The Cruel Stars

by Christopher Nuttall

  And aliens might not even need to invent justifications for mass slaughter, he thought. If invasion and settlement is their goal, they might want to wipe New Russia clean of human life before landing their own colonists.

  “It’ll be nasty,” Bennett added. “Even for trained soldiers, it’s not always possible to tell if something is a weapon or not. People can be shot just for pointing a fake gun at a soldier on guard. And aliens would be even less able to tell the difference between a friendly gesture and a threat.”

  Alan nodded, curtly. The aliens seemed to be entering orbit ... it didn't look as though they were landing troops, but there was no way to tell. It was quite possible that they’d been holding the occupation force on the far side of Tramline Four, just in case the battle went the other way. There was certainly no need to hurry. New Russia definitely wasn't going anywhere.

  He tried to imagine what it would be like, when the aliens landed. Interstellar invasion had always been seen as difficult, if not outright impossible. Dominating a planet’s high orbitals was easy, assuming one managed to capture them, but landing enough troops to occupy an entire planet? Alan didn't know how many Russians had military training, let alone weapons in private hands, yet he found it hard to believe there were none. Besides, the Russian soldiers had probably left their bases before the KEWs started raining down. They’d be hidden now, waiting for a chance to strike.

  A memory flashed into his mind - and refused to fade. Years ago, he’d watched a movie with Judith. She'd been pregnant with Jeanette at the time, if he recalled correctly. They’d gone to a cinema and watched a chick-flick about a pair of lovers during the Troubles, lovers who’d been separated during the mass round-ups. He’d found it hard to be sorry for either of the characters - he was still surprised that the film had been made, let alone distributed - but now ... now he thought he understood how they’d felt. Their country had been transformed, overnight, into a hostile environment. And they’d been torn apart by a war neither of them had chosen.

  But we didn't choose this war either, he told himself. None of us did.

  He keyed his console. “Herring Squadron is to remain on alert status,” he ordered, shortly. “Kipper Squadron is to return to the ready room.”

  Not that we need to worry, he thought. Kipper’s pilots will have more than enough time to get into their craft before Herring has finished vacating the launch tubes.

  He forced himself to pull up the raw sensor data as the minutes slowly turned into hours and the convoy crawled away from New Russia. The analysts would check everything, of course, but he didn’t have time to wait for the official reports. Gleaning something from the raw data might make the difference between life and death. Besides, there weren't many analysts attached to the convoy, if any. Melbourne wasn't large enough to have an analysis section of her own.

  “I think we did kill a handful of their starfighters,” Maddy said, slowly. “But it’s hard to be sure.”

  Alan looked up. “I hope you’re right,” he said. “What have you found?”

  Maddy held out a datapad. Alan took it. He couldn't help noticing that there were dark circles around Maddy’s eyes. She was young, but they’d been awake for hours before entering the system. He was tempted to order her to go back to her cabin. God knew she wasn't the only one who needed a rest. But he might need her ...

  “A handful of sensor contacts vanished,” Maddy told him, as he scanned the pad. “There is at least a possibility that most of them were picked off by our starfighters.”

  Alan frowned. “But there’s no way to be sure,” he said. He looked at the display. The gulf between the convoy and New Russia was growing wider by the second, but he had no illusions about just how easily the aliens could catch them if they wanted. “You can't prove it.”

  “No,” Maddy said. “But my analysis is sound.”

  “It’s also what you want to believe,” Alan said. He tried not to see the crushed expression on her face. “We have to be careful that we don’t make the mistake of seeing what we want to see.”

  He studied the rest of the analysis carefully. The aliens didn't seem to use their stealth systems very often, which was odd. On one hand, firing plasma cannons in all directions was the very opposite of stealthy; on the other hand, the aliens could definitely get into firing position before dropping their stealth and opening fire. Their starships had certainly managed to get very close to the planet before they’d been detected. Did the stealth system consume a great deal of power? It was possible, he supposed. Attempts to produce a cloaking device had failed, as far as he knew. And yet, someone might have made a workable version over the last few years. He wouldn't have been told about it, even if he hadn't been in jail.

  I was never assigned to a top secret research base, he thought. I wouldn't have had a ‘need to know’ until the device entered the mainstream.

  “It’s a good piece of work,” he said, softly. Maddy deserved some encouragement ... she’d spotted a few things he’d missed. He felt a rush of affection and he reminded himself, again, that she was his subordinate. “And I hope you’re right.”

  The klaxons began to howl. Red icons flickered into life on the display.

  “Shit,” he said. “They’ve found us!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Abigail had been reprimanded - once - for dozing off while she'd been on duty, when she’d been a young girl on her first cruise. Her uncle had been very scathing about it, pointing out that the entire crew relied on the watch officer to keep her eyes open at all times. She’d never made that mistake again as she’d climbed the ranks to captaincy. In hindsight, she’d even wondered if her uncle had been deliberately watching for her to make the mistake. It was something she’d needed to learn before she rose too high.

