The Cruel Stars

by Christopher Nuttall

  Alan nodded, accepting the rebuke. “Yes, sir.”

  He paused, considering his next words. “We can also improve the internal armour on the carriers, although that might impede their operational tempo. And we could add additional point defence, maybe even outfit shuttles with close-in weapons to give the carriers some additional protection. But I don’t think we can do that much more to give them a chance to survive, sir. The odds are not in their favour.”

  “The boffins say they can come up with something new,” Tagger said. “But can they come up with something new in time?”

  Alan winced. Half the battle was knowing that something was possible - and the aliens had certainly proved that plasma guns and stealth systems were possible. But actually developing such technologies could take months or years, after which they would have to be put into mass production. How long did they have? If the aliens realised the human navies couldn’t stand up to them in open battle, they’d abandon the subtle approach and drive on Earth. The war would be lost along with humanity’s homeworld.

  “We may have to muddle through,” he said. “But as long as they have such a decisive advantage, sir, the advantage rests in their hands.”

  “Very true,” Tagger said.

  He glanced at his companion, then nodded. “You have the thanks of a grateful nation, Commander. However, for the moment, you will have to go into lockdown until we decide how best to inform the public. There will be panic when the truth comes out.”

  “And a loss of confidence if the truth is kept secret for too long,” Alan countered.

  “That may be true,” Tagger said, with a shrug. “But the decision was made well above my head. Putting that aside” - he met Alan’s eyes - “how do the escort carriers stand up in combat?”

  “We beat off an enemy probe, sir,” Alan said. “But we were being worn down. I don’t think we would have survived if we hadn't jumped through the tramline. And the lack of pursuit worries me. If they weren't heading straight to Earth, sir, that suggests that their starfighters were operating without a fleet carrier ...”

  “Which means that their operational range may be vastly greater than ours,” Tagger said. “I see your point.”

  Alan couldn't help being impressed. Intelligence officers were supposed to be smart, to the point where they were too focused on their own brilliance to be effective, but Tagger had understood the implications of Alan’s words. All of their comfortable projections about alien ranges - starfighters as well as starships - might be completely wrong. And if that was the case, the aliens might have far more flexibility than any of the Royal Navy’s previous opponents.

  He rubbed his forehead. “The only good news is that their starfighters were apparently unable to transit a tramline without a carrier,” he said. “But that isn't a particular advantage.”

  “True,” Tagger agreed.

  “The escort carriers also have problems in launching and recovering starfighters,” Alan added. He nodded to the terminal. “It’s all in my report, sir. I’ve suggested a handful of modifications, including additional life support packs, but ... really, we need a technological breakthrough and quickly. Time is not on our side.”

  “We know,” Tagger said. “Your pilots were very sure they could win a one-on-one fight.”

  “Starfighter pilots think they can handle anything,” Alan said. “I should know, sir. I was one of them. But in reality ... we took punishing losses. We would have lost the entire convoy if we hadn't crossed the tramline. Next time, we’ll know what we’re up against. But unfortunately the aliens will know too.”

  And they won’t be careful next time, he added, silently. They know their strengths now.

  He yawned, suddenly. Being in lockdown was going to be a pain. He’d already rebuked a pair of pilots for talking about a trip to Sin City. It would be fun, but ... he shook his head. They were going to be in lockdown. There would be no trips outside the hull for anyone.

  “You’ll be taken back to your ship,” Tagger said. “Officer Bennett will be debriefed extensively before we send him back to you. Hopefully, we’ll have new orders for Haddock within the week, but ... right now, a great many senior officers are running around like chickens who’ve had their heads cut off. We don’t know what to do.”

  Neither do we, Alan thought. We need to knock the aliens off-balance long enough to recover our footing.

  “Your country thanks you,” Tagger said. “And so do I.”

  “Thanks,” Alan said. He rose. “But will we be remembered after we’re gone?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Being in lockdown, Abigail had decided very quickly, was boring.

  She supposed it was a good thing, in some ways. She hadn't been arrested for sending word of the battle to the Belt Federation, although she knew that could change in a hurry if the groundpounder governments demanded a scapegoat. The file had leaked very quickly, prompting a number of hurried disclosures from planet-side governments. Surprisingly, the belters had panicked more than the groundpounders. The belters knew that New Russia wasn't that far away.

  And the aliens could be probing Terra Nova by now, she thought. The news was maddeningly out of date. They’ve already occupied a handful of systems surrounding New Russia.

  She sat on her bridge and read the latest update. Haddock was being repaired as fast as possible and a new set of modifications were being included. New crewmen and starfighter pilots were already on the way. It looked as though they’d be going out again, unless the aliens attacked Earth first. The news spoke of planetary drafts and mass civil defence preparations, ready for when the aliens took the offensive. Abigail couldn't help feeling that, despite everything, the news was oddly optimistic. The planetary governments didn't want the population to feel as though defeat was inevitable.

