Ark Royal 2: The Nelson Touch Read online

  Fitzwilliam poured tea from a china teapot, then passed the cup over to Ted, who examined it with some interest. The fine china was probably expensive enough to swallow half of his paycheck for the month, he decided, if it could be replaced at all. It felt more like an antique than anything mundane – or Royal Navy issue.

  “My ... one of my ancestors commanded a ship during the Second World War,” Fitzwilliam explained. “His wife, who didn't have a very practical turn of mind, sent him this as a present, apparently in the expectation that he would find a use for it. After he returned home, it was placed into storage. My uncle thought I might find it useful.”

  Ted had to smile. “And what if it was destroyed?”

  “I would presumably have other things to worry about,” Fitzwilliam said. The younger – much younger – man leaned forward. “How was Earth?”

  “Mostly discussions about the aliens and their technology,” Ted said. It had rapidly turned into a waste of time, at least for him. He might have seen the technology in action, he might have a good idea of just how the aliens used it, but he knew nothing about how it actually worked. The engineers could crack the secrets of the alien battlecruiser, given time, yet Ted himself couldn't help them. “And speeches to every last part of the world.”

  He made a face as he took another sip of tea. The human race had been on an emotional rollercoaster since the dawn of the war – the First Interstellar War, as some wags were already calling it. There had been the shock of first contact, the horror and terror after the Battle of New Russia, the delight when Ark Royal had won the first of her victories against the aliens ... the entire population seemed torn between hope and dread. The future no longer seemed quite so full of promise.

  “They gave you one of every medal in the world,” Fitzwilliam said. “They must like you.”

  Ted snorted. It was an exaggeration, but not by much. Every spacefaring power on Earth had given him a medal, including several that had never been awarded to foreigners beforehand. Each award ceremony had forced him to make another speech, followed by answering questions about the Old Lady and the alien battlecruiser, half of which he couldn't answer. It had almost been enough to drive him back to drink.

  No, he told himself, firmly. Fitzwilliam had risked his career to save Ted from the consequences of his drinking. Ted would not let that go to waste. I will not go back to the bottle.

  “I think they just wanted someone to show off,” he said. He placed the cup down on the table, then leaned forward. “I got the basic engineering reports, of course, but I’d like to hear from you. Are we ready to return to war?”

  Fitzwilliam paused, contemplating his answer. “I believe so,” he said. “We have repaired the damaged armour, replaced the destroyed weapons and improved our defences. We’ve mounted enemy-level plasma cannons on our hull, loaded new bomb-pumped laser missiles into the tubes ... in short, we’re as ready to go as possible. All we really need are replacement flight crews.”

  Ted nodded. Half of Ark Royal’s surviving pilots had been reassigned, either to the Academy or other carriers that might soon be going into action. They would be recalled, of course, or replaced, but until they arrived Ark Royal’s striking power would be very limited. But then, compared to the rest of the fleet, she was practically an armoured colossus. Her fighters, missiles and mass drivers gave her a striking power no modern carrier could match.

  “I believe they will be reassigned here in a week or two,” Ted said. He smiled, rather dryly. “The Admiralty has been holding high-level discussions with the rest of the interstellar powers, considering our best course of action now the aliens seem to have been knocked back and taught to fear human weapons. We may well be going on the offensive.”

  Fitzwilliam smiled. “That would be good,” he said. “Better to wage war in their systems than ours.”

  Ted nodded in agreement. The aliens had occupied twelve human systems, three of them with large human populations. Reports from the planetary surface suggested that the aliens were largely ignoring the humans, which was interesting. They didn't seem inclined to either enslave the humans or exterminate them. But they had wiped out the population of smaller mining colonies ...

  He shrugged. It was tempting to believe that the aliens were merely biding their time ... or, perhaps, that they’d realised they might not win the war after all and they’d decided not to commit any atrocities. Or, perhaps, they had their own codes for treating prisoners of war, codes not too different from those followed by humanity. After all, some human enemies had been downright barbaric to their prisoners. It made the aliens look surprisingly civilised.

  “There will be a ceremony in one week,” he said, changing the subject slightly. “I believe we will be playing host to the Prime Minister himself, as well as a handful of foreign dignitaries.”

  Fitzwilliam looked worried. Ted didn't blame him. A serving naval officer would understand that perfection was a hopeless pipe dream, but a politician without any military experience might question an unwashed deck or something else that looked slapdash. It could ruin an officer’s career, no matter how promising it had seemed before the politicians boarded the ship. But it couldn't be helped. If nothing else, they would finally be briefed on whatever operation the joint command had had in mind since Ark Royal returned to the solar system.

  “I’d better get on with preparing for their arrival,” Fitzwilliam said. Politicians couldn't be fed naval rations, even though the crew had to make do with them. They’d need to get some prepared food from Earth and perhaps hire an extra cook or two. “Wonderful.”

