The missiles sliced through his squadron and roared towards the fleet. A handful of pilots opened fire, but Richard’s immediate assessment suggested none of them had scored a hit. That was odd. The missiles were fast, faster than starfighters, but they couldn’t outrun a computer-targeted plasma bolt. Richard put it away for later consideration as the squadron lanced towards the enemy destroyer, evading a handful of plasma bolts as the destroyer fought for its life. There was no way it could outrun a starfighter, but the intelligence directing the craft had no intention of giving up so easily. Richard would have admired it if he hadn’t known how dangerous it could be.
This is war to the knife, he thought, as he led the squadron into torpedo range. The destroyer was fighting desperately now, filling space with hundreds of plasma bolts. Either we exterminate the virus, or it exterminates us.
“Fire on my command,” he ordered. The range closed until he was almost touching the enemy hull. “Fire!”
His starfighter jerked as he launched his torpedoes. He yanked the craft to one side, determined that he wouldn’t offer the bastard an easy target if the virus put hurting the human race ahead of simple self-preservation. Four other starfighters followed him in, firing their torpedoes then spinning into evasive manoeuvres. The enemy destroyer seemed to shudder as the torpedoes punched home, explosions pockmarking its hull before it lost hull integrity and blew up. Richard checked his scope automatically, looking for signs the crew had managed to get to the lifepods before it was too late, but saw nothing. The virus didn’t give a damn about its host bodies. They were ... disposable.
“We got him,” Hameln carolled. “I want to paint him on my hull!”
“Later,” Richard snapped. “Right now, we have to get back to the ship.”
And brace ourselves for the next attack, he thought. It won’t be long in coming.
***
“They’ve crammed all kinds of penetrator aids into their warheads, Admiral,” Commander Steven White said. The American’s holoimage twitched uncomfortably. “As near as we can make out, they’re using a number of different forms of ECM to make it harder to accurately track their missiles. We know they’re there, we know their rough location, but it isn’t enough to let us hit them. The only way to take them out is to fill space with plasma bolts ...”
“As if we were facing starfighters, not missiles,” Admiral Weisskopf growled.
“Yes, sir,” White said. “In the time it takes us to shoot one missile out of space, two or three more have broken through our defences.”
“Brilliant,” Stephen said, sarcastically. “They came very close to slamming a missile into Invincible.”
“It will get worse,” White predicted. “The more they learn about our countermeasures, the more they can improve their systems to ... ah, counter the countermeasures and ...”
“Keep raiding the system,” Admiral Weisskopf said, cutting him off. “We can’t go on like this.”
Stephen nodded. The virus seemed disinclined - for the moment - to launch a full-scale invasion of the system, but the handful of pinprick raids were doing more than enough damage. They were steadily wearing down morale and readiness, while hampering plans to evacuate the planet and dismantle what remained of the system’s industrial base. The hit the virus had scored on one of the industrial nodes had thrown all of the plans out of shape.
“No, we can’t.” Admiral Zadornov’s image leaned forward. Her voice was very cold. “I propose we move up our plan to send Invincible into enemy territory. Captain Shields, when can your ship depart?”
“Two hours, if you let me recall the marine detachments and prioritise their departure from the planet,” Stephen said. He would have preferred to recall the marines sooner, but the remaining evacuees had priority. “We are as close to ready now as we can reasonably expect.”
“We’ll also be stripping a carrier from the fleet,” Admiral Weisskopf warned. It had the air of a pro forma protest, rather than a serious objection. “We’re already short on fighter cover.”
“We’re converting some of the freighters into makeshift carriers,” Svetlana reminded him, although she didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic. “At the very least, we’ll have more hangar space.”
Stephen scowled, but there was no point in objecting when he didn’t have a better idea. They simply didn’t have the tools, facilities or manpower to do a real carrier conversion. The best they could do, with what they had on hand, was to carve out a very basic flight deck that would both launch and recover the starfighters. Stephen had seen the simulations. The converted carriers would work fine until they drew enemy attention. They never lasted very long after they were targeted by hostile starfighters. There was no way they could even defend themselves.
“I’ll dispatch the cripples this afternoon, then,” Admiral Weisskopf said. “We’ll be using drones in hopes of convincing any unfriendly eyes that they haven’t been allowed to leave - yet. If the analysts are right, the virus won’t question it.”
“If,” Stephen said. He had his doubts. The virus might approve the use of cripples to draw and absorb fire - it was the sort of cold pragmatism he had come to expect from the wholly alien entity - but it had also absorbed a number of human minds. It had to know that humanity would hesitate to throw away a crippled ship - and her crew - if there was any other alternative. “It depends on what it managed to learn from us.”
“It may not understand what it learnt,” Svetlana pointed out. “No matter how many times people tried to explain what it is like to be human to our alien allies, they never got it. We didn’t really understand them either.”
