Ark Royal 3: The Trafalgar Gambit

by Christopher Nuttall

  The craft rocked one final time, then bumped against something and came to a halt. A hatch in the side of the compartment cracked open – Henry swore inwardly; he hadn't even noticed it was there – allowing bright sunlight to stream into the craft. Henry cringed back, covering his eyes. It had been so long since he’d seen anything, but the dim greenish light of his prison cell. A shadow moved in front of the hatch and he froze. Outside, the aliens were gathering.

  “Come on,” he said, trying to put a brave face on things. He’d never wanted to be a groundpounder. “Let’s go meet our adoring public.”

  Jill took his hand and they stepped through the hatch together. The bright sunlight revealed a tropical lagoon, not unlike the seas of Target One, but surrounded by strange white alien buildings. Water sprayed everywhere, as if it were the midst of a swimming pool, leaving the air hot and moist, just the way the aliens liked it. They needed it, Henry realised, as he looked at the jungle in the distance. The sunlight suggested the world was hot enough to please the aliens, but maybe not moist. High overhead, the sky was so brilliantly blue that he felt an ache in his heart. Would he ever see Earth again?

  The entire city was covered in aliens, each one lying on the rooftops like dozing seals, staring at the humans as they were gently escorted through the alien city. Water lay everywhere, running down the floors and back into the seas ... as a child, part of his mind noted, he would probably have regarded the alien city as a giant adventure playground. Not that he’d ever been allowed to play in any such playgrounds, of course. The Heir to the Throne – if they ever sorted out the issue of which of his father’s children should succeed the Throne – could not be allowed to risk himself on roller coasters or theme park VR rides. They’d been reluctant to allow him to attend the Academy as a grown man!

  He was tempted to wave at the spectators as they reached the edge of the city and walked towards a shuttlecraft, sitting on a launching pad. It was little different to a human design, he noted, although it looked to be a heavy-lifter. The escort paused outside the hatch, as if the aliens were consulting with their fellows, then opened the hatch. Inside, there was yet another tiny compartment suitable for human prisoners.

  “They must prefer to live in the water,” Jill said, as they were pushed inside. The hatch closed firmly behind them. “Do you think their starships are full of water?”

  Henry considered the possibility. It was true that post-battle assessment teams had found a considerable amount of water vapour in the ruins of alien starships, but cold logic suggested the aliens couldn't use water throughout their ships. They’d run the risk of shorting out entire compartments if their innards were exposed, even minutely. He tried to imagine the response of the Royal Navy’s engineers to deliberately flooding the fleet’s starships and decided they’d probably want to strangle the idiot who suggested it with their bare hands.

  But the aliens might not have a choice, any more than the Royal Navy had a choice about supplying its crewmen with oxygen.

  “It’s a possibility,” Henry said. The shuttle seemed to quiver, then launched itself into the air. “But it would be dangerous.”

  He shook his head. He’d been told, more than once, that dolphins were smarter than they seemed, but dolphins had never attempted to grow hands and leave their marine environment for dry land. It didn't seem possible for them to even make a start on developing their own technology. Their environmental niche was a prison as much as anything else, with the added disadvantage they’d never know what they were missing. Unless the Uplift Project actually received the go-ahead ...

  But then we wouldn't be able to deploy cybernetic dolphins, he told himself. There would be objections from vested interests.

  The gravity faded away to nothingness, leaving them drifting up into the air. Henry blinked in surprise – the aliens definitely had the technology to produce artificial gravity – and then resolved to ignore it. Jill looked green, though, just like some of the early starfighter trainees who had never developed their space legs. Eventually, they’d been sent back to Earth and told to apply somewhere that didn't involve regular space travel. The aliens might have been trying to use it to disconcert them.

  “They probably don’t have any problems with zero-gravity,” he said, trying to distract Jill from her feelings. “If they’re born under the water, they probably take to it like ...”

  “A fish to water?” Jill asked, weakly. She swallowed, hard. “I was asleep for the trip to Heinlein, Henry. I never went into zero-gee properly.”

  “It’s not quite what it’s made out to be,” Henry said. There had been one zero-G parlour in Sin City where visitors were encouraged to enjoy making love in reduced or no gravity, but it wasn't as popular as he'd thought. “It can be fun, but ...”

  “You’d get sick at a delicate moment,” Jill guessed. She floated up to the ceiling, then pushed herself back to the ground. “It would probably be rather unromantic.”

  “It was,” Henry said. The whole experience had been a lesson in orbital mechanics, rather than something sexual. “But there are plenty of ways to have fun in zero-gravity.”

  The shuttle shuddered, then quivered gently. Henry felt the bulkhead carefully, remembering how Ark Royal had quivered against his fingertips when the main drive had been active. Unless he was very wrong, they’d just docked with a much larger starship. But it was clear the starship didn't have a gravity field of its own. They’d have fallen down towards the floor if the bigger ship had one.

