Ted swore. Coincidence? Or deliberate malice? But if the aliens had managed to pick up a hint they were there, they’d have sent something heavier than a single destroyer-sized starship. Unless it was armed with something new and utterly destructive ... in which case the war was lost anyway.
Or were the aliens intent on making an evasive run to reach Tramline One?
“Captain,” Janelle said, as several more icons popped into view, “I’m picking up four more starships in hot pursuit. They’re chasing the first starship. It’s taking evasive action.”
Ted stared, feeling an odd flicker of Déjà Vu. The scenario was almost identical to the last time they’d encountered a starship from Faction Two, save that the aliens had no idea the human ships were there. Or should have no idea the human ships were there, he reminded himself sternly. And it certainly looked, he saw as he replayed the first starship’s arrival through the tramline, as though they’d been running through the Target Two system. No one, human or alien, took the tramlines at a run if they could help it.
He hesitated, thinking fast. It would be simple to evade both sides, with so much space to hide in, then proceed through the tramline behind them. But if the lead ship was from Faction Two ... he cursed the aliens under his breath, angrily. If he intervened, he would betray his presence and the aliens would start massing their ships against his fleet. And yet, if he did nothing, he might pass up an opportunity to put the aliens in his debt.
“General signal to all ships,” he ordered. “Prepare to shed the cloak and attack.”
He paused. “And warn Doctor MacDonald that her services will be required,” he added. “We need to convince the lead ship not to run.”
***
The first few days onboard the alien starship had been boring, Henry had found, despite the thrill of actually being on an alien starship. Working the teaching machines with the aliens had been tedious, even though the aliens seemed to pick up more and more human words and concepts the longer they worked at it. One file turned out to be a semi-pornographic introduction to sex, something that puzzled the aliens. Henry still cringed at the memory of one of them asking if humans needed to be taught how to produce more humans.
But they don’t have sex, he reminded himself. Maybe they find the entire concept puzzling as hell.
It was an odd thought, but he contemplated it as he tried to explain other concepts to the aliens. A discussion of hereditary monarchy merely confused them; democracy seemed more understandable, but they didn't grasp the concept of a representative democracy. Their society seemed to allow everyone who had an opinion to state their opinion, then allow it to settle into the majority viewpoint. Henry couldn't help being reminded of datanet chat-rooms, with the added disadvantage that none of the arguments were remotely theoretical.
Sleeping became easier after he managed to convince the aliens to let them have a fan and straps they could use to keep themselves in place. The aliens themselves didn't seem to have problems sleeping in zero-gravity, although Henry wasn't sure why. Maybe there were water currents running through the ship that allowed them to breathe through their gills, without problems, or maybe they just didn't need the same atmospheric mix as humanity. It was impossible to be sure.
“They’re learning rapidly,” Jill said, “but I don’t think they will ever understand us completely.”
Henry couldn't disagree. Teaching machines were designed for human children on isolated colonies, bringing them up to standard without needing to import a dedicated teacher. They were actually quite successful, as long as the kids stayed in front of the machine, and the aliens – it seemed – had learned a great deal from them. But they still didn't understand some of the human concepts. A long explanation of why some humans wore skirts and others wore kilts, despite them being essentially the same thing, had puzzled them completely.
“We probably won’t understand them completely either,” he said. He’d asked for clothes, only to be turned down. There hadn't been any malice in the alien voice, as far as he could tell, or a desire to humiliate the humans; they simply hadn't understood the requirement. “But as long as we can get them to talk to someone with real power, we can hammer out an agreement.”
He looked at her as she turned away, pushing herself towards the bed. It had crossed his mind, more than once, to tell the aliens who he was. He’d been told, in no uncertain terms, that he shouldn't disclose his identity if he was ever taken hostage, although he’d pointed out sarcastically that anyone who tried to kidnap him would have a jolly good idea of who he was already. The thought of becoming an alien prisoner had never crossed his mind ...
But he’d also been told, time and time again, that he had no true power. He couldn't make promises the British Government would be bound to keep ...
The ship shook, violently.
Jill started. “What was that?”
“An impact,” Henry said. He pressed his fingers against the deck and felt it throbbing. It was impossible to be sure, but it felt like the starship was going to full military power. “I think that’s not good.”
One of the aliens swung around to face them. “This ship is under attack,” it said. The other aliens were already making their way towards the hatch. “Remain here.”
As if we could go anywhere else, Henry thought. He thought the ship had jumped through at least two tramlines, but it was impossible to be sure. Besides, as he had no idea of where they’d been held prisoner or how close it was to Target One, trying to estimate the distance they’d covered was a pointless exercise.
Jill looked nervous. “Under attack by whom?”
The alien said nothing. Instead, it just pulled itself out the hatch and vanished.
“Humans or another alien faction,” Henry guessed. “Unless there’s a third alien race that has just introduced itself to us.”
