The Lion and the Unicorn

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  And we’re on a ship that’s about to explode, he thought. The virus clearly hadn’t realised what they’d done. Unless … unless it thought Colin and his men weren’t prepared to die for their country. He shook his head. It was stupid. They’d have to dive into space and hope for the best. Fuck!

  “Move,” he snapped. They were being drawn towards the hatch as the ship vented. The internal bulkheads would have closed, if they hadn’t been closed when the marines had landed, but there was still an awful lot of atmosphere in the breached section. “Get onto the surface and jump out, then go silent!”

  He checked his timer as he crawled through the hull breach. They had barely seven minutes, long enough to escape on the shuttle, but … he shook his head as he triggered his suit’s jets and leapt into interplanetary space. Flickers of light shot around him, his sensors picking out enemy starships and starfighters. They didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the marines, he noted. He supposed he couldn’t blame the virus. It had too many other problems to worry about, starting with the urgent need to capture or destroy Lion.

  Colin sent a single signal, risking detection to let the battlecruiser know he and his men were drifting in interstellar space, then forced himself to wait. The seconds were ticking down, steadily. He was sure the virus simply didn’t have enough time to find and neutralise the nuke. The device would explode if the virus tried to throw it into space. It was as powerful as human ingenuity could devise, positioned as deep within the alien ship as they could, but there was no way to know how much damage it would actually do. Human ships had internal armour. The virus might have done the same …

  The timer reached zero. The alien starship exploded. Colin breathed a sigh of relief. They’d succeeded. They’d saved the day. They’d … he felt the suit starting to spin as they drifted towards the edge of the combat zone. He knew, all too well, that they might not be rescued in time, that they might run out of air and die. He knew … he shook his head. There was nothing he could do, not now. All he could do was wait.

  He smiled, despite everything. It was almost … peaceful.

  ***

  Tobias bit down a curse as the alien starfighters closed in, firing rapidly. Half of them seemed more intent on charging Lion, rather than confronting the gunboats, but there were rather a lot of them. His point defence opened fire, forcing the starfighters to evade rapidly as they narrowed the range. He shuddered as it dawned on him they might intend to ram the gunboat. They’d barely scratch Lion’s paint if they rammed the battlecruiser, but ramming the gunboat would destroy both craft.

  He watched, torn between pride and fear, as the gunboats covered each other, the automated datanets weaving them into a single entity. A dozen starfighters died in the first few seconds, but the remainder kept coming. They had the edge in manoeuvrability as well as speed, he noted sourly; their evasion patterns were random enough to defeat even the most advanced predictive software. He’d expected as much, but it would have been nice if he’d been able to take his eyes off the console for a second and leave it to the automated systems …

  “Their fleet is adjusting position,” Marigold reported. “I think …”

  She broke off as more and more information flowed into the sensors. “They just lost the last brainship!”

  Tobias blinked, hardly daring to look at the main display. Brainship or no brainship, the enemy starfighters were continuing their attacks. The gunboats couldn’t risk travelling in a straight line, which deprived them of the chance to put some more space between themselves and the capital ships. He had to admire the virus’s grim determination to make the gunboats pay. Either they accelerated, with the starfighters snapping at their heels, or they stayed where they were long enough for the bigger ships to catch up and blow them to hell. Tobias knew they couldn’t exchange fire with a capital ship and win. A lone destroyer would wipe them out effortlessly and never know it had been in a fight.

  The remaining starfighters picked up speed, lancing towards the gunboats. Tobias watched as the range closed sharply, suddenly convinced they were going to ram. The gunboats opened fire, swatting more and more starfighters out of space … he swallowed, hard, as he saw a gunboat vanish from the display. He wasn’t sure who was dead, but … he mentally slapped himself as the datanet adjusted for the missing craft. There’d be time to mourn later, when the fighting was over. Right now, they had to keep going or they’d all be dead …

  “We’re clear,” he said, as the last of the starfighters exploded. A second gunboat had been damaged, but she was still intact. Barely. “I think we’re clear.”

