09- We Lead

by Christopher Nuttall

  “It doesn't matter,” she said, harshly. She was dimly aware that the technician had already fled, but she was talking more to herself than anyone else. “All that matters is that we have the power on hand.”

  She checked and rechecked the equations, knowing it was pointless. She’d outlined the theory; Mike Johnston had turned it into reality, after the theory had been run past the dozen other brightest minds in gravity research. There was no flaw, yet. Juliet liked to think it was perfect, but she knew better. There was no limit to scientific advancement, no limit to what could be achieved ... no limit to theories that would eventually be proven outdated or simply wrong. People in the future would look back and ask, in tones of outrage, how she had been so wrong. Or merely so limited. Why not? She’d wondered at the limitations of her predecessors.

  “Seven hours,” she mused. There would be more power than strictly necessary, but the naval staff had insisted on building a degree of redundancy into the jump drive. Admiral Soskice had overruled her when she’d protested. “And then we get to jump.”

  She wasn't scared, not really. The equations were as close to perfect as she could make them, while the technology had been tested time and time again. She wasn't scared of anything going wrong during the jump. But afterwards ... a part of her wondered if she would die, during the operation. She didn't fear death - her private research suggested there was a higher force ordering the universe - yet the prospect of not being able to continue her research was terrifying. Who knew what secrets would remain unlocked because she hadn't been the one to look for them?

  Juliet shivered, just for a second, then retreated back into the safety of her own mind. The engineering crews could put the jump drive together without her direct supervision. And she could use that time profitably, very profitably indeed. Perhaps, just perhaps, if she meddled with the feedback loop, she could cut the power requirements ...

  ***

  “I hear things are proceeding well,” Charles Fraser said, as he carefully manoeuvred the worker bee into position. “You seem to be surviving.”

  George rubbed her forehead, watching her console carefully. “It feels odd,” she said. A low tremble ran through the tiny craft as it mated with the jump drive. “I feel less ... worried now.”

  “Sounds like you’ve passed the hump,” Fraser told her. “Can you check the module?”

  “It looks fine,” George said. Her console lit up as the automated systems confirmed it. “I think we can disconnect.”

  Fraser nodded, then put the worker bee into reverse. The craft glided backwards, allowing George to pick out the lights studding the giant framework. She shook her head, feeling the all-pervading tiredness threatening to return. It was odd, but she hadn't felt so tired since the drills on Unity. Maybe she was just getting used to it.

  She smiled as she took in the jump drive. It looked like a giant framework studded with lights, just like the free-floating space docks she’d seen at the shipyards. And yet, it was far larger, tying the entire fleet into a single unit. The starships wouldn't be crossing the tramline - the artificial tramline - individually, but as a single unit. Thankfully, if they all hopped as one, there shouldn't be any risk of an accidental collision.

  “I feel as though I’m finally getting somewhere,” she admitted. “But I still have a very long way to go.”

  “Of course you do,” Fraser pointed out, dryly. “You wouldn't be out here if they hadn’t needed every qualified pilot.”

  George nodded. There had been no shore leave on Unity for her, unless one counted a parachute drop, a twenty-mile forced march and intensive shooting practice as something relaxing. She’d enjoyed the shooting practice and the parachute jump, but the march had been something to endure ... the final stage, when they’d been trying to avoid the local militia, had been fun. The militiamen had remembered her.

  And they learned their skills the hard way, she remembered. The Foxes tried hard to hunt them all down.

  “It feels funny,” she said, softly. “I feel like I’m skiving.”

  “I don’t think the sergeants will hold it against you,” Fraser said. “They’ll just insist that you have to make it up later.”

  George sighed as she steered the worker bee back towards Vanguard. The giant battleship looked as though she was trapped in the framework, like a fly trapped in honey. Beside her, two other battleships were clearly visible; the remainder, some distance away, hidden behind their running lights. Tiny sparks glinting in the darkness of interstellar space suggested more engineering crews, checking and rechecking the struts before the task force jumped. George hoped - prayed - that nothing went wrong.

  “I’m sure they will,” she said, morbidly. “I just ... I just can't wait to get on with it.”

  Fraser smiled. “Hard training, easy mission; easy training, hard mission.”

  “That’s what they all say,” George said. She shrugged. “How’s the new First Middy coping?”

  “Well enough,” Fraser said. He didn't quite say ‘better than you,’ but George could hear the words hanging in the air. “I’ve largely left him to it now, though I have checked in from time to time. Middy Country seems to be doing well enough.”

  George winced. Fraser might not have rebuked her, but he might as well have done.

  “He handled all the disciplinary issues remarkably well,” Fraser added. “Although I dare say you would have no trouble giving someone a clout now.”

  “Now,” George muttered.

