The Trafalgar Gambit

Chapter Sixteen

“War Hog has transited back, Captain,” Farley reported. “Local space seems clear. Long-range sensors reveal no sign of alien activity.”

James nodded, studying the report. There was little of value in the first alien-ruled system they’d invaded during Operation Nelson, save for a handful of asteroids and a tramline that led deeper into alien space. It would have been completely useless, he knew, if they hadn’t had the alien-designed drive. He didn’t find it a reassuring thought.

“Take us through the tramline,” he ordered. “Full tactical alert.”

He looked at the status display and shuddered. His starfighter crews were in their craft, ready to launch at a moment’s notice. Gunnery crews and damage repair teams were on the alert, braced for anything from an alien attack to total drive failure. Everything looked perfect… and yet he knew it was nothing of the sort. The only crews at full capacity were the damage control teams. They’d had a lot of practice.

They vanished from the Terra Nova system as they crossed the tramline and reappeared in an alien system no one, not even the aliens, had bothered to name. He watched the display as passive sensors listened, watching for signs of alien activity, but picked up nothing. The system was as dark and cold as the grave. But that didn’t prove the aliens weren’t there, he reminded himself, sharply. They could easily have their drives and weapons deactivated, leaving them pretending to be holes in space.

“Local space seems clear,” Farley said, again. “No alien contacts, sir. Not even a stray signal.”

“Take us on our assigned course,” James ordered. At least there was no need to play games with drones right now, thankfully. The aliens had either lost them completely or had a solid lock on their position a multitude of drones wouldn’t be able to shake. “And continue to monitor for signs of alien activity.”

The silence was baffling — and worrying. He’d known the aliens had never had much of anything in the system prior to the war, but he would have expected a picket ship at the very least. Unless there was one and they’d simply missed it… there was just too much space for a single enemy ship to hide in, given time. All he could do was make his way to the next tramline and pray they remained undiscovered. Target One was still ten days away on their course.

And if we take the least-time course we risk being detected for sure, he thought. They might have wrecked most of the Target One system, but the aliens would probably still picket it, knowing that its tramlines led deeper into alien space. No, we have to remain stealthy and pray the cloaking device works as advertised.

His console bleeped. “Captain, the drive fluctuations actually reduced this time,” Anderson reported. “Everything was largely nominal.”

“Thank God,” James said. The frigates and escort carriers would be able to escape, he was sure, but not the giant carrier. Stranding her in a useless star system would suit the aliens very well. “Continue to monitor the situation.”

“Aye, Captain,” Anderson said.

And hope we don’t have any more soap opera business, James thought, as he closed the connection. There were times when he didn’t know how Captain Smith — Admiral Smith — had survived remaining on Ark Royal while she’d been stuck in the naval reserve. Some of his crew had been dedicated, others had been disciplinary problems who’d needed to be discharged as soon as possible. Most of the problems had faded away when the aliens attacked Vera Cruz, but a handful had remained festering. And now there was a spy on the ship.

He leaned back into his chair, thinking hard. Ten days to Target One. Ten days before they encountered the aliens… if they didn’t encounter them beforehand. And then… who knew what would happen when they tried to communicate?

“This,” Doctor Russell explained, “is an all-spectrum disease carrier.”

Ted eyed the sealed test tube with a jaundiced eye. It didn’t look very safe to him.

“I was under the impression,” he said, “that all such research was banned.”

“That’s true,” Doctor Russell agreed, as he put the test tube down on the desk. “However, we are allowed to conduct research into cures for genetically-modified diseases — and the only way to do that is to study techniques for modifying the diseases ourselves. Normally, such research takes place in sealed facilities without any chance of the disease escaping into the general population.”

Ted scowled. He hated to admit it, but Doctor Russell had a point. It was easy to find sophisticated medical equipment these days and, despite international treaties, terrorists would be very tempted to create viruses that would slaughter everyone who hadn’t been immunised ahead of time. There were no shortages of rumours about terrorist groups — and nations — that had tried to do just that, despite the risks. No matter how much care the experts took, diseases could mutate at a terrifying speed.

“In this case,” Doctor Russell continued, “the alien biology is so different from our own that there is literally no danger of the disease spreading to humanity. That allows us to widen the scope of the disease considerably, to the point where it can infect creatures from the same genetic heritage as the aliens themselves. This will serve as an infection vector that will slash straight through the alien civilisation.”

“You’ve invented a form of Bird Flu that infects everything,” he said. He honestly couldn’t understand why the Doctor was so pleased with his accomplishments. “All we’d have to do is bio-bomb an alien planet and wait for them all to die.”

“Precisely,” Doctor Russell said. “And the standard treaties have been set aside, owing to the war.”

