Percy fought down the urge to rub his forehead in frustration. The hell of it was that there was very little to do on Vesy, besides standing guard and talking to the aliens. He couldn't spare the manpower to do building work, let alone exercises that might work off some of the growing boredom. And there certainly weren't any available women - or men - to chase. The former hostages were off-limits, even if they’d been interested. He didn't really blame the two for looking for something else to do.
“Do you know,” he asked, “what this will do to them?”
“No, sir,” Oakley said.
“Me neither,” Percy said. “It could cause a great deal of damage - and not just to them!”
He groaned, inwardly. It was easy to see the Vesy getting into debt to a pair of humans - and trading gold or silver to pay off the debt. He’d heard tales of men stationed in the Middle East who’d wound up in real trouble after taking bribes from the locals. But it was also easy to see his men being corrupted and then manipulated into secretly passing information or technology on to the Vesy. What would a Marine do when he owed the aliens more than he could reasonably pay ... and knew he would be in deep shit if his superiors ever found out?
“We are guests on their world,” he added, sharply. “When you were gambling, what were you gambling for?”
“Chips,” Oakley said. He sounded rather offended. “We weren't gambling for money, sir.”
“And how long,” Percy asked him, “would it have stayed that way?”
It hadn't been that long since he’d been a mere private himself. He still remembered gambling with his fellows on deployment ... and how easy it had been to wind up in debt, once they moved from gambling with matchsticks to playing for real money. He’d learnt a sharp lesson after his first real game, when he’d been taken for a ride by an older and more experienced player. It could easily have ended badly, with him owing most of his salary to the cardsharp. There was one in every unit.
But eventually gambling for matchsticks loses its thrill, he thought, ruefully. Because really, what’s the point of playing for matchsticks?
He pushed the thought aside and glowered at the pair of them. Peerce had been right, as always; there wasn't much he could do to them. They weren't on Earth, where they could be reassigned, or a starship where there was no shortage of miserable tasks to do for punishment duty. He needed them both on the walls, just in case the shit did hit the fan.
“You will not talk to the aliens, at least until I am relieved by superior authority,” he ordered, coolly. “You will remain in Fort Knight. In addition, you will forfeit one week’s pay as a reminder not to gamble with big green men. Do you accept my judgement?”
Hardesty opened his mouth. “Sir, I ...”
Oakley elbowed him sharply, cutting off his friend’s response. Percy silently blessed him; if the case had been heard by someone higher up the food chain, it was unlikely they would have gotten off so lightly. They could request an appeal to a superior officer, if they wished, but it would probably have gone against them. A superior might not be so inclined to understand the unique pressures of living on Vesy, surrounded by hordes of aliens who could turn nasty at any moment.
“We accept,” Oakley said, quickly. “We won’t have any further contact with the aliens.”
“Glad to hear it,” Percy said. He relaxed, slightly. “You do realise that we almost lost the Russian base when the aliens attacked? And that Fort Knight is flimsy in comparison?”
He waited for his words to sink in. None of them had any illusions about just how long they could hold out, even with modern weapons. They’d kill hundreds of aliens for every Marine, Percy knew, but they couldn’t hope to replace the bullets they fired, while the aliens had almost unlimited weapons and manpower. The Vesy would just keep soaking up the bullets and pressing forward until they stormed the walls and overwhelmed the fort.
Or dig a tunnel underneath the base, he thought, sourly. Or come up with a devious way of using our weapons against us.
“We cannot take the risk of provoking them into attacking us,” he added. “A fight over gambling debts could easily have gotten out of hand, leading to an outright battle we could only lose. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Oakley said.
“Yes, sir,” Hardesty echoed, a little sullenly. “I understand.”
“Then go,” Percy ordered, nodding to the hatch. “I ...”
There was a sharp tap at the hatch. Peerce opened it. “Mr. Fanwood?”
“I was hoping to speak to the CO,” Fanwood said. He was a tall bald man, wearing a pair of trousers and little else. He’d been hastily assigned to Vesy from Pegasus, which had caused no end of problems as the engineers had been kitted out for sub-zero temperatures, not sweltering tropical heat. “I have a final report for him.”
“Come in,” Percy said. He glanced at Hardesty and Oakley. “Dismissed, gentlemen.”
“Come with me,” Peerce ordered. “Now.”
Percy watched him lead the two miscreants out of the office, then turned to Fanwood. “What can I do for you?”
“We’ve got the generator and the last of the prefabricated buildings installed,” Fanwood informed him, cheerfully. “Most of the crap we brought wasn't suited for an Earth-like planet, Corporal, but we managed to adapt it without problems. In addition, there’s enough battery power and supplies to keep us going for at least two weeks.”
Percy frowned. “I thought the idea was to keep us going for three.”
“Rubbish,” Fanwood said, in his best impression of Major Bloodnok. “Whoever heard of a Fort Knight lasting three weeks?”
