Fear God and Dread Naught
Page 24
“Interesting,” Kelly mused. He was poking at one of the dead bodies, examining it thoughtfully. “The claws are completely retractable. This one didn't have a chance to flick them out before it died.”
“Good,” Byron said. He took a long look at the dead marine, then winced noticeably. “Get King bagged up. We’ll carry his body with us.”
He glanced at George. “Take a quick look at their equipment, but don’t take anything,” he added. “See what you make of it.”
George had a feeling that he wanted her to remain occupied, but she didn't fault him. The aliens could easily have killed her, if they’d wished. She took a look at the remaining fox-like aliens, then moved to the other aliens. They were carrying several different pieces of oddly-shaped equipment, but - apart from the weapons - she couldn't even begin to guess what they were. One of them might be a radio - they had to have some way to remain in touch with their superiors - yet she didn't dare experiment. A single radio transmission would bring the rest of the invasion force down on their heads.
“Take samples of the alien blood,” Byron ordered. “And then we’ll take our leave.”
Stott elbowed George as he passed. “Good work,” he said. “We’ll be sure to use you as bait in future.”
“If I get back into orbit,” George said, “I'm damned if I’m going back to the planet again.”
She fell into step beside Kelly as the marines resumed their march, two of them carrying the bound alien as if he were an ox being prepared for the fire. The alien glared at every human in sight, but otherwise seemed surprisingly passive. George couldn't help wondering just how many other surprises the aliens had - and if the alien was merely biding its time, planning to escape as soon as it could. She glanced upwards, expecting to see a flight of shuttles heading back towards the ambush zone, but heard nothing. The aliens didn't seem to have noticed.
Oddly, she felt reinvigorated as they kept moving northwards. A handful of shuttles flew overhead, an hour or so after the ambush, but none of them seemed inclined to land anywhere nearby. She wondered, despite herself, just what the aliens wanted with Unity. If invasion and settlement was their goal, surely they would have bombarded the city from orbit along with every farm they could see. Unless they wanted slaves ... unlike any other known race, the newcomers were a genuine multi-species polity. They might think that humans could be enslaved too.
They speak some of our language, she thought. Were they preparing to rule?
Byron kept them moving, with only a handful of breaks, until the sun finally began to set in the sky. George watched, grimly, as the marines gave the alien a drink of water and some food, careful to keep the alien pinned down as it was fed. The alien didn’t show any sign of resistance, although it kept a sharp eye on its captors. George couldn't escape the feeling that it was just biding its time.
She looked at Kelly as a nasty thought occurred to her. “Can it eat our food?”
“The boffins think they shouldn't have any trouble with our food,” Kelly said. He sounded oddly amused, although she had no idea why. “They certainly wouldn't be interested in our worlds if the biochemistry was poisonous to them.”
“And we have nothing else to feed them,” Byron said. The corporal strode over to squat down next to her, his face grim and worn. “If we poison the bastard, we poison the bastard ... but at least we won't be deliberately starving it to death.”
George nodded, slowly. The alien seemed to be eating and drinking avidly, even though the ration bars the marines carried tasted rather like cardboard. Perhaps they’d stumbled across something the alien would find tasty ... or perhaps it was just too hungry to care. She silently went through everything she’d been told about establishing a common language, then leaned forward. If the alien knew some English, she could try to teach it some more.
She kept her voice low. If the alien hearing was far better than she’d assumed, even a normal speaking voice would sound like someone shouting in its ear. “Can you understand me?”
The alien twitched, but said nothing. George studied it for a long moment, unable to determine if it couldn't understand her or if it were merely playing dumb. The aliens might not teach their soldiers everything, not when there was a possibility of falling into enemy hands. And yet, there was something there ...
“You’re asking a question,” Byron said. “Try making it an order.”
George glanced at him, then looked back at the alien. “Tell me if you understand me.”
“Yes,” the alien grunted.
She sucked in her breath, trying to think. What did she say to the alien? And what would it tell her in return? Would it say anything, beyond name, rank and serial number? Did the aliens even have names, ranks and serial numbers? And why did it follow orders instead of answering questions?
Byron leaned forward. “Tell us your name.”
The alien made a wheezing sound that reminded George of a tired dog. There was no way she could pronounce it for herself, assuming the alien was actually answering the question. It didn't seem inclined to offer explanations, or additional detail ... she’d gone through a very basic Conduct After Capture course, but that had merely tried to prepare her for life as a POW. Had the alien gone through something similar? It certainly seemed reluctant to volunteer information.
She sighed. “Why did you attack us?”
The alien made no reply. She realised her mistake and tried again.
“Tell us why you attacked us,” she said.
