Anson coughed. “Mum? What are we doing?”
“They want to destroy us,” Abigail said. She looked at the display, silently calculating vectors. “Very well. We’ll give them a target to destroy.”
***
When we start putting together the purpose-built escort carriers, Alan thought as he ran into the cramped CIC, we’ll have to put the flight deck and the CIC a little closer together.
He controlled his annoyance with an effort. Normally, a CAG wasn't expected to do double duty as a starfighter pilot. He probably wouldn't have been allowed to get away with it if the Royal Navy hadn't been so desperate for trained manpower. And Bennett so understanding, come to think of it. But then, there was literally nowhere for Alan to go. Talofa was practically deserted after the aliens had swept through, blasting a handful of isolated settlements into rubble.
“This ship is being evacuated,” Bennett said. He nodded to the display. “The starfighters are being transferred to Canopus.”
“The rest of the crew is heading for the shuttles,” Maddy added. She looked pale. There were dark rings around her eyes. “Sir ... the captain asked for volunteers to stay behind. I’m staying.”
“No, you’re not,” Alan said. “You’re getting married, remember?”
“Anson won’t want to leave,” Maddy said. “Sir, I ...”
“I think that Abigail won’t give him a choice,” Alan said, flatly. He studied the display for a moment, trying to follow Abigail’s plan. Use the cripples - and a handful of drones - to lure the aliens away from the remaining starships, sacrificing a handful of ships and crews so that the rest could live. It made sense, he supposed. And the crewmen were all volunteers. “Mr. Bennett will escort you to the shuttle.”
Maddy looked torn. “Sir ...”
“You’ve done well,” Alan said. “And you thoroughly deserve your pardon. Go to the shuttle. That’s an order, by the way.”
“Yes, sir,” Maddy said.
She rose and hurried out of the compartment. Alan hoped she’d have the sense to get on the shuttle before it was too late ... she was a trained officer, after all. She certainly should have the sense to leave, without bothering to grab anything from her cabin. Alan sat down on her vacated chair and brought up the makeshift evacuation rota. Nearly everyone had a slot on one of the two shuttles.
“You should go,” he said, without looking up. “I think your duties are at an end.”
Bennett coughed, lightly. “You do not intend to evacuate?”
Alan shrugged. “Someone is going to have to help Abigail pretend that this is a fully-functional starship for a little bit longer,” he said. It was possible the aliens wouldn't be fooled ... not for very long, anyway. But if they lost contact with the rest of the flotilla, the ships might just have a chance to get across the tramline to Aquitaine before it was too late to make their escape. “And it isn't as if I have anything waiting for me back home.”
“You have daughters,” Bennett rumbled.
“I believe you said they’d be better off without me,” Alan said. “And, in truth, you were probably right.”
“Perhaps,” Bennett agreed. “But, at the same time, I’ve come to realise that you’re not bad to the bone.”
Alan looked up. “Hello? Who are you and what did you do with Bennett?”
Bennett snorted. “I’m not denying what you did,” he said, bluntly. “And I have no interest in forgiving you, even if I had the power to forgive you. But I’ve met dozens of people who are utter monsters, Alan. Serial killers, rapists, child molesters ... I’ve watched them die, on the gallows or in front of a firing squad, and felt as though we were doing the world a favour.”
“You were,” Alan said, quietly.
“You killed once, under extreme provocation,” Bennett said. “Don’t misunderstand me, please. What you did was wrong, but you’re not a career criminal. And you have done very well since being assigned to this ship. I think ... you probably deserve that pardon.”
“They can give me a posthumous medal, after you tell them about me,” Alan said. He wasn't sure what to make of Bennett’s words. On one hand, he wasn't going to kill again; on the other, he knew he’d have to live with the guilt for the rest of his life. “And if you meet my daughters, tell them that I ... that I love them.”
“As you wish,” Bennett said.
Alan drew in a long breath as Bennett left the compartment. Bennett had changed ... they’d all changed. Or maybe he had changed and everyone else had stayed the same. Or ... it wasn't something he wanted to think about. Redemption wasn't a possibility, not really. The pardon he’d been offered would be meaningless, if he couldn't get a job afterwards. He doubted the navy would be interested in keeping him ...
He let out the breath, slowly. Death ... if it was fated, it was fated. And at least he had the satisfaction of knowing he would die doing his duty.
The console bleeped. “Alan,” Abigail said. She sounded very calm. “I understand you’re staying?”
“Yes,” Alan said. “How many others are staying?”
“Just you and I,” Abigail said. “The automatics should be enough to let us run the ship for thirty minutes or so.”
Because the odds of lasting any longer are too small to be calculated, Alan told himself. His training rebelled against trying to run an escort carrier with just two people - he wouldn't care to run anything bigger than a worker bee with just two people - but Abigail knew what she was doing. By the time we run into something the two of us can’t handle, with or without the automated systems, it will be too late.
