Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7)

by Christopher Nuttall

  Susan nodded, listening with one ear to a steady string of security updates. The human encryption system was a constant headache for the diplomats; human navies needed to talk to one another, particularly if they had to drop their petty disputes and ally against an outside threat, but no navy was keen on sharing its secrets. It might have saved time and effort if everyone had agreed to send messages in clear - every nation worked hard to crack foreign encryption schemes - yet she knew it wasn’t going to happen. Unless, of course, the human race managed to unite ...

  And pigs will strap on wings and fly, she thought, darkly. We’re perfectly capable of fighting each other at the same time as an outside threat.

  “Gentlemen,” Admiral Boskone said. Admiral Pournelle’s image stood next to him, although they were on different ships. “I’ll keep this brief.”

  Susan smiled, inwardly. That would be a first.

  “A long-range exploration mission has stumbled across a third self-spacefaring race,” the admiral continued. There were some gasps and muttered exclamations, but fewer than one might have expected. Experienced naval officers knew they wouldn't have been ordered to attend a joint meeting for anything less. “This race does not, as yet, pose an active threat, but they may well pose a potential threat. The Tadpoles would like to make first contact as soon as possible.”

  “Shit,” Captain Blake muttered.

  Susan eyed him, concerned, then turned her attention to the starchart as it flickered into existence. The unknowns were on the other side of Tadpole space, four weeks from their current location at full speed. It was probable - indeed, it was almost certain - that the Tadpoles would be redeploying their fleet to counter any threat from the unknowns, even though there was no reason to believe the unknowns knew the Tadpoles existed. They were, after all, a very careful race. Their precautions had almost given them an easy victory over humanity.

  “In line with our treaty obligations, the fleet will depart Marina and head directly to UXS-468,” Admiral Boskone informed them. “We will link up with Tadpole starships and experienced alien-contact personnel in that system, then proceed through the tramline to UXS-469 and onwards to the alien system, where we will attempt to make contact with the aliens. If all goes well, the majority of the fleet will remain in UXS-469 and the aliens will never have to know the fleet was there. But if trouble breaks out ...”

  “Shit,” Captain Blake said, again.

  Susan winced. First contact between humanity and the Tadpoles had ended badly and the first contact between humanity and the Vesy hadn't been much better, although the Vesy had posed no real threat. And human history suggested that first contacts would always be dangerous. Maybe the unknowns would be friendly, maybe they’d have more in common with humanity than either of the other two intelligent races, but it was equally possible that they might be hostile. They might see the appearance of a starship in their star system as an act of war.

  And if they do start shooting, we’ll need the fleet to cover the diplomats as they run, she thought, morbidly. And maybe even win the war in one fell swoop.

  Captain Bunter cleared his throat. “Admiral,” he said, “do we have a threat level?”

  “Insufficient data,” Admiral Boskone said. “The full reports will be forwarded to you, but the analysts believe that their tech level is roughly equal to ours before the First Interstellar War. So far, the only question mark is over their use of the tramlines. They do not appear to have a presence in UXS-469 and there’s no hint they actually explore other star systems, beyond their own. However, UXS-469 is a barren system and they may have decided not to explore further.”

  It would be odd if they had, Susan thought. There was no shortage of barren systems within the human sphere that were useless in themselves, but led to other systems that were far more habitable. The aliens must be aware of the tramlines, surely. And yet, if they weren't, it opened up all sorts of possibility for avoiding further contact, if the unknowns turned out to be hostile. But they may not think like we do.

  “We will remain on tactical alert, however,” Admiral Boskone warned. “The ambassadors on Tadpole Prime have activated the relevant sections of the treaties governing first contact and this fleet will act as a united force. As the senior officer, I will serve as overall CO, with Admiral Pournelle as my second. This will be awkward for all concerned, but under the circumstances we will expect all officers to be professional about it.”

  Susan hid a smile. It would be awkward, not least because Admiral Pournelle’s fleet was actually larger. But the treaties governing the allied command structure were clear; the senior officer, by time in grade, would be the overall commander. It had caused problems, back during the war, yet there was no choice. Humanity could not afford to face a new threat while disunited.

  “The fleet will depart in three hours,” Admiral Boskone concluded. “There will be no time for further war games, unfortunately, but we will be sharing tactical data and testing the command network during the voyage. Hopefully, this will be a completely peaceful contact and the diplomats can handle everything. If it isn't, I have faith that each and every one of you will uphold the finest traditions of the human race.”

  His image blinked out of existence as the conference came to an end. Susan watched, feeling a strange mix of emotions, as the other holograms vanished. It was odd to attend a conference where hardly anyone had the chance to ask questions, but that wasn't what was bothering her. Alien contact would be a useful feather in her cap, even though she’d just be a passive observer if all went well, yet she didn't see how the aliens didn't know about the tramlines. Humanity had been exploring them long before developing realspace drives.

