The Right of the Line

by Christopher Nuttall

  And they would have done unspeakable things to me, if they’d taken me alive, Alice recalled, grimly. The skirmishes had been merciless. She’d planned to save one final bullet for herself, if the defences had fallen. And my father did an unspeakable thing too.

  She found herself, for once, caught in a web of indecision. Her father had fought bravely and well, for all that he’d commanded a freighter rather than a battleship. The Belt Alliance had designed its ships to serve the needs of both peace and war and, while that limited them in some respects, it aided them in others. There was no way to deny that Alan Campbell, commanding officer and master of Vanderveken, had done well. But did it make up for his crimes?

  It was a bitter thought. She knew the odds. Captain Shields - Commodore Shields, she reminded herself sharply - had made it clear, when he’d spoken to the crew. A powerful alien force lay in wait, somewhere ahead of them. The odds of making it home were very low. Alice was used to poor odds - she had no hope of a future, as far as she could tell - but it felt like the end. Their only real chance rested with the enemy fucking up. She didn’t think anyone could realistically count on the enemy dropping the ball when they drew their plans. Only a moron would devise a plan that required the enemy to do something specific ...

  Neither of us might get out of this alive, Alice thought. She’d recorded a message for her sister, and a handful of others for the friends she had on Earth, but her father ... she hadn’t recorded anything for him. How could she? She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. She rubbed her forehead, feeling her scalp begin to itch. What the hell do I say to him?

  She touched the terminal, requesting a private channel to Vanderveken. There was a long pause - the fleet’s requirements came first, in wartime - before a message popped up, asking her to hold. Alice wondered, sourly, if her father was in bed, either trying to sleep or making love to one of his wives. God knew the privacy tubes had been in regular use, the last few days. Discipline was breaking down, piece by piece. She’d even had a crewman proposition her, pointing out that they might be dead soon. She probably shouldn’t have burst out laughing. He’d probably have been happier with a punch in the gut.

  It felt like hours before the screen cleared. Her father’s face appeared in front of her, looking tired and wan. Vanderveken hadn’t been hit, as far as she knew, but she was in the line of battle ... a place where she had no right to be. Her master had probably been ordered to send half his crew elsewhere, like just about every other commander in the fleet. Invincible had engineers from a dozen different ships, working desperately to patch up the armour and repair the damaged flight deck. Alice had overheard Major Parkinson bitching about the security nightmare. She thought it would be more of a problem if there wasn’t a large enemy fleet breathing down their necks.

  “Alice,” her father said. He sounded tired, too. “What can I do for you?”

  “I don’t know,” Alice said. Why had she called? What could she say to him? “I think ... I don’t forgive you, not really.”

  “I know.” Her father showed no visible reaction, as if he was too tired to care. “I do understand.”

  “I do understand how you felt, back then,” Alice added, after a moment. She did. That was the hell of it. She did understand how her father had felt. “But it doesn’t excuse what you did.”

  “I know.”

  Alice felt her temper flare. “Is that all you can say?”

  Her father looked too tired to dissemble. “What do you want me to say?”

  “We might never see each other again,” Alice said, flatly. She’d once told herself that she’d sooner die that acknowledge that she had a father. Better to let the world think she was a test-tube child than admit who’d fathered her ... and what he’d done. She would have legally changed her status if it was allowed. “I’m angry at you, for what you did. But I don’t hate you.”

  Her father smiled, very briefly. “Thank you.”

  “I just wanted you to know that,” Alice said. She winced, inwardly. She could get rid of lovers - and friends - with ease, but she would always be her father’s daughter. They might never speak again and she would still be his daughter. “And if we get out of this alive, perhaps we can meet again. Perhaps.”

  “I hope so,” her father said. He smiled, more openly. “You are welcome to visit my ship, if you like.”

  “If I have time,” Alice said. She was, technically, being held in reserve. It meant she had no assigned duties, now the immediate clean-up was done, but she doubted she’d be allowed to leave the ship. She’d spent most of the last day assisting the medical staff. “And if we make it home.”

  She kept her face expressionless. She’d prefer to meet her father somewhere neutral, if she couldn’t meet him in her territory. But that wasn’t going to happen until they returned home, if they ever did.

  “And if I don’t make it back, tell Jeanette I was thinking of her.” Alice allowed herself a tight smile. “And I hope she’s happy.”

  “Me too,” her father said. “She has made a life for herself.”

  Alice shrugged. Jeanette had chosen to be normal, with all the advantages and disadvantages that came with having a normal life. She had a husband, she had kids ... she didn’t have any excitement in her life, she didn’t know the thrill that came with risking one’s life for a good cause ... Alice shook her head. The virus was loose on Earth. Jeanette might find that her life had become exciting whether she liked it or not. God alone knew what world her children would inherit. The war might scoop them up in its bitter embrace.

