“Understood,” Captain Hashing said. He sounded pleased, even though everyone agreed that Tramline Three wasn’t particularly important. Independent command made up for a lot of things. “I’ll make sure to leave a stealthed buoy behind before heading back to Falkirk.”
“Good thinking,” Stephen said. “We’ll do the same, if we get there first.”
He studied the star chart for a long moment. “And the remainder of us will head through Tramline Two,” he added. “As before, we will proceed under maximum stealth. Does anyone have a problem with it?”
“Not unless we run into another sensor ghost,” Captain Jonathon Linguine said. The destroyer captain sounded oddly amused. “We couldn’t take the risk of assuming that it is a ghost, not here.”
“And end up making bloody fools of ourselves,” Captain Shaw added.
Stephen felt a flicker of annoyance. They’d checked and rechecked the cloaking device, but they’d found nothing wrong. The engineers hadn’t been too worried, pointing out that the device could simply have reflected a power fluctuation from Invincible herself, yet Stephen knew that Linguine was right. They didn't dare assume that any further sensor contacts were nothing more than sensor ghosts. It would be too dangerous.
“We did what we had to do,” he said, flatly. He made a show of checking his wristcom. “We will pass through the tramlines in twenty hours from now, unless anyone has any objections.”
He waited, but there were none.
“Very well,” he said. “Good luck to us all.”
He cancelled the conversation with a tap of his finger, then sat back in his chair. It was easy to pretend confidence, but he knew better than to let himself become overconfident. They hadn't had the chance to explore Tramline Two - or Tramline Three - during their last visit to the system. There was definitely no way to know what was lurking on the far side; it could be anything from a transit system to a minor - or major - colony world. He would just have to wait and see.
If I’d wanted to probe the unknown, I’d have gone into the survey service, he thought, wryly. He had considered it, years ago, but his family’s military tradition had forbidden it. The fighting arms were the only suitable place for a second son. But now, the military has to take the lead.
His doorbell chimed. “Come.”
Commander Newcomb stepped into the room. “Captain,” he said. “I have the latest reports from the stealth drones. The analysts are predicting that the alien fleet will make its move in two weeks at most.”
“But they have no way to be sure,” Stephen said. He’d had his tactical staff looking for a way to break through the alien defences and cripple their fleet, but - so far - every idea they’d come up with had been a guaranteed failure. Invincible would be destroyed, for nothing. “The fleet could be leaving in an hour - or a year - and we would never know until we saw it go.”
“Yes, sir,” Commander Newcomb said. “We simply don’t know.”
Stephen sighed. There was no point in sending another ship back to Falkirk. Admiral Weisskopf could hardly put himself any more on alert. A fleet that size would certainly be detected as it passed through the tramlines ... Stephen hoped. And it hadn’t grown larger over the past couple of days. He sighed again as he tapped his console, bringing up the report. The analysts seemed to have done nothing more than combining a handful of reasonable estimates with outright guessing. There was no way Stephen could place any credence in their report.
“They don’t seem to have any support arm,” he mused. “No fleet train to back them up.”
“Yet,” Commander Newcomb said. “They are mustering freighters around Alien-1.”
“True,” Stephen agreed. He stood. “And that makes it all the more important that we head directly to Tramline Two. We need to know what is waiting for us.”
“Yes, sir,” Commander Newcomb said.
***
“You’re late,” Wing Commander Richard Redbird said, as he stepped into the observation blister. “Was there a reason you didn’t show up to the simulations?”
Flying Officer Samra Alibis started. “Sir, I ...”
Richard looked her up and down. Samra was so young that he couldn't help thinking that she should be tucked up in bed, not flying a starfighter. He was tempted to wonder if she’d lied about her age to join the navy, although the navy performed background checks on each and every prospective recruit before allowing them to take the oath and shipping them off for basic training. Samra couldn't have had an easy time of it, he noted. Her tinted skin was clear proof that she had immigrants in the family tree. Someone would probably have given her a very hard time indeed.
“You are late,” Richard said, allowing his voice to harden. “Do you have an excuse?”
“I was just looking at the stars,” Samra said. “Commander, I ...”
Richard gave her a sharp look. “The next time the alarms howl, young lady, it might be real,” he said. “Will you be distracted again?”
“No, sir,” Samra said. She stood. “I was just ...”
“Report to your Squadron Leader after the simulations are completed,” Richard ordered, curtly. Monica would give Samra a sharp lecture - and enough push-ups to leave her arms aching for hours - but otherwise ... she wouldn’t suffer too badly. Her fellow pilots would remind her about her mistake time and time again, until something else happened and they forgot about it. “And I do not expect to see you distracted again.”
He sat down, motioning for her to sit beside him. “What distracted you?”
Samra stood next to him, but didn’t sit. “I was just ... sir, the simulations aren’t real.”
