“I’m too old to engage in locker-room talk,” Alan said, curtly.
He felt a hot flush of shame as he remembered just what he’d said - and heard - in the changing rooms. They’d talked about girls, bragging of sexual exploits that were probably physically impossible - and, in any case, certainly hadn't happened. He’d told his friends that he’d lost his virginity a long time before he’d even kissed a girl. They probably hadn't believed him, but then ... he hadn't believed them either. It had all been part and parcel of growing up.
“Glad to hear it,” Bennett said. “I trust that you and the captain will be professional at all times?”
Alan jumped. How had he known?
He realised his mistake an instant later. Bennett hadn't known ... although he might have guessed, the way Abigail had hauled Alan out of the hold. But it didn’t matter. Bennett had probed lightly and Alan’s reaction had told him everything he needed to know. The amused look on his face - a smirk that made Alan want to punch him - only confirmed it. Bennett knew.
“We can be professional,” Alan said, crossly. “I don’t think ...”
“I had noticed,” Bennett said. His voice was very dry. “That’s a very strange woman, that one. And also one who isn't likely to let you get away with anything.”
He sat upright, nearly cracking his head on the upper bunk. “I don’t give much of a shit about what you do on your time off, as long as you do your duty,” he added. “You can always be returned to your cell if you fuck up. But I suggest that you keep it completely professional while you’re on duty. This isn't a naval crew ...”
“If it was a naval crew,” Alan pointed out, “I’d be in real trouble.”
“Quite,” Bennett agreed. “And so would she.”
Alan nodded as he opened the compartment and retrieved a shipsuit. Regulations were clear - and backed up by a great deal of precedent. Senior officers were not allowed to have sexual relationships with their subordinates. The senior officer would be lucky if he - or she, in some cases - was allowed to retire, rather than being dishonourably discharged, while their junior would be on very thin ice. Haddock didn't have a naval crew, which was all that might save Abigail and himself if the truth ever came out. She hadn't had the regulations drilled into her from the moment she wore a cadet uniform.
“Be careful,” Bennett said. “You’re expendable.”
“Right now, we’re all expendable,” Alan pointed out. He pulled the shipsuit over his head, then started to tighten the fastenings. “This whole ship is expendable. You’re expendable.”
“I know,” Bennett said.
He didn't sound bothered, but Alan was sure he must be. Bennett was not a stupid man. He’d know just what the destruction of so many fleet carriers meant. Even if the Royal Navy managed to devise a counter to the alien weapons, they’d already taken heavy losses. And there was no way the other human nations could make up the shortfalls. They had problems of their own.
“Be careful,” Bennett said. He smiled, suddenly. “You do realise that Anson has been courting Maddy?”
Alan blinked, surprised. “But you implied ...”
He shook his head. “Should we be worried?”
“Perhaps we should be more worried about him,” Bennett said. He shrugged. “You killed in a fit of rage, rage aimed at a very specific target. Maddy cold-bloodedly set out to defraud the navy of a great deal of money.”
Alan sighed. It was hard to believe that the young woman he knew was a cold-blooded fraudster. Maddy looked so young that he was tempted to wonder if she had joined the navy at sixteen, rather than waiting until she was eighteen. It was rare, but it did happen. She made him feel protective, even though ...
“Right now, it isn't a problem,” he said. Maddy was old enough to make certain decisions for herself. She could handle the consequences too. Besides, there was nothing on Haddock worth stealing. “And we have a great many other things to worry about.”
“Sure,” Bennett agreed. He stood and walked towards the hatch. “Your relationship with the captain, for one.”
And he laughed.
Chapter Nineteen
“Ready to jump, Captain,” Anson said.
Abigail allowed herself a moment of relief, mingled with fear. Five weeks of making their way down the tramlines had left them jumping at every sensor contact, even after they’d entered a populated star system and exchanged notes with the defenders. Word was spreading, but ... she still had no idea what was waiting for them on the far side. Earth might have been smashed flat by now. The only real consolation was that Earth - according to a freighter they’d encountered - hadn't been attacked a week ago.
Which doesn't mean the system wasn't attacked yesterday, she thought, grimly. This tramline network attracts less attention than the others.
“Jump,” she ordered, quietly.
She glanced down at the display as it blanked, then rebooted. Cold logic told her that they were in no danger of being intercepted, but she didn't find it very reassuring. She would almost have welcomed another fight - or fuck - with Alan, if only to keep her from brooding on what they’d find when they got home. Her nerves kept insisting that the aliens were lurking on the far side, ready to blow them away within spitting distance of Earth.
“Transit complete, Captain,” Anson said.
“Local space appears clear,” Poddy said. “I’m picking up transmissions from Earth now.”
