Ark Royal 2: The Nelson Touch (33 page)

North smirked.  “I’m sure the Russians loved the publicity ...”

“I’m going for a walk,” Henry said, before their argument could get out of hand.  He’d sometimes wondered if North and Tammie were attracted to one another, despite regulations forbidding any form of intimate relationship between pilots.  “You two have fun, now.”

“Take your communicator,” Tammie called after him.  “You don't want to be caught without it.”

Henry nodded and checked he was still carrying the device on his wrist.  If there was an emergency order to scramble – which seemed unlikely, but one never knew – he’d be in deep shit if he was caught without it.  If he had to run back to the launching tubes ... well, if the aliens didn't kill him the Wing Commander would have a damn good try.  He stepped through a pair of closed hatches – with the entire ship on alert, airlocks had been closed throughout the ship – and walked up towards the observation blister.  Somehow, he wasn't surprised when he stepped through the hatch and saw Janelle sitting inside the blister, staring at the blue-green orb of Target One.

“We’re going to have to come up with a better name for the world,” he said, as he closed the hatch.  The welcoming smile Janelle gave him made his heart spin in his chest.  “Target One sounds so ... awkward.”

“Most worlds have a name in their own language,” Janelle pointed out, as she rose to her feet and gave him a quick hug.  It was a gesture of true physical affection, Henry realised.  In a way, he knew he would treasure it more than any of the more intimate activities he’d indulged in over the years, because it was honest and freely offered.  “We just stick with the English versions for interstellar communications.”

“True,” Henry said, sitting down facing her.  He’d been to France once and offended his hosts by calling New France New France.  It was called something different in French, but his language skills were marginal and he could barely speak a handful of words in other languages.  “What do you think the aliens call it?”

“Wet, perhaps,” Janelle said.  “Maybe they call their homeworld
Water
.”

It took Henry a moment to understand the joke.  “Like we call our homeworld Earth?”

“Exactly,” Janelle said.  She nodded towards the orb overhead.  “It’s a pretty world, isn't it?  I was looking at the reports from the biologists.  There are plants from three different worlds there already, they think, but human crops could be added quite easily.  We could
live
there.”

“As long as the aliens didn't kill us,” Henry pointed out.  “Do they really understand English?”

“We don’t know,” Janelle said.  She looked down at the deck, embarrassed.  “No one is quite sure if they understood the Admiral’s warning or if it was just a coincidence.  The Admiral had to speak quite sharply to one of the scientists, with a threat to throw him in the brig if he tried to put any of his ideas into practice.”

Henry looked over at her.  “His ideas?”

“He wanted to force the aliens to talk by making them uncomfortable,” Janelle said.  “His theory was that making them suffer would teach them to talk to us, just so they could tell us to stop.  It isn't the first such proposal, sadly.”

“I heard rumours,” Henry said.  There had been great expectations when the first alien prisoners had been brought back to the solar system.  Everyone had assumed that the communications barrier would soon be broken.  But as time wore on, nothing seemed to have been developed at all.  The aliens had kept their mouths firmly closed.  “But I heard nothing concrete.”

Janelle shook her head, running her hands through her long dark hair.  “The Russians have been pressing for sterner measures since New Russia was invaded,” she said.  “I heard that they even threatened to take the POWs by force and start interrogating them in a Russian complex.”

Henry stared at her.  “Really?”

“It’s hard to tell,” Janelle admitted.  “The Russians are quite fond of issuing threats, but there are times when they’re just making noise and times when they actually mean them.”

“Doing that, now, would destroy the alliance,” Henry pointed out.  “Surely they wouldn't be so damn insane ...”

“I think they’re desperate,” Janelle said.  She looked up at him.  “Much of their space-based industry and investment was concentrated in New Russia.  The losses they took were staggering; we lost a couple of carriers, but they lost a great deal of investment.  I suspect that they’d have had a major financial collapse if the other powers hadn't stepped in to help.”

“I recall,” Henry said.  “I read it on the datanet.”

He felt a twinge of guilt at the lie, even though he had had no choice.  The information hadn't been on the datanet.  It had been one of the many pointless briefings he’d been given, back when they’d been trying to talk him out of joining the Royal Navy as a starfighter pilot.  The Earth's economy was odd, now that there were out-system colonies, but a major financial crash in Russia would probably have done serious damage to everyone else.  Just what the PR staff had expected him to do about it was beyond him.  Dress up in sackcloth and wait for people to start hurling tomatoes?  It wouldn't have been the stupidest idea they came up with either.  Hell, they seemed to believe that a grovelling apology from a royal would turn away wrath.

“And they haven't been able to liberate New Russia either,” Janelle added.  “And even if they did, they would still be in considerable trouble.”

“So they start hunting for desperate measures,” Henry said.  He stood and walked over to the transparent blister, staring out at the stars.  “They’re mad.”

“Sounds that way,” Janelle agreed.  She stepped up behind him.  “I’m sorry for your losses, Charles.”

“Me too,” Henry said.  He’d known several of the dead pilots personally.  Part of him exulted at having survived when others had died, part of him cursed himself for being so damn unfeeling.  The dead pilots had had family and friends, men and women who would miss them now that they were gone ... most of whom didn't even have the slightest idea the pilots were dead.  “Does it get any easier?”

“No,” Janelle said.  “But you do go on, regardless.”

There was something in her voice that caught at him.  “Why?”

“My grandfather used to say that you always had to go on,” Janelle said.  “But he
didn’t
go on, not really.  He applied for citizenship, got it and never left again.  My father ... was more than a little embarrassed by our heritage.  And I ... I went into the Royal Navy and joined the Old Lady’s crew.”

