A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5) (9 page)

“Aye, sir,” Howard said. 

The Ambassador has been out-system before
, John thought. 
So has Professor Nordstrom - he was one of the researchers who went to Heinlein, where humans and Tadpoles are trying to live in harmony.  But what about the others?

He cursed under his breath.  There simply hadn't been time to review
all
of the files.

“Tramline in five minutes,” Armstrong reported.

“Lieutenant Forbes, transmit all final messages in the buffer,” John ordered.  Any other messages would be stored, at least until
Warspite
encountered a homeward-bound starship on her cruise.  “Attach our final status report, then close communications.”

“Aye, sir,” Gillian said.

John forced himself to relax.  It always felt nerve-wracking approaching a tramline, even one as well-known as the link between Earth and Terra Nova.  He knew, intellectually, that there was no real chance of a collision, or a hostile force waiting on the far side, but emotionally it was hard to believe.  He’d earned his wings just after the war began, after all, and both sides had tried to ambush the other as they’d jumped through the tramlines.

“Tramline in one minute,” Armstrong said.  A timer appeared on the display, counting down the seconds.  “Transit in five ... four ... three ... two ... one ...”

John braced himself.  The universe dimmed, just for a second, then returned to normal.  But the display had blanked out and was hastily reformatting itself as the ship’s sensors sucked in data from all over the Terra Nova system.  Hundreds of icons flickered into existence, marked with warning messages that indicated that they might have changed position before the emissions from their drives reached
Warspite
.  It might have been just his imagination, but it looked as though Terra Nova was seeing
less
organised activity these days.  The miners might have decided to head to the newer colony worlds to try their luck there.

It would be hard to blame them
, he thought, coldly.  Terra Nova had been a mistake from the start, when so many different groups were settled in close proximity and expected to get along; their feuding factions had only recently been taking their dispute into open space, as if they wanted to convince the interstellar powers to intervene. 
This isn't a safe place to live
.

“Transit complete,” Armstrong reported.

I noticed
, John thought.  He didn't say it out loud.  Regulations insisted that Armstrong had to make his report, even if it was easy to tell if the jump had completed or not. 
And nothing went wrong, this time
.

He keyed his console.  “Engineering?”

“Puller Drive is powering down, Captain,” Mike Johnston reported.  He’d sounded more cheerful over the last two days.  It had been so obvious that John had a quiet suspicion he'd gotten lucky on Nelson Base.  “All power curves are nominal.”

“Good,” John said.

“I’d like to run a handful of additional tests, just to be sure,” Johnston added.  “Do you mind ...?”

“Not at all,” John said.  After what had happened the last time they’d left Earth, he would happily have underwritten any number of tests while they were still in an inhabited star system.  “We will make our next transit in” - he glanced at the display, running through the calculation in his head - “nine hours.”

“Plenty of time,” Johnston said.  “Engineering out.”

John nodded, then looked at Howard.  “Start running tracking exercises,” he ordered, flatly.  “I want to know everything we can about everyone in the system by the time we leave.”

“Aye, sir,” Howard said.  It would be good practice for when they arrived at Vesy, they both knew.  They’d have to watch for smugglers entering through the tramlines, as well as rogue miners and others who might try to stake a claim to the system.  A human population within the Vesy System would cause no end of legal problems.  “I’ll get the tactical crew right on it.”

John nodded, then checked his inbox.  They should have received an update from the Royal Navy’s guardship, but it was really too early to expect one.  It would probably be at least four hours before one was transmitted, assuming the guardship even saw
Warspite
and her convoy arriving.  Instead, he rose to his feet.  There was no shortage of paperwork he had to do in his office, now they were on their way.

“Commander Howard, you have the bridge,” he said.  “Inform me once the guardship sends us the intelligence packet.”

“Aye, Captain,” Howard said.

John stepped through the hatch into his office, then shrugged off his jacket and sat down at the metal desk.  He was mildly surprised he hadn't been urged to give up his cabin to the ambassador, even though it wasn't really much bigger than the VIP quarters, but it would have been inconvenient.  The office might have been
his
, yet his XO and several other crewmen were expected to use it from time to time. 
Warspite
simply didn't have the hull volume to give
everyone
an office.

And I wouldn't trade you for a full-sized fleet carrier
, he thought, rubbing the bulkhead affectionately.  Not that he’d
get
a fleet carrier, unless he was
very
lucky.  It had been sheer luck - and a certain amount of expendability - that had earned him
Warspite
. 
You’re far more nimble than any wallowing pig of a carrier
.

He tapped his terminal, snorted in annoyance as he realised there were several
more
requests for an interview from Penny Schneider, and then a message from the Ambassador. 
She
wanted a meeting too, over dinner.  John couldn't decide if she thought that food would make the ideas flow better, or if she reasoned she’d have a better chance of catching him if she asked him to dinner.  She had to know he wouldn't have much free time.

Sighing, he keyed out a reply to both women and then went to work.

Chapter Eight

“Tell me something,” Grace Scott said, as John stepped into the ambassador’s cabin.  “Are your quarters any larger than this?”

