Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I would say so,” Captain Fletcher said. “They already have a rough idea of our location, Owen, and they have to be rushing forces into position to intercept us.”

  “I would say no,” Captain Darlington said. “Right now, we have a relatively clear path back to friendly space. Taking the time to wreck the system would give them time to put a blocking force in our path.”

  “If there isn't one there already,” Captain Fletcher said. “They have to have a good idea of the quickest way back to friendly space.”

  “Assuming they know where we came from,” Darlington said. “There was no hint they knew about us until they attacked the fleet. They may have no idea of our ultimate destination.”

  Henry kept his expression under tight control. He’d wondered if the quickest way to Tadpole space was only accessible through an alien-grade tramline, but a quick check had revealed that that wasn't the case. There was nothing stopping the unknowns from making their way into the heart of Tadpole space, save for their own reluctance to explore. Humanity had had good reasons to establish as many colonies as possible - there was no shortage of groups on Earth that wanted their own homeworld - but the aliens might not have the same urge. Hell, for all he knew, they might be capable of tolerating population densities that would have sparked off social unrest and civil war on Earth.

  “It wouldn't be hard to bombard the planet at long-range,” Fletcher was insisting. “A handful of kinetic projectiles would do real damage.”

  “And would be flatly against our Rules of Engagement,” Henry said, sharply. He couldn't allow that sort of idea to breed. “Mass slaughter of alien civilians is strictly forbidden.”

  “They slaughtered us,” Fletcher snapped. “What sort of consideration do they deserve?”

  Henry took a moment to gather his thoughts. Theodore Smith had forbidden indiscriminate strikes on Tadpole worlds during the war - the first war. Even if the Tadpoles had been monsters, he’d said, there was no reason for humanity to turn monstrous too. And besides, ruining a biosphere was easy. A single highly-radioactive warhead would render a world uninhabitable. Turning the war into a mutual rush to commit genocide would have destroyed one race and ruined the other.

  “First, we do not know for sure that this system is inhabited by our new enemies,” he said, carefully. “I know there are good reasons to believe that that is indeed the case, but we do not know for sure. And if the system is not inhabited by our new enemies ... well, the last thing we need is more enemies.

  “Second, assuming that this is indeed an enemy system, do we really want to set a precedent for planetary strikes? Do we really want the aliens bombarding our worlds with abandon because we bombarded theirs?”

  “They ambushed us,” Fletcher snapped.

  “Yes, they ambushed a military fleet that fought its way out,” Henry said. “They didn't slaughter civilians in vast numbers.”

  “They killed a number of reporters,” Captain Haversack muttered.

  Henry bit down on the urge to suggest that the aliens deserved commendations for slaughtering reporters - personally, he wouldn't have shed a tear if every damned reporter on Earth died in screaming agony - and leaned forward, willing them to understand.

  “We know nothing about them,” he said. “Starting a war of genocide is not just evil, it's stupid.”

  “They might win,” Darlington said.

  “Precisely,” Henry said. “And the third reason, one we should bear in mind, is that yes, the ROE do forbid indiscriminate planetary strikes. We’ll be shot as soon as we get home.”

  “We could sweep the system of its orbital infrastructure,” Fletcher pointed out. “Those structures would be legitimate targets, would they not?”

  “Yes,” Darlington said, “but do we have the time?”

  He nodded towards the starchart. “Let’s not delude ourselves,” he said. “Our command network is a mess, many of our ships have taken heavy damage and we have only one fleet carrier. We are in no condition for a stand-up fight against even a weaker enemy force.”

  “We killed five of their ships,” Susan snapped.

  “We ambushed them,” Darlington said. “Would things have gone so well if the aliens had known we were there?”

  “Probably not,” Susan conceded.

  Henry couldn't disagree. The aliens would have been fools to risk engaging Vanguard, but one ship could have tracked the fleet while the others summoned reinforcements ... or simply signalled for help, depending on just how their damned FTL communicator worked. Five ships could have made sure the fleet couldn't break contact and vanish before it was too late.

  Captain Harper sighed. “The decision is mine,” he said. “We will evade contact, rather than engaging the system’s defences or bombarding the planet.”

  “Owen,” Fletcher said. “This is an opportunity ...”

  “I doubt that destroying the system’s infrastructure will make much difference to the enemy’s industrial base,” Harper said. “If this was one of their core systems, David, it would be a great deal bigger. No, pausing long enough to lay waste to the system’s facilities will give the enemy more time to get a fleet in place to engage us.”

  He tapped the starchart, meaningfully. “We will continue along the planned course, watching carefully for any enemy contact,” he added. “It is quite likely we will encounter them in UXS-464, if not sooner. That’s where this chain of tramlines links up with the chain of tramlines we used to reach UXS-469, giving them a least-time path to Tadpole space. The sooner we get there, the better.”

