The Lion and the Unicorn

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “I understand,” he said, finally. He felt as if he’d betrayed himself. Or he’d been betrayed. “When do we leave?”

  “Five days,” Admiral Onarina said. “I’d prefer to assign more ships, Captain, but we’re desperately short of deployable units. And … there’s a decent possibility the virus will ignore you, if it spots you in transit, because you’ll have only a small number of ships under your command.”

  “Or we might be grasping at straws,” Admiral Mason said. “You might have to fight your way through an enemy blockade.”

  “We can get there without being detected,” Captain Campbell said. He shrugged, dismissively. Getting there wouldn’t be hard, as long as they were careful. The enemy couldn’t watch every last inch of the tramlines. “Would it not be easier to bombard the planet with ice projectiles?”

  “It’s unlikely that either the virus or the counter-virus would survive the trip through the atmosphere,” Admiral Mason said. “We’re working on other ways to deploy the counter-virus, but none of them are particularly good. Not yet. We need a certain density of viral matter to have any effect at all.”

  Admiral Onarina leaned back. “I appreciate that this isn’t going to be pleasant,” she said, in a tone that suggested disagreement was pointless. It probably was, if the War Cabinet had signed off on the operation. He couldn’t stop it by saying no. “But it has to be done.”

  “We understand, Admiral,” Captain Campbell said. “It will be done.”

  Thomas nodded. “We’ll make sure of it, Admiral.”

  He kept his thoughts to himself. The virus infected brains, as well as bodies. He couldn’t believe its sudden destruction would liberate the host-body, not when the virus had been carving the poor bastard’s brain into mush. Thomas had heard all the jokes about brainless bureaucrats and civil servants, but … he shook his head as they were dismissed. Brain injuries were not funny. Even the slightest damage could prove fatal. And he couldn’t imagine the former hosts shaking off the virus and getting back to work. It simply wasn’t going to happen.

  “See you on the far side,” Captain Campbell said. He sounded disgustingly cheerful. “If this works …”

  “If this works, we will have condemned hundreds of thousands of people to death,” Thomas said, sharply. “There’s no way to avoid it. The best we can hope for is shock and trauma on a massive scale, an entire planet’s worth of people who have literally been enslaved suddenly finding themselves free … that’s absurd, so optimistic that …”

  He shook his head. “We’re going to commit genocide. Doesn’t it bother you? Just a little?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Doesn’t it bother you? Just a little?

  Mitch scowled as he made his way back to the shuttle. Captain Hammond’s question hung in his mind, but not for the reasons the older man might think. Mitch was perfectly aware that the BioBombs were likely to devastate the human population - he hadn’t needed Captain Hammond to point it out - yet he understood they didn’t have the luxury of time. The older man was an aristocrat, a man with a safety net that could keep him from losing everything … unless he did something really stupid or criminal. Mitch had grown up in a rough area, all too aware that the slightest mistake could cost him everything. The idea of everyone living in genteel harmony was nothing more than a joke.

  For me, at least, he reflected sourly. I never had the luxury of knowing I could get out of anything by mentioning the family name.

  He felt his scowl deepen as he considered the briefing. The blunt truth was that there was nothing they could do to save the infected population. He’d studied the reports, read them carefully. Only a handful of people had ever been saved from infection and none had come away unscarred. Their bodies had been permanently altered, to the point where no one could say - with complete certainty - that their thoughts were truly their own. And saving them had required so much medical intervention that there was no hope of saving more than a few thousand people. Captain Hammond could have his moral qualms, if he wished, but Mitch couldn’t allow himself the luxury. The poor bastards on the planet were trapped in a living death. They’d welcome real death.

  Dull hatred burned in his thoughts as the shuttle undocked and headed for Unicorn. He had no fear of death, no fear of squaring off against an enemy bigger and stronger than himself, but the virus was something else. Invisible to the naked eye, floating in the air … just waiting for him to take a breath and suck it into his bloodstream. It could infect him, it could start turning him into a soulless monster, and he’d never know. He could infect countless others before the symptoms became obvious, without ever being aware of what he was doing. The virus just didn’t play fair. There could be no compromise. It had to be destroyed.

