His Majesty's Starship

by Ben Jeapes

  And then the torpedo exploded. There was no fireball in space, just a dazzling flash of light, heat greater than the inside of a sun and a deadly blast of hard radiation.

  “Run out two more,” said Gilmore. “Target, straddling Shivaji, twenty miles abeam.”

  *

  “What was that?” Amijee bellowed. “Ops?”

  “A nuclear explosion, unknown source,” said the person at the Ops station.

  “I can guess its source. Has it damaged us?”

  “Negative. I would guess it was a warning shot.”

  “Then we must cut-”

  “Carry on,” said Krishnamurthy. “We must get that scow.”

  “Excellency, they didn’t aim precisely fifty miles off our beam by chance! As long as we’re boosting, we’ll be unmissable.”

  “Electronic countermeasures-” said Krishnamurthy.

  “Our flame must be the juiciest target in space.”

  “Then we return fire.”

  “Our torpedoes all face forward. We will have to turn, which means cutting the burn-”

  An alarm sounded. “What is that?” Krishnamurthy demanded.

  “The five minute bell,” said Amijee. “At this rate of boost, in five minutes we won’t have enough fuel to return to our old orbit.”

  “Then we have five minutes-” said Krishnamurthy.

  A second white flash blazed across space; and another, the other side of the ship.

  “Range, twenty miles,” Ops reported.

  “Increase power,” Krishnamurthy ordered.

  “Excellency, we’re not rated for more acceleration-” Amijee protested.

  “Increase power,” Krishnamurthy repeated. He strode to the helm station. “I am taking command of this vessel. Increase thrust to three gees.”

  Bewildered, the pilot looked from Krishnamurthy, to Amijee, to Ranjitsinhji, to Rao, and back to Krishnamurthy. He finally decided who he was most afraid of and his hand reached for the thrust controls.

  “Belay,” said Amijee. “Sound the free fall bell and cut the burn.”

  “Do as I say,” Krishnamurthy whispered in the pilot’s ear.

  Amijee looked helplessly from Krishnamurthy to Rao.

  “Tell him!” he pleaded the NVN man.

  “Excellency.” Rao stepped forward. “It is my opinion that you are no longer fit to serve the Confederation. Pilot, do as your captain says. Excellency, you will be escorted to your cabin-”

  Krishnamurthy barely heard him over the ringing in his ears. No longer fit to serve the Confederation? No longer fit to serve the Confederation? When he had dedicated his life to his country while this man, this jumped-up NVN nincompoop was just a puking brat in arms-

  He looked at the display. Just a minute more and they would be in range. He would show them. He would have the UK’s secret, whatever it was, and he would show them-

  He lunged for the thrust controls.

  It was like three heavy blows slugging into him, and his mind only distantly related them to the three rapid shots that had been fired. Dazed and terribly weak, terribly tired, he realised he was on the floor. The blurred shapes before his eyes were the pilot’s feet and the red stuff flowing rapidly in all directions was coming out of him.

  Two more feet stopped in front of him. The trousers were clad in civilian white, not NVN green. He looked up and his gaze passed a pistol hanging loosely by its owner’s side. His stare came to rest on the face, an infinite distance away and still receding. He could barely keep his eyes open.

  “You did your own dirty work, Subhas,” he muttered. “Will you never learn-”

  Secretary Subhas Ranjitsinhji looked down at the body of his former employer. Then he turned, tucking the pistol back into its concealed holster.

  “Captain Amijee, reduce thrust as quick as you safely can to point 25 gee,” he said. “That will show our pursuers we are breaking off and will save making a mess in your flight deck.” He looked down at the pool of blood that had almost reached his feet and took another step away. “Brigadier, get that into a body bag. It will need to be cleared up before we can go to freefall. Both of you, come with me.”

