“And then been blown to pieces when that fleet turned up,” Alice snapped. She was sweating inside her suit, all too aware that she might be walking into a trap. If Raleigh was infected, the marines were going to die. Or worse. She didn’t fear death, only being infected - again. It was the thought - the fear - that kept her up at night. “What good is money if you can’t fucking spend it?”
She turned her attention to the live feed from the sensors as the shuttle slid towards Raleigh. The survey crew had done as they were told, powering down everything apart from life support ... it should have reassured her, but it didn’t. There were all kinds of weapons that wouldn’t show up on a sensor sweep until someone pulled the trigger. She could feel an itching at the back of her skull, a mocking reminder that she would never be fully at ease with herself again. And yet, it wasn’t strong enough for her to sound the alarm. She was half-convinced she was imagining it.
Most girls get gaslighted by shitty boyfriends, she thought. I’m the only one who manages to gaslight herself.
“They’re opening the hatch,” the pilot called. “Are you ready?”
“Won’t you come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly,” Tindal said. “Yummy cakes and ...”
“That will do,” Alice said. She checked her weapons automatically as a dull thump echoed through the shuttle. They’d docked. “Stay on alert, but don’t fire unless you have no other choice.”
The hatch hissed open, revealing a perfectly normal airlock. Alice tensed, half-expecting the environmental sensors to start screaming in horror. The itching behind her eyes grew stronger, slowly turning into a pounding headache. She had to take a deep breath to keep herself from grunting in pain, reminding herself - again - she’d been through worse. The inner hatch hissed open - someone must have overridden the safety protocols - and revealed the starship’s interior. Alice risked a glance at the sensors. The air was clean, for a given value of clean. The atmospheric scrubbers had to be on their last legs, she noted, but at least there were no traces of the virus.
She forced herself to walk forward, through the hatch. A pair of men waited for her, both conspicuously unarmed. Alice let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. It had been uncommon, prior to the war, for officers and crewmen to carry weapons on duty, but now ... standing orders said that everyone had to be armed. Several of the marines could have been blasted down before they even knew they were under attack. The virus wouldn’t have gained much - Invincible could blow Raleigh into dust without raising a sweat - but it would have made the human race more paranoid. In the long run, it might even have come out ahead.
“I need to test your blood,” she said. She produced a sampler from her belt and held it out to the leader. “And then we have to search your entire ship.”
“I understand,” the leader said. He didn’t seem too surprised. “Here.”
Alice tested him, letting out another breath when the sampler confirmed that he was uninfected. His companion was equally clean. Alice muttered a brief report into her mouthpiece, then directed the two men into the shuttle. The entire ship would have to be evacuated, just to make sure they’d checked and rechecked everyone. She just hoped the virus hadn’t found a new way to be sneaky. Her position was precarious enough as it was.
It might have figured out how to condition people, rather than turn them into host-bodies, she thought, as another shuttle docked at the lower hatch. We might have problems catching them before they do us some damage.
The feeling of unease didn’t go away until the entire crew - three hundred men and women, starship crewmen and survey specialists - were carefully checked and the entire ship was searched from top to bottom. Raleigh felt oddly comfortable, compared to Invincible; Alice couldn’t help thinking that the lowliest crewman on the survey ship had more space to call his own than she’d ever had as a marine, at least before she’d become infected. There were dozens of minor luxuries, things she would never have expected on a military ship. But then, Raleigh wasn’t a purely military ship. A sizable percentage of her crew were civilians.
“The ship appears to be clean, sir,” she said, once the search was completed. Raleigh wasn’t designed to make life hard for boarders, thankfully. She was fairly sure they’d swept everywhere, from the bridge to the maintenance tubes. “There’s no hint of the virus’s presence. But they’ve been gone a long time.”
“Yeah.” Major Patterson sounded concerned. “And we don’t know what they’ve been doing.”
He snorted. “Download a complete copy of their command datacore, then power down the rest of the ship. The brass can decide what to do with her.”
And her crew, Alice thought. She knew, better than anyone, just how tricky the virus could be. A paranoid mind would want to keep Raleigh’s crew locked up indefinitely, just in case the virus had managed to circumvent the blood and atmospheric tests. What the hell are we going to do with them?
She put it out of her mind. It wasn’t her problem.
***
“I’m sorry we can’t meet in person,” Stephen said. “After Dezhnev ... we have to take a few precautions.”
“I couldn’t believe it when they told us,” Captain Vandal Hashing said. “I knew the virus was powerful, but to drive us out of Falkirk and ...”
He shook his head. “You’ve got my logs, so I’ll give you the basic overview. We headed into alien-controlled space and moved through five tramlines, having to double-back a couple of times when we discovered that the tramline chains came to an end. Some systems were quite heavily industrialised, I might add. I think a couple actually had intelligent life of their own before the virus arrived. Now, of course, the virus is the only living thing in the system, at least as far as we know.”
