He paused, looking from face to face. “I don't think I need to tell you,” he said, “that this is top secret. We cannot hide the plans to dispatch another task force, but its ultimate destination is a secret. Officially, you’ll be heading to Unity to reinforce the guard fleet there. I don’t want a single hint to leak out from anyone in this room.”
Susan frowned. “But if other governments know of it,” she asked, “won’t it leak out from them?”
“Only at the very highest levels,” Admiral Fitzwilliam assured her. “Everyone below them is under the impression that we - that you - will be heading back to Unity. I don’t want it leaking out until the task force is on the way.”
“Yes, sir,” Susan said.
It was unlikely, she knew, that there were any alien spies on Earth. The Foxes hadn't had time to convert humans to their cause, then slip them back into the Human Sphere. Even if they had, they’d stand out like sore thumbs. But it was quite possible that an alien picket was lurking somewhere near Earth, watching fleet deployments and monitoring radio broadcasts from a safe distance. They might just pick up on the fleet’s true destination and send a message home.
And it will take us two months to reach UXS-566, she thought. They’ll have plenty of time to set up a welcoming committee.
“Political considerations, of course,” Admiral Soskice said. “The government’s majority is slimmer than it might wish.”
“That is true,” Admiral Fitzwilliam confirmed. “We have to be careful.”
Susan kept her face impassive. She had a nasty feeling that that discussion was well above her pay grade.
“Losing the fleet would be awkward,” Prince Henry commented, dryly. “The public will probably be very concerned. And the media will have no trouble finding a bunch of so-called experts to condemn the plan.”
He sounded bitter. Susan wasn't surprised. Prince Henry had been hounded by the media from the very day he was born, his life relentlessly scrutinised and every single one of his decisions called into question. He’d been tormented so badly that he’d joined the navy under a false name, then withdrawn from the Royal Family and accepted a post on Tadpole Prime, where there were no reporters. His children had grown up there, not really aware that they were part of the Royal Family. Hell, from what he’d told her, they weren't even on the Civil List.
Not that they need it, Susan thought, dryly. An Ambassador’s salary is quite enough.
“I have no doubt of it,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. He rose. “John, you and I will discuss the finer details this afternoon. You’ll want time, I assume, to chat with Captain Onarina?”
“Of course,” Naiser said. He looked at Susan. “Would you care to join me for dinner tonight at the Royal Horseguards?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Susan said. She’d heard good things about the Royal Horseguards, although she’d never been. Apparently, the hotel - inside the security zone - had a first-rate restaurant. Her father would pretend to sulk if she went, she knew, but she wasn’t really being offered a choice. “What time?”
Naiser glanced at his watch. “1700? I’ll book a table, then let you know.”
“Yes, sir,” Susan said. A working dinner would be tolerable. “I’ll meet you outside.”
“And I would like to invite you for coffee after this meeting,” Prince Henry said. “Although we won’t be going any further than the cafe across the road.”
Susan nodded. She could murder a cup of coffee. Besides, she’d been hoping for a chance to chat to the prince and find out just how certain the xenospecialists were about their claims. If the aliens were truly driven by their own biology ...
But women check out men and men check out women, even though it’s rude to stare and it makes people uncomfortable, she told herself, dryly. That’s biological.
“Percy, I’ll be speaking with you later,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “Is there any other business?”
“I plan to brief Captain Onarina on the new weapons mix,” Admiral Soskice said. He arched an eyebrow. “I trust you will make yourself available?”
“I’m staying in London,” Susan assured him, simply. She was curious, despite herself. She hadn't heard of any radical new weapons systems, but the Royal Navy was good at keeping secrets. “I’ll be available for the next five days before I head back to the ship.”
“Understood,” Admiral Soskice said. He glanced at Fitzwilliam. “I believe that’s everything.”
“Then I declare this meeting adjourned,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “As I said, everything we discussed is top secret. I would be seriously displeased if the BBC were to pick up on it before it’s too late.”
Susan nodded, then followed Juliet out of the room. She wondered, absently, if Juliet would be accompanying the task force. The chance to talk to such a genius ... she made a mental note to check as they met Commander Outlander outside. She followed the younger woman down to the lobby, then recovered her terminal and waited for Prince Henry. There were seven new messages, six of them concerning Vanguard. The seventh was from Sandy Devonshire. Susan hesitated, unsure if she wanted to reopen Pandora’s Box, then clicked on the email. It was a dinner invitation for the following night.
Dad must have given him my contact code, she thought. She read the message again, shaking her head. She’d dated Sandy when they were both seventeen, the year before she’d headed off to the academy. It hadn't lasted, but ... she wondered, absently, what was going through his mind. A meeting with an old friend or something else?
But she didn't have any plans, did she?
She considered her options for a long moment. There wasn't much in London she wanted to see, beyond a handful of old bookshops that had somehow survived the bombardment. She’d never been a theatre snob, even when the streets had been packed with people going to see the shows. And she’d had no plans for the following night. Why not?