  If there is a bigger ship, he thought. Running two gravity fields together was asking for trouble, unless there was enough power to manipulate both fields to prevent problems. The Royal Navy tended to forbid it unless there was no alternative. I could be wrong ...

  The hatch clicked open. A wave of moist air, smelling of something fishy, rolled into the shuttle. Outside, he saw a pair of aliens, floating in the air as if they belonged there. Henry sighed, then pulled himself through the hatch, carefully only to use tiny motions. Jill, less practiced in zero-gravity, accidentally pushed herself right out of the shuttle and headed for the far bulkhead. Henry winced, remembering the first few days of his own zero-gravity training, as she hit the bulkhead and bounced off. One of the aliens caught her and half-carried her towards the hatch, using tiny handles built into the bulkheads to propel itself forward. Henry followed, realising that he'd been right. The aliens definitely preferred low-gravity environments.

  He frowned as the first hatch led to a second hatch, which opened up into a larger compartment. A bed was pressed against the wall, while two computers – civilian teaching machines, he realised – had been left against the spare bulkhead. They’d probably still be working, despite the moisture in the air. Teaching machines were designed to survive small and resentful children. Henry had heard that one of them had been dropped from a helicopter and survived the fall.

  “You will rest,” the alien said. “We will leave now.”

  Henry turned, fighting to control his movements. “Where are we going?”

  “Your people,” the alien said. It pointed one leathery hand towards the bed. “We will talk. You will prepare to speak to them.”

  Henry nodded. After Target One, the human race would be suspicious of any alien ship attempting to make open contact. But they’d find it a great deal harder to ignore a human voice, broadcasting openly. And then ... Henry smiled at the thought of the aliens meeting a proper set of human researchers, complete with computers and the ability to consider how best to speak at leisure. The communications barrier would be broken soon enough.

  “We’ll sleep,” he promised.

  “I’m not sure how,” Jill muttered. She still looked green. “How do we stay on the bed?”

  “... Bugger,” Henry said. The aliens had dragged a bed into the chamber, but it was largely useless without a gravity field. He looked around for something they could use to tie themselves down, only to discover there was nothing. “I’m not sure.”

  Jill laugh
ed, weakly. “Do we just sleep floating in the air?”

  “It looks that way,” Henry said. There was a second problem. As far as he could tell, there were no streams of air moving through the compartment. Carbon dioxide, exhaled from their mouths, would gather around them, eventually making it impossible to breath. Or so he thought. It had been a very long time since he’d studied survival in zero-gravity environments. “I think one of us will have to sleep while the other fans them.”

  “See if there are any atmospheric controls first,” Jill said, once he’d explained. “They gave me some controls back when I ...”

  She broke off, shuddering. Henry wanted to put his arms around her and give her what reassurance he could. He could go back to Earth and be reunited with his family, his friends and his lover. But Jill would never see her friends and family again. The aliens, either through a mistake or cold-blooded malice, had slaughtered almost all of the Heinlein settlers.

  “You have a nap,” he said. He hated himself for saying something so useless, but what else could he do? “I’ll look for controls and then fan you.”

  “Thanks,” Jill said, weakly. She paused. “Do you think we’re being watched here?”

  “Probably,” Henry said. “We’re aliens, remember. They’ll want to keep an eye on us.”

  But that was normal for him. He’d been watched almost his entire life, with his family and the media ready to pounce on any form of misbehaviour ... even if it was something that would pass without comment for anyone born outside the Royal Family. Regular beatings would have been kinder, he’d often thought. At least he could have told someone about an abusive parent and been understood. But what did one do when the entire system was abusive?

  Janelle and I can just run, he decided, finally. We can go somewhere else and change our names. No one would know who we’d once been.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “War Hog has transited back, Captain,” Farley reported. “Local space seems clear. Long-range sensors reveal no sign of alien activity.”

  James nodded, studying the report. There was little of value in the first alien-ruled system they’d invaded during Operation Nelson, save for a handful of asteroids and a tramline that led deeper into alien space. It would have been completely useless, he knew, if they hadn't had the alien-designed drive. He didn't find it a reassuring thought.

  “Take us through the tramline,” he ordered. “Full tactical alert.”

  He looked at the status display and shuddered. His starfighter crews were in their craft, ready to launch at a moment’s notice. Gunnery crews and damage repair teams were on the alert, braced for anything from an alien attack to total drive failure. Everything looked perfect ... and yet he knew it was nothing of the sort. The only crews at full capacity were the damage control teams. They’d had a lot of practice.

  They vanished from the Terra Nova system as they crossed the tramline and reappeared in an alien system no one, not even the aliens, had bothered to name. He watched the display as passive sensors listened, watching for signs of alien activity, but picked up nothing. The system was as dark and cold as the grave. But that didn't prove the aliens weren't there, he reminded himself, sharply. They could easily have their drives and weapons deactivated, leaving them pretending to be holes in space.

