Ark Royal

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  Smith had been lucky, James knew, feeling an odd flicker of amusement. The reporters had dug up some of his file, including his drinking problem, but they’d spun it into a morality tale about a hero overcoming his issues and defending Britain against outside attack. And it wasn't just Britain either. Smith was a hero right across the world. Maybe, just maybe, the media would sour, but until then Smith was politically untouchable. The consequences of relieving him could be dire.

  Uncle Winchester coughed. “I feel, Farnham, that the boy is confused.”

  James flushed, brightly. “I’m not twelve any longer, uncle!”

  “Learn to keep your face under control,” Uncle Winchester lectured, sternly. He looked over at the First Space Lord. “This is an invidious line of questioning, Farnham.”

  “You know better, I think,” the First Space Lord said. “Commander Fitzwilliam, I do need an answer.”

  James winced. If he answered the question, it could utterly destroy his professional reputation. No one would ever trust him again. They’d think of him as a sneak, a coward who didn't even have the nerve to stand up and relieve his CO of command. But if he didn't answer the question, it could impact his career too. The First Space Lord had no shortage of places to assign officers who had annoyed him. It was darkly amusing to realise that Ark Royal had once been one of those places.

  “It won’t go any further,” Uncle Winchester assured him. “Will it?”

  “No,” the First Space Lord said.

  James gathered himself. “Since I have served on Ark Royal, the Captain has not — to my knowledge — touched a drop of alcohol,” he said, firmly. “Furthermore, he has handled my education in the carrier’s mechanics, the integration of the new crewmembers and our first real deployment with exceptional skill. He has, after all, had years to think of the best way to refit his ship for combat. And he has successfully pulled off our first real victory.”

  The First Space Lord looked unconvinced. “But he could backslide at any moment…”

  “I have seen nothing to indicate that he will,” James said, sharply. It crossed his mind, a second too late, that he had interrupted the senior uniformed officer in the entire navy, but he forced the thought to one side. “My ambitions aside, there is no good reason to relieve him of command.”

  He wondered, absently, just what the First Space Lord had in mind. There were ways to put someone on the beach while seemingly rewarding them. It was why, he suspected, there were so many Admirals in the Royal Navy. Not all of them were assigned to fleet or squadron commands — or naval bases. Smith’s promotion to Admiral would be greeted with raptures by the media, who wouldn't recognise that he was being promoted into obscurity.

  Or maybe they would, he thought. By now, they expect Captain Smith to take command of the next unified defence force.

  “I expect you to keep a close eye on him,” the First Space Lord said. “How does he work with the crew?”

  “Fatherly, rather than dictatorial,” James said. He'd served under a CO who’d been a tyrant, although he’d had the advantage of not caring about James’s family. James had actually found that somewhat refreshing. “He’s friendly and caring… it helps, it think, that most of his senior crew served together on Ark Royal while she was in the reserves. They’ve had plenty of time to build up a relationship.”

  The First Space Lord leaned forward. “No improper relationships?”

  James scowled. If the Captain had any relationships — or relations — away from Ark Royal, James had never seen anything of them. But then, the Captain hadn't taken any leave for years, according to his file. Had he simply become an introverted hermit on Ark Royal? Or had he formed a relationship with one of the supply crewwomen? Or crewmen?

  “Not to the best of my knowledge,” he said. He braced himself, then pushed forward. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  “Granted,” the First Space Lord said.

  “I rather thought we were,” Uncle Winchester said.

  James ignored him. “Sir, with all due respect, this whole conversation is dreadfully improper,” he said. “I should not be asked to… pass judgement on my commanding officer, certainly not outside a formal Board of Inquiry. In any case, while I admit I had concerns about the Captain’s drinking, I have seen no evidence that he has returned to his old habits in the seven weeks I have served under his command.

  “Furthermore, he is perhaps the most experienced officer we could hope to have with the older weapons that won us a victory,” he continued. “Most newer officers, including myself, were trained to serve on modern carriers, not solid masses of metal like Ark Royal. But those carriers are nothing more than targets for the alien starfighters. We need him, sir. We shouldn't be planning to stick a knife in his back.”

  The First Space Lord’s expression darkened for a long moment. James wondered if he'd gone too far, then reminded himself that at least he still had his pride. And besides, Uncle Winchester would defend him, if necessary. He still recalled the older man ticking off his aunt for assuming that James and his brothers had ruined her prize flowerbed.

  “I concede your point,” the First Space Lord said, finally. “However, there are… issues with Captain Smith. I shall be expecting you to watch him closely and take whatever action seems appropriate if the Captain slides back into drunkenness.”

  He stood and marched out of the room. James watched him go, then turned to look at his uncle. “Farnham always was too political,” Uncle Winchester muttered. “But at such high attitude, politics and war are always intermingled. He’s better than most at running interference between politicians and naval officers.”

  “Yes, uncle,” James agreed.

  Uncle Winchester stood. “Go back to the party, keep an eye on your junior officers and try to have fun,” he advised. “Or go find a debutante and have some fun with her. You’ll be back in space soon enough.”

