A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Yes, Ambassador ... Joelle,” John said. That was hardly a secret. The media had done endless profiles on him, ever since he’d returned from Vesy with the news of a second alien race. It was amusing to note just how much they’d gotten wrong ... and how much they’d deliberately misinterpreted in hopes of writing a better story. “I flew starfighters against the Tadpoles.”

  Grace coughed. “Do you have to call them Tadpoles?” She asked. “It isn't the nicest thing to say. And it implies inferiority to humanity.”

  “Their name for themselves is unpronounceable,” John reminded her. “There’s no point in trying to call them by their proper name. They don’t seem to care.”

  “It’s still a bad attitude,” Grace said.

  John shrugged. He had the feeling he was being tested. Nothing in Joelle’s file had suggested she had problems calling her subordinates to heel, if she felt it necessary. If she was tolerating Grace acting like a spoilt teenager, she presumably had a reason for allowing her aide to embarrass herself. But what?

  “We understand that they are powerful, and that the last thing either side wants is to resume the war,” he said, flatly. “That is all we really need to understand.”

  He cleared his throat. “I flew starfighters until I transferred to capital ships and made my way up through the ranks,” he added. “It has been an interesting career.”

  “You encountered a whole new alien race,” Joelle said. “What are your ... impressions of them?”

  “Primitive, by our standards, but bursting with potential,” John said. An alien observer might have said the same of humanity, if he’d peered down at Earth five hundred years ago. “Also quite barbaric, by our standards. The purges of the God-King’s supporters made the Spanish Inquisition look inefficient.”

  “It’s unfair to judge them by our standards,” Grace pointed out. “They’re not human.”

  John smirked, remembering Colin’s verbal games. “But isn’t it more insulting not to judge them by our standards? To treat them as children who cannot be expected to understand the seriousness of their crimes?”

  “They are, to some extent,” Joelle said. “Five years ago, they had no idea that they weren't the only intelligent life in the universe.”

  “Five years ago, we had no idea we weren't the only intelligent life in the universe,” John countered. “And then we ran into the Tadpoles.”

  He shuddered at the thought. Humanity had been in shock, ever since the first attack on Vera Cruz, and it hadn't been until the end of the war that the philosophical implications had begun to sink in. The human race was no longer alone ... and, if the Tadpoles weren’t that far from human space, just how much of the galaxy was already taken? And, if the Tadpoles had been more advanced than humanity when the war had begun, might there be other more advanced races out there, some potentially hostile? Might humanity run into a race armed with weapons that made nukes look like firecrackers?

  “They didn't even have the concept of alien life,” Joelle pointed out. “We did, even if we didn't believe they truly existed.”

  “True,” John agreed.

  The hatch opened, revealing a steward carrying a large tray of food. John leaned to one side as the three plates were placed in front of them, then the steward retreated as silently as he’d arrived. At least they’d managed to get a pair of real stewards, he reminded himself, as he lifted the lid to reveal beef stew, mashed potatoes and greens. There was no need to waste a midshipman’s time serving as a steward, in addition to his or her regular duties.

  “We are going to need to work together,” Joelle said, when she had eaten enough to satisfy the first hunger pangs. “I understand that I am cleared to talk to diplomats from other human powers, but you’re expected to talk to military officers.”

  “If they are cleared to talk to me,” John said. “Military officers are not normally expected to set diplomatic policy.”

  “Their superiors will have to clear it,” Joelle said. “But could you work with them, if they were cleared to work with you?”

  “It shouldn't be a problem, as long as we agreed on the ground rules,” John said. “We managed to work together fairly well during the war.”

  Joelle frowned. “But managing the aftermath was tricky,” she said. “The Japanese believe that at least one of their carriers was sacrificed without due cause, while the French think their interests were unheeded and the Russians ... well, the less said about the Russians the better.”

  “Really?” John asked. “Why?”

  “Diplomatic disaster,” Joelle said, shortly. She didn't seem inclined to address the subject any further. “Suffice it to say that the Russians feel boxed in and unwilling to cooperate too openly with the other powers.”

  John winced. The Russians had reclaimed their personnel - and, even though they faced charges ranging from desertion to breaking the non-interference edict, their mere existence gave the Russians something to bargain with. They knew more about Vesy than anyone else, save perhaps for the Marines John had left on the alien world. It was quite possible that there was already a Russian ship or two heading to Vesy, intent on picking up where the renegades had left off. Or maybe they would sell what they knew to the highest bidder.

  Should never have let them out of Geneva, he thought. He’d done his best to follow the politics closely, but precisely why the Russians had been allowed to return home was beyond him. Someone must have done a considerable amount of horse-trading behind the scenes. It was unlikely the Russians would simply put them in front of a wall, as soon as they returned home, and have them shot.

