He pushed the thought out of his mind as Invincible continued her slow transit across the system. Her active sensors were stepped down - active sensor pulses would have drawn watching eyes like flies to shit - but her passive sensors were picking up nothing. Not, he reminded himself, that that proved the flotilla was alone. Standard doctrine insisted that every star system should be picketed, if the ships were available. He would have been astonished if the virus hadn’t deployed a small fleet of watching eyes. The Royal Navy had done the same. There was only one known line of contact between the human race and its new enemy. It had to be picketed.
Unless they’re so alien their doctrine makes no sense to us, he thought. It was hard to believe - the Tadpoles and Foxes might have been alien, but their doctrine was understandable - and yet, the virus was unlike any foe humanity had ever faced. They might be letting us slip through the door so they can slam it closed behind us.
He scowled. It didn’t seem likely, unless the virus had some sort of sensor system that was light years ahead of anything the Royal Navy possessed. That didn’t seem likely either - the virus hadn't been able to track Invincible while she was in stealth - but it was impossible to be sure. The enemy ships might have something up their sleeve, something the Royal Navy’s boffins hadn't even imagined, let alone turned into workable hardware. He gritted his teeth, reminding himself - again - that the virus hadn’t shown them anything too advanced. The uncertainty would be more harmful than their weapons. He’d be questioning his own judgement for weeks and months to come, simply because he wasn’t sure what he was facing.
Most surprises happen because someone misunderstood what they saw, he thought. He’d had that drilled into his head, time and time again, at the Academy. But when facing aliens, surprises happen because their technology is more advanced or went down a different path than our own ...
The sensor console pinged. “Captain,” Lieutenant Alison Adams said. “We may have a contact.”
Stephen tensed. “A contact?”
“Yes, Captain,” Alison said. “I’m picking up an energy flux, twelve light-seconds from our outer engagement envelope.”
“Show me,” Stephen ordered.
He leaned forward as a blurry icon appeared in front of him. The enemy contact - if it was an enemy contact - was slowly closing on the flotilla. It was out of immediate weapons range - unless, again, it had a super-advanced weapons system Stephen had never heard of - but it wouldn’t be long until it entered missile range. And then ... he studied the flicker for a long moment, as if staring would allow him to divine the contact’s power curves. A lone destroyer wouldn’t stand a chance against his ships, but a brief exchange of fire would bring any other ships in the system down on his head like a ton of bricks. Hell, he wasn’t even sure it was a contact. Sensor ghosts were far from unknown when the cloaking system was engaged.
“Check with the other ships,” he ordered. “See if they’re picking it up too.”
“The datanet says no,” Alison reported. “But sir, that proves nothing.”
“I know,” Stephen said. Invincible was the only ship picking up the sensor contact, but they might simply have gotten lucky. A tiny flicker in an enemy cloaking device might be enough to let one ship detect them, if it was in the right place at the right time. And now ... the icon was right in front of him. “Tell them to keep their eyes open.”
His mind raced. If the contact was real, he needed to evade it before jumping through the next tramline. He didn’t dare have an enemy ship shadow them right up to the jump point, giving the bastards a chance to set up an ambush on the far side. But if the contact wasn’t real, if he was jumping at shadows ... he shook his head. He had to assume the contact was real. He didn’t dare do anything else.
“Bring the ship to battlestations,” he ordered. Alarms howled through the mighty ship. He couldn’t launch fighters - not without revealing his exact position - but he could prepare for combat. “Helm, alter course. Take us away from the contact.”
“Aye, sir,” Sonia said.
Stephen watched the contact for a long moment, trying to guess what the enemy commander was thinking. Did he know he’d stumbled on an entire flotilla? Or did he think he’d detected a single starship? The survey ships were supposed to be good at concealing their presence - no one wanted to accidentally start a war with a completely unknown alien race - but their crews included a number of civilians. Stephen found it easy to imagine a screw-up had given the aliens a chance to detect the survey vessels, although his sensors hadn’t detected anything alarming. Or ... had the Russians had a little accident? Or ... Stephen dismissed the thought. There was no point in worrying about it now. Besides, they might simply have gotten very unlucky. He’d altered course as soon as he’d left Falkirk, but there was only a limited number of vectors his ship could have followed as it approached the tramline.
For all we know, this system could be seeded with stealthed scansats, he thought. The virus hadn’t shown any inclination to push out towards Falkirk, but it hadn’t known there was a prospective threat on the far side of the tramlines. They’ve certainly had enough time to secure the system and deploy early-warning scansats.
“Course altered, Captain,” Sonia said. “The remainder of the flotilla is following us.”
Stephen nodded, considering his options. If the aliens had locked onto one of the smaller ships, they should follow that ship ... he briefly considered ordering Invincible to alter course again, then put the thought aside. They had no idea what they were facing. He studied the blurred image for a moment, wondering if he dared make a guess. But there simply wasn’t enough data. They could be facing anything from a destroyer to a battleship.
