Para Bellum

by Christopher Nuttall

  The alien carrier was running a light sensor sweep, one that should pick up the starfighters as they approached. Richard idly speculated on precisely how close they’d get before the aliens registered their presence, although he knew better than to take anything for granted. It depended on just how alert the sensor crews were ... and there was no way to know just how alert the virus’s infected hosts would be. They might see something that would force them to take a closer look or they might miss the incoming starfighters completely. Richard had hoped for the best, but planned for the worst. If the aliens managed to launch their starfighters before his ships could power up and close the range, his inexperienced pilots would be thrust into their first real engagement at knife-range. It was one of the reasons he’d insisted on deploying almost all of his starfighters. They’d have numbers, if nothing else.

  His HUD washed red, suddenly. “Shit,” he swore. “They have us!”

  He keyed his console, flash-waking the starfighter’s drive. The enemy carrier had locked on, at extreme range. Richard would have been impressed if the bastards hadn’t managed to detect them at precisely the wrong moment, too close to back off and too far away to sit on top of their launch tubes and blast anything that came out. Red icons flashed across the display as enemy starfighters poured into space, rotating round to engage the human starfighters. Richard sucked in his breath. That was an astonishingly quick reaction time.

  “All ships, follow me in,” he ordered, tersely. “Fire at will. I say again, fire at will.”

  “Which one of them is Will?” Flying Officer Stamford asked. “The first one ...”

  Richard rolled his eyes. “Crack witticisms when you’re telling lies about plasma bolts that missed you by millimetres,” he said, coldly. “In combat, I expect you to focus.”

  The alien ships fell into a formation that looked vaguely familiar, the alien version - he assumed - of the starfighter swarm. It seemed completely random, as if the aliens couldn’t be bothered holding anything that looked like an orderly formation, but he knew better. An orderly formation might look good during the Festival of Britain, yet - in actual combat - would be nothing more than suicide. A pilot who flew a predictable formation was a dead pilot. Everyone knew it. Richard watched the aliens for a long moment, noting that their craft seemed to be slightly more manoeuvrable than their human counterparts, and then boosted his craft forward. It was time to make war.

  “They’re firing on us,” another pilot said. She sounded deeply shocked. “Don’t we get the first shot?”

  “Return fire,” Richard ordered, ignoring the question. Simulators definitely had their limits. “Hit the bastards!”

  An alien fighter lunged at him, firing a steady stream of plasma bolts. They didn’t seem to care about the risk of overheating their plasma chambers and blowing themselves to hell, Richard noted absently. If the briefings were accurate - and he didn’t doubt them - the virus saw its pilots and other host bodies as completely expendable. They’d regard losing them with the same lack of concern Richard would show for a lock of hair or a toenail clipping. He couldn't understand how anyone could think that way, but the virus wasn’t human. It simply didn’t think like a human.

  He blew the alien fighter away with a single shot, then yanked his starfighter to one side as another alien pilot targeted him. There was something odd about the way it flew, something he couldn't put his finger on, but it hardly mattered. He twisted his ship through a series of evasive manoeuvres while Monica lined up the shot, then blew his pursuer away. Richard wondered if the aliens had forgotten that starfighter operations were meant to be a team effort. They’d hardly be the first starfighter pilots to see the contest as one-on-one, rather than operating as a team. Human pilots did it all the time.

  And it costs us, when we run into someone who hasn’t forgotten, he thought, as he picked off another alien fighter. We have to remain focused.

  He avoided a third fighter, then pulled back to survey the overall situation. He’d lost four fighters to enemy fire, but overall his greater numbers had told. The aliens had fought bravely and well, yet they were steadily being worn down. They would probably have retreated, if they’d had anywhere to go. It was possible that they were trying to delay the humans long enough for help to arrive, but Richard doubted it. Invincible’s jammers were supposed to be blocking all signals that might have called for help. And yet ... he glanced at the in-system display. The white dwarf looked useless, but the aliens might have scattered a handful of scansats throughout the system anyway. They might have spotted the engagement already.

  And then they’ll call reinforcements, Richard thought. But where will they come from?

  “Watch your ass,” Monica said. “They’re trying to kill you.”

  “I saw them coming a mile off,” Richard said. The last of the alien fighters were closing in rapidly, firing as they came. He doubted they’d actually hit anything until they got a great deal closer, but ... they didn’t seem to care. If they valued themselves as little as the analysts thought, they might simply feel that the risk was worthwhile. “You watch my back.”

  He picked off one of the alien fighters - Monica killed the other one - and led the rest of the squadron towards the alien carrier. Up close, it was larger than he’d thought, studded with plasma guns and sensor blisters that allowed it to put a terrifying amount of point defence fire into space. Richard allowed himself a moment of relief that his pilots weren’t trying to take out a bigger target, then studied the alien carrier thoughtfully. It looked almost human, strikingly crude rather than the melted-hull designs favoured by the Tadpoles. The virus didn’t seem to have any sense of aesthetics. Even the old Ark Royal, a ship that had looked like a brick with a handful of protrusions, had been more elegant than the alien ship.

