The Right of the Line

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Here we are,” the pilot said. The shuttle hummed to life. “We’ve just been assigned a docking port.”

  “Goody,” Alice said. She put her terminal in her carryall, then poked Tindal. “Wake up!”

  Tindal jerked awake. “Fire! Plague! Martians!”

  “We’re only docking,” Hammersmith said. “Quit messing around.”

  “Oh,” Tindal said. The gravity field flickered, just for a moment. “That’s worse.”

  “Yeah,” Hammersmith said. “I’m sure the Major will have kept careful note of all the press-ups you didn’t do.”

  “I knew it.” Tindal stood and grabbed his carryall as a low thud echoed through the shuttlecraft. “The Major hates my guts.”

  “I doubt it,” Alice said. She took a long breath. “And if you say that in front of him, you’ll be for the high jump.”

  She turned towards the hatch as it hissed open, revealing a decontamination chamber. Alice sighed, then motioned for the two men to go ahead of her. They wouldn’t have any problem with the blood tests, while she ... she shook her head in irritation. The virus in her bloodstream was dead, but it would still set off alarms. She supposed she should be grateful she hadn’t been reassigned. Invincible’s crew might understand what had happened to her, but hardly anyone else would give her the benefit of the doubt. They’d shoot her the moment they saw the blood results, convinced they were doing the right thing. The hell of it was that they might well be doing the right thing.

  A pair of doctors in full protective gear materialised as she stepped through the hatch, one pressing a sensor against her neck while the other waved a device she didn’t recognise over her chest. Alice gritted her teeth as the pressure intensified, but said nothing. The doctors were only doing their jobs. She covered her eyes as the light grew brighter, killing any free-floating viral particles that might have accompanied her through the hatch. The doctors shrugged, then dismissed her with a wave. Alice told herself, firmly, she should be glad they weren’t carrying out a full decontamination procedure. That wouldn’t be fun.

  Major Parkinson met her as she stepped through the inner hatch. “Alice? Welcome home.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Alice said, feeling her heart sink. He outranked her. She should go to him, not him to her. That he’d come to welcome her personally was probably bad news. She wondered, sourly, what it would be. Was she being reassigned? Or simply being benched until the doctors performed more checks? Or medically discharged? “What’s the bad news?”

  The major didn’t smile. “Come with me.”

  Alice slung her carryall over her shoulder and followed him through a maze of metal corridors. She knew the ship like the back of her hand, but the constant stream of strangers performing repair works practically everywhere she looked confused her. She’d been led to expect that Invincible would be repaired over the next six months, not ... she frowned, feeling cold. It looked as if the entire dockyard workforce was working desperately to ready Invincible for deployment. Her eyes narrowed as she spotted a pair of starfighter pilots who clearly weren’t British. It definitely looked as if they were going back to the war.

  Major Parkinson led her through the hatch into Marine Country and right down the corridor into his office. Alice felt the cold sensation in her chest steadily growing worse. Normally, she would have a chance to reclaim her bunk and stow her carryall in her locker before taking her place in the duty roster. Unless, of course, she was in trouble ... she shook her head, mentally. Major Parkinson was hardly the sort of man to let the grass grow under his feet. If she was in trouble, she’d know about it. She certainly hadn’t done anything to merit a chewing out before she’d left the ship.

  “Take a seat,” Parkinson ordered. He took a pair of mugs from the dispenser and passed one to her. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” Alice echoed. The coffee was military-grade, strong enough to keep her awake for hours. It tasted vile, but she didn’t care. “Major ... what is going on?”

  “I received an interesting set of orders concerning you,” Parkinson said. “Can you really control the infected?”

  Alice resisted the urge to threaten Adamson and Bendix with grievous bodily harm, if she ever saw them again. It was their duty, damn them, to report what they’d found. She was mildly surprised they’d even let her go. But then ...

  “In a manner of speaking,” she said. She briefly ran through what had happened during her absence. “I can give orders, sir, but not very complex orders.”

  “So you’re perfectly qualified for command rank.” Parkinson didn’t smile at his weak joke. “And you actually have to be there to give orders?”

  “They have to be able to smell me,” Alice said. “And they can’t be allowed a chance to actually think about their orders.”

  “A Downing Street Drill,” Parkinson mused.

  Alice nodded. It wasn’t uncommon for Special Forces soldiers to be tested just to see how far they’d go before they questioned their orders, if only to keep them from following instructions that ended with the assassination of the Prime Minister. A rogue officer in the right place could do a great deal of damage if his men followed orders without question. It still galled MI5 and the other investigative agencies that they hadn’t figured out just who had ordered Sir Charles Hanover assassinated, let alone who’d done the deed. Alice rather suspected that his cabinet had been involved. An authoritarian leader tended to become a liability long before he realised he had to go ...