Stephen nodded. He could understand, intellectually, that the Tadpoles sired hundreds of children and accepted the ones who survived to adulthood, but emotionally ...? It was horrific. A parent who casually killed their own child was a monster. The idea that parents could just throw their children into the wild and expect them to grow up was impossible to accept. But it worked for the Tadpoles. No doubt they found human reproduction to be just as incomprehensible.
“We have to try,” Admiral Weisskopf said. He smiled, rather grimly. “And if we fool them into believing that we’re stronger than we are, so much the better.”
“Make it work harder to ready an assault force to take the system,” Stephen said. “It’s hard to believe that it would choose to bypass us.”
“Quite,” Admiral Weisskopf said. “If nothing else, we could raid merry hell out of their supply lines if they left us in their rear.”
Svetlana nodded. “Captain Shields, recall your men. You have orders to raid the enemy logistics chain at your discretion, with the sole proviso that you are not to travel more than three jumps into enemy territory. I’ll send formal written orders before you depart.”
“Understood, Admiral,” Stephen said. He felt his heart leap, even though he would be jumping out of the frying pan and straight into the fire. Independent command, again! “If we cruise through the three systems between Zheng He and Falkirk, we should find something to kill before we return home.”
“And be careful when you do,” Admiral Weisskopf warned. There was a hint of pessimism in his voice. “We might lose the system while you’re gone.”
Stephen nodded. It was a valid point, all the more important because of what had been lost after Second Falkirk. “The flicker network is gone, isn’t it? And we were just getting used to having it.”
“Unfortunate,” Admiral Weisskopf said. His lips twitched. “And yes, it is.”
“Yes, sir,” Stephen agreed. On one hand, the loss of the flicker network meant that it would be difficult for him and his crew to be micromanaged by someone hundreds of light years away; on the other, it meant they’d have no way to know what might be happening behind them. He hadn’t known, during the mission into enemy space, that Falkirk had been attacked until they’d flown right into the ongoing battle. “If we’re operating alone, we’ll just have to wing it.”
“I can’t spare any escort
s,” Svetlana said. “I’m sorry.”
“I understand,” Stephen said. He didn’t blame her. The fleet was critically weak in small ships, even destroyers and frigates. Svetlana needed to hold them back to cover her fleet carriers. “Invincible was designed for solo operations.”
“A mistake, perhaps,” Admiral Weisskopf said. “But one that might have paid off for you.”
Stephen shrugged. “We can talk about the advantages and disadvantages of her class later,” he said. There were strong arguments for and against assault carriers, all of which were being tested in fire. If humanity survived, he had no doubt the next generation of carriers would incorporate a great many lessons from his experience. “Right now, all that matters is winning the war.”
“Agreed,” Svetlana said. For a moment, her face turned hard and cold. “Good luck, Captain.”
“Aye,” Admiral Weisskopf agreed. “Give them hell.”
Stephen watched the holoimages vanish, then tapped his wristcom. “Mr. XO, our departure date has been moved up. Recall the marines from the surface, then inform the crew that we will be departing in two hours.”
“Aye, sir,” Newcomb said. He sounded confident. The planning for the operation had already been completed. “Our destination?”
Stephen allowed himself a smile. “Enemy space.”
“Yes, sir.”
He checked his terminal, glanced at a handful of messages that could wait until they returned from enemy-held space, then finished his tea and stood. A low quiver ran through the ship as the drive powered up, Invincible seemingly pulsing with excitement at the thought of returning to her original function. She was designed to take the war to the enemy, not to serve as part of a bigger fleet or escort a convoy ... no matter how important the convoy was to the war. Stephen touched his desk lightly, feeling the quivering growing stronger. His ship was eager to depart.
Smiling, he walked through the hatch and onto the bridge. His crew had prepared for departure already, but the bridge was still a hive of activity as they made the final preparations. They knew - now - that they’d be leaving in just under two hours. He nodded to his XO, then surveyed the bridge. The crew knew they’d be flying into danger - they knew that some of them, or all of them, might not come back - but they were responding with admirable calm. He was proud of them.
And a siege mentality was starting to set in, he thought, as he nodded to his XO. The mere thought of taking the offensive has done wonders.
He took his chair and watched the display update. The CSP and marines were recalled, a handful of drones deployed in hopes of convincing any watching eyes that Invincible had remained with the fleet ... Stephen wasn’t sure if it would work, but it was worth a try. The fleet had been redeploying regularly, ships cloaking and decloaking constantly to confuse the enemy ... if it worked, the virus might think nothing of Invincible’s departure. Or ... would it even notice at all? Would it even care?
“Don’t care was made to care,” he said.
Newcomb glanced at him. “Captain?”
“No matter,” Stephen said. “Are we ready to depart?”
“Aye, Captain,” Newcomb said. “We’re ready.”