  “Not clear enough,” Marigold said. She indicated the main display. “The enemy fleet’s still coming.”

  Tobias swore. The officers had insisted that taking out the brainships would be enough to stop the virus in its tracks. They’d certainly hampered the enemy ship, but it hadn’t done more than slow it down. He cursed again as he watched the enemy rebuild their datanets, readying themselves to resume the battle. A few moments of disorientation hardly seemed worth the effort. A gunboat crew was dead … for what?

  We hurt them, he told himself. It was true. He just didn’t really believe it. We didn’t hurt them enough.

  A low quiver ran through the gunboat as she altered course. “New orders,” Marigold said, grimly. “We’re to yank the marines out of space.”

  “What?” Tobias was astonished. They’d trained for SAR operations, as well as everything else, but the marines had been onboard Lion. If she needed SAR, the entire operation was doomed and they were all dead. “What are they doing in space?”

  “Don’t know.” Marigold launched a handful of sensor decoys, then pushed the gunboat back into stealth. “Right now, I don’t much care. Go get the airlock ready.”

  Tobias nodded, snapping his mask into place as he stood. The gunboat’s interior wasn’t very large, but it should be able to hold seven or eight armoured marines as long as they didn’t mind being friendly. He tried to figure out what they’d been doing, but drew a blank. They shouldn’t have been anywhere near the battle. They’d been meant to be defending the battlecruiser if she got boarded.

  He checked the airlock quickly as Marigold kept up a running commentary. He didn’t have anything like as many EVA hours as he would have preferred, certainly nowhere near enough to qualify for a dedicated SAR role. He made a mental note to suggest they got more as a low clang echoed through the ship, suggesting that something had locked onto the hull.

  “We got one,” Marigold called. Her voice sounded odd through the mask. “No … four.”

  Tobias opened the outer hatch, praying he wouldn’t have to go outside and catch the marines as they drifted into interstellar space. It would be the end. There were ways to freeze someone more or less safely, at least for a short period of time, but the poor bastard might never be recovered at all. A lone man in a spacesuit was so tiny he might as well have been a grain of sand on a giant beach. And turning on his emergency beacon would draw enemy fire.

  He let out a breath as a dark figure clambered into the chamber, face hidden behind a featureless mask. Three more joined him, the hatch closing behind them. Were there more? Tobias didn’t know. The other gunboats might have been ordered to join the search too … he opened the inner hatch, silently grateful for the mask. The marines were covered in frozen liquid. If it was viral matter, the UV lights should take care of it, but … he shuddered. They’d be heading for decon, as soon as they got home.

  “Sit down,” he ordered, as the marines started to remove their helmets. “We’ll get you back as quickly as possible.”

  “Thank you,” a familiar voice said.

  Tobias felt his blood run cold. Colin …

  ***

  The gunboat was cramped - two-thirds of the craft was dominated by drives, sensors and weapons - but Colin had been in worse. There was just enough room for him and his men to sit on the deck and that was all that mattered. He had no qualms about removing his helmet, as soon as t
he UV light took care of what reminded of the virus. It was even more vulnerable to vacuum than humanity, he’d been told, although it was more of a scientific curiosity than anything else. There was no point in marching a zombie into a vacuum in the hope it would kill the virus. His lips twitched at the thought. The operation was a success, but the patient died …

  He frowned as he saw the gunboat pilot staring at him. It wasn’t uncommon for spacers to look down on marines, he’d been told, but … it wasn’t contempt he saw in the man’s eyes. It was fear. Real fear. Colin blinked in surprise as the pilot turned away, busying himself with something that was clearly make-work. His hands were shaking. Colin had heard all the jokes, but … did spacers really think marines would jump them at the drop of a hat? And yet … there was something about the other man that was oddly familiar, as if they’d met before. Where?

