Ark Royal 3: The Trafalgar Gambit

by Christopher Nuttall

  Least of all diplomats, he thought, sourly. The thought of turning up to a diplomatic meeting on Earth clad in a swimsuit or bikini was absurd, but it made sense on the alien world. Few of the diplomats could wear suits and ties for long in the heat, even if they weren’t ruined to exposure to sweat and water. But it didn't make them look any more attractive. Some of them really needed to cover up.

  He kept his opinion to himself as the jungle came to an end, revealing a path leading down to the water’s edge. This time, the aliens hadn't invited them to a city, but to a lagoon that reminded him of Jill’s description of First Contact. Hundreds of aliens were swimming in the water, surfacing briefly like dolphins at play before diving back under the waves. Henry checked he still had his mask on his belt as Ambassador Melbourne led the way down to the water, stopping just on the edge of the beach. The aliens made gestures that needed no translation.

  Come on in, Henry thought, feeling a sudden spurt of affection for the playful creatures. The water’s fine.

  He walked into the water until it was waist deep, then halted as the aliens surged around him, swimming alarmingly close with no regard for his personal space. But then, they were an intensely social race, he reminded himself. They probably had no conception of personal space, let alone any of the problems that had caused humanity to invent the concept in the first place. He forced himself to keep his face impassive as the smell of so many aliens in close proximity grew stronger. Did the aliens, he wondered absently, find humanity as smelly as humans found them?

  The aliens scattered, suddenly, as five more aliens surfaced and swam towards the two humans in a calm, measured fashion that Henry found somewhat ominous. He’d seen the aliens practically dancing through the water, moving in a manner that reminded him of penguins at the zoo, but now they seemed frighteningly serious. He shivered, despite the warm water, as he recalled the events in orbit. The report hadn't been as clear as he would have wished – it was clear the writer feared the aliens might try to intercept the transmission – yet it had been thoroughly alarming. An attack on the alien-settled world had been narrowly averted.

  It could restart the war, Henry thought. They hadn't even come to a final agreement before the Russians had tried to restart the war. They might not even have fared too badly in the final settlement, given the way the aliens kept changing their demands. But it hardly mattered now. We might be back at war within the week.

  “We greet you,” the lead alien said. As always, the voice was chillingly atonal, betraying no trace of emotion. “There was fighting in our system between humans. Explain.”

  Ambassador Melbourne splashed forward through the water until he could look the alien right in the eye. Henry silently admired his pluck. As much as he’d seen of the aliens since his capture, he still found it hard to look right into their oversized eyes. They were very far from human, he knew, and the sense of inhuman intelligence looking back at him was chilling. The aliens simply didn't think like humans.

  “One of our factions objected to the peace terms,” the Ambassador said. They’d agreed, previously, that they would tell some of the truth if the aliens asked. No one had expected they wouldn't be concerned about the incident, even if it had taken them two days to agree to call the humans for an interview. “They attempted to take control of our ship and attack your world. We stopped them.”

  The aliens, as one, ducked below the waves. Henry silently counted nearly ten minutes before their heads broke the surface again. This time, he was almost sure, it was a different alien facing the human ambassadors. But, as always, it was very hard to be certain.

  “You have factions of your own?” The alien asked. “What do they stand for?”

  Henry and Ambassador Melbourne exchanged glances. How did one explain the concept of nations and nationality to a race that possessed neither. The alien factions were based around ideas and concepts, not birthplace. It was true, Henry suspected, that someone born into a faction would always remain part of the faction to some extent, but their opinions might change as they grew older. Or when they were exposed to new ideas.

  “Our factions are based on birthplace,” Ambassador Melbourne said, finally. It was as good an explanation as any, under the circumstances. “This faction disliked the idea of surrendering New Russia to you.”

  The aliens ducked back under the surface. This time, they returned within moments.

  “This issue must be debated,” the lead alien said. “We will call you when a consensus has been reached.”

  That sounded more than a little ominous, Henry decided, as the aliens dropped back under the waves and vanished. Even the more playful aliens they’d encountered at the start had disappeared below the water. He stared over the surface for a long moment, wondering just how many aliens there were under the sea, then turned and made his way out of the water and up onto the beach. Ambassador Melbourne followed him a moment later.

  “Creepy,” the Ambassador commented, suddenly.

  Henry followed his gaze Something was moving along the beach. For a moment, he thought it was an optical illusion, a mirage caused by the heat and water droplets in the air, for it looked like a beach towel crawling over the sand. And then he saw that it was made of hundreds of thousands of spiders, making their way in unison towards the water. A shiver ran down his spine as he stared at them in disbelief. There was nothing like that on Earth.

  “Another form of alien intelligence,” the Ambassador mused. He didn't seem scared, merely curious. “Do you think they might become intelligent, one day?”