“Only by a couple of square meters,” John said, dryly.  He’d met too many people like Grace Scott before, men and women who thought it was their job to be offended on their principal’s behalf.  “
Warspite
is a cruiser, not a fleet carrier.”

Grace looked unconvinced.  “Then why didn't you assign the largest cabin to Ambassador Richardson?”

John met her eyes and held them.  “Because my cabin is right next to the bridge, where I need to be if there’s an emergency,” he said.  “The VIP cabins are towards the rear of Officer Country because they aren’t required to do anything if we run into trouble.”

“It’s quite all right,” Joelle Richardson said, as she emerged from the sleeping compartment.  “I really have been in worse places, Captain.”

“And you could be bedded down with the midshipmen,” John said, as she held out her hand for him to shake.  “They have to sleep doubled-up because of your party.”

Grace frowned.  “Aren't they used to it?”

“No,” John said, flatly.

He gazed around the cabin.  It
was
small, yet there were three compartments and just enough room to swing a cat.  John was pretty sure his midshipmen would have been delighted to have such a cabin to themselves, particularly if they didn't get the duties that normally came with a private compartment.  The bulkheads were bare, but there was no reason why the ambassador couldn't hang pictures on the metal or cover them with cloth or mirrors to give the impression that the cabin was larger than it seemed.  Compared to the cabin he’d shared at the Academy, it was paradise incarnate.

You could bring a person to your bunk and have fun
, he thought, wryly. 
There would certainly be no need to negotiate with your bunkmates for some privacy.

“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering food for the three of us, Captain,” the ambassador said, as John sat at the small folding table.  “And please call me Joelle.”

“Call me John,” John said.

Joelle smiled.  “I read your service record,” she said, as Grace glanced into the next room and then sat down next to John.  “I understand you saw service in the war?”

“Yes, Ambassador ...
Joelle
,” John said.  That was hardly a secret.  The media had done endless profiles on him, ever since he’d returned from Vesy with the news of a second alien race.  It was amusing to note just how much they’d gotten wrong ... and how much they’d deliberately misinterpreted in hopes of writing a better story.  “I flew starfighters against the Tadpoles.”

Grace coughed.  “Do you have to call them
Tadpoles
?”  She asked.  “It isn't the nicest thing to say.  And it implies inferiority to humanity.”

“Their name for themselves is unpronounceable,” John reminded her.  “There’s no point in trying to call them by their proper name.  They don’t seem to care.”

“It’s still a bad attitude,” Grace said.

John shrugged.  He had the feeling he was being tested.  Nothing in Joelle’s file had suggested she had problems calling her subordinates to heel, if she felt it necessary.  If she was tolerating Grace acting like a spoilt teenager, she presumably had a reason for allowing her aide to embarrass herself.  But what?

“We understand that they are powerful, and that the last thing either side wants is to resume the war,” he said, flatly.  “That is all we really need to understand.”

He cleared his throat.  “I flew starfighters until I transferred to capital ships and made my way up through the ranks,” he added.  “It has been an interesting career.”

“You encountered a whole new alien race,” Joelle said.  “What are your ...
impressions
of them?”

“Primitive, by our standards, but bursting with potential,” John said.  An alien observer might have said the same of humanity, if he’d peered down at Earth five hundred years ago.  “Also quite barbaric, by our standards.  The purges of the God-King’s supporters made the Spanish Inquisition look inefficient.”

“It’s unfair to judge them by our standards,” Grace pointed out.  “They’re not human.”

John smirked, remembering Colin’s verbal games.  “But isn’t it more insulting
not
to judge them by our standards?  To treat them as children who cannot be expected to understand the seriousness of their crimes?”

“They are, to some extent,” Joelle said.  “Five years ago, they had no idea that they weren't the only intelligent life in the universe.”

“Five years ago,
we
had no idea we weren't the only intelligent life in the universe,” John countered.  “And then we ran into the Tadpoles.”

He shuddered at the thought.  Humanity had been in shock, ever since the first attack on Vera Cruz, and it hadn't been until the end of the war that the philosophical implications had begun to sink in.  The human race was no longer alone ... and, if the Tadpoles weren’t
that
far from human space, just how much of the galaxy was already taken?  And, if the Tadpoles had been more advanced than humanity when the war had begun, might there be other more advanced races out there, some potentially hostile?  Might humanity run into a race armed with weapons that made nukes look like firecrackers?

“They didn't even have the
concept
of alien life,” Joelle pointed out.  “We did, even if we didn't believe they truly existed.”

“True,” John agreed.

The hatch opened, revealing a steward carrying a large tray of food.  John leaned to one side as the three plates were placed in front of them, then the steward retreated as silently as he’d arrived.  At least they’d managed to get a pair of
real
stewards, he reminded himself, as he lifted the lid to reveal beef stew, mashed potatoes and greens.  There was no need to waste a midshipman’s time serving as a steward, in addition to his or her regular duties.

