His Majesty's Starship (40 page)

[Interrogative] <> Iron Run said. <>

Another canvassing of opinions, after which Iron Run looked at them impassively, still holding the command pose.

They would follow it, of that there was no doubt. It was experienced enough to recognise the signs of an impending challenge and there were none. Leadership came when the desires of the led were not sufficiently strong to counter the desires of the leader: where the two lines on the graph crossed, a new leader arose.

They would follow it, and it knew what it must do.

<> it said. <>

A pause.

[Reluctance] <>

*

Crowds. Gilmore hated crowds, and the centre of the Dome was packed. He worked his way through the packed mass of uniforms and smart suits, forced almost to shout his ‘excuse me’s over the hubbub. Why couldn’t Rusties be seven feet tall? They’d be a lot easier to spot ...

Arm Wild had to be here somewhere. Had to be-

Got him. The Rustie was standing on the dais where the signing would be done, talking to another of his kind. Gilmore shouldered his way towards him, no longer caring whose toes he stepped on or whose drinks he jostled.

“Arm Wild!” he gasped as the pressure of humanity behind him squeezed him out into the open space.

Arm Wild turned to see him. “Captain Gilmore, hello. It will not be long now.”

“Did you talk to Iron Run?”

“I did, and it was most interested, but it has sworn loyalty to the Ones Who Command and regrets it cannot implement your plan.”

Gilmore’s heart plummeted.

“But-”

“Excuse me,” Arm Wild said, as the other Rustie spoke in their own language. “I am needed,” Arm Wild added, and walked off.

Two minutes later, the ceremonies began.

Gilmore had won himself a front-row position in his desire to speak to Arm Wild and he didn’t relish fighting his way back through the crowd, so he got to see everything. Prince James and Subhas Ranjitsinhji approached the dais side by side but managing to make it look as though they were lightyears apart. Ranjitsinhji lacked the smug, superior assurance of his former master; however, he carried himself with a dignity that showed the considered himself at least the prince’s equal. The prince’s poise was similar and when the two men half-nodded, half-bowed to each other, Gilmore had a sudden premonition that with Krishnamurthy out of the way and after a bit of time, these two might actually agree to get on and cooperate. The poor, poor Rusties.

James and Ranjitsinhji took their seats at the table on the dais, and then the Ones Who Command arrived.

That was when the assembly fell silent, as the five globes swept into the Dome’s central chamber. Gilmore, like everyone else, couldn’t take his eyes off the five wizened almost-Rusties. The last of a race. Who could say they had seen one of those before?

Last of all came Iron Run. It was the first time Gilmore had seen the First Breed Senior without its entourage, but the lone figure had a poise that in no way made it seem alone.

Your precious oath is condemning your people to life under those two
, Gilmore thought.
God, I hope you can live with yourself
.

There was a speech, but Gilmore wasn’t listening. March Sage Savour addressed the onlookers. Historic moment, committing the welfare of our First Breed to you, culture of our world in your hands ... Maybe it would have made more impact if March Sage Savour had sounded like the dying leader of a dying race, but its voice was just the same as any other voice filtered through a translator unit.

The document was produced and passed through a miniature airlock into the sterile interior of March Sage Savour’s globe, for the One Who Commands to make its mark. Then it was passed back out again and placed on the table in front of Ranjitsinhji and Prince James, who put their signatures on either side of March Sage Savour’s glyph. And that was it.

“It is done,” March Sage Savour said. There was no applause, no reaction from the humans. The moment was too big: handing over planet and the rule of a race was a moment that didn’t deserve to be lessened by acclaim or applause. “You are the new Ones Who Command,” March Sage Savour added. “Look after our First Breed well.”

“The First Breed do not accept these humans as our Ones Who Command.”

Ranjitsinhji had opened his mouth to speak. He shut it again. Now the audience did begin to murmur and there were ripples of movement as everyone, including Gilmore and the two on the dais, looked around for the solitary speaker. It had been a Rustie: there was no mistaking that voice.

