Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7) (21 page)

She looked at the Boatswain.  “This was what you wanted, wasn't it?”

“I pushed her in the right direction, yes,” the Boatswain said.  He didn't bother to try to deny it.  “She could let him beat her down, which would destroy her; she could ask her family for help, which would ruin her ... or she could try to convince him, face to face, that there was more to her than a name.  And she did.”

Susan nodded, remembering all the rebukes she’d had for fighting in school.  The daughter of an immigrant would always have a harder time than others, even though she'd been
born
in the United Kingdom.  Old memories ran deep, after all, and the Troubles had left Britain’s collective memory covered in scars.  Teaching them to respect her, or at least to leave her alone, had been worth the punishments.  But then, it had also disappointed her father ...

She pushed the bitter guilt aside as she shut down the monitors.  “I believe Midshipwoman Fitzwilliam is still assigned to you,” she said.  “Make sure she isn't pushed too hard, if Doctor Chung allows her to leave sickbay.  Midshipman Fraser is currently attached to the tactical section, I believe.  I’ll have Commander Mason keep an eye on him.”

“He’s not a bad person,” the Boatswain said.

Susan snorted.  There were worse people - far worse people - than Midshipman Fraser serving in the Royal Navy, but that didn’t excuse Fraser’s conduct.  She understood his feelings - she could even sympathise with a man who felt he was trapped in a dead-end position - yet she couldn't condone bullying other midshipmen. 
Particularly
one who had a powerful family ... perhaps, at some level, Fraser had hoped George
would
call her family for help.  A dishonourable discharge would look very bad, but it wouldn't be quite the same as requesting a transfer or early separation.

“Have a word or two with him when you get the chance,” she ordered.  Fraser’s file was odd; he’d been transferred to
Vanguard
before she was commissioned, but there were gaps in the data that puzzled her.  It wasn’t normal to transfer a middy to an incomplete battleship.  He must have made a powerful enemy at some point ... a few hints in the right place and his career would be effectively stalemated.  “Tell him to buck up and promotion will be considered.”

Which will have to be justified
, she thought, darkly.  Fraser was right; he’d spent too long as a midshipman to be promoted, unless he did something
very
heroic. 
But a field promotion might be doable ...

Her wristcom buzzed.  “Commander, this is Parkinson.  The admiral has sent us a message.”

Susan sighed.  An order to relieve the captain?  An order to attend a court martial? Or ... what?

“I see,” she said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.  “And it says?”

“He’s ordering all captains and their XOs to attend a holographic conference, one hour from now,” Parkinson said.  “And he wants all ships ready to depart within four hours.  The exercises are now officially terminated.”

Susan frowned.  The war games still had another two days to run, with at least one final full-scale exercise being planned.  Cancelling them now ... there had to be an emergency, but where?  The Tadpole border?  Or maybe the Indians had decided to restart the last small colonial war.

“Understood,” she said.  She felt her frown deepen.  Organising the games had taken nearly a year of diplomatic negotiation.  Admiral Boskone - and Admiral Pournelle - would need a
very
good excuse for cancelling them before they were finished.  “Did he say why?”

“No, Commander,” Parkinson said.  “But the message is very clear on the importance of departing on schedule.”

“Order all stations to prepare for departure,” Susan ordered.  She’d have to find the captain and invite him into the holographic conference room.  “And tell the logistics section to snatch what we need from the fleet train.  I have a bad feeling about this.”

She glanced at the Boatswain.  “See to your department too,” she added.  “We may need it.”

***

“No major injuries,” Doctor Chung said.  “But I
advise
you to make your excuses a little less blatantly untruthful.”

“Thank you, sir,” George said.  She stood in front of the mirror and gazed at her naked body, covered in blue and purple marks.  They’d vanish quickly, the doctor had assured her, but she’d be aching for the next couple of days.  “And I’m sorry.”

“Tripping and falling down a hatch tends to leave a different set of injuries,” the doctor told her, sternly.  “And your hand was quite clearly used to hit something solid.”

George thanked him again, then dressed quickly and headed for the door.  Outside, Nathan was waiting for her, holding a datapad in one hand.

He rose as she approached.  “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“The
good
news,” George said.

Nathan smirked.  “The good news is that the fleet is apparently being reassigned, although no one knows where yet,” he said.  “The
bad
news is that I’m on toilet duty tonight.”

He held out the datapad.  It was showing the duty roster.

“He changed it,” George said, in surprise.  Fraser had delighted in assigning her to the worst jobs, but now they were evenly distributed.  “I ...”

“I guess you won,” Nathan said.  He slapped her shoulder.  “Congratulations.”

Chapter Twenty

It was customary in the Royal Navy, Susan knew, to have all non-emergency meetings face-to-face.  The Admiralty believed that actually
meeting
one’s fellow officers was good for morale and, perhaps more importantly, made it easier for one to get the measure of one’s fellows.  Susan had never been so sure about the former, but the latter would have been a very good idea under other circumstances.  As it was, she was quietly relieved that Admiral Boskone had ordered a holographic meeting.  It was easier to cover any mistakes.

