A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5)

by Christopher Nuttall

  The aide checked his wristcom. “The PM is currently on the hot line to Washington,” he said, shortly. “Do you want a cup of tea to catch your breath before you enter his office?”

  “No, thank you,” Joelle said. “I can wait.”

  She looked at herself in the mirror, hanging from one wall. Her long brown hair fell down over a pinched face, one that showed too much of her age. The suit she was wearing was tailored to showcase both professionalism and her femininity, a subtle message to rogue states that should know better, by now, to show any disrespect to a British Ambassador. Her lips twitched in droll amusement as she remembered some of the more interesting moments of her long career. There was definitely something to be said for agitating the rulers of states which regarded women as second-class citizens and kept them trapped in ignorance and slavery.

  It might not be very diplomatic, she thought, as the aide’s wristcom bleeped, but it needs to be done. We no longer need to pretend that such states are actually important.

  The aide opened the door and showed her into the Prime Minister’s office. Joelle smiled as Prime Minister Steven Goodwill rose from behind his desk to greet her, then held out her hand for him to shake. He looked tired, compared to the man she’d met briefly before her assignment to Geneva, but grimly resolved to move ahead, whatever the cost. It was an attitude, Joelle thought, that suited him in his role.

  “Prime Minister,” she said. “Thank you for recalling me.”

  The Prime Minister smiled. “Things keep changing, as you know,” he said. “Did you manage to get a few days of holiday?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Joelle said. The Foreign Secretary - her immediate superior - had told her to take a few days off to relax, but not to leave the country. It hadn't been hard to deduce that she was either in trouble or they had a new assignment for her. “I ended up going to Edinburgh for a few days of rest and relaxation.”

  “There are fewer places to go for a rest these days,” the Prime Minister said, dryly. “Too many beaches utterly destroyed; too many lives completely ruined.”

  “Yes, Prime Minister,” Joelle said.

  It was true, she knew. A proper holiday was a luxury afforded to few these days, not when most of the cheap holiday destinations had either been destroyed or turned into refugee camps. Even going to Edinburgh had made her feel vaguely guilty. But she had the feeling she was about to earn her vacation.

  “And I trust you have nothing preventing you from leaving Earth?” The Prime Minister asked. “No lover? No long-term commitments?”

  “No, Prime Minister,” Joelle said. In theory, she could be sent well away from Earth at any time and she would just have to suck it up. But, in practice, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office understood that a distracted ambassador was an ineffective ambassador. But it had been years since she’d had more than a quick fling with anyone. Her work ensured she rarely had time to meet anyone on a personal basis. “I’m as free as a bird.”

  “Good,” the Prime Minister said. “We have a job for you.”

  He sat back down and motioned for her to sit facing him. “You will, of course, be familiar with the talks in Geneva,” he said, once she’d taken her seat. “Tell me; what are your impressions?”

  Joelle took a moment to organise her thoughts. “There isn't going to be any international consensus on how to proceed,” she said, carefully. “The Vesy don’t represent a threat to us, so the Solar Treaty doesn't come into play. I don’t think there will be any agreement to leave them strictly alone, Prime Minister. It’s much more likely that everyone else is going to make a bid for power.”

  “Probably,” the Prime Minister grunted. He cleared his throat. “Do you have any other thoughts?”

  “Several parties were suggesting, quite seriously, that we destroy the Vesy now, before they can become a threat,” Joelle said. “I think such suggestions need to be shot down as quickly as possible.”

  “That might be difficult,” the Prime Minister said. “Planning to commit genocide would have been unthinkable, five years ago. But now, with the damage the Tadpoles did to Earth fresh in everyone’s memory, it may be hard to keep politicians from putting it forward as a serious option.”

  “Earth First,” Joelle said.

  “They’re not the only ones,” the Prime Minister said. “There are quite a few groups out there proclaiming the need for human unity in the face of alien threats ... and extreme measures against such alien threats.”

  He sighed, loudly. “But that’s not why I called you here today,” he continued. “The failure to come to any sort of agreement on a joint approach to the Vesy, even just leaving the planet completely alone, has led to a major problem. Everyone and his dog is currently trying to make their way to Vesy, from governments intent on trying to secure influence among the aliens to NGOs and religious groups keen to influence the development of Vesy civilisation - and, perhaps, steer it in a human-approved direction. I’ve been trying to stop them, but I have little authority outside the British Commonwealth. It has led to a rather nasty political argument.”

  Joelle remembered the demonstrators and frowned. “They want to help the Vesy,” she said, thoughtfully. “The protesters outside, I mean.”

  “Yes, they do,” the Prime Minister said. “We could keep a lid on it, Ambassador, if we had the agreement of the other Great Powers. As it is, we won’t be able to prevent them from heading to Vesy for much longer. They’ll cause no end of damage to the local civilisation ... which they wouldn't actually consider a disadvantage. By our standards, the Vesy are barbarians. Primitive barbarians.”

