“We’ll go over it in great detail later,” Hadfield promised, as he looked at Percy’s datapad. “You’ll have a chance to redo the battle yourself, too.”
And see if I can sneak around the defences, Percy thought. The thought made him smile, darkly. Or would that be considered cheating?
He shrugged, a moment later. If one wasn't cheating, his instructors had insisted, years ago, one wasn't trying. War wasn't fair, not really, nor was it romantic. All that really mattered was making the other poor bastard die for his country.
Chapter Fifteen
“They seem to have done a considerable amount of work,” John said, as the shuttle flew over the colony. “I didn't realise they could expand so fast.”
“The colony planners did a good job,” Commander Watson assured him. “And they didn't run into any unexpected snags.”
John nodded. One month of boredom in space, running endless tactical exercises and surveys of the inner system, hadn't been anything like as boring for the colonists on the ground. The freighters had lowered the dumpsters into the atmosphere, dropping them neatly beside the special environment tents that made up the majority of the first colony. Once the dumpsters had landed, the colonists had started to unpack them, then put the prefabricated buildings together and fix them securely to the ground. The colony had expanded rapidly after that, with mining equipment being decanted and used to dig tunnels deep underground. It looked very much like the first lunar colonies.
“That’s good,” he said. “The next flood of colonists will have ready-made homes.”
He looked down at a farming module as the shuttle dropped towards the ground. It would be several months before it was ready to go, but once it was ready it would produce enough foodstuffs to keep the entire colony fed for years. The British Colonisation Service always over-engineered its systems, just to make sure they could handle an unanticipated demand, if necessary. Ironically, for a service intent on getting as many people away from Earth as possible, its paranoia had helped to feed millions of refugees after the Tadpoles had struck Earth.
The shuttle touched down with a bump, the gravity field fading seconds later. John unbuckled himself, then stood, careful to move slowly in the low gravity. Commander Watson didn't seem to have any problems at all, he noted with a hint of amusement; to her, gravity was just another factor for engineers to take into account. He nodded politely to the pilot, then stepped up to the airlock and waited until the docking tube was secure. The hatch hissed open once the checks had been made, revealing a tube leading to the colony. John smiled to himself, then stepped through the airlock and into a whole new world.
“Captain,” Governor Brown said. “Welcome to Clarke.”
John smiled and shook hands, firmly. Governor Brown hardly seemed to deserve the title, not when Clarke’s population was no more than four hundred people, but it gave him authority he could use, if necessary. He was a middle-aged man, an engineer and colony support officer by trade, which made him more qualified to serve than the last Governor John had met, a couple of years ago. That man had been nothing more than a bureaucrat who’d obtained his post as payment for services rendered.
“Thank you,” he said. He couldn't help noticing that Brown was attractive; he looked mature, yet young enough to be frisky. “It’s good to be here.”
“I’m afraid we don’t have a band yet to welcome you properly,” Brown said, as he turned to lead the way into the colony. “Most of my people are still very busy. But you are welcome.”
“I don’t mind,” John assured him. “I never had much patience for formalities.”
“Me neither,” Brown said. “They always seemed to get in the way of my work.”
He led them on a short tour of the colony, covering the places they could visit without a spacesuit. Most of the prefabricated buildings, put together by the numbers, were empty, waiting for the next set of colonists to arrive from Earth, but a handful were already filled with people. Two large barracks held most of the colonists, while smaller sleeping quarters were allocated by lottery. Even Governor Brown slept in the male barracks, rather than claiming one of the private bedrooms for himself. John was mildly impressed.
The colonists themselves looked busy, he decided, as they passed through a growing machine shop. Most of them were young and very well-trained; it was quite possible they would move on, once the colony was firmly established. Others would probably remain indefinitely, including Lillian Turner. John caught sight of her, working on a piece of machinery, as they turned to leave the machine shop. She didn't look back at them.
“She’s been a good worker,” Governor Brown said, once they left the chamber. “I didn't tell anyone what happened, back when she was serving under you. She deserves a fair chance to shine, here with the rest of us exiles.”
“You’ll be going back to Earth in five years, I believe,” John said. “She will be here indefinitely.”
“I may stay,” Brown said. He shrugged. “There’s no shortage of interesting problems to solve here, Captain, and the landscape is remarkable. And I wouldn't encounter any idiots here too.”
“There are idiots everywhere,” John said, crossly. “Even in the Royal Navy.”
“They don’t tend to survive out here,” Brown said. “Stupidity is a capital crime, punished by the universe. A single mistake can take someone out of the gene pool ... and thank heaven for that, I say.”
John frowned. It wasn't an uncommon attitude, not among asteroid dwellers. They lived in an environment that was unrelentingly hostile, where a simple mistake could be utterly lethal ... and where no one, not even a child, could be isolated from the dangers. The asteroid dwellers were objectivists in the strongest possible sense, the men and women who couldn't allow themselves any form of wishful thinking. But, at the same time, it struck him as a dangerous attitude. Dreamers had taken the human race far.
