The bitterness and frustration welled back up, forcing her to pause long enough to gather herself. “I hoped the plan wouldn't be necessary, sir,” she said. “If we hadn't faced a major engagement with unknown enemies, we wouldn't have needed to relieve Captain Blake of command. We would have returned to Earth without anyone ever having to know that the plan had been devised at all.”
“But Blake would have been left in command,” the First Space Lord observed.
“Yes, sir,” Susan confirmed. “What would you have done?”
“My commander nearly fell off the wagon,” the First Space Lord said. It took Susan a moment to realise he was talking about Admiral Smith. “I had written orders authorising me to assume command of the ship, if necessary. And in the end, I chose to help him rather than put a bullet in his career.”
“And if you had,” Susan asked, “what would have happened to your career?”
She scowled. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“It’s a little late for that,” the First Space Lord noted. “But yes, you may speak freely.”
“I was caught in a no-win situation,” Susan said. “Whatever I did, I risked losing my career - and perhaps my life. There were no good options, sir, and no one sitting on a comfortable chair in a ground-based office can magically pull one from his rear end. Our regulations may claim to protect men and women who blow the whistle, but our culture does not. Betraying one’s superior, even in a good cause, is a bad thing.”
“One might argue that choosing to do so shows significant moral courage,” the First Space Lord said.
“One might also argue that significant moral courage doesn't pay the bills,” Susan pointed out, tartly. “And that, after the accolades are gone, everyone that person works with will remember.”
“One might,” the First Space Lord agreed.
He leaned forward. “As I said, the Board of Inquiry has retroactively authorised your actions on HMS Vanguard,” he stated. “A copy of their final report will be made available to you, if you wish; for the moment, all you need to know is that you are officially in the clear.”
Susan nodded. “What about my crew?”
The First Space Lord looked pained. “Yes, you covered that nicely,” he said. “Just about everyone involved cannot be charged with anything, as you painted yourself as the sole mover behind the ... contingency plan. Given the situation, the Board of Inquiry has quietly decided to drop the issue. I believe they will be advised to try to avoid plotting against their next commanding officer.”
Because there won’t be a second chance, Susan thought.
“You have been formally confirmed as commanding officer of HMS Vanguard, retroactively from the date you assumed command,” the First Space Lord continued. “You’ll take a shuttle from Titan Base to L4, where you will ...”
Susan stared at him. “I’m in command again?”
“Yes,” the First Space Lord said. “Under the circumstances, it was either confirm you as Vanguard’s commanding officer or try to court martial you. The former allows us to bury as much as possible of the affair before the media starts asking too many questions. As far as anyone is concerned - and I suggest you stick with it - you spent the last month in a top-secret military base, assisting the analysts in studying the records from the battle.”
“Understood, sir,” Susan said. She was in command? She hadn't dared to hope she’d be allowed to return to Vanguard - or anything bigger than an asteroid mining base. “Sir ... what is the ship’s condition?”
“Your presumptive XO has also been promoted and will brief you, upon your return to command,” the First Space Lord said. “For now, suffice it to say that we will be sending a major task force to assist the Tadpoles.”
He rose. “The guards will assist you in packing up before you leave this place,” he added, dryly. Clearly, he knew as well as she did that she had nothing to pack. “And one other thing?”
Susan rose, too. “Yes, sir?”
“I understand that you were trapped in a hellish situation,” the First Space Lord said. “And that it had political implications that were not immediately obvious to you. And I do not blame you for the decisions you took.”
“Yes, sir,” Susan said.
“But ... the decisions you took could easily have been seen in a worse light,” the First Space Lord added. “I suggest - very strongly - that you don’t do anything to blot your copybook over the next few years. You’ve made a number of political enemies, Captain, and those enemies will stop at nothing to see your scalp being pinned to their walls.”
“I understand, sir,” Susan said, tiredly. She understood more of the political and naval realities than she cared to admit. She had no patrons of her own, no friends in high places. If someone with a title wanted her gone, it wouldn't be long before they found a suitable excuse to dismiss her from the navy. “It won’t happen again.”
“I should hope not,” the First Space Lord said. “And remember, as far as anyone is concerned, this month never happened. The records are sealed and will remain so until everyone involved is safely dead.”
“Of course, sir,” Susan said. Behind her, the hatch hissed open. “I won’t say a word.”
Chapter Three
“Welcome back, Your Excellency,” Doctor Katy Murray said. “It’s been too long since we were last blessed with your presence.”