  And yet, there was an edge in the news - and the private messages - that suggested the human race was starting to understand it could lose the war. It wasn't something she could put her finger on - the official broadcasts spoke of high confidence and struggled to minimise the losses - but it was there. The universe had changed twice in quick succession, even though the vast majority of the groundpounder population hadn't managed to emotionally grasp what had happened. It was too distant from their experience for the news to have any significant impact. But to her, a spacer born and bred, there was no hiding from the truth.

  She flicked the datapad to a new update and frowned. The planetary governments were still implying that the matter would be resolved quickly, although she didn’t know who they thought were fooling. No one would miss the military vets - all of the military vets - being recalled to duty, let alone the draft and weapons training. Even if the war ended tomorrow with a negotiated peace, the long-term effects would be immense. She couldn't help thinking that the groundpounders were trying to pretend that everything was still normal, even though the universe had changed beyond repair. They probably didn't know what else to do.

  Poddy’s console chimed. “Captain, Commander Campbell has returned to the ship.”

  Another debriefing, Abigail thought. Her debriefings had been remarkably simple, but Alan seemed to be having a harder time. Perhaps the groundpounders were looking for someone to blame. It was the way they normally reacted to cold hard truth. At least they let him return to the ship.

  “Ask him to meet me in my cabin,” she said. “And then tell Anson I want him on the bridge.”

  Poddy snickered. “He won’t like that, Mum.”

  Probably because he’s sharing a cabin with Maddy now, Abigail thought. Her children - and the rest of the crew - had bitched and moaned about being in lockdown. I wonder what we’re interrupting.

  She dismissed the thought with a shrug. “He’ll come, if he wants to keep his place,” she said, instead. She normally didn’t bother keeping a watch when they were in harbour, but there was a war on. The aliens could attack the Sol System at any moment. “And if he isn't here in five minutes, I will be pissed.”

  �
��Aye, Captain.”

  Abigail rose and checked the various consoles, making sure that there was nothing in interplanetary space that should concern her. And yet, she knew the apparent lack of alien ships could be an illusion. Sol was the most heavily populated and industrialised system in the human sphere - her sensors were picking up thousands of interplanetary ships and tiny colonies - but there was still plenty of space for an alien fleet to hide. There were scout ships heading out in all directions, she’d been told, yet she knew they might be worse than useless. The cold realities of interstellar flight insisted that the aliens would have no trouble getting a fleet to Earth without being detected, as long as they took basic precautions. And they might get very close to the planet before they were spotted.

  Anson entered, buttoning up his shipsuit. He didn't look too annoyed, thankfully. Abigail would have torn him a new asshole if he’d dared complain. He was a bridge officer first and foremost, even in harbour. Taking the watch when the captain had to be elsewhere was part of his job. And if he didn't like it, he could go elsewhere. Anson might be her son, but there were limits. The freighter came first.

  “Alert me if anything happens,” she ordered, as she headed for the hatch. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

  She strode through the hatch and walked down to her cabin. Alan was waiting outside, looking tired and wary. They’d been dancing around each other for weeks, ever since ... she sighed, inwardly, as she opened her cabin. Getting him drunk had been a mistake and drinking herself had been worse. And sleeping with him ... she’d needed the release, she knew, but still ...

  “No alcohol this time, please,” Alan said.

  Abigail nodded, curtly. “Of course. Would you like tea or coffee or chocolate ...?”

  “Tea would be lovely,” Alan said. He sounded like he needed coffee. “It’s been a long day.”

  “At least you were doing something,” Abigail said, as she closed the hatch. “We’ve been bumming around in orbit, waiting for something to happen.”

  Alan smiled, although it didn't quite touch his eyes. “That sounds very restful. It's certainly better than going over the same things, time and time again.”

  Abigail keyed the dispenser to heat the water, then went looking for a pair of mugs. “Didn't they believe the reports?”

  “They don’t want to believe the reports,” Alan said. He sat on the chair, resting his hands on his lap. “They’re searching for good news and not finding it.”

  “I suppose there’s only a limited supply of good news,” Abigail said. She dropped a flavour capsule into the first mug, then filled it with water. The steaming liquid rapidly started to turn brown. “Twelve fleet carriers blown out of space ... and the rest of the fleet just as vulnerable. I can see why they don’t want to believe it.”

  She shrugged. Bad news didn't go away, just because someone didn't want to listen. She’d been taught, from the very first day she’d held a wrench, to understand that reality had to be accepted, whatever it was. It could be something as minor as her crush having no interest in her or something as major as the fuel tanks running dry, but it had to be accepted before she could come to terms with it. The groundpounders seemed to lack that attitude. She supposed it made sense. For all the horror stories she’d heard about Earth, it couldn't be denied that the environment was a great deal less hostile. On a planet, an air leak wouldn't mean a gruesome death.

