The Right of the Line

by Christopher Nuttall

  “We’re testing it now,” Alice said. “This isn’t a tank on Salisbury Plain. How the fuck are we meant to test this under anything like realistic conditions?”

  She met his eyes. “A few seconds should be enough to tell us if it works or not,” she added, curtly. “If it doesn’t work, we proceed with storming the ship the old-fashioned way.”

  “And you’ll be dead.” Anders shook his head. “The whole plan is suicide.”

  Alice blinked in surprise. Anders was no coward. He had a long and honourable record. He wouldn’t have been promoted if he hadn’t impressed his sergeants along with his direct superiors. There was no reason to believe that he was lacking in moral fibre. And yet, he was opposing something that might save lives? She shook her head a moment later. She’d done enough work with experimental gadgets to know that something would normally go wrong before the kinks were worked out. Testing something new in a combat zone was always a gamble. Risk was one thing. Unnecessary risk was quite another.

  “I know the dangers,” she said, firmly. “And if it fails, it fails.”

  She glanced inside the landing pod, noting how the engineers had based the interior on a starfighter cockpit. The occupants would be held firmly until the craft had burned its way into the enemy ship, at which point they’d be hurled down the shaft and ... straight into an alien environment. The thought made her shiver, even though it wouldn’t be the first time she’d boarded an alien ship. There was no way to know what they’d encounter until it was too late.

  And if all our guesses about the interior are wrong, she reminded herself, this whole scheme might not get off the ground.

  It was a worrying thought. One of the boffins she’d met during her debriefings at the biological warfare research lab had compared the virus to a hermit crab. It didn’t make anything for itself. It didn’t have a style, from the blocky and functional starships that humanity produced to the weirdly melted designs favoured by the Tadpoles; it merely took over captured ships and converted them to its cause. The ship they’d captured on their previous mission had been dissected, piece by piece. The boffins had concluded that the virus had infected the ship almost as much as it had infected the crew. In theory, Alice’s pheromones could spread through the ship without hindrance. In practice ...

  Well, that’s something we’re going to have to find out, she mused. If the virus realises what I’m doing, it may have time to devise countermeasures.

  “Well, good luck,” Anders said. “If I were in command, you’d never be allowed to do this.”

  “Good thing you’re not in command,” Alice said, stiffly. She was fairly sure that Anders would have refused to accept her, even if she’d never been infected. “We’ll start training tomorrow.”

  “Yes,” Anders said. “You asked for volunteers?”

  “Eventually,” Alice said. She’d intended to go alone, but Major Parkinson had vetoed that idea. He’d insisted that she needed an escort, one that could cover her long enough to start pumping out pheromones. “And I had more than I could handle.”

  Anders made a face. “And are you sure you can handle it?”

  “We’ll find out,” Alice said. She grinned at him. “I need to brush up on my unarmed combat training. You want to meet me in the ring?”

  “I suppose I don’t have a choice.” Anders gave her a nasty look. “See you in ten?”

  “Yeah,” Alice said. She’d trapped him. If he declined her challenge, he’d look like a coward; if he accepted it, it would be de facto admission that she was his equal. She felt her grin widen at the thought. If Anders wanted to hold back in the ring, she’d make him eat a couple of his teeth. “I’ll be there.”

  She watched him go, then turned back to the landing craft. It was a gamble - Anders was right about that, damn him - but one she had to take. There was little else she could do. She wouldn’t be returning to the ranks, not now. She knew, technically, that she should report back to the biological warfare lab and offer them her services, but she couldn’t stand the thought. She wanted to be doing something, not sitting around like a schoolgirl who had an excuse note to keep her out of sports. She wanted ...

  At least I proved myself, she thought as she headed for the hatch. Before her, there had been no female Royal Marines. Now, at least, anyone who wanted to follow in her footsteps would find it a little easier. A little. Male or female, commando training was punishing beyond belief. She had never seriously considered SAS Selection. Breaking that barrier might have been beyond her. They can’t say I failed because of a lack of moral fibre in myself.

  She walked down the corridor and into the training compartment, feeling a flicker of dismay as she realised they had an audience. Major Parkinson and a couple of marines were watching as Anders set up the ring, his face grim. Alice wondered, briefly, just what they’d said to each other before she’d arrived. Major Parkinson was old enough to know that some disputes needed to be settled physically, but he wouldn’t be pleased if one managed to render the other unfit for duty. There were few things modern medicine couldn’t cure - her heart twisted as she remembered that the virus was one of those things - but none of them could afford to spend a few days in sickbay. Captain Shields would not be pleased.

  Major Parkinson nodded to the ring. Alice took a moment to gather herself, then stepped over the line. There were no ropes. She hadn’t seen them outside formal boxing rings for inter-military contests, when the Royal Marines would compete with the Paras and SAS for the military title. Combatants were meant to be careful not to step across the line ... or to let themselves be thrown across it. She’d been told it was meant to promote spatial awareness, but she had a feeling the real reason was to give someone a chance to back out if they felt they were overmatched. That would be embarrassing.

