Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7) (2 page)

Chapter One

“Welcome back, Susan,” Mrs Blackthorn said.  “Or should I call you
Commander
?”

“Susan is fine,” Commander Susan Onarina said, as she clambered out of the car.  “It would feel strange to have you address me by rank.”

“Hanover Towers is diminished by your absence,” Mrs Blackthorn assured her.  “But we are proud of your success.”

Susan kept the doubt off her face with the ease of long practice.  She would have been surprised if Mrs Blackthorn remembered her as anything more than a trouble-maker, one of the girls who had been sent to her for disciplinary action.  Her father had been a much-loved, but rather roguish immigrant, her mother a shop-girl with few prospects ... Susan had been a commoner in a school where a good third of the students had aristocratic, government or military connections.  She had a feeling the headmistress had probably downloaded and read her school reports just so she could pretend to remember Susan.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she lied, smoothly.  School hadn't been
that
bad, all things considered, but she’d never really seen it as a gateway to wealth, power and success. 
That
had come at the Luna Academy.  “And I’m glad to be back.”

She sighed inwardly as she looked up at the towering school.  It had struck her as a castle, when she’d first arrived as a twelve-year-old, but to her older eyes it looked as if its builders had been trying too hard.  Four towers, two for boys and two for girls, surrounding a mansion, set within the Scottish Highlands.  She winced in remembered pain at memories of long hikes over the mountains, although she had to admit that some of them had been almost enjoyable.  There was definitely something to be said for a long walk followed by fish and chips in a cafe near St. Andrews. 

And I never tried to skive off
, she thought, ruefully. 
Father would have been disappointed in me
.

“I’m sure you remember the way,” Mrs Blackthorn said, breaking into her thoughts.  “But I’d be happy to escort you, if you wish.”

“Please,” Susan said.  She rather doubted she’d be allowed to wander the school alone, even if she
had
been invited.  Hanover Towers took its security seriously.  The guards at the gates had checked her paperwork twice and then searched the car before allowing her to enter the complex.  “It’s probably changed since I was last here.”

“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” Mrs Blackthorn said, primly.  “Follow me.”

Susan nodded, curtly, as she caught sight of their reflection in the mirrored door.  They made an odd couple; Mrs Blackthorn prim and proper, her entire bearing projecting the image of aristocracy boiled down to its essence, Susan herself tall and dark, wearing her naval dress uniform and her dark hair tied into a long braid that fell over her shoulder and down past her breasts.  It hadn't been easy to blend in, not when she was the daughter of an immigrant; she’d been sent to the form mistress twice for fighting before she’d found a group of friends of her own.  The Troubles had ensured that the ugly curse of racism still bubbled, just under the surface ...

She sucked in her breath as they entered the Welcome Hall, where a large portrait of Sir Charles Hanover hung in a place of honour, flanked by portraits of King Charles IV and Princess Elizabeth, the heir presumptive to the throne.  Susan had
met
the princess, during a formal visit to the Luna Academy, but she couldn't say she
knew
the lady, while too many of her schoolmates
could
.  She sighed, remembering old pains, and then pushed them away firmly.  Far too many of her former schoolmates had died during the war.

“I’ve arranged for the entire school to be present during your speech,” Mrs Blackthorn prattled, distracting Susan from her thoughts.  “And then I thought you might want to have a more informal chat with some of the older students, the ones contemplating a naval career in the next couple of years.  You can have that in one of the meeting rooms, Susan, and I will have tea and cakes sent in.”

“Thank you,” Susan said, tightly.  It hadn't been her idea to attend. 
Someone
at the Admiralty had noted that she was not only a former student, but on leave and ...
requested
... that she give up a day to visit her
alma mater
and address the students on the wonders of a naval career.  “I’ll do my best to answer their questions.”

Mrs Blackthorn nodded and led her through another wooden door and down a long corridor towards the Great Hall.  Unless something had changed since her time, Susan recalled, students weren't permitted in the staff corridor unless they were escorted by a tutor or given a disciplinary slip.  Being caught in the corridor - or in the wrong tower - would get a student in hot water, but that hadn't stopped the more daring students trying to run through the corridor without being caught.  She’d done it herself a few times before she’d found more interesting ways to get in trouble.

And there would have been no thrill if it wasn't forbidden
, she thought, ruefully. 
Did I really believe that it was daring to run down a corridor
?

Susan smiled at the thought, then pasted a fixed smile on her face as Mrs Blackthorn led her through the doors and into a sideroom.  She checked her appearance in the mirror as the headmistress hastily consulted with two of her tutors, then sat down to wait.  It was nearly twenty minutes before she heard Mrs Blackthorn introducing her to the students, detailing her career in glowing terms.  She made it sound as if
naval commander
meant Susan was in charge of the entire navy!

At least she didn't have the students waiting all morning
, she told herself.  It had happened, more than once, when
she’d
been a student.  The early relief at skipping classes had rapidly been replaced by boredom.  She’d managed to land herself in hot water, the second time, by smuggling an adventure novel into the room. 
I guess I’m not that important
.

