“Stand at ease,” James ordered. The CAG had already chewed out the Prince; perhaps, instead of yelling at him, James could give some good advice. “Precisely what were you thinking?”
“Captain?”
James held onto his temper with an effort. “Let's not bullshit around,” he snapped. The office was soundproofed, fortunately. “You are Prince Henry, perhaps the first in line to the throne. I am perfectly aware of both your true identity and your brains. What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I wasn't thinking at all,” the Prince said, woodenly. Clearly, the CAG had already hammered his failure into his head. “I was just angry.”
James lifted his eyebrows. “At what?”
The Prince sagged. “At a very accurate comment made by someone I thought was an idiot,” he confessed. “It was my mistake that cost us the battle.”
“I see,” James said. He’d taken the time to review the simulation before calling the Prince to his office. North’s pithy observation had been largely correct. “And why did you make the mistake?”
“I saw an opportunity and took it,” the Prince said. “I was wrong.”
“So you were,” James agreed, dryly. “But I suggest, for the moment, that you focus on why you made that mistake. Or should I tell you all about it?”
The Prince said nothing, so James continued.
“I reviewed the files carefully,” James said. “Every starfighter pilot builds up a vast file while they're in training, including constant evaluations of their developing skills and personalities. As you can imagine, you received more scrutiny than most.”
“I won’t ever get away from it,” the Prince said. “Will I?”
He stared down at the deck, sullenly. “I never asked to be a prince! Everything I get is the result of favouritism, every time I screw up its a world-class disaster. I ...”
“Apart from one officer, there was no one at the Academy who knew who you were,” James pointed out, smoothly. “Everything you earned, you earned through being yourself.”
“But not in my own name,” the Prince said. “Who the hell is Charles Augustus anyway?”
“You,” James said. He sighed; despite himself, he understood the Prince far too well. There were aristocrats with very real power, both overt and covert, yet the Royal Family possessed little power. The Prince had few compensations for the endless scrutiny his life drew from the media. In fact, James would have argued he had nothing that made enduring the scrutiny worthwhile. “You earned your rank, Charles.”
The Prince looked up at him. “Did I? Or did someone put in a good word on my behalf?”
“You earned it yourself,” James said. “I checked your reports personally. You earned everything you got.”
He sighed. “But it’s pretty damn obvious that you’re walking around with a goddamn chip on your shoulder,” he continued. “That fight could easily have been worse – and I think you know it. The Royal Navy isn't the place for glory hogs or people to prove themselves through lone wolf acts. It’s the place for men and women to work together to be the sword and shield of the British Commonwealth. I don’t have room on my ship for people who want to take their anger and frustration out on their fellow pilots and crewmembers. Nor do I view the idea of someone like that taking the throne with any enthusiasm.”
The Prince glared. “You know I will have no real power,” he said. “I won’t have anything at all, but fine clothes and a gilded cage. She’s welcome to it.”
He shook his head. “I just want to fade away into the Navy and vanish.”
“And how,” James asked, “do you plan to do that if you keep causing disciplinary incidents?”
He slapped the desk, making the Prince jump. “You’re not the first person on this ship to think that your problems are the worst in the universe,” he snapped. “And you’re certainly doing much better than I did at your age.”
“Because of my family,” the Prince said.
“Because of you,” James said. “Get this through your head right now. You earned your rank, you earned your place on this ship and you earned your chance to get killed by the aliens. I tell you, right now, that you earned everything you got since you entered the Academy.
“But, if you keep going like this, you will also earn your court martial and dishonourable discharge,” he added. “And I won’t save you from the consequences of your own actions.”
He met the younger man's eyes, silently daring him to look away. “Man up, get back down to the barracks, apologise to your wingman and earn the medals and plaudits that would be on offer for any other starfighter pilot who survives a dangerous mission into enemy-held territory. Or” – he reached for the traditional sheet of paper – “you can write out your resignation now and save time. I’ll put you in a spare room for the rest of the operation, then you can go back home to Buckingham Palace and tell your father it was too damn hard to actually earn anything for yourself.”
The Prince coloured. “Sir ...”
“Your choice, Mr. Augustus,” James said, evenly. “Be Mr. Augustus, be the pilot you can be, or be the person who crawled home. I don't care which you pick, as long as you choose quickly and stick to it.”
“I’ll be Mr. Augustus,” the Prince said. “And I will earn everything for myself.”
James smiled. “You don’t see,” he said, quietly. “You’ve done that ever since you entered the Academy.”
He paused. “And one other thing?”
The Prince looked up, expectantly.
“You were ... very undisciplined when you spoke to me just now,” James said. “Very impolite, very rude ... any other Captain would have you up on charges by now, I suspect.”
He leaned forward. “There won’t be a second chance,” he added. “Go.”