  He plugged the datachips into his datapad and scanned the files, one by one. Admiral Onarina had put together a good plan, although it was a little basic for Mitch’s tastes. She’d been a starship officer herself, he recalled. She probably knew to give basic orders, then leave more detailed planning and execution to the people actually charged with carrying them out. Mitch felt a wash of appreciation, tempered by the grim knowledge they’d be in deep shit if the virus reacted quickly. They’d be going beyond the flicker network, going so far out of contact that there’d be no hope of summoning help before it was too late. There was a very good chance the Royal Navy would never know what had happened to them, if things went spectacularly wrong. He smiled, unfazed by the thought. The flicker network was, like most innovations, good and bad. It was useful to have a direct link home, sometimes, but it also meant senior officers looking over one’s shoulder. It could a pain in the arse.

  The shuttle shuddered as it docked. Mitch stood and headed for the hatch, which opened as he approached. He stepped into the airlock, pressed his hand against the bioscanner and waited for it to clear him. The virus didn’t seem to be able to take root without permanently altering the host’s blood, or so he’d been told. Mitch had his doubts about it. The virus might not be remotely human, but it was intelligent. It had to be constantly looking for ways to evade the bioscanners.

  “Captain.” Staci greeted him as he stepped onto the bridge. “Did you have a good leave?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Mitch said. He’d been glad to leave Captain Hammond’s estate, the day after the party. It was just a shame he hadn’t had time to do much with his leave. “Yourself?”

  “Found a couple of girls and had fun,” Staci said, with a shrug. “Do we have new orders?”

  “Yes,” Mitch said. He filled her in, quickly. “Are we ready to depart?”

  “Pretty much, once the rest of the crew gets back,” Staci said. “It wasn’t as though we expended most of our weapons.”

  Mitch frowned as he took his command chair and studied the reports. Their first mission had been interesting, but … he couldn’t help feeling as though he’d done nothing while Lion did all the work. And then … he shook his head. He’d made his feelings clear, when he’d written his report. Admiral Onarina hadn’t raised the issue, as far as he knew. She probably felt it wasn’t worth the effort. Captain Hammond would have to do something dire to get in real trouble.

  “Good,” he said. “Inform the crew I want them all back in three days. We’ll have time to settle in before we depart. Again.”

  “Aye, sir,” Staci said. “There’ll be some grumbling, of course.”

  “Of course,” Mitch echoed. “We’ll cope with it.”

  Staci grinned. “If this works, it could shorten the war.”

  “Yes.” Mitch nodded. If the counter-virus worked, it was time to start dusting every infected world. The virus would be rocked back on its heels, then obliterated. “All that remains is the proper application of overwhelming force.”

  ***

  Tobias tried hard to look professional as the shuttle glided towards the docking port, but it was impossible. The urge to grin was overwhelming. They’d spent three days in bed and … he smiled, remembering just ho
w close they’d come to missing the shuttle. It had been a learning experience - in hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have watched so much porn - and it had taken them time to get the hang of it …

  He squeezed Marigold’s hand. He couldn’t believe she liked him. They had a lot in common, he supposed, but … he just couldn’t believe it. He was tempted to pinch himself, time and time again. Who’d have thought anyone would like him? He remembered all the crap he’d heard in the locker room, all the rude talk about girls and sex and girls and … he shook his head. It had been nothing more than bullshit. He knew that now, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Anyone who really liked a girl, who did stuff with a girl, would keep his mouth firmly shut. The girl wouldn’t be happy if the boy bragged.

  I bet Colin was lying his arse off, Tobias thought. He was in such a good mood that he regarded his nemesis with contempt, rather than fear. No girl in her right mind would do all the horrid things he said she did.

