Fear God and Dread Naught

by Christopher Nuttall

  “It is never easy to know when one should report a comrade, perhaps a friend, to higher authority,” Soskice admitted. “We look poorly on sneaks even when the sneak is actually in the right. And once someone has made that first fatal decision, it’s easy to make the next decision and the next. We acknowledge that Midshipwoman Wheeler was caught in a tissue of lies and deceptions that left her unsure which way to turn. But we cannot condone her actions.”

  George braced herself. Whatever was coming, she knew, wasn't going to be pleasant.

  “Midshipwoman Wheeler is hereby dishonourably discharged from the Royal Navy,” Soskice said. “She will be entitled to pay up until today, as she was more than willing to cooperate to untangle Henderson’s web of lies, but nothing else. However, we are prepared to fund her emigration to a colony world, if she wishes it. Emigration may give her a chance to build a whole new life.”

  Felicity started to cry. George felt another stab of sympathy, even though she couldn't help feeling that Felicity had gotten off lightly. A dishonourable discharge would look very bad on her record, but she wouldn't be spending time in jail ... and she had the skills to make something of her life, if she wished to try. And going to a whole new world would give her the chance to start afresh ...

  “This is an uncomfortable chapter in the navy’s long history,” Soskice concluded, as a pair of marines removed the prisoners. “But we feel that it can now be closed. The court is adjourned.”

  George sagged, slightly, as the spectators began to clear the room. If the court was now adjourned, did that mean that she was free and clear? Or did it mean that the board had decided that her services on Unity cancelled out her failings? Or ...

  She felt a tap on her shoulder and glanced up. Lieutenant Johnston was standing there.

  “Midshipwoman,” he said, as George hastily stood and saluted. “Admiral Fitzwilliam would like to see you in his office.”

  “Yes, sir,” George said. She suppressed a groan with an effort. Her uncle could have waited, couldn't he? A meeting on the estate would have caused far less comment. But he was the First Space Lord, after all, and Britain was at war. He might not have time to visit the estate before she returned to duty. “I’ll see him there at once.”

  She made her way through the network of corridors until she reached her uncle’s office. The marines at the hatch waved her through without comment, something that suggested - very strongly - that her uncle had ordered them to let her through without any security checks. She wasn't sure if she should be relieved or outraged. Nelson Base was an orbital fortress, one of the most secure locations in the world, but there was a lot of traffic passing through. A spy might just manage to get through the checkpoints because everyone knew it was supposed to be impossible.

  “Admiral,” she said, as she stepped through the secondary hatch. “Midshipwoman Fitzwilliam, reporting as ordered.”

  Her uncle studied her for a long moment as the hatch rolled closed. “George,” he said, shortly. “Stand at ease.”

  George relaxed, slightly. This was the man who’d put her on her first pony, the man who’d first inspired her to join the navy, but he was also her superior officer. She knew, all too well, that he wouldn't go lightly on her, just because she was his brother’s daughter. He couldn't afford to show any hint of nepotism when the country was at war. The Old Boys Network was only tolerated as long as it produced results.

  Or a complete absence of disasters, George thought. We’ve had too many problems caused by inbred idiots promoted above their competence.

  “It was an interesting trial,” her uncle said, after a moment. “It could have been much worse.”

  “Yes, sir,” George said.

  “You did fuck up,” her uncle added. He pointed a long finger at her. “You do understand that, don’t you?”

  George nodded, slowly. There was no way to avoid it. She'd mismanaged all four of her middies, saving - perhaps - Paula. Henderson and Felicity had been put in front of a court martial, while Potter had sullenly tolerated her authority over the two months it had taken to crawl home. She wasn't responsible for their actions, but she was their superior officer. Her first taste of command had been a near disaster.

  “Yes, sir,” she said. She didn't bother with excuses. They’d never impressed her uncle - or her father - in the past, even when she’d been a little girl. “I made a whole string of mistakes.”

  “Yes,” her uncle said. “The board did look at your conduct” - George stiffened - “and considered filing formal charges against you. However, it was decided that your willingness to bite the bullet and report the matter to Commander Mason, even at the cost of your own career, made up for certain lapses in judgement. It was also pointed out that you had a raw deal: four new midshipmen, two without any shipboard experience. You didn't have the time to handle everything.”

  George said nothing. She rather suspected her uncle had already made up his mind.

  “There’s also the matter of your conduct on Unity itself,” her uncle added. “You saved a number of marines from certain death when your shuttle went down, then you fought beside the resistance and eventually captured a number of alien soldiers. There may be some slight ... questions ... about the exact circumstances of the latter, but both the marines and the xenospecialists have recommended you for commendations. You may not get them, but you will have that on your record.”

  “At least the media didn't get the full story,” George muttered.

  “Quite,” her uncle said. “But don’t count on that lasting.”