Susan keyed in a message, accepting the invitation, then looked up as Prince Henry appeared. He’d donned a heavy coat and a hat that hid his features, just enough to protect him from any marauding reporters. Susan doubted there would be many of them inside the security zone, but she didn't blame Henry for being paranoid. Reporters had come very close to ruining his life.
He gave her a tired smile. “Shall we go?”
“Why not?” Susan asked. Life on Earth - in London - couldn't be easy for a man who’d spent the last decade on Tadpole Prime. Cold, muggy, expensive and crowded ... Earth looked like hell. “It’s just across the road.”
Chapter Five
George had decided, long ago, that some complete bastard had decided that communal showers had to be as embarrassing as possible. Showers at Hanover Towers, thankfully, were single-sex; showers in the Royal Navy’s Luna Academy put men and women together, relying on them to be professional when faced with temptation. But she had to admit it had prepared her for showering with the marines. She didn't feel particularly self-conscious as she washed herself, rivers of brown water and mud splashing down and vanishing into the pipes. It wouldn't leave her feeling clean, she knew from grim experience, but it was better than nothing.
They’re preparing for the trials and tribulations of going on campaign, she thought, careful to avert her eyes as she stepped out of the shower. And readying them for the deprivations they will have to face.
She smiled at the thought. Her uncle had told her, back when she’d been a child, that there was no technological reason for the water restrictions onboard a large starship. Recycling the water wasn't hard - and besides, there was no shortage of comets that could be mined for water-ice if the ship was running short. But it allowed the Royal Navy to offer increased water rations as a reward for promotion, or even for good work. It was basic manipulation and it worked very well.
A dozen marines were dressing outside the shower, either preparing for the next exercise or heading straight to the barracks to catch up with their sleep. They paid no attention to her as she dressed, even though she looked more feminine tha
n she had in weeks. She wasn't sure if they were being polite, if it was a quiet admittance she’d earned her place or if they were merely too tired to care. Some of the stories she’d read, while preparing to join the marines on exercise, had suggested that the sergeants put something in the water to dim the libido. Others insisted that the men were simply too tired to care. But then, there was a small town only a five-mile walk from the base. She would have been astonished if there wasn't a brothel somewhere down there.
She dressed hastily, then glanced at herself in the mirror. The green uniform made her look thin - she’d lost a lot of weight over the last month - while her face looked oddly skeletal, almost inhuman. Her black hair, cut close to her scalp, looked thin, as if she was on the verge of losing it. She could easily have passed for a teenage boy, if she’d wished. Shaking her head, she walked out the door. She should have time to get some sleep before the next series of exercises began.
And hopefully avoid the rest of the squad, she thought. No one had been remotely happy at how they’d been taken out, even though it hadn't really been George’s fault. To be killed by their own side was embarrassing. They won’t wake me up just to yell at me some more.
A young man wearing a lieutenant’s uniform was waiting for her. “Complements of the CO, Ms Fitzwilliam,” he said. “You’re to report to him at once.”
George tried hard not to groan. She was tired and sore ... she needed food and sleep, perhaps not in that order. And the bloody exercises were due to continue for another fortnight ... it was just like being on deployment, complete with bad food, worse sleeping quarters and the prospect of getting killed. But she knew better than to ignore the order. The base CO would be pissed. All her chances of promotion would vanish like a snowflake in hell.
“Thank you, sir,” she managed. The young man looked depressingly fresh for someone who was supposed to be on deployment - or at least pretending to be on deployment. She felt a surge of hatred that was shocking in its intensity, a desire to just kick him in the nuts and swear blind it was an accident. “I’m on my way.”
She scooped up a bottle of water as she made her way down to the doors and out into the open air. Night was slowly falling across the Brecon Beacons, the sun vanishing behind the mountains that had tormented her for the last month. There were soldiers out there on SAS Selection, she knew, trying to make their way across the exercise ground before night fell completely. She’d had enough problems, merely working on the liaison course, to know she didn't have a hope of passing Selection, even if she’d been allowed to apply. The SAS, too, was an all-male unit.
Dering Lines Army Base looked oddly shabby, for one of the most important infantry training grounds in the United Kingdom. There was no escaping the sense of age around some of the barracks, even the ones that had been hastily erected to cope with the influx of new recruits - and conscripts - during the First Interstellar War. A dozen armed guards were clearly visible, marching to and fro; others, she knew, would be patrolling the fence or manning the guardpost at the gates. There had been a time when soldiers had gone unarmed on post, but that had changed after a series of terrorist attacks during the Troubles. Now, the guards had live weapons and the authority to use them if they believed they were under attack. It had come in handy during the Bombardment and its aftermath.
