And if it finds us, we can kiss our asses goodbye, he thought. It will do everything in its power to keep us from getting home.
***
“I think we’ve been here before,” Richard said, as he opened Flying Officer Falladine’s locker and started to empty the contents into a pair of boxes. “I have that feeling all over again.”
“I know,” Monica said. “I went out drinking with Helen, you know? It was before I was promoted and ... well, you know.”
“I know,” Richard confirmed. He mentally ticked Helen Falladine’s possessions off against a list. Five shipboard uniforms, twelve pairs of underwear, a couple of outfits that had probably been intended for shore leave ... surely, she hadn’t intended to wear a miniskirt onboard ship. And a selection of chocolate and datachips that would be distributed to the remainder of the squadron. “It doesn’t seem like much, does it?”
He finished sweeping the contents into the boxes, then held out the first. “Do you think there’s anything here she’d want to be sent back home?”
Monica quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t she say anything in her will?”
“Nothing about her possessions on the ship,” Richard confirmed. Flying Officer Falladine had had a will, of course, but most of it related to her savings and a handful of personal possessions that she’d left behind on Earth. The bureaucrats at home would have to handle it, assuming they ever realised that Helen Falladine was dead. The only real section that concerned him was the standard clause transferring her shipboard possessions to her comrades. “No one was named as the primary beneficiary.”
Monica smiled, humourlessly. “Does her squadron still exist?”
“I doubt it,” Richard said. He dumped the chocolate on the table - they’d eat it during the wake - and put the remaining boxes on the bed. There were a handful of pilots who were near enough in size to their late comrade that they’d probably be willing to take the second-hand clothes. There was nothing like being in the military to appreciate the chance to pick up some extra outfits. “All the old squadrons are gone.”
He moved to the next locker, checked the name against the list and opened it. Flying Officer Atkinson had been killed during the desperate flight back to Invincible before she cloaked, his death barely noticed in the chaos. His will had stipulated that the contents of a particular box, at the bottom of the locker, was to be sealed and returned to his family. He’d been quite clear that he didn’t want the box opened, let alone examined. Richard hesitated, feeling as though he was betraying a friend, then opened the box. A black suit and a handful of unmarked datachips lay at the bottom.
Richard blinked. “What is that?”
Monica peered over his shoulder. “A modified VR suit,” she said. Her fingers brushed the material, just for a second. “You put one on and you’re somewhere - anywhere - else. I’d bet good money that the chips were recorded by his wife. Hugh was married, don’t you know.”
“He was a little young to get married,” Richard commented. “What did he do? Knock someone up?”
“He might have done,” Monica said. She smiled, dryly. “Do you want to honour his last request?”
Richard nodded and dropped the suit, datachips and the box into a sealed container. He was damned if he was sharing private material with Atkinson’s former comrades, even if there was a very good prospect that they would never get home. He’d grant his subordinate what little privacy he could. It crossed his mind, just for a second, that they could be completely wrong about what was on the chips, but he resisted the urge to plug them into a datapad and see what they contained. He’d bent the rules quite enough over the last few hours.
They went through the remainder of the lockers without incident, collecting quite a haul of material to distribute to the surviving pilots. One of the dead pilots had had a bottle of scotch which Richard confiscated, unsure if it should be returned to the man’s house or shared out once the ship reached Earth. The poor bastard would have been in deep shit if Richard had caught him with it, but there was no point in threatening to beast a dead man. He made a mental note not to mention the bottle to anyone. Flying Officer Swenson was dead. He was certainly well beyond punishment.
“You’ll have to share it with me, unless you declare it,” Monica said. “Or put it in the drinks locker.”
“It can be kept until we get home,” Richard said. “And then we can all drink it.”
“Assuming that there are any of us left,” Monica said. “What do we do then?”
Richard met her eyes. “We die, of course. What else can we do?”
***
Stephen looked down at his datapad, wishing for a drink. It wasn't something he’d wanted often - he’d seen enough people waste their lives to know he didn’t want to go that way - but now ... he took a sip of his coffee, cursing under his breath. It was never easy to write a letter of condolence, certainly not to the parents of a starfighter pilot he’d never seen. He certainly hadn’t known much about her and her file, damn whoever had composed it, was no help. A handful of graduation dates, a couple of testimonials from training officers and very little else ... certainly nothing he could use to put together a picture of Flying Officer Falladine’s life and times. What had she done, when she wasn’t flying starfighters? Had she been the life and soul of the party? Or had she preferred to sit in the ship’s library and read eBooks? The file was absolutely no help at all.
No wonder Theodore Smith turned to drink, he thought, crossly. How many people did he see die when that asteroid exploded?
“Dear Mr. And Mrs Falladine,” he muttered. His letter wouldn’t reach the family first, unless so many serving men and women had died in the last few months that the military’s bereavement service had collapsed completely. By law, the military was supposed to inform the family first - certainly before the media got hold of the news and started telling everyone - but it hadn’t always been possible. “It is with very great regret that I must inform you that ...”