  Now, she felt tired as the convoy crept towards Tramline Two, tired and worn. She’d sent half her crew to their bunks, once it became clear they weren't in immediate danger, but she hadn't left the bridge herself. How could she? She was responsible for her ship and crew, even if she was playing at being a naval officer. But the stimulant she’d taken, when she’d realised just how long it was going to be before they finally jumped out of the system, was starting to wear off. And when it wore off completely, she knew all too well, she was going to crash hard. It was almost a relief when the aliens finally showed up.

  She jerked upright, adrenaline coursing through her system. Red icons were sparkling to life on the display, followed by convoy-wide alerts. Commodore Banks had ordered the convoy to maintain radio silence, but there was no point in being quiet now. The aliens had found them. There could be no mistake. Even as she watched, the enemy starfighters altered course to intercept the convoy.

  They didn't have a solid lock on us, she thought. The aliens had been caught by surprise, if she was reading their trajectories correctly. They’d probably thought the convoy was somewhere else and only caught a sniff of the real location by accident. And now they’re moving into attack position.

  “Call Anson back to the bridge,” she ordered, curtly. He was the best helmsman on the ship, although she wouldn't tell him that for fear of boosting his ego. And besides, as much as she might want to let him sleep through the engagement, she knew he’d never forgive her if they survived. “And then ready the weapons.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Poddy said. She sounded nervous. “Point defence weapons are coming online now.”

  Abigail frowned, eying the back of Poddy’s head. Her daughter did sound nervous. If she panicked under fire ... Abigail keyed her console, silently readying herself to take over Poddy’s duties if necessary. She hated to even think of the possibility, but she knew it had to be acknowledged. She’d been seventeen when she’d faced her first real emergency.

  Her console bleeped. “Captain,” Alan said. “I request permission to launch starfighters.”

  “Granted,” Abigail said, curtly. It was a meaningless formality, now that Commodore Banks had ordered the convoy to go to battle stations. Th
ere was certainly nothing to be gained from keeping the starfighters in the launch tubes. The aliens had destroyed twelve fleet carriers in less than ten minutes and she was all too aware that Haddock was flimsy by comparison. “Are you going to fly yourself?”

  There was a brief hesitation. “Both of my Wing Commanders will be out,” Alan said, reluctantly. “I have to stay inside.”

  Abigail felt her lips twitch in cold amusement. There were people on Earth who’d send Alan white feathers for refusing to put his life at risk, although anyone with half a brain would realise that Alan was at risk. Haddock wouldn't stand a chance if those plasma weapons started burning into her hull. Alan would have a better shot at survival if he was outside the ship. She snorted at the thought. Stupid groundpounders didn't realise that maintenance and logistics could be just as important as fighting.

  The aliens clearly understand, she thought, as Anson entered the bridge and sat down. That’s why they came after us.

  She pushed the thought aside. “Understood,” she said. She didn't have to worry about keeping derision out of her tone. Spacers understood the realities, even if groundpounders didn’t. “Tell your pilots I said good luck.”

  “The flag is ordering us to pick up speed,” Poddy said. “We’re going to make a run for the tramline.”

  “As long as we stay in formation, we should be fine,” Anson said. “But if we get strung out ...”

  “I know the dangers,” Abigail said. “And so does the Commodore.”

  She turned her attention to the display and watched, grimly, as the starfighters were ejected into space. It was slow, too slow. The aliens didn't seem interested in giving them the time to get the starfighters out, either. Any purpose-built escort carrier would have to include more launch tubes, she noted absently. She promised herself that she’d bring the concept to the attention of the Belt Federation, if she made it home. Building fleet carriers was beyond them, but escorts might just be possible ...

  Particularly as we’re at war, she thought. There won’t be any objection from the Great Powers if we start cannoning up.

  “Enemy craft will enter presumed engagement range in two minutes,” Poddy said. She sounded calmer now, thankfully. “Twenty-two minutes to the tramline.”

  Anson snorted. “How long did it take them to tear apart twelve fleet carriers?”

  “That will do,” Abigail snapped, although she’d been thinking the same thing herself. “Do they have any capital ships within detection range?”

  “Not as far as I can tell,” Poddy said. “But that means nothing.”

  Abigail nodded, grimly. Commodore Banks had launched a shell of recon drones and long-range probes, but all they were picking up were enemy starfighters. And yet, those starfighters had to have a mothership somewhere close by ... unless, she supposed, they had far more endurance than their human counterparts. It was vaguely possible. There was no way to guess what other surprises the aliens might have up their sleeves.

  They might not even wear sleeves, the irreverent part of her mind pointed out.

  She studied the sensor readings as the final seconds ticked away. The alien starfighters appeared to be slightly larger than humanity’s, although they also seemed to be more manoeuvrable. It was difficult to be certain, but it looked as though the point defence sensors would have no difficulty telling the two sides apart. The aliens weren't using their stealth systems either, which meant ... what? She had no difficulty in believing the system was a power hog, but she couldn't help feeling as though that was too good to be true.