  James nodded. The schedule had insisted that Ark Royal’s crewmen return to her immediately after the party. He didn't really blame the organisers, not when the media were already laying siege to the building. One careless word in the wrong pair of ears could trigger a political earthquake.

  “Thank you, uncle,” he said, sourly. He couldn't escape the feeling of being used — without even being given a reward for his service. “And… can I avoid this from happening again?”

  Uncle Winchester reached out and grabbed James’s shoulder. “The family gives you an advantage over your less… wellborn comrades,” he said. “You have automatic entrance to places like Sandhurst or the Luna Academy, if you wish to take advantage of it. But the price comes in upholding the system of government… and serving as part of backchannel discussions, if necessary. And if you fail the family, or refuse to pay your dues, the results will be unpleasant.”

  James nodded. Automatic entrance was one thing, automatic graduation was quite another. There was no way he would be allowed to pass through the Academy without actually being qualified, something that Uncle Winchester — among others — had hammered into his head while he was still packing his first regulation suitcase. It hadn't really dawned on him that there was another price for access to the Old Boys Network. But the network had always been good at entangling people before it demanded payment. Hell, one didn't even have to be an aristocrat to engage in a little mutual back-scratching.

  He returned to the party and noted, to his relief, that nothing seemed to have gone spectacularly wrong. Most of the drinks were being claimed by senior officers, he couldn't help noticing; the Captain, thankfully, had restricted himself to juice and water. Absently, James wondered if he should tell the Captain what had happened, before deciding that it would be a bad idea. No one would trust him if he did. All he could do was watch his Captain’s back…

  …And pray to God that his faith in his CO was not misplaced.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’ve told everyone at school that you’re a pilot and they’re dead excited. How many BEMs did you kill
?”

  Kurt smiled at his son’s enthusiasm. Percy had never quite believed that his father — his staid harassed investment banker father — was also a starfighter pilot, not until Kurt had been featured on the local news. Kurt was privately rather annoyed by how easily the media had gotten access to his files — they’d even dug up a set of photos taken when he’d first served on a carrier — but it had definitely improved his relationship with his son.

  “I killed seven enemy starfighters,” he said, shortly. “Thirteen more and I will make ace.”

  “That’s great,” Percy said, grinning from ear to ear. “I…”

  He was pushed out of the screen by Penny, who looked sulky. “Madam Cowpat is still being a pain,” she said. “Why do I have to put up with her again?”

  Kurt sighed. “Just put up with her,” he ordered. Not that he could really blame Penny for disliking her teacher. It was clear that Madam Capet was far from ideal as a French teacher, but for some reason the school couldn't sack her or even convince her to shape up. “You’ll move onto the next teacher soon.”

  “The only French words I know are rude ones,” Penny continued. “You should demand your money back.”

  “What you get out of school depends on what you put into it,” Kurt said. Had he been so blatantly disrespectful to his teachers as a child? Probably. “And if Madam Capet is so completely unsuitable, we can arrange some private tutoring during the summer holidays.”

  Penny’s face fell. She’d been talking about joining her friends on a visit to the moon… although Kurt had privately resolved to forbid it even before the war had started restricting civilian spaceflight. No teenage girl wanted to spend her summer holidays with a private tutor… hell, Kurt wasn't even sure if he could afford a private tutor. His boss wasn't legally allowed to fire him for being recalled to active service, but Kurt suspected that it was only a matter of time before the penny-pinching bastard started reducing Kurt’s salary. But if Penny needed it…

  “You two nip off downstairs,” Molly ordered, her face appearing in the screen. She sat down in front of the monitor as the two teenagers left the room, closing the door behind them. “When are you coming home?”

  Kurt blinked at her tone. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “The war has only just begun.”

  “I’m being driven crazy by these two,” Molly said, ignoring him. “Penny is fighting with one of her friends, while Percy is talking about joining the Royal Navy. I expect you to put that out of his mind.”

  “Why?” Kurt asked. “He won’t be able to sign up for another two years, at the very earliest…”

  “I won’t have my son risking his life,” Molly snapped, interrupting him. “He will not be allowed to throw his life away.”

  Kurt felt his head start to pound. “Your husband is already risking his life,” he remarked, sharply. “What about me?”

  “If it were up to me,” Molly said, “you wouldn't have gone at all.”

  She sighed, rubbing her own forehead. “Suzie’s father is one of those damned peaceniks,” she added. “She gave Penny a very hard time and now the girls aren’t talking to one another.”

  It took Kurt a moment to place the name. One of Penny’s friends, a young girl on the verge of womanhood, so much so that he felt like a dirty old man whenever he looked at her. She hadn't struck him as particularly malicious, although teenagers could often be very unpleasant to one another one moment and then make up the next. If her father was indeed a peacenik…

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “Tell Penny to ignore the silly girl.”

  Molly gave him a sardonic look. “And were you so easily able to ignore taunts when you were a child?”

  Kurt scowled, recognising her point.

  “They’re just driving me mad,” Molly added. “I almost slapped Penny this morning, after she started to throw a tantrum. Please… when are you coming home?”

