“Second, we have discussed potential peace terms,” Melbourne continued. “The aliens themselves weren't agreed on what they wanted from us. I believe that one faction wishes to return to the pre-war situation, while the other two wanted to end the war, but keep the worlds and systems they took from us.”
“That won’t please the Russians,” Ted said. He scowled, inwardly. The Marines were overstretched keeping an eye on both the Russians and the alien diplomats. “Do they have a reason for that?”
“I believe they think it will serve as a bribe to convince several other factions to throw their weight behind peace,” Melbourne said. “But it’s difficult to be sure, Admiral.”
“So it would seem,” Ted said.
He thought he understood. The alien factions, like most of humanity, probably hadn't seen much wrong with a short victorious war. Wars only tended to become massively unpopular when countless soldiers were dying and the war seemed unwinnable. If Ark Royal had been scrapped, the aliens would probably be occupying Earth and congratulating themselves on the success of their strategy by now. Instead, they’d been forced to sit back and think carefully about their future.
And they’ll want to see something for all the blood and treasure they spilled, he thought, morbidly. Even if it is just a handful of worlds along the border.
The Ambassador shrugged. “But we haven’t agreed on anything definite yet,” he warned. “I think they’ve extended a safe conduct to us, but I don’t know if we can count on it.”
“I’ll discuss it with my officers,” Ted assured him. “Where do they want us to go?”
“They gave us a starchart,” Melbourne said. “It’s not too far from where we believed Faction Two to be based.”
“How lucky for us,” Ted said, dryly. He turned to the hatch. “I’ll discuss it with my officers, Ambassador, then get back to you.”
He paused. “Do they want you to visit their ship?”
“It’s a possibility,” Melbourne said. “Do you want to visit?”
“Maybe in peacetime,” Ted said.
It was tempting, but he knew better. Fitzwilliam would sit on him if he tried to visit the alien ship during wartime. He wondered briefly if he could come up with an excuse to send the CAG there – it would give him a semi-legitimate excuse to avoid his blackmailers – but he knew it wouldn't pass muster. The Commander Air Group was no ambassador. Sending him to the alien ship made about as much sense as sending the Captain down to an unexplored planet.
“Keep talking to them,” he said, as he stepped back into the main compartment. “But don’t give away too much too soon.”
Behind him, he heard Melbourne snort.
***
“Are we sure,” James asked, “that these coordinates are correct?”
“We checked them against the tramlines, sir,” Lieutenant Commander Daniel Lightbridge said. The helmsman looked nervous, yet eager. “There’s no doubt about where we’re heading.”
James frowned. He understood, as much as anyone else, why it was important to make peace with the aliens. But, at the same time, he disliked the idea of heading further into unexplored space at alien behest. It would be easy for the aliens – or one of their factions – to set an ambush that would cripple or destroy Ark Royal.
“I don’t see that we have any choice,” the Admiral said. “This will put us very near one of the alien worlds.”
The bioweapon, James thought. It wouldn't take long, according to the techs, to prep a deployment system. The aliens would regret stabbing a knife in the Old Lady’s back, he knew, if they ever realised the connection. Their sensor networks weren't good enough to pick up a stealth missile penetrating their defences. If we have to use it, we’ll be in an excellent place to deploy it for best effect.
“But it will also risk the flotilla,” he pointed out. It was his job to play Cassandra. “Even if this faction means well, Admiral, others are outright hostile. We could be flying right into a trap.”
“That would always be a risk,” the Admiral countered. “They tried to ambush us last time we were here, Captain.”
James nodded. “But this time it will be easier for them to set a trap,” he said. “If they knew we were coming ...”
He scowled. If the aliens had detected them while they were trying to sneak through the backdoor to Target One, they might have planned a trap – or even a holding mission to keep the Old Lady where she was while the aliens gathered the forces to destroy her. Or was he just being paranoid? It was clear the aliens had treated the human captives relatively well, certainly by human standards, and – unknowingly – they’d returned Prince Henry to his people. James had to admire the Prince for how well he’d handled his situation. He’d done very well.
But had the aliens brainwashed him?
It was a constant worry whenever someone had spent a long time in captivity. Human minds, struggling to defend themselves, started empathising with their captors, even to the point of joining them. Stockholm Syndrome didn't just make hostages untrustworthy as rescue forces stormed terrorist lairs. It kept abused partners and children with their abusers, convincing them they deserved their treatment ... and that was without drugs or direct mental manipulation warping their judgement. James had few illusions. Given enough time, there wasn't anyone, no matter how loyal or patriotic, who couldn't be turned into a dagger aimed at his own country. It had happened before and it would no doubt happen again.
The doctor saw no signs of tampering, he thought, and could the aliens really do a perfect job of it? They’ve only had a handful of years to study living humans ...