  “Take out their plasma guns,” he ordered, as he swept down to the alien hull. “And don’t give them a clear shot at you.”

  The aliens kept firing, even as Richard started to pick off their weapons and sensor blisters. The alien ship was trying to pick up speed, but it looked as though her acceleration curves were quite low. Richard studied it thoughtfully, wondering why a purpose-built light carrier wasn’t considerably faster. A human-designed light carrier would be fast enough to keep up with the destroyers and frigates that would escort her from place to place. Even one of the carrier-conversions would be faster on its feet.

  They’re alien, he reminded himself. For all we know, we’re the first multi-star species they’ve encountered.

  He dismissed the thought as he picked off another pair of plasma guns. The aliens were still firing, desperately. He was tempted to put a hail of plasma bolts through their drives, even though it was a considerable risk. Captain Shields would not be impressed if he accidentally blew the alien carrier into dust, not when he wanted to take the starship intact. Richard doubted it was possible, but the captain felt differently. He didn't envy the marines who would actually have to land on the alien ship and take control.

  And we can’t even force them to surrender, he thought. We can’t even talk to the bastards.

  The last alien plasma gun vanished in a shower of sparks, quenched by the icy cold of interplanetary space. Richard nodded to himself, noting that the estimates of how many starfighters the alien ship could carry had been reasonably accurate, then led his pilots away from their target. It was up to the marines now.

  “Seven pilots gone,” Monica said, quietly. Her voice was very grim. “It could have been worse.”

  “I know,” Richard said. He’d done his best to avoid getting to know the new pilots, at least until they’d survived their first encounter with the enemy, but it looked as though he was never going to get to know some of them. “No beacons?”

  “It doesn’t look that way,” Monica said. “I don’t think any of them had a chance to eject.”

  Richard nodded, curtly. It was rare for pilots to be able to eject into space, even though they’d trained extensively to trigger the ejection sys
tem if their craft was hit. Normally, they’d be dead within a second. But he’d hoped ... he dismissed the thought with a bitter shrug. There was no point in worrying about it, not now. They’d hold a wake, once the carrier had broken contact with any alien reinforcements that happened to arrive, and then ... forget about them. Richard had watched too many pilots die to allow himself to feel anything more than mild grief and guilt.

  “All ships, return to the barn,” he ordered. The pilots would need time to recuperate while their commanders hastily reorganised their squadrons. “You did well, all of you.”

  He ignored the handful of bitter remarks with the ease of long practice. He’d told them, over and over again, that the odds of surviving their first missions were quite low, but they hadn’t believed him. Of course they hadn't believed him. They’d known they were invincible. Richard had known he was invincible when he’d been a young pilot. But now, they’d watched seven of their comrades die in - Richard glanced at the starfighter’s timer - less than five minutes. They were shocked, suddenly feeling their own mortality. It would take time for them to get over it.

  They’ll make it, he thought. I did, didn’t I?

  ***

  “Captain,” Commander Newcomb said. “The starfighters report that they have swept the alien hull clear of plasma guns.”

  Stephen nodded. “Send in the marines,” he ordered. “Now.”

  ***

  Alice couldn’t help feeling like supercargo as she sat at the back of the marine assault shuttle and watched the platoon prepare for the assault. She should be in command, she should be leading the assault into enemy territory, but Major Parkinson had made it clear that she was to remain at the back and provide advice to Sergeant Bert Radcliffe and his men. It made her think of the intelligence officer she’d taken on a HALO jump, two years ago. Had the man felt just as useless as she did now? She supposed she should be grateful that no one had suggested that she tie herself to one of the marines. At least they knew she knew what she was doing.

  She took a long breath, then accessed the live feed from the shuttle’s sensors as it glided towards the alien craft. The alien ship was strikingly ugly, although it didn’t look as alien as some of the other ships she’d seen. She’d studied the desperate attempt to capture an alien battlecruiser during the First Interstellar War and she’d been struck by just how lucky the marines had been. They’d gone blind into an alien ship and come out alive, bringing the ship with them. They’d certainly deserved their prize money. She wondered, absently, just how much money she’d get if they managed to bring this alien ship home intact. Enough to ensure that she’d be comfortable for the rest of her life?

  Don’t be stupid, she told herself, dryly. You’d be bored stiff within a week if you had to live in the lap of luxury.

  Her lips quirked at the thought as the alien ship came closer. It was trying to run, but there was no way a carrier - even a small one - could outrun the assault shuttles over such a short distance. Major Parkinson was sending messages, inviting the aliens to surrender, even though Alice had told him it was a waste of time. The virus wasn’t interested in talking to its human enemies - or anyone, really. It was more concerned with infecting or killing as many of them as possible. The only guarantee that the aliens wouldn’t hit the self-destruct as soon as the marines boarded was that they’d want a chance to infect the marines.