  “It could be worse,” Ted reminded him. “We went from a laughing stock to the flagship of the fleet. It's worth having a dinner with politicians to remind us that we’re no longer a joke.”

  Fitzwilliam hesitated, then nodded in agreement.

  Ted smiled. “And how is Commander Williams shaping up?”

  “I think I understand how you must have felt,” Fitzwilliam confessed. “She’s brilliant, very capable ... and ambitious as hell.”

  “A common failing,” Ted observed, dryly. “But can she handle the job?”

  “I believe so,” Fitzwilliam said. “She isn't another Farley.”

  “Good,” Ted said. Abraham Farley had somehow managed to become XO of a carrier without revealing the soft panicky centre at his core. But when there had been a nasty accident and he'd inherited command, he’d panicked and almost lost the entire starship. “I think you should be fine. But keep an eye on her anyway. No one reveals what they are until they are truly tested.”

  Chapter Two

  “Getting what you want,” Captain James Montrose Fitzwilliam’s mother had once told him, “comes with a price. You get what you want.”

  It hadn't made any sense to James at the time. Like most children, he’d liked the idea of getting what he wanted. Sweets or chocolate when he was a young boy, a role in the school play or promotion in the Combined Cadet Force when he was older ... when he’d wanted something, he’d worked towards getting it. But now, with the full weight of command settling around his shoulders, he understood precisely what his mother had meant. He was solely responsible for Ark Royal and her crew. If anything happened to his ship, he would bear full responsibility.

  He stood and watched as the two shuttles settled down in the landing bay, one by one, feeling tension gripping at his heart. He’d grown up in the aristocracy, he had plenty of experience dealing with men who’d inherited or earned their titles, yet he was also very aware that the aristocracy talked. A mistake someone like Admiral Smith could shrug off would haunt James for the rest of his life. But then, the aristocracy was supposed to be a cut above the common man. The British Aristocracy had come far too close to extinction during the troubles and it had no intention of repeating the experience.

  A dull thump echoed through the hull as the second shuttle landed, followed by a dull hiss that indicated the landing bay was being pressurised. James waited until it was safe, then nodde
d to his small party and led the way into the landing bay. They’d been told to keep the reception low-key, but that was relative. There was no way a visit from the Prime Minister of Great Britain, the Vice President of the United States and several senior military officers could go completely unremarked.

  James sucked in a breath as a handful of close-protection specialists poured out of the shuttle, glancing around as if they expected assassins to be hiding in the rear of the landing bay. Not that he blamed them for being paranoid, he decided; world leaders were among the most important terrorist targets in the world, while the aliens themselves would certainly consider them legal targets. His lips quirked in droll amusement at the thought. If the aliens came after Ark Royal and her cargo of politicians, the close-protection specialists would be damn near useless.

  He straightened up as the Prime Minister stepped out, followed by the Vice President. Prime Minister Gordon Bryce was a tall, strikingly handsome man, something that would have impressed James more if he hadn't known that the politician had had his face carefully engineered to produce just the right impression on the voting public. Behind him, Vice President Louis Mayo had the same basic idea, although it was clear that he’d blurred racial traits to make himself a man for all men. The idealistic part of James wondered why people bothered with racism – in any form – when changing one’s skin colour was as easy as cutting one’s hair. His more cynical side suspected that humans had never really needed an excuse to pick on other humans.

  “Welcome onboard, Prime Minister,” he said, taking a step forward. At least Bryce was a strong supporter of the military. The opposition had been calling for cuts in the long-term expansion program for decades. They’d gone remarkably quiet since Vera Cruz. “And you, Mr. Vice President.”

  “Louis is fine,” the Vice President said. He had a relaxed air of informality that didn't fool James for a moment. No one reached an elected position of such high authority without having a very sharp mind and a commendable degree of ruthlessness. “I confess I’m very interested to see your ship.”

  James smiled. Ark Royal wasn't the oldest ship still in active service, but she was definitely the oldest starship operated by a major interstellar power. She might have been outdated, she might have been as manoeuvrable as a wallowing pig, yet she had stood up to the aliens when every modern carrier that had tried to fight them had been ripped apart within seconds. And she was pretty much unique. The two American carriers that had been on a par with her had been scrapped long ago.

  “I would be delighted to offer you a tour,” he replied. “If you would like to follow me?”

  He gave them the sanitized tour, giving them a brief tour of the ship without showing them anything particularly sensitive. The politicians didn't seem to notice, although they asked a number of questions that James did his best to answer. A couple of them related to the hit new series about reporters on carriers, something that made James want to roll his eyes in horror. Clearly, now their tour of alien-controlled space was over, the reporters who’d shipped on Ark Royal were telling everyone at home how brave they’d been.

  “I haven't watched an episode,” he admitted. He had no plans to do so either, not if he could avoid it. The last movie he’d watched that purported to show the Royal Navy in action had made so many errors that he’d snickered his way through the show. “But I’m sure it helped encourage recruiting for the Royal Navy.”

