Abigail rose. “Don’t you mum me,” she snapped. “Where were you?”
She waited, resting her hands on her hips. Her uncle had taught her that being late was unforgivable. There were standards that had to be upheld, whatever the situation. And there had been no emergency that would have distracted Anson from the bridge. She wouldn't have been so angry if she’d thought he had a legitimate reason to be late.
“I was ... I lost track of time,” Anson said. “I ...”
“You mean you were in your bunk with Maddy,” Abigail said. She allowed her voice to tighten. “Didn't you know you were meant to be on duty?”
Poddy made a faint sound. Abigail glared. Anson needed a chewing out, but it wasn't something that should be done in public. She glanced at her console, then nodded. Poddy could leave the bridge safely. The sensors would alert them if something required immediate attention.
“Poddy, go get something to eat, then have a nap,” she ordered. “Do not be late for your next shift.”
She watched Poddy hurry out the compartment, then switched her gaze back to Anson. “I don’t give a good goddamn what you do when you’re off duty,” she said. It wasn't entirely true - Anson was her son, after all - but it was the sort of courtesy belter captains generally offered to their subordinates. “If you want to fuck a grown woman, or a man, or both at once, I don’t care.
Anson winced. “I ...”
Abigail spoke over him. “What I cannot tolerate is it interfering with your duties,” she added, sharply. “And I certainly cannot tolerate it in my son!”
“Mum, I ...”
“Stop mumbling,” Abigail snapped. “Speak up! If I was Captain Bligh, you and Maddy would be floating naked in space with your underpants nailed to your head. Your great-uncle would probably have done something truly unspeakable to you. Tell me ... what were you thinking?”
Anson flushed. “I wasn't thinking.”
“Glad to hear you admit it,” Abigail snapped. “Believe me, I am aware of all the jokes about blood rushing out of your brain and down to your dick when you see a pretty girl. And I don’t fault you for having an affair while you’re off-duty. But I cannot allow you to neglect your duties.”
And perhaps allow you to actually fall in love with Maddy, she added, silently. She didn't really blame Anson for being embarrassed. It was one conversation she’d never had with her parents, or her uncle. There hadn't been any suggestion of someone unsuitable entering her life, not in a permanent way. Maddy, on the other hand, might not be a good addition to the family. But you won’t listen if I tell you to stop seeing her.
“It was my fault,” Anson said, stiffly. “And I stand ready to accept whatever punishment you order.”
Abigail met his eyes. “You understand what would happen if the captain of this ship wasn't your mother?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Good,” Abigail drew out the word as much as possible. “Fortunately, there are no shortage of compartments that need cleaning. Tonight, after your duty shift, report to Vassilios and he’ll point you in the right direction. And, in future, be careful. I don’t want to have to kick you off the ship.”
“I understand,” Anson said.
“Glad to hear it,” Abigail said, sardonically. “And seeing you’ve managed to get to fourth base with Maddy ... are you planning to marry her?”
Anson turned red. “Mum!”
“It’s a valid question,” Abigail said. She pointed a finger at him. “You have a position in the family, as well as shares in this ship. A fling is one thing” - she ignored the choking sound he made - “but a long-term affair is quite another. And, beyond that, does she understand that the affair might come to an end?”
“... I don't know,” Anson said. “But I ... I think we could handle it.”
“Yeah,” Abigail agreed. “But you do realise that you have obligations to the family? No one would blame you for putting them aside, but they do have to know where they stand.”
She sighed. “Don’t make your mind up now,” she added. Lust was one thing, love - and a permanent relationship - was quite another. “But think about it before you get too involved.”
And it may be too late for that, she thought, as she waved him to his console. She’s already distracting him from his duties.
Her thoughts darkened. And if she hurts him, I’ll make damn sure she pays.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Signal from the flag, sir,” Maddy said. “We jump in five minutes.”
Alan nodded, feeling a chill run down his spine. Making a combat jump into Alkaline felt off, somehow. The system was part of human space, occupied by nothing more dangerous than a handful of independent asteroid settlements. And yet ... he shook his head. The system was no longer under humanity’s control. If the last report was accurate, they were about to enter alien-held space.
He keyed his console. “Prepare for emergency launch,” he ordered. Herring Squadron was already in the launch tubes, with Kipper’s pilots waiting in the ready room. “Stand by for deployment ...”
The timer blinked into existence on the display, counting down the minutes and seconds to jump. Alan gritted his teeth, feeling - again - the grim uncertainty of not being sure what was on the far side. Cold logic told him that the aliens wouldn't be waiting, ready to slam plasma fire or missiles into Haddock’s hull, but his emotions weren't so sure. Perhaps the aliens had tracked them as they’d made their way towards the tramline. The far side would be the perfect place for an ambush, if the aliens knew precisely where they were going to appear.
“Ten seconds,” Maddy said.