“Be glad of it,” Richard said, dryly. He looked up at her. “How many times did you get blown away over the last two weeks?”
Samra’s dark skin darkened further. “Too many times.”
“Correct,” Richard said. “The simulations are designed to put you through your paces, without actually causing any harm. You need to train now to make life easier when you fly into combat.”
“But it isn’t real,” Samra repeated. “Sir ... it feels like we’re playing games.”
Richard felt a flicker of sympathy, mingled with annoyance. He’d felt the same way too, back before he’d seen the elephant for the first time. The simulators were as close to real as the Royal Navy could do, but ... they weren’t real. The edge he felt when he went into combat was lacking. And an inexperienced pilot wouldn’t realise, at least at first, that it wasn't a bad thing. He could try all sorts of things in the simulators that would probably get him killed if he tried them in the real world.
“We’re preparing for war,” he said, flatly. “We might be jumped tomorrow, Samra, and if we are ... we will discover just how well we’ve prepared to actually fight.”
He grinned at her, just for a moment. “I understand how you feel,” he said, checking his wristcom. They still had five hours before the ship jumped through the enemy tramline and headed into unexplored space. “But you know what? You’ll learn better the moment you go into war. Believe me, you’ll learn better.”
If you survive, he added, silently. Simulations or no simulations, a pilot had a very good chance of dying on his first mission. It took five or six real missions before the odds started to improve. And then ... who knew? Richard knew better than to think he was invincible, even though he’d flown more combat missions than he cared to count. A single plasma bolt - or railgun pellet - could still blow him to atoms in a flash. I could die on the next mission too.
“Yes, sir,” Samra said. She didn't sound as though she believed him. “I ...”
“Then go to the simulators and practice,” Richard ordered. “You need to know what you’re doing.”
Samra hesitated, then saluted. “Aye, sir,” she said. “I’ll go there now.”
And face the wrath of Monica, Richard thought, as Samra left the compartment. Monica won’t be happy at only taking ten pilots into combat.
He sat back and peered out at the st
ars. Samra was right. The stars were distracting, even though they were barely moving. It was hard to believe that each of the spots of light was a giant ball of flaming gas in its own right, let alone that most of them had planets and asteroids - and maybe even intelligent life - of their own. A number of stars were effectively disconnected from the tramline network. Who knew what was lurking there?
We may never find out, Richard thought. The virus - and its last set of victims - had built an STL colony ship, but humanity had never tried to turn the detailed plans put together by space enthusiasts into reality. Unless we do find a way to escape the tramlines completely.
He studied the stars for a long moment, then rose and headed back to his duty station. There was too much work to do, including a short disciplinary note he needed to write. Samra probably wouldn't get into any real trouble, although she wouldn’t feel that way. Monica was likely to have her cleaning the decks if she wasn’t lucky. But if it happened again, Richard would have to take official notice of it.
We’re losing our edge, he reflected, morbidly. His pilots needed to fly outside the ship, but that wasn’t going to happen. Let us just hope that we are ready for our first real encounter with the enemy. If we’re not ...
He put the thought aside. Whatever happened would happen. And all he could do was try to be ready for it.
***
“Captain,” Sonia said. “We are ready to jump.”
Stephen nodded. Tramline Two looked normal, a simple line of gravitational force stretching from Alien-1 to an unknown destination - Alien-2, he silently termed it - but his sensors could pick up a handful of ships making transit further down the tramline. The tramline wasn’t just busy, it was overloaded. And yet ... he reminded himself, sharply, that he had orders to try to take an alien ship intact if possible. He might have an opportunity to do just that.
“Order the Russians to make the first jump,” Stephen said. The Russians had demanded the honour, again. He wondered, absently, if they hoped to lay claim to more systems, although it would never stand up in court. “And stand ready ...”
He watched the Russian ship vanish, only to reappear five minutes later. She didn't seem to have run into any trouble. Stephen studied the data as it popped up in front of him, frowning as he realised that Alien-2 was nothing more than a transit system. A white dwarf was unlikely to have any planets of its own, although it might well have two or more tramlines. It would certainly be more useful than a groundhog might assume, at first glance. He had a feeling they were about to find out.
“Take us through,” he ordered. He felt his heartbeat start to pick up again. “Now.”
The universe darkened, again. Stephen tensed, watching grimly as the display blanked and hastily started to reboot itself. The star - a lone wanderer through space - appeared in front of him, but no other icons followed it. Stephen leaned forward, watching and waiting. It was nearly ten minutes before the sensors picked up the other tramline, heading further into the unknown. The handful of alien ships they’d seen crossing the tramline seemed to have vanished.
They’re probably somewhere along a least-time course to the next tramline, Stephen thought, grimly. The aliens had no need to hide within a system they’d presumably used for generations. And we might not be able to see them until we get a great deal closer.
