“That’s why it worked,” Campbell said. “The virus didn’t expect it either.”
“I never thought it cared that much about tactics,” Thomas said. He turned and led the way up to his Ready Room. “Do you think it does?”
“It’s hard to say.” Campbell sounded thoughtful. “It’s true enough, I think, that it prefers to study logistics over tactics. It doesn’t seem to show the same flair that many human and alien naval tacticians do. And its thinking is completely alien, to the point it might be using tactics we simply don’t recognise as tactics. And it’s so powerful …”
He coughed. “It’s so powerful, and numerous, that it might not think it needs tactics,” he added. “It’s a single entity, in a sense. It doesn’t need to be clever. It just needs to bring overwhelming force to bear on us.”
“It’s facing us and our allies,” Thomas pointed out. He opened the hatch and led the way into the Ready Room. “We might be the single greatest threat it has ever faced.”
“There’s no way to know,” Campbell countered. “We just don’t know.”
Thomas motioned for Campbell to take a seat at the table. He would have preferred a proper dining compartment, but Lion was too small and new to have one. It was something he’d consider later, he told himself firmly. The ship wasn’t designed as an admiral’s flagship, charged with hosting conferences and diplomatic dinners as well as a tactical staff. That might have to change, if the navy decided to build an entire squadron of battlecruisers … he shook his head as he picked up the bottle of chilled wine. The first step was proving the concept actually worked. After that, they could worry about everything else.
“We should be ready to depart as planned,” he said. “Unless we run into something that throws us back a few days.”
“Unicorn is in excellent condition,” Campbell said. “I intend to ramp up the drive tomorrow and cruise around the shipyards, before I start testing everything and running live-fire drills.”
“That’s good to hear,” Thomas said. It was, but it was also a little irritating. “Lion needs more time to check and recheck everything before we’re ready to start proper drills.”
“It’s always the case.” Campbell took the glass of wine and sniffed it thoughtfully. “Every year, things cost more and take longer.”
He put the glass to one side and leaned forward. “Have you given any thought to tactics yet?”
“Not enough,” Thomas said. “I’ve studied the simulated engagements, naturally, but a lot of the tactics might not work anything like so well in real life. I think there’d be all sorts of issues. The missiles, for example, might not be as clever as the designers have claimed. Our drives and stealth units might not be as capable …”
“We ran basic power curve tests on our drives,” Campbell said. “They should live up to the claims.”
Thomas felt a flicker of irritation. “We need to test everything,” he said. “And then we can go out looking for trouble.”
“If we have time to test everything,” Campbell said. “Reading between the lines, the war isn’t going well.”
“It looks that way,” Thomas agreed. He took a sip of his wine. Expensive, but good. “We won’t win the war single-handedly. We have to get used to what we’ve got and figure out how to use it before we go into battle.”
“If we have time,” Campbell repeated. “We cannot let the virus push any closer to Earth.”
“And if we show the virus what we’re planning, it will have time to develop countermeasures,” Thomas pointed out, sharply. “We have to surprise it, once.”
“And make sure we take out its flicker network,” Campbell said. “Does it even have a flicker network?”
“It knows to take ours out, so I dare say it does,” Thomas said. “I suppose an entity that depended on remaining in close communication with itself would know the importance of hindering the enemy’s command and control systems, if not taking them out completely.”
“It doesn’t try to jam our communications as much as you might expect,” Campbell said. He shrugged, expressively. “There are limits to how far you can jam signals, particularly when we’re using lasers to bind the datanet together, but it could do a great deal more if it wanted. Even a little signals distortion would be enough to really confuse us.”
“Not for long,” Thomas countered. “Bare seconds, if that.”
“Long enough to let the virus slip a missile through our defences,” Campbell said. “We have to assume the worst.”
“Yes,” Thomas agreed. “But we have to give the virus a surprise, and we have to make it count.”