  “It does raise questions concerning jurisdiction,” John said. “If all of the interstellar powers cooperate, we can limit access to Vesy. But if one or more powers refuse to cooperate, it will be impossible to legally blockade the entire world. It isn't the Britannic System, where we own everything.”

  “Do the best you can, I think,” Joelle said. “In the long run, if we are unable to secure a joint agreement, our objective is to convince as many Vesy factions as possible to sign up with us.”

  “Then trade weapons,” John said, flatly. “That will get you all the factions you could possibly want.”

  Grace coughed. “Are you seriously suggesting that we encourage the locals to fight?”

  John gave her a long considering look. “You want them to sign up with us,” he said, somehow managing to keep his voice level. “If so, you have to give them something they want in exchange - and what they want, most of all, are human weapons. Weapons that will give them a decisive advantage against any city-state that doesn't have access to human weapons ... and weapons that will even the odds against any city-state that does.”

  “We could offer them medicine,” Grace said. “Or ... there are all sorts of little ideas we could give them.”

  “None of which will help them worth a damn if they are crushed by their neighbours,” John said. “The God-King created an empire, Miss Short. It might not have lasted, but it introduced the concept to them. City-states with human weapons will seek to impose themselves on their neighbours; city-states without them will do whatever it takes to get them. And if that means signing up with the Russians, instead of us, they will do it.”

  He scowled down at the table. “You’re trying to outbid other human states,” he added, darkly. “Even if we have qualms about offering weapons, the Russians or Chinese or even the French won’t have any hesitation. The states that sign up with us will defect or get crushed, once their neighbours are armed to the teeth. And any medical ideas we give our friends will be taken by force.”

  “You're treating them as if they’re human,” Grace said. “They may not react like us!”

  “They were struggling for supremacy for centuries before the Russians arrived,” John said. It was tempting to blame everything on the Russians, but there was no evidence that the Vesy had been peaceful at any point in their history. Their city-states were ringed with solid walls, suggesting they had good r
eason to fear attack. “I judge them by what we saw - and what we saw was barbaric savagery.”

  “By human rules,” Grace insisted. “Their rules might be different.”

  John shrugged. “If you gave Napoleon nukes,” he said, “would he have hesitated to use them, judging by the standards of the time? If you gave Philip of Spain machine guns, would he have paused before unleashing carnage on a scale no one of that time could envisage? If you gave the Romans television, would they delay long before installing one in every household so the entire population could enjoy its bread and circuses?”

  Grace scowled. “What’s your point?”

  “Human civilisation developed slowly, adapting to new technology as it came along,” John said. “No, I don’t think Napoleon would have hesitated before unleashing nukes; his society simply wasn't advanced enough to understand the implications of using them. Even television ... one could make a case that television retarded the development of human civilisation. The Vesy are nowhere near advanced enough to be able to handle our technology without inflicting major damage on their society.”

  “And yet you’re still judging them by human rules,” Grace insisted.

  “And yet their rules don’t see anything wrong with mass slaughter,” John countered. “Nor did Napoleon see anything wrong with sacking cities, George Washington see anything wrong with sending the Indians smallpox-infested blankets, Philip of Spain see anything wrong with slaughtering thousands of people because their noblemen had embraced one sect of Christianity over another. We have to accept that they don’t play by our rules.”

  “Captain,” Grace said. “That’s ...”

  “That will do,” Joelle said. She tapped her fork against her plate meaningfully. “I apologise, Captain. Some of my staff put their idealism ahead of their common sense.”

  John glanced at Grace. She was blushing. “I was surprised you didn't invite Professor Nordstrom,” he said. “I’m sure he could have countered her points more openly.”

  “I wanted to talk with you alone,” Joelle said. She glanced at Grace. “I’ll speak to you later, if you don’t mind.”

  It was clearly a dismissal. Grace nodded, then rose to her feet and stalked through the hatch to the sleeping compartment. John wondered, inanely, if the ambassador and her aide were sleeping together, instead of just sharing a cabin, then dismissed the thought. Even if it were true, and he rather doubted it, they weren't covered by navy regulations against fraternisation.

  “It's always interesting to have multiple different viewpoints on a given topic,” Joelle said, once the hatch had closed. “But, at the same time, it also causes problems when the arguments start overriding everything else. Do you have that problem in the military?”

  “Sometimes,” John said, thinking of Admiral Fitzwilliam and Admiral Soskice. “But we are trained to pull together, when necessary.”

  “You may be right,” Joelle admitted. “Selling weapons is perhaps the only way we can get large numbers of Vesy on our side. But, at the same time, it will not go down well on Earth.”

  “Politics,” John said, making the word a curse.

  “And public relations,” Joelle added. “You probably know just how many factions there are that want to help the Vesy, while others just want to quarantine their system or even commit genocide, on the theory the Vesy might be a threat one day.”

  “I know,” John said.