  “Would we even recognise them as intelligent?” Henry asked. He’d read novels where the enemy were intelligent spiders – or creatures so alien that any form of communication was completely impossible. “Would they recognise us as anything more than a food source?”

  The Ambassador shrugged. “I’ve negotiated with religious fanatics who think we have no right to exist,” he said, as he turned and walked back to the path. “They’re always difficult to do more than threaten, then carry out the threats if they refuse to listen to reason. Spider-aliens might not be too difficult after dealing with fanatics.”

  He didn't say anything else until they were back in the diplomatic compound and one of the Marines had swept the compartment for bugs. The aliens had been remarkably considerate about not trying to bug the diplomats, Henry had seen, although he had a private suspicion that nothing ever remained secret among the aliens for long. There were just too many aliens changing their allegiance from one faction to another without anyone trying to stop them. He had a feeling the aliens had no concept of a security clearance either.

  Maybe it works for them, he thought. He couldn’t deny that the aliens had built their own spacefaring empire, fully humanity’s equal. But it wouldn’t work for us.

  “The aliens may find the idea of one of our factions attacking them worrying,” the Ambassador said. “Or they may feel that the peace treaty wouldn't be kept.”

  Henry understood. If the Russians had tried to attack the aliens, what was to stop them from trying again and again. And what would the aliens do then? Restart the war? Or demand that the rest of humanity prevent the Russians from launching further attacks, something that might prove impossible without war? Hell, given time, the aliens might use the situation to their own advantage. A humanity permanently at war with itself wouldn't be able to prevent the aliens from quietly settling vast tracts of interstellar real estate.

  Unless there are other aliens out there, he thought. If there was one alien race, there would be others ... and they might be even more alien or less friendly than the first race humanity had encountered. Who knows what’s beyond the next star?

  “So we need to convince them otherwise,” the American said. He looked askance at Henry for a long moment, then gazed back at Ambassador Melbourne. “How do we do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Ambassador Melbourne said. “I just don’t know.”

  Midshipwoman Hawking entered, looking far bette
r than the Ambassadors in a one-peace swimsuit that kept her reasonably decent, but left little to the imagination. No one batted an eyelid, Henry noted with droll amusement. Wearing swimsuits everywhere had once been embarrassing or exciting. Now, everyone was used to showing so much flesh. He couldn't help wondering what would happen when the diplomats tried to return to Earth. Would they insist on breaking diplomatic convention by wearing comfortable clothes to meetings?

  “Your Highness,” she said. “Admiral Smith has requested that you return to Ark Royal.”

  Ordered, Henry translated, mentally. If there was one person on the ship who wasn’t impressed with his title, it was the Admiral. He wondered, briefly, if the Admiral wanted to discuss the negotiations with him personally, then dismissed the thought. If Admiral Smith had wanted to hear anything from the horse’s mouth he would have called Ambassador Melbourne directly.

  “I’ll catch the next shuttle,” he said. “Or does the Admiral want me at once?”

  He sighed, inwardly. There was one flight a day to and from orbit, in a shuttle designed for high-intensity operations. It was still, according to the handful of people who had travelled from the surface to orbit and back again, a nightmare out of the days before antigravity systems. Flights to space hadn't been so rough since humanity had started probing beyond the planet’s atmosphere. Henry knew, without false modesty, that he was a brave man, but he still found the idea of being at the mercy of the planet’s weather terrifying.

  If we get out of the war alive, he told himself firmly, we will go live on an asteroid.

  “As soon as possible,” Hawking said. “One of the shuttles was held for you.”

  “Must be something important,” Ambassador Melbourne said. “I’ll record a brief report for the Admiral on chip and you can take it with you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Henry said.

  The flight back up to the carrier was, if anything, worse than the flight down to the surface, even though there was a lesser risk of falling out of the sky. Henry hadn't come so close to throwing up since his first ride on the high-intensity simulator at the Academy, months – it felt like years – ago. They’d been testing his limits, he recalled, and just about everyone had thrown up, eventually. Henry had been told, afterwards, that he hadn't even come close to setting a record for endurance. By the time the shuttle landed in the carrier’s shuttlebay, he felt the urge to kiss the deck as soon as he staggered out of the ship.

  “Henry,” Janelle said. “How are you feeling?”

  Henry smiled at her, then felt his legs buckle. “Tell me,” he said, as he steadied himself by leaning against the shuttle’s hull. “Are we engaged in combat operations or is it just me?”

  “It's just you,” Janelle told him. “The Old Lady moves like a wallowing pig.”

