The Trafalgar Gambit

Chapter Eighteen

Ted felt the tension rising throughout the CIC as War Hog made her first transit into Target One. The aliens had been surprisingly — and suspiciously — absent during the last few star systems, but he had no doubt they would encounter the enemy in Target One. It was, after all, a major alien settlement, even without the orbital facilities they’d smashed to rubble during their last visit. And besides, there were several tramlines leading in and out of the system. The aliens would hardly leave it undefended.

A green icon popped back into life on the display and he sighed, minutely. The odds against running into an alien battlefleet on the other side were staggeringly high, but the aliens had managed to do things he would have thought were impossible before. He watched as the display updated, revealing a flurry of signals from Target One, but little else. The aliens, it seemed, hadn’t invested in repair efforts.

Probably a good idea on their part, he thought. Target One was the only major alien world with a confirmed location. It would make a suitable target for any human raiding formation — and taking out repair ships and yards would cost the aliens dearly. They’d probably prefer to end the war before they started rebuilding the system. But it doesn’t really matter.

“Take us through the tramline,” he ordered. “And then launch stealth probes on ballistic trajectories.”

“Aye, sir,” Janelle said, relaying his orders to the bridge. She sounded harried — and he didn’t blame her. As his aide, she’d ended up handling quite a few of the complaints and whining from various ambassadors and their staffs. And some clear attempts to get on her good side, on the assumption she would continue to have ties with the Royal Family. “All ships are reporting ready to go.”

Ted braced himself. If they were wrong, if an alien fleet was lying in wait, the attack would begin… now. Nothing happened. The seconds ticked away, the display stabilised and started filling up with passive data. No missiles came raging towards them, followed by swarms of angry starfighters. Instead, there was nothing.

“Hold us here,” Ted ordered. “Inform me when the probes pick up something — anything — of value.”

He settled back in his chair and tried to relax as the probes flew into the system, heading directly towards Target One. They were close to undetectable, he knew; the aliens would have to be very lucky to catch even a sniff of their presence. But they also had their limitations. Their passive sensors wouldn’t pick up anything that wasn’t radiating a signature into space, while the further they moved from their mothership, the greater the time delay.

Space combat, Ted thought, ruefully. It is both simple and very complex.

Slowly, data started to appear on the display. The largest gas giant in the system, which had once hosted a number of cloudscoops before Operation Nelson, seemed to be almost deserted. There was only one radio source near the planet, hanging in high orbit. Ted ordered a secondary fight of drones to be launched towards the radio source, then turned his attention back to the main display. It looked as though the aliens had pulled most of the in-system freighters out of the system. The once-thriving system was ruined.

“I’m only picking up a handful of asteroid miners,” Janelle said. “Analysis thinks the aliens have largely conceded the system.”

“Best not to take that for granted,” Ted warned her. “And Target One itself?”

The drones flashed more data back to the ship as they made their way past Target One. A handful of alien ships — five frigates, two freighters and a ship of unknown design — lurked in orbit around the planet, but there didn’t seem to have been any attempt to rebuild the facilities that had once made the system an economic powerhouse. The aliens had swept most of the remaining debris out of orbit, probably breaking it up and then shoving it into the planet’s atmosphere, yet they hadn’t done anything else. Ted nodded in confirmation of his earlier thoughts. The aliens weren’t interested in rebuilding yet.

“We can’t get a drone any closer without risking detection,” Janelle said. “There won’t be any data on alien operations on the ground.”

Ted nodded, unsurprised. A handful of human soldiers had been stranded, he knew, despite the best efforts of his shuttle pilots. They’d planned to go underground and live off the land until they could be recovered. God alone knew what had happened to them. There was certainly no way he could attempt to recover them, not now. He had no doubt his flotilla could handle the alien ships, but one of them would definitely broadcast an alert and inform their superiors that the humans had returned to Target One.

“I think we will need to sneak around to Tramline Four,” he said. The ship from Faction Two had entered the system through Tramline Four. Unless, of course, it was all an elaborate trick. “There’s no point in staying here any longer.”

“Aye, Admiral,” Janelle said. “Do you want to depart at once?”

Ted glanced down at the ship’s status display. That irritating harmonic in the drives seemed to have faded away completely. He wasn’t fool enough to believe it was gone for good, but it was marginally reassuring. Perhaps the only problem had been that the drives hadn’t been put to work properly during the test cycles. Or perhaps he was overlooking a far greater problem.

But there seemed to be no reason to delay. “Set course for Tramline Four on the planned course,” he ordered. “Launch probes to scan the space close to the tramline for any unexpected surprises. And remind the crew to stay on full tactical alert.”