“Brace yourself,” Alan ordered. The aliens didn't know where they were, let alone where they were going to appear. Commodore Jameson’s random course changes should have seen to that, unless the alien sensors and stealth systems were better than the analysts assumed. “Here we go ...”
He grunted in pain, feeling a fist slam into his belly as the starship jumped. No amount of fiddling with the drive had been able to lessen the jump shock, even though more modern ships barely provoked a reaction when they jumped. He forced himself to look at the display as the pain slowly ebbed away, watching grimly as passive sensors searched for enemy contacts. The only good news was that the enemy hadn't been lying in wait. They’d be dead by now if the aliens had been ready for them.
“Local space appears to be clear,” Maddy said. “No contacts, no trace of enemy ... wait!”
She paused. “Long-range sensors are picking up a distress beacon,” she said. “It’s from one of the colonies, orbiting the gas giant!”
Alan winced. The last report had stated that the aliens had simply stood off and blasted the colonies from a safe distance. But that had been weeks ago. If there was a distress beacon still active, it meant ... what? Were there survivors? Or were the aliens hoping to lure unwary starships into their clutches? He had no way to know.
Maddy glanced at him. “Sir, will we go investigate?”
“That’s the commodore’s call,” Alan said. He didn't envy the younger man. Whatever he did, someone would find a problem with it. It was a law of space that everyone had to respond to a distress call, even if it was from an unfriendly power. But if it was a trap, the flotilla would be blasted apart before it knew it was under attack. “I think we’ll probably ignore it.”
“You’re right,” Maddy said, a moment later. “Our orders are to continue to Tramline Four.”
Alan nodded, torn between relief and a terrible kind of guilt. Being lost in space, being forced to watch helplessly as the oxygen gauge slowly ticked down to nothing ... it was a nightmare, one he’d had countless times since he’d started training. Bailing out of one’s starfighter alone was dangerous as hell, but waiting to be picked up by a SAR shuttle could be worse. Someone might mistake the lifepod for a mine and blast it without bothering to answer questions. And if the battle was lost, there might not be a SAR shuttle.
He sighed as he felt a dull quiver running t
hrough the ship. The memorial near Hamilton City on Luna contained hundreds of names, men and women who’d died during Britain’s push into space. Some had died in the handful of clashes before the Solar Treaty had been worked out, but others had been lost to industrial accidents or simply crewed starships that had never returned. The thought of leaving the dying to die was horrific. If there were colonists left alive ...
We have no choice, he told himself firmly. It didn't feel very convincing. We cannot let the aliens lure us into a trap.
“Silent running mode engaged,” Maddy said. The lights dimmed, slightly. “Sensors detect very limited emissions from the other ships.”
“Let’s hope the alien sensors aren't much better,” Alan said. Passive sensors were good, but they couldn't detect a stealthed alien ship. The alien wouldn't be emitting anything the sensors could pick up and report before it was too late. “But we should be well out of range.”
He brought up the in-system display and studied it. The flotilla was slowly making its way towards the tramline, lurking at the edge of the system. It added days to their transit time - which would add up, by the time they reached their unnamed destination - but there was no choice. They could not run the risk of being detected. He frowned at the handful of icons orbiting the star, indicating the planets and larger asteroids. If the aliens had a presence in the system, it was beyond their ability to detect.
Which means nothing, he told himself. They have ample reason to hide from us.
“Order Kipper to stand down for an hour, then relieve Herring,” he said. “We’ll rotate the squadrons every four hours until further notice.”
“Understood,” Maddy said. She made a face. “No one is going to like that.”
Alan nodded, curtly. Being in a cramped cockpit was bad enough, even when one was flying through space. Being stuck in the launch tube was worse. The pilots couldn't even go to the toilet while they were on alert. They had to piss into the tubes ... he grimaced. That was one detail that was normally left unspoken, during military awareness days. No one wanted to think about the practicalities when they were consumed with the glamour of flying through the inky blackness of space.
“They’ll just have to cope with it,” he said. He made a mental note to monitor the pilots as they waited. The younger pilots had the endurance to survive, but the older ones? eBooks and videos could only take them so far. “Inform me at once if anyone has problems.”
“Aye, sir.”
Alan tried to relax as the minutes slowly ticked into hours and the hours became days. It wasn't easy. The sense that they were being watched was growing stronger all the time, even though cold logic insisted that the aliens would have jumped them by now. Crew and pilots spoke in hushed voices, as if they feared the aliens could hear them. Alan pointed out, more than once, that sound didn’t travel through a vacuum - in space, no one could hear them scream - but it didn't make a difference. He felt it himself, if he was honest. Even passing through the first tramline and heading up a seemingly-useless tramline chain didn't make him feel any better. The aliens might have different ideas about what constituted useless.
And if the boffins are wrong, this entire mission might be useless, Alan thought. It had seemed convincing, back at Sol. Now, countless light-years from home, the whole mission appeared a little more dubious. We might be trapped at one end of the chain while they turn Earth to cinders.
