A Game of Battleships (29 page)

‘Isn't it?’ said W.

‘Look, I’m treading water and it really hurts. This stuff is definitely corroding me.’

W said, ‘Would you prefer a lifebelt or a chapatti?’

‘That’s not funny. Get a rope in here! How the hell do you people eat so much of this stuff?’

‘The trick is to wash it down,’ W replied.

‘A blanket would be nice, too,’ said the android. ‘I'm feeling pretty silly here and my legs are 
seizing up.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Barton said, disgusted. ‘First people come and clutter up my space station, 
and now there’s a broken robot floating in my dinner. I’ve had just about enough of this.’ He shook his head, weighed down with cares. ‘Ah,
bollocks
.’

*

The airlock door creaked open and the crew left the
John Pym
deep in conversation.

‘…and I said to him, “It’s not a bad burp unless you can smell it!”’ Carveth exclaimed.

‘So what did the archbishop do?’ Suruk asked.

‘That was nice work back there,’ Smith put in. He closed the door to the
John Pym
, and they 
waited in the corridor as the station’s lurgiscope scanned them for disease. The door at the far end 
remained shut, closed until the check was complete. ‘You all did well.’

Rhianna kissed his cheek.

‘Gosh, thanks old girl. But now we need to warn the others. The sooner we can get a battleship 
out to face down those blighters the better.’

The scanner pinged. ‘All your germs are within acceptable levels of tolerance. Your clearance 
level has been raised from
Stop That At Once
to
Carry On
. Exfoliate for victory, citizens.’

The door rolled back before them. W stood behind it. His gaunt face and folded arms gave him 
the look of a vampire surprised in its coffin.

‘Good news,’ he said. ‘We have located the traitor that Le Fantome warned us about. He appears 
to be an android of Edenite construction. Luckily, I was able to apprehend him before he could wreak 
havoc by partially disintegrating him in the curry sump. Unfortunately, the curry could not be saved.’

‘Damn this war!’ Smith exclaimed.

‘Now we can get back on with the treaty. With any luck, they’ll have stopped arguing about the 
punctuation by now.’

Smith said, ‘Sir, before we do that, my crew and I have bad news. Not only have we failed to get 
rid of that blasted mirror, but we were nearly caught by patrolling ships. It’s the Ghasts, together with the Edenites: they’ve got half a dozen warships sweeping the area, like a – a – diabolical broom of evil!’

‘Dammit!’ W growled. ‘Follow me.’ He strode down the corridor, stopped at an intercom and 
flipped the switch. ‘Dawn? We have a problem here. I want you to inform the others that there is mould on my gherkin. Repeat,
mould on my gherkin
. I need a special catering meeting in three minutes.

Understand?’

‘Loud and clear,’ the intercom replied.

*

The lift shot them up through the heart of Wellington Prime. Dreckitt waited in the corridor, 
looking shifty and dangerous.

He adjusted his hat. ‘What’s cooking, people?’

Suruk gave him a very stern look. ‘One does
not
cook people. It is distinctly
passé.
’

‘A big helping of villainy is cooking,’ Smith replied, ‘washed down with rum.’

Carveth looked at Dreckitt. ‘Feels more like a laxative to me.’

Dreckitt patted her shoulder. ‘Easy, sister. We’ve got work to do. Down these dark spaceways 
one man must walk, and that one man is you and me. Lady, let’s give evil some chin music.’

‘Is that dirty talk? And if not, why not?’

Dreckitt lead them into a clean, white room. Where the rest of the station looked like an 
overgrowing of brass scrollwork against a background of artificial walnut and racing green, this place was sterile and cold. Captain Fitzroy, Chumble and Squadron Leader Shuttleswade stood near the door.

Wainscott and his team lounged against the far wall in front of chrome shelves full of equipment.

Uniforms hung in a row beside them. The impression of military efficiency was marred only by the fact 
that they were chefs’ uniforms and this was the scullery.

‘Glad you could join us, Smitty,” Captain Fitzroy said. “Sounds like we’ve got trouble on the 
horizon. I’ve got my best players on the case.’

‘Who’d like cocoa?’ Chumble asked.

