A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5) (4 page)

“The Indians have a colony in that direction,” Joelle recalled.

“They do,” the Prime Minister said.  “It adds another problem to the morass.”

He cleared his throat.  “I’m assigning you as our Ambassador to Vesy and Special Representative to the other human powers active within the system,” he explained.  “You will have authority to open discussions with the Vesy and trade with them, although there will be some limits on precisely
what
you can offer.  Ideally, you are to tie as many Vesy groups as possible into an alliance with us.  We need influence on the planet’s surface.”

Joelle remembered the reports and winced.  “We could just offer them weapons,” she said, frankly.  “It would make them our friends for life.”

“I’d prefer not to supply weapons if it can be avoided,” the Prime Minister said.  “The Russians caused a great deal of problems for them, simply by introducing gunpowder.  I would hate to see them trying a mass charge against machine guns or even soldiers armed with modern rifles.  Their population might take a sharp drop.”

“They will want weapons, Prime Minister,” Joelle said, flatly.  “It won’t be unlike negotiating with groups in North Africa or the Middle East.  Weapons come first, or they won’t be able to hold on to whatever else they get.”

“I know,” the Prime Minister said.  He looked her in the eye.  “If you have no alternative, then yes; you may offer them weapons.  However, it would probably look better if you offered them other items first.  We have a list of possible options for you to consider, although - as the person on the spot - you will have to make the final call.”

Joelle couldn't help feeling a flicker of excitement, mixed with apprehension.  On Earth, she could call her superiors at any moment to get their approval; in deep space, she would be completely alone, unable to receive an instant answer to her messages.  If she sent a message from Vesy to Earth, if she needed support, it would be months before she could receive a reply.  Before then, the situation would probably have changed for the worse. 

“Thank you, Prime Minister,” she said.

The Prime Minister gave her a humourless smile.  “You may want to wait before thanking me,” he said.  “This won’t be an easy task.”

He frowned.  “In addition, you are to try to build a local agreement with any other human powers operating within the system,” he continued.  “Again, ideally, we want limits on tech transfer and a general understanding that the system is to remain neutral.  I don’t think anyone will accept the idea of limits, but I think there will be some support for leaving the system neutral in human politics.”

“Because that would give us all access to the tramlines,” Joelle said.

“Without having to pay,” the Prime Minister agreed. 

Joelle nodded, thoughtfully.  The Tramline Treaty enshrined open passage through the tramlines, but agreed that whoever owned the system was owed a small fee from anyone who wanted to use the tramlines.  However, precedent suggested that whoever owned the system had to be capable of policing their space before they could collect their fee.  Terra Nova’s inability to patrol space beyond its atmosphere was a constant headache for the diplomats, all the more so as other settlements within the system continued to grow.  Sooner or later, Joelle considered, one of them would make a definite bid for system ownership - and marginalise Terra Nova once and for all.

“We could always try setting up a bank for them,” she mused.  “Have the fee saved until they’re ready to access it for themselves.”

“It’s a possibility,” the Prime Minister said.  “But who would you trust to run it?”

“The Vesy themselves,” Joelle said.  It was the simplest solution.  “They’re not idiots, Prime Minister.  We could educate them, couldn't we?”

“And what,” the Prime Minister asked, “would that do to their society?”

He shrugged, then leaned forward.  “You will be attached to a naval squadron being dispatched within a fortnight,” he informed her.  “You may choose your own staff - under the circumstances, I think that’s the least we can do for you.  The squadron CO will have orders of his own, but will generally follow yours as long as they don’t put the ships into danger.”

Joelle nodded.  She would need to read the orders very carefully, then sit down with the CO and have a long talk.  She’d known some naval officers who’d regarded diplomats as worse enemies than reporters; she hoped, grimly, that whoever was assigned to Vesy wouldn't be one of
them
.

“Good luck, Ambassador,” the Prime Minister said, rising to his feet.  “Your orders and supporting documents will be delivered to your office within the hour.  I believe you will be invited to board the ship in ten days, but that will be confirmed.  We’ll try not to leave you behind.”

“Thank you, Prime Minister,” Joelle said, smiling at the weak joke.  It
was
one hell of a challenge - and if she succeeded in hammering out an agreement everyone could live with, she would be able to write her own ticket.  “I look forward to it.”

Chapter Three

“Captain Naiser,” the First Space Lord said, as John was shown into his office.  “I trust you had a pleasant few days?”

“Sin City no longer lives down to its reputation, sir,” John said.  It was no surprise.  The original Sin City had been destroyed during the Battle of Earth.  “But at least no one recognised me there, thankfully.”

“There is that, I suppose,” the First Space Lord said.  “Take a seat, please.”

“Thank you, sir,” John said. 

He sat on the comfortable chair, resting his hands in his lap.  The First Space Lord’s aide appeared and offered tea or coffee, but John declined them both.  He’d need all of his wits around him while talking to the uniformed head of the Royal Navy.  The First Space Lord waited for the hatch to hiss closed behind his aide, then nodded politely to John.

