“English Breakfast Tea,” he ordered, instead. “Why are you buying me drinks?”
“Have patience,” the man said. He looked at the waiter. “I’ll have a hot chocolate with vanilla essence and whipped cream on top.”
The waiter nodded and retreated.
“We’ve followed your career with some interest, Commander,” the man said. “You’re quite the hero.”
“You’re a reporter,” Kurt guessed. “I don’t have anything to tell you.”
The man smiled, as if Kurt had said something genuinely funny. “I’m afraid not, Commander,” he said. “But you might be happier with the reporter.”
He leaned back in his chair until the waiter returned, carrying a large mug of hot chocolate and a steaming teapot. Kurt watched the waiter go, then reached for the teapot.
“I’d give it time to settle,” the man advised. “This isn't Navy-Issue Tea, you know.”
“I’ll call you Fred,” Kurt decided. “You look a Fred.”
The man snorted, then removed something from his uniform belt and placed it on the table. Kurt’s eyes narrowed. A static generator was largely unknown outside the military or intelligence services, at least in Britain. He had no idea if Luna City had any import/export restrictions that covered counter-surveillance technology, but it wasn't something he would expect the average person to possess.
“You may be interested to know,” ‘Fred’ said, “that we can no longer be overhead or recorded. We exist in a bubble of static.”
Kurt stared at him. “Who the fuck are you?”
Fred shrugged, then reached into his belt again and produced a small terminal. “You may find this recording of some interest,” he said. “Watch.”
Kurt took the terminal and pressed play. A moment later, a pornographic scene appeared in front of him, showing a woman straddling a man and riding him for all she was worth. For a moment, he was puzzled ... and then he recognised the woman. It was Rose. And the man underneath her was him.
He half-rose to his feet. “How the hell did you get this?”
“That would be telling,” Fred said. He smiled as Kurt loomed over him. “I would advise you to sit down and pour yourself some tea. Or order something stronger if you wish.”
“Go to hell,” Kurt snapped.
“Sit down,” Fred repeated. He watched as Kurt slowly sank back into his chair. “I trust you recognise the participants in our little version of Starfighter Pilots Gone Wild?”
“Fuck you,” Kurt snarled.
“It seems more like you’ve been fucking her,” Fred pointed out, mildly. He took a sip of his hot chocolate. “Let’s be blunt, shall we? You’ve been having an affair with one of your subordinates – one of your direct subordinates. That will earn you, at the very least, a dishonourable discharge from the Royal Navy. Pretty awful, wouldn't you say?”
“Get to the point,” Kurt said.
“Pour yourself some tea,” Fred urged.
He smirked, unpleasantly. “That piece of footage is the icing on the cake,” he said. “We have enough evidence of your affair to utterly ruin you. You’d be dishonourably discharged at the very least; Rosy-Posy would also be discharged. And what would that do, I wonder, to your family? Right now, thanks to your wife, you have fuck-all in the way of savings. Your only source of income is your salary from the Royal Navy.”
Kurt glared at him, helplessly. He was right.
“A dishonourable discharge means you wouldn't be able to claim a pension,” Fred pointed out, clearly enjoying himself. “You might even do prison time, which would probably mean a spell in the most dangerous part of the country right now, picking up debris from the tidal waves. And then ... what would happen to your handsome son and pretty daughter?”
“I ... I don't know,” Kurt confessed. He wanted to believe the Captain would continue to protect them, but would that be possible if their father was dishonourably discharged from the Royal Navy? If not ... he recalled some of the horror stories and shuddered. He was damned if he was allowing Penny to slip into prostitution, even to feed herself. And Percy ... would he be able to follow his dream if his father was booted out of the Navy? “I ...”
Fred leaned forward. “Do you understand the position you’re in?”
“Yes,” Kurt grated.
He forced himself to pour a cup of tea, add milk and then take a sip. It tasted fetid. Fred watched him with some amusement, then leaned forward and recovered the terminal. Kurt cursed himself for not pocketing it, even though he rather doubted it was the only copy in their hands ... whoever they were. Reporters wouldn’t use blackmail as a source, would they?
“Excellent,” Fred said. He made a show of rubbing his hands together with glee. “You have a choice. You can follow our orders or your little porno show becomes the subject of the nightly news. I imagine that millions of people will download the videos in the first few minutes. Your partner has been quite honoured since Ark Royal’s first return to Earth and ... well, do you know how much Playboy offered her for a nude photo-shoot?”
“You’d be sued,” Kurt pointed out, weakly.
“Ah, but you would have to find us first,” Fred countered. “And who are we?”
Kurt said nothing.
“You will be departing on Ark Royal within the week, we believe,” Fred said. “One of us will be accompanying the fleet. You will be given orders and expected to carry them out, whatever the risk. Once you have returned to Earth, all copies of the recordings will be turned over to you and you will be free.”
Kurt gritted his teeth. He wanted to punch Fred, to knock that smug smile off his face, but he knew it would be pointless. Fred could destroy him and his family, just by uploading the footage to the datanet. By the time it was removed, if it ever was, his life would have been ripped apart. He’d be lucky if he was merely kicked out of the Navy ...