He shook his head. That made no sense. The family would already know, wouldn't they? He scribbled a note to himself to check when the ship returned home. The military normally kept very good track of who had and hadn’t been informed of a death in the family. He’d have to rely on the bureaucrats to ensure he sent the right letter.
“I had the pleasure of having your daughter under my command during Operation Drake,” he mused, after a moment. How the hell was one meant to say anything when he didn’t know the person in question? It would be a lot easier to write a letter for his XO’s family. “I found her to be a brave and determined pilot who embodied the virtues of the military life, a pilot who eventually gave her own life so that others might live ...”
And how pleased would I be, he asked himself, if I got a letter like that about my son?
He scowled. It had been expected that he would go into the military. The second son of an aristocrat always went into the military. He’d known the risks, but he’d also known that there was no way to get out of it. God knew he hadn’t really wanted to get out of it. It was tradition. The cynics might wonder if the true reason behind the tradition was to kill off the second son before he could start eying the family inheritance with covetous eyes, but Stephen had always seen it as giving something back to the country that had been so good to him. And yet, had Flying Officer Falladine thought the same way? Or had she gone into the military to pay off her debts? Or forge a career? Or ... he brought up her file again and skimmed it for clues. There was nothing, just as there had been nothing when he’d looked hours ago. Flying Officer Falladine was nothing more than a blank slate.
And I wouldn’t want to know that my son might have died alone, without even the comfort of a quick death, he thought. But we don’t know for sure what really happened to any of the dead pilots. Did she eject - or did she die before she knew she was under attack? Or ...
His intercom bleeped. “Captain,” Newcomb said. “The engineering crews have confirmed that we’re ready to bring the damage
d nodes back online. They think we should be able to return to full power within an hour.”
“I’m on my way,” Stephen said. He closed the file, promising himself that he’d get back to it as soon as possible. The parents deserved a personalised letter, even if it wasn’t anything like as detailed as it should be. “Inform Mr. Rutgers that he can start powering up the drive nodes as soon as possible.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Well,” Doctor Watson said. “You’ve had quite an adventure.”
You don’t know the half of it, Alice thought. If any of the marines had realised that she’d spent half the night with Captain Kaminov, they hadn’t bothered to mention it to their fellows, let alone their superior officers. It was a good night.
She smiled at the memory. She’d seen Royal Marines - and Paras and Regiment men from Hereford - who were never short of female company, but it was a great deal harder for a serving female officer to find male companionship. Jeanette might insist that her sister should get married, sooner rather than later, yet Alice knew it wouldn’t be easy to find anyone willing to live with her. Most of the men she knew were military officers - and those who weren’t were either weak or intimidated by her. It wasn’t fair, but it was true. The best she could hope for was a series of one-night stands that wouldn’t outlast her leave.
Perhaps they should put that on the recruitment brochures, she thought, wryly. Join the Royal Marines. See your relationship prospects blown out of the water.
Her smile grew wider. It wasn’t true and she knew it. The men didn’t have any real trouble ... she told herself, firmly, that she was obsessing, obsessing at the worst possible time. The doctor was watching her, no doubt scanning her face to divine her thoughts. She wondered if he’d deduced what she’d been doing, for a few short hours. That might be a problem. She hadn’t broken any regulations, technically, but questions might be asked. It wasn’t uncommon for soldiers on leave in foreign ports to be picked up by women who were more interested in pumping them for information than merely taking them to bed.
“It was just part of the job,” she said, finally. She hoped the doctor hadn’t noticed just how long she’d delayed answering. “And we completed it successfully.”
Doctor Watson gave her a long look. “And how do you feel about that?”
“Pleased,” Alice said. “We won. We damaged their war machine - we took out an entire shipyard. If they know what we did, doctor, they’re going to have to waste a lot of effort making it impossible for us to do it again. And if they don’t know what we did, which is possible, they’re going to have to waste even more effort sealing up all the holes in their defences.”
She felt a surge of vengeful pleasure. She’d made the virus pay for what it had done to her. The coldly logical part of her mind pointed out that the virus probably hadn’t drawn a connection between her and the destroyed shipyard - it wasn’t as if it would have cared if she’d indulged in a motive rant worthy of a supervillain - but it didn’t matter. The infected men and women back home, the ones who were beyond saving, had been avenged. They would never know it ... she sighed, inwardly. The hell of it was that the virus wouldn't know it either. It would just take the loss in stride.
“And afterwards?” Doctor Watson met her eyes. “Did you have a good time at the party?”