“I understand that you were attending the simulated battles,” the First Space Lord said, casually.  “As someone who both flew starfighters and commanded capital ships, what did you make of them?”

John hesitated, thinking hard.  Was the First Space Lord trying to break the ice, as if he
needed
to break the ice, or was it a genuine question?

“I think that both sides rigged the simulations in their favour,” he said, finally.  “The starfighter squadrons shouldn't be counted out just yet, sir.”

“Explain,” the First Space Lord ordered.

“Real life isn't the same as simulations,” John said.  “To be realistic, the simulation would need to account for sensor distortion caused by the plasma cannons, the loss of several cannons due to exploding plasma containment fields and the existence of various countermeasures to fuck ... ah,
spoof
ECM.  One simulation was, therefore, an idealized outcome for the point defence; the other was an idealised outcome for the starfighters.”

He paused.  “We may need to rely more on smaller carriers, perhaps armoured escort carriers, rather than the giant fleet carriers,” he added, “while putting together superdreadnaughts of our own.”

“The
Vanguard
project,” the First Space Lord noted.  “Admiral Soskice’s pride and joy.”

“Yes, sir,” John said.  He’d been asked to consult, during the months he’d waited in limbo for a decision on his future in the Royal Navy.  “She’s an impressive design, sir, but she will wallow like a pig in mud.  And she would be alarmingly vulnerable to mass drivers, despite her improved armour.  The Tadpole superdreadnaught wasn't perfect either.”

“It still took a giant carrier ramming her to put her out of commission,” the First Space Lord said.  “Both ships were destroyed in the blast.”

“Yes, sir,” John said.

He felt a sudden stab of sympathy for the First Space Lord.  The man was caught between the traditionalist and reformist parties; one wanting to adopt the latest shiny thing, the other wanting to stick with technology they knew worked.  But both sides were wrong ... keeping the balance between them couldn't be the easiest job in the world.  It made him wonder just what would happen to the Royal Navy when the First Space Lord retired.

“But that is a minor issue at the moment,” the First Space Lord said.  He sat upright, elbows placed on the desk in front of him.  “I didn't call you here to discuss the simulations - and how well they reflect real life.”

John nodded.  It was finally time to face the music.

“Good news first,” First Space Lord said, briskly.  “The World Court in Geneva has provisionally agreed that you are not culpable for anything the Russians did on Vesy, particularly before you ever knew there was such a world.  Your own actions caused more doubt, but it has been generally agreed that you did the best you could under the circumstances.  As such, you don’t need to worry about either a court martial or war crimes charges from Geneva.”

“Thank you, sir,” John said, relieved.  He hadn't worried about a court martial - any Captain’s Court would have upheld his decisions - but the World Court was a political beast.  Guilt or innocence wasn’t a matter of fact, not when politics were involved.  Someone in London might have had to do a great deal of horse-trading to ensure a favourable verdict.  “That’s good to hear.”

“There were a couple of attempts to bring private prosecutions against you,” the First Space Lord added, “but the House of Lords threw them both out.  It helps, I suspect, that the image of the gallant space captain rescuing helpless women and children is so prevalent.  They didn't want to convict a national hero.”

John kept his mouth firmly shut.  It was unlikely that anyone could successfully bring private charges against him for carrying out his duty, not when military officers were generally excluded from such proceedings.  But it would be bad publicity for the Royal Navy and he suspected his superiors had privately breathed a sigh of relief when the decision was handed down.  Having an NGO or charity try to convict him of meddling in alien affairs would be embarrassing.

“The Russians may want you to give testimony at the trial of the surviving renegades, John,” the First Space Lord added, “but we would prefer to see you out in space as soon as possible, so they may be disappointed.   In any case, there is more than enough evidence to convict them of desertion, breaking several treaties and causing the Russian Government a considerable amount of embarrassment, which is a shooting offense in Russia.”

“Yes, sir,” John said. 

“I would still prefer you to remain on Nelson Base or Luna City until you return to your ship,” the First Space Lord said.  “The court rulings will probably not satisfy
all
of your new enemies, I’m afraid.  At last report, the Society of Interstellar Brotherhood was offering a large reward for evidence that could be used against you, while the more militant wing of Earth First has publically condemned you for
not
bombarding Vesy into radioactive ruins and exterminating the aliens before they could pose a threat.  They will not be happy to hear about your new assignment.”

John narrowed his eyes.  “Can they prevent me from returning to Earth?”

“Probably not, but it will attract attention from the media,” the First Space Lord said.  “I authorised you to visit Sin City because the media is permanently banned from the complex, no matter the situation.  Earth ... it’s quite likely you will be hounded as soon as you step out of a military base.  I advise you to avoid that sort of attention.”

John sighed inwardly, but nodded.  The media had swarmed over him once before - the last survivor of HMS
Canopus
, before
Ark Royal
had returned with a captured alien battlecruiser in tow - and he hadn't enjoyed it, not even slightly.  Now, with half the population considering him a hero and the other half demanding his immediate execution, it would probably be worse.  Much worse.