“The shuttles are undocking now,” Abigail added. “Come to the bridge, please.”
“Aye, Captain,” Alan said. He paused. “Did you have any trouble getting Anson off the ship?”
“I had to threaten to stun him,” Abigail said. “He’ll be pissed at me, afterwards.”
Alan shrugged. “At least he’ll be alive to be pissed,” he said. On the display, red icons were flaring into existence. There wasn't a second to lose. “And Maddy will be alive too.”
Chapter Forty
The bridge felt eerie.
Abigail had stood watches alone before, on a dozen different starships. It had never been easy - she’d known she would be in deep shit if she’d been caught sleeping on watch, but she’d had problems keeping her eyes open - yet she’d learnt to cope. Now, though, she felt as though she was truly alone. There were only two living souls on her starship ... her doomed starship.
The thought tore at her mind. Haddock was her ship ... no, she was Abigail’s home. And yet, she was doomed. Abigail loved her ship, despite the crudeness, despite the mechanical problems that had beset her during her first year of ownership. It had been her world, giving her a life so far above the ordinary that she couldn't imagine anything else. Going back to Ceres alone would be different, but going down to Earth would be impossible. She couldn't stand the thought of living on a planet. And if the navy refused to pay the promised compensation ...
She felt a pang as she surveyed the display. Flotilla One - the cripples and the drones - was making its way back towards the tramline, while Flotilla Two was sneaking away in the opposite direction. If the aliens were really desperate to catch her ships - and she assumed they didn't want to pass up the chance to smash the flotilla - they’d have to pick up the pace before the human ships could cross the tramline. The absence of any starfighters - all tucked away in the escaping ships - would hopefully suggest that the flotilla intended to jump the second it crossed the tramline.
Which will make it harder for them to track Flotilla Two, she told herself. She'd done everything in her power to ensure success, but she knew that a single stealthed enemy picket in a position to spot the manoeuvre could ruin everything. As long as they’re looking at us for a while longer, they should be safe.
The hatch opened. Abigail jumped, then reminded herself that Alan had stayed with her. It wasn't strictly necessary, now the automatics had been set, but ..
. she supposed it was a good thing. In theory, she could handle everything alone; in practice, there were very definite advantages to having a larger crew. She knew better than to assume she would be able to survive on her own.
She smiled at him, rather wanly. “How are you feeling?”
“I’d like to tell you that I’m ready to die,” Alan said. “But ... I try not to lie to people.”
Abigail snickered. “Don’t give up just yet, please,” she said, dryly. “We do have a shuttle, remember.”
Alan gave her a sharp look. “Are you mad?”
“Perhaps,” Abigail said. She took a moment to check her preparations. Everything looked ... ready. Maybe not perfect, but certainly close enough. “I'm not willing to surrender until the cold equations come for me.”
She returned her attention to the display. The aliens had altered course, as she’d predicted, and launched the remainder of their starfighters. They’d be on their targets in less than ten minutes, giving them just enough time to obliterate the flotilla before it could cross the tramline. It wouldn't be that long before they realised that half the flotilla was actually nothing more than ECM drones, but ...
Hopefully, we can keep them from noticing that for a few more minutes, she thought.
“If you have something you want to recover from your cabin, go now,” she said. “I’ll meet you at the forward hatch in two minutes.”
Alan shook his head. Abigail scowled - the insensitive clod didn't realise she wanted to be alone, if only for a minute - and then looked around the tiny bridge. It was a crude mess, even after the military engineers had done their work, but it was hers. Anson and Poddy had learnt how to fly starships under her watchful eyes, along with a string of apprentices who’d served for a few short months and then gone onwards to better things. Perhaps it wasn’t the most dramatic command centre in the navy - she had no idea why groundpounders preferred their bridges to look photogenic - but she didn’t care. It was hers.
She led the way to the hatch and stepped through, leaving it open behind her. It felt odd, as though she was abdicating her responsibilities. Her uncle would have been furious if he’d caught her leaving a hatch open, particularly in the middle of a dangerous situation. But it was pointless. Haddock wasn't going to survive the next ten minutes, no matter what happened. Admiral Delacroix might jump into the system in the next sixty seconds and it still wouldn't be enough to save Haddock.
Her ship felt odd too, as if she was no longer alive. Abigail felt a chill running down her spine, a sensation she hadn't felt since the day she’d boarded a derelict ship as a younger woman. The ship had suffered a fatal accident, one that had been traced back to a programming glitch, but ... she shuddered at the memory. She’d had nightmares for months afterwards.
“Take the helm,” she ordered, once they were inside the shuttle. “Keep us stealthy. I’ll establish a laser link to the ship.”
“Aye, Captain,” Alan said.
Abigail barely felt the jerk as the shuttle disengaged from the starship and slowly drifted away into space. She was too busy focusing on the live feed. The aliens were rapidly closing in on the flotilla, their sensors already probing for weaknesses. It wouldn't be long before they uncovered the deception. She was already pushing their luck to the limits.
