A Game of Battleships (31 page)

The ghost ship fired first. Its size limited the payload, as did the range, but it was enough. Three 
rockets ripped through eight yards of ablative armour and blew the
Chimera
open. By the time the return salvo reached its co-ordinates, the
Pale Horse
had disappeared.

*

Suruk leaned over Smith’s shoulder, his mandibles open and fangs bared. ‘
Nanah nah nah naah nah
,’ he snarled at space as the
John Pym
shot forward. ‘That is the sound Wagner makes when he rides the Valkyries.’

‘Can’t he pipe down?’ Carveth said as she checked the scanner.

‘Right,’ Smith replied. ‘Suruk, we’re about to enter a warzone. Can’t you do something more 
appropriate?’

The alien paused. ‘Of course.
Mars
, by Gustav Holtz!
Nananana-na-nanana!
But perhaps you are right. On the open plain of deep space, one must stalk prey with caution.’ His yellow eyes narrowed.

‘Now we take our revenge for the destruction of the convoy. Now we track our prey and cut off his 
bulkhead. Ah, to drive my spear into our foe!’

‘This ship is the spearhead,’ Smith replied. ‘Or would be if we rammed them, which we’re not 
going to do. More like a gun. Without bullets. But still –’

‘I’m slowing us down,’ Carveth said. ‘Hey – we’re being hailed. It’s a Morlock ship.’

‘Put them on.’

As the voice came over the loudspeakers, a picture appeared on one of the monitors: collective 
clan vessel
Wisdom of the Thirsting Blade
. ‘Greetings, humans. It is I, Sedderik of the Gilled. I threw a sickie in order to do battle with our foes. On land I may be an eight-foot talking newt, but in space I have the soul of a warrior!’

‘Good to have you here,’ Smith replied. ‘You’re most welcome.’

‘Our fighter craft stand ready. Our crew are eager for souvenirs. Wait a moment – incoming 
transmission.’

‘Come in all friendly craft,’ the radio cried.

‘Hello?’ Smith replied.

‘Smitty, that you?’

‘It’s us,’ he replied. ‘We’ve got the Morlock frigate with us.’

‘Thank God for that,’ Captain Fitzroy replied. ‘Listen, we’re pulling back. We’ve taken serious 
damage and are running low on countermeasures. That bloody stealth ship came out of nowhere and put 
three torpedoes amidships. You’d best warn the station. Maybe if we get the others to help out –’ she 
broke off. Seeking help from the other parties to the treaty would not just be an admission of failure; it would be to end the possibility of an equal alliance.

No
, Smith thought, knowing that Captain Fitzroy felt the same. This was their mess.

‘Ships on the lidar,’ Carveth said. ‘I’ve got an ID.. three decoy blimps. Two net mines – must’ve 
come out of the
Chimera
. Bloody hell! I’ve got four enemy ships on the scope.’

‘Have they seen us?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Alright. Slow us down. Let’s go in quietly.’

‘Wilco.’

Sedderik said, ‘Withdraw, Captain Fitzroy. The
Wisdom of the Thirsting Blade
will keep the enemy at bay while you contain the damage.’

‘Thanks heaps, newt-chappie,’ Captain Fitzroy replied. ‘It shouldn’t take long to stabilise. We’ve 
got nanites in the hull.’

Carveth turned round in her seat. ‘They’re like little beetles, I think,’ she hissed in a loud whisper.

‘Friendly beetles.’

‘Moving round to intercept,’ Sedderik said. ‘Fight well, friends!’

As Carveth closed the radio, Suruk leaped to his feet. ‘Curse this inactivity! My brethren move to 
fight and I am sitting in this rusted tub. If I could make my way onto that stealthy craft, that submarine of shame, I would teach its vile crew the extent of my rage!’

‘You’re right, Suruk. If only we had some proper weaponry. Perhaps I could lean out the 
porthole with my rifle. . No.’ Smith looked around the room, seeking inspiration. Gerald stared back at him. ‘This is a battle of wits, chaps, like poker or lotto. Space is our board, and the craft on it mere pieces in the game. But the enemy do not have a monopoly on cunning, men.’ As he glared across space an idea 
stirred at the back of his mind. ‘Only by luring the enemy into a mousetrap will we mastermind their 
downfall. And then they’ll cop it.’

‘Real world calling…’ Carveth put in. ‘They’re hiding, boss. This isn’t a game of battleships.

They’re in cover.’

