The Longest Day (Ark Royal X)

by Christopher Nuttall

  Instead, they’d blown it to hell. Svetlana still couldn't believe it, even though nearly a year had passed since the battle. The aliens hadn’t just beaten the fleet, they’d destroyed it. Sixty ships, including twelve fleet carriers, wiped out in less than an hour. The panic had been overwhelming, when the news had finally sunk in. If the British hadn't had a single ancient carrier that had been able to stand up to the alien weapons, the war might already be over and humanity would have lost. Svetlana had no idea what the Tadpoles - as the British had termed the aliens - had in mind for a defeated humanity, but she doubted it would be particularly pleasant. Human history showed everything from enslavement to outright extermination.

  And we have armour too, she thought, glancing at her status board. Half the icons were dark ... she hoped that meant the computer nodes were having problems, again. She was fairly sure they were. Brezhnev was tough, but she’d be in real trouble if she’d lost all of those systems. We might be able to take one or two blows from the aliens before they finish us.

  “Captain,” the tactical officer said. “The turbulence is getting stronger.”

  “Slow to full stop,” Svetlana ordered. It was an old rule of thumb. Anyone she was close enough to see was close enough to see her too. “Passive sensors?”

  “Picking up flickers of power distortion,” the tactical officer reported. He looked up, his pale face suddenly paler. “Captain, power distribution is very similar to the alien masking field reported at New Russia.”

  “Then we’re too close,” Ignatyev said.

  “Perhaps,” Svetlana agreed. She studied the readouts for a long moment. There was definitely something out there. Something big. If she’d had a proper tactical expert ... she buried the thought with all the other resentments. The Navy had sent its finest people to take part in the defence of New Russia, where most of them had died. “Tactical, keep probing for insight.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the tactical officer said.

  Svetlana leaned forward. Ignatyev was right. They were already far too close to the unknowns for anyone’s peace of mind, let alone hers. But they did have some advantages, ones she wouldn't dismiss in a hurry. The unknowns couldn't risk using their active sensors without risking detection - the solar system was seeded with listening stations and scansats - and Brezhnev was radiating almost nothing. It was unlikely, highly unlikely, that the aliens would get a sniff of her presence, unless they had some piece of tech that the human race had never heard of.

  And that isn't entirely impossible, she reminded herself. She’d seen too many images of plasma bolts tearing through carriers as though they were made of paper. If they can see through their own stealth fields, we may be in some trouble.

  “Contact,” the tactical officer hissed. His display filled with red icons. “Captain, I have thirteen - perhaps fifteen - carriers and over a hundred smaller ships.”

  Svetlana felt her heart sink as she studied the readings. The carriers were all too familiar now, their elegant lines a silent mockery of crude human ships. She’d seen too many images of the alien ships to mistake them for anything else. There were no deployed starfighters, as far as her sensors could tell, but it hardly mattered. The aliens had arrived in force. And if they couldn't be stopped, Earth would fall.

  She kept her voice steady with an effort. “Launch two probes on ballistic trajectories,” she ordered. “I want them to pass through the middle of the enemy formation.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the tactical officer said.

  Svetlana looked at Ignatyev. “Do a course projection,” she ordered. She suspected she already knew the answer, but she needed to check. “Where are they going? And when will they arrive?”

  Ignatyev bent over his console. “Earth, Captain. They’ll be there in less than five hours unless they reduce speed.”

  Shit, Svetlana thought.

  She’d assumed as much. Earth was still the centre of the human sphere, still home to seventy percent of the entire human race. The industrial nodes orbiting the planet couldn’t be replaced in a hurry, even if the remaining colonies pooled their resources without the normal human bickering. God knew that New Russia had already been lost to the enemy. And who knew what was happening there? Svetlana knew better than to believe everything she heard on the datanet - the Russian media parroted the government’s line, unlike its western counterparts - but some of the horror stories might have some basis in fact. The Tadpoles might be enslaving the entire population.

  “Send another FLASH signal,” she ordered, curtly. There was a risk of detection, but it had to be borne. Earth had to know what was heading its way. “Scatter the message - I want a copy sent to every naval base in the system. Inform them of our contact, then attach full copies of our sensor records.”

  “Aye, Captain.” Ignatyev didn’t argue. That, if nothing else, indicated just how serious matters had become. “Signal sent.”

  “They’re ignoring us,” the tactical officer said. The alien ships were flowing past Brezhnev, seemingly unaware of her presence. “They didn't even pick up the drones!”

  “It looks that way,” Svetlana agreed, dryly. It was good news, she supposed. The drones were sending a constant feed of information back to their mothership, telling her things she hadn't wanted to know about the enemy fleet. Earth would have some warning of the oncoming storm. “When they pass us, bring the ship about. I want to shadow them all the way to Earth.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the helmsman said.

