Para Bellum

by Christopher Nuttall

  Sweat trickled down her back as the alien looked at the marines, then continued on down the corridor. A handful of other aliens followed, escorted by a giant blob. Alice felt her stomach churn as she looked at the creature, swallowing hard to keep from being sick inside her helmet. She’d seen horrors, she’d seen the worst that humanity could and did do to its own kind, but this was a pulsating alien horror beyond human understanding. It was all she could do to force her legs to move, making her way up the corridor before the boarders could insist on checking their credentials. No one was sure what would happen if they failed to make a connection, but Alice was sure that it would end with them being infected. The virus would certainly be suspicious if they failed to communicate when asked.

  She tongued her mouthpiece as they slipped back towards the airlock where they’d first engaged the enemy. “We’re in,” she breathed, hoping that the virus was incapable of detecting the microburst transmission. It wasn’t clear if an infected person could send a message, particularly now the virus had adapted itself to infect humans. It certainly seemed to prefer to render its victims effectively comatose until it had taken over their bodies and - presumably - accessed their memories. “We’re on our way to the shuttles now.”

  The sense of being somewhere alien grew stronger as they reached the airlock, even though there was nothing visibly different apart from a faint haze in the air. She could practically feel the virus pulsing beside her, its thoughts passing through the contaminated atmosphere ... she told herself, firmly, that she was imagining it. They slipped through the airlock and stepped into the first compartment, where the aliens had melted their way into the ship. A steady stream of yellow liquid was splashing into the section. As she watched, a new blob oozed out of the muck and started to wobble towards the airlock. It was all she could do not to blow it away on sight.

  “Get ready,” she ordered, as she unhooked a grenade from her belt. The other teams were in position. “Now!”

  She hurled the grenade up and into the alien shuttle. There was a tiny pause, just long enough for her to wonder what had gone wrong, then the alien shuttle exploded. The compartment started to vent a moment later, the yellow liquid bubbling furiously as it was sucked off the ground and dragged through the tear in the hull. Alice triggered her magnetic boots as the pull grew stronger, smirking at just how they’d managed to turn the virus’s advantages into liabilities. It had pumped poisonous air into the hull, relying on the viral particles to guide their forces through the ship, but now that air was streaming into vacuum. She doubted any of the host-bodies would have time to don suits before it was too late.

  Her communicator bleeped. “The entire infected section is venting,” Parkinson said, delightedly. “We have the remainder of the ship sealed off.”

  Alice nodded, resisting the urge to giggle as a blob - already half-frozen - flew past her and out into space. The virus couldn’t do anything about the scent-spray, not unless it wanted to restrict its options still further. It was going to have to check and recheck every host-body, time and time again ... she snickered, helplessly. The delays would mount up until the virus was doing nothing, but making sure it could still tell the difference between a host-body and someone who had sprayed themselves with alien scent. She doubted it would stop the war - she was sure the virus would find other ways to reach its targets - yet it would give humanity time to find new ways to fight back. The virus’s days were numbered.

  Sure, a pessimistic voice said, at the back of her head. It sounded like her father. Unless it finds a way to get us first.

  ***

  “We think we have the entire boarding party wiped out now,” Major Parkinson said, over the datanet. “I would suggest that we keep the section in vacuum, at least until we have a chance to repair the lighting and take out any remaining traces of the virus.”

  “See to it,” Stephen ordered. Invincible was safe, for the moment. The virus’s escort carriers had recovered their starfighters and faded back into cloak, as soon as they’d realised the boarding operation had failed. “Can we recall the starfighters?”

  “None of the launch tubes were infected,” Major Parkinson said. “The boarders never got close to them.”

  Stephen allowed himself a moment of relief. “We’ll do that now,” he said. “And ... and tell your men I said well done.”

  He closed the connection, then snapped out a set of orders. “Commander Newcomb, recall the starfighters. Tactical, step down the active sensors and take us back into cloak. Helm, alter course. We have to break contact before they come after us again.”

  “Aye, sir,” Sonia said.

  Stephen resisted the urge to rub his eyes - or yawn - as everything threatened to catch up with him. In hindsight, he should have gone to his ready room and caught a nap before the shit hit the fan, although he’d had no way to know they’d be ambushed. Now, he’d have to make sure that repair work was well underway before he dared return to his cabin. He whispered a curse as the first set of post-battle reports started to appear. His starboard hull had practically been swept clear of sensor blisters and point defence weapons.

  And the rest of the flotilla took a battering too, he thought. Almost all of his remaining ships had taken some damage ... he kicked himself, mentally, for not ordering them to scatter before the engagement had truly begun. They had information the human race desperately needed, but it would be useless if they failed to get it home. It would have been a great deal worse if they hadn’t been focusing on us.

  “Tactical, prepare to deploy a decoy drone programmed to mimic our previous course and speed,” he ordered, as Invincible carefully altered course. If they were lucky, a starship tracking them with passive sensors wouldn’t notice the course change. The virus had been very lucky to keep the sensor lock long enough to set up an ambush. “And see if you can get a lock on our shadow.”