  They wound up in the Officer’s Mess, where the cooks had prepared a small meal. There, they were joined by Admiral Smith and two of his staff, who briefly engaged the politicians in conversation while James took a moment to relax and curse the uniform designer under his breath. It seemed to be a law of nature that dress uniforms were always uncomfortable as hell, particularly when someone could not afford to show discomfort. When he was First Space Lord, James promised himself, he would have the uniform designed to be comfortable first and foremost. Looking snappy could come second.

  “I was surprised that you offered no alcohol,” one of the Prime Minister’s staffers said, as the overly-long meal came to an end. “The Navy isn't dry, is it?”

  “It's a gesture of respect to our American cousins,” James lied, smoothly. It was true enough that the Americans banned alcohol on their starships – they probably had as many problems with illicit stills as the British – but the truth was different. He didn't want to risk encouraging Admiral Smith to start drinking again. “Besides, we will need clear heads for the briefing.”

  “A sensible thought,” the First Space Lord agreed. He lifted his glass of non-alcoholic wine from Mars and cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, the King!”

  There was a brief mutter as the toast was echoed, then the First Space Lord put his glass on the table and leaned forward. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “time is pressing.”

  “Certainly,” the Prime Minister said. “Should we repair to the briefing room?”

  James nodded, issued orders for the Officer’s Mess to be cleared, then led the way into the large briefing compartment. It had seemed too large at first; now, with Ark Royal effectively the most important starship in the navy, it was too small to host everyone who might have to attend a briefing. But there was enough room for the Prime Minister and his party.

  The First Space Lord cleared his throat as soon as everyone had found a seat. “As you know, the war appears to have stalemated,” he said, briskly. “The aliens have made no attempt to expand their positions within human space, while we have been rather unsuccessful at liberating any of the star systems they have occupied. We do not believe that this period of uneasy peace will endure.”

  James nodded in agreement. Humanity had been caught by surprise when the aliens first attacked, but that surprise was long gone. Every major interstellar power was converting its industry to produce supplies for the war, while working out shared protocols for combined operations against the common foe. If nothing else, the alien invasion had done wonders for humanity’s unity and technological development. There were even rumours that the human race was on the verge of a colossal breakthrough in gravity-manipulation technology.

  “Furthermore, attempts to open diplomatic relationships with the aliens have failed,” the First Space Lord continued. “We know nothing about the alien society, from how they’re governed to what they want ... and why the war actually started. In short, we appear committed to fighting to the bitter end.”

  Admiral Smith leaned forward. “There has been no progress with the alien prisoners?”

  “None,” the First Space Lord said. “Oh, the scientists tell me they’re making progress on unlocking their biology, but we haven’t been able to talk to them at all. We can't tell if they’re deliberately refusing to talk or if we’re simply not getting the message across to them.”

  He paused. “Since your cruise through the New Russia system, we’ve kept pinging spy probes into the system to keep an eye on the aliens,” he continued. “They have discovered that the aliens are massing a sizable force near the planet, including fifteen carriers and a number of ships of unknown capabilities. Intelligence believes that the aliens intend to drive on Earth. I don’t need to tell you, I think, that losing Earth would prove disastrous.”

  James nodded. Earth held roughly sixty percent of humanity’s industrial base. Losing it would shorten the war significantly. Worse, perhaps, it would also make it harder for the various human colonies to coordinate their actions with one another. The aliens would be able to deal with them, one by one, after they recovered from taking Earth.

  The First Space Lord looked around the room. “The Earth Defence Command has been considering the problem,” he said. “It believes that the only way to deal with the threat is to go on the offensive and strike into alien space directly. We can force them to react to us for a change.”

  James met Admiral Smith’s eyes. They’d been in alien-controlled space, but they knew next to nothing about its internal layout, let alone the location of the alien industria
l nodes and their homeworld. And it was impossible to escape the feeling that the aliens knew everything about humanity’s star systems. Their assault on humanity had neatly isolated a number of smaller colonies and taken New Russia out of the game.

  “Lieutenant Phipps will brief you,” the First Space Lord concluded.

  Lieutenant Harold Phipps stood up and took control of the display system. He was a surprisingly young man, but there was a definite hint of intelligence in his eyes. James guessed that Phipps had shown a talent for intelligence work in the Academy and had been fast-tracked into either Naval Intelligence or MI6. James disliked intelligence officers on principle, but he resolved to give Phipps a chance to prove himself. Besides, it wasn’t as if they had much else to go on.

  “My department has been taking the lead on analysing the computers on the alien starship you captured,” Phipps said, bluntly. “It has been an incredibly frustrating experience. Parts of the system are badly damaged, probably through an attempted core purge, while other parts are completely incompatible with our technology. Recovering data has been a long slow process.”