Invincible

(Ark Royal, Book XII)

Christopher G. Nuttall

Book One: Ark Royal
Book Two: The Nelson Touch
Book Three: The Trafalgar Gambit
Book Four: Warspite
Book Five: A Savage War of Peace
Book Six: A Small Colonial War
Book Seven: Vanguard
Book Eight: Fear God And Dread Naught
Book Nine: We Lead
Book Ten: The Longest Day
Book Eleven: The Cruel Stars
Book Twelve: Invincible

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Dedication

To the men and women of the British armed forces.
Cover Blurb

All is not well in the Human Sphere.  The alliance between the Great Powers is starting to fall apart, the human economy cannot keep up with the urgent need for newer and better starships and politicians are demanding an end to military spending.  For the Royal Navy, desperately trying to do too many tasks with too few ships, it is the worst possible time for a new threat to appear.  

When a generation starship is detected approaching a British colony world, HMS Invincible is dispatched to intercept the aliens before they can make landfall.  But the newcomers bring with them tidings of a new and deadly threat, an expansionist alien race far too close to the Human Sphere for comfort ...

... And a sinister horror beyond human understanding.

Author’s Note

Invincible takes place roughly five years after We Lead, but draws on characters mentioned in The Cruel Stars.

As always, if you liked this book, please leave a review.
Prologue

It was trite but true, Doctor Dora Fayette had often thought, that in space no one could hear you scream.  And yet, space was noisy to those with the right sort of ears.  Stars, pulsars and even black holes produced radio noise, bursts of high-intensity energy that - once upon a time - had been mistaken for signs of intelligent life.  It was hard, so hard, to pick out the faint hints of what might be radio signals from undiscovered civilisations against the towering waves of background noise, a task made harder by the radio signals put out by the ever-growing number of human colonies.  And yet, it was a task that needed to be done.

Dora had never doubted it.  Indeed, it was something of her calling, the only job she’d found that she’d ever considered remotely comfortable.  She was a slight woman in her early thirties, although she looked younger, the result of a combination of rejuvenation treatments and a simple reluctance to take time away from her studies to eat.  Living practically alone - there were five naval crewmen on Wensleydale Station, but they knew better than to disturb her - hadn't done much for her appearance, but she didn't care.  She’d never liked being around other people anyway.  Even videoconferencing was a strain.  

There wasn't much to Wensleydale Station.  It was nothing more than a handful of prefabricated modules that had been shipped to Wensleydale - a human-compatible planet on the edge of the Human Sphere - and put together to produce an orbital station and listening post.  But then, there wasn't much to Wensleydale either.  It would be a great colony one day, Dora had been assured, but right now there were only a couple of hundred colonists on the ground, breaking the soil and turning Wensleydale into a world that could actually host a far larger colony.  Dora knew she wouldn't be around to see it.  She’d be shipped further away from Earth well before the first large colony ship arrived.  

She sat within her nest on the station and studied the latest set of read-outs.  The combination of orbital and radio telescopes, long-range passive sensors and deep-space gravimetric monitors continued to insist that the Wensleydale System was as empty as her departmental head’s brain, but she didn't care about local events.  That was the Royal Navy’s concern, although she’d been warned, when she first arrived, that if they did run into something they couldn't handle, they were in real trouble.  Wensleydale Station was armed, technically, but it wouldn't take more than a single gunboat to turn the entire structure into vapour.  It was one of the reasons Dora had been sent to Wensleydale in the first place.  If there was a threat lurking in the unexplored regions further away from Earth, the Royal Navy wanted advance warning.

Dora rather suspected the Royal Navy was wasting its time, although she had no intention of pointing it out to them.  Humanity had believed it was alone in the universe until it had encountered the Tadpoles and part of the reason humanity had believed it was alone was that a dazzling array of sensors had failed to pick up even the slightest hint that the Tadpoles existed.  Dora had seen the exhaustive reports, compiled after the war.  There hadn't been any clue, not in the official reports or buried somewhere in the raw data, that suggested the human race was not alone.  Nor had humanity detected the Foxes or the Cows until their star system had been probed.  And the Vesy hadn’t developed technological civilisation by the time they were discovered.  Dora might be wasting her time too ...

... But she doubted it.  Let the military worry about undiscovered threats.  She was more interested in exploring the mysteries of the universe.  And the equipment at her disposal was better than anything she’d used during her stint at the Luna Telescope.  It was worth any discomfort, even having to share a station with five naval crewmen, to have access to the navy’s tools.  They might be largely wasted, but not completely.  

A box blinked up in her headset.  One of the naval crewmen had sent her a message, inviting her to dinner ... such as it was.  She shook her head, dismissing the note with a shrug.  She was far too agoraphobic - and asexual - to risk spending time with any of them.  Besides, didn't they have their own work to do?  Little happened on Wensleydale Station - she knew that for a fact - but there was always something to do.  The station required constant maintenance to keep it functioning ...

... And then her console chimed an alert.

Dora leaned forward, puzzled.  It wasn't the near-space proximity alarm.  That would have set sirens howling all over the station.  And it wasn't the alert she’d set to go off if there was even the slightest hint of alien transmissions, dozens of light-years away.  It was ... her lips thinned as she realised that the computers hadn't been able to neatly catalogue the signal.  It was too close to be interesting to her, yet too far away to alarm the naval crew.  Except ... it was right at the edge of the system.

“Curious,” she muttered.  Wensleydale had been surveyed, although - reading between the lines - she had the feeling the naval crew who’d discovered the system had skimped on the survey.  A human-compatible world was more interesting than the comets and asteroids lurking at the edge of the system.  “What is it?”

She keyed a switch, unlocking the computer’s free-association modules.  She’d never trusted them - even the smartest computers couldn't think like humans, which meant they had a tendency to forget or ignore valuable pieces of data - but she had a feeling that they might be necessary.  The computer hummed as it scanned the databanks while she scrutinised the live feed from the long-range sensors.  It was odd, very odd.  The ... the event, whatever it was, was just over nineteen light days from Wensleydale.  It almost looked like ...

The computers blinked up an answer.  Fusion-drive flare.

Dora stared.  She’d studied the records.  A number of asteroids had been converted into starships and launched into interstellar space before the tramlines had been discovered, over a hundred years ago.  None of them had reached their destinations yet ... come to think of it, none of them had aimed themselves at Wensleydale.  The system’s primary star would have been in their records, of course, but they hadn't had any reason to think they might have found a human-compatible planet at the far end.  And even if they had, it would have taken them thousands of years to reach their destination.  Ice ran down her spine.  The ship - it had to be a ship - couldn't be human.

She took a long breath, then keyed her console, sending an alert to the naval crewmen.  The ship - the slower-than-light ship - was still a very long way away, but it was heading directly towards Wensleydale.  The aliens would know there was a planet, waiting for them.  It was impossible to imagine a race that had fusion drives, but not basic telescopes.  And yet ... they might not realise that Wensleydale was already occupied.   A society that had to rely on STL ships presumably didn’t know anything about the tramlines.

A face blinked up in front of her.  Dora fought down the urge to flinch away.  Commander Haircloth wasn’t a bad man - none of the naval crewmen were bad - but he was a person, intruding into her world.  He looked to have let himself go, a little.  Faint stubble lined his cheeks.  He and his crew rarely bothered to make themselves look shipshape and Bristol fashion unless Wensleydale Station was having visitors.

His voice was sharp.  “Is ... is that thing real?”

“Yes,” Dora said, turning her head so she wouldn't have to look at him.  It was easier to pretend that he was just a voice if she couldn't see his face.  “It’s a genuine interstellar colony ship.”

Haircloth took a long breath.  “Where from?”

Dora checked her console.  “Assuming a straight-line flight, it came from USS-38202,” she said.  “A G2 star, fifteen light-years away.  There’s no direct tramline route to that star.”

“It might not have any tramlines at all,” Haircloth mused.

“Perhaps,” Dora said.  

She considered it for a moment.  Gravimetric science wasn't her field, but she was fairly sure that every star had at least one or two tramlines.  But there was no guarantee that any tramline reaching USS-38202 would intersect with a tramline human starships could access.  There was a way to create an artificial tramline, long enough for a starship to jump across interstellar space, but it had its limitations.  Whoever they sent might find themselves trapped, unable to return.

Haircloth had his mind on more practical concerns.  “How long until it enters orbit?”

Dora shrugged - interplanetary mechanics wasn’t her field either - then keyed the computer console again, letting it do the work.  It threw up a wide range of possible scenarios, ranging from several months to a year or two.  Too much depended on just what the aliens could actually do.  If they had drive fields, they might start deploying them once they entered the system.  They’d reach Wensleydale in less than a month.

“It depends,” she said, finally.  She sent him the projections.  “What now?”

“They won’t have drive fields,” Haircloth said.  “They could have made the crossing far quicker if they had ... unless they feared burning out the drive in interstellar space.  That would be bad.”

He cleared his throat.  “I’ll alert the crew, then pass a message up the chain,” he said.  “It’ll be taking my career in my hands, but I’m sure the Admiralty will agree that launching the drone is necessary.”

“No doubt,” Dora agreed, dryly.  The Royal Navy Admiralty and her former University’s finance department had at least one thing in common.  They were prepared to waste money on fripperies, while penny-pinching on important matters.  Haircloth would be in real trouble if the Admiralty decided that launching an extremely expensive messenger drone up the tramline was a waste of money.  It cost more than the average gunboat.  “Good luck.”

Haircloth smiled, rather wanly.  “Thank you, Dora,” he said.  “Can you detail at least two of the sensor platforms to keep an eye on our visitors?”

Dora felt a hot flash of resentment, which she quickly suppressed.  They already had answers, didn't they?  The flare was artificial and therefore nowhere near as interesting as the quasar she’d been watching.  But she knew it was a childish thought.  That quasar wasn't going anywhere.

“Yes,” she said.  She ran her hand over the console.  “Done.”

“Very good,” Haircloth said.  His voice was tinged with excitement.  “And now, we wait.”

Dora sighed to herself as she closed the connection.  She could understand why Haircloth would find the prospect of alien contact - another alien contact - exciting, but it wasn't an excitement she shared.  It wouldn't be long before everything from naval gunships to Foreign Office First Contact teams started to arrive, probably followed by representatives from the other human and alien powers.  And planetary developmental money would follow in their wake.  Wensleydale would rapidly become as cramped and unbearable as Earth or Terra Nova.  She would have to go somewhere else, if there was somewhere else.  The Royal Navy might not be so obliging next time.

Joy, she thought.  She looked at her consoles for a long moment.  But at least we just proved that the millions of pounds they spent on deep-space monitoring systems wasn't wasted.

Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the quasar.  Commander Haircloth and his men could monitor their visitors as they made their final approach.  She had better things to do with her time ...

... And besides, she acknowledged quietly as she went back to work, if the visitors were hostile there was nothing she could do about it anyway.

Chapter One

“Captain on the bridge!”

Captain Sir Stephen Shields stepped through the hatch and onto the bridge, taking time to note the crewmen who acknowledged his arrival and the crewmen who knew better than to take their eyes off their console, even to greet their commanding officer.  Stephen had served under enough commanding officers who’d demanded respect from everyone - and left him with a complete lack of confidence in their leadership abilities - to know better than to demand such respect for himself.  A helmsman should not look up from his console, whatever the reason.

He acknowledged Commander Daniel Newcomb’s salute as the XO stood, vacating the command chair.  Stephen sat down, sucking in his breath.  HMS Invincible still smelled like a new ship, even though she had been on her shakedown cruise for the last six months.  She wouldn't smell any better until she’d actually been to war.  But then, he knew he should be grateful for the chance to work out the kinks in the assault carrier’s design.  Invincible was the first of her class and had had more than her fair share of problems.  None of them had been anything more than mildly embarrassing - no ship ever went through her shakedown cruise without encountering problems - but they’d proven annoying.

And the press is being unusually pugnacious, he thought, crossly.  The media was rarely openly friendly to the Royal Navy, but over the last year they’d started to blow the navy’s problems out of all proportion.  We have a backed-up toilet and they start saying the entire ship is a waste of money.

It wasn't a pleasant thought.  HMS Invincible was the first major combatant in the Royal Navy to put appearance before functionality, despite protests from both serving naval officers and shipyard engineers.  The bridge looked to have been copied directly from one of the BBC’s dramas on naval life, right down to the consoles that looked absurdly fragile, as if they would explode if someone looked at them funny.  It wasn't that bad a design, he admitted privately, but it was annoying.  Stephen would have preferred something that could be repaired on the fly if necessary.

He glanced at his XO.  “Status report?”

“Enemy target has just come into range, sir,” Newcomb reported.  “She doesn't seem aware of our presence.”

“Very good,” Stephen said.  A red icon glowed on the display, beating a steady path towards the nearest tramline.  Text bubbles scrolled up beside the icon, calculating vectors and offering prospective interception windows.  It looked very neat.  “And the masking field?”

“Ready for activation, sir,” Lieutenant-Commander David Arthur said.  The tactical officer looked tanned, despite six months onboard ship.  “We can slip under it at any moment.”

“Then do so,” Stephen ordered.

He sucked in his breath as the lights dimmed, slightly.  The masking field wasn't a full cloaking device, not in the sense that it would hide Invincible from all sensors, but it would make it harder for any enemy ships to get a solid lock on her position.  He hoped.  The technology had been copied from the Foxes and Cows in the wake of the Second Interstellar War and, so far, it was proving hard to adapt to human ships.  Invincible was the first starship designed to carry a masking field and even she had problems.  The only saving grace was that the other Great Powers had the same issues with the system.

Or so we are assured, he reminded himself.  Great Britain had plenty of secret installations, some in the Home System and some orbiting Britannia, where research could be conducted far from prying eyes.  America, France, China and Russia had facilities of their own, he was sure.  They won’t share any real breakthroughs with us unless we run into a third hostile alien power.

“Field engaged, sir,” Arthur said.  “We should be beyond detection.”

Stephen nodded, curtly.  “Helm, move us into intercept position,” he ordered.  “Sensors, keep watching them.  I want to know the second they detect us.”

“Aye, sir.”

The display updated rapidly, looking curiously bloodless as Invincible slipped after her lone target.  It was easy to forget that the red icon represented a real starship, carrying real people ... or that the distances between the ships were hard for groundpounders to comprehend.  Or, for that matter, that appearances could be deceiving.  Stephen hadn't been told the precise details, of course, but he was sure a surprise was waiting for him.  The enemy wouldn't go down without a fight.

“Captain,” Lieutenant Alison Adams said.  The Sensor Officer looked perturbed.  “I'm picking up a number of spacecraft leaving the asteroid belt and heading for Terra Nova.”

Stephen’s eyes narrowed as he keyed his private console, bringing up the live feed from the long-range passive sensors.  There was a surprisingly large amount of traffic in the Terra Nova System, despite the simple fact that Terra Nova’s Provisional Government was about as powerless as Earth’s International Green Party.  Perhaps that was why there was so much activity, he reflected wryly.  Sol’s asteroid belt was supervised by the Great Powers and the Belt Federation, but no one policed Terra Nova’s outer system.  The whole region was a lawless mess, populated by independent colonies, smugglers, and rogue political factions.  He dreaded to think what would happen if Terra Nova ever developed the will to impose itself on the asteroid belt.  It would be bloody.

He looked at Newcomb.  “Assessment?”

Newcomb frowned.  “It’s odd, sir,” he said.  “There’s no reason to take so many ships to the planet.  Unless they’re planning something.”

Stephen nodded, slowly.  Terra Nova had very little worth mentioning, certainly nothing that would attract independent shippers.  A handful of shore leave facilities existed, he supposed, yet none of them could be considered safe.  It wasn't as if it would be difficult to hop through Tramline Alpha and visit Sol.  And there was enough orbiting firepower to make life dangerous for any merchant ship.  Terra Nova’s factions had often resorted to taking pot-shots at passing freighters when the world’s politics became particularly nasty.  

“Communications, pass the alert to the embassy,” he ordered.   “Warn them that they may have incoming.”

He gritted his teeth in annoyance as Invincible closed in on her target, unsure what to do.  If something was about to explode in the system, he had a responsibility to protect British interests ... such as they were.   It wasn't as if there were many, save for a handful of corporate-owned asteroid facilities.  Britain had sold her shares in the Terra Nova Colonisation Consortium nearly a century ago.  They’d gone for a song, to all intents and purposes.  The seeds of disaster had already been clearly visible.  And yet, he had a duty ...

“Continue to monitor the situation,” he ordered.  “Tactical?”

“We will be in intercept position in two minutes, sir,” Arthur reported.  “The dropships and starfighters are primed and ready to go.”

“Good,” Stephen said.  “Prepare to launch ...”

The display flashed red.  “They got us, sir,” Alison reported.  “I don’t know how, but they got us.  We just got swept!”

Stephen made a mental note to have a long chat with the boffins.  The target ship had known she was being hunted, but still ... they were, theoretically, too far from the target for the enemy to burn through the masking field.  There must have been a flicker of turbulence, a faint glimmer of energy that had been unmistakably artificial against the inky blackness of space.  Not, he supposed, that it mattered.  Their target was already ramping up her drives.

Not that they have a hope of evading us, he thought.  The target ship was smaller than Invincible, but there was no way her drives could produce enough speed to outrun the assault carrier.  Even if they’d replaced her entire rear hull with drive nodes ... he considered it for a moment, then shook his head.  She’d rip herself to bits if she ever ramped her drives up to full power.  They let us get too close.

“Drop the masking field,” he ordered.  His heart started to race.  There was no point in trying to hide now.  They’d been spotted.  “Launch the starfighters, then the dropships.  And then order our target to surrender.”

“Fighters away, sir,” Arthur reported.  New icons appeared on the display: one squadron holding position near Invincible, just in case the carrier required support, while a second was racing towards its target.  “Dropships deploying ... now!”

“No response, sir,” Lieutenant Thomas Morse said.  The Communications Officer worked his console for a long moment.  “They should be getting our signal.”

“One would hope so,” Stephen agreed, dryly.  “Repeat the signal.”

He waited, keeping his face under tight control, for the enemy ship to respond.  Very few spacers allowed their communications systems to get broken.  A working radio might make the difference between life and death if the ship ran into real trouble.  He’d seen quite a few civilian ships where basic maintenance was deferred, for a time, but most of them had been heavily over-engineered.  A crew too stupid to keep up with their maintenance in the long run would soon be a dead crew.  Space was an unforgiving environment.  It simply didn't tolerate carelessness.

And we have a squadron of starfighters bearing down on them, he thought.  There was no way that even civilian-grade sensors could miss the starfighters.  No one could hope to hide their power signature.  That should force them to pay attention ...

The display sparkled.  New red icons flashed into existence, glowing with deadly purpose.  Stephen cursed under his breath.  Starfighters.  Three squadrons of starfighters.  The enemy ship was an escort carrier, then.  And not a conventional design.  Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to disguise her true nature.

“Captain,” Alison said.  “The enemy starfighters are deploying in attack formation.”

Ballsy, Stephen thought, feeling a flicker of wry admiration.  Going on the offensive was about the only chance the enemy had, given just how badly Invincible outclassed their ship, but it still required nerve.  I wonder if they thought to load their starfighters with torpedoes?

He pushed the thought to one side.  “Launch the remaining starfighters,” he ordered, “and then bring the point defence online.”

“Aye, sir.”

“The dropships are moving aside,” Newcomb added.  “Their CO is suggesting a forced-boarding.”