  George nodded. Most of the reporters assigned to the task force had been on New York when she’d been destroyed, but she had no doubt that some of the crew would talk to the media as soon as they went on leave, if they hadn't already. She was mildly surprised that she hadn't been forced to read a headline reading NAKED ARISTOCRAT CAPTURES ALIEN STORMTROOPERS. Aliens, nudity, aristocracy, violence ... what more did the tabloids want? She just hoped there hadn't been a camera recording the scene.

  She closed her eyes for a long moment, then looked up at her uncle. “What’s going to happen to me?”

  Her uncle shrugged. “Do you think I exert any influence over promotions boards?”

  “You’re the First Space Lord,” George pointed out. “You must have some idea. A crawler on the board might already have decided to toady to you.”

  “I try to discourage toadies,” her uncle said, crossly. “They rarely have anything useful to say.”

  He met her eyes. “You have two weeks of leave owing, barring accidents,” he added, shortly. “Where do you intend to go?”

  George frowned. “Anne wants me to visit the estate,” she said. It wasn’t something she wanted to do, but there was no point in refusing. “And then I was going to go on holiday somewhere.”

  “I suggest you be discreet,” her uncle said. George coloured at the unsubtle implication that he knew about Peter Barton. “You don’t need more scandal.”

  He tapped the datapad on the desk, meaningfully. “You can go back to Vanguard,” he said, “or you can transfer to another ship. I’m not sure if you’ll be able to stay as First Middy in any case - Vanguard will be receiving new midshipmen after the first set of repairs have been completed. Service on another ship, in any case, will probably help your future career. But there is another option.

  “You did well on Unity. And the marines recommended you for one of the more secretive military units under our flag.”

  George’s eyes narrowed. “And they want me for ... for what?”

  “You’ll get the rest of the details once you join, if you do,” her uncle said. “Suffice it to say that it involves both ground and space combat. And ... well, the odds of getting through the training course are not good.”

  “And if I choose not to,” George said, “what happens?”

  “You go back to Vanguard,” her uncle said. “No one outside a very select group will ever know that the offer was made.”

  “I d
idn't like it,” George said. “I mean, I didn't like being on the ground.”

  Her uncle raised his eyebrows. “What happened to the girl who insisted on building her own treehouse and then sleeping in it, when she didn't go on muddy rambles through the estate?”

  “I still enjoy the outside world,” George said. She coloured at the memory. She’d ruined one of her best dresses on one of those rambles and her mother had not been pleased. “But I didn't enjoy the fighting on the ground.”

  “Not everyone does,” her uncle said. “And there is no shame in declining, if you don’t feel you are up to it.”

  “I’d sooner stay on the battleship,” George said. She took a long breath. “Can I ask you something? Between you and me?”

  Her uncle nodded, curtly.

  “When you were an officer,” she said. He lifted an eyebrow and she winced. “I meant, when you were a younger officer ... were you ever tempted to abuse your social rank?”

  “I did,” her uncle said, flatly. There was a hint of bitter guilt in his voice. “I tried to take command of Ark Royal. It was just before the Battle of New Russia, you see. I thought the Old Lady would give me a chance to claim a carrier command, without having to fight for one of the slots on Formidable or Illustrious. Captain Smith managed to convince his superiors that I didn’t know enough about Ark Royal to take command. And he was right.”

  “Formidable died at New Russia,” George said, quietly.

  “She did,” her uncle confirmed. “You were born with rank and status, just as I was - but abusing that status is the quickest way to lose it. Either you get removed from command by your superiors or your juniors start resenting you.”

  He met her eyes. “Why do you ask?”

  “I used it,” George admitted. It wasn't something she wanted to talk about, but she felt as if she had no choice. “I wanted to put someone in his place. And I did. But it might well have been a mistake.”

  “It might have been,” her uncle agreed. “What I did was definitely a mistake. And I had to face up to it when the crunch came.”

  George nodded, realising what he was trying to say. She had to take responsibility for herself. Using her social rank to put Henderson in his place ... mistake or not, she had to take responsibility for it. And, whatever the consequences were, she had to deal with them.

  Her uncle sighed. “You have a shuttle flight to London,” he said. “You’ll be officially on leave from the moment you land at Heathrow. If you want to take up the marine offer, contact them - I’ll send you the communications code - within a week; if not, report back to the shipyard when your leave expires. And I suggest you try to stay away from the media.”

  “Yes, sir,” George said. She had the nasty feeling they’d be staking out the estate and anywhere else she might care to go. “I wouldn’t want to say a word to them.”

  “No one with any sense wants to talk to the media,” her uncle said. He reached out and shook her hand. “And George, whatever you decide, know that your father and I are very proud of you. You lived up to the finest traditions of the family.”

