The Trafalgar Gambit

Christopher G. Nuttall

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Cover by Justin Adams

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Cover Blurb

Humanity is losing the war.  The once-mighty space navies have been crippled, officers and crew have been stretched to the limit and Earth herself has come under heavy attack.  The end cannot be long delayed.  For Admiral Smith and the crew of HMS Ark Royal, the stakes have never been so high.

The one hope is to make contact with alien factions that might oppose the war.  But, as Ark Royal sets off on a desperate diplomatic mission, it rapidly becomes clear that there are both human and alien factions that wish to fight the war to the bitter end - and that her previous missions have sown the seeds of success ... or total failure. 

[Like my other self-published Kindle books, The Trafalgar Gambit is DRM-free.  You may reformat it as you choose.  There is a large sample of the text – and my other books – on my site: chrishanger.net.  Try before you buy.]

Prologue

(Heinlein Colony; Two Years Before Vera Cruz.)

“Well,” Ira said.  “Aren’t you glad you came all this way?”

Jill Pearlman hesitated, then glanced out over the water.  The sun had set hours ago, but the moonlight illuminated a warm lagoon, with water lapping gently against the sandy shore.  It was completely isolated from the colony five miles to the south, largely unseen by human eyes.  Ira had boasted he was the first person to set eyes on the lagoon.

“Yes,” she said, shaking her head.  “But did we have to come all this way?”

Ira grinned at her, his teeth gleaming white against his dark skin.  “Yup,” he said.  He turned, then moved towards the beach.  “Come on!”

Jill watched him run, shedding clothes as he moved, then blinked in surprise as she realised he’d stripped himself completely bare.  His ass winked at her as he paused on the very edge of the shore, then splashed into the water.  She hesitated, unsure if she wanted to skinny-dip, then ran after him, almost tripping over his trousers and the gun he’d left on the beach.

“It’s warm,” he called.  “Come on in!”

“Coming,” Jill said.  

She removed her shirt and trousers, then hesitated before adding her bra and panties to the pile of clothing.  Ira was fun, and she knew her parents approved of him, but she wasn't sure she wanted to allow their relationship to get so intense so quickly.  And yet ... she pushed her doubts to one side and splashed into the water.  It was warmer than she’d expected, now the sun had gone down.  But it was definitely lovely.

“I told you so,” Ira said, as she swam out to meet him.  His eyes flickered to her breasts, then looked back at her face and remained fixed there.  “It’s lovely out here.”

Jill let out a sigh as she flipped over and stared up at the rising moon.  She'd pitched all sorts of fits when her parents had announced that the Heinlein Society was setting up its own colony world – and that they would be among the first colonists.  They’d wanted to leave overpopulated and overregulated Earth, but all Jill had been able to think about was leaving her friends behind.  And Earth’s facilities.  She’d fought, for nothing.  

And I’m glad I lost, she admitted, in the privacy of her own mind.  This isn't Earth.

The colony was only three years old, but the settlers had already created a number of farming settlements, including the homestead Jill and her family worked.  Life was slower than it was on Earth, without entertainment movies or VR downloads, yet there was something about it that made her feel content, something she’d never truly felt on humanity’s homeworld.  And her relationship with Ira felt better, more wholesome, than anything she’d had on Earth.  She didn't feel any pressure to move faster or to have loveless sex with him ...

She turned and smiled at Ira, then dived under the water and swam away from him, daring the young man to follow.  Heinlein had few higher forms of life; the settlers had introduced various breeds of fish as well as cows, sheep and pigs, monitoring their progress as they swarmed and multiplied in the endless oceans.  Jill had been told that, one day, they would be able to fish as much as they liked, but for the moment they were restricted in what they could take from the waters.  Not that she really cared, she had to admit.  She preferred lamb or beef to fish.  

Ira caught up with her as she stopped and rested her feet on the sandy seabed.  Jill turned to reach for him ... and froze as the moonlight revealed something in the water.  For a moment, she was convinced she was seeing things.  Heinlein had no sharks or dolphins, nothing that might be dangerous to human swimmers.  And yet ... the water ripped where the shape had been, just under the surface.  Something was definitely there.

“What?”  Ira asked.  He was more sensitive than any of the boys she’d known on Earth, more able to read her moods.  “Jill ...”

“Look,” Jill stammered.  The shape seemed to be growing larger.  “What is that?”

Ira turned, just in time to see the shape burst through the surface and out into the open air.  It looked humanoid, but it clearly wasn't human.  Jill screamed in shock as it faced them, one long leathery hand reaching out towards the humans.  Water dripped from its skin as it stared at then, as shocked to see the humans as the humans were to see them.  Jill shivered, feeling suddenly cold, then started to back off towards the shore.  Heinlein had no higher life forms, she knew.  And yet she was staring at evidence of ... what?

“Get back to shore,” Ira said, through clenched teeth.  “Hurry!”

They’d been stupid, Jill realised, as she splashed through the water.  It suddenly seemed very difficult to move.  They were so far from the colony homesteads that they couldn't hope to attract attention, no matter how loudly they shouted.  Behind her, she heard Ira calling out to the creature, trying to speak to it.  Jill reached the shore and turned, just in time to see the creature advancing towards Ira.  Panic overcame her and she ran for his clothes, then scooped up the gun in one hand.  Her parents had drilled her again and again until she was an excellent shot, cautioning her that she might need to be able to defend herself one day.  But they’d never envisaged this ...

Ira started to back off ... and the creature followed him, its leathery hands waving frantically, as if it were trying to say something.  But Jill couldn't hear a sound, apart from a very faint rasp that echoed unpleasantly on the air.  She couldn't understand what she was seeing.  Was the creature actually intelligent?  Or was it a previously undiscovered form of life?  The planet was big, after all.  There might be anything outside the colony’s walls.

“Get back to the farm,” Ira ordered.  “Tell them about ...”

He stumbled and fell backwards into the water.  The creature kept advancing towards him, its hands reaching out as if it intended to pick him up and carry him into the deep waters.  Jill shouted, but the creature showed no reaction.  Desperately, she lifted the gun, snapped off the safety and fired, just once.  The creature stumbled as her bullet struck its head ...

... And collapsed back into the water.

Chapter One

The devastation stretched as far as the eye could see.

Admiral Sir Theodore Smith stared down as the shuttle made its way towards London, struggling to keep his face and emotions under control.  Like all of the officers and crew in the Royal Navy, he had sworn an oath to put himself and his body between his country and war’s desolation.  But the scene below the shuttle was proof that he and his fellows had failed to keep Britain safe.  The country had been devastated.

He sucked in his breath as he looked down at what had once been towns and cities, fertile countryside and harbours.  The aliens hadn’t targeted British soil directly, but it had hardly mattered.  They’d landed a massive warhead in the Atlantic Ocean, which had triggered tidal waves that had washed over Britain and Ireland, Spain and Portugal.  No one had anticipated an attack on such a scale, not even after Vera Cruz.  Uncounted millions were dead, millions more were unaccounted for.  The country hadn't suffered devastation on such a scale in all of living memory, if ever.  Not even World War II had come close to slaughtering so many British citizens.

A feeling of horror, mixed with despondency, grew in his breast as he tracked the passage of the tidal waves eastward.  Penzance and Cardiff, Bristol and Bournemouth, had been drowned beneath the massive tidal waves. The Brecon Beacon National Park, where the British Army had put its recruits through hell for hundreds of years, had been washed away into nothingness.  Only the presence of Ireland, he knew, had kept more of the western coastline from being drowned under the waves.  And yet the devastation had still not come to an end.  So much water had been vaporised and thrust into the upper atmosphere that it had yet to stop raining over parts of the country.  Floods were an ever-present threat.

He’d seen pictures, of course, broadcast over the datanet by reporters eager to claim the first scoops from the devastated zone.  There were images of horror, of dead bodies piled up as the tidal waves receded or looters making their way into the devastated areas to loot, yet those images hadn't seemed quite real.  Devastation on such a scale was far beyond his imagination, even though he’d been a serving naval officer for what felt like an eternity.  And yet, now, he knew he wasn't even looking at the worst of it.  Far too many countries had lost millions of lives in the wake of the alien attack on Earth.  And entire complexes in space had been destroyed with all hands.

Down below, he knew, there were thousands of refugee camps for survivors, policed by the military.  There had been nothing like it in Britain since the Troubles – and even the Troubles, at their worst, had been on a much smaller scale.  The social fabric that made up the British nation had been badly damaged, perhaps shattered.  He’d accessed news sites as the shuttle made its way towards Earth, only to discover a non-stop liturgy of horror.  Food riots, protests against refugees ... outright defiance of the government’s authority.  No matter how he tried to be optimistic, part of him couldn't help wondering if he was looking at the final days of mankind.  

The devastation faded slightly as the shuttle picked up speed, heading towards London, but it wasn't normal.  Floods covered large tracts of land, a small army convoy made its way through devastated fields and a large refugee camp covered what had once been a farm.  If the Troubles hadn't taught the government the wisdom of making sure Britain could feed itself, Ted knew, it would have been a great deal worse.  But it was already bad enough ...

He sighed as London came into view, then winced in horror as he saw the flooding.  London had always been vulnerable to floods, but the safety precautions seemed to have failed in the wake of the alien attack. Or perhaps it was the rain, part of his mind noted.  London was on the wrong side of the country to have a tidal wave marching up the river, smashing everything in its path.  One of the datanet interviews had been with a scientist who had claimed the aliens had deliberately set out to melt the icecaps.  Ted couldn't help wondering why the aliens would have bothered.

But they live below the waves, he thought, as the shuttle slowed to a hover over London, then dropped down towards Heathrow Spaceport.  They might see advantage in drowning the human race, then taking our world.

Raindrops splashed off the shuttle’s portholes as it touched down, sending shivers running down Ted’s spine.  He’d travelled in space, even flying cloudscoop missiles through Jupiter’s atmosphere as a young man, but he’d never been comfortable flying through the rain.  He knew it was safe, yet part of him had always been scared.  It was funny how he’d never had any problems in space ...

He rose, then looked towards his travelling companion.  “Lieutenant?”

Lieutenants Janelle Lopez looked up at him, her eyes dead and cold.  Ted felt a flicker of pity, despite the certain knowledge there were people outside the shuttle who were far worse off.  Janelle had blighted her career through pressing for assignment to Ark Royal, the Royal Navy’s outdated space carrier, when assignment to Ark Royal was normally reserved for officers and crew the Royal Navy couldn’t be bothered to discharge.  She might not even have been promoted if Ark Royal hadn't proved to be the only ship capable of standing up to the aliens in open battle.  And yet she’d proved herself under fire ...

But it isn't her service that brings her to London now, Ted thought, as he helped her to her feet.  The fire had gone out of her when she’d discovered her lover was dead – and who he’d really been.  And I wouldn't have brought her here at all, if it had been up to me.

“Come on,” he said, gently.  “It’s time to face the music.”

The hatch opened, revealing puddles of water gathering around the shuttle.  Ted hesitated, then let out a sigh of relief as a pair of armed soldiers appeared, one of them carrying a spare umbrella.  Ted took it, then used it to cover both himself and Janelle.  The soldiers looked thoroughly wet and miserable as they beckoned Ted to follow them towards the terminal buildings.  He couldn’t help noticing that the spaceport was largely disused, despite the urgent need to bring supplies into the city.  Two of the terminals seemed to have been converted into makeshift refugee camps.

“There’s a VIP transport for you, sir,” one of the soldiers said, once they’d checked IDs against a central database.  He pointed to a large black car, waiting just outside the terminal, with an armed escort on either side.  “You’ll be taken directly to Downing Street.”

Ted swallowed as he saw the soldiers.  “Is it really that bad out there?”

“It’s worse,” the soldier said.  His voice was dead, as if he had been pushed to the limits of his endurance and there was nothing left, but duty.  “If the flood levels keep rising, we’re going to have to move millions more people out of London to higher ground.  Damned if we know how we’re going to do that, sir.  We had a riot in Soho yesterday that saw several thousand people dead.  We had to stack the stiffs in a pile and use lasers to burn the bodies to ash.”

Ted nodded, unsurprised.  There was no way that millions of dead bodies could be stored for later identification, not now.  Hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of people would never be accounted for, their fates utterly unknown.  The prospect of never knowing what had happened to his family gnawed at him, yet he knew there was no choice.  Thousands of decomposing bodies would spread disease at horrifying speed.

He climbed into the rear of the car, then settled down and watched as the driver started the engine and followed the soldiers out into the streets.  London was awash with water, even on streets he would have thought immune to flooding.  It had been years since he’d driven in London, but he was fairly sure the driver was taking the long way round.  But then, if some streets were impassable he would have no choice.

“My God,” Janelle said.  It was the first thing she’d said since boarding the shuttle.  “Look at it!”

Ted followed her gaze.  It had once been a park, he was sure, a place for young children to play while their parents watched.  Now, it was a muddy refugee camp, with prefabricated buildings providing limited shelter against the rain.  The refugees themselves were largely older citizens, young women or children.  The young men, Ted knew, would have been drafted to help with the floods.  Many of the refugees had torn clothing, nothing more than whatever they’d been wearing when the attack began.

“We’ve been having some problems feeding them all,” the driver said, as he drove past the camp and down towards Downing Street.  “I believe there are plans to move them all to Scotland, but no one really knows if it will ever happen.”

Ted shuddered, remembering some of the disaster management plans he’d seen during his stint at the Admiralty, after his promotion.  None of them had made encouraging reading – and, judging from the scene before him, they’d simply been swept away by the pressure of events.  Some of the plans had even talked about triage, about allowing the elderly to die while lavishing what resources were left on the young men and women who would be required to rebuild the world.  He couldn't help wondering if the system was no longer capable of even separating out the younger men and women and sending them out of danger.

But there is nowhere safe these days, he thought, morbidly.  The aliens could return at any moment to finish the job.

The thought was a knife in his heart.  Operation Nelson had been a success, tactically speaking.  Ark Royal and her multinational task force had hammered the aliens, smashing dozens of alien starships and occupying – for a few long days – an alien world.  It had been a tactical masterpiece.  But they had returned home to discover that Earth had been attacked, millions of humans were dead and that the war might be on the verge of being lost.  A second attack on Earth might prove disastrous.

He frowned as the car turned into Downing Street, catching sight of the protestors at the far end of the road. Some of them waved banners demanding more food or supplies for the refugees, others preached genocide and demanded attacks on alien worlds.  Ted understood what they were feeling; he had to admit, in the privacy of his own thoughts, that he shared the desire for revenge.  But he also knew that mutual destruction would be pointless.

But how can we come to terms, he asked himself, when they don’t even talk to us?

The car came to a halt outside Ten Downing Street.  Armed policemen, their faces grim and pale, checked their IDs again before allowing them to exit the car and run up the steps into the very heart of British Government.  Inside, it felt curiously musty and abandoned, as if the vast army of civil servants who made the government work had been withdrawn.  It was quite possible they had, Ted knew.  The contingency plans had insisted on establishing a command and control centre some distance from the disaster zone, even if the Prime Minister and the Monarch remained in London, symbolically sharing the plight of their people.  But it wasn't quite the same.

“Admiral Smith,” a voice said.  Ted looked up to see a man in an elegant black suit.  “I’m Giles Footswitch.  The Prime Minister is waiting for you.”

Ted placed the name as they passed their coats to the equerry, then followed Giles Footswitch through a solid metal door and down a long flight of stairs into the secured bunker that served as the Prime Minister’s command and control centre.  Cold air struck him as they reached the bottom of the stairs and passed another pair of armed guards.  Inside, the conference room was nearly empty.  The Prime Minister sat at one end of the table, staring down at the latest set of reports.  His face was so pale that Ted couldn't help wondering just how long he’d been hiding out in the bunker.

“Prime Minister,” he said, carefully.

“Admiral Smith,” the Prime Minister said.  He rose, then stepped slowly towards Ted.  “I must apologise for the welcome or lack thereof.”

“I understand,” Ted said.  The normal ceremonies when an Admiral visited Downing Street had to be put to one side, under the circumstances.  “I ...”

“Take a seat,” the Prime Minister interrupted.  He turned, then returned to his seat.  “The others will be here soon, I think.”

Ted obeyed, motioning for Janelle to take the seat next to him.  The Prime Minister’s eyes rested on her for a long moment, then he looked away with a very visible shrug. Ted understood.  Normally, the lover of Prince Henry would be a subject of considerable political importance, but now it hardly mattered.  Millions were dead, millions more were missing ... there was no time to worry about the Prince’s former girlfriend.  And the Prince himself was dead.

“I wanted to thank you for your service,” the Prime Minister said, quietly.  “It may have been overshadowed, but I still want to thank you.”

“Thank you, Prime Minister,” Ted said.  “We did our duty.”

“Others will disagree,” the Prime Minister said.  His voice betrayed no trace of emotion, beyond a deadness that was more worrying than outright hatred.  “You should be ready for it.  Love can turn so quickly to hate.”

