The Right of the Line

by Christopher Nuttall

  “The administrators and their families,” Major Parkinson said. “For some reason” - his face twisted in disgust - “they put themselves at the top of the list.”

  Alice nodded, curtly. She wasn’t surprised. Bureaucrats were the same no matter where they were. She nodded to her squad, then led them out of the spaceport and down towards the evacuation camp. It looked as if someone had converted a transit barracks into a temporary home, although there was a permanence about the structure that surprised her. Transit barracks were, by their very nature, temporary. Most colonist administrators wanted - needed - to get the newcomers out to their final destinations as quickly as possible.

  She felt her unease grow worse as she peered further down the road, into the city itself. It looked deserted - there wasn’t anyone on the streets, as far as she could tell - but her combat instincts were tingling. Something was badly wrong. She gritted her teeth as she stopped outside the evacuation centre, noting how the guards looked jumpy. It was only a matter of time until they shot someone. She made a mental note never to turn her back on them. She didn’t want to be shot in the back by someone who was nominally on her side.

  And if they knew what I was carrying, she thought darkly, they’d probably feel entirely justified in shooting me.

  An administrator appeared out of a side door. “Thank you for coming,” he said. He gave her an odd look, as if she wasn’t quite what he’d expected. “Did you bring buses? Or trucks?”

  “No,” Alice said, curtly. “The evacuees are going to have to walk to the spaceport.”

  The administrator looked shocked. Alice felt her patience rapidly dwindling. The spaceport wasn’t that far away. It would take longer to load the evacuees into trucks, even assuming she’d brought trucks, than it would to have them walk all the way to the spaceport. She silently calculated the distance in her head and smiled. It was barely two kilometres.

  “Now,” Alice said. “Please.”

  “But they have all their belongings with them,” the administrator protested. “They need ...”

  Alice swallowed the impulse to haul off and deck him. “We don’t have room for anything other than the evacuees themselves,” she said, sharply. God! What was so important that it was worth wasting time and risking lives? She would make an exception for a child’s toy, but not for ... the family jewels. “And if they are not heading up the road in ten minutes, they’ll be bumped to the bottom of the evacuation list.”

  “I’ll talk to your commanding officer,” the administrator said. “I’ll ...”

  “Get them moving, now,” Alice said. “Or I’ll turn around and leave you all behind.”

  Something of her anger must have shown in her face, for the administrator wilted and turned away from her. There was a long moment as he shouted orders into the barracks - Alice wished, just for a moment, that she knew how to speak the language - and then the evacuees started filing out. Alice rolled her eyes as she silently noted the number of men, women and children. The men, at least, could have joined the colonial militia or done something useful ... couldn’t they? Some of them cast resentful glares at her, as if she were the reason they had to leave their homeworld. Others - the children, mainly - looked terrified. They didn’t understand what was going on, but they didn’t like it.

  “Leave your luggage behind,” she snapped at an elderly man who was carrying a large rucksack. “If you take it to the shuttle, it will be dumped.”

  The man looked oddly relieved, just for a second, as he dropped the rucksack on the concrete ground. Alice heard something smash inside, perhaps a piece of china ... she felt a flicker of pity as a middle-aged woman started berating the man for breaking something. She glared the woman into silence, resisting the urge to point out that the china - or whatever it had been - was lost anyway. It was unlikely they’d be able to recover anything from the colony after the war.

  The virus might just blow up the buildings from orbit and move on to the next target, she thought, as she watched the line heading up the road. There won’t be enough people left to attract its attention.

  She shuddered, keeping her face carefully blank. Children cried, teenage boys and girls whined to their mothers ... they wouldn’t have lasted a day at her boarding school, not with that sort of attitude. She wondered, absently, why they hadn’t done a day of work in their lives, then shrugged. It wasn’t her problem. She glanced into the barracks once the administrator had pronounced them empty, snorting at just how much luggage had been piled into a corner. She’d thought there were too few refugees ...

  “Captain,” Hammersmith said. “Do you hear ...?”

  Alice’s head snapped up. Someone was shouting in Chinese, behind them. She turned, just in time to see the streets suddenly come alive with people. The evacuees were screaming, starting to run ... she saw a middle-aged man knocking down a little girl as he fled the growing mob. Alice blanched as her team lifted their weapons, realising just how badly they’d screwed up. They were caught in the open - they were all caught in the open - unable even to seek cover without leaving the evacuees to be torn to shreds. She cursed openly, remembering just how many soldiers had been killed by mobs. It wasn’t a good way to die.

  “STOP,” she shouted, knowing it was useless. The mob might not be able to stop. The people at the back would keep pushing forward, even if the people at the front had other ideas. She saw a young man fall, only to be trampled by his former friends. She hoped he’d survive, but she doubted it. “STOP OR BE FIRED UPON.”

  She lifted her rifle and fired a handful of warning shots over the mob’s head. Nothing happened. The mob didn’t stop. She glanced at her team, then lifted her stunner. They were meant to do nothing more than stun, but a stunned body could still be trampled. She knew, from grim experience, that a stun bolt could kill someone with a heart condition or ... she shook her head. The only other option was firing bullets straight into the crowd. She shuddered to think how many people would die if she did.

