“Maybe,” Parnell said. “But both captives thought they might be much further below the water than they were.”
He shrugged. “A mystery we may solve when we talk properly,” he said. “Sir…”
Ted looked up, sharply.
“Get some sleep,” Parnell said, bluntly. “You look like shit.”
“Thank you,” Ted said. He had just too many pieces of paperwork to do. And then he had reports to read, review and sign. It never seemed to end. “But I don’t have time…”
“You need to be alert,” Parnell pointed out. He took a long breath. “Do what I was told to do on my first deployment as a Junior Lt.”
“And what was?”
Parnell smiled. “Leave the paperwork until we started home,” he said. “If you die on deployment, I was told, they won’t hire a medium to force you to finish it.”
“That wouldn’t be the strangest thing the government has invested in,” Ted said. “But I’ll do as you suggest.”
He waited until Parnell had left, then walked over to the sofa and lay down. There was no point in going back to his quarters, not now. Besides, his quarters just felt odd these days, even though he wasn’t sharing them with one of the ambassadors or another outsider. And he would be closer to the CIC.
Sleep didn’t come easy, despite his exhaustion. He was almost tempted to order a sedative, but knew he shouldn’t. He’d be asleep, dead to the world, if something happened. It wasn’t something he could do without clearing it with both Captain Fitzwilliam and his XO — and perhaps the ship’s doctor. Sighing, he eventually fell into a fitful sleep.
He was awakened, what felt like seconds later, by the howling of the GQ alarm.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“All right,” James said, as he took his command chair. “What do we have?”
“Incoming enemy starfighters,” Farley said. Red icons appeared on the display, so close together that they threatened to blur into a shapeless mass. “I count nineteen of them, perhaps more. They’re flying in very close formation.”
“Prepare to launch ready starfighters,” James ordered. He glanced at the link to the CIC, but Admiral Smith hadn’t linked in yet. “And stand by point defence.”
He gritted his teeth as a nasty thought struck him. “Get a line down to the diplomats,” he added. Once, they had been able to assume that all alien contacts were hostile. They couldn’t do that now. “Ask them to talk to the aliens and confirm the newcomers are hostile.”
“Aye, sir,” Davidson said.
James nodded, then glanced at the display. Nineteen starfighters… so where was their carrier? Long-range sensors showed nothing. The carrier could be under stealth, but it would still have to be somewhere close by… unless, of course, the aliens had managed to extend their endurance. But there were hard limits, even for them.
“Enemy starfighters are reducing speed,” Farley said, suddenly. “They’re angling away from us.”
James frowned. What the hell were they doing? If they’d hoped to get into attack range before he managed to launch his remaining starfighters — which was the only tactic he thought made sense — they should be charging in to attack, not angling away. Or had they suddenly changed their mind for some reason? It would be unlike the aliens, but they had to have taken a beating in the recent battles too.
“CAG reports all starfighters ready to launch,” Davidson reported. “The diplomats have not yet replied.”
“Tell them it’s urgent,” James snarled. Diplomats! They could talk all day about non-essentials before approaching the really serious matters. But he didn’t have time for arguments over the shape of the conference table or how many assistants and aides each ambassador would be allowed. “We need an answer before the newcomers enter engagement range.”
He cursed under his breath. Standing pre-war orders forbade him to open fire until the enemy opened fire or if he had a very good reason to believe there was an immediate threat to his command. It was easier to patch up a diplomatic misunderstanding if there were no casualties on either side. Now, he had clearance to engage the aliens wherever he found them, but good reason to think he should exercise a little caution. They were already at war with one alien faction. The others should be kept neutral, at the very least.
“Captain,” Farley said, softly. “The CAG is requesting orders.”
“Launch two squadrons of starfighters, then move the CSP into intercept position,” James ordered. He would almost have been happier with a swarm of enemy starfighters bearing down on his ship. At least he would have had good reason to assume hostile intent. “And hold the remaining starfighters at readiness.”
The red icons flickered in and out of existence as they moved around the edge of the flotilla’s sensor perimeter. James frowned, wondering if the aliens were just trying to force the humans to exhaust themselves. He couldn’t ignore the enemy starfighters, but he couldn’t deploy too many of his own away from the ship. It could all be a costly diversion. Having his pilots flying constantly would drain them as surely as anything else.
“Launch four ballistic probes, backtracked along the alien course,” he ordered. “If there is a carrier out there, I want to find it.”
“Aye, sir,” Farley said. There was a long pause as he worked his console. “Probes deployed, sir; I say again, probes deployed.”
“Good, James said.
He nodded, tersely. Sensor stealth and even cloaking devices had their weaknesses. If the alien carrier was doing anything other than pretending to be a hole in space there was a very good chance the probes would pick up at least a sniff of its location. And then… he scowled as he realised the diplomats had still not replied to his messages. There was no way to know if the enemy starfighters were friendly, neutral or actively hostile. The only evidence he had that pointed to anything other than hostility was the simple fact they were holding outside attack range rather than closing in to engage the carrier.
“The diplomats say the aliens insist the starfighters aren’t theirs,” Davidson said, suddenly. “They’re hostile.”
“Good to know,” James said, dryly. The War Faction had shown its willingness to kill members of other factions before. Humanity would regard that as an act of war, but the aliens seemed to think differently. Or, he wondered inwardly, perhaps they had problems understanding the other factions. “Warn all starfighters that they are cleared to engage, if the aliens enter attack range.”
Long minutes ticked by. The aliens held their position, neither moving closer nor moving away. James had never been a starfighter pilot — his family had flatly forbidden him to attempt to enter the Academy — but he was familiar with their logistic requirements. It was a rare starfighter that could handle more than an hour or two of flying time without needing its life support packs replaced. The alien starfighters seemed to have similar limitations.
So why aren’t they attacking? He asked himself. Or doing something other than poking at the edge of our sensor network?
“Launch a recon shell of drones,” he ordered, slowly. It was possible the aliens were trying to divert his attention from something else, sneaking up on the other side of the flotilla. Or, perhaps, that the Peace Faction’s starship was a Trojan Horse. “I want to know if anything is trying to sneak up behind us.”