“Observe,” it said. A holographic image appeared in the cell. “A ship.”
“Ark Royal,” Henry said, shocked. There could be no mistake. The giant carrier was unique. He’d seen images of planned future carriers, craft that would – once again – incorporate heavy armour into their designs, but none of them had looked like the Old Lady. She was a relic of a bygone age in too many ways. “You made contact!”
“They are sending us numbers,” the alien said. As always, it’s voice was atonal, but Henry thought he detected a hint of humour in its face. “We will send them you.”
Henry hesitated. Naked and wet, soaked in sweat, he knew he would hardly make the best impression. But there was no choice. Whatever had happened outside the bulkheads, it had clearly resulted in the best possible outcome. The aliens had made contact with humanity!
“Yes,” he said. “But how?”
The alien strode over to the bulkhead and pressed one leathery hand against the metal, pulling it away to reveal a hidden compartment. Henry was unwillingly impressed. There were secret compartments and passageways throughout Buckingham Palace – he and Elizabeth had made a game of finding them – but he hadn't had the slightest idea the compartment was there. Inside, there was a human communication system that looked several years out of date.
They must have taken it from Heinlein, he thought. Or from Vera Cruz.
“You’d better get out of the pickup,” he said to Jill. “School kids are going to be watching this moment for centuries to come.”
Jill snorted, but obeyed. Henry adjusted his position so the camera was pointed at his face, then keyed the switch. There was a long pause, then he saw a response. Admiral Smith’s face was staring back at him. He looked as though he’d seen a ghost.
He must have thought I was dead, Henry thought, ruefully. It was vanishingly rare for anyone to survive a starfighter accident, let alone a direct hit. There wouldn't have been any time, he suspected, to puzzle through the records and determine what had happened to his starfighter. They would have concluded he’d been killed by the aliens ...
“Admiral,” he said. He couldn't resist. “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”
***
Ted had known the aliens had taken prisoners. Ark Royal had rescued a number of them at Alien-1, drugged victims of the alien attacks on various colonies. But he’d never dared hope that Prince Henry had been taken prisoner. The reports had stated his plasma chambers had lost containment. Even if he’d survived that, he would be stranded in interstellar space, well away from any hope of rescue.
But the aliens had picked him up.
“So it would seem,” Ted said, feeling his heartbeat slowly returning to normal. Reports of Prince Henry’s death had definitely been greatly exaggerated. He cast a look at Janelle, who seemed to have paled alarmingly. It had to be worse for her. “Are you safe?”
“Everything is just peachy,” Prince Henry said. “We’re both safe and well, sir, but I have a vitally important report to make to you. This whole war is a mistake.”
Just peachy, Ted thought. The old code for starfighter pilots, informing their superiors that they weren't under any form of duress. Although that, he knew, might well mean nothing when the aliens were involved. They’d have plenty of opportunity to experiment with brainwashing humans.
“I'm glad to see you alive,” he said, sincerely. There would be time to evaluate his claim the war had been a mistake afterwards. “How do your ... new friends wish to proceed.”
He recoiled slightly as an alien stepped into the pickup’s range. It was far from the first time he’d seen an alien, but he couldn't help thinking that this one was far more dangerous than the captives – or the dead bodies that had been fished out of the wreckage, months ago. Up close, it seemed to be breathing heavily ... and it was floating. There was no gravity in the alien ship.
Is that how they produce better drives? He asked himself. They don't bother with internal gravity?
“Send. Shuttle.” The alien said. The voice was atonal. Clearly, Polly MacDonald hadn't been the only one trying to break the communications barrier. “We. Will. Come.”
“We’re picking up a set of images,” Janelle said. Her voice had steadied, somehow. “They’re showing us where to dock the shuttle.”
Ted looked at the diagrams, then nodded. “Tell the shuttle to launch, but remind the Marines to use full biohazard protocols,” he ordered. He looked back at the screen. “... Henry, you will have to be checked thoroughly, as will your guests. Can you explain it to them?”
“I can try,” Henry said. He had shown no visible reaction to hearing Janelle’s voice. “I understand protocols, sir. I’ll try to explain it to them.”
“Good,” Ted said. “The shuttle will be with you in” – he glanced at the display – “ten minutes. I look forward to seeing you again.”
But it won’t stop us poking and prodding at you until we’re sure you’re not under outside influence, he thought as the channel closed. And we may never be entirely sure ...
He looked over at Janelle. “You can't see Henry until the doctors have checked him thoroughly,” he said. “But you can watch, if you like, and meet him afterwards. I think you both deserve a chance to meet and talk.”
Janelle looked at him doubtfully. “But what if he doesn't ...”
She broke off. Ted snorted, inwardly. The CIC of a carrier in the middle of a hostile star system was no place for a discussion about someone’s relationship. There was quite enough of that already. But she deserved something more.