Ted nodded.  He’d been a complete unknown before the war.  After the first battles, he’d become a household name all over Earth.  His fame had been great enough for there to be no other prospective commanding officer for Operation Nelson, despite having a reputation as a drunkard.  Indeed, he’d beaten alcohol’s grip on his mind.  But now ... there was no hiding the fact he’d been hundreds of light years from Earth when the planet was attacked.  It was quite possible that the men and women who had loved him before the start of Operation Nelson now hated him for not being there.

He looked at the Prime Minister and sighed, inwardly.  The man was utterly exhausted, sitting in a bunker, cut off from half of his staff and struggling to cope with a crisis that could bring Britain to her knees.  That had already, in many ways, crippled the entire country.  Ted was tempted to suggest that the Prime Minister took a nap, perhaps with a sedative pill, but he knew the Prime Minister wouldn't want to do anything of the sort.  He was just far too aware of his role as elected leader of the country.

“The bunker network was badly damaged by the flooding,” the Prime Minister said.  It was such a total departure from the previous line of conversation that it made no sense.  “We worried that the entire network would be flooded before realising that it was largely safe.”

“Yes, Prime Minister,” Ted said.

“I stay here because of the danger,” the Prime Minister added.  He sounded almost as if he were pleading for understanding, or forgiveness.  “No one has ever presided over such a disaster, not ever.”

Ted shared a long look with Janelle.  The Prime Minister sounded as if he were losing the ability to think clearly under the pressure. It would be hard to blame him, Ted knew, but right now the country needed clear-sighted thinkers, not tired politicians.  But there was no way he could say that out loud, not to the Prime Minister.  

“Prime Minister, the latest figures are in,” Giles Footswitch said.  “I ...”

“Leave them,” the Prime Minister ordered, quietly.  There was no room for dispute in his tone.  “We can go over them later.”

Ted felt the silence grow until it felt truly awkward, but held his peace.  The Prime Minister clearly agonised over each and every death, asking himself if there was something he could have done to prevent the slaughter.  Even now, more men and women – British citizens – were dying, some though starvation, some through being caught looting. By contrast, Giles Footswitch didn't seem to understand that each of the figures had a name and story behind it, or maybe he’d just chosen not to think about it.  At some point, the numbers became so high that they were just ... statistics.  It was impossible to truly comprehend the sheer weight of the losses the country had suffered overnight.  To try to understand was to court madness.

He looked up as the door opened, revealing the First Space Lord and a man wearing a General’s uniform.  Ted didn't recognise him.  Both of the newcomers looked tired; the First Space Lord, in particular, wore an expression of numb shock. Ted couldn't help fearing for his life, once the immediate crisis had come to an end.  It was the Royal Navy that was responsible for protecting Britain from attack and it had failed.

“Gentlemen,” the Prime Minister said.  “Please, be seated.”

He sounded more in control of himself now, Ted noted, as a handful of other men and women entered the bunker.  The Leader of the Opposition – Deputy Prime Minister, for as long as the War Cabinet remained in session – sat facing the Prime Minister, the others took whatever chairs were available.  Janelle shifted uncomfortably beside him, clearly unhappy at being at the same table as so many high-ranking politicians and military officers.  But there was no time to move her out of the room.

“General Steward,” the Prime Minister said.  “You may begin.”

Chapter Two

“I’ve been in worse places,” Wing Commander Kurt Schneider said, just loudly enough to be heard.  “Haven’t I?”

“It sure isn't the Academy,” Rose pointed out.  His lover looked visibly ill-at-ease, something she’d never shown before.  “This is a foretaste of hell.”

Rain crashed over the ATV as it crunched its way towards the refugee camp.  The camp itself looked alarmingly like a POW camp, perhaps one of the detention centres that had been set up during the height of the troubles and used to house everyone the government of the time hadn’t liked.  It was surrounded by barbed wire and guarded by armed soldiers, none of whom looked very pleased to be standing in the mud, rain dripping off their uniforms.  And, behind the wire, there were a dozen prefabricated colonial buildings, providing emergency shelter for thousands of refugees.

The ATV screeched to a halt, allowing Kurt to see the inside of the camp clearly.  Hundreds of refugees milled around, almost all of them women, their faces bleak and hopeless.  The only men in the camp, he saw, were very old men or very young boys.  A news report they’d picked up on the way in had stated that men from twelve to fifty had been conscripted into the armies of labourers trying to help keep back the floodwaters.  He said a silent prayer for his son as he stood up and made his way towards the hatch.  Percy might have been doing well in the CCF, but he hadn't been remotely prepared for the greatest disaster to hit Britain in centuries.

But then, none of them had been prepared for the alien attack.

Outside, rain lashed down from high overhead, turning the ground into a sea of mud.  Tiny rivers of water ran downhill, adding their weight to the floods growing in the valley, drowning human homes and farmland under an endless tide.  He shuddered, recalling the farms that had once supplied his country with food.  No one had been short of food since the Troubles, since the British Government had worked hard to ensure the island could feed itself, once again.  But now there were food shortages everywhere.  The emergency food supply had never been designed for a crisis of this magnitude.

Rose scrambled out behind him, struggling to unfurl her umbrella as the rain intensified, drenching her uniform jacket.  Kurt allowed her to cover him as they walked towards the gate, where four soldiers stood with loaded weapons.  The reports had also warned that two refugee camps had been overwhelmed by looters, who’d killed and kidnapped girls as well as stealing food supplies and vanishing into the countryside.  Kurt swallowed inwardly as the soldiers raised their weapons, clearly ready to shoot.  The entire country was under martial law.

“Identify yourself,” one of the soldiers snapped.

“Wing Commander Kurt Schneider,” Kurt said.  He held up his palm, allowing them to scan the implant inserted into his right hand.  It contained both his naval ID and his travel authorisation, something that bothered him more than he cared to admit.  He’d never needed authorisation to travel anywhere within Britain before the war.  “I have an appointment.”

The soldier relaxed, slightly.  Kurt had never been a groundpounder, but he’d worked closely enough with both the army and the Royal Marines to recognise a soldier from the Territorial Army, probably someone – like Kurt himself – who had done his time and not expected to return to the uniform.  But everyone with military experience had been called back to the colours after Vera Cruz, after humanity had realised it had a new and deadly enemy on its hands.

“There are rules,” the soldier said.  He waved a hand towards a tiny building just inside the gate.  It was no larger than a heavy-lift shuttle.  “You may go no further into the camp than there, sir.  Your family will be brought to you.”

Kurt stared at him, puzzled and alarmed.  “Why?”

“We’ve had too many people trying to sneak in and abuse the refugees,” the soldier said, as he motioned for his mates to open the gates.  “There were some quite nasty incidents until we sorted out the problem cases from the ones who could actually follow orders.  Things will get worse before they get better.”

He snorted, rudely.  “And we had some MP come around a day or so ago to make a speech to the refugees,” he added.  “Fucked if I know what he had in mind, sir.  But the refugees almost lynched him after the third condescending promise to address their concerns as soon as possible.”

Kurt swallowed.  The thought of his daughter in a place like this was almost more than he could bear.  Penny was sweet and young and innocent and ... trapped.  Their home was gone, washed under by the tidal waves or floods.  Kurt himself would be expected to return to Ark Royal within the day, where he would resume his duties.  It all seemed so pointless if he couldn't look after his children.  And his wife was gone.

The thought gave him a pang as he stepped through the gates and looked around, taking in the handful of refugees who sat in the mud with listless expressions.  It was painful to admit that Molly and he had been growing apart for years, even before he’d been recalled to duty, but it was something he had to face.  Their last face-to-face meeting had been far from pleasant: Molly had once held social ambitions and she’d thought the award for Kurt’s role in capturing an alien starship would help her to achieve them.  But the money had been running out long before the aliens had attacked Earth ...

And he had no idea what had happened to his wife.  There were countless millions missing, utterly unaccounted for; Molly could be dead in a ditch, her body buried under piles of mud, or she could be in one of the refugee camps, so completely out of it that she hadn't even been able to give her name.  And why hadn't she been with the children when the shit had hit the fan?  Where had she been when the first missile struck the water and sent tidal waves washing out in all directions.

“Kurt,” Rose said softly, “do you want me to wait outside?”

Kurt hesitated.  He had no idea how he would introduce Rose to his daughter, let along what the two women would make of one another.  To Penny, Rose would be the Other Woman, the person who had broken up her parents relationship.  It wouldn't be true – not entirely true, he had to admit – but he doubted they would get along.  And yet, he needed her support more than he cared to admit.

“I think you’d better come in,” he said, as they reached the solid metal door.  “But let me do the talking.”

He hadn't been sure what to expect in the visiting chamber, but inside it was nothing more than a damp room with muddy trails on the floor.  There were no chairs or tables, merely a sodden rug that someone had put on the floor and then used to try to wipe up the mud.  Kurt looked around, hoping to see something that would make it look less like a prison cell, but saw nothing.  In the end, he leaned against the metal wall – it felt like a starship’s bulkhead – and tried to relax.  But it didn't take.  He’d faced the aliens in combat without flinching, he’d chewed out the Heir to the Throne himself, yet part of him just wanted to run now.  He didn't want to see what living in a refugee camp had done to his daughter.

The door opened again, revealing two girls.  Kurt started, then remembered that the babysitter – practically a live-in maid – had been trapped in the refugee camp too.  Molly should have taken care of her children, the nasty part of his mind noted, before it was washed away by a sudden surge of love and pity.  Penny looked ... old, as if she’d grown up way before her time.  Beside her, Gayle Parkinson didn't look much better.

Kurt was across the room and wrapping his arms around his daughter before his mind had quite realised what he was doing.  Penny smelt ... unpleasant, as if she hadn't been able to wash for several days.  The trousers and shirt she was wearing were two sizes too large for her, while her long blonde hair lay in unwashed strands.  Her face was tired and worn, just like Gayle’s.  And she clung to him as if he was her only hope.

“Dad,” she said, finally.  Tears were streaming down her face.  “I ... I thought you would never come.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt whispered, cursing himself.  He should have refused the call to return to duty, or simply deserted after it had become clear that Molly was neglecting the children.  It might have been possible to transfer to one of the squadrons defending Earth, if he couldn't leave the military altogether.  “I’m so sorry.”

He should have been with his children, he told himself.  He should have been with them as they struggled to escape the tidal waves and find safety elsewhere.  He should have escorted them deeper inland, perhaps to their grandparents home in the Scottish Highlands, well away from the floods.  Or perhaps they should have moved to one of the asteroid settlements that were heading out of the system at STL speeds.

Penny shuddered against him, then started to cry, a sound that tore at his heartstrings.  She hadn't cried like that since the day she’d managed to get lost in the countryside, when she’d been a little girl.  Beside her, Gayle flopped down and sat on the muddy floor, her torn shirt showing far too much of her breasts.  Rose knelt down next to her, then started to chat to her gently.  Kurt ignored them as best as he could.  Penny was trying to speak.

“The ground shook,” she said.  “The water came so quickly we didn't have time to run.  All we could do was get upstairs and pray.  The house is ruined.”

“It doesn't matter,” Kurt said.  He smirked, suddenly.  The emergency legislation rushed through Parliament would make sure they wouldn't have to continue paying the mortgage now the house was effectively destroyed.  “All that matters is that you’re safe.”

“We ran as soon as the waters fell away,” Penny said.  “We didn't know where to go, so we tried to head uphill.  The rain came soon afterwards, catching us in the open.  There were men all around us and ...”

She shuddered again.  Kurt stared, wondering just what had happened – and wondering if he dared ask.  The news from Britain alone was a non-stop liturgy of horror.  Law and order had broken down completely in vast swathes of the country, despite martial law and the deployment of armed soldiers.  Refugees had been beaten, raped, shot or simply driven away by locals who considered them nothing more than plagues of locusts.  Had his daughter been threatened ... or raped?  He didn't want to know.

He shuddered, too.  Normally, there would be therapists to help children overcome the horrors of their past.  He’d never thought too highly of them even before he'd joined the military, where there was often no time to reflect on previous battles.  But now, he would have happily taken Penny to see a psychologist, except there weren't any.  The millions of refugees would have to come to terms with their experiences on their own.

“We ended up here, eventually,” she concluded.  “The army took Percy at once, told him that he had to help build dykes.  I haven’t seen him since.  Gayle ... stayed here with me, but we were told she might have to go to another camp when they move us away from here.”

“I’ll do something about that,” Kurt promised, although he wasn't sure what he could do.  The emergency services were utterly overwhelmed dealing with the crisis.  “What happened to your mother?”

“I don't know,” Penny said.  “She wasn't in the house when we had to flee.”

Kurt cursed Molly under his breath.  Where the hell had she been?  Why hadn't she been with her children?  There should have been enough warning for her to get back home before the missiles started to strike the planet itself.  But then, the road, rail and air transport networks would have been shut down as soon as the aliens entered the system.  It was possible that she’d tried to make it home and failed.

And she’d left her children in the hands of a babysitter not much older than themselves.

“I wish I’d been there,” he said, truthfully.  But what could he have done?  Beaten his wife to force her to do as he wanted?  “What do you do here?”

“Nothing,” Penny said.  She waved a hand listlessly in the air.  “There's nothing to do here, apart from sit in the mud.  No games, no toys ... I saw a mother slap her daughter when she kept complaining about not having her VR headset.  Others kept offering to go build dykes themselves, just to get out of the camp, but the soldiers refused.  They said we have to stay here.”

Kurt understood.  The population of Britain had been sharply reduced by the aliens.  Young women who could bear children had to be protected at all costs, while men – inherently less vital – could be sent out to labour on the front lines.  But it was still unpleasant to think of his daughter being kept in the camp, earmarked to serve as a brood mare if the population didn't recover naturally.  He couldn't help wondering if female naval personnel would also be required to serve as mothers, even if they wanted to put their careers first ...

You’re exaggerating, he told himself.  It isn't that bad.

But it could be, he knew.  The population of Britain before the attack had been seventy million, thanks to a steady rate of emigration to Britannia and the other British possessions outside the Solar System.  Now ... the most optimistic estimate suggested that ten million civilians had died in the attack, with millions more likely to die in the coming months as sanitation broke down and disease spread widely.  Or food supplies ran out, or were murdered by their neighbours, or shot under martial law ... his imagination provided too many possibilities, none of them good.  It was his duty to protect his children and he’d failed, miserably.  

There was a sharp knock on the door.  “Visiting hours are over,” a harsh voice snapped.  “Get your arse in gear and get out of here.”

“I wish I could take you with me,” Kurt said.  A mad scheme crossed his mind – take his daughter back to the spaceport, then ship her to Ark Royal – but he knew it would never work.  And it would probably get himself put in front of a court martial board and shot.  “I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

“I understand,” Penny said.  She was trying to be brave, but he could see just how scared she was underneath.  “And please give Percy my love.”

“I will,” Kurt said.  He’d sent Percy a message, but there was no way to know if he’d read it, not now.  “But if you see him first, give him my love.”

He winced at the thought.  The planetary datanet had been sharply reduced ever since the attack, something he had thought to be impossible.  Once upon a time, there had been nowhere on the planet where someone couldn't log into the datanet and do everything from send v-mails to download VR simulations for their headsets.  Now ... Penny’s world had been sharply reduced, until all she knew was inside the wire.  She couldn't send a message to her brother, let alone her friends ... if any of them were still alive.  He didn't want to know.

Penny held him for a long moment, then started to cry again.  Kurt kissed her forehead, then gently disengaged her from his body and half-carried her towards the door.  Outside, the rain was falling harder.  The predictions he'd seen, he recalled as he put Penny down, had suggested that it would be weeks before all the vaporised water in the upper atmosphere finally washed its way to the ground.  He watched the two girls as they hurried back towards one of the shelters, then turned and walked back through the gates to the ATV.  The soldiers saluted as they climbed into the vehicle and left.

“She offered herself to some thugs,” Rose said.  There was a sombre tone in her voice, very unlike her normal demeanour.  “They would have raped them both otherwise.”

It took Kurt a moment to realise she was speaking of Gayle.  “I didn't know,” he said, wondering why Penny hadn't told him.  But she wouldn't have wanted to talk about it, would she?  “I ...”

He shook his head.  “I’m going to request reassignment,” he said, shortly.  “I don’t want to go back into interstellar space, not now.”

Rose frowned.  “You may not have a choice,” she said.  She sounded understanding, but also concerned.  “Kurt ...”

“I don’t care,” Kurt said.  He’d practically deserted his family when the call-up came.  Now, there was no one left to look after his children.  “My family ... I can't leave my daughter here, not now.  I’m damned if I’m going back into space when I can take her somewhere else.”

He turned and looked out the window as the ATV drove down a road that had once been considered a safe place to learn to drive.  Now, it was awash with water, just like the refugee camp.  He shook his head, then nodded in grim resolution.  Penny was not going to stay there, no matter what he had to do.  She was his daughter ...