“Yes, sir,” he said, finally.

“Good,” the First Space Lord said.  “I’m afraid your next posting will make the Society of Interstellar Brotherhood even
more
pissed at you.”

He smiled, rather thinly.  “You may have heard that talks about keeping Vesy in strict quarantine have broken down,” he continued.  “The Russians tried to insist they had a claim to the system, the Indians flatly refused to honour an agreement that cut them out of a quicker route to their colonies, the French and Chinese started considering which way to jump ... right now, in short, there is no legal barrier to anyone going to Vesy and trying to make contact with the natives.  This is likely to be utterly disastrous for them, Captain.”

“Yes, sir,” John said.  He’d
seen
Vesy - and he’d seen the damage caused by a handful of Russian-supplied weapons.  Even if the Vesy were cut off from all further human contact, they knew how to make gunpowder and everything from basic muskets to cannons.  The slaughter on their homeworld would rise rapidly until their society managed to integrate the new weapons.  “They don’t need our encouragement to slaughter one another.”

“It gets worse,” the First Space Lord said.  “The Brothers” - the Society of Interstellar Brotherhood - “were barred from trying to communicate with the Tadpoles.  No one in their right mind wanted the Brothers lecturing the Tadpoles about how their reproductive systems are dangerously immoral, not when the Tadpoles could easily have won the war.  It would be a really
stupid
reason to restart the war.”

“Yes, sir,” John said, again.

“However, it has made the Brothers more determined to approach the Vesy and start transferring technology to them,” the First Space Lord warned.  “Not all of the Brothers are keen to supply weapons, but medical science and building materials will do real damage to their society in the short term.  The influx of human ideas and ideals will probably do worse damage.  They’re not human, they’re not men in rubber suits, but I don't think the Brothers grasp that point.  And they may succeed in turning the Vesy into a threat to humanity.”

“Sir,” John said doubtfully, “the Vesy aren't much more advanced than ... than the Elizabethans.  Even gunpowder was unknown to them five years ago.”

“They will have the advantage of knowing that more is possible,” the First Space Lord said, darkly.  “Our most optimistic assessment suggests that the Vesy might start experimenting with primitive rockets in four hundred years, perhaps less.   It would depend on just how much technology - and ideas - have already slipped into their system.  If the Brothers actually start guiding the Vesy down the right path, they might get into space in a much shorter time.”

“It seems unbelievable, sir,” John said. 

“We would prefer not to take chances,” the First Space Lord said.  “Unfortunately, with a lack of general consensus on the issue, it is impossible to prevent other nations from making contact with Vesy factions and working with them to take control of the entire planet.”

He leaned forward.  “You will return to
Warspite
, Captain, as CO of the squadron assigned to Vesy,” he continued.  “Unfortunately, this is something of a poisoned chalice.  On one hand, you have orders to prevent cultural contamination, either with ideas or technology; on the other, you are required to support Ambassador Richardson as she makes contact with Vesy factions and attempts to woo them into an alliance with Britain.”

John frowned.  The only way to woo Vesy factions was to offer them more than anyone else, particularly to the factions which had little to no contact with humans prior to the arrival of
Warspite
.  And they would want weapons to defend themselves before anything else, no matter what other goodies the humans could offer.  Failing to give the Vesy weapons would practically throw them into the arms of other human powers, the ones less concerned with the long-term impact on the Vesy themselves.  They would have no choice, but to act in self-defence. 

And yet, handing over weapons and other goodies would
cause
cultural contamination ...

“I don’t see how we can balance the two requirements,” he said, slowly.  It seemed impossible to avoid it.  “Mere contact with us will cause cultural contamination.”

“I don’t think you can either,” the First Space Lord admitted.  “Overall, we would prefer you to block the NGOs from setting up shop outside our direct control, Captain, but we concede that won’t be easy.  They think they have a mission and they won’t let you stand in their way.”

“So let them set up where they can be supervised,” John mused.  “Maybe ensure that they know they can talk to the Vesy, but if they give offense they can be yanked out at any moment.”

He groaned, inwardly.  The Vesy were aliens.  Who knew
what
would cause offense?  Hell, for all they knew, wearing pink shirts would be enough to trigger a declaration of war.

“Precisely,” the First Space Lord said.  “They want contact; they can have it, under supervision.  That will make it harder for them to claim we’re blocking them from talking to the poor helpless aliens.”

John shrugged.  “I saw them butchering one another with a fervour that would impress Genghis Khan,” he said, tartly.  “I don’t think they’re helpless.”

“They might as well be, against orbital bombardment,” the First Space Lord said.  He sighed, meaningfully.  “NGOs and the media aren't the only parties interested in going, John.  The Vatican is sending a ship, as are a number of religious factions from America.  Hell, the Archbishop of Canterbury is planning to dispatch a ship too.  They hope to find new converts among the Vesy, it seems.”