by Ben Jeapes
The command came from the prideship and one by one, in the designated order, the Earth ships – not without a small amount of trepidation – fired their thrusters and advanced into the sphere. And vanished.
Ark Royal’s orders came through.
“Proceed,” Gilmore said. His voice was steady but he had decided that if he mopped his brow the action would only call attention to the fact that he was sweating. Everyone else, perhaps using the same logic, was carefully studying their instruments.
Adrian Nichol fired the thrusters and the ship moved forward. There was no sense of transition. One moment the sphere was dead ahead, almost touching the ship, and the next there was only the black of space around them again. Space a thousand lightyears from Earth. The ships that had gone through ahead of them were there, waiting.
On the flight deck there was the sound of several people suddenly starting to breath again.
“Take up our designated position,” Gilmore said. “Don’t want anyone ramming up the stern tubes.”
Ark Royal moved aside to let the next ship, the Vatican’s Christopher, through. Another ten minutes and the last of the Earth ships had appeared. Behind it loomed the prideship, and then the sphere had vanished and the step-through was completed.
The Roving’s sun was a bright marble ahead of them. They were roughly the same distance from it as they were from Earth’s sun: the briefing pack said step-throughs started and ended at the same gravitational potential, which in this case – since the two suns had roughly the same mass – meant roughly the same distance from each. And for the first time ever in space, Gilmore had a flash of agoraphobia. Even in deep space in the Sol system, he was still home – he was where he belonged – but now he was light years from home in a solar system to which humanity had a claim only by invitation of the inhabitants. One tiny human in an infinite amount of someone else’s space.
He bit his tongue and ordered a status report.
*
The prince was on the bicycle in the ship’s gym, flushed and sweating, legs pumping. Gilmore opened his mouth to speak and the prince held up a hand to silence him.
The figures on the display read 9.7, and climbing. When they reached 10 the prince stopped and let the bicycle’s mechanism whirr to a standstill. Then he started peddling again at a reduced, more leisurely rate. He grinned at Gilmore. “Ten miles every day without fail, Captain. Highly recommended. What can I do for you?”
“You asked to see me when I came off watch, sir,” Gilmore said.
“I did?” The prince paused with an element of theatre – just enough that Gilmore wasn’t sure if he was being wound up. “I did, yes. Thank you for coming. I want to use that software officer of yours, if you can spare him.”
“Mr Kirton?”
“That’s him. I’ve looked through your crew records. Seems he’s quite a whiz with the electrons.”
Gilmore held back a laugh. Quite a whiz? Electrons? “What would you like him for, sir?”
The prince told him and Gilmore raised an eyebrow.
“Any objections, Captain?” the prince said.
“None at all, sir.” Indeed, Gilmore was delighted that for once the prince had thought of asking for something. “I think he’s still on the flight deck.”
Peter Kirton was indeed on the flight deck, carrying out a task on one of the auxiliary desks. Adrian Nichol was also there, at the main console, and unfortunately for Kirton they were alone.
“-and the Father says to the Rabbi, sir, I know the prohibitions of your religion, but there’s something I must ask you.” Nichol was leaning forward eagerly, awaiting every nuance of reaction. Kirton looked resigned. “Have you ever lapsed and eaten pork? And the Rabbi says, yes, yes, may the Lord forgive me, I once lapsed. But tell me, Father, I know of your own prohibitions, so do tell me, have you ever lapsed and ... you know? And the Father says, well, I must confess that I once did, yes.
“And the Rabbi grins, and says-” Nichol saw Gilmore and Prince James waiting in the hatch. “Sir!”
“The Rabbi says, better than pork, isn’t it?” Gilmore said. Joel had told him that one once, and had been both surprised and impressed that his father already knew it. “Mr Kirton, a word please.”
The prince insisted that the three of them return to his cabin, where he got straight to the point. “Lieutenant, I want to be able to understand the Rusties.”
