Ark Royal 3: The Trafalgar Gambit

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Me neither,” Ted said. He shared a glance with Fitzwilliam. “What about the original message, the one alerting Schneider to pick up the chip?”

  “Apparently, it was sent from one of the terminals on the lower decks,” Parnell said. “The system was accessed using a standard dockyard access code, not a crewman’s personal login. It could be any of the dockyard workers who sent the message.”

  “Or someone pinched their code and used it,” Ted said. Normally, dockyard codes were purged from the system as soon as the ship left the shipyard. This time, with dockyard workers still onboard, the codes had been left in place. “They all use the same one, don’t they?”

  Parnell nodded.

  “We’re looking through footage now, sir,” he said. “But we may be unable to locate the person responsible. Too many people pass through the lower decks.”

  “Of course they do,” Fitzwilliam agreed. “Haven’t you been urging the ambassadors and their staffs to take some exercise?”

  Ted tapped the desk, shortly. “What could they do with personal access codes,” he mused. “And how could they expect Schneider to obtain them?”

  “Someone with enough experience at manipulating a computer could probably pull someone else’s access code out of the system,” Parnell said. “It’s a persistent headache on the ground, sir. Terrorists and insurgents often try to fight smarter, as well as harder, and there’s always some idiot who leaves their access codes unsecured. Once they’re in the system, they can create dummy login details for themselves and slip in and out at will.”

  He shook his head. “And anyone onboard ship will be already inside the outermost firewall,” he added. “The system won’t see anything Schneider does as an attempt to force access from outside the hull.”

  Ted nodded. One of the Admiralty’s persistent nightmares, ever since computers had become utterly indispensible to operating starships, was someone hacking into the Royal Navy’s datanet and crashing the entire system, leaving the fleet helpless. The fear was so prevalent that hundreds of precautions had been taken, from isolating each starship to hardwiring certain safeguards into their computer networks. But, during wartime, isolating starships from the datanets prevented them from working together smoothly. No one, it seemed, had seriously considered all-out war with an alien race.

  But they might be able to break into our systems, he thought, morbidly. We broke into theirs and they have a head start.

  “Right,” he said. “We can’t take the risk of uploading the program.”

  “It might be workable,” Parnell said. “We could disable it first ...”

  “Too risky,” Fitzwilliam said.

  Ted nodded in agreement.

  “Captain, Admiral, we don’t know who left the chip in the observation blister,” Parnell said. “And Schneider has been ordered to forward the access details to a specific location within our system, not return to the blister. It’s within the entertainment subsection ...”

  “Where everyone and his aunt goes when they’re not on duty,” Ted groaned. Ark Royal carried millions upon millions of movie files, music tracks and VR simulations to entertain her crew when they had some downtime. That part of the network was hard to patrol, let alone to secure. If the files were isolated in a specific location, it was unlikely they’d be discovered by the wrong person. “Can’t we track down the user?”

  “We can flag the file so we’re beeped if it’s accessed,” Parnell said. “The only question is what we actually give them?”

  Fitzwilliam eyed him, suspiciously. “What would you like to give them?”

  “Access codes that can be cancelled, if necessary,” Parnell said. “Look, they don’t seem to be familiar with our computer systems. Their virus might have failed even if Schneider uploaded it for them. We give them a set of access codes that look modern, but have to be approved and authorised by us before they do anything. At the very least, we’d be able to track down whoever was using them.”

  “True,” Ted said. “But why do they want the codes?”

  “Sabotage,” Parnell guessed. “Other than that, I can't imagine what they might have in mind. Unless they are working for the aliens, of course.”

  Ted gritted his teeth. “If the aliens could talk to us well enough to tell spies what to do,” he said, “why couldn't they talk peace without ...”

  He waved a hand at the bulkhead. “Surely, they must realise the war hasn't gone as well as might be expected.”

  “Insufficient data,” Parnell said.

  “There is another possibility,” Fitzwilliam said, suddenly. “One of the Ambassadors is planning something.”

  Ted gave him a sharp look. “They know just how bad things are,” he said. “They wouldn’t try to rock the boat, would they?”

  “My family does a little diplomatic work,” Fitzwilliam said. It wasn't common for him to talk about his family, not since his failed attempt to take command of Ark Royal. “A great deal of diplomacy, particularly between the major powers, consists of maintaining the status quo rather than one nation attempting to best another nation. That’s why we ended up with agreements not to build large numbers of mass drivers and not to fight each other in the Solar System.

  “But this is different. This is something completely outside our previous context.

  “It’s quite possible that one of the Ambassadors has secret orders to try to wring some additional advantage for his own country out of the peace talks,” he added. “Or ...”

  He broke off and swore. “It’s the Russians.”

  Ted blinked. “How can you be sure?”