  “I don't know,” Kurt admitted. “I…”

  “You’re a goddamned hero,” Molly snapped. “Can't they gave you a few days of leave?”

  “All leaves have been cancelled,” Kurt reminded her. “We aren't allowed to leave our posts…”

  “And yet they let you down to London,” Molly thundered. “How many girls did you eye there?”

  Kurt gritted his teeth. “Molly…”

  A window flashed up on the display, warning him that his session was about to expire. “Molly, I will be back as soon as I can,” he promised. “But I don't get to choose my timing…”

  The session expired. He swore out loud as the screen went blank, then stood up and left the privacy cubicle. He’d have to write out an email or record a v-mail… and then hope that she was in a forgiving mood. Molly bore grudges for eternity, digging them up at the worst possible moment and rubbing them in his face. The last thing he wanted was her screaming at the children because of him, not when the family was already under so much stress. It was one of the reasons most junior naval personnel were not advised to marry. A military family could be torn apart by constant separations and not having any real control over their own lives.

  “You don’t look well, sir,” Rose said, as he entered their quarters. “Bad news from home?”

  Kurt sighed. “What do you say to a teenage girl who keeps picking fights with her teacher and who fell out with her best friend, purely because her father is a starfighter pilot?”

  “My father would probably have yelled at me for an hour,” Rose said, after a moment. “But I had to work desperately just to meet the requirements to enter the Academy. What’s her problem with the teacher?”

  “She isn't very good,” Kurt sighed. “Once, she was proctoring an exam and she changed the examination papers, midway through the session.”

  Rose blinked. “Is that even permissible?”

  “She seems to have gotten away with it,” Kurt observed. “I think she was the one who wrote the exam too.”

  “I see,” Rose said. “It strikes me that you could file a formal complaint…”

  “It was a little hard to do it when Penny got in so much trouble,” Kurt admitted. It had smacked of blaming the victim. Kurt’s father had been a firm believer in not trying to hide behind excuses, no matter how accurate they were. “But I suppose you’re right.”

  “Tell your daughter to concentrate on her book studies if the teacher is such a bitch,” Rose added. “And then promise her a reward if she passes and a punishment if she fails.”

  “It's hard to punish her these days,” Kurt confessed. “I’m here, Molly spends half of her time at work… the kids have just too much leeway to get into trouble.”

  “They do get better,” Rose assured him. She stood and headed towards the hatch. “Good luck, sir.”

  Kurt scowled after her, then picked up his terminal and started to write, feeling the age-old frustration bubbling up within him. Molly was a wonderful person, really she was, but when she got the bit between her teeth she was almost intolerable. The kids could drive her to the edge of a screaming fit — and, when it wasn't the kids, it was everything from money to how much time she could spend with her husband. He couldn't even remember the last time they’d had sex.

  He finished writing the message, then scrolled through the message log. As always, a handful of messages had arrived in the buffer while the carrier was on deployment, held at Earth until they returned home. Half of them were untraceable spam — spammers could be fined a pound for every unwanted message, but the bastards were very good at remaining untraced — but the remainder were various messages from the press and other organisations. Some of them wanted interviews, some of them wanted permission to interview his children for background news — he wrote back categorically denying permission — and a couple invited him and his pilots to Sin City.

  They’d love it, he thought. Even now, two hundred years after settlement, the moon was still a patchwork quilt of tiny settlements, with no overall authority. Sin City prided itself on allowing anything, as long
as the money was there, from whores to gambling and illicit VR simulations. Rumour had it that travellers could get anything there, as long as they had the money. And discretion was part of the package.

  It was tempting, he had to admit, if he could convince the XO to let them go. The pilots needed some reward for their efforts, something more than the respect of their formally sneering peers and mentions in dispatches. But at the same time… he had no interest in gambling or semi-legal VR games. If he went, he'd want to see a whore…

  …And that would be betraying Molly.

  Part of his mind insisted that wouldn't be a bad thing. Their relationship had changed; they were no longer the horny teenagers who’d fallen into bed together. Molly was too tired for sex most of the time and, in all honesty, investment banking had killed Kurt’s fire too. It wouldn't hurt her if he went to Sin City for a few hours of pleasure with a whore. The rest of his mind insisted that it would be disastrous. Molly hadn't given him permission to sleep with anyone else; she'd be heartbroken — or at least very angry — if he cheated on her.

  “Damn it,” he muttered out loud. Starfighter pilots chased women like there was no tomorrow… because, quite often, there was at least the prospect of there being no tomorrow. Now, after the aliens had sliced apart the defences of New Russia, it was quite likely that the rest of the starfighter pilots would die too, along with the other officers and men. He’d been horny as hell when he’d been an active duty pilot… and now he was such a pilot again. “What the hell do I do?”

  He found himself unsure of what to say. He didn't have to go to Sin City; it would be simple enough to arrange the trip, if there were pilots who would want to go. Besides, there was a war on. It was quite likely that permission would be refused. He could claim that he’d asked the XO and been turned down.