... And he’d failed her enough already.  

Chapter Three

“The situation is grim,” General Stewart said.  His voice was almost emotionless, but there was a strong hint of Lancashire in how he spoke.  “We are facing the greatest crisis in British history.”

Ted listened carefully as the General outlined the situation.  The western part of the country had been badly hit by tidal waves, apart from the parts shielded by Ireland, and millions of people had been displaced.  It was worse in Ireland, the General noted, but that was no consolation.  Food supplies were stretched to the limit, law and order were breaking down and entire regions had slipped out of governmental control.  Several cities had been effectively smashed flat.

“Gloucester and Winchester have been effectively annihilated,” the General droned.  He nodded to the map, showing the path the waves had taken as they slammed into Britain.  “A number of rivers have broken their banks and may even change course permanently, ensuring we can no longer even rely on our maps.  Farmland has been ruined, farmers have been displaced and the rain is making it hard to coordinate relief efforts.”

“We cannot expect any help, either,” the Prime Minister said.  “The Americans have lost most of their ports along the eastern seaboard, making it harder for them to send emergency food supplies to us.  France and Germany escaped the worst of the blows, but have their own problems with the rain.”

Ted nodded, unsurprised.  Any government that prioritised assisting another country’s population over its own would be in deep trouble with the electorate, if it lasted long enough to face a general election.  It was quite likely that Britain would be unable to hold an election for several years, at best.  The entire country had been thoroughly shaken up and there was no census, no idea how many voters had survived or where they were living.  It was a nightmare.

“The situation isn't much better in space,” the First Space Lord said.  “The aliens hit the cloudscoops orbiting Jupiter as well as a number of asteroid-mining and shipbuilding facilities.  We’re facing a shortage of HE3 at the very moment we need it desperately to power our fusion reactors.  Given enough time, we could rebuild and draw on cloudscoops in the settled star systems, but I don’t think the aliens will give us time.”

“I can't disagree,” Ted said.  The aliens had pounded Earth’s orbital installations badly, crippling the human race’s ability to produce new starships and weapons of war.  There were other shipyards outside Sol, he knew, but the aliens might go after them next.  “But they didn't follow through their offensive to actually take Earth.”

He looked down at his hands, thinking hard.  In hindsight, Operation Nelson had been easy – too easy.  It was clear, now, that a sizable portion of the alien fleet had been tasked with attacking Earth, perhaps even seizing the planet if the defenders had been overwhelmed.  He ran through the possible course vectors in his head, trying to decide if Nelson had forced the aliens to attack ahead of time or if it had distracted them from taking Earth.  But there was no way to know.

“The bottom line,” the Prime Minister said, “is that the war is on the verge of being lost.”

Ted sensed Janelle tensing beside him.  He knew how she felt.  Defeatism wasn't something the Royal Navy tolerated, not since the dark days before the Troubles.  But cold logic suggested the human race was in deep trouble.  The aliens had crippled humanity’s ability to make war, while their own industrial base was undamaged.  Combined with their frighteningly advanced technology, they had a very definite advantage that would only grow more pronounced as the war raged on.

Japan, he thought, recalling history lessons.  Japan had launched a war – two wars – against the United States, but in neither case had the Japanese been able to prevent the American industrial base from making good America’s losses and then burying the Japanese under a tidal wave of mass production the Japanese had simply been unable to match.  Midway wasn't the battle that had doomed Japan for the very simple reason Japan had been doomed by the decision to go to war.  And yet ... the Japanese had believed they had no choice.

And the aliens have more settled worlds than us, he thought, morbidly.  Does that give them a larger industrial base?

“The tactical analysts were very interested in your reports from Target One,” the First Space Lord said.  “In particular, they were interested in the suggestion the aliens have more than one political faction.”

Ted straightened in his chair.  “Yes, sir,” he said.  “The data does seem to support that conclusion.”

“They even attempted to open communications with us,” the First Space Lord added.  “Do you believe they are potential allies?”

“Unknown, sir,” Ted said.  “We simply don’t have enough data to speculate.  They may be a national grouping in their own right or they may be an oppressed minority, hoping we will save them from their enemies.  They may be able to assist us or they may be unable to do more than provide us with limited intelligence.”

“Intelligence is something we need,” the First Space Lord mused.  “We have been unable to get anything out of the prisoners, Ted, and our work on their computer systems have produced more questions than answers.”

Ted nodded.  They’d pulled a starchart out of the alien computers that had led Ark Royal and her task force to Target One, but they hadn’t learned anything about alien political factions ... assuming, of course, it wasn't an elaborate trick.  Most of the data they’d accessed was meaningless gibberish, he’d been told, something utterly useless without the key to read it.

The Prime Minister cleared his throat.  “It has been decided, however, that opening communications with Alien Faction Two may well be our best chance for survival,” he said, shortly.  “Admiral Smith; you and a small task force will be charged with travelling to alien space and attempting to open communications with the aliens.”

“Yes, Prime Minister,” Ted said.

He had no illusions.  There was no easy way to tell the difference between Faction One and Faction Two, save by watching and waiting to see if the alien ships opened fire.  They’d be poking their way through alien space once again, utterly unaware of where they were going or what was waiting for them, hoping and praying to get lucky.  It didn't strike him as a suitable military strategy at all.

But it was also the only one they had.

He took a breath.  “Will we be travelling alone?”

“Politically, the world is divided,” the Prime Minister said.  “It is unlikely anyone will commit any major starships to the new task force.  No one has broken ranks openly, at least not yet, but there have been dark rumblings that some nations are considering trying to broker private deals with the aliens.  They might prefer to be Churchill rather than Petain, but ...”

He shrugged, expressively.  Ted had no difficulty understanding his meaning.  It was better to resist than to be a collaborator, but if resistance was truly futile why not be a collaborator and hope for a chance to regain independence in the future?  He wondered, absently, which nation would be the first to jump ship and sell out to the aliens.  Japan?  The Japanese had been hit by worse tidal waves than the UK.  Russia?  They’d been tapped out by the war.  Or France?

But the French fought well in both Operation Nelson and the Battle of Earth, he thought, crossly.  They’re not going to betray us now.

“I believe they may assign diplomats to the mission,” the Prime Minister said.  “But I don’t expect them to make a full commitment.”

“They’ll put home defence first,” the First Space Lord rumbled.  “It will be hard enough avoiding panic when people realise we sent Ark Royal away again.”

“Yes, sir,” Ted said.  

“There is a second aspect to your mission,” the Prime Minister said.  He nodded towards one of the men Ted didn't recognise.  “Doctor Russell?”

Ted studied the man thoughtfully.  He didn't look like a doctor – and, if he was a doctor, why wasn't he out on the streets, helping the wounded?  Doctor Russell wore a black suit, somehow managing to look elegant even in the bunker, and had shaved his hair close to his scalp.  His eyes were hard and cold.

“I trust that everyone here is cleared for this information,” Doctor Russell said.  His voice was as cold as his eyes.  “I shouldn't have to remind you that certain matters are classified well above most security clearances ...”

“Everyone here is cleared,” the Prime Minister snapped.  “And besides, it may not be long before the truth comes out.”

“Yes, Prime Minister,” Russell said.  He nodded to Ted.  “As you know, one of the great successes of the Ark Royal’s first long-range mission was to recover a number of samples of alien life from their colony world, both living and dead.  The living aliens were transported to a secure facility on Luna where they were examined, while we attempted to communicate with them.  In the meantime, the dead aliens were transported to another facility on the edge of the Solar System.”

Ted felt a chill creeping down his spine.  Whatever Doctor Russell was about to say, he suspected, he wasn't going to like it.

“Our principle purpose was to crack the alien genetic code and untangle the mysteries of their biology,” Doctor Russell continued.  “Our secondary purpose was to develop a biological weapon that could be used against them, if necessary.”

Janelle gasped.  She wasn't the only one.  It was clear, Ted realised, that several of the people at the table, the men and women trying to steer Britain through the greatest crisis in British history, hadn't heard anything about the project until now.  The Leader of the Opposition looked particularly shocked.  Even the First Space Lord looked disgusted.

“This was not an easy task,” Doctor Russell continued.  If their reaction surprised or annoyed him he showed no sign of it.  “The alien biology is completely different from anything native to Earth.  We might have prayed for a War of the Worlds scenario, where our diseases bring them down, but it is flatly impossible.  Our diseases will not infect them under any circumstances.  However, we did find something new.”

The Leader of the Opposition looked revolted.  “Are you saying you developed something that will kill them all?”

“We believe so,” Doctor Russell said, flatly.  “I’ll spare you the details.  Suffice it to say that we uncovered alien germs and viruses within the alien bodies and cultivated them ourselves, then modified their genetic codes to make them more dangerous.  The aliens should have no natural resistance to the newly-created disease.”

Ted shuddered.  Humanity had managed – barely – to prevent the genetically-engineered disease genie from getting out of its bottle.  God knew there had been several terrorist plans to build tailored diseases to wipe out everyone they didn't like, with the diseases targeting physical features like black skin.  But there was so much intermingling these days that such a disease would almost certainly spread out of control.

On one hand, he had to admit, a virus targeted on the aliens would be unlikely to infect humans.  But, on the other hand, the aliens would definitely retaliate in kind.  

“This is madness,” the Leader of the Opposition snapped.  “You’re talking genocide.”

“I’m talking survival,” Doctor Russell said.  “The aliens started this damn war.  They haven’t told us what they want; hell, we can't even surrender to the bastards.  If it’s a choice between them or us, who do you want to survive?”

General Stewart looked grim.  “Can you guarantee the aliens will be affected by your disease?”

“I believe it will work,” Doctor Russell said.  “But ...”

The General held up a hand.  “I am not qualified to discuss the morality of using biological weapons tailored to exterminate an entire race,” he said.  “Perhaps the Archbishop of Canterbury would be better placed to give us a ruling.  However, there are a number of practical problems.  For a start, we give our military personnel tailored boosters to make it harder for them to get ill.  How do we know the aliens don’t do the same?”

He went onwards before Doctor Russell could interrupt.  “And then we would have to infect one of their settled worlds,” he added.  “How do we do that, practically?”

Doctor Russell glared.  “I was planning to infect one of the POWs and return him to an alien world ...”

“Hell, no,” Ted said.  “You’re talking about abusing a prisoner in our custody ...”

“I’m talking about survival,” Doctor Russell snapped.  “What do our moralities matter when we’re staring at the end of the line?”

Ted met his eyes.  “The situation isn't disastrous,” he said.  “Not yet.”

“It will be,” Doctor Russell predicted.

The Prime Minister cleared his throat, loudly.  “The deployment of biological weapons – and strikes against the alien civilian populations – will be held as an absolute last resort,” he said, firmly.  “However, we will need to continue to research such weapons, just in case.”

He turned to face Ted.  “Admiral, you will be assigned a new task force and a diplomatic mission,” he said.  “I expect you to depart within the week.”

“Ark Royal requires at least a month of heavy repair work,” Ted said, evenly.  The aliens had proved disconcertingly adaptable.  Having discovered their weapons didn't damage the Old Lady’s hull they’d copied a human weapon that did and deployed it with great effect.  “And her crew will need time to rest, recuperate and come to terms with everything that’s happened since their return to Earth.”

“Time is not exactly on our side,” the First Space Lord said.  “I suggest you expedite matters as much as possible.”

Ted sighed.  Ark Royal was heavily armoured, her saving grace when the aliens had attacked her with plasma weapons that had ripped modern carriers to shreds.  They could blow weapons and sensor blisters off her hull, but not harm her innards.  And yet, the heavy armour that had protected the carrier was also a weakness when it came to repairing the ship after the battle.  The armour had to be cut off and then replaced piece by piece.

“We’ll do our best, sir,” he said.

“You can have first call on yard services and engineering crewmen,” the First Space Lord promised.  “And whatever else you need.”

A few hundred more carriers just like her, Ted thought.  It was clear the aliens had chosen their weapons carefully, intending to slice through human naval fleets like a knife through butter.  And it would have worked, too, if Ark Royal hadn't remained in service.  The aliens had evidently missed her when they'd done their survey of human space.  But it would be years before another heavy carrier joined the fleet.

“Doctor Russell and his team will accompany you,” the Prime Minister said.  “If negotiations fail, or simply don’t get off the ground, you may need them.”

Ted felt sick.  The whole concept of biological weapons was obscene.  It was the sort of nightmare the Royal Navy was meant to stop, not seriously consider deploying.  And yet, even putting morality aside, was there any guarantee the weapons would spread to the entire alien population?  Ted rather doubted it.  Humanity had dozens of settled worlds; the aliens, if their records were to be believed, had more.  They’d slaughter one planet’s population, but the remainder of the alien race would survive ... and know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that humanity had tried to exterminate them.

“Yes, Prime Minister,” he said.  If nothing else, he could make sure that Russell and his team didn't do anything stupid – or anything likely to make the war worse than it already was.  “I won’t let you down.”

The Prime Minister nodded.  “You have another appointment, Admiral,” he said.  He rose to his feet, signalling the end of the meeting.  “The King wishes to speak with you – both of you.”

Ted winced, feeling Janelle’s sudden apprehension.  Some bastard in the crew – and Ted intended to keelhaul the blighter when he figured out who – had leaked the news of her relationship with Prince Henry to the media.  And some other bastard in the media had spread it far and wide, perhaps calculating the British public needed a diversion after the alien attack had devastated large parts of the country.  It was thoroughly absurd, all the more so with millions dead and millions more lost without trace, but the media had still tried to lay siege to Ark Royal anyway.  The only explanation that made at least some sense was that the reporters were trying to pretend that everything was normal.

Idiots, he thought, as the room rapidly emptied.  Nothing will ever be normal again.

“Yes, Prime Minister,” he said.  It wasn't as if they could decline an invitation from the King, no matter how much his young aide would have preferred to avoid it.  “It will be our pleasure.”

The Prime Minister smiled tiredly, perhaps recognising the lie.  “Good luck, Admiral,” he said.  His voice was utterly tired, tired and depressed.  He’d been in charge during the greatest disaster to hit Britain, ever.  No matter how many decisions he made, the ultimate resolution wouldn't come from his office.  “We need to end this, as quickly as possible.  Whatever we have to do ...”

Ted nodded, understanding the Prime Minister’s dilemma.  Peace with the aliens would come at a price, of that he was sure.  And the aliens – or Faction One, at least – had never shown any interest in talking.  Biological warheads might be the only way to force the aliens to the peace table ... or at least ensure that humanity remained alive to mourn the genocide that had been wrought in its name.  He knew that to be true ...

But he didn't like it.  And he hoped he never would.

Chapter Four

One of the curses of being born into the Royal Family, Prince Henry had decided long ago, was that one was expected to visit other countries and pretend to like them.  It wasn't so bad when visiting a modern country like America or France, but a less-developed or traditionalist country could be an uncomfortable place to visit.  He still had nightmares about the water houses in Malaysia, where there had been no air conditioning, or the tents in Southern Arabia where his staff had been strictly segregated by sex.  And complaining hadn't been allowed, no matter how uncomfortable or unpleasant it became.  It had been one of the many things he’d hated about his life.

But he had to admit it was also good practice for being an alien prisoner.

He lay naked on the uncomfortable bed, staring up at the transparent canopy.  Outside, thousands of brightly-coloured fish swam through the water, showing no fear of the aliens or – for that matter – the human in the cell.  And it was a cell, he knew, even if there were no locked doors or handcuffs.  The only exit involved swimming through murky water and somehow getting up to the surface before he drowned.  Henry knew he was a good swimmer, but he would never be as good as the aliens.  They drew oxygen directly from the water through their gills.

The cell wasn't exactly uncomfortable, although the aliens didn't seem to understand what humans needed to survive and prosper.  They hadn't provided him with any clothes, either out of a misplaced paranoia over what he would do with them or through a simple lack of awareness that humans needed clothes.  The aliens never wore clothes, as far as he could tell, at least outside combat situations.  Given their biology, it was quite likely they had never developed any form of nudity taboo.  Henry had rapidly grown used to being naked in front of his visitors.  It helped that they were very definitely not human.

He sat up as water splashed around the entrance, then swung his legs over the side of the bed as an alien clambered up into the compartment.  As always, the alien seemed largely uncomfortable in the cell, even though the atmosphere was warm and moist enough to pass for Malaysia.  He couldn't help comparing its movements to a strange mixture of wet dog and wetter seal, before it turned to peer at him with bulging, utterly inhuman eyes.  Henry had the feeling that bright light would disorientate the alien – its eyes were designed to see underwater – but there was no way to be sure.  He didn’t have anything, apart from his wits.

“Greetings,” the alien said.

Henry rose to his feet and affected a bow.  “Greetings,” he replied.  “Have we seen each other before?”

“Yes,” the alien said.

