He scowled at the thought. The only good news, as far as he could tell, was that most of the human ships had been on war games, rather than dispatched from Earth. Admiral Boskone had to be gloating over his luck; the only reporters on the ships would be Admiralty-approved embedded reporters, rather than the dunderheads who made up the vast majority of the media corps. Maybe the ones who’d chased him all over the world hadn’t been assigned to clearing up the mess in the restricted zones, but at least they wouldn't be on Vanguard. He could pass wind without worrying about reading about it on the datanet.
The shuttle slowed as it approached the battleship, then carefully docked itself against one of the universal airlocks. Henry had worried about taking a Tadpole shuttle, but thankfully the Tadpoles had anticipated the problem and borrowed a human-designed shuttle - as well as a pilot - from the embassy before their fleet had departed Tadpole Prime. Living on a Tadpole ship wasn't easy - most of the ship was filled with water, effectively keeping the humans prisoner - but they were going to meet a whole new alien race! Henry would have happily spent the entire trip in a spacesuit, smell and all.
“The hatch is opening,” the pilot called. “Ambassador, if you would like to disembark first ...?”
Henry sighed, inwardly. He’d signalled ahead, asking for a lack of ceremony, but it was clear that whoever was in command of the battleship had chosen to ignore his request. And to think he’d been careful to ask for his staff to be placed on Vanguard, rather than the fleet carrier Courageous! Part of it was curiosity - he’d never had the chance to inspect the first true human battleship - but the rest of it was ensuring a degree of separation between the ambassadorial staff and the military commanding officer. It meant nothing to him - he’d been in the military - yet it would be important to others. Besides, it might just convince the unknowns that humanity hadn't sent a purely military force to make contact.
And they’d have to be very stupid to believe that, he thought, rising. But a sensible race would understand the need to take precautions.
He tugged down his shirt as he walked towards the hatch, feeling oddly uncomfortable in his shirt and trousers. He’d grown far too used to the heat of Tadpole Prime, but he doubted he’d be allowed to walk the battleship’s corridors in swimming trunks. Or, for that matter, that his female staff would be allowed to wear nothing more than bikini briefs. He pushed the thought aside, pasted something he devoutly hoped was a princely expression on his face and stepped through the hatch. The battleship was strikingly cold.
“Britannia, arriving,” a voice boomed.
Henry fought hard to keep his face expressionless as he took in the handful of people waiting for him, wearing their dress uniforms. They’d hate him for that alone, he was sure. Unless dress uniforms had magically become more comfortable in the thirteen years since he’d left the navy, which he doubted, there wasn’t a single person in the line who wasn’t either uncomfortable or itchy. Or both. And to think he’d bloody asked for a complete lack of ceremony!
He braced himself, saluted the flag and then turned his attention to the ship’s officers. The Captain looked dashing in his uniform, but there was something about his attitude that reminded Henry of some of his odder cousins. Beside him, his XO was a dark-skinned woman, one who seemed preoccupied with a greater thought. At least she didn’t seem to carry a chip on her shoulder, as far too many officers - including his younger self - did after life had reminded them, far too often, that it wasn't fair.
“Welcome onboard, Your Highness,” Captain Blake said. His file suggested a career officer with good prospects, but the fawning tone in his voice suggested otherwise. Did he really think Henry could boost his career? Even King Charles would have problems patronising an officer, regardless of his skills. “It is a pleasure to have you on my ship.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Henry said. Maybe it had been a mistake to ask for Vanguard, but he'd expected to meet someone akin to Theodore Smith or James Fitzwilliam. Smith had torn him a new asshole, twice, and he’d deserved both of them. “I look forward to finding my way around her.”
“Certainly, Your Highness,” Captain Blake said. “But first, let me introduce my officers.”
His tone shifted, marginally, as he introduced nine men and women, suggesting that some of them had powerful connections while others did not. Henry committed their names and faces to memory - if there was one good thing about his training, it was that he never forgot a face - and made private plans to talk with them later. Commander Onarina was probably a fascinating conversationalist; there was something about her attitude that reminded him of Janelle, although he couldn't put his finger on it. And Midshipman Fitzwilliam looked like a young and feminine version of her uncle.
Poor girl, Henry thought, as Captain Blake introduced her. His fawning sounded worse than unwanted sexual advances. She looks as though she hates him.
“I’ll show you to your cabin personally,” the captain finished. “We’ve put your staffers in nearby compartments.”
“That’s good to hear,” Henry lied. Maybe he was a bit older from when he’d served on Ark Royal, but he wasn't fat enough to need a whole compartment for himself. “I’ll also need to review your tactical staff’s work, if that’s all right.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” the captain said. “If you’ll come right this way ...?”
He didn't seem interested in greeting any of the staffers, Henry noted, as Captain Blake led him through the corridors. Vanguard felt different from Ark Royal, a sense of newness pervading the hull, even though the hints of paint he recalled from Theodore Smith’s commissioning ceremony were absent. But then, the Old Lady had been over seventy years old by the time she’d sailed out to do battle against the Tadpoles. Vanguard had barely been in active service for three.