  She wished, grimly, that someone had outlined all the problems she would face, as a young midshipwoman with a far too well-connected family. Too young, in her case. In hindsight, perhaps she should have waited another two years before going to the academy. If - when - she left the navy, she was going to write a book outlining all her failures in gruesome detail. It would probably be banned on the spot, but the datanet had a habit of neatly circumventing censorship. And the advice she’d give would be very good indeed.

  “It could be worse,” Fraser said. “You know that four of the reporters have been sleeping their way through the crew?”

  George laughed. “I suppose it could be,” she said. “Should I be relieved they haven’t tried to get into Marine Country?”

  Fraser winked. “Depends,” he said. “That redhead was very good in bed.”

  ***

  “The power curves are developing as predicted,” Mike Johnston reported. “We are on track to jump.”

  “Understood,” John said. He glanced at his aide. “And the task force?”

  “Every ship has checked in,” Commander Jackson Regal said. “The datanet is up and running, using both the hard connections and laser communicators.”

  John scowled, just for a second. The entire fleet was trapped within the framework. If they happened to jump right into the fire, they’d be sitting ducks. Vanguard and her consorts could absorb one hell of a lot of damage, but there were limits ... particularly as they would be too close together to use all of their point defence systems. The projections suggested they should still be able to defend themselves, yet ...

  He pushed the thought aside. “Please inform your wife that we are about to test her theories,” he said. He studied the console for a long moment. “We will jump in ten minutes.”

  “Yes, sir,” Johnston said.

  He turned to walk to the hatch. John watched him go, feeling a flicker of amusement mixed with envy. Mike Johnston and Commodore Juliet Watson-Stewart had a very loving relationship, a relationship so sweet that it made his teeth ache. And yet, there was no denying they were good together. Mike Johnston provided the technical expertise and interpersonal experience Juliet lacked, ensuring that she had unlimited funding to research whatever interested her.

  And after proving that we can build a jump drive, he thought wryly, only a complete idiot would cut the funding.

  “Admiral,” Regal said. “All ships have acknowledged.”

  John nodded, curtly. For the first time since the discovery of
the tramlines, a human fleet was going to jump into the unknown. Long-range observation had confirmed that ES-19 had at least five planets, but there was no way to know if those planets were inhabited. There had been no radio broadcasts, as far as they’d been able to tell. He’d checked and rechecked the presence of a tramline before ordering the framework put together. Jumping to ES-19 and getting stuck there would be disastrous.

  He waited, patiently, as the minutes ticked away. There was no need to hurry. They would make the jump as planned ...

  “Signal the jump crews,” he ordered, finally. “Jump!”

  There was a long chilling pause, mere seconds seeming to stretch out to minutes and hours ...

  ... And then the universe went black.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Susan felt ... weird.

  The universe had dimmed around her, dimmed ... she felt as if she needed to sneeze, as if the entire universe needed to sneeze. Her eyes were open, yet it was dark; she could hear nothing, but her ears hurt. And then the universe snapped back to normal, so violently that she nearly plunged out of her chair. The disorientation was so great that, just for a moment, she thought she’d had an awful nightmare, as if she’d woken up in shock ...

  She looked around, grimly. Half the bridge crew seemed to be unconscious; the remainder seemed to be in shock, their eyes flickering from side to side. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason, as far as she could tell. Mason was unconscious, as was Lieutenant Charlotte Watson ... she cursed under her breath, hastily opening the compartment in her command chair to retrieve the emergency stimulant tab. Using it was a risk, she acknowledged as she pressed the tab against her shoulder, but there was no choice. Half the displays were blank, suggesting ... what? Where were they?

  “Captain,” Parkinson said. “I ... what happened?”

  “Take the helm,” Susan ordered. She found a second tab and tossed it to him. The drug was working its way through her system, giving her a burst of energy she knew wouldn't last more than an hour or two. She’d pay a steep price afterwards. “I’ll take the sensor console.”

  This didn't happen during the trials, she thought, as she hurried to the console. Did the sheer size of the fleet skew things, somehow?

  She put the thought aside for later consideration and checked the console rapidly, praying that the automatic systems had rebooted themselves. They had, thankfully. She checked the records, then waited nervously until the position-monitoring software pinpointed their location. The jump had evidently caused more disruption than anyone had predicted, she realised, but they were where they were supposed to be, drifting along the edge of ES-19. Most of the ship’s systems were coming back to life as the framework disintegrated, but several departments seemed to be completely out of touch. Everyone inside might well be stunned - or dead.

  The jump could have killed someone, she thought, numbly. There were horror stories about the first jumps through the tramlines, but nothing had been as bad as this. Half the crew could be dead.

  “Local space appears clear,” Parkinson reported. Beside him, Reed let out a loud moan. “I think we’re safe, for the moment.”

