Alice grinned as she hastily took one of the suits and pulled it over her shipsuit. The hunters might not think to check the storage room at first, not when they knew there was no way out. They wouldn’t expect her to trap herself, would they? If she was lucky, she could make that work against them. She finished donning the spacesuit, then leaned against the bulkhead and waited. They would check the storage room, sooner or later. She just hoped they couldn't see her eyes.
The hatch hissed open, five minutes later. Alice cursed under her breath. That was quicker than she’d expected. Perhaps they’d narrowed her location down more than she’d thought. It made sense, she supposed. They might have had checkpoints all along the corridor. If they knew she hadn’t gone in either direction, she practically had to be in the storage room ...
I should have kept the stunner within reach, she thought, as two marines entered the compartment and looked around. They moved with a calm professionalism that made her smile, even though she was starting to wonder if she’d ever be able to rejoin their ranks. I could have stunned them both and walked out of the compartment.
Alice tensed as the marines poked and prodded around the compartment, making sure she wasn’t hiding behind the spacesuits or the boxes of supplies. Would they think she might be hiding in the spacesuits? They stopped after a long moment, muttering to each other so quietly that Alice couldn’t make out the words, then headed out the hatch. Alice almost started giggling. Parkinson was not going to be pleased with the two marines when the time came to review the exercise. Bundled up in a spacesuit, Alice would have been an easy target ... if they’d seen her. And they hadn’t thought to check ...
Unless they’re waiting outside, she thought. They might be waiting for me to show them where I’m hiding.
She considered it for a long moment, then dismissed the thought. They’d been told, time and time again, not to be clever. If they’d known where she was, they should have grabbed her immediately. Instead ... she wondered, wryly, just what Parkinson was thinking. If he had a rough idea of where she was, he might order the marines to make a more careful search of the entire section. She considered, briefly, simply staying where she was, then dismissed the idea. The next set of searchers might be a little more careful.
Smiling, she clambered out of the spacesuit and headed for the hatch, unhooking the stunner from her belt. The hatch hissed open, revealing a pair of marines standing with their backs to her. They spun around, their hands grabbing for weapons, too late. Alice stunned them both and watched as they fell to the deck. Parkinson was going to kill them. Her lips twitched at the thought. No, he wouldn’t kill them, but he’d give them the ass-chewing of the millennium. She checked one of the bodies until she found the terminals, then used the marine’s fingerprint to unlock the device. Parkinson’s orders popped up on the screen. He seemed to think she’d somehow made it into the next section.
The marine’s headset bleeped. “Higgins, report.”
Alice hesitated. She’d seen countless movies where the good guys were able to impersonate the bad guys and convince their superiors that nothing was wrong, but it didn’t work so well in real life. She simply didn't sound like a male marine. And yet, Parkinson would know that something was wrong. Higgins hadn’t responded. And that meant ...
She put the terminal down on the deck - the marines would probably be able to track it - and hurried down to the section hatch, careful not to go too close. Parkinson would dispatch some of his men to check on the fallen marines ... and, if she was lucky, they’d be sent from the force guarding the hatch. She smiled as she heard footsteps running towards her. The marines were on their way. She pressed herself into a sideroom, clutching the stunner in one hand. If Parkinson outguessed her, she’d have bare seconds to take them down before they got her. But the marines ran past ... she gave them a few moments to get out of hearing range, then hurried down the corridor herself. The hatch looked unguarded ...
There’ll be guards on the far side, she reminded herself. Parkinson won’t leave the hatch completely empty.
She keyed the switch, opening the hatch. Three men stood on the far side, their weapons raised and pointed at her. Alice froze, hastily evaluating the situation. Perhaps if she jumped them ... she shook her head, inwardly. She’d never been able to best a male marine in a no-holds-barred fight, let alone three of them. She would do some damage, but they’d bring her down and ...
One of the marines jabbed his rifle at her. “Bang. You’re dead.”
“Alas, woe is me,” Alice said. The marine wasn’t one of the men who’d served under her direct command. That was a relief, although she knew it was meaningless. “Contact the Major and tell him that the exercise is over.”
“I already know,” Parkinson said, appearing from a side hatch. “How did you evade my sweep?”
Alice smirked. “I was inside one of the hanging spacesuits,” she said. “They didn’t think to check.”
Parkinson looked pained. “I’ll ... discuss it with them when they wake up,” he said. “Congrats on staying ahead of us for so long.”
“Thank you, sir,” Alice said. “What now?”
“Return to your cabin,” Parkinson said. “We’ll talk about the exercise later.”
Alice nodded stiffly - she knew better than to argue in front of the men - and headed off to her cabin. Her body ached, even though she’d been exercising heavily ever since Invincible had left the Sol System far behind. She gritted her teeth, promising herself that she wasn’t going to give up. She’d been through too much to transfer to the rear or simply accept a medical discharge. She would be a marine again.