W strode past her. ‘Quieten down, everyone. Get those doors closed and sealed. It’s time to take 
care of business. Milk, no sugar, Chumble.’

Dreckitt leaned next to Shuttleswade against a row of stainless steel cabinets.

‘Listen closely,’ W began. ‘I have apprehended the spy described by Le Fantome and he has been 
put out of action. That’s the end of the good news. The bad news is this: one, our spy told me that he had managed to put out a general transmission, giving our location to all and sundry; two, Smith informs me that there is a substantial enemy battlegroup sweeping the system, made up of Ghast and Edenite craft.

We estimate three or four Edenite destroyers and one Ghast vessel. And if situations one and two are 
considered together, we get –’

‘Three, by thunder!’ Chumble roared.

‘You’re way ahead of me. In the circumstances, we must proceed on the basis that the enemy 
know where we are. That means they have to be diverted or destroyed. Nothing, and I mean
nothing
, must be allowed to stop the negotiations. The very future of Britain, and hence democracy and mankind, may 
rest on getting Johnny Moonman to do what we say.’

‘That’s a hell of a job,’ Captain Fitzroy said. ‘I’m happy to take to the field, but a few substitutes on the bench would be nice.’

Suruk said, ‘The M’Lak would delight in such a battle. You should speak with the gilled 
helmsman. Or at least hold a note against his tank.’

‘What about other countries?’ Rhianna put in. ‘Britain’s not the only nation on Earth.’ She looked 
from face to face. ‘Honestly, it isn’t.’

Wainscott shook his head. ‘You mean, let them have a go? I should think not. You know what 
it’s like… they go all silly and bang on about “deniable black ops” and whatnot. I tell you, when I’m on a mission I don’t leave anything behind to deny.’

W said, ‘It’s not possible. We need signatures on the treaty. If others think that we need help…
well, we’ll look like a charity case.’

Shuttles folded his arms. ‘I can get my wing out into space as soon as you want. But what we 
need is a battle-plan, especially if there are bags of Gertie swinging in sun-side.’

Dreckitt snorted. ‘Button-men, huh? I say we drill ‘em.’

‘I’ll tell you what we need to do,’ Smith said. He had been leaning against a sink; now he pushed 
off and stood upright. Heads turned. ‘Gentlemen, it’s time to fight. We British may not use the honeyed words of other lands – although we did invent writing, speech and Mozart, whatever they may claim in 
Hollywood – but we do have a
lot
of dreadnoughts. My friends, let us give the enemy diplomacy as we do best: from orbit, via a big gun. In the name of justice and democracy, let’s give these invaders a jolly good thrashing!’

‘But what about the talks?’ Dreckitt asked. ‘Once the Vorl know our racket is compromised, the 
whole grift will be blown.’

‘You’re right,’ Smith replied, ‘our allies are too precious for us to lose. The visitors require careful handling. That’s why we’ll lock them in the conference hall! What they don’t know can’t hurt them, right?

You get Johnny Alien to sign the treaty. Meanwhile, we space chaps’ll blast the hell out of Gertie. The allies need never know. All we have to do is close the portholes. Maybe we can tell them later. They might even be impressed.’

Wainscott thumped the sideboard. His beard was still speckled with pastry, as if he had forgotten 
to open his mouth and rammed a vol-au-vent into his chin. ‘By God,’ he growled, ‘you’re right! Sound 
doesn’t carry in space. We lock one load of aliens in until they sign the treaty, then blow up the other bunch. Then we come back to the first lot and blow them up too – or do I mean make friends with 
them? Susan? Ah, we can work the details out later on. Smith, you have my team beside you.’

‘And my lacrosse stick!’ Captain Fitzroy exclaimed.

W stood up. ‘Then we’re decided. Captain Fitzroy, you are to enter deep space immediately.

Wainscott, go with her. You’re the marine contingent. Smith, once your air tanks are replenished, take your chaps and follow. You’ll be able to catch up easily enough. Use Rhianna to try to sense the enemy – 
no doubt they’ll have this secret weapon of theirs with them. Governor Barton and I will manage the 
treaty. Everyone agree? Excellent. To business, then.’

They filed into the corridor. Smith waited a moment, and as Shuttleswade came past he felt a 
rush of queasy fear, like he had always felt when talking to girls. ‘Can I have a word?’

