The Cruel Stars

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Prepare for launch,” Savage ordered, as the timer reached zero. “Here we go.”

  Alan braced himself as the starfighter moved forward, into the launch tube. A faint sensation ran through the craft as the catapult powered up, followed by a sudden rush of pressure that forced him back into his chair. He took control of the starfighter as the dull interior of the launch tube was replaced by glowing stars, each one burning brightly against the darkness of space. The gas jets hummed to life, slow bursts correcting his course. It was almost pathetically slow, compared to their normal speed, but it had one great advantage. The gas jets were almost completely undetectable.

  And we’re falling right towards the aliens, Alan thought. He felt a moment of grim satisfaction, mingled with fear. He’d always felt nervous before an engagement. And they don’t have the slightest idea we’re here.

  The laser link hummed to life, a command network that relayed messages from starfighter to starfighter. Savage might lose direct contact with one of his craft, but the others would relay the message anyway. It was complex, more complex than he preferred, but there was no choice. The laser network was also completely undetectable, unless the aliens somehow stumbled across one of the laser beams. It wasn't entirely impossible, but the odds of the aliens getting that close without detecting the starfighters anyway were too low to calculate.

  He sucked in his breath as the alien ships grew closer. A handful of analyst reports popped up in front of him, speculating on everything from tonnage to point defence capability. Alan wasn’t too surprised to note that there was nothing remotely certain about anything the analysts said. They couldn't determine too much about the alien craft until the aliens showed their mettle.

  New attack vectors popped up in front of him. He nodded in acknowledgement. Jameson might be young, but he - or his subordinate - was doing a good job. The vast majority of the starfighters would attack the destroyers, hopefully clearing them out of the way before the freighters could be attacked and forced to surrender. He wasn't sure if that was a good idea, even though he understood the vital need to capture samples of alien technology. So far, no one had managed to actually communicate with the aliens ... he wasn't even sure it was possible. Telling the aliens they could surrender - and that they wouldn't be mistreated if they surrendered - was not going to be easy.

  Here goes nothing, he thought.

  The alien craft came closer. Passive sensors couldn’t tell him much about the craft, but he’d seen some of their warships at New Russia. There was something oddly melted about the alien designs, although he had to admit that it could just be their sense of aesthetics. Anyone who judged humanity by a fleet carrier would assume that the human race had no sense of elegance. And yet ... a handful of new pieces of information flashed up in front of him. The aliens were running their active sensors, sweeping space for threats. It wouldn't be long before they detected the starfighters.

  But they couldn't be expecting to contact us here, surely? The thought nagged at him as he jostled the fighter into position. If they know we can't use the weaker tramlines, they might assume that we’d see no value in this system. And they might be right.

  He felt sweat trickling down his back as they reached the point of no return, the point when detection was effectively a mathematical certainty. They were committed now, committed to pressing the offensive at all costs. There was no way to retreat ... he wished, suddenly, that he’d written to his daughters sooner. Perhaps they could have exchanged v-mails ...

  The display flared red, just for a second. They’d been spotted.

  “All squadrons, break and attack,” Jameson ordered. “I say again, break and attack!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Damn, they're fast,” Greene said. “They’re turning towards us already.”

  “As you were,” Savage snapped. “Prepare to engage the enemy!”

  Alan gritted his teeth as the starfighter came to life, active sensors seeking out targets as the drive powered up. Greene was right. The alien ships were reacting quickly, the warships rapidly putting themselves between the incoming attack and the freighters. He would have respected their bravery if he hadn't known they’d slaughtered tens of thousands of spacers at New Russia. As it was, he wanted to blast them all to dust before they had a chance to kill him.

  “Lock onto your designated target and follow me on my mark,” Savage ordered. An enemy destroyer blinked yellow, indicating that it was the primary target. “Mark!”

  The starfighter twisted, then slid into its slot as the squadron fell into attack formation. Alan keyed his torpedo launchers, programming them to fire automatically when the starfighters reached attack position, then followed the rest of the pilots straight towards the alien starships. Their target opened fire, plasma bolts lashing out towards the starfighters. The odds of hitting anything were low, Alan noted, but it did keep the human pilots from closing their ranks. Perversely, it might well work against the aliens.

  He studied the firing pattern as the starfighters ducked and weaved, careful not to make their trajectories predicable. The aliens didn't seem to have any sort of precise targeting system, although he couldn't tell if they thought it was pointless - given how many plasma bolts they could put into space - or if the plasma guns simply weren't very accurate. It might well be the latter, he thought, but it might not matter. Two starfighters vanished from the formation as they were struck by plasma bolts, one spinning out of control an instant before exploding. It didn't look as though the pilot had managed to bail out in time.