“And quickly,” Campbell said. “Or it will be completely meaningless.”
Thomas couldn’t disagree. The admiral’s words hung in his ears. Humanity and her allies were steadily losing the war. The virus was soaking up losses as it ground ever closer to Earth, sending a seemingly-endless stream of brainships, battleships, carriers and starfighters against the defences. It was only a matter of time before it punched into Sol and forced the human navies to make a grim choice between retreating to save the remainder of the human sphere - for a few short months, perhaps - or dying in defence of the homeworld. He’d heard rumours about plans to flee into unexplored space, to set up hidden colonies on the far side of distant tramlines, to work in secret until the boffins came up with a wonder weapon that would take the virus out in a single shot. He doubted the rumours were anything more than wishful thinking. The Royal Navy - and all the other navies - had to devote every last scrap of resources to keeping the virus away. There was little left for setting up a hidden colony that might - might - last long enough to rebuild and take the fight back to the virus.
“We can do it,” Thomas said. It was important to project confidence, even if one didn’t feel it. “Once we work the kinks out of the system.”
He keyed his wristcom, summoning the steward to bring the meal. “And now we have to talk about something else,” he said. He didn’t have much time to get to know his new subordinate. He was damned if he was spending the entire meal talking shop. “Who do you think will win the World Cup?”
Campbell laughed. “I honestly have no idea,” he said, as the steward entered. “Does it matter right now?”
“Probably not,” Thomas said. They shared a smile. “Perhaps I should talk about the weather instead.”
Chapter Eight
“It’s been three weeks,” Lady Charlotte, his wife, said. “Can’t you get even a day of leave?”
Thomas winced, inwardly, as he stared at the viewscreen. He’d had no trouble getting leave when he’d been at the academy, although there had been times when he’d claimed pressing business to keep from taking leave. He loved his wife, as much as a person of his class could love the woman who’d been steered towards him by both sets of parents, but he found her focus on social events more than a little tiresome. The aristocracy might claim that a constant round of garden parties, fancy balls and glittering weddings helped to boost public morale, yet Thomas considered it nothing more than a sick joke. The general public had far more pressing concerns than watching as the Lord of Somewhere married the Lady of Somewhere Else in a ceremony that cost as much as a small starship.
He studied his wife, tiredly. Lady Charlotte was still lovely, despite two teenage daughters. Her curly dark hair framed a round face with an elegant smile, the result of good breeding rather than genetic or cosmetic manipulation. She was very far from stupid - she managed the estates while he served his country - but they had less in common than he might have hoped. He couldn’t talk to her about naval matters, any more than she could talk to him about High Society. Thankfully, they’d both been adults who’d known the score. They’d worked out how to live together long ago.
“I’m afraid leave is out of the question,” he said, bluntly. There was no point in raising her hopes, only to dash them in the next few days. The deadline for departure was drawing ever closer. The Admiralty would ask questions if Lion wasn’t re
ady to depart as planned. They might understand delays caused by a sudden glitch in the datanet, or a flaw in the design that wasn’t apparent until the ship was powered up, but they’d be merciless if they thought he was neglecting his duty. “I have too much work to do.”
“I can speak to my uncle, have him send you to Earth for a couple of days,” Lady Charlotte insisted. “It’s quite important you attend the party. Elizabeth is meeting her future husband and …”
Thomas held up a hand. “Elizabeth hasn’t agreed to marry him,” he pointed out. “And you really shouldn’t push her into anything.”
“He’s a good catch,” Lady Charlotte insisted. “And it’s only a matter of time until someone else snaps him up.”
“Elizabeth is old enough to have opinions on the subject,” Thomas said. “And the more you promote him, the more she’ll resist the thought of marrying him.”
