“Or the other way around,” Susan mused. “Or they might both get pregnant.”
“It’s a possibility,” Henry agreed. “But again, we may never find out until we ask them.”
Mason cleared his throat. “Could one of them be a domesticated animal?”
Susan looked up, interested. There had been all sorts of plans to uplift animals to sentience, but most of them had been buried after the Age of Unrest. Perhaps they’d be dusted off again, now that humanity had encountered other intelligent races ... she honestly wasn't sure how she should feel about that. Would intelligent dogs and cats be humanity’s allies or deadly new threats?
Perhaps not the dogs, she thought. She’d had a dog as a little girl and there were days when she still missed the mongrel puppy terribly. But the cats might wage war on us.
“I don't think so,” Henry said. He looked doubtful. “It is possible, I suppose, but genetic analysis of their DNA - their DNA-analogue, I should say - suggests they come from different worlds. They simply don’t have anything in common. If they are advanced enough to take a sub-sentient creature and uplift it into intelligence ... it says worrying things about their capabilities.”
“Yeah,” Mason agreed. “I watched the Draka movies too.”
Susan shuddered. Anyone capable of reengineering a chimpanzee or a dolphin into something intelligent would be capable of crafting the most savage biological warfare weapon in living history. Hell, if something that unpleasant got loose, there wouldn't be any living history. Humanity had enough experience with the - thankfully limited - viruses that had been released to know that it was one particular genie that should remain firmly sealed away in the bottle. It might not be possible to put it back in, after it escaped.
A chill ran through her. They didn't have to craft a virus that would exterminate humanity, not if they were that advanced. She’d read reports - most of them classified - suggesting that various parties had designed viruses intended to make their victims more obedient or merely too stupid to know what was happening to them. And if there were two races intermingled on the planet’s surface, was it possible that one of them had been warped and twisted to make it possible?
Or was she just being paranoid? She hoped so. God, she hoped so.
“The most likely theory is that one of them discovered the other and integrated it into their society,” Prince Henry said. “And given how successful they seem to have been, it must have taken place thousands of years ago.”
Susan nodded, pushing her dark thoughts out of her head. Her father would never have countenanced talk of going back to Jamaica - as if she’d ever lived there - and he would certainly not have tolerated her attempting to rediscover her roots, but her father had been an unusual man. She’d met a couple of Americans who’d talked about going back to Africa, even though it had been over four hundred years since their ancestors had left the dark continent. Given the nightmares sweeping over most of Africa, Susan had honestly wondered if they were out of their minds.
They just wanted somewhere to belong, she thought. And they didn't realise they were right where they belonged.
“Then there’s no hope of driving a wedge between them,” she said. “Unless we’re misinterpreting the data.”
“It’s possible,” Henry agreed. “But we won’t know for sure until we actually get to ask them questions.”
Susan sighed. It all came back to finding a way to communicate ...
... And, if they couldn't communicate, hammering the aliens until they were no longer a threat.
“I’ll keep working on the problem,” Prince Henry said. “But all the data we’re picking up suggests that we will need to thump the aliens before they actually listen to us.”
“We’ll get right on that,” Mason said, dryly.
Prince Henry nodded as he finished his coffee. “I’ll have a full report for you and the admiral after we leave the system,” he said. “It just won't be as insightful as you might have hoped.”
Susan nodded. She’d known people who would have bitched and moaned about having to operate under the strict protocols laid down by their superiors. Prince Henry, it seemed, merely got to work. But then, he had been a starfighter pilot. The breed was disrespectful and prone to bending the rules, but they still understood the importance of discipline. And they also understood the limits of what they could do with their craft.
“I’m sure it will make interesting reading,” she said. “One other thing - do we know what they can eat, now? Both of them?”
“Our long-range analysis agrees that they can eat our crops,” Prince Henry said. “I suspect we can probably eat theirs too, although we might not like it. Taste is merely a matter of biochemistry, after all.”
He gave her an odd smile. “We already knew that, I believe, but it’s nice to have confirmation.”
Susan nodded. Her father hadn't cooked many foreign meals when she’d been a child, but she’d tasted quite a few during her time in boarding school. She wasn't sure if the headmistress was intent on exposing her students to other cultures or merely aiming for some variety, yet Susan had been surprised by how many of them she'd actually enjoyed. One of her classmates had even chatted about opening a dining hall herself, after she left ...
“So we can feed them,” Mason said. “Once we take a few prisoners, of course.”
“Yep,” Prince Henry said. He rose. “I’d better make sure the researchers aren't doing anything stupid.”
“They might steal a shuttle,” Mason said. “How many movies start with that exact same gag?”
Susan snorted as Prince Henry left the compartment. He could have flown a shuttle - Susan knew he’d spent a great deal of time in the simulators - but could any of the researchers naive enough to think that stealing a shuttle and trying to contact the aliens directly was a good idea actually fly? It definitely sounded like the plot of a bad movie. She’d be astonished if they even managed to land safely.
