Para Bellum

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Scent doesn’t travel through space,” Doctor Watson said. “You’re talking about unleashing viral material on a planetary surface.”

  Alice bit down a comment about just how rank a spacesuit could become after it had been occupied for several hours and leaned forward. “If the virus believes that a marine company has already been infected, that it is already part of its ... society, it might let that company run rampant because it can’t wrap its head around the concept of someone using its own ID markers against it.”

  “It might work,” Doctor Watson said. “And if you’re wrong?”

  “Then we’re no worse off than we were,” Alice said. “But it’s worth trying to investigate, is it not?”

  ***

  “That’s the long and short of it, Captain,” Doctor Watson said. “Captain Campbell was spared, for no apparent reason, when she should have been killed or re-infected. I think her theory has a great deal of meat in it.”

  Stephen frowned. “And what if she’s wrong?”

  “What if she’s still infected?” Commander Newcomb was playing Devil’s Advocate. “What if she’s been playing us for fools?”

  Doctor Watson’s lips thinned. “There have been some physical changes between her first deployment to Invincible and her second. Most notably, her scent has changed ... although most humans are simply not sensitive enough to pick up on it. However, while her body is still playing host to a considerable amount of viral material, it is ... well, dead. We have monitored her brain activity closely, as well as keeping her under several levels of overt and covert surveillance. If she’s infected, she’s doing a very good job of hiding it.

  “Furthermore, she has had quite a few opportunities to sabotage either the ship or the mission itself. A single unidirectional beacon would have been more than enough to draw an alien fleet to us, would it not? Frankly, Commander, she hasn’t done anything to arouse suspicion of ... well, anything. If this was a routine security investigation, with a handful of prospective targets picked out at random, we would have cleared her by now.”

  Stephen held up a hand. “Can we duplicate her scent?”

  “Yes and no,” Doctor Watson said. “Drug treatments can be used to produce a scent that, as far as we can tell, is identical to the alien stench. Her words, not mine. I think we can produce the right level of drugs fairly quickly. However, we cannot guarantee that the virus will accept the smell ... and there’s no way we can duplicate the viral strings used to exchange information. If the virus wants to communicate, or simply run a few basic checks, we’re fucked.”

  “The marines are fucked,” Newcomb said. “I’m not a medical professional, doctor, but I do know some history. The people who were vaccinated with cowpox to keep them from getting smallpox ... some of them caught cowpox and died, didn’t they? What if we accidentally infect our own people with the alien virus?”

  “We wouldn’t be using viral cells as the base for the scent drugs,” Doctor Watson said, calmly. “The marines may smell for a few hours, but they won’t be infected.”

  “And what if the virus realises that the lack of viral cells, even dead viral cells, means trouble?” Newcomb scowled. “It strikes me that too many things could go wrong.”

  Stephen cleared his throat. “So far, this is all theoretical. We don’t have any plans to deploy the marines until we find a second target.”

  “We might be better off testing this under controlled conditions before we test it in the field,” Newcomb said. “And I could easily see the marines being reluctant to take the injections.”

  “It would be neat if they could simply walk through the alien lines,” Stephen pointed out, seriously. “They might not see our people as threats even after they open fire.”

  “I doubt it, Captain,” Newcomb said. “Surely, they’d recognise that something had gone wrong.”

  “That’s the beauty of the whole concept,” Doctor Watson said. “They would have to ... ah, verify each and every host-body within the area. I don’t know how quickly the virus can exchange information between hosts, but it would certainly take it quite some time to isolate the fakes.”

  “And then it will turn on them,” Newcomb said.

  “We will keep the idea in reserve,” Stephen said, firmly. “Doctor, are the marines infected?”

  “Apart from Alice Campbell, whom I would like to keep under observation for the next few hours, I believe our precautions worked,” Doctor Watson said. “None of the marines show any trace of viral matter within their bloodstreams - or anywhere else, for that matter - and the medical doctors are prepared to give them a clean bill of health. It looks as though our belief that the virus couldn't become an airborne threat in a planetary environment is largely accurate. Alien-3 has an intact ozone layer, blocking much of the star’s ultraviolet output, and they're still having problems. I wouldn’t care to spend time in a native village, Captain, but otherwise ... I’d say our precautions are good enough.”

  “But everyone who encounters an infected host will still be going into quarantine,” Stephen said, firmly. “I will not take chances with the safety of this ship.”

  “Understood,” Doctor Watson said.

  Stephen looked down at his desk for a long moment. “Is there anything we can do for the natives?”

  “I don’t believe so, not now,” Doctor Watson said. “I’m not an expert on viruses, let alone the virus, but given how aggressive it is I doubt we can improve the human immune system to the point it can fight off infection. Our genetic engineering tools are not up to the job.”

  “And if we can’t do it for humans, we certainly can’t do it for the poor bastards down there,” Newcomb said. He jabbed a finger at the bulkhead. “Perhaps we should simply put them out of their misery.”