  Infect more marines, Alice thought. They already got me.

  She pushed the thought out of her mind as the assault shuttle grounded on the alien ship, the hatch popping open a second later. The lead elements were heading out before the hatch was fully open, the first two carrying weapons while their successors carried the breaching equipment between them. Alice stayed at the rear, one hand holding her rifle as she followed the last of the marines onto the hull. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the metal hull, feeling it quiver under her feet. The last thing she wanted was to be distracted by the stars.

  A light flared as the breaching equipment went to work, cutting into the alien hull. Metal bubbled and started to boil, allowing the lead marines to hack their way further into the alien ship while the others hastily established a small tent to keep the atmosphere from leaking out into space. Alice frowned to herself, feeling her skin crawl as the nanoprobes started to test the alien atmosphere. As expected, it was lousy with the virus. Anyone who took an unprotected breath would wind up infected.

  “Bastards,” Corporal Glen Hammersmith observed. “We don’t dare take off the suits. We’d be in quarantine for a week.”

  “We may be in quarantine anyway,” Parkinson said. “We have to be careful.”

  “It could be worse,” Alice said, more tartly than she’d meant. “You could be in hospital for a month instead.”

  “Yeah,” Corporal Student said. “That would be bad.”

  Worse than bad, Alice thought. It would be the end of your career, as surely as it ended mine.

  She watched the lead marines open the makeshift hatch, then jump into the alien ship. Their reports echoed back a moment later, informing her that the ship appeared to have been designed for aliens substantially larger than humans. Alice allowed herself a moment of relief as she dropped through the hatch herself, feeling the alien gravity field grabbing at her as her feet touched the deck. It was stronger than she’d expected, but her suit had no trouble compensating. It made her wonder if the aliens would be stronger than the average human. People had been speculating for years that humans who grew up on heavy-worlds would be stronger too, but - so far - no habitable heavy-world had been discovered. Instead ...

  Alice turned her head from side to side. The corridor was almost normal - she was disappointed that they hadn’t managed to drop right into the alien bridge - but there was something about it that was subtly wrong. She felt her skin itch as the suit reported higher and higher concentrations of the virus, pushing against her armour. It was flowing through the air, passing a warning to the aliens lurking further into the ship. Alice was sure of it, on a level she couldn’t explain. She knew it.

  They know we’re here, she thought, although she suspected the aliens had known the boarding party had been hacking into the hull from the moment they’d started. Their hull-mounted sensors would have picked up the breach. And they’ll be readying a counterattack.

  “Jesus,” Corporal Hammersmith said. He sounded shocked. “What the hell is that?”

  Alice turned, saw the horror ... and froze.

  Chapter Fifteen

  For a moment, Alice’s mind refused to accept what she was seeing. The alien was ... very alien. It was ... a collection of foamy bubbles, gliding towards them; it was ... she couldn't help thinking of an octopus, one that had just climbed out of a soapy bath. It seemed to shine with a golden light, yet ... she blinked in surprise as the alien hefted a weapon, only to be fired upon by the marines. The bullets sank into the foam and vanished.

  “Plasma fire,” Sergeant Radcliffe snapped. “Now!”

  Hammersmith lifted his plasma gun and fired, blasting the alien into a shower of bubbles, drenching the marines in golden liquid. Alice cursed as her suit screamed an alert - the liquid was concentrated virus - and drew her own plasma gun as three more aliens oozed towards them. Her mind raced, even as she blew the lead alien into another shower of liquid. Was she looking at the virus’s natural form? Or was it something they’d made to make it easier to infect their targets? The suits seemed to be capable of handling the liquid, ensuring it wouldn’t infect the marines, but ... she felt it dripping down her spine. She had to remind herself, sharply, that the suit was still intact.

  And yet, I’m responding to the liquid’s presence, she thought. She was sure she was imagining it, yet it was impossible to dismiss. What is it doing to me?

  She pushed the thought aside as the marines started to hurry down the corridor, looking for access points. Nanoprobes zoomed ahead of them, picking out concentrations of aliens before they were wiped out by the virus. They’d underestimated th
e aliens, Alice thought morbidly. The nanoprobes should have been untouchable, but they were being picked off one by one. Their mere presence was disturbing the air. She made a mental note to propose that the next boarding party carried UV lights as well as their standard equipment. It might deprive the aliens of some of their tricks.

  “In here,” Stewart said. “I’ve found a computer node.”

  “Get it hooked up and try to hack it,” Radcliffe ordered. “The rest of you, stay with me.”

  Alice fell into position behind the platoon as they made their way through a series of barricades. The aliens didn't seem to have prepared for a boarding party, but they made up for it by throwing themselves at the marines as soon as they saw them. The blobs - as Hammersmith termed them - were the worst, but the other aliens weren’t much better. They appeared out of nowhere, firing madly, and threw themselves at the marines. Alice had faced suicidal humans before, back in the Security Zone, but this was far worse. The aliens seemed to be insane.