He paced the decks, trying to keep his people calm and focused. A couple of pilots got into fights and had to be chewed out, several more were caught making love in disused sections and yet another had a nervous breakdown that resulted in sedation and relief from duty. Alan wondered, sourly, just what the Admiralty had been thinking, when it had recalled the oldest reservists. Surely, a spot could have been found for them in the training centres. But then, most of their knowledge was a little out of date.
It was almost a relief, as they crawled across the third system, when Abigail called him into her cabin. Alan went, feeling a little trepidation. The last time he’d visited her cabin had been fine, but before then ... half-drunken sex and confessions weren't his idea of fun. He braced himself as the hatch opened, unsure what he’d see. Abigail was sitting on the bed, pouring steaming water into two mugs. It looked reassuringly normal.
“It’s been a while since we had a proper chat,” Abigail said. She waved a hand towards the chair. “Take a seat. The tea should be ready in a moment.”
“Thank you,” Alan said, as he sat. The tea capsules tasted odd, to him, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Capsules took up less space - and lasted longer - than teabags, let alone tealeaves. “It has been a while.”
He studied Abigail as she passed him a mug of tea. She looked tired and worn, dark rings forming around her eyes. Her shipsuit looked as though it hadn't been cleaned in weeks. He wasn't too surprised, to be honest. Every non-essential system on the ship had been shut down, just to minimise the risk of a stray emission alerting the aliens to their presence. Even the laundry had been closed. It was paranoia, perhaps paranoia taken to the bitter extreme, but there was no choice. He had no illusions about their chances if the aliens caught them in an ambush.
“I haven't been keeping up with your reports,” he said. A polite lie - she hadn't been writing reports. “How are your crew coping?”
Abigail snorted, rudely. “You navy men and your reports,” she said. “Why can't you just bury the aliens in paperwork?”
“I think most of our reports are electronic now,” Alan said. He’d had the same thought himself, more than once. “But we can throw computers and datapads at the aliens if we run out of missiles and nukes.”
“Perhaps,” Abigail said. She smiled, thinly. It didn't quite touch her eyes. “The crew is coping, somehow. Luckily, onboard entertainments haven’t been cut back too badly.”
Alan nodded. There would probably have been a mutiny if they had tried to cut down on onboard entertainments, particularly when they were still running the simulators on a daily basis. He might just have joined the mutiny himself. Being able to lose oneself in an eBook - or a VR fantasy - might make the difference between enduring the slow crawl and cracking under the strain. Spacers tended to have a high boredom threshold, but there were limits.
“And Anson and Maddy have continued their relationship,” Abigail added. “Does that concern you?”
“Not really,” Alan said. “They’re both adults - and they’re not in the same chain of command. As long as it doesn't interfere with their work, I don’t care.”
He frowned, taking another sip of his tea. Maddy seemed smart enough not to play games during a war, but he could be wrong. The innocence she projected - the attitude that made him feel protective - could easily be a mask. And yet, she was smart. She would probably have gone far, if she hadn't decided it would be easier to steal from the navy’s funds. The upper ranks would be forever closed to her - she wasn't a line officer - but she could have retired as a commodore if she was lucky.
“They’re too young,” Abigail said. “I don’t think either of them are ready for a serious relationship.”
Alan shrugged. He’d lost his virginity at sixteen. Besides, there was something fundamentally wrong about inquiring into the sex lives of two adults, particularly when their affair wasn't having any impact on him. He’d rebuke Maddy if it did, but ... until then, he had no reason to say anything.
“See what happens after we get home,” he said. “And after the war ends.”
Abigail lifted her mug in silent salute. “What do you intend to do after the war?”
“I don’t know,” Alan said. He had few illusions. The Royal Navy might have recalled him to duty - and offered him a pardon - but he was hardly someone the navy would want to protect. They’d keep sending him on dangerous missions until the war ended or he was killed, whichever one came first. “The odds of survival are not high.”
“We make our own odds,” Abigail said. “And damned be the cold equations.”
“The
y made me read that story in school,” Alan said. He could remember it clearly. A girl had accidentally trapped herself on a spacecraft carrying medical supplies to a tiny colony. But there wasn't enough fuel on the ship for the supplies to arrive safely, unless the girl was ejected into space. And the girl wasn't a bad girl. She’d made a mistake, out of ignorance, and the universe demanded she pay for it. “I always found it depressing.”
“Me too,” Abigail said. She sounded odd, just for a second. “My uncle forced me to read it twice, then give him my impressions of it.”
Alan lifted his eyebrows. “What did you tell him?”
“Oh, I came up with all sorts of answers,” Abigail said. “I thought of a dozen precautions that could have stopped the crisis before it began. Even something as simple as a lock on the door might have kept the girl out. And it was written in the days before drive fields. Now, saving the girl would be a snap.”
The Cruel Stars (Ark Royal Book 11) Page 24