  Stephen winced. He’d seen some of the contingency plans, ranging from simply quarantining entire planets to literally blowing them into giant asteroid fields. The boffins claimed it should be possible to build a planet-cracker - plans to blow up Mercury to make it easier to turn into a source of raw materials had been drifting around for longer than the human race had been in space - but they didn’t have to destroy the entire planet to exterminate the entire population. There were plans to do everything from introducing radioactive material that would kill everything, right down to the smallest insects ... he shuddered. It was a horrible thought.

  And yet, we might have no choice, he thought. What is this war going to do to us?

  His intercom bleeped. “Captain, this is the bridge,” Lieutenant-Commander David Arthur said. “Long-range probes picked up a large enemy force entering the system through Tramline Two. It’s on a direct course for the planet.”

  Stephen felt his blood run cold. “How large?”

  “It’s impossible to be sure, but we think we’re looking at a battleship and a fleet carrier, plus at least seventeen escorts,” Arthur said. “I’ve altered course to avoid contact.”

  “Good,” Stephen said. He keyed his terminal, bringing up the holographic display. There hadn’t been much risk of contact, unless the enemy got very lucky, but Arthur was right to minimise the odds as much as possible. The alien fleet was clearly powerful enough to blow his tiny flotilla out of space if it caught a sniff of his presence. “Detail two stealth probes to keep an eye on them, then continue towards the tramline. We’ll jump through as planned.”

  “And hopefully leave that force wasting its time here,” Newcomb muttered.

  Stephen nodded, although he wasn't sanguine about discovering that the enemy had left the next system undefended. They wouldn’t have cut so many ships loose unless they were confident they could hold the next system against attack. Still ... it suggested interesting things about what might be waiting in Alien-4. The alien ships wouldn't have headed straight for the planet unless they had some reason to know they were needed. If they’d intended to go to Alien-1, they would have headed straight for the tramline.

  “I’ll be on the bridge in a minute,” he said
. “Alert me if anything changes.”

  He closed the connection, then looked at the doctor. “Start producing the drugs, but do not attempt to test them,” he ordered. “No one is to use them without a clear understanding of the risks involved, such as they are.”

  “Yes, sir,” Doctor Watson said.

  Newcomb was looking pensive as the doctor left the compartment. “The timing makes no sense, unless they have a flicker network of their own,” he said. “Or the virus really is telepathic after all.”

  Stephen studied the display, silently calculating transit times in his head. It was impossible to make even an educated guess about what might be lurking on the far side of Alien-4, but ... if the virus had sounded the alert as soon as the marines had kidnapped the infected native, and if there was a flicker station along the tramline, it might just work out. There was no reason to assume that the virus was telepathic when the orbiting ships had plenty of time to use a perfectly conventional radio signal to summon help. There was certainly no evidence that the virus was telepathic in any sense.

  And yet, we fear the unknown, he mused. Our lack of knowledge blinds us.

  “The timing isn’t too bad,” he said. The flicker station would probably be hidden quite close to the star. He considered hurling a projectile down the tramline to take the station out, then dismissed the thought. It would be far too revealing. “They still needed nearly seventeen hours to scramble ships into the system. They might have come sooner if they’d been able to call for help instantly.”

  “Yes, sir,” Newcomb said. “But, for all we know, they might have set off at once from the next star system.”

  Stephen had to smile, even though it wasn’t really funny. They were poking their way into the unknown, system by system. There was no way to predict what they’d find, no way to be entirely sure where they were going ... he shook his head. They’d find out soon enough, he was sure. And then they’d know more about the enigma of alien-held space.

  He rose. “Get some rest,” he ordered. Newcomb was younger, but he was looking tired. He’d done too much to keep the ship running while Stephen handled the departure from Alien-3. “By my calculations, you haven’t had any sleep for the past twenty hours.”

  “Neither have you, sir,” Newcomb said. He wasn’t entirely right, but close enough. “And we’ll cross the tramline in less than five hours.”

  “I won’t be able to sleep,” Stephen said. Newcomb was right, he should sleep. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. “Go have a nap. I’ll sleep when we cross the tramline.”

  “Aye, sir,” Newcomb said. “Wake me when we cross the tramline.”

  “Of course,” Stephen agreed. The odds of being ambushed were as low as ever, but it was still a constant nagging worry. “Who knows what might be waiting for us there?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Jump complete, Captain,” the helmsman said. “I ...”

  Captain Pavel Kaminov tensed as the display bleeped an alarm. “Report,” he snapped. They were alone, far too exposed for his comfort. The zampolit looked to be on the verge of panic, damn the man. “What is that?”

  “Energy signatures, Captain,” the sensor officer said. “Big ones. This system is heavily industrialised.”