  Henry nodded in agreement. The discovery that they were facing two races, not one, meant that the aliens were not xenophobes who instinctively attacked anyone who entered their territory. And the colony world they’d discovered indicated that the aliens were interested in colonisation. And that suggested that the aliens would have run into the Tadpoles already.

  “I understand that some of you want to take the war to the enemy,” Harper added. “And I agree with the principle. But this is not the time.”

  Fletcher looked disappointed, but he nodded. “If nothing else,” he said, “we have an excellent target for any future counterattacks.”

  “Quite,” Harper agreed. “Dismissed.”

  The images blinked out of existence, leaving Henry and Susan alone. “That was close,” Henry said. “I was afraid they were going to attack the planet.”

  “They might not have been wrong,” Susan said. “What if peaceful co-existence is impossible?”

  “So far, we have not met a race we could not communicate with,” Henry said. If there were two races, they had to have some way to talk to each other. “And I find it hard to believe that any race could get into space with nothing but instinct alone.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Susan said. “But it doesn't look good.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Wake up,” Fraser hissed.

  George jerked awake, cracking her head on the overhead as she sat upright. No one, not even Fraser at his worst, would interfere with a sleeping midshipman unless it was an emergency. None of the surviving midshipmen had been sleeping very well - there had been two alerts as the fleet crossed the tramline and left the alien system behind - and their work had begun to suffer.

  “Fuck,” she moaned. “What’s happening?”

  “The XO - the Captain - just sent a message,” Fraser said. He sounded panicked. “She's going to carry out an inspection!”

  George rubbed her aching forehead, trying to process what he’d told her. There were only five midshipmen left alive and out of sickbay, three of whom were on duty ... and the fleet was still deep in enemy space. Standards had slipped badly; the tasks of keeping middy country in order had fallen by the wayside as they struggled to do their duty. It wasn't time for an inspection, surely? It wasn't fair.

  “Get up,” Fraser snapped. “Have a shower, get into a clean uniform and hurry! She could be here at any moment.”

  “Yes, sir,” G
eorge said.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bunk and dropped to the deck, cursing her decision to sleep in her uniform. But she’d been too tired to take off her jacket and trousers, let alone the rest of her clothes. She’d never thought the XO - the Captain - was a sadist. And yet, carrying out an inspection now would allow her to see how the midshipmen coped with adversity.

  Not well, she thought, as she tore off her uniform and hurried into the shower. She’d need to dump her clothes in the washing basket, even though that would leave her short for a day or two unless the washing was done ahead of time. Drawing another uniform from ship’s stores would cost her, literally, while the other female midshipmen wore different sizes. We’ve been so occupied with everything else that we’ve let standards slip badly.

  She washed hastily, cursing the water restrictions under her breath, then hurried back into the main compartment. Fraser was wiping the floor and checking under the racks, trying to sweep up as much dirt and grime as possible. He barely glanced at her as she donned a clean uniform, tossing her a mop as soon as she was decent. George sighed inwardly as she went to work. Standards had definitely slipped.

  But it wasn't our fault, she thought, numbly. We’ve been doing our duty as junior officers ...

  “Make sure you look decent,” Fraser ordered, sharply. “Commander Bothell would assign demerits for even the slightest problem.”

  George swallowed. Demerits reflected badly on both the midshipman in question and his immediate superior, the first middy. Fraser was likely to get in trouble if there was something - anything - wrong with her, even though he didn't have the time to micromanage her. Hell, they’d spent more of the last few days out of middy country than in it. But she had no idea if the captain would be impressed by excuses. In all honesty, she rather doubted it.

  “It’s a bad time for an inspection,” she grumbled, as she checked her appearance in the mirror. Vanity was one character flaw she’d never had, thankfully; it wasn't something she could have afforded at the academy, when merely being washed and clean had been hard enough. “Why now?”

  “Stow that chatter,” Fraser advised. “Grumbling isn't safe anywhere near a senior officer.”

  “Yes, sir,” George said.

  It was nearly forty minutes before there was a firm tap on the hatch. George stood to attention, practically bracing a bulkhead, while Fraser opened the hatch. The Captain was standing there, wearing a clean white uniform. George felt a flicker of admiration, mixed with envy. She wasn’t quite sure what had happened, when the XO had taken command of the ship, but Captain Onarina was the kind of person she wanted to be. The dark-skinned woman had clearly never let her outsider status turn into a disadvantage.

  “First middy,” the Captain said. “Midshipwoman Fitzwilliam. May I have permission to enter?”