Or something even larger, Stephen thought. They might have started to build superdreadnaughts of their own.
He smiled. The boffins insisted that there were limits to the size of military starships, but civilian ships didn't have such problems. He’d seen the plans for giant colonist-carriers that made fleet carriers look tiny. They’d struck him as excessive, even though the government was determined to move as many people off Earth and out of the Sol System as possible. The smaller colonist-carriers could still move fifty thousand colonists in a single voyage. But it was unlikely the aliens had pointed a colonist-carrier in his direction.
Or maybe not, he reminded himself. They sent a sublight colony ship to infect our worlds.
“Captain, the contact is keeping pace with us,” Alison said. “It’s holding position.”
Commander Newcomb’s face popped up in Stephen’s display. “Captain, if it’s holding position, it’s probably a sensor ghost.”
Stephen frowned. Newcomb was right - even the most able crew in the Royal Navy would have difficulty holding a precise position, relative to their target - but he didn’t dare take it for granted. Were they wasting their time? Or were they being shadowed by an alien starship? There was no way he could simply resume course for the tramline without knowing, yet ... he didn’t want to reveal their position either. The mission would fail before it had truly begun.
“Helm, increase speed,” he ordered. “Let them try and keep pace with us.”
“Aye, Captain,” Alison said.
Stephen felt the tension grew stronger as the drives started to hum. The carrier had an impressive - and classified - top speed, but everyone knew that there was a good chance that increasing speed would also increase their chances of being detected. There was no way the cloaking device could hide everything. A single power fluctuation would be enough to give the enemy a solid lock on Invincible’s hull. And then ... the enemy ship, if indeed it was an enemy ship, was still out of missile range, but it would have plenty of opportunity to whistle up reinforcements. Or simply close to attack range and open fire.
I could scatter the flotilla, with orders to link up again by the tramline, Stephen thought. And then see who was shadowed ...
He dismissed the thought with a flicker of irritation. There was too great a chan
ce of the ships being picked off, one by one. Or a lone ship being overwhelmed and forced to surrender. No, no one would surrender in this war. There would be no POW camps for human captives, merely infection and the complete loss of freedom and individuality. He had strict orders to blow his ship to dust rather than let his crew be taken alive. And, if worse came to worst, he’d do it too.
“She’s still maintaining course and speed,” Alison said. “Captain, I think we’re dealing with a ghost.”
Stephen nodded, slowly. It was certainly starting to look as if they were panicking over nothing. And yet, there was that quiet nagging doubt. He didn’t dare relax - or resume course towards the tramline - until he knew. But how could he know?
“Prepare to reverse course, maximum power,” he ordered. “Take us straight towards the unknown contact.”
Sonia sounded nervous. “Aye, Captain.”
Stephen didn’t really blame her. If there was an enemy ship shadowing them, he was about to betray his ship’s location ... and close the range so sharply that Invincible might find herself impaled on the enemy’s weapons. He had no qualms about taking on a destroyer, or even a cruiser, but a battleship might be beyond their ability to handle. A close-range engagement would be disastrous. And yet, he saw no choice. He had to know what he was facing.
“Contact the other ships,” he added. “The survey ships are to stand off and watch, then return to Falkirk if there’s something we can’t handle. The remaining ships are to shadow us.”
“Aye, Captain,” Lieutenant Thomas Morse said.
Stephen took a breath. “Reverse course, now!”
He felt a shudder running through his ship as she spun on her axis, then bolted towards the enemy contact. There was a very real risk in carrying out the manoeuvre, even though he knew his ship could handle it. Invincible had been designed for speed and agility as well as firepower and survivability. And yet ... he allowed himself a flicker of relief as Sonia completed the manoeuvre successfully. Breaking his ship’s back would probably have earned him a court-martial even if the ship hadn’t been destroyed by a prowling enemy battleship.
“Sir, the contact is still holding position,” Alison reported. “I think she’s definitely a sensor ghost.”
Either that, or her captain has the reactions of a cat, Stephen thought. It didn’t seem too likely. He doubted the finest crew in the Royal Navy could keep their ship under such tight control. A starfighter might be able to manage it. But a starfighter couldn’t cloak. She’s a sensor ghost.
“Resume course towards the tramline,” he ordered, after a long moment. “And spread out the flotilla a little. I want to know if there are any other sensor contacts within range.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Commander Newcomb, have the engineering crews examine the cloaking device,” he added, slowly. “As best as they can while the device is functional. We cannot waste too much of our time chasing ghosts.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Stephen sat back in his chair, cursing under his breath. The little diversion had taken far too much of their time. The Admiralty would understand - he hoped - that the mission couldn’t operate on a tight timescale, but the civilian government might feel differently. No, it would feel differently. Someone without experience in space operations might not realise that Stephen hadn’t been able to simply ignore the sensor ghost. The simple fact that Invincible had been the only ship to see the ghost didn’t prove anything.