“We are going to need to work together,” Joelle said, when she had eaten enough to satisfy the first hunger pangs.  “I understand that I am cleared to talk to diplomats from other human powers, but you’re expected to talk to military officers.”

“If they are cleared to talk to me,” John said.  “Military officers are not normally expected to set diplomatic policy.”

“Their superiors will have to clear it,” Joelle said.  “But could you work with them, if they were cleared to work with you?”

“It shouldn't be a problem, as long as we agreed on the ground rules,” John said.  “We managed to work together fairly well during the war.”

Joelle frowned.  “But managing the aftermath was tricky,” she said.  “The Japanese believe that at least one of their carriers was sacrificed without due cause, while the French think their interests were unheeded and the Russians ... well, the less said about the Russians the better.”

“Really?”  John asked.  “Why?”

“Diplomatic disaster,” Joelle said, shortly.  She didn't seem inclined to address the subject any further.  “Suffice it to say that the Russians feel boxed in and unwilling to cooperate too openly with the other powers.”

John winced.  The Russians had reclaimed their personnel - and, even though they faced charges ranging from desertion to breaking the non-interference edict, their mere existence gave the Russians something to bargain with.  They knew more about Vesy than anyone else, save perhaps for the Marines John had left on the alien world.  It was quite possible that there was already a Russian ship or two heading to Vesy, intent on picking up where the renegades had left off.  Or maybe they would sell what they knew to the highest bidder.

Should never have let them out of Geneva
, he thought.  He’d done his best to follow the politics closely, but precisely
why
the Russians had been allowed to return home was beyond him.  Someone must have done a considerable amount of horse-trading behind the scenes. 
It was unlikely the Russians would simply put them in front of a wall, as soon as they returned home, and have them shot.

“It does raise questions concerning jurisdiction,” John said.  “If all of the interstellar powers cooperate, we can limit access to Vesy.  But if one or more powers refuse to cooperate, it will be impossible to legally blockade the entire world.  It isn't the Britannic System, where we own everything.”

“Do the best you can, I think,” Joelle said.  “In the long run, if we are unable to secure a joint agreement, our objective is to convince as many Vesy factions as possible to sign up with us.”

“Then trade weapons,” John said, flatly.  “That will get you all the factions you could possibly want.”

Grace coughed.  “Are you seriously suggesting that we
encourage
the locals to fight?”

John gave her a long considering look.  “You want them to sign up with us,” he said, somehow managing to keep his voice level.  “If so, you have to give them something they want in exchange - and what they want, most of all, are human weapons.  Weapons that will give them a decisive advantage against any city-state that
doesn't
have access to human weapons ... and weapons that will even the odds against any city-state that
does
.”

“We could offer them medicine,” Grace said.  “Or ... there are all sorts of little ideas we could give them.”

“None of which will help them worth a damn if they are crushed by their neighbours,” John said.  “The God-King created an empire, Miss Short.  It might not have lasted, but it introduced the concept to them.  City-states with human weapons will seek to impose themselves on their neighbours; city-states without them will do whatever it takes to
get
them.  And if that means signing up with the Russians, instead of us, they will do it.”

He scowled down at the table.  “You’re trying to outbid other human states,” he added, darkly.  “Even if
we
have qualms about offering weapons, the Russians or Chinese or even the French won’t have any hesitation.  The states that sign up with us will defect or get crushed, once their neighbours are armed to the teeth.  And any medical ideas we give our friends will be taken by force.”

“You're treating them as if they’re human,” Grace said.  “They may not react like us!”

“They were struggling for supremacy for centuries before the Russians arrived,” John said.  It was tempting to blame everything on the Russians, but there was no evidence that the Vesy had been peaceful at any point in their history.  Their city-states were ringed with solid walls, suggesting they had good reason to fear attack.  “I judge them by what we saw - and what we saw was barbaric savagery.”

“By human rules,” Grace insisted.  “Their rules might be different.”

John shrugged.  “If you gave Napoleon nukes,” he said, “would he have hesitated to use them, judging by the standards of the time?  If you gave Philip of Spain machine guns, would he have paused before unleashing carnage on a scale no one of that time could envisage?  If you gave the Romans television, would they delay long before installing one in every household so the entire population could enjoy its bread and circuses?”

Grace scowled.  “What’s your point?”

“Human civilisation developed slowly, adapting to new technology as it came along,” John said.  “No, I don’t think Napoleon would have hesitated before unleashing nukes; his society simply wasn't advanced enough to understand the implications of using them.  Even television ... one could make a case that television retarded the development of human civilisation.  The Vesy are nowhere near advanced enough to be able to handle our technology without inflicting major damage on their society.”

“And yet you’re still judging them by human rules,” Grace insisted.

“And yet
their
rules don’t see anything wrong with mass slaughter,” John countered.  “Nor did Napoleon see anything wrong with sacking cities, George Washington see anything wrong with sending the Indians smallpox-infested blankets, Philip of Spain see anything wrong with slaughtering thousands of people because their noblemen had embraced one sect of Christianity over another.  We have to accept that they don’t play by our rules.”