He shook his head. There was no way to know. It was just another uncertainty in a mission that had too many of them already.
“We have to take the risk,” the Admiral said. “I’d be happy holding the talks somewhere neutral, but we don’t seem to have that option. Instead ...”
He cleared his throat. “We will pass through the tramline here,” he said, tapping the display. “The aliens will be asked to stay with us until we pass through, just in case. We don’t want our course to be predicable.”
“It will be,” James said, bluntly. He understood the Admiral’s concern – and he trusted his judgement – but far too much could go wrong. “We won't be remotely stealthy if we have an alien ship escorting us.”
“I know,” the Admiral said. He looked down at the table. “I want to detach Holmes from the flotilla. She is to make her way back to Earth, under very tight stealth, carrying a complete copy of our translation algorithms, reports and whatever else can be copied over. If the doctors agree, she is to take Miss Pearlman too. I think it would be better for her to be returned to Earth.”
James frowned. “You don’t want to send the Prince back too?”
“I think we will need him in the future,” the Admiral said. “And he is a trained starfighter pilot, if we dare clear him for duty. Miss Pearlman is none of those things.”
James considered it. It was quite likely the King would be furious at hearing his son had been recovered, but not sent back to Earth at once. The political questions that everyone had thought had died with the Prince would be reopened, starting with the old issue of just who would succeed the Throne. But he understood the Admiral’s decision. Prince Henry could still be useful.
“Miss Pearlman might be helpful,” he pointed out. “Or do you think she can’t be any more informative?”
“We don't seem to need her any longer,” the Admiral said. “And she needs better treatment than we can supply onboard the ship. She's on the verge of collapse, James. The aliens didn't realise it, we think, but they were slowly starving her to death. She needs specialised treatment on Earth.”
“Don’t let the doctors hear you say that,” James said, dryly. “But I understand. Besides, she might just be the last heir to the Heinlein Foundation’s Trust.”
“If they let her claim it,” the Admiral mused. He shook his head. “Prepare your ship for departure, Captain. And pray tha
t this isn't all an elaborate trick.”
James looked up at the starchart. The spider’s web of tramlines shone through alien space, showing a handful of potential hub systems for the alien civilisation. One of them, he was sure, was the alien homeworld. But it was impossible to be sure which one. The aliens, apparently, had flatly declined to discuss the location of their homeworld with their human counterparts. Under the circumstances, James knew, it was very hard to blame them.
They attacked our homeworld, he thought, sourly. Why wouldn't we attack theirs?
He thought of the bioweapon and went cold.
***
“Jill’s going back to Earth?”
“Yes,” Janelle said. There was an odd note to her voice. “Will you miss her?”
Henry sat upright. Of course ... Janelle would have seen Jill, naked as the day she was born, accompanying him back to Ark Royal. Perhaps she’d wondered what they’d done together, when there had been no hope of getting back to Earth. Or perhaps she was simply concerned ...
“I’m glad she’s getting treatment,” he said. The thought of slowly wasting away was horrific, but it would have happened if they hadn’t returned to the Old Lady. “We never felt anything badly wrong.”
“The doctors think you might have been fed painkillers as well,” Janelle said. “We know they drug some of their captives. They could just have been experimenting with the dose.”
Henry winced. “Didn't the blood tests come up negative?”
“They didn't find anything we recognised,” Janelle confirmed. “But they might well have missed something, if it had time to filter out of your bloodstream.”
“Never mind,” Henry said, sharply. He shook his head. They’d allowed him to watch the negotiations through the monitors, but not to actually take part. “Are we going further into alien space now?”
“So it would seem,” Janelle said, slowly. “How do you feel about that?”
“I ... don’t care where I go, as long as I go with you,” Henry said. It had been a famous line from one of the romantic movies Elizabeth had loved to watch, before she'd realised just how many frogs she would have to kiss before she found her Prince Charming. “I ...”
He ducked as Janelle picked up a terminal and waved it at him threateningly. She wasn't the sort of person to be impressed by romantic platitudes.
“I don’t know how I feel,” he admitted, instead. “I want to get it over with, Janelle, but I also don’t want to go home.”
Janelle patted his shoulder, then kissed his forehead.
“You probably should record a message for your family,” she said. “I believe everyone else in the crew will be doing the same.”
Henry sighed. Part of him was still insanely tempted to try to convince the Admiral to leave him out of his report. But it wasn't even remotely possible.
“I will,” he said, reluctantly. What did one say to a family that had burned a casket, then mourned him? Had they mourned publically, knowing the media would crucify them if they didn't, or had they tried to keep their grief to themselves? Had they felt grief at all? Or had Elizabeth envied him for escaping the media? “But I honestly don’t know what I’m going to tell them.”
“Well,” Jasmine said. “Did you miss them?”
