His Majesty's Starship (33 page)

“Why did he accept?” Julia said. Everyone else looked at her. “Why did the prince agree to it?”

“So that he could get something,” Hannah said. “He’s got his foot in the door, this way. If he’d refused, they’d have given it all to Krishnamurthy, and that I would not like to see.”

“And greater minds than ours will be working out what to do about it even now,” Gilmore said, with a nod at the side of the flight deck. By which he meant, outside the ship; by which he meant, UK-1. “I’ll be in my cabin if needed, Number One.”

*

Gilmore would remember the images of a vanishing race until the day he died. That wasn’t an expression he used often but it seemed apt on this occasion, as in the privacy of his cabin he shared vicariously in the sacred mission of the Ones Who Command: to find their own replacements who would give their trusting, loyal First Breed the leadership they needed.

The Ones Who Command. What bastards! And the First Breed said they loved them. Perhaps they did: but if so, Gilmore reflected, it was the desperate love that an abused child will continue to feel towards the adult who beats it.

His attention was taken with scenes from the last, deadly war. He was no military genius but he could see precisely who was being used as cannon fodder. He had seen old film clips back on Earth of the First World War: rows upon rows of trusting soldiers, marching nobly into the mouths of enemy machine guns because their generals told them too. He had never expected to see such scenes repeated anywhere, let alone here. These were the creatures who wanted replacements.

And look who they had got.

These Ones Who Command, he reflected, were fools if they thought the two human governments they had chosen would last five minutes together. It would be interesting to see who came out tops.

Whoever it was, it wasn’t his concern. Gilmore had decided this long ago: maybe, he realised suddenly, it had been that time when Prince James had been looking down on the Roving and spelling out his plans for the future. While UK-1 was all they controlled, Prince James and his father were simply employers who paid him a wage, and personal considerations didn’t come into it. But put them in charge of the Roving, and they would become a government that Gilmore wanted no part of.

And working for Krishnamurthy was out of the question.

So, Gilmore would take
Ark Royal
back home and resign. Neither the Windsors nor Krishnamurthy would be interested in humanity’s original solar system now: there was nothing more for them there. Humanity would go to the stars and Michael Gilmore would while away his remaining years in peace and quiet.

“There’s a call from Admiral Dyer on UK-1, sir,” said Julia from the flight deck.

Dyer was a stocky woman with her hair cut short. She didn’t seem happy but Gilmore knew from prior experience that she rarely did. “You heard the news, Captain?”

“We did, sir.”

“Good. Move
Ark Royal
to within 1000 metres of UK-1 at once. You’ll find you won’t have any problems with Traffic Control.”

“Aye aye, sir. Excuse me a moment, please.”

Dyer waited patiently while Gilmore passed the orders up to the flight deck. “Now,” she said, “I gather His Majesty is eager to get on board
Ark Royal
.” She looked sour, as well she might: an admiral having to deal with the king’s social diary, which one of the king’s AIs could have done just as well. “As the Convocation is over, there are no barriers to him going downstairs anymore. He would therefore like you to pick him up in your boat, show him round the ship, and then take him down to the Roving for the signing. We don’t know when that will be, but it seems the best solution so we’ll let you have the timing when we have it ourselves.”

“Very good, sir,” said Gilmore. “Does this mean the prince won’t be coming back on board?”

“It looks that way,” Dyer agreed. She continued to look stern but for a moment she met his gaze and there was a shared message between them: two officers well accustomed to dealing with the two royals, and with one of them in particular. “Thank you for your cooperation, and I’ll let the palace know.”

*

“I am amazed,” said R.V. Krishnamurthy. They were in the great display chamber below Iron Run’s pridehall and the images that hung around him showed the exact quantities and whereabouts of the Roving’s mineral wealth. “You had such a civilisation and yet there is so much left over.”

“Our histories do not match exactly,” said March Sage Savour. The One Who Command’s globe glided silently over to where Krishnamurthy was standing. “We never had the same intensive industry or utilisation of resources as your world. Now, you will need to know this.”

In the laser field, what looked like a micro patchwork was laid over the mineral seams.

