The Lion and the Unicorn

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “That won’t be necessary,” Captain Campbell said. “I’ll see you on the far side.”

  His image vanished. Thomas took a long breath, feeling cold. The disagreement would make it harder to build - to rebuild, he supposed - a working relationship. It didn’t help they were technically of the same rank, making it harder for one of them to admit the other’s superiority … he cursed under his breath. The review board would study the recordings, when they returned to Earth. If they felt Captain Campbell had been in the right … he shook his head, irritated. There was no point in worrying about it now. He’d made the best call he could, based on what he knew. If the review board felt differently, if the armchair admirals produced elaborate models suggesting he could have won the engagement effortlessly, he’d worry about it later.

  “XO,” he said. “Have all the marines been recovered?”

  “Yes, sir,” Donker said. “The gunboats are returning now.”

  “Good.” Thomas took a breath. “Order them to assume defensive positions and engage the enemy starfighters, when they come within range. Helm, take us back to the tramline. Best possible speed.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Hinkson said.

  Thomas forced himself to sit back in his chair as the battlecruiser started to pick up speed. The enemy fleet hadn’t opened fire with long-range missiles, even though they must have a solid lock on Lion now. Were they too disoriented to think straight? Or did they carry long-range missiles? It was impossible to be sure. The economic considerations that had deterred the Royal Navy from producing missiles, at least until there was no longer any choice, simply didn’t apply to the virus. It had shown no qualms about expending hundreds of missiles on a single target. And yet, it had to be aware it would be a colossal waste. The Americans might launch an offensive of their own, if they had reason to believe the enemy fleet was weakened …

  “Captain,” Sibley said. “The enemy starfighters will enter attack range in two minutes.”

  “Deploy missiles in antistarfighter mode,” Thomas ordered. The enemy was still sweeping space aggressively. They’d spot even a powered-down missile on a ballistic trajectory. “Fire at will.”

  “Aye, sir,” Sibley said.

  Thomas took a breath as the range closed. They should - in theory - be able to withstand the enemy starfighters until they crossed the tramline, but the theory had never been tested. A handful of torpedoes would be enough to slow the battlecruiser, if they didn’t destroy her completely. Hopefully, the enemy life support wouldn’t last long enough for them to do any real damage. They were operating at extreme range, even for them. He silently blessed the designers. Naval combat tactics were going to change - again.

  And we did hurt them, he thought, more to reassure himself he’d made the right call than anything else. Whatever happens to us, we’ve won time for the human race.

  ***

  For a long cold moment, Mitch stared at the blank display.

  He couldn’t put his thoughts into words. He’d known Captain Hammond was a conservative, in every sense of the word, but he’d never considered the man a coward. He had a war record that was longer than Mitch’s own, with genuine combat experience. He’d commanded starships in battle, then tried to impart lessons to officer cadets. And yet, he’d turned away from victory. A chance to really hurt the enemy and … and he’d let it go!

  It was unbearable. Mitch wanted to shake the older man, to demand he showed the aggression and determination of Nelson, Rodney, Cunningham and Smith. He wanted to call the man’s bluff, to demand he gave the orders in writing … to ensure the review board knew, in a way they couldn’t ignore, what he’d done. And yet, Mitch knew Hammond would find a way to weasel out. He was an aristocrat’s aristocrat. He had friends and family in high places. His career was good enough to let him coast through any controversy that might come his way. And the hell of it was that they would have a point! Hammond’s record was good enough that a single mistake, particularly one that didn’t get anyone hurt or killed, was not going to ruin him.

  Anger burned in Mitch’s gut. The perfect opportunity and Hammond had passed it up. And … Mitch had no idea what to do. Admiral Onarina would understand, he was sure, if he made a fuss … no one else would. The Admiralty would close ranks around their favoured son and … he shook his head. He had been given his orders, in a manner he couldn’t ignore. He had no choice. He’d have to carry them out, then protest when he got home.

  “Helm, draw us back,” he ordered. “Tactical keep us in cloak.”

  “Aye, sir,” Staci said.

