“I picked up a low-level query from the Russian system,” Farley reported. “They took their time.”
“Too long,” Fitzwilliam said. “What do they want?”
“More codes,” Farley said. He looked up, alarmed. “Sir, we don’t have any other codes.”
Ted frowned. It was understandable that it had taken several minutes for the Russian system to respond. The closest platform was several light minutes from the tramline, while the automated systems would have to decide if it was worth taking the risk of responding to the signal. But to ask for other codes…? It made no sense… unless, of course, there were a handful of Russians still hiding out in the asteroid fields, watching the aliens from afar.
“Check with Ivan,” Ted ordered. If the codes they had were insufficient, did they dare risk sending a signal in clear? And would the Russians believe them if they did? “If not, we will have to do without the Russian platforms.”
There was a long pause. “Ivan thinks that the system has been reprogrammed by one of his people,” Fitzwilliam reported. “It was apparently a security precaution. He suggests sending a message in Russian.”
Ted frowned. “Ask him to record one,” he ordered. He looked back down at the display. If it was a trap… they were about to spring it. “And then transmit it.”
He felt his frown deepening as the message flickered down the laser link. No human starship could remain on alert indefinitely, not outside the fevered imagination of movie producers and politicians without military experience. His crew either needed to get into battle or relax, yet he didn't dare risk either. Knowing Murphy’s habit of showing up at the worst possible time, they’d have their pants down around their ankles when the aliens finally launched their ambush. But if they were waiting for Ark Royal to move…
“Picking up a response,” Farley said. “They’re sending us a detailed data dump.”
“Run it through the standard security precautions, then pass it to the isolated analyst system,” Ted ordered. It was unlikely in the extreme that the aliens could produce a virus capable of attacking Ark Royal’s computers — and, if they did, it wouldn't be any use against more modern carriers — but there was no point in taking chances. Besides, human opponents might well have worked out ways to attack the ship’s systems. “And then order one-half of our crews to stand down.”
“Understood,” Fitzwilliam said. “Will you be resting yourself, Captain?”
“No,” Ted said. He couldn’t relax… and if he left the bridge, he might give into the temptation to take a drink or two. Or, if he took a pill, Fitzwilliam might have to command Ark Royal and the flotilla when the aliens finally attacked. That would look awful on his service record. “But you are to take a nap in your quarters.”
An hour ticked by slowly as the recon platforms inched their way into the inner system, towards the looming presence of New Russia. The handful of orbital stations the Russians had built to make transhipment easier were gone, not entirely to Ted’s surprise. Stalin, the larger of the two moons, had once held a large-sized mining colony. That too was gone, leaving only a scar on the lunar surface. Judging by the size of the blast, the aliens definitely did have nukes — and were prepared to use them too. There was nothing else, as far as he knew, that could produce such damage.
“Interesting that they didn't want to capture the facility,” Farley mused. “They don’t build their starships out of unobtainium or anything unknown to us. The Russians mined for materials to build starships here. Why wouldn’t the aliens want it for themselves?”
Ted shrugged. “Maybe they don’t intend to keep New Russia,” he suggested. “As long as we don’t know where their homeworlds are, they can just keep dancing around us, defying us to catch and crush their fleets. Eventually, they’d grind us down to the point where they can launch an invasion and occupy our remaining worlds.”
He scowled at the thought. While they were crawling towards New Russia, the aliens might well have launched their fleets towards Britannia, Washington, Ghandi or even Confucius, targeting humanity’s shipyards and industrial nodes away from Earth. The thought of Britannia being ravaged by the aliens was horrifying — and he knew the other spacefaring powers would feel the same. They’d invested literally trillions of pounds in the out-system colonisation program.
The console chimed. “Sir,” Farley said, “we’ve found the alien fleet.”
“Show me,” Ted ordered.
One by one, the alien fleet came into view. It wasn't in orbit around New Russia — apart from a handful of frigate-sized craft that seemed to be in low orbit — but lurking some distance from the planet. Ted puzzled over it for a long moment, then decided that the aliens were clearly preparing an offensive. As alien as their craft were, they seemed to fall into roles comparable to humanity’s fleets.
“Fourteen carriers, of two different types,” Farley said. “Fifty-two smaller craft, mainly frigate-sized, and thirty-five freighters. The latter seem to be transhipping supplies to the carriers.”
Ted cursed their luck. If they’d arrived in time to take advantage of the alien distraction… he shook his head. They’d just have to work with what they had.
“Keep expanding the recon network,” he ordered. A direct assault on the alien fleet would be suicidal, but there were always options. “And then let me see what happened when the system fell.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“It doesn't look too different from Earth,” Barbie said.
James rolled his eyes. New Russia was Earth-like, right down to an ecosystem that could support human settlement, even if it hadn't produced any form of intelligent life form. The existence of worlds like New Russia had once been used to confirm the theory that humanity was alone in the universe, the sole race to pass through the bottlenecks that led to intelligence and spacefaring status. That theory, he suspected, wouldn't be heard in future. God alone knew how many other intelligent races there were out there.
“Yes,” he said. None of the reporters struck him as particularly intelligent, but Barbie took the cake. “It is, in fact, a remarkably habitable world.”
He allowed himself a moment of relief as his terminal buzzed, calling him back to the CIC. Leaving the reporters in the tender care of the PR officers, he stepped through the airlock and walked down the corridor to the CIC. The Marines on duty nodded as he walked past them, keeping their weapons in plain view. James rather doubted the aliens would try to board the carrier, but the Marines could and did keep the reporters away from the CIC. They didn't want to be interrupted by stupid questions in the middle of a battle.
Inside, a holographic representation of New Russia floated in the centre of the giant compartment, surrounded by a handful of red icons. The alien formation looked oddly familiar; James realised, with a sudden flicker of relief, that it was a formation designed to provide total coverage of the planet below. They hadn't obliterated the Russian population, thankfully. Their formation allowed them to keep the humans under control.
“They’ve taken out the spaceports and a handful of military bases,” the analyst muttered, as he worked his way through the tidal wave of incoming data. “But there doesn't seem to be much damage to any of the cities.”
“For which we should be grateful,” the Captain said. “Is there an alien presence on the surface?”
“Not that we can pick up from this distance,” the analyst reported. “We are picking up a handful of alien radio transmissions, but they’re all located several hundred miles from the nearest city.”