  “We have to patch together several different agreements, John,” Joelle said. She stood and paced over to the drinks machine, then pushed a switch. Two plastic cups of coffee dropped down into the dispenser. “We need agreements with the Vesy to give us access to the system, but we also need agreements with other human powers to limit just what we pass on to the Vesy. And that will get people like Grace” - she nodded towards the hatch - “het up about us treating the Vesy as children.”

  “Which may be the best thing to do,” John observed.

  “But Professor Nordstrom is right,” Joelle added. She picked up one of the cups and passed it to John, then took the other for herself. “The Vesy will resent it hugely if we hold them back - or if we are seen to be holding them back. And yet, if we set up schools and teach them how to be ... well, human, that will shatter their society beyond repair.”

  John took a sip of his coffee. “Does their society deserve to be saved?”

  Joelle looked back at him, evenly. “Do you believe we should destroy it?”

  “They are savages, by our standards,” John said, flatly. “In some ways, they are more repressive than many human societies. One might rightly question if such a society deserves to exist.”

  “We answered that one during the Age of Unrest,” Joelle pointed out. “The idea of reshaping foreign societies was abandoned. Instead, we chose to merely seal them off from civilised lands.”

  “Which condemned millions of people to a life of suffering,” John said, “which was made all the worse by educated youngsters leaving in droves.”

  Joelle shrugged. “We couldn't fix their problems when we had access to the boundless resources of space and all the time in the world,” she said. “Now, with most of our resources tied up in rebuilding after the war, we couldn't spare anything for the Third World. They can solve their own problems, if they wish.”

  She sat down again, facing him. “I will need your support, Captain, and your advice,” she said. “This won’t be easy.”

  “You will have as much support as I can give you,” John promised. “But I don’t expect everyone to fall into line. Control over Vesy will grant control over the system - and there are seven tramlines here. The system is a prize worth fighting for.”

  Joelle gave him a sharp look. “You expect one of the interstellar powers to try to seize the system by force? Invade Vesy itself?”

  “It’s a possibility,” John warned. “The Vesy couldn't put up any real resistance to a single destroyer; hell, a freighter could smash any opposition from orbit with the right weapons kit bolted to the hull. Come up with an excuse to invade, take the planet by force, make agreements at gunpoint with the surviving city-states, then announce the system closed to everyone else and declare victory. There’s no reason why it couldn't work.”

  Joelle looked disturbed. “Unless we got the majority of the interstellar powers to agree that invading Vesy is off the table,” she said. “It isn't as if it’s a human world - and the last war ended with a return to the status quo.”

  “That would compromise their ability - and ours - to launch punitive strikes,” John pointed out. The Tadpoles could have prolonged the fighting if humanity had demanded compensation for the death and devastation caused by the war. “I don’t think they would go for a flat ban on invasion. What if some of their people come under attack?”

  “You have a nasty imagination,” Joelle said. She reached for a datapad and made a note, then looked back at him. “What else do you have in mind?”

  “Too much,” John said. “For example, what happens if smugglers start shipping in tech manuals as well as weapons and pieces of technology? Something dating back to 1800 would be useless to us, but very informative to them.”

  Joelle groaned. “It’s going to be a mess, isn't it?”

  “That’s why they pay us the big bucks,” John said. “But don’t count on this being sorted out in a hurry.”

  Chapter Nine

  It hadn't been easy to provide a precise translation of any of the titles used by Vesy rulers, not when it was impossible to define how they were selected or even what they were supposed to do. Some of the city-states seemed to have a limited democracy - with very restricted franchises - while others were ruled by powerful citizens or religious factions. Ivan, who appeared to be an elected king, seemed to fall somewhere in the middle. Percy had long since given up trying to work out how the system worked. It was something he would cheerfully leave to the xenospecialists when they finally arrived from Earth.

  He bowed, keeping one hand on his pistol in line with loc
al traditions, as Ivan stepped into the meeting room. The Vesy was very definitely inhuman; tall, taller than the average human, with scaly green skin, dark and beady eyes and a flattened nose. He wore a long dark cloak that passed for formal wear, among the aliens, and metal chains that ran down from his neck to vanish somewhere in the enshrouding folds of his cloak. The sword hilt poking out from the robes was a clear warning that Ivan was armed, a freeman of his city-state as well as its ruler. He’d been the ruler before, Percy knew, but now he was something different. But then, his former city-state was something else too.

  “I greet you,” Ivan said, in careful English. The Vesy seemed to have a natural gift for languages; by now, English was spreading as fast as Russian. Percy would have been impressed if he hadn't known that Russian-speaking slaves commanded high prices in the slave markets. “I thank you for meeting me.”

  “I welcome you,” Percy said. As always, listening to the Vesy reminded him of how he’d spoken as a child, before his mother had started to scold him for talking with his mouth full. It wasn't easy to make out the words, but it could be done. “I am honoured to have you at my door.”