Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “That would be a bad idea,” Fraser agreed, dryly.

  “Hey,” Midshipman Tim Williams said. “Do you want to place any bets?”

  George shrugged. Everyone on the ship had been arguing - and betting - over the most important topic of the moment, just what the mysterious aliens actually looked like. George had heard crewmen arguing that the aliens would be little green or grey men, while others had insisted the aliens would be cyborgs or simply progressed beyond the need for physical forms. She’d been tempted to bet a pound on the aliens looking exactly like humans - the odds weren't in her favour, yet if she won she’d win big - but so far she hadn't joined the betting pool. Gambling onboard ship could be immensely destructive to morale.

  “So far, pointy-eared humanoids are doing well,” Tim offered. “And bird-like creatures aren't too bad.”

  Fraser leaned forward. “Birds?”

  “Well, we've had aliens who practically live in the sea and we've had humanoid lizards,” Tim said. “And if we’re the mammals, then birds are about the only genus that hasn't been represented in intelligent form.”

  “I don’t think those words mean what you think they mean,” Fraser said, darkly. “Besides, for all we know, bird-like aliens could be vastly in the majority and we’re in the minority.”

  “Then the odds of this new race being bird-like are high,” Tim pronounced. “And so it’s a poor bet.”

  “Only if it loses,” George said.

  Fraser snorted. “But could birds become intelligent?”

  Tim stuck out his tongue. “Could monkeys?”

  “Obviously not,” Fraser sneered. “You’re not intelligent at all.”

  “Blast,” Tim said, without heat. “You’ve proved the fatal flaw in my grand scheme of universal understanding.”

  “I think I need to go to bed,” George said. She removed her jacket as she walked past them, silently cursing regulations under her breath. She’d have to take a shower before she climbed into her rack and went to sleep. She understood the reasoning - being cooped up with ten unwashed bodies would become hellish very quickly - but it was still annoying. “Or I’ll be too tired to see the aliens when they arrive.”

  “You’ll have plenty of time to kip when we’re in the next system,” Tim said.

  “No, she won’t,” Fraser said. “I heard we’re going to stay on tactical alert at all times, at least until we know the new aliens aren't going to start a fight.”

  Tim swore. “Does the captain have any idea what that would do to us?”

  “I'm sure he’d appreciate you telling him differently,” Fraser said, dryly. “Why don’t you march up to his cabin and tell him that we can't handle double shifts for more than a day or two? We’ll be sure to visit you in the brig.”

  “At least I’ll get some rest,” Tim said.

  Fraser snorted, rudely. George hid her amusement - it was nice to see a more humorous side of her former tormentor - as she finished undressing and hurried into the shower compartment to wash. Jokes aside, Tim had a point; the midshipmen would be exhausted if they had to pull double shifts for more than a couple of days, even if normal duties were reduced or suspended entirely. But they had three weeks to get ready before entering the closest system to the alien world ...

  She felt a flicker of excitement as she washed herself as quickly as she could. Aliens! She might be nothing more than a midshipwoman, but she was still going to make history. People would talk about Vanguard and those who served on her in the same awed tone as they spoke of Ark Royal and her handful of surviving crewmen. Her uncle might have made himself a hero by serving on Ark Royal; she’d have the chance to do the same, for herself. Who knew what opportunities would emerge in the next few weeks?

  None at all, unless you sleep now, she told herself, as hot air washed down from high overhead. The only advantage to serving on a battleship, as far as she could tell, was a higher ration of bathing water. It wasn't as if the ship was short on water - if worst came to worst, they could mine a handy comet or water-ice asteroid - but there had to be some perks reserved for the senior officers. And you have to impress your new supervisor tomorrow.

  Shaking her head, she pulled on her panties, stepped back into the main compartment and climbed into her rack. Fraser had already left, heading off to his duty shift, while Tim was playing with his datapad. He’d met an American crewwoman during his brief period of shore leave - he’d been the only midshipman to win a slot - and they were still exchanging messages. George wasn't sure if she should envy him or laugh at the growing intimacy.

  Good night, she thought, as she pulled the curtain closed. It’ll be morning all too soon.

  ***

  The report was clear, Susan discovered, as she waited patiently in her cabin for the others to arrive. Vanguard’s stockpile of spare parts was well above the levels specified by regulations; indeed, the logistics officers were surprised that no one had attempted to requisition spare parts from Vanguard for one of the other ships. They’d have kicked up a fuss, Susan knew, if someone had; it was common, alarmingly so, for engineering officers to understate the spares at their disposal. She would have been annoyed with any officer who dared try that on her ship, but she knew that other XOs weren’t so scrupulous. Keeping their ship in working order was their highest priority.

