09- We Lead

by Christopher Nuttall

  Jump shock didn't do us any favours, she thought. But we survived.

  Up close, the alien device looked like a giant satellite from a bygone era. A pair of giant panels waving in space, a handful of power cores and other devices ... she puzzled over them for a long moment, before noticing the command core. It had to be a command core, she was sure. Her sensors reported that the gravimetric flux was stronger around the device, although it didn't seem to be harming her craft. That proved nothing, she told herself, sharply. The gravity field might be tiny, but it was linked to the tramline. It was possible it could get a great deal stronger very quickly.

  Corporal Robertson leaned past her. “What is it?”

  “As you were,” Sergeant Tosco growled. “George, hold us at rest relative to the device.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” George said.

  There was no such thing as ‘dead stop’ in space, but she could and did hold the shuttle still, relative to the device. She couldn't help thinking, as she waited to see if the device would react to their presence, that the device was as near to still as was possible in space. If it was linked to the tramline, perhaps it was permanently held in position ... she’d heard of something like that, theoretically, but it had never led to workable hardware. Perhaps someone could lock onto the surface of space itself and ...

  She shook her head, making a mental note to look it up when she returned to Vanguard. It was probably nothing, but who knew? She turned her attention towards the sensor console and frowned as she realised that the device hadn't reacted to their presence at all. No sensor sweep, no recorded message telling them to keep their distance ... not even a self-destruct. In truth, she wasn't sure if that was good or bad. The real surprise might come when they tried to sneak into the command core.

  “I’ll take the lead,” Sergeant Tosco said. “Smiles and Sammy will accompany me.”

  George nodded, keying a command into her console as the three marines headed for the hatch. Smiles - she didn't know his real name - was a good man in a fight, she’d been told, while Sammy had spent half his time examining the captured alien technology. He knew more about alien technology than anyone else, save for the xenospecialists parsing out its secrets. George was torn between envy and concern. She wanted to join them, but she knew the risks. Out there, wearing thin spacesuits instead of armour, the marines would be vulnerable as hell.

  The hatch opened. George kept a wary eye on her sensors, remembering the contingency plans they’d gone over before leaving the battleship. If there was a power surge, if there was any sign of trouble, she was to turn and run, leaving the others behind. She’d tried to argue, but she knew - deep inside - that there was no alternative. If something went wrong, they wouldn't have time to do anything more than save themselves.

  She frowned as the three men drifted closer to the command core. If they managed to get in ... then what? Hacking the alien system should be possible, but the mystery device was a complete unknown. They might not be able to figure out how to shut it down. And then ... a freighter was already being prepared to carry it, according to the latest update. The scientists could study the device a long way from anyone else. And then ...

  See what it is, she thought, as Sammy managed to open the alien hatch. And then find out what we can do with it.

  Her radio crackled. “It’s pretty simple,” Sammy reported. “Plenty of redundancy built into the system.”

  “They must have seen you coming,” Robertson said. “How much of it can you damage before it explodes?”

  “Ha fucking hah,” Sergeant Tosco said. “Stay off the channel unless you have something useful to contribute.”

  “The command nodes are beyond us,” Sammy said, after a moment. “But I think we can power it down.”

  George tensed. She’d heard horror stories about researchers who’d pushed the wrong button while working with xenotech. The Foxes - and the Tadpoles - had to obey the same laws of science as humanity, but they still had different ways of looking at the world. Logic could not be trusted, she reminded herself, when dealing with alien technology. Something that was obvious, to a human mind, might look very different to an alien. And the off switch on xenotech might be in completely the wrong place ...

  The shuttle rocked. Just for a second, she honestly thought she’d imagined it. She was in space, not flying through a planetary atmosphere. There was no turbulence in space. But the gravimetric sensors had picked up a gravity wave, striking the shuttle like an ocean wave might strike a boat. She’d never seen anything like it, no one had. And the device, it seemed, was powering down.

  It struck the shuttle with a gravity wave, she thought. She tapped her console, hastily reporting the incident to her superiors. What if they managed to turn it into a weapon?

  “The device has powered down, I think,” Sammy said. “I suggest we move it away, now. If it was linked to another device at the far end, it isn't any longer.”

  “Good thinking,” Sergeant Tosco said. “George, attach a line and take us away.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” George said.

  And wondered, as she carefully towed the device away from the tramline, just what they’d managed to find.

  ***

  “My wife is still studying the device,” Mike Johnston said. “But, as near as we can make out, it’s an FTL communications hub.”

  John felt a glimmer of triumph, mixed with concern. “Are you sure?”

  “There are some parts of the technology we haven’t been able to unravel, yet,” Johnston assured him. “It would be easier if we had direct access to the device.”

  “No,” John said. “I can't afford to lose you or your wife.”