‘Then I’ll make them pop up, pilot!’ Abruptly, the idea awoke. ‘Oh my God!’ Smith whispered. ‘I 
know what we must do.” He looked away from her, away from space, and turned slowly to peer over his 
shoulder. For a moment he faced Suruk, but he did not meet the alien’s eyes.

‘Oh, no,’ Carveth said behind him, ‘you have got to be bloody kidding. .’

Suruk chuckled, his laughter rising as Carveth’s protests became more frantic. Together, all three 
of them looked into the corridor.

Rhianna put her head out of her room. ‘Do you mind not doing that, guys? It’s really weirding 
me out. And shouldn’t you be fighting a space battle?’ Then, realising that she was not the object of their attention, she looked down towards the hold. ‘The mirror?’ she said. ‘Heavy.’

Smith activated the radio. ‘
Chimera
, are you there?’

‘Still here,’ Felicity Fitzroy replied.

‘I need to get inside you at once. I’ve got a plan.’

‘One last hurrah, eh? Alright. I’ll have the chaps look out for you.’

Smith switched the radio off. ‘Carveth, prepare to dock. Suruk, is your spear sharp?’

The alien grinned. ‘Does the pope cough pellets in the woods?’

*

The
Pale Horse
broke into realspace several hundred miles behind the Edenite battleline. 462 turned to Prong. ‘Can we make another jump yet?’

One of Prong’s Handymen dipped his robed head and whispered to him. Prong nodded. ‘The 
generators need to recharge,’ he said. ‘Thirty-eight minutes. By then the rest of our ships will be in range.’

‘Have your vessels adopt a defensive position,’ the Ghast replied. ‘As soon as we’re ready, make 
the jump and finish off the human dreadnought from behind.’

One of the technicians looked up, tugging his robe back to let him speak. ‘Lord Prong, we have a 
new co-ordinate. It appears to be a Morlock ship, steeped in degeneracy and the wrong kind of 
wrathfulness.’

‘Time to release the fighters,’ 462 said.

Prong glared at his ally. ‘I’ll make that decision.’

At 462’s feet, Assault Unit One laid his antennae back against his head and growled.

Prong looked down at the ant-wolf. ‘I’ve decided to delegate that decision,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ 462 said, leaning into the communications array. ‘Attention Ghast and Yullian 
fighter squadrons,’ he barked into the commlink. ‘Slaughter-Wing, do you read?’

‘All hail Number One!’ the loudspeaker snarled.

‘Deathbolt Squadron?’

‘Obedience is strength, Commander.’

‘Gentle Patter of Spring Rain on the Temple Roof of Our Beloved and Entirely Non-Genocidal 
War God Popacapinyo?’

‘
Yul aaaaaiiiii! All glory to Popacapinyo!
’

462 drew back sharply as the squeal of mingled feedback and rodent fury screeched through the 
loudspeakers. ‘Release the fighters!’ he barked. 462 turned to Lord Prong, and found that the Edenite’s smile matched his own.

*

The
Pym
swung into the
Chimera’s
hold and the great doors slammed silently behind it. Air howled through the vents, and as soon as the lights flashed green Smith spun the airlock and rushed 
down the steps.

A siren jangled in the steel rafters. Pilots ran in, heavy in their flight gear, followed by ground 
crews and technicians. They thundered past the
John Pym
to the rear of the hall where the Hellfires waited in a grim line like dogs straining at the same leash. ‘Move it, you lazy bastard!’ a voice yelled, and Smith realised that it was the autopilot of one of the fighters. ‘Check my guns! Where's my pilot, eh?’

Captain Fitzroy ran in last. Ponytail bobbing, she bounded to his side as the rest of the
Pym
's crew emerged into the hold.

‘You all safe?’ she demanded.

‘Fine. How are you?’

‘
I'm
fine. As to the rest of the ship, that's another matter.’

‘Damage?’

‘Yes… some – and some casualties. I’m just on my way to see for myself. The port railguns took 
a beating. One of our jamming programs caught a torpedo as it came in: the bomb still hit, but we 
redirected it onto the main armour. That's not the worst of it, though.’

‘No?’ Behind him, refuelling arms folded into the ceiling, hydraulics whining.

‘Fetch me my blasted pilot, by God!’ the Hellfire bellowed.