“Of course,” Henry said, offended.
“Then start by telling them that,” Janelle said, practically. “And then tell them just how much you’ve achieved over the last couple of months.”
“I can't,” Henry said. He shook his head in bitter dismay. “The message won’t stay private, you see.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Local space seems clear, sir,” Flight Lieutenant Pixie Raga said.
“Glad to hear it,” Kurt said, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. Flying long-range patrol was always tricky, even without the constant threat of alien attack. He knew, even if his wingman didn't, just how unlikely it was they would stumble across anything dangerous. Their presence was more inclined to ensure that any aliens intent on sneaking closer had second thoughts. “But you don’t need to keep repeating it again and again.”
He sighed. “Just keep one eye on your sensors and the other on your communications panel,” he added, “and everything should be fine.”
“Yes, sir,” Pixie said.
Kurt rolled his eyes. Pixie had been born on Luna and had the fairy-like build of a fifth-generation Luna citizen. If she hadn't worked out endlessly from the moment she grew old enough to know what she wanted to do, she would have had real problems surviving on Ark Royal, let alone Earth. There were genetic treatments for problems caused by being born in a low-gravity field, but her parents had clearly refused to use them. Perhaps they’d just liked the thought of their daughter living up to her name.
The alien system was oddly disappointing. He would almost have welcomed a swarm of alien fighters, backed up by a pair of carriers, knowing it would distract him from his worries about the future. Instead, the alien settlers had completely ignored them, not even broadcasting towards the alien ship pacing the human flotilla. Kurt wasn't sure if they were trying to stay out of the fighting or if they simply didn't care. If scuttlebutt was correct, and the aliens organised themselves by political attitudes, logically there had to be some aliens who were completely indifferent to the war.
There are peaceniks back on Earth who think the war will ignore them if they ignore it, he thought, sardonically. A number had probably been drowned when tidal waves had battered the British coastline and swept inland. I wonder how many of them are in refugee camps right now?
The thought made him grit his teeth. He'd recorded a message for Penny and Percy – and Gayle, although she wasn’t related to him – yet he hadn’t dared say anything that might end up being used against him. He had written a message, which he’d placed in storage, but he had no idea what would happen to it. The post-return investigation would probably take the message and use it in evidence against him. And Rose.
He sighed. Rose was busy working the pilots though yet another simulation, instead of being with him. He missed her dreadfully, a dull ache in his heart that refused to settle, even though he knew they couldn't be together until after they were discharged from the Navy. Or was he being silly, he kept asking himself in his darker moments. Rose was fifteen years younger than he, after all. Would they stay together in peacetime? Would she be happy being mother to his children? Percy wasn't that much younger than Rose ...
His console bleeped. “We’re reaching the edge of our range,” he said, keying the channel open. “Reverse course; sweep back towards the Old Lady.”
“Aye, sir,” Pixie said. She flipped her craft over – showing off a little – and drove back towards the carrier. “We have more than enough power left in the cells.”
Kurt rolled his eyes. Technically, she was right. Practically, it was asking for trouble.
“And what would you do,” he asked sweetly, “if you had to hold position outside the carrier with your power fast running dry?”
He went on before she could try to answer. “You need to keep a reserve at all times,” he added. “Expect the unexpected. Something will happen to fuck up all your planning and then you’ll be glad to have the reserve.”
She said nothing as they flew back towards the carrier, passing two more starfighters on patrol as they closed in on the giant ship. Kurt felt an odd sensation in his gut as they looped around and approached the landing deck; part of him was glad to be back onboard, part of him knew the blackmailers could have sent him another message. They hadn't sent him anything else since he’d done the first set of work for them, but he had a feeling time was running out again. They’d made contact with the aliens, after all.
He dropped his craft neatly to the deck and watched, nervously, as Pixie came in to land. It was always hair-raising watching a new pilot try to land and it still worried him, even after making the pilots practice again and again in simulations. But Pixie managed a perfect landing and scrambled
out of her starfighter, hastily running towards the washroom. Kurt smirked as he watched her run. Clearly, she had yet to realise the importance to limiting her liquid intake before boarding her starfighter.
Not that anyone wants to mess around with the bags, he thought, as he scrambled out of his own craft. Everyone remembers what happened to that idiot from the very first flight of starfighters.
“Commander,” a voice said, as he reached the hatch. He looked up to see Major Parnell. “If you will come with me ...?”
Kurt scowled inwardly as they walked through a series of corridors and entered Marine Country. “Don’t you worry about us being seen together?”
Parnell shrugged. “The aliens being onboard has given us an excuse to run multiple searches for bugs,” he said. “We found quite a few, scattered randomly around the ship. Officially, we’re blaming them on the reporters who infested the ship during our first cruise.”
Ark Royal 3: The Trafalgar Gambit Page 22