Stephen shook his head.  The Royal Marines had unlimited confidence in themselves - and he’d seen them in action enough to know that their confidence was justified - but he couldn't authorise a suicide mission.  And it would be suicide.  An escort carrier normally didn't have much in the way of point defence - it wasn't as if their hulls were designed to stand up to plasma fire or nuclear-tipped torpedoes - but he had a feeling that this escort carrier was cannoned to the gunwales.  Whoever had designed her was a devious bastard.  His sensor crews and tactical analysts had been completely fooled.

Something to analyse thoroughly later, he thought, as the enemy starfighters rocketed towards Invincible.  Right now, we have other concerns.

“Charlie Squadron is out,” Arthur reported.  “Delta Squadron is launching now.”

“The CSP is moving to intercept,” Newcomb added.  “Point defence is standing by.”

Stephen braced himself as the enemy starfighters blew through the first squadron and continued their mad rush towards Invincible.  A handful of starfighters on both sides greyed out, indicating that they’d been hit ... the losses were bad, but better than he’d feared.  The enemy might have enjoyed a slight numerical advantage, yet they were too smart to be lured into a dogfight.  Crippling or destroying Invincible was their only hope.

“Enemy starfighters are entering point defence range,” Newcomb reported.  “Guns are engaging ... now.”

And they’re smart enough to keep moving randomly, Stephen thought.  It wasn't a surprise, not after the horrific losses during the early stages of the First Interstellar War, but it was still annoying.  We’re not hitting many of them.

“Incoming torpedoes,” Alison snapped.  “They’re targeting our drives!”

“Switch point defence to concentrate on them,” Stephen snapped.  The enemy didn't seem to want to destroy Invincible, but they were sure as hell trying to cripple her.  And the Royal Navy really didn't need the embarrassment of a multi-billion pound assault carrier being crippled by a ship that had probably been pulled out of a junkyard.  “And order Alpha to target the enemy carrier.”

“Aye, sir!”

Stephen gritted his teeth as the torpedoes rushed towards his ship.  They flew straight-line courses, which were easy to track, but their penetrator warheads made it harder to get a solid lock on them.  Sensor ghosts and shadows bedevilled his sensors, forcing him to expend thousands of plasma bolts on a single target.  He was lucky, he supposed, that the enemy hadn't deployed many starfighters.  A full barrage of torpedoes would have done serious damage.

And they would have practically been guaranteed to score a handful of hits, he thought, grimly.  The drive section is heavily armoured, but a couple of nukes could really mess us up.

Red lights flared up on the status display.  “Direct hit, lower drive node,” Newcomb reported, sharply.  “Damage control teams are on their way!”

“Order Charlie and Delta to join the attack on the enemy carrier,” Stephen snapped.  It was hard to keep his irritation under control.  They’d been luckier than they deserved and he knew it.  “Damage assessment?”

“The node is powering down now,” Newcomb said.  “But we can still make full speed.”

Stephen allowed himself a sigh of relief.  It wasn't good, but at least they were still alive and fighting.  Invincible wasn't one of the fragile carriers that had been slaughtered during the Battle of New Russia.  Her armour could absorb more damage than the legendary Ark Royal, while her drives could propel her forward at speeds that would have stunned Theodore Smith and his officers.  Invincible couldn't go toe-to-toe with a battleship, or a dreadnaught, but she could outrun anything strong enough to tear her apart.

“We’ll have to reassess the point defence programs,” he said.  The point defence systems hadn't done badly, but they could have done a great deal better.  “And allow more room for random firing.”

He shook his head in frustration.  The boffins kept promising, but so far no one had been able to produce a piece of predictor software that actually did what it was supposed to do, at least when facing human opponents.  There was just too much room for random decisions to interfere with the software’s targeting matrix.  The only real way to defend a starship against enemy starfighters was to fill space with plasma bolts and hope for the best.  It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.  

“The enemy ship is engaging our starfighters,” Arthur reported.  “She’s carrying quite a lot of point defence.”

“Communications, repeat the surrender demand,” Stephen ordered.  The enemy CO had played his sole card and lost.  It wasn't as if his crew were going to be executed the moment they surrendered.  Nor, for that matter, were they being taken into captivity by aliens who might not have the slightest idea how to look after human prisoners.  “And this time wide-band it.”

“Aye, sir.”

There was a long pause as the starfighters closed in on the enemy ship.  Stephen braced himself, silently resolving not to attempt to force-board the escort carrier.  There was too great a chance of the enemy CO simply waiting for the marines to dock, then hitting the self-destruct.  It would break the laws of war, but no one had paid much attention to them since 2025.  Even Theodore Smith had been unable to impose real change before his final desperate battle.

And aliens often have different ideas of what is acceptable in wartime, Stephen reminded himself.  The Tadpoles had fought under one set of rules, the Foxes and Cows had fought under another.  Their technology might be comparable to humanity’s, but their mindsets were very different.  They might embrace suicide attacks with a will.

“Picking up a signal from the enemy ship,” Morse reported.  “Sir, they’re trying to surrender.”

Stephen allowed himself a moment of relief.  “Order them to power down - their starfighters too,” he ordered.  “And then tell the marines they can board.”

“Aye, sir.”

Newcomb grinned.  “Can I resurrect the dead pilots now?”

“We may as well,” Stephen said.  The dropships had docked, allowing the marines to swarm the enemy ship.  “Send the ENDEX signal.”

“Aye, sir,” Newcomb said.

Stephen leaned back in his chair as the ‘dead’ starfighters came back to life.  The exercise had been relatively simple, but unscripted.  There had been room - plenty of room - for surprises, and embarrassments.  And there had been too many watching eyes in the system.  An exercise designed to show the locals that the Royal Navy still had teeth - and a willingness to bite - could easily have ended badly.  

“Contact the enemy ship,” he ordered.  “Invite Captain Crowe to dine with me before they return to Sol.”

“Aye, sir,” Morse said.  “I ...”

He broke off as his console chimed an alert.  “Sir, I’m picking up a FLASH signal from Terra Nova,” he said.  “Sir ... the embassy is under attack.  All hell is breaking loose!”

Stephen swore.  In hindsight, perhaps he should have terminated the exercise and set course for Terra Nova.  It had been the right decision, given what he'd known at the time, but he was grimly aware that not everyone would agree with him.  Hindsight was always clearer than foresight, particularly when applied by an armchair admiral twelve light years away.  

He shook his head.  “Helm, set course for Terra Nova,” he ordered.  The escort carrier would have to remain behind.  He didn’t think there was enough firepower orbiting the planet to stop him from entering orbit, if necessary, but he knew better than to take unnecessary risks.  God alone knew what was going on down there.  “And ramp up the drives as much as possible.”

“Aye, sir.”

Chapter Two

“Keep your fucking head down!”

Captain Alice Campbell cursed under her breath as bullets - and the occasional plasma bolt - snapped over her head.  It had been sheer dumb luck that they’d managed to vacate the convoy vehicles before the ambushers actually found their bearings and blasted them to flaming debris with plasma weapons.  The diplomatic vehicles could drive through a hail of bullets without so much as a scratch, but plasma bolts could burn through their armour like a knife through butter.  Alice gritted her teeth as she caught hold of Ambassador Rupert Crichton and dragged him towards the nearest alleyway.  The Royal Marines had walked right into an ambush and, if they weren’t careful, they were not going to walk out again.

She glanced from side to side, keeping her rifle raised and ready.  The alley was apparently deserted, but that was meaningless.  There simply wasn't any other cover within eyeshot.  The enemy would have to be inept indeed to guess that the marines would go somewhere - anywhere - else.  She might have risked it, if she and her platoon didn't have to babysit the ambassador, but now ... she had to hole up and hope that someone would come to rescue them.

A dark shape appeared at one end of the alleyway, already raising a weapon.  An insurgent, trying to catch the marines, or a civilian trying to defend his property?  Alice didn't know, but the figure was clearly hostile.  There was no way she could take chances, not when Crichton wasn’t wearing body armour.  She shot him through the head and watched his body crumple, expecting to see more insurgents entering the alleyway.  But the darkened passageway was clear.

“Captain,” Corporal Glen Hammersmith snapped.  “I can't get a link to the embassy!”

Alice felt the ambassador flinch next to her and sighed, inwardly.  There was no shortage of Foreign Office diplomats who’d had genuine military experience, so why couldn't one of them have been assigned to Terra Nova?  The wretched shithole rarely went a year or two without yet another round of the endless civil war.  Surely, someone would have anticipated a diplomatic convoy being attacked.  The Royal Navy would take a terrible revenge if insurgents attacked the embassy - it wouldn't be the first time some barbaric rogue state had been taught a sharp lesson - but that wasn't always enough to deter terrorists or religious fanatics.  Or maybe even people who thought Terra Nova’s odd position would be enough to keep the navy from carpet-bombing the attackers into dust.

“Keep trying,” she snapped, trying to keep the dismay out of her voice.  It wasn't her first combat engagement, not by a long chalk, but it was the first when she’d been in overall command.  The platoon had expected a milk run, not a bloody ambush.  Two of her subordinates were already dead.  “And sweep for hostile communications.”

She forced herself to think as the rest of the platoon secured the alleyway, Corporal Singh scrambling up a pipe to the roof while Sergeant Bert Radcliffe emplaced mines at the nearest end.  They’d give anyone who came charging after the marines a nasty surprise, although Alice suspected they wouldn't be anything like as effective as she might wish.  Terra Nova’s various factions weren't short on manpower to absorb bullets.  She’d seen human wave attacks before, in the Security Zone.  There had been times when they'd come far too close to simply overrunning the defenders when they ran out of bullets.

If we can’t get in touch with the embassy, we might not be able to summon help, she thought, grimly.  And that means we might have to beat feet out of here ourselves.  

Her mind raced.  There was a company of Paras on permanent QRA within the embassy compound, but they wouldn't be sent out on spec.  She’d sent an alert the moment the shooting started, yet she had no way of knowing if it had reached its destination.  The plasma weapons had been a nasty surprise.  It was quite possible that the enemy had modern jammers too.  That was unusual - and worrying.  Terra Nova’s factions seemed to be quite capable of producing basic assault rifles and RPGs, but plasma weapons had to be shipped in from off-world.  Someone was playing politics ...

She shook her head as the sound of shooting grew louder.  It sounded as though there were at least two factions fighting it out over the remains of the convoy, although she knew better than to take that for granted.  Landing City was dominated by a multitude of factions, everything from political and religious movements to street gangs and thugs.  It said a great deal about the former that the latter made better governors.  The moment one of the political factions gained an advantage, it tried to enslave or exterminate its enemies.  Terra Nova’s history was one long endless liturgy of horror.

“Still nothing,” Hammersmith said.  “But I am picking up a modern drone overhead.”

Alice looked up, scanning the sky through her visor.  The drone would be invisible to the naked eye - either too small or too high to be easily visible - but her visor would probably pick it up.  She sucked in her breath as she saw it, floating high overhead.  There was no way that had come from Terra Nova.  It was outdated, by modern standards, but still well ahead of anything that could be produced locally.  The chances were good that it had either been purchased on the black market by an independent trader or, worse, supplied by one of the Great Powers in a bid for influence.  She looked up and down the dark alley, silently noting the lack of maintenance and the signs of public urination.  Terra Nova wasn’t worth the effort.

The ground shook as one of the mines detonated.  Alice cursed under her breath as she locked eyes with the sergeant.  The enemy faction - or one of them - was starting to try to root the marines out of hiding.  There was no way they could stay in the alleyway, particularly when there was no help on the way.  They’d sell themselves dearly - there was no way she could surrender to a bunch of insurgents - but it would be ultimately meaningless.  They had to move.

And that fucking drone is going to watch us, she thought, grimly.  She’d seen enough drones in operation to know just how hard it was going to be to escape the robotic voyeur.  Someone sitting in a trailer on the other side of the city - or the planet - was going to be directing the insurrectionists after them.  The asshole had probably already played a major role in setting up the ambush.  We didn't tell anyone which route we planned to take, did we?

“Roger, take the drone down,” she snapped.  It would be a diplomatic headache if she was wrong - if one of the other embassies had launched the drone to watch the city sink into chaos - but there was no choice.  “Sergeant, take point.  Dennis, take the ambassador!”

She motioned for them to hurry forward as she checked the man she’d shot.  He was a dark-skinned man, probably South American rather than Arabic ... although that meant nothing on Terra Nova.  The different factions denied it, loudly, but there was quite a bit of interbreeding where two factions shared a city.  His outfit was pretty clearly a paramilitary uniform - she couldn’t help a flicker of amusement at just how little camouflage or protection it actually provided - yet he lacked anything that might identify him.  She allowed herself a moment of relief - she hadn't shot a civilian, after all - then stripped his body of weapons, ammunition and ration bars.  The marines might need them if the shit got deeper.

A second mine detonated.  The wall shuddered.  Alice hoped that meant it wasn't going to collapse.  Terra Nova’s building codes were substandard, where they had them at all.  The constant fighting probably didn't help either.  There were bullet holes in the wall that were probably older than her.  God alone knew how many times the building had changed hands in the last fifty years.  She shrugged, then nodded to the sergeant.  He led the platoon down the alleyway and out into the street.  Behind them, a third mine exploded.  Alice heard someone scream, a noise that rose higher and higher as the victim realised just how badly he’d actually been hurt.  Hopefully, the prospect of being crippled would slow his friends down.  The planet’s medical facilities were primitive, by modern standards.  There was little hope of reconstructive surgery on Terra Nova.

“Street’s clear,” Radcliffe called.  “Move out!”

Alice nodded, feeling a flicker of sympathy for the ambassador.  She’d been in combat zones before, but he clearly hadn't.  The marines raced down the street, weapons moving from side to side as they searched for threats.  Shops had been closed, iron shutters slammed down to protect the shopkeepers from stray bullets.  Not that it would be enough to save them if one faction seized undisputed control of the region, she knew.  Their shops would be looted, their sons would be conscripted, their daughters claimed as war brides ... she shuddered, despite herself.  She’d often found Britain to be dull, but Terra Nova was worse.  Who in their right mind would want to live in a war zone?

You decided to join the Royal Marines, she reminded herself, dryly.  Did you think you’d never be sent to war?

The thought made her smile, even as she kept moving.  It hadn't been easy to get into the Royal Marine Commando Training Program, not when she was both a woman and the daughter of a man who was both famous and infamous.  She had the feeling, based on what she’d read when she’d finally managed to access her file, that there had been some pretty high-level discussions before she’d been allowed to sign up.  And then she’d been put through absolute hell on the darkened moors and the trackless wastes of the lunar surface, just like the boys.  It would have been easy to switch tracks and join the Royal Navy, or even the Home Guard, but she’d persisted.  It was the only way to win respect.

And I figured a posting to Invincible would be relaxing, she reminded herself.  And we thought this was going to be nothing more than a dull deployment to provide cover while the local bootnecks got a rest.

Singh loped up beside her.  “Captain, there’s smoke all over the city,” he reported.  “I think this is serious.”

Alice nodded, calling up a map on her visor as the platoon paused for a moment.  Landing City had never been mapped properly - it changed too frequently for anyone to bother - but it was clear they were quite some distance from the embassy.  And there was no guarantee that the embassy would be safe, either.  Singh was right.  This was no simple exchange of fire between factions, but all-out war.  Someone was risking everything in a desperate bid to secure control of the city.

The embassy is supposed to be secure, she thought.  But if modern weapons are involved ...

A burst of fire splattered over her head.  Someone was on the rooftops, pouring fire down into their position.  She ducked down, returning fire instinctively.  The remainder of the platoon joined in, aiming a pair of grenades towards the enemy.  Alice braced herself as the grenades exploded, then darted forward as the enemy fire fell silent.  A body tumbled down, hitting the pavement hard enough to make her wince.  The impact smashed the lower body, but the face was surprisingly intact.  Chinese, she thought.  They were some distance from the Chinese-dominated parts of the city, but that was meaningless.  The various communities were also more intermingled than they cared to admit.

And the Chinese are the only Great Power who have a sizable presence on the ground, she reminded herself, as she checked the body.  No weapons, no identification ... nothing, but a grim awareness that the body was too fit to be a civilian.  They might have supplied the weapons to the faction.

She took a handful of snapshots for later use - the various intelligence agencies would want to have a look at them - and then sneaked back to where the remainder of the platoon was waiting.  The ambassador looked to have zoned out completely, not even noticing that he was practically hanging off Dennis’s arm.  Thankfully, the platoon seemed to be holding up alright.  They’d taken a beating - and they would have to mourn their dead mates later - but they were still in high spirits.  They hadn't given up hope of getting out before it was too late.

“I’ve still not been able to raise the embassy, Captain,” Hammersmith said.  “I even tried to call the Yanks and the Frogs.  Nothing from either of them.”

Alice nodded, curtly.  It was hard to believe that every embassy had been overrun - she’d exercised with both the United States Marine Corps and the French Foreign Legion - but it was starting to look as though her platoon was on its own.  And that meant ...

We don’t dare try to sneak back to the embassies, she thought.  And we can't stay in the city.

She studied the map for a long moment, wishing - not for the first time - that the various intelligence services attached to the embassies had actually been able to keep track of which faction controlled which part of the city.  Some parts were marked as Arabic or Mexican or Chinese, but others kept changing hands so frequently that the intelligence services hadn't been able to keep up.  Not, she supposed, that it mattered.  The Chinese might help the marines - at least until they could be repatriated to Invincible - but they were on the other side of the city.  None of the other factions would help.  The marines would be captured, then brutally murdered.  She had certainly no intention of allowing herself to fall into enemy hands.

“We need to get out of the city,” she said, catching the sergeant’s eye.  He had more experience than her ... and, besides, she trusted his judgement.  “If we get out of danger, we can hole up and wait for the ship to return.”

Radcliffe nodded in agreement.  “And how do you propose to get out?”

Alice checked the map, again.  No close-protection team worthy of the name would risk escorting the person it was supposed to protect through a war zone, at least unless there was no other choice.  But there was no way to avoid it, as far as she could see.  Unless ... she altered the map, noting the position of the Harmony River.  If they could steal a boat, they could get onto the water and head downriver.  It wasn't much of a plan, but it would have to do.

“We take the river,” she said.  There were risks, but ... they were short on options.  “Let’s move.”

The sound of shooting and explosions grew louder as they hurried towards the nearest dockyard, a tiny installation that looked more like a canal pier for barges than anything more formal.  She felt sweat trickling down her back as she looked from side to side, expecting to be jumped at any moment.  Waves of conflict were flowing over the city, yet they were leaving the marines untouched.  She hoped the civilians were smart enough to keep their heads down and pray, although she doubted it would help.  If one of the factions was making a real bid for power - and succeeded - the mass exterminations would begin shortly afterwards.  There was too much hatred on Terra Nova for a peaceful resolution to their problems.

They should have just divided up into different countries, she thought, sourly.  Surely, the problems with forcing different cultures to practically live in each other’s pockets had been evident a hundred years ago.  Had they forgotten the Troubles so quickly?  At least that might keep them from slaughtering each other.

She winced as the river came into view.  Harmony River - the name was bitterly ironic - was a sickly orange colour, thoroughly polluted.  It stank so badly she had to force herself to breathe through her mouth, even though she shared a bunkroom with an entire platoon of Royal Marines.  There were logging farms and factories upriver, according to the map, pouring their wastes into the river, but that wasn't the worst of it.  What passed for a sewage system in Landing City poured its wastes into the water too.