Her cabin felt uncomfortably large as she stepped inside. It might be small, compared to a middle-class hotel on Earth, but it was still larger than the barracks. She looked at her terminal for a moment, half-expecting to see the post-exercise report already waiting for her, then sighed and stepped into the washroom. A shower, a rest ... and then she could go back for more exercise. She was not going to give up.
At least I stayed ahead of them for a few hours, she thought, as she turned on the water. I’d like to see a civilian do that.
***
Richard smiled to himself as his starfighter twisted in space, reversing course in the blink of an eye. The three enemy starfighters didn’t realise what he was doing until it was already too late, allowing him a chance to fire into their blind spots. Two starfighters vanished from the display before their pilots even realised they were under attack. The third threw himself into a series of evasive manoeuvres that were somewhat less random than they should have been. Richard calmly lined up the shot, then blew the pilot out of space. A squawk of outrage echoed over the communications link.
“You’re dead,” Richard said, cheerfully. “All three of you are dead.”
He took a moment to survey the situation. The simulated mission had been simple enough. One side had to attack the convoy, the other had to defend ... it was a shame, really, that the defenders had allowed themselves to be drawn out of formation. They’d killed seven of the attackers, but the attackers had devastated the convoy. Seven freighters had been destroyed, with three more heavily damaged. The defenders might have killed more ships, but the attackers had won on points.
And this was just a simulation, he thought. What will happen when we face a real enemy?
“The exercise is now terminated,” he said. The display faded away into a grey mist. “All pilots, get a shower and a snack, then report to the briefing room.”
He opened the simulator and clambered out, feeling his legs threatening to collapse beneath him. Honestly! There was no reason to house the simulators in mock starfighter cockpits, was there? He leaned against the simulator until he was sure he could walk properly, then headed for the hatch. Behind him, the other pods were cracking open. The pilots were probably already assessing their performance. Richard wondered how many of them would realise just how poorly they’d actually done.
Too much inexperience com
bined with a lack of command talent, Richard thought, as he showered and changed into a fresh uniform. They’re going to have to be broken of that problem. Quickly.
He sighed as he made his way to the briefing room. To be fair, the stats had been improving over the past week. The pilots were learning from their experiences. But Richard was all too aware that experience simply wasn’t the same as reality. The aliens would present them with all sort of surprises, surprises that were completely unpredictable. Who knew how his pilots would cope with the unknown?
Monica entered a moment later, looking clean and tidy. “My pilots did their job,” she said, as she sat at the back. “You can’t say otherwise.”
“No,” Richard agreed. Monica knew what she was doing. It was a shame the reservists had so much they needed to relearn. “They did very well.”
The room slowly filled with pilots. Richard resisted the urge to make sarcastic comments about pilots who would be late to their own funerals. They should have learnt how to shower at the academy, surely. He waited until the compartment was full, then slapped the table hard enough to make everyone jump. The pilots stopped chattering and stared at him in surprise.
“That exercise was a failure,” Richard said, sharply. His voice echoed in the silent compartment. “And why was it a failure?”
He waited, just to see if someone would try to answer, then went on. “The mission objective was to get the convoy from Alpha to Beta without losing a single ship. What happened? Seven out of ten ships were destroyed! And why were they destroyed? They were destroyed because their escorting starfighters were more concerned with scoring kills than covering the convoy they were meant to be escorting! Do you know what would have happened if the engagement had been real?
“For want of a nail ...” - he shook his head in annoyance, remembering how his instructors had forced him to study the whole poem - “a kingdom was lost, eventually. What would have happened if that convoy had failed to reach its destination? We might have lost a base, which would have led to the loss of a star system, which might have cost us the war itself ... all because a pack of starfighter pilots couldn’t be bothered to carry out their actual mission.”
His gaze swept the room. He understood, better than he cared to admit, the urge to score kills. Every pilot wanted to paint a golden ace on their cockpit, to signify that they had killed over five enemy starfighters; every pilot wanted to be known as a brave and skilled flyer. He understood, but the mission came first. There was no room for mavericks in the compartment. The starfighter pilots had to follow orders.
“I understand how you feel,” he said, quietly. “But the mission comes first.”
Richard took a long breath. “We have two weeks to reach Falkirk, then we’ll be heading into enemy territory. By then, I want all of our weaknesses smoothed out. I want each and every one of you to put the mission first. And if you don’t” - he let his words hang in the air for a second - “you will be traded for a more experienced pilot from one of the fleet carriers.”
Which may be a little harsh, he thought, keeping his face under tight control. And it might nip your careers in the bud.