There were humans, Henry knew, who would have been offended by the suggestion that every member of a particular ethnic group looked alike.  And it was stupid; it was quite easy to tell the difference between two different humans.  The only exception to that rule, at least in Henry’s experience, was an asteroid where every single person was a clone of the asteroid’s founder or his wife.  But the aliens didn't seem to care.  They all looked alike to him and, no matter what he did, he had never been able to even tell the difference between male and female aliens.  

They might have the same problems with us, he told himself.  

The alien seemed to flow into a sitting position.  “Sit,” it ordered.  “Please sit.”

Henry nodded, wondering just where the aliens had learned their English.  His best guess was that they had recovered a tutoring console, perhaps from Vera Cruz or one of the other smaller colonies out along the rim of known space.  They seemed to have a good grasp on the basic structure of the language, but they had real problems with understanding the differences between requests, commands and warnings.  And that, he suspected, was just scratching the surface.  It was possible that humans and aliens would never come to understand one another.

He sat cross-legged and faced the alien, wondering just what the alien saw when it looked at a human.  A faceless monster, an animal ... or another intelligent being?  Humans saw monsters when they looked at aliens, Henry knew, although he wasn't sure how much of that sensation had been dictated by experience.  He was looking at a representative of a race that had devastated several worlds, occupied more and taken countless humans as prisoners.

“You will explain your government, please,” the alien said.  “How do they come into power?”

Henry hesitated.  It was hard enough explaining democracy, let alone the strange combination of meritocracy and aristocracy that made up the British Government.  He rather doubted he could make it comprehensible to the aliens.  But he had to try.

“When we want to select new leaders,” he said, “we ask people to support them.  The person with the most votes wins the election and becomes the leader for the next few years.”

There was a long pause.  He wondered, suddenly, how the aliens handled their government.

“Explain your government,” he ordered.  It had taken him some time to realise that the aliens responded better to bluntness than politeness.  He wasn't sure if they didn’t need the social lubricant politeness provided for humanity or if words like ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ confused them.  They’d certainly never punished him for asking questions or being rude.  “How does it work?”

“All talk,” the alien said.  “All decide.  All do.”

Henry frowned, puzzled.  Was the alien being deliberately evasive or was it unable to express its true meaning in English?  Or was he simply not understanding what he was being told?

He took a breath.  Weeks – he thought it was weeks, although it was hard to be sure – of captivity had left him uncertain of anything.  It was growing harder to recall that there had ever been a world outside the cell, where he’d struggled to be a starfighter pilot and achieved his dream, only to be captured by the aliens.  And the aliens didn't have the slightest idea who they’d caught.  He’d been careful not to say anything that might suggest his true identity to them.

“I understand,” he said.  If the alien was feeling talkative, he could at least try to learn something from it.  “Why did you decide on war?”

The alien moved, oddly.  Henry wished, not for the first time, that he knew how to read their body language.  A human might have been laughing at him or preparing to throw a punch, but the aliens were completely inscrutable.  He braced himself and pressed onwards.

“Your people attacked us,” he said.  “Why?”

“Attacked.  Us,” the alien said.  As always, the computer-generated voice was completely atonal.  “You.  Attacked.  Us.  Faction for war won.”

Henry felt his eyes narrow.  There was certainly evidence the aliens had more than one faction; he’d been at Target One when the aliens had fired on one of their own ships.  But what had the War Faction won?  And why did they think humanity had attacked them first?

“We didn't even know you existed until you attacked us,” he said.  “Why didn't you talk to us?”

“Faction for war won,” the alien repeated.

It – or he – spoke as though it explained everything.  And perhaps it did, Henry realised.  It was far from uncommon for humans to be rushed into war against another group of humans without sober reflection.  If the aliens had some reason to think that humanity had started the war, it might explain their reluctance to actually talk to human representatives.  They’d see the human race as aggressive, as needing to be pruned back before opening discussions.  But how had the aliens come to that conclusion in the first place?

“We don’t have to fight,” Henry pointed out.  “We could have the land; you could have the sea.  There’d be nothing to fight over.”

“Faction for peace ... uncertain,” the alien stated.  “Aliens.  Started.  War.”

Aliens, Henry thought.  They must mean us.

“But what happened?”  He asked.  “And why?”

The alien said nothing.  It rose to its feet, inched back towards the entrance and dropped into the hole.  There was a splash as it hit the water and then vanished, somewhere within the murky depths.  Henry stared after it, wondering just what had happened, then stood and walked back to the bed.  There was little else to do, but sleep and dream of Janelle.  He couldn't help wondering just what had happened to her ...

And Ark Royal, he thought, numbly.  Did she make it back to Earth or did the aliens kill her?

His thoughts were interrupted by splashing from the entrance.  One alien – a new one, if he were any judge – clambered into the room, then knelt down and held out a leathery hand.  It was so odd that Henry stared in disbelief.  He’d never seen the aliens needing assistance to climb out of the water and into the room.  But, as the next person came out of the water and removed the mask covering her face, he understood.  The newcomer was human.  And female.

He looked at her, then flushed and looked away as he realised she was naked.  She was probably a handful of years younger than him, he decided, probably just pushing eighteen rather than twenty-two.  Her long brown hair clung to her body as she wiped her skin, trying to get the water off her flesh.  Henry understood the feeling all too well.  The faint smell from the ocean water suggested it was far from clean.

“There's a shower over there,” he said, pointing to the corner of the room.  “It's clean water.”

“They never supply towels,” the girl said.  She sounded rather amused.  “I should complain to the management.”

Henry snorted, then looked back at the alien.  It looked back at him, then stepped into the water and vanished from sight.  Henry shook his head in disbelief, then tried not to look at the girl as she washed the ocean water from her body and hair.  His body was insisting on reminding him just how long it had been since he’d slept with anyone.

And are you going to betray Janelle so quickly?  His thoughts mocked him.  Or are you going to try to excuse your behaviour?

Shut up, he thought.  He knew his father and grandfather had both had their affairs – being in the Royal Family made it impossible to keep anything quiet for long – but he was damned if he were going the same way.  Honour wasn't just the name of a famous American movie heroine, after all.  I’m not going to cheat on her.

“My name is Jill, Jill Pearlman,” the girl said.  Her accent was definitely American, Henry decided, although it was thicker than the last American accent he’d heard.  Was she from one of the colonies?  The Americans had been enthusiastic colonisers after the discovery that Terra Nova wasn't the only Earth-like world out there.  “Who are you?”

Henry hesitated.  Everyone knew him as Charles Augustus.  It might not have been the brightest name to pick for himself, but it had worked.  And yet, here and now, he didn't really want to hide behind a mask.  It wasn't as if Henry was an uncommon name.

“Henry,” he said, simply.  He studied her, trying hard to keep his eyes on her face.  It was possible she was an American starfighter pilot, but he rather doubted it.  She just looked too young.  “Where did you come from?”

“Heinlein,” the girl said, bitterly.  “I started the war.”

Henry stared at her.  There had been a flurry of interest in the Heinlein Colony on the datanets after the discovery of artefacts from the colony on Alien-1, but he’d been struggling to get through the Academy and he hadn't been paying much attention.  From what he recalled, the colonists had wanted to set up a homeworld far from the United States and its colonies, claiming they were tainted with a political disease.  They’d boarded a ship, jumped through the tramlines and vanished.  No one had seen anything of them until Alien-1.

“I see,” he said.  “What happened?”

Jill looked down at the floor, then sat next to him on the bed.  “We were swimming,” she said, slowly.  “Ira and I ... we went to have some fun away from the adults.  Ira spent all of his free time exploring, so he knew where we could go.  There was this lagoon.”

She broke off, bitterly.  “We went skinny-dipping,” she admitted.  “It was Ira’s idea.”

“I’m sure it was,” Henry said.  “And then?”

“We saw this creature rise out of the water,” Jill said.  “It was one of them” – she waved a hand to indicate the aliens – “but we didn't know it at the time.  We thought it might be a dangerous creature.  I ran to get the gun and shot it.  It fell back into the water and vanished.”

She rubbed her eyes with her bare hands.  “They didn't believe us in the colony,” she said.  “There hadn't been any traces of higher life forms on Heinlein, none at all.  They didn't believe us until the aliens arrived and attacked in force.”

Henry cursed under his breath.  The aliens settled the seabed first and then moved onto the surface, if all the projections and observations were correct.  Humans, meanwhile, settled the land and rarely paid any attention to what was lurking under the waves.  It was quite possible, he decided, for two separate colony missions to occupy the same world, without ever realising the other one was there.  If they’d both checked for other life forms and found nothing, would they even bother to check again?

“And it started there,” he mused.  “They must have been as astonished as you.”

“I don’t know,” Jill said.  “I hid when they attacked; my father fought desperately to protect the colony.  But they overwhelmed the defences and took the survivors prisoner.  They just ... took me away from the other captives one day and sent me here.  I haven't seen any other humans since then.”

Henry considered it.  “What do they want from you?”

“They just ask questions and try to master English,” Jill said.  She made a face.  “I was not a very good teacher.”

“I don’t think English is an easy language for them to learn,” Henry said.  How many of humanity’s words were bound up in unspoken assumptions that simply didn't apply to the aliens?  “But you did very well.”

He looked down at his hands, thinking hard.  The war was an accident.  The whole war, which had killed hundreds of thousands of people and presumably aliens, was an accident, the result of a disastrous First Contact.  And yet ... how could he get back to Earth to report to his superiors?  And even if he did ...

They could have talked with us at any moment, he thought, bitterly.  God knows Earth would have happily disowned the colonists if it would have prevented a war.  Instead, they started to plan for a war that would have crushed us within months, if the Old Lady hadn't remained intact.  They took a minor incident and turned it into a pretext for all-out war.

“The war hasn't been going well,” he said, slowly.  “How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know,” Jill said.  “I used to count my ... well, you know – but the aliens accidentally destroyed my markers and I lost count.  Several months, at least.”

Years, Henry thought.  They would have needed time to prepare their weapons and tactics to launch the invasion.

He looked up at the greenish light filtering down from the ceiling.  It was the same as it was yesterday and the day before yesterday.  The food was the same, the water was always bland and completely tasteless, there was next to nothing to do ... it was easy to lose track of just how long he’d stayed in the cell.  His hair might not have grown out long enough to suggest he’d been imprisoned for months, but it was still longer than it had been.  

Jill caught his arm.  “There’s a war on?”

“They attacked Vera Cruz nearly a year ago,” Henry said.  he wasn't sure of the precise timing.  “Then they stabbed inwards and advanced on Earth, taking New Russia and several smaller colonies at the same time.  We stopped them, then launched a deep-strike raid on the alien colonies.  I was on that raid ...”

He shrugged.  “I don’t know what happened next,” he said, “but I do know some aliens tried to communicate with the fleet.”

Jill stared.  “They did?”

Henry nodded, sourly.  Humanity’s First Contact protocols had obviously failed, although if the aliens were in a warlike mood they might not have paid attention.  But building up a common language was obviously going to take time, time they didn’t have.  

“it failed,” he said.  “Other aliens stopped them.”

He looked up at her.  “Did they try asking you questions about Earth?  Anything tactical?”

“Of course not,” Jill said.  “I don’t know anything about Earth.”

“But it suggests they want to learn from you, rather than just suck you dry,” Henry said.  The aliens had kept Jill for at least a year, perhaps longer.  They could have killed her by now if they’d not thought they had a use for her.  “And we have to try to convince them to talk to the rest of humanity.  Get some proper diplomats and language experts here, talking to them.  We might be able to come to an agreement.”

Jill frowned.  “And what if they don’t want to come to an agreement?”

“I don’t know,” Henry said.  He thought, briefly, about how the aliens had treated occupied worlds.  New Russia had been occupied, but the aliens had largely left the human population alone.  But it could have just been a tactical decision to avoid starting the genocide until after the humans were thoroughly defeated.  “I just don’t know.”

Chapter Five

Ted had known, intellectually, that London had more than its fair share of underground tunnels and bunkers.  Ever since the invention of flight, it had been necessary to hide large parts of the government underground, just to ensure some continuity after the country came under attack.  Nothing, not even the Troubles or the development of orbital bombardment weaponry had deterred the government from protecting itself.

But he couldn't help wondering just how safe and secure the network was, after the tidal waves and floods.  Parts of the power grid seemed to have failed completely, leaving some of the tunnel sections dark and gloomy, while he could hear the sound of water dripping in the distance.  No one had anticipated London being flooded, not since the tidal barriers had been put into service.  And no one had anticipated alien bombardment.  It was all too easy to imagine a crack in the rock and concrete above their heads widening enough to allow a flood of water into the underground network.  They’d be washed away by the water before they realised what was happening or wind up trapped in a subsection of the complex, waiting helplessly for the air to run out.

He shook his head, angrily dismissing the thought, as they passed through a series of secure airlocks and emerged in the basement of Buckingham Palace.  It was a secure complex too, he knew, although it had been centuries since the affairs of the nation were directed from any of the Royal Residencies.  And now most of the Royal Family had been moved into the countryside, with only the King and Crown Princess remaining in London to share the sufferings of their population.  They thought it made good press.

Ted snorted, cynically.  The Royal Family would never starve; Buckingham Palace was safe, secure and warm.  There would be emergency transport out of London if the aliens returned or rioters threatened the palace itself.  Somehow, he doubted that many of their subjects would be impressed.  

He looked around, interested, as the equerry led them up a flight of steps and down a long corridor, the walls lined with portraits of monarchs from a bygone age.  There were countless display cases everywhere, showing off the presents given to the monarchs by foreign visitors; several of them, he couldn’t help noticing, had been stripped bare, their contents shipped to bunkers well away from the coast.  The contents of the palace were a vital part of Britain’s heritage, he knew, something that had to be preserved.  But it was hard to take such concerns seriously when he knew millions of people were starving.

Janelle caught his arm as they approached a large pair of wooden doors.  “Admiral,” she said, very softly, “I don't know what to say.”

Ted nodded in agreement.  There was a formal protocol for meeting the monarch, but most of it had already been put aside for the private meeting.  The last time he’d met the King, it had been when he’d been awarded a whole series of medals for Ark Royal’s victories against the alien foe.  Everyone who had been anyone in British society had been there.  Now, they were having a private meeting ... he shook his head, gently.  Under the circumstances, it seemed absurd to think of protocol.

“Be polite,” he advised.  Offhand, he knew of no naval officers who had regular private meetings with the monarch, even though they technically worked for him.  “And try not to stare too much.”

The doors swung open and the equerry stepped through.  “Admiral Sir Theodore Smith,” he announced grandly, leaving out the list of letters Ted was entitled to have after his name, “and Lieutenant Janelle Lopez.”

Ted smiled and stepped through the door.  Inside, it resembled a comfortable sitting room rather than the heart of a monarch’s kingdom.  There were several chairs and a sofa, drawn up around a blazing fire, and a drinks dispenser in one corner.  It was, he realised with a flicker of insight, a place for the royals to be people, rather than figurehead rulers for their nation.  And the man ahead of him, wearing a simple tunic and shirt, was King Charles IV of Great Britain, Emperor of Britannia and Prince of Nova Scotia.

He had looked more impressive the first time Ted had met him, Ted mentally conceded, but he’d also looked stressed, knowing that he was permanently on camera.  Even Ted, who had tried to spend the last two decades on Ark Royal shutting out the rest of the universe, had known just how intrusive the media were around the Royal Family.  The King and his family had never been able to relax, never been able to do anything for fear it would reflect badly on them – and there was nothing that could not be made to look bad, given time and carefully handling by an unscrupulous reporter and team of editors.  But there were no cameras here, not at the heart of Buckingham Palace.  The King could be himself.

It would have been impossible to tell he was the King, Ted decided, if he hadn't known ahead of time.  He looked middle-aged, the very picture of a mature adult, but lacking the dignity offered by his formal robes and the crown he’d worn during the award ceremony.  His hair was grey, slowly shading to white.  He’d never bothered to have his face rejuvenated, Ted noted.  Was it because he wasn't vain enough to have cosmetic surgery or was it because his protocol officers insisted it was beneath the King’s dignity to have himself redesigned to look younger?  There was no way to know.

“Admiral,” the King said.  His voice was very calm, very controlled.  “Please don’t stand on formality, not here.”

He motioned Ted to a seat, then bowed to Janelle as she hastily curtseyed.  “Please, relax,” he insisted.  “Elizabeth and I have been waiting for you.”

He motioned for Janelle to sit on the sofa, next to his daughter, then sat back in his chair.

“I appreciate you coming to see us,” he continued.  “We weren't sure if you’d be able to make it.”

We weren't given a choice, Ted thought.  But he understood.  The political issues surrounding Prince Henry were a minefield, even if the disasters that had struck the country had pushed the Prince’s life and untimely death onto the backburner.  It wasn't the King who would make the decisions, despite being the boy’s father.  The Prime Minister was the one who would have to decide how best to present Prince Henry’s death to the world.  Or maybe it had been some bureaucrat in the Civil Service who had made the final call.