They should be turning their shit into fuel, she thought, as they located a barge.  It looked cumbersome, but they could handle it.  Instead, they’re killing themselves.

“Get the ambassador into the barge,” she ordered.  “And then try and raise the embassy again.”

She scrambled onto the barge herself and stood on top of the cockpit.  There were explosions - and plumes of smoke - all over the city, a number in the direction of the embassies.  Singh had been right.  This was serious.  She hoped - prayed - that the countryside was quieter, although she suspected it would be just as dangerous.  The communities might be more spread out - and centred on farms - but they were more inclined to shoot first and ask questions later.  And she knew very little, beyond vague generalities, of just what she might expect to find outside the city.

But the ship should be on her way back now, she thought.  She found it hard to believe that Invincible’s crew wouldn't have realised that something was wrong.  They had orders to keep a watchful eye on Terra Nova as long as they remained in the system.  They’ll come pick us up.

It wasn’t much, she acknowledged as the barge was slowly pushed away from the pier.  But it would have to do.

Chapter Three

“Captain, I’m picking up nine Chinese warships holding position near the planet,” Lieutenant Alison Adams reported.  “Five destroyers, three cruisers and a single ship of indeterminate type.”

Stephen sucked in his breath as the icons appeared on the display.  Legally speaking, the Chinese had every right to deploy warships to Terra Nova.  The system hardly belonged to anyone, not even the locals.  But he couldn't help finding their presence ominous.  The Chinese hadn't bothered to declare them to the other Great Powers.  That too was legal, he knew, but it was a breach of unwritten convention.  The Great Powers normally kept each other informed of warship deployments in open systems.  

And the Chinese have a large presence on the ground, he reminded himself.  The other Great Powers had abandoned Terra Nova once they’d located and claimed planets for their sole use, but the Chinese had kept their ties to their colonists.  They may be trying to help their fellows ... or they may be up to something.

“Keep an eye on them,” he ordered.  “Do we have any contact with the planet?”

“No, sir,” Lieutenant Thomas Morse reported.  “I’m picking up a lot of stray signals, but the main planetary net seems to have gone down and the direct link to the embassy has failed.”

Stephen nodded, curtly.  The direct link to the embassy was supposed to be unbreakable, which meant that ... that something had happened to the embassy.  Ambassador Crichton and his staff - including the marines Stephen had unloaded a week ago - might be fighting for their lives, or prisoners, or dead.  Not knowing precisely what was going on made it impossible for him to decide what to do.  And there were too many weapons platforms orbiting the planet - half of which seemed to be shooting at the other half - for him to risk taking Invincible closer.

“Launch two probes,” he ordered.  It was quite likely they’d be fired upon, if they were detected, but they should give him a clearer picture of what was going on.  “And prepare to flash-launch our remaining starfighters.”

He forced himself to think as the probes raced towards the planet, more and more details flashing up on the big scene.  Orbital space was an absolute nightmare: freighters hurrying to get out of the firing line while the weapons platforms vaporised each other, giant habitats screaming for help as missiles and kinetic projectiles were fired in all directions, seemingly at random.   It didn't look as though there would be anything left in an hour or two.  Terra Nova’s orbital guardians had exchanged fire before, but this was different.  There was something oddly final about it.

“One of the probes got a look at the city,” Alison said.  “Captain, the embassy is a pile of rubble.”

“Show me,” Stephen said, harshly.

He leaned forward, grimly.  The embassy had been smashed flat, a handful of figures poking through the debris while others held guns at the ready.  It didn't look as though the attackers had managed to take any hostages, although he knew that could be an illusion.  The embassy had a bunker buried under the ground for emergencies, one where the staff were meant to hide if the shit really did hit the fan.  They could hide out for years, if necessary, but ... the enemy would presumably try to dig them up.

And the other embassies are piles of rubble too, he thought, as the next set of images flickered up in front of him.  Even the Chinese embassy is a blackened ruin.

Major Henry Parkinson’s face appeared in the display.  “Captain, we have to get down there,” he said.  “If they’re already looking for the bunker ...”

“I know,” Stephen said.  “Stand by.”

He scowled at the images for a long moment, unsure what to do.  He had every right to rescue British civilians caught in a war zone - and he wanted to try to rescue the other embassy staffs too, as there were no American or French ships in the system - but the Chinese ships worried him.  So too did the weapons platforms and the fighting on the ground.  He didn't want to plunge his men into a multi-sided war over a useless planet.

There’s no choice, he told himself, firmly.  We have to save our people.

“Communications, send a wide-band message,” he ordered.  “I want everyone in the system to hear it.  We are mounting a rescue mission to recover our people and the rest of the embassy staffers.  Anyone who so much as looks at us funny will be fired on without further warning.”

“Aye, sir.”

Stephen keyed his console.  “Launch aerospace fighters, then follow up with the dropships,” he added.  “Rules of engagement are alpha-delta-three.  Anything that looks hostile is to be vaporised before it can pose a threat.”

“Aye, sir.”

He leaned back in his chair, eying the Chinese ships.  They were the only force in the system that might be able to oppose him, although the Chinese would have to be insane to try.  The destruction of the embassies was quite bad enough.  Firing on a British carrier would be worse.  No one would fault them for backing their people on the ground - there was a case to be made that Chinese rule would be better for Terra Nova than the constant insurrections and civil wars - but there were limits.  Picking a fight with Invincible would mean war.

“Captain, a handful of the weapons platforms are targeting us,” Lieutenant-Commander David Arthur said.  The Tactical Officer worked his console for a long moment.  “They’re locking missiles on our hull.”

Stephen winced.  Terra Nova’s defences were old - some of them dated all the way back to the First Interstellar War - but that didn't mean they weren't dangerous.  An old-style missile could still do considerable damage if it hit the right - or rather the wrong - place.  And a barrage of thousands of missiles would be damn near unstoppable.  Terra Nova didn’t have nuclear weapons, if Naval Intelligence was to be believed, but he wasn't sure he trusted their assessment.  It wouldn't be that hard for one of the factions to set up a breeder reactor somewhere nicely isolated.  The belters had been doing it for years.

“Take them out,” he ordered.  “Any platform that lights us up, kill it.”

And hope to hell I’m not making a mistake, he added, silently.  If we leave the other platforms alone, they’ll be in a perfect position to fire on our ships as they enter the atmosphere.

Newcomb glanced up.  “The dropships are launching now,” he reported.  “They’ll be entering the atmosphere in five minutes.”

“Very good,” Stephen said.  “Keep me informed.”

***
Wing Commander Richard Redbird wasn't entirely sure what to make of the British Aerospace Tornado Starfighter, even though he’d been flying the oversized craft for the last six months.  The Tornado was designed, according to the boffins, to actually enter a planetary atmosphere and fight there, something previous starfighters had never been able to do.  He'd certainly made enough atmospheric entries to know it could be done.  And yet, the Tornado was also heavy, lacking the agility of a Spitfire, Hurricane or Lightning.  He had the nasty feeling that the design was a jack of all trades, thus master of none.

But at least we don’t have to worry about taking a beachhead, he reminded himself, as the starfighter raced towards the planet.  We can carry out precision strikes without having to land ground-based aircraft first.  

He sucked in his breath as he peered through his cockpit, keeping a wary eye on his scanners for potential threats.  The planet’s orbital defences were cheerfully banging away at each other, seemingly ignoring the British starfighters.  That wouldn't last.  Richard had flown over countries where the locals had fired in all directions, seemingly at random.  Besides, the locals also had good reason to know what Invincible could do to their defences.  They might want to get their retaliation in first.

Terra Nova looked pristine, he thought.  It was hard to believe that the beautiful blue-green orb was a constant war zone, where people were routinely slaughtered for following the wrong religion, or having the wrong skin colour, or even just because someone else wanted to take their land.  He couldn’t help thinking, as they flashed closer, that it was a shame that such follies hadn't been left behind on Earth.  But then, too many people had been deported to Terra Nova because their governments had decided that it would be more politic than killing them.  Perhaps the governments would have done better to move themselves and leave the extremists behind.

His threat receiver shrilled.  “Incoming fire!”

“Break and attack,” Richard snapped.  An orbital weapons platform was spitting antistarfighter missiles in all directions.  They looked to be over fifty years old, dating back to the days when humanity had thought it was alone in the universe, but that wouldn't keep them from being dangerous if they actually scored a hit.  Starfighters were fragile.  A single warhead would be more than enough to vaporise them.  “Weapons free.  I say again, weapons free!”

He yanked his starfighter to one side as his plasma guns started firing automatically, picking off the missiles before they could enter attack range.  Their targeting wasn't good - they certainly didn't have modern seeker heads - but the enemy CO was trying to compensate through sheer weight of numbers.  Normally, Richard knew, it wouldn't be a serious problem unless the enemy was using nukes.  The odds of a stray unpowered missile striking a starfighter were minimal.  But with so many starfighters and dropships passing through the same general area, the odds of a collision were considerably higher.

“Direct hit,” Flight Lieutenant Monica Smith shouted, as a weapons platform vanished from the display.  “I got the bastard!”

“Don’t get cocky,” Richard reminded her.  Monica had scored a direct hit, but she’d done it with a modern penetrator warhead.  Terra Nova was pretty much defenceless against modern weapons.  The Chinese ships would be much tougher targets, if they got off their arses and engaged the British starfighters.  “We’re not playing the big boys here.”

He ignored her snort of disgust and concentrated on his display.  The starfighters were clearing a path through the defences, firing on anything that even looked hostile.  He breathed out a sigh of relief as he realised the orbital habitats were being very careful not to do anything that looked remotely threatening.  Slamming a penetrator into a weapons platform was one thing, but firing on an orbital habitat was quite another.  He’d seen enough footage from the Battle of Earth to know he didn't want to take the risk of killing thousands of civilians.

Idiots shouldn't have dragged those asteroids into orbit, he thought, as he vaporised another weapons platform.  His plasma guns picked off a handful of targets that might have been anything from pieces of debris to stealthed mines.  They should have stayed in the belt, where it was safe.  Instead, they came here.

“Stand by for atmospheric insertion,” he ordered, bracing himself.  His heart started to pound, so loudly he was surprised no one else could hear it.  “Everyone ready?”

His pilots didn't sound nervous as they replied, one by one, although he’d never met a serving pilot who’d ever admitted to fear.  And yet, they’d all trained extensively, in and out of the simulators.  They knew the dangers.  They would be vulnerable for a handful of minutes, a very brief window of opportunity for anyone with hostile intentions.  Every starfighter pilot who lasted more than a week in basic training knew better than to fly a predictable course, particularly so close to enemy installations, but it couldn't be helped.  The drive fields simply wouldn't allow them to treat a planetary atmosphere - and a gravity well - as if they were somewhere in the middle of interstellar space.  

He glanced at the marine dropships, following behind, then nodded to himself.  “Here we go ...”

The hand of God slapped his starfighter as it struck the planetary atmosphere, the drive field automatically adjusting itself to compensate.  He gritted his teeth as the gravity field seemed to tighten around him, the compensators whining loudly as they struggled to hold the starfighter together.  It was easy to believe that he was leaving a trail a blind man could see as he plummeted down, a line that any planetary defence system worthy of the name could use to project his course and blow him into dust.  The cockpit darkened, automatically, as the drive field flared red and white.  It felt like hours before the shaking lessened and he resumed control.  The first thing he did was alter course.  No one had fired at them, but it was only a matter of time.

“Sound off,” he ordered, as the squadron descended.  “Did we lose anyone?”

He breathed a sigh of relief as it became clear the entire squadron had survived the entry manoeuvre.  Their threat receivers picked up dozens of anti-aircraft facilities, although none of them seemed to be taking any interest in the British starfighters.  Not that it mattered, he reminded himself, sharply.  A single sensor mounted some distance from the weapons could easily track the starfighters, then direct the antiaircraft fire.  There didn't seem to be any local aircraft in the skies either, save for a couple of helicopters following the river.  He couldn't tell which side they were on, but they weren't doing anything to impede his pilots.

“That’s Landing City in the distance,” Monica said, cheerfully.  “Buckle your seatbelts and prepare for landing.  Thank you for flying with Hostile Airways.”

“More like a crash-landing,” Flight Lieutenant Ryan Loyn commented.  He snickered, rudely.  “Have you seen their airports?  Even the stewardesses wear bullet-proof jackets over their tits.”

“I wouldn't trust their aircraft, either,” Monica said.  “They have bullet holes in their wings.”

Richard rolled his eyes as the starfighters closed in on the city.  Landing City was immense, easily bigger than London even though it was over two thousand years younger, but it was a mess.  Originally, the plans had been for the prefabricated buildings to be replaced within the first few decades by local construction - galvanising the construction sector - but it hadn't worked out.  Instead, the locals had built row after row of buildings around the original colony, absorbing smaller towns as their city grew bigger.  There was no charm or elegance to Landing City, even under the best circumstances.  Now, with smoke rising all over the city, it was clear that it was on the verge of a total collapse.

The starfighters passed over the embassies, sensors probing for signs of life.  A handful of emergency beacons popped up, all very low-power.  Dozens of insurgents were swarming the site, no doubt looking for the emergency bunkers.  Richard doubted they could break in, unless they had power tools and plenty of time, but they had to be stopped.  The marine dropships were bare seconds away.

“Engage firing patterns,” Richard ordered, as the insurgents started shooting at his starfighters.  It was unlikely they’d score a hit, but he knew better than to give them a chance to get lucky.  A targeting display popped up in front of him, allowing him to select the best targets for antipersonnel weapons.  “And ... fire!”

The starfighter lurched as it unleashed the missiles, firing them straight down into the hostile crowd.  The missiles detonated a metre or two from the ground, sending waves of flame in all directions.  Anyone caught in the open would be killed instantly, he’d been assured, but the blasts wouldn't do any damage to the bunkers.  He felt a flicker of pity for the dead, mingled with the grim awareness that they had attacked the embassies and, in doing so, put themselves beyond the pale.  There could be no mercy.

“Ground clear,” Monica reported.  She paused.  “I’m picking up antiaircraft emissions to the north.”

“Kill them,” Richard ordered.  They couldn't afford to wait for someone to take a shot at the starfighters before deeming them hostile.  The starfighters weren't as nimble as they should be and the dropships were even worse.  A ground-based HVM could blow a platoon of marines out of the sky before they even knew they were under attack.  “And then watch the city.”

He flipped his starfighter over as the dropships began their approach, slamming down beside the shattered embassies.  Landing City was burning, mobs battling it out even as their home was consumed by the flames.  It was impossible to tell who was on what side, let alone who was winning.  The fog of war had enveloped the city from one end to the other.  But it didn't really matter.  Whoever won would find themselves in charge of a shithole.

They really should have just evacuated the whole wretched planet and started again, he thought, sourly.  Someone had clearly been asleep at the switch when the first colonists were landed.  Was it really that hard to vet the newcomers before it was too late?

He lifted his starfighter into the air and watched as the marines swarmed the embassy compound, smaller detachments heading out to secure the streets leading to Embassy Row.  The bootnecks probably didn't need fire support, but he kept a wary eye on the live feed just in case.  If they needed fire support, they’d really need it.  He couldn't help wondering just what had happened when the fighting actually began.  Losing one embassy was bad enough, but losing all of them was careless ...

A new voice broke into his deliberations.  “Richard, we’re picking up an emergency beacon from the marine detachment,” Lieutenant-Commander Rebecca Wycliffe said.  The CAG sounded tense.  “They broke out of the city and headed downriver, but they’re in trouble.”

“Understood,” Richard said.  He remembered the helicopters and swore.  Perhaps they should have blown them out of the air after all.  “We’re on our way.”

Chapter Four

“Captain?”

Alice opened her eyes, one hand reaching for the pistol she’d placed by her side when she’d found a place for a quick nap.  The barge had made it out of the city, thankfully without drawing more than a little fire from one or more of the factions, allowing her a chance to make sure the entire platoon got some rest.  She was used to taking catnaps, whenever she had the opportunity to close her eyes for an hour or so, but she didn't feel any better as she stood upright.  It felt as if she hadn't slept for very long at all.

She rubbed her eyes, looking from side to side.  The barge’s interior was stained with something that was clearly more than a little corrosive, although that could just have been the river.  It was a minor miracle that the barge was watertight, she thought.  The hull was rusty and decrepit, so weakened that she thought one good kick would shatter what little integrity it had left.  Perhaps there was a perfectly good reason the barge hadn't been stolen and used to escape the city before the marines got to the dock.  It wasn't safe at all.

Neither is staying in the city, she reminded herself, wryly.  And someone might have a chance to survive if they fell into the river.

“Sergeant,” she said.  Her body hurt.  The barge was vibrating, the dull roar of the engine echoing through the hull.  “Report?”

“The river is growing choppier,” Radcliffe said.  He sounded worried.  “I think we should get off the water.”

Alice nodded.  “Probably a good idea,” she said, picking up her helmet and buckling it into place.  There was a nasty mark on the side where a bullet had hit her and bounced off.  She wondered, as she snapped her visor over her eyes, when that had happened.  She’d certainly never noticed the Angel of Death brushing her with his wings.  “Let’s go.”

The smell lessened, barely, as she led the way up the steps and into the cockpit.  Singh stood at the wheel, his dark face lined with concern.  Alice nodded to him, assuming command, then peered through the open window.  The river was darkening, the water splashing in all directions ... she couldn't help wondering if they were about to run into the rapids.  Or, more likely, someone had emplaced hidden traps below the waterline to sink any boat foolish enough to try to break through and run down to the sea.  

She sucked in her breath as she looked at the bank.  Greenish vegetation, a strange mixture of earthly and alien plants, seemed to infest the riverside.  It looked to be rotting, yet somehow alive ... it almost seemed to be thriving on whatever chemicals were present in the water, even though she thought it was an illusion.  There didn't seem to be any place they could dock or even pull alongside, just for a moment, and jump off.  They might be trapped on the barge.

A dull quiver ran through the barge.  Alice exchanged a look with Radcliffe.  They’d hit something below the waterline, which meant ... what?  A piece of wood or something designed to slow them down.  She wished, not for the first time, that she had a man who knew the river like the back of his hand.  She’d boated over many of Britain’s rivers as part of her training, learning to read the waters like a book, but this was Terra Nova.  Her training might be actively misleading.

“As soon as you see somewhere we can pull in, take us there,” she said, as she checked her visor.  The maps of Terra Nova outside Landing City were useless.  “We’ll find a place to hole up for a few days.”

And hope that’s long enough for the ship to return, she thought, as she eyed the murky waters.  Their ration packs could be stretched out that long, if necessary, but afterwards they were going to be in dangerous territory.  Everyone outside the city was armed - and presumably trigger-happy.  They would have problems trading for food and problems stealing it.  After that, we may be in some trouble.

A hooting sound echoed through the air.  She looked up, just in time to see an immense paddle steamer appear further down the river.  For a moment, she could hardly believe her eyes.  She’d known that such primitive ships had been used, back during the early days of settlement, but the reports insisted that they’d all been decommissioned after Terra Nova developed its industrial base.  Now ... she gritted her teeth as she saw the armed men, standing at the prow of the steamer.  That was no pleasure cruise.

“Try to avoid contact,” she ordered, glancing at the riverbank.  Unbroken vegetation ran in all directions.  “And tell the rest of the platoon to stand by.”