  He sobered as the shuttle docked, the hatch hissing open. They were still holding hands. It wasn’t easy to step back and let go, despite everything. He wanted the entire world to know … he frowned. Maybe there was something to the bragging after all. Maybe. He winked at her as they headed for the hatch, pressing their hands against the bioscanners as they passed. The system didn’t bleep an alarm. They were clean. He wondered, suddenly, how they were going to make love onboard ship. The sleeping compartment was hardly private.

  “Briefing in twenty minutes,” Bagehot said, as they entered Pilot Country. “I’ll see you both there.”

  “Aye, sir,” Tobias said.

  He splashed some water on his face, checked his appearance in the mirror, then nodded to himself. His lips looked normal. Marigold, thankfully, didn’t use lipstick. The rest of the gunboat pilots wouldn’t be remotely professional if they saw red lipstick on his face, he was sure. Marigold washed herself, gave him a quick hug and headed for the hatch. Tobias grinned and followed her. He tried not to look at her too openly. The others would notice and then …

  This isn’t school, he told himself. Everyone will be a little more professional.

  “First order of business,” Bagehot said. “Emily and Quentin have been reassigned to the academy. They’ll be teaching the next generation of gunboat pilots so they learn from our experiences - and our mistakes. I was hoping to avoid losing them so quickly, but the Admiralty was very insistent the program is pushed forward.”

  “Poor them,” someone said, from the rear. “What did they do to deserve it?”

  Bagehot snorted. “We have four new pilots assigned to the squadron,” he continued, indicating the newcomers. “You’ll have a chance to meet them formally later, and you’ll be in simulators with them from tomorrow until we meet the enemy, but I expect you to welcome them.”

  Jim and Sharon’s replacements, as well as Emily and Quentin’s, Tobias thought. He felt … odd. Jim and Sharon had been friends. The brief memorial service hadn’t been enough, not really. The newcomers were trying to take their place … he knew, intellectually, that the newcomers didn’t mean to take anyone’s place, but he couldn’t help feeling a little resentment. He told himself not to be stupid. It isn’t their fault.

  “Second, we’ll be departing in five days, unless the schedule is put back again,” Bagehot continued. “Same as before, take the time to record last messages and rewrite your wills if you wish before we actually depart. You should understand, now, that death can strike at any time. Don’t leave something you want to say unsaid.”

  Tobias bit his lip. He’d thought about visiting his mother and sister, but … he shook his head. He wouldn’t have given up his time with Marigold for anything. And yet … he knew he’d feel guilty for not calling them, let alone visiting. He told himself, sharply, that he could record a message at any time. He might even be able to call them directly. They weren’t that far from Earth.

  Bagehot continued, outlining a handful of details and duty rosters. He didn’t say much about the mission, somewhat to Tobias’s surprise. They’d probably get the details once they were on their way to … to wherever they were going. Not, Tobias supposed, that it mattered. He doubted Captain Hammond wanted, or cared, about his opinion. The gunboat pilots were pretty low on the totem pole.

  “Tobias, Marigold, stay behind,” Bagehot concluded. “The rest of you, dismissed.”

  Tobias blinked as the other pilots hurried for the hatch. He was being held back … no, they were being held back. He forced himself to remain calm, even though he was suddenly very unsure of himself. He and Marigold … were they going to be rewarded? Or punished? In his experience, being asked to remain behind was never good news.

  Bagehot leaned forward. “I trust you enjoyed your leave?”

  Tobias blushed. “Yes, sir.”

  “And that you enjoyed each other too?” Bagehot’s face was carefully blank. “Right?”

  Marigold’s voice sounded remarkably even. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

  “You’re orienting on each other,” Bagehot said, dryly. “Your relationship went to the next level, did it not?”

  Tobias felt his blush grow deeper. “Sir, I …”

  Bagehot held up a hand. “Two things,” he said. “First, I don’t give a damn what you do on your time off. Starfighter pilots have always had a great deal of latitude and it looks as though gunboat pilots are going to have the same. Live fast, die young, leave a cloud of free-floating atoms in space. There are privacy tubes, for privacy. Use them.