He’d expected to see more alien activity as they edged their way around the system. A handful of other installations revealed themselves, but far fewer than there had been in the system before his first visit. He felt an odd pang of guilt and had to remind himself, sharply, that Target One had been producing weapons and starships for the aliens to hurl against humanity’s defences. If nothing else, the loss of such a large chunk of their productive capability had to make the aliens pause for thought.

And they took heavy losses in the Battle of Earth, he reminded himself. Maybe they’re just as exhausted and battered as we are.

He recalled, bitterly, the last time they’d passed through Tramline Four. The aliens had ambushed them there, using the gas giants to form limited tramlines that allowed in-system jumping. It had been a clever tactic, he knew, but the humans had escaped… if, of course, the aliens had intended to destroy his ships. They might have been more interested in keeping them apart from Faction Two. And Target Two, the star system on the other side of the tramline, had been left completely unscathed. He had no idea if that was a good thing or not.

A red icon flashed into view on the display. “Captain,” Janelle said. “A starship just came out of the tramline. She’s heading right for us.”

Ted swore. Coincidence? Or deliberate malice? But if the aliens had managed to pick up a hint they were there, they’d have sent something heavier than a single destroyer-sized starship. Unless it was armed with something new and utterly destructive… in which case the war was lost anyway.

Or were the aliens intent on making an evasive run to reach Tramline One?

“Captain,” Janelle said, as several more icons popped into view, “I’m picking up four more starships in hot pursuit. They’re chasing the first starship. It’s taking evasive action.”

Ted stared, feeling an odd flicker of Déjà Vu. The scenario was almost identical to the last time they’d encountered a starship from Faction Two, save that the aliens had no idea the human ships were there. Or should have no idea the human ships were there, he reminded himself sternly. And it certainly looked, he saw as he replayed the first starship’s arrival through the tramline, as though they’d been running through the Target Two system. No one, human or alien, took the tramlines at a run if they could help it.

He hesitated, thinking fast. It would be simple to evade both sides, with so much space to hide in, then proceed through the tramline behind them. But if the lead ship was from Faction Two… he cursed the aliens under his breath, angrily. If he intervened, he would betray his presence and the aliens would start massing their ships against his fleet. And yet, if he did nothing, he might pass up an opportunity to put the aliens in his debt.

“General signal to all ships,” he ordered. “Prepare to shed the cloak and attack.”

He paused. “And warn Doctor MacDonald that her services will be required,” he added. “We need to convince the lead ship not to run.”

The first few days onboard the alien starship had been boring, Henry had found, despite the thrill of actually being on an alien starship. Working the teaching machines with the aliens had been tedious, even though the aliens seemed to pick up more and more human words and concepts the longer they worked at it. One file turned out to be a semi-pornographic introduction to sex, something that puzzled the aliens. Henry still cringed at the memory of one of them asking if humans needed to be taught how to produce more humans.

But they don’t have sex, he reminded himself. Maybe they find the entire concept puzzling as hell.

It was an odd thought, but he contemplated it as he tried to explain other concepts to the aliens. A discussion of hereditary monarchy merely confused them; democracy seemed more understandable, but they didn’t grasp the concept of a representative democracy. Their society seemed to allow everyone who had an opinion to state their opinion, then allow it to settle into the majority viewpoint. Henry couldn’t help being reminded of datanet chat-rooms, with the added disadvantage that none of the arguments were remotely theoretical.

Sleeping became easier after he managed to convince the aliens to let them have a fan and straps they could use to keep themselves in place. The aliens themselves didn’t seem to have problems sleeping in zero-gravity, although Henry wasn’t sure why. Maybe there were water currents running through the ship that allowed them to breathe through their gills, without problems, or maybe they just didn’t need the same atmospheric mix as humanity. It was impossible to be sure.

“They’re learning rapidly,” Jill said, “but I don’t think they will ever understand us completely.”

Henry couldn’t disagree. Teaching machines were designed for human children on isolated colonies, bringing them up to standard without needing to import a dedicated teacher. They were actually quite successful, as long as the kids stayed in front of the machine, and the aliens — it seemed — had learned a great deal from them. But they still didn’t understand some of the human concepts. A long explanation of why some humans wore skirts and others wore kilts, despite them being essentially the same thing, had puzzled them completely.

“We probably won’t understand them completely either,” he said. He’d asked for clothes, only to be turned down. There hadn’t been any malice in the alien voice, as far as he could tell, or a desire to humiliate the humans; they simply hadn’t understood the requirement. “But as long as we can get them to talk to someone with real power, we can hammer out an agreement.”

He looked at her as she turned away, pushing herself towards the bed. It had crossed his mind, more than once, to tell the aliens who he was. He’d been told, in no uncertain terms, that he shouldn’t disclose his identity if he was ever taken hostage, although he’d pointed out sarcastically that anyone who tried to kidnap him would have a jolly good idea of who he was already. The thought of becoming an alien prisoner had never crossed his mind…

But he’d also been told, time and time again, that he had no true power. He couldn’t make promises the British Government would be bound to keep…

The ship shook, violently.