  “If necessary, the Ambassadors have orders to cede space the aliens already hold in exchange for peace,” Fitzwilliam said. “Give us ten years of breathing space and we might be able to ... renegotiate the agreement. No one really wants to surrender human-settled systems, but we might not have a choice. And that would include the surrender of New Russia.”

  “The Russians would be furious,” Ted said, very slowly. “But would they want to prolong the war in hopes of liberating their world?”

  “They’d be dependent on us to liberate their world,” Parnell added. “They’re down to their last carrier, I believe, and only a handful of frigates. There would be no liberation unless we or one of the other spacefaring powers did the heavy lifting.”

  “And someone might well have started to pressure the Russians into making concessions while they’re down,” Fitzwilliam said. “The Russians have suffered the worst of any of the spacefaring powers. Someone else might have decided to take advantage of their weakness.”

  Ted frowned, more perturbed than he cared to admit. “Have we taken advantage of their weakness?”

  “Not as far as I know,” Fitzwilliam said. “But if the war ended with a return to the status quo ...”

  He allowed his voice to trail off suggestively. Ted barely heard him. If there was a spacefaring power that had good reason to hate the aliens, it was the Russians. Even if the war ended tomorrow on decent terms the Russians would still need decades to rebuilt their lost military and economic strength. And New Russia sat on a handful of tramlines, tramlines the other spacefaring powers would want to use. It was quite possible the Russians feared losing everything in the wake of a peace agreement that left the aliens in control of New Russia ... or losing influence and power even if they did recover New Russia.

  And there was a team of Russian observers on the ship.

  “Watch the Russians,” he ordered, “but don’t take your eyes off anyone else.”

  Parnell smiled. “We’ll try, sir,” he said. “But the diplomats are very good at checking their cabins for bugs. I think we'll have to watch from a distance.”

  He shrugged. “With your permission,” he added, “we will provide dummy access codes to the CAG. He can send them to the blackmailers and ... hopefully, they’ll use them. And then we will know who they are.”

  “And then we can remove them,” Fitzwilliam said. “Five days to Targ
et One, Admiral. And we still don’t have any idea what the Russians – or whoever the blackmailers actually are – want.”

  Ted nodded. The blackmailers had played a card when they’d forced Schneider to work for them under threat of exposure. They wouldn't have shown their hand unless they had something in mind for him, some way to use him for best advantage. And that meant they intended to use him soon, or they wouldn't have run the risk of exposing themselves. And that meant ...

  He shook his head. “Give me a nice naval battle any day,” he said. He looked at Parnell. “Give them the dummy codes, but make damn certain we can override them if necessary. I don’t want them to be in any position to harm this ship. If the techs think we can let them think the virus is in place when it isn't, do it. If not, Schneider will have to tell them that he doesn't have access permission to upload anything to the main command network. He certainly shouldn't have that permission.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Parnell said.

  “There is an alternative,” Fitzwilliam mused. “We pretend to discover the affair and put both Schneider and Labara in the brig. Or claim we caught him trying to upload the virus. They’d pull in their horns and pray to escape discovery, instead of causing further trouble. Then we can honour the agreement with the ... happy couple at a later date.”

  “We might not learn precisely what the blackmailers had in mind,” Parnell pointed out. “Or just who they were. We have suspicions, Captain. Nothing more.”

  “No proof of anything, beyond attempted blackmail,” Ted agreed.

  He glared down at the deck. Naval combat was understandable. The enemy wanted to kill him and he wanted to kill the enemy. But this counter-intelligence work was like shooting at shadows, with the added disadvantage that some of the shadows might shoot back. And that shooting the wrong shadow might be disastrous. Accusing the Russians – or anyone else – of involvement in the affair would not go down well without very real proof.

  And the only way to get that proof was to let the blackmailers proceed, praying all the time they could keep them from doing any real damage.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “They must have been out of their minds.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ted felt the tension rising throughout the CIC as War Hog made her first transit into Target One. The aliens had been surprisingly – and suspiciously – absent during the last few star systems, but he had no doubt they would encounter the enemy in Target One. It was, after all, a major alien settlement, even without the orbital facilities they’d smashed to rubble during their last visit. And besides, there were several tramlines leading in and out of the system. The aliens would hardly leave it undefended.

  A green icon popped back into life on the display and he sighed, minutely. The odds against running into an alien battlefleet on the other side were staggeringly high, but the aliens had managed to do things he would have thought were impossible before. He watched as the display updated, revealing a flurry of signals from Target One, but little else. The aliens, it seemed, hadn't invested in repair efforts.

  Probably a good idea on their part, he thought. Target One was the only major alien world with a confirmed location. It would make a suitable target for any human raiding formation – and taking out repair ships and yards would cost the aliens dearly. They’d probably prefer to end the war before they started rebuilding the system. But it doesn't really matter.