  Ignatyev shot her a questioning look. Svetlana ignored it. She didn't have time to explain her reasoning, not now. The alien ships were still too far from Earth to be tracked by the orbital defences, let alone the starships that made up the combined Home Fleet. Brezhnev had to stay close to them, whatever the risk. If the fleet split up under stealth, Earth wouldn't have the slightest idea that anything had happened until it was too late. Humanity’s homeworld was a pretty big target, but it wasn't the only one.

  Long-range kinetic strikes on the Jupiter Cloudscoops or the asteroid mining colonies will do a great deal of damage, she thought. Maybe not enough to cripple us, but enough to make it harder for us to recover.

  “Launch a relay drone,” she added. “Once it’s in place, establish a relay laser link. I don’t want them getting a sniff of us.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Ignatyev said.

  Svetlana’s lips twitched. If the aliens detected Brezhnev, the ship would be blown away before her crew had a chance to take any sort of evasive action. She didn't dare make any radio transmissions when the signals would be passing through the alien formation. That would be pushing her luck too far.

  Another shiver ran through the ship. “We’re moving into position, Captain,” the helmsman reported.

  “Laser link established,” Ignatyev added. “Captain, the time delay ...”

  “I know,” Svetlana said, sharply. It would be at least an hour before her alert reached Pournelle Base. Earth’s defenders wouldn't have that long to prepare to defend the planet against the oncoming storm. “It can’t be helped.”

  She shivered, a cold sensation running down her spine. To her, it was a tactical problem; to Earth, it was life or death. Mother Russia was about to face its most severe threat since Hitler’s invasion or the Central Asian Wars. And so was the rest of the planet. Humanity’s homeworld was about to be attacked.

  And they don’t even know the enemy is on the way, she thought. Her messages were speeding towards Earth, but they wouldn't have reached their destination. There would be people sleeping on Earth, or going to work or school or whatever they did all day ... utterly unaware of the nightmare bearing down on them. They don’t have the slightest idea what’s coming.

  Her blood grew colder. They’d know soon, she told herself. The entire planet is about to go to war.

  Chapter Two

  Sin City, Luna

  “Welcome to Sin City,” the speaker blared, as the underground train finally came to a halt beside a garish platform. “Wher
e everything that happens in Sin City stays in Sin City!”

  Brian Wheeler pursed his lips together in disapproval as the passengers scrambled to the doors, fighting to get out. It wasn't as if the doors were going to slam shut and deny the slower passengers the chance to enjoy themselves, was it? The Management wouldn't permit that, not when there was a chance to make money from the guests. It was far more likely that the doors would be kept open until the last of the guests had departed, then a security team sweep the train for surveillance devices before allowing it to take on new passengers.

  He picked up his briefcase, walked through the doors and headed up the stairs, keeping an eye on his fellow passengers. Half of them seemed to be naval cadets and crewmen from Britain and America, laughing and chatting nervously as they passed through the security gate. The remainder appeared to be civilians, although a handful were probably military contractors. He caught sight of a warning notice, informing all travellers that there were strict limits to what could be brought through the gates and into Sin City proper. The colony guarded its secrets well, he knew from prior experience. No one was allowed to bring recording or surveillance equipment to Sin City. The potential for blackmail was too high.

  Sweat prickled down his back as he reached the security gate and pushed his ID chip against the reader. It was possible, quite possible, that he’d been blacklisted. Sin City ran automatic checks against security and criminal databases before allowing newcomers to pass through the gates ... if they had a record of him, they could deny him entry or force him to wait for a decision to be made at a higher level. Brian would have been tempted to do just that, if he’d been sure of the outcome. But too much was at stake to take foolish chances.

  The gate hissed open. He smiled as he walked through, heading down the corridor and into the giant complex. Flickering holograms and wall-mounted billboards greeted visitors, offering them pleasures beyond imagination ... some of which were illegal almost anywhere else. Gambling, sex, VR adventures ... the possibilities were endless. You could find anything in Sin City, he’d been told ... the only real danger was becoming addicted to the pleasures and never wanting to leave. Or being caught with traces of illegal drugs in one’s bloodstream. Brian had never been a naval officer, but he’d been told that drug tests were mandatory after personnel returned from leave. He believed it.

  Sin City was a vast complex buried beneath the luna soil, he recalled as he studied the holographic display. The upper levels were devoted to gambling and other mainstream pleasures, places where first-timers were separated from their money as quickly and efficiently as possible. Brian couldn't help wondering if the games were rigged, although the Management had been quick to deny the possibility. People did win and win big, they pointed out. It just didn't happen very often.

  Finding the security office on the chart, he turned and walked down towards the stairwell. A dozen topless girls walked past him, laughing and joking as they made their way to a burlesque show. Brian took one look at bare breasts bobbling in front of his eyes, then told himself to keep his mind on the job. He couldn't afford to let himself be distracted. The girls giggled as he passed, but he ignored them. They’d have no trouble finding clients when the time came.