And then Gilmore noticed it, and one by one some of the others noticed it too. Iron Run was wearing a translator unit.

March Sage Savour had definitely noticed. It said something in fulltalk.

“Our human guests deserve to know what is happening,” said Iron Run, “so I am using mouthtalk. I respectfully suggest you do likewise, my master.”

“You are the Senior of the First Breed-” March Sage Savour said. Iron Run interrupted.

“I respectfully must contradict you, my master. As Senior, I have sworn to obey you and always will, which is why I have passed on my role as Senior to another.”

“To whom?” March Sage Savour demanded.

“To me.”

All eyes turned to the group of Rusties that had entered as attention centred on Iron Run and March Sage Savour. Iron Run’s entourage – his former entourage – and-

“I am Arm Wild Timbre Grey Wood Temple Southern Plains,” said Arm Wild, “and I have been chosen by the Seniors of the Clans to lead the First Breed nation.”

Gilmore’s mouth was the only one not hanging open. It was too taken up in a massive grin that was spreading from ear to ear. As Senior, Iron Run could not approve the plan ... so Iron Run gave the job to someone who could. It was a consistently Rustie way of doing things.

“You are not a Clan Senior!” said March Sage Savour. “How can you be Senior of the nation? Now, end this nonsense and obey your Ones Who Command!”

“I am not a Clan Senior,” Arm Wild agreed, “but I am a diplomat, accustomed to dealing with the humans, and the Clan Seniors felt I was best able to accommodate to the new way of thinking. As to your second point, I respectfully declare that you are no longer the Ones Who Command: you said so yourselves. And we do not accept the humans as your replacements.”

“I know you, Arm Wild. I know that you, too, swore an oath. Your oath was to follow the rules of the Convocation exactly.”

“As I have,” said Arm Wild. “As have we all. But the Convocation is over.”

“You-”

“With respect, my former masters, we wish you no ill will,” Arm Wild said firmly. Unlike a human, Arm Wild could say ‘with respect’ and mean it. “You created us, and much more. You created the culture of this world and we have no wish to humiliate you. I ask you to give us your blessing. Let this be the natural finish to the old order and a graceful start to the new. Be in control as you hand over to us, because the alternative is to go down kicking and screaming and letting a million years of history come to an ignoble end.

“The fact is, we simply do not want to be slaves again. It is in our nature to be slaves to you but to no others. We will be the equals of the humans.”

“Ridiculous!” For the first time, a human butted into the conversation. Ranjitsinhji was on his feet. “We have no intention of making you slaves!”

“Your government’s record on your own world suggests otherwise,” Arm Wild said.

Prince James, too, stood up and bowed slightly as he addressed Arm Wild.

“Our government operates on strictly democratic principles,” he said. “We have guidelines to ensure that no one is enslaved or coerced. You would be safe with-”

“Vast spaces, vast natural reserves ... the UK deserves this place.” It was still the prince speaking, but his mouth wasn’t moving. The words were amplified and only Gilmore recognised them immediately. He had supplied the recording to the Rusties, courtesy of Plantagenet. A week ago, as
Ark Royal
first orbited the Roving, the prince had told his AI to record the images of the world below for his personal records. But Plantagenet had recorded more than just images.

“
Seven thousand people would rattle about a bit, sir,
” he heard himself say.

“
Pah! Do you think we’ll keep it all to ourselves? Of course not. There’s millions, billions on Earth who’ll be queuing up for a chance to come here and start again, and we’ll be in charge of it. We’ll clean up, Captain!
”

“We are not impressed with your sincerity, Prince James,” Arm Wild said.

There was more toing and froing, more verbal sparring, but gradually the reality of the situation sank in. When the Clan leaders each stepped forward and declared their support for Arm Wild, that was all but one of the nails in the coffin of the Convocation and the authority of the former Ones Who Command. The final nail was when the Senior of the orbiting battle fleet radioed in its support for the new order.

It was a coup, but entirely bloodless, peaceful and dignified. A group of armed Rusties turned up but held back discreetly in the entrance to the chamber.