Ted made a face. If it had been just Britain researching the concept, it might have been possible to keep a lid on it. But the Government had insisted on sharing the research project — and the guilt — with the rest of the spacefaring powers. Now, it almost seemed as though they were competing to build the most horrendous biological weapon possible. The aliens would be in deep shit if the weapon was introduced to any world they occupied.

He shook his head in dismay. Delivering the weapon would be easy enough, with a little work. A missile warhead could be reconfigured to serve as a bioweapon delivery system, plunging through a planet’s atmosphere and releasing its cargo before it hit the ground. Or a stealth missile could be used to sneak through planetary defences, posing as nothing more than a tiny meteor. The aliens wouldn’t stand a chance.

But it won’t get them all, he thought. Those left behind will want a little revenge.

“This might work if the aliens were intent on genocide,” he said, “but so far we don’t have any evidence the aliens are interested in outright extermination of humanity.”

“They might be saving the extermination until after they’ve won the war,” Doctor Russell pointed out. “If Hitler had saved the Holocaust until after his victory, I suspect a great many people would view him more favourably, even though he would still be the same complete manic he always was.”

“True,” Ted agreed. The weapon on the desk could exterminate the aliens — or serve as an incentive to make peace. “A stay-behind team could deploy the weapon if Earth and the rest of the settled worlds were to be destroyed.”

“Indeed they could,” Doctor Russell said. He smiled, clearly proud of himself. “We believe the weapon will spread rapidly, but it won’t become lethal for several months. There will be enough time for it to spread through alien-held space.”

Ted snorted. The problem with any form of biological warfare was that the weapons tended to mutate when released into the natural world. And the researchers were dealing with a completely alien biology, no matter how much they claimed to understand what they were doing. It was quite possible the disease would be instantly lethal, fail completely or be defeated by something the aliens had invented for their own medical care. If there were humans trying to improve the basic human form, why wouldn’t there be aliens trying to do the same?

And if the disease acted so rapidly it slaughtered an entire planet without going any further, it would be blindingly obvious to the aliens that it had been an attempt at genocide.

“I want you to keep all your research carefully sealed, Doctor,” Ted ordered. The researchers were already largely isolated, but they were allowed to talk to the ambassadors and their aides. As if the thought had worked a magic spell, he saw one of the aides appear at the hatch and start walking purposefully towards him. “And do not talk about it outside the cleared circle.”

“I have every confidence in my security precautions,” Doctor Russell protested. “I am no stranger to classified work…”

“Then do as I tell you,” Ted ordered, shortly. He turned to face Ambassador Melbourne’s aide. “I suggest we take this conversation outside.”

The young man - Antony DuBois, if Ted recalled correctly — looked irked, but obeyed. Ted wasn’t too surprised. He hadn’t met many such aides during his time on Ark Royal, something that hadn’t prepared him for meeting them after his promotion. The aides all seemed to think they had the clearances enjoyed by their political masters and that they had a right to know everything. In some cases, they might have had a point. This, Ted decided as he walked the younger man outside, wasn’t one of them.

DuBois turned to face him as soon as the hatch was closed. He was a short man, wearing a formal suit despite special permission to wear shipsuits or modified uniforms. His hair was perfectly coiffed, which suggested a streak of vanity or insecurity. Ted had no time to wonder which, not when he had a flotilla to command and a security crisis on his hands.

“The Ambassador’s cabin, Admiral, is much too small,” DuBois said. “We need to move him to a bigger one.”

Ted kept his expression blank with an effort. Aides derived their status from their superiors. A slight, however unintentional, to one of the ambassadors was a slight to their aides. But under the circumstances, the Ambassador himself had not complained. Had he wanted his aide to do the complaining for him or was his aide trying to do what he thought was best?

“The Ambassador has one of the largest sets of quarters on the ship,” Ted said. It was true; there were only two bigger suites on the ship and both of them were occupied. “He also only has to bunk down with his aides.”

“It isn’t suitable,” DuBois insisted. “He needs to make a show to the aliens.”

“I don’t think the aliens will notice if he shares a cabin or has a palace to himself,” Ted snapped, too tired to deal with the situation any further. “I suggest, Mr. DuBois, that you resign yourself to sharing those quarters until we make contact with the aliens.”

He turned and strode down the corridor, into the next section. Inside, the air was warm and moist, the temperature a reminder of the alien holding facility on the other side of the moon. Ted had visited, twice, since they’d brought the alien captives back to Earth, but they’d been as uncommunicative as ever. He pushed the thought to one side as he stepped through the second hatch and into Doctor McDonald’s working space.

“Doctor McDonald,” he said, feeling sweat trickling down the back of his uniform jacket. It was too hot to wear a formal uniform. “I was hoping you’d have time for a proper chat.”

Polly McDonald looked up at him. She was wearing a halter top and a pair of shorts that were so tight Ted couldn’t help wondering if they were painted onto her skin. He had to remind himself, sharply, that she was young enough to be his daughter as she waved him to a chair and reached for a bottle of water. Ted took it gratefully.

