A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “There were a couple of attempts to bring private prosecutions against you,” the First Space Lord added, “but the House of Lords threw them both out. It helps, I suspect, that the image of the gallant space captain rescuing helpless women and children is so prevalent. They didn't want to convict a national hero.”

  John kept his mouth firmly shut. It was unlikely that anyone could successfully bring private charges against him for carrying out his duty, not when military officers were generally excluded from such proceedings. But it would be bad publicity for the Royal Navy and he suspected his superiors had privately breathed a sigh of relief when the decision was handed down. Having an NGO or charity try to convict him of meddling in alien affairs would be embarrassing.

  “The Russians may want you to give testimony at the trial of the surviving renegades, John,” the First Space Lord added, “but we would prefer to see you out in space as soon as possible, so they may be disappointed. In any case, there is more than enough evidence to convict them of desertion, breaking several treaties and causing the Russian Government a considerable amount of embarrassment, which is a shooting offense in Russia.”

  “Yes, sir,” John said.

  “I would still prefer you to remain on Nelson Base or Luna City until you return to your ship,” the First Space Lord said. “The court rulings will probably not satisfy all of your new enemies, I’m afraid. At last report, the Society of Interstellar Brotherhood was offering a large reward for evidence that could be used against you, while the more militant wing of Earth First has publically condemned you for not bombarding Vesy into radioactive ruins and exterminating the aliens before they could pose a threat. They will not be happy to hear about your new assignment.”

  John narrowed his eyes. “Can they prevent me from returning to Earth?”

  “Probably not, but it will attract attention from the media,” the First Space Lord said. “I authorised you to visit Sin City because the media is permanently banned from the complex, no matter the situation. Earth ... it’s quite likely you will be hounded as soon as you step out of a military base. I advise you to avoid that sort of attention.”

  John sighed inwardly, but nodded. The media had swarmed over him once before - the last survivor of HMS Canopus, before Ark Royal had returned with a captured alien battlecruiser in tow - and he hadn't enjoyed it, not even slightly. Now, with half the population considering him a hero and the other half demanding his immediate execution, it would probably be worse. Much worse.

  “Yes, sir,” he said, finally.

  “Good,” the First Space Lord said. “I’m afraid your next posting will make the Society of Interstellar Brotherhood even more pissed at you.”

  He smiled, rather thinly. “You may have heard that talks about keeping Vesy in strict quarantine have broken down,” he continued. “The Russians tried to insist they had a claim to the system, the Indians flatly refused to honour an agreement that cut them out of a quicker route to their colonies, the French and Chinese started considering which way to jump ... right now, in short, there is no legal barrier to anyone going to Vesy and trying to make contact with the natives. This is likely to be utterly disastrous for them, Captain.”

  “Yes, sir,” John said. He’d seen Vesy - and he’d seen the damage caused by a handful of Russian-supplied weapons. Even if the Vesy were cut off from all further human contact, they knew how to make gunpowder and everything from basic muskets to cannons. The slaughter on their homeworld would rise rapidly until their society managed to integrate the new weapons. “They don’t need our encouragement to slaughter one another.”

  “It gets worse,” the First Space Lord said. “The Brothers” - the Society of Interstellar Brotherhood - “were barred from trying to communicate with the Tadpoles. No one in their right mind wanted the Brothers lecturing the Tadpoles about how their reproductive systems are dangerously immoral, not when the Tadpoles could easily have won the war. It would be a really stupid reason to restart the war.”

  “Yes, sir,” John said, again.

  “However, it has made the Brothers more determined to approach the Vesy and start transferring technology to them,” the First Space Lord warned. “Not all of the Brothers are keen to supply weapons, but medical science and building materials will do real damage to their society in the short term. The influx of human ideas and ideals will probably do worse damage. They’re not human, they’re not men in rubber suits, but I don't think the Brothers grasp that point. And they may succeed in turning the Vesy into a threat to humanity.”

  “Sir,” John said doubtfully, “the Vesy aren't much more advanced than ... than the Elizabethans. Even gunpowder was unknown to them five years ago.”

  “They will have the advantage of knowing that more is possible,” the First Space Lord said, darkly. “Our most optimistic assessment suggests that the Vesy might start experimenting with primitive rockets in four hundred years, perhaps less. It would depend on just how much technology - and ideas - have already slipped into their system. If the Brothers actually start guiding the Vesy down the right path, they might get into space in a much shorter time.”

  “It seems unbelievable, sir,” John said.

  “We would prefer not to take chances,” the First Space Lord said. “Unfortunately, with a lack of general consensus on the issue, it is impossible to prevent other nations from making contact with Vesy factions and working with them to take control of the entire planet.”

  He leaned forward. “You will return to Warspite, Captain, as CO of the squadron assigned to Vesy,” he continued. “Unfortunately, this is something of a poisoned chalice. On one hand, you have orders to prevent cultural contamination, either with ideas or technology; on the other, you are required to support Ambassador Richardson as she makes contact with Vesy factions and attempts to woo them into an alliance with Britain.”