Alice kept her face expressionless. “I’ve seen worse parties,” she said. It was true. She’d drunk herself senseless more than once when she’d been a teenager. The marathon drinking sessions she’d had after she’d qualified as a commando hadn’t had quite the same zing. But then, she’d been a little more mature at the time and already marked down as a potential officer. “We got very drunk, but otherwise ... it was just a party.”
“And now you’re back here,” Doctor Watson said. “How do you feel?”
“Like getting back to work,” Alice said. She was damned if she was going back to her cabin and sitting around doing nothing, not now. Her original bunk in Marine Country had probably been assigned to someone else, given that space was at a premium, but she could hot-bunk with another marine if necessary. “I just want to get back to it.”
“We did a whole set of scans,” Doctor Watson said. “The virus within your body remains inert, for better or worse. You seem to be perfectly safe.”
“I could have told you that,” Alice said, tartly. It was hard to keep her anger from leaking into her voice. “All I had to do was keep my fucking mouth shut.”
The doctor nodded, slowly. “That is a point in your favour.”
“It’s more than just a point in my favour,” Alice told him. “What the hell does the virus gain from letting us blow up a shipyard? Nothing! It could have taken out the entire flotilla and the loss rate would still be solidly in our favour. What could it possibly gain that would be worth the price?”
“We don’t know,” Doctor Watson said. “But just because we don’t know the answer doesn't mean that it doesn’t have an answer.”
Alice sat back, remembering a particularly unpleasant sports mistress she’d had to endure at boarding school. The wretched woman had taken delight in toying with the girls, offering rewards to her favourites while denying them to others ... Alice remembered sitting in front of her desk, waiting to hear a denial she already knew was coming. And now Doctor Watson was doing the same. She straightened up, reminding herself that she was no longer a teenager. There was no reason she couldn’t file a complaint - or an appeal - if the doctor decided to deny her request to return to active service. Hell, she could demand a court martial if she wished. That would create all sorts of problems for the REMFs.
And problems for the marines too, she reminded herself. It would certainly put the cat amongst the politicians.
“There’s no risk of infection, as far as we can tell,” Doctor Watson said. “Or do you feel otherwise?”
Alice felt her lips twitch. Captain Kaminov might be in trouble if his zampolit realised he’d spent the night with her. She didn’t know what rules and regulations the Russians had about foreign affairs - her smile grew wider at the terrible pun - but the zampolit might wonder if some viral matter had passed between them during their night of passion. Alice was fairly sure it hadn’t, yet there was no way to know for sure. It had been a long time since STDs had been a serious problem. She had no way to prove that something else hadn’t moved between them.
Perhaps we should have worn condoms, she thought. But pregnancy wasn’t a risk either.
“I don’t believe that there’s any risk of infection, at least from me,” Alice said, putting the thought aside for later contemplation. Captain Kaminov had known the risks. He could handle his own problems. “And, with all due respect, I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t fairly sure that the risk was minimised.”
“True,” Doctor Watson said.
He cleared his throat. “Major Parkinson and I have discussed your case in some detail. It has been generally agreed that you have handled yourself well, although you did spend six months in a secure facility where you had access to ... resources ... that are not available on Invincible. Your mental state is fairly good, all things considered; you don’t seem like a person who is going to snap and go on a murder spree at any moment. And he would like to have you back.”
Alice felt a rush of affection for the older man. Major Parkinson had gone out on a limb for her. He might even have put his career at risk, if his faith in her proved to be unfounded. A weaker man might have temporised, knowing - all too well - that Alice might not be in full control of herself. He knew her well, and he’d watched her during the deployment, but everything he’d seen might be nothing more than the smile on the face of the tiger. She might switch sides at any moment. And, if she did, Alice would bet half her savings that someone back home would place the blame squarely on her commanding officer.
There are times when it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed, she thought. It hurt, more than she cared to admit. Her father had said t
hat, before he’d killed her mother. And times when people are too busy looking for scapegoats to get anything done.
“So yes, you are cleared for active duty,” Doctor Watson said. He held up a hand before she could say a word. “You will be watched, Alice; you will be closely monitored. If we have a reason to worry, something we can actually put our fingers on, you may be removed from active service once again ...”
Alice barely heard him. She was going back to active service!
“I understand,” she said, when he’d finished. “But the risks are quite low.”
She was tempted to give him a hug. Instead, she stood. “I’ll go back to Marine Country now,” she said. “And thank you for your ... assistance.”
Doctor Watson stood. “It was little enough,” he said. “And we still have to be careful.”
Alice nodded. The boffins - and the engineers - had done everything in their power to ensure that the virus couldn’t spread through the ship. A combination of enhanced filters and ultraviolet light alone was more than enough to stop the virus in its tracks, although she’d been given to understand that a number of other precautions had been taken. The virus was highly adaptable, and probably wouldn’t have any trouble steadily overwhelming their vaccinations, but it didn’t seem to be able to cope with their defences. It hadn’t even managed to infuse itself into Alien-3.
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