A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5)

by Christopher Nuttall

  She gritted her teeth as a swarm of chattering insects passed over the small group, then faded away into the undergrowth as the path opened up, revealing the alien city gleaming in the sunlight, dead ahead of them. Penny stopped in awe, hastily checking her recorder to make sure she was filming everything. The city looked old and new at the same time, human and inhuman ... and the walls were lined with hundreds of aliens, staring at the humans as if they’d never seen such strange creatures before. Penny heard Grace let out an expression of admiration, then mutter a curse as they started walking again. The city was surrounded by a handful of fields, each one worked by a small army of aliens. None of them raised their heads to watch as the humans went by.

  They’re shackled, Penny thought, as she saw the chains attached to metal cuffs around their ankles. She couldn't help remembering her visit to Dartmoor, where some of the worst criminals in Britain had been held before they were marched up to the gallows and hung in front of a jeering crowd. They’re slaves.

  Grace coughed. “Why are they shackled?”

  “They’re slaves,” Penny answered, dryly. Percy had told her that the Vesy still had chattel slavery, but she hadn’t really believed it. Chattel slavery was so inefficient, at least when compared to technology, that humanity had abandoned it long ago. But the Vesy still faced the same problems daunting humanity’s ancestors. “I think it’s to keep them from running away.”

  “That’s ... that’s so uncivilised,” Grace burst out. “We don’t keep slaves.”

  “We do keep sex slaves,” Penny pointed out, snidely. She'd heard stories of sex slave rings sweeping up young and pretty refugees, or bringing in women from the Middle East to Britain and forcing them to work as prostitutes. “As long as someone can make a profit from selling the labour of someone else, there will be slavery.”

  Grace gave her a nasty look, then turned her gaze away from the slaves. Penny recorded them for a long moment, her recorder catching several minutes of footage of a Vesy who was clearly an overseer, as she followed the marines down to the city. Up close, it was even more impressive; the walls appeared to be made of solid stone, instead of brick or something else that might have been put together piece by piece. Indeed, if it had been made by humans, she would have unerringly suggested the wall was made of concrete. It might well have been, she told herself. She had no idea how concrete was actually produced, but she didn't think it required advanced technology.

  “Remember the rules,” Percy said quietly, as the small column came to a halt outside the gates. “Don’t go wandering off, don’t discuss certain matters with the aliens and don’t go where you’re not welcome.”

  Penny nodded in understanding as the gates slowly opened to reveal a small band of aliens, all wearing gold cloaks. Gold seemed to be a status symbol amongst the Vesy, she’d gleaned from the files, for much the same reason as it had been among humans. Some of the Vesy wore fancy masks that were practically works of art, in their own way; others were completely naked, save for loincloths. She took a long breath and winced as she realised the city smelt appallingly bad. Even the Reclamation Zone near Cornwall, where hundreds of thousands had died when the tidal waves hit, didn't smell so bad.

  “They don’t have a proper sewage system,” Professor Nordstrom said, quietly. He seemed to have coped with the walk fairly well, although his shirt was stained badly from sweat. “I think they probably don’t even have cesspits to get rid of their waste, even though they now have a reason to use it - gunpowder. New York had a similar problem with animal dung once upon a time.”

  He was right, Penny saw, as they walked through the gates and into the city. A handful of animals that looked rather like scaly horses were pulling carts through the streets or being ridden by aliens who were clearly very high in status. The streets looked to have been paved with stone, but it was hard to tell; they were covered in mud and animal wastes. Combined with the frequent rainfalls - it had rained several times on Vesy since her arrival at Fort Knight - she had a feeling the roads, stone or not, rapidly turned to sludge. It wouldn't be easy for them to clean the roads regularly, no matter what they did.

  “This place must be a breeding ground for disease,” Grace gasped. “Is it safe?”

  Penny shrugged. Percy had told her that cross-species infection was unlikely ... and, just to be sure, they’d all been given extensive booster shots. It might be quite some time before the first Vesy was allowed to set foot on Earth - the medics were still trying to unravel the mysteries of the alien genome - but they should be safe. Or so she hoped. There was no shortage of movies that started with some idiot bringing an infectious disease home from another world.

  “The odds of a disease jumping from the Vesy to you are lower than the odds of you managing to have children with a cow,” Professor Nordstrom said. “Not that we shouldn't take precautions, just in case.”

  “They have to learn to keep their streets clean,” Grace protested. “Can’t we warn them?”

  “Perhaps they’ve learned there isn't any point in trying,” Professor Nordstrom said. “Or they may find it comfortable. There’s no way to know.”

  Penny nodded, then watched as the marines and the aliens spoke briefly, exchanging short choppy sentences in English and Russian. Percy looked at ease, speaking to the aliens, even though he was no diplomat. But then, from what she’d heard, a classically-trained diplomat would be useless on Vesy. Behind him, the line of visitors - unfortunately not including the ambassadors - shifted uncomfortably in the heat, waiting for permission to walk into the city and explore. Thankfully, it only took ten minutes before the aliens motioned for the humans to enter.

