A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5)

by Christopher Nuttall

  And the folks back home might just cancel it anyway, he thought. Not everyone will approve of searching chartered vessels.

  “Mr. Armstrong, put us on an intercept course,” he ordered.

  “Aye, sir,” Armstrong said.

  “Contact the ship,” John added, glancing at Lieutenant Forbes. “Send them a copy of the agreement and order them to prepare to be boarded.”

  “Aye, sir,” Gillian said.

  John settled back in his command chair as Warspite picked up speed, heading towards her target. The freighter looked to be a modified Liberty-class ship, an American design that had been produced in large numbers and then sold to a dozen other spacefaring powers. There was nothing particularly special about them, which had been a large part of the design’s appeal. The owners didn't have to keep purchasing spare parts from the United States.

  “Her IFF identifies her as a Ceres-registered ship,” Gillian said. “She’s apparently called the Makeweight.”

  “I see,” John said.

  He cursed under his breath. The Ceres Association was the largest independent asteroid community in the Sol System, recognised as a nation in its own right. It might not have been considered one of the Great Powers - it barely operated a handful of small warships - but it was economically formidable and had thousands of allies scattered throughout the asteroid belt. And they were quite happy to register starships, rather than go through the more complex registration procedures demanded by the Great Powers. It had created a whole series of headaches in the past, before the war.

  So what are we looking at here? He asked himself. An independent freighter flagged to Ceres or an official diplomatic mission?

  The latter seemed unlikely, he had to admit. Ceres didn't have many diplomats, not least because it didn’t have much of a government. Indeed, political pundits had been predicting the imminent collapse of the Association for the last seventy years. Besides, they would have identified themselves as such when they arrived. It was far more likely that someone had chartered the freighter and set off to Vesy.

  “Picking up a response, sir,” Gillian said. “They’re demanding free passage to Vesy in line with the Outer Space Convention of 2190.”

  John shook his head. “Inform them that they have a choice between being searched or returning to more settled space,” he said, flatly. This was going to cause at least one diplomatic incident, he was sure. Ceres hadn't signed the agreement, and given that no one owned Vesy, there were scant legal grounds for denying the ship passage to orbit. “We cannot risk making the situation on the ground worse.”

  There was a long pause. “No response, sir,” Gillian said.

  “They’re accelerating,” Tara reported.

  They’re mad, John thought. Warspite could catch the freighter with two fusion cores down, even if the freighter had a head start. In this case, they were actually accelerating towards Warspite, as if they were playing a demented game of chicken. They have to be out of their minds.

  “Light them up,” he ordered, tartly. At this range, it was unlikely they could actually miss, but targeting the freighter so blatantly would be enough to make anyone reasonably sane sit up and pay attention. “And repeat the demand that they cut their drives and prepare to be boarded.”

  There was a long pause. “Picking up a visual signal,” Gillian said.

  “Patch it through,” John ordered. A face appeared in the display. “This is Captain John Naiser of HMS Warspite ...”

  “This is an absolute outrage,” the face snapped. “You have no right to bar our passage!”

  John kept his temper under firm control. “To whom am I speaking, if I may enquire?”

  “I am Senior Brother Kent Thompson,” the face sneered. “I represent the Society of Interstellar Brotherhood. You did not attempt to search our first ship, so we do not concede we have a legal obligation to allow you to search the second.”

  “Tell me,” John said. “Are you the commanding officer of Makeweight?”

  “No,” a different voice said. Thompson scowled as a new face appeared in the display, an older man with the hairless scalp of an asteroid dweller. “I am Captain Samsun.”

  John hesitated. He couldn't help thinking that Captain Samsun looked harassed. Maybe he’d come to regret allowing the Brothers to hire his ship. John would not have cared to share a ship with Kent Thompson, if that was the attitude the Brother showed to everyone. But it wasn't something he could do anything about, not now.

  “Captain, it has been decided, pro tem, that shipments of weapons and certain other prohibited goods to the Vesy is banned,” he said, trying to ignore Thompson. “I have a legal right to search your ship for any such goods and hold them until such time as you depart this star system. The governments back home may overturn this at some later date, but for the moment I have to enforce it.”

  “To the best of my knowledge,” Samsun said, “Ceres has not agreed to abide by any such agreement.”

  “Exactly,” Thompson said. “You have no right to stop us!”

  “That is debatable,” John said. He couldn't help noticing the flicker of irritation that passed over Samsun’s face. “What is not debatable is that I have the ability to stop you. Cut your drives and prepare to be boarded or turn about and leave this system.”

  Thompson sneered. “Or what?”

  “Or I will cripple your ship,” John said.

  “A bluff,” Thompson snapped.