  “We have barbarians on Earth too,” Joelle pointed out.

  “We gave up nation-building a long time ago,” the Prime Minister said. “Let them redeem themselves, we said, or remain forever in squalor. The Vesy, on the other hand ... it’s easier, somehow, to see them as children in need of help.”

  He took a breath. “There’s another problem, of course,” he added. “The tramlines. Vesy holds no less than seven tramlines, including one that leads to Pegasus. Whoever controls the Vesy System will be in an excellent position to dominate the surrounding systems for the foreseeable future. Simple common sense tells us, Ambassador, that just about every nation on Earth is going to try to take control. They’ll cut whatever deals they have to cut with the Vesy to gain control.”

  “The Vesy will be cheated, Prime Minister,” Joelle said.

  “Almost certainly,” the Prime Minister agreed. “Although, seen from their point of view, even relatively primitive human tech would be a marvel. A working painkiller alone would be worth billions to them ... coming to think of it, so would something that suppresses their mating scents, allowing their women to enter the workforce in large numbers. But the point is we cannot allow others to gain an advantage. We need Vesy allies of our own.”

  “We may end up with another Terra Nova,” Joelle said. “A planet without the united government or the firepower to enforce its control over the tramlines.”

  “That would be better, from our point of view, than having a single power in control of the system,” the Prime Minister said. He shrugged, expressively. “Not that everyone will agree, of course.”

  Joelle considered it. “We can't claim rights of first discovery?”

  “I don’t think we can reasonably claim to have beaten the Vesy to their homeworld,” the Prime Minister said, dryly. “Besides, it was a rogue Russian ship that stumbled over Vesy, not us. The Russians don’t have the strength to back up their claim, but they’re trying hard to leverage it to gain advantage elsewhere. I’ve been hearing rumours about them talking to the Turks and the Indians, perhaps even the Brazilians.”

  “The Indians have a colony in that direction,” Joelle recalled.

  “They do,” the Prime Minister said. “It adds another problem to the morass.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m assigning you as our Ambassador to Vesy and Special Representative to the other human powers active within
the system,” he explained. “You will have authority to open discussions with the Vesy and trade with them, although there will be some limits on precisely what you can offer. Ideally, you are to tie as many Vesy groups as possible into an alliance with us. We need influence on the planet’s surface.”

  Joelle remembered the reports and winced. “We could just offer them weapons,” she said, frankly. “It would make them our friends for life.”

  “I’d prefer not to supply weapons if it can be avoided,” the Prime Minister said. “The Russians caused a great deal of problems for them, simply by introducing gunpowder. I would hate to see them trying a mass charge against machine guns or even soldiers armed with modern rifles. Their population might take a sharp drop.”

  “They will want weapons, Prime Minister,” Joelle said, flatly. “It won’t be unlike negotiating with groups in North Africa or the Middle East. Weapons come first, or they won’t be able to hold on to whatever else they get.”

  “I know,” the Prime Minister said. He looked her in the eye. “If you have no alternative, then yes; you may offer them weapons. However, it would probably look better if you offered them other items first. We have a list of possible options for you to consider, although - as the person on the spot - you will have to make the final call.”

  Joelle couldn't help feeling a flicker of excitement, mixed with apprehension. On Earth, she could call her superiors at any moment to get their approval; in deep space, she would be completely alone, unable to receive an instant answer to her messages. If she sent a message from Vesy to Earth, if she needed support, it would be months before she could receive a reply. Before then, the situation would probably have changed for the worse.

  “Thank you, Prime Minister,” she said.

  The Prime Minister gave her a humourless smile. “You may want to wait before thanking me,” he said. “This won’t be an easy task.”

  He frowned. “In addition, you are to try to build a local agreement with any other human powers operating within the system,” he continued. “Again, ideally, we want limits on tech transfer and a general understanding that the system is to remain neutral. I don’t think anyone will accept the idea of limits, but I think there will be some support for leaving the system neutral in human politics.”

  “Because that would give us all access to the tramlines,” Joelle said.

  “Without having to pay,” the Prime Minister agreed.

  Joelle nodded, thoughtfully. The Tramline Treaty enshrined open passage through the tramlines, but agreed that whoever owned the system was owed a small fee from anyone who wanted to use the tramlines. However, precedent suggested that whoever owned the system had to be capable of policing their space before they could collect their fee. Terra Nova’s inability to patrol space beyond its atmosphere was a constant headache for the diplomats, all the more so as other settlements within the system continued to grow. Sooner or later, Joelle considered, one of them would make a definite bid for system ownership - and marginalise Terra Nova once and for all.

  “We could always try setting up a bank for them,” she mused. “Have the fee saved until they’re ready to access it for themselves.”

  “It’s a possibility,” the Prime Minister said. “But who would you trust to run it?”

