his dress uniform and made his way down to the Flag Mess. He’d been tempted to tear the compartment out and replace it with something more useful, when he’d seen it for the first time, but he had to admit it did have its uses. And yet, the compartment was really too luxurious for his peace of mind. It looked as if it belonged on a luxury liner, not a warship heading to the front.
The designers probably wanted to suck up to the admirals, he thought, as he waited for his guests. They wouldn’t be happy unless they had the finest accommodation on the ship.
His lips twitched at the thought. He’d seen the old tin-cans that the Royal Navy had built during the first expansion into space. They’d been little more than glorified rockets, lacking everything from artificial gravity to starfighters. The crews had endured horrific living conditions, their lives more at risk from their own ships than enemy action. Stephen wondered, idly, what those men would have made of Invincible. They’d probably take one look and wonder if they were hallucinating. Stephen’s ship was ridiculously luxurious compared to the tin-cans.
The hatch opened. Stephen straightened up. “Captain Brisling,” he said, as a middle-aged dark-skinned woman stepped into the compartment. “It’s good to see you again.”
“And you,” Captain Samra Brisling said. “You seem to have done well for yourself.”
Stephen nodded, then greeted the other commanding officers. Captain Vandal Hashing was older than he’d expected, even though Katy Shaw had told Stephen that Hashing was on the verge of retirement. Captain Jonathon Linguine looked ridiculously young to be a destroyer captain, particularly as he had no aristocratic connections that Stephen had been able to uncover. But then, his file had made it clear that he was an above-average officer, with a string of commendations to his name. He would make battleship command in five years or burn out early.
“Captain,” Captain Pavel Kaminov said. The Russian’s voice was strongly accented, somewhat to Stephen’s surprise. English was everyone’s second language these days. You couldn’t be a spacer unless you spoke perfect English. “Thank you for your invitation.”
“You’re welcome,” Stephen said, shaking Kaminov’s hand. “We’re glad to have you along.”
He studied Kaminov for a long moment. The Russian was tall and thin, his face strikingly pale. It was hard to make even a guess at his age. Kaminov’s file stated that he was in his late forties, but MI6 hadn’t been able to confirm any of the details. Stephen wasn’t too surprised. The Great Powers rarely shared complete files with anyone. He just hoped the Russians hadn’t exaggerated Kaminov’s combat experience. That might cause all sorts of problems.
“Please, be seated,” he said. He waved a hand at the table. “We’re quite informal here.”
“That’s a relief,” Katy Shaw said, as she sat. “I’ve never been quite sure which fork I should use for soup.”
Stephen smiled at the weak joke. “We won’t be able to enjoy fresh ingredients for long, so get it while you can,” he said. “My chef worked overtime to prepare this delicious repast.”
He motioned for Kaminov to sit next to him as the steward brought in the first course, a clear chicken soup. The Russian seemed oddly amused by the whole affair, although he ate without hesitation. Stephen guessed he hadn’t spent much time with foreigners. The Russians hadn’t participated in many of the multinational fleet exercises that had been carried out between the wars. Their self-imposed isolation had cost them dearly.
Conversation flowed around the dinner table as the various captains chatted freely. Stephen listened, occasio
nally inserting a comment or question, as Katy and Hashing talked about survey work beyond the rim of explored space. They made it sound like a wonderful adventure, even though Stephen knew that their crews would be thoroughly bored of each new planet by the time the survey team moved to the next star system. But then, it couldn’t be helped. The survey team needed to be sure the planet didn’t have any unpleasant surprises before the first colony mission arrived.
And some planets have been quite inhospitable, he reminded himself. They turned out to be nothing more than poisonous snakes in the grass.
He met Kaminov’s eyes. “I was wondering why your government saw fit to assign your ship to this mission,” he said. “They were not very forthcoming to us.”
“We lost a destroyer to the enemy aliens,” Kaminov rumbled, after a moment. “The government wants to know what happened to her.”
Stephen nodded, slowly. There had been no sign of Dezhnev since she’d vanished in Alien-1. He didn’t blame the Russians for wanting to know what had happened to her, although he had a private suspicion that they’d never know. Dezhnev could have slipped too close to an alien starship and been blown into atoms, or suffered a catastrophic life support failure that had killed her entire crew. Stephen doubted that any such failure would have killed the crew instantly, but in a hostile star system the Russians wouldn’t dare signal for help. They might have suffocated long before they could be rescued.
“We also want to know as much as possible about the new aliens,” Kaminov added, after a moment. “Gathering intelligence is not my preferred role, Captain, but I wasn’t given a choice.”
“Orders are orders,” Linguine said. The young man sipped his wine, thoughtfully. “What will you do if you locate her?”
Kaminov made a motion that might have been a shrug. “It depends. If we can recover her, I have orders to try. If not, I have orders to destroy her. But if she was captured, we are unlikely to see her.”
“True,” Stephen agreed, slowly. Any captured alien ships would not be added to the line of battle. They’d be taken to a secret location and carefully disassembled, piece by piece, until the boffins worked out what made them tick. It was hard to believe that the virus wouldn’t do the same, even though its psychology was thoroughly inhuman. The virus would certainly want to dissect the ship’s datacores for actionable intelligence. “Did her CO have orders to destroy his datacores if the ship came under fire?”
“He did,” Kaminov confirmed. “But we cannot tell if he carried out his orders.”
Assuming his ship was actually captured, Stephen thought. But we have to assume the worst.
“We shouldn’t have any trouble with our mission,” Samra said. “As long as we are careful, we should remain undetected.”
“I’m sure that’s what Dezhnev thought,” Linguine commented. “The alien sensor grids might be far better than ours.”
