Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Someone will run an analysis of the first engagement eventually,” she said, grimly. “And when they do, they’ll realise just how badly we screwed up.”

  Mason shrugged. “Both sides made mistakes,” he pointed out. “If the Americans had launched from further out, they might have had a good chance to blow us out of space before we caught up with their carriers.”

  “We should have reacted faster,” Susan said. “We cannot afford another incident like that in a combat situation.”

  She glared at the deck. The recordings from the engagement should be enough to justify relieving Captain Blake of command - she had no doubt that Admiral Boskone would be furious, if they were brought to his attention - but her career would probably be doomed too, no matter what happened to the captain. Even someone who understood her position would ask why she hadn't alerted the Admiralty earlier, even if she hadn't relieved the captain of command personally.

  And if someone doesn’t understand my position, she thought, I can bend over and kiss my career goodbye.

  “You could ask the doctor to take a look at him,” Mason suggested. “The doctor could relieve him of command ...”

  “The doctor would have to satisfy a medical board that the captain was dangerously unfit for command,” Susan reminded him. She picked up her datapad and opened the captain’s file, checking to see when he’d had his last routine check-up, then cursed as she realised Doctor Chung’s predecessor had carried out the examination shortly before leaving the ship. “And we’d need grounds to urge the doctor to order an exam.”

  “We have grounds,” Mason said. “He froze up in combat.”

  “Which could easily be justified as being surprised,” Susan sneered. She rose and paced around the cabin, trying to think. What the hell should she do? “If we take this to the admiral, we just have to explain too much.”

  She kicked the bulkhead, hard. A rock and a hard place ... stay where she was and await the inevitable moment when someone ran an analysis and exposed the captain’s failings or report the captain, knowing it would probably destroy her career. Even if she didn't lose her rank, officially, what commanding officer would want a sneak under his command? It wasn't a rational objection, but she knew it would be made. No one would accept an XO who’d betrayed her commanding officer.

  “I think the bulkhead’s designed to stand up to laser warheads,” Mason said. “But keep kicking it if you wish.”

  Susan shot him a nasty look. “Do you have any other suggestions?”

  Mason scowled. “Try and ask Doctor Chung to carry out an examination anyway,” he said, after a moment. “It could be billed as part of the war games ...”

  “The captain wouldn't buy that argument,” Susan said. “And Doctor Chung wouldn't be keen on cooperating.”

  She sighed, inwardly. Captains were notoriously hard to force into sickbay for a medical examination, something that had puzzled her until she’d realised that the ship’s doctor was the only person who could legally relieve the captain without a very good reason. No captain would gracefully submit to an examination; no doctor would willingly abuse their position, knowing that it would cost them far too much. Captain Blake couldn’t be pushed into having a medical exam for at least another three months, unless he suffered an accident ...

  The buzzer rang. Susan blinked - she wasn’t expecting visitors - and snapped out the open command. The hatch hissed open, revealing the Boatswain. He was carrying a small bag under one arm, which shifted as he snapped to attention.

  “Chief,” Susan said, surprised. “What can I do for you?”

  “I have the latest reports for you,” the Boatswain said. He was an older man, old enough to pass for Susan’s father. He’d spent nearly twice as long as Susan herself in the navy. “If you wish to inspect them ...?”

  Susan picked up on the unspoken message and nodded. “Paul, I’ll talk to you later,” she said, briskly. “Meet me after your next duty shift.”

  “Aye, Commander,” Mason said.

  “Chief,” Susan said, once the hatch had hissed closed behind Mason. “How long have you served on this ship?”

  “I was assigned to her five years ago, back when she was really nothing more than a framework, Commander,” the Boatswain said. “They built the armoured hull around me.”

  Susan had to smile. She’d served on four starships before transferring to Vanguard, but she was an officer and officers were almost always transferred after their first promotions. A crewman, on the other hand, or a non-commissioned officer might spend his entire career on a single ship. The Boatswain was unusual in having been transferred around, although - if she recalled correctly - his previous ship had been decommissioned and sold to Japan.

  She hesitated, then took the plunge. “Chief, I need to ask you a question, off the record,” she said. “What happened to Captain Blake?”

  The Boatswain studied her for a long moment. Susan understood his concern. Asking a crewman, even a senior chief, about the captain wasn't just a severe breach of military etiquette, it was technically against regulations. But if there was anyone on Vanguard who might know what had happened to the captain, it was her longest-serving crewman. The Boatswain would have heard all manner of rumours as they filtered through the hull ...

  “I heard there was an ... incident on his last command,” the Boatswain said, finally. “He wasn't the same afterwards, or so I heard.”

  Susan frowned as some of the pieces fell into place. An incident covered a multitude of possible disasters, but if one of them had shocked the captain so badly he’d developed mental health problems ... it might explain a great deal. She'd assumed he’d been promoted to a point just above his level of competence, yet if he had been competent no red flags would have been raised. There would have been no reason to raise them.

  She met his eyes. “Do you know what happened?”