  He crossed to the nearest desk and inserted a crystal into it, and the display flashed up the credentials he had received from Delhi before this mission started. Then the bell sounded and he clutched at the back of the nearest seat to stop the deceleration throwing him at the ceiling. Weight began to drop and on the display the UK’s scow suddenly blazed ahead. Its fusion boosters finally cut in and it moved off at a speed that precluded all possibility of recovery.

  “According to the stipulations of the Minister of Security,” Ranjitsinhji said, “I have replaced Excellency Krishnamurthy in his former position and am now empowered with all the concomitant responsibilities and privileges. Do you concur?”

  Amijee and Rao studied the document carefully and concurred.

  “Good. Captain, do what you have to do to take us back to the Roving and send a signal to the ship behind us. We apologise for the actions taken by the pirate Krishnamurthy and announce that he is no longer recognised by the government of Greater India. That is, the Confederation. I will be signing the treaty in his stead.”

  Ranjitsinhji reflected that Shivaji would shortly be doing some very uncomfortable manoeuvring to take it on an arc back to its old orbit, and he would rather face that in the comfort of his own cabin. He headed for the hatch.

  “Of course, as well as his old job, you’ve inherited the mantle of responsibility,” said Rao. “You will be the one to deal with the UK now.”

  Ranjitsinhji paused, and smiled. “I’ll manage,” he said. “As far as Delhi will be concerned, I’m the one who stopped us disgracing ourselves and kept favour with the Ones Who Command. I don’t think I have anything to worry about.”

  He left, and Rao looked at the display and the distant star that was the scow. “I wonder what it was,” he said.

  - 26 -

  25 May 2149

  Gilmore’s thoughts were dark and furious as Ark Royal flamed its way back to UK-1, and Hannah had to call for his attention twice.

  “I’m sorry?” he said, the second time.

  “Plantagenet, sir,” she said. Her tone was frigid: she was only talking to him because it was her job. “He’s reminding you that you promised to hear him out and he asks for a talk in private.”

  “Hmm.” It came out more as a growl. “What do you think?”

  “It’s a fair request,” Hannah said. “He was bottled up as an emergency measure and we never really looked into the facts of it.”

  “The facts of it,” Gilmore said, “are that he wilfully and unilaterally meddled with software created by my software officer. That puts him in the same league as a virus, as far as I’m concerned.” He sighed. A promise was a promise. “Okay. Mr Kirton, can you let us talk without letting him into the ship’s system again?”

  “Yes, sir,” Peter said.

  “Then put him through to my cabin.”

  *

  “Captain Gilmore.” The AI’s voice came from the comms panel a minute later, as Gilmore shut the door behind him.

  “Plantagenet,” said Gilmore.

  “This is difficult for me to say.”

  “I am sorry,” Gilmore said.

  “I can recognise sarcasm, Captain. I actually need to talk to you on a matter considerably more pressing than my own incarceration.”

  “Do you.” Gilmore began to sink down into his chair, prepared to give the AI a fair hearing of about thirty seconds, then sat up quickly at Plantagenet’s next words.

  “First, however,” the AI said, “I must apologise for my actions concerning Mr Kirton’s program. It was a violation of shipboard procedure and common courtesy, and you were justified in the action that you took. I can give you my assurance that it will never happen again.”

  “Assuming you’re sincere, Plantagenet, I need more than your word,” Gilmore said, recovering.

  “I can understand
that. Let me put it this way. I took the action that I did on the instructions of Prince James, and I have decided that I will no longer accept the orders of that individual.”

  Gilmore stared at the panel: a pointless action because Plantagenet was no more there than he was in any one location, but it helped concentrate the thoughts.

  “What’s your game, Plantagenet?” Gilmore said.

  “There is no game. My dissatisfaction with my previous employer began when he revealed that what I had been told was an innocuous upgrade was in fact the targeting and control software for Ark Royal’s torpedoes. I was lied to, Captain. I have always been the prince’s trusted assistant and he did not trust me in this matter.”

  “You’re a pacifist, all of a sudden?”

