And we’ll see those ships again, shooting at us, he reflected. Damn it.
“Helm, take us out on an evasive course,” he ordered. They’d be flying alone for a few hours, but … it was unlikely they’d run into anything they couldn’t handle. The remainder of the squadron was already on the far side of the tramline, waiting for the warships to join them. “Tactical, continue to monitor the sensor platforms as long as they remain within range.”
“Aye, Captain,” Staci said.
Mitch settled back into his chair, trying to resist the urge to brood. They had done well. They’d proven the battlecruiser-corvette combo - and the BioBombs - worked. And they’d given the enemy a punch in the jaw. Mitch remembered the brainship exploding and smirked, despite his frustration and rage. The virus would have to rethink its tactics in a hurry, now the brainships were vulnerable. It was just a shame they hadn’t been able to take out the entire fleet.
Next time, he promised himself. If he played his cards right, he could wind up in command of Lion’s sister ship. He’d show Captain Hammond precisely how to use his firepower to best advantage. Next time, things will be different.
***
“Transit complete, Captain,” Fitzgerald reported.
“Local space appears clear,” Sibley added. “We appear to have broken contact.”
Thomas allowed himself a moment of relief. The enemy fleet had broken off, eventually, but there’d been no guarantee the virus hadn’t been deploying cloaked ships to shadow Lion or simply signalled ahead. The question of precisely how the virus had managed to deploy a fleet in time to catch them had yet to be answered and probably never would, unless the spooks found a way to hack the virus’s records. It wasn’t likely to happen. The best the analysts had been able to suggest - that they’d missed a flicker station, somewhere along the tramline chain - wasn’t very helpful. He put the thought out of his mind. Right now, he had too many other things to worry about.
“Helm, take us to the RV point,” he ordered. “XO, have the marines evacuated the shuttles?”
“Yes, Captain,” Donker said. He glanced at his console. “We can handle the life support demands, for the moment. We’ll be pushing it if we have to keep the marines for more than a week or two.”
“Then we’ll keep moving,” Thomas said. Adding seven hundred marines to the crew would strain the life support to the limit, to say nothing of blocking corridors and generally making it harder to get from compartment to compartment, but they could handle it for a few days. The crew would cope. “I think we’ve outstayed our welcome.”
He leaned back in his chair. They’d link up with the remainder of the squadron, jump to the next system and pause long enough to transfer the marines to the troopship, then head straight back to New Washington. They could make their report from there - he sighed as he remembered he’d have to write a detailed report himself - and then wait for orders. If they were lucky, they’d be ordered to travel straight to Earth. His lips quirked. Charlotte would be happy. Her last message had threatened him with another party.
And we won, he thought. He couldn’t help feeling tired, but happy. We gave the virus a nasty fright and …
His mood soured. And now we’ve proved the counter-virus works, we’ll be using it again. And again. And how many people, humans and aliens, are we going to kill?
Chapter Forty
“You probably saved my life,” Colin said.
Tobias said nothing. The trip back to Earth had been uneventful, uneventful enough for him to spend days and weeks second-guessing himself. Had he done the right thing? He’d spent entire nights lying in his bunk, wondering if he should have blown the shuttle out of space … or given the enemy an opening to do it instead. By the time they’d reached the homeworld, he was utterly unsure of himself. And then Colin had asked for a meeting, inviting him to the observation blister for a chat. Tobias had come very close to refusing to go.
“Thanks,” he said, finally. He made a decision. Colin would never know how close he’d come to death. “What was it like, down there?”
“On the planet?” Colin’s eyes darkened. “It was a nightmare.”
Tobias nodded. “I can believe it.”
“I never realised just how bad it could be,” Colin said. “It wasn’t my first encounter with the zombies, but … back then, it was nothing like as bad.”
“I’m sure,” Tobias said. He supposed the shock had done Colin some good. He’d never had the luxury of thinking himself the apex predator, not when Colin and his cronies had constantly reminded him he was right at the bottom of the pecking order. “What did you want to say?”