  The gunboat quivered as it picked up speed. Colin sat, leaning against the bulkhead. They were effectively out of the fight. They’d go through decon as soon as they got back to Lion, even if the boffins were sure a combination of cold vacuum and UV light would kill the virus. He eyed the dead matter dripping off the suit and frowned. It looked like water, but … he knew how deadly contaminated water could be. One dose of the galloping shits had been enough to drive the lesson home. Purified water might taste funny, but at least it wasn’t unhealthy.

  He closed his eyes and tried to rest. His first combat mission and he’d done well. He knew he’d done well. And yet … the gunboat crewman was familiar. Why?

  Worry about it later, he told himself, sternly. Right now, you need your rest.

  Chapter Twenty

  “The operation was a success,” Staci reported. “The enemy fleet has lost its aggression.”

  Mitch nodded, stroking his chin as he studied the display. The virus’s ships seemed more than a little confused, their point defence shifting back to a robotic mode of operation as Lion and her gunboats fled the scene. It wouldn’t be long before it restored full communications links - it had to have something akin to an automated datanet, even if the virus generally handled all such matters itself rather than relying on electronic servants - but there was a window of opportunity. They had a chance to score a far more significant victory than merely blowing six brainships and a handful of other starships out of space.

  He pulled up the sensor records and hastily reviewed them. The enemy fleet had been caught by surprise, but they’d still managed to mount a defence. His lips thinned in displeasure. The missiles had done well, but not well enough. Too many had been stopped before they could throw themselves on their targets. Mitch wasn’t blind to the implications. The enemy fleet would report to its superiors, taking its sensor records with them. The next engagement might easily go the other way.

  And that means the fleet has to be stopped before it reports home, he thought, grimly. The flicker station was gone. There was no reason to think there were any unseen eyes, hiding behind a cloaking field and watching the engagement from a safe distance. The virus might be left baffled, if it never found out what had happened to the fleet. We can stop it now …

  He worked his way through the sensor records as Unicorn picked up speed. The enemy point defence was still fractured, each ship forced back on its own resources. It was just a matter of time until they pulled themselves back together, but until then …

  “Communications, get me a direct link to Lion,” he ordered. “I need to speak to Captain Hammond personally.”

  “Aye, sir,” Midshipman Culver said.

  Mitch waited, feeling the seconds ticking by. The window of opportunity was closing. He could feel it. Every instinct in his body demanded that he turn and charge the enemy fleet, launching missiles and firing plasma bolts until the enemy ships were wiped out. He would have too, if he’d thought there was even the slightest chance of survival. Unicorn was tough, for a ship of her size, but she’d be obliterated within seconds if she flew too close to the battleships. No, he couldn’t take action on his own. He had to talk Captain Hammond into taking action.

  He’ll understand, Mitch told himself, sharply. No starship commander can do very wrong who steers towards the enemy.

  Captain Hammond’s face appeared in Mitch’s display. He looked tired and worn for an officer who’d just scored a major victory. He’d proved the missile-heavy battlecruiser concept actually worked, even if the next engagement was going to be a little less one-sided. Mitch leaned forward, trying to communicate a sense of urgency. Captain Hammond had to understand. The window of opportunity wouldn’t last forever. It was already starting to look as if the enemy fleet was detaching couriers to fly through the other tramline and alert its superiors.

  “We’ve given them a nasty shock,” he said, bluntly. “They’re stunned, disoriented. We have to finish them now.”

  He pressed his case as strongly as he dared. “Hit them now, from outside their effective range. Take them out, before they can repair their datanets and fight back. End the battle with a crushing victory.”

  The display shifted. The enemy fleet was picking up speed. It had little hope of catching Lion, unless it slowed the battlecruiser somehow. He wasn’t too surprised to see the enemy carriers adjusting position, clearly preparing to launch their remaining starfighters. They’d take enough of a bite out of the battlecruiser to slow her down, long enough for the battleships to catch her up and pound her into scrap. Urgency ran through him. They had to strike now.

