“They’re learning rapidly,” Jill said, “but I don’t think they will ever understand us completely.”
Henry couldn’t disagree. Teaching machines were designed for human children on isolated colonies, bringing them up to standard without needing to import a dedicated teacher. They were actually quite successful, as long as the kids stayed in front of the machine, and the aliens — it seemed — had learned a great deal from them. But they still didn’t understand some of the human concepts. A long explanation of why some humans wore skirts and others wore kilts, despite them being essentially the same thing, had puzzled them completely.
“We probably won’t understand them completely either,” he said. He’d asked for clothes, only to be turned down. There hadn’t been any malice in the alien voice, as far as he could tell, or a desire to humiliate the humans; they simply hadn’t understood the requirement. “But as long as we can get them to talk to someone with real power, we can hammer out an agreement.”
He looked at her as she turned away, pushing herself towards the bed. It had crossed his mind, more than once, to tell the aliens who he was. He’d been told, in no uncertain terms, that he shouldn’t disclose his identity if he was ever taken hostage, although he’d pointed out sarcastically that anyone who tried to kidnap him would have a jolly good idea of who he was already. The thought of becoming an alien prisoner had never crossed his mind…
But he’d also been told, time and time again, that he had no true power. He couldn’t make promises the British Government would be bound to keep…
The ship shook, violently.
Jill started. “What was that?”
“An impact,” Henry said. He pressed his fingers against the deck and felt it throbbing. It was impossible to be sure, but it felt like the starship was going to full military power. “I think that’s not good.”
One of the aliens swung around to face them. “This ship is under attack,” it said. The other aliens were already making their way towards the hatch. “Remain here.”
As if we could go anywhere else, Henry thought. He thought the ship had jumped through at least two tramlines, but it was impossible to be sure. Besides, as he had no idea of where they’d been held prisoner or how close it was to Target One, trying to estimate the distance they’d covered was a pointless exercise.
Jill looked nervous. “Under attack by whom?”
The alien said nothing. Instead, it just pulled itself out the hatch and vanished.
“Humans or another alien faction,” Henry guessed. “Unless there’s a third alien race that has just introduced itself to us.”
Jill pulled herself to the bed, then reached for one of the straps. “Is that possible?”
Henry shrugged. “We didn’t know there was even one alien race until a year ago,” he said, dryly. “Why can’t there be two?”
But somehow it seemed unlikely. The War Faction might be trying to stop them contacting the human race… or they might have run into a patrolling human starship. Either one was bad, but it would be worse if it was a human ship. The aliens might lose faith in their attempt to make peace if they were greeted with a hail of incoming fire. He glared around the bulkhead, wishing for a tactical display, something — anything — to show what was going on outside the hull. But there was nothing.
He pushed himself over to the bed and strapped himself down. There was nothing else he could do, but wait.
“I’m scared,” Jill said. She wrapped her arms around him, her bare breasts poking into his chest. “Why…?”
Henry understood. Their lives depended, now, on the aliens destroying the attackers or breaking contact and escaping. There was nothing they could do, one way or the other, to help the aliens or even save their own lives. If the aliens lost, the first they’d know of it would be when the bulkheads disintegrated into fire. By then, it would be far too late for them to do anything more than die.
“Relax,” he ordered, firmly. The nasty part of his mind wanted to know if his private vows to Janelle still held good, despite the certainty of death. Jill looked willing enough… angrily, he pushed that thought aside. He was damned if he was going to rut like an animal in the face of imminent death. “Close your eyes and try to relax.”
James Fitzwilliam sucked in his breath as the five alien ships came into view. It wasn’t easy to disagree with the tactical analysis; Contact One was attempting to escape, while Contacts Two through Five were attempting to catch it. Whoever was flying Contact One was an ace helmsman, he had to admit. He was incredibly skilful at keeping the distance open between the five ships, despite the endless barrage of plasma fire. But his luck would run out, sooner or later.
“Lock mass drivers on target,” he ordered. He doubted they would score a hit, unless the aliens did something stupid, but it would give the bastards something else to think about apart from Contact One. “Prepare to fire.”
“Mass drivers locked, Captain,” Farley said. “Starfighters are ready to launch.”
James allowed himself a smile. The battle was about to be joined — and there would be no more sneaking about, either with the aliens or the foreign spy on his ship. This time, everything would be simple.
“Spit a copy of their communications package at them, then the instructions,” he said, addressing Lieutenant Annie Davidson. The aliens would be sent a set of diagrams, detailing what to do. Everyone swore blind they’d be able to understand what they were being sent, but James had his doubts. The aliens were alien. For all they knew, their system would be unable to display the pictures. “And warn our crews to keep a sharp eye on Contact One.”
“Aye, Captain,” Davidson said.
“Fire,” James ordered.
Ark Royal shuddered as her mass drivers fired, launching a stream of projectiles towards the alien ships. A direct hit would be fatal, he knew, although the aliens would have plenty of time to alter course. The projectiles weren’t missiles. They’d keep following a strictly ballistic trajectory, missing their targets. And the aliens would definitely know they were there.
“Launch starfighters,” he ordered. Contact One was altering course — but was it because they were obeying orders or because they didn’t know who the humans were trying to kill? If the aliens had problems telling humans apart, they might assume that humanity had the same problem. And it did. “All batteries, prepare to open fire.”
The other alien ships seemed to hesitate, then pressed the attack against Contact One. James frowned; they had to know they were suddenly badly outgunned and they could retreat, so why weren’t they running? It would be easy for them to evade contact if they reversed course now. One of them… he blinked in disbelief as mass driver projectiles smashed into its hull, shattering it into thousands of pieces of debris. They’d been so focused on their target that they hadn’t even tried to evade the incoming projectiles.
“Continue firing,” he ordered. The aliens clearly didn’t want them talking to Contact One. It was worth some risk to attempt to make contact. “And attempt to raise Contact One.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Fall into formation,” Kurt ordered, as the starfighters lanced away from the carrier. “And remember to randomise your manoeuvres.”
He smiled, despite the risk of imminent death. It had been a long argument to convince the Captain to put him back on the flight roster — and that had been before he’d made a full confession — but it had been worth it. Here, he could pretend to be a simple pilot, rather than a man caught at the centre of a byzantine plot. And besides, he didn’t want to leave his largely untrained pilots at the mercy of the aliens. They needed someone experienced to lead the way.