The Cruel Stars

by Christopher Nuttall

  Alan nodded his thanks and sat down to read the report. Thankfully, Jameson’s analysts weren't as verbose as the analysts on Earth, but still ... the aliens had somehow crammed six squadrons of fighters into a hull that hadn't been that much bigger than Haddock. He couldn't help wondering just what sort of conditions the aliens liked. Naval crews were used to being cramped, but there were limits. Putting so many crews into such a small space would cause mutinies. He’d probably join them.

  A low quiver ran through the ship as she picked up speed, heading back towards the tramline on a dogleg course. If there were alien reinforcements on the way ... he looked back at the datapad as the pieces suddenly fell into place. The whole mining station had actually been a power generator, storing power for alien starfighters! They used power cells, like humanity, but theirs were far more efficient. The more he looked at it, the more he was sure he was right.

  They’d need to be, if they’re superheating plasma for their guns, he thought. His hands danced over the console, sketching out the concept for the analysts. They might need to recharge their batteries after every encounter.

  The whole system struck him as a little makeshift. He almost gave it up as a bad idea when he remembered just how many limitations Haddock had, compared to a fleet carrier. Or even one of the proposed purpose-built escort carriers. The aliens might just have been - no, they would be - desperate to produce additional carriers as quickly as possible. They’d converted a freighter into a carrier, then rigged up a prefabricated cloudscoop to provide additional power.

  And then they raided through the tramlines, he told himself. They must have been very sure they’d take Aquitaine.

  He sent the report to the analysts, then turned his attention to the in-system display. Interplanetary space seemed empty, which suggested they’d managed to get in and out before any alien reinforcements arrived. And yet ... he wondered, as he studied the tramlines, just where the aliens were basing themselves. If they had systems that could only be reached through weak tramlines, they could deploy all of their forces without having to worry about human counterattacks. Coming to think of it, they probably had a rough idea just how long it would take humanity to duplicate their modified Puller Drives.

  Not as long as they think, he thought. We know they can use the weak tramlines - and knowing is half the battle.

  ***

  “Captain,” Poddy said. “Long-range sensors are detecting two alien carriers and a number of escorts, heading directly towards the gas giant.”

  Abigail tensed as new icons appeared in the display, surrounded by red spheres to remind her of the time delay. The alien ships could be anywhere within the spheres ... thankfully, they weren’t heading towards the human ships. And that meant ... what? A direct attack on Aquitaine? Or reinforcements for Yeller that had arrived too late? She suspected they would probably never know. The alien ships didn't seem to know where the human ships had gone after the brief, savage engagement.

  “Keep an eye on them,” she ordered. It would take hours for the aliens to catch up with the flotilla, which meant ... they might just head straight to Aquitaine instead. Or go back to wherever they’d come from. Losing the fuelling station wouldn't impede them too much, unless their power cores were primitive. She found that rather hard to believe. “Anson, ETA tramline?”

  “Forty minutes,” Anson said. “They could be trying to distract us ...”

  Abigail doubted it, but she kept an eye on the sensors anyway. Most experienced spacers would know better than to try something so clever that it was effectively impractical, yet there was no shortage of inexperienced groundpounders out there. She wondered, absently, if the aliens drew lines between spacers and groundpounders, or if they were nothing more than spacers. They certainly seemed used to operating in three dimensions.

  But if they’re spacers, why would they want our worlds? It puzzled her. There were reports suggesting that the aliens had definitely landed on New Russia, primarily along the planet’s coastlines. And yet, there appeared to have been very little actual contact. What do they have to gain?

  She pushed the thought out of her mind. They’d sneaked into an enemy-held system, blasted a target and - for good measure - taken out a makeshift enemy carrier. It wasn't a great victory, certainly not compared to Ark Royal, but it was something. The enemy had been given a bloody nose ...

  ... And who knew? It might just be enough to convince them to sue for peace.

  Except we took out a minor station and an expendable ship, she reminded herself. That isn't going to slow them down for long - if at all. The war is very far from over.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Alan couldn't help disliking Admiral Louis Delacroix on sight.

  It wasn't the man’s general appearance, which was so neat and tidy and absolutely perfect that he was tempted to believe that Delacroix had never flown anything more dangerous than a desk. Alan had looked up Delacroix’s record and discovered that the older man had a reasonably long and honourable career, including two fleet carrier commands. And it wasn't that the admiral was French, either. The French military had a long and respectable history, ranging from the Hundred Years War to the Paris Intifada, where it had saved the country from decades of political mismanagement. It was ...

  He presents himself as a dashing military officer, Alan thought. He’d been told, years ago, that one could have good units or ones that looked good, but never units that were both at once. Perhaps it was just the old prejudice against someone who spent far too long on their appearance rearing its ugly head. He was too old to waste time making himself look fashionable. And it makes him harder to take seriously.

