by J. J. Green
“I see,” said Beaumont-Smith, trying but failing to disguise his displeasure.
“Well, we could put it to the vote, I suppose,” said the Chair.
Hennessy gave a loud, audible sigh.
“Which items would you prefer to discuss first?” asked the Prime Minister, looking at Hennessy over the rims of his glasses.
“The report on the attack on the General Council,” the Chief answered, in the tone of someone explaining something to a toddler, “and the plan for dealing with the new alliance between the AP and EAC.”
“Does anyone second this motion?” the Chair asked.
“Seconded,” said Montague, the First Sea Lord and Chief of Naval Staff.
“Who says aye, please raise your hand.”
Hans lifted his hand, along with most of those present.
“Motion carried.”
A muscle twitched in the PM’s jaw. “Very well,” he said. “If everyone would please turn to documents fifteen and sixteen? I hope you’ve all had the opportunity to read your copies.”
Hans located the relevant papers and began to hastily scan them. His department had helped to carry out the investigation while he’d been incapacitated, but no one had sent him the completed reports. Another of Beaumont-Smith’s ‘omissions’.
The reports could be embarrassing, and he knew he had to tread carefully to avoid being blamed. If anyone should have known about the plan of the attack on the General Council, it was SIS. Yet his staff had been entirely in the dark. He was relieved to see the reports somewhat exonerated his department.
He saw something interesting and read it more closely. Hundreds of man hours spent trawling satellite data had revealed a small private shuttle had departed from within EAC territory and traveled to one of the AP’s colony ships, Bres, three days prior to the attack.
The preliminary conclusion of the main report was that the AP/EAC alliance had been forged less than two weeks ago, and the assault on Barbados had been an operation rapidly engineered by the two organizations. The fast pace of action meant that by the time SIS double agents had learned of the plan, it was too late to warn the General Council.
SIS was already at work finding out what the allies were planning next.
“The report isn’t bad as far as it goes,” said Beaumont-Smith, “but there’s a glaring omission. What I’d like to know is, how the hell did the AP and EAC know the time and place of the General Council meeting? I mean, don’t we have any security to prevent the leaking of such sensitive information?”
He glared at Hans.
“Hundreds of people were invited to that meeting,” Hans retorted, “against my advice, if you remember. If certain individuals hadn’t been intent on turning the whole thing into a propaganda exercise, taking advantage of the Queen’s attendance to bolster flagging confidence in the government, far fewer attendees would have been present, and the chances of a leak would have been considerably reduced. I refuse to be held responsible for the wagging tongues of every media rep and business mogul.”
“Those people were notified at the last minute,” the PM retaliated. “They couldn’t possibly have—”
“We already know the attack was mounted at lightning speed,” said Hennessy. “Is there any point in trying to assign—”
“So you’re saying it must have been someone who knew the details weeks before the meeting who passed them onto the EAC or AP?” asked Hans. “That would narrow the field to SIS and the people in this room. My staff are thoroughly vetted and completely trustworthy.” He let the implication of his words hang in the air.
“Now look here,” Beaumont-Smith spluttered, “if you’re suggesting anyone here would knowingly put Her Majesty’s life in danger...”
“For goodness sake!” exclaimed one of the cabinet ministers. “More people died than the flipping Queen, you know. Good people, with families and loved ones. Her Majesty’s death was tragic, but let’s not lose focus.”
“Exactly,” Hennessy said. “Focus is what’s needed here. We suffered a catastrophe in the Caribbean, and I don’t want to be pessimistic, but things aren’t looking good for us going forward. I think that, regardless of where the fault lies, we have to agree: No more General Council meetings until this war is over.”
“Circumventing the democratic process should be a last resort,” said the PM. “It’s admitting defeat before—”
“Admitting defeat for you, you mean,” said Montague. “Perhaps a vote of no confidence is in order.”
“That’s entirely unnecessary!” Beaumont-Smith was pink with fury. “And the thin end of the wedge. Postponing Council meetings is the first step on the road to martial law. That’s what you want, isn’t it?!”
Hennessy leapt to his feet. “That’s an outrageous accusation!”
The PM also stood. He rested his hands on the table and leaned over it, saying, “This government will not give in to bullying. Any more pressure to hamper the Council’s due process will be viewed as a traitorous act.”
“I’m not staying here to be threatened and insulted!” yelled Hennessy. “The military leaders will hold a separate meeting, where we will decide the Britannic Alliance’s next moves. When we come to a decision, we will inform Parliament. Officers, if you would come with me...?”
He marched to the exit. Montague quickly followed, and after some dithering, so did all the military attendees.
In the silence that followed their departure, the ministers appeared shocked and dismayed, and Beaumont-Smith seemed about to explode with impotent rage.
Hans sat quietly twiddling his thumbs.
His long years of sowing mistrust and suspicion through the BA’s higher echelons of power were paying off. A schism between military and government had appeared. Most importantly, King Frederick’s coronation—the thing he most wanted to prevent from happening—hadn’t even been discussed.
