Christopher Nuttall - Ark Royal

“They’re fighting like mad bastards to hold the bridge, sir,” Captain Jackson called. “We may need to use grenades.”

Charles winced. A human bridge had all of its vital components armoured under the deck, allowing attackers to lay waste to the command consoles without doing any real damage. But what if that wasn't true for the alien ship? They could smash up the bridge, only to discover that they’d accidentally crippled the whole ship. And yet… the longer they waited, the greater the chance the aliens would succeed in blowing up the ship. Right now, Charles knew that he would be preparing the self-destruct. Their position was hopeless. All that remained was to take as many of the humans with them as they could.

“Do it,” he ordered. He hesitated, then added an additional order. “Use gas first, see what it does. Then use HE if there’s no other alternative.”

“Understood, sir,” Jackson said.

Charles tore his attention back to the main engineering compartment, just as the main door crashed inward, revealing a compartment that was strikingly different from its human counterpart. The modular design he had expected was non-existent; instead, all of the alien subsystems appeared to be linked together into a single unprotected mass. It made no sense to him; half of the systems appeared to be exposed to any stray shot or power surge. Or were the aliens in the middle of trying to blow up the ship when the Marines burst in?

“The gas seemed to make them convulse,” Jackson reported, as the Marines slowly advanced into the engineering compartment. The aliens seemed to have vanished completely, abandoning the section. “They weren't in any fit state for a fight. We’ve taken them prisoner.”

The bridge crew , Charles told himself. “Keep a sharp eye on them,” he ordered, remembering how bendy and flexible alien bodies could be. Standard zip-ties might not be enough to keep them helpless, not if they could flex their way out of the tie. “Actually, secure them thoroughly. We don't know how easily they can escape.”

“Yes, sir,” Jackson said.

The Marines prowled through the deserted compartment, looking for the aliens. There was so much interference in the section that the nanoprobes, otherwise very useful at tracking alien movements, were largely useless. Charles heard bursts of interference over the datanet, wondering absently just what the aliens used to operate their starships. Nothing human produced such effects, of that he was sure. Or would human fusion cores produce interference, if they were unshielded? The prospect of fighting in a radiation-filled zone was chilling. But the battlesuits weren't reading any dangerous radiation in the vicinity.

“It's like they abandoned the entire section,” Corporal Pollock said.

Charles rather doubted it. There were four compartments on a human starship that had to be held at any cost; the bridge, main engineering, the armoury and life support. Losing control of one of them could mean losing control of the ship. The contingency plans the Marines had practiced for Ark Royal included stationing a whole platoon of armoured Marines in all four locations, ready to repel attack or buy time for the ship to be destroyed. But the aliens seemed to have retreated instead…

The mists grew heavier as they advanced, making it harder and harder to see. Charles sensed the tension among his Marines, understanding and cursing it at the same time. What they couldn't see could hurt them — and the tension would make them fire off a shot at nothing, sooner or later. And then he saw very definite movement, something twitching…

“Keep back,” he ordered. Something was barely visible in the gloom. “Sergeant…”

The Sergeant advanced forward, weapon at the ready. Charles silently cursed the rules that forced him to stay back, then almost jumped as the Sergeant swore out loud. “Sir,” he said, “they’re dying.”

Charles threw caution to the winds and ran forward. There was a heap of alien bodies, twitching unpleasantly, lying at the far end of the compartment. Several of them were already dead — even when sleeping, according to the doctors, they moved constantly — and others were definitely dying. Their skins, normally bright vivid colours, were shading down towards the murky grey he remembered from the first body. But what did it mean?

“They thought they were going to be captured,” the Sergeant speculated. “Instead, they chose to die”

Charles nodded, then listened as reports started to come in from the rest of the ship. Some aliens had been captured, but others had killed themselves, either through poison or simply shooting themselves in the head. Were they that fearful, Charles asked himself, of being taken prisoner? For all he knew, the aliens had a long tradition of murdering prisoners… although the treatment of their human captives seemed to suggest otherwise. But they’d also drugged the humans mercilessly…

He shook his head. That too was something that might be answered when human analysts went prowling through the alien ship, trying to recover computer files. There was a great deal of information in any standard teaching program on humanity, from biology to psychology. The aliens had probably cracked the systems they’d taken from Vera Cruz by now, if they hadn't recovered any from the Heinlein . But then, the aliens wouldn't really have had to work hard. Civilian teaching machines weren't designed to make it hard to learn.

“We need to find a way of talking to them,” he said, as the prisoners were hauled back towards where the shuttles were docked. It would take some ingenuity to link up the shuttle’s airlock to the alien ship, but they didn't have any spacesuits suitable for the alien captives. “Some way to tell them that they won't be killed on sight.”

He fought down the urge to rub his forehead. There was no way to touch his skin through the suit. “And contact Ark Royal ,” he added. “Tell them… tell them that the ship is ours.”

And hope that the engineering crew can make use of it , he added, silently. Because alien reinforcements are already on their way .

It had taken a considerable amount of polite arguing before Ted had been able to convince Commander Fitzwilliam that he should be allowed to board the alien craft. Captains were not supposed to risk themselves, Fitzwilliam had pointed out, reminding Ted that most television or datanet programs were grossly unrealistic. Ted had countered by reminding his XO that the alien ship had been rendered safe and he was damned if he wasn't going to take a look at it, just once. He certainly had never expected to be able to visit an alien ship before the war started — or even after it, for that matter.

Oddly, the alien craft was slightly disappointing. Once he’d come to terms with the moist atmosphere — the doctors insisted on everyone using breathmasks until they were sure there was nothing harmful in the alien atmosphere — he’d realised that there wasn't anything too different from human technology at all. Part of his mind realised that wasn't actually a bad thing — something based on completely different principles would require years to unravel, if it could be unravelled at all — but he couldn't help feeling as if some of the wonder of the universe had faded away.

He couldn't help envying the aliens for the sheer amount of joy they'd worked into their creation. Human starships were boxy, built more for utility than elegance; the only truly elegant human ships were the handful of luxury liners that plied the tramlines between Earth and the various wonders of the human sphere. They’d been built by shipping corporations willing to expend the money to design ships that looked spectacular, despite the inefficiencies. The aliens, it seemed, cared less for cost and more for elegance.