“These are the prides skilled in industrial work,” March Sage Savour said. “You will no doubt be requiring their services-”

Krishnamurthy held up his hands, despite the temptation to go on. It was alluring. All those hints and suggestions and clues, and now here it all was: the full and absolute truth about the Roving, its peoples and its riches. But even so-

“Please,” he said, “my head is about to explode with facts and figures. Don’t you agree, Your Royal Highness?”

James Windsor was the other side of the chamber, being briefed by another One Who Commands on the Roving’s space capability. An interesting choice, Krishnamurthy thought. Who commands space commands access to this world ... he’s used to that and I’m not. That must change. I mustn’t get complacent.

“Actually, I’m fascinated,” the prince said. He turned back to his One Who Commands. “You were saying-”

That decided Krishnamurthy.

“Nonetheless,” he said, “I am declaring a recess. Can I propose that we start again in the morning?”

And there was nothing James could do about that. The Ones Who Command were determined to deal with both or neither of them, and if one was leaving, that was that.

“By tomorrow morning,” March Sage Savour said as it escorted the two humans to the lift, “we hope to have the draft agreement ready. If all is acceptable then we can have the signing later tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” Krishnamurthy said. He noticed that James’s smile was just a little forced.

“Marvellous,” the prince said.

Ah, Your Royal Highness. I really am going to have to deal with you. I know exactly how delighted you are at working with me and, believe me, I am not overjoyed about it either. One of us is going to have to go. The easiest way would be to discredit you in some way with the Rusties ...

March Sage Savour left them at the entrance to the chamber and they walked alone towards the lift. “As if you have the slightest intention of following any treaty,” James murmured.

... or I could strike you down. Or I could strike at your father ... Let me see. I strike at your father, you become king. The system is prepared for this eventuality and can absorb the change while you live for many more decades. Not good.

But if I strike you down ... what happens? Your father is heirless. Will one of your estranged sisters take your job? Will UK-1 become a republic? The place will be in turmoil, chaos ... and that is a situation I can work with.

Memo to self: need to contact Subhas. We might actually need his network of agents.

“Your Royal Highness, please,” Krishnamurthy said. He nodded at the small group of Rusties standing by the lift doors, waiting. Iron Run and the rest of them, waiting for them. “Not in front of the servants.”

*

This was the proudest moment of Adrian Nichol’s life. He too was in formal wear, for only the second time since graduation, standing to attention in front of the open airlock of
Sharman
, and King Richard was coming towards him with a retinue of humans and amboids. He wished someone was there to take a picture.

Adrian had been on the flight deck when word came from UK-1 that, as well as a tour of the ship, the king expected to be wined and dined. He could have sworn the captain looked annoyed; but surely, this was an honour?

“-continue to monitor and let me know the situation hourly,” the king was saying to one of his people. Then the king switched attention to Adrian and the retinue stopped as if they had hit an invisible barrier, recognising they were no longer part of the king’s mental equation. The king came up to Adrian, hand held out. “Delighted to meet you. You must be Nichol.”

Adrian suddenly felt weak. The words “yes, your Majesty” had almost flowed off his tongue before he was struck with sudden doubt – was the king a Majesty or a Highness? He never could get it straight.

“Y-yes, um, sir.” The result of his uncertainty was a momentary pause that must have made him look tongue-tied but the king didn’t seem to mind. Damn the lack of a picture, Adrian thought as they shook hands. He felt as if he would burst. “Welcome on board, sir.”

“It’s a real pleasure, believe me. A real pleasure.” The king held out one hand. “After you.”

Adrian checked the king was strapped into his couch properly and went forward to the cockpit to start up the engines with especial care. He was aware of the king right behind him, ten feet away; he could feel the man’s gaze on his back and he wanted to look the part. He was going to do everything exactly right.

UK-1 Traffic Control gave permission to depart and the boat fell out into space. “This is
Sharman
to
Ark Royal
,” he said. “I have His Highness on board. ETA five minutes.”

“Very good,
Sharman
.”

Adrian mentally analysed Peter Kirton’s voice for hidden nuances. Was there the least chance the straight-laced Martian was jealous? he wondered. Much as Adrian liked Peter, most of the time, he hoped the man might be feeling a little envious. Just a bit. Because he had the king in the back-

“Ahem,” said a voice behind him, and Adrian twisted round in his seat.