Which may well be meaningless, Abigail thought. The makeshift analysts hadn't been able to figure out a way to defeat the alien stealth systems. She hoped the boffins back home would do better or it would be a very short war. But at least Earth wasn't attacked a few hours ago.
“Send our IFF,” she ordered, grimly. “And then take us back to Tallyman.”
She leaned back in her chair as the convoy started to crawl towards the asteroid base. Sol looked more industrialised than ever, power signatures glowing all over the system. And yet, a number of familiar ports had gone dark. She hoped that was a good sign, perhaps one that suggested the inhabitants were trying to hide. If word had already reached Earth, the belters would either be hiding or planning their exodus. She knew her own people too well to expect them to gamble everything on a desperate last stand.
Alan’s face appeared in the display. “Captain,” he said. His voice was coolly professional, just as it had been for the last five weeks. “Long-range sensors suggest that the system has not been attacked.”
“So it would seem,” Abigail agreed, equally professionally. At least he wasn't sulking. She hated men who sulked. “It’ll be a while before we get a response from Tallyman.”
“They should have received word already,” Alan said. “And they may be suspicious of our safe return.”
Abigail nodded, slowly. The defenders might assume that her ship - and the remainder of the convoy - was nothing more than a Trojan Horse. She didn't think the aliens would need to bother, but groundpounders were rarely logical. It was hard to blame them, for once. Losing so many fleet carriers so quickly had to have shocked them. They might even have stopped running in circles, screaming and shouting ...
Or maybe they’ll be so panicky they’ll fire on us, she thought. That would be bad.
“We won’t go too close to the base until we get a reply,” she said. They’d need hours to reach their destination, whatever happened. “And they’ll probably insist on searching the ship.”
“Probably,” Alan agreed. “I’d better get on with writing the report. The navy will want to see it as soon as they know who we are.”
Abigail resisted the urge to point out that he’d had five weeks to finish writing the report. He had written a very basic summary, which they’d forwarded to every starship, colony and orbital installation they’d encountered, but the navy’s senior officers would probably want something a little more comprehensive. She’d read some of Alan’s speculations and had been left wondering why he hadn't been snapped up by the analysis department long ago. He was go
od at figuring out ways to minimise the alien advantages.
At least on paper, she reminded herself. It might not work so well in the real world.
“Good luck,” she said. She’d written a report of her own for the Belt Federation, although she wasn’t sure if the Royal Navy would allow her to send it. Perhaps she should just fire it off before the navy had a chance to object. It was easier to beg forgiveness than permission, after all. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
She sat back in her chair and reached for her datapad. The final report was already complete, so she uploaded it to the message queue for later transmission. They’d send it directly to the belt as soon as they were within range. She reread the report, then skimmed through a couple of others. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise as she noted the author. For someone who looked like a thug, Bennett was a surprisingly decent writer.
“Captain,” Poddy said. “We just picked up a message. They want us to head straight for Tallyman, where we will receive new orders.”
“Understood,” Abigail said. “Anson, maintain current course.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Abigail frowned as she glanced at the timer. That was quick. Tallyman had responded almost as soon as they’d received the first message. Unless it had been sent by a ship or installation closer to the tramline. She glanced at the header, but there was nothing to suggest who’d sent it. It wasn't really a problem, anyway. They certainly hadn't been ordered to maintain radio silence.
“See if you can pick up any news broadcasts,” she ordered, after a moment. “And inform me if they know what happened at New Russia.”
“Aye, Captain,” Poddy said. She worked her console for a long moment. “I’m not picking up any news broadcasts, but ... I’d expect more panic.”
“True,” Abigail agreed. More and more icons had flashed to life on the display, but it didn’t look as though the system was panicking. She ran through the possibilities in her head, time and time again. Someone should have brought word of the defeat to Earth by now. A warship or scout could have reached the homeworld before the convoy had left Kiev. “There should be something ...”
“Maddy says the government doesn't tell the people everything,” Anson said. “They might not have told the public about the battle.”
Abigail scowled. Maddy was pretty, but she was a groundpounder who’d been in jail ... hardly the sort of girl she wanted her son to court. And yet, she knew her son - and men in general - well enough to know that opposing the match would only drive the young lovers deeper into each other’s arms. Besides, she was in no position to complain too much. She’d done enough stupid things when she’d been his age to fill a book.
“Perhaps they didn’t,” she said. It didn't sound likely, but it was precisely the sort of thing a groundpounder government would do. The belt didn't know either, then. They’d have spread the story right across the system if they knew. “But that’s their problem.”
She brought up the next report and frowned. “Time to Tallyman?”
“Four hours at current rate,” Anson said. “If we boost the drive, we leave the freighters behind.”
“No, we’ll stay with them,” Abigail said. “There’s no hurry, after all.”
Unless they really don’t know what happened, she thought, grimly. But the odds of that are ... what?