He took a long breath. “Get some food, then report back to the simulators. We’re going to be going through the exercise again. Dismissed.”
“I think they took your words to heart,” Monica said, once they were alone. “But they also think they have to rack up kills.”
“Not when they’re charged with escorting a convoy,” Richard muttered. “Stellar Star and the Starfighter Pilots has a lot to answer for.”
“I think Battle of Earth and Ark Royal might have been more of an influence,” Monica said, dryly. “No one really takes Stellar Star and the Starfighter Pilots seriously.”
Richard shrugged. Battle of Earth and Ark Royal were hugely patriotic movies, written and produced by scriptwriters who were more interested in spectacle and propaganda than realism. Richard had never met Theodore Smith, but he had met Admiral Fitzwilliam and the actor who’d played him hadn’t looked anything like the former First Space Lord. It was a minor miracle they’d produced a realistic Ark Royal. Richard would have expected them to present a starship out of a futuristic fantasy. The producers had probably boosted Royal Navy recruitment for generations to come.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, dismissing the movies and their producers. What they knew about life in the navy could be written on the back of a second-class postage stamp, with room left over. “What matters is carrying out the mission.”
“I know,” Monica said. “And they know it too. They’re just ...”
“Inexperienced,” Richard said. He ground his teeth in frustration. “And young.”
Monica pointed a finger at him. “You’re in your late twenties,” she said. “You’re not that much older than them. And I’m only a couple of years younger than you. Give them time.”
“We don’t have time,” Richard said. “What happens if we get attacked tomorrow?”
He looked at the bulkhead, visualising the empty system on the far side. The virus could have sneaked ships down the tramlines easily, if it wished. They might be attacked at any moment. Richard didn’t blame the captain for feeling paranoid, even though he’d heard - and squelched - some grumbling from his pilots. The virus had every reason to try to attack enemy fleets before they reached Falkirk.
“Then we fight bravely,” Monica said. The calm confidence in her voice was almost reassuring. “They won’t let you down.”
“I hope not,” Richard said. He turned away from her, heading towards the desk. “But right now I’m more concerned with them letting themselves down.”
“They’ll do better in the real world,” Monica assured him. “Didn’t we?”
Richard gave her a sharp look, but said nothing.
Chapter Ten
Stephen had taken the precaution, as the fleet approached the Falkirk Tramline, of sounding the alert and bringing his crew to battlestations. There had been no suggestion that Falkirk had actually been attacked, let alone occupied, but he was feeling paranoid. The virus could easily have subverted a handful of crewmen, then steadily spread through the multinational force despite the best precautions human ingenuity could devise. Stephen hoped he was merely being paranoid. If the virus had overwhelmed the multinational fleet, humanity was probably doomed.
“Jump completed, Captain,” Sonia said.
“Transmit our IFF to System Command,” Stephen ordered. “Tactical?”
“The sensors are coming back online now,” Lieutenant-Commander David Arthur reported, calmly. “Long-range sensors suggest that the system hasn’t been attacked.”
Stephen frowned as the display started to fill with icons. Six months ago, Falkirk hadn’t been considered anything more than a refuelling post for starships en route to Wensleydale. It had a gas giant and a handful of rocky airless worlds, but little else to attract spacefaring powers when there were plenty of more habitable worlds. Britain had laid claim to the system more to secure the trade links to Wensleydale than anything else. Now, it had been turned into a formidable military base. Nine fleet carriers, twelve battleships, and over a hundred smaller ships held station near the tramline, while a handful of space stations orbited the gas giant and mining craft buzzed around the asteroids. The defenders were already working on building up a small industrial base. It would never match a major colony, but it would reduce shipping costs ...
“Captain, we’re picking up a challenge,” Morse said. “They’re demanding that we repeat our IFF.”
Stephen’s eyes narrowed. There hadn’t been time for Invincible’s arrival to have been noticed, let alone her IFF signal reach Admiral Weisskopf. A new icon flickered to life on the display, a Japanese destroyer sitting near the tramline. Stephen relaxed, slightly. The Japanese ship might have orders to recheck every ship entering the system.
“Repeat the signal,” he ordered. “And request permission to rendezvous with the main fleet.”
“Aye, Cap
tain,” Morse said. There was a long pause. “They’ve cleared us to proceed, sir.”
Stephen nodded. “Helm, set course to rendezvous with Admiral Weisskopf.”
“Aye, sir.”
Newcomb glanced at him. “Do you think we’ll be haggling over whoever owns this system in the next few years?”
“Probably,” Stephen said. Britain might have claimed the system, but the other human - and alien - powers had provided a great deal of investment. When - if - the viral crisis ended, there was going to be an argument over who should actually have jurisdiction. “We might end up cutting a deal with the other Great Powers.”
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