  “The aliens are engaging the first squadrons now,” Poddy said. A handful of icons vanished from the display. “I ...”

  Abigail heard a note of pain in Poddy’s voice and winced. She’d told Poddy not to spend too much time with the starfighter pilots, but Poddy hadn't been able to avoid getting to know some of them. A couple of her friends might be dead now. At least they’d taken out a pair of aliens too. It was clear that some of the wilder speculations - force fields, at least - were not grounded in reality.

  Which is lucky for us, she told herself, as the alien starfighters broke through the defenders and roared down on the convoy. They already have too many advantages.

  “They’re coming right at us,” Poddy said. Her voice rose, sharply. “The CSP is moving to intercept.”

  “Open fire the moment they enter the kill-zone,” Abigail ordered. She doubted the CSP could stop the aliens, not before they engaged Haddock. The point defence would have to shoot first and ask questions later. Thankfully, the starfighter pilots understood the danger of straying into the kill-zone themselves. This time, there would be no incidents. “We’ll give them a beating.”

  She tensed as the aliens swept into engagement range, blowing through the CSP with a grim determination she could only admire. The point defence opened fire a second later, blasting two of the alien starfighters into dust. Abigail felt her heart leap, an instant before one of the alien craft opened fire. Alarms sounded as plasma bolts plunged into her ship.

  “Direct hit, lower holds,” Poddy said. The alarms went quiet, so abruptly that silence fell like a hammer. “I think they took out one of the launch tubes.”

  And all the starfighters are already out, Abigail thought. The aliens presumably didn't know it, but switching out the damaged launch tube and replacing it wouldn't take more than a few hours. If, of course, they made it back home. We won’t be so lucky next time.

  “Seal off that section,” she ordered. “We’ll try to make repairs once we’re through the tramline.”

  The remaining alien craft broke and fled. Abigail frowned, trying to figure out what they were doing. Another pass would have destroyed her ship ... hell, all they’d have to do was shoot out the drives if they wanted to render her dead in space. The freighter might survive that sort of treatment, but she’d be good for nothing more than scrap afterwards. And then she saw the aliens regrouping, altering course towards ...

  “They’re targeting Melbourne,” Poddy breathed.

  Anson didn't look up from his console as the aliens began their attack run. “We have to do something!”

  Abigail shook her head. There was nothing they could do. The convoy’s CSP was already moving to intercept, but she doubted they could keep the aliens from breaking through and falling on the cruiser. Their tactics did make sense, she supposed, as the aliens started tearing Melbourne apart. It took longer - much longer - to produce a warship than a freighter. A clear shot at a cruiser was not to be missed. And killing the convoy CO was just the icing on the cake.

  “She’s gone,” Poddy said.

  “Keep us on our current course,” Abigail ordered. The aliens were already regrouping. Of course they were. There were other warships, real as well as makeshift, to be killed. “Once we’re over the tramline, we can go silent again.”

  She studied the empty display. She knew the aliens had to have a mothership out there somewhere, a mothership that could presumably cross the tramlines too. The pursuit would not be long delayed, if it was delayed at all. And yet ... she glared at the barren reaches of interplanetary space. Neither her sensors nor the recon drones could pick up much of anything.

  They’ll have to pick up their starfighters first, she told herself. She knew that wouldn't slow the aliens down much, if at all. A fleet carrier could recover all of her starfighters with terrifying speed. And then ... and then they’ll come right after us.

  “Captain Hyatt has assumed command,” Poddy reported. “He’s ordering us to keep going.”

  “Very good,” Abigail said, dryly. The aliens were moving back into attack formation now, isolating their targets one by one. “It isn't as if we have anywhere else to go.”

  ***

  Alan felt sweat trickling down his back as he tried to make sense out of the chaos. The alien attack patterns made sense, yet they didn't make sense. They’d attacked Haddock and two other escort carriers briefly, then moved to attack the genuine warships instead of the freight
ers or escort carriers. Perhaps they were more interested in wiping out the remainder of the MNF than anything else.

  “Herring Nine is gone, sir,” Maddy said. “There’s no sign she ejected.”

  “Understood,” Alan said.

  He felt a pang of bitter regret. Herring Nine - Flight Lieutenant Sofia Augusta. A fun-loving young woman who’d been transferred when she’d been caught having an affair with one of her wingmates. She’d been good enough, barely, not to be discharged on the spot. And now she was dead. He told himself, firmly, that he’d mourn later. Right now, he had to concentrate on the engagement.

  The aliens pushed the offensive hard, systematically wiping out the remaining warships one by one. It cost them, but it didn't cost them enough. Trading a handful of starfighters for a single frigate was a winning equation, even if it was hard on the starfighter pilots. Alan had no idea what sort of intelligence was directing the aliens, but he thought he understood its logic. The aliens were quite happy to spend starfighters to kill capital ships.