“Tactical, engage the cloak,” Stephen ordered. The light dimmed, automatically. He felt a surge of excitement. “Helm, set course for the tramline.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Chapter Twenty
There was no reason to feel any difference between Zheng He and Margo. There was no reason to think that one star system felt different from the other, as if a star system had a feel at all. And yet, the moment Invincible jumped through the tramline into Margo, Stephen felt as if he was being watched. He braced himself, half-expecting missiles to start slamming into his ship before his crew had a chance to see their opponent ... seconds ticked away and nothing materialised. The display was clear.
“Jump completed, Captain,” Lieutenant Sonia Michelle said.
“Local space is clear,” Lieutenant Alison Adams said. The sensor officer worked her console for a long moment. “I’m not picking up any radio noise from Margo.”
That’s hardly surprising, Stephen thought. The virus has had plenty of time to silence all opposition.
“The cloak is engaged,” Lieutenant-Commander David Arthur reported. “We appear to be free and clear.”
Unless someone saw the cloak flicker when we jumped through the tramline, Stephen thought grimly. The odds against it were staggeringly high, but it was - theoretically - possible. He’d been careful to ensure that Invincible stayed well away from a least-time course to the tramline, to minimise the risk of detection, yet there was no way to be sure. They might wind up playing a game of cat-and-mouse with a cloaked watcher, without ever being entirely sure that there was a watcher. We have to hope for the best and prepare for the worst.
“Tactical, deploy sensor platforms,” he ordered. “And watch - carefully - for the slightest hint of noise.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Stephen leaned forward, keeping his face impassive as the display slowly filled with blue icons. Margo itself was a dead world, one that resembled Mars more than Venus; the settlers had started a terraforming program, but it would be many centuries before a human could breathe the planet’s air without a mask. The handful of tiny colonies should have had time to go underground, but there was no way to know. They knew better than to risk breaking radio silence, particularly if they didn’t have any reason to think there was anyone who would pick up the signals. Anyone friendly, at least. The virus wouldn’t hesitate to drop rocks on the colonies if it picked up a hint of their existence.
And they might not be able to survive underground, not long enough for us to liberate the system, Stephen reminded himself. Margo was too rough a world to attract any of the Great Powers. The settlers were religious dissidents, without the resources they needed to make their world self-sufficient. They may not survive without supplies from outside.
He frowned as a red icon snapped into existence, a lone starship traversing the system. A handful of projected vectors formed around the enemy ship - the presumed enemy ship. It was unlikely that anyone other than the virus would be crossing the system openly, but there might be stragglers from the MNF. Stephen watched the vectors get harder, suggesting that the mystery ship had come directly from Falkirk. It was hard to remember, sometimes, that the vectors were pretty much meaningless. The mystery ship could have changed course at any time before she’d been detected.
It had to come from somewhere, Stephen thought. He quietly plotted out an intercept course, then dismissed the thought. There was no way Invincible could ambush the alien ship unless her crew obligingly altered course or slowed down. He’d have been more than a little suspicious if they did. And that somewhere has to be Alien-One.
“Deploy two drones to follow the enemy ship,” he ordered. He didn’t dare take Invincible too far from the tramline until he had a rough idea of the enemy’s positions. Margo had fallen weeks ago. It was unlikely that the virus had pulled its fleets back to Falkirk, not when it needed to maintain the pressure on Zheng He. “And watch carefully for enemy bases.”
“Aye, sir.”
Stephen felt sweat on his back as the hours ticked by, more and more data steadily flowing into the display. There were a handful of faint radio sources now, all completely incomprehensible. One analyst likened the signals to an extremely complex computer code, suggesting that the virus might be using the radio signals to link its different subgroups together. Stephen made a mental note to use ECM to disrupt the signals, when push came to shove, but he doubted it would be that effective. The virus would probably use lasers to coordinate its ships when the fighting started in earnest. Stephen knew that datanets had been knocked down, in the past, but it had almost always happened when command starships had been blown out of space. It was vanishingly rare for a command datanet to be hacked from the outside.
We learnt that lesson the hard way, he reminded himself. It had been centurie
s since the last of the rogue hackers had been tracked down and executed, during the Troubles, but the scars they’d left still cast a long shadow over humanity. And the virus might have learnt the same lesson during its early expansion ...
He considered the problem for a long moment. The xenospecialists were still unsure if the virus was a natural development, yet another sign that evolution didn’t always favour the humanoid form, or if it was a weapon a mystery race had developed for unknown reasons ... only to lose control, their weapon turning on them before launching itself into space to conquer the galaxy. Stephen himself had no particular horse in the race, although he preferred to think that the virus might be natural. It was hard to imagine a race stupid enough to design something as complex as the virus without taking precautions to ensure they didn’t lose control. But the virus was fantastically complex, evolving at a terrifying rate to absorb and integrate host bodies from a dozen different biochemistries. Perhaps it had simply evolved past the safeguards and destroyed its creators.
The Right of the Line Page 20