“My former masters,” Arm Wild said, “you will respectfully be taken from this place and returned to your quarters in the Chambers of Command. Facilities are being prepared for you on the island of-” His translator made a noise, presumably an untranslatable place name. “-where you may live the rest of your lives in peace, with every want and need supplied.”

March Sage Savour glanced at the escort party, then back at Arm Wild. Then it conversed with its fellows for a moment, before finally turning again to the new Senior of the First Breed.

“Arm Wild,” it said, “you have surpassed yourselves. We are proud of you.”

The Rusties were silent and bowed their heads in respect as their former masters were led from the room. Finally, Arm Wild looked up at the humans.

“We ask all save the delegates to withdraw,” he said. “We have much to discuss.”

- 28 -

25 May 2149

Gilmore was surprised it took the prince so long to get in touch. He was already back in orbit with five minutes to go before rendezvous with
Ark Royal
when the call came through.

“If there is the least suggestion that you had anything to do with this, you’ll face a charge of treason,” the prince said without preliminary.

“I’m recording this, sir, and even heads of state aren’t immune against charges of slander,” Gilmore said. “Be very careful what you say.”

The prince simmered for a moment.

“We all heard your voice on that recording. You were there too. If it should come out that you were bugging me-”

“As I recall, sir,” Gilmore said, “the scene was being recorded by your personal AI at your own command.”

The prince didn’t say anything: he just cut the call.

Treason. Gilmore felt cold. No one liked a traitor and that was one reason he had made sure that whatever he had done, it wasn’t treason.

*

“Negative. I say again, negative.” Peter Kirton sounded more annoyed than Gilmore had known he was capable of.

“But-” said a voice from the console.

“That AI is undergoing rigorous testing on board this ship. It is under my authority and I am not able to release it.
Ark Royal
out.”

Peter sat back, then looked up at his captain entered the flight deck.

“They’re persistent, sir,” he said.

“Just refer them to me if they cause any trouble, Lieutenant,” Gilmore said.
Assuming my word is any good in the Royal Space Fleet for much longer.
Gilmore had taken care to protect Plantagenet from the prince’s reprisals: the best way was to get Peter to run tests. “Tell me, what’s the procedure if an AI is thought to have gone bad?”

Peter thought. “There’d be a hearing-”

“A full one? In public?”

“Why, yes, sir. A panel of judges, witnesses, evidence-”

“Does the AI get to testify?”

“Absolutely, sir. It’s also entitled to a full psychiatric evaluation to determine its motivation, and-”

“Thank you,” Gilmore said. It was a weight off his mind. Plantagenet could hold his own in any court: for every fact the prosecution brought against him, Plantagenet could produce three or four that the prince would not want aired in public. He didn’t see Prince James pursuing the matter that far.

Of course, Plantagenet might well be barred from the UK-1 network, which raised the interesting question of where the AI could go from now on.

“By the way,” he added, “you can let Plantagenet out. I’ll guarantee his good behaviour.”

*

The picture in the display was several centuries old and one of his all-time favourites. In a blaze of sunset reds and browns the ghostly ship of the line, stripped down but still proud and erect and noble, was towed down the river by a steam tug a fraction of its size. Turner’s representation of the fighting
Temeraire
, veteran of Trafalgar and one of Britain’s mightiest warships, tugged to her last berth to be broken up, 1838.

That was both him and his own ship, a vessel that Turner could never have imagined. Where could he go now? The rest of the crew would go on to greater and grander things, their records glowing with the endorsement of being on the
Ark Royal
; but as far as Gilmore was concerned, it was official Fleet policy that Michael Gilmore Was No Good, even if he had wanted to work for Prince – no, King – James any further. And why should any other line take on the man who (rumour said) threw over his country?

There was that word again. Treason.

“Captain.” Peter Kirton’s voice sounded on the intercom. “Prince James would like to speak to you.”

Here it comes. “Put him through,” Gilmore said.