“I think you’d be best finding out now,” Ted said, quietly. He understood. Janelle had been shocked, badly, to learn who Charles Augustus really was. It had ruined her life and damaged her prospects without the consolation of having him in her life. And now ... Ted knew he wouldn't have been so concerned if it had been anyone else dating her. “And then you will know.”
“Yes, sir,” Janelle said. “And thank you.”
Ted watched her leave the compartment, then keyed his console. “Captain, we will need to put some distance between ourselves and Target One,” he said. “Plan out a course through Tramline Four as soon as possible.”
“Aye, sir,” Fitzwilliam said.
***
Henry wasn't sure what he'd expected from Ark Royal. He hadn't expected a heavily-modified Marine shuttle, let alone armoured marines who had invited the two humans and seven aliens into the shuttle in a manner that could hardly be considered diplomatic. The aliens seemed to take it in their stride, but Henry was annoyed and Jill seemed openly worried. What if the aliens decided to be insulted later?
But they showed no sign of reaction as the shuttle powered its way back towards the carrier, even when the Marines started scanning them for unpleasant surprises. The small bags of equipment the aliens had brought with them were inspected carefully, with each of them checked thoroughly before being returned to the aliens. None of it seemed dangerous, Henry decided, although the Marines appeared doubtful. But they were unwilling to cause a diplomatic incident by confiscating it.
His tension grew as they approached the carrier, only to be directed to an airlock instead of the shuttlebay. The Marines watched them carefully as the hatch sealed, then pointed towards the airlock. Outside, there were a small team of medical officers in biohazard gear, eying them warily. A pair of trolleys were already waiting for them.
“Go to the docs,” the Marines ordered. “We’ll take care of the aliens.”
“Don’t say please and thank you,” Henry said. “Be blunt – and keep them together.”
The Marine nodded. Henry nodded back, then climbed onto one of the stretchers. Jill climbed onto the other one and lay down, allowing the medics to push them into the biohazard room. Henry sighed inwardly as the doctors started taking blood samples, washing their skin with various chemicals and poking and prodding everywhere. It felt worse than the medical exam he’d undergone during basic training, what felt like years
ago. The pilots had joked it was an endurance test rather than a genuine medical inspection.
“You don't seem to have any immediate physical problems,” Doctor Jeanette Hastings said. “But you do seem to have some malnutrition, Your Highness. I think whatever they were feeding you wasn't quite right for human consumption.”
“I never had my period after the first couple of months,” Jill said. “Did they do something to me?”
“I suspect they fed you something that was a natural contraceptive,” Doctor Hastings said, turning to face her. “Your malnutrition is considerably more advanced. I’m going to advise the Captain to let me keep you in here for observation and a structured course of treatment.”
She frowned. “They also stung you,” she added, turning back to face Henry. “There were a couple of surveillance devices stuck to your skin, both firmly fixed down. They could track you wherever you went, at the very least. The devices might also have been audio-visual receptors.”
Henry winced. Privacy was always a joke these days when the government really wanted to keep an eye on someone. Everyone was guilty of something ... and, in his case, the media often tried to sting him with nanotech bugs too. It was something he hated, yet another reason for just walking away from the monarchy. At least the aliens hadn't been interested in his sexual habits. He’d say that much for them.
“Take them off me,” he said.
“Already done,” Hastings assured him. She stepped backwards. “The Admiral has requested your presence at a briefing in fifty minutes. I would advise you to dress, get something to eat and report back here afterwards. I’ll be making up some tailored slop for you too.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Henry said. He swung his legs over the side of the stretcher and stood. “Am I all right?”
“If there was a concern, Your Highness, you would not be let out of this compartment,” Hastings said, shortly. “Now go. I believe someone wants to see you.”
Henry gave her a sharp look, then pulled on a clean uniform – they hadn't given him a starfighter pilot’s uniform – and stepped out of the hatch. Outside, he stopped dead as he realised just who was waiting for him. Janelle was standing there, staring at him.
And then, before he could react, she slapped him across the face.
“That,” she said, “was for letting me think you were dead.”
Chapter Twenty
Henry held Janelle tightly, feeling her heartbeat thumping against his chest.
“You should have told me who you were,” she said. “I could have handled it.”
“I’m sorry,” Henry said. If they’d believed him dead ... she would have had her life turned upside down. He cursed himself, angrily. “Do you hate me now?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Janelle said. “Why didn't you tell me?”
“I wanted to be normal,” Henry said. He hesitated, then half-pulled her into a private compartment. Long habits of avoiding the media had taught him to seek privacy whenever and wherever he could. “And I wanted to have a normal relationship too.”
