A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5) (25 page)

“That would cause political problems back home,” Joelle muttered.  “We don’t have an extradition treaty with the Vesy and, even if we did, we would need to try him in Britain first.”

“The World Court may insist on hearing the case,” Grace pointed out.

“Tell the Vesy he’s dead,” Captain Naiser offered.  “They know he was carried out by one of the Paras, so tell them the rock actually inflicted internal injuries and that he died on the helicopter on the way back to Fort Knight.”

“They’d want to see the body,” Boone said.

“Tell them we cremated the body,” Captain Naiser said.  “They don’t have any way of proving us liars.”

“And what,” Boone asked, “do we do with the
real
Kun?”

“Put him in the brig,” Captain Naiser suggested.  “We can send him back to Earth on the next ship, with enough evidence to put him in jail for a very long time.  He’s certainly guilty of ignoring the rules governing contact with the Vesy, if nothing else.”

“His lawyer would probably point out that he didn't sign the rules,” Grace said.

“Immaterial,” Joelle said.  “He caused a riot that resulted in the deaths of countless aliens, including unborn children, and nearly killed seven humans, including himself.  I don’t think we can afford to do anything else.”

She looked at Mortimer.  “Have him moved to orbit and dumped in the nearest brig before he gets out of his coma,” she ordered.  “His possessions can be seized, searched and then placed in the communal pool.”

“Yes, Ambassador,” Mortimer said.

“But we have two other problems,” Boone said.  “First, what are we going to say to the Vesy of City Seven, when their leaders finally come out of hiding?  Second, where did that rocket launcher come from?”

“Shame your people couldn't capture it,” Mortimer said. 

Boone glowered at him.  “It was destroyed,” he said, “which suggests it wasn't a very well-made design.  However, it wasn't the only human weapon involved in the skirmish.  There were quite a few automatic rifles involved too.”

Joelle tapped the table, sharply.  “So where did
they
come from?”

“City Seven wasn't the recipient of any of
our
weapons,” Mortimer said.  “They could be Russian, but I rather doubt it.  The Indians are the most likely suspects.”

“They wouldn't have given the Vesy a rocket-launcher,” Grace said.  “Would they?”

“I wouldn't have thought so,” Mortimer said.  “But I could easily be wrong.”

“It's something to raise at the next meeting,” Joelle said.  One had hastily been arranged for the following day, once word had spread to the other ambassadors.  It wasn't a discussion she was looking forward to.  “But whoever gave them the weapon has a strong motive to keep it to themselves.”

“Because it’s a weapon that could be used against us,” Captain Naiser growled.

“Correct,” Joelle agreed.

She sat backwards, feeling old.  “So what are we going to tell the Vesy?”

“Tell them that Kun is dead and that we will pay compensation for the results of his stupidity,” Captain Naiser said.  “And then see what they want in exchange for burying the whole affair.”

“Wait a minute,” Boone growled.  “It is a principle of our operations that we
don’t
pay compensation.”

“This is not a made-up claim,” Captain Naiser snapped.  “This isn't some backwards farmer trying to convince us that his elderly mother-in-law was accidentally killed by a rocket that missed its intended target by fifty miles, or that he had a hundred sheep in his backyard that were flash-fried by a plasma blast.  There is no doubt that Kun provoked a riot, that upwards of a hundred Vesy were killed, that an unknown number of eggs were smashed ... this is going to make us look very bad back home, if nothing else.  What would
we
think if an outside force came into a nursery and killed a dozen children?”

“We’d want blood,” Mortimer muttered.

“Exactly,” Captain Naiser said.  His image looked at Joelle.  “Find out what they want in compensation, Ambassador, and pay it.”

Joelle cursed under her breath.  She must be getting old, because the media issue hadn't occurred to her even though a reporter had been caught up in the riot.  By the time the news reached home, it would probably have mutated; the Paras would find themselves with a black mark on their record that made Bloody Sunday look like nothing.  The simple fact that the Paras had acted in self-defence would be lost in the recriminations.  By the time the government had finished its investigations, the truth would be completely buried under a mountain of shit.

“We’ve been trying to contact them,” she said, “but so far there hasn't been a reply.  When they do get in touch, we will offer what we can.  But I don’t know how we can give them a fair deal.  They wouldn't understand the value of what we were offering.”

“We can, but try,” Boone said.

He sighed.  “Other problems emerged, Ambassador,” he said.  “We still don’t have a unified command structure for operations on the ground.  I think we’re going to need one if another group runs into trouble.”

Joelle frowned.  “I thought I gave orders for all away teams to be recalled.”

“You did,” Boone said.  “Not all of the national groups obeyed, however; they are not, legally, under your command.  I don’t think the Vesy will really understand the difference between British and Americans, let alone Americans and Indians.”

“They do have city-states,” Grace pointed out.

“We must look alike to them,” Boone countered.  “It’s quite possible that the Americans or the French will wind up being attacked for our sins.”

“For
Kun’s
sins,” Joelle snapped.