  Mitch watched, grimly, as the enemy fleet picked up speed. It didn’t seem to care about stealth, not any longer. The fleet was emitting so many sensor pulses that a deaf man would have no trouble tracking it from a safe distance. Mitch watched the enemy ships, clearly delineated on the display, and cursed under his breath. The enemy craft would be easy to target, if Captain Hammond had the nerve. There’d been nothing in his file to suggest any Lack of Moral Fibre. And yet …

  Leave it, he told himself, sharply. Let him explain his decision when he gets home.

  He calmed himself, with an effort, as enemy starfighters lanced towards Lion. The battlecruiser’s gunboats spread out to meet them, forcing the enemy to fly though a hail of plasma fire. They didn’t seem to be wasting time trying to take out the gunboats, something that baffled Mitch as the battlecruiser picked up speed. Lion was the fastest capital ship in space, unless the virus had something that could move faster, but a starfighter should have no trouble catching her. They certainly should have enough time to launch a torpedo attack, return to their motherships to rearm, then launch a second attack run before the range got too long. Maybe they were more disoriented than he’d thought. His blood ran cold as a thought struck him. The virus considered its starfighters expendable. Perhaps they were planning to ram.

  “Captain,” Staci said. “They’re expanding their sensor sweeps. They may catch a whiff of us.”

  Mitch nodded, curtly. Unicorn’s cloaking device was the best in the known universe, but it had its limits. If the enemy filled space with sensor pulses, they might pick up something as the cloaking device struggled to compensate. And his point defence couldn’t hope to stand off an entire wing of enemy starfighters. It was definitely time to take their leave.

  “Helm, pull us back,” he ordered. “We’ll watch from a safe distance, then jump out.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  ***

  Thomas had no time to wonder if he’d made a mistake as wave after wave of enemy starfighters bore down on Lion. The gunboats filled space with plasma bolts, picking off dozens of enemy craft, but the remainder punched through the defences and started attack runs. Thomas gritted his teeth as a handful of starfighters lasted long enough to launch torpedoes at the hull and break off, the point defence letting them go as it focused on taking out the torpedoes before it was too late. A low rumble ran through the starship as the missiles slammed home, alerts flashing up on the display before fading as it became clear the damage wasn’t as extensive as he’d feared. His damage control teams were performing well, too. He allowed himself a moment of relief, then braced himself as the next wave of enemy starfighters started their attack run.

  A shame we couldn’t kill the carriers as well as the brainships, he acknowledged, in the privacy of his own mind. Captain Campbell might have had a point.

  He frowned as the last of the enemy starfighters broke off. The enemy fleet was reversing course, clearly heading back towards the planet. He was tempted to reverse course himself and expend his remaining missiles, but there was little hope of scoring a hit. The enemy point defence was just too good. The tactical analysts would have to come up with newer and better ways to get a missile through their defences. Thomas smiled, rather coldly. He’d had a pair of ideas himself.

  “Captain, we’ll be crossing the tramline in twenty minutes,” Fitzgerald reported.

  “Good.” Thomas studied the display for a long moment. “
Mr. XO, recall the gunboats, but keep the crews on the craft until we cross the tramline. I don’t want them in decon if we have to start fighting again.”

  “Aye, sir,” Donker said.

  Thomas smiled as Lion approached the tramline. Their first mission had been a success, by any reasonable standard. He had no doubt the Admiralty would agree. They’d proved the concept worked, which meant … he sighed, inwardly. The sceptics would argue that the enemy had seen the battlecruiser in action, ensuring that - next time - the virus would know what to expect. Thomas told himself not to be too pessimistic. They could come up with something new …

  “Helm, jump us out as soon as we cross the tramline,” he ordered. “It’s time to go home.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tobias spoke as little as possible as the gunboat docked with the battlecruiser, the crew and their unwanted passengers waiting silently for permission to open the airlock and enter the decontamination chamber. He was fairly sure the marines were clean, but he didn’t believe it. His skin crawled every time he thought about where they’d been …

  … And Colin was there. Colin was behind him.