  George swallowed, tasting bile. She couldn't help wondering just how much they knew about how badly she’d screwed up. Potter would have told the court martial board everything, wouldn't he? Or had he decided that it would be wiser to merely stick to the facts? No one could blame him for that, could they?

  But I could have been convicted on the facts alone, she mused, as she saluted and turned towards the hatch. He didn’t even need to lie.

  Chapter Forty

  “There’s a more detailed report securely lodged in the datacore,” Prince Henry said, as they sipped tea in the First Space Lord’s office. “But I can give you the basics right now.”

  Susan nodded. She’d heard some of the research team’s preliminary conclusions during the long flight home, but Prince Henry had been reluctant to discuss anything until they reached Earth and had a chance to compare notes with other xenospecialists. And she’d had too many other problems nursing a battered ship home to worry about it. But now she was curious.

  “We think we have the basic story pinned down,” Prince Henry continued. “The Foxes are incredibly competitive - we think the competitive impulse is deeply ingrained into their very being. They formed factions that warred with other factions, each of which had sub-factions that warred together to gain political control. Factions that lost would be absorbed into the victors, only to see the victors split up as new conflicts emerged. We think they were actually fighting Flower Wars - if you’ll excuse the expression - for the longest time. War had actually become ritual.”

  Susan leaned forward. “Flower Wars?”

  “The Aztecs used to fight ritualised wars with their subject states,” the First Space Lord said quietly. “They were really nothing more than an excuse to blood warriors and capture prisoners for sacrifice. Naturally, their subjects resented it hugely ... which is why so many of them sided with the Spanish when they arrived.”

  “Yes, sir,” Prince Henry said.

  “What we think happened, eventually, was an interplanetary war that actually threatened their entire civilisation,” he said. “We don’t have many details and almost all of what we do have are nothing more than rumours, repeated amongst both Foxes and Cows. What is certain is that one faction managed to build an STL colony ship and flee to another star system. Much to their surprise, they discovered another alien race living there.”

  “The Cows,” the First Space Lord said.

  “Correct,” Prince Henry said. “The Cows were apparently defenceless, so they got squashed rapidly. They couldn't integrate completely into the predominant social structure for biological reasons, so they ended up filling a different set of roles. Over the years, the two races merged as closely as possible. Their society makes extensive use of both races, to the point where it’s a genuine union. They effectively share power and authority.”

  He shrugged. “The Foxes can't resist a challenge,” he added. “It’s how they sort out their pecking order. When the Contact Fleet arrived in UXS-469, they attacked; judging us weak, they continued the attacks. I don’t know if they realised that they were facing two races, rather than one, but I doubt it would have mattered. The challenge was all that mattered to them.”

  Susan leaned forward. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “They beat the crap out of us at UXS-469, so they expected us to roll over and surrender?”

  “Basically,” Prince Henry agreed. “And when we refused to surrender, they just continued the war. They’re locked into it now.”

  The First Space Lord cleared his throat. “Can we talk to them?”

  “Yes and no,” Prince Henry said. “We can speak to them in their own language now, but I doubt we can convince them to surrender - or even come to terms - without battering them senseless. The good news is that if we convince them that they’ve lost, they will surrender; the bad news is that getting them to that point will not be easy.”

  “Of course not,” Susan mused. “They need to feel defeated, right?”

  “We believe so,” Prince Henry said. “They know, very well, that losing a battle does not mean losing a war.”

  “And they have advantages,” Susan said. “Their FTL communications device, for one.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Prince Henry said. “I’m afraid we still haven’t cracked that particular puzzle.”

  The First Space Lord tapped the table. “So we have no choice, but to continue the war,” he said. “There’s no hope of making peace.”

  “We reinforce Unity, sir, then attack upwards towards Alien-One,” Susan said. “It will give us our best chance to convince them that they’ve lost.”

  “It should work, sir,” Prince Henry agreed. “If nothing else, it might well cause splits amongst the two races.”

  Susan’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “We have fewer Cows to study,” Prince Henry said. “But we think, however, that they are less wedded to the concept of throwi
ng bricks at wasp nests. There’s a certain .. solidity about them that the Foxes seem to lack. It's possible that they might turn on the Foxes if they think the costs of continuing the war will be too high.”

  “But you don’t know,” the First Space Lord said.

  “No, sir,” Prince Henry said. “We’re dealing with aliens - and realistically, our ability to predict what our fellow humans will do isn't that good. People tend to jump in unexpected directions. But if nothing else, going on the offensive - properly on the offensive - will give us the chance to put an end to the war before it’s too late.”

  “I’ll have to discuss it with others,” the First Space Lord said.

  He cleared his throat. “Captain Onarina, I would like to compliment you on your success during Operation Unity,” he continued, his tone markedly more formal. “Your actions were in the finest traditions of the Royal Navy, particularly after you were forced to assume command of the entire squadron. I do not believe that any concerns have been raised about your conduct.”