Ark Royal 3: The Trafalgar Gambit

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Yes,” the alien said.

  “And the Peace Faction did ... what?” Henry asked. “Why didn't you try to talk to us?”

  “Consensus for war,” the alien said. “No talks until threat removed. Threat proved harder to defeat than War Faction believed. Attempted to convince War Faction to talk. War Faction refused. Attempted to talk to you directly. War Faction intervened.”

  Henry remembered the alien cruiser, killed by another alien ship, and shivered.

  “War Faction is locked on war,” the alien stated. “We must talk.”

  Henry looked down at his hands. He might have been intended to serve as nothing more than a figurehead, but he did have a working knowledge of politics and diplomacy. It was impossible to be sure, once again, yet he thought he understood. The War Faction had believed humanity to be a threat and convinced the rest of its race to support preparations for a short victorious war. And the other alien factions, assuming there were more than two, had gone along with it. They might not have viewed humanity as a lethal threat, but they might have wanted to negotiate from a position of strength or even support the war in exchange for other compromises. Henry had seen enough backroom dealing in Buckingham Palace to know that votes could be bought, often for the most surprising prices.

  And then the war had gone badly and some of the aliens had started having second thoughts.

  Jill frowned. “How was the decision made?” She asked. “Who voted?”

  Henry looked at the alien, interested.

  “All voted,” the alien said. “But voting blocs split.”

  Henry puzzled over the statement, then pushed it to one side until he had more data. The alien clearly thought he understood the underlying assumptions, that he possessed knowledge of a culture he lacked. Perhaps he, too, would have the same problems explaining human culture and society to the aliens. They'd put a naked man in the same cell as a naked woman without ever understanding why that might be a problem.

  We need more data, he thought, recalling all the briefings they’d been given. The researchers had come up with hundreds of theories, but none of them had actually been proven. He was looking right at a source of data and he couldn't even think what to ask. How do these bastards think?

  “My people want peace,” he said. The human race had nothing to gain from a war with an alien race, particularly if they could agree on a border instead. Hell, they could share the border worlds without bumping into one another. “You need to talk to us.”

  “We have tried,” the alien stated. “It failed.”

  “It failed because your War Faction stopped it,” Henry said. “You could try again.”

  The alien eyed him unblinkingly. “And your people would listen to us?”

  “Yes,” Henry said. “They will listen.”

  “Take us with you,” Jill said. “We can tell them you want peace.”

  “The War Faction does not want peace,” the alien said. “That is why it is called the War Faction.”

  Henry blinked. Had that been a joke? Or was the alien making a simple statement of fact? It might mean something more to the aliens, to their way of thinking, than it did to the humans listening to it.

  He took a breath. “Space is immense,” he said. “There is room for both of our races to grow and thrive. You would gain more by working with us and trading with us than you would gain from fighting with us. Take us with you, let us talk to our people, and we can convince them to talk properly.”

  The alien shivered, very slightly. “It will be considered,” it said. “They will debate it.”

  Jill smiled. “How does your government work?”

  “All talk,” the alien said. “All decide.”

  “You said that before,” Henry said. He rose to his feet and started to pace the cell. “But how does it work?”

  “All talk,” the alien repeated. “All decide.”

  Henry scowled, then peered into the murky water, catching sight of a handful of strange-looking fish as they swam past. The sight reminded him of fishing in the Scottish Highlands, one of the few memories he had that weren't tainted by the media or gold-diggers. Fish had swum in schools, if he recalled correctly, making their way through the water until they were caught by humans ...

  He stopped dead. Did the aliens swim in schools?

  Communism had never worked – for humans. There was plenty of evidence that proved communism was nothing more than a repulsive historical nightmare – for humans. The communists eventually needed to create tools of coercion to make people behave, which in turn eventually created a dictator or a dictatorship of the party, of those judged ideologically sound enough to hold power. Or it simply fell apart, if done on anything above a very small scale. There had been a handful of asteroids ruled by communist regimes. None of them had lasted very long.

  But would it work for the aliens?

  The briefings had speculated on just how living under the water might have shaped the alien character. They’d have access to an infinite supply of food, ensuring there was no need for distribution networks or mediums of exchange like money, and they could simply swim off and find another school if they found the current one distasteful. Could they actually make a government for the people, of the people, work? Humans had real problems with unfettered democracy. The aliens might have managed to make it work.

  And then ...

  Ethnic streaming, he thought. After Terra Nova, the human race had quietly resolved to separate planets by ethnic and national groups. Too many ethnic groups in close proximity led to war, ethnic cleansing and eventually genocide, particularly if they were historical enemies and had leaders keeping the old hatreds alive. What would that do to the aliens?

  “The War Faction,” he said, slowly. “It controls entire planets, doesn't it?”

  “Yes,” the alien said.