The fracturing and strife were unfortunate but only to be expected, and the final outcome would be worth it. Now all Hans had to do was to pick his moment.
“Ministers,” he said, “I’d like to propose that I join our military leaders’ meeting. I don’t think they’ll object, and it would be helpful to have a governmental presence at their discussions.”
No one objected, so he left.
His painful lungs and injuries still bothered him, but his mood was high. From among the ashes of the ancient, failing monarchy, a new republic would arise: a shining light to lead humanity into the future.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The patient had shaken off the last effects of sedation and was fit to be discharged from the sick bay, but Wright had no idea what to do with him. Thanks to Ellis, he was no longer aggressive, and he even had civilian clothes to wear from the Valiant’s printers. Wright thought he could probably find a small cabin for him, but then what? They were preparing for battle, and even if they weren’t, the notion of the mystery man hanging out with the marines was crazy.
It was obvious he wasn’t BA military or SIS. The distress signal was unexplained, but his rescue had clearly been a mistake. He could only be a local, who had somehow become trapped in the cave. It was only by a huge amount of luck he’d been saved from certain death.
The Valiant was no longer in her former high Earth orbit, when attempting to return him to West BI might have been an option. She was now far beyond the home planet as the navy and marines gathered forces for an assault.
Wright looked at the patient, sitting quietly on the edge of his bed. He resented the burden of responsibility for the man when he had so many more important things to do.
“Can you tell him we won’t be able to return him to West BI just yet?” he asked Ellis. “That he’ll have to stay aboard until after the battle?”
She looked at him like he’d asked her to levitate. “How am I supposed to do that?”
“It isn’t that hard, is it? Just explain, in your language.”
“Major, he doesn’t speak my language.”
“Huh? How did you calm him down earlier?”
“He must have liked my singing. I did ask him if he spoke Welsh, but he didn’t understand me.”
“But you’ve been talking to him all this time?”
Ellis had been keeping up a monologue, talking to the patient ever since they’d released him from the restraints. In truth, Wright had enjoyed listening to her melodic native tongue, though he couldn’t understand a word of it.
“Only because it seemed to soothe him. He’s been through a lot, sir. No wonder he reacted violently when he woke up. He must have thought he was dying in that cave, and then he found himself aboard a starship among strangers. Must have been a helluva shock.”
“Yeah.” Wright reached for an interface. “Well, we can soon solve the translation problem.” He opened the relevant software and turned the mic to face the patient. “Can you get him to say something?”
Ellis touched the man’s arm and spoke again in Welsh.
He answered graciously, his voice soft and deep, and inclined his head in a slight bow. Then he eyed the interface.
Wright checked the screen.
Language not identified
“Try again,” he said to the corporal.
Ellis spoke once more. Her mother language contained unfamiliar sounds, which Wright thought he’d heard the patient make too, yet now he observed them more closely, it was clear neither understood the other.
When the man replied this time, he spoke for longer and the interface captured twenty or thirty seconds of speech. That should have been plenty for the software to pinpoint the language, but when Wright looked at the screen again, it repeated the same message.
“I don’t get it,” he said.
Ellis also peered at the interface. “It isn’t that weird, is it? He must speak a rare language.”
“The banks contain every human language spoken today and for the last five hundred years. It isn’t possible for the software not to recognize it.”
“Maybe it’s got a bug.”
“Maybe,” Wright repeated, though he doubted it.
A medic strolled out from the staff office. “Don’t forget these,” she said. She was carrying a small, black plastic bag, which she handed to the patient. “We dumped his rags,” she added to Wright. “I hope that was okay.”
“Sure.”
“Great. If you need anything, let me know.”
The man was examining the plastic, rubbing it between his fingertips. After apparently satisfying his curiosity, he opened the bag and took out his arm and neck torques.
“Whoa,” Ellis breathed. “Can I take a look?” she asked, holding out her hand.
The man passed her the neck torque.
“It’s so heavy!” she exclaimed. Turning the thick gold band over, she looked closely at the intricate design.
“It must be pure gold,” said Wright, recalling his first sight of the strange jewelry. He wondered where the man had gotten it from. Perhaps he’d found it when he’d wandered into the cave.
“Look, this is the same as one of his tattoos.” Ellis showed him the animal that pranced around one curve of the torque. “I think this is a deer, but this...I’m not sure. Wait, I know what this is! It’s a dragon.”
Wright regarded the animal that curved around the other side of the torque, the open, fanged mouth, spurting flames, and the wings sprouting from a serpentine body. “A dragon?” he asked. “How do you know?” The creature was only vaguely familiar to him. All he knew was it was mythical, not real or even extinct.
“They were in the old stories my grandda used to tell me.” The corporal passed the torque back to the man, looking thoughtful.
The patient slid his armband over his shirt sleeve and put the dragon torque around his neck. Ellis watched him for several long moments, then, as if on impulse, she took one of his hands in both of hers.
