Ark Royal 2: The Nelson Touch (7 page)

“Yes, sir,” James said.

The waitress returned, carrying two plates of food.  James averted his eyes as she bent over to place them on the table, then curtseyed and retreated back through the side door.  Uncle Winchester chuckled, then motioned for James to start eating.  His own dinner, a Lancashire Hot Pot, steamed as he cut his way inside and started to pull out the meat.  James smiled, remembering formal dinners at the manor house.  Uncle Winchester was rarely welcome because he was an eccentric eater, yet too aristocratic to be told off by James’s mother.

“Which leads to another point,” Uncle Winchester said, between bites.  “I want you to continue your observation of Admiral Smith.”

James felt cold ice congeal around his heart.  The Admiralty had worried about leaving
Ark Royal
in Captain Smith’s hands, knowing him to be a drunkard.  James had been given orders to relieve the Captain of command if he believed it to be necessary, something that could easily have killed his career as well as the career of the commanding officer he’d betrayed.  Even if his career survived – and he knew that his actions might have been judged to be mutiny by a court martial – he would never have been trusted again by his fellow officers.  And, in truth, he might have ignored his orders.

But if I’d relieved the Captain of command
, he thought,
we would never have escaped the trap
.

James knew, without false modesty, that he'd done very well at the Academy.  And yet he would never have thought of trying to board and storm an alien starship.  Instead, he would probably have fought to the bitter end, knowing that it would be futile.  Captain Smith had thought of a way out, then implemented it and carried the plan through to the end.  He thoroughly deserved his promotion.

“No,” he said, flatly.

Winchester looked up at him, surprised.  “No?”

“No, sir,” James said.  He braced himself, then carried on.  “There is no evidence that the Captain – the Admiral – has returned to drink.  He has more than proved himself a good commanding officer, as I believe the Old Lady’s war record indicates.  I don’t think he deserves to have his Flag Captain spying on him.”

He paused, remembering Commander Williams.  Had
she
been sent to spy on
James
?  A year ago, he would have sneered at the thought.  The Royal Navy didn't betray its own.  And yet, now, he knew it was a possibility.  Commander Williams had practically been forced on him by the Admiralty.

“I do not think that you’re the one who should be making those judgements,” Uncle Winchester said.  James blinked, then remembered that his Uncle was still talking about him spying on Admiral Smith.  “The Admiralty is still very concerned.”

James glowered down at his steak, stabbing it as if the piece of meat had done him a personal injury.  “The Admiralty saw fit to give him command of a multinational task force composed of six full-sized carriers,” he snapped.  “If they had concerns, they could have promoted him up into a groundside office where he wouldn't have had to do more than make ceremonial appearances and review parades.”

“Politics,” Winchester observed, lightly.  “Admiral Smith has earned a large number of supporters who don’t, I’m afraid, seem to know anything about his drinking habits.”

James had his doubts.  The Royal Navy had worked closely with both the French and Americans in the past, sharing personnel files with both powers.  Even if they hadn't, James knew for a fact that the Royal Navy kept files on foreign officers who might be of interest and he rather assumed that the other interstellar powers did the same.  On the other hand, Admiral Smith hadn’t been remotely important until
Ark Royal
had suddenly become the last best hope of humanity.  It was quite possible that foreign powers knew next to nothing about him.

He shook his head.  “I’m sure the media will fill in the gaps,” he said, although he had his doubts about that too.  The media representations of the Battle of New Russia had left him wondering if he’d been there at all, even though he knew perfectly well that he'd been in the CIC during the fighting.  “Or their spy services, for that matter.”

“No doubt,” Winchester said.  “But we would really prefer it if you kept an eye on the Admiral for us.”

James met his eyes.  “No,” he said, again.  “I do not believe it is justified, sir.”

His uncle gave him the long hard look that, as a child, had been a warning that there was punishment coming if he didn't straighten up and fly right.  James swallowed, reminded himself that he was an adult, and refused to lower his eyes.  As intimidating as his uncle could be, James was hardly a child any longer and he refused to further betray a commanding officer he had come to respect.

“You could be wrong,” Winchester said.  “Can we afford to trust your judgement?”

“Yes,” James said.

“You tried to take command of a starship you were unprepared to command,” his uncle reminded him.  “Does that indicate your judgement is flawless?”

James felt his temper flare.  “I believe you were caught in the haystacks with a girl barely a third of your age,” he snapped.  It had been quite the scandal at the time, although as Uncle Winchester had shown no hint of remorse or even concern it had faded quickly.  “Does that indicate
your
judgement is flawless?”

His uncle smiled.  “Point taken,” he said.  “I will respect your judgement.”

He leaned forward.  “But we cannot afford to lose the alliance,” he added.  “Please, keep an eye on things.”

James met his eyes.  “Did you assign Commander Williams to keep an eye on me?”

“No,” Winchester said.  “I believe Thomas” – the First Space Lord – “wanted to make sure that there were other commanding officers for
Ark Royal
and her forthcoming sisters waiting in the wings.  You’ll probably have quite a few other officers passing through your hands in the coming months, James.  Try to make sure they know what they’re doing.”

He paused.  “She is pretty and smart,” he added.  “You could do worse.”

James glowered at him.  “She's not a woman, damn it,” he snapped.  “She’s my XO.”

“How true,” Winchester agreed.  “But I was serious about urging you to consider marriage.”

“Oh,” James said.

His uncle switched subjects suddenly, in the manner that had always irked James’s mother whenever he came to tea.  “I believe you have been told about your ... unexpected crewmember?”

“You mean the Prince,” James said, in no mood for games.  He took a bite of his steak, then scowled at his uncle.  “We were told today.  I would have preferred more warning.”

