Para Bellum

by Christopher Nuttall

  The chairman cleared his throat. “I believe we’ve gone as far as we can for the day,” he said, making a show of checking his watch. “Captain Shields, thank you for your time. You’ll have our decision by the end of the week.”

  Unless you want to call me back for some worthless questioning, Stephen thought. You’ve heard everything I can tell you - twice, perhaps - and you still want to waste my time.

  He kept that thought off his face. “Thank you, Mr. Chairman,” he said. It was hard not to allow sarcasm to slip into his voice. “I am at your disposal.”

  His lawyer walked next to him as they headed for the hatch. “They’re unsure how to proceed,” he muttered. “As long as they’re asking questions, they don’t have to make any decisions.”

  “No wonder they’re not on command decks,” Stephen muttered back. A starship captain had to make a decision and stick to it, even if that meant putting his neck on the line, not waffle endlessly until his ship was blown into dust and plasma. “Seriously, what’s our chances?”

  The lawyer said nothing until they walked through the hatch and into the corridor. “I’d say sixty-forty they recommend that all charges be dropped,” he said. “There’s no moment of egregious misconduct from you, Captain, and without that they’ll have some problems justifying putting you in front of a court-martial board. I think they’ll be happier not trying to try a national hero.”

  Stephen shrugged. One half of the country had considered him a hero when he and his ship had returned, bringing warning of a new interstellar war; the other half had seen him as a villain, the bearer of bad news. That half would believe - they’d want to believe - that Stephen had fucked up First Contact so badly that a multispecies alien confederation had declared war on Earth. And, because of his family connections, his fate wouldn’t be decided by the navy. Parliament would become involved. The final decision wouldn’t be based on anything he’d actually done, but on what was politically acceptable.

  And my superiors will throw me under the shuttlecraft, he thought, sourly. The First Space Lord had signalled his support, but Stephen had no illusions. If the politicians wanted him punished, he’d be punished. Perhaps I should have gone into law instead, or sought an easy seat in Parliament.

  He shook his head. He loved the navy. He loved command. And the situation was not hopeless. His family’s enemies would have to find a figleaf of justification before they could hang him - perhaps literally - and, so far, no such justification had materialised. He had to keep fighting if he wanted to return to his ship. Invincible was currently being repaired, under his XO’s command. He was damned if he was just letting go of command after how hard he’d had to work to get it.

  A young midshipwoman ran up and saluted. “Captain Shields?”

  Stephen returned her salute. “Yes?”

  “Sir, a car has arrived for you,” the midshipwoman said. “It’s waiting at the main gate.”

  Stephen dismissed his lawyer and hurried down the stairs to the main gate. A large black limousine, with tinted windows, was waiting for him. A uniformed chauffeur stepped out of the front door as Stephen approached, saluted him, and opened the rear door. Stephen was not remotely surprised to see his brother sitting in the vehicle. It was the sort of thing his brother would do.

  “Duncan,” he said, stiffly. “What are you doing here?”

  “Get in,” Duncan said. “We don’t have much time.”

  Stephen hesitated, then climbed into the limousine. The chauffeur closed the door behind him. Silence fell, abruptly. Duncan gestured to a seat; Stephen looked around, noting the silent maid lingering at the back of the vehicle, then sat down. The vehicle hummed into life a moment later. There was barely any sense of motion.

  “Our latest car,” Duncan said. He sounded as if he’d built the limo himself. “What do you think?”

  Stephen snorted. “How much of the family fortune did you waste on this ... this white elephant?”

  “I assure you that this vehicle isn’t useless,” Duncan said. “We have a minibar, a small portable cooker, desks and chairs and, of course, secure links to the datanet. I can conduct my business while travelling around the country.”

  “You could also get from one end of the country to the other in less than an hour,” Stephen pointed out, although he knew it was a waste of time. Duncan had always believed an aristocrat had to look wealthy as well as be wealthy. The family name demanded a show of conspicuous consumption. Stephen had never believed that, but then he’d gone into the navy, where efficiency was prized over everything else. “I assume you have a reason for meeting me?”

  Duncan smiled. “Do I need a reason to speak to my little brother?”

  “You never said a word to me at school,” Stephen said. “Ever.”

  “You know as well as I do that older kids are not supposed to talk to the younger kids,” Duncan said. That was unfortunately true. “I’m sure I said a word or two to you during the holidays. And did I not speak to you after we both left school?”

  Stephen shrugged. “And now?”

  Duncan met his eyes. “The Leader of the Opposition has been trying to figure out a way to use your court-martial to bring down the government,” he said. “However, it doesn’t look as though you gave them enough rope to hang the Prime Minister. I doubt a vote of no confidence could be passed right now.”