  Henry nodded, wordlessly. The carrier wouldn't shudder and jump like a shuttlecraft, not unless someone did something stupid like trying to take the carrier into a planetary atmosphere – and even the Old Lady’s mighty drives wouldn't be enough to save the crew from the stupidity of whoever took the plunge. Henry had a sudden vision of the carrier plummeting to the surface like an asteroid and hitting the ground hard enough to permanently damage the planet’s ecosystem. No wonder so many people had worried about the asteroids orbiting Earth, he thought, as he managed to force himself to stand upright. It could have been disastrous if one fell out of orbit.

  And then the aliens attacked, he thought, and those asteroids weren't targeted. And the aliens still killed billions of people.

  Janelle led him through the ship’s corridors, quietly filling him in on what had happened over the last few days. Henry listened in growing disbelief; he'd known it was bad, but he hadn't realised just how bad. He had no idea what the Russians had thought they were doing – stealing a starfighter seemed like pointless evil – but they had to have had something in mind or the effort would have been utterly wasted, along with their lives. But what?

  Maybe they just thought that firing on the alien fortresses would be enough to restart the war, he thought. It still seemed like a pointless waste. But wouldn't the aliens have realised that one starfighter couldn't do enough damage to serve as a declaration of war?

  He pushed the thought aside as they stepped into the Admiral’s office. Admiral Smith looked tired, as if he needed to sleep desperately. It might well be the case, Henry knew, remembering the times he’d had trouble sleeping. He certainly hadn't slept very well when he’d been an alien prisoner, even though he’d been fairly certain he wouldn't be physically harmed. The thought of waking up to find an alien looming over him had kept him on his toes.

  “Admiral,” he said.

  “Welcome back,” the Admiral answered. He sounded as tired as he looked. “Commander Schneider is dead.”

  Henry winced. He’d known Commander Schneider from back when he’d been Charles Augustus. The CAG had been a good man, by his standards; he’d taught Henry a great deal more than he cared to admit. And he hadn't tried to fawn on the prospective Heir to the Throne, even after he’d learned the truth. That, if nothing else, marked him out as someone Henry could like. And he had liked Schneider ...

  “I’m sorry,” he said, sincerely. He’d hoped to catch up with Schneider, but he’d always been busy, even when Henry had been pacing his cabin with nothing to do beyond reading pointless reports. “He deserved better.”

  “Yes. Yes, he did,” the Admiral mused. “And so did the Captain.”

  Henry swallowed. Captain Fitzwilliam was a good man too, even if he had chewed Henry out once or twice. But Henry had to admit he’d deserved the row.

  He shook his head, running one hand through short white hair. Henry couldn't help wondering if the Admiral had grown older over the last few weeks, for his hair seemed whiter than before. Years ago, his father had told him that every senior politician went grey very quickly – and used hair dye or more complex surgery to make it seem like they were still youthful. Personally, Henry rather preferred the older look. It suggested the Admiral took his responsibilities seriously.

  “But I don’t have time to commiserate,” the Admiral continued. “I’m recalling you to active service – Rose Labara is being bumped up to CAG, with you as her second. I expect you to get along with her, despite your identity becoming common knowledge. There isn't time for anything else.”

  “No, sir,” Henry said, firmly. The thought of getting back in a cockpit was intoxicating. “I’ll be happy to serve in any capacity.”

  The Admiral’s lips twitched. “You might regret saying that,” he said. There was no humour in his voice. “I need you to take up your new role at once, so I’m giving you a brevet promotion to Commander. It may not last past our return to Earth, but you’ll need it for the position.”

  “Yes, sir,” Henry said. Once, the promotion would have thrilled him. Now, he knew it was something he wouldn't have had without special circumstances. And if he was allowed to keep it, everyone would know he’d been favoured ... and why. “I won’t let you down.”

  “Good,” the Admiral said. “Go.”

  Outside, he hugged Janelle tightly. “You could have told me,” he whispered. “I wouldn't have let on ...”

  “I thought it would be better left as a surprise,” Janelle said. She walked beside him as they made their way to the hatch. “There’s one other point the Admiral might not have mentioned, Henry. Commander Labara was very upset when the CAG died. Very upset.”

  Henry hesitated. “Were they ...?”

  “I believe so,” Janelle said. She paused. “That is not common knowledge, Henry, and you must not spread it any further. But if she allows her grief to distract her ...”

  Henry winced. How could he complain about someone having an affair with one of their shipmates? But any relationship between a senior and a junior was always bad for discipline, if only because of fears of favouritism. And yet ... one of the lovers was dead. It no longer mattered.

  “I’ll keep an eye on her,” he promised.
“And wish me luck.”

  He sighed. They’d be going into the simulators as soon as he entered the compartment. But then, what else could they do?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Admiral,” Janelle said, suddenly. “Long-range scans are picking up fifteen starships entering the system from Tramline Three and advancing on the planet.”

  Ted frowned. Five days had passed since the aliens had informed the humans that the issue of human factions would need to be debated. Five days, during which he’d waited, feeling ice prickling down the back of his spine. Five days ...