And there was Rose too. She’d admitted she wanted to stay in the Navy for life, even though she only had a few years of starfighter piloting left. She could become a CAG in her own right or switch to command track and aim for carrier command. An experienced starfighter pilot would make a good carrier commander. But it wouldn't happen if the recordings were released. She’d lose her career, at the very least. At worst, she’d join him in a detention cell and then a clean-up crew.
He took a breath. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”
“You don’t,” Fred said. “But what I will say is this; you can refuse now and have your career ruined, or you can do one simple job for us and then you will be free, You will have literally nothing else to offer us.”
“I don’t trust you,” Kurt admitted.
“Of course you shouldn't,” Fred said. He reached into his belt, then produced a card, which he passed to Kurt. “You will receive a message from this account, every so often. When you get it, go straight to the observation blister and wait. You’ll get your orders there.”
He picked up the static generator and dropped it back in his belt, then finished the mug of hot chocolate in one swallow. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Commander,” he concluded. “And I hope your career continues to rise.”
Kurt watched, helplessly, as Fred rose to his feet and walked off, leaving a handful of coins on the table. They were Luna Currency, Kurt saw; usable everywhere and damn-near untraceable. Fred couldn't have made the point more blatantly if he’d tried. There was no way Kurt could find him and his associates for himself – and, without any way to get at them, he had to do as they said or accept losing everything.
He cursed himself as he finished his tea. If he hadn't been so convinced they were going to die, he told himself, he would have refused Rose’s advances. He hadn't been on the outs with Molly at the time ... had he? But he’d survived the battle and he’d kept the affair going, despite the ever-increasing risk of being found out. And now disaster had finally fallen.
If he made a full confession, the blackmailers would be caught. Fred had told him that at least one of them
would be on the starship. They could set a trap and catch him. But it wouldn't be enough to save his career, even if Rose was spared. And he wouldn't be able to support and protect his family if he was discharged from the Navy.
He didn't have a choice, he knew. He had to do as they ordered.
His terminal bleeped. It was a message from the Commandant, informing him that fifty-two trainee pilots had accepted the offer of an early start to their duties, despite the risk. All of a sudden, it seemed utterly unimportant.
You fucking idiot, he told himself, savagely. What the fuck were you thinking?
Chapter Eleven
“Admiral,” Janelle said, “Ambassador Melbourne and his staff just signalled us. They’ll be landing within thirty minutes.”
“Finally,” Ted muttered. He’d hoped to have the ship ready to go before the planned deadline. Instead, the Ambassador and his staff had cut matters very fine indeed. “I’ll be down in the shuttlebay to greet them.”
He had no doubt, as he pulled on his dress uniform, that the Ambassadors would expect a full greeting party. But they were going to be disappointed. Ted couldn't justify pulling a honour guard of Royal Marines out of Marine Country, let alone divert his senior officers from their duties to greet the Ambassadors. Instead, it would be just him. If nothing else, it would give him a chance to see how the Ambassadors reacted to what they would probably consider disrespect.
“Don’t forget your cap and sidearm,” Janelle warned, as Ted inspected himself in the mirror and reluctantly concluded he looked presentable. “And you should wear your medals, sir.”
“No, thank you,” Ted said. He’d been given several medals by Britain and dozens more from all around the world. There was no way he could wear all of them on his chest, certainly not in a public gathering. Protocol officers were still having fits over precisely how many medals he should wear at any one time. “There’s no point in trying to impress them.”
He sighed. Janelle had been moved into his cabin, her own having been assigned to one of the Ambassadors and his aides. The first person who joked about it, he had promised himself, would be spending the rest of the cruise cleaning toilets with a toothbrush. But it did have the advantage of allowing him to keep an eye on Janelle. She was still doing her duties, but it was clear her mind was elsewhere. Perhaps leaving the solar system entirely would be better for her.
“They’re almost here,” Janelle said. “The shuttlebay is preparing to receive them.”
Ted nodded, then walked through the hatch and down towards the shuttlebay. Janelle followed, dogging his heels like an overeager puppy. Several crewmen saluted him as he passed; others, carrying large boxes of spare parts and other components, merely nodded. Ted smiled, remembering the days when he had been a junior officer. They’d competed to carry the larger boxes, knowing it spared them from having to salute every superior they met along the way. It was astonishing how many junior officers thought they were the first ones to invent that dodge.
And it keeps them busy too, he thought, wryly.
He stepped through the airlock into the shuttlebay, just in time to watch as the shuttle nosed its way through the hatch and settled to the deck, the giant shuttlebay doors closing behind it so the compartment could be pressurised. The shuttle looked older and more battered than he would have expected from a diplomatic shuttle, but all forms of aerospace transport were in short supply right now. Chances were the original craft had been detailed to recovery work and hadn't been returned to their owners yet.
“The shuttlebay is pressurised,” Janelle said. “Admiral?”