  The thought mocked him. Tobias was sure Colin was right behind him, ready to slap his back and call it male bonding. Or smack the back of his head with a football or … or something. Why not? He’d done it before. Never mind that Tobias was controlling the guns, never mind that a distraction might be enough to get them all killed … he tried, hard, not to panic as the hatch finally opened. The marines got up - without waiting for orders, of course - and headed for the first decon chamber. Tobias breathed a sigh of relief, even though he knew they’d have to wait for them to pass decon before he and Marigold could leave the gunboat. At least they wouldn’t be sharing decon with his worst enemy … his worst enemy, who hadn’t recognised him.

  Tobias shook his head in disbelief. Colin had to have recognised him. Tobias hadn’t changed that much, had he? Marigold and some of the others had changed a lot over the last few months, but not him. He was still the same pudgy nerd he’d been in school. No uniform, naval or otherwise, could change his looks completely. Colin knew who he was. He was just biding his time, waiting for a chance to catch Tobias alone. It was just a matter of time.

  The intercom bleeped. “Proceed to Decon Compartment Two.”

  “Aye, sir,” Tobias said, although it was an automated message. “We’re on the way.”

  He shut the gunboat down completely - the decontamination team would vent the little craft, just to make sure there was no trace of the virus - then headed for the hatch. Decon wasn’t fun. It had been designed by a cold-blooded sadist who wanted to make damn sure that no trace of the virus got onto the ship and didn’t care how many people he had to make uncomfortable in the process. Marigold didn’t look remotely happy as they stepped through the hatch into the blaze of UV lights. It was hard to believe the virus could survive long enough to be dangerous. But if he was infected, the viral matter would be safe in him.

  “We’d have to go through decon anyway,” Marigold said, in a tone of voice that suggested she was trying to convince herself. “Right?”

  Tobias shrugged as he pressed his hand against a bioscanner, feeling a little prick that - as always - made him jump. The scanner techs claimed the bioscanner would pick up even the slightest trace of the virus, but Tobias had his doubts. The virus was an intelligent being, even if its thought processes were completely alien. Perhaps it could evade the scanners, perhaps … he didn’t feel reassured as he stepped into the next compartment and undressed, careful not to look at Marigold. They might have very little privacy onboard ship, but he’d give her what little he could. He doubted she was looking at him. He’d come to terms, long ago, with the simple fact neither girls nor boys found him attractive. Even a few months in the navy had done nothing to change that.

  The lights seemed to grow brighter as they kept walking, passing through a chemical shower that stung his eyes. It struck him as overkill, although - again - it was hard to be sure. His blood was tested again and again, until his palm started to ache uncomfortably. He breathed a sigh of relief as they finally reached the end of the decon section, where a shower and fresh clothes were waiting. They were clean. He’d never doubted it.

  Although I wouldn’t be able to tell if I’d been infected, he mused. The early zombies had gotten very ill, some of them reporting themselves as unfit for duty before the virus managed to take complete control. Later zombies - or so he’d been told - hadn’t suffered anything like so much before it was too late. I’d tell everyone I was clean even if I wasn’t.

  He shuddered as he showered and dressed. The uniform felt odd against his skin. His hair felt mucky, despite the shower. He wanted a hot bath and a long rest, perhaps not in that order. Was there even a single bathtub on the giant ship? He didn’t know. Even the commanding officer was unlikely to have more than the bare necessities. He snorted as he checked his appearance in the mirror. If the CO had a bathtub, he was unlikely to share it with the crew.

  “I need to cut my hair again,” Marigold said. “It feels icky.”

  “Mine too,” Tobias said. He glanced at the nearest display. They were back in the New Washington system, having made transit without bothering to slow down. There was no immediate risk of having to return to the gunboats and fly into battle. “Do you think they’ll let us have a rest before we start training again?”

  Marigold winked. “We went into battle, didn’t we?”