“When I get my hands on the person who insisted that the Goon Show made suitable entertainment in the mess,” Percy said, “I’m going to strangle him.”
Fanwood snickered. “It’s a terrible pun,” he agreed. “More practically, however, there are limits to what we could bring from Pegasus. We may wind up dependent on food from the locals.”
Percy groaned. The Vesy biochemistry wasn't entirely compatible with humanity’s, something that really shouldn't have surprised him. Most of their food was safe to eat, but some tasted disgusting to humans and some was outright poison. It wasn't something he wanted to rely on, if it could be avoided, yet there were limits to how much could be recycled in the base. They might wind up buying food from the Vesy after all.
And if we do buy food from them, he asked himself, what will they want in return?
He was no diplomat. No one on the base was a diplomat, because no one had anticipated running into an uncontacted alien race. All he could do, when the aliens sent delegations to the base, was tell them that proper diplomats were on their way and that they would all be free to talk to them, when they finally arrived. But with different alien factions having different ideas about how to deal with humanity, it was going to be one hell of a mess by the time the diplomats arrived. Until then ...
We don’t have much we can trade to them, he added, mentally. And anything we give them might wind up being used against us.
Fanwood cleared his throat. “We might be able to start planting crops from Earth in the local soil, using the remains of the Russian farms, but it would probably have an impact on the local ecology,” he said. “I’d prefer not to risk it here.”
“I understand,” Percy said. No one would shed any tears for a weak planetary biosphere, consumed and ruined by an influx of plants from Earth, but Vesy was another matter. Quite apart from the fact that crops from Earth might not take root properly, the ecological disaster they might cause would do untold harm to the Vesy themselves. “Didn't the Russians do any impact work?”
“I rather doubt they cared enough to bother, even if they had the ability to try,” Fanwood said, darkly. “There’s certainly nothing in their records to suggest they considered the impact on the local biosphere before scattering seeds into the fields.”
“Probably not,” Percy agreed.
He shook his head. “Is there anything
else we can beg from Pegasus?”
“I doubt it,” Fanwood admitted. “The base was intended to grow gradually, Corporal. They weren't given a surplus of supplies before the original founding mission departed Earth. It’s risky even passing as much as they have to Vesy; no matter what else happens, the colony program has stalled until they get replacements. There’s little else they can spare without risking their own lives.”
“I understand,” Percy said. “Their margin for error is growing alarmingly thin.”
“Too thin,” Fanwood agreed. “And Pegasus is even less habitable than Vesy.”
Percy cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said. “You and your men will probably be uplifted when the freighter returns, but until then ...”
“We were looking at ways to improve the local building industry,” Fanwood said, cutting him off. “It wouldn't be hard to teach the Vesy how to make bricks and mortar, or even cement. We have quite a body of outdated knowledge in our files that they would treat as manna from heaven.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Percy said.
“You must admit they need it,” Fanwood countered. “You've seen their living spaces!”
Percy nodded. He’d seen a hidden village, buried in the forest, and the interior of a giant city that reminded him of ancient ruins in Mexico. They’d both been filthy by human standards; the streets coated in layers of bodily wastes, despite the risks of disease, the Vesy themselves hardly bothering to wash when it wasn't raining heavily. The medics suggested their immune systems were stronger than the average human immune system, something they needed desperately. Their cities were breeding grounds for disease.
“It wouldn’t be hard to show them how to build sewers,” Fanwood continued. “Hell, the Romans had sewers! Or even just to build gutters and wash the shit out of their cities for good. Or ...”
“That problem may take care of itself,” Percy pointed out. “They know how to produce gunpowder now.”
He held up a hand before Fanwood could say a word. “I understand your feelings on the matter, sir, and I will pass your suggestions to the diplomats when they arrive, but right now we are not meant to interfere in their affairs.”
“We have already interfered,” Fanwood snapped. “Our mere presence here is interference in their affairs!”
He was right, Percy knew. The buildings just outside Fort Knight didn't belong to a single city-state; they belonged to representatives from every city-state for a thousand miles and traders who had come to see what the humans had to trade. He’d told the Vesy they’d contacted first, months ago, not to interfere with the gathering of representatives, but he had a feeling it hadn't gone down very well. The factions who had aided the human race clearly believed they had first right to any rewards.
And if we weren't here, he thought, grimly, they would be trying to kill each other by now.
It wasn't a pleasant thought. Before the Russians had arrived, the Vesy had largely been grouped in city-states, not unlike Ancient Greece or Rome. The Russians, by arming a particular faction, had introduced the Vesy to the concept of empire ... and, even after their defeat, several Vesy factions were trying to build their own empires. It was impossible to monitor the locals to any great degree - Percy didn’t have the tools to keep an eye on them - but satellite observation revealed that a number of city-states were waging increasingly brutal wars against one another. The influx of tools, gunpowder and a handful of human weapons had only made the slaughter worse.