“I wanted to say thanks,” Colin said. “And … I would like a chance to make things up to you.”
Tobias looked him in the eye. “What can you offer that would make up for nearly two decades of mistreatment?”
Colin looked back at him. “What would you like?”
“I thought I’d already answered that,” Tobias said. “But you can’t give me what I want.”
He sighed. “I could have killed you.”
“I put the gun in your hand,” Colin said. “All you had to do was pull the trigger.”
Tobias frowned. He hadn’t meant that. “You gave me a real gun?”
“A real gun, loaded and with the safety off,” Colin said. “I thought you knew how to shoot.”
“I just had a few lessons,” Tobias said. He smiled, suddenly. He’d feared Colin would trick him, assuming he wouldn’t know how to tell if the gun was loaded or not, but … Colin had assumed he would know. “They just told us to point one end at the enemy and pull the trigger. I kept missing my targets.”
Colin smiled. “Would you like me to teach you? Properly, I mean?”
Tobias hesitated. “We might be assigned to different ships,” he said. “We have a week’s leave and then … and then what?”
“We might,” Colin agreed. “The sergeant seems to think we - the marines, I mean - will stay together, rather than get broken up again. He might be wrong, but … I don’t know. If we’re on the same ship, though, would you like me to teach you?”
“I …” Tobias stared at the deck. He didn’t know. Part of him wanted to say no, to have as little to do with Colin as possible; part of him was tempted to take lessons. He was a military spacer. He had an automatic right to carry a gun if he passed the basic firearms qualifications test. “If you’re still here, then yes.”
Colin nodded. “I’ll drop you a note when I get back,” he said. “I’m on my way to Liverpool.”
“Ouch,” Tobias said. “What did you do to deserve that?”
“I have people to see, things to do, you know how it is,” Colin told him. He raised a hand. “I’ll see you later.”
Tobias nodded. “Have fun.”
He turned and left the compartment, passing a pair of repair technicians as they surveyed the ship. Marigold and he were supposed to leave later in the day, heading for a few days on Luna before returning to Earth to meet the parents. Both parents … he felt his stomach twist at the thought of meeting Marigold’s father. What would he make of Tobias?
It could be worse, he told himself, as he stepped into the sleeping compartment. She could have brought home Colin.
Marigold looked up at him. “Why the smile?”
“I just had a stupid thought,” Tobias said. “Are you ready to go?”
“More or less,” Marigold said. “And you?”
“I just have to shove everything in my bag,” Tobias said. He felt oddly free, now Colin and he had come to an … understanding. He guessed it was part of growing up. “Do you think your father is going to like me?”
“He’ll love you,” Marigold said. “Take my word for it.”
Tobias grinned. Things were definitely looking up.
***
“You performed well, both of you,” Admiral Onarina said. She sat behind her desk, studying the mission logs. “Do you have any insights into the operation that didn�
�t make their way into the reports?”
Thomas frowned. “Very few, Admiral,” he said, finally. “My concerns about the BioBombs were not unfounded, I believe. They are, effectively, a genocidal weapon. There’s no way we can hope to save even a fraction of the infected population, not even if the best medical care was available from the get-go. We condemned everyone on Brasilia to death.”
“They were dead anyway,” Captain Campbell pointed out. It wasn’t the first time they’d had the argument. “They were trapped in a permanent state of living death. There was no way we could have saved them.”
“No,” the admiral agreed. “The virus does immense damage to its host, even if the host seeks immediate medical attention. Past a certain point, it is simply impossible to liberate the host or repair the damage. The bodily damage is bad enough, but the brain damage is worse. There’s no way to save the host without killing the poor bastard in the process.”
“The BioBombs were not immediately effective,” Captain Campbell added. “The virus was able to realise the problem and take precautions, even though they weren’t enough to save the settlement. It was canny enough to deploy suited hosts … something that probably impeded its operations as much as the counter-virus itself. I think it will be looking for a more … useful solution too. A counter-counter-virus, if you like.”