  Tobias stopped, dead. Their first engagement had been utterly unplanned, a desperate encounter with an alien squadron that had to have been as surprised to meet the gunboats as the gunboats had been to encounter it. He hadn’t felt right about boasting, even though he knew he and his comrades had performed well. But this time … they’d deliberately picked a fight with the virus and won. They’d given the virus a bloody nose … cold logic told him the virus wouldn’t have been that badly hurt, but he didn’t want to believe it. They’d won and … he smiled, suddenly. The simple fact they’d won their first engagement was one hell of a confidence booster.

  His good mood lasted until they reached the sleeping compartment. Bagehot was kneeling by a bunk, carefully emptying the drawers into a large box. Tobias opened his mouth to remind his CO that the bunk was Jim’s bunk, then stopped as he remembered Jim was dead. Jim and Sharon were dead. Ice washed through him, his legs buckling as he realised he’d never see either of them again. They’d been friends. They’d been amongst his first true friends. And they were dead.

  Marigold coughed. “Sir … what’ll happen to their stuff?”

  Bagehot looked up. “A handful of personal items will be sent back to their next-of-kin,” he said, curtly. “The remainder will be distributed amongst the squadron.”

  “I don’t feel right about taking it,” Tobias said. “Sir, I …”

  “Then don’t.” Bagehot moved to Sharon’s bunk and started to work. “They understood what would happen, just as you do. They knew better than to bring anything too personal onboard ship.”

  Tobias glared as Bagehot picked up a white bra and dumped it in the box. “How can you be so calm?”

  Bagehot looked back at him, evenly. “I’m sorry to tell you this,” he said finally, “but people die in war. Jim and Sharon knew the risks. The best thing we can do for them is honour their memory, then carry on.”

  Marigold turned away. “I … fuck.”

  “I do understand,” Bagehot said, gently. “Really, I do. But there’s nothing else I can do.”

  He cleared his throat as he finished emptying the drawer. “Get some rest. We’ll have a formal ceremony for them later, once we know what we’re doing. And we’ll make sure they didn’t die for nothing.”

  “We won,” Tobias said. “Why doesn’t it feel that way?”

  “They say one death is a tragedy, but a million deaths are a statistic,” Bagehot said. “Do you know why?”

  Tobias shook his head, silently.

 
“It’s because we cannot grasp a million lives, in all their … complexity.” Bagehot’s eyes were tired, tired and old. “We simply don’t have the connection to understand their existence. They’re just emotionless numbers. But a single human life, friend or enemy? We can understand them, we can grasp them. Jim liked playing computer games and had dreams of becoming a grandmaster, Sharon liked to cook and held out hope for opening her own place in the future. We knew them. And that’s why their death hurts.”

  He shook his head as he stood. “Like I said, get some rest. You need it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tobias said. “And …”

  The words froze on his tongue. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he wanted to thank Bagehot for his wise words or scream at him for being a cold-blooded bastard. It was hard to tell - it was impossible to tell - if Bagehot really gave much of a damn about Jim or Sharon. He hadn’t shown them any more respect or concern than he’d shown Tobias and Marigold. He might not have let himself get too close, just as Tobias had never let himself like too many people at school. They’d leave, eventually. Better not to get too attached.

  Bagehot left, closing the hatch behind him.

  “Good night,” Marigold said. “See you in the morning. Or afternoon. Or whenever.”

  Tobias shrugged as he clambered into his bunk. Jim and Sharon were dead. He’d liked them and they were dead and … he shook his head, trying to tell himself it didn’t matter. But it did. They hadn’t deserved to die, not like Colin. Colin deserved to die and …

  He cursed under his breath. It was going to be a long time before he fell asleep.

  ***

  “Overall, the operation was a success,” Major Craig said. “The patient died.”

  Colin tried not to smile at the weak joke. Half of the deployed marines had wound up trapped in interplanetary space, condemned to drift through the enemy formation until they could power up their drives and return to the mothership. The remainder had tried to board a handful of vessels, some unsuccessfully. He knew he’d done well, but he also knew there’d been a degree of luck involved. The whole operation could have gone spectacularly wrong.