“I’m looking forward to hearing about the war games,” he said, as they reached Officer Country. “I heard they were quite spectacular.”
“Indeed they were,” Captain Blake said. “My crew acquitted itself well.”
He keyed a switch, opening a hatch. For a moment, Henry simply stared. The cabin was huge, easily large enough for thirty or forty sleeping racks. There was a drinks cabinet, a solid desk, a private computer terminal ... the bed, he saw to his astonishment, was located in a separate compartment. He wasn't exactly unused to huge bedrooms, but on a starship wasting so much space on one person was absurd!
“Your bags will be brought along, Your Highness,” Captain Blake said. “I was hoping we could discuss policy later.”
“I need to discuss how best to approach the unknowns,” Henry said. It was true enough. The Tadpoles had a basic plan, but human input would be required before the fleet advanced to UXS-469. “My staff will coordinate with the admiral’s staff ...”
“I believe the admiral intends to invite you to dinner tomorrow night,” Captain Blake said, seriously. “I’d be delighted, however, if you joined me in my stateroom for dinner tonight.”
It won’t get you anything, Henry thought. He scrambled for an excuse, but came up with nothing. Captain Blake might be annoying, yet his dinner invitation couldn't be declined diplomatically. Stopping a war would be easier. Blast.
“I would be honoured,” he lied, smoothly. “And I look forward to discussing the war games with you.”
Captain Blake bowed and retreated out of the hatch. Henry watched him go, then shook his head in disbelief. Admiral Smith hadn't treated him with any deference. Indeed, when he’d discovered that Henry and Janelle had become lovers, he’d scolded Henry for exposing Janelle to the media. Henry’s own father hadn't torn him apart so effectively. The idea of Admiral Smith fawning ... it was impossible to credit. And Admiral Fitzwilliam hadn't been any more inclined to fawn on his well-connected officers.
Not that he had to be, Henry thought. He was already at the top of the tree.
The buzzer rang. Henry hesitated, then hurried over to the hatch and pressed the key. It opened, revealing Midshipwoman Fitzwilliam. She wa
s carrying his carryall in one hand, her expression rather bemused. No doubt, given her relatives, she’d expected him to travel with no less than five trunks of clothes, books and assorted junk.
“Thank you,” Henry said, taking the carryall. The only thing he’d really needed was his diplomatic outfit and a handful of clothes. A couple of datachips could carry more books and movies than he could hope to read in a year, even if he devoted himself to nothing else. “I hope your uncle is fine?”
Midshipwoman Fitzwilliam looked embarrassed. “He was fine the last time I saw him,” she said, so quietly he had to strain to hear her. At least her connections were useful. Henry had never found an upside to being a Prince of the Realm and potential Heir to the Throne. “I didn't have a chance to speak to him.”
Her graduation ceremony, Henry recalled. The First Space Lord was always the keynote speaker, unless a genuine emergency cropped up. Her classmates will have known who she was ...
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, feeling a sudden surge of sympathy. “I served under him, you know.”
“I know,” Midshipwoman Fitzwilliam said. “He spoke of you, a few times. Said you had ...”
She broke off. Henry shrugged. The First Space Lord - Captain Fitzwilliam, as he’d been at the time - hadn’t had the best impression of him, the first time they’d met. Anything he said afterwards, certainly anything said in private, would be a two-edged sword. And he didn't blame the poor girl for not wanting to repeat whatever she’d heard.
“It doesn't matter,” he said. It would have been nice to chat with his former commander, but that wouldn't happen unless he returned to Earth. “Thank you for bringing my bag.”
He watched her go, wondering just who’d given her the assignment and why. A midshipwoman wasn't meant to carry bags, fetch tea or any other task more suited to a steward or a crewman. Indeed, it was either a humiliating task, intended as a punishment, or another example of the captain’s fawning. He was starting to have the feeling that Vanguard wasn't exactly a happy ship.
Shaking his head, he placed the carryall on the bed and walked back to the desk. A line of messages had already appeared in his inbox, mainly concerning plans for making first contact. Captain Blake had been correct, he noted; Admiral Boskone had invited Henry and his staff to dinner the following day. No doubt the captain was congratulating himself on having pulled off a social coup.
Idiot, he thought, coldly. Let’s see what dinner brings.
***
It hadn't been an easy two weeks.
Susan had known she was committing herself, when she’d spoken to the other senior officers about her plans. A single word from one of them to the captain, or the admiral, would have brought the entire plan crashing down in ruins, probably taking her career with it. Her tension had only risen the closer they’d come to UXS-468, where they were due to meet up with the diplomats. It hadn’t made organising the flotilla any easier.
At least the captain didn't invite his subordinate captains to dinner, she thought, as she stepped into the captain’s stateroom. And he left the midshipmen out of the invitation too.
