“The aliens probed our defences, then broke off,” he said, shortly. Yang might understand the real implications, but he had no intention of spelling them out for his partner. “They didn't come near the carrier.”
“Odd choice of tactics,” Yang said. “Modern-day doctrine dictates the immediate destruction of the enemy’s carriers.”
James couldn't disagree. The vast majority of space navies — and God knew there was no sign the aliens disagreed — had poured resources into carriers, rather than fixed defences. It gave them a flexibility, the admirals had concluded, that orbital battlestations couldn't hope to match — and besides, orbital battlestations were sitting ducks. It was no surprise that the aliens had gone after humanity’s carriers during the Battle of New Russia; they’d known that destroying the carriers would eventually give them the victory. And they’d been right.
“True enough,” he said. “But the aliens might well have discovered who we are and backed off.”
“Or they have plans for a future ambush,” Yang said, with evident pleasure. His partner whimpered. “They might be ready for us.”
“It’s a possibility,” James agreed, shortly. The Captain had planned their entry to minimise the chances of detection, but the aliens — assuming they knew how humanity’s drives worked — might well manage to catch their arrival anyway. “But we have to press on anyway.”
The thin reporter looked up. “You mean to fly right into a trap?”
James shook his head, reflecting privately that the reporter wasn't as stupid as she looked.
“It is a trap,” she insisted. “Why else would they back off and let us go?”
“They would not have been able to assign too many ships to guarding all of the possible angles of approach,” James said, as patiently as he could. “I don’t think they expected an armoured carrier and a small fleet of armoured warships. The smart thing to do was to back off, which they did.”
The reporter sighed. James found himself studying her, privately reflecting — again — that perhaps he should send her to sickbay. She was so inhumanly thin… it crossed his mind to wonder if she was actually human, before dismissing the thought with all the contempt it deserved. Having her body extensively modified to allow her to survive with so little meat on her bones was stupid, but it didn't make her inhuman. Unless she was an alien spy…
He smirked at the thought. Humanity’s first depictions of aliens had been little more than humans in rubber suits. It hadn't been until computer technology had allowed the creation of computer-generated monsters that truly inhuman monsters had been depicted on the big screen. But the first real aliens humanity had encountered had been humanoid… the theorists that suggested that different worlds, faced with the same problems, would find the same answers, might have been right after all. And yet… somehow, he doubted they could pose as human.
But was it unbelievable that some humans would turn traitor? The aliens had taken prisoners, they assumed; they’d certainly captured a handful of human colony worlds. It would be easy enough, he knew, to convince some of their captives to serve them instead. If they happened to take an entire family prisoner, they could threaten the children to force the adults to comply. Why, if humans could be so unpleasant to their fellow humans, could they expect the aliens to be any better? And yet, there was no reason to assume that the aliens hadn't already started building up spy networks long before Vera Cruz.
James scowled. If suspicions were directed at everyone who might just have come into contact with the aliens, somewhere along the edge of explored space…
The reporter coughed. “Is there a problem, Commander?”
“I’m not sure,” James said. He made a mental note to write down his suspicions, although he was fairly sure MI5 would already have considered the possibilities. But the last thing humanity needed was a witch hunt for alien spies. “Are you having second thoughts about being on this ship?”
The reporter coloured, very slightly. “I was told it would make my career,” she said, miserably. “And that I would be safe.”
James had to fight to keep himself from giggling. What manner of idiot would believe that a military starship going into action was safe? But maybe it did make sense, in a weird kind of way. Embedded journalists like Yang went into action beside military units, even taking up weapons and opening fire if necessary. Other journalists remained behind the lines, donned clean uniforms and told themselves that they were being daring. And, having close access to cameras for ‘live’ reporting, tended to shape the media environment the way they wanted it to go.
“It may well make your career,” James said, although he didn't have the slightest idea of why anyone would have thought that too. “But it will not, I'm afraid, be safe.”
Yang stood. “If you don’t mind, Commander, I have to go file a report,” he said. “Can I leave Barbie in your capable hands?”
James blinked in surprise. Yang knew perfectly well there was no way to file a report, not until they returned to Earth or sent another ship back in their place. It puzzled him until he looked at Barbie — so that was her name — and realised that she was on the verge of crying. He scowled at Yang’s retreating back, then wondered just who had wanted to be rid of her. Maybe she was too silly to be considered an asset even in the most liberal mainstream media outlet…
Or maybe someone made her boss send her away, James thought, ruefully. From what he’d heard, media outlets were driven by feuds and jealousies that made the aristocracy look calm and reasonable. She seduced someone and her rival exacted a little revenge…
“It isn't safe at all,” he confirmed. “But the Old Lady is a tough little ship. She’ll survive.”
Barbie — absently, he wondered if that was just a media name — reached out and gave him a hug. James hesitated, then returned the hug, feeling her body pressing against his. She felt odd, almost childish, to the touch. The feeling was disturbing on a very primal level, so he pushed her away as soon as he decently could. Up close, her body seemed almost too thin to be sexual. According to her file, she was in her mid-twenties. He would have questioned if she was barely entering her teens.
“Thank you,” she said. She stepped backwards and turned, allowing him to see her buttocks. They too were thin, thin enough to be almost unrecognisable. “I’ll hold you to it.”
James rolled his eyes as she walked out of the compartment, leaving him alone. If Ark Royal were to be destroyed, James would die beside her… and the rest of the crew. Perhaps, just perhaps, they could evacuate… no, that wasn't likely to happen. Even if they did, they would be exploding outwards into alien-controlled territory. Would the aliens ignore the lifepods, fire on them or take their crews prisoner? There was no way to know.
“Idiot,” he muttered.
“This isn't a plan,” Charles objected, when he looked at the finished operational outline. “I think this is guaranteed suicide.”
Ivan’s face didn't change, but there was a definite hint of amusement in his eyes. “I always knew you British were soft,” he said. “This plan is bound to succeed.”
Charles gave him a sharp look. “Because it’s so absurd that no one in their right mind would expect it?”
“Precisely,” Ivan said. “We go anywhere and do anything to complete the mission.”
That, Charles knew, was true. The Russian Special Forces were known for pushing themselves to the limit, just like the other such units around the world. And, unlike the more open powers, the Russians had fewer qualms about taking terrifying risks to complete the mission. Their performance in the Third Afghanistan War alone had marked their operators as being men to watch, even before they’d started bending the letter of international agreements on cyborg soldiers.