Although it was indicative, Stephen thought. He couldn’t keep the scowl off his face. And someone will certainly make that point, back home.
His console chimed. “Captain,” Newcomb said. “The engineers ran a set of standard diagnostics. They found nothing. They’d like permission to deactivate the cloak long enough to carry out a set of more advanced checks.”
Stephen cursed under his breath. It was the same old problem. There was no way to be completely sure that the system was deserted. If it was, fine; if it wasn’t, deactivating the cloak might well give their location away. He could order the flotilla to head into interstellar space on a dogleg course that would keep them well away from any prospective watching eyes - although, again, there was no way to be sure - and deactivate the cloak when they were light-hours from the tramline, but ... they had to reach Alien-1. God alone knew what that virus was doing over there.
They could be preparing to attack, he thought. Or their fleet might already be on the way.
“Denied,” he said, a little harshly. “We have to continue towards our destination.”
“Yes, sir,” Newcomb said. His voice was flat, a clear sign that he disapproved. “I’ll ask them to continue running the standard diagnostics.”
“Do so,” Stephen ordered. He didn’t really blame Newcomb for disapproving. The last thing they needed was to waste time chasing more sensor ghosts around the system. “And then come to the bridge to assume command.”
“Aye, sir.”
Stephen closed the connection and leaned back in his chair, feeling the tension slowly fade into nothingness. His crew had done well, he thought, but they’d been facing nothing more substantial than an electronic sensor ghost. Absently, he tapped his console, bringing up the automated readiness reports. The experienced officers had done their work well - and thank God he’d been able to keep most of his bridge crew - but the newcomers were still having problems. He sighed in irritation. They’d just have to keep running drills until everyone was thoroughly sick of them.
And when we reach Alien-1, we’ll be tested properly, he thought. And we’ll suffer a worse fate than being shouted at by our supervisors if we fail.
His lips quirked into a thin smile. As a junior officer, he’d resented the endless series of drills; as a senior officer, he understood their value. Hard training, easy mission; easy training, hard mission. He just hoped the drills weren’t misleading. He’d read too many horror stories from the First Interstellar War where the captains and crews had done everything right, as far as they’d known, and still had the shit kicked out of them. Their training hadn’t prepared them for an alien foe with advanced technology and a willingness to use it.
Commander Newcomb stepped onto the bridge. “Captain?”
“We’ll be crossing the tramline in seventeen hours,” Stephen said, standing. “And then we have one more system to cross before we reach Alien-1. Wake me just before we reach the tramline or if we encounter any more sensor contacts.”
“Aye, sir,” Newcomb said.
“You have the bridge,” Stephen said. “I’ll be in my ready room.”
He turned and strode into his ready room. He’d take a short nap, then start writing a brief report on the sensor ghost. The boffins would need to be informed, although he’d have to make sure the Admiralty knew to watch their attempts to fix the problem carefully. He’d heard stories about how the Tadpoles had managed to sneak through sensor grids; they’d realised, somehow, that the grids were programmed to ignore transient contacts that didn’t appear solid. The recriminations had been savage.
It seemed like a good idea at the time, he reminded himself. No one had seen any point in tracking down random contacts. But that is true of everything, isn’t it?
Chapter Twelve
“There’s no sign of any enemy contacts within the system,” Alison said. “I can’t even detect a settlement on the planet’s surface.”
Stephen frowned. The alien system - unnamed, thanks to the political wrangling - was a decent piece of real estate. A habitable planet, three gas giants and a large asteroid field ... he could see why the Russians were insisting that they had a solid claim to the system, even though it was right next to Alien-1. He couldn’t imagine any human power leaving the system undeveloped. The Tadpoles or Foxes would certainly settle the system for themselves if they had the inside track. But the virus seemed to have left the system completely alone.
Unless it has already infected the planet’s biosphere, he thought, morbidly. It might not see any va
lue in landing colonists ...
He shook his head. It made no sense. The virus was a spacefaring power. It needed to set up industrial nodes and shipyards, if nothing else. Stephen was prepared to accept that the virus might not want - or need - a conventional economy, one geared towards supporting a capitalist system, but surely it needed to build up its fleet. It made no sense whatsoever. But ... he reminded himself, once again, that the virus was alien. They didn’t dare assume that it thought like humans.
“Take us to the tramline, dogleg course,” he ordered. There had been no more sensor contacts, but he was still wary. “And prepare to enter Alien-1.”
He forced himself to wait - and read the reports from his department heads - as the small flotilla headed towards the tramline. If nothing else, the sensor ghost had concentrated quite a few minds. His departments were performing with a much greater level of efficiency, at least in the simulators. It was a shame his crew couldn’t carry out any live-fire exercises, but they would be far too revealing. Stephen wouldn’t have cared to bet that the aliens weren’t keeping an eye on the unnamed system. It was a single transit away from one of their core systems.
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