Radcliffe spat into the water.  “We’re not going to be able to avoid contact.”

Alice suspected he was right.  The barge was about as manoeuvrable as a flatbed truck, while the paddle steamer was agile enough to put itself right alongside the barge and - presumably - tough enough to simply ram the barge without suffering serious damage.  Singh was doing the best he could to steer the barge out of the steamer’s way, but it didn't look as though the steamer was going to let them go.  Alice had no way to know if this was a planned ambush or a chance encounter, yet it didn't matter.  Either way, they were in trouble.

“They’re moving to block us,” Singh snapped.  “I can't evade them!”

“I see,” Alice said.  She glanced at Radcliffe.  Surrender was still not an option.  Nor was abandoning ship.  Even if the water was harmless, their BDUs would get waterlogged and drag them under very quickly.  She wouldn’t panic - she’d had worse, during training - but the ambassador had probably only swum in the embassy’s pool.  “Get the grenade launchers ready.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Alice gritted her teeth as the steamer rotated again.  Whoever was in command was a decent sailor, even if he wasn't a decent man.  The steamer was going to pass close enough to the barge for a boarding party to hop across and take control.  She could see them getting ready to move, half of them covering the barge with assault rifles while the other half readied themselves to jump.  They looked practiced enough, she had to admit.  Perhaps they’d encountered pirates, rather than insurrectionists.  She wondered, idly, just how much of the original steamer had been replaced over the years.  The polluted waters had to be particularly bad for the immense paddle wheels.

Not that it matters, she told herself.  She briefly considered trying to seize the steamer herself, but there were too many hostiles on the boat.  That ship isn't going to be around for much longer.

A voice boomed over the water, a language she didn't recognise.  “That’s Mexican,” Singh said.  “They’re ordering us to turn off the engine and keep our hands in sight.”

Alice nodded.  “Grenades.  Now!”

Radcliffe appeared from behind the cockpit and fired a grenade into the steamer.  Chesterton followed a second later, aiming a grenade into the giant paddle wheel.  The first explosion shattered the uppermost level of the boat, the second smashed the wheel and tore a hole in the hull.  Slowly, agonisingly slowly, the steamer started to heel over and capsize.  Alice lifted her rifle, ready to repel anyone desperate enough to try to scramble onto the barge, but it was unnecessary.  The steamer disintegrated, pieces of debris crashing into the barge’s hull as it sank beneath the waves.  A handful of survivors, desperately swimming towards the nearest bank, showed no interest in trying to engage the marines.

“I think we got it,” Singh said.  The barge shook, again.  “And I think we really need to get off this ship.”

“Understood,” Alice said.  If the steamer had managed to send a distress call - or even if someone up the river was expecting the steamer to show - someone might come looking to see what had happened.  She didn't think it had been a planned encounter, but there was no way to be sure.  “Get us into shore as soon as ...”

“Captain,” Hammersmith shouted.  “I got a link to the ship!”

Alice allowed herself a moment of relief, even though she didn't let it show on her face.  “What did they say?”

“They’re entering orbit and sending help,” Hammersmith said.  “They want us to find a place to wait for pickup.”

“Understood,” Alice said.  The marines weren't in any immediate danger.  Captain Shields and Major Parkinson would be more concerned with the embassy bunkers, as long as Alice didn't need help.  “We’ll keep moving until we find a place to stay.”

The barge groaned, worryingly.  Alice eyed the waters, then the riverbank.  They had a couple of thermal grenades which they could use, in theory, to clear the vegetation away, but she had literally no idea what lay on the far side.  She’d done enough jungle exercises to know they didn't want to have to hack their way through the foliage, probably getting lost as they headed away from the river.  And yet, she was starting to think they didn't have a choice.

“There,” Singh said.  “A little place to get up.”

Alice followed his gaze.  There was a small gap in the vegetation, barely large enough for a car.  It looked as though someone had used chemicals to clear the ground, killing everything so thoroughly that the vegetation had never managed to grow back.  She peered through her visor, trying to see what might be lurking under the trees.  Her instincts insisted that the gap wasn't natural.

Radcliffe sucked in his breath, sharply.  “Captain, can you hear that?”

Alice listened.  Terra Nova was quieter than Earth, save for the ever-present sound of running water.  No birds sang in the trees, no small animals moved in the undergrowth ... she couldn't help feeling that the polluted waters had killed every animal in the vicinity.  And yet, there was a faint sound in the distance, slowly growing louder.  A human sound ...

“Choppers,” she said.  The helicopters were upriver, but coming towards the marines.  “Shit!”

She looked at Singh.  “Get us into the bank,” she ordered.  “Ram the shore, if necessary.  Ken, grab the ambassador and get ready to jump.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“They’ll be on us in two minutes,” Radcliffe said, as the barge slowly turned towards the bank.  “If they know we’re here ...”

“I understand,” Alice said.  Caught out in the open, with only a single plasma rifle to defend themselves, the marines would be sitting ducks.  The helicopters might not realise the marines had plasma weapons, but - perversely - that would actually work in their favour if they were hostile.  She’d hesitate to fire until it was too late.  “Send a message to the ship.  Tell them we need help.”

“Aye, Captain,” Hammersmith said.

The barge hit the riverbank and bounced.  Alice was moving before her conscious mind had realised that the groaning sound was the barge finally reaching the end of its life.  The other marines joined her, racing for the edge of the boat and jumping a moment before the barge slowly started to sink under the filthy waters.  Alice landed hard, scrambling up the muddy bank and down a path someone had marked out years ago.  The faint, but unmistakable signs of new growth suggested that the pathway had been abandoned for quite some time.

“I ...”  Ambassador Crichton coughed and started again.  “What ... what’s happening?”

Alice hesitated.  The ambassador looked like a drowned and drugged rat.  He’d fallen asleep almost as soon as they’d boarded the barge, but it clearly hadn't done him much good.  She wondered, grimly, if he’d taken something he shouldn’t.  Her marines knew better than to give their medical supplies to civilians, but the ambassador might have obtained something from the embassy medical room or ... she sighed, dismissing the thought.  Some men - and women - just weren't cut out for combat.

“We’re being hunted,” she said, as the sound of helicopters grew louder.  “Keep your voice down.”

She glanced from side to side as the marines slipped down the path towards an ancient and decaying hut.  It had been a farm, once upon a time, before it had been abandoned ... probably a few years ago, if she was any judge.  The fields, far smaller than any she’d seen on Earth, were heavily overgrown, corn and potatoes competing with alien plants for supremacy.  A few more years, she thought, and it would be impossible to tell that the farm had ever been there in the first place.  She felt a lump in her throat as she eyed the farmhouse.  Someone’s hopes and dreams had been invested in that structure, only to be lost over the years ...

The helicopters flew overhead, their blades clattering loudly.  Alice held herself still, hardly even daring to breathe.  Modern sensors would have no trouble picking them - or at least the ambassador - out from the background ... even older sensors would probably be able to give the pilots a good idea where to find their prey.  But if the locals didn't have such sensors ... she silently timed the flights as the helicopters turned back to fly over the abandoned farmstead once again.  There was no way she could believe their appearance was a coincidence now.

“If they open fire,” she hissed to Corporal Roger Tindal, “take them both out!”

Time seemed to slow down as the helicopters floated overhead.  Alice kept a wary eye on them, unable to understand the enemy tactics.  If they were armed, they should have opened fire by now.  Spraying the trees with bullets was a simple way to flush out their prey.  But if they weren’t ... what were they doing?  Leading other forces to the marines ...?

Her blood ran cold.  She’d been wrong.  The enemy knew precisely who they were chasing and they’d tracked the marines ever since they’d boarded the barge.  Perhaps earlier, too.  Roger had shot down one drone, but there might have been others ... or even watching satellites, high overhead.  Terra Nova’s satellites weren't designed to spy on the planet’s surface, but it wouldn't have been hard for them to obtain something to fill the gap.  She’d thought they were hiding.  She’d been wrong.

“Take them out,” she ordered.  “Now!”

Corporal Tindal opened fire.  A plasma bolt flashed upwards and burnt through the closest helicopter’s armour.  It exploded a second later, pieces of flaming debris raining down.  The second helicopter started to bank away, too late.  Tindal killed it too.  This time, the wreckage crashed into the river.

“We need to move,” she snapped.  If there was a large enemy infantry force closing in on them, and she could hear faint sounds of people moving through the undergrowth, she and her men were in trouble.  Trapped against the river, they wouldn't have much room to manoeuvre.  “Sergeant, take point ...”

A hail of fire crashed through the trees over her head.  She hit the ground instinctively, cursing the mud as she searched for targets.  The enemy was flitting through the trees, snapping off shots towards the marines; she fired back a handful of shots, grimly aware that she probably hadn't hit anyone.  It was only a matter of time until they ran out of bullets.

And then we get shot in the head, she thought.  The marines weren't important, not in the grand scheme of things, but the ambassador was.  Whoever was backing the insurrectionists needed to kill him, along with anyone else who could testify against them.  There’s no getting out alive.

“Help is coming,” Hammersmith said.  “We just have to hold out for another few minutes.”

Alice nodded as she fired at a shadow, which vanished before she could tell if she’d hit anything or not.  The people they were fighting weren't professionals, she thought, but they weren't unskilled either.  They certainly seemed to have been given some training.  She’d heard stories of units that had once specialised in training irregular forces, teaching the peaceful villagers how to oppose the communists or religious fanatics who would tear their lives apart.  There hadn’t been much of that over the last hundred years or so, but if someone had resurrected the concept ...

“Here they come,” Hammersmith said.

A deafening roar split the sky as a squadron of starfighters rocketed overhead, so low she felt she could reach up and touch them.  Their plasma guns yammered loudly as they strafed the ground, systematically wiping out the enemy force.  Alice let out a long breath, then forced herself to stay low as the fighters made another pass.  Of all the ways to go, a blue-on-blue - being accidentally killed by one’s own side - would be the worst.

“The dropship is inbound,” Hammersmith said.  “I think we made it.”

Alice said nothing as the dropship slowly landed in what remained of the fields.  She thought she’d made it too, but she wasn't fool enough to say it out loud.  Hammersmith was already getting dirty looks from the other bootnecks for jinxing them.  The mission wasn't over until they were back on the ship and the ambassador was in sickbay, probably being treated for shock.  And then there would be a shower, an extensive debriefing and - probably - some comments on her leadership from armchair generals.  Major Parkinson knew better than to micromanage his subordinates, particularly someone who had been on her own, but a REMF back on Earth would make it his business to ask questions.

Particularly someone who thinks that women have no place in the Royal Marines, she thought, as she scrambled to her feet.  And thinks he can win the argument by making me look a fool.  

“Come on,” she said.  There was no point in worrying about it now.  “Let’s go.”

Chapter Five

“Captain,” Alison said.  “The Chinese ships are moving.”

Stephen glanced up, sharply.  “Going where?”

“The planet,” Alison said.  “They’re bringing their targeting sensors online now.”

“The orbital defences aren't moving to counter them, either,” Newcomb added.  “Sir, they may be battered too badly to offer resistance ...”

Or the Chinese might have subverted them already, Stephen thought.  The majority of crews on the defence platforms were Chinese, according to the reports.  They could have taken over most of the platforms in a single move, then attacked the platforms that couldn't be taken by stealth.  What is going on?

He studied the display for a long moment.  “Are the dropships ready to take off?”

“Aye, sir,” Newcomb said.  “They’ve recovered seventy people in total, twenty-nine of them ours.  The remainder are largely French and American with a handful of other Europeans.”

Stephen winced.  There had been over three hundred people assigned to the British embassy alone.  He doubted the other Great Powers had assigned any less.  The losses had been staggering, all the more so as it had been a long time since anyone had dared attack an embassy.  There would be punishment.

And the Chinese and Russian staffers were completely wiped out, he thought.  Or at least we weren't able to locate any survivors.

His eyes narrowed.  He’d grown up amongst the aristocracy, and the Old Boy Network had smoothed his path to command, but that didn't mean he was stupid.  There was a sizable Chinese population on the surface, a handful of undeclared Chinese ships approaching the planet, and the Chinese embassy had been blown to bits, apparently taking its entire staff with it.  No one would bother to lodge more than a token protest - let alone do anything effective - if the Chinese pounded Terra Nova into submission, then installed a government that would pay whatever reparations the other Great Powers demanded.  And that meant ...

He cursed under his breath.  It was no longer a strictly military matter, not any longer.  It was a political and diplomatic matter, one that would need to be settled at a far higher level than a mere captain.  He did have some authority, when he was operating far from Sol, but not enough to settle matters on Terra Nova.  It would only take a couple of hours to get a message from Terra Nova to Sol.

But that won't be quick enough, he thought, grimly.  By then, the Chinese will have taken the high orbitals.

He glanced at the simulations the analysts had worked out for him.  Invincible could take the Chinese ships in a long-range engagement, but a close-range encounter near the planet could go either way ... all the more so, he figured, if the Chinese were in complete control of the planetary defences.  And, whatever the outcome, it would mean war.  The rules of engagement were clear.  He could engage insurrectionists and terrorists - and even pirates, as rare as they were - at will, but not fire on another spacefaring power unless he had very good reason to believe that his ship and crew were in imminent danger.

“Launch our remaining starfighters, but hold them in position nearby,” he ordered.  He didn't think the Chinese would fire on the dropships as they returned to Invincible, but if they did he’d be ready.  “And then order Major Parkinson to expedite.”

“Aye, sir.”

Stephen leaned back in his chair, then hastily composed a message for the Admiralty.  The FTL communications network was cranky at the best of times - the combination of human and alien technology didn't always work well - but it was so much better than anything humanity had had before that everyone was delighted.  Stephen wasn’t so sure - the Admiralty had shown a disturbing tendency to micromanage when it actually could dictate events in real time - yet he had to admit the flicker network had its advantages.  Perhaps, just perhaps, the Admiralty actually could get some orders to him in time.

But they’ll probably have to relay it to the PM first, he thought.  He glanced at the chronometer.  It was nearly midnight, London time.  They’ll probably have to wake half the government up and pour coffee down their throats before they can make a decision.

He shook his head.  If he was right - if the whole insurrection was cover for a Chinese land grab - the politicians would have to decide what to do.  They might just shrug and let it pass.  Terra Nova had been a thorn in humanity’s collective side for quite long enough.  If the Chinese wanted to batter the factions into submission, why not let them?  What was the worst that could happen?  It wasn't as if the Chinese would be expending fleet carriers and battleships on Terra Nova.  

Unless we’re missing something, he thought.  The Chinese Government isn't noted for doing things out of the goodness of its heart.

It was a sobering thought.  Chinese politics were such a strange mixture of communism and capitalism, aristocracy and meritocracy, that it was difficult to know which way the Chinese would jump.  They’d fought beside the other Great Powers during the First and Second Interstellar Wars - and fought bravely - but otherwise they dominated East Asia and limited their obligations to the rest of the world.  There was no shortage of horror stories about what happened to groups that refused to accept Beijing’s dominance.  

And just because I can't think of a reason for them to intervene on Terra Nova, he thought, doesn't mean that they can't think of a reason.

He finished the message and uploaded it into the communications queue, then looked at Morse.  “Encrypt the message,” he said, “then transmit it to the flicker station.”

“Aye, sir,” Morse said.  He worked his console for a long moment.  “Message sent.”

“Good,” Stephen said.  “One hopes the Chinese will not be able to read the message.”

“Yes, sir,” Morse said.

Stephen sighed, inwardly.  The Great Powers refrained from waging open warfare on each other, but espionage was still a fact of life.  GCHQ claimed that the latest encryption protocols were unbreakable, yet they’d made that claim before ... and then discovered that the other Great Powers had broken their codes.  There was a quiet, but none-the-less savage contest between the Great Powers to alternatively devise a genuinely unbreakable encryption system and break everyone else’s encryption systems.  The Chinese might well be able to read his message, if they intercepted it.

But there’s nothing in the message they don’t already know, he thought.  He would be astonished if Beijing wasn't already well aware of what was going on.  It’s the answer that comes back that should concern them.

“Captain,” Newcomb said.  “The dropships are taking off now.”

Stephen let out a sigh of relief.  “We’ll move away from the planet as soon as they are recovered,” he said, firmly.  “And then we’ll wait for orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

***
“They’re not trying to light us up again,” Monica said, as the starfighters swooped over the city again.  “Do you think they’ve learnt their lesson?”

“Probably,” Richard said.  The marines had been attacked several times, although they’d seemed to believe that the attackers had been roving gangs rather than insurgents.  He and his pilots had provided fire support, raining down plasma bolts from high overhead to obliterate anyone foolish enough to  attack the marines.  “Or they might be preparing for something really bad.”

He frowned at the darkening sky.  It was high summer and the days were long, yet this particular day of terror was finally coming to an end.  He felt a stab of pity for the locals, cowering in their homes and waiting to see what terrors tomorrow would bring.  Richard doubted it would be anything pleasant.  He’d flown over enough mobs - looting, raping and killing - to know that it would be a long time before Terra Nova settled down, if it ever did.  

The only peace that can be imposed on this planet is the peace of the grave, he thought morbidly, as the dropships began to take off.  No one cares enough to do anything else.

The marine dropships rose quickly, scattering chaff and ECM decoys to confuse any watching sensors.  Richard braced himself, half-expecting a hidden antiaircraft battery to open fire now it had a chance to do some real damage, but nothing happened.  Monica was probably right.  The starfighters had taught anyone with access to real hardware that they should probably keep it hidden, at least until the marines had withdrawn.  There was nothing to be gained by calling down the wrath of Invincible.  

Or at least more wrath, Richard thought.  He had a feeling the assault carrier would be carrying out punitive strikes, either exterminating whatever faction was responsible for attacking the embassies or punishing the entire population.  It didn't seem a very effective idea to him, but it had been a long time since anyone had dared offer sympathy for enemy populations.  The Great Powers will want revenge for the attacks.

He pushed the thought aside as he guided his starfighter upwards.  Darkness was falling rapidly across the land, a darkness broken only by fires that the locals were unable or unwilling to quench.  Landing City looked to be on the verge of burning down, flames moving from house to house as the population fled in all directions.  The remainder of the continent wasn't much better.  His eyes couldn’t pick out a single light, while his sensors couldn't detect a single emission.  Terra Nova had blown itself back into the Dark Ages.  

Or maybe they’re just keeping their heads down and hoping not to be noticed, he thought.  It was unlikely that any community could remain undetected in Britain, but here ... an entire town might manage to keep itself off the grid.  There might be all sorts of settlements hidden away in odd places.

“The Chinese ships are coming,” Monica said.  Her voice was scornful.  “Apparently, we’re to give them a wide berth.”

Richard nodded in understanding, although he knew he’d have to reprimand her later.  Starfighter pilots were given a great deal of latitude - it was still the most dangerous job in the Royal Navy - but there were limits.  He understood precisely why she disliked the thought of avoiding the Chinese, yet he also understood that they didn't want to find themselves accidentally starting a war after playing chicken with the Chinese ships.  His lips quirked.  Starting a war was probably a court-martial offence.

And it might give the Chinese diplomatic leverage over us, later, he reminded himself.  The government would not be pleased.

The starfighter shook as it forced its way out of the atmosphere.  Richard braced himself, but the shaking stopped almost as soon as it had started.  Leaving atmosphere - thankfully - was easier than entering, although he knew that might change if Invincible ever had to hit a heavily-defended planet.  The proliferation of PDCs and ground-based weapons systems that posed a real threat to orbiting starships threatened to change the face of war once again.  It was quite possible that they’d find themselves flying down to a planetary surface and carrying out bombing raids that would have felt very familiar to some of his ancestors, the ones who’d fought in the Battle of Britain ...

