A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5) (21 page)

Thompson sighed, then peered towards where his small audience had been.  They'd left, leaving him looking embarrassed.  Percy concealed his amusement at the sheepish look on the face of Thompson’s aide, who clearly hadn’t been able to keep the aliens from losing interest.  But, to them, Thompson had to seem like a fool ... or an asshole.  Neither one would encourage them to talk to him.

“Stay back,” Percy advised.  “Take a moment to gather yourself before you return to the fray.”

Thompson glowered at him.  “Is that what they told you in Boot Camp?”

“No,” Percy said.  He couldn't help feeling a flicker of sympathy for Thompson’s aide.  The poor man might be brimming with love for the Vesy, but he didn't have any for his own assistants.  “It's just common sense.”

He shook his head, then turned his attention to the other NGO representatives.  Most of them didn't seem to be doing well, although one woman did seem to have captured the interest of her listeners.  Percy made a mental note to check on what she was offering them, then glanced over at Father Brennan.  He was chatting to one of the priests, while the others seemed to have split up to talk one-on-one.   The Marines looked relaxed, but their hands never went far from their weapons.  They knew, all too well, just how quickly a situation could move from seeming calm to outright chaos in the blink of an eye.

“She has ideas about helping the alien women,” Thompson muttered, nodding to the woman and her audience.  “I think she has the idea that blanking their ...
scent
at the right time would remove the mating instinct.”

Percy frowned.  The Vesy females went into mating season, on average, every third month or thereabouts.  He’d already spoken quite sharply to a couple of Marines who’d joked about the Vesy going into heat, as if they were dogs.  When a female entered mating season, her scent proved irresistible to anyone who wasn't closely related to her; males would quite happily fight one another merely for the chance to mate with a female when they could be reasonably sure of siring a clutch of eggs.  It made it harder for them to leave their homes during mating season, or even when they were on the verge of going into season.  Their lives, consequently, tended to be alarmingly restrictive.

“It might,” he agreed, slowly.

Part of his mind, the part that was an emotional human, was appalled at the whole system.  It just didn't seem right.  God knew he’d been in parts of the world where women were treated worse than slaves and it had horrified him.  But, at the same time, he feared what would happen if they meddled with the system.  It might have terrifying unexpected consequences.

Something to raise with my superiors
, he thought.  He was no longer - thank god - in command of the sole detachment on the planet.  He could kick it up the ladder to someone else. 
Let them worry about it for a change
.

He glanced at his wristcom, then nodded to his men.  The guests were rapidly rounded up and a final set of goodbyes were said to the aliens, then they hastened out the gate and back down towards the road leading to the former Russian base.  It didn't look as though anyone had been working on the roads, since the God-King’s fall, but Percy wasn't too surprised.  The Russian commander had clearly studied Rome and knew the importance of the famed Roman Roads in allowing the Romans to move their troops around their territory.  And then he'd introduced the idea to the God-King.

Father Brennan slipped up beside him as they set a slow pace, purely for the benefit of Thompson and his ilk.  “It was an interesting conversation,” he said.  “But I’m not sure I fully understood what I was being told.”

Percy smiled.  “Did
they
understand what
they
were being told?”

“They thought Jesus was a minor god,” Father Brennan said.  He sounded oddly amused by the suggestion.  “I don’t think they understood the importance of the crucifixion to us.  They thought the story of Jesus and the Resurrection to be laughable.  One of them even claimed to be
descended
from a god.”

“So did Julius Caesar,” Percy said.  It had been a long time since he’d studied Caesar in school, but it had been one of his favourite classes.  He’d even wanted to be Caesar before it had dawned on him that the Roman Empire was no more.  “It wasn't an uncommon claim before the evolution of monotheistic religions.”

“They did invite me back,” Father Brennan said.  “I will definitely go, if I can.”

Percy shrugged.  The decision wasn't in his hands any longer.  Besides, he had no idea just
what
the aliens would do with human religions.  Add God, Yahweh and Allah to their pantheon or embrace them wholly, calculating that it would bring more help and weapons from the human settlers?  Or would they agree with Father Brennan and decide that a single god made more sense than a hundred minor gods?

He made a mental note to raise the possibilities in his report, then turned his attention to the march.  If they kept going at their current pace, they’d be back at Fort Knight within two hours, by which time Thompson would be too tired to do anything but sleep.  Percy would have a chance to file his report first and then ...

He shrugged, again.   That too was no longer his decision.

Chapter Twenty

“So tell me,” Anjeet said.  “What do you make of the rumours?”

Nikolai Petrovich Zaprudnyi looked thoughtful.  He’d changed, in the two months since the Indians had picked him up, after the medics had taken a long look at him and insisted that he eat a proper diet laced with nutritional supplements.  Anjeet rather approved of the Russian’s willingness to do whatever it took to get a new identity and enough money to live the rest of his life somewhere comfortable.  It ensured he would remain loyal as long as necessary.