  He sighed inwardly as he studied the live feed from the freighter. The logic of allowing Juliet Watson-Stewart and Mike Johnston to accompany the task force was undeniable, but - in truth - both of them were really too valuable to be considered expendable. John had no illusions about himself or his subordinates. None of them, with the possible exception of Prince Henry, were truly important. But Mike Johnston and his wife shouldn't have been risked.

  “The command system is clearly designed to handle communications,” Mike Johnston said, after a moment. “It's actually very simple, compared to a datanet node. I’d say their bandwidth is actually quite low. I’d have wondered if this dated all the way back to the pre-space era if I hadn't known where it came from. Really ... it isn't much more advanced than sending emails. Trying to send a simple photograph might blow the entire system.”

  John cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

  “We may be misunderstanding what we’re seeing,” Johnston admitted. “As near as we can tell, there’s one big trunk - sending messages along the tramline - and several smaller ones, all seemingly linked to distant units. I think their gravimetric science went in a different direction to ours. We looked at ways to improve our access to tramlines, then to create our own; they assumed that was impossible and started finding ways to piggyback messages onto the tramlines. And then they started forming mini-tramlines between the device and subordinate units ...”

  His voice trailed off. “Or it may be something completely different,” he added. “We’ve barely scratched the surface of the possible. But yeah, this is an FTL communicator.”

  John smiled. “Can it be duplicated?”

  “Not in a hurry,” Mike Johnston said. “We don’t understand the science behind it yet.”

  “I see,” John said.

  It wasn't a pleasant thought. He’d been a very junior starfighter pilot when Ark Royal had returned to Earth, bringing a captured alien ship with her. The debate about how alien tech should be integrated into the Royal Navy had been savage, although the war had ended before it had gotten too far out of hand. Warspite had been commissioned and launched after the war. Her maiden voyage had illustrated the problems facing the navy quite nicely.

  He pushed the thought aside. “Can you tell me something useful?”

  “I think the devices ha
ve to be fairly close to stars,” Mike Johnston said. “If nothing else, launching a ballistic missile down the tramline will effectively take out the communications hub. It might be worth doing in every system we enter, sir.”

  John considered it. If they did - if the system had a giant vulnerability that could be exploited - it would tear holes in the alien FTL network. And yet, that would make it harder for the aliens to recall their forces from the war front. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing, yet. It all depended on what they encountered in the next two star systems.

  “Good point,” he said, finally. “Can the system be jammed?”

  “Not with present-day tech,” Johnston said. “Juliet does have some theories, but turning them into reality may be beyond us.”

  “Then we will proceed,” John said, firmly. “And we will take steps to cripple their network ...”

  He paused. “What about a computer virus? Something that might take down the entire network?”

  “This isn't a movie, sir,” Johnston said. “The worst we could do, if we hacked the system, would be to send insulting messages to them. There just isn't the bandwidth for a proper viral assault.”

  “Pity,” John said. “Keep me informed of progress.”

  “Of course, sir,” Johnston said.

  John smiled. Finding the FTL transmitter, as they prepared to cross Tramline One, was a stroke of luck. But would their luck hold?

  We make our own luck, he thought, as he studied the star chart. And even if they know we’re here, now, it will take them time to react.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Civilians, Susan had often thought, didn't comprehend the sheer vastness of interplanetary space.

  She forced herself to lean back in her chair and wait, patiently, as the fleet crawled across the system, heading for the closest tramline. ES-18 - the astrographers had declined to add any name to the system - had no habitable planets, but it did have four tramlines, two of which seemed to lead towards the enemy homeworld. If the projections were correct, either route would lead through two more star systems before linking up again just before the enemy home system. A series of hops, she suspected, would give them a reasonable chance to make it back to UXS-469 without being intercepted.

  Except we have to draw them towards us, she thought, grimly. And we don’t dare stop before we reach their homeworld.

  It felt ... tiring. The crew had recovered from the jump shock - and two-thirds had had a proper rest - but she found it hard to relax. There was no way to know what might be coming towards them, what sort of enemy fleet might be racing towards ES-19. How much did the aliens even know about the situation? How many ships had they even seen? And had they deduced the existence of the jump drive? There was no way to be sure. She would be happier, she knew, if she actually saw the aliens. As it was, the sensation of being watched refused to fade. She wanted to believe she was imagining it, but ...

  The task force wasn't really trying to hide. Passive sensors would have no trouble tracking their course, even though ECM would make it hard for anyone to get a solid count of their hulls. It was possible, she supposed, that the aliens believed that most - if not all - of Admiral Naiser’s ships were little more than sensor drones. Hell, they knew humanity’s sensor decoys were good. Sending three battleships to the back of beyond to create a false impression was precisely the kind of trickery they’d expect.