Assuming there aren't any MANPADs waiting for them, she thought, grimly. They might not be able to touch the ships in orbit, but firing on shuttles is a different thing altogether.
“We should be able to get a good movie out of it,” Mason said, deadpan. “Or should we have the shuttles guarded anyway, just in case?”
“They wouldn't be able to leave the ship without the flight codes,” Susan said. She shook her head. “Are we ready to move on?”
“Yes, Captain,” Mason said. He looked at the images on the display for a long moment. “It beggars belief. How can they ... have a friendly relationship with one race while attacking two more?”
“Maybe they just find us hideously ugly,” Susan speculated, dryly. “It isn't as if humans haven't used such a silly excuse to start a war.”
“Could be,” Mason said. He made to rise. “I’ll go back to the bridge, if you don’t mind. You can have a rest.”
“Thank you,” Susan said, dryly. “How are things in middy country?”
Mason didn't look thrown by the sudden change in subject. “They have improved, I think,” he said. “But Fraser reported that neither of the two remaining midshipmen seemed concerned about Midshipwoman Fitzwilliam.”
Susan nodded, feeling a stab of sympathy for the unfortunate young woman. Midshipmen weren't required to like the First Middies - some of them could be bullies worse than anyone they might have encountered at school - but they were supposed to respect them. George Fitzwilliam hadn't just lost control of the wardroom, she’d poisoned it. Fraser would have to stay in charge, for the moment, but afterwards? The three remaining midshipmen - two, if George Fitzwilliam was dead - would have to be assigned elsewhere. And God alone knew who they’d get next.
“Keep their noses to the grindstone,” she ordered, shortly. “And our two prisoners?”
“In the brig,” Mason reminded her. “Very little has changed, I'm afraid.”
Susan nodded. In the movies, something would happen to allow the two idiots to redeem themselves. A suicide mission,
perhaps; something with a minuscule chance of survival. But in the real world, they’d be judged when they were taken back to Earth and then sentenced, without a hope of escaping their fates. And then ...
The alarm rang. She keyed her wristcom, sharply.
“Report,” she snapped.
“Captain, this is Granger,” a voice said. “Long-range sensor platforms just picked up an enemy fleet, transiting Tramline One. The current course projection has them heading directly towards the planet.”
“Understood,” Susan said. She rose, nodding to Mason. “ETA?”
“Four hours, based on the last projection,” Granger said.
“Bring the ship to condition two,” Susan ordered. “I’ll be on the bridge in a moment.”
She looked at Mason. “If they came from Tramline One ...”
“They might have been rerouted from Unity,” Mason finished. “And if that happened, we might have a clear shot at the planet.”
“We might,” Susan agreed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
At least I’m not the bait this time, George thought, as she clutched the rifle and waited, hidden by the side of the road. There’s nothing luring them towards us, but their own determination to secure the area.
She felt sweat trickling down her back as she heard the sound of engines growing closer, echoing off the roadside. The aliens didn't seem to use vehicles and technology that different from the vehicles she knew, although the marines had warned her that they did seem to have brought more ground vehicles with the invasion force than she would have expected. And it was possible, too possible, that there were unblinking eyes overhead, watching the patrol as it made its way down the road. The aliens seemed reluctant to call in KEW strikes, particularly at what the marines called ‘danger close’ ranges, but they might change their policy at any moment.
“Here they come,” a voice muttered.
George glanced at the resistance fighter - a girl who freely admitted she’d been a tearaway at school before her parents had accepted the offer of free passage to Unity - and then peered back along the road, just in time to see the first alien vehicle moving into view. It looked like an odd combination of a tractor and a truck, although she’d been warned that they were armoured and carried enough firepower to make any would-be insurgents very unhappy. The marines had warned her that many of their vehicles on Earth were armed and armoured too, suggesting the aliens found themselves fighting low-intensity wars on a regular basis. As far as George could recall, the Tadpoles had never tried to occupy humanity’s colonies directly; they’d only secured the high orbitals and left the colonists alone. It made her wonder what they’d intended to do with the human race, if they’d won the war.
She pushed the thought aside, her grip tightening on her rifle, as the aliens came closer. The resistance leader had told them, in bloodcurdling terms, precisely what would happen to anyone who opened fire ahead of time; she fought, desperately, to remain calm as the aliens swept towards the ambush point. There were more of them now, five truck-like vehicles and two outriders, both mounting heavy weapons that swept from side to side, searching for a target. They wouldn't be able to stand up to a tank, Byron had assured her, but George was all too aware that a few layers of foliage wouldn't be enough to stop a pistol shot, let alone something that was almost certainly a machine gun. If the aliens caught sight of them - or smelled humans on the air - they’d open fire as they tried to fight their way out of the trap.