  John frowned. The only way to woo Vesy factions was to offer them more than anyone else, particularly to the factions which had little to no contact with humans prior to the arrival of Warspite. And they would want weapons to defend themselves before anything else, no matter what other goodies the humans could offer. Failing to give the Vesy weapons would practically throw them into the arms of other human powers, the ones less concerned with the long-term impact on the Vesy themselves. They would have no choice, but to act in self-defence.

  And yet, handing over weapons and other goodies would cause cultural contamination ...

  “I don’t see how we can balance the two requirements,” he said, slowly. It seemed impossible to avoid it. “Mere contact with us will cause cultural contamination.”

  “I don’t think you can either,” the First Space Lord admitted. “Overall, we would prefer you to block the NGOs from setting up shop outside our direct control, Captain, but we concede that won’t be easy. They think they have a mission and they won’t let you stand in their way.”

  “So let them set up where they can be supervised,” John mused. “Maybe ensure that they know they can talk to the Vesy, but if they give offense they can be yanked out at any moment.”

  He groaned, inwardly. The Vesy were aliens. Who knew what would cause offense? Hell, for all they knew, wearing pink shirts would be enough to trigger a declaration of war.

  “Precisely,” the First Space Lord said. “They want contact; they can have it, under supervision. That will make it harder for them to claim we’re blocking them from talking to the poor helpless aliens.”

  John shrugged. “I saw them butchering one another with a fervour that would impress Genghis Khan,” he said, tartly. “I don’t think they’re helpless.”

  “They might as well be, against orbital bombardment,” the First Space Lord said. He sighed, meaningfully. “NGOs and the media aren't the only parties interested in going, John. The Vatican is sending a ship, as are a number of religious factions from America. Hell, the Archbishop of Canterbury is planning to dispatch a ship too. They hope to find new converts among the Vesy, it seems.”
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  “Shit,” John said, remembering the religious war the Vesy had been waging. Humans hadn't killed so many of their own kind in the name of religion since the Age of Unrest. “That’s going to end badly, sir.”

  “Probably,” the First Space Lord agreed. “The Vesy may take strong offense to being told they’re worshipping false gods. And not all of the factions sending ships are trustworthy either, not now. They may start dropping thunderbolts from high orbit if the human god isn't worshipped at once.”

  He paused. “And the hell of it is that we have only limited authority to intervene,” he added, darkly. “Try and get those factions to work from the base on the surface, Captain. It would make it easier to pull them out if the shit hits the fan.”

  “Aye, sir,” John said. He had a sneaking suspicion he should have asked for the court martial instead. He’d escaped one session in front of the World Court, but he might not get so lucky the second time. “The Vatican would presumably have diplomatic immunity ...”

  “Presumably, but you have authority to override it if they’re working from a British base,” the First Space Lord said. “It will be a long time before anyone truly trusts the Vatican again.”

  John nodded, slowly. It wasn't his area of expertise, but he knew just how badly the Vatican had squandered a considerable amount of goodwill just before the Age of Unrest. There were still states that had laws allowing them to peer into the church’s activities, just to make sure they weren't trying to cover up more sexual scandals and financial malpractice. Hell, there were laws in Britain allowing any religious group to be watched, if they seemed likely to pose a threat to the state. Being too trusting had led directly to the Troubles.

  The First Space Lord tapped his keyboard, activating the holographic projector. “You will have Warspite, John, and a pair of older destroyers to serve as escort,” he said. “The Ambassador and her staff will travel on Warspite, which will allow you to confer with her about the best way to proceed. Attached will be five freighters crammed with potential trade goods and prefabricated garrison components, as well as HMS Stuart Tootal.”

  John blinked. “I’m getting 3 Para?”

  “And two additional sections of Royal Marines,” the First Space Lord said. “Do try to keep them apart, when they’re not on active duty. We can’t afford to keep replacing the bulkheads when they start fighting.”

  He sighed. “I’d prefer to send more, Captain, but we have too many other commitments at the moment,” he added. “The PM has been talking to the Americans and French about a local alliance, but the Yanks are having an election year and the French, as always, are playing their cards close to their chest. I’m pretty sure they’re looking for ways to gain advantage in the coming proxy struggle for Vesy.”

  John nodded, grimly.

  “If the shit hits the fan, try to secure the base on the surface and protect our personnel,” the First Space Lord concluded. “Ideally ... well, the PM wants free access to the tramlines, but little else. But we would prefer to avoid utterly shattering Vesy civilisation if it could be avoided.”

  “I doubt it, sir,” John said. “They’ve seen too many changes in too short a space of time.”

  “We will see,” the First Space Lord said.

