A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5) (3 page)

You should have known better
, he reproved himself, as he glanced wistfully at the hatch.  Several smaller arguments had broken out between various junior officers, all of whom looked prepared to bicker like children for their superior officers.  Military protocol seemed to have gone out the airlock. 
You had to relieve your XO because she was utterly unsuited to the post
.

His wristcom bleeped.  “Captain Naiser,” a voice said, “report to the First Space Lord at 1500.”

John glanced at the time - it was 1430 - then made his way towards the hatch, which hissed open at his approach.  Behind him, the argument had gotten louder; he sighed in relief as he stepped through the hatch and it closed behind him, cutting off the sound.  Outside, a dark-haired woman was waiting, wearing a Commander’s uniform.  John smiled, despite himself, as he recognised Juliet Watson,
Warspite’s
former XO.  Unlike other officers who had been effectively demoted, she didn't seem to bear any resentment.

“Captain,” she said.  She definitely looked happier, now she was in the labs on Nelson Base, rather than a cruiser in deep space.  “It’s good to see you again, sir.”

“Thank you,” John said.  Someone had evidently been coaching her in social graces; absently, he wondered who and why.  “It’s good to see you again too.”

“I’m just waiting for the Admiral,” Juliet said.  “Is he going to be long?”

“They’ve probably started throwing chairs and tables by now,” John said.  He couldn't help being reminded of a bar fight he’d been caught up in at Southampton, years ago.  “Is it anything important?”

“Just to brief him on the progress of our latest experiment,” Juliet said.  “There should definitely be a way to generate a tramline from scratch.”

John frowned.  “Isn’t that meant to be highly classified?”

Juliet shrugged.  John snorted, inwardly.  Admiral Soskice’s inexperience was showing; Juliet should have been assigned to a lab somewhere in deep space, rather than a warship or even Nelson Base.  It was a great deal more secure than the Admiralty on Earth, true, but there were still too many officers and crewmen with low-level security clearances passing through the space station.  And Juliet herself would have been happy with a large computer, a simulator and a handful of trained minions to help her with her research.

“I need to visit the First Space Lord soon,” he said, instead.  “You’ll probably have to wait for the Admiral.  Do you want to wait in the officers’ lounge?”

Juliet nodded, vaguely.  They walked along the corridor and through a large metal hatch. Into the officers’ lounge.  It definitely looked nicer than anything set aside for enlisted personnel, John decided; one wall bulkhead covered with medals, while another held a large portrait of the King and Princess Elspeth.  A third held a porthole that showed Earth rotating below the giant station.  A steward materialised from behind the bar, datapad in hand, ready to take their order.  John ordered tea for himself; Juliet hesitated, then ordered water.  The steward bowed and retreated.

“I heard from Mike,” Juliet said, as they waited for their drinks.  “He was asking if I wanted to meet for drinks.”

John concealed his amusement with an effort.  Mike Johnston was
Warspite’s
Chief Engineer ... and one of Juliet’s few supporters on the ship.  It was alarmingly clear he was sweet on her, something that would have upset the Admiralty if they’d ever found out about it.  John rather doubted that anything had happened, but it was another sign that Juliet had been completely unsuited for her post.  On the other hand, he had to admit, she would probably have had more trouble if she hadn't had Johnston’s support.  Very few people would have risked pissing off the Chief Engineer.

“You should,” he said, finally.  The steward returned and placed two mugs in front of them, then retreated behind the bar.  “It would do you good to get out of the lab for an hour or so.”

Juliet smiled, vaguely.  “That’s what they told me when I was sent to your ship,” she said.

“I suppose they would have done,” John said.  He’d always hated being told that suffering was good for his character, if only because he doubted it was true.  “You’ve been doing better here?”

“There aren’t so many distractions here,” Juliet said.  “I can keep poking away at the problems that interest me, without having to worry about anything else.”