“I’m sorry about the weather, Admiral,” she said. “If I am to meet the aliens in their natural habitat, or at least on the shores of their worlds, I need to stay used to their preferred conditions.”

Ted hesitated, then removed his jacket and folded it over his lap. “Talking to the aliens is of prime importance, Doctor,” he said. “Can you talk to them?”

“Please, call me Polly,” Doctor McDonald said. She smiled. “I think talking to them without a voder is going to be damn near impossible; they might be able to hear us, but we can’t hear them speaking. Still, we have recordings from the alien cities your people observed and I’m fairly certain we can produce something the aliens can hear.”

Ted nodded. “Didn’t you try it on the alien captives?”

“Most of them were non-committal,” Polly admitted. “Their behaviour is odd, Admiral, at least by our standards. Sometimes they’re willing to try to communicate, at other times they seem to be sulking like children, even amongst themselves. We’ve tried to record their conversations, but we got nothing useful.”

“Nothing at all?” Ted asked. “Are we missing something?”

“It’s possible,” Polly agreed. “The aliens might combine sign language with their high-pitched voices, but I don’t see how they developed without some form of non-visual communication. All we hear from them is that they’re repeating the same sounds over and over again.”

“They could be saying something we can’t hear,” Ted mused.

“We might not be able to hear it,” Polly said. “But the monitors should be able to pick out pitches and changes in tone… even if we can’t hear it with our merely human ears. There doesn’t seem to be enough shift to suggest they’re actually talking. It’s more like they’re rehashing the same statements over and over again.”

She frowned. “I keep thinking of some of the weirder proposals on the fringes of science,” she added. “The aliens might have been deliberately modified to have a considerable level of intelligence, but a very limited amount of free will.”

Ted blinked. “Is that even possible?”

“In theory,” Polly said. “You could program limiters into the brain, perhaps ones making it impossible to tell the difference between someone’s own desires and orders from someone else. Or you could undermine their sense of self until it simply doesn’t exist. In practice… it has never been tried, officially. It would break the conventions on designing a humanoid slave race.”

“And unofficially?” Ted asked. “Weren’t there people who wanted to try?”

“It got shut down before it ever got off the ground floor,” Polly said. “Too many people reacted to the concept with absolute revulsion. But I’m starting to think the aliens need to work in groups to reach their full potential.”

“They also fly starfighters,” Ted pointed out. “I don’t care how advanced their technology is, Doctor, but they couldn’t fit more than two or three aliens into those cockpits.”

Polly smirked. “Even if they were prepared to be very friendly?”

Ted flushed, remembering a rite of passage for junior lieutenants. He’d been told to find out how many lieutenants he could fit into a standard shuttle. Unfortunately, there simply hadn’t been enough lieutenants on the ship to fill the shuttlecraft. It had turned out, afterwards, that he’d been meant to fill in the spaces with locals, prostitutes from the nearest brothel. They’d called it an exercise in thinking outside the box. Ted considered it an exercise in pointless hazing.

“I don’t think they’d actually get any flying done,” he said. “I don’t think they need to be in groups to think.”

“Maybe they can’t react to situations outside their orders,” Polly said. “I’ve seen academics, really clever men and women, have problems thinking when they’re forced to focus on something outside their subject. They have panic attacks and start trying to escape…”

“I’ve had officers who had the same problem,” Ted said. “They just can’t think when something happens outside their orders.”

He took a breath. “Do you think we can actually… make contact with the aliens?”

“I think we can build up a communications algorithm,” Polly said. “They may well have done their own research into communicating with us. In that case, we will have to match our efforts with theirs and see what happens. But if we can’t establish any meaningful dialogue…”

Ted nodded. If the aliens couldn’t be talked out of fighting, there would be no choice, but to fight the war to the bitter end. He thought of the test tube Doctor Russell had showed him and went cold. Were the aliens building their own biological weapons program? There were thousands of people with enhanced immune systems these days, mainly in the military, but would they survive whatever the aliens might use to exterminate the human race?

“Do the best you can,” he said, standing. His shirt was soaked with sweat. He’d need to shower and change before he went on duty in the CIC. “And let me know if you have any brainwaves that will make contacting them easier.”

“Of course, Admiral,” Polly said. She looked down at the table for a long moment, then looked up and met his eyes. “I don’t think they’re an evil race.”

“I agree,” Ted said. The aliens had passed up countless opportunities for brute slaughter until they’d attacked Earth. Had they actually meant to devastate humanity’s homeworld? “But they’ve done a lot of damage, Doctor. Even if we do manage to talk to them, coming to a peace agreement isn’t going to be easy.”

He nodded to her, then strode out of the hatch and walked back to his office. Even now, crawling through a potentially hostile star system, there was no shortage of work to do.

And besides, it distracted him from his growing concerns.