He rubbed his cheek where she’d slapped him. In all honestly, he knew he’d deserved it – and worse. The Admiral had been right. Making love to someone outside Sin City risked that person’s future, no matter who or what she was. He’d been a selfish bastard, guided by his prick ... and the fact he actually liked her made it worse. He really should have known better.
You did know better, his conscience pointed out. You just didn't care.
“You could have had one with me anyway,” Janelle snapped. “I thought you were dead and ...”
She broke off as he hugged her again. “I’m sorry,” Henry said, and meant it. “I ...”
“Have a lot of explaining to do,” Janelle said. She pushed him into a chair, then marched over to a food dispenser. “And apparently you have to do some eating too.”
She shook her head, rubbing her eyes. “I thought you were dead,” she said. “Everyone thought you were dead. What happened?”
“I ejected from my fighter moments before it blew,” Henry said. He’d wondered why no one had thought he might be alive, but if they’d known the plasma chambers had been about to explode they might have thought he was certainly dead. “The aliens picked me up and took me to one of their worlds.”
“How nice of them,” Janelle said. She produced a plate of stew from the dispenser and passed it to him, followed by a mug of hot tea. “I think you’d better eat before you go to the briefing.”
Henry smiled as he smelled the stew. It wasn't much – naval rations rarely were – but compared to the tasteless food the aliens had fed them it was delicious. The tea was just as good, sweetened the way he liked it. His mother would have a fit if she saw how he’d forgotten the endless etiquette lessons she’d drummed into his head, but he found it hard to care. He practically inhaled the food and drink.
Janelle sat facing him, her dark eyes anxious. Henry felt another twinge of guilt and silently cursed himself under his breath. She had to have her doubts about him now, both because he’d hidden his identity from her and because he’d seemingly died, leaving her at the mercy of the media. Henry had no doubt at all of what the media would do to someone as newsworthy as his lover. She’d have her life dissected, anything interesting or scandalous would be broadcast to the world and she would never have a private moment again. And it was all his fault.
He searched for words, but none came. He’d acted badly, worse than badly. It would have been more honest to exploit her or even to enter into a loveless relationship. Instead, they’d both cared about one another – and that was the worst of it. They couldn’t simply let go.
“They asked if I was pregnant,” Janelle said, suddenly. “They thought I might be carrying your child.”
Henry swallowed. It was impossible, he knew. Like all crewmen, he had a contraceptive implant – and besides, the Admiralty would never have let her return to space if she’d been pregnant. Technically, it counted as rendering one’s self unfit for duty. But in her case ... they might have skipped the court martial. The child would have been of Royal Blood.
He felt another pang. If she had been pregnant, it would definitely have ruined her life.
“They do that,” he said, shortly. Thank God the media was largely banned from Sin City – and that he’d been Charles Augustus, while he’d been there. “It’s part of my life.”
“I understand,” Janelle said. She took a breath. “I mean I understand you.”
She met his eyes. “I do understand why you concealed your identity,” she said. “But I don’t know if I forgive you for it. It was bad enough mourning your death.”
The worst of all possible worlds, Henry thought. Janelle would have been mourning him, their relationship ended by his death ... and yet she would still have been wrapped up in the affairs of the Royal Family. She would be nothing to them, completely valueless, and yet she would never have been able to escape.
“I understand,” he said. “And if you don’t want to see me again ...”
Saying the words cost him more than he cared to admit. Janelle had liked him for him, not for being born a powerless prince, someone in line to be the figurehead of the British Government. They’d become friends and then lovers without the Royal Family casting a long shadow over their relationship. But, in the end, he understood. Anyone who joined the Royal Family, even if they were terrible gold diggers, bit off more than they could chew.
“We could go elsewhere,” he said. There was precedent – and besides, they’d already adapted well to his supposed death. He wondered, absently, if he could convince the Admiral not to name him on the report, before deciding it was impossible. “Take up residence on Britannia or even one of the other worlds ...”
“You’d be giving up everything,” Janelle pointed out. “Your family, your life ...”
Henry shrugged. He loved his parents and sister, but he hated what the monarchy had made them become. They were actors who could never really stop acting,
out of fear the audience would lose interest and go away. Or, perhaps, men and women under constant observation, knowing all too well that anything they did would be used in evidence against them. There were criminals under less strict monitoring than the Royal Family.
And he’d never felt freer than when he’d been Charles Augustus, a simple starfighter pilot without ties to anyone of importance. He’d been chewed out at the Academy and loved it, put in a starfighter cockpit and told to risk his own life ... he was better off, he knew, without the monarchy. And there was no force that could keep him in Buckingham Palace if he chose to leave.
“I’d be making a new life,” he said. “Will you come with me?”
Janelle hesitated. “I’ll think about it,” she said. She rubbed the table gently. “but it will have to wait until the end of the war.”
Ark Royal 3: The Trafalgar Gambit Page 20