She honestly wasn't sure what to make of Prince Henry. His service in the navy and his apparent death hadn't impressed her at the time, although she did have to admit he’d worked hard to keep his true identity a secret. Indeed, it had only come out after he’d been reported missing in action. And then, he’d gone off to serve as an ambassador, rather than stay on Earth. She didn't know if she should be impressed - he could have enjoyed an easy life if he’d stayed - or suspicious. For all she knew, a more competent ambassador was pushed aside to allow the prince to shine.
But they wouldn't play games with the ambassador to Tadpole Prime, she thought. Even if the government was inclined to allow it, the other Great Powers would object.
“I have wondered what the social scene on Tadpole Prime is like,” Captain Blake was saying, as she took her place at the table. “Do you have many parties?”
Susan didn’t - quite - roll her eyes. The rich or well-connected brats she recalled from her schooling had bragged about attending parties, about how their dresses had cost thousands of pounds apiece and how they’d been driven all the way to London from Hanover Towers just for a chance to dance with the aristocracy. Maybe Prince Henry had been like that, once upon a time, but she rather doubted it. He’d run all the way to the academy to escape the press.
“I’m afraid we have only a handful of entertainments,” the prince said, casually. Too casually. “There aren’t really enough of us for a proper social scene.”
He smiled. “And my former title means nothing to a society that has representatives from nearly every spacefaring nation on Earth, still less the Tadpoles themselves,” he added, his voice lightening. “They don’t have any concept of family lines. It’s very rare for one of them to know who sired him.”
Susan hid her amusement with an effort. “What do you make of them?”
“The Tadpoles? It’s hard to say anything for sure,” Prince Henry said. “There’s no real hope of getting agents to give us the inside scoop, as it were. I think, in a few hundred years, we and they will share interlinked space, but rarely actually talk.”
He cleared his throat. “But I was curious to ask about the war games,” he said. “How did they go?”
“We proved the battleship concept,” Susan said, when it became clear Captain Blake was not going to answer. “Well, at least we proved it in simulations. But we still have a long way to go.”
“We tagged many American starfighters,” Captain Blake said. “Covered ourselves from their attacks.”
Prince Henry winced. He’d been a starfighter pilot, Susan recalled, a pilot who’d earned his wings when the Tadpoles were introducing the human race to plasma weapons. Nearly a third of every starfighter pilot in the human sphere had died in the fighting, most of them picked off by rapid-fire plasma cannons. And Vanguard mounted more of them than any war-era Tadpole starship.
“We could certainly win most of the battles of the war, if they were refought,” Susan said, feeling a twinge of sympathy. “But we assume the Tadpoles have advanced too. Do you know anything about their innovations?”
“We know they have several more superdreadnaughts,” Henry said. “You’ve seen a couple in their fleet. But we don’t know anything about their later innovations. They’ve been mucking around with focused gravity beams, yet we don’t know if they’ve come up with anything workable.”
Susan frowned. “Focused gravity beams?”
“A homemade tramline,” Henry said. “Apparently, it’s theoretically possible.”
“That would change everything,” Captain Blake said. For once, he sounded completely serious. “If we were no longer bound by the tramlines ...”
“It would,” Henry agreed. “If nothing else, it would open up a number of previously inaccessible stars. But we don’t know if they’ve actually had any real success. They certainly haven’t told us anything.”
Captain Blake leaned forward as the stewards entered. “And you know this how?”
“Careful intelligence work, much of which is classified,” Henry said. “And quite a few details are well above my level.”
Susan considered it, thoughtfully. It was the Tadpoles who’d discovered ways to use tramlines humanity had dismissed as being too weak to allow a starship to jump from one star system to another. If there was any race who could invent a workable FTL drive, it was the Tadpoles. And yet, there was a tramline in place; they merely enhanced it. It would be a great deal harder to craft one from nothing ...
The Holy Grail, she thought. Everyone wants an FTL drive and an FTL communicator ...
“I think you’ll enjoy the food, Your Highness,” Captain Blake said. Susan was almost grateful for the shift from the awkward topic. “I had it brought specifically for diplomatic dinners.”
The Prince smiled. “How did you know I’d be coming?”
“I didn't,” the captain said. His lips t
witched in amusement. “I expected to host Admiral Boskone and his staff after the war games.”
“I see,” Prince Henry said. His expression darkened. “I hope everything goes peacefully, Captain, but if it doesn’t ...”
“You needn’t worry, Your Highness,” Captain Blake said. The confidence in his voice was almost convincing. “We’re ready for anything.”
Susan kept her peace, but she desperately hoped he was right.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Jump completed, Commander,” Reed reported. “We have entered UXS-469.”
Susan nodded, feeling an odd shiver running down the back of her spine. There was little of importance in UXS-469, but it linked directly to an alien star system ... had Admiral Smith and his crew felt the same way too, when they’d taken Ark Royal deep into Tadpole space to wage war?
We’re not here for war, she told herself, firmly. We’re here to make peaceful contact with our new friends.
Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7) Page 23
