Fear God and Dread Naught (40 page)

“I try to discourage toadies,” her uncle said, crossly.  “They rarely have anything useful to say.”

He met her eyes.  “You have two weeks of leave owing, barring accidents,” he added, shortly.  “Where do you intend to go?”

George frowned.  “Anne wants me to visit the estate,” she said.  It wasn’t something she
wanted
to do, but there was no point in refusing.  “And then I was going to go on holiday somewhere.”

“I suggest you be discreet,” her uncle said.  George coloured at the unsubtle implication that he knew about Peter Barton.  “You don’t need more scandal.”

He tapped the datapad on the desk, meaningfully.  “You can go back to
Vanguard
,” he said, “or you can transfer to another ship.  I’m not sure if you’ll be able to stay as First Middy in any case -
Vanguard
will be receiving new midshipmen after the first set of repairs have been completed.  Service on another ship, in any case, will probably help your future career.  But there is another option.

“You did well on Unity.  And the marines recommended you for one of the more secretive military units under our flag.”

George’s eyes narrowed.  “And they want me for ... for what?”

“You’ll get the rest of the details once you join, if you do,” her uncle said.  “Suffice it to say that it involves both ground and space combat.  And ... well, the odds of getting through the training course are not good.”

“And if I choose not to,” George said, “what happens?”

“You go back to
Vanguard
,” her uncle said.  “No one outside a very select group will ever know that the offer was made.”

“I didn't like it,” George said.  “I mean, I didn't like being on the ground.”

Her uncle raised his eyebrows.  “What happened to the girl who insisted on building her own treehouse and then sleeping in it, when she didn't go on muddy rambles through the estate?”

“I still enjoy the outside world,” George said.  She coloured at the memory.  She’d ruined one of her best dresses on one of those rambles and her mother had
not
been pleased.   “But I didn't enjoy the fighting on the ground.”

“Not everyone does,” her uncle said.  “And there is no shame in declining, if you don’t feel you are up to it.”

“I’d sooner stay on the battleship,” George said.  She took a long breath.  “Can I ask you something?  Between you and me?”

Her uncle nodded, curtly.

“When you were an officer,” she said.  He lifted an eyebrow and she winced.  “I meant, when you were a
younger
officer ... were you ever tempted to abuse your social rank?”

“I did,” her uncle said, flatly.  There was a hint of bitter guilt in his voice.  “I tried to take command of
Ark Royal
.  It was just before the Battle of New Russia, you see.  I thought the Old Lady would give me a chance to claim a carrier command, without having to fight for one of the slots on
Formidable
or
Illustrious
.  Captain Smith managed to convince his superiors that I didn’t know enough about
Ark Royal
to take command.  And he was right.”

“
Formidable
died at New Russia,” George said, quietly.

“She did,” her uncle confirmed.  “You were born with rank and status, just as I was - but abusing that status is the quickest way to lose it.  Either you get removed from command by your superiors or your juniors start resenting you.”

He met her eyes.  “Why do you ask?”

“I used it,” George admitted.  It wasn't something she wanted to talk about, but she felt as if she had no choice.  “I wanted to put someone in his place.  And I did.  But it might well have been a mistake.”

“It might have been,” her uncle agreed.  “What I did was
definitely
a mistake.  And I had to face up to it when the crunch came.”

George nodded, realising what he was trying to say.  She had to take responsibility for herself.  Using her social rank to put Henderson in his place ... mistake or not, she had to take responsibility for it.  And, whatever the consequences were, she had to deal with them.

Her uncle sighed.  “You have a shuttle flight to London,” he said.  “You’ll be officially on leave from the moment you land at Heathrow.  If you want to take up the marine offer, contact them - I’ll send you the communications code - within a week; if not, report back to the shipyard when your leave expires.  And I suggest you try to stay away from the media.”

“Yes, sir,” George said.  She had the nasty feeling they’d be staking out the estate and anywhere else she might care to go.  “I wouldn’t want to say a word to them.”

“No one with any sense wants to talk to the media,” her uncle said.  He reached out and shook her hand.  “And George, whatever you decide, know that your father and I are very proud of you.  You lived up to the finest traditions of the family.”

George swallowed, tasting bile.  She couldn't help wondering just how much they
knew
about how badly she’d screwed up.  Potter would have told the court martial board everything, wouldn't he?  Or had he decided that it would be wiser to merely stick to the facts?  No one could blame him for that, could they?

But I could have been convicted on the facts alone
, she mused, as she saluted and turned towards the hatch. 
He didn’t even need to lie
.

Chapter Forty

“There’s a more detailed report securely lodged in the datacore,” Prince Henry said, as they sipped tea in the First Space Lord’s office.  “But I can give you the basics right now.”