  “Interesting,” the captain said. “I trust you’ll have the ship ready for departure?”

  “Of course, sir,” Susan said. She’d started preparations as soon as the admiral had contacted the ship, trying to make sure that everything was ready. “We’ll be travelling with the remainder of the fleet.”

  She looked down at the deck. “But I don’t see how they can avoid knowing about the tramlines ...”

  “There were ancient civilisations on Earth that never developed the wheel,” the captain pointed out, smoothly. “It wasn't until they encountered other civilisations that they realised the concept existed.”

  Yeah, Susan thought. And what happened to those civilisations when they encountered superior forces?

  She scowled, inwardly, as they left the conference room and separated, the captain heading to his quarters while Susan headed to the bridge. A self-spacefaring race, even one a decade or two behind humanity, would be a valuable trading partner, although there might be disputes over sharing colony worlds. Humanity and the Tadpoles could share easily, she knew; it would be harder to share a world with another race that wanted the surface, rather than the deep oceans. And yet, if the unknowns truly didn't know how to jump through the tramlines, they were likely to be irked when they discovered just how close they were to Tadpole space.

  They won’t have much room for expansion, she thought, remembering the starchart. And if that star is their homeworld, they’ll have almost no cushion between the centre of their civilisation and a potential alien threat.

  “Commander,” Mason said, when she stepped onto the bridge. “You have the conn.”

  “I have the conn,” Susan agreed. She took the command chair and looked at the display for a long moment. “Status report?”

  “All decks report that they are ready to depart on schedule,” Mason told her. “We have five shuttles still on deployment, picking up crew from the shore leave facilities, but otherwise we can depart now if necessary.”

  Susan’s lips quirked. Shore leave facilities on Marina were minimal, but she hadn't been surprised when the crew competed eagerly for the handful of slots assigned to Vanguard. It was a chance to get out of the metal hull, after all, and enjoy the local company. But it was a problem now, when the battleship had to get underway as quickly as possible. Repatria
ting any stranded crewmen to Earth would be a major headache.

  “Inform me when the shuttles have returned,” she said. Admiral Boskone probably wouldn't order the fleet to depart ahead of schedule, not when it was unlikely the situation would change in a hurry, but she wanted to be ready. The last thing she needed, right now, was the admiral peering over her shoulder. “And forward me the datapack from the flagship.”

  “Aye, Commander,” Mason said. He leaned forward. “What’s happening?”

  “Alien contact,” Susan said. She suspected the rumours would already be spreading through the fleet, growing wilder and wilder with each retelling. The admiral would probably declassify most of the files, once the tactical staff had run their own analysis, but that would take at least a week. “A brand-new self-spacefaring race!”

  “That’s one for the record books,” Mason said. He grinned, showing his teeth. “This time, we can show people how to make First Contact properly.”

  “Assuming that that’s even possible,” Parkinson said. “Just talking to the Tadpoles is difficult, sometimes. So much of their culture is completely alien to ours.”

  “They can't be that different,” Mason said. “Their technology works along the same lines as ours.”

  “Their technology isn't that different, sir,” Parkinson said, “but their culture is very different. A human politician who told us about the benefits of socialism would be thrown out on his arse, but to the Tadpoles socialism is a normal way of life.”

  “That’s because socialism doesn't work,” Mason said.

  “Not for us, sir,” Parkinson said. “Our society is structured to fit our nature and fill our living needs. For them, however, socialism and communal decision-making are just a fact of life; they don’t need to farm for food when they can just take what they need from the ocean.”

  He shrugged. “But even among humans,” he added, “what’s normal in one society may be offensive in another. That’s why the diplomats have so much trouble, even now, keeping international relationships on a steady keel.”

  Susan nodded. She hadn't majored in first contacts - real and imaginary - at the academy, but she knew the basics. There were countless stories and movies about first contacts that turned bad, from aliens finding humans incomprehensibly ugly to one side making a gesture that the other considered hostile. Parkinson was right. If a simple gesture like shaking hands could turn into a major incident, among humans, who knew what the unknowns would consider a threat? Or a rude gesture?

  “It’s probably a good thing you’re here,” she said. “Do you have any feel for how they’ll approach the aliens?”

  “Assuming they stick with the planned procedures, they’ll monitor alien communications traffic as best as they can, in the hopes of learning their language, then start beaming signals towards the alien homeworld from the outer edge of the system,” Parkinson said. “That said, we showed the first contact protocols to the Tadpoles, after the war, and the Tadpoles were mystified. They understood the maths, but they didn't understand some of the other components.”

  He frowned. “If we manage to build up a shared language, we’ll advance forward and attempt a face-to-face meeting. By then, hopefully, we should have a good idea what the aliens look like and other such details. We have cultural exchange packages for them that are quite informative, but hold nothing of military value.”