He looked at the two girls and felt a stab of pity.  They made an odd study in contrasts; Janelle was dark-skinned, with dark hair cropped close to her scalp in accordance with naval regulations, while Elizabeth was blonde, her hair hanging all the way down to the small of her back.  The Princess was several years older than her brother, he recalled, but it had been an open question which one of them would actually succeed their father.  He couldn't help wondering, from the way the Princess held herself, if she’d been in two minds about taking the throne.  But Henry had very definitely not wanted to become King.

“I would like to hear about my son’s final moments,” the King said.  “And about his life on your ship.”

Ted hesitated then recollected what he could and launched into the tale.  Henry had been a starfighter pilot, with all the strengths and weaknesses of men and women who had known their next mission could be their last.  He’d lacked the discipline of the Royal Marines or the engineering crews, but he’d been a skilled pilot and Ark Royal had been happy to have him as part of the crew.  And it wasn't a lie, he knew.  Prince Henry would have gone far if he hadn’t been killed by the aliens.

“He was a good pilot,” he concluded.  It was unusual for pilots to serve more than three years in the cockpit, but Henry could have gone on to become a CAG – Commander Air Group – or aspired to frigate command, if he’d wanted to stay in the navy.  “And he is deeply missed.”

“And you were fucking him,” Elizabeth said.  Her voice was icy cold.  “Did you know who he was?”

“Elizabeth,” her father snapped.

His daughter stared at him with bright blue eyes.  “It has to be asked,” she said.  “You know how many ...”

“Elizabeth,” her father repeated.

“I didn't know who he was,” Janelle said, quietly.  “As far as I knew, he was just ... Charles Augustus, a starfighter pilot.”

The King shook his head.  “Charles Augustus,” he muttered.  “In hindsight, the media will make it out to be blindingly obvious.”

“But you were screwing him,” Elizabeth insisted.  “Did he never tell you the truth?”

“No,” Janelle said.  Her fists bunched for a long moment, then she forced herself to relax.  “I never knew.”

Ted eyed the girls with some concern.  Janelle had been upset – more than upset – after Henry had died, even before he’d told her who her lover had been.  He’d actually broken his own rule and given her compassionate leave, even though all it had meant in practice was that she got to stay in her cabin rather than carry out her duties.  In hindsight, perhaps he should have kept her busy, with tasks that would keep her mind off her woes.  

There’s a reason married couples aren't allowed to serve together, he thought, morbidly.  If one of them dies, the other becomes useless – even dangerous.

Princess Elizabeth, on the other hand, sounded bitchy – and yet he knew she had good reason to worry.  Her brother would have had no shortage of suitors, Ted suspected, and most of them would have been more interested in claiming a royal title than in Henry himself.  Elizabeth herself would have the same problem, perhaps made worse by the uncertainty over which of the royal children would inherit the throne.  She would never know if anyone who showed interest in her cared more for her – or for the title.  Ted felt a flicker of sympathy for the girl, despite her rudeness.  It was very hard to blame her.

“The Prince never revealed his true identity to anyone,” he said, as reassuringly as he could.  Princess Elizabeth was young enough to be his daughter, but he knew next to nothing about being a father.  “No one knew until they caught up with the news broadcasts from Earth,”

The King cleared his throat.  “Be that as it may,” he said, “it still raises uncomfortable questions.”

He looked at Janelle.  “Did either of you discuss the future?”

Janelle shook her head, staring down at the floor.  “No,” she said, quietly.  “We knew we could die at any moment.”

Ted winced, inwardly.  Shipboard romances were hardly uncommon – and far from forbidden, as long as regulations were honoured – but they rarely lasted long.  The sheer intensity of a sexual affair between two young people under constant threat of death didn't always survive when they returned to Earth or resigned from the military.  Ironically, he knew, if they’d met before the war, their romance might have survived.  Ark Royal had been held in a stable orbit near Earth.  The crew had never expected to do more than maintain the ship.  They’d certainly never expected to go to war.

The Princess snorted.  “You just made love to him without considering the future?”

“I’m not trapped in a goldfish bowl,” Janelle snapped, showing a flash of fire.  “I didn't even know it might be a concern.”

Ted winced.  That had been a low blow.  The Princess couldn't have an affair with anyone, male or female, without the media turning it into a circus.  Her lover’s life would be dissected ruthlessly, anything he had said or done in the past would be used against her ... and the relationship would probably shatter under the pressure.  The Princess could never afford to relax, let alone have a relationship that she knew might never go anywhere.  It would wind up becoming a nightmare, even if her partner had been everything she wanted in a man.

“But it has become a concern,” the Princess snapped back.  She glowered at Janelle.  “Are you pregnant?”

Janelle spluttered.  “What?”

“All naval personnel have contraceptive implants,” Ted said, quickly.  “No one can get pregnant on a naval starship.”

“But there are already speculations that you are carrying Henry’s child,” the Princess insisted.  “Your life will never be the same.”

“Then they will have to swallow their words when they see I am very clearly not pregnant,” Janelle pointed out.

“Then they will start claiming that you have had an illicit abortion,” Princess Elizabeth said, darkly.  “They have already claimed that I have had five different abortions in the past.”

Janelle recoiled, shocked.  “Seriously?”

“Yes,” Princess Elizabeth said.  “And apparently I’ve had twelve different lovers.”

She snorted, rudely.  “I must have been asleep,” she added, “because I can't remember any of them.”

The King cleared his throat, loudly.  “I would have liked to welcome you to the family formally,” he said, addressing Janelle.  “I believe you would have added something we desperately need.  But it would probably be best for you if the whole ... affair was forgotten as quickly as possible.”

But it wouldn't be forgotten, Ted knew.  Janelle had become a Public Interest celebrity the moment someone had revealed her relationship with Prince Henry to the media.  Short of changing her name, or at least shipping back out as quickly as possible, there was no way the media would ever let her rest.  At least Ted had managed to bar reporters from Ark Royal, despite objections from the Public Relations Department.  No one wanted them to tell the universe just how badly the Old Lady had been damaged by the aliens.

“I agree,” Janelle said.

Princess Elizabeth leaned forward.  “Did you love my brother?”

“I ... I don’t know,” Janelle confessed.  “We were happy together, but ...”

Oddly, Ted noted, the Princess seemed happy with the answer.  Or perhaps it wasn't odd at all.  There were no shortage of social climbers who would happily claim to love the target of their affections, even when it was blatantly clear they had no interest in anything beyond the title and the prestige that came with it.  But the media would tear their lives apart anyway, looking for something they could use to shock and beguile the British public.  Janelle might have had a very lucky escape.

But that shouldn't be a problem now, he thought.  The country has far more serious matters to worry about.

“I have reviewed the files,” the King said.  He looked directly at Ted.  “I do not believe that you – or any of your crew – can reasonably be held responsible for my son’s death.  He wanted to live the life of a starfighter pilot, without using his rank to his advantage, knowing the risks that he would face.  His death ...”

He broke off, clearly upset.  Ted remembered the files and understood.  The King had opposed his son going into the military – and then into the line of fire.  It would have been relatively simple to assign Prince Henry to one of the squadrons defending Earth ... although that might have been a mistake.  Those squadrons had taken more than 80% casualties when the aliens had attacked.  Henry had followed the path he’d chosen, the path that had allowed him to earn rewards – and punishments – without his rank being taken into consideration and, in the end, it had killed him.  But he’d died bravely and well.  

And they will use it to bolster the position of the Royal Family, he thought, cynically.  Buckingham Palace employed a small army of PR experts, hoping to shape the narrative before hostile editors – or merely ones looking for a scoop – started to try to shape it for themselves.  Henry’s death will make it seem as though they are sharing the same risks and burdens as everyone else.

“There will be no Board of Inquiry,” the King continued.  “I believe, in any case, that you will be leaving Earth again, far too quickly.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ted said.

He sighed, knowing the King wasn't speaking his own words.  It was quite possible the King felt otherwise, that he wanted his son’s death investigated carefully before passing any kind of judgement.  But the decision would have been taken by the War Cabinet and the King would have had to follow orders, particularly now.  The country couldn't afford an open squabble between the King and Parliament.

“I wish you the very best of luck in talking with the aliens,” the King continued.  “It may be our only hope of a lasting peace.”

He looked at Janelle.  “I am truly sorry for pulling you into our lives,” he said.  “I have no doubt that, if my son had survived, he would have taken steps to ensure you were protected or simply never identified.  Henry, whatever his faults, was a decent person.”

“That is beyond doubt,” Elizabeth said, frostily.

“You are free to call us at any time, should you wish to chat,” the King continued.  “And please know that we do not blame you for anything.”

“Thank you,” Janelle said.  

“But it won’t be an easy few months for you,” the King warned.  “It has always been so for those who come too close to the Royal Family.”

He rose to his feet.  “You would be well-advised to remain on the carrier for the next few months, if possible,” he added.  “There are few other places the media won’t go – and they’re searching for a distraction.  If they think your life will make a good distraction ...”

“They already have,” Janelle said, bitterly.

“She will be safe on Ark Royal,” Ted said.  He stood, then saluted the King.  “Thank you for your time, Your Majesty.”

The King snorted.  “Good luck, Admiral,” he said.  “Make peace with the aliens, if you can; if not, make them pay for everything they’ve done to us.”

Chapter Six

“We have two new squadrons of pilots joining us this afternoon,” Rose said, as the shuttle landed neatly in the shuttlebay.  “They’ll need to be brought up to speed on carrier procedures as quickly as possible.”

Kurt barely heard her.  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the refugee camp and the refugees, trapped behind the wire like prisoners.  The reports they’d picked up as they made their way back to the spaceport had been far from reassuring.  At least one camp had collapsed under the rain, drowning hundreds of refugees, while the supervisors of another camp had been arrested for abusing their charges.  The sooner he got his children – and Gayle – out of the camps, the better.

Rose elbowed him.  “You’re not listening to me!”

“I was,” Kurt protested.  

“I just told you I was planning to hold an orgy in the briefing room with all the new pilots and you agreed,” Rose said.  “Or should I let you explain it to the Captain afterwards?”

Kurt sighed, rubbing his eyes.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  He’d zoned out completely.  “I’ll try to pay attention in future.”

Rose eyed him for a long moment.  “There are two new squadrons of pilots joining us this afternoon,” she said.  “Did you hear that part?”

“Yes,” Kurt said.  “I ...”

“Then you know we also have to work them into the ship’s training cycles,” Rose said.  “All of which have to be worked in around the repair work.  And then they have to be checked out on the simulators ...”

Kurt rose to his feet as the hatch opened.  “Deal with it,” he ordered.  “I hereby appoint you acting CAG, to hold the position until relieved or confirmed by the Captain.”

Rose stared at him.  “Kurt ...”

“I need to speak to the Captain,” Kurt said.  He walked through the hatch and stepped down onto the solid deck.  “You can handle the new pilots, can't you?”

“Kurt,” Rose said, “I can handle it, but it’s your job.”

Kurt understood.  Rose loved flying.  She was in line for a post as CAG, but it would have taken her off the flight roster permanently, at least unless the carrier needed an extra pilot more than it needed a flight supervisor.  Few pilots considered seeking promotion until their reflexes started to dull, while they came up with inventive excuses to avoid promotion as long as possible.  It never failed to confuse anyone working their way towards starship command.

“I need to speak to the Captain,” he said.  He wanted to take her in his arms, but he knew he didn't dare, not when the shuttlebay was full of spacers and yard dogs from the nearby shipyard.  There were just too many witnesses.  “You can handle it, can’t you?”

“I can,” Rose said.  “But you’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

“I’m a CAG,” Kurt pointed out.  “Stupidity is abolished when one is promoted out of a cockpit.”

Rose rolled her eyes, then strode past him and through the hatch that led down towards Pilot Country.  Kurt smiled at her retreating back – starfighter pilots tended to act like overgrown children until they were on the verge of burning out – and then turned and made his way towards the hatch leading up to Officer Country.  The starship’s metal corridors were jam-packed with spacers and pallets holding dozens of spare parts, several brought out of long-term storage for the Old Lady.  Others, he knew, had to be specifically reengineered for the ancient carrier.

He nodded to a pair of Marines as he strode past, who nodded back.  Most of the Marines assigned to the Royal Navy had been redeployed down to the ground, reinforcing the military units struggling to cope with the sheer scale of the crisis, but Ark Royal’s Marines had remained onboard as part of the ship’s damage control teams.  Part of the reason the Old Lady had such a large crew was to keep up with repairs, if necessary.  The modern carriers had indulged in more automation than some officers suspected was healthy.  

It took longer than he'd expected to reach Officer Country.  The laser warheads the aliens had used – they’d stolen the idea from humanity, something that bothered him more than he cared to admit – had done considerable damage to the interior of the starship and several sections had been closed down entirely while the repair crews worked their magic.  Kurt wondered, absently, what they’d do about the armour plating, before dismissing it as something outside his remit.  The Captain and the XO had to worry about repairing their ship.  Kurt only had to worry about his pilots.

He felt a flicker of guilt as he passed through the hatch and into Officer Country, making his way up to the Captain’s cabin.  Rose was perhaps the most experienced officer, save himself, left on the ship.  Once Kurt left, it was quite likely she would be pushed into taking on the CAG job, no matter her personal preferences.  He knew she’d hate it – and hate him for leaving her.  But his family came first ... he gritted his teeth, silently promising to explain everything to Rose after he’d spoken to the Captain.  He owed her an explanation.

The hatch opened when he pressed his hand against the sensor, revealing the Captain and the Chief Engineer standing in front of a holographic display.  Kurt shook his head as he stepped into the cabin and realised that the display showed just how badly Ark Royal had been damaged.  Most of the internal damage could be repaired fairly quickly, he was sure, but it was the armour that posed a real problem.  It was just unlike anything the Royal Navy had produced for over fifty years.

“We’re going to have to slim down armour from these sections,” Chief Engineer Anderson said.  He sounded pleased, despite the situation.  His expertise with one particular starship, and none whatsoever with the more modern starships, had ensured his career had stalled until Ark Royal had been called into battle.  “We can use the armour plating to patch the holes in the hull here, here and here.”

He jabbed at the display as he spoke.  “I’m hoping for some additional armour plates from Mars, but they’re stalling on delivery,” he added.  “And we might have to reshape them ourselves when we get them anyway.”

Captain James Montrose Fitzwilliam nodded, thoughtfully.  “Draw down the armour,” he ordered.  “The Admiralty wants us gone in a fortnight at best.”

“They’ll be lucky,” Anderson predicted, dourly.  “I’d honestly prefer to replace at least half of the ship’s systems with completely new gear.”

“And we don’t have the time,” Captain Fitzwilliam said.  “Do your best, please.”

He looked up at Kurt.  “One moment, Commander,” he said.  “We’re just finishing here.”

Kurt nodded.  Captain James Montrose Fitzwilliam had, according to scuttlebutt, tried to use his connections to edge Captain – now Admiral – Smith out of command when the war had begun.  The Admiralty, in an unusual display of perceptiveness, had left Smith in command, but assigned Fitzwilliam to him as his XO.  Somehow, the two men had learned to work together and Fitzwilliam had replaced Smith as Captain of the Old Lady when Smith had been promoted to Admiral and put in overall command of Operation Nelson.  The doubts some of the crew had once had – Fitzwilliam was young, handsome, rich and aristocratic – had faded when they’d seen him in action.  He was a competent commanding officer.

“We’re getting emergency supplies rushed to us from Britannia, but we really need some of the older Chinese shit,” Anderson continued.  “Half of our modern systems don’t talk to the older stuff we use as the backbone for our systems; hell, we really should modernise the whole ship, but we just don’t have time.”

“I’ll speak to the Admiralty,” the Captain said.  “They can trade with the Chinese.”

Anderson smiled, then switched off the display.  “I’ll keep you informed, Captain,” he said.  “But I honestly doubt we will be ready to meet our scheduled departure date without slimming the repairs down to the bare minimum.”

Kurt swallowed.  Ark Royal’s one great strength was her solid-state armour, the walls of metal that had protected her when more modern carriers had simply been ripped apart within seconds by alien weapons.  If that armour was weakened ... but the aliens, he knew, had already found a way to break through the armour.  They’d be building more such warheads even now, he was sure, and arming their ships in readiness for the final thrust towards Earth.  

“Thank you,” the Captain said.  He watched the Engineer stride out of the cabin, then turned to Kurt.  “What can I do for you?”

And it had better be important, hung in his voice.

“Captain,” Kurt said.  For a moment, his nerve almost failed him – and then he remembered the refugee camp and gritted his teeth.  “I would like to submit my resignation.”

The Captain studied him for a long moment.  “Denied,” he said, finally.  “You can take it to the Admiralty if you like, but I don’t believe that any resignations are being accepted at the moment.”

Kurt felt cold despair – and rage – boiling up inside of him.  “Captain,” he said, “I would ask you to reconsider.”