“By the time the dust settles,” Boone said, “that may no longer matter.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Joelle rather wished she’d taken a sleeping tablet the previous night, even though she’d been warned, when she’d joined the Foreign Service, that nothing beat a good night of proper sleep.  She’d stayed up late, fielding media demands for information and doing her best to put together a report for the Prime Minister, one that wouldn't lead to immediate political chaos back home.  By the time she’d finally gone to bed, she’d been so tired that she’d barely closed her eyes before Grace had woken her with a mug of steaming black coffee and warned her that there were thousands of new messages in her inbox.

“Forget them,” she’d growled, after a brief look.  What sort of idiot believed that marking a routine request
urgent
would get him a quicker reply?  All it did was bury genuinely urgent requests under a mountain of crap.  “Get me something to eat, then we’ll go to the conference room.  There isn't time to worry about anything else.”

Grace, mercifully, didn’t question her as they strode down to the conference room, where a handful of security staff were carrying out yet another bug sweep.  A steward was just preparing jugs of water and hot coffee; Joelle gratefully took a second mug, then sat down at the table as the other ambassadors started to file into the room.  She was going to have the jitters later, she knew - too much coffee wasn't good for anyone - but for the moment she needed to be awake and reasonably aware.  She’d just have to catch up on her sleep later.

“Go skim through the messages and forward anything urgent to my secondary account,” she ordered Grace.  “Anything else will have to be left until later.”

“Yes, Ambassador,” Grace said.

She left the room, looking pensive.  Joelle watched her go, feeling an odd flicker of guilt at her aide’s lost innocence.  There were times when being an ambassador had far too much in common with being a prostitute.  Idealism had to be sacrificed in the name of the greater national good.  Grace would either learn to cope with it, burn out early or seek a transfer somewhere else.  Joelle just hoped she wouldn't do either of the latter two until their time on Vesy was over.

“Thank you all for coming,” she said, once the coffee had been poured and the remaining aides and security officers were out of the room.  “As you will have heard, the situation on the surface has taken a turn for the worse.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Barouche sneered.

“Yes, it is,” Joelle agreed.  She ran through a brief outline of the riot and rescue mission.  “So far, we have not been able to get in touch with anyone in authority at City Seven, but our orbital observations reveal that the city is in ... well, a state of political foment.  Several different factions appear to be fighting it out for superiority.  In short, although we have already determined to pay compensation for the disaster, we have no one to pay it
to
.”

She paused, inviting comment, then went on.  “I have spoken to representatives from nearby cities,” she added, “but none of them were able to offer help.  Indeed, they were quite concerned with ... rumours they’d heard from City Seven.”

“You mean they thought you deliberately provoked the riot,” Barouche said.

“Yes,” Joelle said.

“Perhaps we should consider a different question,” Schultz said.  “Who allowed that fatheaded idiot to land on the surface anyway?”

Joelle winced, inwardly.  “He was cleared by the spaceport crew, after reading the documents detailing the acceptable level of conduct and signing them,” she said.  “Might I point out that all attempts to ban religious representatives from the surface failed?”

“The President would not have tolerated it,” Schultz admitted.  He looked embarrassed.  “I think that policy may have to be revised.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Rani said.  The Indian spoke softly, but Joelle couldn't escape the impression that she was amused.  “However, such matters are really ... what is the English expression?  Locking the barn door after the horse has been stolen?”

“More or less,” Joelle said. 

She took a breath.  “Word is already headed to Earth,” she said.  “There are courier boats at each tramline, ready to take messages through and relay them to the next courier boat.  I give it a week - ten days at most - before Earth knows what has happened here.  The media will have a field day.”

“Which is bad news for the Eminent Rationalists,” Schultz observed.

“Or perhaps not,” Joelle said.  “They could argue that the riot proves that they were actually
right
all along.”

She shrugged.  “I believe we have a good reason to ban religious representatives now,” she said, instead.  “We can do it
pro tem
and then reverse the policy if Earth refuses to endorse it.”

“The President
will
refuse to endorse it,” Schultz admitted.  “Far too much of his support comes from religious factions who have stars in their eyes, almost literally, at being able to minister to an alien race.  He cannot ban them from the surface without facing a backlash.”

“Even at the risk of losing missionaries to alien attacks?”  Barouche asked.  “Or will he endorse punitive strikes when a missionary is actually killed?”

Joelle rubbed her temple, feeling a headache starting to pound under her skin.  Ambassadors were political appointees, normally; Schultz couldn't go too overtly against his President’s interests without risking his position.  Hell, it wasn't as if she could openly defy the Prime Minister.  But if one religious idiot had been enough to spark off a riot that had caused no end of problems for both sides, what would happen when the next religious idiot lit a match right next to a barrel of gunpowder?

“It wouldn't be the first time a missionary has been killed trying to minister to the souls of the unconverted,” Schultz pointed out.  “I certainly do not have authority to launch strikes to punish the Vesy for murdering them.”

