by Ben Jeapes
Gilmore’s eyes went round. “I-”
The old fears came crashing back. It’s a challenge and you’re not up to challenges. You can’t do it.
“I’m flattered,” he said.
“The prince has already promised the help of his best engineers, and we know they are familiar with our technology. Between you all, we should-”
“Wait, wait,” Gilmore said, holding up his hands. “Look, about us being familiar with your technology ... Arm Wild, you should know-”
“Perhaps they are as yet unable to design a step-through generator from scratch,” said Arm Wild, “but they have shown they are capable of adapting an existing one.”
“Don’t tell me the prince told you that!” Gilmore exclaimed.
“He did not need to. Should he have?”
Gilmore stared at the leader of the First Breed. Meeting Arm Wild’s blank gaze, Gilmore thought that it was at times like this, when he had just about got used to the shape and physiognomy of the Rusties, that they looked so darn alien. Arm Wild could be looking puzzled or he could be grinning widely, knowing perfectly well what Gilmore was talking about.
“How did you know?” Gilmore said.
“You know I am not technical by nature, but I gather from those who are that the resonance caused by UK-1’s step-through indicates it was using a generator from one of the ships we scattered around your solar system, in the hope that someone would find them-”
“You planted it!”
“It was part of the Convocation, as decided by the Ones Who Command. They were hidden in places such that anyone who found one would, by definition, be of an adventurous and explorative nature. Anyone who could decipher the clues would also, by definition, be of the required technical proficiency to replace the Ones Who Command.”
Gilmore laughed out loud. “Arm Wild, you’re a cunning bugger.”
“Context suggests that was a compliment,” Arm Wild said. “Now, the prince also mentioned that your ship is to be scrapped. I believe that scrapped ships are also offered for sale?”
“Well, yes, as a rule.”
“We would like to purchase Ark Royal, as is, sight unseen. I know the design of the substructure is old, but the equipment on board is the state of your art and will give our engineers a useful starting point for merging our technologies. It has the added advantage of being here. Another reason for approaching you with this offer, incidentally, is that you are very familiar with your own ship.”
“Well, yes ...” And then it hit Gilmore: every new ship built by Rusties and humans together would be a descendant of his Ark Royal. The fears disappeared.
“Look,” he said, “I don’t have the authority to sell you the ship, but-”
“We included it in our negotiations with UK-1. The prince will discover it in the little lettering.”
“Then will you include one more thing?” Gilmore said. “I want the highest level AI on board, Plantagenet, to be given sanctuary in the ship’s network. He’ll be able to help your engineers with their observations.”
“This is acceptable.”
“Then you have a deal,” Gilmore said.
When he had finished talking to Arm Wild, he cued his aide again. “Contact Midshipman Gilmore, UK-1.”
“Please wait,” the aide said. “Midshipman Gilmore is on watch and asks that a message be left.”
Gilmore smiled, approving. Duty first. That’s my boy. “Joel, it’s me. Listen, I promised you a tour of my ship. Well, you’d better make it soon. Next couple of days. Let me know when you can make it. Talk to you later.”
He rejoined the crew in the wardroom. They were looking at him curiously: they must have heard his laughter. He retrieved his glass and toyed with it. If Ark Royal were to stay here, the crew would need new berths-
“The good news,” he said, meeting Hannah’s eyes, “is that we won’t be needing any new officers at all.”
EPILOGUE
From: Senior of the First Breed Earth Mission
First Breed residence, Manhattan
FOR IMMEDIATE GENERAL RELEASE
The Senior of the First Breed nation, Arm Wild, today extended its personal invitation to all humans who wish to apply for citizenship of the new Human/First Breed Commonwealth.
The Commonwealth exists independent of all previously existing states and nations on either world. Its most urgent needs are currently for:
trained spacers, for its rapidly expanding space exploration and defence fleet;
engineers and scientists to assist in the cross-technological development programmes now under way;
farmers and settlers for the vast areas of land left empty by the tragic extinction of the Ones Who Command;
as well as the many other skills expected in a dynamic, energetic young culture.
Arm Wild said: “Our original invitation two years ago urged the nations of Earth to take this opportunity to make a fresh start. I now extend that to all the people of Earth. This is a unique opportunity to cast aside the old ties of planet-bound nationalism once and for all. Join us in space.”
Arm Wild added: “The First Breed welcome our human friends into the Commonwealth as partners and equals.”
For further information, instruct your aide to consult the Emigration Helpdesk at the First Breed Embassy.
Verbatim Bald
First Breed residence, Manhattan
24 August 2150 CE
To Jamie, Thomas and Thomas
Many thanks to everyone who gave encouragement, suggestions and – even better – criticism: Chris Amies; Tina Anghelatos; David Angier; Richard Baxter; Paul Beardsley; Tim ‘O’Neills are passé’ Bellerby; Chris Beckett; Molly Brown; Suzanne Dominy; Lawrence Dyer; David Fickling; Peter Garratt; Philip Gladwin; Liz Holliday; Tony and Jenny Jeapes; Jane Killick; Robert Kirby; Andy Lane; Ian Lee; Mark McCaghrey; Jon Pilling; Ben Sharpe; Gus Smith; Alex Starling; Charles Stross. An especial thank you to this book’s publishers: David Fickling who got it into print on paper, and Cheryl Morgan for this edition.
About Ben Jeapes
Ben watched far too much Dr Who at an early age and started writing science fiction at the age of 18 in the mistaken belief that it would be quite easy (it isn’t). As well as 18 short stories he is also the author of His Majesty’s Starship (1998), The Xenocide Mission (2002), The New World Order (2004) and Time’s Chariot (2008), plus numerous items of ghostwriting and hackwork that annoyingly earn more than his own stuff. His ambition is to live to be 101 and 7 months, so as to reach the 1000th anniversary of the Battle of Hastings and the arrival (so family lore has it) of the man responsible for his surname in the British Isles. He is English and as quietly proud of the fact as you would expect of the descendant of a Danish mercenary who fought for a bunch of Norsemen living in northern France.