Felicity Fitzroy scowled. ‘Shuttles took a bad'un to the noggin. They've got him down in sick bay, 
well out the game.’ She shook her head. ‘Now I’ve got twenty enemy fighters on the scope and four of 
our chaps against them. The Morlocks are putting six more into the fray, but our best player’s sidelined 
and the match has hardly begun.’ Her face hardened, the lips and eyes narrowing, and all the jauntiness was gone. ‘Listen, Smith; if you can get me the bastards who did this, I’ll take any plan you’ve got.’

‘Alright,’ he said. ‘When we raided Deliverance, we picked up a piece of experimental tech. I can’t 
go into much detail, but Carveth here knows how to start it up. We may be able to use it to access the controls of the stealth ship. Once that’s taken out, it’ll be a straight battle.’

‘You think you can do that? Really?’

‘I hope so. It’s dangerous all right – but for the crew of the
John Pym
, danger is our middle name.’

‘Not I,” Suruk put in. ‘My middle name is
the
.’

‘The overall result is much the same. We’ll need Wainscott and his men too. This could get 
nasty.’

Captain Fitzroy shook her head. ‘Damn, Smitty, you intelligence boys really are into some rum 
stuff. But what can I do? These are desperate times.’ She turned to go. ‘I’ll tell Wainscott to get here.’

‘Pilot!’ the Hellfire roared. ‘The bloody enemy are here and I’m sitting on my back wheel like a 
lemon pansy. Who’s in charge of this shower?’

‘Sounds like he’s missing Shuttles,’ Smith said.

Captain Fitzroy stopped and looked at him. ‘Want to break it to him?’

Something rose up in Smith then: a mixture of pride, determination and wild enthusiasm.

‘Dammit, I'll fly the Hellfire,’ he said. ‘Carveth, the
Pym
is yours. Do a good job.’

‘But –’

‘
You?
’ Captain Fitzroy looked as if Smith had just announced that he was pregnant. ‘You know 
how to fly a Hellfire?’

‘Absolutely. I've got an annual about it and everything.’

Rhianna said, ‘Um, Isambard.. that's very brave, but, er. . no.’

‘Nonsense,’ Smith replied. ‘You're all for following one's dreams, Rhianna. Well, since I built my 
first model of one, I've dreamed of following my dream of flying a Hellfire Space Fighter –’

‘Straight into a storm of lead,’ Carveth put in. ‘Boss, there’s a reason that the only space fighters 
you've ever handled say “recommended 12 and up” on the side.’

Captain Fitzroy glanced down the length of the hall, then shook her head. ‘Sorry, Smitty, Polly 
Pilot here is right. I need someone with real flying experience.’

‘Exactly,’ Carveth said. ‘You've got – what, three hours' actual flying time? You'd have to be 
seriously trained to work one of those. No offence, boss, but it’s not for you.’

Suruk stepped forward. ‘She is right, Mazuran. This calls for an expert. Captain Fitzroy, I will 
need a grappling hook and a chainsaw –’

‘Where’s my pilot?’ the Hellfire bellowed. The fighter wing clambered up the sides of their ships, 
dropped into cockpits as the plastiglass canopies folded down. Slowly, Shuttles’s Hellfire rolled forward of its own accord, turning on its landing wheels. ‘I need a bloody pilot!’ it snarled. The arrogant nosecone turned to the
John Pym
. ‘Hmm.. who flies this rusty lunchbox?’

‘Hey!’ Carveth exclaimed, ‘That’s my ship!’

‘Then hop on board, shortarse,’ the Hellfire replied. ‘If you can work that cranky old grid, you 
can ride with me.’

‘Oh no.’ Carveth took a step back from the pointed nose, the rows of gun barrels and the 
missiles jabbing at her from the upswept wings, the kill markings and the rearing lion breaking a massive ant in its jaws that someone much fiercer than her had painted on the fuselage. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

‘Do I look like I’m joking?’

‘Me?’ she squeaked. ‘Me?’

‘No,’ said the Hellfire, ‘the other pilot-class simulant standing right in front of me.’ Its cannons 
swivelled down to lock onto her head. ‘The one I’m pointing at.’

Smith stepped forward. ‘Take me.’

‘Bugger off,’ the space fighter replied. ‘I want the android. In the absence of my chief executive 
officer,
I
am my chief executive officer, and I’m telling you that I’ve made my choice.’

Smith turned to Carveth, controlling his anger with difficulty. ‘Well, that's. . you – you lucky 
cow!’

‘Lucky?’ Carveth’s mouth went through fishlike movements. ‘I’ll –’

Thrusters rumbled around them, and her voice was lost in growling engines. She tried to make 
her point through gestures, many of which were not officially sanctioned signals of the fleet.