  “Which will not be called,” Samsun said. He raised his voice. “Cut engines, then unlock the airlocks.”

  “Captain,” Thompson protested. “I ...”

  “Your ship will be boarded in five minutes,” John said, as Makeweight cut her drives. “I strongly advise you to cooperate.”

  Thompson scowled at him, then vanished from the display as the link was cut. John wondered, absently, if Samsun would like the Marines to remove Thompson and his cronies from the ship, then dismissed the thought and tapped commands to his men. Captain Hadfield would search the ship thoroughly, with some help from Richards and his crew, and then report back to him. And then they could make a decision on allowing Makeweight to pass.

  It was nearly two hours before the Marines returned to Warspite, bringing Thompson and Samsun with them. John took a moment to survey the manifest before they were escorted into his office, shaking his head at just how much had been removed from Earth. The farming equipment was under an embargo, if he recalled correctly, given just how hard it had become to feed Earth’s teeming population. And then there were the weapons ... how the hell had the Brotherhood managed to obtain so many weapons? And what did they plan to do with them?

  “I must lodge a formal protest, with your government and mine,” Samsun said, as they were shown into the office. “Your crewmen poked their way into everything.”

  “That is their job,” John said. Richards was an old hand at hiding things around a ship and knew precisely where to look, when working for the other side. “Still, for the moment, we are only concerned with weapons.”

  He looked at Thompson, who seemed a little more subdued in the presence of armed marines, and met his eyes.

  “Why did you bring so many weapons on a peaceful mission?”

  Thompson glowered at him. “The Vesy need human weapons to survive,” he snapped. “We will give them weapons without a price tag!”

  “They must have cost you a pretty penny,” John observed. It would be hard to purchase so many weapons in Britain, not without valid End User certificates. “Where did they come from?”

  “Our chapter in America purchased them for us,” Thompson said, finally. “They’re all tested and guaranteed.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” John said, dryly. “However, they will not be going down to the surface.”

  He ignored Thompson’s splutter. “Next question,” he said. “How did you obtain the farming equipment?”

  Thompson’s face hardened. “Is this an interrogation?”

  “It might be,” Joh
n said. “There isn't a country on Earth that would willingly sell farming equipment, not now. They need it to feed themselves. That means you either bought it illegally or ...”

  “It was produced in Ceres,” Thompson said, quickly. “They were trying to sell to Earth, but not exclusively to Earth.”

  “I see,” John said. “And the medical equipment?”

  “Ditto,” Thompson said. He smirked. “As you can see, we broke no laws.”

  “I would ask why you brought so many books on political theory and philosophy,” John said, “but I’m honestly afraid of the answer.”

  “The Vesy need assistance in moving up the ladder of civilisation,” Thompson said. “The books we bought can help them to reshape their society.”

  “Into what?” John asked. “No, never mind; I don’t want to know.”

  He met Thompson’s eyes and held them. “The weapons you bought will be confiscated,” he said, “as will the educational programs and terminals. There is a blanket ban on selling them to aliens, I might add.”

  “We were not planning to sell them,” Thompson insisted.

  “I would dearly like to see you try that argument in front of a judge,” John said. “The letter of the law may ban selling the items, but the spirit of the law certainly bans giving them as well.”

  “It is an unjust law,” Thompson insisted.

  “That’s as maybe,” John said. “But there are chances we are not going to take, not now.”

  He took a breath. “If the weapons and other confiscated items are useful, you will be paid a fair price for them,” he continued. “If not, you may reclaim them when you leave the system.”

  “Daylight robbery,” Thompson snapped.

  John ignored him. “You will be assigned an orbital slot and a time for shipping the rest of your wares down to Vesy,” he said. “I would advise you to make sure you read the briefing notes and study the presentations before you land. Contact with the Vesy will take place under supervision, at least until we’re sure you can speak to them without causing additional problems or discussing issues that are considered forbidden. If this is unacceptable, turn around and leave the system.”

  “The Brothers have friends everywhere,” Thompson said. “Your career will be blighted ...”

  “My career is not at stake here,” John said, although he knew that wasn't true. Admiral Soskice probably held a grudge after John had relieved Commander Watson of duty and might take the opportunity to drive a stake through John’s career. “What is at stake is preventing a social and political disaster on the planet below. If you cause problems, I will not hesitate to have you unceremoniously removed from the planet.”

  “Very well,” Thompson said, grudgingly. “In the interests of saving the Vesy from selfish human interests.”

  “Thank you,” John said. “Major Hadfield? Escort him out and hold him in the shuttlebay until I have finished speaking to Captain Samsun.”

  He watched Thompson leave, escorted by two burly Marines, and then looked at Samsun. “Long trip?”