There was a click. George had barely a second to brace herself before the IED exploded, right underneath the lead vehicle. The blast picked it up and flipped it over, crashing head over heels until it slammed into a tree and came to a halt, burning brightly. Two resistance fighters launched antitank missiles at the same instant, aimed at both of the outriders. The aliens managed to fire off a burst of machine gun rounds before they were destroyed, but they went wide. George let out a breath she hadn't realised she’d been holding, then hefted her rifle as the aliens swarmed out of the remaining trucks. A dozen fell to the ground as a wave of gunfire rang out, but others took cover and fired back, their bullets whipping through the foliage as they searched for targets. George kept her head down as she heard rounds cracking over her head, firing rapidly as she searched for targets. They seemed to have the remaining aliens pinned down, but they couldn't get to them either.
She smiled, coldly, as she heard the CRUMP-CRUMP-CRUMP of the mortars. Moments later, a handful of shells landed right on top of the alien position, blowing their cover into flaming debris. She saw an alien blasted away, his fur blazing with fire; she watched, dispassionately, as he slammed into the ground and lay still. The remaining aliens rose to their feet and charged, firing madly. She cringed, despite herself, as they ran straight into the human gunsights and were blasted down, one by one. They never stood a chance.
WHAM! The ground rang like a bell. She glanced back, just in time to see a pillar of smoke rising up from where the mortars had been sited. The aliens had apparently decided to stop pissing around and drop KEWs - after all, none of their people were anywhere near the mortars, as far as they knew. She hoped - prayed - that the mortar crews had managed to pack up their weapons and bug out before the hammer came down, but she had no way to know. They might well have been caught in the blast even if they had managed to dismantle the mortars and run for their lives.
The whistle blew. George picked herself up, took one last look at the burning remains of the alien convoy, then turned and fled into the jungle. She could hear the sound of helicopter blades chopping through the air, suggesting that the aliens were dispatching reinforcements as fast as they could. A whole string of attacks had been planned, using resistance fighters and a number of other stranded personnel. If they were lucky, she told herself, the aliens simply had too many threats to give priority to any of them.
She gritted her teeth as the sound of helicopters grew closer. The marines - and other regular forces - had a handful of MANPADS, but they were reluctant to deploy them unless there was no other choice. And they had few other weapons that would make an impact on their armoured hulls. She'd heard that one of the resistance fighters had brought a helicopter down with a rifle, but she knew enough about their armour to know that it was almost certainly nothing more than a rumour. Byron had pointed out that it would have had to be a very lucky shot, too lucky to count on anything like it happening twice. Stott had even suggested that the helicopter crew had had other problems and the resistance fighters had merely taken credit for an electrical fault. It had happened before, he’d said.
And if they have very good sensors, she thought numbly, they might be able to see us through the foliage.
A burst of gunfire rattled out in the distance. Someone - either through panic or the cold certainty that they’d been detected - had opened fire on the helicopters with an automatic weapon. George was torn between relief and horror as the helicopters turned away from her and then opened fire, lashing the ground with machine guns and small rockets. The sound provided cover as she scurried north after three of the other resistance fighters, even though she knew it meant that men were dying. Thankfully, the aliens didn't seem inclined to give chase on the ground.
I suppose they have too many other problems right now, she thought. If even half of the attack plans came off, they’ll think they’re under attack everywhere.
She relaxed, slightly, as they kept moving, slowly to a walk as it became increasingly clear that the aliens had lost the trail. George wasn't as sure of that as she liked to think - she had the nasty feeling that the aliens could sniff out humans - but they probably did have too many other problems. She doubted that any of the attacks had inflicted serious damage - there was no way the resistance could get at the orbiting starships - yet it would keep the aliens busy. If the cost of occupying Unity grew too high, the aliens might just pull out.
And if they decide to burn the planet to ash instead, she asked herself, what then?
Byron hadn't answered
the question, when she’d asked, but one of the resistance leaders had pointed out that there many other choices. There was no way to know which side would win the war, nor what the terms of the eventual peace treaty - assuming there was a peace treaty - would be. Hurting the enemy badly was their only real hope of convincing them to leave Unity alone - or at least to share it with the other two sets of colonists. George had hoped that the Tadpoles would assist the humans, but apparently they’d withdrawn beneath the waves as soon as the high orbitals had been lost. It was hard to blame the Tadpoles - some of the human leaders had admitted they would have liked to do the same thing - yet it was a major problem. Their support might have been invaluable.
She pushed the thought aside as they finally stumbled into the resistance camp. It wasn't much, merely a handful of makeshift shelters buried deep within the forest, but it was as safe as anywhere else on the planet. George knew it wouldn't be safe - remotely safe - if the aliens located the camp and dropped a KEW on it, yet there was no point in bitching about it to anyone. The colonists who didn't want to fight - or leave - had headed further away from Unity, hiding far from the settlements until they knew who had won the war.
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