Henry sighed, inwardly, as Doctor Murray turned to lead him through the network of secure airlocks that led into the asteroid facility. She was middle-aged and strikingly pretty, with red hair tied up in a neat little bun, but she was no research scientist. Her file had made it clear that she was a political operator first and foremost, struggling desperately to secure as much funding and backing for the Wells Research Facility as possible. Henry would have thought that funding wasn't in question - it wasn't as if their work wasn't important - but he did have to admit that the government sometimes had odd ideas about the correct way to allocate funds. Doctor Murray might just have a point, even if she was a crawling sycophant.
And at least her heart’s in the right place, he thought. There wasn't even a single hint that Doctor Murray was doing anything, but supporting her subordinates. She isn’t prostituting herself for anything personal.
He pushed the thought aside as he followed her into her office, which was strikingly bare. A large hologram floated in one corner, projecting an image from the oceans of Tadpole Prime, but the walls were bare, save for a single diploma in xenological research. He wasn't surprised, really, that she hadn't chosen to practice afterwards, not when there were only a handful of genuine research slots to fill. Instead, she’d moved into data analysis and then into management.
“I can get you tea or coffee, Your Excellency,” Doctor Murray said. “Or would you rather something stronger?”
“Tea would be quite suitable,” Henry said. He’d been forced to pose as a trencherman during innumerable ambassadorial dinners - he had a sneaking suspicion that several countries deliberately served the vilest food they could and claimed it was a local delicacy - but it wasn't something he cared for. Alcohol led to bad decision making, a lesson he’d learned the hard way. “And I’m afraid I don’t have much time.”
Doctor Murray looked disappointed. It was genuine, as far as he could tell.
“We don’t see many visitors out here,” she said, as she called her aide and ordered tea. “My staff would be delighted to know they haven’t been forgotten.”
“I would be surprised if anyone has forgotten about this place,” Henry said. “Even before the recent engagement at UXS-469, this facility was hardly unimportant.”
“We’re orbiting on the far side of the sun,” Doctor Murray pointed out. “Well out of sight and probably quite out of mind.”
Henry shrugged. So far, humanity hadn't found any alien bacteria that could infect human beings - or vice versa - but no one was inclined to take chances. Doctor Murray and her team knew, all too well, that there was a slight chanc
e that something would mutate and pose a threat to human life - and, if it did, that the thermonuclear warhead buried at the centre of the facility would blow it into dust if medical science couldn't stop the outbreak in its tracks. Just getting to the base required an intensive medical screening ...
... And, when he left, Henry knew he’d have to go through the whole unpleasant procedure again.
“There are strong reasons for your isolation,” he said, as the aide returned with a tray of tea and biscuits. “And you’re not the only ones carrying out such research.”
“No,” Doctor Murray agreed. She scowled. “I understand the political realities, Your Excellency, but they are quite annoying at times.”
Henry nodded, shortly. He’d hoped, after First Contact, that human research into alien biology could be consolidated, but none of the human powers had been particularly enthusiastic about sharing their notes. Given what the Russians had tried to pull ... he shook his head, irritated. Genetically-engineered viruses had posed a major threat, back during the Troubles, and still would if someone came up with an adaptive disease that defeated all current inoculations. Henry would have preferred to ban all such research, but he knew it was impossible. The only way to research cures was to research the diseases themselves.
He sipped his tea and listened, quietly, as Doctor Murray talked about her facility. Much of what she said wasn't new to him, but there were details he hadn't heard before, including expanded security and under-the-table attempts by various scientists to share notes on alien biology with their foreign counterparts. All such attempts had been reported, of course, raising the question of just who had authorised them. Were the Russians attempting to share notes without appearing to share notes ... or were they just trying to get a handle on British progress? There was no way to be sure.
“We did make some interesting discoveries regarding Unknowns #1 and #2,” Doctor Murray added. Henry straightened up. This was the important part. “And I believe you requested to be briefed personally.”
“By the person who did the research,” Henry said. He trusted Doctor Murray, but he’d fought enough political battles to know that data could be ... massaged between source and destination. The bureaucracy was loathe, as always, to push bad news up the chain of command. “Can you arrange for her presence?”
“Of course, Your Excellency,” Doctor Murray said. She tapped her wristcom once, then looked back at him. “I quite understand.”
Henry concealed his amusement behind a practiced mask. He would have been surprised if Doctor Murray did understand - or, if she did, if she accepted it. Bypassing her weakened her position in the bureaucratic hierarchy. But he hadn't given her a choice, not really. The new aliens were too important to allow bureaucratic bullshit to get in the way.
Particularly if I am to make it back to the estate before being dispatched back to Tadpole Prime, he thought. I don’t want to leave before saying goodbye.
He scowled at the thought, silently cursing - again - the fate that had made him a prince, first in line to the throne. His daughters - and his wife - were an object of intensive media attention ... and he wouldn’t be there to protect them, once he was on his way back to the front. The cockroaches who called themselves reporters might not be able to get into the estate - his bodyguards were armed and had authority to engage anyone crossing the inner wall with lethal force - but some toad of a political representative would probably try to pressure them into making an appearance or two. And without him, who knew what would happen? He was damned if he was letting the media ruin his daughters like they’d ruined his sister.