  She was woolgathering. She cursed her lack of discipline and dragged her attention back to her superior. Parkinson was waiting patiently, his expression unreadable. She winced, inwardly. He should be chewing her out for not paying attention to him. She would have preferred a lecture to forbearance. Forbearance almost certainly meant she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

  “For the moment, you are being held in reserve,” Parkinson said. “I’ve been told that you’re unique. If we get a chance to put you in a place where you can issue orders, we’ll take it ... but otherwise, your life will be preserved.”

  “Sir,” Alice said. “I ... with all due respect, I understand the dangers ...”

  “I know,” Parkinson said. “And if you weren’t so unique, I’d put you back on the duty roster without a second thought. You’ve earned your place here. But you’re suddenly more than just a Royal Marine. You’re a unique asset that has to be held in reserve until we have a chance to inflict maximum damage on the enemy.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alice said, stiffly. There was nothing to be gained by arguing. Parkinson was only following orders. “What do you want me to do?”

  “For the moment, you’ll effectively be on detached duty,” Parkinson said. “I’ve had the guest cabin prepared for you. You can stay there with a close-protection detail ...”

  “Sir,” Alice protested. “I don’t need protection.”

  “You might,” Parkinson said. “First, if the virus realises what you can do, you’ll be targeted at once. It cannot be that alien. It will see you as a threat and try to remove you. Second ... there are people who will also see you as a threat. You may find yourself targeted by humans too.”

  “On this ship?” Alice met his eyes. “Am I in real danger?”

  “You could be.” Parkinson looked back at her, evenly. “People don’t need much of an excuse to panic, do they? They won’t look at the evidence, they won’t give a damn about the doctors clearing you, they won’t even take your record into account. And if they start to blame you for something ... you’re fucked.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alice said, reluctantly. “I take your point.”

  She fought to keep the disappointment and anger off her face. Being wounded was one thing - she could fight her way back onto active duty if she was badly wounded in combat - but this? How was she supposed to recover from this? How could she ever serve in combat again after being nothing more than a helpless principal, the person who had to be protected at all costs? She felt a moment of grim amusement a
t the irony. How often had she complained about the principal when she’d been on close-protection duty? And now, she was the principal.

  At least I know how to handle myself, she thought. And I know not to do things that will put lives at risk.

  “I know it isn’t where you want to be,” Parkinson said. “But it is where we need you to be.”

  And would you say that to a male trooper? Alice knew she was being unfair, but she couldn’t help herself. How many times had she had to assert herself because her fellow recruits hadn’t taken her seriously? God! It was harder to assert herself against the ones who wanted to help her, rather than the sexist bastards. At least the latter didn’t try to hide their dislike. Or would you let him go straight back to active duty? And tell him to shut the fuck up if he bitched about his condition?

  She put her emotions under tight control. “I understand, sir. I will do my duty.”

  “That’s all we ask,” Parkinson said. “And you may make the difference between life and death.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alice said. “And ... are we deploying somewhere?”

  Parkinson looked vaguely surprised by the question. “Yes. You can get the full details from the datanet, but the long and short of it is that we’re being redeployed within the week. The virus has begun its offensive.”

  “... Shit,” Alice said. That explained why the scientists had been so accommodating. “I didn’t know.”

  “Most of the civvies don’t know, not yet,” Parkinson said. “Be careful what you tell them.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alice said. It was an odd thing for him to say. When would she get to meet a civilian? “I’ll watch my tongue.”

  “Dismissed,” Parkinson said. “We’ll catch up tomorrow.”

  Alice saluted and left the room, walking down to the guest cabin. It was small, probably too small for anyone who hadn’t served in the military, but it was luxury incarnate to her. The bed was hers. She didn’t have to hot bunk with someone who had filthy night habits or worse ... she sighed as she dropped her carryall on the bed. The cabin was also very secure, with only one hatch and no access to the tubes. She couldn’t help thinking that it could easily be turned into a cell - or a trap. Only one way in meant there was only one way out.

  You’re being paranoid, she told herself, stiffly. There’s no reason to fear attack.

  She sat down on the bunk and pressed her fingers against the terminal. It came to life, displaying a handful of priority messages. She skimmed through them quickly, noting that the attacks on Earth had clearly been coordinated with the Battle of Falkirk. It seemed unlikely that the timing was a coincidence. She shook her head in bitter despair. No wonder her superiors were keen to put her to work as ... as an alien controller, rather than a marine. They were desperate. She didn’t have access to fleet deployments - she didn’t have anything like that level of clearance - but she could make some educated guesses. There was very little between Falkirk and the inner worlds. If the virus managed to gain a secure foothold, it might be difficult - if not impossible - to stop it from overrunning the remainder of the Human Sphere.