  Of course, being punched out of the ring would also be embarrassing, she thought. He’s probably stronger than me ...

  She dropped into a combat stance and assessed her opponent. Anders was nowhere near as big as some of the soldiers she’d seen - an artilleryman she’d met once had been huge - but he was strong and wiry. Fast too, unless she missed her guess. He would have been training alongside his men for months, ever since he got promoted. He might not be a martial artist - someone who set out to win awards as well as combat qualifications - but he wouldn’t be a slouch either. Of course not. He was a marine.

  Major Parkinson blew a whistle. Alice waited, curious to see if Anders would make the first move. If he didn’t like the idea of women in combat, he might hesitate to hit her ... she felt her lips twist at the thought. She was a marine, damn it. If she hadn’t been able to stand the thought of being hit, she wouldn’t have put herself in a position where she could - no, would - be hit. Her instructors hadn’t hesitated to put her through hell, trying to force her to quit. She was damned if she was letting him treat her like a shrinking violet now.

  And I don’t want him to wind up looking like an ungallant fool either, Alice thought. She’d met too many men who thought they had to protect women. Perhaps she would have taken that more seriously if her father hadn’t been such an asshole. Protect was sometimes nothing more than control. I don’t want to undermine him ...

  She lunged forward, snapping out a wicked punch. Anders darted back, evading her blow, then hurled himself at her. Alice dodged, refusing to grapple with someone who was almost certainly stronger and fitter than her. She might lose, but she wasn’t going to lose by having him push her out of the ring. Losing was one thing; looking like an idiot was quite another. She saw a faint smile cross his face, a second before he threw a punch of his own. Alice evaded it with an effort, trying to jab through his defences. Only an idiot would willingly take a punch on the assumption he’d survive the impact. She’d seen too many badly-done fight scenes to have any respect for their producers.

  Anders closed with her again, trying to pummel her. Alice dodged, watching for an opening and throwing a punch as soon as she saw one. Anders twisted, grunting in pain as she s
truck his arm. Alice darted forward, only to realise - too late - she’d made a mistake. Anders struck her side, hard. Alice staggered, forcing herself back. Anders hesitated, then pushed forward again. Alice aimed a kick at his groin. It would have gotten her sent off, if she’d done it at school, but Anders merely twisted. Her foot struck his bottom.

  Someone cheered, loudly. “She kicked his ass!”

  “Silence,” Major Parkinson ordered.

  Anders let out an odd sound - it took Alice a moment to realise that he was trying not to laugh - and waited. Alice glared at him, readying herself. She was in pain, but she’d been in pain before. She hadn’t been hurt that badly. It wouldn’t take that long to recover. Anders scowled, then advanced slowly and warily. Alice felt a flicker of sympathy. He wanted to win, but he’d lose respect if he didn’t beat her fairly. She might gain more credit from a vicious defence than he would for an easy victory.

  He leaned back, just for a second, then came at her again. Alice twisted, then closed herself, their hands and feet snapping back and forth as they fought. She heard the sound of spectators exchanging bets, the odds rising and falling as ... a blow struck her shoulder, sending her crashing to the deck. She rolled over to avoid a sharp kick, bracing herself for another. It never came. Instead, Major Parkinson blew his whistle. The cheers and boos from the spectators came to an abrupt end.

  Alice blinked. What?

  She looked down, feeling her cheeks heat. She’d rolled over the line. Technically, she’d lost. Technically. Anders looked as irked as she felt, although she wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t won completely, but ... he hadn’t lost respect either. And she’d left a nasty mark on his cheek. Anders shrugged, then held out a hand. Alice hesitated before taking it and allowing him to help her to her feet. She didn’t have any hard feelings towards him, at least. She was more annoyed at herself.

  “An interesting fight,” Major Parkinson said. He dismissed the spectators, driving them out of the compartment before continuing. “I trust you two will work together in the future. Properly.”

  “Yes, sir,” Anders said.

  “Yes, sir,” Alice echoed. She wondered, again, what Anders had told Major Parkinson before they’d started the fight. A grudge match? It wouldn’t be the first time, even though it was technically against regulations. It was astonishing how many problems were quietly settled through fisticuffs. “If you don’t mind, I need a shower.”

  “And both of you are to get checked out by the medics,” Major Parkinson said. It was an order, however phrased. She knew better than to ignore it. “And I expect this to be the end of the matter.”

  Alice nodded, then headed for the hatch. Her body was aching, with pains in a dozen places, but she felt good. She’d lost, yet ... it had been her mistake. She hadn’t been pounded to within an inch of her life. Anders was probably relieved. There had been no easy way for him to win without looking bad. She felt a pang of annoyance, mingled with amusement. She’d met worse people at school. There had been a boy who’d been so intent on touching her inappropriately that he’d dropped his guard. She still smiled when she thought about it.