“And I would tell you the same thing,” the Captain said, evenly.  He pointed Kurt to the sofa, then turned and walked to the drinks dispenser.  “Do you take milk in your tea?”

Kurt blinked.  “Captain?”

“I want to know if you take milk in your tea,” the Captain said.  He poured a mug of tea for himself, then turned to look at Kurt.  “Do you?”

“Yes, thank you,” Kurt said.  The Captain serving him tea?  It was unprecedented in his career.  Had he entered the twilight zone?  “Sir ...”

The Captain passed him a mug.  Kurt studied it, trying to keep his eyes away from the Captain’s calm gaze.  It was branded with Ark Royal’s pennant and, below, the ship’s motto.  Zeal does not Rest.  At one point, it would have seemed an absurd motto for the ship, but now it fitted perfectly.  Ark Royal had carried almost the entire weight of humanity’s war effort within her solid-state hull.

“I do not believe you would seek to resign without cause,” the Captain said, as he sat down facing Kurt.  “Why do you want to leave the service?”

“My children are in a refugee camp,” Kurt said, slowly.  He wasn’t sure why he wanted to tell the Captain anything, but if he was refused permission to resign his only choice would be desertion.  In times of war, it carried the death penalty.  “They’re ... not in a good state.”

“Few people are, these days,” the Captain said.  “Do you think you can take care of them on the ground?”

“With all due respect, sir,” Kurt said, “you don’t have children.”

“I do understand the impulse,” the Captain said.  “And I understand your desire to protect your children at all costs.”

“My wife is dead and my children are in a fucking prison camp,” Kurt snapped, before he could stop himself.  The tidal wave of bitterness threatened to overcome him.  “I can't leave them there!”

The Captain leaned forward.  “Do you think you’re the only naval officer with family in refugee camps?”

“They should be doing something about them,” Kurt said.  “I ... I can't think for worrying about my family.  They’re all I have left.”

“It has only been two weeks since the battle,” the Captain said.  “I believe they’re planning to separate confirmed family and friends of military personnel, but right now the system is utterly overloaded.  People are dying because we can't get medical supplies from one place to another ...”

“Which is why I have to take care of them,” Kurt insisted.  “Who else is going to do it?”

The Captain met his eyes.  “If you are discharged from the Royal Navy, you will promptly be conscripted into one of the semi-volunteer units fighting to keep as much of the country intact as possible,” he said.  “You may wind up operating a refugee camp.  Or you may be ordered to help dig ditches or fill sandbags or something else that will take you away from your family once again.  I hear that even prisoners have been forced into helping with relief efforts.”

And if I desert, I might wind up helping anyway, Kurt thought, recognising the unspoken warning. 

“And you cannot really be spared,” the Captain added.  “You are one of the most experienced CAGs in the navy, certainly the most experienced officer on Ark Royal.  I cannot replace you before we depart for ...”

Kurt stared.  “We’re leaving?  Again?”

“Yes,” the Captain said, flatly.  “Do you make a habit of interrupting your commanding officers?”

“No, sir,” Kurt said.  He’d known Captains who would have blown a fuse at the mere thought of being interrupted by one of their subordinates.  “I ...”

“Quite understandable,” the Captain said, blandly.  He took another sip of his tea, then looked up at Kurt.  “I can arrange for your children – and anyone else you wish to name – to be moved to a better location, if you like.  They will be cared for.  But I cannot accept your resignation right now.  The country needs you.”

“The country needs to take care of my children,” Kurt muttered, sourly.  “I was promised ...”

“I don’t think anyone anticipated such a staggering attack,” the Captain said.  “Everyone assumed we would have to deal with a few thousand wives and children who had lost their husbands and fathers.  We could have handled that, if necessary.”

Kurt couldn't disagree.  One of the few advantages to being part of the Naval Reserve was having a guaranteed pension for his wife and family, if he died while serving in the navy.  It was a far from perfect arrangement, but it would have helped Molly avoid an immediate financial crisis while she looked around for work for herself.  But the system had been crushed below the tidal waves that had ravaged the coasts of Britain and Ireland.  It was unlikely his pension would ever be paid now, if he died on active service.

“I will have your family moved, if you send me the details,” the Captain said.  “I’m due to visit Earth in a couple of days anyway, so I’ll have it done then.  In exchange, I want you to get back to your duties and carry them out in a professional manner.”

“Yes, sir,” Kurt said.  He felt a little reassured.  “Are we actually planning to depart in a fortnight?”

“The Admiralty’s orders admit of no flexibility,” the Captain said, flatly.  “I expect we will be carrying repair technicians and shipyard drones with us when we finally weigh anchor and make our way towards the tramline.  It will be a far from easy voyage.”

Kurt nodded and finished his tea, then put the mug to one side.  The Captain’s steward would pick it up for washing, if he hadn't already been assigned to repair work.  Maybe that was why the Captain had produced the tea himself, unless the Captain had wanted time to think and gather himself.  Kurt’s request to resign had to have surprised him.

“Get your flight crews ready as quickly as possible,” the Captain ordered.  He tapped a switch, activating the holographic starchart.  Far too many stars gleamed red, signifying alien occupation.  “You never know when the aliens might put in an appearance.”

“Yes, sir,” Kurt said.  The aliens hadn't bothered to try to hold the Terra Nova system, but they still had a strong presence at New Russia.  They might be planning another attack at any moment.  He rose to his feet, then strode over to the hatch.  “And thank you.”

He stepped through the hatch and made his way slowly back to Pilot Country.  Several new pilots had been assigned to Ark Royal since their return from alien-controlled space, although they’d simply been slotted into pre-existing squadrons rather than used to build up entirely new formations.  Adding two new squadrons ... he’d been too distracted to pay much attention to the paperwork, but he had the very definite impression that most of them were new pilots, just recently graduated from the Academy.  

Wonderful, he thought, as he reached his office.  Just like Prince Henry.

“Kurt,” Rose said, as the hatch closed behind him.  “What did the Captain say?”

“Get back to work, you slacker,” Kurt said.  He smiled, despite feeling no sense of humour at all.  “Or words to that effect.”

Rose’s eyes narrowed.  She was far from stupid and knew when someone was trying to distract her.  “And what did you say to him?”

“I told him I wanted to resign,” Kurt said.  He felt another stab of guilt at the brief flicker of pain that crossed her face.  “He told me I couldn't – but that he’d help with the children.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose said.  Her voice was curiously flat.  “But at least the children will be safe.”

She looked ... torn.  Their affair, which had been born out of the certain knowledge neither of them would see Earth again, hadn't faded away when they’d returned to their homeworld.  She’d come to have feelings for him, Kurt knew, and he’d come to have feelings for her too.  And yet, it was something they could never admit, not openly.  Their affair was still in direct breach of regulations.

“I hope so,” Kurt muttered.  The Captain was well-connected.  But even the aristocracy had taken a beating when the tidal waves had washed over Britain.  It was quite possible the Captain wouldn't be able to do anything to help his children.  “But we have work to do.”

Rose stood, walked behind him and pushed him down onto the deck.  “First, you need to relax,” she said, firmly.  Her hands started to massage his back, kneading out the aches and pains that had been tormenting him since he’d learned what had happened to his family.  “And then you can get back to work.”

Chapter Seven

“I say, my boy,” Uncle Graham said.  “You look like a drowned rat.  And smell like one too.”

Captain James Montrose Fitzwilliam sighed as he stepped into the library.  There was at least one over-bred idiot in every aristocratic family, the result of too much inbreeding or a complete lack of discipline when they were children.  Uncle Graham had been an idiot when James had been born and he hadn't really improved since.  But then, he’d never been forced to actually work for a living.

“It happens to be raining out there,” James said, with as much patience as he could muster.  It wasn't much.  Winchester Hall had escaped the tidal waves, but the never-ending rain had ruined the gardens and turned the grass into a muddy ocean.  The refugee camp established on the fields outside the walls only made matters worse.  “And I didn't have an umbrella.”

“I know, laddie,” Uncle Graham said.  “We haven’t been able to play cricket for weeks.”

James sighed, again.  There were times when he understood just why the republicans wanted to get rid of the aristocracy.  If people like himself genuinely earned their places – and he recalled how he’d tried to gain command of Ark Royal and shuddered – there were quite a few aristocrats who did nothing to make themselves worthy of the rights they claimed from the British State.  Uncle Graham should have been sterilised as soon as it became clear that he wasn't going to improve.  Fortunately, no one had expressed interest in marrying him.

He strode past his uncle and into the next room.  Uncle Winchester was seated at his desk, going through a large stack of paperwork.  Beside him, his secretary took notes, her face illuminated oddly by the firelight.  The flames burning in the fireplace, James decided, were almost hypnotic.  It was enough to make him want to forget the disaster that had struck the country outside the walls.

“James,” Uncle Winchester said.  He nodded to his secretary, who stood and walked out the door, closing it firmly behind her.  “You’re late.”

“The roads were completely flooded,” James said, shortly.  He’d been in combat.  He wasn't going to be intimidated by Uncle Winchester.  “I had to divert quite some way before I got to the estate.”

“You should have taken a shuttle,” Uncle Winchester said.  He looked James up and down, then nodded shortly.  “Take a seat, please.”

James sat.  “The shuttles were required for distributing emergency supplies,” he said, curtly.  “I was damned if I was going to take one away from its duties just to get here on time.”

Uncle Winchester didn't bother to argue.  “I got your request,” he said.  “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“Yes, Uncle,” James said, firmly.

He sighed.  The CAG wasn't the only officer or crewman with family in refugee camps.  A quick check had revealed over three hundred registered dependents in various camps, along with several thousand deaths.  He’d asked Uncle Winchester to take the Kurt Schneider’s family into his home, but also to ensure the remaining family members were protected.  It was his duty as a commanding officer to take care of his men.

“It has been done,” Uncle Winchester said.  “The young girls have been given rooms in the Hall; the young man has insisted on remaining with the volunteers.  And everyone else has been placed on the priority list for transport elsewhere.”

James nodded.  Thankfully, large parts of the country remained untouched by the tidal waves, allowing the government to start setting up proper holding facilities for the refugees.  It would be a long time before they had anywhere decent to live – abandoned and second homes were already being tapped under the Disaster Relief Act – but they would be safe, at least.  

“Thank you,” he said.

“This leads to another question,” Uncle Winchester said.  “Do you want them to be added to the Emergency Evacuation List?”

“What Emergency Evacuation List?”  James asked.  “If this building comes under attack ...?”

“No,” Uncle Winchester said.  “The list of people we plan to take away from Earth if the war is not concluded soon.”

James stared at him.  “Uncle ...?”

“Formidable was just commissioned at the Britannic Yards,” Uncle Winchester said, slowly.  “She was originally intended to be named Prince of Wales, but the Admiralty wanted a replacement for the carrier they lost at New Russia.  Unfortunately, she isn't any better armoured than her namesake.  Putting her in the line of battle, here and now, will simply give the aliens more targets to engage.  We have other plans for her.”

“Other plans,” James repeated, feeling a sinking sensation in his chest.  “Do I want to know?”

“We also rushed two large colonist-carriers through their trials,” Uncle Winchester continued smoothly.  “They were intended for the Boer Republic, but we seized them for ourselves.  They’re both designed to set up a separate colony without the need for supplies from Earth ... I believe the Boers intended to pull a Heinlein and just vanish from the rest of human space.”

James put two and two together.  “And that’s what you intend to do too, isn't it?”

“Correct,” Uncle Winchester said.  “Formidable will escort both ships, crammed with our best and brightest, through the tramlines and as far away from the aliens as possible.  All three ships are designed for several years of independent operations, so they should be able to get quite some distance before they start looking for a new world to settle.  Once they do, of course, they will start building up a force that can retake human space.”

“Or simply avoid the aliens indefinitely,” James observed.

“In the long run, that is unlikely to be possible,” Uncle Winchester said.  “We have no idea how fast the aliens intend to continue their expansion, but eventually they will discover the colony.  There are plans to build a colony without any form of high technology, yet even that would eventually be detectable.  Ideally, the colony will develop new weapons and technologies that can be used to take the war back to the aliens.”

James swallowed.  The aliens had shown themselves to be innovative, first in creating weapons intended to scythe through humanity’s most modern starships and then, when confronted with Ark Royal, building weapons that had blasted their way through the Old Lady’s armour.  Somehow, he doubted humanity’s enigmatic opponents would sit on their hands and stagnate while the refugees rebuilt a technological base and advanced well ahead of them.  They’d certainly have far more resources than a single planet settled by a few hundred thousand humans.

“Chancy,” he said, finally.  “And what happens if they do stumble across the colony?”

“The colonists die,” Uncle Winchester said.  He sighed, loudly.  “Given five or ten years, James, we’d kick their assess.  The boffins are going nuts over all the discoveries from the alien battlecruiser you captured.  Genuine original science is being performed.  Some of them are even talking about ways to duplicate the tramline effect or use gravity-based drives to power missiles and starships.  But we won’t have time to put more than a handful of new weapons into production before we get crushed by the aliens.”

He sighed, again.  “Right now, humanity’s entire fleet is down to twelve carriers, not counting Ark Royal or the modified freighters.  We’re making some progress on protective armour that will stand up to alien weapons, but it will still take months to get it into production and use it to coat the remaining ships.  We have more frigates and destroyers, yet they’re not enough to make a difference.  The bottom line, James, is that we are on the verge of losing this war.”

James leaned forward.  “We don’t know how badly the aliens have been hurt,” he said, slowly.  Ark Royal’s various missions had taken out at least twenty alien carriers, although post-battle analysis had suggested some of them might be repairable.  “For all we know, we might have seen the worst they can throw at us.”

“But we don’t know,” Uncle Winchester said.  “Have we taken out their entire fleet – or have we only scratched the surface?”

“I don’t know,” James said.

He recalled the projections the analysts had devised when they’d discovered and attacked Target One.  They’d pointed out that Target One couldn't have produced carriers for itself, suggesting there were other shipyards located somewhere deeper in alien space.  But where were the shipyards?  If they could be destroyed, the war might come to an end.  

“We do have the vague hope of contacting another alien faction,” Uncle Winchester said.  “But if it fails, we have to plan for the worst.”

“Yes, Uncle,” James said.

“This plan must remain a secret,” Uncle Winchester warned.  “There will be panic if any word gets out.”

“That’s why the media has been discussing Prince Henry, despite the floods,” James said, in sudden understanding.  “You’re using it as a distraction.”

“Essentially,” Uncle Winchester said.  “The floods themselves are one hell of a distraction, of course, but the media is helping by trying to” – he smirked – “distract people.”

James snorted.  He’d reviewed the datanet channels while the car had made its slow way to the house and most of them had been broadcasting entertainment programs from a bygone age.  Soap operas had always disgusted him, but maybe he just wasn’t the viewer demographic they were made for.  But if they showed mundane lives ... their viewers, surely, would have mundane lives.  

Or maybe he was just missing the point.

“Most people just want to relax and forget their woes, or wallow in woes belonging to other people,” Uncle Winchester added.  “Or some of them want to feel reassured that life will return to normal.”

“But it won't,” James said.  Even if the war ended tomorrow, even if humanity came to a peace agreement with the aliens, it would be decades before life returned to anything like normal.  Humanity would have to rebuild from the war, then come to terms with the fact that they were no longer alone in the universe – and that some of their new friends wanted to pick a fight rather than talk.  “Surely they know better than that.”

“Most people are idiots,” Uncle Winchester said.  He paused.  “James, there was a reason I asked you here, today.”

James lifted his eyebrows.  He’d suspected as much.  Strings had been pulled to arrange for him to visit Winchester Hall, strings that had been in motion long before he’d approached his Uncle to ask for a favour.  Those strings wouldn't have been pulled if they hadn't wanted something from him that went above and beyond the call of duty.

He settled back, cursing inwardly.  There were days when he understood precisely why Prince Henry had sought to join the Royal Navy under an assumed name.

“Formidable – and the entire colony mission - will need a commander,” Uncle Winchester said.  “I’d like you to take command.”

“I should have expected that,” James said, slowly.  “You do realise my carrier expertise is limited to Ark Royal?  Formidable is a very different kettle of fish.”

“You won’t be expected to take the ship into battle,” Uncle Winchester assured him.  “All we want you to do is find a new world and set up a colony there.”

“Except you have no more idea than I do of what might be lurking at the far end of the tramlines,” James pointed out.  “We might discover a second alien race, far more hostile than the first.  Or we might discover the aliens themselves, trying to block our escape.  You need a commander who knows more about modern carriers.”

“We need one who understands the urgency of the situation,” Uncle Winchester grated.  “I would hesitate to nominate someone else ...”

“But you should,” James said.  “I had to learn the limits of my capabilities the hard way.”

“So you did,” Uncle Winchester said.  “And there were other reasons to put you on Ark Royal.  But those reasons are gone now, if you are to be believed, and it is time for you to move onwards.”

James took a breath.  “Uncle,” he said.  “I won’t desert Ark Royal or Admiral Smith, not now.”