  “Second, I expect you to behave professionally when you’re on duty. No hugging, no kissing, no screwing in the gunboats … no attempts to repeat the experiment to determine how many young idiots you can fit in a starfighter. If you break up, I expect you to stay professional even if you come to hate each other. Behave professionally and we won’t have to have another chat. Act like idiots and you’ll wind up in hot water.”

  “Yes, sir,” Marigold said.

  “Good.” Bagehot’s eyes moved from Tobias to Marigold and back again. “You’re not fooling anyone. The rest of the squadron will know soon, if they don’t know already. Just … keep it professional when you’re on duty.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tobias wanted to die of embarrassment. He’d known couples who’d been caught behind the bike sheds and wondered, at the time, why they’d made a fuss. They’d been kissing … at least they’d had someone to kiss! He understood now. “We’ll be professional.”

  “Good,” Bagehot said. “I appreciate your careers are unconventional. I also appreciate that you and your fellows are unlikely to spend the rest of your working lives in the navy … assuming you survive. However, I expect a degree of common sense. I have neither the time nor the patience to handle a teenage scream act and, believe me, nor does the captain. If you do something that brings you to his attention, it will be too late for NJP.”

  Tobias swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

  Bagehot nodded. “Out,” he ordered. He pointed a finger at the hatch. “I’ll see you in the simulators tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir,” they said.

  Marigold said nothing else until they were heading back to the sleeping compartment. “We’d better be very careful,” she said. “The captain can order us spaced.”

  “Yeah.” Tobias considered it for a moment. It had been only a few short hours since they’d been in bed together and his body was insisting, despite everything, that it had been too long. “Do you think the privacy tubes are free now?”

  “I have no idea,” Marigold said. She winked at him, then made a show of looking up and down the corridor before kissing him quickly on the lips. “And right now, I think we need to sleep.”

  ***

  “That’s the last of the reports, sir,” Donker said. “We have a full complement of missiles again.”

  Thomas nodded, barely hearing his XO. The reports had been clear and comprehensive. Lion was ready for action again. The tactical staff had communed with their fellows on Nelson Base and updated th
eir doctrine, ensuring that - next time - they’d be able to hurt the enemy. Thomas’s lips thinned. Enough enemy ships had survived the previous encounter to report back to higher authority, ensuring the virus knew what had happened to its brainships. At the very least, it would make sure to deploy more point defence units to its fleets. It might even deploy armed shuttles or gunboats of its own.

  There’s certainly no reason why it can’t, Thomas thought. We know it likes long-range missiles. Twinning them with gunboat targeting systems will hardly pose a real challenge.

  He scowled at the datapad, then looked up. “And the squadron?”

  Donker frowned. “Calling it a squadron is perhaps pushing things, sir.”

  Thomas nodded. He’d wondered why someone higher-ranked hadn’t been assigned to the mission, perhaps with a dedicated staff of his own, but he hadn’t needed more than a glance at the squadron list to figure out the answer. There were eight ships assigned to the squadron, only three of which were real warships. The remainder consisted of a troop carrier, an escort carrier and three missile-heavy freighters. In theory, the latter could fire missiles as effectively as Lion herself. Thomas had his doubts. It was far more likely they’d be doing nothing more than hauling missiles for the battlecruiser.

  Which is better than being nothing more than sitting ducks, he mused. At least they can shoot back if they spot raiders coming at them.

  He let out a breath. “We have what we have,” he said. “Are they ready to depart?”

  “They say so,” Donker said. He didn’t sound as though he believed himself. The crews were merchantmen, conscripted into the navy. They’d know their jobs - space was unforgiving to the ignorant or stupid - but they lacked polish. They might also push the limits of the possible as far as they’d go. “However, we’ve had no time to train as a unit.”

  “I think we’ll have to do that on the way,” Thomas said. He rubbed his forehead in exasperation. The squadron was unlikely to survive a direct confrontation with the enemy fleet. He might be better off ordering the freighters - and the escort carrier - to remain in stealth while the warships did the hard work. Better that than watching helplessly as they were blown into atoms. “If not … we’ll just have to leave the older ships out of the line of battle.”