  “Stay together,” Percy warned them, yet again. “Do not go wandering off.”

  Yes, brother, Penny thought, as she started to film the interior of the city. We hear and obey.

  She pushed the thought aside as she studied the city. It looked strange to her eyes, a confusing mixture of a dozen styles, as if her brain was having problems trying to interpret what it was seeing. Parts of it reminded her of videos of cities from the ancient world, while other parts looked suspiciously like Victorian London, complete with aliens hurling the contents of chamber pots out into the streets. Beside her, Professor Nordstrom chatted enthusiastically about social pressures and just what they did to the aliens, while Grace maintained an undignified silence until a pair of alien children ran into the road and stared at the humans.

  “They’re sweet,” Grace said.

  “Better not go any closer,” Professor Nordstrom said, as Penny filmed them. “You don’t know how the aliens will react.”

  Her legs started to ache as they were shown building blocks, larger than she would have believed possible without technology, and temples to a dozen different gods. She filmed the temples with particular interest, admiring the statues of the gods and wondering precisely how they’d been made. They looked far too perfect to have been made with stone-age technology. One of them was definitely made of gold, or at least covered in gold; oddly, it looked the least like the Vesy themselves, even though the other gods resembled giant aliens.

  Grace frowned as they were moved on, yet again. “I don’t see any women ...”

  “You probably have,” Professor Nordstrom said. “The only real difference between the males and females is that women have wider hips, I believe. Both sexes have retractable genitals.”

  “If that’s true,” Grace said, “how do they tell each other apart?”

  “By scent,” Penny reminded her. That had been covered during one of the innumerable briefings. Clearly, Grace hadn't been paying attention. “And when a female enters her season, all hell breaks loose.”

  A dull gong ran through the city as they reached a large open park. In the centre, there was a giant cooking fire, with aliens turning meat on spits as they prepared to greet their guests. A handful of chairs, clearly designed for humans, were placed nearby, really too close to the fire for comfort. It took Penny a moment to work out that t
he aliens were trying to be hospitable, as they preferred to stand. They’d still produced chairs for their human guests.

  “Now that is interesting,” Professor Nordstrom said. “Is that a way to welcome us or a subtle insult?”

  “It is kind of them to provide chairs, surely,” Grace said. “My legs are sore after walking for so long.”

  “Maybe,” Professor Nordstrom said. “But, at the same time, sitting down may be a sign of submission in their culture, given that they clearly prefer to stand. They may see it as us going down on our knees in front of them.”

  Penny frowned. “Do you think we should stand?”

  “I don’t know,” Professor Nordstrom said. “If we have problems untangling social cues in other human societies, and we do, what sort of problems will we have dealing with aliens?”

  Percy came back to greet them before Penny could formulate a response. “The meat they have cooked for us is edible,” he said, flatly. “However, there is no guarantee you will actually like it. If you don’t, leave it on your plate. We have ration bars for those who genuinely can't stomach the alien meat.”

  He sounds as though he doesn't know me, Penny thought. Was he trying to pretend that they weren't actually related ... or was he trying to help Penny’s career by denying any connection between them? I’d have to take him out of the recording in any case.

  She watched the aliens as they were served meat by the cooks and then tore into it with teeth and hands. They didn't seem to have heard of the concept of cutlery either, she noted; they just ate with their hands, regardless of the temperature. The marines were served after the alien dignitaries, although not all of them touched the food. It seemed rude until she realised that the aliens might have poisoned the food, even though it would be suicidal. The thought made her want to decline the plate that was finally offered to her, containing a handful of pieces of meat that looked to have been thoroughly overcooked. She’d had redder pieces of meat at steak houses when she’d ordered well done.

  “Take it,” Professor Nordstrom urged. “It might be rude not to take it.”

  Penny sighed, then took the plate and tried a piece of meat. It felt hot to the touch, but tasted surprisingly good. She nibbled it thoughtfully, then found herself wolfing down the next two pieces without demur. It was definitely something that could be sold on Earth, she told herself, and perhaps something that would win credit for the Vesy. There was always a demand for new styles of cooking in London ... or there had been, before the war. It would be a long time before Londoners started eating out so often again.

  After the dinner was finished, the Vesy put on a show. Penny watched and recorded a set of strange dances, all of which were greeted with a hooting sound that was probably their version of applause. Some of the dances involved weapons, the aliens waving swords around in a manner she hoped was choreographed, others seemed to be completely unplanned, the aliens jumping up and down at random. It reminded her of some of the stranger dances she’d seen on Earth as people tried to amuse themselves at the refugee camps, but she had a feeling there was a pattern, she just couldn’t see it. Finally, a line of aliens wearing masks appeared and performed what seemed to be a play. It would probably have made more sense, she told herself, if she’d been able to understand the words.

