Ark Royal (33 page)

He shook his head.  If they were lucky, they would escape without further harassment.  But if they weren't lucky, they would just have to fight. 

***

James couldn't help feeling enthused about the Captain’s plan, even though he knew that it was staggeringly risky.  But if he’d wanted to avoid risk, he would have taken that slot in the Admiralty he’d been offered when he'd been promoted to Commander.  It would have made him nothing more than a tea boy – one had to be a Commodore to gain attention at the Admiralty – but it would have been safe.  Instead, he’d attempted to gain a promotion that would ensure he'd see combat.

How careless of me
, he thought, as he strode through the starship’s passageway.  He smirked at the thought. 
If I’d known where I was going, I might have applied to a modern carrier instead
.

Another piece of carelessness, he knew, was failing to keep himself occupied to the point where he could decline the chance to meet the reporters with a clear conscience.  Most of the work he had to do had either been delegated to subordinates – he'd hated being micromanaged as a junior officer and saw no reason to torment his subordinates, now he'd been promoted – or simply placed to one side.  There was no point in writing out endless reports if no one was ever going to see them.  And the only other duty that needed attention, sooner rather than later, was ticking off a handful of couples who had bent the rules on relationships onboard ship.

He pushed that thought aside as he stepped into the modified briefing compartment.  The reporters were sitting down, looking pale and worn.  It had taken several days, but the implications of their current location had finally dawned on them.  Their ship was going to have to run the gauntlet back to human space ... or make a long detour through space that might well be occupied by an alien colony or two.  James found it hard to feel any sympathy.  They should have known the job was dangerous, he told himself once again, when they took it.

“Commander,” Yang said.  “Is the story true?”

James smiled.  “Which one?”  He asked.  Like all ships, rumour spread through
Ark Royal
at the speed of light.  “The one about the Engineer, the Helmsman and the Navigator?”

Yang scowled at him.  “That we’re trapped here, in this system,” he snapped.  “Are we trapped?”

“Not precisely,” James said.  He didn't want to discuss any specifics with them.  It was absurd to think they might betray the ship to the aliens, but still ...  “We just have to run the gauntlet on our way out.”

Barbie looked up at him, nervously.  “Do ... do we need to use the tramlines at all?”

James stared at her in absolute disbelief.  “Do we
need
to use the tramlines?”

“The nearest stars aren’t that far from here,” Barbie said, carefully.  “Surely we could just make our way to them without using the tramlines ...”

“No,” James said, crossly.  “Let me see.”

He ticked off points on his fingers as he spoke.  “The closest star system to us that isn't New Russia is three light years away,” he said.  He knew he sounded disdainful, he just didn't care.  “Placed in context, that means it takes three years for
light
to reach it.  Assuming we work the drive to the bone, we should be able to make a third of light speed, if we don’t mind the risk of burning out the system in the middle of the interstellar desert.  It will take us roughly nine
years
to reach this star.”

Barbie’s face twisted, but James wasn't finished.  “There's nothing to slow us down in interplanetary space,” he added, “so we would just keep going if the drive burnt out.  That would send us rocketing through the system at a sizable rate, making it impossible for us to stop.  Nor could anyone catch up with us long enough to offload the crew.  If we didn't run into the star, we'd just fly through and carry on to the
next
star system.

“All of this
assumes,
of course, that the  food supplies don’t run out.  We produce only a limited amount of supplies in the hydroponic bays, as we tore half of them out to store weapons and spare parts.  I estimate that we would run out of foodstuffs within two years, at the very latest.  In order to get part of the crew through the voyage, the remainder would have to be eliminated, their bodies fed into the recycling system to nourish the rest of us.”

Barbie blanched.  “You’d have us eating human flesh?”

“Oh, it would be the only way to survive,” James assured her.  The fact that the food processors
could
turn human flesh into something safe to eat was a closely-guarded secret, one devised by bureaucrats intent on ensuring that the crews always had something to keep them going.  So far, no one had ever had to
use
the systems.  “But I’m afraid that’s not the end of it.

“Nine years.  Think about it.  Nine
years
.  The aliens could win the war by then; we might arrive at our destination only to discover an alien fleet waiting for us.  Or perhaps humanity would have won the war.  The universe would have moved on and we would be hopelessly out of date.”

“That’s enough,” Yang said, sharply.

James smiled, then shrugged.  “We will do our very best to get you all home,” he said, wondering just how much of his lecture would make it into the final reports.  Somehow, he suspected the detail about potential cannibalism would be erased by the censors before it was broadcast to the British public.  “And I suggest that you relax and let us work.”

“We will,” Yang said, finally.  He gave James a look that promised future trouble.  “And thank you for your candour.”

Yang didn't seem amused.  James smiled to himself, wondering if Yang was interested in Barbie.  Why not?  Whatever usual restrictions the reporters had on their behaviour – assuming that there were any restrictions – would have faded when they'd finally realised that they were trapped.  Anyone with even a small amount of experience would be able to tell that
Ark Royal
had escaped by the skin of her teeth.  And, the next time, their jury-rigged repairs might not stand up to what the aliens handed out.

James shrugged.  If they made it home, they would be heroes and Yang’s superiors would see no profit in hammering James – or Captain Smith.  And if they didn't make it home, the whole episode was thoroughly irrelevant.  There wouldn't even be a messenger buoy left behind to mark their passage.

Maybe we should leave one here
, James thought, making a mental note to suggest it to the Captain. 
The Russians will know where we went, even if they can't know what happened afterwards.  If humanity wins the war, sooner or later they will come looking for us ...