He rubbed his forehead in irritation. Lady Charlotte had turned her attention to matchmaking as her daughters reached their majorities, arranging dances for them and their peers so they could meet suitable young men under controlled circumstances. Thomas suspected she’d forgotten what it was like to be a young woman. The idea of marrying someone your parents liked … he shook his head. It had taken him years to get used to the concept of marrying for the family, rather than marrying for himself. His daughter was old enough to resent the system, without understanding why it was necessary. She didn’t have to get married in the next year or so. Lady Charlotte just wanted to be mother of the bride for a day.
“The fact remains, there is a shortage of candidates,” Lady Charlotte said. “Thomas, I understand your concern, but …”
“There is nothing more likely to sour your relationship with your daughter than throwing her at a young man she doesn’t want,” Thomas said. They’d had the argument before, time and time again. He agreed it was important for his daughters to marry well, but they had different ideas of what sort of men they should marry. Titles weren’t everything. For every aristocrat who served his country bravely, there were a dozen fools gracing the tabloid websites. “Let her grow up a little before you start suggesting she gets married.”
“Hah.” Lady Charlotte didn’t sound convinced. “And how old was I when I got married?”
“Twenty-five,” Thomas said. “Elizabeth has time. Plenty of time.”
“Not enough,” Lady Charlotte said. “What happens if her young man dies in combat?”
Thomas sighed. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “She needs time to grow and develop before she takes her next step into adulthood.”
“We’ll see,” Lady Charlotte said, in a tone that indicated the matter was far from settled. “On a different note, I hope you’ll be attending the Christmas Ball …”
“I honestly don’t know,” Thomas said. It was his duty to host a ball, in the run-up to Christmas, but the navy came first. “It depends on where the navy sends me.”
“You could always resign,” Lady Charlotte pointed out. “There’s a seat up for grabs in parliament. You could run for it as a bona fide war hero and patriot …”
“And drive you mad, moping around the hall all the time.” Thomas grinned. He’d heard enough horror stories about men who’d resigned their commissions, then discovered - too late - that remaining at home wasn’t always a good thing. Besides, if he ran for parliament, someone would notice he’d resigned and make an issue of it. “Charlie, I have my duty. I cannot leave at a whim.”
“I know.” Lady Charlotte softened, slightly. “Thomas, I don’t ask for much …”
“I know,” Thomas echoed. “But I can’t come home whenever the fancy takes me.”
“I’ll give the families your regards,” Lady Charlotte said. “And let them know we’ll be hosting a party at short notice when you do come home.”
Thomas winced. The aristocracy’s private schedule of social events was painstakingly worked out months or years in advance. Someone hosting a party at short notice would throw the entire season out of alignment. There would be arguments and fights and petty feuds over balls being rearranged, or cancelled, or having their guests sucked away by another party … he felt a twinge of sympathy for anyone who lost out because their social superior had ruined their plans. The aristocracy was practically dominated by feuds that had lasted so long everyone had forgotten the original cause, if only because everyone involved was dead. He had no intention of playing the game himself. It was petty, pointless and ultimately self-destructive.
Which is something you can only say because you’re so high up the tree you don’t need to worry about it, he thought. Your daughter could marry a talented commoner and no one would say boo to you.
“It depends,” he said. “I honestly don’t know what’ll happen.”
His terminal bleeped, reminding him he had a meeting. “Charlie, I’ll talk to you later,” he said. “Pray for me.”
Lady Charlotte looked thoroughly displeased, but nodded. “Good luck,” she said, curtly. “I’ll see you when you get home.”
Thomas let out a breath as his wife’s image vanished. He loved his wife, really he did, but she could be a little overbearing. He knew she was trying to help, yet … he shook his head in frustration. He’d tried to explain to her, time and time again, that she wasn’t really helping, but she was too full of herself to care. If she’d directed her energy towards a naval career, or politics, she’d be commanding a fleet or running the country by now. Thomas’s lips quirked at the thought. Lady Charlotte had always been more interested in subtle power, in building up a network of influence and patronage, than formal power. It was safer to be the power behind the throne than the person sitting on it.