  She stepped into her cabin and frowned as she saw her terminal. There was another message from her father, just waiting for her. She stared at it for a long moment, then reached out to delete it. Whatever he had to say, she didn’t want to hear it. And yet ...

  Maybe I’ll talk to him soon, she thought. She drew back her hand. This time, she’d keep the message. She’d look at it later, when she had time. And then I’ll see what he has to say.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Jump completed, sir,” Lieutenant Sonia Michelle reported.

  “Local space is clear,” Lieutenant-Commander David Arthur added. “We appear to be alone.”

  Stephen sucked in his breath. He hadn’t expected to be ambushed, the moment Invincible and her escorts jumped into Zheng He, but he’d had the feeling they were being followed ever since the first brief engagement. There had been a handful of sensor ghosts, all too far away to be chased down and positively identified ... the fleet had stayed on alert for weeks, even though nothing had happened. He couldn’t help feeling as though they were wearing themselves down even before they went into battle.

  “Send a formal signal to System Command,” he ordered. “Inform them that we have arrived.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thomas Morse said.

  Stephen watched, grimly, as the display started to fill with icons. Zheng He had been a going concern for nearly forty years, the colony established well before the First Interstellar War. The Chinese had struck lucky, he admitted wryly. Their first survey had suggested that Zheng He was on the end of a tramline chain, but - after the First Interstellar War - it had become clear that there were three more tramlines within the system. They’d had the inside track on developing them, through both possession of Zheng He and a surprising amount of military muscle. It might have led to conflict if the tramline chain had been the only one open for further expansion.

  He felt his expression darken as he silently compared the sensor readings to what he’d seen the last time he’d passed through Zheng He. There were only a handful of asteroid miners - visible asteroid miners, he reminded himself - moving through the asteroid field, probably mining raw materials for the mobile shipyards and factory ships. The remainder would have been withdrawn, he was sure, or gone into hiding for the duration. The Chinese had been in the middle of developing the asteroid belt when the new threat had materialised. It had to be frustrating to have to shut down operations at a moment’s notice, but it was better than the alternative. The powered-down facilities and ships might survive long enough for the system to be liberated, if the virus attacked. Stephen - and everyone else - knew that it was only a matter of time until the virus did just that.

  And it won’t have had any trouble downloading and interpreting data from captured datacores, he thought, grimly. Spacers had strict orders to wipe and destroy datacores if there was a chance of them falling into enemy hands, but he knew better than to assume they’d all been destroyed. Dezhnev alone could have told the virus precisely where to send its invasion fleets. They already know where to find the MNF when they want to resume the offensive.

  Newcomb stepped up beside him. “The remainder of the fleet has jumped,” he said, quietly. “We have arrived.”

  “Pity there won’t be any time for shore leave,” Stephen muttered back. The crew had been worked hard over the last few weeks. The combination of constant maintenance and repair work - and going to battlestations the moment they picked up the slightest hint of enemy contact - had taken a toll. He was all too aware that the crew might be becoming blasé about potential threats. The sensors had cried wolf so often, it was hard to remember that there were real wolves about. “I’m surprised the virus hadn’t attacked the system already.”

  “It has to be bringing up supplies and reinforcements.” Newcomb sounded thoughtful. “Even if it doesn’t have to pay for warship hulls and missiles and whatever else it wants to bring to the party, it still has to drag them all the way from its forward bases to ... well, here.”

  “True,” Stephen agreed. “And it did take months to launch its first offensive after it knew there was something to attack.”

  He scowled at the thought. His critics had charged him with starting an interstellar war. He’d done everything right, according to the book, but ... that hadn’t been enough to silence everyone. The virus wasn’t interested in talking - and it didn’t look as if it could be diplomatic even if it wanted to be - yet ... his family’s enemies hadn’t stopped making political hay out of the whole affair. He supposed he should be grateful. If the virus had launched an immediate offensive, it would have been a great deal easier for his enemies to portray the virus as responding to unprovoked aggression.

  And it might have outrun its logistics if it tried, Stephen reminded himself. That might not have worked out too badly for us, in the short run.

  “Captain,
” Morse said. “The MNF has responded to our signal. They’re welcoming us to Zheng He.”

  Newcomb cleared his throat. “Nothing from System Command?”

  “Not yet, sir,” Morse said. “System Command may have been shut down for the duration.”

  Probably, Stephen thought.

  He felt a moment of sympathy for the colonists. Zheng He was reasonably well-developed, for a colony world that was only forty years old. It was quite possible the administrators had ordered everyone to go to ground, at least until the crisis was over. He wondered, grimly, just how many colonists would die even if there wasn’t an invasion. The Chinese would have done everything in their power to make the colony self-sufficient - no one wanted to be hauling grain across hundreds of light years - but it wouldn’t be easy to keep farming the land while trying to hide from watching sensors. Humanity’s orbital sensors were extremely good. Stephen had seen them track individuals trying to sneak out of the Security Zone. He dared not assume that the virus’s sensors were any less capable. It might be impossible for the colonists to hide for long.