Marcus Yang had been sleeping when his terminal buzzed, dragging him out of an uneasy sleep. But at least he’d been able to sleep, he told himself; several of his fellow reporters had requested drugs from sickbay to help them sleep after they’d realised that the carrier was trapped for the foreseeable future. Lacking any real training, some of them had even started to panic… Marcus privately suspected that half of his fellows were on the verge of nervous breakdowns. Very few of them had truly understood the dangers of serving on a carrier until it was too late.
He pulled himself off the bunk and stood up, reaching for his tunic and pulling it on over his nightclothes. The other reporters in the compartment stirred, but didn't awaken, thankfully. Marcus smiled at them, then walked out of the hatch and down towards the briefing compartment put aside for the reporters. None of the others had realised — at least, not yet — that it wasn't the briefing compartment. It was merely a piece of window-dressing to impress them.
Inside, he blinked in surprise as he came face-to-face with a Royal Marine, wearing full battledress. It was hard to be sure, but the man looked to be around thirty, with a rough-hewn face that bore the marks of a lifetime in the service. He wore no rank stripes — they were uncommon on active service, where the enemy could use them to identify the commanding officers — but he had an air of authority that marked him as a senior officer. Marcus nodded politely to him, then waited. His experience told him that explanations would be presented soon enough.
“We’re going down to the planet,” the Marine said, finally. “Do you wish to accompany us?”
Marcus swallowed, nervously. The carrier wasn't going to enter orbit, unless the Captain had changed his mind. There would be several hours in a cramped shuttle, hopelessly vulnerable if the aliens returned to the system or merely if they’d left a few surprises in orbit for anyone who wanted to inspect the destroyed colony. But it would be a chance to get some real recordings, ones that would be exclusive to himself. He could dictate his own terms to his superiors, when — if — they returned to Earth.
“I do,” he said, finally.
The Marine smiled. “Then come with me,” he said. “There's no time to alert your fellows.”
Because they will all want to come, Marcus thought.
“I understand,” he said, out loud. “Let's go.”
Ted, feeling much refreshed after seven hours of sleep, inspected the deployment plan carefully, then nodded. “Good luck,” he said. The Marines would take at least an hour to reach the planet, then they’d have at least nine hours on the ground while Ark Royal mined for raw materials… unless the aliens returned. “We’ll be waiting for you.”
He settled back into his command chair, silently banishing Fitzwilliam to his cabin for a rest himself. It was nice of his XO to make sure that his Captain had a few extra hours of sleep, but it was also impractical. They both needed to be fully alert at all times… which was a joke, he knew. No military officer could remain permanently on alert.
Maybe we should have two Captains and two XOs, he thought. One pair to sleep, one pair to command… and switch every few hours.
He shook his head. There would be arguments over which of the Captains was really in command. Shared authority, military officers knew, was diluted authority, asking for trouble when the two officers disagreed. Somehow, he doubted the Admiralty would consider it a good idea.
But war will throw other changes at us, he told himself. All of the peacetime protocols would be burnt away by the fires of war. We won’t be the same again.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Seen from a distance, Charles decided, Vera Cruz didn't look too different from Earth. Like most settled worlds, it was an orb glowing with green and blue light, mostly blue. There were no hints from orbit that humans had trod on its surface, but then there wouldn't be any hints on any such world, apart from Earth. The giant orbital towers — and a handful of other human constructions — were the only things large enough to be visible to the naked eye from orbit.
He allowed himself a moment of relief as the shuttle finally reached orbit and started to fall into the planet’s atmosphere. An hour of being crammed into his battlesuit inside a tiny shuttle didn't please him, even though there was no realistic alternative. Most of his accompanying squad had retreated into playing music or watching movies through their suit systems, even though the latter was frowned upon by senior officers. Charles was experienced enough not to blame them for wanting the distraction. Promising trainees had had to be removed from the program after discovering that they couldn't endure more than a few minutes of isolation in the suits.
The reporter seemed to be bearing up well, he decided, as the shuttle started to shake violently. There was no hope of hiding their existence any longer, so the pilot was trying to get them down on the ground as quickly as possible. Charles sucked in a breath as gravity started to catch at them, yanking the Marines around as the shuttle dropped lower and lower. As always, he had to fight to keep himself from throwing up. The suit’s systems would take care of it, he knew, yet it was never pleasant — and he would have to buy the drinks when the regiment next went on leave. It was the simplest way, they’d found, to discourage Marines from being sick in their suits.
There was a final series of shuddering motions that tore at the shuttle, then there was a final crash and silence. Charles staggered to his feet as the hatch opened, revealing the destroyed settlement right in front of them. The Marines gathered themselves and advanced outwards, weapons at the ready as they swept for potential threats. But nothing materialised to greet them.
The settlement was very basic; a handful of prefabricated buildings making up the centre of town, surrounded by a hundred houses and makeshift shacks built from local wood and stone. Shipping anything across interstellar distances was expensive, Charles knew; it made economic sense to start using local materials as soon as possible, even if some folks whined about pillaging natural resources on newly-discovered worlds. Besides, stone and wood were much easier to replace or rebuild than anything that had been dragged across dozens of light years from Earth.
It had once been a well-developed settlement, he knew. Now, it was a ruin. The metal buildings were melted, while the more natural constructions were burned-out ruins. His suit’s HUD identified some of the buildings — transit barracks, a schoolroom, the governor’s residence — but it was impossible to link the names with the destroyed buildings. The Marines spread out slowly, eying the blackened ruins as if they expected them to spring to life with hostile soldiers, yet nothing happened. They were completely alone.
“Check the buildings,” Charles ordered.
He knew he should remain with the shuttle, where he could coordinate the operation, but he couldn't keep himself from inspecting the schoolroom. Inside, it was a mess. The desks and chairs had been burned to ashes, while the small collection of electronic teaching aids were missing. There were no sign of any bodies. On the ground, he thought he saw a handful of tiny footprints, but he knew they could just be his imagination.
“They took the teaching aids,” he said, out loud. “What could they learn from those?”
“They could learn our language, for a start,” Sergeant Miles said. “One of my girlfriends used to say that a student could begin with no knowledge of English and master it through using one of those aids. I dare say the aliens are smarter than schoolchildren.”