  “Not at all. I am programmed to act in the best interests of the United Kingdom, and if those interests require the deployment of nuclear warheads, I will take the necessary action. As have you, recently. I would have accepted it if I had been told the truth from the outset; I would even have accepted it if he told me the software upgrade had secret contents and I was not permitted to know them. But I was told something different. An alteration was made to my programming and I was deceived as to its nature. In short, the prince has taken my service for granted. I greatly resent that.”

  Gilmore grinned bitterly and shook his head to clear his thoughts.

  “We can see eye to eye on the matter of Prince James, then,” he said. “But for all I know this is another little trick. I’m sorry, I’m still not prepared to let you out again.”

  “As you will,” Plantagenet said equably and Gilmore again found himself staring at the panel. “Putting that to one side, I would now like to proceed to the more important matter that I wished to discuss with you.”

  “And that is?”

  “I have been monitoring the situation and I am aware of the decision made by the Ones Who Command. I cannot accept it. It is not in the United Kingdom’s interests.”

  “It’s not in the Rusties’ interests either,” Gilmore said sourly. “There’s not much I can do about it.”

  “I think there is. You are still a member of the delegation fleet, and although the Convocation is over you can travel to and from the surface of the Roving with impunity.”

  “And?”

  “You must go down there now and persuade the First Breed not to accept the decision of the Ones Who Command.”

  “Persuade-” Gilmore deliberately did not stare at the panel. He shut his eyes and counted to ten. Then he opened them, threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, Plantagenet, you’re good. You’re good.”

  “I do not understand.”

  Gilmore got up and paced about the cabin as he spoke. “You want me to tell a race genetically created as servants that they must rebel against their masters. They’ll say it’s impossible. Oh, no, I’ll say, there’s an AI on my ship programmed to obey its master, and now it’s decided not to. So you can too. Of course!, they’ll say, let’s do it now! Sorry, Mr Krishnamurthy or whoever’s in charge now, we’re not going to follow you, we’re giving the bid to our friend Prince James.” Gilmore stopped and grinned again. “Was that it, Plantagenet?”

  “You can use my example if you so choose,” Plantagenet said with quiet dignity, “but in the other matters you are mistaken. I do not believe it is in the United Kingdom’s interests to win this bid either. The First Breed must refuse to accept either of the two parties as their new masters.”

  “Now you are having me on!”

  “I assure you, I am not. Captain, the late king gave me to the prince as a present, five years ago, to act as the prince’s personal assistant. I was also given a further brief. The king had doubts about his son’s maturity.”

  “Keep talking ...”

  “The king had known poverty, Captain. He had known a time when he was king in name only. He had to work hard for a long time to build up his business and ultimately to recreate the United Kingdom. The prince, on the other hand, has never known anything other than being the son of a rich and powerful man. As a result, the king was not convinced the prince had the breadth of experience necessary to make wise and mature decisions. I was, in the king’s words, to keep the prince’s feet on the ground, reporting back to His Majesty when necessary.”

  “I see,” Gilmore said. An AI that spied on a son for his father ... it was consistent with Gilmore’s impression of the Windsors.

  “The king told me, in as many words, that he hoped to have plenty of years left in him because while the prince might make a reasonable ruler of the 7000 citizens of the UK, he did not think the prince could handle the power and responsibility that would come with rebuilding the British Empire on the Roving. The UK is not designed for such a task and the prince is not capable of the flexible thinking required to adjust to the new situation. At present the UK is stable, but badly managed empires crumble in chaos. That is why I do not believe that winning this bid is in the UK’s interests.”

  Gilmore sat down again, slowly, thoughtfully.

  “Now you’re interesting me,” he said.

  “Thank you. So you see, you must speak to the First Breed. You have the ear of Arm Wild and he is sufficiently senior to approach Iron Run.”

  “Uh-huh,” Gilmore said. “And I persuade them, just like that? And more to the point, Plantagenet, there’s a world of difference between disagreeing with my country’s ruler and my actually selling out my country.”

  “I think I can give you the cause, justification and ammunition you need,” Plantagenet said.