  “Permission granted, Captain,” Fraser said. George had to fight to hide her amusement, despite her growing nervousness. The captain might, by custom, be required to ask for permission to enter, but she couldn't imagine any midshipman saying no. “Welcome to middy country.”

  “Thank you,” the Captain said. She stepped through the hatch and looked around. “I trust that standards have not slipped?”

  “We have done our best to uphold them, Captain,” Fraser said. “Two of us died in the battle and two more are still in sickbay, but the remainder of us have worked hard.”

  “That is understood,” the Captain said.

  She stepped forward and began to examine the compartment. Her eyes flickered from side to side, looking around almost casually, but George would have been very surprised if she’d missed anything. She took a long look at the two empty racks - Nathan and James had both been killed - and bowed her head, before turning to look at Fraser. He didn't quite flinch under her gaze, but it looked as though he wanted to.

  “What happened to their possessions?”

  “Ah, we went through them, as per custom,” Fraser said. “A handful of their possessions were clearly personal, so we boxed them up and stored them. The remainder were handed out to the other midshipmen.”

  “Good,” the Captain said. “Did you have any problems?”

  “None, Captain,” Fraser said. “James had a small collection of coins and notes from Earth, which we gave to the purser to add to his account, but there was little else of significance.”

  Apart from the porn, George thought. She rather doubted the Captain would be surprised - she’d been a midshipwoman too, once upon a time - but she might want to make an example of it. Porn was technically illegal, although there were plenty of movies in the ship’s database that crossed the line between entertainment and pornography without being put on the banned list. But she probably doesn't want to know about it.

  The Captain nodded curtly, then peered into the shower compartment. George hoped - prayed - that they hadn't left anything out of sorts, not after her mother had scolded Annie and her for leaving dozens of bottles of shampoo out for the maids to clear up. Annie had protested that it wasn't her job to clear up the mess, which had earned her a week’s grounding and a strong lecture from her father. The old man had known how to tear them apart with a few well-chosen words.

  “Clean enough,” the Captain said, briskly. “Are you coping with your water ration?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Fraser said.

  “Good,” the Captain said.

  George kept her face impassive. There was no real need to ration water for junior officers and crew - the giant battleship recycled everything from human waste to coolant - but she'd been told it helped discipline. Besides, at the academy, they’d been taught to wash in less than a minute. She got three minutes on the battleship.

  The Captain stepped into the toilets and examined them, briefly. George silently blessed all the gods there were that they’d had time to clean the toilets, even though it wasn't a task she enjoyed. Personal hygiene had been hammered into their heads at the academy and she knew, she just knew, that the Captain would not have hesitated to issue demerits for poor hygiene. It was unlikely, she thought, that poor hygiene could lead to any serious problems - certainly not like they would have had on a sailing ship - but she didn't like the smell any more than anyone else. Besides, sleeping next to nine other midshipmen was quite bad enough.

  “Could do with an extra wipe or two,” the Captain said, as she emerged. “Do you have the log?”

  “Right here, Captain,” Fraser said.

  He produced a large leather-bound book from the locker and held it out to her. George had never understood why the first middy was supposed to keep a paper record, as well as an electronic record, but she’d never had the time to discuss it with anyone. It was probably just tradition. She watched as the Captain opened the book, her eye scanning the list of midshipmen attached to Vanguard before moving to the last couple of pages. George hoped she wouldn't look back into the past - there were too many notes about her demerits, back before she’d challenged Fraser to a fight - but she was out of luck. The Captain was looking all the way back to her assignment to the ship.

  “You’ve made a note of my arrival,” she said, as she checked the page. “Why?”

  “Commander Bothell insisted that I add a note of everything that touched on the midshipmen, Captain, even if it wasn't directly connected to my duties,” Fraser said. “He told me that keeping records was vitally important.”

  “He was a very smart man,” the Captain said. Her voice was so dry that George couldn't tell if she was serious or not. “How often did he inspect middy country?”

  “Once a month, on average,” Fraser said. “It tended to vary. He insisted on inspecting us prior to any shore leave, Captain, and again when we returned to space. His conclusions were noted within the logs.”

  The Captain lifted her eyebrows. “And what were his conclusions?”

  Fraser reddened, slightly. “A string of demerits for minor matters,” he said. “One midshipman was hauled up in front of ... of Captain Blake for posses
sion of illicit substances and summarily dismissed from the service. The remainder of the middies were formally reprimanded for not alerting the XO to the problem and retroactively beached for a month.”

  George winced. Retroactive beaching stripped a month of seniority from the beached officer, sometimes knocking them back down the pecking order. That hadn’t been a problem if everyone had suffered the same punishment, but it would look very bad on Fraser’s record as he’d been the first middy at the time.

  The Captain’s face twisted. “Illicit substances?”