  And no messages from Jeanette, she mused. She would have been more concerned if one of the updates hadn’t noted that all messages from Earth were being held in a buffer until the state of emergency was lifted. I wonder ...

  She frowned as a new message appeared in her inbox. A personal message ... her eyes narrowed, concerned. There was no one who might send her a personal message, except for Jeanette. But her sister was on the other side of the datanet buffer. The header insisted that it had come from the task force ... she frowned. Who in the task force would send her a personal message?

  Maybe it’s spam, she thought, as she opened the message. And someone is looking at fines and jail time ...

  Her mouth dropped open as she saw the sender. Alan Campbell. It couldn’t be ... She swallowed hard, all the bitter resentments and hatreds bubbling up from the back of her mind as she checked the message details. There was no mistake. Alan Campbell, Master of the Flying Cuttlefish ... Alan Campbell, father of Jeanette and Alice Campbell ... Alan Campbell, the murderer of his wife, the man who’d left his daughters without either a father or a mother ...

  No, she thought. What’s he doing here?

  Her fingers were suddenly numb. She forced them to work, flicking through the message header to check the details. The Flying Cuttlefish had been assigned to the task force, apparently ... she wanted to scream in rage. Her father was a murderer, her father was a monster, her father was ... she knew, she had to admit, that he was also a legitimate war hero, but ...

  “Fuck it,” she said. Jeanette might be able to forgive their father, but Alice never could. The bastard had killed their mother. “Just ...”

  She caught herself, a moment before she slammed her fist into the keyboard. What did the bastard sperm donor want? She glanced at the message, realised he was asking for a meeting, and shook her head, firmly. She was damned if she was going to meet him. She wanted to bury a knife in his heart and ... she wondered, despite herself, if she could get away with it. If the government needed her, the government could cover up the crime. She could do it ...

  And the Major - and everyone else - would be disappointed in me, Alice thought. She found it hard to care, even though she knew she should. And I wouldn’t have a place here any longer.

  Pushing the thought aside, she stood. The gym should be clear right now, unless schedules had changed. She wanted to pound a punching bag into dust ...

  ... And, if she imagined she was beating her father into a pulp, that was no one’s business, but hers.

  Chapter Ten

  Admiral Svetlana Zadornov knew, without false modesty, that she’d been lucky to reach command rank, let alone survive both internal and external enemies until she had reached flag rank in the Russian Navy. It was rare for a woman to join the navy and rarer still for her to request assignment to actual starships, instead of a comfortable position in the military bureaucracy where she could combine work with marrying and giving birth to the next generation of Russians. Indeed, Svetlana was fairly certain she wouldn’t have been allowed to reach command rank if she hadn’t been barren, something that had limited her value to her family. There weren’t many times that she regretted it. Better to risk her skin for the Rodina than spend the rest of her life as a brood mare.

  Although they probably get more mileage out of me being a war hero, Svetlana thought, as she sat in her ready room. There aren’t many international heroes who are still on the fleet lists.

  She smiled, coldly. RFS Brezhnev - the second Brezhnev - was a fleet carrier, named for her old command. The first Brezhnev had fought in the Battle of Earth, then been destroyed during a brief encounter with an enemy raiding party shortly before the end of the war, thankfully some time after Svetlana herself had been promoted into carrier command. She still missed the old ship, even though she hadn’t looked back at the time. She’d taken one of the worst crews in the fleet and turned them into a proper crew. And they’d rewarded her during the battle ...

  Her lips thinned as she studied the display. Two hundred years of interstellar expansion had come to a sudden end when the first of a series of alien enemies had come boiling out of nowhere to challenge the human race. Humanity had barely had any time to recover from the first war before the second began, followed rapidly by the third. Svetlana had heard American and British officers bemoaning the endless series of threats, asking why no alien race ever seemed to come in peace, but Svetlana had never understood it. The universe was red in tooth and claw. There was no right to anything, no right to even life itself, that could not be taken away. The Americans and the British could allow themselves to believe that the universe was just, if they wished; Mother Russia had never allowed her children the same freedom. It didn’t matter who was in the right, legally or morally. All that mattered was strength and the will to use it. It was a lesson Svetlana had learned herself, time and time again. She had never been allow
ed to rest on her laurels.

  She smiled, coldly, at the thought. She’d been underestimated when she’d joined the navy. Too many of her fellow cadets - and her training officers - had been unable to look past her breasts. But now ... who was laughing now? She was a patient woman, with a vindictive streak a mile wide. The instructor who’d threatened to fail her unless she serviced him - she grimaced at the thought - was spending the rest of his life in Siberia. And he was doing something a lot more useful than merely counting trees.

  Her intercom bleeped. Her aide’s voice echoed in the quiet room. “Admiral, I have established a link to HMS Invincible. Their captain is waiting to speak to you.”

  “Put him through,” Svetlana said. “And then secure the line.”