  Mason gave him a sharp look. “Are you sure?”

  “Reasonably sure,” Parkinson said. “They won’t be told anything about the human sphere until we know we can trust them, but details on how we live and work can’t be used against us. It cuts down on the prospects for misunderstandings later.”

  “Unless they find our mere existence offensive,” Susan pointed out.

  “They might,” Parkinson said. “Commander, with all due respect, most of our first contact planning is theoretical. The Tadpoles announced their existence by attacking Vera Cruz; the Vesy were force-fed human languages by the Russians, once they were discovered. For all we know, the unknowns might be giant spiders bent on having us for dinner or cyborgs who want us to be one with the collective. Everything we were taught about discussions with aliens started with the warning to leave our preconceptions at the door.”

  He shrugged. “What do we do if the aliens have two sexes, but only one of them is actually intelligent? Or what do we do if the alien social system is something we find disgusting? Or what if the aliens are telepathic, able to read our thoughts? There’s no way to know what we’ll encounter until we actually do.”

  “They’ll be in trouble if they try to read my thoughts,” Mason said.

  “I can imagine,” Susan agreed. She keyed her console, bringing up the datapacket. “Inform me when the admiral orders the fleet to depart.”

  “Aye, Commander,” Mason said.

  Susan skimmed through the datapacket, but had to conclude - reluctantly - that there was very little to use as the starting point for her analysis. The survey ships hadn't risked returning to the alien system, let alone creeping close enough to the alien planet to gather more useful data. She didn't blame them, either. Humanity would take a dim view of someone skulking around the edge of the solar system, even if it was a justifiable precaution. If the aliens had caught the survey ships, they might just have started a war there and then.

  Though they shouldn't have been able to track the survey ships back to Earth, she thought. It felt wrong to be glad the Tadpoles were between humanity and the new race, but it was something of a blessing. The survey crews would have destroyed their ships rather than let them fall into enemy hands.

  She sucked in a breath as she contemplated the final report. The survey crews weren't full-fledged tactical experts, but she couldn't really disagree with their conclusions, save one. She couldn’t see any evidence the aliens were using the tramlines, yet she couldn't understand how they’d managed to develop space drives without understanding the potential of naturally-occurring gravimetric lines. Maybe they’d missed it, but still ...

  They’ll copy the idea from us, if they haven’t thought of it for themselves, she thought. And that won’t take too long.

  “Commander,” Mason said, breaking into her thoughts. “All shuttles have returned to the ship. We’re ready to depart.”

  “Signal the admiral and inform him that we’re ready,” Susan said, curtly. They still had an hour, but it was possible the admiral would want to depart ahead of schedule. “And then send me a copy of the updated crew rotas. I want to run through tactical exercises while we’re on the move.”

  “Aye, Commander,” Mason said.

  Susan sighed, inwardly. The admiral hadn't noticed anything wrong with the captain, as far as she could tell, but that might be about to change. Vanguard’s commanding officer - a man with six years seniority - would almost certainly be put in command of a flotilla, a subunit of the task force. There was no way for Admiral Boskone to avoid it, not without violating naval protocol and giving offense. And the hell of it was that Captain Blake probably wouldn’t mind at all ...

  And I have no idea how I’m going to handle that, she thought. And I have no idea what I’m going to do if the shit hits the fan.

  “Commander,” Parkinson said. “The Admiral has uploaded a revised set of files to the datanet. They’re marked for the crew.”

  “Then forward the files to their inboxes,” Susan said. That was quick, but she supposed there really wasn't that much that needed classifying. There was just too little data to be of real use. “Was there anything else?”

  “No, Commander,” Parkinson said.

  Susan nodded, then sat back in her chair, thinking hard. It might be time to start planning for the worst. There was a good chance she’d end up in deep shit, if the Admiralty ever found out, but there was likely to be enough blame to go around anyway ...

  The unknowns might turn nasty, she reminded herself. And if they do, we need to be ready.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “You’r
e being reassigned again, it would seem,” Fraser said. There was no malice in his voice, no readiness to mock her. “You’re going to Turret Six.”

  George nodded as she took the datapad. Matters had definitely improved in middy country over the last fortnight; Fraser treated her like all the other middies, while she’d made friends with her older comrades. She was still the baby of the ship - that wouldn't change until another midshipman arrived - but at least she was no longer being assigned to every demeaning task. And Fraser had actually been giving her useful advice ...

  She blinked as she read the brief message. “What do I do in the turret?”

  “If you’re lucky, nothing,” Fraser said. “If you’re unlucky, which you will be because the XO loves calling snap drills, you’ll be controlling the guns as they target enemy starships or hastily replacing overheating components before they explode.”

  “Ouch,” George said, passing back the datapad. At least she had nine hours before she was supposed to present herself at her new duty station. “I’ll do my best not to let the XO down.”