  “Their defences are still weak,” Mitch said. “We can take them!”

  Captain Hammond said nothing. Mitch felt his heart sink. They had the chance to score a crushing victory, they had the chance to smash an entire enemy fleet, and Captain Hammond was letting it go? The seconds were ticking by, one by one, as the enemy rebooted their defences and reorganised their fleets. His sensors were already picking up vast, impossibly complicated signals being exchanged between the enemy ships. Did the virus have a direct neural link between itself and its computers? Humanity had never been able to get the concept to work, but the virus was practically a sentient program in its own right. It might be halfway towards becoming a de facto cybernetic entity already.

  “We can take them,” Mitch repeated. They’d won the engagement, sure, but they hadn’t won the war. He didn’t care how powerful the virus was, or how many star systems and shipyards it controlled. Losing a fleet of brainships and battleships had to hurt. Even flushing their remaining missiles at the fleet would do some damage, surely. “Captain - Thomas - we have to act now.”

  ***

  Thomas said nothing as he studied the display. He could see Captain Campbell’s point. They had damaged the alien datanet, perhaps weakened it beyond easy repair. The virus’s reliance on brainships was an understandable weakness, but one that he had no qualms about using for his own advantage. And he knew, without false modesty, that his ship and crew had performed well. They’d given the enemy one hell of a beating. Losing the brainships would delay any planned offensive, at least long enough for them to be replaced. He was fairly sure it couldn’t be done quickly.

  And yet, the victory had been costly. He’d flushed two-thirds of his missiles into the enemy fleet. The tactical department was still studying the sensor records, still trying to determine how many missiles had actually hit their targets, but it was all too clear that a number of them had been shot down before they struck home. They’d have to analyse the records in more detail to determine how best to proceed, how best to coordinate their next missile launch to sneak through holes in the enemy defences. He simply didn’t have time. He could close the range - again - and open fire, but at what cost? The enemy carriers were already launching their starfighters. He could turn a victory into a defeat just by lingering long enough for the enemy to strike back.

  We have to quit while we’re ahead, he thought, coldly. The vectors were already narrowing. The enemy starfighters would have a window of opportunity of their own. It’s time to leave.

  “No,” he said.
“I think we’ve outstayed our welcome.”

  Captain Campbell’s face twisted, sharply. “Captain, with all due respect, opportunities like this don’t come every day.”

  Thomas felt a hot flash of anger. “Captain, we do not have the firepower to prolong the engagement,” he said. The enemy fleet’s sensors were growing stronger too, ensuring he couldn’t use missiles as makeshift mines. “The enemy starfighters will overwhelm us if we hang around long enough to close the range.”

  He gritted his teeth. He understood Captain Campbell’s point. They did have a chance to score a victory, but it meant putting the ship - both ships - in serious danger. Unicorn was designed to be expendable, if necessary; Lion was not. They had to get back to New Washington, report their victory … and, if the virus insisted on following them back to the American system, let the Americans deal with it. The Royal Navy wouldn’t get the credit - or at least not all of it - but Thomas wasn’t in the business of arguing over who got credit for what. The diplomats could sort it out, after the war. All that mattered was stopping the enemy fleet and winning the war.

  “But …”

  Thomas pushed as much command into his voice as he could. “Remain in cloak and continue to monitor the enemy fleet as Lion proceeds to the tramline,” he ordered. “Join us in New Washington once we’ve made it clear.”

  Captain Campbell looked irked. “Captain …”

  “That is an order.” Thomas cut him off, sharply. “A direct order, which you may have in writing if you wish.”

  The other commanding officer stared at him for a long moment. It wasn’t common to ask for orders in writing, certainly not in the middle of an engagement. They tended to make it harder to calm down and sort out who’d actually been right or wrong, to say nothing of engendering bad feeling … Thomas gritted his teeth, waiting to see what his subordinate would say. If Captain Campbell demanded orders in writing, if the review board decided Captain Campbell was in the right …