“I see them,” Loyn said.  “Nine Chinese ships, inbound.”

“Alter course to evade,” Richard ordered.  The Chinese ships didn't look to be targeting the starfighters and dropships, although he would have been surprised if their crews weren't running firing solutions.  Tactical crews were taught to regard anything moving near their ships as a potential target - and threat.  “Are the planetary defences tracking them?”

“Negative,” Monica said.  “I bet they’ve already overwhelmed the defences.”

Richard nodded.  He had a nasty feeling she was right.  No defenders worthy of the name would allow a hostile force into orbit without making some attempt to stop it.  Terra Nova was in deep shit.  The Chinese had every right to seek revenge for the destruction of their embassy and the slaughter of their people.  And they had to know it, too.

He studied the Chinese ships warily, silently trying to gauge their power.  Their energy signatures were very similar to their British counterparts, unsurprisingly.  The Great Powers had worked hard to ensure that most of their starship components and weapons systems were standardized, even though it meant sharing technology with potential competitors - or enemies.  It was impossible to tell just what weapons they were carrying - cruisers and destroyers were modular, allowing their crews to outfit them with whatever they required for a particular operation - but they’d be formidable.  No one would risk flying such ships into a warzone unless they were able to defend themselves.  

The Chinese made no hostile moves.  They didn't even track the British starfighters and dropships with active sensors.  Richard frowned, telling himself - again - that the Chinese would have to be insane to fire on his craft.  In space, there was no way it could have been passed off as an accident.  But his back still itched as they made their closest approach to the Chinese ships and rocketed past, heading straight for Invincible.  He didn't allow himself to relax until the starfighters were approaching their mothership.

Invincible slowly came into view, a floating city hanging against the darkness of interplanetary space.  She was immense, compared to the starfighters, but regular fleet carriers were a third again her size; she was flatter, with only two launch tubes clearly visible to prying eyes.  Her hull was studded with weapons, sensor blisters and docking points for a small fleet of assault shuttles and dropships.  She looked formidable, Richard thought, even though a civilian might have thought her fragile.  The layers of armour covering her hull made her strong enough to survive blows that would kill a fleet carrier.

Although that has never been tested, Richard reminded himself, as the starfighters fell into landing formation.  The battleships went to war, but the assault carriers have not yet tasted combat.

He shook his head.  He’d joined the navy as soon as he could - his parents had refused to allow him to join at sixteen, forcing him to wait another two years - but he hadn't qualified in time to see action in the Second Interstellar War.  Five years a starfighter pilot, eventually rising to squadron command ... and yet, he’d never seen real action, never matched himself against another starfighter pilot.  Simulations just didn't cut it.  The worst anyone could expect from a particularly bad performance in the simulators was being chewed out by the CAG afterwards.  There was no risk of death.

The marines probably feel differently, he thought, dryly.  Flying a support mission might not feel particularly exciting, or risky, but that didn't mean it was unimportant.  And there are people on the ground who are trapped in hell.

The starfighter landed neatly on the flight deck.  Richard unbuckled his helmet as the automated systems took control, dragging the craft through an airlock and into the hangar bay.  The ground crews were already moving into position, readying themselves to replenish the starfighters and return them to the launch tubes.  Richard glanced at his display - he was surprised to see just how many weapons he’d expended over the last few hours - and then opened the cockpit.  There was no point in waiting for the ladder.  He jumped down and landed neatly on the deck.

“Sir,” Monica said, as she fell in beside him.  “I think you need a shower.”

Richard had to laugh as he caught sight of his own reflection.  He was a healthy young man, his brown hair cropped close to his scalp, but he looked like something the cat had dragged in.  Monica didn't look much better.  Flying starfighters was the greatest job in the Royal Navy, but it was very wearing.  It was funny how those details were never mentioned during recruitment tours.  

“So do you,” he said.  “So do you.”

***
“Captain,” Newcomb said.  “All the starfighters have returned to the ship.  The dropships are being unloaded now.”

“Send the evacuees to sickbay, then assign them quarters,” Stephen ordered, curtly.  It wouldn’t be very comfortable, and he was sure there would be quite a few complaints, but at least the evacuees wouldn't be in any danger.  “Tell the doctor I want a full medical check done on each and every one of them.”

“Aye, sir.”

Stephen looked at the helmsman.  “Lieutenant Michelle, move us to Point Alpha,” he ordered.  “Best possible speed.”

“Aye, sir.”

The tactical console bleeped an alarm.  “Captain, the Chinese have opened fire on the planet!”

“Show me,” Stephen snapped.

He grimaced as the display shifted, focusing on the planet.  The Chinese ships were unleashing one hell of a bombardment, launching over five hundred KEWs in a matter of minutes.  Their targeting seemed scattered, as if they were firing at random ... no, he realised grimly, they were blasting the various factions from orbit.  A sizable number of KEWs seemed to be targeted on Landing City itself.  He wouldn't have given much for the fate of anyone underneath when the projectiles landed.  Nothing short of a concealed - and very deep - bunker could survive a direct hit.

“They’re flattening the entire planet,” Newcomb breathed.

“It certainly looks that way,” Stephen agreed.  The Chinese were presumably working their way down a targeting list, instead of firing on targets of opportunity.  Their people on the surface had certainly had plenty of time to compile one.  It was local night, too.  The locals wouldn't have any time to realise they were under attack before it was too late.  “And no one is in any position to stop them.”

He shook his head.  “We’ll continue on our current course and leave the wretched planet behind,” he added.  “Unless, of course, the Admiralty wants us to do something else.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter Six

Rank, Alice Campbell had once been told, might have had its privileges ... but not in the Royal Marines.  Bootneck officers were expected to share the privations of their men, at least while they were on deployment.  The handful of senior officers deemed too important to risk in combat might not be expected to sleep in the barracks or share showers with their subordinates, but they weren't allowed to issue orders in the field either.  She wasn't sure, if she was honest with herself, if she wanted to ever climb to such a level.  It wouldn’t be quite so easy to say she was a marine.

And there’s a good chance I will never be allowed to climb so high anyway, she thought, without heat.  The first woman to join the Royal Marines and pass Commando Training might be in line for a later promotion, but her lack of connections - and her father’s reputation - presumably worked against her.  It’s not easy to promote someone who has to earn her right to be there again and again.

It was a frustrating thought, but one she’d come to terms with long ago.  The Royal Marines - and the military in general - encouraged a realism that civilians would probably consider a little harsh.  Male soldiers suspected that female soldiers weren't up to the task, a legacy from the era before the Troubles.  She might have passed Commando Training, where some of her instructors had openly looked for reasons to fail her, but she still needed to prove herself in the field time and time again.  It was the way of the world.  

She undressed rapidly, placing her sweaty uniform in the basket as she walked into the communal showers.  She’d grown used to sharing the showers with the men long ago, even though her elder sister had been horrified at the mere thought.  It helped that she’d gone to boarding school - where she’d discovered that girls could be worse than boys - and that, in training, most of them had been too tired to even consider hanky-panky.  Now, she was one of the men.  

A man with tits, she thought wryly, as she looked down at herself.  She wasn’t exactly a bodybuilder, or one of the weirder human augmentations from the belt, but she wasn't exactly anyone’s idea of feminine either.  Her arms were muscular, her head was shaved and her breasts were so flat that they were practically non-existent.  And people take me for a man, too, as long as they don’t see between my legs.

She scrubbed herself down rapidly, then hurried out of the shower and scooped up a clean duty uniform.  There would be debriefings before she could sleep, probably with intelligence staff as well as Major Parkinson.  Hopefully, she’d have a chance to catch something to eat before she finally collapsed into her bunk.  She’d eaten a pair of ration bars in the dropship, but they weren’t real food.  

Sergeant Radcliffe met her as she left the showers.  “The Major wants to see you in his office,” he said.  “I’m to take over the platoon.”

“Understood,” Alice said.  She resisted the urge to remind him to ensure that the debriefings were carried out before the bootnecks started forgetting important details.  The sergeant had been doing his job for years.  He’d forgotten more than she’d ever learnt.  “I’ll see you this evening.”

She took a long breath as she hurried down the passageway.  It was possible - unlikely, but possible - that she might be in trouble.  Manhandling an ambassador was the sort of thing that tended to look bad on one’s service jacket, even if it had been fully justified.  Or ... she had driven right into an ambush, after all, which had cost her the lives of two men.  She’d have to answer for their deaths at some point too.  Some jackass REMF would be bound to insist that she could have done something ...

There were no guards outside the Major’s office, something that had amused her when she’d first boarded Invincible.  There was little point in guarding the office - they were on a starship, not a military base in the security zone - but it was tradition.  Major Parkinson didn't hold with tradition, it seemed, although even he couldn't keep a pair of marines from being detailed to guard the bridge hatch.  She smiled at the memory, then pressed the buzzer.  The airlock hissed open a moment later, revealing a tiny cubbyhole.  Major Parkinson’s office was smaller than the bedroom she’d had to endure at school.

Just because you were a little brat to the grandparents, she thought, as she marched across the deck and came to a halt in front of the desk.  They simply couldn't cope with you.

Major Parkinson looked up, his eyes meeting hers.  He looked ... weathered, as if he’d seen it all before and hadn’t been impressed the first time.  His blond hair was cut close to his scalp, like most of the men, but his face looked older.  Alice was privately surprised he hadn't been offered a promotion that would take him off active duty, although she suspected he would have declined the promotion if it had been offered.  Major Parkinson loved his job too much.

“Alice,” Parkinson said.  His voice held traces of a Welsh accent, buried under the firm tones drilled into marines during training.  “Pour yourself a cup of coffee, then sit down.”

Alice relaxed, slightly, as she did as she was told.  She wasn't in trouble, then.  Traditionally, tea or coffee was offered as a way to put the discussion on slightly less formal terms.  If she had been in trouble, she would have been bracing the bulkhead while Parkinson explained her mistakes in excruciating detail.  Instead ... she sat down, silently wondering why Parkinson had installed a pair of folding chairs in his office.  They - and the desk - gave the entire office a feeling of impermanence.  But then, Parkinson knew better than to get too comfortable.  He might wind up commanding a military operation from a requisitioned civilian house, a tent, or a foxhole in the middle of nowhere.  The Royal Marines prided themselves on travelling light.  They didn't need a dozen men in the rear to support one man at the front.  

She took a sip of her coffee.  It tasted ghastly.  Parkinson was clearly one of the officers who actually liked military-issued coffee grains.  Her last CO had used his luggage allocation to transport several boxes of premium blend from Earth.  She didn't really blame him either, although a case could be made that he’d bent the rules.  Military-grade coffee didn't really corrode the decks, but it had a damn good try.

Parkinson leaned forward.  “There’ll be questions about the ambush,” he said.  “What happened?”

Alice took a breath.  “We departed in three vehicles: two escort AFVs and the ambassador’s limo.  I put myself in the limo, along with two others; the remainder of the platoon were distributed over the AFVs.  The route we took was randomised, known only to the driver of the lead AFV and myself.  I made certain that it would not leak out ahead of time.

“Despite that, we ran into an ambush including at least one plasma weapon,” she said.  “I believe they were watching us from a high-altitude drone, as we shot one of them down later.  The first we knew of the actual ambush was a plasma blast striking the lead AFV, turning it into a fireball.  Corporal Yammer and Corporal Taylor were both killed instantly.”

A shadow crossed Parkinson’s face.  He knew - they both knew - just what would happen if a superhot plasma bolt burnt through armour and exploded inside a vehicle.  If they were lucky, the two corporals would have died instantly.  The alternative - that they would have been aware of their injuries before their deaths - was far worse.  Alice could tell that he was considering what she’d said, turning it over and over in his mind as he tried to decide if she’d made a mistake.  Two men were dead.  If anyone had played a role - even accidentally - in their deaths, Parkinson would stop at nothing to make sure they were punished.

She forced herself to continue.  “I judged that a weapon capable of killing an AFV would also be capable of burning through the limo,” she said.  “Accordingly, I ordered an immediate evacuation of both the limo and the remaining AFV.  In hindsight ...” - she paused for a moment - “I believe that the insurgents intended to capture the ambassador, as they passed up at least one opportunity to kill the limo too.  We moved into the nearest alleyway, then tried to contact the embassy.  When it became clear that we’d lost contact with the embassy, and that Landing City had turned into a war zone, I decided it would be best to get out of the city before we were overwhelmed.”

“An interesting choice,” Parkinson said.  “You didn't think it would be better to head back to the embassy?”

Alice kept her voice under tight control.  “There was a sizable enemy force, perhaps more than one, between us and the embassy, sir,” she said.  She knew it was his job to second-guess her, but ... she didn't like it.  “I did not believe that we could get the ambassador to safety, sir, and given what happened to the embassy, I think I made the right call.”

Parkinson nodded.  “I tend to agree,” he said.  “There will probably be someone who will try to argue that you should have waited for pickup, but you had no way of knowing when the ship would return.”

He stood and poured himself a cup of coffee.  “Why did you agree to escort the ambassador?”

Alice looked at him, evenly.  “I was under the impression that our orders were to reinforce the embassy’s security forces and give their overworked men a rest,” she said.  “I rather assumed that providing an escort force was part of the job.”

“True enough,” Parkinson said.  “And you did save his life.”

“At a cost,” Alice said.  “Has he got around to filing a complaint yet?”

“He’s currently under sedation,” Parkinson told her.  “I dare say he’ll recover, sooner or later, to hear that most of his staff was killed when the embassy was bombed.  He’ll be grateful once he realises that you’re the only reason he’s still alive.”

Alice had her doubts.  She’d met a handful of diplomats in her time and some had been little better than spoilt brats.  The ones who’d been in the military weren't too bad - and the ones who had served in the army knew how the world worked - but the ones who came out of Eton or Cambridge and went straight into the Foreign Service were appalling.  It took far too long for them to grasp that the world didn't care one jot for their theories, no matter how appealing they were.  She was privately surprised that some of the overqualified idiots had survived their first encounter with the real world.

She sighed, then dismissed the thought.  Parkinson was probably right.  And, even if he wasn’t, it was unlikely that too many people would take the ambassador’s complaints seriously.  But it only took one or two people in high places to ruin a career.  Too many senior officers were adamantly against allowing women to join the Royal Marines.  The hell of it was that she knew, from studying military history, that they had a point.

“Overall, you did fine,” Parkinson said.  “It’s unfortunate that we probably won’t be able to recover the bodies, but ... no one will fault you for getting the ambassador out of the line of fire as quickly as possible.”

Alice felt a pang of guilt.  Corporal Yammer and Corporal Taylor had both been experienced men, experienced enough that she’d had no qualms about putting them on point.  And it had gotten them killed.  Their bodies would be little more than ash, if anything had survived at all.  It wasn't the first time a funeral had been held with nothing in the casket, but ... it tore at her, more than she cared to admit.  She might as well have signed their death warrants herself.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, careful not to allow any trace of her feelings to show on her face.  Weakness would get her in trouble.  “You did pretty fine, too.”

Parkinson laughed.  “We crashed into the city, shot a number of idiots who tried to test us, dug up the survivors, and crashed out again,” he said.  “It wasn't that hard a deployment.”

Alice smiled, then sobered. “Sir ... someone was supplying the insurgents with advanced technology.  That plasma gun and the drone didn't come from local factories.”

“It looks that way,” Parkinson said.  “Make sure you mention it in your report.”

“If someone did,” Alice said, “what are we going to do about it?”

Parkinson grimaced.  “That’s above our pay grade,” he told her.  There was a hint of frustration in his tone.  No one would think twice about dropping KEWs on insurgents, but insurgents backed by a Great Power was something else again.  “But attacking an embassy ... that’s a pretty serious declaration of intent.”

“Yes, sir,” Alice said.  She asked the question she knew her men would want answered, sooner rather than later.  “Are we going to go back and secure the site?”

“I don’t know,” Parkinson said.  “Right now, the Chinese are battering the planet into submission.  It may be some time before we can return to recover the bodies.”

If we can, Alice thought.  The bodies may already have been removed from the embassies and dumped in a mass grave.

She felt a flicker of sympathy for the planet’s population.  She had no love for insurgents and terrorists - she’d seen how they terrorised entire communities into supporting them - but the rest of the planet was a different story.  They’d been trapped in a nightmare of religious and ethnic violence, unable to resist or escape.  And now it looked as though the Chinese were taking control of the entire world.  It might be better for the Chinese population, but it wouldn't be much of an improvement for everyone else.  None of the Great Powers - and the Chinese least of all - were particularly interested in winning hearts and minds these days.

Parkinson smiled.  “Go write your report, then get some sleep,” he ordered.  “We’ll be continuing our drills tomorrow.”

Alice nodded as she stood.  Of course they’d be continuing as normal.  Two marines were dead, but they couldn't allow that to stop them from going on.  There would be a service for Yammer and Taylor, then ... then they’d be going straight back to work.  She knew better than to expect anything else, even when she died, but it still hurt.  It would be a long time before she was entirely used to the idea of losing men under her command.

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

She saluted, then walked through the hatch and down to the barracks.  They were dark, a handful of men snoring loudly as they lay in their bunks.  She stepped past the guard at the hatch and walked to her bunk, right at the end of the compartment.  It was the only real luxury afforded to her, at least when she was on active duty.  She got a few more seconds of sleep every day.

Damn it, she thought, as she recovered her datapad and headed out again.  There’ll be no time for anything, but writing.

She walked into the common room and sat down.  A handful of marines were sitting in front of the display, watching a Stellar Star movie that had been three or four years old when Alice had been a baby.  She rolled her eyes at the main character’s ample assets, then sat down in a corner and keyed the datapad.  It lit up, showing a picture of her family when she’d been a child ... her family as it had been, before it had been torn apart.  Alan and Judith Campbell looked to be very much in love, their arms wrapped around each other as they held their young daughters.  She felt a lump rise in her throat as she remembered when the photograph had been taken, a year before her father had murdered her mother.  She’d thought she’d been happy ...

Idiot, she told herself, sharply.  You just have to bring up the past.

The memories refused to go away.  Her mother, buried quickly after some dispute with the local church wardens; her father, locked in a prison cell on the other side of the country.  Her grandparents, alternatively indulgent and strict; her teachers, urging her to develop her mind even as they struggled to cope with her tantrums.  The boarding school had been very much a last resort.  She’d been warned, when she’d been admitted, that if she was expelled she’d spend the rest of her childhood in a borstal.  The threat had been enough to keep her in line.

Her eyes lingered on her father’s face.  Jeanette had forgiven their father, more or less, but Alice never had.  Her father had been hurting, true, yet that didn't justify murder.  He’d had plenty of options, starting with divorce.  And he’d torn their small family apart.  Alice understood, now, that her grandparents had only wanted the best for her, but at the time she’d been a nightmare.  It was a miracle they’d never given up on her.

Be practical, she told herself, sharply.  There was no point in dwelling on the past.  Perhaps she should have just changed her name by deed poll, ensuring that no one connected her to a murderer’s daughter.  Be practical and get back to work.

Taking a deep breath, she brought up the typing screen and began to tap out her report.

Chapter Seven

“The Chinese have definitely secured the planet,” Commander Felix Jackson said, as he displayed a set of maps.  “They’ve taken almost every location of importance.”