They want to weed out the stupid, he thought. But how can they separate the truly stupid from the ones who make simple mistakes?
“I understand you’re working on the mass driver,” Commander Watson said. “Have you managed to solve the problem of anchoring it to the ground?”
“We’ve established the colony on rock, once we blasted away the snow,” Governor Brown said, pulling his terminal off his belt. “As you can see” - he tapped the screen several times - “we managed to anchor the mass driver pretty solidly. It may still be problematic to shoot capsules into space, but we will have plenty of time to calibrate the system before we start planning our settlement on Wells.”
John nodded. Warspite had entered Wells orbit, a week after the first landing on Clarke III, and dropped a shuttle to the surface to plant the British flag. A handful of geologists had confirmed the results of the first survey; Wells would take years to terraform, even with the latest developments in bioengineered systems. But the process would be relatively cheap, once it got underway. The bacteria that would convert the planet’s atmosphere to oxygen would reproduce itself.
“We have also located sources of everything we need to feed ourselves,” the Governor added, as they stepped into another prefabricated section. “There won’t be any difficulty supporting the colony.”
“That’s good to hear,” John said. “I don’t think the Admiralty would be pleased at having to ship food out here.”
“No, probably not,” the Governor said. “We’ll definitely have a market for luxury foods, I believe, even something as simple as beef or pork, but we won’t be dependent on foodstuffs from Earth or Cromwell.”
He led them into a refectory, then turned to smile at them. “Behold, the wonders of governorship,” he said. “Crystal decanters of sherry, wooden tables, expensive foods, maids in skimpy uniforms ...”
John laughed. The tables were plastic, the food was nothing more than ration bars, there was only water or tea to drink and there were no maids or waitresses. Indeed, the entire room was empty. He followed the Governor over to the nearest table, then sat where he wa
s told and picked up the ration bar without enthusiasm. The military might be allowed flavoured ration bars, but colonists were expected to eat the bland-tasting kind. It was, he'd been told, meant to encourage them to grow their own food or, at least, produce their own flavourings.
“I’ll be mother,” the Governor said. He poured them each a glass of water, then sat down facing them. “This water comes directly from the ocean.”
Commander Watson eyed it doubtfully. “It’s safe to drink?”
“We ran it through the filters,” Governor Brown assured her. “You can drink it, or use it to wash, or ... well, whatever else you use water for. It’s perfectly safe.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” John said, as he sipped his water. He’d half-expected it to taste strange, but it tasted as bland as the water onboard ship. “What else have you done with it?”
“Set up a bath, a swimming pool and a sauna,” Governor Brown said. “If you happen to have crewmen who want a bath, you can rent our facilities at the low price of fifty pounds a shot.”
John snorted. There were crewmen who would probably take the Governor up on his offer, even if it was hideously over-priced. Warspite, like all starships smaller than fleet carriers, rationed water strictly, while the colony had an infinite supply in the nearby ocean. It would be the height of luxury to relax in a hot bath for an hour or two, even if it did cost an arm and a leg. Indeed, he was tempted himself.
“Not much to spend money on here,” Commander Watson observed. “Or do you charge your own people to use the bath?”
“There's a rota for the bath and sauna,” Governor Brown said. “The swimming pool is first come, first served. It’s good for morale to have somewhere everyone can just relax and have fun.”
He shrugged. “Everyone’s salary is held in trust for them on Earth,” he added. “It will either be transferred out here, once we set up a monetary economy, or they can collect it once they return to the homeworld. There’s no point in trying to charge for the bare necessities of life here.”
John nodded. Some of the early colonies on Luna and Mars had tried to charge for oxygen and water, but it hadn't worked out very well. At least one colony had suffered an uprising that had shattered the dome and killed everyone. Eventually, once bioengineered grass had been worked into the settlements as carpets, the whole idea had been abandoned. Clarke III would hardly follow such a destructive path, certainly when there was no need to follow it.
“I can offer tea too,” the Governor added. “They packed millions of teabags into the ship.”
“There would be riots if they hadn't,” John commented. “The Royal Navy runs on tea.”
“So do us colonials,” the Governor agreed. He stood, walked over to the rear table and picked up three china mugs. “I brought these with me, but someone will probably set up their own mug-producing system soon enough, I predict.”
John nodded. Newly-founded British colonies had almost no regulations or taxes, at least in their first decade. Anyone who wanted to set up their own company could do so, without hassle, and trust to the free market to make their company work - or not. There were limits to what planners could do, after all, particularly once the colony grew large enough to require money. By the time the government finally started taxing the colonists, there should be hundreds of local businesses helping to provide jobs, services and other benefits for the newly-settled world.