  Admiral Delacroix stood in the centre of the briefing room, waiting for the last of his senior officers to take their places. Alan stood next to Abigail, behind Commodore Jameson. He wasn't sure why he’d been summoned, unless the French were feeling paranoid about communications security. Too many officers were going to be away from their command decks for the next few hours, giving the aliens a priceless opportunity if they wanted to attack. A holoconference would have made much more sense. But he supposed Delacroix wanted to meet them all in person, at least once. A trickle of multinational reinforcements had made their way into Aquitaine, but almost none of it had been planned. Delacroix didn't know any of his new subordinates personally.

  “Thank you for coming,” Delacroix said, as the hatch slammed closed. He spoke perfect English, like every other naval officer, but there was a twinge of Paris to his voice. Perhaps he was one of the nationalists who resented English’s predominance throughout the human sphere. “We have much to discuss.”

  He paused for dramatic effect. Alan resisted - barely - the temptation to roll his eyes.

  “Over the last two weeks, we have carried out a number of scouting and raiding operations to determine precisely where the aliens have based themselves,” Delacroix continued. A starchart flashed into existence, floating over his head. “As you can see, the aliens have secured Bavaria and sent raiding parties into Talofa and through the tramline into Aquitaine. We believe the aliens have actually landed on Bavaria, but we don’t have any contact with the colonists on the ground. It is quite possible that they’ve been slaughtered.”

  Or dispersed, Alan thought. The colonists should have had some warning. They might have slipped away from the colonies before the aliens arrived.

  “Intelligence estimates that the aliens intend to thrust through the tramlines and into Aquitaine once they have sufficient force,” Delacroix informed them. Red arrows appeared on the display. “Destroying the task force - and the orbital installations - will give the aliens a chance to secure the whole sector, even if they don’t land on the planet itself. The only thing delaying them, we believe, is the recent defeat they suffered. Right now, they’re reassessing the situation.”

  We think they’re reassessing the situation, Alan thought. Ark Royal was powerful - and her existence had come as a complete surprise to the aliens - but she w
as only one ship. The aliens still had a significant advantage, particularly when Ark Royal was hundreds of light years away. The aliens still pack one hell of a punch.

  Delacroix smiled. “This gives us the opportunity to take the offensive and liberate Bavaria,” he informed them. “The majority of the task force will proceed directly through Talofa and slip into Bavaria, whereupon the aliens will be engaged and destroyed. Any alien installations on the surface will be captured or bombed from orbit, depending on the exact situation. Ideally, we’ll finally have a chance to capture live aliens - or, at least, video footage of our enemies. Once the system is liberated, we’ll rescue as many colonists as possible and fall back to Aquitaine. We will make no attempt to hold the system permanently.”

  Because that would pin our forces in place, Alan thought. And the system itself is largely worthless.

  He frowned, considering the options. He’d been - he was - a starfighter pilot. Aggression had practically been drummed into him at the academy. He’d been taught to take the offensive at all times. And yet ... they weren't risking a handful of starfighters or even the escort carriers, but two fleet carriers and their escorts. He hated to admit it, yet there was such a thing as being too aggressive. Too much was at stake if Admiral Delacroix took his entire fleet to Bavaria.

  And yet, he could see the admiral’s logic. Humanity couldn’t just sit around and wait to be hit, not when the aliens still had plenty of advantages. Taking the offensive and knocking them back on their heels might just give humanity a chance to win - or, at least, enough breathing space to put newer weapons and defences into mass production. He’d read enough reports suggesting that there were options that allowed humanity to feel some hope for the future, if humanity had time. And, if their intelligence was accurate, Admiral Delacroix would have a numerical advantage. It might just be big enough to tip the scales in his favour.

  “I admit there are dangers,” Delacroix said, in response to a question from one of his newer subordinates. “However, there are also dangers in doing nothing.”

  There was a long pause. “The task force will depart tomorrow morning,” he said. “I would prefer to keep the mission - and its objective - a secret, but unfortunately that isn’t going to be possible. Still, we’ll have a complete communications blackout from the moment this conference ends. All outgoing messages will be stored in buffers until the fleet departs.”

  Alan nodded. He wasn't inclined to believe the panicky reports of alien shapeshifters or humanoid androids capable of impersonating living humans, but ... there was a very real danger that the aliens could pick up and translate human transmissions. A single leak would be enough to doom the operation, if the aliens had a clue where the fleet was going. They could mass their forces to meet Delacroix or simply avoid battle, forcing him to choose between inglorious retreat or permanent stalemate.

  “You’ll receive your specific orders this afternoon,” Delacroix informed them. “We’ll start drilling as a unified task force as soon as we cross the tramline into Talofa. It won’t be enough, but we’ll just have to cope. Time is not on our side.”

  No, Alan agreed silently. Time is definitely not on our side.

  “If you have questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to bring them to me,” Delacroix finished. “Until then ... good luck to us all.”

  Alan glanced at Abigail as a handful of officers started firing questions at Delacroix. He had questions and concerns of his own, but he was too junior to say them in front of so many senior officers. Commodore Jameson probably had the same concerns himself, ones that would need to be raised before they left Aquitaine. They’d have to discuss the matter when they returned to Haddock.