“They seem to be taking them seriously,” Zaprudnyi said, carefully.  “But it may be a long time before trouble bubbles into the open.”

Anjeet smiled.  Stories grew in the telling - particularly when they were repeated with someone with an axe to grind.  It hadn't been too hard to suggest that India, which was a majority-Hindu country, was more inclined to be friendly to Vesy religions than anyone else; indeed, a couple of the priests he’d brought with him had found common ground with their Vesy counterparts.  Monotheism, in all its manifestations, was strikingly different to anything the Vesy had developed for themselves.  And suggesting that the missionaries who’d come to tend to the Vesy would soon move on to compulsion hadn't been difficult at all.

The Vesy themselves, as far as he had been able to tell, had no real hesitation over adopting gods from different cities.  It was generally acknowledged, among them, that all gods were real, even if they were not
worshipped
.  A Christian, a Muslim or a Jew would hesitate to pray in another’s style, even when visiting a city run by a different faith, but the Vesy would see nothing wrong with praying to a different god in a different place.  It was just
polite
to pay homage to the gods of other cities.  But the Russian-backed God-King had upset the rules and now the Vesy were worried.

“Oh, I doubt that,” he said, mischievously.  “The priests won’t like the idea of alien religions spreading through their lands.”

It was a galling thought, but he had to admit that the first Muslim missionaries to enter India had had an unfair advantage.  The caste system had been stronger in those days, much stronger, and it had offered little to those born at the bottom.  Islam, on the other hand, had proclaimed itself a religion of equality, at least to those who submitted to Allah.  It was no wonder, he had forced himself to consider, that Islam had spread so rapidly into India.  The Vesy faced much the same problem, with the added disadvantage that the missionaries were backed by stunningly powerful force.  It hadn't been hard to suggest that, sooner or later, the monotheists would attempt to force their religion on the Vesy by force.

“They’re not stupid,” Zaprudnyi disagreed.  “They wouldn’t challenge vastly superior force.”

Anjeet shrugged.  The Vesy had real problems comprehending the power at human fingertips ... which wasn’t too surprising, as they’d only recently discovered that their world was a sphere orbiting a star.  But if they should happen to come to believe that they had a choice between fighting or accepting terminal decline, they might well decide to fight.  Who knew?  Their gods might help them to win?  And they might even have Indian allies ...

He smiled at the thought.  Agreeing to ban NGOs from bringing in weapons had been the sole accomplishment of the ambassadors on Vesy.  Thanks to the constant arrival of newcomers and skilled delaying tactics, nothing
else
had been agreed.  There was no universally accepted commanding officer, no one in command of the various troops on the surface; if all hell broke loose, everyone would be fighting on their own, rather than as a coordinated force.  Anjeet wasn't worried about the dangers - he had five thousand soldiers defending his growing base - but he knew some of the other powers
were
.  They were terrifyingly exposed on the surface, against hordes of potential enemies.

And when they get into real trouble
, he thought silently,
we will be there to help them.  For a price
.

“We will see,” he said, out loud.  “Tell me; how are they coping with their new weapons?”

“Very well, once they get the idea,” Zaprudnyi said.  “There were some ...
incidents
... when they didn't understand what they were being given, but we smoothed them out piece by piece and continued training.  They didn't seem to care about the deaths.  Right now, they’re evolving tactics of their own to make use of their new weapons.”

Anjeet nodded.  The Vesy hadn’t had any real concept of firearms until the Russians had arrived, but they were learning.  “And are they likely to be a danger to
us
?”

“The training officers have carefully not mentioned anything that might pose a real threat,” Zaprudnyi assured him.  “The heaviest thing they possess is a mortar; they have no antitank weapons, no antiaircraft weapons, no plasma cannons.  They shouldn't be able to threaten this base or Fort Knight, now the British are there in force.”

“Unfortunate, that,” Anjeet said.  If something were to happen to Fort Knight, it would knock the other powers back a pace or two.  They’d waste a lot of time making sure it couldn't happen again.  “But they can hurt smaller detachments?”

“As long as they’re prepared to soak up casualties,” Zaprudnyi said. 

Anjeet nodded.  The British - and everyone else - didn't realise it, but they were sitting on a powder keg.  Allowing the missionaries to land on Vesy had been a mistake, one that would send tremors through the alien society.  And it hadn't been the only one.  The aliens were starting to wonder if the NGOs really took them seriously, simply because they hadn't provided weapons and the aliens
needed
weapons.  It had been simple enough to use that as a selling point, when it came to expanding
Indian
influence.

Idealism
, he thought, with a flicker of contempt. 
What can it do
?

“We continue, then,” he said, shortly. 

He looked up at the map; nine city-states had joined the Indian-backed alliance, while two more were wavering.  Given time, they should have control - directly or indirectly - over a large area, locking out influence from other human powers.  The fact that the concept had largely been borrowed from the British Raj in India would amuse no one, he rather suspected, apart from himself.  It wasn’t likely the British would appreciate the irony.