  The alien craft grew closer, taking on shape and form in the display. He couldn’t help thinking it was thoroughly alien, even though it wasn't that different to something humans would build. The hull definitely looked melted, the handful of sensor blisters and weapons mounts practically worked into the metal. He wondered, as they slipped into engagement range, if the aliens would have problems repairing their ships. Human ships were designed to make it easy for the engineers to replace a destroyed sensor node, but the alien ships seemed a little more complex. It struck him as odd, more of a civilian than a military attitude. But then, given their weapons and firepower, it was unlikely to matter. Anything that pounded the alien hull would probably destroy it.

  And yet it still seems oddly elegant, he thought. If we could actually talk to them ...

  He cursed under his breath as the aliens doubled and redoubled their fire, jinking the starfighter randomly as they flew closer and closer. The analysts had suggested that firing torpedoes from point-blank range would work better than firing as soon as they came into range, but the analysts weren’t flying the starfighters. Normally, it took a special kind of incompetence to actually crash into an enemy starship, yet now ... he felt sweat trickling down his back as they slipped closer to the alien hull. To die because he’d accidentally crashed - or steered right into a plasma bolt - would be embarrassing as hell. The only consolation was that he wouldn't survive the impact.

  “Firing now,” Savage snapped.

  Alan felt his starfighter jerk, the automatic systems launching the torpedoes as soon as they reached the designated range. He yanked the starfighter away, spinning back into interplanetary space; the alien ships fired a handful of bursts after him, but concentrated on taking out the torpedoes. Twenty-four had been fired, only three made it through to strike the alien hull. But the warheads were more than powerful enough to punch through the metal and explode inside the hull. Moments later, the alien ship exploded into a ball of expanding plasma.

  “Got the bastard,” Greene carolled. “We killed the fucker ...”

  “Form up on me,” Savage ordered. “And prepare to cover the second wave.”

  Alan nodded and took a quick glance at the overall status display. Two of his pilots had been killed, both old reservists. He winced, feeling a twinge of bitter guilt. They’d trained hard, but they really shouldn't have been anywhere near a starfighter cockpit. Technically, he shouldn't be flying too. He was pushing the
upper limits quite sharply. But there was no choice.

  And we killed all five destroyers, he thought. He smiled, coldly. Whatever else happened, they’d proven that the alien ships were not invincible. Serve the bastards right.

  He took the starfighter into formation and watched as the second wave advanced on the alien freighters, broadcasting messages inviting the aliens to surrender. There was no way the aliens couldn't detect the messages, Alan was sure, but they didn't seem inclined to actually respond. Instead, they were firing at any human craft that came within range. Their freighters were clearly armed and ready to continue the fight.

  And we don’t have much time to force them to surrender, Alan reminded himself. There was no way to be certain that alien reinforcements weren't on the way. The aliens could easily have sent a message to a ship sitting on the tramline. They might think they can hold out long enough for relief to arrive.

  Jameson’s voice echoed through the command link. “Close to engagement range and finish them,” he ordered. “I say again, close to engagement range and finish them.”

  Alan nodded, curtly. Jameson hadn't sounded pleased. Alan didn't really blame him. They did have orders to capture alien technology - and living aliens - and ordering the freighters destroyed was a tacit admission that the orders couldn't be carried out. It might come back to haunt Jameson too, Alan reflected. A smart admiral would understand that Jameson had been in an impossible position, but Alan had met senior officers who appeared to have been lobotomised. And there were politicians who’d question the decision too.

  He took the starfighter forward, falling into formation as they roared towards the alien freighters. They didn't look that different to humanity’s designs, he noted; indeed, there was a crudeness about them that surprised him. But then, there was no indication that the aliens didn't have the same logistical requirements as humans. They had to load and unload their freighters as quickly as possible too. Elegance was very much a secondary concern.

  The freighters kept firing as the starfighters slipped closer, spraying plasma bolts like machine gun fire. Alan jerked the starfighter up and down, jinking from side to side as the fire intensified. Playing decoy wasn't his idea of a good time, but the aliens probably couldn't tell the difference between the starfighters that still had torpedoes and those that didn’t. One by one, the torpedo-armed starfighters slipped into range and opened fire. The enemy ships began to die.

  Alan frowned, despite himself, as their icons vanished from the display. He had no qualms about killing enemy warships - he intended to make sure that a destroyer silhouette was painted on the starfighter, when he got back to Haddock - but destroying freighters was different. The aliens didn't really have a chance. And yet, each freighter destroyed would slow their offensive against Earth ... he hoped. He cursed, again, the sheer lack of useful intelligence. There was no way to know just how big an impact they’d actually had.

  The last of the alien freighters exploded into fire. The human starfighters were suddenly alone. Alan studied the display for a long moment, but as far as his sensors could tell the entire system was deserted. And yet ... he shook his head as Savage started issuing orders, directing the starfighters to return to their mothership. The aliens would deduce that something bad had befallen their convoy, sooner or later. It wouldn't be too hard for them to work out what had actually happened.