‘’Course,’ Shuttles said. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘Fine, fine,’ Smith replied. ‘It’s only that – well, we’ve all got to do our bit. I was thinking – if 
you’ve got any spare Hellfires. . well, I’ve always wanted to fly one.’

‘It’s decent of you to offer,’ Shuttles said, ‘but we’ve got all the pilots we need.’ Susan and Craig 
of the Deepspace Operations Group passed them, subtly ushering Wainscott towards the door.

 ‘Listen, 
Smith: get your thousand hours in the hot seat and you can apply for combat training. I’ll put in a good word. How’s about that?’

Smith watched him go. He remembered being seventeen and trying to ask Emily Parsons to 
dance with him at the Midwich Grammar School disco. He had the strong feeling that he had just been 
told he was ‘sweet’.

Rhianna gave him a reassuring look. ‘Don’t worry, Isambard. Maybe you can have a go when the 
war’s over.’

‘When it’s over? But what’s the point in that?’ His voice sounded more bitter than he had 
intended it to be.

Carveth appeared at his right shoulder as if to counterbalance Rhianna, like the demon in an old 
cartoon. ‘Let’s face it, boss, the only hot seat you’ve known is when you’ve pulled rank to make me warm up the loo for you.’

‘Isambard, you
didn’t
–’ Rhianna began.

‘I do not know what you are complaining about,’ Suruk said. ‘Space is infinite, and my spear is 
eight feet long. How am I supposed to slay my enemies in a place like that? Perhaps I should tie a string to the end of it,’ he added sadly.

Smith watched the others file out. He turned to Rhianna.

‘We’re going to need your help,’ he said. ‘If you can sense these enemy ships before they see us–’

‘Cool,’ she replied. ‘I can use my powers to detect their emotions.’

‘Righto,’ Smith said, thinking that it would be more useful if she could detect their weaponry. At 
least she wouldn’t pick up friendly signals: emoting was something that the Royal Space Navy did not do.

A side door opened and Governor Barton stepped into the room. He looked somewhat 
unhappy. His National Health glasses were at an odd angle. ‘Alright, everyone. Er, we’ve got a bit of a problem,’ he said.

Smith shook his head. ‘Not to worry. I’m sure we can sort it out.’

‘Are you sure about that? It’s just that, erm.. perhaps you’d better come and see.’

*

Barton led the way to the station’s communications room. It was covered in coils of wire: 
additional scanning systems had been rooted in like new plants added to a garden. A row of monitors 
covered the rear of the room, the screens catching the light like polished tiles in a mosaic. Smith looked them over, seeing exterior shots of the orbiter, landscapes of rivets and antennae, huge funnels for 
listening into space.

W entered, looking grim.

A low bass noise blasted out of the speakers, a dismal honking like the call of some distant 
lighthouse. It pulsed around the room, through ears and stomachs, into the walls as if to crack them.

Smith stared at the monitors. Cold dread began to creep through him. Moral fibre is the fear-
killer, he reminded himself, and he wished that he had put the kettle on.

‘What is that?’ he said, not much wanting to hear the answer.

‘It sounds like whalesong,’ Rhianna said. ‘Cool.’

‘It’s been playing for three minutes now. It repeats on a twelve-second interval,’ Barton added.

‘Computer’s can’t lock it onto anything but it’s coming from around
here
.” He pointed to one of the lower screens. ‘There’s something near the edge of the system –’

The monitors went black. They stared at the screens, as if struck blind.

‘Bloody computers,’ Barton said.

The screens flickered and burst into life. They showed one image between them, in black and 
white. It was a colossal hall, apparently circular, the walls ribbed. Some sort of machine stood in the centre.

‘It looks Ghast,’ Smith said. ‘But there are no flags. .’

‘That’s not Ghast,’ W replied.

The thing in the centre rotated to face them. It was a mixture of gun turret, cockpit and throne, 
and it was occupied. They stared at the upper half of an immense creature, partly ossified, slumped down before a row of controls.

‘Looks like it grew out of the chair,’ Carveth whispered.

‘That’s just the way I’m sitting,’ the speakers roared.