“Sir?” he said.

“It’s Majesty, not Highness,” the king said, with a kind smile, “but don’t worry about it.”

And just as Adrian was trying not to feel crushed, white light flared all around them.

*

“Very good,
Sharman
,” said Peter, and looked up at Gilmore. “Five minutes, sir.”

“We’d better welcome him properly,” Gilmore said. He touched a comms panel. “Number One, meet me in the boat bay, please.”

He paused for a final look at the radar display before diving down through the hatch.
Sharman
had moved out of UK-1’s shadow and was a distinct entity of its own.

Nichol’s angry yell made him stop. “
Hey, I can’t s
-”

And a noise Gilmore had hope never to hear again. Explosive decompression.

And abrupt silence.

On the radar screen, the neat, tidy blob that had been
Sharman
had blurred into a mass of crowded debris.

- 24 -

24 May 2149

“Out there, now,” Gilmore said. Peter and Samad were already scrambling for the forward hatch to ‘B’ compartment and the spacesuits. “I have the watch.”

He thumped the comms panel. “All hands to the flight deck at once. Emergency.”

What had happened? He stared at the radar display and tried to picture it in his mind. From the size of the central fragment,
Sharman
seemed to be mostly intact but even without the testimony of the telemetry displays, that noise and the sudden silence told him she was airless.

How long could a human go without air? He remembered the figures from decompression drill and made the calculations in his head. A minute to suit up, a minute to empty ‘B’ compartment-

He switched to open frequency for Samad and Peter. “Don’t bother depressurising. You have permission to blow the lock.” He set the thrusters to expect the reaction of escaping air and to compensate, just as Julia and Hannah came up from aft. He indicated the radar display by way of explanation as he made another call.

“
Ark Royal
to UK-1 Traffic, do you copy?”

“We copy and we’re on it,
Ark Royal
. We have a med team on its way now. Should take five minutes.”

“We can be there sooner. Tell them to stand by. We’ll bring the-” He was about to say ‘bodies’. “-casualties in at a point to be advised.”

“Understood,
Ark Royal
.”

“It’s hopeless,” Hannah said in a whisper. Julia was just staring at the display, hand to mouth. Gilmore didn’t answer. He looked at the display, and at the two smaller echoes that had just appeared, and counted the seconds.

*

They hurtled together from
Ark Royal
’s prow, and their suit thrusters took over and directed them at
Sharman
.

The boat was a small dot next to the bulk of UK-1 in the background and the damage became evident as they approached. Samad’s engineer’s opinion was that
Sharman
’s bow tanks had exploded. The nose and cockpit had blown clear off and the rest of the boat was spinning slowly around its centre of gravity, surrounded by a cloud of objects. One of the objects – “Oh my god,” said Samad – was Adrian Nichol, still in his pilot’s chair.

“I’m going in,” Samad said, and he jetted into the cavity where the front of
Sharman
had once been. Peter took hold of the body gently. Even if the decompression hadn’t killed Adrian at once, the wounds to his head and chest had. Resuscitation was not an option here.

“Look after him,” he whispered.

“What?” said Samad. Peter had forgotten they were on a shared band.

“Nothing,” he said. “
Ark Royal
, I confirm Adrian’s dead. We can’t do anything for him.”

“Come in here,” said Samad. “I need you.”

Drops of blood hung around the king’s nose and ears but otherwise he could almost have been sleeping. Samad reported this back to
Ark Royal
as they unstrapped him.

“Take him to UK-1,” said Gilmore’s voice in their helmets.

“
Ark Royal
is nearer, sir,” said Samad.

“UK-1 has resusc facilities and they’re waiting for you. Let me know your arrival point and I’ll pass it on.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Samad broke open the first aid locker and clamped an oxygen mask onto the king’s face, and Peter tried to convince himself it wasn’t a madly futile gesture. They manoeuvred the body out of the stricken boat and, with a last glance at Adrian, who was beyond help and wasn’t going anywhere, they jetted towards UK-1 with the king between them.