He keyed the panel. The outer airlock opened. The outrush of air picked up Cole’s body and tossed it out into the vacuum of space. John watched it vanish into the darkness, then turned to face Lillian Turner.
“Remember this,” he said, then looked at the Marines. “Take her back to her cell.”
He walked back to the bridge, keeping his thoughts to himself. Frank Cole’s body would eventually fall into the primary star and be consumed, his atoms returned to the universe. Until then, he was doomed to wander forever in interstellar darkness ...
Shaking his head, he sat down in the command chair and gave the order.
“Take us out of here,” he said. “And inform the squadron to follow us, best practical speed.”
“Aye, sir,” Armstrong said.
Chapter Thirteen
John couldn't help feeling nervous as Warspite passed through the third tramline, but nothing happened, apart from the normal feeling of brief disorientation. After an hour to check all the systems for unexpected problems, Warspite resumed her course towards Pegasus, passing through three more tramlines in quick succession. By the time they finally jumped through the final tramline, John was starting to relax, slightly. The bugs seemed to have been worked out of his ship.
“Jump completed, sir,” Armstrong said, formally. “We have arrived in the Pegasus System.”
“Good,” John said. “Are there any signs that anyone else has visited the system?”
“No, sir,” Howard said. “The only sign of intelligent life is the survey beacon left behind when the system was first discovered.”
And that, John knew, proved nothing. An entire settlement could be hidden somewhere in the Pegasus System, completely undetectable as long as its owners were careful to avoid emitting any betraying signature. But it was unlikely that an independent settlement would matter, in the great scheme of things, while a settlement landed by another nation would cause legal problems for them on Earth. They would have noted the presence of the beacon and chosen to ignore it.
“Set course for Clarke,” he ordered. “Engage.”
He smiled to himself, knowing it wouldn't be long before they were free of the squadron, able to explore the surrounding systems without being forced to crawl from tramline to tramline, held back by the slow RFA starships. The First Space Lord had been right, he decided, as more and more data popped up in the holographic display. Pegasus might not have a life-bearing world, which would probably cause disputes later, but the presence of seven tramlines - three of them alien-grade - was well worth the risk of ordering Warspite to her duty station before her final checks had been completed. Seven tramlines ... the British Crown would be able to charge a fee to anyone who wanted to use them. It would ensure the colony would pay for itself within a very short space of time.
Assuming the sector takes off, he reminded himself. The war did a lot of damage to our economy.
But he was sure it would. The gas giant - Clarke - would provide cheap fuel, while there was a giant asteroid belt, a Mars-like world and five moons orbiting the gas giant. Given a couple of decades, the system would probably host a small industrial empire and thousands of settlers. They’d need extra incentives to live on Wells, he knew, but the government could offer them. Being on the ground floor of a system as economically important as Pegasus could make thousands of millionaires.
“The gas giant has a surprising amount of space junk in low orbit,” Armstrong commented, as they drew closer to their destination. “I’d say one of the moons shattered, a few thousand years ago.”
“Interesting,” John said. “But why did it shatter?”
“We may never know,” Armstrong said.
“Alien mining,” Howard suggested. “Didn’t there used to be a plan to blow up Mercury for ease of access?”
John nodded. It had been seriously considered, he recalled, around fifty years after a joint Chinese-Russian colony had been established on the surface of the rocky world. They’d pointed out that shattering the planet would make it much easier to mine the debris field for rare minerals. The plan had floundered, in the end, when even the Russians hadn’t been able to devise a bomb big enough to shatter the planet ... and strong objections from the other spacefaring powers. They hadn't liked the thought of tossing so much debris into interplanetary space.
“If it happened only a mere thousand years ago,” Armstrong said, “wouldn't we have run into the aliens by now?”
“They might have evolved into something far beyond us,” Commander Watson offered. “We already have ways to transcribe ourselves into computer databanks. Arguably, they might have continued the process and become beings of pure energy.”
John shrugged. Alien life was a very real possibility - but, just like Armstrong, he had his doubts. The Tadpoles hadn't been able to blow up entire planets - and, even if someone else could, why would they bother? It wasn't as if there was a shortage of raw material floating in orbit around Pegasus, or any of a hundred systems within a few short jumps. They didn't need to waste the energy ...
Unless it was a war, of course, he thought, darkly. And one side resorted to blowing up entire planets to exterminate the other side.
He ignored the discussion as Clarke slowly grew larger on the display. Armstrong was right, he saw; there was a considerable amount of debris in low orbit. It would be a problem for the cloudscoop specialists, he suspected, although they would probably be able to handle it, perhaps by using a large asteroid as an anchor for the scoop itself. Or they could simply start pushing pieces of debris into the gas giant until they had cleared enough space to ensure they could operate the cloudscoop safely.
“Sir,” Forbes said. “We just picked up an IFF demand from the beacon.”