  Henry swallowed as everything fell into place. The aliens had social groups, but they were united by shared politics and ambitions, not survival. Minor disputes could be tolerated, he suspected, but larger disputes would end with the disgruntled minorities heading off to join other schools of thought. Given enough time, the schools would become echo chambers, with members repeating the same beliefs and perceptions over and over again. The War Faction presumably believed that humans were a colossal threat. They weren't paying any attention to any evidence that might suggest otherwise ...

  Because it would be forbidden, he thought.

  The aliens had spread out through the tramlines, just like humanity. They’d used their own form of ethnic streaming to settle other worlds, just like humanity. And, in doing so, they’d made it harder for the schools of thought to even hear about other ideas, let alone adapt and adjust their own in light of new evidence. The War Faction had presumably been warlike long before they’d discovered the human race, just like the humans who had believed in building up the various interstellar navies. And then they’d stumbled across proof they were right all along.

  “We have to talk to our people,” he said. “Can you arrange a meeting?”

  “We would have to pass through space controlled by the War Faction,” the alien said. It had clearly been in silent contact with its supervisors. “It will not be safe.”

  Henry smiled. “We don’t mind danger ...”

  “Speak for yourself,” Jill muttered.

  “... And we will take the risk, in hopes of forging a peace,” Henry said. “But can you convince the War Faction to see reason?”

  “They will talk,” the alien stated. “Other factions will also talk. A decision will be reached.”

  Henry glanced at Jill and winced. If he was right, the War Faction would be reluctant to listen to reason. They’d think they had good reason to continue the war.

  “We will depart soon,” the alien said. “You will be transferred to a ship.”

  “Thank you,” Henry said. “Can we discuss other matters too?”

  The alien looked at him. “We can,” it said, finally. “But we will h
ave to leave soon.”

  Henry nodded, then sat down facing the alien. If he was right ... he thought he knew what questions to ask now. And if he was wrong ...

  He shook his head. At least the aliens were mounting a peace mission now. And maybe the other factions could convince the War Faction to stop the war.

  Sure, he thought. And maybe pigs will fly.

  Chapter Nine

  “Admiral on Deck!”

  “As you were,” Ted ordered, as he strode into the briefing room. The entire senior crew of Ark Royal had gathered to meet him, as per his orders. “We don’t have much time, so take your seats and we’ll catch up on the formalities later.”

  He took his seat at one end of the table, then tapped a switch, activating the holographic display. A starchart appeared in front of them, human-held stars in green, alien-held stars glowing blood-red. The tramlines were also marked; standard tramlines in gold, alien tramlines in silver. He took a long moment to study the display, then turned his attention to his subordinates.

  “Operation Trafalgar, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, without preamble. “The overall objective is to make contact with Faction Two and attempt to enlist their aid against Faction One. In the event of the first objective failing or Faction Two being unable or unwilling to assist us, our secondary objective will be to attack the centre of alien space here.”

  He tapped a switch. Their target, a star further into unexplored space than any human starship had ever ventured, glowed brightly on the display.

  “The analysts, using the same algorithms that located Target One, believe that this star has an excellent chance of being the alien homeworld,” he continued. “In any case, the alien homeworld is almost certainly in the general area. Our orders, in the event of us failing to make peace, is to carry the war right into the heart of alien territory. This will not be easy.”

  That, he knew, was an understatement – and he could tell from the hastily-guarded faces that his subordinates knew it too. Any heavily-developed world would have fixed defences, but it would also presumably have a number of heavily-armed starships defending it. No one knew just how many ships the aliens possessed, yet it was unlikely they would leave their homeworld undefended. The analysts had hinted the aliens might have drawn their forces down to attack Earth.

  Wishful thinking, Ted thought, sourly. It sounded good, all right; it sounded too good to the true. He would have liked to believe the alien homeworld was practically undefended – fixed defences wouldn't prove that much of a problem – but he knew better than to plan on such an optimistic assumption. The fact that several analysts were trying to do just that worried him more than he cared to admit.

  “I won’t lie to you,” he said. “The situation is dire. We are staring total defeat in the face – not just us, but the entire human race. Our deep-strike into alien territory may mean the difference between survival and total defeat. Ark Royal is the only carrier who could hope to pull the mission off against determined alien opposition.”

  He took a breath. “We should all pray that we can make contact with Faction Two and convince them to help us,” he added. “But if not ... you’ve all seen the records from Earth. The aliens have devastated humanity’s homeworld. We ... are charged with doing the same thing to them if we fail to make peace.”

  Once, he knew, the concept would have horrified him. He’d resisted the urge to bombard alien settlements during their earlier missions. Now ... now, he couldn't help feeling curiously unconcerned about alien casualties. It bothered him, too, that he wasn't more bothered by the prospect of committing genocide.