***

Kurt stared down at his screen, trying to compose a message.  Silent running was strange for the pilots; half of them remained in their cockpits, ready for immediate launch, while the other half tried to relax.  But it was so hard to relax, knowing that the alert might sound at any moment.  Alien passive sensors were watching for them even now.

He cursed his own weakness as he angrily banished the half-written message from his screen, rather than bothering to save it for a later rewrite.  Sleeping with Rose had been a mistake, of that he was sure.  He’d known that right after the first time, which hadn't been enough to stop himself from doing it twice more.  Everyone knew that Rose, as the new senior squadron leader, was expected to coordinate her plans with her superior officer’s plans.  No one would raise eyebrows at them spending time together, let alone disturb them.  And no one would realise that they’d spent more time fucking like wild animals than actually doing their work ...

You should be ashamed of yourself
, he told himself.  He
was
ashamed, he knew, no matter how hard he tried to deny it.  Just not ashamed enough.

Angrily, he stood up and headed for the hatch, thinking hard.  Relationships between officers of different ranks were forbidden, as were relationships between starfighter pilots who happened to share the same wardroom.  Sure, there were times when such rules might be ignored – if
Ark Royal
never made it home, there would be no reason to care about regulations – but somehow he doubted this was one of those times.

He stepped through the hatch, recognising and cursing his own weakness.  As CAG, it was his duty to send Rose into danger, time and time again.  He would have to do it until she ran out of luck and died ... or until
he
died, whereupon Rose would be promoted into his shoes.  But now ... he didn't
want
to send her into danger.  She wasn't just a pilot to him any longer, she was far more than that.  Or did she think that he was nothing more than a convenient leman for her?  He didn't have to fly beside her, he wasn't likely to brag about his conquest ...

Women
, he thought, ruefully. 
Can’t live with them, can't live without them
.

But what was he going to do?

Sooner or later, he knew, someone would find out.  They would walk into his office and see him screwing Rose while she was bent over the desk, or even see them exchanging warm glances and draw the right conclusions.  There were few secrets in the wardroom; pilots knew each other so well that they would probably deduce the truth from a moment of carelessness.  And then?  Kurt didn't want to
think
about what could happen next.

Normally, you would be transferred
, a mocking voice at the back of his head pointed out, sardonically. 
Or she would be transferred ... but she’s already been transferred once, hasn't she?  What sort of reputation will she get if she transfers again
?

And no one will blame you ...

Kurt nodded to himself as he passed a small group of crewmen carrying a box of spare parts in the other direction.  Rose’s file might not be too detailed, but the world of starfighter pilots loved its rumours.  One transfer might go unnoticed, a second would be all-too-noticeable ... unless, of course, there was a valid excuse. 

He shouldn’t touch her again, he knew.  But he knew that all of his resolve would melt when she met him again, soon enough.

His communicator buzzed.  “CAG,” the XO said, “report to Briefing Compartment A.  I say again, report to Briefing Compartment A.”

Kurt’s blood ran cold.  Did the XO know?

“Understood,” he said, bracing himself.  He couldn't afford to walk into the compartment looking guilty.  The XO, the general disciplinarian on the ship, would notice and start wondering why.  “I’m on my way.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

“They haven't moved at all, sir,” Farley said.  “I think they’re drones.”

Ted gave him a sharp look.  “Are you sure?”

“... No,” Farley admitted.  “But it’s been five days and they haven’t moved, not once.”

“It’s possible,” Ted considered.  Humanity had used ECM drones against the aliens with some success.  There was no reason why the aliens couldn't use ECM drones themselves.  It even made a certain kind of sense.  Rather than tie up several starships hunting for a carrier that might already have been destroyed, the aliens could leave a handful of drones in place and rely on their presence to keep the carrier intimidated.  “But we will not take the risk.”

He looked over at the helmsman.  “Signal the fleet,” he ordered.  “We will proceed to Tramline Two in ten minutes.”

A dull quiver ran through the carrier as her drives slowly came to life.  If there was an alien fleet lying doggo, Ted knew, they might well pick up the carrier’s emissions, even if they were rigged for silent running.  But the alternative was staying where they were for months, even years, while the war raged on countless light years away.  No, they had to take the chance, he told himself.  And at least they’d had time to do more repairs.

Score one for the Old Lady’s designers
, he thought.  All military starships were modular, despite the best efforts of some of their designers, but
Ark Royal
was more modular than any modern carrier.  Replacing the damaged or destroyed weapons hadn't taken more than a few days, although their supplies of spare parts had been stripped to the bone. 
We could launch a long-range raid into enemy territory with only a handful of ships in support.

“All systems online,” Anderson reported.  The Chief Engineer sounded tired, but happy.  Ted and Fitzwilliam had practically dragged him into a sleep machine, just to ensure that the engineer got a few hours rest before the carrier started to move.  “Our repairs are looking good, Captain.”

“I knew they would be,” Ted assured him.  The other advantage of commanding the older carrier was that it’s technology was well understood by its users.  There was nothing radically new on her hull, nor would there ever be.  “And our weapons?”

“Powered up, ready to engage targets,” Fitzwilliam said.  “Our starfighters are ready to launch; point defence crews are standing by.”

Just in case there is a prowling enemy carrier
, Ted thought.  “Excellent,” he said, instead.  “And the fleet?”

“Ready to go,” Fitzwilliam assured him.  “
Kiev
is ready to carry out her duty.”

Ted settled back in his command chair.  “Then take us out,” he ordered.  “Inform
Kiev
that she may make the jump as soon as we reach the tramline.”