“Detonation in five,” she called. “Brace yourself.”
I’m sorry, she thought. She tapped an authorisation code into the network, then clicked SEND. I didn't want it to end like this.
The nukes detonated as one. Alan cursed as the ships and drones vanished in nuclear fire, each blast large enough to destroy an entire starship. Abigail hoped - prayed - that the aliens would be convinced that they had destroyed the flotilla, that the humans had committed suicide rather than fight to the last. Would they notice that there wasn't enough debris to account for the entire flotilla? Or would they assume that the blasts had been powerful enough to ensure that there was very little debris? She hoped so. Rigging the nukes had been difficult, but there had been no choice. If the aliens suspected the truth ...
“I’m shutting down everything, bar the basics,” Alan said. “We’ll be going ballistic in twenty seconds.”
“Make sure you send an updated note of our course to the stealthed platform,” Abigail ordered. “And then ... we wait.”
The lights dimmed, just slightly. She kept a wary eye on the passive sensors, but all they could tell her was that the aliens weren't anywhere near the shuttle. Unless, of course, they were stealthed. She doubted the aliens would bother trying to sneak up on the shuttle, unless they suspected it was a weapon. But if that was the case, they’d just blow the shuttle up from a safe distance.
She rubbed her eyes, trying to blink away sudden tears. Her ship. She’d destroyed her own ship. And it felt as though she’d killed a part of herself.
Alan stepped over to sit next to her. “You had no choice,” he said. “Really.”
“I know that,” Abigail snapped. She shook her head, angrily. She hadn't felt so emotional since Miles Barrington had told her his group-wives had rejected her as a potential sister-wife. Damn the man. She hadn't thought about him in years. “It doesn't make it any easier.”
“I know,” Alan said. “And I'm sorry.”
***
Alan had, in all honesty, expected to die on Haddock. It would have been quick, he thought, particularly as the starship couldn't have offered any real resistance to the aliens. But instead ... he was trapped in a shuttle, watching the life support readings carefully. The systems were doing their level best, but ...
He paced the cabin, checking their supplies and recyclers and cursing under his breath. By his most optimistic calculations, they had about a week to live. The shuttle’s power cells would eventually run dry, at which point they’d suffocate and die. Or simply go mad eating recycled food. It would be harder to pretend that they weren't eating recycled shit and piss if it was just the two of them, trapped in a small cabin. And while he was sure they could find a way to pass the time pleasurably, even that lost its thrill when he remembered that they were on the verge of dying.
“They’re not going to come back for us,” Abigail said. “I gave them some very specific orders.”
Alan frowned. “And so ... what?”
Abigail opened a supply kit. “Have you ever used these before?”
“Suspension drugs?” Alan took one of the injectors and read the label, carefully. “Are you mad?”
Abigail shot him a tired look. “Do you want to die here? In this shuttle? Or do you want to take a chance that might save our asses?”
Alan swallowed, hard. He’d heard of suspension drugs. They were a routine part of survival kits, particularly when someone was quite some distance from potential help. Used properly, they could keep someone alive - in suspended animation - for quite some time. And yet, there were risks. If the bodies weren't frozen quickly enough, there might be cellular damage to their brains. Revival was always a chancy business. His instructors had discussed the dangers quite bluntly. Medical technology was advancing all the time, but only two-thirds of the people who went into suspension ever came out again.
“They’re not going to come looking for us,” Abigail said. “We can wait a few days and see if Admiral Delacroix returns, but ... I wouldn't care to count on it.”
“I know,” Alan said. He took a long breath. “I ...”
A hundred different options ran through his mind. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to make love. He wanted to have sex or ... he dismissed them, tiredly. Abigail was right. Suspension might be their only hope of survival. It crossed his mind that they might never be rescued, let alone unfrozen, but ... a slight chance was better than none.
“I’ll set a beacon,” Abigail said. “It’ll go live in five years. By then ...”
The war will be over, one way or the other, Alan thought. Unless it really does drag on for a hundred years.
“Do it,” he said, softly.
He wanted to hold her
hand as he lay down on the deck, but there was no point. Abigail tapped commands into the computers, ordering the shuttle to drop the temperature once they’d taken the drugs, then lay down next to him. Alan almost reached for her before thinking better of it. They’d have a better chance for survival if they weren't touching. Or so his instructors had said.
“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly.
He pushed the injector tab against his skin and triggered it. His skin turned cold, although he wasn't sure if it was a real sensation or if he was imagining it. He had no way to know. He closed his eyes quickly, embracing the darkness. His thoughts seemed to be slowing down ... or was he imagining that too? He wanted to write a last note to his daughters, but it seemed utterly pointless. They’d be in their late teens when the beacon went active, if it ever did. Who knew what would happen to them?
The Cruel Stars (Ark Royal Book 11) Page 40