Kirton frowned. “But we can, sir.”
“Everything they say is filtered through their own translators, which is thoroughly unsatisfactory,” the prince said. “They could be saying anything and we’d never know. Could you manage something which would do our own translating?”
Kirton rubbed his chin, eyes slightly glazed as he pondered the problem. “Well, in theory, sir,” he said. “Neural technology might help ... throw enough examples at it and it works out its own rules. So if we knew roughly what a Rustie had said from its own translation, bit by bit we could make our own translator. But then the problem is hearing a Rustie speak in its own language. Arm Wild demonstrated his translator unit for me – they subvocalise so we don’t hear their original words. Mr Loonat may be able to devise a microphone that could hear them-”
“Good, good.” The prince’s cutting gesture indicated that Kirton should stop talking. “That’s all I wanted to know. Actually, they have two languages. Normally they use a mixture of vocal speech and body language and even smells, but they do have what they call mouthtalk as well, which is just vocal, and that’s what they use for their translators.” He took out his aide. “Plantagenet, please copy to Lieutenant Kirton’s archive file ‘Enigma’, password ‘Bletchley’.”
“Complying,” said the AI’s voice.
“Play file ‘Enigma’,” said the prince, and a noise that Gilmore for a moment had trouble placing filled the cabin. Immediately, however, a familiar bland voice spoke. It could have been Arm Wild or any other Rustie but the voice came from a translator unit.
“-impressive achievement,” it said. “This vessel is larger than any belonging to the First Breed.”
“Thank you, you honour me.” It was a human male voice now which Gilmore recognised as belonging to King Richard.
More Rustie-speak, which translated as: “Its power consumption must be-”
“Cease play,” Prince James said. He looked at the other two. “They were impressed by UK-1 when they came to see us,” he added conversationally, with a hint of pride.
“You could hear them speak!” Kirton said.
“Not at the time. We recorded as many conversations as we could and we enhanced the noise they made. What you have here, Lieutenant, is over fifty hours of the Rustie’s own language plus their own translation into Standard, as supplied during their stay on UK-1. Will this suffice as raw data?”
Kirton’s eyebrows were almost up above his fringe. “I dare say, sir. But-”
“But?”
“I can’t believe we’re the first to try, sir! In fact, I’d heard people already have, and just haven’t been able-”
“Just try it yourself, that’s all I ask. Will it take long?”
“Long?” It was only Kirton’s nervous respect in speaking to the prince that stopped him from laughing out loud. He had been given a task that many others had been given, and which no one else had been able to accomplish, and asked if it would take long. “Well, sir, it might have helped if we’d got this-”
He stopped, remembering where he was, and Gilmore filled in the remainder of the speech: if we’d got this data sooner and not two days out from the Roving. In fact, why hadn’t the king’s people started work on this the moment they had the recording?
“Well, there it is,” the prince said. “That will be all, gentlemen.” They had half-turned to go, when the prince added: “oh, on a ship this size I quite understand that you can’t keep secrets from each other, but there’s no need to mention this in Arm Wild’s presence, eh?”
*
The Roving lay below them a
nd it was everything they had dreamed of. Blue oceans, whispy white clouds, the land a patchwork of shades of green and brown. The polar caps gleamed painfully white.
“I can breath the air from up here,” Samad said, and the others knew what he meant. Most of them hadn’t been on Earth for years – Kirton never at all – but still, those that had could remember the grimy air, the endlessly recycled water ... But here they would have it for free – clean air, clean water, empty open land to run free in.
After negotiation with the current occupants.
That was the variable, Gilmore thought. No one knew anything about the Rusties’ home world. They, too, might have huddled, oppressed masses crying out to come and settle on the Roving. Or, like some governments on Earth, they might want to keep their populations at home and use the Roving’s natural resources to look after them. Turn the world into a giant mine.