“We’ll be studying the records closely and trying to figure out ways to improve the counter-virus,” Admiral Onarina said. “I think” - her eyes narrowed in contemplation - “there are a handful of possible options, now we’ve secured hard data from an infected world. It will give us time to regain our footing, produce newer and better ships and take the offensive.”
“It will also encourage the virus to retaliate in kind,” Thomas pointed out. “It may start looking for new ways to infect us.”
Captain Campbell snorted. “What can it do,” he asked, “that’s worse than what it’s already doing?”
Thomas smiled, humourlessly. “Do you want to find out the hard way?”
Admiral Onarina cleared her throat, loudly. “Those matters will be discussed in the War Cabinet and GATO,” she said. “They’ll make the final call. Until then” - she leaned forward - “I believe that both Lion and Unicorn performed well. Do you agree with that assessment?”
“Yes, Admiral,” Thomas said. “I believe the design and concept has proved its value.”
“Agreed,” Captain Campbell said. “We need to work out how to handle the design more aggressively, but overall I think both ships have proved their value.”
“Very good,” the admiral said. “Enjoy your leave. I don’t think there’ll be any need to alter plans at this stage. We’ll reconvene in a week or so.”
Thomas nodded. They’d been warned their ships would be redeployed relatively quickly, once the damage had been repaired and their magazines restocked, but there’d been few actual details. The Admiralty had something planned, yet … he shrugged as he rose, saluted and headed for the hatch. They’d be told in due time, he was sure. Until then …
“My wife would like the pleasure of your company at another ball,” he said, when he and Captain Campbell were outside. “You’d be welcome to stay at the hall again.”
“I think I can find time,” Captain Campbell assured him. “It just depends on where I am at the time.”
Thomas nodded. “I’ll forward you the details,” he said. “And you’d be welcome.”
***
Admiral Onarina watched the two men leave, uneasily aware that Captains Hammond and Campbell hadn’t quite managed to establish a professional relationship. Their reports were bland, but - reading between the lines - it was easy to pick out stresses and strains and disagreements between the two men. Hammond was conservative, cold and careful and generally unwilling to lift a finger unless he thought the odds were in his favour; Campbell was a hard-charging fire-eater who’d throw himself into anything, as long as it wasn’t quite suicide. Together, they would make a pretty good team. As polar opposites, on the other hand, they were likely to start working at cross purposes.
The intercom bleeped. “Admiral, Admiral Mason has arrived.”
“Send him in,” Susan ordered.
She smiled as the hatch opened, allowing Admiral Mason to step into the office. “Paul.”
“Susan,” Mason said. The hatch hissed closed behind him. “Did the meeting go well?”
“I assume you watched the debriefings,” Susan said, dryly. She keyed a switch, activating the privacy wall, then pressed her finger against the terminal to bring up a bundle of highly-classified files. “There’s some friction between the two of them.”
“How terrible,” Mason said. “How much friction was there between you and Captain Blake of unhappy memory?”
Susan gave him a sharp look. “I don’t think Hammond or Campbell are in quite the same league,” she said. Captain Blake had frozen in combat, something that had forced her to relieve him of command. She’d been very lucky to survive with her life, let alone her career. Being a war hero had its advantages. “They’re not cowards or fools.”
“Good.” Mason took a seat facing her. “The BioBombs worked.”
“Well enough,” Susan agreed. She would have preferred something that spread as fast as the virus itself, but it seemed she wasn’t going to get it. Not yet. “And I think we can proceed with Operation Grand Slam.”
“If you can talk everyone into going along with it,” Mason said. “And not everyone will.”
“I know.” Susan made a face. “Paul, you’ve seen the figures. Are we winning the war?”
Mason shook his head. “No.”
