09- We Lead

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Thank you,” George said, tartly.

  Her uncle shot her a sharp glance. “Second, certain ... elements within the media have noticed your relationship,” he added. “So far, it’s stayed firmly in the pointless babbling sections of the datanet, but it won’t be long before the tabloids decide it’s actually creditable.”

  George scowled. “Those parts of the datanet also think we’re descendants of space lizards who crash-landed on Earth a billion years ago,” she pointed out. “What sort of credibility do they have?”

  “You might be surprised,” her uncle said. “Yes, a lot of the crap they spew out is obvious nonsense, but there are a few gems out there. I imagine someone at the Royal Hotel did a little research, then tipped them off. The tabloids will decide it’s creditable sooner or later.”

  He met her eyes. “And even if it wasn't true,” he added, “it would still reflect badly on you.”

  “Yes, sir,” George said.

  “Now,” her uncle continued. “You have been separated, seemingly by chance. Should you meet again, you will do so as formal equals. And if you choose to develop a relationship then, you will have a fair chance of doing it without raising eyebrows.”

  George glared back at him. “And who cares about their opinions?”

  “You were born into a powerful and wealthy family,” her uncle said. He jabbed a finger at her chest. “Your father is an important government minister. Your uncle is the First Space Lord. Your more distant relatives include two cabinet ministers and nine members of the House of Lords. And you are, technically, in line to the throne.”

  “Assuming fifty-seven people die ahead of me,” George snapped. “Is that ever going to happen?”

  “One would hope not,” her uncle said, dryly. “The point of the matter, Georgina, is that your conduct reflects badly on your family. No one cares what you do on shore leave, as long as it stays private, but they do care about something that might lead to scandal - and charges under naval regulations.”

  “Of course,” George said. She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I could go to bed with five men or ten women and no one would give a damn, but do something that calls the family into disrepute ...”

  “Exactly,” her uncle said. “Your little affair was right on the edge of permissible behaviour for a naval officer. Let me assure you that any court martial board would not choose to look at it kindly, particularly given the rest of your record. They’ll be wondering if the problem with your midshipmen getting out of hand was because you were spending your off-duty hours with a lover!”

  George flushed. “I wasn't!”

  “I believe you,” her uncle said. “How many others will feel the same way?”

  He cleared his throat and went on, before George could think of an answer. “Now, your boyfriend is on the way to becoming a commissioned officer,” he added. “And you, young lady, are going straight back to Vanguard.”

  George blinked. “Today?”

  “If you wish,” her uncle said. “But I believe your assigned slot is in two days.”

  He smiled, rather dryly. “The captain may welcome your enthusiasm, but you’ll probably disrupt her planned schedule,” he added. “Stay in London, attend a few shows or visit the shops ... and keep your head down.”

  “Yes, sir,” George said.

  Her uncle sighed. “You may not have noticed this, but your ‘career’ is on thin ice,” he warned, shortly. “You did well during your first cruise, George, yet you had all sorts of problems during your second. And while no official blame was attached to you, you ended up looking very bad. I believe that most responsible captains would have qualms about allowing you to serve as First Middy again, at least until you grow up a little. It might have been a mistake to allow you to enter the academy so early.”

  “It was not,” George said.

  She ground her teeth. Becoming First Middy so early in her career had been a fluke. If her reward for earlier service had come a couple of days later, Midshipman Simon Potter would have been First Middy. And he’d known it ... she’d tried, as best as she could, but she knew she’d flubbed the test. Promotion probably wasn't in the books for the next few years, if at all.

  “It may have been,” her uncle said. “I know - you were a prefect at school and did a good job, by all accounts. But could you have done such a good job if you were younger than your peers?”

  George said nothing. But she suspected he was right.

  Her uncle shrugged. “Your current assignment serves two purposes,” he said. “First, it is a step towards various other programs that are beyond your current need-to-know. Second, it is a chance for you to redeem yourself after several potentially disastrous failures. I don’t think I need to explain to you that you’re running out of chances. You cannot go on like this without hitting a real iceberg.”

  “Thank you,” she said, finally.

  “I hope you do understand,” her uncle said. “Do you?”

  “It isn't fair,” George said. “Sammy ... Sammy has had a whole string of affairs ...”

  “No one cares about her affairs,” her uncle said. His lips thinned with cold disdain. “She is not exploiting her position to get men and women into her bed.”

  “Neither am I,” George snapped.

  “This is politics,” her uncle said. “And in politics, perceptions matter so much more than reality. A lie can get halfway across the solar system before the truth has even got its boots on. You haven’t been abusing your position. I know that - or rest assured we would be having a very different conversation. But the rest of the United Kingdom? They don’t know the truth. You might be the seductress luring him into your bed. Or he might be the gold-digging seducer bent on tying you to him so he can exploit your position. Which version do you think will sell more tabloids?”