She followed the captain into the conference room and frowned in surprise as she noticed the foreigners who’d been invited to the meeting.  The Americans were understandable, she supposed, but Admiral Boskone had invited the French, Russians, Japanese and Indians, even though the Indians had been Britain’s enemies only a decade ago.  Excitement ran down the back of her spine, warring with fear.  The only reason she could think of for gathering
every
commanding officer in the system was alien contact - or alien war.

We’re not far from the borders
, she thought, grimly. 
If the Tadpoles have decided to restart the war
.

“Sit down, Commander,” Captain Blake said.  He sounded nervous, one hand playing with his tie as he took his own seat.  It was very lucky for him that the conference was purely electronic.  The Admiral would not be amused if the battleship’s commander fidgeted during a physical meeting.  “Let’s see what Admiral Boskone has for us.”

Susan nodded, listening with one ear to a steady string of security updates.  The human encryption system was a constant headache for the diplomats; human navies needed to talk to one another, particularly if they had to drop their petty disputes and ally against an outside threat, but no navy was keen on sharing its secrets.  It might have saved time and effort if everyone had agreed to send messages in clear - every nation worked hard to crack foreign encryption schemes - yet she knew it wasn’t going to happen.  Unless, of course, the human race managed to unite ...

And pigs will strap on wings and fly
, she thought, darkly. 
We’re perfectly capable of fighting each other at the same time as an outside threat.

“Gentlemen,” Admiral Boskone said.  Admiral Pournelle’s image stood next to him, although they were on different ships.  “I’ll keep this brief.”

Susan smiled, inwardly. 
That
would be a first.

“A long-range exploration mission has stumbled across a third self-spacefaring race,” the admiral continued.  There were some gasps and muttered exclamations, but fewer than one might have expected.  Experienced naval officers knew they wouldn't have been ordered to attend a joint meeting for anything less.  “This race does not, as yet, pose an active threat, but they may well pose a
potential
threat.  The Tadpoles would like to make first contact as soon as possible.”

“Shit,” Captain Blake muttered.

Susan eyed him, concerned, then turned her attention to the starchart as it flickered into existence.  The unknowns were on the other side of Tadpole space, four weeks from their current location at full speed.  It was probable - indeed, it was almost certain - that the Tadpoles would be redeploying their fleet to counter any threat from the unknowns, even though there was no reason to believe the unknowns knew the Tadpoles existed.  They were, after all, a very careful race.  Their precautions had almost given them an easy victory over humanity.

“In line with our treaty obligations, the fleet will depart Marina and head directly to UXS-468,” Admiral Boskone informed them.  “We will link up with Tadpole starships and experienced alien-contact personnel in that system, then proceed through the tramline to UXS-469 and onwards to the alien system, where we will attempt to make contact with the aliens.  If all goes well, the majority of the fleet will remain in UXS-469 and the aliens will never have to know the fleet was there.  But if trouble breaks out ...”

“Shit,” Captain Blake said, again.

Susan winced.  First contact between humanity and the Tadpoles had ended badly and the first contact between humanity and the Vesy hadn't been much better, although the Vesy had posed no real threat.  And human history suggested that first contacts would
always
be dangerous.  Maybe the unknowns would be friendly, maybe they’d have more in common with humanity than either of the other two intelligent races, but it was equally possible that they might be hostile.  They might see the appearance of a starship in their star system as an act of war.

And if they do start shooting, we’ll need the fleet to cover the diplomats as they run
, she thought, morbidly. 
And maybe even win the war in one fell swoop
.

Captain Bunter cleared his throat.  “Admiral,” he said, “do we have a threat level?”

“Insufficient data,” Admiral Boskone said.  “The full reports will be forwarded to you, but the analysts believe that their tech level is roughly equal to ours before the First Interstellar War.  So far, the only question mark is over their use of the tramlines.  They do not appear to have a presence in UXS-469 and there’s no hint they actually explore other star systems, beyond their own.  However, UXS-469 is a barren system and they may have decided not to explore further.”

It would be odd if they had
, Susan thought.  There was no shortage of barren systems within the human sphere that were useless in themselves, but led to other systems that were far more habitable.  The aliens must be aware of the tramlines, surely.  And yet, if they weren't, it opened up all sorts of possibility for avoiding further contact, if the unknowns turned out to be hostile. 
But they may not think like we do
.

“We will remain on tactical alert, however,” Admiral Boskone warned.  “The ambassadors on Tadpole Prime have activated the relevant sections of the treaties governing first contact and this fleet will act as a united force.  As the senior officer, I will serve as overall CO, with Admiral Pournelle as my second.  This will be awkward for all concerned, but under the circumstances we will expect all officers to be professional about it.”

Susan hid a smile.  It
would
be awkward, not least because Admiral Pournelle’s fleet was actually larger.  But the treaties governing the allied command structure were clear; the senior officer, by time in grade, would be the overall commander.  It had caused problems, back during the war, yet there was no choice.  Humanity could not afford to face a new threat while disunited.