And as long as you stay productive, the Royal Navy will be happy to take care of you
, John thought.  He’d heard all sorts of rumours, most of which were unbelievable, about just how carefully the Royal Navy looked after its tame geniuses.
And if you do come up with a way to create a tramline, they’ll remember you longer than Einstein or Tesla
.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, instead.  “Are you going to see Mike?”

Juliet blushed like a schoolgirl.  John couldn't help thinking she looked pretty, even though he played for the other team.  It was hard to imagine her having a serious relationship with anyone, but maybe it would be good for her.  She simply wasn't very experienced at relating to other people; indeed, she preferred machines to her fellow humans.

“I might,” she said.  “I don’t know.  When are you leaving the system?”

“I don’t know yet,” John said. 
Warspite
had been held at Earth for six months, since her return from Vesy.  He’d spent most of the time defending himself against various admirals, all of whom seemed intent on second-guessing every decision he’d made.  “I think the First Space Lord might be about to tell me.  I’ll let you know so you can make up your mind about going for drinks.”

“Thank you, sir,” Juliet said.  “I’m supposed to remain here for the foreseeable future.”

“We won’t be,” John predicted.  He glanced at his wristcom, then rose.  “I have no doubt something is about to change, yet again.”

Chapter Two

“Bloody protesters,” the driver swore.

Ambassador Joelle Richardson leaned forward as the government car turned the corner and almost ran into a mob of protesters blocking the gates to Downing Street.  She’d heard reports of protests, but she hadn't really believed them, not since large parts of London had been rendered uninhabitable by the alien bombardment.  And yet, there were clearly two groups of protesters marching up and down in front of the centre of British Government; one carrying signs demanding access to Vesy, the other demanding that British resources be lavished on Britain, rather than alien scum.

She sucked in her breath as a line of policemen worked to clear enough of a path through the crowds for the car to reach the gates.  Political protest was far from unknown in Britain, even after the bombardments, but there was an edge to the protests that worried her.  The British population hadn't felt truly threatened since the Troubles, since all hell had broken loose on British streets; now, with large swathes of the country in ruins, it looked as though the public was torn in half.  She hoped - prayed - that both protest movements weren't much larger than they seemed, because if they were ...

It could be the end of us
, she thought, bitterly.  Hundreds of thousands of people had been displaced by the bombardment, their homes destroyed by tidal waves; no one really knew for sure just how many people had been killed outright.  No government could take the risk of sending aid to foreign countries, let alone non-human creatures. 
It could lead to civil war
.

She peered at the nearest signs as the crowds parted to allow the car to pass.  One read HELP OUR STAR BROTHERS, while another read GET THEM BEFORE THEY GET US and NO BLOOD FOR VESY.  Joelle sighed, then glanced at a third sign.  NO MORE DEAD CHILDREN.  A fourth read DOWN WITH THIS SORT OF THING.  She puzzled over what it meant for a moment, then put it aside.  It probably wasn't important.

The car passed through the gates and came to a halt outside Ten Downing Street.  Joelle braced herself as the driver opened the door, breaking the soundproof seal and allowing the two intermingled chants to reach her ears.  It was hard to be sure what they were saying - both groups were shouting loudly enough to deafen an elephant - but she was quite sure that everyone in the area could hear the racket.  They’d definitely know the protesters were upset about
something
.

She sighed to herself, then picked up her briefcase and walked through the door into Ten Downing Street.  Silence fell as the door closed - she allowed herself a moment of relief - then passed her briefcase to a uniformed officer waiting just inside the door.  He took it, waved a scanner over her body, then motioned for her to pass through the inner door, where a young man dressed in a pinstripe suit was waiting.  Joelle nodded to him - she recognised the Prime Minister’s latest assistant from the news - and allowed him to lead her up a flight of stairs and down a long corridor.  Ten Downing Street might
look
like a small house from the outside, but inside the old houses had long since been merged together.

“It must be a relief to move back here,” she said, as they passed a long series of portraits, each one showing a previous Prime Minister.  “I thought it would be longer before Downing Street was reopened.”