  She looked up as the hatch opened, revealing Mason and Parkinson. Mason looked unconcerned - he’d been to her cabin before, several times - but Parkinson seemed unsure of himself. He’d been on Tadpole Prime, she recalled, attached to the embassy. The communications officer would have a greater awareness of social strata than most starship officers, even if none of them questioned who was in charge. It was uncommon for ambassadors to invite their junior staffers to tea and cakes.

  “Take a seat,” she urged, as warmly as she could. She felt almost as nervous as she’d been the first time she’d donned a spacesuit for a high-orbital jump. “There’s tea and coffee in the dispenser.”

  “I’ll be mother,” Mason said, as the hatch opened again. This time, Reed and Charlotte Watson stepped into the compartment. “Tea or coffee?”

  “Tea for me, please,” Susan said.

  She rose and padded over to the sofa as the others sat down. Reed seemed surprised by the invitation; Charlotte’s expression was completely blank, suggesting she either had a vague inkling of what was up or that she was all too aware that she was the lowest-ranked officer in the compartment. Mason poured tea and coffee, then passed the cups around before sitting down next to Susan. She allowed herself a moment of relief that everyone had come without asking too many questions, then took a sip of her tea.

  It isn't as if a meeting of the senior staff is a problem, she told herself, although she knew things could go badly wrong. But it will look very bad in hindsight.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said, as she put her cup down on the table. “There is an important matter we need to discuss.”

  She paused, knowing that she was about to commit herself. Just hearing what she was about to say - just hearing it and not reporting it - could get her junior officers in trouble, when the Admiralty found out. Susan had gone to some trouble to obscure the meeting from any official logs, but she knew the inboard sensors would have tracked her subordinates as they walked to her cabin. In hindsight, she should have set up a regular poker game as an excuse to have a meeting without arousing suspicion.

  And if one of them goes to the admiral, she thought, the shit will hit the fan.

  “Captain Blake ... has lost his nerve,” she stated, baldly. In hindsight, the captain’s actions suggested a very definite loss of nerve. “He froze up on the bridge during war games.”

  “Indeed,” Mason agreed. “The early analysis of the battle made it very clear that we were caught with our pants down, but we still took too long to react.”

  “There was some confusion over who was actually in command,” Reed said. His voice was flat, revealing nothing of his emotions. “We weren't sure who to ob
ey.”

  “And we only won through luck and the application of brute force,” Susan added. “If we’d lost, I dare say Admiral Boskone would not have been pleased.”

  She tapped the table, meaningfully. “What’s going to happen when this ship goes into a real battle?”

  Charlotte looked pale. “Is that likely to happen?”

  “There’s an unknown alien race out there,” Mason pointed out, coldly. “Anything could happen. If the captain were to fire on an alien ship ...”

  Susan felt cold. How many others had been thinking along the same lines?

  “We don’t know there’s going to be a fight, but we have to prepare for the worst,” she said, carefully. “The damage we took in the war games was simulated. Any damage we take in an actual fight will be real.”

  “It might not be so bad,” Reed pointed out, with the air of a man desperately trying to find a bright side. “Our simulations assumed the worst, repeatedly.”

  “Or it might be far worse,” Mason said. “For all we know, the aliens have a superweapon that can blow Vanguard into dust with a single shot.”

  “They might,” Reed agreed. He looked directly at Susan. “What do you propose we do?”

  “We could go to the admiral,” Charlotte said. “If we have concerns ...”

  “We’d have to explain why we didn't do it earlier,” Mason snapped, interrupting her. “And relieving the captain of command ourselves could end badly.”

  Susan nodded. She’d looked up the precedents, such as they were. Only two captains had been relieved of duty by their senior officers in the last hundred years; one for gross misconduct, the other for mental instability. There hadn't been many details in the files, but reading between the lines it had been clear that both sets of officers had had their careers blighted. The Admiralty wasn't keen on senior officers relieving their commanders. It cast doubt on the sheer level of authority granted to commanding officers.

  And even reporting the problem to higher authority can end badly, she thought. Even if we didn't have to explain why we didn't say anything earlier.

  Charlotte took a shaky breath. “So what do we do?”

  “I notice Major Andreas and the Chief Engineer weren't invited,” Mason said. “Did you have a reason to leave them out?”

  “Yes,” Susan said. She looked from face to face, hoping they understood. “If the shit hits the fan, I’m going to relieve the captain of command. If necessary, I’ll stun him on the bridge and leave him there until after the shooting has stopped. This will not be reported to Admiral Boskone or any of the flotilla until the fighting is over. All I need from you is your acceptance of the change in command.”

  “You’re putting yourself at risk,” Mason observed.

  Susan nodded. If she relieved the captain in the middle of a combat zone, the best she could hope for was a court martial and a long sentence to Colchester Military Prison. Admiral Boskone might review the records and decide to send her back to Earth, rather than passing summary judgement himself. But if he didn’t, or if the captain’s contacts took his side, she rather suspected she’d be marched to the gallows and hanged. His family would definitely blame her for his disgrace.