  And there were the bioweapons, of course. But those would be held in reserve for the final days.

  “We will be departing in eight days,” he said. “By then, I want the flotilla ready for anything from peace to war.”

  He sighed. The last two days had been an endless series of briefings with the Admiralty, the Foreign Office and various diplomats from the spacefaring nations, all trying to argue over what peace terms the human race should consider acceptable. Ted had pointed out that humanity wasn't in a good state to demand peace terms; they’d be lucky, he’d argued, to agree to a return to the pre-war status quo. The diplomats had not been amused, but the Prime Minister had backed him. He’d promised that the Ambassador would have been carefully warned to make the best deal he could, not hold out for an ideal deal the aliens would certainly reject.

  “Ambassador Horace Melbourne will be joining us as the designated Ambassador-In-Chief for the mission,” he continued. “He will be accompanied by two other diplomats from other spacefaring powers. I trust you will all make him and his staff welcome.”

  No one groaned out loud, but he sensed their irritation and dismay. Ark Royal’s sleeping quarters would have to be altered to make room for the Ambassador and his staff, all of whom would probably demand quarters in Officer Country. The crew would be trading bunkrooms and cabins for the next few days, with the humble midshipmen and junior officers getting the worst of it. Ted knew precisely how he would feel if someone kicked him out of his cabin and felt a flicker of sympathy. But it couldn't be helped.

  “I’ll reassign cabins later today,” the XO said, briskly. She'd been in line for her own command after the end of Operation Nelson, but there was no time to train up a new XO for Ark Royal. “We should be able to handle it professionally.”

  “He’ll want your cabin,” Fitzwilliam said, dryly. “Admiral, I should lodge an official protest.”

  “They wanted to take the White Elephant,” Ted said. “I think they’d be better off on Ark Royal.”

  He had to smile at Fitzwilliam’s expression. The White Elephant – she was actually called the White Star – had been an attempt to build a five-star passenger liner for interstellar tourists. But the market hadn't been ready for her and she’d been placed in storage, then reactivated as a possible troopship for the war. Rumour had it that she was staggeringly luxurious, which would have suited the ambassadors perfectly, yet she was hardly a warship capable of standing in the line of battle. It was far more likely that the aliens would just blow her away without even noticing.

  “They have to be out of their minds,” Fitzwilliam muttered.

  “In the event of us having to go to war, we will tell them to remain in their cabins,” Ted said, bluntly. “I’d prefer not to have to send a ship back to Earth with them if it can be avoided.”

  He took a breath. “And, with that in mind, are we ready for war?”

  Fitzwilliam looked at Anderson, who shrugged.

  “Most of the internal damage has been repaired, now we were able to call on spare parts from China and several other nations,” Anderson said. “There’s enough redundancy built into the systems to allow us to operate without the remaining subcomponents. However, the main sticking point remains the armour. We will simply not be able to get new solid-state armour in time for departure.”

  He sighed. “With your permission, Captain, I’ll strip it from several inner hull locations and use it to patch the holes,” he added. “But our hull will still be weak in those points.”

  Ted considered it. “Will it be a major problem against alien weapons?”

  “Laser warheads burn through our full armour anyway,” Anderson said. “The real problem is the plasma cannons some of their warships carry. They may be able to make a dent in the weakened armour ... and, of course, they can sweep the hull clear of sensors and weapons.”

  “By now, they’ll know about our weaknesses,” Fitzwilliam commented, bitterly. “Admiral, I think we have no choice, but to run the risk of using reduced armour.”

  “See to it,” Ted ordered. It was risky, he knew, but the alternative was worse. “And weapons?”

  “We’ve updated the mass drivers and railguns,” Anderson said. “I’m actually working on ways to use railguns as small mass drivers, but I think they’d be better reserved for close-in point defence. The last thing we want are aliens firing more laser warheads at us.”


  “No disagreements there,” Ted said. “What other problems are there?”

  There was a pause.

  “Crew morale is in the pits,” Commander Williams said. She looked irked at having to discuss it in public, but she didn't have a choice. “Not to put too fine a point on it, morale was sky-high until we returned to Earth, whereupon it crashed badly. At least thirty percent of the crew had family or friends caught up in the tidal waves and either killed or rendered homeless. Or missing. Morale has improved since the Captain made arrangements for his crew, but it’s still pretty low.”

  She frowned. “And there are a great many angry crewmen out there,” she warned. “If we do happen to host a bunch of alien diplomats ...”

  “There might be incidents,” Ted finished. He had no idea if the aliens would consent to sending diplomats onboard Ark Royal. Even if they did, he wasn't sure if he would trust them not to bring any unpleasant surprises with them ... there, he had to admit, White Elephant would have come in handy. “If we do wind up playing host to alien diplomats, have the Marines guard them at all times. The last thing we need is a major diplomatic incident.”