  “Aye, sir,” Arthur said. He didn’t sound hopeful. The enemy ship wouldn’t be radiating much, if anything, or she would have been spotted well before the ambush. And Arthur couldn’t bring up Invincible’s active sensors again without betraying their location to every passive sensor in the system. “The decoy drone is ready to launch.”

  “Launch,” Stephen ordered. It was quite likely that their shadow had fallen back when the ambush had begun. The active sensors hadn’t picked up any sign of its presence during the engagement, although they’d had other problems to worry about. “Helm, put some distance between us and the drone, then bring us back on a direct course for Tramline One.”

  And hope to hell we can get through the next two systems without running into another ambush, he added, mentally. The alien fleet was still out there, somewhere. He would have almost been happier if he’d seen the massive formation bearing down on him. And that Falkirk hasn’t already been blown to rubble.

  “Course laid in, sir,” Sonia said.

  Stephen put his doubts aside. “Take us out,” he ordered. “Best possible speed.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Stephen had expected - had planned for, as best as he could - an attack as soon as Invincible jumped into the unnamed star system on the far side of Tramline One. The virus’s fleet could have been lurking a few light-minutes from the tramline and Invincible wouldn’t have a hope of spotting it, at least until it was far too late to avoid engagement. It was even possible, although he doubted it, that the alien fleet might have been recalled from Falkirk to intercept Invincible. Not knowing, he thought as his ship inched towards the next tramline, was the worst part of being in the navy. There was no way to make any solid plans until they actually had hard information - and they wouldn’t have hard information until it was too late to do anything, but fight to the death.

  He moved between the bridge, his cabin and the various damaged sections of his ship, inspecting the repairs, comforting the injured and burying the dead. There hadn’t been as many deaths as he’d feared, during the brief boarding action, but each and every death felt as if he’d lost a
piece of himself. He felt guilty for not knowing the dead men and women, even though he knew he should be grateful. They were just names and faces, not friends and family he would never see again. It was all he could do to speak their names at the brief memorial service, then bury their ashes in space. There was no way the bodies could be returned to Earth.

  Which is an absurd level of paranoia, he told himself. Seven of the dead men had requested burial in space - it was practically a naval tradition - but the remainder had asked for their bodies to be returned to their families. Stephen had been prepared to take the risk of freezing the bodies, yet his orders were clear. Any bodies that might - might - have had the slightest contact with the virus were to be cremated. The families will not be pleased.

  He dismissed the thought as he returned to the bridge, just in time for the crossing into Grumpy. The star system remained empty, as far as his sensors could tell, but he didn’t need the boffins to tell him that that proved nothing. They’d already been ambushed once and their course was predictable, at least in general terms. Stephen had ordered a handful of course changes, just to make life difficult for anyone trying to follow the tiny flotilla, but they had to use the tramlines. It wouldn’t take someone with the genius of Theodore Smith or Alan Cunningham to deduce their eventual destination. But again, there was no way to know how much the virus knew about human space. It might not know that there was a major naval base only two jumps from Alien-1.

  And that base didn’t exist a year ago, Stephen thought, as he handed the bridge to his XO and returned to his Ready Room. Falkirk wasn't even accessible until after the First Interstellar War. They might have looked at the system, decided it would make an effective firebreak and didn’t even bother to picket it.

  He worked his way through the reports, what few of them there were. The beancounters would probably complain that the paperwork hadn’t been filed on time, but Stephen’s departmental heads had more important things to do. Invincible was badly damaged, something the bureaucrats would never understand. Her engineers needed to repair their ship, not waste their time writing reports. The handful of notes waiting for Stephen’s inspection were more than sufficient. He didn’t need a detailed report to know that his ship was slowly getting better. And yet, part of him almost missed the reports. Reading them would have been a distraction from fretting over his ship and crew.

  No attack materialised as the flotilla crawled across the system, slowly inching towards the second tramline. Stephen caught a few short hours of sleep, then haunted the bridge as his crew watched their sensors for the first sign of an incoming attack. The missing alien fleet nagged at Stephen’s mind, demanding answers. Where were they? He’d gone through the sensor records from their first pass through Alien-1 personally, hoping to discover that the ships they’d seen in Alien-1 had also been the ships they’d seen in Alien-4, but it was impossible to be sure. The analysts couldn't give a definite answer either. Stephen was unsurprised. They were reluctant to make any predictions about how the virus would respond to a potential threat.

  They knew we were slipping up the tramline chain towards Alien-4, Stephen thought. He was mortally certain the virus had flicker technology, although they hadn’t managed to locate any flicker installations. The timing only made sense if one assumed the virus could send FTL messages from one star to another. And they also knew what we’d find there long before we found out for ourselves.

  The intercom bleeped, once. “Captain,” Newcomb said. “We are nearing the Falkirk Tramline. All sensors are clear.”