The Prince left. James watched him go, then reached for his terminal. He would need to speak with the Admiral, then tell the CAG something. The man already knew that Charles Augustus wasn't all he seemed; it wouldn’t be long, James suspected, before he guessed the truth. A few days with the ship’s files and he’d be able to pick out a number of prospective aristocrats who might have good reasons to hide their identities. Prince Henry would be on top of the list.
Poor bastard, James thought. No matter what he did, Prince Henry could never escape his birthright – and the curse that came with it. But out here he can carve out a life for himself.
“Admiral,” he said, “there have been developments. I need to speak with you at once.”
“Understood,” the Admiral said. There was a pause as he checked their location, halfway from one tramline to the other. “I’m on my way.”
James rubbed his eyes. Had he caused Uncle Winchester so many problems? Probably not, he decided. Winchester had been on Earth, not a starship. And James hadn't been trying to hide his identity. He'd had no compunctions about using his birth to secure a place in the Royal Navy.
That’s why you like the Prince, a voice at the back of his head said. He isn't trying to use his title and connections to gain rank.
And, James knew, the voice was right.
Chapter Fourteen
It was hard, almost impossible, to get any privacy on a starship, even one the size of a fleet carrier. Henry had been shocked when he’d discovered just how little privacy he and his fellow recruits had, even though he’d managed to hide his reaction before anyone had noticed. Learning to ignore certain activities – or naked female recruits – had been part of his training as much as learning how to fly a starfighter.
But there were a few places where someone could go and be assured of a little privacy, if one didn't have any immediate duties. Henry had walked into the observation blister, settled down on the uncomfortable chair and started to stare up at the stars, feeling a surge of conflicting emotions running through his mind. The Captain had been right; here, light years from Earth, the Palace and the hordes of reporters, he could be his own man. But he also wanted to prove that he could be his own man.
Moving out of formation had been a mistake, but socking North had also been a mistake; he’d understood that from the moment he’d been forced to face the CAG. And yet North’s accusations of glory-seeking had stung, because they’d been accurate. Henry hated to admit it, but North had been right. He was desperate to acquire glory on his own merits.
The Captain hadn’t grown up in Buckingham Palace. Aristocrat or not, he couldn’t even begin to understand the stresses and strains endured by the Royal Family. Henry had learned, from a very early age, that anything he did was likely to be plastered across the datanets, with snide and downright unpleasant commentary attached from thousands of people who thought they knew better than the King and Queen. His parents had been blasted for everything from letting Henry play outside in the cold to taking him on vacation to expensive places, some of which had even been free of media interference. They just couldn't please everyone.
It wouldn't have been that bad, Henry had told himself, if it hadn't been for the Palace’s PR staff. They thought the Royal Family could please everyone and, if they responded to each and every little complaint, they would eventually achieve a 100% approval rating. Henry had learned, rapidly, that they were chasing an illusion, but that didn't stop them telling him what he should and should not do. And he wasn't allowed to tell them where to go. His father, in one of his few unguarded moments, had confessed that he’d had the same problem when he was a boy.
Henry sighed, feeling hot tears burning the corner of his eyes. His father had withdrawn into the kindly persona, the kindly constitutional monarch, so deeply that it was hard to see him as anything other than a soulless puppet. The Queen had withdrawn too, making a handful of appearances and otherwise staying in her rooms, while Henry’s older sister seemed to have embraced following in her footsteps. Henry loved Elizabeth, yet he didn't understand why she allowed the courtiers to treat her as a doll, one they could dress as how they saw fit. And yet, even she had had bad moments, when footage of her first love affair was broadcast around the world. Who else had that sort of attention from the media?
He’d considered running away, more than once. He’d considered suicide, to the point where even his parents had noticed something was badly wrong. He’d considered simply following in the footsteps of an earlier prince and surrendering his titles. And, finally, it had taken a mixture of threats and promises to get into the Academy. Henry knew he’d trodden on hundreds of toes and simply didn't give a damn. All he wanted was a chance to prove himself.
And he had it, he knew now. But he’d fucked up badly.
And you were punished as a normal rook, his thoughts insisted. But normal rooks aren't yelled at by the Captain personally.
He stared up at the stars, burning endlessly in the darkness of space. His schooling had been shared out between headmasters who were sycophants and headmasters who believed, probably correctly, that their royal charge needed more discipline in his life. He’d verged from being given awards and honours he hadn't earned to being harassed and punished for things he hadn't done. But now ... he’d thoroughly deserved both the lecture and the punishment the CAG had assigned. He could have learned from his experience instead of starting a fight.