  Susan nodded, sourly. None of the boffins had been able to answer what was, to her, an all-important question. Would the Foxes be able to detect their arrival? The jump drive was a powerful gravity flux, after all. There was a small, but significant possibility that there would be an effect on the system’s tramlines. And the Foxes might respond to the flux, if they detected it.

  “Give everyone a tab,” she ordered, stiffly. The alpha crew would need to sleep for several hours afterwards. It was frustrating, but there was no way to avoid it. “And then try to raise the admiral.”

  She cursed under her breath as she worked the console. Engineering had reported in, thankfully. A good third of their staff was comatose, but the remainder were already working to free Vanguard from the framework. Sickbay took several tries before a nurse took the call, informing Susan that several of the doctors were also stunned. Susan issued orders, then left the nurse with instructions to call her if the situation changed.

  “Got a direct link to Montana, Captain,” Parkinson said. “She’s in the same state as ourselves.”

  Susan nodded, unsurprised.

  She moved from officer to officer as they pulled themselves together, offering words of reassurance while silently praying the jump hadn't done any long-term damage. The steady stream of updates from the rest of the ship - and the task force - reassured her more than she cared to admit. Only two fatalities had been reported in the task force, both men who’d stumbled and fallen during the jump. So far, it seemed as though Vanguard had escaped any deaths.

  “We’re free of the framework, Captain,” Reed reported. The helmsman sounded drunk. If there had been any other choice, Susan would have relieved Reed of duty and told him to sleep it off. “Drives and weapons systems appear nominal.”

  “Long-range sensors are picking up bursts of radio traffic from Planet Three,” Parkinson added. “I’d say there’s definitely a mid-sized colony based there, probably including some interplanetary installations.”

  We’re on the wrong end of a tramline chain, Susan’s thoughts insisted. How much industry did they put here, so far from their homeworld?

  Oh, her own thoughts answered. And what sort of threat do they pose to Tadpole Prime?

  “Launch two stealth probes,” she ordered, banishing the thoughts. Her brain felt as though someone had stuffed it with cotton wool. Technically, it was the admiral’s call to make, but she hadn't heard from Admiral Naiser. “I want a clear picture of everything waiting for us in the inner system.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Parkinson said.

  ***

  There were three great traditions of the Royal Navy, according to Winston Churchill: rum, sodomy and the lash. John Naiser had practiced all three of them with varying degrees of enthusiasm, back when he'd been a starfighter pilot and his life expectancy had been measured in weeks, but he’d never felt quite so bad - afterwards - as he did now. His head felt as if he’d drunk himself senseless, then woke up in a police cell charged with so many offences against public order that he wasn't even going to be walked past a judge before winding up in a work gang. If it had been an option, he would have gone to bed, taken a sedative and slept it off.

  But that isn't an option, he thought, as the holographic images sprang into life. There’s too great a risk of being detected.

  “That could have gone better,” he said, once the entire command staff had arrived. “It was not a very pleasant experience.”

  “British understatement,” Commodore Kevin Hoover said. The American sounded punch-drunk. “Very droll, sir.”

  Captain Paddy Hicks had a different question. “What happened?”

  “The gravity flux wasn't precisely calibrated, apparently,” John said. Juliet had been completely unaffected, apparently. He wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. “We did have similar experiences on Warspite’s first cruise, if ... rather less unpleasant.”

  He shook his head in annoyance. No one had been entirely sure, afterwards, just how many of their problems had stemmed from faulty calculations, work done before any real tests had been carried out ... and outright sabotage. Not that it mattered, in the end. The results had been much the same. Hell, they’d been worse. Vanguard and the rest of the task force had been battered, but at least they hadn't lost main power. That had been bad enough in friendly space. Losing power in enemy space would be utterly disastrous.

  “That isn't a problem at the moment,” he continued. “The framework is burned out, most of its components rendered into dust. Our engineers will sweep up the reusable components, then atomise the rest. There is no way back the way we came.”

  “Onwards to death or glory,” Kevin Hoover said.

  “Quite,” John agreed.

  He keyed his console, showing the live feed from the stealth probes. He’d known admirals who would have pitched a fit, when on
e of their subordinates showed initiative, but he wasn't one of them. Captain Onarina had done exactly the right thing. The feed from the probes had been very helpful, both in confirming the presence of two tramlines and in zeroing in on the populated planets and asteroids. Most of them, he suspected, were utterly irrelevant to the enemy war effort. But there was a major problem.

  “The enemy doesn't have many defences in orbit around Planet Three, as far as we can tell,” he said. They all knew the blunt realities of modern war. This far from the planet, it was impossible to be certain they’d seen everything. “What it does have is a mid-sized cruiser, roughly twice the size of Warspite.”

  “Not much of a problem,” Captain Rani Saran observed. The Indian looked wretched, her dark eyes shadowed. John would have wondered if someone had blackened her eyes if he hadn't seen the injuries on his own flag deck. “We can take her.”