Henry lifted an eyebrow.  He’d spent months learning to master the expression.  “Why
did
you join the crew before the war?”

“My grandfather’s ass was saved by the Old Lady,” Janelle said.  She reached out and touched the transparent blister, her fingertips seeming to hang in space against the stars.  “He was one of the first settlers on the New Haven Colony – they wanted to be completely independent from the rest of the universe, particularly Earth.  And then they had a major environmental failure and screamed for help.”

She smiled, but the expression didn't quite touch her eyes.  “It was the Royal Navy who responded,” she said.  “Sticking with the Old Lady when there was a chance to get a slot onboard her seemed a worthwhile use of my career.”

“It must have been one hell of a gamble,” Henry said, mildly impressed.  Serving on
Ark Royal
, prior to the war, had been a good way to lose any chances of promotion one might have had.  “Or were you just
that
devoted to the ship?”

“It seemed a good idea at the time,” Janelle admitted.  “And besides, it worked out in the long run.”

Henry couldn't disagree.  Being Flag Lieutenant to the Royal Navy’s most famous Admiral would open a great many doors for Janelle Lopez.  She’d meet many powerful politicians, officers or aristocrats, including Captain Fitzwilliam himself.  If she went into command track after her stint as Flag Lieutenant, her record would ensure she had a shot at commanding a starship of her own.  Or she could continue to shepherd the Admiral’s career and develop a position as the power behind the scenes.  Some of the most effective people in Britain’s Civil Service had done wonders without anyone ever learning their name.

And, quite by accident, she’d struck up a relationship with the Heir to the Throne.

Or was it an accident?  Even if she hadn't been told directly, she might well have been able to deduce the true identity of Charles Augustus.  In hindsight, it was far too obvious; he might as well have stuck with Charles Welsh.  But it had seemed a good idea at the time. 

If I ask her, she might lie
, he told himself. 
And merely asking the question would be far too suspicious if she doesn't know who I am
.

Janelle leaned forward.  “Charles?”

Henry hesitated, thinking hard.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I was light years away.”

“You certainly looked like it,” Janelle said.  “Penny for your thoughts?”

It hurt to lie, somehow  But he had grown far too used to lying over the years.

“I was thinking of the coming battle,” he said.  “They’re not going to let us just sit here and threaten their planet without a fight.”

“We haven't seen hide or hair of them for two days,” Janelle pointed out.

“That probably means they’re plotting something
really
bad,” Henry said.  He didn't fear death, not really.  Part of him would almost welcome it; God knew there had been times when he’d considered suicide in the past.  But losing the rest of his friends – and Janelle – would hurt.  “Or gathering a big enough hammer to smash us to pieces with a single blow.”

“Maybe,” Janelle said.  “Why worry about it?”

Henry had to admit she had a point.  “How long do we plan to stay in this system if the aliens don't boot us back out?”

“The Admiral was talking about a month,” Janelle said.  “I believe the researchers were even asking to be allowed to stay behind, if we had to leave in a hurry.  But no one expects to have that much time, really.”

Henry agreed.  Even assuming there were no deployable alien forces closer to Target One than the front lines, the aliens could probably scramble forces to Target One in a handful of days.  And, even when the front lines were some distance from Earth, the human race had never significantly reduced the planet’s defences.  There was just too much chance of the aliens launching a brutal raid on the planet.  Logically, the aliens should feel the same way and race to reinforce Target One as quickly as possible.

“I’d be surprised if they left us in peace for a couple more days,” he said.  “Have we found anything under the waves?”

“The probes have been observing alien cities,” Janelle said.  “Haven’t you seen the pictures?”

Henry shook his head.  “No,” he said.  “Just the planet itself.”

“They look like ... well, farms,” Janelle said.  “But they also looked remarkably strange to human eyes.  In some ways, the aliens may even be hunter-gatherers on a colossal scale, rather than settling down and growing their food like we do.  Makes you wonder, doesn't it, what sort of culture they took to the stars?”

Henry couldn't disagree.  Several different human societies had started to establish bases in space, but only the ones who were flexible – and understood the value of basic maintenance – had been genuinely successful.  Janelle’s Grandfather might have suffered an unfortunate accident, yet quite a few other settlements had suffered accidents because the inhabitants hadn't bothered to replace the life support filters on a regular basis or – in one case – evicted the hired help on the grounds that any of the inhabitants could do the same job and probably better.  The videos taken when American Marines had boarded the asteroid had made everyone who’d seen them sick to their stomach.  Everyone inside had literally suffocated to death.

“They might just move from star system to star system, without ever settling down,” he mused.  “Or they might see us as a potential threat because we block their wandering path.  But we could have bloody come to some agreement if only they would deign to
talk
to us!”

He looked over at her.  “Are they actually
intelligent
?”

Janelle frowned, daintily.  “It seems impossible to imagine someone building starships and space stations without
some
form of intelligence,” she mused.  “And besides, they have tactics and attack plans instead of just charging at their targets and slaughtering madly.”

Henry had hunted when he’d been a younger man.  It wasn't politically correct, which was at least partly why he'd done it.  Chasing through forests on horses, hunting foxes ... he’d been a staunch supporter of the genetic engineers who had wanted to design far more interesting creatures to hunt, before the media had managed to embarrass them into taking their research to Sin City.  But some of the foxes had shown a certain cunning that had sometimes embarrassed the humans chasing them.  A couple had even managed to sneak around and escape their would-be killers.

But they weren't truly intelligent, he knew.

“I don’t know,” he said, finally.  “But it just seems odd that we will never be able to talk to them.”

“We don’t know that,” Janelle said.  She put her hand on his shoulder and spun him around to face her.  “And you don’t have to worry yourself over these matters.”