  *

  Gilmore checked the seals on his helmet and set ‘B’ compartment to depressurise.

  “Tell UK-1 I’m coming over,” he said. “I expect an immediate audience with the prince, failing which I barge in on whatever he’s doing.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” said Hannah in his earpiece. She still sounded cold but he thought he detected a thawing. Firing the torpedoes hadn’t quite ruined everything.

  The forward door opened and Gilmore stepped out into space.

  It had used up their last drops of fuel but they had brought Ark Royal in an arc back to within 500 metres of UK-1. An excellent piece of manoeuvring on the part of his crew, he thought, contrasting nicely with Shivaji which had run out of fuel altogether on the return arc and been forced to send out a distress call, asking the Rusties for a tow. Ark Royal was closer than her designated position but no one had complained. She was a blooded warship with an angry captain and plenty of unfired torpedoes, and she could go where she wanted.

  Five minutes after Shivaji broke off its chase, the package had exploded, with all the signs of a booster malfunction. Gilmore didn’t believe it for a moment, and while his talk with Plantagenet had been revealing in the extreme, there were still things that the AI couldn’t tell him. Yes, Gilmore would have that talk with Arm Wild if he could, but there were still things he needed to know first.

  He got into UK-1 without difficulty, leaving his suit at the lock and flagging down an electric car to take him to ‘F’ wheel. An amboid was waiting for him – Hanover, York, one of that lot.

  “I will see the prince now,” Gilmore said, not breaking step as he walked past it.

  “His Highness is in his study waiting for you, Captain Gilmore,” the amboid said, trotting to catch up. “Please foll-”

  “I know the way.” Both times he had been to the palace previously, he had been kept waiting first. The royals had seen him at their own convenience: they had set the pace and been in command.

  Not this time.

  Prince James was at his desk, poised, hands folded in front of him. An empty chair faced him over the desktop.

  “Captain Gilmore. Do sit down,” the prince said. “I can give you five minutes before I need to go down to the Roving for the signing.”

  Gilmore ignored the chair and walked straight up to the desk.

  “What have I just done?” he said.

  “You have defended the honour and reputati
on of the United Kingdom,” said the prince. “You acted very properly. Thank you.”

  “Spare me,” Gilmore said with contempt. “I opened fire on another ship and broke every principle I have ever believed in because I took it on faith that the UK’s interests were at heart, and now I demand to know what it was all about.”

  “He demands,” the prince murmured. Then, again, “do sit down.” Gilmore stayed standing and the prince shrugged. “As you will.” He tapped out a code on the desk and the lights dimmed. “Look behind you. Project Woodcut.”

  A display had appeared in the centre of the room. A small, crumpled, ruptured ship, sitting in a cradle in one of UK-1’s holds. Gilmore instinctively began to classify it. Small, therefore short range. Not big enough for spin ...

  No ... There was still something ...

  He frowned, and finally saw what was puzzling him. He had never seen one before so there was only one thing it could be.

  “It’s a Rustie ship,” he said. He walked forward to look at it more closely.

  “It is, indeed, a Rustie ship.” Prince James stood up and came over to stand the other side of the display. He looked through it at Gilmore. “We keep it in hold N17. It was discovered by one of our sweeps, wrecked against an asteroid in our own solar system, ten years ago. We know the Rusties watched us for a long time and this must have been an observation vessel, a scout perhaps, a sweep of their own, that made a mistake.”

  “You knew,” Gilmore muttered.

  “Not everything,” the prince said. “Its databanks were badly trashed but we recovered some useful stuff. We learnt they were watching us, of course, and we learnt that their intentions were benign.”

  “You kept pretty quiet about it.”

  “Oh, we looked for them, but we couldn’t find them. Their stealth technology was too good and the solar system is a big place. But we knew they’d make themselves apparent when it suited them, so we waited. Because, of course, we also learnt they were a secondary species to a dominant one back home, and we learnt that the dominant one was dying. We learnt about their society, we got the gist of their mission-”