  “Local space seems clear,” Farley said, again. “No alien contacts, sir. Not even a stray signal.”

  “Take us on our assigned course,” James ordered. At least there was no need to play games with drones right now, thankfully. The aliens had either lost them completely or had a solid lock on their position a multitude of drones wouldn't be able to shake. “And continue to monitor for signs of alien activity.”

  The silence was baffling – and worrying. He’d known the aliens had never had much of anything in the system prior to the war, but he would have expected a picket ship at the very least. Unless there was one and they’d simply missed it ... there was just too much space for a single enemy ship to hide in, given time. All he could do was make his way to the next tramline and pray they remained undiscovered. Target One was still ten days away on their course.

  And if we take the least-time course we risk being detected for sure, he thought. They might have wrecked most of the Target One system, but the aliens would probably still picket it, knowing that its tramlines led deeper into alien space. No, we have to remain stealthy and pray the cloaking device works as advertised.

  His console bleeped. “Captain, the drive fluctuations actually reduced this time,” Anderson reported. “Everything was largely nominal.”

  “Thank God,” James said. The frigates and escort carriers would be able to escape, he was sure, but not the giant carrier. Stranding her in a useless star system would suit the aliens very well. “Continue to monitor the situation.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Anderson said.

  And hope we don’t have any more soap opera business, James thought, as he closed the connection. There were times when he didn't know how Captain Smith – Admiral Smith – had survived remaining on Ark Royal while she’d been stuck in the naval reserve. Some of his crew had been dedicated, others had been disciplinary problems who’d needed to be discharged as soon as possible. Most of the problems had faded away when the aliens attacked Vera Cruz, but a handful had remained festering. And now there was a spy on the ship.

  He leaned back into his chair, thinking hard. Ten days to Target One. Ten days before they encountered the aliens ... if they didn’t encounter them beforehand. And then ... who knew what would happen when they tried to communicate?

  ***

  “This,” Doctor Russell explained, “is an all-spectrum disease carrier.”

  Ted eyed the sealed test tube with a jaundiced eye. It didn't look very safe to him.

  “I was under the impression,” he said, “that all such research was banned.”

  “That’s true,” Doctor Russell agreed, as he put the test tube down on the desk. “However, we are allowed to conduct research into cures for genetically-modified diseases – and the only way to do that is to study techniques for modifying the diseases ourselves. Normally, such research takes place in sealed facilities without any chance of the disease escaping into the general population.”

  Ted scowled. He hated to admit it, but Doctor Russell had a point. It was easy to find sophisticated medical equipment these days and, despite international treaties, terrorists would be very tempted to create viruses that would slaughter everyone who hadn't been immunised ahead of time. There were no shortages of rumours about terrorist groups – and nations – that had tried to do just that, despite the risks. No matter how much care the experts took, diseases could mutate at a terrifying speed.

  “In this case,” Doctor Russell continued, “the alien biology is so different from our own that there is literally no danger of the disease spreading to humanity. That allows us to widen the scope of the disease considerably, to the point where it can infect creatures from the same genetic heritage as the aliens themselves. This will serve as an infection vector that will slash straight through the alien civilisation.”

  “You’ve invented a form of Bird Flu that infects everything,” he said. He honestly couldn't understand why the Doctor was so pleased with his accomplishments. “All we'd have to do is bio-bomb an alien planet and wait for them all to die.”

  “Precisely,” Doctor Russell said. “And the standard treaties have been set aside, owing to the war.”

  Ted made a face. If it had been just Britain researching the concept, it might have been possible to keep a lid on it. But the Government had insisted on sharing the research project – and the guilt – with the rest of the spacefaring powers. Now, it almost seemed as though they were competing to build the most horrendous biological weapon possible. The aliens would be in deep shit if the weapon was introduced to any world they occupied.

  He shook his head in dismay. Delivering the weapon would be easy enough, with a little work. A missile warhead could be reconfigur
ed to serve as a bioweapon delivery system, plunging through a planet’s atmosphere and releasing its cargo before it hit the ground. Or a stealth missile could be used to sneak through planetary defences, posing as nothing more than a tiny meteor. The aliens wouldn't stand a chance.

  But it won’t get them all, he thought. Those left behind will want a little revenge.

  “This might work if the aliens were intent on genocide,” he said, “but so far we don’t have any evidence the aliens are interested in outright extermination of humanity.”

  “They might be saving the extermination until after they’ve won the war,” Doctor Russell pointed out. “If Hitler had saved the Holocaust until after his victory, I suspect a great many people would view him more favourably, even though he would still be the same complete manic he always was.”

  “True,” Ted agreed. The weapon on the desk could exterminate the aliens – or serve as an incentive to make peace. “A stay-behind team could deploy the weapon if Earth and the rest of the settled worlds were to be destroyed.”