“Quite,” Susan agreed. She brought up the figures and stared at them. “We’re being ground down, piece by piece. The virus is pushing us, and our allies, to the brink. And if we don’t find a way to take the offensive - quickly - we’ll lose.”
Mason met her eyes. “And if the operation fails, we’ll lose quicker.”
Susan smiled, humourlessly. “Then we’d better not fail.”
The End
HMS Lion and HMS Unicorn Will Return In:
Fighting For The Crown
Coming Soon.
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If You Enjoyed The Lion and the Unicorn, You Might Like Debt of Loyalty (The Embers of War II).
Prologue
There was blood on the captain’s chair.
Lieutenant Commander Sarah Henderson tried not to think about Captain Saul as she took his seat. Saul had been a decent old man, for all that he’d been a dyed-in-the-wool reactionary who’d been reluctant to promote colonials when he could promote a Tyrian instead. She’d learned a great deal from the older man, from starship tactics to how to manipulate the system . . . and, perhaps unintentionally, just how badly slanted the system was against colonials. She’d thought, when she’d joined the navy, that there would be room for promotion, that she might climb to a command chair of her own. Instead, she’d discovered that most command chairs were reserved for Tyrians. She’d been lucky to be allowed to stay in the navy after the war had come to an end. She wasn’t blind to the simple fact that most of the officers who’d been placed on half pay, transferred to the naval reserve, or simply let go had been colonials. The old resentment had curdled long before the civil war had broken out. She was good enough to fight, to risk her life, but not good enough to be promoted into a command chair of her own.
She took a long breath as she studied Merlin’s display. The mutiny hadn’t been planned, not really. Sure, there had been times when she’d thought about taking the ship for herself, but it had been little more than an idle fantasy. Where would she go? A Warlock-class heavy cruiser was designed for long-duration missions, but Merlin would need a refit sooner or later. And what would she do? She hated pirates too much to become one, and there was little else she could do. But now . . .
It had happened so quickly, so quickly that part of her still couldn’t believe tha
t it had happened. It had been sheer goddamned luck that she’d been manning the communications console when the message came in, sheer goddamned luck that she’d been able to copy the message to a datapad and erase all traces from the message stream before Captain Saul or his XO had been able to see it. The orders had been clear—and devastating. All colonials, all naval personnel who weren’t from Tyre itself, were to be rounded up and held prisoner until they could be transferred to holding facilities on a penal world. Sarah had no idea what had prompted the message, not then, but she’d seen an awful truth in the cold, hard words. She could fight, she could take control of the ship . . . or she could go tamely to her fate.
And my ancestors didn’t tame their new home by being tame, she thought. She’d linked up with a dozen others, put together a plan at desperate speed, and taken the ship. The remainder of the crew—Tyrians, or colonials she couldn’t vet personally—had been put into lockdown, where they would stay until . . . She didn’t know. She honestly had no idea where to take her ship, not now. If I go home, what happens then?
She felt a worm gnawing at her heart as she paged through the starcharts. They were committed now. They had been committed from the moment the mutiny stopped being a theoretical exercise and turned deadly. There would be no mercy if the navy caught them. They’d be lucky if they were merely dumped on a penal colony, with a handful of supplies; they’d be more likely to be put in front of a firing squad and shot, their bodies unceremoniously cremated and the ashes dumped in the nearest sea. She knew they were committed . . . and yet, what were they to do?
A hundred ideas ran through her head. She could take the ship to her homeworld, but what then? The planetary government wouldn’t be pleased to see them. They’d have no choice but to hand Sarah and her comrades over to Tyre for trial and execution. And even if that hadn’t been a concern, the only thing that linked her and her comrades together was that they were all colonials. They came from a dozen different homeworlds. In hindsight, she wondered if that had been deliberate. The navy might have intended to spread its colonial recruits out as thinly as possible, just to keep them from developing any sort of planetary camaraderie. They were united by their dislike and resentment of the Tyrians, but disunited by everything else. No one would agree on where to take the ship if she put it to a vote.
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