“It’s quite likely,” Stephen agreed.
Hashing nodded. “They caught a sniff of us in one system and chased us through three successive tramlines. I thought I’d dodged them twice, but they kept coming. Eventually, I followed an unexplored tramline chain and broke contact ... we didn’t dare try to reverse course. Our projections hinted that we should find a chain that took us back to the Human Sphere, so we kept going. Eventually, we popped into Zheng He.”
“And nearly got blown away by trigger-happy defenders.” Stephen glanced at the report on his terminal. The WebHeads had studied the copied datacore carefully and come to the conclusion that it couldn’t have been faked. No one could fake a starship’s records, not unless they had years to spare. It certainly looked as if Raleigh had had a lucky escape. “I wish I knew I could trust you.”
Hashing showed a flicker of anger. “Sir ... I do understand, but my crew ...”
“Will be taken care of,” Stephen said. He found the anger a little reassuring, but ... would the virus know he’d find it reassuring. The doctors swore blind that Hashing and his crew weren’t infected, yet ... he didn’t want to take chances. “And thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Hashing said, dryly. “We did our duty, did we not? Give the bastards hell.”
His holoimage vanished. Stephen frowned, studying the report again. A tramline chain - a largely unexplored tramline chain - that ran all the way to Alien-One. Did the virus know it existed? It was impossible to be sure. Raleigh had broken contact with the virus’s ships before she’d adjusted course for Zheng He ... Hashing had taken one hell of a gamble. He might well have run into a dead end and been forced to reverse course, adding months to his voyage as well as greatly increasing the risk of detection. He could have even given the virus a backdoor into Zheng He ... or further afield, letting it bypass the MNF altogether. And yet, the gamble had paid off. The opportunity had to be exploited.
He keyed his terminal. “Communications, get me a secure link to Admiral Zadornov.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Stephen poured himself a cup of tea and waited. It might take some time for Svetlana to respond. She had too many responsibilities to respond immediately to his call. But her holoimage materialised
in just under five minutes.
“Captain,” Svetlana said. “I was just reading the report from your boarding parties.”
“There’s no reason to believe that the crew was infected,” Stephen said. “Or subverted in any other way.”
“Apparently not,” Svetlana agreed. “Although it is possible that they could have been conditioned.”
“They would still have had to fake their records,” Stephen pointed out. “And repair any damage to their ship without leaving the slightest hint of repair work on their hull.”
“Which could be done, with a shipyard and willing cooperation.” Svetlana frowned. “We don’t know the ship came through Tramline Four. None of our long-range sensors can prove or disprove it. We didn’t even know she was there until she announced her presence.”
“The data is solid,” Stephen insisted. “And it would not be easy to rewrite chunks of the ship’s automatic records system without leaving very visible traces behind.”
“Perhaps,” Svetlana said. “But the history of communications is strewn with codes and encryption systems that were completely unbreakable until they weren’t. We cannot afford to take the risk that they’re lying to us.”
“They’ve been checked thoroughly too,” Stephen said. “They have no dangerous markers in their blood. And, if they’re telling the truth, we have a backdoor into their space that we can use to take the virus by surprise.”
“If.” Svetlana said nothing for a long moment. “If they’re telling the truth ... yes, you’re right. We could put an offensive force into Alien-One without them having a clue that it’s coming. If ...”
She met his eyes. “And how many ships would we have to detach from Zheng He to make the operation workable?”
Stephen knew the answer. “Too many.”
“Yes.” Svetlana scowled. “I share your eagerness to go on the offensive. And yes, I think we should hit them back, as hard as we can. But ... right now, our priority is to keep the virus from punching its way into this system and driving us out. We cannot afford to detach a sizable body of ships, Captain, and send them so far away that they will be out of touch with the rest of the formation for weeks, if not months. The risk of utter disaster is too great.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Stephen said. He didn’t like it, but he understood the logic. “Might I suggest, therefore, that we take steps to verify the data? A handful of ships could probe up to Alien-One, proving that the tramline chain actually exists. If so, we can take the offensive when our reinforcements finally arrive. Or mount a stealth strike on Alien-One, if the Admiralty is disinclined to consider the operation. Let the virus respond to us for a change.”
Svetlana smiled. “And which ship do you have in mind for the mission?”
Stephen didn’t bother to dissemble. “My ship and crew do have considerable experience in enemy space, Admiral.”
“Indeed they do,” Svetlana said, dryly. She smiled. It made her look like a predator eying her prey. “Very well. Have your people talk to my people. I want a proposal for the operation on my desk by the end of the day. Unless something changes, you can plan to leave in a week or so.”
Giving you enough time to consider raiding Margo, Stephen thought. There hadn’t been time to assess the results of Invincible’s last trip into enemy territory. Or to overcome your paranoia about Captain Hashing and his crew.