  And we were fighting over Grandpa’s farm, she thought, wryly. Jeanette had wanted to sell it and keep her share of the cash. Alice hadn’t been so sure. She’d wanted to retire to the farm, once upon a time. It all seems so small now, doesn't it?

  Her intercom bleeped. Major Parkinson was summoning her.

  “I have to go,” she said, standing. “We’ll talk again soon.”

  Her father raised one arm in salute. The connection broke seconds later.

  Alice took a breath as she hurried through the hatch and down the corridor. She wasn’t sure what had just happened. She wasn’t sure ... she shook her head. She wanted - she needed - to see what happened if she tried to rebuild her relationship with her father, even though she wasn’t sure she wanted to rebuild it. Her mother had been far from perfect - Alice could admit that, at least to herself - but she hadn’t deserved to die.

  “Ah, Alice,” Major Parkinson said. “Do you have a moment?”

  “Yes, sir,” Alice said. She felt a flutter of excitement. Whatever was about to happen, she was sure it would be challenging. And probably very dangerous. “What can I do for you?”

  “We have an idea,” Major Parkinson said. “And it might just be doable, with your help.”

  “Anything, sir,” Alice said. “What do you have in mind?”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Stephen didn’t relax, even as the hours slowly turned into days and the days turned into weeks.

  He couldn’t relax. The alien fleet was still clearly visible, well out of weapons range and yet too close for his ships to evade. Stephen had tried a handful of tactics to slow the pursuit, from mining the tramline to deploying a handful of decoys to mislead the virus’s ships, but nothing had worked. The virus had too solid a lock to be evaded easily, while Stephen’s collection of damaged warships and freighters simply couldn’t outrun the alien fleet. He’d run through the figures, time and time again. Even reversing course and challenging the alien fleet to battle would end badly. They might win the first battle, only to lose the second.

  We bought time for Earth, he told himself, time and time again. And we gave the virus a bloody nose.

  He haunted the decks, supervising the repair work even though it wasn’t - technically - his job any longer. He visited the wounded in sickbay, speaking briefly to the men and women who’d been injured in the battle; he held regular conferences with the other commanding officers, considering possibl
e ways to win the forthcoming battle. No matter how they looked at it, the odds of survival seemed very low. They would have to close with one alien fleet with another breathing down their necks. The only upside - and he knew better than to count on it - was that the alien fleet was probably short of missiles. It had fired thousands during the engagement at Zheng He.

  And we may have a way to tip the odds in our favour, he thought. But we don’t know if it will work.

  Stephen’s mood didn’t improve as the fleet crawled onwards, passing through Falkirk on a least-time course. The colony had been devastated, the facilities that had been built to support the MNF had been smashed beyond repair. If there were survivors, hidden amongst the asteroids, they made no attempt to contact the fleet. Stephen wasn’t surprised there was no response to his hails. The virus was perfectly capable of pretending to be human, long enough to lure the survivors out of hiding. Better to remain hidden than risk a quick death or an endless servitude.

  The only real surprise, he noted, was that the virus hadn’t tried to fortify the system itself. It was a bottleneck, a chokepoint between Zheng He and Alien-One. But perhaps it simply hadn’t had time. The gap between Second Falkirk and the Battle of Zheng He hadn’t been that long. Stephen shuddered to think of what it might mean for humanity, if the virus continued to push the offensive. It was already far too close to the inner worlds for comfort.

  And it has probably already infected the colony worlds, he thought. He didn’t dare divert the fleet to check. They’ll need to be destroyed if we can’t disinfect them.

  He pressed the xenospecialists as hard as he could, but even the experts in alien medicine weren’t hopeful. The virus was tough, capable of adapting itself to almost anything. It might prove impossible to vaccinate the population against infection, let alone disinfect people on a planetary scale. Given time, it might even become pointless. Alice Campbell was the only known survivor, and she’d been lucky. The virus hadn’t reached her brain. What good would it do, the xenospecialists had asked, to disinfect someone if they dropped dead immediately after? Stephen hadn’t been able to think of a reply.

  His black mood had only grown worse as the fleet steadily made its way towards Zheng He, preparing itself for the final engagement. He wanted to believe that the virus had sent its fleet on a wild goose chase, but he knew better. The virus hadn’t chased the fleet when it had fled Zheng He, even though it would probably have won. It was either lurking in Zheng He or smashing its way towards Earth. The hell of it was that he would have preferred to encounter the fleet himself, instead of watching helplessly as it cut its way through the inner worlds. At least he’d hurt the bastard before being killed himself.

  They were midway through Margo, on the verge of crossing into Zheng He itself, when the alarm finally sounded.

  Stephen jerked awake, cursing under his breath. He’d only been asleep an hour.