The hatch opened. “Doctor Song,” Doctor Murray said. “Thank you for coming.”
Henry rose and held out a hand. Doctor Song looked to be East Asian, with an oval face, almond eyes and long dark hair that fell to her shoulders. She took his hand and shook it with a surprisingly firm grip, then held up a datachip. Doctor Murray nodded to the room’s processor and motioned for her to plug it in. Henry lifted his eyebrows - didn't they trust their internal communications network - and then sat back down. Doctor Murray could run her little fiefdom in whatever way she wanted, he knew, as long as she got results.
“Unlocking the alien DNA-analogue has proved challenging,” Doctor Song said. She had an enchanting voice. Henry reminded himself, firmly, that he was a married man. “We don’t believe we have put together enough of Unknown #2’s DNA to make any credible guesses as to their appearance, but we have learned a great deal about Unknown #1.”
She tapped a switch. A holographic image - the internal structure of the fox-like aliens - appeared in front of them. Henry felt a flicker of disquiet, knowing - at some level - that the aliens were far from human. The similarities - the newcomers were more like humanity than either the Tadpoles or the Vesy - made it harder to accept the differences. This, he was certain, was genuine competition. Humanity could co-exist with the Tadpoles, but these aliens?
The galaxy might not be big enough for the two of us, he thought. And isn't that worrying?
“Until we get a live specimen to examine,” Doctor Song informed him, “all of our conclusions are tentative. However, we can say certain things with a great deal of certainty.”
She paused. “The oddest aspect of these aliens,” she added, “is that they are functional hermaphrodites. We’ve identified both penis-analogues and womb-analogues in some of the more intact alien bodies. Unlike every other known race, there is no separation into male and female; there is only one sex, which combines the two.”
Henry frowned. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as we can be,” Doctor Song said. “As you can see” - she zoomed in on the alien pelvis - “this particular specimen has both a penis and a vagina-analogue. My best guess is that they copulate doggy-style, perhaps taking turns to bend over. I assume that pregnancy does something to their hormones, perhaps rendering sex impossible, but - again - there’s no way to be sure without a live specimen. It's also possible that pregnancy doesn’t keep them from performing their jobs.”
“Odd,” Henry said. He leaned forward, studying the display. “What does this do to their society?”
“Impossible to say,” Doctor Song told him, gently. “One of my researchers wrote up a detailed list of possibilities, which you are welcome to read, but they are rough guesses at best. The aliens may alternate between siring or bearing children or they may determine who serves as the mother and who serves at the father when they mate. We have no way to be sure.”
“I see,” Henry mused. Would he have birthed one of his children, if he’d had a womb? The whole concept felt profoundly unnatural. Medical science had yet to find a way to give a man a proper womb. “We’ll have to ask them, if we convince them to talk to us.”
Doctor Song nodded. “Their hearing is markedly better than an unenhanced human’s,” she noted. “I’d go so far as to say that a loud noise would hurt them more than it hurts us. But they shouldn't have any problems communicating with us. I think they will have problems speaking our languages - their mouths aren't designed to pronounce most of our words - yet they shouldn't have any problems understanding us, once we build up a working database of their tongue. There’s no obvious reason why they shouldn't be able to communicate with us.”
She sighed. “Particularly as they clearly do communicate with another intelligent race.”
Henry nodded. “They’re both intelligent?”
“It would seem so,” Doctor Song said. “And they’re clearly not related to each other. You have more in common with a chimpanzee than our two unknowns have with one another. I am ninety percent sure they’re from different star systems.”
“But you’re not certain,” Doctor Murray said.
“No, director,” Doctor Song agreed. “But we’ve only encountered four other forms of intelligent life. The odds against even one race reaching intelligence are staggering; the odds against two doing it in the same star system are beyond calculation. I would bet half my salary t
hat one race travelled to the other’s star system and made a conquest.”
“I wouldn't bet against you,” Henry said. “I assume you don’t know which race is in charge?”
“We know nothing about their social structure,” Doctor Song said. “All we have is speculation - and unproductive speculation at that.”
Henry nodded. “What else can you tell me about them?”
“The Foxes - for want of a better word - are probably very fast,” Doctor Song said, reluctantly. “It’s impossible to be absolutely sure” - Henry hid his irritation with an effort - “but we found traces of something that resembles an organic booster drug within their bloodstreams. I think that, if challenged, they will be able to boost themselves automatically, probably without the side effects noted by our military. They’ll be used to the drugs.”
Fear God and Dread Naught Page 3