  George flushed. She knew the answer to that question.

  “Keep your head down,” her uncle said, again. “Go explore London, then return to your ship and hope that the story never truly breaks. And I suggest” - he met her eyes - “that you do not discuss this with Peter Barton. He met the requirements for the academy and that is all that matters.”

  “Yes, sir,” George said, reluctantly. “I ... I understand.”

  “Good,” her uncle said. “Hopefully, the next time I see you will be after a successful cruise.”

  “I hope so too,” George said. She was torn between thanking him and cursing him. He was doing her a favour, but it didn't feel that way. It felt more as though she’d been called on the carpet. “I’ll see you when I return.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Welcome aboard, Admiral,” Susan said.

  Admiral Naiser nodded, his grey eyes tired. He didn't seem to like the ceremony anymore than she did, although he’d endured it without complaint. His staff seemed more invested in it than himself, something that Susan couldn't help finding amusing and pathetic at the same time. Anything that diminished a flag officer’s status also diminished his staff. Probably literally.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Admiral Naiser said. “It's a pleasure to be back.”

  Susan nodded, reminding herself that Admiral Naiser had commanded the team that had designed and built Vanguard and her sisters. He’d been a hands-on manager too, according to her chief engineer. Admiral Naiser probably knew her ship as well as she did, if he’d been keeping up with the endless series of modifications, updates and repairs. She’d prepared a tour for him, if he had time to take it. Their departure date had already been moved forwards twice by the Admiralty.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of arranging a drink in my ready room,” she said. “My XO will show your staff to the flag quarters.”

  The admiral’s lips twitched. “That would be delightful,” he said, conversationally. “We have some small matters to discuss.”

  Susan glanced at Mason, then led Admiral Naiser down the corridor towards the bridge. A handful of hatches and inspection panels lay open, crewmen checking and reche
cking every last component before Vanguard powered up her drives and headed for the tramline, but she was fairly sure Admiral Naiser wouldn't complain. He’d been a starship commander, then a shipyard CO. He knew that a battleship on the verge of departure was a very busy place. A politician from Earth might have a different opinion.

  She opened the hatch to her ready room, then beckoned the admiral inside. Thankfully, she’d had a chance to clear up the room and generally make it look presentable, although there were still a dozen datapads and chips lying on the desk. Reading the reports, then checking them personally had taken most of her time over the last two days. She was damned if she was signing anything without checking it for herself, first. She’d made that mistake on her middy cruise and paid a steep price for it.

  “Please, be seated,” she said, as she picked up the bottle. “Finest scotch or finest shipboard rotgut? Or tea?”

  “The rotgut sounds ideal,” Admiral Naiser said. He settled into one of the chairs, looking surprisingly casual for an admiral. But then, he was experienced enough to know he didn't need to put on airs and graces either. “I haven’t been on a proper starship for far too long.”

  Susan smiled as she poured them both a glass. The clear liquid had been brewed somewhere below decks, in a location that was officially a secret. Mason and the Senior Chief would turn a blind eye as long as the distillers were careful not to accidentally poison a crewman - or let him get too drunk. She hadn't really approved, when she’d been a newly-minted midshipwoman with her father’s stern views on the dangers of drunkenness running through her head, but she’d come to realise that someone would put a still together with or without semi-official permission. Better to keep a sharp eye on it than try to come down like a ton of bricks.

  “Thoroughly unpleasant,” Admiral Naiser said, taking a sip. “I approve.”

  Susan sat facing him, crossing her legs. “I saw the latest set of updates,” she said. “Are we really getting a trio of American battleships?”

  “So it would seem,” Admiral Naiser said. “The Yanks haven’t quite decided if they want to divert the third to the war front or attach it to the task force, but we’re definitely getting two.”

  “I see,” Susan said. “I’m surprised they didn't demand command.”

  “They’re already in command of the war front - or at least our contribution,” Admiral Naiser said. “Giving them command of both the front and our planned offensive seemed a little much.”

  “Politics,” Susan muttered.

  “Quite,” Admiral Naiser agreed. He made a disgusted expression. “And the hell of it is that we’ll all get along fine, as soon as we leave orbit. But until then we’ll be fighting over precedence and everything else.”

  Susan nodded in tired agreement. She’d served with dozens of foreign officers and while she’d gotten along with most of them, their political masters were another story. Everyone wanted the prestige that came with important commands, even if it caused friction with their allies. Thankfully, they’d had plenty of time to iron out the details between wars. The First Interstellar War had concentrated a few minds on what was really important.

  “That’s not the worst of it,” the Admiral warned. “We’re also getting Vikramaditya.”

  Susan blinked. “The Indian carrier?”

  “Commanded by someone who fought against us as a junior officer,” Admiral Naiser confirmed. “We may have some diplomatic problems.”