  “Report,” he snapped. His steward arrived with a life-saving mug of coffee. “What happened?”

  “Long-range sensors picked up the enemy fleet transiting Tramline One,” Arthur reported, calmly. “There’re on a least-time course to intercept us.”

  Stephen nodded, unsurprised. There were only two tramlines in Margo, ensuring that - this time - there would be little room for evasive manoeuvres. It would be a straight contest: ships against ships, starfighters against starfighters ... with an ace in the hole that might prove either a royal flush or a bust. He hated the thought of risking everything on one throw of the dice, but he couldn’t think of an alternative. The only other option was scattering ... and even that might not work. The enemy fleet had them outnumbered as well as outgunned.

  He took a sip of his coffee, feeling almost calm. There was no point in fretting any longer. One way or another, they were about to meet their destiny. And soon they would know.

  “Very good,” he said. “How long do we have?”

  “Enemy Two will enter engagement range in three hours,” Arthur said. “Enemy One will presumably catch up shortly afterwards. There are already hints they’re redlining their drives.”

  In preparation for this moment, Stephen noted. One enemy fleet would play hammer, the other would play anvil. And there was nothing he could do to avoid engagement with at least one enemy force. The cold equations of interplanetary warfare were brutally clear. There was no way he could evade contact with both fleets. Even trying would give the enemy a chance to bring him to battle under unfavourable conditions. Well played, you alien bastard.

  “We’ll go with Plan Omega,” he said, as if there had been any other choice. “Sound battlestations at two hours, thirty minutes. There’s nothing to be gained by forcing the crews to sit ready for two hours.”

  “Aye, Commodore,” Arthur said.

  Stephen nodded. “Try and get a good look at their fleet,” he ordered. “Find out if they have a command ship.”

  “Aye, Commodore,” Arthur said. “Preliminary reports suggest that they do, but we’ll need to sneak a probe closer to confirm.”

  “Do so,” Stephen ordered. “And don’t worry about the beancounters.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Stephen keyed the console, bringing up the display. The three fleets were converging at a remarkable speed, all three clearly aware that evasion was not a possibility. Force Two looked to be spreading out slightly - he reminded himself, sharply, there was still a light-speed delay - as if it intended to ensure he couldn’t simply punch through its formation. He hoped he was right about the enemy being short of missiles. He’d beefed up his point defence as much as possible, but he wasn’t sure they could take another heavy missile salvo.

  At least they didn’t use their Catapults to put a fleet right in our path, he thought, as he hurried into the shower. That might have been too risky, even for them.

  He washed quickly, then donned his uniform and hurried down the corridor to the CIC. Anisa was already there, talking quietly to two other officers. They looked nervous, but also composed. Stephen nodded to them and took his seat, casting a quick look at the display. The range was dropping steadily. It wouldn’t be long before they found out if their plan worked ...

  “Detach Pinafore,” he ordered, calmly. “She is to cloak and observe the battle from a safe distance, then sneak back home whatever the outcome.”

  “Aye, Commodore,” Anisa said.

  ***

  Major Parkinson’s face was calm, but Alice could tell he was concerned. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  Alice looked back at him, evenly. “Do we have a choice?”

  “Probably not,” Major Parkinson said. “In all of my life, I have never sent anyone into a position where I expected her to die ...”

  “It isn’t quite certain death,” Alice said. It was true, technically. There was a slim chance of survival. But the odds were staggeringly against her. She’d accepted it from the moment she’d realised just much trouble the fleet was actually in. “I’m ready, sir.”

  “Your team is also ready,” Major Parkinson said. “And the rest of us will provide what cover we can.”

  Alice nodded. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “It’s been an honour.”

  Major Parkinson met her eyes. “I had my doubts about you, right at the start. I feared that you would have entitlement issues, even after serving in the ranks. But I lost those doubts very quickly. You did have issues - yes, you did - but none of them were any worse than a male officer.”

  “Until I got infected,” Alice said, quietly.

  “Yes,” Major Parkinson said. “And you coped well with that.”

  Alice nodded as she was dismissed. She knew things hadn’t gone well, not since Invincible’s first mission to Alien-One. She’d been blown off the career ladder, with no hope whatsoever of climbing back on. Her career was a mess, even though none of it was her fault. But she had shown that a woman could be a Royal Marine. She wondered, idly, who would follow in her footsteps. And if they’d have an easier time of it because of her. />
  Or a harder time, she thought, dryly. They might have to live up to my reputation.

  The special supplies were waiting, right next to the breaching pod. She checked them automatically, feeling cold. Major Parkinson was right. The odds of survival were very low indeed. But then, she’d always known that she might meet a violent end. She wondered if her successors would be so stalwart.

  It doesn’t matter, she told herself, as she hoisted herself into the breaching pod. It was time to go. I won’t be alive to see them.