  “The longest,” Samsun said. He looked tired and worn. “If I’d realised just how much of a problem they would be, I would have let the damned bankers take my ship. No wonder hardly anyone else wanted them.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” John said, sincerely. “And I’m sorry I may have caused you problems with your government.”

  “They will probably lodge a protest,” Samsun said. He smiled, rather wanly. “And if I had more energy, I would be screaming the place down.”

  “I wouldn't blame you,” John assured him. “What do they want?”

  “They see themselves as being on a religious mission, only without god,” Samsun said. “If I never hear another lecture on the duties and obligations of the human race to our alien brothers, I will be happy. I think they’re in for a nasty shock.”

  “Quite probably,” John agreed.

  He smiled, rather tiredly. The sacrifice had been the first major glimpse into the Vesy society, the first sign that the Vesy played by very different rules to modern humanity, but it hadn't been the last. One reporter had recorded a long ceremony where the slaves were formally declared enemies of the state, something that had reminded John of Sparta and the Helots. After they’d completed the ceremony, each of the slaves - bound in iron chains - had been whipped, then put back to work. Some of the reporters had even started to file stories suggesting that the only true solution was for the human race to take over completely.

  And that won’t go down well at home, John thought. God knows we have enough problems without trying to invade an alien world.

  “Tell me something,” Samsun said. “Can I just abandon them here?”

  “I don’t know,” John said, after a moment. Was that a joke ... or was he serious? “What does your contract say?”

  “It’s a little vague,” Samsun admitted. “I was merely hired to take them to Vesy.”

  “Then you can, it would seem,” John said. “I’d make sure they have somewhere to stay first, though. You probably don’t want to be hit with a lawsuit implying that you abandoned them to the wolves.”

  “Or to the Vesy,” Samsun agreed. He lowered his voice. “Captain, between you and me, they were talking about doing more end runs around any governmental presence on the surface. I think they may have brought Apocalypse Files too.”

  John blinked in surprise. Apocalypse Files had been common during the Age of Unrest, even though they’d never been necessary. They were nothing more than instructions for rebuilding civilisation from scratch, assuming a nuclear war or a biological plague that exterminated much of the human race, but they were fantastically detailed. John had seen copies in the British Library, back when he’d been a student. Now, they were rewritten and dispatched to colony worlds, just in case something happened to Earth. It would have seemed pointless if the human race hadn't run into the Tadpoles.

  “Good thinking on their part,” John said. It wasn't as if Apocalypse Files were hard to find, let alone copy. Most of them were firmly in the public domain. “They could build on what the Russians introduced, even without further interference from outside powers.”

  And they will have to be confiscated, if they exist, he thought, inwardly. He made a mental note to order Fort Knight to check everything when the Brothers landed. They’d put too much information in alien hands.

  He sighed, then rose. “I’m sorry you had to endure their presence,” he added, “but you did take their money. Where do you think it came from, by the way?”

  “I have no idea,” Samsun said, as he rose too. “The Bank of Ceres confirmed they had the cash to pay, up front, for a trip to Vesy, so I didn't much care.”

  John nodded. Ceres had a banking sector that made Switzerland or the Cayman Islands look transparent, a legacy of the trouble the asteroids had had breaking free of their founder corporations. The Brothers could have got their money from anywhere and then funnelled it through Ceres, if they wanted to obscure the source. A few rich idiots, a pound or two apiece from millions of people ... there was no way to know.

  Perhaps we should find out, John thought. That freighter-load of goods must have cost well over a million pounds.

  “Drop them off at Vesy, then go home,” John advised. Under the circumstances, it would be hard to blame Samsun for not sticking around. Lurking in orbit wouldn't shift cargo, unless there were some goods to go home. “The Marines will escort you back to your ship.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Samsun said.

  John watched him go, then sat down at the desk. The Brothers had chartered two ships, one from Israel and one from Ceres; the former, at least, known for responding badly whenever someone interfered with their shipping. Ceres was unlikely to be pleased either, even though Captain Samsun might not press the issue. It was the principle of the thing. Britain - and the other powers - might wind up having to pay compensation for searching the ship and confiscating some of the goods. But that led back to the original question.
Where, just where, did the money come from?

  Maybe I'm just being paranoid, he thought. It wasn't as if the Society of Interstellar Brotherhood was a small organisation. If every one of the millions of members they claimed to have donated a pound, they’d have millions of pounds. Or maybe something sinister is going on.

  He hastily wrote out a short update for Ambassador Richardson, warning her of the incoming ship and potential problems, and then fired off a message to Captain Samuel Johnston. The American might not know just what weapons the Brothers had bought, but he could certainly send a request back home for the information. Who knew what it might turn up?

  His intercom bleeped. “Captain,” Howard said. “The shuttle has reached Makeweight.”