The buzzer sounded. Thomas tapped his terminal, opening the hatch. Commander Donker and Major Chuck Craig stepped into the compartment, the hatch hissing closed behind them. They looked as tired as Thomas felt, after three weeks of intensive preparation. Thomas wasn’t sure when either of them had last got more than a few hours of sleep, although logic told him they must have done. Stimulants were banned outside emergencies and, even then, regarded as the final resort. The steward entered, bringing a tray of strong coffee. Thomas motioned for his subordinates to sit down, closing the terminal to make it clear they had his full attention. They wouldn’t be disturbed, unless it was a real emergency. Or a priority-one message from the Admiralty.
And that would mean the home system has come under attack, Thomas thought. Lion had her missiles now, as well as her gunboats; in theory, she could join the defenders and fight to protect the system. In practice, he wasn’t so sure. They hadn’t had time to carry out any live-fire tests. We might not be able to take part in the fighting. Not yet.
“Captain,” Commander Donker said. “We just completed the formal survey of the entire starship. I am pleased and relieved to report that all stations and systems are functioning as intended. We still need to smooth off some of the rougher edges, but we can only do that when we leave the shipyard and set out on our first cruise.”
Thomas nodded, feeling a flicker of relief. “Do we have any major issues of concern?”
“Not any longer,” Donker assured him. “We powered up everything, from the drive nodes and fusion cores to tactical sensors and missile tubes. Our only real point of concern is maintaining the tactical net when warheads start popping and enemy ECM starts trying to wear us down, but simulations suggest we can handle it. We won’t know for sure until we face the enemy ourselves.”
“Unfortunately.” Thomas had studied the reports very carefully. “We won’t know how capable the system really is until we have to use it.”
He let out a breath. The datanet was supposed to bind the battlecruiser to her gunboats, no matter how much the enemy tried to jam the system and isolate the smaller ships. In theory, the network was impossible to take down unless Lion herself was taken out. In practice … no one was really sure. It was dangerous to rely on communications lasers linking a battlecruiser to a handful of small and
very fast-moving gunboats, particularly when the smaller craft would be manoeuvring randomly. A gunboat that flew in a straight line, on a predictable course, was just asking to be blown out of space.
“We’ll test the system as much as possible, once we’re underway,” he said. They might have time for war games, to pit themselves against real starships and real sensor crews, but there had been a note of urgency in the last missives from Earth. It was starting to look as though they’d be going into combat sooner rather than later. “How about the crew?”
“The good news is that morale is relatively high,” Donker said. “The departmental heads all agree that their departments are ready for action, thanks to the constant drills. Lion is no longer an unknown factor to them, which helps. They know her from bow to stern now, sir, and feel confident they understand their role within the crew.”
Thomas nodded. He’d spent two of the last three weeks crawling over his ship, catching up with the departmental heads and exploring every last inch of the maintenance tubes. It had been an interesting, informative and sometimes amusing experience, particularly when the engineers had discovered a stash of chocolate bars left behind by one of the yard-dogs. They hadn’t been expensive, but - thanks to rationing - they’d been rare. The poor owner had probably left his entire allotment in the niche and forgotten to reclaim it before being reassigned. Thomas was silently relieved it hadn’t been porn. That would have been a great deal worse for all concerned.
“The bad news is that the constant drills are starting to wear down readiness,” Donker added. “Frankly, sir, we’ve probably pushed too hard in the last few days. The emergency drills constantly leave out the emergency itself, which means we’re starting to amble through them when we should be taking them seriously.”
“Which isn’t easy when you know there’s no real emergency,” Thomas said. “Major?”
Major Craig nodded. “The problem with crying wolf, sir, is that people eventually stop paying attention. Sure, we can vary the drills - boarders one day, missile strikes the next - but there are limits. My men have the same problem, even though we have the advantage of VR sims and suchlike. It helps we’re playing against each other.”
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