Jill pulled herself to the bed, then reached for one of the straps. “Is that possible?”
Henry shrugged. “We didn't know there was even one alien race until a year ago,” he said, dryly. “Why can't there be two?”
But somehow it seemed unlikely. The War Faction might be trying to stop them contacting the human race ... or they might have run into a patrolling human starship. Either one was bad, but it would be worse if it was a human ship. The aliens might lose faith in their attempt to make peace if they were greeted with a hail of incoming fire. He glared around the bulkhead, wishing for a tactical display, something – anything – to show what was going on outside the hull. But there was nothing.
He pushed himself over to the bed and strapped himself down. There was nothing else he could do, but wait.
“I’m scared,” Jill said. She wrapped her arms around him, her bare breasts poking into his chest. “Why ...?”
Henry understood. Their lives depended, now, on the aliens destroying the attackers or breaking contact and escaping. There was nothing they could do, one way or the other, to help the aliens or even save their own lives. If the aliens lost, the first they'd know of it would be when the bulkheads disintegrated into fire. By then, it would be far too late for them to do anything more than die.
“Relax,” he ordered, firmly. The nasty part of his mind wanted to know if his private vows to Janelle still held good, despite the certainty of death. Jill looked willing enough ... angrily, he pushed that thought aside. He was damned if he was going to rut like an animal in the face of imminent death. “Close your eyes and try to relax.”
***
James Fitzwilliam sucked in his breath as the five alien ships came into view. It wasn't easy to disagree with the tactical analysis; Contact One was attempting to escape, while Contacts Two through Five were attempting to catch it. Whoever was flying Contact One was an ace helmsman, he had to admit. He was incredibly skilful at keeping the distance open between the five ships, despite the endless barrage of plasma fire. But his luck would run out, sooner or later.
“Lock mass drivers on target,” he ordered. He doubted they would score
a hit, unless the aliens did something stupid, but it would give the bastards something else to think about apart from Contact One. “Prepare to fire.”
“Mass drivers locked, Captain,” Farley said. “Starfighters are ready to launch.”
James allowed himself a smile. The battle was about to be joined – and there would be no more sneaking about, either with the aliens or the foreign spy on his ship. This time, everything would be simple.
“Spit a copy of their communications package at them, then the instructions,” he said, addressing Lieutenant Annie Davidson. The aliens would be sent a set of diagrams, detailing what to do. Everyone swore blind they’d be able to understand what they were being sent, but James had his doubts. The aliens were alien. For all they knew, their system would be unable to display the pictures. “And warn our crews to keep a sharp eye on Contact One.”
“Aye, Captain,” Davidson said.
“Fire,” James ordered.
Ark Royal shuddered as her mass drivers fired, launching a stream of projectiles towards the alien ships. A direct hit would be fatal, he knew, although the aliens would have plenty of time to alter course. The projectiles weren’t missiles. They’d keep following a strictly ballistic trajectory, missing their targets. And the aliens would definitely know they were there.
“Launch starfighters,” he ordered. Contact One was altering course – but was it because they were obeying orders or because they didn't know who the humans were trying to kill? If the aliens had problems telling humans apart, they might assume that humanity had the same problem. And it did. “All batteries, prepare to open fire.”
The other alien ships seemed to hesitate, then pressed the attack against Contact One. James frowned; they had to know they were suddenly badly outgunned and they could retreat, so why weren't they running? It would be easy for them to evade contact if they reversed course now. One of them ... he blinked in disbelief as mass driver projectiles smashed into its hull, shattering it into thousands of pieces of debris. They’d been so focused on their target that they hadn't even tried to evade the incoming projectiles.
“Continue firing,” he ordered. The aliens clearly didn't want them talking to Contact One. It was worth some risk to attempt to make contact. “And attempt to raise Contact One.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Fall into formation,” Kurt ordered, as the starfighters lanced away from the carrier. “And remember to randomise your manoeuvres.”
He smiled, despite the risk of imminent death. It had been a long argument to convince the Captain to put him back on the flight roster – and that had been before he’d made a full confession – but it had been worth it. Here, he could pretend to be a simple pilot, rather than a man caught at the centre of a byzantine plot. And besides, he didn't want to leave his largely untrained pilots at the mercy of the aliens. They needed someone experienced to lead the way.
“Launch missiles from the outside edge of the envelope,” he reminded them, designating targets for the starfighters and bombers. “Then close in and strafe their hulls.”
He smirked at the thought. If there was one thing the aliens were probably regretting, it was teaching humanity how to produce their own plasma weapons. Once, humanity’s starfighters wouldn't have been a serious threat to the alien ships. Now, even a single starfighter could do a great deal of damage. The aliens had good reason to curse themselves for not armouring their own ships against weapons they knew perfectly well existed.
But then their carriers would move like wallowing pigs, he thought. He could see the alien logic, even though he disagreed with it. And they’d be sitting ducks for mass drivers.