His Uncle studied him coldly.  “It is your duty to go where you are sent,” he said, after a tense moment.  “I will not accept you trying to escape your duty for sentimental reasons.”

“I’m the commander of Ark Royal,” James said.  “She’s due to depart in twelve days – and isn't that going to be a right headache?  There is no time to prepare another officer, even Commander Williams, to take my place.”

He stood and walked to the windows.  Outside, rain pelted the glass sheets and ran down towards the flowerbeds below, but he could still see the refugee camp outside the walls.  A few hundred people resided there – even he hadn't been able to pull an exact number from the datanet – after losing their homes and everything they owned to the tidal waves.  Three weeks ago, they had been civilians, the people he was pledged to defend.  Now, they were nothing but helpless refugees.  How many of them, he wondered, had donated money to charities intent on helping people from Africa or the Middle East?  Had they ever thought they would end up like the victims of endless civil wars and religious conflicts?

“And I owe it to the people down there not to run,” he added.  “There are no guarantees of survival, Uncle, but I am damned if I will run.”

“The issue here is not bravery or cowardice,” Uncle Winchester said.  He tapped the table to underline his words.  “The issue here is the survival of the human race itself.”

“Or the British part of it,” James pointed out.  No one would repeat the mistakes of Terra Nova in a hurry.  He smiled at the thought, then sobered.  “Do other countries have their own plans?”

“We assume so,” Uncle Winchester said.  “The Americans had a colonist fleet that was due to depart just before Vera Cruz.  It was placed on hold and nothing has been seen or said about it since.  There are some indications that France and Brazil are planning their own departures, but we don’t know for sure.  They may just be considering moving additional settlers to their colonies in the wake of the Battle of Earth.”

James nodded.  Moving to Britannia – on the other side of Earth from the aliens – would seem very attractive right now.  They’d been lucky, he knew; the aliens had deliberately avoided firing on the orbital towers, even though they were easy targets.  If the towers had fallen, the death toll would have been far higher.  It suggested the aliens were far more than just mindless killers.  Perhaps there was a way to coexist with them after all.

But if Earth fell, Britannia wouldn't last much longer.

He took a breath.  “Uncle,” he said, as he turned to face the older man, “I respectfully refuse to take command of Formidable.”

Uncle Winchester slowly rose to his feet.  “Are you refusing the promotion?”

“My duty is with Ark Royal,” James said.  He fought hard to control his growing anger.  “I have no intention of fleeing Earth ...”

“You have a duty to ensure the human race survives,” Uncle Winchester snapped.  “You will be in command of a carrier, with a full complement of fighter pilots and starfighters, protecting two colonist-carriers and a genetic databank.  The human race will live on where you choose to settle.  It’s your damn duty to take command of the fleet.”

“There are others who are better equipped to take command,” James said.  Understanding clicked in his mind.  “And most of them have ties to the aristocracy.  Offer to take their families along and they will probably be happy to take command of the fleet.  You will get to maintain your social structure indefinitely, provided you don’t forget the lessons of the Troubles.  And the very best of British luck.”

He turned and started to make his way towards the door.  “I won’t mention this to anyone, Uncle, but I won’t be involved.  I can't.”

“Very well,” Uncle Winchester said.  “Go back to Ark Royal.  Resume command.  Prepare for your deployment ... which may very well be your last.  And do everything in your power to establish a peaceful outcome to the war.”

“Yes, sir,” James said.

“You’ll need these files,” Uncle Winchester added.  He picked a datachip off the desk and tossed it to James.  “I was going to ask you to pass them to Admiral Smith, but seeing you’re still in command ...”

“Thank you,” James said.  “Do you know who will be appointed the Ambassador?”

“That’s still being haggled over by the Foreign Office,” Uncle Winchester said.  He snorted in a remarkably child-like manner.  “Some of the mandarins want an experience diplomat, preferably someone who cut his teeth making deals with the Americans or the other spacefaring powers.  Others want someone more used to handling African or Middle Eastern powers ...”

“That would be disastrous,” James said, quietly.  “They’re too used to negotiating from a position of strength.”

He sighed.  After the economic storms of the mid-21st Century, large parts of Africa and the Middle East had become backwaters.  The old nation-states were long gone, replaced by states built on religious, racial or ethnic lines.  None of them were any match for a spacefaring power; if they caused trouble, the standard response was to send in Special Forces or call down strikes from orbit.  No one, these days, wasted time trying to rebuild entire nations.  If their people wanted better nations or rulers, the thinking ran, they could do it for themselves.

It was heartless, some said.  But all previous nation-building attempts had failed.

“Deals are being struck,” Uncle Winchester said.  “I believe there will be an answer soon enough, James.  Until then ...”

He shrugged expressively.  “Get your ship ready for combat, Captain,” he added.  “I have a feeling that these negotiations will be far from easy.”

Chapter Eight

As always, it was hard to tell how long it had been from the moment the aliens had left him alone with Jill to when they returned to his compartment.  Henry knew he’d fallen asleep twice – being a starfighter pilot had taught him to sleep just about anywhere – but he honestly wasn't sure how long he’d slept.  But it had given him time to think and bounce ideas off Jill, once he’d told her what the researchers had established about the aliens.  She’d picked up a great deal herself, merely from watching them closely.

“I don’t think they want us to mate,” she said.  “I’ve never seen them show anything resembling sexual interest in anyone.”

“The researchers say they mate like fish,” Henry agreed.  “The women eject eggs into the water; the men eject sperm and the two match up away from their parents, like tadpoles.”

Jill considered it as she lay back on the bed.  “I wonder what that does to their society,” she mused.  “Ira and I spent all the time we had together kissing and stuff.  They won’t do anything of the sort.”

Henry couldn't disagree.  His sex life had always been more circumscribed than anyone born outside the Royal Family, but that hadn’t stopped him spending most of his waking hours plotting how to have sex.  But so much of humanity’s culture, morality and society was built around sex, one way or the other.  How would an alien race that didn't have the same built-in urges as the human race grow and develop?

“They won’t have any concept of bastardry,” he said, finally.  “The children might be brought up by dedicated teachers, rather than their natural parents.  Hell, they may not even have husbands and wives, as we understand the term.”

He scowled, remembering his history.  One of the most promising royal marriages had shattered after one of the participants revealed that he’d sired a bastard child.  Another prince had been tormented by suggestions his father wasn't his father, although Henry had sometimes wished his father hadn't been his father.  He could have left the Royal Family with a clear conscience and gone elsewhere.

Jill sighed, her breasts rising and falling as she breathed.  “How strange,” she said.  “And yet ... why should we expect them to be like humans?”

Henry looked away from her.  It was unlikely the aliens had realised just how many problems they were causing him by putting a naked and beautiful girl into his cell.  There was little difference between alien males and females, as far as anyone could tell; they certainly didn't mate like humans.  But part of his body kept reminding him just how long it had been since he’d lain with Janelle.  And he had a sneaking suspicion she felt the same way.

He shook his head, firmly, then strode over to the entrance and peered down into the murky water.  It smelt funny, as always, but he’d grown used to it by now.  There was nothing underneath the cell, as far as he could tell, apart from a source of light.  The eerie green glow pervaded the water, marking the cell’s location.  And yet, he had no idea why it was there.  It wasn't as if the aliens needed light to see underwater.

“We shouldn't,” he said.  There were hundreds of human cultures and societies, even though all humans shared the same biology.  It was unlikely the aliens would have a culture humans would understand completely.  They were probably equally perplexed over some of the materials they’d pulled from their conquests.  “They’re nothing like humans.”

Something moved, deep below the waters.  Henry stepped back, just in time to avoid an alien coming up and out of the water like a performing seal.  It should have been an absurd scene, a literal fish out of water, and yet the alien moved with an eerie grace that belied its odd appearance above the water.  They would make poor soldiers, Henry considered, particularly away from the sea.  But they wouldn't have to fight on the land to win the war.

The alien shivered, spraying water droplets everywhere, then turned to face him.  Great yellow eyes met his, almost glowing in the dim light.  Henry resisted the urge to take a step backwards as the alien squelched its way around the entrance and up towards the bed.  Jill sat upright, her eyes flaring with alarm, just before the alien stopped and lowered itself to the floor.  Henry hesitated, then walked back to the bed and sat next to Jill.  She looked calm, calmer than he would have expected.  But then, she’d been an alien captive for years.

“We must talk,” the alien said.  As always, it used an electronic speaker.  “We must understand you.”

It sounded more comprehensible, Henry noted.  He’d always assumed the aliens had been studying human technology, including the teaching machines that could be found on almost any asteroid colony or small colonial homestead.  Given time, they could have used the teachers to learn English and a great deal else about humanity, even though the machines contained nothing of tactical value.  But the machines had also been designed for humans.  It seemed equally possible that the aliens might have been unable to use them properly.

“We must talk too,” Henry said.  He took a long breath.  “This war started by accident.”

The alien seemed to recoil, slightly.  It took Henry a moment to realise that it was connected – somehow – to its fellow aliens.  Telepathy?  There had been no sign the aliens were able to read minds.  Or perhaps he was just over-thinking the issue and the alien was using communications implants.  It made sense, Henry knew.  The aliens might know the humans were trapped, unable to leave without drowning, but they’d want to supervise anyone who went into the cell.  Henry might try to take the alien hostage.

“The War Faction states otherwise,” the alien informed him.  “State your case.”

Jill crossed her arms under her breasts.  Henry wanted to tell her to remain still.  It was unlikely the aliens could read human body language, although they had definitely had a chance to download medical or psych textbooks from the colonies they’d overrun, but there was no point in taking chances.  One of the most common human tactics in sensitive negotiations was to have one of the ambassadors an expert in reading people.  A good one could tell a practiced liar from a honest man.

“We settled the same world as your people,” Jill said, carefully.  “It never crossed our minds that someone else might be living under the waters.”

That was true, Henry knew.  The Survey Protocols the various interstellar powers had formulated had never been intended to look for a race that lived underwater.  No one had seriously believed that intelligent life could develop underwater, let alone develop technology and everything else that a spacefaring race would need.  Survey ships looked for radio signals, glowing lights at night time and all the other signs that matched humanity’s own pattern.  They’d never thought to look under the waves.

And that raises another question, Henry told himself, sourly.  What if there are other colonies shared with the aliens – and we don’t know about them?

It seemed unlikely, he knew.  Very few human colonies had one ship dropping off the colonists and no further contact with the rest of humanity.  Most colonies were founded by nation-states, after all.  But the aliens ... who knew how they thought?  Once they had ensured enough food in the oceans, they could settle a world and develop a colony without further contact from the homeworld.  Maybe they believed in allowing a colony world to build up its population before they started to turn it into an industrial powerhouse.

“We believe that all races start in the waters,” the alien said.  It definitely seemed to have mastered English.  “Did yours not?”

“No,” Henry said.  Technically speaking, humanity’s very distant ancestors had crawled out of the waters, but he had a feeling it would only confuse the aliens if he brought that up.  “We started on the land.”

“But you killed one of our people,” the alien said.  It was impossible to tell if it was speaking of Jill personally or humanity in general.  “That is not the sign of a peaceful race.”

Henry shuddered.  The alien had died ... and its compatriots had mounted an immediate counterattack against what they’d assumed to be a hostile raiding party.  A tragic mistake had rapidly turned into a nightmare, with tempers running high on both sides.  And yet ...

“You didn't attack us at once,” he said.  It was impossible to be sure, but he suspected that Jill had been a prisoner for over a year.  But no one was quite sure when Heinlein had been destroyed.  “Why not?”

There was a long pause, as if the alien was mentally debating what it should say.  “War Faction stated that war was inevitable,” the alien said, slowly.  “Peace Faction outvoted.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed.  There had been no shortage of human political factions that had turned a minor incident into a major crisis just to secure their own power, but he had the odd feeling he was missing something.  The aliens couldn't be that close to humanity, could they?

Jill uncrossed her arms.  “Which faction are you?”

“Peace Faction,” the alien said.  “Further attacks did not come.  Suggested shortage of hostile intent.  War Faction unimpressed.  Found your worlds.  Attacked them.”

Henry considered it, slowly.  “The War Faction believed we were hostile,” he said.  “And so they planned a war against us?”

“Yes,” the alien said.

“And the Peace Faction did ... what?”  Henry asked.  “Why didn't you try to talk to us?”

“Consensus for war,” the alien said.  “No talks until threat removed.  Threat proved harder to defeat than War Faction believed.  Attempted to convince War Faction to talk.  War Faction refused.  Attempted to talk to you directly.  War Faction intervened.”

Henry remembered the alien cruiser, killed by another alien ship, and shivered.  

“War Faction is locked on war,” the alien stated.  “We must talk.”

Henry looked down at his hands.  He might have been intended to serve as nothing more than a figurehead, but he did have a working knowledge of politics and diplomacy.  It was impossible to be sure, once again, yet he thought he understood.  The War Faction had believed humanity to be a threat and convinced the rest of its race to support preparations for a short victorious war.  And the other alien factions, assuming there were more than two, had gone along with it.  They might not have viewed humanity as a lethal threat, but they might have wanted to negotiate from a position of strength or even support the war in exchange for other compromises.  Henry had seen enough backroom dealing in Buckingham Palace to know that votes could be bought, often for the most surprising prices.  

And then the war had gone badly and some of the aliens had started having second thoughts.

Jill frowned.  “How was the decision made?”  She asked.  “Who voted?”

Henry looked at the alien, interested.  

“All voted,” the alien said.  “But voting blocs split.”

Henry puzzled over the statement, then pushed it to one side until he had more data.  The alien clearly thought he understood the underlying assumptions, that he possessed knowledge of a culture he lacked.  Perhaps he, too, would have the same problems explaining human culture and society to the aliens.  They'd put a naked man in the same cell as a naked woman without ever understanding why that might be a problem.

We need more data, he thought, recalling all the briefings they’d been given.  The researchers had come up with hundreds of theories, but none of them had actually been proven.  He was looking right at a source of data and he couldn't even think what to ask.  How do these bastards think?

“My people want peace,” he said.  The human race had nothing to gain from a war with an alien race, particularly if they could agree on a border instead.  Hell, they could share the border worlds without bumping into one another.  “You need to talk to us.”

“We have tried,” the alien stated.  “It failed.”

“It failed because your War Faction stopped it,” Henry said.  “You could try again.”

The alien eyed him unblinkingly.  “And your people would listen to us?”

“Yes,” Henry said.  “They will listen.”

“Take us with you,” Jill said.  “We can tell them you want peace.”

“The War Faction does not want peace,” the alien said.  “That is why it is called the War Faction.”

Henry blinked.  Had that been a joke?  Or was the alien making a simple statement of fact?  It might mean something more to the aliens, to their way of thinking, than it did to the humans listening to it.

He took a breath.  “Space is immense,” he said.  “There is room for both of our races to grow and thrive.  You would gain more by working with us and trading with us than you would gain from fighting with us.  Take us with you, let us talk to our people, and we can convince them to talk properly.”

The alien shivered, very slightly.  “It will be considered,” it said.  “They will debate it.”

Jill smiled.  “How does your government work?”

“All talk,” the alien said.  “All decide.”

“You said that before,” Henry said.  He rose to his feet and started to pace the cell.  “But how does it work?”

“All talk,” the alien repeated.  “All decide.”

Henry scowled, then peered into the murky water, catching sight of a handful of strange-looking fish as they swam past.  The sight reminded him of fishing in the Scottish Highlands, one of the few memories he had that weren't tainted by the media or gold-diggers.  Fish had swum in schools, if he recalled correctly, making their way through the water until they were caught by humans ...

He stopped dead.  Did the aliens swim in schools?

Communism had never worked – for humans.  There was plenty of evidence that proved communism was nothing more than a repulsive historical nightmare – for humans.  The communists eventually needed to create tools of coercion to make people behave, which in turn eventually created a dictator or a dictatorship of the party, of those judged ideologically sound enough to hold power.  Or it simply fell apart, if done on anything above a very small scale.  There had been a handful of asteroids ruled by communist regimes.  None of them had lasted very long.

But would it work for the aliens?

The briefings had speculated on just how living under the water might have shaped the alien character.  They’d have access to an infinite supply of food, ensuring there was no need for distribution networks or mediums of exchange like money, and they could simply swim off and find another school if they found the current one distasteful.  Could they actually make a government for the people, of the people, work?  Humans had real problems with unfettered democracy.  The aliens might have managed to make it work.

And then ...

Ethnic streaming, he thought.  After Terra Nova, the human race had quietly resolved to separate planets by ethnic and national groups.  Too many ethnic groups in close proximity led to war, ethnic cleansing and eventually genocide, particularly if they were historical enemies and had leaders keeping the old hatreds alive.  What would that do to the aliens?

“The War Faction,” he said, slowly.  “It controls entire planets, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” the alien said.