  She glanced down at the latest set of reports, torn between boredom and a grim awareness she ought to be glad to be bored. The reporters were prowling the decks, hunting interviewees like aristocrats hunted deer and pheasant; the xenospecialists were examining the FTL communicator, trying desperately to understand how it worked when it seemed to defy half of their understanding of gravimetric science; her various departments were insisting that they were fighting fit, ready to take the war to the enemy ...

  A ping echoed through the bridge. “Captain,” Parkinson said. “Long-range sensors are picking up a small enemy formation. They’re heading directly towards Tramline One.”

  Susan sucked in her breath. That was fast. “Alert the admiral,” she ordered, grimly. The alien FTL communicator had proved its value, again. “Time to intercept?”

  “Three hours, assuming they maintain their current course and speed,” Parkinson said. “But I don’t think they’ll seek an engagement.”

  “You may be right,” Susan said. There were only nine alien ships, none of them larger than a heavy cruiser. One of the ships might be a converted freighter - the aliens needed carriers too - but the others were small ships, the kind of units that would be deployed to shadow an invading fleet while stronger formations were assembled. “If they get a solid look at us, they’re not going to risk closing to engagement range.”

  She frowned. There was no way to know just how much the ES-19 aliens had detected, but she was fairly sure they’d seen three battleships. Nine smaller ships didn't stand a chance, if they came into engagement range. But then, perhaps it would be possible to lure the aliens onto her guns. She'd done it before, back during the first series of engagements. Done properly, the aliens might be fooled into thinking they could close safely.

  “Raise the admiral,” she ordered, slowly. “I’ve had an idea.”

  ***

  John Naiser was no stranger to daring operations. He'd killed a carrier through sheer balls - although, to be fair, the Royal Navy would barely have noticed if Warspite and her crew had been blown out of space. Hell, the odds were rather more firmly on his side than they’d been back during the Battle of Clarke. But there were dangers too, he had to admit. The Indians had been civilised, even though they were mounting a bid for power. He suspected the Foxes would be less inclined to treat POWs kindly.

  “That's the plan,” Captain Onarina said. “We should be able to give the aliens a nasty surprise.”

  “So it would seem,” John said. He didn't want the aliens shadowing the task force, even though they were meant to know the task force was punching up towards their homeworld. If they got an accurate count of his ships, they might decide they could afford not to withdraw from the front. “I’ll pass the word.”

  He studied the display for a long moment, working out the possible vectors. The aliens might remain near the tramlines, calculating that he would have to close with them just to break through and cross the tramline. But if they wanted to get an accurate count of his ships, they would have to close with him themselves. And they should be able to do it without getting blown out of space, if they were lucky.

  “Deploy drones too,” he ordered. “We don’t want them to notice that some of our ships have gone missing.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Captain Onarina said.

  John allowed himself a smile as her face vanished from the display. He rather liked Susan Onarina, even if quite a few captains would give her the stink-eye for daring to relieve her former commander of duty. It wasn't the sort of precedent any Captain’s Board would care to uphold, whatever sort of person had been relieved. Maybe he would have eyed her with more suspicion if he was still on a command deck himself. But there was nothing wrong with her tactical skill, he had to admit, nor her ability to take advantage of unexpected opportunities.

  And if this fails, he told himself, it won’t cost us anything beyond time.

  He sobered. Time was in short supply.

  ***

  “The cloaking device is holding steady,” Granger said. “But the enemy ships are sweeping space for trouble.”

  “Adjust the device to compensate,” Susan said. “And alert me if they see through the cloak.”

  She watched, forcing herself to remain calm. The enemy weren't trying to hide, any more than Task Force 7.2 and 7.3 were trying to hide. It made it easier to track the enemy ships, but it also allowed the enemy to use their active sensors. And if they noticed that there was something odd with their returns, they’d deduce the presence of a cloaking device and know that Task Force 7.1 - or at least its battleships - was lurking und
er cloak, far too close to them for comfort.

  The concept itself was simple. Logically, the enemy would want to close with the task force, at least enough to get a proper ship count. Her ships were hiding, positioned between the aliens and the task force. If the aliens kept advancing, they would impale themselves on her guns ... assuming, of course, that they didn’t detect her before it was too late. She knew, all too well, that far too much could go wrong.

  “Their sweeps are intensifying,” Jean reported. “But I don’t think they’ve locked onto the cloak.”

  “Establish passive locks on their hulls,” Susan ordered. “And prepare to fire on my command.”

  She scowled as the alien ships came closer. With the possible exception of the modified freighter - she assumed it was a carrier, given that it was holding position with the other ships - the enemy cruisers could easily escape the three battleships, if they saw the danger in time to reverse course. Vanguard and her two allies had stepped down their drives and sensors as far as they could - another advantage of the aliens using active sensors was that it made taking aim at them remarkably easy - but she knew the cloak wouldn't hold up forever. A sensor genius like Parkinson or Charlotte Watson would see through it, sooner rather than later. And then ...