“So would we,” Winchester said.  “The whole affair is
quite
ill-timed, particularly with the legal issues over the succession.”

James sighed.  In 2013, the succession laws had been rewritten to state that the firstborn child, male or female, would inherit the throne.  But in 2030, during the troubles, the laws had been dismissed as the work of senseless liberals by the sitting Prime Minister and returned to the pre-2013 state, along with many others.  James remembered history lessons where historians debated if the Prime Minister had been right or if he’d thrown out the baby along with the bathwater.  It was hard to argue against the claim that England’s Queens, on the whole, had done better than England’s Kings.  But reaction had been the order of the day back during the troubles.  Even now, historians still had problems coming to terms with everything that had happened back then.

“Princess Elizabeth is the first girl to be born first since 2030, James,” Winchester said.  “I believe there were quiet accusations of sex-selection at the time, although I don't think that anything was proved one way or the other.  Now ... the question of succession has been reopened once again.”

He shook his head.  “In many ways, Elizabeth would make a better Queen than Henry would make a King,” he added.  “She’s more ... restrained than her younger brother.”

“And he’s signed himself up with the navy,” James muttered.  “And no one knew who he was?”

“The Academy Commandant knew,” Winchester said.  “I don’t believe anyone else knew who he was, not after his features had been altered.  But it was still a major risk.”

James felt an odd quiver of respect. 
He’d
never bothered to change his name; he'd entered the Academy and risen through the ranks as a known scion of the aristocracy.  In some cases, it had helped; in others, his superiors had pushed him harder just to check that he’d actually earned his position through merit, rather than being promoted by someone trying to curry favour with the aristocracy.  But the Prince had gone into the Academy as just another pilot trainee.  Whatever he’d earned, he’d earned it fairly. 

“He deserved it, I guess,” James said.  Maybe
he
should have gone the same route.  “But we cannot afford to keep him out of action.”

“I expect you to keep an eye on him too,” Winchester said.  “And I will be expecting regular reports.”

James sighed, but nodded.

“I have a question,” he said.  “How do you plan to keep this from the media?”

“We have issued Security Notices to the media, in the event of someone leaking the secret,” Winchester said.  “There were some plans to have the Prince move publically through the Academy, but he flatly refused to cooperate.  Now ... well, at least we will be able to tell everyone after the fact that the Prince
did
serve in combat.  It isn't ideal, but it’s the only way he would accept.”

James rolled his eyes.  Several decades ago, a Prince had simply walked away from his title, pointing out that the constant media scrutiny and harassment made it impossible to live a decent life.  He’d never asked to be a Prince, nor to be a role model.  Instead, he’d resigned his position and simply vanished.  As far as anyone knew, the media had never tracked him down to his new home.  The most likely speculation, he recalled, was that the Prince had gone into the military or survey service and vanished into the ranks.  But no one really knew for sure.

But the Royal Family had barely survived the scandal.  The last thing they wanted was a repeat of the same incident.  God alone knew where the pieces would fall.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” he said.  The aristocracy was full of young men of both talent and a firm belief in their own entitlement.  James had to admit he’d been one of them.  “But I’m not going to take him in hand, uncle.”

Winchester reached into his jacket and produced a creamy white envelope.  “Your orders,” he said, flipping the envelope over to show the stamp on the back.  “In the event of real trouble, you are to remove the Prince from active duty and ship him back home to Earth.”

James narrowed his eyes.  “Real trouble?”

“Anything you think justifies his separation from your ship,” Winchester said.  He passed James the envelope.  “And good luck.”

“Thank you,” James said, sourly.  “Tell me something, Uncle.  Why wasn't the Admiral kept abreast of the planning process?”

“Too much debate over how we should proceed,” Winchester admitted.  “It was decided to keep it restricted until we had a workable plan ready to go.”

***

Hyde Park was surprisingly empty for a hot summer day, Ted discovered, as he walked along the path towards Buckingham Palace.  There were only a handful of mothers escorting their children through the park and a couple of hopeful buskers, no one else.  By the time he reached the gates of the Palace, he was starting to wonder if someone had evacuated the city or extended the school year.

He paused outside the gates, looking up at the Palace, then turned his gaze to the monuments erected outside the Palace.  One of them listed every serviceman and woman killed in the war against the aliens, headed by the commanding officers of the two British carriers that had been destroyed at New Russia.  Another listed casualties from earlier wars, ranging from the First World War to the Second Falklands War and the Mars Dispute.  The latter had been surprisingly brutal, but the diplomats had managed to prevent it spilling right out of control.  Later, when Terra Nova had been discovered, another war had threatened ... and then the diplomats had agreed to share settlement rights.

His lips quirked in bitter amusement as he turned and started to walk towards the monorail, then stopped and flagged down an electric taxi.  London’s black cabs were traditional, even if they weren't powered by petrol any longer.  The cabbie stuck out a head and asked where he was going, then motioned for Ted to climb in the back.  Ted settled down into the seat as the taxi hummed into life, heading back towards Heathrow Spaceport.  His shuttle was waiting for him there.

He smiled to himself as he caught sight of a large poster, exhorting the population to KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON.  They’d been popular since the dawn of the troubles – the design dated all the way back to the Second World War – but it was rare to see them in such numbers.  Another poster reminded the population that loose lips sank ships, although Ted doubted it mattered.  As far as anyone had been able to tell, the aliens had never managed to establish a spy ring within humanity’s settled star systems.  But it was something Ted would have done, if he’d been on the other side ...

“Kids these days,” the cabbie muttered, as a line of schoolchildren ran across the road.  They were wearing blue uniforms, with trousers or skirts that reached down to their ankles.  “They all want to die, I tell you.”