“You challenged us,” the alien said. “We accepted the challenge.”
George glanced at Byron. “We challenged them?”
“I don’t know,” Byron said. “I don’t see how.”
He rose. “Catch some sleep,” he ordered. “We need to start moving when the sun comes up.”
“Yes, sir,” George said.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Susan had been expecting anything from a major enemy fleet lying in ambush to their reinforcements making their way towards Unity, but TPS-463 appeared to be deserted. A dull red sun, a handful of asteroids ... there was little to attract attention from either the Tadpoles or the new aliens. She allowed herself a moment of relief, then started detailing her crew to begin repair work as the task force slipped away from the tramline. The aliens wouldn't have a hope in hell of tracking them unless they got very lucky.
“The repair crews are getting to work, Captain,” Mason said. “Mr. Finch wants to take Drive Three offline for a few hours.”
“If we don’t encounter any enemy ships before we reached the RV point, he can take the drive offline,” Susan said. She hoped - prayed - that the drive could remain active if they did encounter an alien fleet. Vanguard could keep going on three drives, if necessary, but her acceleration curves would drop sharply. “Is there any word from the sensor drones?”
“No, Captain,” Mason said. He nodded towards the display. “If there’s a colony here, it’s thoroughly black.”
Susan nodded. Black colonies - asteroids settled in secret - weren't uncommon in human space, but the Tadpoles didn't seem to have that problem. Tadpoles who found themselves in the wrong faction merely left to join a different faction, something that most humans would find hard to comprehend. But then, their politics were very different from anything a human would recognise. They practically enjoyed a post-scarcity society, deep below the waves.
“Keep a sharp eye out for trouble,” she ordered. The aliens would realise they’d been tricked, sooner or later. She just wasn't sure what they’d do about it, once they did. Did they have enough ships to sweep both of the tramlines? Or cover Unity against the inevitable counterattack? “They’ll be coming after us, sooner or later.”
“Aye, Captain,” Mason said.
Susan sat back in her command chair, feeling tiredness dragging at her bones. She’d been due to hand the bridge over to her XO just before the attack had begun; now, she felt as if she’d been awake for days, drunk on fatigue poisons. She needed rest -
they all needed rest - but she couldn't leave the bridge until she knew they were reasonably safe. The enemy might be after them at any moment.
She kept a sharp eye on the long-range sensor display, even though she knew it was completely useless. The task force was running passive sensors only, watching carefully for a single betraying sensor emission ... but if the aliens didn't radiate anything, there wasn't a hope in hell of detecting their ships. They’d have just as many problems tracking the human ships, Susan hoped, yet the repair work was going to throw up all kinds of sensor noise and transmissions that would lead the aliens right to them. She’d just have to pray that they had time to complete the most important repairs before the shit hit the fan.
“Signal from the flag,” Parkinson said. “Admiral Harper requests the pleasure of your company in a holoconference.”
“Understood,” Susan said. She couldn't help feeling annoyed. She'd be right next to the bridge, but still ... “Inform him that I will join the conference in five minutes.”
She rose and glanced at Mason. “Mr. Mason, you have the conn.”
“Aye, Captain,” Mason said. “I have the conn.”
Susan took one last look at the display, then strode into her office. The holoconference would take a few moments to organise, more than long enough to splash water on her face and order her steward to bring her a mug of very strong coffee. She checked the terminal automatically - it was astonishing just how many non-urgent reports could pile up in her inbox during a battle - and then walked into the head. The cold water made her feel better, but she knew it wouldn’t last. She’d just have to hope the conference didn't take too long.
There was a chime at the door. She barked a command to open it, then blinked as Prince Henry stepped into the compartment. The prince looked tired, unsurprisingly; he’d been forced to watch, helplessly, as Vanguard and the remainder of the task force fought a desperate battle for survival. He would have had no duties to distract him from the possibility of a sudden violent death, if a missile detonated inside Vanguard’s hull or the enemy merely battered her into scrap.
“Your Excellency,” she said. “Admiral Harper requested your presence too?”
“Yes, Captain,” Henry said. He sounded tired too. “And I have matters to raise with you myself.”
Susan nodded, irritated. She liked Henry, but she was really too tired to discuss anything beyond the basics. Right now, her priority was repairing her ship and getting ready for the next engagement. Either the enemy would come storming after them or Admiral Harper would start raiding enemy shipping, as he’d planned. Whatever concerns Henry had to raise, she doubted they were any more important.
“Take a seat,” she ordered, stiffly. The holoconference was about to begin. “I’ll have the projector include you in the conference.”