“Ah,” Newcomb said.  He took a sip of his tea as he sat on the recliner.  The Ready Room was surprisingly luxurious for a warship.  “And I thought there were no positions of importance on Terra Nova.”

Stephen had to smile, although he knew it was a serious point.  The Chinese didn't seem to be getting much out of the whole affair, save for Terra Nova itself.  He could understand why someone might want to capture a planet’s infrastructure, but Terra Nova’s industrial base was barely advanced enough to build petrol-driven engines.  The planet’s main export was people who wanted to go somewhere - anywhere - else.  

“Positions they need to take control of the planetary infrastructure, then,” Jackson said, patiently.  His face darkened.  “Right now, Chinese militias are firmly established right across the continent.  Resistance has been brutally crushed.  There appears to be some low-level fighting still going on, sir, but overall they seem to have won.  As long as they are prepared to call in the KEWs as soon as fighting heats up, and there’s no sign they’ll start holding back in future, they should remain firmly in control.”

“Understood,” Stephen said.  He was morbidly impressed.  The Chinese had seized a whole planet in four days.  “And the provisional government?”

“Nothing has been heard from the former provisional government,” Jackson said.  “The Government House - the one built during the founding years - was destroyed at the same time as the embassies.  The new government - Chinese-dominated, of course - insists that it is now the sole representative of Terra Nova.  They certainly seem to fit the basic requirements for a recognised government.”

“But no one has recognised them yet,” Stephen mused.  “Or has that changed?”

“So far, no,” Jackson said.  “But I think it’s only a matter of time before the Chinese recognise them.  They may be waiting to see how the other Great Powers react before they decide to annex Terra Nova or merely support a puppet government.”

“And our government may simply decide to do nothing,” Stephen said.  He met Jackson’s eyes.  “How does this affect us?”

Jackson frowned.  “For the moment, sir, the new provisional government hasn't attempted to order us out of the system,” he said.  “That may change, if they become a recognised government.  They may also attempt to extend their control over the entire system, which will provoke resistance.  There is a good chance of another Rock War - a potentially more serious Rock War - breaking out.  And with British civilians in the asteroids here, we might be dragged into the mess.”

Newcomb swore.  “And if they secure control over the system, they will also secure the tramlines.  Right?”

Stephen sucked in his breath.  Terra Nova had been an open system for nearly a century, simply because the planetary government had never been able to project power outside the planet’s atmosphere.  Unlike Britannia or New Washington, there were no fees for using the system’s tramlines.  But if the Chinese annexed the system - or worked to build up their puppet government - that could change.  It would cause all sorts of problems.  The Chinese might just start levying transit fees, which none of the Great Powers could reasonably oppose without calling the fees they levied themselves into question.  And they might just get away with it too.

“That’s one concern,” Jackson said.

“There’s no way anyone will go along with it,” Newcomb said.  “Nearly two-thirds of interstellar shipping goes through Terra Nova!”

“Yes, sir,” Jackson said.  “And if we refuse to pay Chinese fees here, they’ll start refusing to pay our fees.”

He leaned forward.  “There’s also the problem of reversing the damage the Chinese did to Terra Nova,” he added.  “Even if we backed one of the other factions, sir, they’d have real problems fighting back.  The Chinese have crushed their opponents pretty thoroughly.”

“And it would unleash mass slaughter,” Stephen said.

“More mass slaughter,” Newcomb said.  “The Chinese colonists are probably already settling scores.”

“I’m afraid so, sir,” Jackson said.  “We’ve picked up chatter from the surface.  The Chinese have already started driving other groups into the wilderness, away from their settlements.  I don’t think it will be long before they start machine gunning them instead.”

“Fuck,” Stephen said.

Newcomb’s voice was bleak.  “Is anyone on Earth going to care?”

Stephen rather doubted it, if the tramlines issue could be settled to everyone’s satisfaction.  No one on Earth gave much of a damn about a failed colony, particularly when the failure owed more to human stupidity than natural disaster.  Terra Nova was good for nothing, beyond providing a lesson in the limits of diversity.  The average man or woman in the street, he suspected, would see no harm in letting the Chinese have the colony.  Either they sorted Terra Nova out, which would be good for the colonists, or they wound up getting dragged into a quagmire, which would keep them from causing trouble elsewhere.  And besides, the costs of reversing the near-annexation would be staggeringly high.

And if they lead to a general war, he thought, they would be insurmountable.

His wristcom chimed.  “Captain?”

“Go ahead, Mr. Morse,” Stephen said.

“We just picked up a message from the flicker network,” Morse said.  “It’s encrypted, sir, with your personal key.”

“Forward it to my terminal,” Stephen ordered.  He placed his hand against the terminal’s scanner, allowing it to verify his identity.  The message unlocked a second later.  “Excuse me a moment.”

He frowned as he read the message.  Invincible was to withdraw from the Terra Nova system immediately and proceed directly to Earth.  There was little else, not even permission to attempt to recover the bodies from the planet.  He couldn't tell if that was because the Admiralty believed there was little hope of recovering anything, which might well be true, or the politicians had ordered it in a bid to reduce tensions.  There was no political briefing attached to the message, but it didn't take a genius to realise that the Terra Nova Crisis could easily lead to war.

“We're to go back home,” he said, shortly.  “And it doesn't suggest that another ship will be detailed to watch the system.”

“There are facilities in the asteroid belt, sir,” Jackson pointed out.  “And we can leave drones behind when we do.”

“Yes, but they’re not warships,” Newcomb countered.  “If the Chinese get uppity ...”

Stephen held up a hand.  “Mr. XO, prepare the ship for departure,” he said, before the argument could get out of hand.  Newcomb and Jackson had the same rank, although the regulations clearly stated that intelligence officers were not in the chain of command and therefore Newcomb was Jackson’s superior.  “Mr. Jackson, I want you to concentrate on gathering all the intelligence we can as we leave.  We’ll give the Admiralty a detailed report when we arrive.”

“It won’t tell them anything really useful,” Jackson warned.  “We still don’t know what the Chinese are thinking, for one thing.”

Stephen nodded, reluctantly.  The Chinese were formidable, deploying a significant force of carriers and battleships, although they probably weren’t a match for a British-French-American alliance.  They wouldn't want to get into a shooting match with three of the four other Great Powers, no matter which way the Russians jumped.  Russia had been well behind the other Great Powers for the last fifteen years.  It was unlikely that China and Russia would want to pick a fight with Britain, France and America.

But they might assume we wouldn't want to fight, he thought, as his two subordinates left the Ready Room.  And they might be right.

It was a bitter thought.  The Great Powers had resolved, nearly two hundred years ago, that the world - and later the Solar System - was big enough for all five of them.  A major war within the system would be utterly devastating, no matter what happened outside.  The Anglo-Indian War - spat, really - hadn't been allowed to affect Sol itself.  Far too many people remembered what had happened when the Tadpoles had attacked Earth directly.  The devastation had been immense.

And the Chinese might be counting on our reluctance to push them against the wall, he reminded himself.  We’d have plenty of reason not to risk pressing them too hard.  If we beat them outside the Sol System, they might take the war into the system.

Stephen puzzled over the question of which way the government would jump for a long moment, then decided there was no point in worrying about it.  There was no way he could answer the question.  The Prime Minister and his cabinet would have to devise a response, although that wouldn't be easy.  The government’s majority in the Houses of Parliament was very slim.  It ensured that their backbenchers had more influence - and power over government policy - than was normally the case.  There was no way to know which way they would jump either.

He leaned back in his chair for a long moment, feeling old.  He knew how to deal with hostile ships, or how to provide assistance if someone was in trouble; he even knew what to do if Invincible encountered a fourth spacefaring alien race.  But politics?  He didn't understand politics, even though politics were the lifeblood of his family.  And here, where the right tactical decision could easily be the wrong strategic decision, he wasn't sure which way to jump himself.  There was no doubt that the wrong decision could plunge the Human Sphere into war, yet that made it impossible for him to do anything.  The Chinese had gambled and, for the moment, won.

It wasn't a pleasant thought, he reflected, as he stood and looked around the compartment.  It was bare, save for a handful of photographs he’d hung on one of the bulkheads.  He’d served under officers who’d turned their Ready Rooms into shrines to themselves, or covered the bulkheads in artworks that cost more than their subordinates made in a year, but he’d never seen the point.  The Ready Room wasn't his cabin, even though he’d been known to kip in it for a few hours.  And besides, it wouldn't be his forever.  He loved Invincible with all his heart, but she would outlast him.  Her next commanding officer would probably change all the decor as soon as he took command.

He picked up his datapad and glanced at it, without seeing a single word of the exhaustive reports his officers had prepared.  There had been no doubt what he would do with his life, as the second son.  A military career had been decided for him before he’d even managed to take his first steps.  He’d gone to the Luna Academy almost as soon as he’d left school and had been warned, in no uncertain terms, that he had better make his family proud.  He still couldn't decide if command of Invincible was a reward or a punishment.  Officers who commanded the first vessel of a new class tended to discover that it overshadowed them for the rest of their lives.

A dull quiver ran through the hull.  He put the datapad down and walked out of the Ready Room, pasting a calm expression on his face.  The bridge was alive with activity, the display glowing with icons as it tracked the Chinese warships orbiting the planet.  It looked as though the Chinese were trying to lure the interplanetary freighters back to the habitats, although they didn't seem to be having much luck.  Stephen wasn't surprised.  The freighter crews loved their independence almost as much as they loved their ships.  Going to work for a Great Power would be their idea of hell.

“Captain on the bridge,” Newcomb said.

“Mr. XO,” Stephen said.  He sat down in the command chair.  “Status report?”

“Drives are online, sir,” Newcomb said.  “We can leave as soon as you give the command.”

Stephen wondered, sourly, if he should inform the Chinese that he planned to leave.  They were the de facto planetary government now, damn it.  But they hadn't announced that they’d annexed the planet yet, let alone laid claim to the entire system.  They’d certainly done nothing to make it clear that they expected everyone else to inform them before making a move.  It would be a while before they did, whatever they had in mind.  They wouldn't want to get everyone else’s back up before their position was absolutely solid.

“Very good,” he said.  “Helm, take us to Tramline Alpha.  Best possible speed.”

“Aye, sir,” Sonia said.

Stephen watched the displays, warily, as Invincible slowly moved away from Terra Nova and set course for the tramline.  His ship had performed well, under the circumstances, but he was all too aware that the shakedown cruise had shifted from peace to war in the fraction of a second.  It would be easy for something to go wrong now ... he let out his breath as it became clear that nothing was about to go spectacularly wrong.  Embarrassing the Royal Navy in front of the Chinese wouldn't get him court-martialled, probably, but it would put an end to any hope of further promotion.  The Admiralty wouldn't forget.

“Captain,” Sonia said.  “We will cross the tramline in seven hours.”

“Take us across as soon as we reach the tramline,” Stephen ordered.  “And then set course for Earth.”

“Aye, sir.”

Stephen leaned back in his chair and watched the in-system display.  Traffic had really slowed down over the last few days.  Hundreds of independent freighters had crossed the tramlines in hopes of finding somewhere safer to ply their trade, while asteroid colonies had either gone dark or started preparing for war.  He didn’t envy the Chinese, if they found themselves forced to fight another Rock War.  Belters rarely had access to top-of-the-line military gear, but they were often revoltingly ingenious and knew how to get the best from what they did have.  And while there was no Belt Federation in the Terra Nova System, it wouldn't be long before one formed, if the belters had to fight for their freedom.  They understood the value of working together too.

He smiled at the thought, then reached for his console and started to work his way through the reports.  The CAG had written a careful set of reports detailing precisely how the Tornado starfighters had performed during the orbital insertion, although it was notable that some of the pilots really didn't like their starfighters.  Stephen didn't blame them, either.  He was no starfighter pilot, but it was obvious that a craft designed for operating in and out of a planetary atmosphere wouldn't be perfectly adapted to either environment.  And besides, point defence did better against Tornados than Lightnings.  The pilots probably should be taken seriously.

We might need to reduce the Tornado squadrons, he thought, planning his report to the Admiralty.  Or try to find a way to store more Lightnings onboard ship.

He passed command to his XO and headed back to his cabin for a nap.  It felt like he hadn't slept at all by the time the alarm rung, reminding him that he wanted to be on the bridge for the jump.  He checked the status display as he pulled on his jacket and drank a mug of hot coffee, wondering if anything significant had happened while he’d been asleep.  But Invincible was practically alone in space.  The Chinese hadn't even bothered to dispatch a cruiser to escort her home.

Which could easily have backfired on them, if they did it too early, he reminded himself as he walked back onto the bridge.  The politicians are going to have fun sorting out this mess.

He sat down.  “Helm?”

“We will cross the tramline in five minutes,” Sonia said.  “Puller Drive is powered up and ready.”

“No contacts detected,” Lieutenant Alison Adams added.  “Local space is clear.”

Stephen nodded, feeling a flicker of irritation.  The odds of one starship accidentally crashing into another while crossing the tramline were so low that they were literally inconceivable; indeed, the odds of hitting an asteroid while flying through an asteroid field were considerably higher.  But it was well to check.  They were on a least-time course between Terra Nova and Tramline Alpha, after all.  Everyone else who wanted to get from one to the other would be on a similar course.   

“Then jump as soon as we can,” he ordered.

He forced himself to relax as the tramline came closer and closer.  The boffins swore blind that there was no sensation when a starship jumped, but experienced spacers felt something anyway.  It felt ... it felt indescribably wrong.  And then ... it hadn't been that long since HMS Warspite had suffered a catastrophic power failure during her first jump.  The ship had been very lucky to survive.  

Sonia tapped her console.  “Jumping ... now!”

Stephen felt, just for a second, as though the entire universe was preparing to sneeze ... and then the feeling was gone, as if it had never existed.  The display blanked, then hastily started to reboot itself as new data flowed into the computers.  Sol was a very busy system, the busiest system in the Human Sphere.  Thousands of starships came and went every day.  It was hard to believe that, only two hundred years ago, there hadn't been any interplanetary or interstellar starships at all.  Now, the entire system was settled and humanity was spreading itself across the universe.

Because we got very serious about putting our eggs in as many different baskets as possible after the war, he thought.  He could see a handful of colonist-carriers within detection range, heading straight for the tramline.  And because we now know we have non-human competition.

“Jump completed, Captain,” Sonia said.  “Puller Drive is powering down.”

“Very good,” Stephen said.  “Set course for Earth.  It’s time to go home.”

Chapter Eight

“Captain Shields,” Admiral Sir John Naiser said.  The First Space Lord stood.  “Welcome back to Nelson Base.”

“Thank you, sir,” Stephen said.  A hovering midshipwoman passed him a cup of tea.  “It’s good to be back.”

He studied Naiser for a long moment.  The First Space Lord hadn't changed much in the last five years, save for his brown hair slowly starting to turn grey.  Naiser was a commoner, if Stephen recalled correctly: a man who’d been promoted through merit, rather than blood or connections.  And he’d deserved promotion too.  Naiser had commanded the fleet that won the final battle of the Second Interstellar War.  His office reflected his birth, too.  It was bare, save for a giant painting of a small starship blasting a larger one and a handful of photos of Naiser’s adopted children.  Stephen found it somewhat refreshing.

“Your shakedown cruise was rather more exciting than we would have wished,” Naiser added, wryly.  “We weren't expecting you to become entangled in a shooting war.”

“No, sir,” Stephen said.  He cocked his head.  “What’s going to happen to Terra Nova?”

Naiser frowned.  “That’s up to the politicians,” he said.  He sounded like a man distracted by a far greater thought.  “Right now, Captain, no one gives a damn about the people on the ground, but they are very concerned with the Chinese - or a Chinese-backed planetary government - having a claim to the tramlines.  Not to mention the sheer number of independent settlements within the system ... it could get nasty, I think, unless the diplomats work out a solution.  Too many starships pass through Terra Nova for us to be sanguine about the Chinese sitting atop the tramlines.”

“They’d have trouble preventing us from using the tramlines, sir,” Stephen pointed out.  “It isn't as if they’re single points.  We could cross a tramline a few light-hours from the primary and the odds of detection would be minimal.”

“True,” Naiser agreed.  He still looked distracted.  “The politicians will have to hammer out some kind of solution, but for the moment” - he shrugged - “the Chinese appear to have taken control of a planet and got away with it.  We will see.”

His gaze sharpened.  “Now, I’ve read your official reports, Captain, and those of your subordinates.  But I would still like your unofficial opinion.  How did Invincible perform over the last six months?”

Stephen took a moment to marshal his thoughts.  “We had the normal headaches of any shakedown cruise, sir,” he said, carefully.  “There were all sorts of minor problems, but nothing that threatened the integrity of the ship or the lives of the crew.  Smoothing out launch and recovery procedures took a little longer - in hindsight, it might have been better to assign officers who weren't so familiar with fleet carriers - but we made it.  The crew shook down well too, once we were underway.  There were no major disciplinary issues.”

“You must have kept them busy,” Naiser commented, amused.  “They didn’t even find time for a concealed still?”

“Apparently not,” Stephen said.  By tradition, an illicit still somewhere in the bowels of the ship would be ignored unless it got out of hand.  “The only real problem, sir, lay with the Tornados.  They’re nowhere near as agile as either starfighters or jet fighters and we might end up paying a steep price if we ever have to send them into a real war zone.”

Naiser’s eyebrow lifted.  “Terra Nova wasn't a real war zone?”

“The vast majority of the antiaircraft weapons on the surface were older than the colony itself,” Stephen said.  He had no idea why anyone had shipped such primitive weapons to Terra Nova, although he did have to admit that one could be killed by a slingshot as easily as by a laser.  “Their tracking systems were poor and their reaction time was weak.  I think their crews were poorly trained, if they were trained at all.  But a modern air-defence zone will be a far tougher target.”

He met the First Space Lord’s eyes.  “The concept behind the Tornados is a fine one, sir,” he said.  “And yes, I agree we need it.  But I don’t think the tech has caught up with the requirement just yet.  In space or in the air, the Tornados are going to take heavy losses.”

Naiser grimaced.  He’d been a starfighter pilot, Stephen recalled, before transferring to command track.  He wouldn't take the concept of starfighter losses lightly.  Starfighter pilots might be deemed expendable, on the grounds that starfighters were cheaper than starships, but no one was particularly happy with it.  Anything that helped keep British pilots alive while making enemy pilots dead would be warmly welcomed.

“I see,” Naiser said.  “The politicians are not going to be pleased.”

“No, sir,” Stephen agreed.  

It was hard to keep his face expressionless.  He hadn't been privy to the high-level discussions between Britain, America and France, but he knew a lot was riding on the Tornado program.  A failure that brought down the joint project would have embarrassing diplomatic repercussions, although that would be preferable to heavy losses in wartime.  The Royal Navy couldn't afford to find itself unprepared for a sustained period of high-intensity combat.  They knew how close they’d come to complete disaster in the First Interstellar War.

“But that is my problem, not yours,” the First Space Lord added.  He tapped his terminal.  A holographic image sprung into existence, floating over the desk.  “What do you make of this?”

Stephen frowned.  He wasn't sure what to make of it.  It looked like a deep-space tracking report, perhaps an image taken from an optical sensor that had been reprocessed for a holographic display, but ... he felt his frown deepen as he puzzled it out.  Something moving in deep space ... very deep space?  A rogue settlement?  Or something more unusual?