  “Take us through the tramline,” he ordered. “And then launch stealth probes on ballistic trajectories.”

  “Aye, sir,” Janelle said, relaying his orders to the bridge. She sounded harried – and he didn't blame her. As his aide, she’d ended up handling quite a few of the complaints and whining from various ambassadors and their staffs. And some clear attempts to get on her good side, on the assumption she would continue to have ties with the Royal Family. “All ships are reporting ready to go.”

  Ted braced himself. If they were wrong, if an alien fleet was lying in wait, the attack would begin ... now. Nothing happened. The seconds ticked away, the display stabilised and started filling up with passive data. No missiles came raging towards them, followed by swarms of angry starfighters. Instead, there was nothing.

  “Hold us here,” Ted ordered. “Inform me when the probes pick up something – anything – of value.”

  He settled back in his chair and tried to relax as the probes flew into the system, heading directly towards Target One. They were close to undetectable, he knew; the aliens would have to be very lucky to catch even a sniff of their presence. But they also had their limitations. Their passive sensors wouldn't pick up anything that wasn't radiating a signature into space, while the further they moved from their mothership, the greater the time delay.

  Space combat, Ted thought, ruefully. It is both simple and very complex.

  Slowly, data started to appear on the display. The largest gas giant in the system, which had once hosted a number of cloudscoops before Operation Nelson, seemed to be almost deserted. There was only one radio source near the planet, hanging in high orbit. Ted ordered a secondary fight of drones to be launched towards the radio source, then turned his attention back to the main display. It looked as though the aliens had pulled most of the in-system freighters out of the system. The once-thriving system was ruined.

  “I’m only picking up a handful of asteroid miners,” Janelle said. “Analysis thinks the aliens have largely conceded the system.”

  “Best not to take that for granted,” Ted warned her. “And Target One itself?”

  The drones flashed more data back to the ship as they made their way past Target One. A handful of alien ships – five frigates, two freighters and a ship of unknown design – lurked in orbit around the planet, but there didn't seem to have been any attempt to rebuild the facilities that had once made the system an economic powerhouse. The aliens had swept most of the remaining debris out of orbit, probably breaking it up and then shoving it into the planet’s atmosphere, yet they hadn't done anything else. Ted nodded in confirmation of his earlier thoughts. The aliens weren't interested in rebuilding yet.

  “We can't get a drone any closer without risking detection,” Janelle said. “There won’t be any data on alien operations on the ground.”

  Ted nodded, unsurprised. A handful of human soldiers had been stranded, he knew, despite the best efforts of his shuttle pilots. They’d planned to go underground and live off the land until they could be recovered. God alone knew what had happened to them. There was certainly no way he could attempt to recover them, not now. He had no doubt his flotilla could handle the alien ships, but one of them would definitely broadcast an alert and inform their superiors that the humans had returned to Target One.

  “I think we will need to sneak around to Tramline Four,” he said. The ship from Faction Two had entered the system through Tramline Four. Unless, of course, it was all an elaborate trick. “There’s no point in staying here any longer.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Janelle said. “Do you want to depart at once?”

  Ted glanced down at the ship’s status display. That irritating harmonic in the drives seemed to have faded away completely. He wasn't fool enough to believe it was gone for good, but it was marginally reassuring. Perhaps the only problem had been that the drives hadn't been put to work properly during the test cycles. Or perhaps he was overlooking a far greater problem.

  But there seemed to be no reason to delay. “Set course for Tramline Four on the planned course,” he ordered. “Launch probes to scan the space close to the tramline for any unexpected surprises. And remind the crew to stay on full tactical alert.”

  He'd expected to see more alien activity as they edged their way around the system. A handful of other installations revealed themselves, but far fewer than there had been in the system before his first visit. He felt an odd pang of guilt and had to remind himself, sharply, that Target One had been producing weapons and starships for the aliens to hurl against humanity’s defences. If nothing else, the l
oss of such a large chunk of their productive capability had to make the aliens pause for thought.

  And they took heavy losses in the Battle of Earth, he reminded himself. Maybe they’re just as exhausted and battered as we are.

  He recalled, bitterly, the last time they’d passed through Tramline Four. The aliens had ambushed them there, using the gas giants to form limited tramlines that allowed in-system jumping. It had been a clever tactic, he knew, but the humans had escaped ... if, of course, the aliens had intended to destroy his ships. They might have been more interested in keeping them apart from Faction Two. And Target Two, the star system on the other side of the tramline, had been left completely unscathed. He had no idea if that was a good thing or not.

  A red icon flashed into view on the display. “Captain,” Janelle said. “A starship just came out of the tramline. She’s heading right for us.”