“The PM was insistent that we move back as soon as possible,” the aide said.  “He thought it would demonstrate the resilience of the British Government.”

Joelle frowned, inwardly.  She had her doubts; London wasn't what it had been, any more than the rest of the country.  And yet, she had to admit it was a powerful symbol.  Britain was a country firmly rooted in the past, in a history that was long and richly detailed; returning to the very roots of parliamentary democracy was a sign that all would return to normal.  But after the bombardment, and the discovery of alien life, was anything ever truly going to be normal again?

Her briefcase was waiting for her as they walked into the antechamber.  It would have been searched by a security officer cleared for classified materials, although in truth there was little inside that wasn't public knowledge.  The week she’d spent in Geneva, before being recalled, was already the subject of endless discussion on the planetary datanet, as well as hundreds of programmes discussing the pros and cons of working together to confront the Vesy.  Not that the Vesy really
needed
confronting, it was true.  In the end, talks had floundered on the very simple fact that the Vesy were no threat to humanity.  Or, for that matter, to the Tadpoles.

The aide checked his wristcom.  “The PM is currently on the hot line to Washington,” he said, shortly.  “Do you want a cup of tea to catch your breath before you enter his office?”

“No, thank you,” Joelle said.  “I can wait.”

She looked at herself in the mirror, hanging from one wall.  Her long brown hair fell down over a pinched face, one that showed too much of her age.  The suit she was wearing was tailored to showcase both professionalism and her femininity, a subtle message to rogue states that should know better, by now, to show any disrespect to a British Ambassador.  Her lips twitched in droll amusement as she remembered some of the more interesting moments of her long career.  There was definitely something to be said for agitating the rulers of states which regarded women as second-class citizens and kept them trapped in ignorance and slavery. 

It might not be very diplomatic
, she thought, as the aide’s wristcom bleeped,
but it needs to be done.  We no longer need to pretend that such states are actually important
.

The aide opened the door and showed her into the Prime Minister’s office.  Joelle smiled as Prime Minister Steven Goodwill rose from behind his desk to greet her, then held out her hand for him to shake.  He looked tired, compared to the man she’d met briefly before her assignment to Geneva, but grimly resolved to move ahead, whatever the cost.  It was an attitude, Joelle thought, that suited him in his role.

“Prime Minister,” she said.  “Thank you for recalling me.”

The Prime Minister smiled.  “Things keep changing, as you know,” he said.  “Did you manage to get a few days of holiday?”

“Yes, thank you,” Joelle said.  The Foreign Secretary - her immediate superior - had told her to take a few days off to relax, but not to leave the country.  It hadn't been hard to deduce that she was either in trouble or they had a new assignment for her.  “I ended up going to Edinburgh for a few days of rest and relaxation.”

“There are fewer places to go for a rest these days,” the Prime Minister said, dryly.  “Too many beaches utterly destroyed; too many lives completely ruined.”

“Yes, Prime Minister,” Joelle said. 

It was true, she knew.  A proper holiday was a luxury afforded to few these days, not when most of the cheap holiday destinations had either been destroyed or turned into refugee camps.  Even going to Edinburgh had made her feel vaguely guilty.  But she had the feeling she was about to earn her vacation.

“And I trust you have nothing preventing you from leaving Earth?”  The Prime Minister asked.  “No lover?  No long-term commitments?”

“No, Prime Minister,” Joelle said.  In theory, she could be sent well away from Earth at any time and she would just have to suck it up.  But, in practice, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office understood that a distracted ambassador was an ineffective ambassador.  But it had been years since she’d had more than a quick fling with anyone.  Her work ensured she rarely had time to meet anyone on a personal basis.  “I’m as free as a bird.”

“Good,” the Prime Minister said.  “We have a job for you.”

He sat back down and motioned for her to sit facing him.  “You will, of course, be familiar with the talks in Geneva,” he said, once she’d taken her seat.  “Tell me; what are your impressions?”