  Pavel sucked in a breath as the display started to fill with tactical and strategic icons. A large cluster of pulsing energy signatures held station around a super-massive gas giant, a smaller cluster orbited a single life-bearing world; hundreds - no, thousands - of spacecraft and starships were making their way between the giant installations and the five tramlines that were clearly visible to his sensors. Millions of asteroids were orbiting the star in clouds that suggested they’d once been planets. The sheer scale of activity was staggering.

  “Holy shit,” he muttered.

  “It's bigger than Sol,” the sensor officer said. “I can’t even begin to fathom ...”

  The timer bleeped. “Captain, we have to jump back,” the helmsman warned. “The other ships are waiting for us.”

  “Take us back,” Pavel ordered. He felt cold. To think that Russia had hoped to befriend these aliens. Even without the virus, it was clear that Russia would have been nothing more than a very junior partner. “And then ready an immediate data dump. They have to know what we’ve found here.”

  He wasn’t sure himself. Earth’s industrial output was staggering, although there were so many duplications that the system actually produced less material than any outsider observer might guess. But this system was bigger. Had they stumbled across the alien homeworld, the place where the virus had been born and raised? Or was it merely a tiny part of their overall whole? Were there more systems like Alien-1 and Alien-4 just waiting to be found? He didn’t want to think about the possible consequences if there were. Humanity and its alien allies might be simply out-produced and smashed flat, then infected. And that would be the end.

  The display blanked, then cleared. “Jump completed, Captain,” the helmsman said. “I have Invincible on my sensors.”

  “Send them the data,” Pavel ordered. “And then ... inform Captain Shields that we are awaiting orders.”

  ***

  “That is one hell of an industrial base,” Captain Katy Shaw said, an hour later. The flotilla had entered Alien-4 and immediately cloaked itself. “Just how large is it?”

  Stephen shared her shock. “The system looks to be at least twice as industrialised as Sol or Tadpole Prime,” he said. “If the analysts are correct, it may even be bigger.”

  He sucked in his breath. They’d gone fishing for salmon and wound up catching a whale. No, a shark. He didn’t think there was anything big enough to invade the alien system, let alone raid or destroy its facilities. Admiral Weisskopf would certainly be reluctant to take his fleet and invade Alien-4, even if he hadn’t had to punch his way through Alien-1. The sheer size of the alien facility was terrifying. Stephen couldn't take his eyes off the display. No wonder the aliens had been willing to dispatch so many ships to Alien-3. They’d known Alien-4 was still heavily defended.

  “There are a number of ships on the slips,” Katy commented. “If we could take them out, we’d set their shipbuilding program back by years.”

  “We have one assault carrier and a handful of smaller ships,” Captain Kaminov growled, acidly. “They have dozens of carriers, and battleships, and smaller ships, within range to intercept us. I doubt we could bombard them with mass drivers for long before they caught us and killed us. And that would be the end.”

  Stephen couldn't disagree with the logic. The shipyard was so blanketed in radio noise - and sensor emissions - that there was no way Invincible could get into attack range without being detected. And that would definitely be the end. He wondered, morbidly, if he shouldn't order the flotilla to withdraw. What good was the intelligence they’d gathered if they failed to get it home? He had orders to attack targets of opportunity, if he had the chance, but attacking this target was suicide. They’d be killed for nothing.

  But as long as this structure keeps churning out ships, they can crush us by sheer weight of numbers, he thought, grimly. The probes had revealed far too many ships - modern ships - being put into mass production. If anything, the analysts who’d concluded that the virus’s industrial base would be huge had underestimated the case. We have to find a way to attack it.

  Sure, his own thoughts answered. And what if we can’t? Or if we get killed ...

  “We will empty one of the freighters, then send it back home,” he said. That, at least, would ensure that Earth knew what it was facing. “And then we will watch the system, looking for an opportunity to strike a blow.”

  “If there is one,” Captain Kaminov pointed out. “They know we’re here. They know we could have slipped through the tramline at any moment.”

  “Yeah,” Katy said. “About that ... my crews have been studying the tramlines here. Tramline One goes back to Alien-3, of course, but Tramline Four ... we think it goes to Alien-1. It matches the
gravity patterns we recorded in that system. We might be able to cut several weeks off the way home.”

  “Except we would still have to get through Alien-1,” Kaminov said.

  “True,” Stephen agreed, with the private thought that they’d be massively outgunned with or without going through Alien-1. “We’ll consider that later, I think. For the moment, we remain focused on finding a way to hurt the enemy.”

  He keyed the display, bringing up the latest reports from the long-range probes. The alien structure was truly immense, larger than anything humanity had ever built. Indeed, it looked as if the virus had shunned the traditional free-floating shipyard slips and chosen to link them altogether into a single massive construction yard. Hundreds of worker bees - or their alien counterparts - buzzed around the structure, performing tasks that wouldn't have been out of place at the Hamilton Yards. It should have been vulnerable, but the sheer size of the defences suggested otherwise. He couldn't help wondering if the virus’s nature inclined it towards massive installations, rather than a handful of smaller stations. Perhaps that explained why its starfighter tactics were so limited.