“The fleet will depart in three hours,” Admiral Boskone concluded.  “There will be no time for further war games, unfortunately, but we will be sharing tactical data and testing the command network during the voyage.  Hopefully, this will be a completely peaceful contact and the diplomats can handle everything.  If it isn't, I have faith that each and every one of you will uphold the finest traditions of the human race.”

His image blinked out of existence as the conference came to an end.  Susan watched, feeling a strange mix of emotions, as the other holograms vanished.  It was odd to attend a conference where hardly anyone had the chance to ask questions, but that wasn't what was bothering her.  Alien contact would be a useful feather in her cap, even though she’d just be a passive observer if all went well, yet she didn't see how the aliens
didn't
know about the tramlines.  Humanity had been exploring them long before developing realspace drives.

“Interesting,” the captain said.  “I trust you’ll have the ship ready for departure?”

“Of course, sir,” Susan said.  She’d started preparations as soon as the admiral had contacted the ship, trying to make sure that everything was ready.  “We’ll be travelling with the remainder of the fleet.”

She looked down at the deck.  “But I don’t see how they can
avoid
knowing about the tramlines ...”

“There were ancient civilisations on Earth that never developed the wheel,” the captain pointed out, smoothly.  “It wasn't until they encountered other civilisations that they realised the concept existed.”

Yeah
, Susan thought. 
And what happened to those civilisations when they encountered superior forces
?

She scowled, inwardly, as they left the conference room and separated, the captain heading to his quarters while Susan headed to the bridge.  A self-spacefaring race, even one a decade or two behind humanity, would be a valuable trading partner, although there might be disputes over sharing colony worlds.  Humanity and the Tadpoles could share easily, she knew; it would be harder to share a world with another race that wanted the surface, rather than the deep oceans.  And yet, if the unknowns truly didn't know how to jump through the tramlines, they were likely to be irked when they discovered just how close they were to Tadpole space. 

They won’t have much room for expansion
, she thought, remembering the starchart. 
And if that star is their homeworld, they’ll have almost no cushion between the centre of their civilisation and a potential alien threat
.

“Commander,” Mason said, when she stepped onto the bridge.  “You have the conn.”

“I have the conn,” Susan agreed.  She took the command chair and looked at the display for a long moment.  “Status report?”

“All decks report that they are ready to depart on schedule,” Mason told her.  “We have five shuttles still on deployment, picking up crew from the shore leave facilities, but otherwise we can depart now if necessary.”

Susan’s lips quirked.  Shore leave facilities on Marina were minimal, but she hadn't been surprised when the crew competed eagerly for the handful of slots assigned to
Vanguard
.  It was a chance to get out of the metal hull, after all, and enjoy the local company.  But it was a problem now, when the battleship had to get underway as quickly as possible.  Repatriating any stranded crewmen to Earth would be a major headache.

“Inform me when the shuttles have returned,” she said.  Admiral Boskone
probably
wouldn't order the fleet to depart ahead of schedule, not when it was unlikely the situation would change in a hurry, but she wanted to be ready.  The last thing she needed, right now, was the admiral peering over her shoulder.  “And forward me the datapack from the flagship.”

“Aye, Commander,” Mason said.  He leaned forward.  “What’s happening?”

“Alien contact,” Susan said.  She suspected the rumours would already be spreading through the fleet, growing wilder and wilder with each retelling.  The admiral would probably declassify most of the files, once the tactical staff had run their own analysis, but that would take at least a week.  “A brand-new self-spacefaring race!”

“That’s one for the record books,” Mason said.  He grinned, showing his teeth.  “This time, we can show people how to make First Contact properly.”

“Assuming that that’s even possible,” Parkinson said.  “Just
talking
to the Tadpoles is difficult, sometimes.  So much of their culture is completely alien to ours.”

“They can't be
that
different,” Mason said.  “Their technology works along the same lines as ours.”

“Their technology isn't
that
different, sir,” Parkinson said, “but their culture is
very
different.  A human politician who told us about the benefits of socialism would be thrown out on his arse, but to the Tadpoles socialism is a normal way of life.”

“That’s because socialism doesn't work,” Mason said.

“Not for us, sir,” Parkinson said.  “Our society is structured to fit our nature and fill our living needs.  For them, however, socialism and communal decision-making are just a fact of life; they don’t need to farm for food when they can just take what they need from the ocean.”

He shrugged.  “But even among humans,” he added, “what’s normal in one society may be offensive in another.  That’s why the diplomats have so much trouble, even now, keeping international relationships on a steady keel.”

Susan nodded.  She hadn't majored in first contacts - real and imaginary - at the academy, but she knew the basics.  There were countless stories and movies about first contacts that turned bad, from aliens finding humans incomprehensibly ugly to one side making a gesture that the other considered hostile.  Parkinson was right.  If a simple gesture like shaking hands could turn into a major incident, among
humans
, who knew what the unknowns would consider a threat?  Or a rude gesture?