“Transmit our IFF back, then copy its files to us,” John ordered, coolly. In theory, if anyone had visited the system between the survey team and Warspite, the beacon should have noted and logged their presence. But, in practice, it was far too likely that any intruders had escaped detection. “And inform me if anything shows up.”
“Aye, sir,” Forbes said. There was a long pause as her signal raced across the void to the beacon, then was returned. “Nothing visited the system until we arrived.”
“Let us hope that is actually true,” John said. “Lieutenant Armstrong?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Take us to Clarke III,” John ordered. “The remainder of the squadron can wait here while we survey the planet.”
He couldn't help being reminded of Bluebell as the gas giant grew larger on the display, but he knew it wasn't the same. Clarke was larger and simply more useful - and there was no dispute over settlement rights. No aliens prowling around either, he reminded himself, and shivered. Colin had died at Bluebell, along with everyone else on HMS Canopus, save John himself. Even now, he wasn't sure if anyone had gone back to the system to recover what was left of the bodies.
The Canny Man deserved better, he thought. And so did her crew.
“That’s a very useful world,” Commander Watson observed, as the display refocused on Clarke III. “We could do a great deal of work here.”
John concealed his amusement with an effort. Clarke III - he supposed they’d have to come up with a better name, once the settlement was firmly established - looked beautiful, an icy white sphere of light shining against the darkness, reflecting the blue light of the gas giant. But, to someone like Commander Watson, natural beauty was worthless, while the majesty of engineering was all too important. He found himself torn between the two attitudes; Clarke III was beautiful, yes, but so was engineering.
“Launch probes,” he ordered, as Warspite entered orbit. “And then prepare to deploy the landing pods.”
“Aye, sir,” Howard said. The probes dropped into the moon’s atmosphere and vanished from sight, under the clouds. “Live telemetry established, sir.”
“Make sure you copy it to the squadron,” John ordered, as he watched the images flicker up in front of him, one by one. “L
et them all see where they’re going.”
Clarke III was deceptive, he noted, as the probes skimmed through the planet’s atmosphere. Parts of the landscape looked almost like Scotland, under a layer of snow, but he knew it was very inhospitable. The seas were liquid water and ammonia, while the atmosphere held vast quantities of nitrogen and methane. But it also contained trace levels of hydrogen cyanide, perhaps just enough to poison any human who stepped out without protection.
But that would be the least of their problems, he thought. The atmosphere just isn’t breathable.
“I’ve located a handful of volcanoes just under the water, sir,” Howard said. “They must be keeping the planet warm, despite the ice.”
“I believe the colony intends to tap them for power,” Commander Watson said. She turned to face John. “Captain, we should deploy the landing pods now.”
“Do so,” John ordered. “Have you isolated the planned landing site?”
“Yes,” Commander Watson said. “The survey team seem to have done a good job, but we will need results from the landing pods before we can confirm it.”
John nodded, then turned his attention back to the endless stream of data. The planet’s gravity was slightly stronger than Luna’s, around one-fourth of Earth’s gravity field. It would be easy to use mass drivers to launch water and other supplies into orbit, he noted, but the colonists would require special genetic treatments to ensure their children didn't suffer from the low gravity. They’d probably also want treatments to allow their kids to breathe the planet’s atmosphere, but John doubted it was possible. The planned Titan Genetic Modifications had never quite produced a human who could live on the surface without life support gear.
“It would be fun to ski on that mountain,” Armstrong commented. “And we could set up a flying dome over there ...”
“Someone could probably fly under their own power, if they had wings,” Howard suggested. “The spacesuit would be a problem, but the pressure levels would keep them from needing heavy armour or other equipment. One day, people might get around the colony on wings, as easily as people in Cambridge get around on bikes.”
“Settlement first,” Commander Watson said, firmly. “Entertainment later.”
It was another hour before the first set of results came in from the landed pods. John breathed a sigh of relief as the survey team’s report was confirmed. The designated landing zone could be used, without the settlers having to go and search for another. They wouldn't also have to worry about finding a better location for the mass driver. Placing it along the planet’s equator made it easier to shoot capsules into space.
“Contact Captain Minion,” John ordered. “He is to bring the remainder of the squadron here and then start preparing the landing.”
“Aye, sir,” Forbes said.
“Commander Watson, you will take this opportunity to work with the Chief Engineer and check our drive systems, thoroughly,” John ordered. “Howard, you have the bridge.”
“Aye, sir,” Howard said.
John rose, then motioned Commander Watson to lead the way off the bridge. He nodded politely to her when they reached the edge of Officer Country, then turned to walk into the brig. The Marine on duty saluted smartly, then stepped aside as John checked the cell monitors. Lillian Turner had remained in the brig for the two weeks the rest of the trip had taken, doing very little beyond using her terminal and copies of books and movies John had ordered sent to her.