  “That’s something,” Stephen said. He’d always disliked politics, even though he’d been brought up in an aristocratic family. The navy life was far simpler. “What now?”

  “They’ll try and find some kind of face-saving solution, I suppose,” Duncan said. “They staked too much on you. Now, they need to find a way to let you go without making it look as though they were tormenting you for fun and games. I imagine they’ll redefine the whole courtroom session as a fact-finding mission.”

  “They certainly found a great many facts,” Stephen said, dryly. “When can I go back to my ship?”

  “When they figure out a way to save face.” Duncan shrugged. “We’re not going to hammer them too hard over the issue - the government’s majority is too thin - but they won’t take that for granted. They’ll assume we’ll take full advantage of their mistake.”

  “Perhaps you should,” Stephen said. “Really try and put the boot in.”

  “We wouldn’t be able to do enough damage to matter,” Duncan said. “And we don’t want a political catfight right now. The country is unsettled enough.”

  He tapped a switch. The tinted windows became transparent. Stephen frowned as he realised where they were. The limo was crossing Admiralty Bridge, heading towards Whitehall, driving past a steady stream of protesters. Many of them were carrying signs, protesting against the new war. He sucked in his breath, sharply. They were walking so closely together that the virus would have a field day, if one of the protesters was infected. They’d all be infected soon enough.

  “I thought large gatherings were going to be banned,” he said, as he spotted a handful of policemen. They were watching the crowd, but making no attempt to break it up. “What happened?”

  Duncan gave him a sharp look. “Political realities,” he said, curtly. He tapped the switch again. The windows darkened. “Shutting down the schools is one thing, but shutting down everything else is quite another. And there’s no reason to believe the virus has reached Earth.”

  Stephen gritted his teeth. There had been a number of starships at Wensleydale that hadn’t known to take extensive precautions against biological contamination, even though they were dealing with a previously-unknown alien race. And some of those ships had disappeared. It was tempting to believe that their crews had managed to hit the self-destruct before they’d been overwhelmed, but he didn’t dare believe it. Planetary defence networks had orders to destroy the ships on sight, yet ... it would be easy to sneak a shuttle down to the surface and begin the infection. Earth might already have been infected.

  “Those idiots are going to get themselves killed,” he snarled. �
��And they’ll get a lot of innocent people killed with them.”

  “Perhaps,” Duncan said. “But they also don’t want war.”

  Stephen laughed, harshly. “Do you suppose the universe cares what they want?”

  “No,” Duncan said. He sounded as though he understood. “But they do have good reasons for wanting it.”

  “I know,” Stephen said.

  He shook his head. He understood, too. Of course he understood. Twenty years ago, the First Interstellar War had brought the human race to the brink of defeat. The Tadpoles had bombarded Earth, killing millions of humans and destroying the work of hundreds of years. And then Britain had skirmished with India, shortly before the Second Interstellar War had pitted humanity and its enemies-turned-allies against a pair of alien races that had made common cause and set out to conquer the galaxy together. The human race had seen too much change in the past few years, too many reminders that the universe was red in tooth and claw. He was uneasily aware that Britain - and the remainder of the Great Powers - had lost so much that something was going to break. And now ...

  And now, we have a whole new war, against an extremely dangerous and deadly race, he thought. I’d vote against it too if I thought it would make a difference.

  “We’re switching to a full war footing now, aren’t we?” Stephen met his brother’s eyes, hoping to see confirmation. “Aren’t we?”

  “We are,” Stephen confirmed. “The Opposition’s grown-ups realise that the threat exists, even though their backbenchers want to use the crisis to demand concessions. We’re preparing for war at breakneck speed.”

  Stephen nodded, relieved. The Royal Navy had been taken unawares by the new threat, but a great many lessons had been learnt during the First Interstellar War. This time, procedures were in place to call up the reserves, draw weapons and spare parts from stockpiles that had been extensively built up during peacetime and prepare to go on the offensive. Starships were probably already being dispatched to Falkirk, the point of contact, in hopes of blunting an alien offensive before it could reach the more populated parts of the human sphere. He was fairly sure the Admiralty was already considering ways to go on the offensive. No one ever won a war by sitting still and waiting to be hit.

  But we have no idea of just how much territory they control, he reminded himself. They might be expecting us to launch an offensive; hell, they may intend to destroy the invasion fleet and then follow up with a full-scale offensive of their own.

  “There is a cost, of course,” Duncan added. “Do you know how many people are reservists?”

  “No,” Stephen said.

  “There’s always been a push to favour reservists when it comes to selecting candidates for a job,” Duncan said. “The family industries have done their part. But if the reservists are called up to go to war, there’s going to be a problem replacing them. Losing one reservist isn’t a bad thing, but losing all of them at once ... there is no way replacements for everyone can be invited to apply, be interviewed and accepted before the losses start to bite.”