Barouche snorted.  “Are you sure?”

“Perhaps we should introduce the Vesy to the concept of
persona non grata
,” Rani offered, before the American could reply.  “Tell them that they can kick out anyone they like and we’ll take him away from their world, no questions asked.”

“There isn't a united government here,” Schultz pointed out.  “One city-state might kick out someone, but another city-state might want him.”

“There’s another problem,” Barouche added.  “Your idea assumes a degree of rationality on their part.  Their leaders may not have
time
to kick someone out before the riot begins.”

Joelle suspected he had a point.  She’d viewed the footage from the reporter’s recorder and the sensors the Paras had carried and it had been clear, at least to her, that there had been no time to do anything before all hell had broken loose.  Even with modern communications, she knew from bitter experience that matters could become a great deal worse before new orders arrived from further up the chain.  The Vesy, lacking anything more advanced than mounted couriers, would have real problems reacting to a crisis before it blew up in their faces.

“Then we make it damn clear that they go in at risk of their lives,” Schultz said.  “Tell them there’s no obligation to deploy troops to save them.”

“I don't think your President would like that,” Barouche said.

“And there would be spill-over problems in any case,” Rani added.

Joelle shook her head.  It was clear there wasn't going to be an agreement, even one that lasted long enough to get new orders from Earth.

“There is another issue,” she said, as she tapped the terminal.  Images recorded by the helicopters flickered into life in front of them.  “You will note that the Vesy had a rocket launcher, one that exploded when it was dropped and hit the rooftop.  Where did that weapon come from?”

“Not a very good weapon,” Schultz said, after a moment.  “It looks like a crude antitank weapon rather than something intended to deal with a helicopter.”

“It would have destroyed the helicopter if it had hit its target,” Joelle said, flatly.  “Might I remind you, remind
all
of you, that we agreed to keep heavy weapons out of their hands?”

“I wouldn't argue that a single rocket launcher is a heavy weapon,” Barouche said.

“My people were fired upon by aliens using human weapons,” Joelle snapped.  “It was sheer luck and excellent training that kept them alive - and if that rocket had been fired, we might be mourning a dozen dead humans instead of counting our blessings!  I want to know where that goddamned rocket came from!”

She glared around the room.  “Let’s be brutally honest,” she said, eying Rani.  “We all want influence with the aliens, so we trade weapons because that’s what the aliens
want
.  There’s no point, as you said, in locking the barn door after the horse has been stolen.  But rocket launchers are an order of magnitude more dangerous than automatic rifles and gunpowder weapons.  They can be turned against us!”

“The Russians might have left it here,” Schultz pointed out.  “It isn't as if we have a complete list of what they turned over to the God-King - or lost after their base was captured.”

Joelle sighed.  The hell of it was that Schultz had a point.  It
was
quite possible the rocket launcher had been taken from the Russians ... but somehow, she doubted it.  A rocket launcher would have given its owner a great deal of local prestige, if it had been rarer than gold.  The aliens would only have tried to fire the weapon if they thought they could get more ... and that meant they had a source among the human powers currently involved on their world.

She looked from face to face.  The Americans weren't too likely to supply rocket launchers, not when they had so many people exposed on the ground; the French, she suspected, would feel the same way.  But the Indians had already started arming the aliens, with more weapons than Joelle cared to think about, and they might well decide to quietly ignore the agreement on not supplying heavy weapons.  Anything that gave them an advantage on the surface would be considered acceptable.  They already had a growing sphere of influence that was larger than anyone else’s.

And they presumably want the whole world
, she thought, coldly. 
It would give them a claim to the entire system - and its tramlines
.

They weren't the only suspects, she had to admit.  The Chinese or Turks might have slipped in the rocket launcher, perhaps just to cause trouble for the other powers.  Or an NGO might have managed to get it through the military cordon, perhaps by dismantling it and hiding the pieces all over their ship.  God knew they’d been complaining, loudly, about not being allowed to give weapons to the aliens.  Or ...

“We should try for an agreement not to sell any more weapons to the aliens,” she said, “but that won’t work, will it?”

No one disagreed.

“There is another issue,” Schultz said.  “We need a united command structure.”

“My government would insist that
we
held command,” Rani said.  “We have the largest military commitment here.”

That was true, Joelle knew.  3 Para and its supporting units consisted of little more than five hundred men, while the Indians had landed over five
thousand
.  She silently totted up the numbers in her head and concluded that everyone else, if added together,
might
match the Indians, but the Indians wouldn't accept that as a valid reason to surrender command to anyone. 

“But you don’t have the largest commitment elsewhere,” Schultz said.  “India is still ranked sixth among the human powers.”

Rani’s eyes glittered with controlled rage.  “The fact remains that we have the largest commitment
here
,” she said, coolly.  “Furthermore, we have two systems under our control within three jumps of
this
system.  Cromwell, New Boston and Pegasus are small colonies by comparison.  Should there be a sudden demand for additional troops, they will have to come from our territory.”