Jill started. “What was that?”

“An impact,” Henry said. He pressed his fingers against the deck and felt it throbbing. It was impossible to be sure, but it felt like the starship was going to full military power. “I think that’s not good.”

One of the aliens swung around to face them. “This ship is under attack,” it said. The other aliens were already making their way towards the hatch. “Remain here.”

As if we could go anywhere else, Henry thought. He thought the ship had jumped through at least two tramlines, but it was impossible to be sure. Besides, as he had no idea of where they’d been held prisoner or how close it was to Target One, trying to estimate the distance they’d covered was a pointless exercise.

Jill looked nervous. “Under attack by whom?”

The alien said nothing. Instead, it just pulled itself out the hatch and vanished.

“Humans or another alien faction,” Henry guessed. “Unless there’s a third alien race that has just introduced itself to us.”

Jill pulled herself to the bed, then reached for one of the straps. “Is that possible?”

Henry shrugged. “We didn’t know there was even one alien race until a year ago,” he said, dryly. “Why can’t there be two?”

But somehow it seemed unlikely. The War Faction might be trying to stop them contacting the human race… or they might have run into a patrolling human starship. Either one was bad, but it would be worse if it was a human ship. The aliens might lose faith in their attempt to make peace if they were greeted with a hail of incoming fire. He glared around the bulkhead, wishing for a tactical display, something — anything — to show what was going on outside the hull. But there was nothing.

He pushed himself over to the bed and strapped himself down. There was nothing else he could do, but wait.

“I’m scared,” Jill said. She wrapped her arms around him, her bare breasts poking into his chest. “Why…?”

Henry understood. Their lives depended, now, on the aliens destroying the attackers or breaking contact and escaping. There was nothing they could do, one way or the other, to help the aliens or even save their own lives. If the aliens lost, the first they’d know of it would be when the bulkheads disintegrated into fire. By then, it would be far too late for them to do anything more than die.

“Relax,” he ordered, firmly. The nasty part of his mind wanted to know if his private vows to Janelle still held good, despite the certainty of death. Jill looked willing enough… angrily, he pushed that thought aside. He was damned if he was going to rut like an animal in the face of imminent death. “Close your eyes and try to relax.”

James Fitzwilliam sucked in his breath as the five alien ships came into view. It wasn’t easy to disagree with the tactical analysis; Contact One was attempting to escape, while Contacts Two through Five were attempting to catch it. Whoever was flying Contact One was an ace helmsman, he had to admit. He was incredibly skilful at keeping the distance open between the five ships, despite the endless barrage of plasma fire. But his luck would run out, sooner or later.

“Lock mass drivers on target,” he ordered. He doubted they would score a hit, unless the aliens did something stupid, but it would give the bastards something else to think about apart from Contact One. “Prepare to fire.”

“Mass drivers locked, Captain,” Farley said. “Starfighters are ready to launch.”

James allowed himself a smile. The battle was about to be joined — and there would be no more sneaking about, either with the aliens or the foreign spy on his ship. This time, everything would be simple.

“Spit a copy of their communications package at them, then the instructions,” he said, addressing Lieutenant Annie Davidson. The aliens would be sent a set of diagrams, detailing what to do. Everyone swore blind they’d be able to understand what they were being sent, but James had his doubts. The aliens were alien. For all they knew, their system would be unable to display the pictures. “And warn our crews to keep a sharp eye on Contact One.”

“Aye, Captain,” Davidson said.

“Fire,” James ordered.

Ark Royal shuddered as her mass drivers fired, launching a stream of projectiles towards the alien ships. A direct hit would be fatal, he knew, although the aliens would have plenty of time to alter course. The projectiles weren’t missiles. They’d keep following a strictly ballistic trajectory, missing their targets. And the aliens would definitely know they were there.

“Launch starfighters,” he ordered. Contact One was altering course — but was it because they were obeying orders or because they didn’t know who the humans were trying to kill? If the aliens had problems telling humans apart, they might assume that humanity had the same problem. And it did. “All batteries, prepare to open fire.”

The other alien ships seemed to hesitate, then pressed the attack against Contact One. James frowned; they had to know they were suddenly badly outgunned and they could retreat, so why weren’t they running? It would be easy for them to evade contact if they reversed course now. One of them… he blinked in disbelief as mass driver projectiles smashed into its hull, shattering it into thousands of pieces of debris. They’d been so focused on their target that they hadn’t even tried to evade the incoming projectiles.

“Continue firing,” he ordered. The aliens clearly didn’t want them talking to Contact One. It was worth some risk to attempt to make contact. “And attempt to raise Contact One.”