The man didn’t object. It was as though an unspoken exchange was going on between them.
“What is it, corporal?” asked Wright.
“I-I can’t say. I wish I could talk to him.”
“What can’t you say? Do you know who this man is? Where he’s from?”
“No—or at least, not with any certainty.”
“I guess it doesn’t really matter. Wherever he’s from, we can’t take him back right now. I wish I knew how he managed to send that distress signal, though.”
Wright felt a yawn forcing its way up from his chest. He’d been on duty for thirty-six hours, preparing for the forthcoming battle, and he needed to get some sleep. “Let’s find him a room. Maybe you can teach him how to use the entertainment system. I want him occupied and out of the way. Do you think you can make him understand he can’t leave his cabin?”
“I can try, sir.”
“Okay, let’s go. C’mon, buddy.” Wright stood up.
“Sir, can I stay in his room with him?” asked Ellis. “I could look after him and keep him out of trouble. Maybe teach him English.”
“Absolutely not. Your orders are to support the training sessions.”
“Isn’t it too late for that now? How long do we have until we reach the rendezvous?”
“Probably not more than twenty-four hours,” Wright conceded.
“Then there’s no more training for a while. Everyone will be getting battle ready.”
“They should be, but so should you.”
“I will. And keep an eye on him. I can do both.”
Ellis’s demeanor had entirely changed over the few hours she’d been helping to deal with the mystery man. The surliness, argumentativeness, and acrimony were gone and had been replaced by the eager, alert, gutsy attitude from Wright’s first encounter with her. Something about the patient had changed her. In her new frame of mind, she could be an invaluable asset.
“Sir,” she said, interrupting his train of thought. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but, is everything okay with you?”
Wright frowned. “I’m fine, thank you, corporal.”
“It’s just that, ever since Colbourn got back, you’ve changed. Like, something’s gnawing at you.”
“Your concern is unwarranted, Ellis,” he said, icily. Who did she think she was?
Returning to the question on his mind, he mused Colbourn would probably have something to say about giving the corporal new duties other than the ones she had assigned. On the other hand, she would be too busy to notice right now. He decided, in this case, it would be better to ask forgiveness than permission.
“All right,” he said. “He’s your responsibility—until you get the order to suit up.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
When Taylan learned exactly what the BA had planned in retaliation for the assault on the Caribbean Territory, she was deeply troubled. She’d joined up imagining she would be fighting the EAC military, and possibly the AP’s too. What she hadn’t envisioned was attacking civilians. Whether or not she agreed with the aims of the Antarctic Project, she didn’t think the people involved in it deserved to suffer for choosing that path in their lives. She was sure that, like her, they only wanted what they felt was best for them and their families, even if the AP’s methods were questionable.
But she was on track to take part in the fight, whether she liked it or not. The only other option was to refuse, and, at that point and place in time, her objection would result in being spaced. The BA wouldn’t tolerate a dissenter on one of their ships in the midst of a battle. And she needed to survive. She had more people to worry about than just herself.
At least she could occupy her time in the hours leading up to the battle looking after the mysterious patient.
She watched the strange man walk around the small cabin Wright had found for him, examining every object closely. He looked under the bunk, pressed the mattress, ran his fingertips over the blank interface on the wall—jumping with surprise when it sprang to life—opened the drawers in the desk, and even touched the overhead, apparently intrigued by the light that emanated from
it.
He stepped into the small, square box that comprised the restroom. To her amusement, what interested him most there was the head. She didn’t think he understood what it was for, so she flushed it. He leaped higher than he had when he’d opened the interface. The shower similarly baffled him. She wasn’t sure how to explain how to use the head, but she turned on the shower as a demonstration.
The man laughed, apparently partly in shock and partly in delight.
She laughed too, and reached into the cubicle to allow the water to run over her hand before wiping it on her face. She beckoned him to come closer, and then took his wrist and pushed his hand into the stream. The look of delight on his face was so childlike it was funny.
He rubbed the water on his beard.
“That’s right. It’s for washing, see?” She wet her hand again and rubbed her neck. Then she mimed taking off her clothes and stepping into the shower.
Understanding lit the man’s eyes. He pretended to take off his shirt and wash his chest, smiling.
“Yeah.” Taylan nodded.
He held his hand under the water, appearing to enjoy the feel of it.
She was enjoying herself too. For the first time since that bitch Colbourn had ripped Kayla’s necklace from her neck, she felt normal, light-hearted, even, despite the shadow of the upcoming battle. The cloud of bitterness and anger had lifted. Assuming they survived, helping this man was going to be fun.
She decided she would find Boots and bring him to the cabin. He could be the man’s companion while she was on duty.
He pretended to take off his shirt again, but this time he mimed washing it in the water.
“Haha, no. No need for that.” She walked to the laundry chute and opened it. “You put your dirty clothes in here.”
She returned to the shower. “Better turn this off. Mustn’t waste water. Come here.” She stepped back into the cabin.
