A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Or my government,” Barouche added. “We are currently preparing to establish factories of our own on Vesy.”

  “Which will only make the situation worse,” Joelle said. If the French followed the Indians, America and Britain would probably have to follow suit. God knew they couldn't tie freighters up indefinitely shipping ammunition to Vesy, not when there were so many other demands on their time. “This could end badly.”

  “It’s already bad,” Schultz said. He rose. “For what it’s worth, I have reviewed the data from yesterday and I believe your men had no choice. I have communicated that to my government.”

  “Thank you,” Joelle said. She knew it would be costly, even if there was no overt demand for payment, but for the moment she was grateful. “We’ll just have to see what happens when City Seven finally pulls itself back together.”

  “My people will speak to your people about the joint command,” Schultz said. “They will have to try to work with the Indians, if only unofficially.”

  “Officially-unofficially,” Joelle said, dryly. It wouldn't be the first time two nations, both of whom hated the other, had cooperated under the table. Rani might have to make her point, but she wasn't fool enough to totally disregard the possibility of working together. “We will see.”

  She watched them go, then sank back into her chair. Her body wanted sleep desperately, and perhaps a long soak in the bath, but there was no time. She had too much work to do.

  “Grace,” she ordered, keying her wristcom. “Inform Captain Naiser that I would like to speak to him onboard Warspite tomorrow, if that suits him.”

  “Yes, Ambassador,” Grace said.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “They are threatening our religions,” Harkin said.

  Anjeet nodded. He’d given the alien the name, drawing it from a book his sister had loved as a child, and the alien had accepted it without demur. But why not? They were just as eager to work with the Indians as the Indians were to work with him.

  “That is what they always do,” he said. “They believe in their one super-god and use him as an excuse to destroy those who believe in other gods. The God-King failed, so they are trying more subtle ways to break your will.”

  It was nonsense, of course, but it was flattering nonsense. And the aliens wanted to believe it, wanted to believe that they could stand against an overwhelmingly powerful foe, wanted to believe that they had allies who shared the same vision of the universe. Anjeet had no objection to providing them with all the weapons they wanted, although he had been careful not to mention some of the possibilities, and he hadn't attempted to enforce any standards of behaviour on them, save for upholding the growing Indian alliance network. The aliens hadn't raised any objections.

  He smiled to himself as he looked around the room, decorated with strange alien woodcarvings. The British, Americans and French might insist on walking around with an armed escort, but the Indians had worked hard to show just how much they trusted the aliens by leaving the guards at the fort. It was a gamble, Anjeet knew, yet it had paid off. Every time he walked in and out of the city alone, with only a single pistol at his belt, it boosted his status in their eyes.

  They don’t need to know there’s a team of armed and armoured men on permanent standby, in case of crisis, he thought, grimly. Or that my uniform contains body armour and a hood ...

  “They killed dozens of children,” Harkin said. The Vesy didn’t sound too upset - although it was hard to be certain - but he had to know it was a dangerous precedent. “Why?”

  “They do not care about you, only for what they can do for themselves,” Anjeet said. “Their lives come first, always.”

  He shrugged, inwardly. Judging from the reports, the British Paras had done very well to remain alive long enough to be rescued. Breaking into a birthing chamber was a stroke of luck, both good and bad; it had delayed the aliens for a while, but at the same time they’d ended up with egg on their face. Quite literally, he told himself, and concealed his amusement with an effort. He would have been very surprised if the aliens hadn't been quietly comparing notes with cities that had contacted other human powers.

  “They even lied about Kun,” he added. “They might have told you he was dead, but they only took him off your world.”

  The alien hissed in rage. He’d heard, of course, that Kun hadn't survived the riot, a message put out by the British from Fort Knight. Anjeet didn't blame them for trying to calm the aliens without giving them the idiot - it would have opened a whole can of worms - but he had no compunction about telling the aliens the truth. It would only keep them focused on the British as enemies.

  “The city” - Harkin uttered a name that was completely unpronounceable - “is in disarray. It will be a long time before a new set of leaders are elected.”

  Anjeet nodded. It was hard for most humans to understand, but the Vesy had no barrier between Temple and State. A ruler would have both a religious career and a secular career, insofar as they diverged. Combined with something akin to a council populated by the various religious leaders, the aliens had a government system that was both democratic and religious. The contradiction between the two roles, he rather suspected, had caused City Seven to have real problems selecting new leaders.

  Because one of their positions requires a willingness to work with humans, he thought, and the other requires holy war. Their positions are contradictory.

  He nodded, thoughtfully. No wonder the God-King was such a shock to their system. He didn't just preach one religion, he tried to eradicate all the others!

