“Jump,” he ordered.
He braced himself as the display went dark, then flickered back to life as they materialised within the new star system. The aliens could be waiting… but nothing materialised, apart from a single icon that was drifting five hundred thousand kilometres from their position. It looked like a monitoring satellite, Ted decided, which was confirmed when the satellite started to send a stream of data into the inner system. Ted ordered its immediate destruction — a single blast from a railgun would suffice — then turned his attention to the sensor reports. There was one source of signals within the inner system… and only one other tramline.
“It isn't jumping back towards human space,” Annie reported.
Ted shrugged, briefly considering their options. He could launch an ambush himself, when — if — the alien ship came through the tramline, but it would be too risky. God alone knew what was lurking within the alien system, yet if they’d left Alien-One largely undeveloped to avoid alerting human survey ships, there was no guarantee that they'd done the same for Alien-Two. At some point, he knew, they would have to fortify their worlds to prevent the humans from accidentally stumbling over their settlements and then escaping to alert the human race.
“Take us towards it anyway, best possible speed,” he ordered. Turning, he looked over at Farley. “Launch two of our remaining drones towards the alien world. I want to know what — if anything — is there, waiting for us.”
There was a chime from his console. “I'd like to withdraw half of the pilots for a rest in the sleep machine,” Fitzwilliam said. “They need it, desperately.”
Ted cursed under his breath. They were still too close to the tramline for him to be sanguine about stripping half of the starfighters from the launch roster. But, at the same time, he knew his pilots were exhausted.
“Hold for ten minutes,” he said, studying the tramline as it fell behind them. “I want to see what the aliens do.”
“Understood,” Fitzwilliam said.
He didn't say anything else, for which Ted was grateful. Maybe he had wanted to steal command for himself, once upon a time. Ted couldn't really blame him for wanting to promote himself by any means possible. But he was smart enough to know that they couldn't afford internal bickering, not now. The minutes ticked away with no sign of the alien battlecruiser.
“Launch another drone,” Ted ordered. The further they moved from the tramline, the harder it would be to pick up a transit signature when the alien ship finally made its appearance. “I want to know when it arrives.”
“Yes, sir,” Farley said. He hesitated, noticeably. “We only have three drones left.”
Ted sighed. “Launch it anyway,” he ordered. The beancounters would make a terrible fuss, but without that information they might well be caught by surprise when the battlecruiser made its return appearance. He keyed his console. “James, send half the pilots for their rest now.”
“Aye, sir,” the XO said. “And you should get some rest too, sir.”
Ted rubbed his eyes. The XO was right, he knew. But he was unwilling to leave the bridge until the battle was over.
“You get some rest,” he ordered, instead. “I need to stay here.”
Oddly, Fitzwilliam didn't argue.
Ted leaned back in his chair and watched the reports from the drones plunging into the inner system. The second tramline was on the other side of the source of alien signals, a Mars-like world that seemed to have nothing going for it apart from a surprisingly large number of small moons orbiting it. Ted found himself wondering if the aliens had actually captured hundreds of asteroids and steered them into planetary orbit, producing a vast network of habitats and industrial nodes. But the world seemed surprisingly undefended for an industrial complex… and besides, it was far too close to the front lines.
But the Russians wanted to turn New Russia into a centre of industry, he thought. They didn't know that the aliens might come on the offensive at any moment.
He puzzled over the issue as the data continued to flood into the computers. The analyst section identified a handful of small mining complexes, all disappointingly comparable to human systems. It seemed the aliens didn't bother to waste ultra-advanced technology on mining camps, any more than the human industrial complexes. Most of the technology used to mine the asteroids and the lunar surface predated the general advance into space itself.
“Curious,” he muttered, out loud. “All that industry and hardly any defences.”
“We might not be able to see the defences, sir,” Farley pointed out. “We’re operating at quite some distance from the planet.”
Ted smiled, calculating the vectors. If the alien battlecruiser didn't make its appearance, he would be tempted — very tempted — to pause long enough to lay waste to the system. The outcome of modern wars were largely determined by the production war, with one side out-producing its rival and crushing its enemies under the sheer weight of its produce. But the aliens knew where humanity’s industrial centres were located, allowing them to target their attacks on facilities that had taken years to produce, while the human race had no idea where to hit their enemy’s industrial base. A few deep-strike raids, Ted realised, and the human race would lose many of its industrial complexes. And the war itself would be lost with them.
“Continue on our present course,” he ordered, finally. Where was the damn battlecruiser? Surely the aliens would want to keep tabs on Ark Royal, rather than let her wander through alien-controlled space without supervision. “Alert me when we make our closest approach to the planet.”
He glanced at the timer. Nine hours to go. Fitzwilliam was right. He did need to sleep.
Once he’s had his shot in the sleep machines, I’ll take mine, Ted thought. He disliked the sleep machines — they just didn't feel right — but there was no alternative. And then I might feel more alert.
“They reacted rather oddly, sir,” the Marine reported. “As soon as we jumped, they started keening.”
Charles frowned, studying the alien prisoners through the surveillance sensors. The aliens hadn't shown much reaction to the quarantine compartment or the human observers, but that could be nothing more than lessons from an alien version of the dreaded Conduct After Capture course. What would the aliens, who had presumably known about humanity long enough to devise protocols for any of their race who happened to be taken prisoner, have told them to do? Humans were supposed to restrict themselves to name, rank and serial number… although if the captors felt like conducting a more rigorous interrogation, it was unlikely that any of the prisoners could have held anything back.
Not that it matters, he thought, wryly. They can't speak English and we can't speak their language. We might have captured the King of all the Aliens and we’d never know it.
“Interesting,” he said. The human observers had retreated hastily, complaining about their ears hurting. “Have they done anything else?”
“No, but they must have sensed the jump,” the Marine said. “They know there’s no hope of recovery now.”
Charles sighed. No one had seriously considered having to deal with prisoners from an alien race, not until Vera Cruz… and, as far as he knew, no real protocols had been developed to handle the situation. The planned First Contact bore no resemblance to what had actually happened. Between them, the doctors and the Marines were making it up as they went along.
“It would give them a reason to talk to us,” Charles said. “But if they can't…”