  And I don’t even blame them for rioting, she thought, grimly. I’d riot too if my leaders were putting their possessions ahead of me ...

  “Fire at will,” she ordered, grimly.

  The stunner had always felt slightly unnatural to her. There was no recoil, just a faint sensation ... so faint that, in all honesty, she’d always wondered if she was imagining it. Bodies started to crumple, falling to the ground; others fell as they tripped over the bodies, hitting the concrete hard enough to hurt. Alice cursed as she realised that many of the stunned bodies were shielding the people behind them from the stun bolts. Bullets would go through flesh and bone like a knife through butter, but a stun bolt? It hit one body and stopped.

  She unhooked a gas grenade from her belt and hurled it into the crowd, shouting out a warning and snapping her mask into place a second later. The crowd seemed to waver, just for a second, as the grenade exploded, blowing clouds of smoke in all directions. She braced herself, half-expecting the crowd to snap masks or even wet clothes into place - she’d heard horror stories of mobs that came prepared for non-lethal warfare - but instead it started to come apart. Hundreds of bodies hit the ground, shuddering, coughing and vomiting helplessly. Others fled back to the city, clearly intending to hide before it was too late. She wondered, grimly, what would happen to them. The Chinese authorities wouldn’t be very kind.

  No one is, these days, she thought.

  “Fuck,” Hammersmith said, flatly. He wiped his forehead as the wind slowly dispelled the smoke. “I thought they were ready for us.”

  “They probably thought they were doomed whatever they did,” Alice said. “And they wanted a chance to get back at the bastards who abandoned them.”

  She looked over her shoulder. The evacuees were running now, save for a handful who’d fallen and couldn’t get up. A flicker of contempt ran through her. The bastards hadn’t even tried to stop and save their families from the mob. But then, she supposed, they might not even have noticed they’d lost someone. She’d seen th
at before, back on Earth. It was sometimes hard to know someone was missing until it was too late.

  “What now?” Hammersmith asked. “Do we carry the bastards to the shuttles?”

  “Yeah.” Alice glanced into the city. “And then we have to figure out what to do with the others.”

  She keyed her communicator, informing Major Parkinson of the incident, then started to check the stunned bodies. Most of them seemed to be fine - or they would be, once the effects of the stunners wore off - but a couple were dead and several more were choking as their twitching bodies tried to vomit. She winced as she helped them into the recovery position, silently relieved to see a pair of trucks heading down from the spaceport. They could carry the stunned bodies to the shuttles and toss them inside before they had a chance to wake. It wasn’t going to be pleasant - she had a feeling the CO would want to keep them on the planet until the remainder of the population was evacuated - but it couldn’t be helped. She tried not to think about the ones who would never wake up.

  “Good work,” Major Parkinson said, once the trucks had carried her and her team back to the spaceport. The evacuees were being helped onto the shuttles - one took off as she watched - their faces grim as they contemplated everything they were leaving behind. “It could have been worse.”

  “It will be, if we ever have to evacuate a bigger population,” Alice said. Zheng He was tiny, her population practically non-existent compared to Britannia or New Washington or Terra Nova. “It’s taking us nearly all of our lift capacity to evacuate a few hundred thousand people. What’s it going to be like if we have to evacuate New Destiny or Garland?”

  “Bad,” Major Parkinson said. “We couldn’t even begin to make a dent in the numbers. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have to try to get civilians out of the firing line.”

  Alice kept her thoughts to herself. The colonists were totally unprepared for life on a starship, particularly a damaged warship that was in no condition to fight, manned by a skeleton crew who simply didn’t have the time or supplies to look after a panicky mob of evacuees. God alone knew what was going to happen if the convoy came under attack. She doubted the battered warships could put up much of a fight.

  But the only other option is leaving them here, she thought, morbidly. And if we do that, the virus will get them.

  “We’ll get the rest of the poor bastards off the planet, then leave ourselves,” Major Parkinson said. He made it sound easy. It would be, if everyone cooperated. “And then we can take the offensive.”

  Alice looked up. “We’re hitting back?”

  “Scuttlebutt says the Admiral is planning something,” Major Parkinson said. “And you might have a chance to strut your stuff.”

  “Or get my ass blown off, sir,” Alice said. She smiled, thinly. “How do you know it will be us taking the offensive?”

  “Who else?” Major Parkinson smiled. “What other carrier is so suited to mounting a limited offensive?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Major Parkinson shrugged. “You and your team can reinforce the gates,” he said. “I want to clear the entire city by tomorrow. After that ... anyone who wants to stay can take their chances, as far as I’m concerned. The colony administrators can file complaints later, if anyone survives.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alice said. She remembered the evacuees complaining about being forced to leave their possessions behind and groaned. Some people were just selfish wankers. “I’m sure they’ll be complaining about us.”

  “If they have a chance,” Major Parkinson said. “Their government isn’t going to be very happy about what happened here, is it?”