  He shook his head. “And that problem is affecting the entire country,” he said. “I dare say it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

  “Probably,” Stephen said. “But think how much worse it will be if we lose.”

  “I know that,” Duncan snapped. “But how many people don’t grasp the sheer scale of the threat? There were all sorts of problems during the Second Interstellar War. They’ll be worse here.”

  “Probably,” Stephen said, again. Civilians didn’t understand the realities of interstellar warfare. A threat might be a few hundred light-years away, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t touch Earth. “I can’t wait to go back to space.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Duncan told him. There was an oddly wistful tone in his voice. “I wish I could go to space too.”

  The limo came to a halt. Stephen looked up as the door opened, revealing the chauffeur and a darkening sky. He glanced at his watch as Duncan rose and climbed out of the vehicle. It was seven o’clock. And yet, it was strikingly quiet. He frowned as he followed his brother onto the streets. London was a city that never slept. Normally, the streets would be filled with tourists making their way to the theatres or the city’s vast selection of cafes and restaurants. There was nowhere else in the entire world that had so many diversions for the educated palate. And yet, the city was quiet. Even the hum of traffic was dulled.

  “The club’s still open,” Duncan said. “I thought I’d treat you to dinner.”

  Stephen glowered at his retreating back. “And the rest of the city?”

  “Martial law has been declared,” Duncan reminded him. “The city is shutting down for the night.”

  Good, Stephen thought. He snorted, rudely, as they walked past the bowing doorman and headed up the stairs. Naturally, the aristocracy had ensured that their spaces were spared the attention of the law. But the population will not be pleased.

  He shook his head as they passed a cluster of UV lights. The public would not be pleased, if they realised what was happening. There was nothing to be gained by shutting down the city’s nightlife to prevent infection if a handful of select clubs were allowed to remain open. And yet, it would help keep the population alive, if the virus reached Earth ...

  ... And that, as far as he was concerned, was all that mattered.

  Chapter Two

  She was not, precisely, a prisoner.

  Captain (Marines) Alice Campbell lay on her back in the hospital ward, as naked as the day she was born. Her hands and feet were secured with thin metal straps, strong enough to hold an enhanced human, while cold light blazed down at all hours of the day. It wasn’t quite as bad as the dreaded Conduct After Capture course - no one was hitting her, or threatening to rape her - but it was still unpleasant. There were few luxuries in the room and none of them made up for being trapped. She was uneasily aware that she was losing muscle tone with every day that passed on her back.

  She looked up at the holographic images playing over her head and scowled. The doctors probably thought they were being kind and sensitive, when they’d refused her access to any news channels, but she found it frustrating. She wanted to know what was going on, damn it! No one had been very informative since she’d been taken from Invincible, save for a nurse who’d told her she’d been moved to a highly-classified military base. Alice guessed she was on an asteroid. No one in their right mind would conduct biological warfare research on a planetary surface.

  Probably some distance from the rest of the system, she thought, as she switched off the holograms. There was only so much Doctor Who one could stand before one started to go mad. And probably quite close to the sun, for convenient disposal of any accidents.

  She sighed, inwardly. She was no expert on biological warfare, but her training had included simulations of operations in regions infected by genetically-engineered - and effectively incurable - diseases. The briefing officers had made it clear that the only defence against biological weapons involved engineering the disease themselves, then using the disease to create a vaccine. Alice had asked, after the briefing, if there was any difference between biological warfare defence research and biological warfare research. The briefing officer had hesitated to answer, then admitted - finally - that there was very little difference between the two. One had to play with fire in order to keep others from playing with fire.

  A door opened. It was practically silent, but she’d been lying in the chamber long enough to become intimately familiar with every one of its sounds. She turned her head to see a figure, covered from head to toe, walking towards her. The doctors never entered the room without protective garments, even though she was constantly bathed in ultraviolet light. They were too scared of infection to show her their faces. She could barely see their eyes through their masks.

  They have to be bloody uncomfortable, she thought, nastily. She’d tried to fight in protective suits, back during basic training, and it had been hot and
sweaty. They’d also made easy targets. Hiding from enemy fire was hard enough when one wasn’t wearing a heavy suit. But they’re right to be scared.

  “Alice,” the doctor said. “Can you hear me?”

  “I can’t hear anything,” Alice said, dryly. “Not a single word.”

  She knew she should cooperate, but she was growing sick of lying on her back. She was used to a complete lack of privacy - prudes didn’t join the Royal Marines - but the isolation was getting to her. She wanted to talk to someone, someone she actually liked. She’d even chat with her sister if it meant being able to talk to someone who wasn’t a doctor.

  “That’s good to hear,” the doctor said, her sarcasm washing off him like water off a duck’s back. “Are you ready to proceed?”