  “The Vesy themselves,” Joelle said. It was the simplest solution. “They’re not idiots, Prime Minister. We could educate them, couldn't we?”

  “And what,” the Prime Minister asked, “would that do to their society?”

  He shrugged, then leaned forward. “You will be attached to a naval squadron being dispatched within a fortnight,” he informed her. “You may choose your own staff - under the circumstances, I think that’s the least we can do for you. The squadron CO will have orders of his own, but will generally follow yours as long as they don’t put the ships into danger.”

  Joelle nodded. She would need to read the orders very carefully, then sit down with the CO and have a long talk. She’d known some naval officers who’d regarded diplomats as worse enemies than reporters; she hoped, grimly, that whoever was assigned to Vesy wouldn't be one of them.

  “Good luck, Ambassador,” the Prime Minister said, rising to his feet. “Your orders and supporting documents will be delivered to your office within the hour. I believe you will be invited to board the ship in ten days, but that will be confirmed. We’ll try not to leave you behind.”

  “Thank you, Prime Minister,” Joelle said, smiling at the weak joke. It was one hell of a challenge - and if she succeeded in hammering out an agreement everyone could live with, she would be able to write her own ticket. “I look forward to it.”

  Chapter Three

  “Captain Naiser,” the First Space Lord said, as John was shown into his office. “I trust you had a pleasant few days?”

  “Sin City no longer lives down to its reputation, sir,” John said. It was no surprise. The original Sin City had been destroyed during the Battle of Earth. “But at least no one recognised me there, thankfully.”

  “There is that, I suppose,” the First Space Lord said. “Take a seat, please.”

  “Thank you, sir,” John said.

  He sat on the comfortable chair, resting his hands in his lap. The First Space Lord’s aide appeared and offered tea or coffee, but John declined them both. He’d need all of his wits around him while talking to the uniformed head of the Royal Navy. The First Space Lord waited for the hatch to hiss closed behind his aide, then nodded politely to John.

  “I understand that you were attending the simulated battles,” the First Space Lord said, casually. “As someone who both flew starfighters and commanded capital ships, what did you make of them?”

  John hesitated, thinking hard. Was the First Space Lord trying to break the ice, as if he needed to break the ice, or was it a genuine question?

  “I think that both sides rigged the simulations in their favour,” he said, finally. “The starfighter squadrons shouldn't be counted out just yet, sir.”

  “Explain,” the First Space Lord ordered.

  “Real life isn't the same as simulations,” John said. “To be realistic, the simulation would need to account for sensor distortion caused by the plasma cannons, the loss of several cannons due to exploding plasma containment fields and the existence of various countermeasures to fuck ... ah, spoof ECM. One simulation was, therefore, an idealized outcome for the point defence; the other was an idealised outcome for the starfighters.”

  He paused. “We may need to rely more on smaller carriers, perhaps armoured escort carriers, rather than the giant fleet carriers,” he added, “while putting together superdreadnaughts of our own.”

  “The Vanguard project,” the First Space Lord noted. “Admiral Soskice’s pride and joy.”

  “Yes, sir,” John said. He’d been asked to consult, during the months he’d waited in limbo for a decision on his future in the Royal Navy. “She’s an impressive design, sir, but she will wallow like a pig in mud. And she would be alarmingly vulnerable to mass drivers, despite her improved armour. The Tadpole superdreadnaught wasn't perfect either.”

  “It still took a giant carrier ramming her to put her out of commission,” the First Space Lord said. “Both ships were destroyed in the blast.”

  “Yes, sir,” John said.

  He felt a sudden stab of sympathy for the First Space Lord. The man was caught between the traditionalist and reformist parties; one wanting to adopt the latest shiny thing, the other wanting to stick with technology they knew worked. But both sides were wrong ... keeping the balance between them couldn't be the easiest job in the world. It made him wonder just what would happen to the Royal Navy when the First Space Lord retired.

  “But that is a minor issue at the moment,” the First Space Lord said. He sat upright, elbows placed on the desk in front of him. “I didn't call you here to discuss the simulations - and how well they reflect real life.”

  John nodded. It was finally time to face the music.

 
“Good news first,” First Space Lord said, briskly. “The World Court in Geneva has provisionally agreed that you are not culpable for anything the Russians did on Vesy, particularly before you ever knew there was such a world. Your own actions caused more doubt, but it has been generally agreed that you did the best you could under the circumstances. As such, you don’t need to worry about either a court martial or war crimes charges from Geneva.”

  “Thank you, sir,” John said, relieved. He hadn't worried about a court martial - any Captain’s Court would have upheld his decisions - but the World Court was a political beast. Guilt or innocence wasn’t a matter of fact, not when politics were involved. Someone in London might have had to do a great deal of horse-trading to ensure a favourable verdict. “That’s good to hear.”