She braced herself as Mrs Blackthorn’s speech came to an end, waited for her cue and then strode up onto the stage.  A ripple of applause greeted her as she took the podium and peered down at the students.  They all looked so
young
, wearing the red blazers, white shirts and black skirts or trousers that she recalled from her own schooling.   Boys and girls were firmly segregated, even outside the Great Hall; they attended different classes, ate at different times and slept in separate towers.  Finding a few minutes alone with a potential boyfriend had always been a challenge. 

But it was worth it
, she thought, as her gaze swept the room. 
It was definitely worth it
.

“Good morning,” she said.  She was tempted to make a comment about never giving a speech to an unwilling audience in her life - and then asking if anyone wanted to leave - but she knew it would only get back to the Admiralty.  Mrs Blackthorn would bitch to one of the Old Boys and her career would go into the flusher.  “I am Commander Susan Onarina, former tactical officer on HMS
Cornwall
and currently in line for Executive Officer of HMS
Edinburgh
.  Mrs Blackthorn” - she nodded towards the headmistress - “has asked me to tell you about a naval career.”

She paused, studying the room.  Most of the faces looking back at her, scrubbed clean of make-up or anything that might give their faces a little individuality, were unquestionably white, but here and there were a handful of darker faces, girls and boys descended from immigrants like her father.  The Troubles had a great deal to answer for, she knew; being a young woman without connections at the naval academy would have been quite hard enough without her fellow cadets eying her suspiciously.  Her father had worked hard to be more British than the British and even
he
had never quite been accepted. 
She
had never known true acceptance until she’d passed the Middy Test.

“Apparently, there’s a great deal of wondrous things I am meant to tell you about the navy,” she continued, “and some of them are even true.  You will see sights that no ground-pounder will ever see, if you join the navy, and you
will
get the chance to be part of something far greater than yourself.  I have never regretted joining the navy and I never will.  But I’m not going to sugar-coat it for you.  The navy can also be the hardest, the most dangerous, career in the galaxy.

“Space is unforgiving.  One single mistake, just one, born of tiredness or ignorance, can get you killed.  Two of my fellow cadets, in the first year at the academy, were killed, one through carelessness, one through a mistake on the part of another cadet.  Space doesn't care about the colour of your skin” - she held her dark hand up for them to see - “or about your connections.  The cold equations rule.  If you mess with space, space will kill you.

“If you wish to become an officer, you have to endure four years in the academy, in sleeping compartments which make sixth-year bedrooms look huge.  And then you will have two to three years as a midshipman, sleeping in even smaller compartments.  You will spend half your time as grimy and smelly, if not worse, as you were after completing a ten-mile hike around the countryside.  And then, after you hopefully learn the right lessons, you will be promoted to lieutenant and your career will begin in earnest.

“If you wish to become a starfighter pilot, you will only have a single year of training before you get your fancy uniform and an assignment to a fleet carrier.  But you’ll also have a far greater chance of being killed, if we have to go back to war.  A starfighter pilot has a one in three chance of dying during his first skirmish with the enemy.  And very few starfighter pilots, even if they survive, can build a career in the navy.  My first commanding officer was one of the few - the very few - who did.

“If you wish to become a crewman ...”

Susan paused.  “I doubt that most of you
do
want to become a crewman, but they are the mainstay of the fleet.  It is the
crew
who keep the ship going, not the officers, no matter how much gold braid they have on their uniforms.  And a crewman is often in the best position to make a spacefaring career after they leave the navy.  They’re the ones who master the technical skills merchant ships
need
.

“Life in the navy isn't all fun and games.  Forget the movies,
particularly
the trio starring Stellar Star; life in the navy is hard, dirty and the penalties for mistakes terrifyingly high.  But it’s worth it.  You may be among the first to meet a brand new alien race or you may fight to defend Earth or Britannia if another war breaks out.  Thank you for your time.”

She saluted the students, then turned and marched off the stage as they began to clap, much louder this time.  Mrs Blackthorn shot her a dirty look as she walked back into the sideroom, either out of irritation at how Susan had told the truth or simple annoyance that Susan hadn't blathered on and on for at least an hour, like most of the other guests she’d been forced to listen to as a student.  Now the students would have to be given a free period or sent back to class ...

Mrs Blackthorn entered the sideroom and closed the door, firmly.  “A bit blunt, weren’t you?”

“They can download all the sweet-talking recruitment blather from the datanet, if they wish,” Susan said, reminding herself that she was no longer a student and Mrs Blackthorn couldn’t give her detention any longer.   “I told them the truth.”

“Some of them will give up on the thought of a naval career,” Mrs Blackthorn said, sharply.

“Good,” Susan said.  “A naval life is not for everyone, Headmistress.  We simply don’t have the time, at the academy, to root out those who simply do not belong before they make a mistake and kill themselves.  The natural arrogance of the aristocracy has no place in space.”

She remembered the young girls and boys looking up at her and shuddered, inwardly.  The school’s uniform policy ensured that there were no differences, on the surface, but the rich and well-connected kids had always had an advantage.  Students like Susan had worked hard, knowing that some of their fellow students would always be elevated above their heads, even if their grades were pathetic.  She knew she was lucky not to give in to bitterness ... and that others hadn't been so lucky.  One of her fellow students had deserted his country in the years following the war.