  “No, Commander,” the Boatswain said. “Commander Bothell was the only other transfer from his former command, I believe, and he was a very private man. Highly competent, very capable, but not inclined to sit back and just chat.”

  Susan nodded slowly. None of the senior officers had known Commander Bothell very well, although they’d clearly respected him. And Commander Bothell had clearly been loyal to his commanding officer, right up until he’d deserted. Or suffered an accident. There was no way to know, but he’d left Susan with an ungodly mess.

  And what would I do, she asked herself, if a commanding officer I respected and admired needed me to cover for him?

  “Thank you,” she said. She'd have to find a way to get the captain into sickbay for an exam, even if it risked her career. There was no other choice. “Now, I assume you didn't just come to talk to me about shuttlecraft reports?”

  “No, Commander,” the Boatswain said. “You may have a problem in middy country.”

  ***

  There had been a joke at the academy, George recalled, about some mythical entity called ‘free time.’ Younger cadets had been sent on snipe hunts, the joke went, for scant hours when there was nothing to do, but kick back and relax. She hadn’t really understood the joke until she’d been commissioned and assigned to Vanguard, where free time was almost non-existent for junior midshipmen. It had taken hours of haggling with Nathan and Midshipman Walter Haworth to get even an hour of free time.

  She slipped into the privacy compartment, hoping desperately that no one had seen her enter, and locked the hatch behind her. By long tradition, no one entered a locked privacy compartment unless the ship had to rush to battlestations; she’d heard stories of half-dressed crewmen trying frantically to pull on their clothes while rushing to their duty stations. None of the stories were actually true, she suspected, but it hardly mattered. Anyone who saw her entering the compartment - alone - might start off a new series of rumours.

  The bunk looked clean, but she decided it would be better to sit on the deck instead as she pulled out her datapad and connected it to the starship’s datanet. She wasn't
surprised to discover, as she thumbed through the files, that a large number were classified well above her pay grade, yet the basic personnel files were open to all. Her own file contained little more than a note of her academy rankings - any notes made by her superiors were hidden from her - but anyone who had more than a little experience in data-mining could probably draw lines between her and her uncle. The name alone was a bit of a giveaway.

  It’s not like we’re the only people with the name Fitzwilliam, she told herself, crossly. But we are the first ones any naval officer will consider.

  Shaking her head, she looked up Fraser’s file and frowned. Fraser had been assigned to Vanguard for three years, something that puzzled her until she realised he’d actually been on the ship while she was still in the shipyard. She tried to parse out a reason for his assignment to an incomplete ship, but nothing came to light. Whatever notes his superiors had attached to his file, and she was sure there had to be something, weren't open to her. His previous assignment had been a carrier ... and he’d been transferred, instead of being promoted.

  Odd, she thought. Had something happened to deny Fraser promotion? Did he screw up or did someone screw with his career?

  The file offered no clues. Fraser couldn't have screwed up royally or he would have been reassigned to a mining station or simply dishonourably discharged from the Royal Navy. But if he’d made an enemy amongst the senior officers ... even a mere second lieutenant could cripple a midshipman’s career, if he said the right words in the right ears. And reassigning him to an incomplete starship might have been a deliberate slap in the face. But, no matter what she did, she couldn't find any further data from the files.

  She gritted her teeth, then brought up the complete registry of midshipmen assigned to Vanguard and worked her way through their files. Fraser was the longest-serving by over two years, she noted; the other midshipmen had been promoted and transferred within two years of their assignment. The Boatswain had been correct, she saw; indeed, he’d understated the situation. Fraser was doomed to remain first middy on Vanguard for the remainder of his career.

  Unless he requests a transfer himself, she thought. But being a midshipman for so long would ensure he wouldn't get a post on another starship.

  Her frown deepened as she worked her way through the files. Every midshipman who’d been promoted had also been reassigned, without fail. That was standard procedure - and lucky, very lucky, for Fraser. Tradition might insist that whatever happened in middy country stayed in middy country, but she didn't think she could have resisted the temptation to punish him, once she gained promotion. His bitterness had only been made worse by watching junior officers rising above him and being reassigned. He probably wouldn't have taken it so hard, she thought, if they had stayed on Vanguard.

  She saved the files on the datapad, then skimmed through the file covering the official regulations - and unofficial traditions - of midshipmen in the Royal Navy. All sorts of things were condoned, if they were kept within reasonable limits; higher authority didn't like being forced to take note of problems in middy country. Fraser would be in deep shit if something happened, even if it hadn't been his fault. He was, after all, the first middy. Whatever happened in middy country was his responsibility.

  Then I have to handle the matter myself, she thought. Complaining would ruin both of their careers, no matter what else happened. And ...

  She gritted her teeth as she rose, checked the compartment to make sure she hadn't left anything lying on the deck, then opened the hatch and strode through without a backwards glance. No one was standing outside, much to her relief, but she passed two crewwomen who grinned knowingly at her as she walked up the corridor. Her cheeks burned red with embarrassment, knowing just what sort of rumours would be running through the ship. If someone had seen her enter, Fraser and the other midshipmen might already have heard ...

