She sagged, just for a moment. It was the life she wanted, yet it came with a price ... and a risk. Being caught would get her in real trouble, if Kurt decided to make an issue of it. She was cheating on a husband who’d gone to the wars, a husband who could make a strong claim to everything she owned ... and the children. Kurt would be hurt, very hurt, if she was caught. And yet, it was the life she wanted. Pulling her coat around her, Molly walked through the door and locked it behind her. Penny had raided her wardrobes before and Molly was damned if she was letting the little brat do it again.
The sound of an argument was already echoing up the stairs as she hurried down. Percy didn’t seem to dislike Gayle - Molly was sure he had a crush on her, although Gayle was five years older than him - but Penny picked fights with everyone these days. Except her father ... Molly made a mental note to report Penny’s latest transgressions to Kurt, then dismissed the thought. Kurt was a million light-years away. There was nothing he could do about it until he came home, by which time there would no doubt be a few thousand other problems.
“I’ll be leaving in five minutes,” she said, checking her smartphone. Garrison was already on the way, of course. The man was nothing if not efficient. “Gayle, Penny has some work to do” - she ignored her daughter’s muttered curse - “and I expect it to be done before she does anything else. You can unlock her codekey to the datanode after the work is completed.”
“Yes, Mrs. Schneider,” Gayle said.
Molly nodded in approval. Gayle knew how to work hard, which was more than could be said for Penny. Molly paid Gayle well, but still ... she wished, suddenly, that Kurt had allowed her to hire a live-in maid. Constant supervision would probably be good for Penny, particularly if the supervisor was tough enough not to let Penny’s barbs get under her skin. It was just a shame Molly didn't have the time to do it herself.
“You have permission to use whatever forms of discipline you think are appropriate,” she added, curtly. “And she is to go to bed at ten.”
Penny gasped. “Mother!”
“At ten,” Molly repeated. Penny would probably consider it outrageous, but Molly found it hard to care. “She has to be up bright and early for school tomorrow.”
She met her daughter’s eyes. “And I expect you to behave yourself,” she added. “Or else.”
“Hah,” Penny muttered.
Molly swallowed several nasty responses as she turned and walked out onto the street. The car was parked several houses down, just to make it harder for the gossiping hens to notice that she was getting into a stranger’s vehicle. Molly didn't think they’d tell Kurt, when he returned home, but there was no point in taking too many chances. She risked social death - perhaps even criminal prosecution - if she was caught cheating on a deployed military officer.
And that is half of the thrill, she thought, as she opened the car door. The prospect of getting caught.
Thomas Garrison smiled at her as she sat down and closed the door. He was ten years older than her, handsome in a dark way ... she rather thought he had some Italian or French blood in him somewhere. Perhaps something from even further away, although it was considered rude to ask about that so soon. His face was hard and angular, his dark hair so dark that she honestly wondered if it was dyed. And his clothes were so expensive that she could have bought a new family car for the same amount, if she wished.
“Molly,” he said. As always, his accent thrilled her. He spoke like a London-born aristocrat. “I trust that all is well?”
“It is,” Molly said. She tried to keep her impatience out of her voice. “We can leave as soon as you want.”
Garrison smiled, then keyed a command into the dashboard. The car hummed to life, moving out of the parking space and heading down the road. Molly watched, openly thrilled. Kurt had never allowed her to buy a self-driving car, even though it would have made life easier - and safer. Garrison, on the other hand, had bought the latest model to go on the market. It had cost him more than Molly cared to think about ...
She leaned back in her chair. “Do you have an updated guest list?”
He gave her a sultry smile. “Lady Penelope Ward will be hosting, of course,” he said. “And a number of others have confirmed that they will attend. It should be an interesting night.”
Molly nodded. Lady Penelope Ward was famous for throwing parties. According to the datanet - and tabloids - it was all she ever did. And yet, she’d somehow turned her parties into the premier social event outside the London Season. Molly wanted to know how she did it - and burned with envy, every time she thought about it. Some people had all the luck.
I’m making my own luck, she thought. Garrison was a catch. A wealthy lawyer with aristocratic connections ... if she scratched his back, he’d scratch hers. He couldn't take her all the way, not when they couldn't get married, but he could get her started. And when he dumps me, I’ll have a place of my own.
“The Prime Minister apparently declined,” Garrison added, after a moment. “But Lord Campbell said he would probably be attending.”
Molly lifted her eyebrows. “Probably?”
“If his wife can’t convince him to change his mind,” Garrison said. “She’s having a feud with Lady MacDonald and she’s going to the party. It should be amusing if they actually meet each other on the dance floor.”
“Very amusing,” Molly said. She took every titbit of gossip he gave her and stored it away at the back of her mind. Someday, she would find a use for it. She was sure she would. “And are there any other scandals likely to explode?”
“Apart from us, my dear?” Garrison gave her another smile as he reached out to stroke her cheek. “I do not know. But not knowing makes it fun.”