“Long-range sensors are not picking up any trace of settlements within the system,” Alison reported. The sensor officer sounded grim, almost frustrated. “I can't even detect any asteroids or comets.”
“They’ve probably fallen into the sun,” Sonia commented. “That’s a very old star.”
Stephen was inclined to agree. It wasn't uncommon for small human groups to set up hidden colonies orbiting other useless stars, but it didn't look as though the virus was inclined to do the same. Besides, Sonia was right. There was no real estate within the system to convert into a habitat. The system’s only real value lay in its tramlines.
He leaned back in his chair. “Helm, take us on a dogleg towards the second tramline,” he ordered. It didn’t seem as though there was any point in spending more time surveying Alien-2. “Sensors, keep a sharp eye out for alien contacts.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Commander Newcomb’s face appeared in the display. “This system is something of a relief.”
Stephen nodded. He’d feared encountering another Alien-1, or something bigger. He was morbidly certain that there was something on the far side of the next tramline, but ... they hadn't encountered it yet. He smiled at the thought, then turned his attention to the display. It was definitely starting to look as through the system was completely empty.
“We’ll proceed through the second tramline as quickly as possible,” he said. The sense that they had to hurry was pressing, even though he knew they couldn’t speed matters up much further. “I think ...”
An alarm sounded. “Captain, I’m picking up a lone alien ship,” Alison said. “She’s heading towards Tramline One. Warbook calls her a light carrier.”
Stephen learned forward. A light carrier ... a lone light carrier. Invincible and her consorts could take her, perhaps even capture her. The risk of trying to board was significant, but ... the analysts had predicted, perhaps with more hope than common sense, that the virus wouldn’t hit the self-destruct. The prospect of infecting the boarding party could hardly be overlooked. Who knew? The boarders might discover that they’d been caught in a Trojan Horse.
But we know the danger, Stephen thought. His crew had direct experience with the virus. They knew to be careful. And this is a chance we cannot allow to slip by.
He evaluated the situation as quickly as possible. If the light carrier managed to get off an alert, Invincible would be hunted by the alien fleet. But it would take time for the aliens to mobilise and start beating the bushes for the human ships. Assuming they had other ships in Alien-2, it would still take hours for them to mobilise. And if they didn’t, there was a prospect of taking the light carrier intact without the aliens ever knowing what had happened to her. He could hardly overlook the possibilities. Who knew if they’d ever get another such opportunity?
“Helm, take us on an intercept course,” he ordered. The alien ship wouldn't know what was closing in on them until it was too late. It certainly didn't look as though she was running constant scans for trouble. “Commander Newcomb, prepare to launch starfighters and marine assault shuttles. We’re taking that ship.”
Newcomb grinned. “Yes, sir!”
Chapter Fourteen
Well, Richard thought. You wanted to fly into combat, didn’t you?
He braced himself as the catapult hurled his starfighter out into the interplanetary wasteland surrounding the dull white star. Powered down, the Hawk would be an easy target if anyone spotted her ... assuming, of course, that they did spot her. Richard had tried to detect a powered-down Hawk on a ballistic trajectory during the time he’d spent on Earth and discovered, to his amusement, that it wasn’t easy. Even active sensors would have trouble tracking the starfighters as they made their way towards their target.
And that will change, the moment we bring up our drives, he thought, as the starfighter’s computer checked and rechecked the laser links to the other starfighters. Invincible had put five of her six squadrons into space, reserving only one for fighter defence. They’ll see us coming and take steps.
He wondered, vaguely, just how the virus was reacting to the war. The Royal Navy generally kept at least one squadron of starfighters on one-minute launch alert during wartime, even though it put a great deal of wear and tear on the equipment. Every captain’s worst nightmare was having his starfighters trapped inside the hull while his ship was systematically blasted to debris, something that had happened during the First Interstellar War. Richard knew the other Great Powers agreed, but did the virus? They were so deep within alien space that the virus might feel completely secure.
But we’re not that far within alien space, he reminded himself. It wouldn’t b
e hard to slip an attack force into Alien-2 if there was anything worth attacking.
He smiled at the thought, then studied the live feed from Invincible’s passive sensors. The alien carrier looked to have been purpose-built, rather than a converted freighter; he rather suspected that meant that she’d be a tougher customer than the Royal Navy’s small fleet of carrier-conversions. It was rare for a light carrier to be built from scratch, at least in the Human Sphere. The Royal Navy hadn’t seen any value in building them until there was a sudden demand for starfighter platforms and, by then, it had been too late to do anything other than start converting freighters. But even afterwards, the Royal Navy had rejected plans to build newer light carriers. The shipyards were needed to replenish the losses from two interstellar wars.
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