She sighed. She didn't want to know.
***
Alan wasn't too surprised when, as Haddock approached Tallyman, they were greeted by the Royal Marines. Everyone on the ship was rounded up and held in the hold while the marines searched the ship from top to bottom, then tested everyone’s DNA records before they relaxed. He didn't really blame them for being paranoid, even though he suspected that someone had watched too many movies about alien infiltrators. The search was an unsubtle indication that Earth knew what had happened at New Russia.
Someone got through, he thought, grimly. And Earth is doing ... what?
“The ship will hold position here, for the moment,” Captain Yates said, once the majority of the crew had been told to go back to their duties or cabins. The Royal Marine was burly enough to give Bennett a run for his money. “You and Officer Bennett will accompany us to the base.”
“Understood,” Alan said. He knew he wasn't being given a choice. “I’ll just inform the Captain, then I’ll be on my way.”
He felt an odd pang of bitter regret as he keyed his wristcom, updating Abigail on his movements. Abigail had been coolly professional, so emotionally detached that he was tempted to wonder if it had all been a dream. They hadn't spoken in private since ... since the night they’d fucked. He regretted that in some ways, even as he found it a relief in others. The sight of Anson and Maddy being together really didn't help. They seemed to have all the traits of young love.
Which might not survive the return to Earth, he thought, as he followed the Royal Marines onto their shuttle. There are other girls and boys here now.
Tallyman Base had grown over the last month, he noted. There were nine other freighters in the docking slips, in various stages of conversion. The makeshift escort carrier had clearly proved its value, he determined. He didn't want to think about any of the alternatives. A fleet carrier took nearly sixteen months to build, starting from scratch. He puzzled over just how many corners could be cut without risking the ship, then gave it up as a bad job. The navy’s engineers would already be struggling to solve that problem.
But new fleet carriers would be sitting ducks, he thought, as the shuttle docked. We really need something new.
There was an air of desperation in the base as they were escorted through the corridors and into a small briefing compartment. Hundreds of men and women, most clearly reservists, were hurrying from place to place, their faces pale and wan. They knew, all right. The civilians might not know - yet - but the military knew. A month ago, humanity had been confident that the massed power of its space navies was hard to beat. Now ...
We all got smashed, he told himself. Us, the Americans, the Russians, the French ...
“Commander Campbell,” a voice said. Two men were sitting at the table, wearing unmarked uniforms. Spooks, probably. He doubted they were his parole officers. “Take a seat.”
Alan sat, bracing himself. Bennett stood behind him. Perhaps it was a parole meeting, after all. The beancounters wouldn't let a little thing like catastrophic defeat and the death of thousands of personnel get in their way, if they had procedures to follow. They hadn't bothered to tell him about any conditions that might be attached to his parole, but that didn't mean they didn't exist.
“We received word from New Russia, two weeks ago,” the first man said. His nametag read TAGGER. “Your records have filled in some of the gaps, thankfully.”
Alan nodded, concealing his relief. He’d feared that they would be the first to bring word from New Russia. Humanity would have lost more time while the aliens gathered their forces and drove on Earth. His worst nightmares, at least, had not come to pass.
“We also read your report with considerable interest,” Tagger added. “Why do you believe the alien stealth systems are power hogs?”
“If they could use them all the time, they would,” Alan pointed out. Firing plasma weapons while under stealth would defeat the whole object of the exercise, but if the aliens were careful that wouldn't matter. “Instead, they don’t use them at all during engagements. I think the system has its limits.”
“So the live feed from the MNF suggests,” the second man said. He didn't have a visible nametag. “But it cut off rather sharply.”
Tagger gave him an unreadable look, then turned his attention back to Alan. “How do you propose we proceed?”
Alan frowned. He wouldn’t be the only one being asked, of course. The records from New Russia had already been forwarded to the boffins. But he was one of the battle’s few survivors. There weren't many people in the Royal Navy who’d engaged the aliens and survived. His insights might be very useful indeed.
&n
bsp; And they might also be a waste of time, he thought. If matters hadn't been so serious, he would have been amused at how they hung on his words. I was also too close to the battle.
“The lightly-armoured carriers are just oversized targets, sir,” he said, bluntly. “The plasma bursts go right through their hulls, often setting off secondary explosions that rip the carriers apart. They really need heavier armour. Even a thin layer of something stronger might give them a better chance to survive.”
A thought struck him. “Ark Royal,” he added. The old carrier might move like a wallowing bull, but she was armoured so heavily that she might survive a close-range encounter with the aliens. “She’s still in service, isn’t she?”
Tagger’s lips flickered into something that could - charitably - be called a smile. “Yes, she is,” he said. “But that’s above your pay grade.”
The Cruel Stars Page 19