  “That is understandable,” he said, turning his mind back to the original topic. The British might have been offering compensation - an unusual gesture in a world where the whole idea of offering compensation had been discredited long ago - but it would be hard for them to find someone willing to accept it. They’d smashed eggs and killed children. “What do you intend to do about it?”

  “There can be no peace with those who would destroy religion,” Harkin said. “Or deny the truth of the gods.”

  “Of course not,” Anjeet agreed. “But you do realise that they have many advantages over you?”

  The alien gave him a long considering look. They weren't stupid; they might believe the Hindu faith was compatible with their own, but they also understood that Anjeet would want something in exchange for his help. It was part of the reason, he knew, why they’d had so many problems grasping the concept of NGOs. The idea of charity was starkly alien - he smiled at the pun - to them. No Vesy gave something away when he could extract a price in return.

  “We understand,” he said. “But we have weapons.”

  “Not enough,” Anjeet said. “Luckily, we have something that may tip the balance ...”

  ***

  “I spoke to two more alien cities,” Ambassador Begum said, an hour later. “They’re both willing to sign on with the alliance. It didn't take them long to work out that none of the cities allied with us had any visitors from the religious missionaries.”

  Anjeet nodded. He hadn't been sent any missionaries, but if he had he would have refused to allow them to land. There was no point in muddying the water; the aliens would be vastly insulted if he claimed his gods were real and theirs weren’t, or even that they should switch to worshipping the Hindu gods on Vesy. It would be a different story on Earth, he was sure; he wondered, mischievously, what the media would make of the Vesy worshipping at human temples.

  Probably claim we brainwashed them, he thought, sourly. It was hard to escape the impression that many westerners simply didn't take Hinduism seriously, regarding it as a throwback to a less-enlightened age. They’d certainly shown the same attitude to the Vesy religions, even though the Vesy were more tolerant than most humans. But then, the Vesy believe in all gods, they just don’t worship them all.

  “That’s a good thing,” he said, slowly. It hadn't been that hard to come up with a network of alien agents, not once they’d made it clear they were prepare
d to work with the aliens as equals. “And the propaganda?”

  “At the moment, the general feeling is that the British deliberately smashed hundreds of eggs and killed the egg-matrons,” Rani said. “We have been boosting this message as much as possible, of course.”

  “Of course,” Anjeet agreed.

  It was a stroke of luck, definitely. The egg-matrons were odd, even by Vesy standards; they were a religious group of eunuchs, male and female, who had the task of taking care of the eggs until they hatched. From what his people had been able to determine, they took no role in politics ... but their persons were untouchable. They were protected by all of the gods, including the ones that remained unnamed. A Vesy who laid a finger on one of them, for whatever reason, risked being lynched. Even the God-King hadn't dared touch them when he’d captured more cities.

  But the British had killed the ones guarding the birthing chamber in City Seven. It was an insult that was not to be borne.

  Which means they will become more dependent on us than ever, he thought, darkly. And eventually we will wind up in command of the whole planet.

  It helped, really, that there was no need to take direct control of their world. The British had worked through the Princely States, back in the days of the Raj; he would work through the allied city-states, giving them enough firepower to keep the rest under control. There was literally nothing, beyond formal control, that was worth the effort of taking from Vesy. Why invade when he could get nothing from it?

  But we will have control of the tramlines and the outer system, he added, mentally. And that is all that matters.

  He turned his attention back to the Ambassador. “Do you think the other ambassadors will surrender to your demands?”

  “I doubt it,” Rani said, tartly. “They do not trust us. I think they suspect the rocket launcher came from us.”

  Anjeet shrugged. “Lucky none of them got a close look at it,” he said. The British must have wondered why it had been designed with a complete lack of concern for health and safety - the rocket could have been built not to explode when it was dropped - but it had helped to bury the evidence. “They will probably take it for a Russian design, something put together in a machine shop.”

  “One would hope,” Rani said. She shook her head. “They won’t give us command of a joint security force, General.”

  “I know,” Anjeet said. It would have been useful if they had, but it might have made the next stage of the plan somewhat awkward. India would have been accused of deliberately fomenting trouble, then capitalising on it ... and there would have been some very real proof, if anyone cared to look. “We’ll stay out of the official arrangements, for the moment.”

  He shrugged, again. “Have you spoken to the NGOs?”

  “Most of them are a little disillusioned with Fort Knight,” Rani said. “I think a handful will be quite happy to move operations to here.”

  “Where they can teach our heavily-armed friends the advantages of improving their crop yield,” Anjeet agreed. It was clear the NGOs had some influence in the West, at least in Britain and America; having them as allies might be useful and certainly couldn't hurt. “It should be workable.”

  “Of course, General,” Rani smiled.

  Anjeet nodded. “Can you keep stalling the other ambassadors?”

  “For the moment,” Rani said. “It depends on just how many other troops they’re prepared to bring in - and what their public opinion makes of it.”