  They’ll forget about it, she told herself, as she reached middy country. The hatch hissed open, revealing an empty corridor. It isn't as if we don’t have anything else to talk about.

  She hesitated outside the hatch to the sleeping compartment, feeling her heart starting to race in her chest. She was no coward - she wouldn't have passed through the academy if she’d been a coward - and yet she was afraid. Part of her just wanted to give in, to duck her head and endure until she was promoted up and off the ship, but she was too stubborn. She couldn't imagine her uncle bowing the head to anyone. The only senior officer he’d spoken of with respect had been Theodore Smith.

  The hatch hissed open. Fraser stood there, looking annoyed. She caught sight of Nathan and Walter behind him, Walter half-naked as he undressed for the shower. They both glanced at her, Nathan trying to convey a warning message with his eyes. No doubt Fraser had realised she’d traded some of her assignments for an hour of relative peace.

  “So,” Fraser said. “Had enough of pleasuring yourself?”

  George pulled herself up to her full height. Someone had to have seen her entering the privacy compartment, alone. She wondered who, then decided it didn't matter. Rumours grew in the telling as people added new details, then reported those details as fact. No doubt she’d discover tomorrow that she'd taken part in a threesome with two other midshipmen.

  “No,” she said. “But I’ve had enough of you.”

  Fraser’s eyes widened, but he showed no other sign of surprise. Instead, he stepped closer until he was looming over her. Even standing upright, she was still a head shorter than him; she had to fight to keep from stepping backwards as he pushed his way into her personal space. There was little of that on a starship, but he was deliberately trying to intimidate her.

  “I challenge you to meet me in the gym,” she said, tossing down a gauntlet. “The winner will be first middy.”

  His face went blank. Technically, she couldn’t take his position, but if she beat him in a fight she’d be first middy in all but name. And, by the unwritten code of conduct, if he refused her challenge, she’d be first middy anyway. He’d be furious - she had nothing at stake, beyond being beaten in the fight - and yet he couldn't refuse, not in front of the rest of the middies.

  “It strikes me that you have nothing to lose,” he said, finally. “What can I possibly win?”

  George forced herself to meet his dark eyes. “The right to be first middy?”

  His eyes flared with anger and she knew she’d won. He couldn't refuse her challenge, not now, even though the best he could hope for was keeping his place. No one would respect him if he declined the challenge. And yet, with the odds so uneven, he wouldn't gain much through victory. Unless, of course, he gained pleasure out of beating her to within an inch of her life.

  “Very well,” he said, tightly. “We will meet tomorrow afternoon. I can alter the duty rosters to ensure we both have an hour’s free time. I trust that will be suitable?”

  “Of course,” George said. There was no backing out now, not for either of them. “I look forward to it, sir.”

  Fraser showed his teeth. “I look forward to it too,” he said, as he walked past her. She tensed, expecting a blow, but felt nothing. “Until then, go do your duties.”

  “Yes, sir,” George said.

  Nathan caught her arm as she stepped into the sleeping compartment. “Are you mad?” He demanded. “He’ll kill you!”

  “I once saw him thrash a midshipman bloody,” Walter offered. “The poor guy spent a week in sickbay.”

  “I’m just sick of him,” George said. Now she’d issued the challenge, she felt cold - and terrified. The combat training she’d had at the academy had been very limited. She’d certainly never been expected to fight hand-to-hand. “And just because he hasn’t been promoted is no reason to take it out on me.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Daddy,” Victoria Windsor called, as she peered through the bedroom door. “You have a priority call from the swimming pool.”

  Ambassador Henry Windsor - who was no longer His Royal Highness, at least in his o
wn mind - groaned as he pulled upright. It had been a late night at the embassy complex on Tadpole Prime and he’d only managed to get to sleep - he glanced at the clock mounted on the wall - three hours before his oldest daughter had woken him. His tiredness insisted he should tell her to ask the caller to wait and go back to bed. And yet, it had to be an emergency. A call from the swimming pool meant that he, in his role as Earth’s ambassador to the Tadpoles, was being summoned to meet with their representatives.

  Unless they forgot to check the time when they called, he thought, sourly. The Tadpoles, living below the waves, didn't really understand why humans worked during the day and slept at night. But they wouldn't call me directly unless it was important.

  He stood and grabbed his dressing gown, pulling it on over his swimming trunks, then shoed his daughter back to her bedroom as he hurried down the corridor and into the secure room, where a human face was on the screen. Charles Potter was, technically, Henry’s assistant, although he seemed to spend most of his time engaging in bureaucratic wars with the other embassy staffers rather than doing his job. Indeed, Henry had had to speak to him quite sharply when the man had tried to insist that Henry and his family should live in the embassy itself, rather than the mid-sized house in Human Town. It wasn't as if he needed to be in the embassy to do his job.