  “It may be a ritual recreation of a religious story,” Professor Nordstrom commented, as the actors walked back out of sight. “Something along the same lines as a Christmas Play.”

  “They wouldn't have the same myths, though,” Grace said.

  “Probably not,” Professor Nordstrom agreed. He smiled, suddenly. “But what if they did?”

  Penny remembered interviewing a priest shortly before her assignment to Warspite. He’d been quite determined to prove that humanity was God’s favourite creation, which he’d done by pointing out that Jesus had been sent to die to save humanity from itself. The Tadpoles had no such story, he’d said; indeed, the Tadpoles didn't seem to have anything resembling a religion, at least as humans understood the concept. He’d been convinced that it proved that humanity was special.

  But what if they have stories, she asked herself, that match the stories of the Norse Gods? Or the Hindu Gods? Or the Roman Gods?

  She pushed the thought aside as a single alien stepped up to where the dancers had stood, wearing a set of gold robes.

  “Our friends,” he said, in curiously-accented English. “It is our honour to welcome you to our city after it has been restored. You have come to us to restore the balance, sent by the gods to redeem us when we had fallen. The forces of the false god have been shattered, the demons he sent have been destroyed. To you we offer our thanks.”

  Penny’s eyes narrowed. Was he calling the human race gods?

  It may not be a very good translation, she reminded herself. Percy had told her that talking to the aliens wasn't easy, no matter how simple the subject. There were just too many ways something innocent could be misunderstood. They may be talking about something else entirely.

  “But we also offer our thanks to the gods,” the alien continued. “To them, we offer our lives and souls.”

  He stopped. Another alien appeared, wearing nothing. Penny couldn't help herself; she glanced between his legs, only to see a mass of scarring. Beside her, she heard Grace retch in horror as the alien advanced and stopped in front of the first alien. There was a long pause, than he fell to his knees.

  The professor was right, Penny thought. Sitting down is a form of submission for them.

  The first alien pulled back his cloak to reveal a loincloth and a sword, which he drew and held in the air. It glittered in the sunlight as Penny realised, to her horror, just what was about to happen. Grace gasped again, then cried out as the alien slashed down with the sword and smote the prisoner’s head off with a single blow. The body crashed to the ground; moments later, the head landed next to it. Grace vomited in shock; Penny had to swallow, hard, to keep herself from throwing up too. She’d seen horrors in the refugee camps, and later as a reporter, but she hadn't seen a man beheaded right in front of her.

  “We offer this fallen one to the gods,” the alien said. He didn't seem to notice that at least half of his human audience was in shock. “His blood will nourish the Earth and return to us what was stolen.”

  “That can't have happened,” Grace said. “It was a trick. It has to have been a trick.”

  Penny rolled her eyes. “It happened,” she said. Didn’t Grace understand that the Vesy weren't human? And that they couldn't be judged by human standards? “Professor, what was that?”

  Professor Nordstrom looked pale. “Human sacrifice was often seen as giving life to the gods or to the land,” he said. He sounded oddly perturbed by what he’d seen. “They may believe that they were actually doing the prisoner a favour ...”

  Or not, Penny thought, as the Vesy hooted so loudly that it drowned out the Professor’s voice. If that video gets home ... it will turn the whole world upside down.

  It was a bitter thought. Humans had their own long history of barbarism, but that was in the past ... except it wasn't, not entirely. The bombardment had brought out both the best and worst of humanity, creating a world where strangers had helped one another and, at the same time, gangs had roamed the land, searching for food, drink and women. But anyone who expected the Vesy to be anything other than savages would be badly shocked when they saw the recording. They would be utterly horrified.

  She considered, briefly, deleting it, but she knew there was no point. There were other recorders in the field. All she could do was write a covering note and hope the editors at home didn't decide to portray the Vesy as monsters. Because if they did ...

  They might insist we abandon them altogether, she thought, or try to fix their society for them.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “They’re barbarians,” Grace burst out.

  Joelle raised an eyebrow. Grace had a naive view of the world, but she had never done anything, as far as she knew, to threa
ten British interests. For her, someone who had insisted that the Vesy should be helped as much as possible, to change her mind ... something unpleasant must have happened. Maybe she should have gone to Ivan’s city after all.

  “Are they?” She said, studying her aide. “What happened?”

  “They killed him,” Grace said. “There was this ... mutilated alien and they killed him, right in front of us. They sacrificed him to the gods!”

  “I see,” Joelle said. She’d seen quite a few foreign traditions that struck her as barbaric, but public executions weren't one of them ... provided, of course, that the criminal deserved to die. It would have been hypocritical in the extreme to file protests when Britain did the same, although normally with more due process. “And that surprised you?”

  Grace stared at her wildly. “They’re monsters! We’re allied with monsters!”

  “They’re not human,” Joelle said, evenly. “And most humans don't agree on a common standard of morality. What do you expect?”