  “Nothing good,” Anjeet said. “Our people back home will see to it.”

  ***

  “Hey,” Hamish said.

  Penny looked up and smiled as the Para sat down facing her. The refectory was almost empty so late at night, with only a handful of ration bars left in cupboards for anyone who fancied a late-night snack; they could easily talk without being heard. Hamish was wearing his uniform, but not the body armour she recalled from the riot. It had probably saved his life.

  “Hey,” she said, feeling suddenly shy. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  “You’re welcome,” Hamish said. “Did they debrief you too?”

  “Yep,” Penny said. After she’d fallen asleep, she’d been woken at 0900 with the news that Colonels Boone and Mortimer wanted to speak to her personally. The debriefing - more like an interrogation - had been horrendously detailed, going over the same questions time and time again until she’d finally told them she’d had enough. “They were ... thorough.”

  “They have to be,” Hamish said. He looked uncomfortable, just for a moment. “They think we might have killed children.”

  “We might well have done,” Penny said. She had no idea just how well-protected the eggs were, under the earth, but the Paras had detonated several grenades. “It’s something we may have to pay for, in the future.”

  Hamish scratched his shaved head. “We didn't have much choice,” he said. “But we still feel like ... ah, crap.”

  “I have heard worse,” Penny assured him. “My editor has a habit of bellowing obscenities at anyone who dares offer good excuses for not having an article ready for publishing.”

  “Not a friendly man then,” Hamish said. “What are you going to write about the riot?”

  “I’ve already written a short article and uploaded it to the next courier boat,” Penny said. “I just told them the truth, blamed everything on Kun. Stupid bloody idiot should never have been allowed down to the surface.”

  “We’ll probably get the blame,” Hamish predicted, glumly. “We could have shot him in the back, they will say, or we should have shut him up by force.”

  “I made it clear that you weren't to blame,” Penny said.

  She sighed, inwardly. Her article hadn't been the first - and even though it was the only first-hand report, it probably wasn’t sensational enough to attract a jaded public. If it bleeds it leads, her editor had said more than once, and nothing drew the eye like dead children. Her hands started to shake as she remembered the egg she’d held, wondering if the alien baby was dead or alive. The public would be revolted, she knew; they’d be torn between the impulse to swat any barbarians who thought they could lay hands on a British citizen and murder the Paras who had killed alien babies in the crossfire. And the politicians ...

  Some of them don’t want to waste resources on Vesy, she thought. It wasn't as if Britain had much to spare. They’d have an excellent excuse to pull our official presence off the surface and leave Vesy to the other powers, if they want it.

  “Thank you,” Hamish said. “But would they listen?”

  Penny snapped back to reality with a jolt, then hastily replayed their conversation in her head.

  “I don’t know,” she confessed. She picked up her cup of water and took a swig. “I didn’t know this was what you intended when you asked me out for a drink.”

  Hamish looked nonplussed for a moment, then laughed.

  “I do have a bottle of ... something I won at a poker match while we were on the transport,” he said. “There isn't a ship in the Royal Navy that doesn't have an illicit still somewhere onboard. But the Sergeant would kick my ass if I dared drink alcohol here, even though I’m supposed to remain confined to base with the rest of the lads.”

  Penny frowned. “They’re not letting you out the gates?”

  “They’re not letting anyone out the gates,” Hamish said. “You know all the small groups that were out in the field? They’ve been called back and the gates have been sealed. Everyone is on alert, save for those of us involved in the balls-up. We’ve been told to stay here and wait.”

  “Fuck,” Penny said.

  “Yeah,” Hamish agreed. “It’s precisely the wrong message, if you ask me, but no one did.”

  “Maybe,” Penny said. She cursed herself under her breath. If she’d been thinking straight, she would have checked the daily update as soon as she awoke. Instead, she’d written her article and felt sorry for herself. Percy would laugh at her if he ever found out. “Or it could be a way of showi
ng we’re sorry.”

  Hamish looked unconvinced. “From a military point of view,” he said, “there's a certain advantage to not allowing anyone to push you around, even if you are to blame for whatever went wrong. Quite a few problematic situations in the regiment’s long history started with politicians telling us not to slap back when we were provoked.”

  “Unless they’re looking for an overreaction from you,” Penny said.

  “Could be,” Hamish agreed.

  He looked down at the table, then frowned. “I can take you for better drinks when we get home ...?”

  “I would be delighted,” Penny said. She finished her water and put the cup to one side. “Tell me about yourself?”

  Hamish looked at her for a long moment. “On or off the record?”

  “Off,” Penny said. She had done enough human interest interviews to last a lifetime, with the added problem that most of the people her editor wanted her to interview had flatly refused to talk to her. “I just want to talk.”