Control is simple enough
, he thought.  They’d distributed weapons like seeds on the land, giving them to any alien faction who showed even the faintest sign of willingness to join the alliance. 
Let them become dependent on us - and then make sure they pay for what they need
.

***

“Things seem to have settled down a bit,” Joelle said, as she poured tea.  “Or isn't that your impression?”

John took a moment to consider his answer.  He hadn't
wanted
to visit the planet, but Joelle had invited him and he knew he couldn't have reasonably declined the request.  His instincts told him, though, that taking too much time off his command deck could be disastrous.  The Vesy might be primitive, but that didn't keep them from posing a danger to the human visitors.  And besides, new ships were arriving all the time.

“For the moment, things seem to be under control,” he said, carefully. 

He took his mug of tea, emblazoned with the logo of the Royal Engineers, then glanced around the office.  It had been improved considerably, with new air conditioning and secure data terminals, but it might just create a misleading impression.  There was no point in putting a new coat of paint over a damaged bulkhead.

“A very diplomatic answer,” Joelle said.  She sat down facing him, holding her mug of tea in one hand.  “Have you ever considered a career in the Foreign Office?”

“God forbid,” John said, before he realised he was being teased.  “We’d probably wind up at war with the entire world at the end of my first day in office.”

“It isn't normally
that
bad,” Joelle assured him.  “You normally just end up a lame duck ambassador if you don’t get told to take yourself and your aides out of the country by the end of the day.”

John lifted his eyebrows.  “A lame duck ambassador?”

“No one pays any attention to you,” Joelle said.  “It happens, quite a bit; someone will always try to contact the PM if they think you’re not being generous enough.  The PM will then take it out on you, for allowing some foreign leader to get the impression that you don’t actually speak for the country.  He will not be pleased.”

“I see,” John said.  He sipped his tea, thoughtfully.  “This is good tea.”

“First thing you learn in the Foreign Office,” Joelle said.  “How to make tea.  They call it a secret test of character.”

“How to make tea,” John repeated.

“Oh, yes,” Joelle said.  “As you progress up the ladder, you will get people asking you for a little more than a cup of tea.  Learning how to give them what they want without showing any irritation at the request - or how to turn it down - is an essential lesson to learn.  That, or my mentor couldn't be bothered hiring a proper steward and gave me the job.”

“Sounds reasonable,” John said.  He cleared his throat.  “For the moment, Ambassador, we seem to have the situation under control.  All NGOs, whatever their ... cause, are being landed at Fort Knight and briefed before being allowed to go out under supervision.  There are so many of them that Colonel Boone doesn't have the troops to escort them all.  The national detachments have started to set up their own bases, but for the moment Fort Knight remains the centre of activity, save for the Indian base.”

He frowned.  “I’m afraid the reports from there aren’t good.”

“Ambassador Begum keeps stalling me,” Joelle said.  She sniffed, disdainfully.  “As if I would be taken in by such tactics.”

“I imagine she doesn't want any further agreements,” John said.  “We have proof, if you want it, that the Indians are doing a great deal more than merely supplying weapons.  They’re supplying training as well.  It will make any city that allies with them more deadly in future.

“Worse” - he leaned forward before she could say a word - “they’re setting up factories as well.  We don’t know for sure what they’re designed to produce, but my intelligence staff believe they’re intended to produce ammunition.”

Joelle’s eyes narrowed.  “Ammunition?”

John nodded.  “You can't fire a weapon without ammunition,” he said.  “I suspect the Indians have been practically giving away weapons to the Vesy, then driving a hard bargain over each ammunition clip.  The Vesy can’t produce ammunition for themselves, so they really have no choice but to do whatever the Indians want.  If the Indians cut them off ...”

“They’d be wiped out as soon as they ran out of ammunition,” Joelle said, darkly. 

“The God-King’s followers were slaughtered,” John agreed.  “Or held for sacrifice.”

“Yeah,” Joelle said.  “That was something of a problem.”

John nodded, ruefully.  One month since the sacrifice had been long enough for the media reports to be sent to Earth and a reply to get back.  It hadn't gone down well, with questions being asked in the Houses of Parliament about just why Britain was sending
any
aid at all to the Vesy.  The NGOs hadn't helped; the farm equipment they’d shipped to Vesy could have been used on Earth, or so various politicians were insisting.  It hadn't made anyone look good.

“So far, we haven’t received any orders to keep the Vesy from killing their own people,” Joelle added.  “But that might change.”

“I hope not,” John said.  “How would we even
begin
?”

He looked down at the mug of tea, cursing the politicians and reporters under his breath.  It was generally agreed, on Earth, that a nation could do whatever it liked within its borders, as long as it didn't threaten foreign nationals or the rest of the world.  No one had any real stomach for interfering on humanitarian grounds, not now.  If the inhabitants of a country wanted change, they could change themselves.