What had the Rusties said in their invitation? Something about, if two such similar races carried on separately, sooner or later they would clash. They had to start cooperating now. It had struck Gilmore then, and it still did, as the wisest thing that had been said in this whole affair. Humans and Rusties had to work together for their mutual good, and it would happen on the Roving.
The two words Gilmore had waited so long to hear were spoken by Peter Kirton, now on watch.
“Orbit established.”
“Power down main engine,” Gilmore said. “Disengage navigational controls. Link attitude thrusters to main computer for automatic correction.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
The journey was over: they could no longer be considered to be travelling. Once orbit was established, a whole new set of paradigms took over. No one needed to be on the flight deck any more: the automatics could keep the ship in orbit for as long as there was fuel in the tanks and all that was needed was someone on board at any one time to handle emergencies or call in help.
“All delegation ships.” The voice of a Rustie translator unit sounded from the comms desk. “Welcome to the Roving. Please set your scanners for visual, forward.”
Kirton looked at Gilmore. “Sir?”
“Do it,” Gilmore said. The view on the main display changed to dark sky with just a sliver of the Roving at the bottom right corner.
Silvery specks showed as a cluster in the centre of the display. They approached the fleet with discernible speed.
“Radar?” said Gilmore.
“Ten ships, sir,” Kirton replied. “Approaching fast-”
“A welcoming committee,” said Arm Wild. “I dare say they have chosen to honour you with a fly past, Captain.”
“How thought-” Gilmore said, and didn’t finish.
The flight of Rustie ships – small craft, much smaller than the fleet’s prideship – banked suddenly, swerving to one side, then back again. Then in a flash they were past the ship and off the edge of the picture, but not before they had started a starburst manoeuvre around the fleet.
“Bloody show offs!” exclaimed Julia.
Gilmore looked at the Rustie across the flight deck. “We’re impressed, Arm Wild,” he said. And, silently, he applauded the Rusties. In their inoffensive, polite way they were making it quite clear that for the moment the humans were guests only. Human tech could not have managed that display.
If those Rustie vessels were armed, he thought, we wouldn’t have had a chance against them, torpedoes or not. Prince James, too, seemed thoughtful.
Oh, yes. Clever, clever Rusties. He pushed the thought aside.
“I want everyone in the wardroom,” he said. “Will you join us, Arm Wild?”
“We are now on orbital watch,” he said five minutes later. The full ship’s complement was present: holding this meeting in the wardroom instead of the flight deck was a symbolic act to show that they had indeed arrived. “Number One?”
“Sir.” Hannah Dereshev consulted her aide. “The minimum legal requirement for orbital watch is one human on the ship at all times. However, we’re a military ship in orbit around a new world with a hundred and one unknowns out there, so we will have two people on watch, for a period running from midday to 11:59 and 59 seconds, ship time. Remember our time signal is now coordinated with the Roving day and our 24 hours actually last for 26, so you might find yourself getting unexpectedly tired in the late evening.
“Number one watch is the captain and Ms Coyne. Number two is myself and Mr Nichol; number three is Messrs Loonat and Kirton. It is now 15:48 so the first watch gets a bargain. That watch is you two, Samad, Peter. Subsequent watches run in numerical order.”
“Aye aye, sir,” they said with resigned grins. They knew they had already been chosen by lot.
Hannah went on. “Now, a day is a long time, and it’s even longer here, but the system was chosen so that each of us can have two full days of free time between watches, to do as we will downstairs. The watches aren’t writ in stone and you’re welcome – at your own responsibility – to swap between yourselves. Just let me know any changes, and any problems that you have, well in advance.
“Mr Nichol, Mr Loonat, please ready the landing boat for atmospheric use. Mr Nichol will be taking His Highness and Arm Wild down to the meeting place at 08:00 tomorrow. Crew dismissed.”
Gilmore tapped on the door to the prince’s cabin, bidden by yet another summons.
“Enter.”
Gilmore found the prince gazing at a live view of the Roving on his wallscreen.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” the prince said. “Plantagenet, record this for my personal records, will you?”