He opened the hatch, then stepped into the cell. It smelled vaguely unpleasant, as if the occupant hadn't been able to do more than rub herself with a sponge. The toilet was nothing more than an open seat, in the rear of the compartment. And yet, it was still a better place to live than a junior officer’s quarters on a frigate. Prisoners had rights junior officers had surrendered, in order to join the Royal Navy.
“Captain,” Lillian Turner said. Her voice was hushed as she sat upright. Someone had given her an orange prison uniform, then wrapped a security bracelet around her wrist. It would knock her out if she stepped out of the brig without permission. “What can I do for you?”
John studied her for a long moment. She looked as if she hadn't been sleeping properly; there were dark marks around her eyes, while her movements were slow and deliberate. John couldn't blame her for nightmares, if she was having them. In hindsight, maybe it had been too cruel to force her to watch as Frank Cole was ejected into space. But the lesson had to be learned, if not by her then by the rest of the crew. Crimes against the Royal Navy could not be allowed to go unpunished.
“We have reached Clarke III,” he said. “I have ... talked to Governor Brown, the colony commander. He is willing to add you to his team, if you wish to accept semi-permanent exile. If not, you will remain here until we return to Earth, whereupon you will be handed over to the Military Police and transferred to Colchester. I’m afraid I have to ask for your choice now.”
“My parents are going to be so disappointed,” Lillian Turner said. “I wanted to make them proud.”
“I know,” John said. “But why did you think your activities would remain undiscovered indefinitely?”
Lillian Turner flushed. “I didn't think,” she said. She looked down at the deck. “What is life in Colchester like?”
“Unpleasant,” John said, flatly. “You wouldn't like it.”
Indeed, he wasn't sure she would survive. Lillian Turner wouldn't see the barracks where minor offenders were kept, or the educational facilities where some detainees were prepared for a return to civilian life. She would spend her days in a cell, running through a daily routine of cleaning her cell, exercising and carrying out make-work prescribed by the CO, while her every move was supervised and she was searched or interrogated at the drop of a hat. And while the guards were supposed to be disciplined, there had always been dark rumours about how the long-term prisoners were treated.
And, after the bombardment, few people would give a damn if the prisoners were abused, he thought, bitterly. Something had been lost in the bombardment, if it hadn't been worn away to a nub by the Troubles. A certain basic decency, perhaps. She might find herself forced into whoring to survive.
He sighed, then shrugged. There was nothing else he could do for her, not now. She’d been charged, the charges had been proven ... she had to be punished. And regulations offered little room for leeway.
“I will go to Clarke,” Lillian Turner said. “Thank you, Captain.”
John tapped the hatch. The Marine opened it and peered inside, one hand on the butt of his weapon. John wasn't sure if he’d really thought Lillian Turner could overpower her commanding officer, but it was well to take precautions. It would have been drummed into him, right from the start, that even the most harmless-looking person could be very dangerous, at least with the right training.
“Call Lieutenant Forbes,” John ordered. “When she arrives, she is to ensure that Lillian Turner is showered and dressed in something suitable for transfer to RFA Argus. Once she is ready, have her duffle picked up” - fortunately, Lillian Turner hadn't had a chance to amass more than a handful of personal possessions - “and then take her to the shuttlebay. A shuttle can pick her up once she’s ready to leave.”
“Yes, sir,” the Marine said. “Should she be cuffed?”
“I don’t think so,” John said. He spoke loudly, knowing that Lillian Turner would overhear. “But if she causes trouble, return her to the cell.”
John turned his head to take one last look at Lillian Turner, then strode out of the brig. It should have been Commander Watson’s job, he knew, but he couldn't rely on the XO to handle the prisoner transfer. Not that Lillian Turner was precisely a prisoner any longer ... he shook his head, tiredly. There had been hundreds of plans to use prisoners as brute labour on colony worlds, but they’d all amounted to very little in the end. The logistics of shipping prisoners to Luna, let alone Britannia, were daunting. And besides, with so many innocent refugees ready to ship out for a colony world, who would ne
ed convicts?
“Captain,” Lieutenant Forbes said. The Communications Officer looked surprised at her summons. “I don’t know how to handle prisoners.”
“Watch her while she showers and dresses, then walk with her to the shuttlebay and wait for the shuttle,” John ordered, bluntly. He couldn't leave Lillian Turner alone - and she had enough problems without being openly watched by male spacers. Privacy was a rare thing in the Royal Navy, but the crew tended to cling to what they had. “If she causes trouble, the Marine can take her back to the cell and she can go to Colchester.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Forbes said, doubtfully.
John nodded, then turned and walked away. The Royal Marines wouldn't have had a problem with the prisoner, but the Royal Marines were all male, even now. A company-sized detachment would probably have included a handful of female supporting personnel, yet it had been hard enough to get two sections of Marines for Warspite. Like so many others, Lieutenant Forbes would just have to grin and bear it, even if she wasn't trained for her new task.
[Ark Royal 04] - Warspite Page 14