  Which means they might be lurking on the far side, Stephen said. His imagination was working overtime, offering too many possibilities for his peace of mind. The virus could duplicate its earlier success, if it had managed to keep track of Invincible. It might not even realise that Falkirk was a human naval base, at least not at first. He found it impossible to believe that the virus was so intent on ambushing Invincible that it hadn’t noticed a colossal fleet orbiting Falkirk. Or they might be up to something completely different.

  He stood. “I’m on my way,” he said. “Take us across the tramline as soon as we are in position.”

  “Aye, sir,” Newcomb said.

  Stephen smiled as he pulled on his jacket and headed for the bridge. Newcomb had argued that they should send the Russians - or one of the other ships - into Falkirk first, just in case there was an ambush waiting for them. Stephen would have agreed, under normal circumstances, but Invincible was badly damaged. They’d lost too many drive nodes for him to be entirely confident that he could restart the drive, if something went badly wrong while they were trying to slow the ship. That would be a complete disaster. There was no way he could take the risk.

  He stepped onto the bridge and took his chair, inspecting the display as the final seconds ticked away. Local space was clear, as far as they could tell. There should be a picket from Falkirk somewhere in the system, unless plans had changed after Invincible had departed for viral space, but none of their sensors had located the cloaked ship. Stephen hoped that Admiral Weisskopf would have had at least some warning of an incoming attack, although it was impossible to be sure. A cunning opponent would have duplicated Invincible’s course to minimise the risks of detection.

  And we know the virus can be cunning, he thought. It may not think like us, but it is far from stupid.

  “Jump in five seconds,” Sonia said. “Four ... three ...”

  Stephen felt his stomach heave as Invincible crossed the tramline. It felt, just for a second, as though he’d been punched in the chest. Someone vomited behind him, badly. He didn’t look round to see who it was as Newcomb snapped orders, arranging for the stricken officer to be relieved. The remainder of the bridge crew looked pale, gasping for breath, but they were already recovering. They were young, he reminded himself. And the phantom pain rarely lasted more than a few seconds.

  He turned his attention to the display as it rebooted. The primary star and a handful of planets blinked into existence, followed by a number of energy signatures. He cursed the light-speed delay under his breath as more and more data flowed into the sensors, reminding himself - again - that almost everything he was seeing was out of date. The planets might be in predictable locations - it wasn’t as if the geography of the star system was going to be rearranged on a whim - but any starships and industrial nodes might already have changed position. It was impossible to be sure of anything ...

  “Set course for Falkirk,” he ordered, once the remainder of the flotilla had confirmed their safe arrival. “Communications, prepare to ...”

  “Captain,” Alison said. “I’m picking up multiple energy signatures! There’s a battle going on!”

  “Red alert,” Stephen snapped, as new icons flared into life. “All hands to battlestations! I say again, all hands to battlestations!”

  He leaned forward, studying the display. It was hard to be certain - he cursed the time delay, once again - but it looked as through the virus’s fleet had passed through the tramline and headed straight for Falkirk. It wasn’t a bad tactic, part of his mind noted. Admiral Weisskopf could hardly afford to keep his distance from the aliens when he had to defend the planet and its massive orbital installations. The virus had forced him into an engagement that probably favoured the alien fleet.

  The virus can either take out the installations or grind down the combined fleet, Stephen thought. The virus seemed to have a slight edge in ships, although not enough to convince Admiral Weisskopf to break contact and escape. And it comes out ahead whatever happens.

  He thought, fast. Invincible alone wouldn’t change the balance of power, even if she’d been in perfect condition. Her full complement of starfighters - and the weapons embedded on her hull - really wouldn’t make that much difference. And yet, he couldn’t afford to simply sneak around the engagement and make his slow way to the tramline. There wasn’t a repair yard for several transits towards Earth. Losing a single drive node would leave them stranded in interplanetary space.


  “Captain, the Russians are requesting orders,” Lieutenant Thomas Morse said. “The other ships are linking into our datanet.”

  “Order them to remain under cloak,” Stephen said. “Magellan is to head directly for the tramline and return to the nearest naval base, avoiding all contact with the alien fleet; the freighters are to go into hiding and wait. The remainder of the ships are to escort us.”

  “They’re acknowledging,” Morse said. He paused. “Captain Shaw requests permission to remain with the flotilla.”

  “Denied,” Stephen said. Magellan was armed, but only a lunatic would take a survey ship into a fleet action. Besides, the Admiralty needed to know what Invincible had discovered during her mission. Magellan could carry word back to Earth, freeing up the military ships to do what they did best. “Magellan is to depart at once.”

  He took a breath as Magellan vanished from the datanet. Captain Shaw would not be pleased - and someone would make comments about Lack of Moral Fibre, he was sure - but she had her orders. The Admiralty wouldn’t blame her for following them. He smiled, feeling oddly free. They no longer needed to worry about getting word home. Captain Shaw and her crew would have no trouble evading the aliens and returning to Earth.