  “It looks like a workable plan,” Abigail muttered. “Why do I have a bad feeling about it?”

  “Probably because it hinges on too many unknowns,” Alan muttered back. He could see Delacroix’s point, but ... he couldn't help thinking that the older man might have read too much into the intelligence reports. The aliens might be reassessing the situation or they might have decided they could still win or ... it was hard enough to predict how humans would react in any given situation. Predicting the aliens was almost impossible. “On the other hand, Delacroix has enough sense to back off if it’s clear we can't win.”

  Unless we get mouse-trapped, he thought. There are too many possibilities.

  The thought chilled him to the bone. The aliens might just wait until the task force was too deep within the target system to withdraw, then close the jaws of their trap. If, of course, there was a trap. The aliens would probably have a few hours of warning - Alan doubted the fleet could leave Aquitaine and slip through Talofa without being detected - but would they have long enough to devise and prepare an ambush?

  “And what,” Abigail asked, “if you’re wrong?”

  “Then we fight to the death,” Alan said. It wasn't a very comforting answer - and the sharp look Abigail shot him suggested she wasn't very happy with it - yet there weren't any other options. Commodore Jameson presumably had veto power over his ships being involved in the battle, but using it without a very good reason would spark off a diplomatic crisis. “And yet, the plan does seem workable.”

  “We shall see,” Abigail said.

  Delacroix dismissed the meeting. Commodore Jameson turned to look at them as the gathered officers headed for the hatch.

  “We’ll discuss this later, over the laser link,” he said, shortly. “But yes, the plan does seem workable.”

  Alan was too old to be embarrassed at being overheard. “Yes, sir,” he said. “On the other hand, the risks ...”

  “Are manageable, apparently,” Commodore Jameson said. He rose, nodding towards the nearest hatch. “And Delacroix himself will be in command.”

  Hah, Alan thought.

  It was something, he supposed. He’d seen too many desk jockeys issue orders that were - at best - impractical, if not borderline suicidal or simply impossible. Delacroix was too experienced an officer for that ... and his arse was on the line too. And yet, Delacroix had plenty of reason to interpret the data in his own favour. Captain Theodore Smith had been practically drowned in decorations from all over the world. Delacroix might want some of that glory for himself.

  “And besides, we can't just sit here,” Jameson added. “Taking the offensive may just convince the aliens that they’ve bit off more than they can chew.”

  ***

  Abigail hadn't been too pleased when she’d heard the mission orders, although she had to admit - ruefully - that she was in no position to disagree. The operation seemed workable, yet alarm bells were ringing in her head. Perhaps it was the grim awareness that they’d already had far too many brushes with death ... or, perhaps, it was the remembered slaughter at New Russia. The aliens were just too powerful to take lightly. She spent the shuttle ride back to the ship thinking of possible options, but nothing came to mind. There didn’t seem to be any way to avoid the mission.

  And besides, we might make the difference between victory and defeat, she thought. Haddock had faced the aliens before, which was more than could be said for either of Delacroix’s fleet carriers. We know the dangers even if the naval crews don’t.

  She shook her head as they docked at the airlock. The naval crews couldn't be faulted for underestimating the alien threat before New Russia, but they had no excuse now. They’d all seen the records from the battle, they’d all watched in horror as the fleet carriers were torn apart by alien starfighters. The French would have bolted extra armour to their hulls, she was sure, but it might not be enough to save their ships. And yet, Delacroix thought he had an ace or two up his sleeve. Abigail hoped he was right.

  There’s at least one other alien fleet carrier nearby, she thought. It was possible that the alien starship had been ordered back to New Russia, but they couldn't count on it. Who knows where that ship is now?

  Anson and Maddy met them at the hatch. “Mum,” Anson said. “Can we talk to you?”

  A
bigail eyed him for a long moment. “I suppose,” she said, although she had a feeling it wasn't a conversation she wanted to have. “We’ll talk in my cabin.”

  She bid goodbye to Alan - he’d have to brief his pilots, then start training simulations - and led the way along the corridor. There was only one reason Anson and Maddy would want to talk to her together, unless ... she hoped she was wrong, even though she had a nasty feeling she was right. She cursed under her breath as she opened the cabin, motioning for them to sit on the bed. There just wasn’t enough room. She promised herself, silently, that she’d arrange for bigger cabins if she ever bought another ship. But then, that would mean reducing the space that would otherwise be devoted to storage ...

  “Here I am,” she said, closing the hatch. She thought about offering tea, then decided against it. “What do you want to talk about?”

  Anson exchanged a glance with Maddy, then looked at Abigail. “We would like your permission to wed,” he said. “We ...”

  Abigail barely heard the rest of the sentence. They would like her permission to wed? Of course they’d like it, but they didn't need it. Anson was her son, not one of her husbands. It wasn’t her place to forbid the match, even though she doubted Maddy would make a good wife. There were some mistakes that Anson had to make on his own.