  “Ouch,” Susan said. It was a recipe for trouble. Vikramaditya was one of two Indian supercarriers, if she recalled correctly. Her sister had been blown out of space by HMS Warspite during the war, crippled beyond repair by a starship far cheaper than herself. The Indians had been humiliated, while all the other powers had taken note. “Surely they won’t let disagreements get in the way of fighting a war.”

  “I’ll do my best to spare you the headaches,” the Admiral promised. “But there probably will be headaches.”

  He took another sip of his drink. “We should have the task force finalised and assembled within ten days, unless they change the departure date again,” he added. He pulled a datachip from his pocket and slotted it into the nearest terminal. “So far, the veil of secrecy seems to be holding. We’ll be departing for the front, as far as anyone outside the planning circle knows.”

  Susan had her doubts. Even if no one talked - and her father had dozens of stories about operations that had been spoiled because some politician talked to the media - there was plenty of evidence that the task force was going somewhere else, if someone put the pieces together. The handful of logistics ships, the repair crews that had been drawn from the various shipyards, the vast stockpiles of supplies ... it all added up to the task force going where no man had gone before. Someone would put the pieces together, given time.

  “I hope so,” she said.

  “I’ll be commanding the task force from the flag deck,” Admiral Naiser continued. He smiled. “You’ll remain in command of the ship, of course. Hopefully, the command structure should be sorted out over the next couple of days. We’ll be subdividing the task force into three smaller forces, ensuring that we cannot lose the entire command network if the shit hits the fan.”

  If someone takes us out, Susan thought. Our enemies have probably been building better weapons too.

  She scowled down at her glass. HMS Formidable had been the pride of the fleet, a decade ago. That hadn't stopped her being crippled, then blown to atoms by a flight of enemy starfighters. Vanguard was far too heavily armoured to suffer a similar fate, but it was certain that the Foxes would be looking for a way to take the battleship and her sisters out as quickly as possible. And if they stumbled across one ...

  If we run into something that powerful, she thought dryly, we’re screwed anyway.

  The holographic display sprang to life. Susan watched, coolly, as the fleet details scrolled up in front of her, everything from communications protocols to tactical contingency plans. She knew better than to assume that everything would go by the book, once the fleet departed Earth. They’d be shaking the fleet down as they headed to their destination, working out how to turn their orders - and plans drawn up on Earth - into something practical. God only knew what the final disposition of the fleet would look like.

  She frowned. “Can the Indian ships interface with ours?”

  “I believe so,” Admiral Naiser said. “There certainly shouldn’t be any problems.”

  Susan nodded, slowly. Humanity’s various navies had operated a degree of international standardisation, even before the first war, that would have shocked their ancestors. But starships might be crippled and lives might be lost if a Chinese component couldn't be inserted into an American starship and vice versa. All the bugs had been worked out during the first war, allowing human starships from a dozen different nations to fight as one. In theory, the task force should be able to fit neatly into a single formation. In practice ...

  We’ll have to wait and see, she told herself, dryly. As long as we can all talk to each other, we should be able to get along.

  “I’ll be hosting a get-together once the rest of the task force is assembled,” Admiral Naiser said. “You’re invited, of course.”

  Susan smiled. She knew what that meant. Her presence was mandatory, barring utter catastrophe. Fortunately, a gathering of starship commanders wouldn't be as mind-numbingly boring as a formal ceremony for politicians. She hoped - prayed - that they’d avoid a formal send-off before they departed. Thankfully, the fact that everyone had been told they were going to the war front, rather than somewhere a little further away, made it unlikely.

  “Of course, sir,” she said. Even if her presence hadn't been mandatory, she would have had to make an appearance. She was the CO, after all. “I look forward to it.”

  Admiral Naiser didn't look convinced, unsurprisingly. “I’ll be interested in your input,” he said, instead. “And in your thoughts on the jump drive.”

  Susan lifted her eyebrows. “Jump
drive?”

  “That’s what we’re calling the artificial tramline,” Admiral Naiser told her. “The designer wanted something technical, but her staff felt it would never catch on.”

  “It should be named after her,” Susan said. “Surely ...?”

  “She doesn't want it named after her, apparently,” Admiral Naiser said. “She’s already looking at prospective future improvements to the system. A working FTL drive ...”

  He shrugged. “It almost makes you wish we didn't have to tell the others it exists.”

  “Yes, sir,” Susan agreed.

  It was frustrating, if she was forced to be honest. The nation that first managed to escape the tyranny of the tramlines ... the possibilities would be endless. Countless star systems that were forever out of reach would suddenly become accessible, opening up whole new vistas for colonisation. But it wasn't to be. The rest of the Great Powers knew the jump drive was possible, even if they didn't know the details. They’d be pouring resources into their own programs, trying to match the British achievement before Britain laid claim to the closest systems.