Molly winced. She’d taken lessons in graces and etiquette, but she knew she didn't know enough to navigate the social minefield. Who should she curtsey to? Everyone? Or just the lords and ladies? Lady Penelope had a habit of inviting people from all walks of life, as long as they were British. Garrison had probably piqued her interest at some point.
“You can keep me advised,” she said. His touch felt cool against her skin. “How long until we get there?”
“Around two hours, once we hit the motorway,” Garrison said. He tapped a button, tinting the windows. No one could see in or out. “It will give us some time for fun.”
He wrapped an arm around her, holding her tightly. Molly hesitated, torn between two conflicting impulses as his fingers probed her neckline, trying to undo her coat. She wanted - she needed - to keep him sweet, yet ... yet she didn't want to ruin the dress. She didn't even know if there was a place to clean up a little before they hit the dance floor ... if they ever did. He’d ruined one evening by insisting on finding a hotel rather than going to their destination.
“It will,” she agreed. She kissed him on the lips. He kissed her back, but it felt odd. She couldn't help thinking that he was out of practice. “But should we not wait until after the dance?”
“It’s two hours,” Garrison said, sardonically. His voice was bland, but there was a hint of ice in his tone. She knew he wasn't someone to push lightly. He was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it. “What do you want to do until we arrive?”
Molly sighed and surrendered to the inevitable.
Chapter Four
Pournelle Base (USA), Earth Orbit
Admiral Jonathan Winters hadn't slept well since the news had come in from Vera Cruz.
It wasn't something he'd expected, even though he’d acknowledged the possibility of alien life years ago. The civilians could talk all they liked about crashed alien starships to vague sensor contacts at the rim of explored space, but Jon had risen high enough to know that no one in authority had known the Tadpoles were out there. There certainly hadn't been any real preparations made for alien contact. The United States Navy had skirmished with China and Russia - and fretted over colonial issues on a handful of settled worlds - but no one had seriously expected all-out war. There was just too much a
t stake.
Sure, he thought, rubbing his forehead as he tried to concentrate on the meeting. That’s what they said back in 1914 and 2020 too.
“It could have gone better,” Admiral Henri Guichy said. “But it could have gone worse too.”
“I don’t think we can afford another failure like that,” Admiral Cathy Mountbatten said. The British officer scowled. “Exercise BRAVE DEFENDER was an exercise. What happens if we have to do it for real?”
Jon nodded, curtly. Cathy Mountbatten - she was apparently related to the Mountbatten - was an aristocrat, something that offended his meritocratic principles, but she was more than merely competent. He’d been worried, at first, when she’d been assigned to the Earth Defence Organisation as one of his Chiefs of Staff, yet he had to admit she’d worked out well. And yet, she had almost no experience in interstellar warfare ... none of them had any real experience in interstellar warfare. No one had really considered a long, drawn-out war that would be fought outside the various Solar Treaties.
Which was a failure of imagination on our part, he told himself. We’re going to have to do better in future.
He pushed the thought aside, looking from one to the other. Admiral Henri Guichy was a political appointee, but - thankfully - he was genuinely competent too. His brown hair and faint smile masked a tactical mind that Jon admired, sometimes. The French had won the right to name the second-in-command of Earth’s defences and they hadn't abused it. Beside him, Cathy Mountbatten was tall and blonde. They both stood in odd contrast to Jon’s black skin and blacker hair.
“The exercise is now winding down,” he said. “I have no doubt the analysts will murder thousands of innocent databytes to tell us what we should be thinking about it, but ... before the politicos get involved, what do you think?”
“We haven’t quite mastered the art of cooperation, even after New Russia,” Cathy said, bluntly. “Linking our command datanets together was quite hard enough, but convincing our personnel to work together was even harder.”
Jon nodded, sourly. American and British personnel worked together regularly, but none of the other Great Powers had such a close working relationship. The Chinese and Russians were only close because they hated the idea of standing alone against America and Britain, while the French tried to navigate a course between two factions and the smaller powers worked hard to keep from being assimilated. Hell, the Great Power system itself had been steadily unbalancing for decades. Jon privately suspected that it was - that it had been - only a matter of time before one of the smaller powers insisted on being treated as a Great Power.
Japan, India ... even Brazil and Turkey, he thought. They’re all building up their space fleets now.
“That’s something we are going to have to address when the other representatives return,” he said. The Chinese and Russian representatives had been assigned to monitor BRAVE DEFENDER from the participating starships. “If nothing else, we don’t know what will happen now the Tadpoles have been rocked back on their heels.”
He closed his eyes for a long moment, remembering the recordings from New Russia. The aliens had slaughtered nearly a hundred starships, including twelve fleet carriers, then proceeded to occupy the system itself. There was no way to escape the conclusion that the Tadpoles possessed far superior weapons technology, as well as a drive system that was far more flexible than anything humanity had devised. Ark Royal had captured an alien ship - largely intact - and that would make it easier to unlock the alien secrets, but he knew it would take time to put anything more significant than the plasma cannons into production. Hell, producing as many plasma cannons as possible carried its own risks.