A flag fluttered in the breeze outside the main building, a stone construction that reminded her of Hanover Towers. The guards checked her ID, then pointed her towards the CO’s office. She couldn't help noticing that the guards too looked remarkably neat and tidy for men who were supposed to be on deployment, one of them daring to throw her a ‘come hither’ grin that she ignored completely. But then, making a good impression was important too. The QRF on permanent standby in the nearby barracks probably looked a great deal nastier.
Looking good is not as important as being good, she thought. Her uncle and father had used to say that, causing no end of fights with George’s mother. And if mother saw me now, she’d faint.
She sighed as she entered the outer office and announced herself to the CO’s secretary. Her mother was a wonderful person, but there were times when George wondered what century her mother thought she was living in. She’d obsessed over George’s coming-out ball, she’d insisted that George wore the finest clothes ... even to the point of ordering her daughter to wear a wig, just to hide her short hair. It wasn't as if George was interested in winning a good husband, certainly not from the ranks of the aristocracy. All the interesting aristocrats had joined the army or the navy.
“You may enter,” the secretary said.
George nodded and stepped into the CO’s office. As always, there was a faint hint of impermanence about it, even though she rather suspected that very little had changed for the last fifty years. The table and chairs were designed to be broken down and transported from place to place, the filing cabinets sat on coasters that would make it easy for two men to move them down the corridor ... the only thing that had changed, she thought, was the ‘I Love Me’ display on the rear wall. A dozen medals and commendations, all addressed to the CO; a set of photographs, some clearly from alien worlds ...
Lieutenant-General Ball cleared his throat. George jumped, then hastily straightened to attention. She was worse off than she’d thought, she realised numbly. If she fell asleep on her feet, in front of the CO ... she wasn't sure if that was a court-martial offense or not, but she was fairly sure it would earn her an unprecedented number of push-ups. The sergeants would have to invent some new numbers, just so they could give her them to do.
“Midshipwoman,” the CO said. “I trust you have been enjoying yourself?”
George nodded, not daring to speak. Lieutenant-General Ball was an experienced combat soldier, someone who’d been in the army longer than she’d been alive. The army wouldn't have assigned him to the base if they hadn't felt he knew what was actually important - and what was nonsense dreamed up by some REMF in Whitehall. She couldn't help wondering if he classed her as a piece of nonsense dreamed up by an idiot. The training had been interesting - and even fun, afterwards - but she was starkly aware that she didn't even begin to match the Royal Marines.
“Glad to hear it,” Ball told her. “You’ll be pleased to hear that your orders have come down from London.”
“Yes, sir,” George said.
She wasn't sure, in truth, if that was actually good news. Hell, she wasn't even sure why she'd been given the training in the first place. Her uncle hadn't been very clear when he’d offered her the chance to study under the Royal Marines. Some of the marines had offered suggestions, ranging from the reasonable to the ribald, but none of them had quite made sense. If she’d wanted to join one of the handful of combat units women could join, she would have done it back when she’d turned sixteen, instead of joining the navy.
But I might have had to wait until I turned eighteen, she thought. The army might not be so willing to take me when I was sixteen.
“You’re going to be reassigned to Vanguard as a liaison officer,” Ball said. He gave her a droll smile. “I’m afraid this doesn't come with a promotion.”
George blinked in surprise. A liaison officer? They’d had her running all over the Brecon Beacons just to make her a liaison officer? She’d been a liaison officer ... well, she’d worked with the Royal Marines. She certainly wouldn't forget the hellish landing on Unity and the trek across the planetary surface in a hurry. If she’d known half as much as she did now back then ...
She pushed the thought aside. Perhaps someone had decided she needed to train with the marines to be a good liaison officer. Or perhaps someone had something else in mind for her ... she wouldn't know, she suspected, until the end of the next deployment. If she was going back to Vanguard ... she had to smile. She would neither be First Middy nor a newcomer to the ship and her crew. Perhaps this time she would have a peaceful deployment.
There’s a war on, idiot, she reminded herself. And you’re going to be serving on a battleship.
>
Ball snorted. George dragged her attention back to him in a hurry.
“The good news is that you have four days of shore leave before you are required to catch a shuttle from London,” Ball informed her. “I have been ordered to release you from my command and arrange transport to Cardiff, where you will be able to catch a train to your final destination. Your military card will take you anywhere within Britain.”
George thought fast. It would take at least an hour to reach Cardiff, by which point the trains might have stopped running for the night. Coming to think of it, she had no idea just what the train service was like in Cardiff. The city had been devastated during the Bombardment and while she knew there had been a great deal of reclamation work, she’d heard that most of the survivors had chosen not to return. But the CO wouldn't plan to send her to the city if he hadn't thought she could make her own way from there.
I could hire a taxi for the drive to London, she thought. Or find a place to stay in Cardiff.
“Thank you, sir,” George said. She made a mental note to check her terminal as soon as she left the base. Perhaps she could call a taxi from the nearest town, saving the military driver a long trip. And then she could make arrangements for a hotel in London. “Sir ...”
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