Ted sighed. Having reporters onboard his ship had been bad enough, but he knew from scuttlebutt that ambassadors could be worse. They combined the very worst of politicians and reporters, wanting to have things all their own way while being too ignorant to understand just what they were giving away. Or maybe he was just being paranoid. He knew the British Government wouldn't have selected an idiot or a team of idiots to handle delicate negotiations with the aliens. The files had certainly suggested otherwise.
He led the way into the shuttlebay and stood to attention as the shuttle’s hatch cracked open, revealing a pair of grim-faced aides. They blinked at Ted, clearly having expected something more formal, then stepped down and onto the deck. Behind them, the Ambassadors and their staffs followed, their faces schooled to reveal nothing of their thoughts. Ted saluted them, then relaxed. It was important that none of the Ambassadors thought they could walk all over him.
“Admiral Smith,” Ambassador Melbourne said.
“Ambassador,” Ted replied. “Welcome onboard Ark Royal.”
Ambassador Horace Melbourne didn't seem put out at the lack of a formal greeting party. He was a short man, older and fatter than Ted would have expected wearing a simple shipsuit with a Union Jack mounted prominently on his right shoulder. Behind him, the American, Chinese and French diplomats wore similar clothes, although with their own flags. It had been decided, apparently, that there was no point in wearing any form of formal dress. The aliens would be unlikely to understand the importance of a suit and tie.
“It’s a pleasure to be here,” Melbourne assured him. “We’re quite enthused about the chance to handle the diplomatic negotiations.”
He smiled, then turned to indicate his companions. “Let me introduce Ambassador Lawrence Tennant, of the United States of America, Ambassador Luo Wenkang of China and Ambassador Pierre Gasconne of France. Between us, we represent the major powers of Earth.”
“That’s good to hear,” Ted said. The aliens might have nation-states of their own, but there was no doubt that humanity definitely had different nations and nationalities. An agreement that suited Britain might not be accepted by the other spacefaring powers. But with four ambassadors involved, it was likely they could come up with a compromise the entire human race could accept. “With your permission, we will show you to your quarters and get you settled in for the voyage.”
He felt his eyes narrow as others came out of the shuttle. One of them, a young girl who couldn't have been much older than Janelle, didn't ring any alarm bells, but the presence of Doctor Russell definitely did. The bioweapons project was an international research effort, Ted knew; it was the only way to avoid accusations that Britain was covertly breaking the ban on genetically-engineered biological weapons. And he had the feeling that having the Doctor assigned to his ship meant that someone anticipated having to use the bioweapon against alien-settled worlds.
“This is Doctor Polly MacDonald,” Ambassador Melbourne said, introducing the girl. “She is currently one of the senior researchers at Selene.”
Where they keep the alien captives, Ted thought. He made a mental note to read the girl’s file as quickly as possible. Had she figured out a way to understand the aliens or was she as blind as the rest of them? He’d need to talk to her – or have Janelle talk to her – as soon as possible, without the Ambassadors listening in.
“Welcome onboard,” he said. “I look forward to hearing about your work.”
Polly MacDonald smiled. She was pretty, with curly red hair and a freckled face, but it was clear she was also very smart. Ted had a cynical view of most Earth-side universities – they tended to specialise in turning intelligent young people into fools and ideologues – yet he knew that Selene wouldn't have tolerated an idiot becoming a senior researcher. Selene was focused around results, rather than academic ideals. It had produced some of the best inventors of the last fifty years.
“Thank you, Admiral,” she said. Her voice had a Scottish lilt, although it was almost buried under a more cosmopolitan accent. “It’s always a pleasure to talk about it to someone interested.”
Ted nodded, then frowned inwardly as more aides and assistants flowed out of the shuttle. Each of the Ambassadors, it seemed, had at least five or six people assigned to them by their government, several with redundant job portfolios. That, at least for the Chinese Ambassador, probably meant that some of the aides were actually mean
t to keep an eye on their nominal superiors. The Frenchman might have the same problem.
“If you’ll come with us,” Ted said, “we will escort you to your cabins, then you can join me and my senior officers for dinner later.”
“Ah,” Ambassador Melbourne said. “The very best of naval cuisine.”
“Of course,” Ted agreed, dryly. He barely managed to keep himself from smirking openly. If they were expecting a nine-course banquet with all the trimmings they were going to be very disappointed. There was no way he was going to host such a gathering when there were millions of people starving down on Earth. “Please. Come this way.”
***
Kurt stood on the balcony and silently watched as the Ambassadors and their staffs made their way towards the airlock. The Ambassadors seemed to take it in their stride, but some of their staff were clearly ill-at-ease onboard the giant carrier. Kurt had never felt it himself, yet he did understand the feeling. The carrier could be disconcerting to a new starfighter pilot, let alone civilians who might not even have flown in space before. Faint quivers ran through the deck as the engineers tested the drives, while there was a constant thrumming in the background. Kurt had to concentrate to hear it now – he was so used to it – but it would be a while before the newcomers were able to tune it out automatically.
Ark Royal 3: The Trafalgar Gambit Page 11