  More advertisements bombarded him as he reached the stairwell and made his way downwards, deeper into the colony. He could enter a fantasy world and have adventures, or a harem, or ... he couldn't help a smile as a list of possibilities appeared in front of him. Most of them were pathetic and none of them were real. He didn't care to pretend to be a secret agent for a day, let alone some of the weirder options. It would have surprised him if they had any customers ...

  People always want to indulge their fantasies, he thought, wryly. And it certainly beats spending years developing one’s skills if all one wants to do is have fun.

  He glanced into one of the casinos as he reached the lower levels. Hundreds of men - serious gamblers, judging by the chips on the tables - were playing for very high stakes. The waitresses were topless, again, but none of the men were paying attention. Brian rolled his eyes, remembering some of his older cases. The girls would make hundreds of pounds - perhaps more - in tips, while the house would take its cut of the winnings. And they didn’t even have to do much, beyond keeping glasses filled.

  The surroundings changed as he reached the lowest level. It felt almost as if he was walking into a prison, or into the real world behind the facade. The walls were cold grey, the ceiling so low he felt as though it was brushing the top of his head. Two security guards eyed him warily, shifting slightly to expose the weapons at their belt. They looked overdressed, Brian decided, but he knew better than to underestimate them. Sin City’s Management recruited from the ever-growing pool of ex-military personnel, particularly Special Forces. The guards might well have more training than himself.

  And they probably get paid better too, he thought, without heat. He’d read hundreds of stories from close-protection details around the world, but never anything from anyone who’d worked in Sin City. They were paid very well to keep their traps shut. What happened in Sin City stayed in Sin City. God alone knows how much has been covered up over the years.

  The lead guard moved to block his path. “Yes?”

  “I need to speak to Chief Patel,” Brian said. He held out his ID chip. “Please inform him that I am here.”

  The guard eyed him for a long moment, then took the datachip and ran it through his portable reader. Brian frowned, bracing himself. It was quite possible, despite everything, that Chief Clancy Patel would order him unceremoniously deported from Sin City. Or even take more unpleasant steps to deal with the intruder. Technically, Brian was breaking several regulations just by entering the city without permission. But Patel would know that, Brian reasoned. The man he remembered would wonder why Brian had revealed himself so openly.

  “Wait,” the guard said.

  He stepped back, then started subvocalising into a mouthpiece, sending a message to higher authority. Brian waited, telling himself to be patient. Chief Patel would want to see him ... surely. And if he didn't, there were other ways to accomplish his mission. Rumours aside, he doubted the Management would order his immediate execution. They’d never be certain that Brian didn’t have friends who knew where he’d gone. Sin City rested on thin ice at the best of times. They wouldn't want the Luna Federation to start taking a harder look at them.

  “The Chief will see you,” the guard said. “You will accompany me.”

  Brian nodded, then followed the guard through a pair of solid airlocks. The interior definitely resembled a police station, right down to a handful of people in handcuffs. Brian glanced at them - a trio of naval ratings and two young women, one of whom had a nasty bruise on her face - then looked away. Sin City had a good reputation for protecting its guests. A hostess who’d decided to pickpocket would be lucky if she wasn't immediately returned to Earth.

  And they won’t want that, Brian thought, as they passed a handful of other guards. They probably escaped from the security zone.

  The guard led him to a door, knocked once and opened it. Brian stepped inside without waiting for orders, looking around with interest. It was definitely more homely than the rest of the complex, right down to a photograph of Patel’s wife and children on the desk. The man himself sat behind the desk, eying Brian with interest. Brian looked back, silently cataloguing the rest of the oversized office. There were files, folders and knickknacks everywhere. Patel had always been a magpie, but it hadn't been until recently that he’d had a chance to indulge his obsession.

  “Brian,” Patel said. He rose to his feet and held out a hand. “Long time no see.”

  Brian shook his hand, firmly. Time hadn't been kind to his old friend. Patel looked older - and stouter - than he remembered, his hair thinning on top. Working in Sin City was worse than being on the beat, Brian had heard. Disturbances had to be handled as quietly as possible, apparently, and troublemakers had to be removed without delay. The guests
could not be allowed to think that they were unsafe in Sin City.

  “You too,” he said. “How are the children?”

  Patel shrugged expressively as he motioned Brian into a seat, then sat down again behind the desk. “Coping,” he said. “Luna is a better place for them than London, these days. Mia got my father’s skin colour and so ...”

  Brian nodded in understanding. Patel was clearly not of British blood, even though his family had been in Britain for generations. Looking East Asian after the Troubles was not an advantage, although the photograph on the desk showed a very beautiful young girl. Mia would be nineteen or twenty now, if he remembered correctly. She’d find Luna much more congenial than Britain.