  But it’s still stupid of them, she thought. Those carriers and their crews are dead. They’re never going to come back.

  She passed him his mug, then sipped her own. Flavour capsules didn't have quite the same taste as tea leaves, but she was in no place to complain. The flavour capsules would last indefinitely, unlike natural food. Natural food was often tastier, but storing it was often a pain in the bum. She had no idea how the interstellar liners handled it. Anyone rich enough to afford an interstellar cruise would throw a tantrum if they were told they had to eat nothing but ration bars.

  Her lips quirked. I suppose we might throw a tantrum too.

  “This tastes better than the wine,” Alan said. “And it’s less distracting.”

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Abigail said. “If you bring a box of teabags - even very basic teabags - to an asteroid settlement, you can charge through the nose for it. Everyone drinks tea and coffee out here.”

  Alan smiled. “You don’t grow tea leaves out here?”

  “Most asteroid settlements prefer to grow food,” Abigail said. Earth could afford to grow tea as well as food crops. Asteroid settlements rarely had the space to indulge themselves. Tea might be considered a vital necessity, but everyone knew that it was secondary to food people could actually eat. “It’ll be a long time before the colonies start producing luxury goods for themselves.”

  “If they ever do,” Alan said.

  “True,” Abigail said.

  She met his eyes. “We need to talk.”

  His face reddened, just slightly. Abigail felt a hot flash of irritation, which she swiftly suppressed. He wasn't a belter. She really shouldn't hold him to the same standards. And yet, part of her was frustrated. He might have been born on Earth, but he was serving with a belter crew. It was high time he learnt to adapt.

  “I am sorry,” he said, finally. “The drink made it hard to think straight and ... and it was a long time and ...”

  Abigail made a rude sound. “I’m not complaining,” she said. She allowed herself to be deliberately crude, just to shock him. “I wanted to fuck. That it was you ...”

  “Oh,” Alan said. He sounded confused. “I don’t ...”

  “It doesn't matter,” Abigail said, flatly. “We’re both adults. And neither of us was drunk enough to be unable to give consent. And I assume” - her voice hardened - “that you tearing at my clothes was a way of giving consent. Unless you want to insist that I raped you ...?”

  Alan’s face twisted. He looked as though he was torn between shouting in anger and giggling helplessly. She hadn't forced herself on him and he knew it. Perhaps it had been a bad decision, one born of a desperate desire to feel human again, but it had been one they’d made together. He could have walked out of her cabin if he hadn't wanted to fuck. She would have let him go.

  “No,” he said. There was a hard undercurrent of anger in his voice, mingled with ... something. “I don’t think you raped me.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Abigail said. She’d done nothing wrong, by belter standards, but groundpounders had different attitudes. And the navy had countless rules and regulations governing sex. Clearly, the bureaucrats didn't trust their subordinates to be responsible adults. The belt took a simpler approach. “Can I be blunt?”

  “I have never heard you trying to be anything but,” Alan told her.

  Abigail laughed, then leaned forward. “I wanted to feel human again, after everything,” she said. “You were ... convenient. And I imagine you felt the same way.”

  “Yeah,” Alan said.

  “I’m not going to demand you marry me,” Abigail said. She’d watched historical VRs where sex always led to marriage, although she found them hard to believe. Was that really how groundpounders did things? “But what I want - what I need - is you working with me. Like it or not, there is a war on. Afterwards ... you can do whatever the hell you please.”

  Alan studied her for a long moment. “Did it really mean so little to you?”

  Abigail resisted - barely - the temptation to roll her eyes. “Did it actually mean anything to you?”

  “I don’t know,” Alan said. “I ... I haven’t had sex for nearly five years. And now ...”

  “And now you feel like a teenage boy who thinks his first girlfriend is his one and only,” Abigail said. God! She hoped Anson didn't feel that way about Maddy. “You’re old enough to know better, aren't you? You’re what? A hundred? A couple of hundred?”

  “Old enough to know better,” Alan said, tartly.

  “Good,” Abigail said. She pointed a finger at
his chest. “It was good. I needed it and so did you. And if you want to do it again, I might say yes. But I can't have you avoiding me or being so painfully formal that everyone knows we did something. Understand?”

  “Yes,” Alan said. He paused. “You want to do it again?”

  “Later,” Abigail said. She glanced at her wristcom. “I shouldn't leave Anson on the bridge for too long.”

  Alan nodded. Abigail couldn't tell if he was disappointed or not. She reminded herself, once again, that belters and groundpounders were different. Perhaps she’d be considered too old on Earth, even though she was only forty-five. Or perhaps he’d invested more emotion in the sex than she’d realised. It was hard to understand, sometimes, how groundpounders actually managed to function in society. Their safe environment made them soft.

  “I understand,” Alan said. He took a sip of his tea. “Are all belters like you?”