“Certainly, sir,” said the AI’s voice. James was already back in his reverie.
“Look at it, Captain,” he said. “Vast spaces, vast natural reserves ... the UK deserves this place.”
“Seven thousand people would rattle about a bit, sir,” Gilmore said.
“Pah,” said the prince. “Do you think we’ll keep it all to ourselves? Of course not. There’s millions, billions on Earth who’ll be queuing up for a chance to come here and start again, and we’ll be in charge of it. We’ll clean up, Captain! Of course, we’ll have to insist that they become UK citizens-”
Gilmore had a sudden, horrible feeling that he knew where this was going.
“A whole new empire,” he said.
“Bigger and better than ever before!” said the prince. “India, the jewel in Queen Victoria’s crown? A pebble, compared with what we’ll make of this place.” He gestured dramatically at the image. “The East India Company? Street traders. Wait until we start issuing shares in the Roving Company-”
“Can I ask what you wanted to see me for, sir?” Gilmore said, more to shut the prince up than anything else. Didn’t he realise the days of empire were gone? You couldn’t have empires nowadays. People were too aware. Too free, and too accustomed to freedom. And those states that did approximate empires, for example the Confederation of South-East Asia, just served as examples of why the idea didn’t work anymore.
Not that there was any chance of the prince’s dreams coming true, Gilmore reminded himself. As if.
“Ah, yes.” The prince pulled himself back into the real world. “Yes, Captain, I’d appreciate your presence with me at the Convocation.”
“Sir, I’m on watch tomorrow,” Gilmore said politely. The Convocation was what the whole mission was about: the Rusties had mentioned it in their invitation. First, the delegates would be given a whirlwind tour of the world so as to finalise their proposals, then they would meet together and present their respective claims to be joint masters of the Roving with the Rusties. Gilmore didn’t have time for that when he had his ship to care for.
The prince looked at him as if he were mad. “Captain, we’re here! We’ve arrived! Nothing’s going to happen in orbit and I need you on the surface. All the others will be there with their hordes of advisers and assistants. Frankly, Captain, you can give me face down there.”
“Sir-”
“There’s two of you on each watch, correc
t?” the prince said. “And all you have to do is be here – you don’t have to work or anything?”
“Yes-”
“Then it’s settled. Get one of the others to stand in for you.”
“I should stand my watch, sir!” Gilmore snapped.
“What you should do, Captain, is serve the best interests of the United Kingdom, and I say that means accompanying me. This conversation is over.”
The prince made sure it was over by holding the door open, even while Gilmore was trying to think of a final answer. He left the cabin, fighting the urge to kick the wall, and saw Hannah. She had the next-door cabin and she must have overheard. “We’ve got to rearrange the watch already, Number One,” he said coldly.
“Captain, I don’t think this is the first time he’s going to demand your time,” she said. “Either we accept that Julia will be on her own sometimes, and you join your watch when you can, or we’ll be permanently rearranging.”
Gilmore ground his teeth. “I suppose so,” he said. It was small consolation. For the first time the prince was actively interfering with his running of his ship, and he wondered how many more times it would happen and how long it would take them to come to blows.
- 11 -
18 May 2149
The view through the ports cleared as Ark Royal’s docking arm moved Sharman away, and Gilmore got the first chance to look at his command from the outside since leaving Earth. The voyage had been shorter than many conventional trips across the Sol system but still, after such a distance he felt the ship should show something. Should be somehow battered a bit; dignified but worn, like a sailing ship of old that had just circumnavigated the globe.
Ark Royal looked just the same as when she had left the dockyard.
He heard the clunk of the docking arm releasing and felt the vibration of the boat’s thrusters; he saw Ark Royal’s hull slid by, then the edge of the ring. He switched the display in front of him to a rear view. The ship’s prow moved slowly towards the top of the image and receded as the boat dropped down out of her orbit.