  He glanced at his datapad. “You’re expected back on Warspite in two days, Captain,” he added. “By then, your official orders will be cut, along with a set of sealed orders you are to open if the shit really does hit the fan. The ambassador will join you and your crew eight days later, giving you long enough to knock Warspite back into shape. Until then ... go to Sin City or stay here, whichever one you please. I don’t think we’ll need you before you return to your ship.”

  “Aye, sir,” John said. Returning to Sin City, finding a partner for a day or two and spending time in bed seemed a wonderful option. But, on the other hand, he knew he’d be worrying too much about the coming ordeal. Life had been much easier when he’d been a mere starfighter pilot. “I think I’d be better off reading papers and doing my research.”

  “There’s a whole crew of researchers going with you to Vesy,” the First Space Lord said. “They were trying to hire a luxury liner for the trip, I believe, rather than endure passage on a warship. Anyone would think they didn't like it.”

  “It is an acquired taste,” John agreed, deadpan. He well remembered cramped quarters on HMS Canopus ... although Colin and he had never complained. “I have been told it compares favourably to going to jail ...”

  “Not these days,” the First Space Lord said.

  John nodded. Prisoners these days were sent to work gangs, where they worked six days a week in the Reclamation Zones. It wasn't a pleasant task and the reoffending rate had dropped sharply, or so he’d been told. There just weren’t the resources to keep prisoners penned up indefinitely, not any longer. The truly serious criminals were simply hung and then buried in unmarked graves.

  “You’ll find out soon enough, I wager,” the First Space Lord said. “Good luck, Captain.”

  John rose, recognising the dismissal. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I won’t let you down.”

  Chapter Four

  “There she blows, sir,” the pilot said.

  John nodded, leaning forward as HMS Warspite slowly came into view. She was definitely sleeker than the pre-war frigates and cruisers the human navies had used to picket systems and escort the giant fleet carriers, but her dark hull was studded with weapons and sensor blisters. She looked almost like a flattened arrowhead, he recalled, her dark armour providing protection against everything short of heavy plasma cannons or laser warheads. Or a direct nuclear hit. The heavy plasma cannon at her prow seemed to glow with deadly light.

  “I can fly you around her, if you wish,” the pilot said.

  “I’ve already seen her,” John said, a little wistfully. No matter how many times he was shuttled to Warspite, he would never see his command for the first time again. “Take us to the airlock.”

  The pilot nodded, then cut speed as the cruiser grew and grew until she dominated the horizon. John braced himself, half-expecting a collision, but there was only a dull thud running through the craft as the shuttle latched on to the airlock. He smiled to himself as he felt the gravity wobble, then rose to his feet as the airlock hissed open. It was impossible to escape the sense that he was coming home. He picked up his duffle bag, slung it over one shoulder and stepped through the airlock, back onto his ship.

  “Captain,” Commander Howard greeted him. “Welcome back.”

  “Thank you, Commander,” John said. “And I congratulate you on your well-deserved promotion.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Howard said.

  John allowed himself another smile as they walked towards the bridge. He hadn't expected to be able to keep Philip Richards after they returned to Earth, not when his appointment as XO had only ever been temporary. But he had no doubts about Howard’s competence - or, for that matter, of his ability to handle the crew. If nothing else, Juliet Watson should have been disqualified for her inability to discipline her subordinates.

  “There’s a full briefing for you in your terminal, sir,” Howard said, “but basically we’re at full fighting readiness. Armed and dangerous, ready for a scrap.”

  “We may need to be,” John said. He’d spent two days reading intelligence reports and they’d all agreed that everyone was setting course for Vesy. Three British warships and a troop carrier wouldn’t be enough to control the chaos, even if they held undisputed rights to the system. “And the new tactical officer?”

  “I knew her from Sidney Smith as the assistant tactical officer, sir,” Howard said. “She’ll fit in well, I think. So far, her work on simulations has been perfect.”

  As long as she doesn't freeze up when she faces actual combat, John thought. He pushed the thought aside. He knew Sidney Smith’s commanding officer and he wouldn't have allowed an incompetent onto his command deck. She should do fine.

  “Weapons loads are complete, sir;
one hundred percent,” Howard continued. “The bureaucrats don’t seem to have got in our way for once.”

  “Glad to hear it,” John said. He sat down in his command chair and hastily reviewed his two private monitors, then looked up. “I relieve you.”

  “I stand relieved,” Howard said.

  He didn't look too happy, John noted. Being promoted alone had been a heady responsibility, but he’d been in effective command of Warspite for the last month. John wouldn't have blamed him for feeling a little resentment, not now someone else had come in and taken over command. But then, Howard had known that John was the ship’s formal commanding officer. He’d just have to deal with it.

  “We’ll meet in my office for a proper chat in an hour,” John said, after a moment. He’d need time to review the files to determine what, if anything, should be discussed. “Until then, is there anything that requires my urgent attention?”