He eyed Contact One warily as his starfighters flashed past it, but the alien craft did nothing suspicious. Kurt continued to mutter advice and reassurance to his pilots, even though most of them had mastered the basic simulations. But a real battle could be dangerously unpredictable. At least the aliens didn't have starfighters of their own ...
“Break and attack,” he ordered. The alien sensors swept over the fighters, preparing to open fire. “I say again, break and attack.”
He yanked his fighter into a crazy corkscrew as he flew into engagement range, followed by the remaining starfighters. Contact Three opened fire, filling space with deadly plasma bolts that chased the starfighters as they closed in on their target. It wasn't fair, part of Kurt’s mind noted. Too many human starfighter pilots had died at the Battle of New Russia because they hadn't had the slightest idea of what they were facing. Now ... they knew and they still lost pilots every time they faced the aliens.
“Fire,” he snapped. The missile launched from his starfighter and zoomed towards the alien ship. One by one, the other starfighters opened fire, their missiles closing in on their targets. The alien ship switched its fire to the missiles, allowing the starfighters to get close enough to read the alien writing on the hull. Kurt smiled, nastily, and opened fire. Streaks of brilliant plasma burned through the alien hull and slammed deep into the ship’s innards.
They seem to be less explosive than carriers, he thought, as he yanked his starfighter away a second before a bolt of plasma would have ended his life. Maybe they have fewer stockpiles of fuel and weapons.
It didn't matter. The alien craft exploded into a hail of plasma, the blast wiping out two of the pilots who had strayed too close to their target. Kurt heard a gasp from one of the other pilots, another trainee. Clearly, she hadn't taken the warnings about how many of them were going to die to heart. He pulled his attention away from her – Rose would talk to her later, assuming they both survived – and checked the overall situation. Contacts Two, Three and Four were gone. Contact Five was breaking off and hightailing it back towards the tramline.
“Engage and destroy,” Kurt ordered, savagely. It felt good to lash out and destroy something, even if it was nothing more than an alien starship. He tried to imagine the aliens wearing Fred’s face and felt a rush of bloodlust that shocked even him If this was his last chance to fly a starfighter, he was damned if he was wasting it. “I say again, engage and destroy.”
***
“The last enemy ship is retreating,” Janelle reported. “But she won’t make it to the tramline before our starfighters get her.”
“It won’t matter,” Ted said. It would be roughly two hours before the forces orbiting Target One picked up any signals the aliens might have sent, but there was no way he could get to them before they realised the humans were in their star system. Maybe the aliens hadn't sent any signals ... he shook his head. Long-range passive sensors would certainly pick up something. “But order them to take her out if they can.”
He watched, feeling the old helplessness again, as the starfighters closed in on their target. The aliens fought savagely, but hopelessly, refusing to give in right to the last. Ted silently saluted the aliens as their starship died, then turned his attention back to Contact One. She was sitting there, following her orders, and waiting. Was he looking at the first step towards ending the war or a Trojan Horse? Might the aliens have deliberately intended to drive Contact One into their arms?
But that would require far too much to go right for them, he thought, grimly. They’re powerful, but they’re not gods.
“Inform Doctor MacDonald that she can begin transmitting her contact sequences now,” Ted ordered. The first attempts to use the First Contact packages to address the aliens had failed, but the aliens had clearly sent back one of their own during the first abortive attempt at communication. Maybe this time it would work better. “Then recall the starfighters, apart from the CSP. I want to be ready if Contact One so much as twitches in our direction.”
He looked down at the display, thinking dark thoughts. The alien shipkiller plasma cannon only worked at relatively short range – and Contact One was definitely outside the minimal range for effective use. But there were other weapons, missiles and mass drives in particular, that could do very real damage. The paranoid part of his mind was insisting that they m
ade their way to a safer distance, despite the risks of losing the first real chance to communicate with the aliens. It was the safe thing to do.
“Aye, Admiral,” Janelle said. “Doctor MacDonald is sending her signals now.”
Ted nodded. Everyone had assumed that mathematics would be universal – but then, everyone had assumed that any alien race would be peaceful, or at least make some attempt to communicate before opening fire. It struck him as odd, given the number of berserkers or downright alien aliens in science-fiction, perhaps a legacy of a more idealistic time. But it didn't really matter. All that mattered was making contact now.
“I think they’re transmitting signals back,” Janelle said. “Steams of numbers and ...”
She broke off. “Admiral,” she said, her voice shaking, “I think you’re going to want to see this.”
***
Henry had been lost in prayers when the shaking had finally come to an end. It was impossible, as always, to see outside the bulkheads, but he assumed the aliens had managed to destroy or lose their enemies. The only alternative was that the aliens had been forced to surrender and they were about to be handed over to another alien faction. And then one of the aliens slithered back into the cell.
Ark Royal 3: The Trafalgar Gambit Page 19