  “I understand the risk,” she said, out loud. She’d never been anywhere near Colchester, but she’d gone through the dreaded Conduct After Capture course at the academy. Being in prison would probably be worse, far worse. “And I will take full responsibility if things go badly wrong.”

  “Which they will,” Mason said. “You’re talking about mutiny.”

  “It isn't quite a mutiny,” Reed protested.

  “Call it mutiny, barratry or whatever,” Susan said, crossly. Captain Blake would certainly call it mutiny. “The point is that I am going to relieve the captain of command in a combat zone. The Admiral will not fail to take a dim view of it.”

  “I can't let you do this alone,” Mason said.

  “You have to,” Susan said. Whatever happened, her career was doomed. Perhaps it was what she deserved, for not reporting the problem as soon as she’d become aware there was a problem, but she’d been caught in a trap. “There’s no point in throwing your career away right behind mine.”

  She met Parkinson’s eyes. “All you have to do is follow my orders, as if I was in command ...”

  “You are in command,” Reed said. “You’re this ship’s commanding officer in all but name.”

  “I’m sure that argument will impress the Admiralty,” Mason said. “It’s quite possible the captain will just lurk in his cabin when the shit hits the fan.”

  “You don’t know it will hit the fan,” Charlotte insisted.

  “We have to prepare for the worst,” Susan said, again. “I don’t know anything about this new alien race - do you? But we do know that first contact with the Tadpoles went badly wrong and led to a shooting war. I will not have this ship found wanting if we have to take her into battle.”

  She studied the younger woman for a long moment. Charlotte was very good with her sensors, all right, but she hadn’t had enough experience to understand the little compromises officers had to make with regulations. Or, for that matter, to realise that doing the legal thing could sometimes blow one’s career out of the water. She’d have to learn quickly, Susan told herself, or she’d wind up in deep trouble. Politics shouldn’t have any bearing on military operations, everyone knew, but they did.

  “I understand,” Mason said, quietly. “For what it’s worth, I won’t oppose you when you take command.”

  Susan nodded, gratefully. It was rare, vanishingly rare - in fact, she couldn't think of a single incident - when a captain was taken out without losing the entire ship. Maybe a fleet carrier could survive something that took out the bridge - there were secondary bridges and emergency control stations - but anything that inflicted serious damage on a cruiser or destroyer would smash the command network beyond hope of repair.

  And yet we have procedures for losing the bridge, she thought, darkly. We just don’t have procedures for losing the captain.

  Reed leaned forward. “I assume he refuses to go for a medical exam?”

  “I doubt one would pick up on his loss of bottle,” Mason sneered. “It isn't a physical problem.”

  “No,” Susan said, flatly.

  “Then I won’t resist your coup either,” Reed said. “Are you planning to ask anyone else?”

  “Just the senior bridge crew,” Susan said. If it had been entirely up to her, no one would have been told before she actually relieved the captain, but she didn't dare risk a confrontation on the bridge while the ship was under attack. “Whatever happens, no one else is to have advance warning.”

  “Yes, Commander,” Parkinson said. “And I won’t resist either.”

  “I’m not remotely comfortable with this,” Charlotte admitted.

  “Join the club,” Mason snapped.

  “But it does have to be done,” Charlotte continued, ignoring Mason’s interruption. “And if it is to be a joint endeavour ...”

  “It should be just me,” Susan said, flatly. “If worst come to worst, I’m hoping none of you will be considered accomplices.”

  “We will be,” Mason said.

  “But I am the XO,” Susan said. “It was my duty to bring our concerns to higher authority and I did not do so. My career is the only one that should be at risk.”

  “With all due respect, Commander, your career is not the only one at risk,” Reed said. “And yeah, maybe we should have complained while we were back home. Now, all we can do is prepare for the worst.”

  “Very well,” Susan said. “But nothing - absolutely nothing - is to be done unless the shit hits the fan. I don’t want to hear about anything that might be related to this until the shit hits the fan. Do you all understand me?”

  “Yes, Commander,” Reed said.

  Susan allowed herself a sigh of relief. There should be no need to take any further precautions, except obtaining a stunner from the armoury and practicing with
it. And who knew? Maybe her precautions would not be necessary.

  Sure, the pessimistic side of her mind noted. And perhaps the horse will learn to sing.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Despite himself, Henry couldn't help feeling a mixture of delight and concern as the shuttle approached the giant battleship. He’d hoped, once upon a time, to vanish into the ranks of the Royal Navy as yet another fighter pilot, but everything that had happened to him - being captured by the Tadpoles and turned into the first de facto ambassador - had rendered that impossible. The child in him loved the concept of the battleship; the adult knew he was going to have to explain, time and time again, that he was no longer a Prince of the Realm.

  And whoever reinvented the concept of the male being in line to the throne, rather than the firstborn, really needs to burn, he thought. I will not be King of Britain.