Susan nodded.  She’d heard some of the research team’s preliminary conclusions during the long flight home, but Prince Henry had been reluctant to discuss anything until they reached Earth and had a chance to compare notes with other xenospecialists.  And she’d had too many other problems nursing a battered ship home to worry about it.  But now she was curious.

“We think we have the basic story pinned down,” Prince Henry continued.  “The Foxes are
incredibly
competitive - we think the competitive impulse is deeply ingrained into their very being.  They formed factions that warred with other factions, each of which had sub-factions that warred together to gain political control.  Factions that lost would be absorbed into the victors, only to see the victors split up as new conflicts emerged.  We think they were actually fighting Flower Wars - if you’ll excuse the expression - for the longest time.  War had actually become
ritual
.”

Susan leaned forward.  “Flower Wars?”

“The Aztecs used to fight ritualised wars with their subject states,” the First Space Lord said quietly.  “They were really nothing more than an excuse to blood warriors and capture prisoners for sacrifice.  Naturally, their subjects resented it hugely ... which is why so many of them sided with the Spanish when they arrived.”

“Yes, sir,” Prince Henry said.

“What we think happened, eventually, was an interplanetary war that actually threatened their entire civilisation,” he said.  “We don’t have many details and almost all of what we
do
have are nothing more than rumours, repeated amongst both Foxes and Cows.  What
is
certain is that one faction managed to build an STL colony ship and flee to another star system.  Much to their surprise, they discovered another alien race living there.”

“The Cows,” the First Space Lord said.

“Correct,” Prince Henry said.  “The Cows were apparently defenceless, so they got squashed rapidly.  They couldn't integrate completely into the predominant social structure for biological reasons, so they ended up filling a different set of roles.  Over the years, the two races merged as closely as possible.  Their society makes extensive use of both races, to the point where it’s a genuine union.  They effectively share power and authority.”

He shrugged.  “The Foxes can't resist a challenge,” he added.  “It’s how they sort out their pecking order.  When the Contact Fleet arrived in UXS-469, they attacked; judging us weak, they continued the attacks.  I don’t know if they
realised
that they were facing two races, rather than one, but I doubt it would have mattered.  The challenge was all that mattered to them.”

Susan leaned forward.  “Let me get this straight,” she said.  “They beat the crap out of us at UXS-469, so they expected us to roll over and surrender?”

“Basically,” Prince Henry agreed.  “And when we refused to surrender, they just continued the war.  They’re locked into it now.”

The First Space Lord cleared his throat.  “Can we talk to them?”

“Yes and no,” Prince Henry said.  “We can speak to them in their own language now, but I doubt we can convince them to surrender - or even come to terms - without battering them senseless.  The good news is that if we convince them that they’ve lost, they will surrender; the bad news is that getting them to that point will not be easy.”

“Of course not,” Susan mused.  “They need to
feel
defeated, right?”

“We believe so,” Prince Henry said.  “They know, very well, that losing a battle does not mean losing a war.”

“And they have advantages,” Susan said.  “Their FTL communications device, for one.”

“Yes, Captain,” Prince Henry said.  “I’m afraid we still haven’t cracked that particular puzzle.”

The First Space Lord tapped the table.  “So we have no choice, but to continue the war,” he said.  “There’s no hope of making peace.”

“We reinforce Unity, sir, then attack upwards towards Alien-One,” Susan said.  “It will give us our best chance to convince them that they’ve lost.”

“It should work, sir,” Prince Henry agreed.  “If nothing else, it might well cause splits amongst the two races.”

Susan’s eyes narrowed.  “Why?”

“We have fewer Cows to study,” Prince Henry said.  “But we think, however, that they are less wedded to the concept of throwing bricks at wasp nests.  There’s a certain .. solidity about them that the Foxes seem to lack.  It's possible that they might turn on the Foxes if they think the costs of continuing the war will be too high.”

“But you don’t
know
,” the First Space Lord said.

“No, sir,” Prince Henry said.  “We’re dealing with aliens - and realistically, our ability to predict what our fellow humans will do isn't
that
good.  People tend to jump in unexpected directions.  But if nothing else, going on the offensive - properly on the offensive - will give us the chance to put an end to the war before it’s too late.”

“I’ll have to discuss it with others,” the First Space Lord said.

He cleared his throat.  “Captain Onarina, I would like to compliment you on your success during Operation Unity,” he continued, his tone markedly more formal.  “Your actions were in the finest traditions of the Royal Navy, particularly after you were forced to assume command of the entire squadron.  I do not believe that any concerns have been raised about your conduct.”

Susan nodded.  “Thank you, sir.”

“
Vanguard
will, of course, require time in the yards,” the First Space Lord added.  “I’d prefer it if you were to make yourself available to the analysts on Nelson Base.  They are still crunching the data, but they could make use of your perspective.”

“I understand, sir,” Susan said.  Mason was not going to be pleased, but she knew better than to think it was a
request.
  “I’m due to attend the funeral ceremony at Arlington tomorrow for
New York
and her crew, visiting my father on the way, but after that I will be happy to transfer to Nelson Base.”