He looked up.  “Sir?”

The First Space Lord’s voice was very crisp.  “Two weeks ago, long-range sensors on Wensleydale Station detected an extremely powerful fusion burn at the very edge of the system.  They instantly focused all their monitoring gear on the burn and discovered a starship - an STL starship - reducing speed before it entered the system.  The latest projections are that it will reach Wensleydale in two and a half months, assuming they don't have drive fields.”

Stephen stared at him.  “An STL ship?”

“Yes,” Naiser said.  “According to our readings - you can download the full report for yourself later - the ship is over a hundred kilometres long, big enough to carry over a million people.  So far, there has been no attempt to communicate - as far as we know, of course.”

“Yes, sir,” Stephen said, automatically.  Wensleydale was a long way away, right on the edge of the Human Sphere.  It would take two weeks to get a message from Earth to Wensleydale even with the flicker network.  Events might have moved on.  “If it’s an STL ship ... they don’t know about the tramlines?”

“It’s possible,” Naiser agreed.  “We’ve seen nothing suggesting any understanding of gravity technology at all.  But they may just have been very unlucky and evolved in a system where there were no tramlines.”

“I thought that was impossible,” Stephen said.

“Very little is completely impossible,” Naiser reminded him.  “There are star systems that are functionally inaccessible, at least until we find a link between our tramline network and theirs.  But these are questions that can only be asked and answered once we make contact with our new visitors.”

Stephen studied the image for a long moment.  He’d heard plenty of stories about life on an STL colony ship, but he’d never seen one.  The brief period when humanity had launched converted asteroids into the interstellar void had ended when the first tramline had been discovered, over a century ago.  Why spend hundreds of years in transit when you could just jump through the tramline?  Whoever had launched that ship into interstellar space had to be brave ... or desperate.

His eyes narrowed.  “They’re not visitors, sir,” he said.  “They’re colonists.”

“That’s the majority viewpoint, down in the analysis office,” Naiser said, jerking a finger down at the deck.  “There’s a very good chance they don’t know that we got to Wensleydale first, Captain.  They may not even have the concept of alien life.  There certainly haven't been any radio signals spilling out from Wensleydale, telling the universe that the planet is inhabited.  They’re in for a surprise.”

He looked up.  “There’s no sign that they have any particularly advanced technology,” he added, slowly.  “However, the government would like to make sure that we are in a position to stomp on them if they are hostile.”

“Yes, sir,” Stephen said.  “It seems hard to believe that they come to us in the spirit of war and hostility, though.”

He frowned.  He found it hard to imagine interstellar warfare without the tramlines.  Even with modern technology, it would take fifteen years to get a ship from Earth to the nearest star ... assuming the drive nodes didn't burn out during the voyage.  Fifteen years ... and another five for Earth to find out what had happened to the invasion fleet.  There was no way an STL ship could match the resources of an entire star system.  The logistics would be horrific and the costs would be nightmarish.  He couldn't imagine Parliament okaying the expense.

“An ounce of prevention is better than an pound of cure,” Naiser said.  “Given the ... ah ... political situation at the moment, it has been deemed that a small flotilla of ships will be dispatched to Wensleydale and make first contact.  Invincible will be lead ship of Task Force Leinster” - his lips twitched - “as you may already have guessed.  Ideally, you’ll make peaceful contact and find out what they want before they reach our settled worlds.  If not ... give them hell.”

“If possible,” Stephen said.  It was vaguely possible that the aliens might have preferred a fusion drive for crossing the interstellar void.  Slow it might be, but it would be a great deal more reliable than drive fields.  And that meant the alien ship might be a supersized carrier, ferrying capital ships from star to star.  How many Invincible-sized ships could he fit into such a hull?  “They may have everything we have, save for the tramlines.”

“It’s a possibility,” Naiser agreed.  “A team of analysts dug up an old book series that featured something along those lines.”

He smiled, rather wanly.  “But every one of our plans to build a hundred-kilometre-long carrier foundered in the face of political opposition.”

“Yes, sir,” Stephen said.  

“We’re assembling the rest of the flotilla now,” Naiser informed him.  “You and your crew should have at least a week of shore leave before preparations start in earnest, although I’m afraid the remainder of the promised leave is going to have to be cut short.  We’ll be the lead power, as the system is ours, but diplomats are currently talking to the other powers about sending representatives.  You may find yourself accompanied by a Chinese or Russian starship.”

Stephen winced.  “That could be awkward.”

“I expect you to be professional,” Naiser said, firmly.  “The diplomats will sort out the mess on Terra Nova.”

“Sir, I lost good men on the surface,” Stephen said.  “If one of the Great Powers was backing the insurgents ...”

Naiser held up a hand.  “I understand the problem,” he said.  “However, I also understand that it may be difficult to prove it, let alone demand recompense.  China is not a warlord state in the middle of nowhere.  We cannot bomb them back to the Stone Age without retaliation, even if we had solid proof that a Chinese intelligence officer gave the order to target your people deliberately.  And we do not have that proof!  The Chinese can simply claim that your men ran into insurgents and it will be impossible to prove them wrong.”

He shrugged.  “They may even insist that they killed the insurgents for us, during their bombardment.  And they may be right.”

“Someone was selling advanced technology to the insurgents, sir,” Stephen said.  He clamped down, hard, on his anger.  “We have proof of that.”

“Not enough to point the finger at anyone,” Naiser told him.  He made a face.  “As much as we hate to admit it, Captain, a lot of technology has leaked over the past ten years.  The Great Powers are not in a position to keep the lesser powers from innovating, let alone the Belt and the other independent settlements.  It’s quite possible that the Chinese didn't sell any advanced tech.”

Stephen met his eyes.  “Do you believe that, sir?”

Naiser looked back at him, evenly.  “No,” he said.  “But being sure of something isn't enough to satisfy a court of law.  The World Court will take the coward’s way out, Captain, and declare the charges unproven.  And even if they didn't ... the Chinese would pay compensation or refuse to accept the verdict, which would force us to either make them accept the verdict or let them get away with it.  I don’t think the politicians want to risk opening that particular can of worms when there’s a general election coming up.”

“Yes, sir,” Stephen said.  He looked down.  “I’m just not ... I’m just not very happy with it.”

“None of us are,” Naiser said.  “Life was a great deal simpler when I was on Warspite’s bridge, and we were sneaking up on the Indian carrier, even though I knew precisely how poor our chances of survival were if the Indians saw us.  Now ...”

He shook his head.  “But that’s not something we need to worry about, not right now,” he said.  “You have alien concerns.”

“Yes, sir,” Stephen said.

“It’s funny how ... blasé we’ve become about alien life,” Naiser added, after a moment.  “I was a young man when the Tadpoles announced themselves by attacking Vera Cruz.  We were all shocked, back then.  We’d encountered aliens and they were hostile.  And then ... we encountered the Vesy, who were no threat to us, and the Foxes, who very definitely were a threat.  The entire galaxy suddenly seems to be teeming with life.  And politicians look at this” - he nodded to the display - “and feel nothing, because they have problems at home.”

“It’ll take us at least a month to reach Wensleydale,” Stephen observed.  “And, without the tramlines, there’s no way the newcomers can reach Sol before we find a way of dealing with them.  The politicians probably don’t see any danger.”

“No, they don’t,” Naiser agreed.  “And that may not be a good thing.  They may be settlers, some alien counterpart to the Belters who fled Sol a hundred years ago, or they may be fleeing something worse.  The Foxes did it, didn't they?  They fled their original home system.  The analysts have come up with all sorts of possibilities.  One of them involves the aliens running from a greater threat, one that does use the tramlines.”

Stephen considered it.  “That ship must have been in transit for generations,” he said.  It was hard to imagine.  His longest deployment had never taken him out of contact with the rest of humanity.  Even someone assigned to a remote base would still be able to send and receive messages.  “Surely, anyone following them - anyone who did have access to the tramlines - would have crossed our path by now.”

“Perhaps,” Naiser said.  “Or perhaps they didn’t think there was any reason to push further towards us.  They might not have suspected our existence.  We were planning, originally, to expand further in their direction, but we wasted a decade because we had to fortify the systems between Earth and Tadpole Prime.  First Contact with the Foxes and the Indian War only made it harder to return to pure expansion.  They may have had similar problems.”

He smiled.  “Or we may be completely wrong,” he added.  “And the newcomers are nothing more than simple colonists.”

“Yes, sir,” Stephen said.  STL colonists, at least, wouldn't be dangerous.  But they would bring other issues in their wake.  “Sir ... what if they want the planet?”

Naiser sighed, heavily.  “That’s a political issue,” he said.  “On one hand, it isn't as if we need Wensleydale.  We have nine other planets in various stages of development.  But, on the other hand, we can't be seen to abandon our claim too easily.  They’d need to offer us something in exchange for the planet and ... well, what do they have?  Perhaps nothing, Captain.”

“But they don’t have anywhere else to go,” Stephen pointed out.  “They may not even be able to go.”

“Perhaps not,” Naiser agreed.  “I don’t mind admitting, Captain, that this could cause all sorts of political problems.  There will be people who will insist that we got there first, which is true, while there will also be others who will claim that ordering STL colonists back into interstellar space at gunpoint is wrong.  That will bring the people who will drag up historical precedent out of the woodwork; they will insist that allowing immigration from alien societies will cause all sorts of problems, even though the newcomers will be restricted to a single planet ...”

He shrugged.  “And all of this may be academic, seeing we don’t know what is heading towards us,” he concluded.  “Captain, whatever happens, I expect you and your crew to handle it in the finest traditions of the Royal Navy.”

“Yes, sir,” Stephen said.  It was a challenge, but ... it was one he could handle.  A peaceful First Contact would look good on his resume, particularly as there hadn't been a peaceful first contact in human history.  At worst, if the aliens did turn out to be hostile, they could lay down covering fire long enough to get the civilians out.  “We won’t let you down.”

“I have no doubt of it,” Naiser said.  “Dismissed.”

Chapter Nine

Alice changed into a standard uniform before leaving the spaceport.

It was something she didn’t care to do, but there was no choice.  The days when British servicemen had been scared - or forbidden - to wear their uniforms on the streets were long gone, along with the terrorists and traitors who’d thought themselves above the law, yet someone would notice she was wearing a Royal Marine uniform and call the police.  She had a perfect right to wear it, as the police could easily confirm, but it wasn't worth the hassle of explaining herself again and again.  Too many people believed that any woman wearing a marine uniform had to be a Walt.

She took the monorail south to Tunbridge Wells, then hired a manual car and drove down the motorway to Mayfield.  There were some very definite advantages to wearing a uniform - servicemen always had priority, even when they were off-duty - but she would have preferred not to attract attention.  She’d been asked, more than once, to speak at her old school about life in the military, yet she’d turned every request down.  She just didn't want the attention it would have brought her.  And besides, if she’d told the young kids the truth, none of them would have wanted to join the marines.

The three-lane motorway was crowded, but the lane reserved for manual vehicles was nearly empty.  Alice couldn't help a sniff of contempt for the civilians, utterly dependent on computers to drive them from place to place.  Had they forgotten the lessons of the Longest Night so quickly?  How many people had wound up stranded because the traffic control network had simply deactivated their cars when the aliens attacked Earth?  It was safe enough, she had been told, as long as the system remained foolproof.  But, in her experience, there were a number of very ingenious fools.  It was just a matter of time before someone hacked the system and caused havoc.

And it might be someone from the other side of the world, she thought, as she drove onto the slip road.  The automatic cars recognised that she was driving a manual and gave her plenty of room, something that irritated more than pleased her.  There are plenty of links between Britain and the global datanet these days.

She pushed the thought out of her mind as she took a turning onto a country road and slowly drove down it, watching for tractors and small vans.  It was hard to believe that the road was new, even though it was lined with hedgerows that made it difficult to see the farmlands on the other side.  But the entire region had been devastated after the alien bombardment.  The tidal waves might not have made it so far north, but the rain had caused floods which had done no end of damage.  It had been sheer luck, Alice knew, that her grandparents had survived.  Their home had been designed for a different era, but they hadn't predicted such great floods.

The gate was firmly closed and locked.  Alice pulled up beside the gate and climbed out, digging through her pockets for the key.  Her grandparents hadn't held with newfangled biometric locks, even though the technology had entered the mainstream long before they’d been toddlers.  Instead, they used a padlock that could have come from a hundred years in the past - or Terra Nova.  Alice opened the lock and the gate, then drove the car through before closing the gate behind her.  There was no sign of Jeanette.  Alice wasn't surprised.  Her older sister would be late for her own funeral.

Which isn't such a bad thing, Alice thought, as she looked up at the farmhouse.  She wouldn't want to die too soon.

She sucked in her breath, feeling a confusing mix of emotions.  Her maternal grandparents hadn't really been farmers, even though they’d owned a farm.  They’d quietly let most of the fields go fallow, save for a couple they’d turned into herbal gardens.  They had offered to give the farm to their daughter - and her husband - but that had come to nothing.  Alice couldn't help wondering, as she walked around the old building, just how different her life would have been if her father had tried to work the farm.  He would certainly have been around a lot more.

It would have been a fine place to grow up, she thought, if a shadow hadn't hung over their lives.  She’d enjoyed running and playing in the fields - and helping her grandmother to potter around the farmhouse, fiddling with little things for the sake of fiddling - but she’d always known it could never last.  And then she’d been sent away to boarding school ... she shook her head.  She didn't really blame her grandparents, but ... she did.  They hadn't been able to cope as Alice grew into her teens.

She heard the sound of an engine behind her, but paid it no heed.  Hardly anyone came to the farmhouse, save for Alice and her sister.  If it wasn't Jeanette ... she’d see, soon enough.  It was the sort of region where everyone kept everyone else’s business, something she liked and detested in equal measure.  The person who came to check on her grandparents after the rainstorms might also be spreading gossip to the neighbourhood.  Alice hadn't needed the marines to teach her about OPSEC.  She’d learnt that growing up in the countryside.

The grave stood in the centre of the overgrown flower garden, the memorial stone half-hidden under a dozen different types of flowers.  Her grandmother had been exceedingly pleased with her roses, growing several different types in hopes of creating a new variety for herself.  She’d never succeeded, but she had created a unique resting place for her daughter’s body.  Alice felt a tear prickling at the corner of her eye and brushed it away, sharply.  She was not going to cry.  Not now.

Her hand dropped to her holster as she heard footsteps crunching around the house.  She turned slowly, readying herself for trouble.  The countryside was safer than the city, she knew, but it was also harder to get help.  Quite a few crimes had gone undetected for years because the police were a very long way away.  Farmers carried guns to protect themselves because they knew no one else would do the job.

Jeanette walked around the corner, her high heels crunching oddly on the rocky path.  Alice nodded to herself and let go of the gun, hoping that Jeanette hadn't noticed.  Their relationship was difficult enough without her sister realising that Alice had been ready to draw the gun if necessary.  But then, Jeanette hadn’t shown any interest in the Combined Cadet Force, let alone a military career.  She had gone straight into business, then marriage ...

She was lucky to avoid conscription, Alice thought, remembering the handful of conscripts she’d seen on the monorail.  But at least she found a job she wanted and a guy she liked.

“Alice,” Jeanette said.  She sounded more of a Londoner than ever.  “Did you have a good flight?”

Alice studied her sister for a long moment.  Jeanette was tall and thin, wearing a suit that was carefully tailored to show off her figure - and her long red hair - without actually revealing anything below the neckline.   Her face was strikingly feminine, but - at the same time - there was something businesslike about it.  Alice had no idea why Jeanette had chosen to wear high heels - it wasn't as if this was her first visit to the farm - yet she had to admit that Jeanette made them work.  Perhaps she’d had to drive down from London herself.

“I had the usual Military Airlines experience,” Alice said, finally.  There were times when she wondered what Jeanette thought her sister actually did.  Alice hadn't lied to her, but ... her words just seemed to slip into one of Jeanette’s ears and come out the other.  “Cramped, smelly and bumpy.”

“Ouch,” Jeanette said.  She looked past Alice.  “Is the grave okay?”

“Yeah,” Alice said.  It had often struck her as odd that Jeanette, who was older than her by five years, seemed to be more accepting of their mother’s death.  Alice herself had been a great deal younger at the time.  “No one desecrated it.”

She turned back to the grave, smiling in relief.  Their mother had committed adultery, which was bad enough, but cheating on a serviceman was worse.  The local pastor had refused to bury her, despite an offer of a substantial bribe.  Alice’s grandparents had had to bury their daughter within their lands, knowing that some drunken idiot might decide to express his patriotism by trying to desecrate the grave.  Hardly anyone knew that Judith Campbell was buried at the farm and that was how it needed to stay.

I’m sorry, Mum, she thought, as she looked at the grave.  I wish ...

Jeanette let out a long sigh.  “I’ll go put the kettle on,” she said.  “Come inside when you’re done.”

Alice glowered at her retreating back, then turned her attention to the grave.  It wasn't fair, somehow, that her memories were patchy as hell.  Judith Campbell had been pretty enough, but ... how many of her memories were real and how many came from photographs and videos her grandparents had shown her before their deaths?  She had never really known her mother, not really.  Her grandmother and the school matron had been more motherly to her than her biological mother.  But then, her mother was dead.

She didn't abandon us, she told herself, firmly.  She was murdered.

It was a bitter thought.  She’d seen young men torn apart by ‘Dear John’ letters, young men who’d done nothing to deserve their sweethearts finding someone else while they’d been on deployment.  And she’d been dumped herself ... that had hurt too, more than she cared to admit.  And yet ... it didn't excuse murder.  Her father could have divorced his wife, cutting her off without a penny to her name.  Instead, he’d killed her.

And destroyed his life and career at the same time, she reminded herself.  It seemed hugely unfair that her father should be cursed as an irredeemable monster and feted as a hero in the same breath.  To the public, he was a hero; to Alice, he was the father who’d betrayed her and her sister.  If the war hadn't broken out ...

She rose slowly, taking one last look at the grave.  It was sheer luck she’d been able to make it, after word had come down from on high.  Shore leave hadn't been cancelled, but it had been sharply reduced.  She wouldn't have time to paint the town red or do anything fun ... she shook her head as she turned and walked back to the house.  It wasn't as if she’d been planning a trip to Sin City in any case.

The house felt eerie as she stepped inside.  Her grandparents had turned it into a monument to themselves, lining one wall with bookshelves and another with shelves holding dozens of trinkets from their global wanderings.  They really had been quite wealthy - and lucky.  If they’d been a little closer to the coast, they would probably have lost everything when the waters rose sharply.  As it was, their home had escaped serious damage.  Her hand twitched as she heard someone moving in the kitchen, even though she knew it was only Jeanette.  It was suddenly very hard to escape the sense that her grandmother was in the very next room ...

Jeanette walked into the living room, holding a mug of tea.  “Here,” she said, passing it to Alice and turning back to recover her own.  “It’s just the way you like it.”

“Thanks,” Alice said.  She didn't have the heart to tell her sister that she’d grown used to military tea over the last decade.  Civilian tea always tasted a little weak.  “I ... how have you been?”

“Well enough,” Jeanette said.  She sat down on the sofa, crossing her long legs.  “Alex is getting a promotion, so he’s been working extra hours ... not good for Christopher or Clive, I fear.  But it will be worth it.”