  Alice thought about it. “Poor bastards.”

  “Quite,” Major Parkinson agreed. “Poor bastards.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Boss, I need to piss!”

  “Go in the bag, for fuck’s sake,” Richard said. The patrol had been boring, but he was experienced enough to know that boring was good. An encounter with the enemy might not be boring, yet it might also be lethal. He would have enjoyed the flight more if he hadn’t had to put up with banter and dumb jokes from his pilots. “And keep the channel clear unless you have something to contribute.”

  He glared at his display, silently daring the pilot to say something - anything - that would give Richard a legitimate excuse for tearing the poor bastard a new arsehole. It had been too long since Richard had taken a stim, too long since he’d felt the surge of energy ... his fingers twitched, as if they wanted to pluck the injector tab from his utility belt and press it against his bare skin. He wanted it ... he told himself, firmly, that he couldn’t have it, not now. A patrol was no time to be distracted, either by banter or semi-illicit drugs. He would be in deep shit if he lost control so far from Invincible.

  His eyes found the carrier, holding position on the edge of the formation. The last few days had been hectic, with thousands of personnel transferred from the damaged and crippled ships to more spaceworthy vessels. Richard had forced himself to listen to their stories, from the usual bullshit about missiles and plasma bolts they’d seen with their naked eyes to more accurate descriptions of how the engagement had gone. Some of the newer pilots had sobered up - a lot - after they’d heard the stories from Second Falkirk. The virus had kicked humanity’s arse. It was sheer luck that the MNF had been able to extract its surviving ships before the entire fleet was wiped out.

  And we have to hold position here until we’re ready to take the offensive, he thought. He would have killed for a week of shore leave, for him and his pilots, but it wasn’t going to happen. The only people left on Zheng He now were a handful of colonists who’d decided to stay behind, against orders. It isn’t as if there’s a resort we can go to now.

  He smiled, rather faintly, at the thought. They hadn’t seen a single enemy ship since the brief engagement a few weeks ago - unless the handful of sensor ghosts they’d picked up had been more than just ghosts - but the operational tempo hadn’t faltered. He and his pilots were in danger of overworking themselves through endless training sessions, both real and simulated, although he knew they should be grateful they weren’t really being shot at. His fingers twitched again, reminding him that he wanted - he wanted, not needed - a stim. It wouldn’t be long before tiredness started to lead to mistakes and mistakes started to lead to disasters ... he shook his head, savagely. His mind was starting to wander again. He’d zoned out. God knew what would happen if he zoned out in the middle of an engagement ...

  Ping! Richard jerked up, feeling as if he’d just shot himself with a wickedly-effective stimulant. There was something out there, a sensor flicker that might - that just might - be real. His display updated rapidly, suggesting a handful of possible vectors. The intruder - if it was an intruder - was far too close for comfort. It was already close enough to gather intelligence on the fleet’s dispositions. Richard hated to think what an imaginative enemy could do with such information. A massive missile strike might be the least of it.

  “Form up on me,” he ordered. He tapped a command, updating the remainder of the CSP. They’d have to hold the line while his squadron moved to investigate. “Watch your sensors carefully. If you get a sniff of something, alert us at once.”

  “Apart from myself, you mean?” Flying Officer Kelvin Hameln was already convinced he was the squadron joker. “It was a mistake to have beans for dinner ...”

  “And maintain radio silence, otherwise,” Richard snapped, although he knew it was probably pointless. A passive sensor could detect and track a starfighter from halfway across the system. “We don’t want to give them any more data!”

  He kept a wary eye on his sensor readouts as he led the squadron away from the fleet. The contact had been brief, but long enough - just long enough - for him to get a solid idea of the mystery craft’s course and speed. Not, he reminded himself, that that meant anything. A prowling starship under heavy stealth - or cloaked - would be sure to alter course regularly, even if it didn’t know it had been dete
cted. And if it thought it had been detected - and the flight of starfighters heading towards its position was a dead giveaway - it would either try to escape or go for broke. Richard tensed as the range closed. If there was something out there ...

  “Contact,” Flying Officer Susan Ruben said. A red icon appeared on the display. “One ship, unknown class.”

  “Shit,” Richard said. He’d hoped it was a sensor glitch. A contact - a real contact - meant trouble. “I’m going in for a closer look. The remainder of the squadron is to hold position and wait for orders.”

  His sensors bleeped an alert as he closed the range. The alien starship was still trying to hide, but it had to know it had been detected by now. An alarm sounded as the ship decloaked, the red icon blurring for a seconds before resolving into a destroyer-sized starship. Richard swallowed a curse as the enemy ship twisted, angling towards the fleet. There was a moment when he thought it was going to charge, just like the previous ships had done, before it spat out a hail of missiles at the carriers.

  “All fighters, form up on me,” Richard ordered. The destroyer was turning away, picking up speed as it headed away from the fleet. Richard silently ran through the vectors in his head. They’d get one shot at the bastard before they put too much distance between themselves and Invincible. Their life support packs were dangerously low. “Prepare to engage.”