“Admiral Harper’s death was a shame,” the First Space Lord said.  “He deserved better.”

“Yes, sir,” Susan said.  She had no doubt that her career would have gone straight into the crapper, if Harper had made a fuss about her assumption of command during the first catastrophic battle.  “He was a good man.”

And so were his crew
, she thought, privately. 
None of them deserved to die like that
.

“He was,” the First Space Lord agreed.  He gave her a tired smile.  “Before you go, you should know that both Henderson and Wheeler requested to emigrate from Earth.”

Susan nodded, slowly.  She hadn't expected anything else, at least not from Henderson.  The odds of surviving ten years in Colchester were low, particularly for someone accused of borderline treason.  One of the inmates would stick a knife between his ribs if he wasn't kept in solitary confinement, yet the guards couldn't be relied upon to do what it took to protect him.  They’d hate Henderson too.  But Wheeler ...

The girl had promise
, she told herself, sharply. 
But she chose to throw it away
.

It felt like a personal failure.  She knew, deep inside, that it would
always
feel like a personal failure.  She’d been Felicity Wheeler’s commanding officer.  There would never be a time when she didn't ask herself, deep inside, if there was something she could have done.  But she knew, no matter how much she wished to deny it, that Felicity had dug her own grave.  The navy had trained her, the navy had
trusted
her ...

... And she’d let the navy down.

Vanguard
would need new middies, she thought.  Both Simon Potter and Paula Spurgeon had requested and received transfers off
Vanguard
, rather than staying on the battleship.  Susan wasn't too sorry to see the back of Simon Potter - Mason’s reports hadn't made him sound like a very good person - but Paula Spurgeon had been considered reliable.  And if she’d stayed, despite ...
irregularities
in her past, she might well have been First Middy.  George Fitzwilliam simply didn't have the seniority any longer.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, finally.

The First Space Lord nodded.  “Dismissed, Captain,” he said.  “And, once again, well done.”

Susan rose and took her leave.

***

The First Space Lord waited until Prince Henry had also left, then he keyed a specific code into his console.  Moments later, one of the partitions slid back to reveal a hidden door, concealed behind a painting of
Ark Royal
.  His predecessor had had a surprising sense of the dramatic, Admiral Sir James Montrose Fitzwilliam had always thought, but he had to admit that the secret passageways could be useful.  There were some secrets that even his aides weren't privy to.

Paula Spurgeon stepped through the hatch, her long blonde hair tied back in a bun.  She was still wearing her middy’s uniform, James noted, but she’d been careful to remove her ship’s name and anything else that might link her to
Vanguard
.  Perhaps she was being paranoid, he thought, yet some secrets could only remain secret if only a handful of people knew them.  If her identity became common knowledge, she wouldn't be anything like as effective.

“Commander,” he said.  “I trust you enjoyed your voyage?”

“It was interesting,” Commander Paula Spurgeon, Royal Navy Intelligence, said.  “I actually quite enjoyed some parts of it.  Pretending to be young again ...”

She smiled, rather thinly.  “Your niece is learning,” she added.  “Maybe not as quickly as you would prefer, but she
is
learning.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” James said.  “But she wasn't who I asked you to watch.”

Paula nodded.  “As per orders,” she said, her tone markedly more formal, “I kept a close eye on Captain Onarina and her crew.  There was no evidence that they were up to anything beyond the normal duties expected of a naval crew.  I was unable to eavesdrop on some of their more private conversations, but there were no hints of conspiracy or any plan to either subvert Admiral Harper’s command or mutiny against the crown.  Captain Onarina comported herself as a commanding officer should.”

“That’s a relief,” James said.  He hadn't
wanted
to assign a watchdog to
Vanguard’s
crew, but a number of his people had insisted.  There was no escaping the fact that Captain Onarina
had
committed mutiny, even if it
was
in a good cause.  “Do you feel it’s worth continuing the surveillance?”

“I don’t believe so,” Paula said.  “I would have expected her to exclude Granger and the other newcomers from her conferences, if there was a conspiracy underway.  She did not, despite the fact that Granger was not her first choice for tactical officer.  The ship endured problems, of course, but none of them can reasonably be blamed on her.”

She shook her head.  “In short, every instinct I have tells me that Captain Onarina may be willing to bend the rulebook a few times, but she isn't plotting another mutiny - or worse.”

James nodded.  “Did you come close to being detected?”

“Perhaps,” Paula said.  “Your niece did seem to think there was something odd about me, even though I did - eventually - give her the cover story.  My decision to surrender the wardroom to her probably looked a little odd.”

“It would have done,” James agreed.  No midshipman with dreams of wearing a lieutenant’s uniform would ever meekly surrender the wardroom.  “But she didn't ask too many questions?”