“I’ll see to it personally, Admiral,” he said. “If the chain does exist, we might be able to knock the virus right back ...”
“If,” Svetlana said. She sounded interested, but wary. “And if you want to skin the fox, first you have to catch it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“And so, watch your back,” Richard concluded. The pilots watched him with varying levels of attention. “The virus can and will take advantage of the slightest weakness.”
He rubbed his forehead as he dismissed the pilots. The rumours that they were going on the offensive - or at least doing something more interesting than orbiting Zheng He and preparing for the inevitable attack - hadn’t been confirmed, but he’d heard enough to make him certain there would be a deployment. Invincible’s fighters had been spared the punishing CSP duties inflicted on the other carriers; instead, they’d been ordered to study the records and drill until they could fly their starfighters in their sleep. Richard felt his legs quiver as the last of the pilots left the briefing compartment. It was all he could do to stagger down the corridor to his cabin. He didn’t need sleep. He needed a stim.
The hatch hissed open. He stumbled through and headed straight for the cabinet, fingers fumbling at the latch. It took him two tries to open it and find the packet of stims, half-hidden behind a handful of private possessions. He’d never really bothered to bring anything truly personal with him, as he moved from duty station to duty station. A starfighter pilot might not only be transferred at very short notice, often without time to do more than grab the bare minimum of supplies, but return from a battle only to discover that his mothership had been vaporised. He pressed the tab against his neck and pushed the trigger. There was a sharp twang of pain, followed by a rush of energy. Richard almost sagged in relief. That was more like it.
“Richard,” a female voice said. “What the hell are you doing?”
Richard jumped and spun around, one hand dropping to the weapon he wasn’t carrying. He’d never seen the point of carrying a pistol while on duty, certainly not when Invincible was surrounded by hundreds of friendly warships. It was unlikely that he would be called upon to repel boarders ... his mind caught up with his panicked thoughts. Monica was standing by the hatch, arms crossed under her breasts. She looked beautiful, but angry. Very angry.
Monica took a step forward. The hatch hissed closed behind her. Richard stared, unsure how she’d managed to sneak up on him. Had he been so far out of it that he hadn’t noticed her standing by the hatch? He certainly hadn’t bothered to check the hatch was closed before he dug out the stims. He’d never expected ... he felt a rush of embarrassment, mingled with an odd kind of relief. Monica did have a standing invitation to visit his quarters whenever she liked. She hadn’t broken any of the navy’s unspoken regulations ... he laughed at himself a moment later. That was the least of his worries.
“I knew there was something wrong,” Monica said. She sounded angry, although the anger was directed more at herself than him. “You’ve been taking stims, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” Richard said. There was no point in trying to deny it. “I have it under control.”
Monica’s eyes sharpened. “You nearly blanked out in Margo, didn’t you? I checked the flight logs. Your starfighter didn’t need to reboot the flash-wake sequence, did it?”
Richard glared at her. “You’ve been accessing my flight logs?”
A hot rush of anger burned through him. It felt like a violation of his privacy ... and God knew there was little privacy to be found on a starship. He might have a cabin of his own, but ... it still wasn’t very private. He’d spent long enough in various barracks to know that privacy was practically non-existent. The only consolation was that the starfighter pilots had a long tradition of pretending they didn’t see certain things.
“I’m a squadron leader,” Monica reminded him, as if he’d forgotten. “I do have clearance to access flight logs.”
“Yes, but ...” Richard found it hard to put his thoughts into words. His mouth was terrifyingly dry. “You don’t have the right ...”
“I have the duty,” Monica said. She shook her head slowly. “The other pilots don’t know you so well, Richard, but I’ve known you for years. I’ve fucking gone to bed with you! I know you and I know something is wrong.”
“I can handle it,” Richard repeated.
“Really?” Monica met his eyes, daring him to disagree. “Just like those idiot druggies can handle it?”
Richard flinched. He knew - everyone knew - that there was a tiny subculture of people who’d dropped out of the mainstream, choosing to seek consola
tion in drink and illegal drugs ... homeless, often abusers and abused ... tolerated by society, as long as they stayed out of sight. Everyone knew someone who knew someone who’d fallen into the underclass and never emerged; a boy who let himself become addicted to drugs or electronic stimulation, a girl who fell into the clutches of a sex gang ... someone who couldn’t muster the strength to seek help and escape. It was a horror story lurking under the reassuring lies civilisation told itself. The idea of becoming one of them was unthinkable.
“I knew a girl at school who thought she could handle it,” Monica said. “And you know what? She fell off the rails and got expelled, when they found the pills in her trunk. And she wasn’t in command of seventy-odd starfighter pilots and their ships!”
“Seventy-two,” Richard corrected, absently. “I ...”
Monica cut him off. “How long have you been taking stims?”
Richard had to think about it. “Since ... since we got back to the ship,” he said, finally. “It was the only way to keep going.”
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