As long as we don’t wind up refighting the American Revolution, he thought. A number of hard lessons had been learned from the American War of Independence, but it was still hard to escape the conviction that the colonials should pay for their own upkeep. Several independent planetary development corporations had failed when it came to working out how their investment would be repaid. What will happen when they decide they don’t want to be taxed by Britain after all?
He took the mug of tea, sniffed it carefully, then took a sip. It tasted of powdered milk and sugar, but he drank it anyway. Commander Watson didn't seem to notice the taste; like most engineers, she didn't seem to care what she ate and drank, as long as her body remained charged with energy. It was an attitude John wished he shared. He’d spent much of his adult life in the Royal Navy, yet he still appreciated good food and drink.
Or perhaps you’re just fussy, he thought, remembering his mother’s words. The strict woman had never approved of any of his tastes, from food and drink to boyfriends. You were always the one to cut the fat off the meat.
“We are planning to start our own survey work soon,” he said, after he'd finished his ration bar. “Do you have any objections to us leaving within the week?”
“I believe that some of the freighter commanders may have objections,” Governor Brown said. “But I have none, now we have our complement of shuttles on the ground. I assume Canberra is going to stay with us?”
“Yes,” John said, flatly. “The Admiralty would prefer not to leave you completely defenceless.”
“Far be it from me to disagree,” Governor Brown said. “This world would be an excellent target for raiders.”
John sighed. Pirates - independent pirates - were the stuff of bad fiction, not reality. It would be immensely difficult for any pirate faction to get its hands on a small warship, or even a combat-capable freighter, and then maintain it while raiding poor colonies at the edge of human space. They might make great villains for pro-Navy propaganda, particularly as the Foreign Office frowned on branding any merely human power a potential enemy, but they never really existed in reality. The closest humans had come to producing pirates in space had been during the Rock Wars, before the tramlines had been discovered.
But there was always the prospect of another power secretly sponsoring an attack on Clarke, aimed at removing the colony by force ...
“It would be,” he agreed. “We’ll survey the nearest systems while the remainder of the freighters are emptied, then we can escort the three cargo ships back home. They’d be glad to get away from here, I expect.”
“Probably,” Governor Brown agreed. “I think their crews want more shore leave facilities than we have.”
“But you have a bath,” John protested, dryly. “And a swimming pool!”
“That isn't enough for them,” Governor Brown said.
John snorted. The freighter crews would want bars, whores, games and beds, perhaps not in that order. Even Britannia or a mid-size colony would have a red light district, crammed with hundreds of places ready and willing to take as much money from spacers as they could. It hadn't been that long since John - and Colin - had sampled both Sin City and the red light districts surrounding a dozen military bases. The thought made him smile, then frown. He was supposed to be a responsible adult now.
And you had to drag people out of the bars, when you were an XO, his own thoughts reminded him. There was no time to enjoy yourself after you were promoted.
“They’ll be due at least two weeks on Earth,” he said. “And they will be paid a colossal bonus for their time.”
“It never looks large from hundreds of light years away,” Governor Brown said. He looked up as several colonists entered the room, looking tired and worn. “People are always more focused on the matter at hand, rather than the matter in the future.”
“True,” John said. He finished his tea, then glanced at Commander Watson. “Are you going to show us the rest of the colony?”
“Most of the rest is undeveloped,” Governor Brown said, as he rose to his feet. “I’m nervous about the prospect of serious injury for my people, Captain. Our medical facilities are quite limited, compared to a starship or a proper hospital.”
“And Canberra doesn't have a proper sickbay,” John finished. The escort carrier hadn't been designed, originally, as a warship. Sometimes, that worked in her favour, but not always. A poor sickbay was the least of her problems. “We can probably lift someone to orbit ...”
“While you’re here,” Governor Brown said. He led them through the hatch, then down a bland prefabricated cor
ridor. “What happens when you’re not?”
John hesitated. He knew that the colonists knew the risks, just as he'd known the dangers when he’d enlisted in the Royal Navy. But that would be no consolation if someone was seriously injured, perhaps even crippled, by something that could have been cured effortlessly in a proper hospital. There would be hostile news reports, public inquests, questions in Parliament and pressure for the BCS to change its ways. And it would make it harder for Britain to settle more colonies in a time of uncertainty.
“We can only do our best,” he said. “I’m sure there will be more warships heading through this system, particularly once the cloudscoop is established. They’ll want cheap fuel.”
“True,” the Governor said. “But I still worry.”
John kept his thoughts to himself as the Governor showed them the remaining sections, then took them down into the underground tunnels. They looked to have been hacked out by pickaxes, although they had to have been carved by lasers, John decided; it would be years before the walls were smoothed out, then covered with something to hide the scars. By then, there would probably be children growing up in the colony too. Quite a few of the colonists had been selected because they were young married couples.
[Ark Royal 04] - Warspite Page 16