Henry swallowed as everything fell into place.  The aliens had social groups, but they were united by shared politics and ambitions, not survival.  Minor disputes could be tolerated, he suspected, but larger disputes would end with the disgruntled minorities heading off to join other schools of thought.  Given enough time, the schools would become echo chambers, with members repeating the same beliefs and perceptions over and over again.  The War Faction presumably believed that humans were a colossal threat.  They weren't paying any attention to any evidence that might suggest otherwise ...

Because it would be forbidden, he thought.  

The aliens had spread out through the tramlines, just like humanity.  They’d used their own form of ethnic streaming to settle other worlds, just like humanity.  And, in doing so, they’d made it harder for the schools of thought to even hear about other ideas, let alone adapt and adjust their own in light of new evidence.  The War Faction had presumably been warlike long before they’d discovered the human race, just like the humans who had believed in building up the various interstellar navies.  And then they’d stumbled across proof they were right all along.

“We have to talk to our people,” he said.  “Can you arrange a meeting?”

“We would have to pass through space controlled by the War Faction,” the alien said.  It had clearly been in silent contact with its supervisors.  “It will not be safe.”

Henry smiled.  “We don’t mind danger ...”

“Speak for yourself,” Jill muttered.

“... And we will take the risk, in hopes of forging a peace,” Henry said.  “But can you convince the War Faction to see reason?”

“They will talk,” the alien stated.  “Other factions will also talk.  A decision will be reached.”

Henry glanced at Jill and winced.  If he was right, the War Faction would be reluctant to listen to reason.  They’d think they had good reason to continue the war.

“We will depart soon,” the alien said.  “You will be transferred to a ship.”

“Thank you,” Henry said.  “Can we discuss other matters too?”

The alien looked at him.  “We can,” it said, finally.  “But we will have to leave soon.”

Henry nodded, then sat down facing the alien.  If he was right ... he thought he knew what questions to ask now.  And if he was wrong ...

He shook his head.  At least the aliens were mounting a peace mission now.  And maybe the other factions could convince the War Faction to stop the war.

Sure, he thought.  And maybe pigs will fly.

Chapter Nine

“Admiral on Deck!”

“As you were,” Ted ordered, as he strode into the briefing room.  The entire senior crew of Ark Royal had gathered to meet him, as per his orders.  “We don’t have much time, so take your seats and we’ll catch up on the formalities later.”

He took his seat at one end of the table, then tapped a switch, activating the holographic display.  A starchart appeared in front of them, human-held stars in green, alien-held stars glowing blood-red.  The tramlines were also marked; standard tramlines in gold, alien tramlines in silver.  He took a long moment to study the display, then turned his attention to his subordinates.

“Operation Trafalgar, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, without preamble.  “The overall objective is to make contact with Faction Two and attempt to enlist their aid against Faction One.  In the event of the first objective failing or Faction Two being unable or unwilling to assist us, our secondary objective will be to attack the centre of alien space here.”

He tapped a switch.  Their target, a star further into unexplored space than any human starship had ever ventured, glowed brightly on the display.

“The analysts, using the same algorithms that located Target One, believe that this star has an excellent chance of being the alien homeworld,” he continued.  “In any case, the alien homeworld is almost certainly in the general area.  Our orders, in the event of us failing to make peace, is to carry the war right into the heart of alien territory.  This will not be easy.”

That, he knew, was an understatement – and he could tell from the hastily-guarded faces that his subordinates knew it too.  Any heavily-developed world would have fixed defences, but it would also presumably have a number of heavily-armed starships defending it.  No one knew just how many ships the aliens possessed, yet it was unlikely they would leave their homeworld undefended.  The analysts had hinted the aliens might have drawn their forces down to attack Earth.  

Wishful thinking, Ted thought, sourly.  It sounded good, all right; it sounded too good to the true.  He would have liked to believe the alien homeworld was practically undefended – fixed defences wouldn't prove that much of a problem – but he knew better than to plan on such an optimistic assumption.  The fact that several analysts were trying to do just that worried him more than he cared to admit.

“I won’t lie to you,” he said.  “The situation is dire.  We are staring total defeat in the face – not just us, but the entire human race.  Our deep-strike into alien territory may mean the difference between survival and total defeat.  Ark Royal is the only carrier who could hope to pull the mission off against determined alien opposition.”

He took a breath.  “We should all pray that we can make contact with Faction Two and convince them to help us,” he added.  “But if not ... you’ve all seen the records from Earth.  The aliens have devastated humanity’s homeworld.  We ... are charged with doing the same thing to them if we fail to make peace.”

Once, he knew, the concept would have horrified him.  He’d resisted the urge to bombard alien settlements during their earlier missions.  Now ... now, he couldn't help feeling curiously unconcerned about alien casualties.  It bothered him, too, that he wasn't more bothered by the prospect of committing genocide.

And there were the bioweapons, of course.  But those would be held in reserve for the final days.

“We will be departing in eight days,” he said.  “By then, I want the flotilla ready for anything from peace to war.”

He sighed.  The last two days had been an endless series of briefings with the Admiralty, the Foreign Office and various diplomats from the spacefaring nations, all trying to argue over what peace terms the human race should consider acceptable.  Ted had pointed out that humanity wasn't in a good state to demand peace terms; they’d be lucky, he’d argued, to agree to a return to the pre-war status quo.  The diplomats had not been amused, but the Prime Minister had backed him.  He’d promised that the Ambassador would have been carefully warned to make the best deal he could, not hold out for an ideal deal the aliens would certainly reject.

“Ambassador Horace Melbourne will be joining us as the designated Ambassador-In-Chief for the mission,” he continued.  “He will be accompanied by two other diplomats from other spacefaring powers.  I trust you will all make him and his staff welcome.”

No one groaned out loud, but he sensed their irritation and dismay.  Ark Royal’s sleeping quarters would have to be altered to make room for the Ambassador and his staff, all of whom would probably demand quarters in Officer Country.  The crew would be trading bunkrooms and cabins for the next few days, with the humble midshipmen and junior officers getting the worst of it.  Ted knew precisely how he would feel if someone kicked him out of his cabin and felt a flicker of sympathy.  But it couldn't be helped.

“I’ll reassign cabins later today,” the XO said, briskly.  She'd been in line for her own command after the end of Operation Nelson, but there was no time to train up a new XO for Ark Royal.  “We should be able to handle it professionally.”

“He’ll want your cabin,” Fitzwilliam said, dryly.  “Admiral, I should lodge an official protest.”

“They wanted to take the White Elephant,” Ted said.  “I think they’d be better off on Ark Royal.”

He had to smile at Fitzwilliam’s expression.  The White Elephant – she was actually called the White Star – had been an attempt to build a five-star passenger liner for interstellar tourists.  But the market hadn't been ready for her and she’d been placed in storage, then reactivated as a possible troopship for the war.  Rumour had it that she was staggeringly luxurious, which would have suited the ambassadors perfectly, yet she was hardly a warship capable of standing in the line of battle.  It was far more likely that the aliens would just blow her away without even noticing.

“They have to be out of their minds,” Fitzwilliam muttered.

“In the event of us having to go to war, we will tell them to remain in their cabins,” Ted said, bluntly.  “I’d prefer not to have to send a ship back to Earth with them if it can be avoided.”

He took a breath.  “And, with that in mind, are we ready for war?”

Fitzwilliam looked at Anderson, who shrugged.

“Most of the internal damage has been repaired, now we were able to call on spare parts from China and several other nations,” Anderson said.  “There’s enough redundancy built into the systems to allow us to operate without the remaining subcomponents.  However, the main sticking point remains the armour.  We will simply not be able to get new solid-state armour in time for departure.”

He sighed.  “With your permission, Captain, I’ll strip it from several inner hull locations and use it to patch the holes,” he added.  “But our hull will still be weak in those points.”

Ted considered it.  “Will it be a major problem against alien weapons?”

“Laser warheads burn through our full armour anyway,” Anderson said.  “The real problem is the plasma cannons some of their warships carry.  They may be able to make a dent in the weakened armour ... and, of course, they can sweep the hull clear of sensors and weapons.”

“By now, they’ll know about our weaknesses,” Fitzwilliam commented, bitterly.  “Admiral, I think we have no choice, but to run the risk of using reduced armour.”

“See to it,” Ted ordered.  It was risky, he knew, but the alternative was worse.  “And weapons?”

“We’ve updated the mass drivers and railguns,” Anderson said.  “I’m actually working on ways to use railguns as small mass drivers, but I think they’d be better reserved for close-in point defence.  The last thing we want are aliens firing more laser warheads at us.”

“No disagreements there,” Ted said.  “What other problems are there?”

There was a pause.

“Crew morale is in the pits,” Commander Williams said.  She looked irked at having to discuss it in public, but she didn't have a choice.  “Not to put too fine a point on it, morale was sky-high until we returned to Earth, whereupon it crashed badly.  At least thirty percent of the crew had family or friends caught up in the tidal waves and either killed or rendered homeless.  Or missing.  Morale has improved since the Captain made arrangements for his crew, but it’s still pretty low.”

She frowned.  “And there are a great many angry crewmen out there,” she warned.  “If we do happen to host a bunch of alien diplomats ...”

“There might be incidents,” Ted finished.  He had no idea if the aliens would consent to sending diplomats onboard Ark Royal.  Even if they did, he wasn't sure if he would trust them not to bring any unpleasant surprises with them ... there, he had to admit, White Elephant would have come in handy.  “If we do wind up playing host to alien diplomats, have the Marines guard them at all times.  The last thing we need is a major diplomatic incident.”

He looked down at the CAG,  “Kurt?”

“We are seriously below complement for starfighter pilots,” Schneider said, flatly.  His voice was grim, yet curiously dispassionate.  “Right now, we have three and a half squadrons, two of which are made up of pilots who have never flown outside simulations and training exercises.  We were better prepared for war when we sailed off to attack New Russia.  And I have been unable to convince the remaining home defence squadrons to cut loose any pilots.  In short, we don’t even have starfighters for the escort carriers.”

Ted winced.  After the first attack on Earth, it had been hard enough to convince the Admiralty that Ark Royal needed a handful of frigates and escort carriers as part of the flotilla.  If the escort carriers hadn't been so useless in the line of battle, he suspected he would never have received approval.  But then, without starfighters, they were damn near useless anyway.

Commander Williams frowned.  “What’s the bottleneck?”

“Pilots,” Schneider said.  He looked down at the table, almost guiltily.  “Admiral, right now, we have starfighters without pilots.”

“I know,” Ted said.  The Royal Navy had produced Spitfires and Hurricanes in vast numbers, perhaps intending to sell some of their production line to other interstellar powers.  But it was pilots that was the true bottleneck.  A starfighter was useless without a pilot.  “Do you have a solution?”

“Only one,” Schneider said.  “I’d like to draw from the lead class at the Academy.”

“They’re kids,” Fitzwilliam protested.  “They won't even have completed the goddamned accelerated training course, let alone the full training period.”

“Yes, sir,” Schneider agreed.  “But we don’t have anywhere else to look.”

He met Ted’s eyes.  “There’s a big difference between flying a shuttlecraft and a starfighter,” he warned.  “If the pilots are too used to one craft, they won’t be prepared for the other.  I don’t think we dare use shuttle pilots until they’ve been retrained and we simply don’t have the time.  And every other experienced pilot is tapped already.”

Ted nodded, slowly.  The Admiralty was unlikely to agree to assign three new front-line squadrons to Ark Royal, let alone the escort carriers.  Using student pilots was one hell of a risk – they might wind up shooting each other instead of the aliens – but he saw no other option either.  There was no way they could recruit pilots from other nations.  They’d have the same problem as shuttle pilots, with the added disadvantage of believing they were prepared for war.

“Go to the Academy and ask for volunteers among the top-scoring pilots,” Ted ordered, finally.  “Make sure they understand this is a voluntary mission ...”

He broke off.  Starfighter pilots were always supremely convinced of their own skill, even when they’d managed to land so badly they’d broken the landing struts.  It was unlikely that the best student pilots would refuse the mission, no matter how often they were told that refusing would not reflect badly on their careers.  There were times, he thought, when starfighter pilots were allowed too much latitude.  But now, with death increasingly likely for each pilot, they could be tolerated.  

But if they prank my crew, he thought, remembering one incident on Formidable before her destruction, I’ll bring back the lash.

“Aye, sir,” Schneider said.  “I don’t think we will have any trouble finding volunteers.”

“I don’t think so too,” Ted said, dryly.  He looked around the compartment.  “Are there any other issues we need to resolve?”

“The crew could do with a day or two of leave,” Commander Williams said.  “Right now, far too many of them are approaching burn-out.”

“Sin City is gone,” Schneider pointed out.  “I thought we were going to have riots when that hit the datanets.”

Ted nodded.  The aliens, for reasons known only to themselves, had targeted Sin City with a long-range missile.  There was no military reason for the attack; Sin City might have been a wretched hive of scum and villainy, but it had no military significance.  And half of the servicemen who might have been visiting had been on active duty instead.  All the aliens had done was kill a few thousand prostitutes, visiting civilians and force an emergency evacuation of the rest of the complex.  It didn't seem like an effective use of a missile.

Unless they wanted to target our morale, he thought.  Every enlisted crewman – and not a few officers – in every interstellar navy was intimately familiar with Sin City.  One had been able get anything there for a price, from straight sex to VR simulations that covered the deepest darkest fantasies of the most depraved human mind.  Do they know us well enough for that?

He shrugged.  It didn't seem relevant.

“Assign them passes to Luna if they have places to go,” he said, finally.  Sin City wasn't the only den of ill repute, merely the best-known one.  “But we can't tie up shuttles to Earth, not now.  They’ll be needed for recovery work.”

“Aye, Admiral,” Commander Williams said.  

Ted nodded.  “Are there any more issues?”

There were none.

“We will greet the ambassadors in several days, I assume,” Ted said.  “As I said, we have to put up with their presence, so ... try to be polite, even if they are taking your cabin.”

He stood.  “Dismissed,” he said.  “Captain Fitzwilliam – a word?”

Fitzwilliam nodded, then waited until the compartment was empty, save for Ted, Fitzwilliam and Janelle.  Ted gave her a look and she nodded, then headed through the hatch, which closed behind her.  He felt a moment of concern – the bright and lively girl who had requested assignment to Ark Royal was gone, replaced by a stranger – but knew she had to work through her problems on her own.  Perhaps it would have been kinder to urge her to change her name and emigrate to Britannia.

“Admiral,” Fitzwilliam said.  “Do you believe this mission can succeed?”

“I hope so,” Ted said.  “But we won't know until we try.”

“We could have completely misinterpreted the data,” Fitzwilliam added.  “Or the aliens could be trying an elaborate trick.”

“It's possible,” Ted said.  It was the Flag Captain’s job to play devil’s advocate.  “But do we have many other options?”

He looked up at the display, charting the route to the alien homeworld – if it was the alien homeworld.  The researchers had written hundreds of papers, each one arguing for or against the conclusion.  But the only way to know for sure was to go and see.  Ted was confident his command could slip through the alien rear, remaining undetected until they launched the attack, yet he knew there were too many things that could go wrong.  Murphy would make an appearance at the worst possible moment.

“You’ll get a confidential briefing soon,” he warned.  “If we make peace, well and good; if not, there are options.”

“Yes, sir,” Fitzwilliam said.

Ted was reminded, suddenly, of just how young his Flag Captain actually was.  He’d used his family connections to try to take command of Ark Royal, yet – when thwarted – he’d shown the sense to actually learn from Ted, rather than doing his best to undermine Ted’s command.  And, when he’d been handed the opportunity to relieve Ted and take command for himself, he’d rejected it.

If he was my son, Ted thought, I couldn't be prouder.

“Many of those options are not good,” he added.  “They could make the war worse.”

He had a sudden vision of humanity’s worlds burning, one by one, as the aliens wreaked a terrible revenge.  And of alien worlds burning too.  The limits humans had imposed on international and interstellar conflicts meant nothing to them – and why should they?  They weren't human.

Fitzwilliam snorted.  “It can get worse?”

“It can,” Ted said, firmly.  He paused.  “What arrangements did you make for the crew’s families?”

Fitzwilliam flushed.  “I had them moved to the estate,” he said.  “They’ll be as safe as possible, even if we won’t be.”

“Good thinking,” Ted said.  He normally disliked any form of string-pulling – although he was honest enough to admit that might be because he’d never been able to do it for himself – but he had to admit that Fitzwilliam had done well.  “Will they have time to send letters to their families?”

“I believe so,” Fitzwilliam said.  “But Admiral ... the camps were shockingly disorganised.”

“Yes,” Ted agreed.  Someone should have supplied footballs or board games or even tried to take additional volunteers out to work.  “The emergency protocols were completely overwhelmed.  No one expected a disaster on such a scale.  Even a terrorist nuke would have been easier to handle.”

“It would have been worse if they’d gone after the towers,” Fitzwilliam said.  “Do you think that’s a good sign?”

Ted sighed.  “I hope so.”