Alice nodded, shortly.  She’d never really approved of Alex - her sister’s husband had always given her the impression that he was looking down his nose at her - but she had to admit that he was nothing like their father.  And besides, Jeanette’s sons had always been pleased to see him when he came home.  Alice thought that was a good sign.  They were usually pleased to see her too.

“And yourself?”  Jeanette asked.  “Shuffled any good pieces of paper lately?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Alice said, dryly.  Did she look like a paper-pusher?  “I’ve been having some good times and some bad ones.  I was on Terra Nova when the shit hit the fan.”

Jeanette didn't look impressed.  “And was it as bad as the media made it sound?”

“Oh, probably,” Alice said.  She’d caught a couple of media shows during the flight to London.  Their basic take seemed to be that everyone on Terra Nova deserved the thrashing the Chinese were handing out to them.  “It was pretty bad.”

“I’m sure you were safely on base,” Jeanette said.  “You could have been in the embassies instead.”

Alice opened her mouth to make a sharp reply, then thought better of it.  “Yeah,” she said, instead.  “I could have been in the embassies instead.”

They sat together for a long moment, drinking their tea.  It was hard to believe, sometimes, that they were sisters.  Jeanette had rejected the military entirely, while Alice had embraced it.  They didn't even look alike.  But then, they never had.  Alice took after their father, while Jeanette looked more like their mother.  No wonder, the dark part of her mind muttered, that their grandparents had liked Jeanette more.

“I heard from Dad,” Jeanette said, softly.  “He’s still in the Belt.”

Alice felt her fingers tighten around the cup.  She loved her father and she hated him.  She understood him and yet she couldn't forgive him.  And ... she wanted to hug him and she wanted to kill him.  Their grandparents had stopped trying to force her to visit her father, after he was released from hospital.  Alice would have been happier - so much happier - if their father had died in the war.  She could have mourned him and then got on with her life.

“Fine,” she said.  She knew she sounded like a petulant teenager, but she didn't particularly care.  “And what is he and that ... hussy ... doing in the Belt?”

“Running a ship, it seems,” Jeanette said.  “He wants to see us.”

“No,” Alice said, flatly.  “Go see him yourself, if you want.  I’m not going to see him.”

Jeanette met her eyes.  “He’s your - our - father.”

“He murdered our mother,” Alice reminded her.  Her voice hardened.  It had taken a long time for the truth to sink in, but when it had sunk in she had resolved never to forget.  “And I do not forgive.”

They stared at each other for a long moment.  Alice had never really understood why Jeanette had been so attached to their father, not after he’d killed their mother.  Perhaps Jeanette was old enough to imprint on him, to see him as a father figure in fact as well as name, while Alice had been too young.  Her father figures had been the Cadet Force Colonel and, later, her sergeants.  She was damned if she was embracing a murderer.  Bio-dad he might be, but he wasn't her father.  Not in any way she cared to recognise.  

“He wants to see us both,” Jeanette said.  “Alice ...”

“No,” Alice repeated.  “I wouldn't go even if he was offering us a million-pound legacy in his will.  And you shouldn't go either.”

“He’ll be down here,” Jeanette said.  Her voice grew challenging.  “Or are you scared of meeting him?”

Alice swallowed several nasty retorts.  Jeanette had always been able to get under her skin, even after going through basic training.  It seemed to be a common superpower for elder siblings.  Jeanette could probably remember Alice in diapers.  She’d certainly helped look after her younger sister when the shit had hit the fan.  

And yet, meeting Jeanette brings out the child in me, Alice thought.  She’d endured far worse insults from her fellow boots during training, but Jeanette irritated her in ways none of them had been able to match.  She makes me be immature again.

“He killed our mother,” she reminded Jeanette.  “So no, I am not going to go.”

Jeanette let out a heavy sigh.  “As you wish,” she said.  “When do you have to be back in space?”

“Tuesday,” Alice said.  She didn't really have any plans for the next couple of days.  Sign in at one of the transit barracks, perhaps, or find a hotel in Central London.  It would be pricy, but it would be worth it just to be away from the others for a little bit.  “I was just going to stay in London.”

“Then come back for dinner with me,” Jeanette said.  “I can drop you off at the spaceport on Tuesday, if you like.”

Alice hesitated.  It would be nice to see her young nephews again - and make sure Alex was treating Jeanette all right - but ... she wasn't sure she wanted to spend any more time with Jeanette.  She simply couldn't take very much of her sister without wanting to scream - or worse.  But she couldn't politely back out either.

“If you’ll have me,” she said, finally.

“Of course I’ll have you,” Jeanette said.  She took the empty mug and stood.  “You’re my sister.”

“I know.”  Alice stood.  She’d have to check upstairs before they closed the farmhouse down again.  The building had looked undisturbed, but it was well to be sure.  “You never let me forget it.”

Chapter Ten

“It seems that the system gets busier every month,” Commander Daniel Newcomb commented, as he took a sip of his tea.  The holographic display showed hundreds of starships leaving Earth and heading to the tramlines.  “How many colonist-carriers are we flying now?”

“Two hundred, I believe,” Major Henry Parkinson said.  He sprawled on the sofa, somehow managing to look alert even when technically off-duty.  “Each one carries upwards of a hundred-thousand colonists.”

“And Britannia has plenty of space for them,” Stephen said.  He dismissed the steward with a nod, then glanced around the Ready Room.   “Have you read the briefing notes?”

“Yes, sir,” Newcomb said.  “An STL ship ... pretty fascinating, if you ask me.”

“And also potentially dangerous,” Parkinson said.  “Their tech may be crude, but that won’t stop it being lethal.”

“They’re not going to be hostile, not if they’ve crossed dozens of light years to reach us,” Newcomb said.  “And if they are ... a single missile will cripple that ship.”

“Or so we believe,” Parkinson said.  He looked at Stephen.  “They may not have the tramlines, sir, but that doesn't mean they’re not dangerous.”

Stephen nodded.  “We’ll be very careful,” he agreed.  “And besides, something could be chasing them.”

“Perhaps,” Newcomb said.  “But really ... I don’t know what those analysts were smoking.”

Stephen was tempted to agree.  The analysts had managed to put together so many possible scenarios that he was inclined to wonder if they were paid by the word, particularly as there was so little hard data.  If the aliens really weren't that advanced, they’d reasoned, it wouldn't be hard to establish communications ... but the mere sight of Invincible and the rest of the flotilla might cause a staggering culture shock.  The newcomers were far more advanced than the Vesy, the analysts had pointed out, yet they would still find it hard to come to grips with the concept of one star-spanning race, let alone four.  It would be tricky to tell them that they had to find another planet.

And then there were the other scenarios, where the aliens possessed equal technology - save for the tramlines - or even superior technology.  If they were friendly, they’d have something to trade ... but if they weren't friendly, they would become an instant threat.  And even if they were inclined to be peaceful, the analysts had pointed out, they might feel pressured into waging war on humanity anyway.  There weren’t any other habitable planets within reach.

At least their reach, Stephen told himself.  And that will last until they develop or reverse-engineer the Puller Drive for themselves.

He held up a hand.  “There’s no way to know what we’ll face, so we’ll prepare for the worst while hoping for the best,” he said.  “The more serious matter, right now, is preparing the ship for departure.  Mr. XO?”

Newcomb steepled his fingers.  “Ship-wise, we have a handful of components that need replaced, but nothing serious.  Ted” - Chief Engineer Theodore Rutgers - “implemented the program as soon as we entered orbit, so I’m hopeful that it will be completed in the next couple of days.  Replenishing our expended ammunition is also underway.  I have no doubt that we will be ready to depart on schedule.

“Morale-wise, things could be better.  Obviously, the crew was anticipating a month of doing bugger-all on shore leave, so the announcement that there would only be a few days of staggered leave didn't please them.  I don’t think it will go beyond grumbling, Captain, but there will be grumbling.”

“Which is better left ignored unless it gets out of hand,” Parkinson said.  “I’m sure the crew will not let their feelings interfere with their professionalism.”

“We can operate on reduced crews for a week as we travel to Wensleydale,” Stephen said, seriously.  “It won’t be much, but it will be something.”

“Yes, sir,” Newcomb said.  “I’ve given orders to prepare the guest cabins for the ambassador and his staff.  They should be ready for his arrival.”

Parkinson frowned.  “Not Ambassador Crichton, I hope.”

“The government hasn't picked an ambassador yet,” Stephen said.  “I don’t think it’ll be anyone assigned to Terra Nova, though.”

“They’d want a xenospecialist,” Newcomb agreed.  “Prince Henry has retired now, hasn't he?”

“I believe so,” Parkinson said.  

“We’ll also be taking a staff of xenospecialists and contact crews,” Stephen reminded them, dryly.  “Make sure there are quarters for them too.  Turn out a couple of the labs if necessary so they have space to work.”

“Aye, sir,” Newcomb said.  “I’ll check the biohazard seals too.  Ideally, we'd seal off the entire section - or put the bio-labs on another ship - but that might not be possible.  Perhaps we should go through the biological warfare drills again, too.  I don’t want to risk someone opening the wrong door by accident.”

“Good thinking,” Stephen said.  He looked at Parkinson.  “Do you see any security issues?”

“It depends,” Parkinson said.  “If the contact team is entirely British, then no.  I wouldn’t expect them to cause problems.  But if we have to take representatives from another power or two onboard ... well, I’d expect them to include a spy in their ranks.  And that could be awkward.”

“Make sure they stay out of the classified sections,” Stephen ordered.  A civilian might not be able to tell his handlers anything useful from a brief walk through the ship, but a trained spy might pick up on a minor detail that would allow his handlers to put the whole puzzle together.  “If worse comes to worst, we can distract any spies who might be attached to the ship.”

“Yes, sir,” Parkinson said.  “That said, we know nothing about alien capabilities.  They may pose a threat, simply because we don’t know what they can do.  I would recommend extreme caution when - if - we invite them onboard ship.”

“There’s nothing to suggest they have some sort of superweapon capable of blowing us out of space with a single shot,” Newcomb pointed out.

“There’s nothing to suggest they don’t have one either,” Parkinson countered.  “We know nothing about them, sir.  For all we know, tramline shock kills them ... but they still have everything else we have and more besides.  It’s my job to be paranoid.”

“I understand,” Stephen said.  “We will take every precaution.”

He looked at Newcomb.  “Once we know how many ships are joining us, we’ll start running some war games too,” he added.  “It’s been too long since we fought side-by-side with the other Great Powers.  We need to be ready in case the aliens do turn hostile.”

“That will mean telling them too much about our capabilities,” Parkinson said.  “They will be keeping one eye on the brand new carrier ...”

“They’ll have seen too much at Terra Nova, anyway,” Stephen said.  He understood the concern - he even shared it - but there was no point in trying to hide what they could do.  Any Great Power worthy of the name would have the records from Terra Nova by now.  “And besides, if it does come down to a direct clash, they’ll need to know what we can do.”

“As long as it’s a two-way street,” Newcomb grumbled.  He brightened.  “But then, first contact!  We’ll get an entry in the history texts.”

Stephen smiled.  “As long as it doesn't come under the heading of what not to do,” he said, dryly.  “We’d better not count our chickens before they’ve hatched.”

He sighed as yet another datapacket blinked up in his display.  “I’ll see you both later,” he said, tiredly.  The Admiralty never seemed to run out of reports and paperwork.  No doubt he’d just been sent something else he had to read, yet had no practical relevance to him whatsoever.  “Dismissed.”

“Aye, sir,” Parkinson said.

Stephen watched them go, then looked at his console.  Five messages were waiting for him, three of them little more than junk.  It would be worse, he told himself severely, when the media finally heard about the new aliens.  An STL ship might not be as exciting as the prospect of war over Terra Nova, but still ... he was surprised the news hadn't leaked yet.  All the Great Powers knew about the alien ship now.  Someone would have leaked it ...

Be glad, he thought.  The last thing you need is the media peering over your shoulder.

He frowned as he read the last two messages.  One was from the First Space Lord, clearing him for a private briefing at the Admiralty in London.  It puzzled him.  The First Space Lord knew Stephen shouldn't be leaving his command, not for a flight to Earth.  Nelson Base was only a shuttle flight away, if they needed to confer.  The second message solved the mystery, but created a new one.  His elder brother, Lord Shields, wanted a chat.

He must have convinced the First Space Lord to allow me to visit London, Stephen thought, crossly.  He wasn't pleased.  Duncan, Lord Shields, wasn’t a bad person - or at least he didn't mean to be a bad person - but he was a major headache.  Stephen’s career had been both helped and hindered by his relationship to a senior member of the House of Lords.  And who knows what he wants to talk about?

His fingers rested on the terminal for a long moment as he considered his options.  There was no easy way to get out of it.  He’d have to go to London anyway, for the briefing, which meant he’d have time afterwards to meet his brother.  There would be no polite way to escape.  And that meant ... he cursed his brother under his breath.  Duncan might have thought that leaning on the First Space Lord was a good idea, but it was Stephen who’d pay for it.  If the First Space Lord thought that Stephen had requested the meeting ...

“I can give him a piece of my mind, at least,” Stephen muttered, as he tapped a quick acknowledgement into the terminal.  “And then I can find out what he wants.”

***
“It’s a damn shame, what?”

Wing Commander Richard Redbird did his best to ignore the grumbling as his pilots returned to the squadron room and started to unpack.  He didn't really blame them for grumbling, even though they’d been first on the list for a couple of days of shore leave.  They’d been promised a whole month of glorious freedom after Invincible returned to Earth and the sudden change had been disorienting.  At least one pilot had devised complicated travel arrangements that would let him see a whole string of girlfriends, one after the other, that had had to be cancelled on short notice.  The bloodsucking travel firms had been understandably reluctant to return his money.

“Yeah,” Monica said.  “And I had a weekend of debauchery lined up.”

Richard rolled his eyes.  He doubted Monica had had any trouble finding company for the last two days.  She was young, pretty and came with no strings attached ... hell, none of the pilots would have had any trouble finding a date for the night.  Their uniforms guaranteed a great deal of attention from men and women alike.  London might not be Sin City - perish the thought - but it was hardly Dubai either.  

“We should have stayed down there,” Flight Lieutenant Ryan Loyn insisted.  “No one would have noticed if we’d missed the flight back to the ship ...”

Richard straightened up.  “That will do,” he said, in a tone that made them all snap to attention.  “Or do you want to spend the rest of the afternoon cleaning the deck?”

His eyes moved from face to face, daring them to challenge him.  One by one, they lowered their eyes.  Richard didn't really blame them for grumbling - he wasn't very pleased himself-  but there were limits.  He wasn't sure what was going on - no one had bothered to tell him the reason for the sudden change of plans - yet the Old Man wouldn't have done it without a very good reason.  Richard had had worse commanding officers.

“You knew what you were getting into when you signed up,” he said, into the silence.  “I know; you all had plans, plans that had to be altered or cancelled on short notice.  But being in the military sometimes means that your plans have to be changed at short notice.  Two days of shore leave are better than none.”

He made a show of looking displeased.  “So tell me,” he asked.  “Are you mature and understanding young men and women ... or are you just immature kids?”

Monica leaned forward.  “I don’t recall being told that I had to be mature when I joined the navy.”

“I think it was taken for granted,” Richard said, dryly.  Starfighter pilots definitely weren't the most mature people in the navy, for sure.  “Now, get ready for inspection at 1900.  I don’t want to see a single sock out of place.”

He surveyed the squadron room with a growing feeling of dismay.  If the inspection had been held now, the squadron would have been in hot water.  Bags lay everywhere, their contents spilling out as his subordinates hastily changed into their shipsuits; pieces of loose clothing were scattered on the deck, ranging from a dress uniform shirt to a pair of knickers that someone had dropped while they changed.  He reminded himself, once again, that he hadn't been much better when he’d been a lowly flying officer.  His commanding officers had probably felt like booting him out the airlock too from time to time.

“Sir,” Monica said.  She started to undress as she talked.  “What do you think it is?”

Richard shrugged.  “They may expect us to go back to Terra Nova,” he said.  “Someone has to show the flag, if nothing else.”

“But the Chinese are already in firm possession of the planet,” Ryan said.  “We’ll need a handful of fleet carriers to evict them.”

“Don’t let the CO hear you say that,” Richard advised.  “I don’t think we’ll actually be waging war on the Chinese.”

“Then why bother to show the flag?”  Monica asked.  She removed her shirt, then snapped her navy-issue bra into place.  “They’re not going to be intimidated if we’re cruising around doing nothing.”

“There are a few colonies in the outer system that’ll need protection,” Flight Lieutenant Anders Parham pointed out.  “The Chinese will probably try to grab them if we’re not in a position to intercept.”

“Could be,” Monica said.  “But do we have a commitment to guard the system?”

“It doesn't matter,” Ryan said.  “Now the whole system is up for grabs ... well, what you get is what you grab.”

“Very philosophical,” Monica said, dryly.

Richard tuned out the ensuing argument as he finished changing, then placed his knapsack in his drawer.  The shore leave hadn't been that great.  He’d met up with his girlfriend, only to be told that she’d found someone else ... someone who was actually there for her on the weekends.  Richard had stamped off in a rage, then found another girl in a bar who’d been quite happy to help him get over his ex.  She, at least, hadn't expected much from him.  It shouldn't really hurt, he told himself.  God knew that most long-distance relationships ended badly.  

But it does hurt, he thought.  It just isn't fair.

He snorted at his own thought.  It wasn't fair ... that was a child’s argument.  A toddler’s argument.  Life wasn't fair.  Only an idiot would believe otherwise.  He was a starfighter pilot, after all: live fast, die young, leave an expanding cloud of vapour.  The navy might have deemed him responsible enough to command other starfighter pilots in combat, but ... he was still a starfighter pilot.  He really shouldn't be thinking about anything permanent until his tour of duty came to an end.  

Monica glanced at him.  “More simulations tonight?”

“We’ll start tomorrow morning,” Richard said.  He still had no idea why their shore leave had been so drastically curtailed, although he was fairly sure it wasn't an immediate emergency.  The entire navy would have been placed on alert if an alien fleet from Andromeda had suddenly arrived in the Sol System and demanded to be taken to Earth’s leader.  “And yes, we’ll be flying against simulated Chinese targets.”

“I see,” Monica said.  She shot him a mischievous look.  “Have you heard something?”

“No,” Richard said.  He doubted Britain and China would come to blows, unless there was an accident that turned into a shooting war.  But the diplomats would surely pour water on the fire before the Solar Treaty disintegrated into war ... surely?  The Solar Treaty had survived the Anglo-Indian War, after all.  It would survive a clash with China.  “I just feel they’re our most likely opponents right now.”

Monica looked disappointed.  “The odds favour a skirmish with China.”

“You’d be better off saving your money,” Richard advised.  Betting was technically forbidden, but senior officers would turn a blind eye as long as it didn't get too far out of hand.  “There’s no way to know what we’ll encounter.”

He turned to survey the compartment.  “Pick up your clothes,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the babble.  “I want this floor so clean, this evening, that I could eat my dinner off it.”

“Yes, Dad,” Ryan said.

Richard gave him a sharp look.  “And I want you all to be ready for training, tomorrow morning,” he added.  “If you brought anything you shouldn't have up from the surface, get rid of it.  I do not want to find one of you out of his mind on dust or something equally obnoxious.  Do I make myself clear?”

Ryan paled.  “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Richard said.  He didn't care what his subordinates did on shore leave, but they were back onboard ship now.  If the inspection wound up embarrassing him, he’d take it out on them.  “Get to work.”