“I would suggest you make your representations to the diplomats,” he said, curtly. “This isn't the time to do anything that might upset one of the factions.”
“The factions might become upset because we haven't paid them for their services,” Fanwood offered. “How do you plan to cope with that?”
Percy shrugged. The Vesy would have to be insane if they attacked Fort Knight ... assuming, of course, that they comprehended the sheer scale of the Human Sphere. There was literally nothing they could do against a single destroyer raining rocks from high overhead, as Warspite had proven in the final moments of the first Human-Vesy engagement. But would they understand the danger? The further away the city-states were from the battle, the more their inhabitants would believe the reports to be exaggerated. They might not take the threat of retaliation from the stars seriously.
“There has to be something we can offer now, something that will keep them tranquil,” Fanwood insisted. “Corporal ...”
“The decisions involved are well above my pay grade,” Percy said. He was surprised he’d been left on Vesy at all, rather than his immediate superior. And his orders were really nothing more than defend Fort Knight, look after the former hostages and wait for the diplomats - and reinforcements. “I have no intention of making a bad situation worse before the diplomats arrive.”
“It's been six months,” Fanwood said. “How long do you intend to stay here?”
Percy snorted. “I suppose we could always walk home,” he said, sarcastically. “You could always invent surface-to-surface wormholes if you have nothing else to do.”
He shook his head. “I knew we would be trapped here for months,” he added. “We didn't really have a choice.”
“Hah,” Fanwood said.
He nodded to Percy, then turned and walked out of the hatch, closing it firmly behind him. Percy sighed, then looked back at his datapad, resting on the desk. He had reports to write, even though there was little to say. And, no matter what he said to Fanwood, there were times when he wondered if they’d been abandoned on Vesy. It shouldn't have taken more than a couple of months for a ship to arrive from Earth.
They’re probably still bickering about what to do, he thought, as he picked up the datapad and started to type in his next report. A whole new alien race ... they have to see opportunities here. And while they’re arguing, we’re quartered safe out here.
He shook his head. Whatever else could be said about Fanwood, the man was right about at least one thing. Vesy might not remain safe for very long.
Chapter Six
“Rather cramped, isn't it?”
Ambassador Joelle Richardson did her best to ignore Grace Scott’s comment as she followed the young midshipman into the Officer’s Mess. HMS Warspite was small, compared to the fleet carrier she’d travelled on during a brief visit to Tadpole-Prime, and her quarters were correspondingly tiny. Joelle didn't particularly care - she’d slept in worse places - but some of her staff had been moaning and groaning ever since they’d seen the small compartments they were expected to share.
The Officer’s Mess didn't look any larger than her office on Earth, although it was a great deal more barren. Each of the bulkheads was painted white - one held a painting of Warspite that, she assumed, had been done by one of the crew - and the table was plain metal, covered in white paint. The idea of hosting a diplomatic discussion in such surroundings was laughable, although she had a feeling that it would help the diplomats to come to a quicker resolution. Or, the more cynical part of her mind suggested, start them issuing declarations of war.
“Ambassador Richardson,” a voice said. She looked up to see the Captain rising from his chair and walking around the table to greet her. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to meet you earlier.”
“That’s quite all right,” Joelle assured him, taking his hand and shaking it briskly. Her staff had complained, loudly, but she knew from prior experience that starship crews had a great deal of work to do before their ships could depart. “It’s easier to get settled in before we meet formally.”
She studied the Captain with some interest as she let go of his hand. He was tall, his dark hair cropped close to his scalp, his face lined in a manner that reminded her of far too many other combat veterans. His piercing blue eyes would have been attractive, she suspected, if she hadn't sensed a single-minded purposefulness surrounding him. The dark uniform he wore showed off his muscular body to best advantage.
And he went down to a planet t
o confront rebels in person, she thought. The media had made much of it, even though a number of talking heads had condemned Captain Naiser for leaving his ship in an emergency situation. This is a brave man.
“Please, be seated,” the Captain said, indicating a row of chairs. “We took the liberty of having food shipped up from Earth.”
“Thank you,” Joelle said. She sat, facing a dark-skinned officer who regarded her with curious eyes. “It's been far too long since I was on a starship.”
She indicated her party as the Captain returned to his chair at the head of the table. “Grace Scott, my assistant; Colonel John Mortimer, Security Expert; Professor Scott Nordstrom of Edinburgh University, Xenospecialist; Penny Schneider, embedded reporter.”
The Captain’s eyes narrowed at Penny’s name, but he said nothing. Joelle puzzled over it for a long moment, then remembered Penny telling her that her brother had been assigned to Warspite and then left behind on Vesy, in charge of the garrison there. Later, Joelle had looked it up and confirmed that the Schneider children, born to a war hero and then adopted by another war hero with excellent aristocratic connections, were destined for a glittering future. It was probably why Penny had won the coveted post of embedded reporter, despite her youth.
A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5) Page 6