  Which raises an interesting question, Alan thought. Will they start hunting for us? Or will they just resume their drive on the inner worlds - and Earth?

  He dismissed the thought. They’d won a victory. A tiny victory, to be sure, but a victory nonetheless. It was worth celebrating, he thought. And when the news reached home, all of humanity would have something to celebrate. It wouldn't take the media too long to turn their brief engagement into a triumph resembling the Battle of Islamabad.

  But losing seventeen freighters wouldn't stop us, he reminded himself, firmly. Our victory may not slow the aliens down very much at all.

  ***

  “Captain, the starfighters are returning to their ships,” Poddy said. “We lost three ...”

  Abigail nodded, curtly. Three starfighters ... cold logic told her it was an acceptable price, for what they’d accomplished, but she’d never been happy with that sort of logic. She certainly didn't consider her ship and crew expendable, even though she was fairly sure that the Royal Navy did. They wouldn't have given her the dregs of the service - criminals, delinquents, aged reservists - if they’d had any faith in Haddock’s ability to do anything more than soak up enemy fire.

  “Keep a very sharp eye on your sensors,” she ordered. “And keep the laser links to the drones.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Poddy said. She tactfully didn’t point out that it wasn't the first time Abigail had given that order. “Local space appears to be clear.”

  “No one here, but us chickens,” Anson put in.

  Abigail ignored him as the starfighters slowly returned to her ship. It was slow, too slow ... she knew they’d be in real trouble if they had to rearm their starfighters during a battle. Her engineers had come up with a handful of hacks, but they hadn't been able to shave more than a couple of minutes off the procedure. Anything better would require them to tear apart the hull and rebuild it from scratch.

  The purpose-built designs will be better, I'm sure, Abigail thought. The Royal Navy had actually consulted her and the other captains, although she had no idea how seriously they’d taken her comments. They’re really nothing more than flight deck, drives and tiny living quarters.

  “Signal from the flag, Captain,” Poddy said. “We’re to withdraw to Point Theta. The shuttles will search for traces of alien life and technology.”

  “Not much chance of finding anything,” Anson grunted, as he powered up the drives. “Those ships got vaporised.”

  Abigail nodded. The aliens didn't seem to have launched lifepods, although they had had time to abandon ship. Perhaps they’d been terrified of falling into human hands. Or perhaps they simply couldn't endure human environments. It was hard to imagine a creature so radically different from humans that it couldn't survive on her ship, but she knew it was possible. She’d certainly had problems on some of her postings. There had been commanders who liked the heat and others who seemed to think they could save money by lowering the temperature.

  And some who were too fearful of what might happen if they tried to change things, she reflected, ruefully. The older ships were marvels of engineering - and serving on one was a learning experience - but they had their problems. God alone knew how the crews kept them running when half the technology was nearly a century old and the rest cobbled together from a dozen different sources. They often flirted with disaster because they couldn't pay to upgrade the whole system.

  She leaned back in her chair, keeping a wary eye on the weak tramline. It was pointless - and she knew it was pointless - but she didn't want to look away. The aliens could be much closer, hidden under their sensor masks. Or ... she sighed, watching grimly as the remaining starfighters altered course to land on her flight deck. She couldn't help feeling ambivalent about that, even though she had no intention of abandoning her pilots in interplanetary space. It was a reminder that Haddock could not hope to outrun the alien starfighters, if - when - they came after her.

  “The last of the starfighters has landed, Captain,” Poddy said.

  “Very good,” Abigail said. “Ensure they’re ready to launch again as soon as possible.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Abigail nodded. Normally, she could make estimates of how long it would take the enemy to respond, but there was no way she could do that when she had no idea what was on the far side of the weak tramline. An alien fleet base? Or just another transit system? She tossed vectors around in her head, considering the possibilities. But she couldn't come up with anything beyond wild guesses. There was certainly no way she could take any of them for granted.

  We need to figure out how to ride those tramlines o
urselves, she thought. And then we can go see what might be lurking on the far side.

  The possibilities were endless - and so were the dangers. There were stars near Sol no one had ever visited, simply because there were no usable tramlines that led to them. They had planets, but those planets were effectively out of reach. The only way to get to them involved travelling at STL speeds, which would mean at least a decade spent in transit before reaching the star. And some of those planets were habitable. Who knew what could be lurking there?

  She frowned. It was easy to come up with a mental image of two races sharing the same general region of space, but being utterly unable to actually meet. Perhaps the aliens humanity had encountered lived right next to Sol ... she shook her head, dismissing the thought. The giant telescopes and sensor arrays assembled near the edge of the solar system would have picked up radio transmissions, if there were any to detect. If there were intelligent races on the inaccessible worlds, they didn't have anything resembling modern technology.