There was a click behind him as the hatch opened. Henry turned, wondering who else had come to seek out some privacy, and saw a dark-skinned girl, maybe a year or two older than himself. She was wearing a Lieutenant’s uniform – he couldn't help noticing that it fitted her perfectly, revealing the shape of firm breasts – without a starship insignia. One of the Admiral’s staffers, he decided. He couldn't help wondering if she’d been chosen for her looks rather than her competence.
“Hi,” he said, nervously. Talking to women had never been easy for him, not when he’d been Prince Henry. But Charles Augustus didn't have that burden. “Do you want the blister?”
“I just came to sit down and think,” the Lieutenant said. She held out a hand. “I’m Janelle, Janelle Lopez.”
“Charles Augustus,” Henry said. Once, it had been hard to make sure he never told anyone his true name. He'd worried endlessly over accidentally saying Henry and someone putting two and two together. Now, it was almost second nature. “Pleased to meet you.”
She smiled. Henry couldn't help noticing that she had a lovely smile.
“Pleased to meet you too,” she said, as she sat down and looked up at the stars. “You’d think they’d move, wouldn't you?”
“We’re not moving fast enough for the stars to move obviously,” Henry said. “Even the fastest ship in the fleet couldn't move that fast, I think.”
“Maybe the Magellan sees the effects of moving close to the speed of light,” Lopez said. “I wonder, sometimes, what they will think when they reach their destination.”
Henry had to smile. The Magellan had been the first attempt at sending a starship out of the Solar System. It was really nothing more than a hollowed out asteroid, a generation ship aimed at the star system that had later become Terra Nova, when the tramlines had been discovered. Who knew what would happen in the meantime on an asteroid starship that was effectively a city in its own right?
“I don't think they’re moving that fast,” he said. He’d read about the project once, when he'd been looking for ways to escape. The best drive technology of the time had been able to do wasn’t good enough to come close to the speed of light. It still wasn't. “But I wonder what they will make of Terra Nova.”
“They’d probably be shocked,” Lopez said. “And probably not a little horrified.”
Henry nodded in agreement, then changed the subject. “Why are you here?”
“Just fretting over my inability to get the Admiral to honour his social commitments,” Lopez said. “You?”
“Just brooding,” Henry said, truthfully. He wasn't quite sure what to make of her. Did she know who he was? The CAG clearly hadn’t known anything, but the Admiral’s aide might well have picked up on something. “I got into trouble with my superior.”
“You don’t seem to be in the brig,” Lopez observed. “It could be worse.”
Henry had to smile. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It could be.”
He looked back at the stars, silently resolving to forget glory-seeking and, instead, to concentrate on being the best pilot he could be. North had been right – he ground his teeth in sudden irritation as he recalled that he would have to apologise to the other pilot – but he wouldn't have a chance to complain in future. Henry silently promised himself it wouldn't happen again.
“And I have to apologise,” he added. “I hate apologising.”
Lopez lifted her eyebrows. “Why?”
Henry knew the answer to that, but he also knew he couldn't tell her. He’d been forced to apologise since he was a child, time and time again, for offending people who had heard an inaccurate story about something he’d done and started squawking. Once, he hadn't known why they'd been offended, merely that it had been his fault. Later, he’d realised that they wanted to force him to grovel as a power play. And none of them had given a shit about the real person behind the royal title.
He clenched his fists so hard they hurt. Beatings would have been kinder, he knew; he’d have preferred to be beaten then endure the mocking condescension of people who saw him as nothing more than a symbol. Instead, he'd been subjected to a form of abuse that had left scars on his soul. If he’d had any prospect of inheriting any real power, he would have hung on grimly and executed his tormentors the day he took the throne. Instead, he’d tried to find a way out. Elizabeth could have the throne. She was older than him ... and besides, she’d make a better monarch. Queens called Elizabeth had a very good record.
Lopez coughed. “Are you alright?”
Henry looked down at his hands, then slowly unclenched them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I ...”
“You said you hated apologising,” Lopez said. “I asked why?”
Henry sighed. “My ... family blamed me for everything,” he said. “I had to apologise for ever
ything, even when it wasn't my fault.”
Lopez met his eyes. “My brother was the same,” she said. “He got the blame for a lot of my mischief. Dad never quite twigged that a girl could be just as naughty as a boy.”
Henry gave her an odd look. “Where did you grow up?”
“My family were immigrants,” Lopez said. “My father never quite fitted in anywhere.”
She cleared her throat. “Whatever happened now,” she added, “was it your fault?”
“Yes,” Henry said, flatly.
“So what’s wrong with apologising for it?” She asked. “Or with learning from your mistakes?”
“Nothing,” Henry admitted. He wasn't Prince Henry, not here. He was Charles Augustus, a young pilot from a determinedly middle-class background. “Nothing at all.”
Ark Royal 2: The Nelson Touch Page 14