The hatch opened, revealing a steward carrying a steaming pot of coffee, two mugs and a large plate of biscuits. Susan smiled, despite herself, as the steward put the tray down on the table and retreated; the gallery staff must have known, somehow, that Prince Henry had joined her. But then, they did keep very good tabs on her visitors. She poured them both a mug of coffee, then munched on a chocolate digestive biscuit as the holographic images started to flicker into existence. It was amusing to note just how many of the commanding officers were drinking coffee themselves.
They can't feel any better than I do, Susan thought. Whatever the final tally, there's no hiding the fact that we retreated from Unity.
“I won’t keep you long,” Admiral Harper said. His image was expressionless, suggesting - to her tired mind - that his local processor was doing a little editing. She would have been surprised if he was the only one. Even in the military, holographic communications offered all sorts of options for creative editing. “Overall, despite the need to retreat, we handled the battle well.”
“We lost,” Yegorovich growled.
“We inflicted considerable damage on their forces,” Glass pointed out. “Tonnage wise, we won the engagement.”
“Bah,” Yegorovich said. “We have no idea how badly we hurt their overall numbers.”
“True,” Susan agreed. “But we can take some comfort in the individual superiority of our numbers.”
“It isn't enough,” Yegorovich said. “We have a significant advantage in starfighters, but they cost us dearly. I’m currently readying the reserve squadrons ...”
“I have faith in your ability to make them fit in,” Harper said, quickly. “As you can see, a number of interesting patterns have appeared in the data.”
“The aliens stayed with us until the balance of power appeared to shift decisively against them,” Glass added. It was probably her tiredness speaking, but Susan couldn't help thinking, just for a moment, that he was remarkably handsome. “They gave chase and hung on like a gaggle of limpets, yet they were quick to back away when it seemed they could not win.”
“They were oddly indecisive,” Susan put in. “If they’d thrust forward harder, they might well have won the battle.”
“My analysts suspect that the alien tactical doctrine calls for seizing the initiative and pushing forward as long as there is a hope, even a very slight hope, of victory,” Harper said. “This fits with their activities in earlier battles, as some of you will recall. They didn't abandon their push from UXS-469 into Tadpole space until they ran into something so hard they couldn't hope to actually win.”
“Which means they’re a very aggressive race,” Prince Henry pointed out.
“So are many humans,” Captain Fletcher said. “There’s no such thing as a true pacifist.”
“Because they get wiped out,” Captain Garret said. “Weakness invites attack.”
Harper shrugged. “This is interesting,” he said, “because it raises the possibility that the alien behaviours may actually be predictable. As long as there is a chance of victory, the aliens will strive to win. They won’t try to break off, even at cost, as long as that chance exists.”
“My analysts concur,” Prince Henry said. He smiled, rather humourlessly. “The civilians are still in deep denial, but the general thrust appears to be the same.”
“Which is why they chased us,” Susan mused. “And yet, they didn't try to press their advantage as aggressively as we might have expected.”
“There may have been two different mindsets involved,” Glass offered. “If we really are fighting two different races, rather than one ...”
“That’s been settled,” Prince Henry said.
Glass nodded. “Yes, but which of them is in charge? Is one race very definitely the master - or do they have a truly mixed society? And did one race see its culture destroyed by the other?”
“Ah,” Yegorovich said. “Cultural imperialism.”
Susan frowned. “For all we know,” she said, “they have very different - and segregated - cultures and they merely cooperate. Biologically ... how can they integrate?”
“They couldn't,” Fletcher said.
“Exactly,” Susan said. “They will always be separate at a very basic level.”
She sighed at the thought. Her mere existence was living proof that black and white humans could produce children, but the whole idea of interspecies pregnancy was the stuff of bad science-fiction and worse erotic romance. There was no way a human mother could be impregnated with alien sperm - or vice versa. No matter how determinedly the aliens worked towards building a single culture, they would always be defeated by biological reality. They could never be one race.
“There would be advantages,” Yegorovich mused. He sounded oddly amused. “They wouldn't be fighting over women, I suspect, and they probably agree not to talk about each other’s quirks.”
“That’s our arrangement with the Tadpoles,” Henry said. “Some of their culture disgusts us ... but we ignore it, as long as they keep it to themselves.”
“This is a very interesting discussion for another day,” Harper said firmly, “but we are moving away from the topic at hand.”
“Unless they merely want to take the world from us,” Yegorovich sneered. “Has anyone noticed the timing?”
He went on before anyone could say a word. “They didn't attack the planet before we arrived, even though they certainly should have had a big head start on us,” he added. “And they didn’t attack the planet after we were dug in, ready for them. No, they attacked at the worst possible moment - for us. Someone told them we were coming.”