Joelle took a moment to organise her thoughts.  “There isn't going to be any international consensus on how to proceed,” she said, carefully.  “The Vesy don’t represent a threat to us, so the Solar Treaty doesn't come into play.  I don’t think there will be any agreement to leave them strictly alone, Prime Minister.  It’s much more likely that everyone else is going to make a bid for power.”

“Probably,” the Prime Minister grunted.  He cleared his throat.  “Do you have any other thoughts?”

“Several parties were suggesting, quite seriously, that we destroy the Vesy now, before they can become a threat,” Joelle said.  “I think such suggestions need to be shot down as quickly as possible.”

“That might be difficult,” the Prime Minister said.  “Planning to commit genocide would have been unthinkable, five years ago.  But now, with the damage the Tadpoles did to Earth fresh in everyone’s memory, it may be hard to keep politicians from putting it forward as a serious option.”

“Earth First,” Joelle said.

“They’re not the only ones,” the Prime Minister said.  “There are quite a few groups out there proclaiming the need for human unity in the face of alien threats ... and extreme measures
against
such alien threats.”

He sighed, loudly.  “But that’s not why I called you here today,” he continued.  “The failure to come to any sort of agreement on a joint approach to the Vesy, even just leaving the planet completely alone, has led to a major problem.  Everyone and his dog is currently trying to make their way to Vesy, from governments intent on trying to secure influence among the aliens to NGOs and religious groups keen to influence the development of Vesy civilisation - and, perhaps, steer it in a human-approved direction.  I’ve been trying to stop them, but I have little authority outside the British Commonwealth.  It has led to a rather nasty political argument.”

Joelle remembered the demonstrators and frowned.  “They want to
help
the Vesy,” she said, thoughtfully.  “The protesters outside, I mean.”

“Yes, they do,” the Prime Minister said.  “We could keep a lid on it, Ambassador, if we had the agreement of the other Great Powers.  As it is, we won’t be able to prevent them from heading to Vesy for much longer.  They’ll cause no end of damage to the local civilisation ... which they wouldn't actually consider a disadvantage.  By our standards, the Vesy are barbarians. 
Primitive
barbarians.”

“We have barbarians on Earth too,” Joelle pointed out.

“We gave up nation-building a long time ago,” the Prime Minister said.  “Let them redeem themselves, we said, or remain forever in squalor.  The Vesy, on the other hand ... it’s easier, somehow, to see them as children in need of help.”

He took a breath.  “There’s another problem, of course,” he added.  “The tramlines.  Vesy holds no less than seven tramlines, including one that leads to Pegasus.  Whoever controls the Vesy System will be in an excellent position to dominate the surrounding systems for the foreseeable future.  Simple common sense tells us, Ambassador, that just about every nation on Earth is going to try to take control.  They’ll cut whatever deals they have to cut with the Vesy to gain control.”

“The Vesy will be cheated, Prime Minister,” Joelle said.

“Almost certainly,” the Prime Minister agreed.  “Although, seen from their point of view, even relatively primitive human tech would be a marvel.  A working painkiller alone would be worth billions to them ... coming to think of it, so would something that suppresses their mating scents, allowing their women to enter the workforce in large numbers.  But the point is we cannot allow others to gain an advantage.  We need Vesy allies of our own.”

“We may end up with another Terra Nova,” Joelle said.  “A planet without the united government or the firepower to enforce its control over the tramlines.”

“That would be better, from our point of view, than having a single power in control of the system,” the Prime Minister said.  He shrugged, expressively.  “Not that everyone will agree, of course.”

Joelle considered it.  “We can't claim rights of first discovery?”

“I don’t think we can reasonably claim to have beaten the Vesy to their homeworld,” the Prime Minister said, dryly.  “Besides, it was a rogue Russian ship that stumbled over Vesy, not us.  The Russians don’t have the strength to back up their claim, but they’re trying hard to leverage it to gain advantage elsewhere.  I’ve been hearing rumours about them talking to the Turks and the Indians, perhaps even the Brazilians.”