“They might talk to us,” Guichy said. “Has there been any progress with the prisoners?”
Jon shook his head. The alien prisoners seemed happy enough, as far as anyone could tell, but talking to them was impossible. Some of the more paranoid members of the Oversight Board were demanding enhanced interrogation, yet it seemed pointless. Asking questions was impossible when one couldn't put them in the right language.
And we don’t know how they’d react if we started torturing their people, he thought. But after what we found on Alien-One, some people have stopped giving a fuck.
He pushed the thought aside. “It’s been a long day,” he said, nodding towards the giant holographic display. Earth was surrounded by a small galaxy of tactical icons, ranging from tiny single-shot weapons platforms to giant industrial nodes and asteroid settlements. It looked invulnerable, yet he hadn't needed New Russia to know just how vulnerable it really was. “Perhaps we should continue this discussion tomorrow.”
Cathy shot him a sympathetic look. “Politics in Washington?”
“Yeah,” Jon said. He was lucky he hadn't been called in front of a Senate committee exploring just what had gone wrong at New Russia - again. Losing three fleet carriers had been a nasty shock for the United States Navy. Nearly seven thousand crewmen had died with them. The inquest was still going on as midterm elections approached. “Are they any better in Britain?”
“Ark Royal gave us a much needed boost,” Cathy said. “But people are still scared.”
Jon had to smile, humourlessly. In hindsight, decommissioning and breaking up America’s armoured carriers had been a serious error. Sure, they’d been costly and slow and unprepared for a modern combat zone ... but they would have been able to stand up to the aliens. Bolting extra armour on modern carriers wasn't the same. The flimsy ships just didn't have enough protection to give them a reasonable chance against alien starfighters.
“I don’t blame them,” he said. “But at least we know the aliens are not invincible.”
He rose. “Get some sleep,” he ordered. “We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, sir,” Cathy said. “Make sure you get some sleep too.”
If I can, Jon thought. He’d lost friends at New Russia. And if something doesn't come up that only I can handle.
He scowled at the thought as he headed for the hatch. There had been a time when he’d thought he had a real career, back when he’d boarded his first command. He’d climbed the ladder step by step, careful not to make any missteps that would see him condemned to an asteroid mining settlement or the Mexican Wall, but when he’d reached the top ... he was no longer in command. He held meetings and talked to politicians - he was their whipping boy - and yet it seemed he did nothing of value. Unless one counted shielding the juniors from their political masters ...
Pournelle Base hummed around him as he walked into his suite. It was immense, easily large enough for two or three senior officers. But Pournelle Base had been built on a grand scale, ensuring that there was plenty of room for its command staff. Personally, Jon would have preferred extra starfighter launch racks, but that hadn't been an option. The USN had wanted a large base, after all.
He removed his shoes, then climbed into bed and closed his eyes.
The alarms howled, seconds later. Jon sat up, cursing under his breath as he fumbled for his console. Had he slept at all? It felt as if he’d barely closed his eyes before the alarms howled. And yet ... what was happening? He keyed the console and the alarms fell silent, at least in his quarters. Moments later, Captain Mike Hanson’s face appeared in front of him.
“Admiral,” he said. His face was ashen. Jon knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. “We’ve had a report from one of the picket ships. An enemy force has entered the system.”
Jon felt his blood run cold. No one had ever seriously considered a conflict in the solar system, certainly nothing much larger than tiny settlement wars in the asteroid belt. The Solar Treaty, the one international treaty that all the spacefaring powers took seriously, forbade it. There was just too much at stake ...
The Tadpoles never signed the treaty, he thought, numbly. And why should they?
“I’m on my way,” he said, scrambling out of bed. “ETA?”
“Two hours,” Hanson said. “Unless they start taking po
t-shots at us with a mass driver, of course.”
“Of course,” Jon said. Mass drivers weren't exactly banned, but the Great Powers had worked hard to discourage their use. Another mistake, in hindsight. “Do they know they’ve been detected?”
“Not at last report,” Hanson said, as Jon pulled on his jacket. “But that could have changed by now and we wouldn’t know.”
“No,” Jon agreed. “Have some coffee sent to the pit. I’m on my way.”
He hurried out of the cabin and down into the giant Combat Information Centre. A massive hologram was floating above the central console, showing the solar system and every known human installation in exquisite detail. He felt his heart sink as he looked up and spotted a cluster of red lights advancing steadily towards Earth. Smaller windows, opening below the main display, told him things he didn't want to know about their firepower. This was no mere raid, not like the escort carriers humanity had dispatched to keep the enemy off balance. This was an all-out invasion.
The Longest Day (Ark Royal X) Page 4