“Or they may have devoted more effort to covering Alien-1 than we devoted to covering Earth,” Stephen pointed out. “Their economy might be more geared to war production than ours.”
“If they really are a single entity, they might not care about comforts,” Hashing said. “They might be able to devote a great deal more of their GNP to the military than anyone else.”
Stephen winced at the thought. He knew, all too well, just how much money was funnelled into the Royal Navy each year. It was hard to blame the politicians who wanted to redirect some of the money elsewhere, even though he knew Britain had to keep up with the other Great Powers. But if the virus didn’t have to worry about such matters, it could construct a far larger navy without risking political upheaval or civil unrest. And if it could out-produce its new enemies ...
“They might also not take the war seriously,” Katy said. “If they don’t see us as a real threat ...”
“Every living thing wants to survive,” Kaminov said.
“I don’t think politicians want to survive,” Linguine said.
Samra snorted. “Politicians are isolated from the consequences of their decisions,” she said, dryly. “That ensures that they develop an unrealistic view of the world. The virus, on the other hand, presumably knows everything about its surroundings. It won’t assume that we will leave it in peace.”
“It’s already shown that its aggressive - and hostile,” Stephen agreed. “And yes, it wants to survive.”
“But how are we going to beat it?” Hashing took a sip of his wine. “We have no vaccine, we have no way of freeing countless innocents from its grip. This is a hostage crisis on an unprecedented scale.”
“We wipe it out,” Kaminov said. “We destroy its ships, we smash its asteroid habitats, we burn its planets to dust and ash. And when we’re done, we keep the entire system under a very close watch. If it moves again, we destroy it.”
Hashing glared. “You’re talking about genocide.”
“Spare me your false morality,” Kaminov said. “Your country deported millions of fourth-generation citizens, many of whom went to their deaths. And they were human. The virus is very definitely not.”
He leaned forward. “This virus poses a terrifying threat. If it gets loose on Earth, countless millions will die - or be robbed of their freedom. There is no such thing as an immoral tactic when confronted with such a foe. It is them - the virus, really - or us.”
“If we do as you wish, we will be wiping out at least two alien races, neither of whom have done anything wrong beyond being infected,” Hashing said, sharply. “They didn’t make a choice to fight us ...”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kaminov said. He lowered his voice. “What would you have us do? Treat the virus with kid gloves until it broke free and exterminated us? I understand your point, Captain, but the survival of humanity and our allies is at stake. We have got to put ourselves first.”
“We can contain the virus,” Samra said.
“Are you sure?” Kaminov gave her a sharp look. “What if you’re wrong?”
“The decision isn’t in our hands,” Stephen said. “Our job is to scout out the alien homeworlds.”
“And then prepare to destroy them,” Kaminov said. “We cannot allow the virus to exist.”
Hashing snorted. “And how would we be sure of getting every last fragment of it?”
“We couldn’t,” Kaminov said. “But we have to try.”
Stephen winced, inwardly. He hated to admit it, but Kaminov had a point. The virus could not be allowed to exist. And yet, destroying the virus meant destroying untold billions of innocent aliens, aliens who had been hosts from birth to death. They didn’t deserve to die.
It’s going to be a long mission, he thought.
Chapter Nine
Alice felt naked.
She crawled through the Jefferies Tube, feeling as if she was being watched. The hunters were after her. She paused outside a hatch and checked the telltales, then keyed the switch to open it. The hatch slid open, revealing an empty tube. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself through the hatch and listened carefully. There was no sign of any pursuit.
Which means nothing, she reminded herself, as she looked up and down the tube. They’ll be moving as quietly as possible.
She forced herself to keep moving, despite the sweat pouring down her back. It stung to admit it, but - in hindsight - she wondered if agreeing to play the quarry had been a bright idea. The marines would find it easier to catch her than someone in better shape, even if she did know the ship like the back of her hand. It was a far cry from the Escape and Evasion courses she’d passed during basic training. But then, the marines were undermanned. Better to let them chase her than a crewman who wouldn’t know how to hide.
A sound echoed down the tubes. She tensed, listening carefully. Someone following her? She’d done everything in her power to evade detection, but she knew from experience just how far sound could travel in an enclosed space. She thought she heard someone coming up the tubes, someone who wanted to catch her ... turning to the right, she opened a hatch and scrambled
out into the corridor. A pair of passing crewmen gave her an odd look, but ignored her. They’d have been told not to pay any attention to the marine version of hide and seek.
But the marines will be after me in a few moments, Alice thought. Someone would have noticed the hatch being opened ... and it wouldn’t take them long to realise that Alice was the only person who could have opened the hatch. I have to move.
She forced herself to think as she hurried down the corridor. Unless she missed her guess, the marines would be guarding the hatches that led further into the ship. They wouldn’t want her to slip past them and hide. She glanced at her wristcom, calculatingly. If she managed to stay ahead of them for another two hours, she’d win. But she doubted she could keep ahead of them. They had a rough idea of where she was now and ...
Footsteps, she thought, as the sound reached her ears. They’re coming.
Her hand dropped to the stunner at her belt. She could fight, if she wished ... it would certainly make the game a little more exciting. But she didn’t think she could stun them all before it was too late. Parkinson would have a number of sharp things to say to his men if they were stunned, yet ... it wouldn’t make any difference to her. She considered jumping back into the tubes, then dismissed the thought. They’d have blocked off the exits by now, unless they’d slipped badly since she’d been infected. Instead, she ducked into a storage room and looked around. The walls were lined with spacesuits. A thought struck her as the hatch hissed closed behind her. If she got into one of the spacesuits and remained very still ...
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