He clenched his fists so hard they hurt. Beatings would have been kinder, he knew; he’d have preferred to be beaten then endure the mocking condescension of people who saw him as nothing more than a symbol. Instead, he'd been subjected to a form of abuse that had left scars on his soul. If he’d had any prospect of inheriting any real power, he would have hung on grimly and executed his tormentors the day he took the throne. Instead, he’d tried to find a way out. Elizabeth could have the throne. She was older than him ... and besides, she’d make a better monarch. Queens called Elizabeth had a very good record.
Lopez coughed. “Are you alright?”
Henry looked down at his hands, then slowly unclenched them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I ...”
“You said you hated apologising,” Lopez said. “I asked why?”
Henry sighed. “My ... family blamed me for everything,” he said. “I had to apologise for everything, even when it wasn't my fault.”
Lopez met his eyes. “My brother was the same,” she said. “He got the blame for a lot of my mischief. Dad never quite twigged that a girl could be just as naughty as a boy.”
Henry gave her an odd look. “Where did you grow up?”
“My family were immigrants,” Lopez said. “My father never quite fitted in anywhere.”
She cleared her throat. “Whatever happened now,” she added, “was it your fault?”
“Yes,” Henry said, flatly.
“So what’s wrong with apologising for it?” She asked. “Or with learning from your mistakes?”
“Nothing,” Henry admitted. He wasn't Prince Henry, not here. He was Charles Augustus, a young pilot from a determinedly middle-class background. “Nothing at all.”
He smiled, feeling oddly better. Charles Augustus was little more than a set of notations in a file, a character who would require a great deal of development before he could be called anything more than one-dimensional. Anyone who took a close look at the file would soon recognise it was little more than a cover, one intended to hide a greater truth. A foreign spy inserted into the Royal Navy would have a more detailed file ...
And yet Charles Augustus felt
real
. It was Prince Henry who felt like the fake.
“Thank you,” he said. He swallowed, suddenly, as he stood. “Will ... will I see you again?”
Lopez blinked in surprise, then smiled. “I’ll be around,” she said. “We can chat any time you want.”
Henry nodded to her, then stepped through the hatch. He had no idea if she knew who he was or not and he didn't much care. All that mattered, perhaps, was that he had someone to talk to who didn't seem impressed by his title – if, of course, she knew he had a title. And she was pretty. Prince Henry couldn't give a girl a look without having the papers speculating about an imminent marriage, but Charles Augustus could make a fool of himself with the ladies if he wanted. Sin City had been
quite
an education.
Smiling, he made his way back towards the barracks. It was time to swallow his pride and apologise.
***
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Kurt said. He knew he sounded shocked and he didn't really care. “Charles Augustus is actually Prince Henry – in disguise.”
“Yes,” Admiral Smith said, simply. “And you will keep this a secret.”
“His immediate superior will have to be told,” Kurt said. “There were already some questions about why Mr. Augustus was summoned to the Captain’s presence.”
“Tell them that I saw fit to deal with the first major disciplinary problem personally,” the Captain said. “It should suffice, I think.”
“It will not,” the XO countered. She looked angry. It dawned on Kurt that she too had been kept in the dark. “Are there any other surprises on this ship? Or is the Captain of the
Roosevelt
actually the First Son? Or ...”
The Admiral held up a hand. “It was a surprise to me too, when I was briefed on it,” he said, flatly. “The decision was taken to restrict the information as much as possible.”
“But I should have been told,” the XO said. “This could have affected my position.”
“The information was held on a strict need-to-know basis,” the Admiral said. He looked directly at Kurt. “What would you have done if you’d known, while you were putting him through training?”
Kurt frowned. “I would have tried to give him the same training as everyone else,” he said. “Whatever else can be said about him, he
is
a reasonably competent pilot. All he needs is seasoning and he’s been picking that up since he was assigned here.”
“But evidently not enough of it,” the XO snarled. “Captain, this is a major problem. What happens when this comes out?”
Kurt understood. It would look as though Prince Henry had been allowed to get away with it or had been given excessive punishment. Either one would make the navy look bad. But he hadn't known Augustus was Prince Henry when he’d assigned the punishment. He'd just wanted to make damn sure the incident wasn't repeated. North could easily have been injured severely – or injured the Prince himself.
“The incident will be sealed,” the Admiral said, firmly. “The files on it will be redacted, once we return to Nelson Base. They will only be opened for public consumption after everyone involved is safely dead.”
“That isn't a reliable solution,” the XO said. “Something could leak, sir.”
“Then we deal with it when it does,” the Admiral said. He looked over at Kurt, sternly. “You may share this information, in strictest confidence, with his Wing Commander. Make it clear to her that if there is any leak, it will be career-wrecking. No one else is to know.”
He paused, suddenly looking much older. “I understand that many of you feel personally offended at being left out of the loop,” he added. “However, there was no alternative.”
Kurt looked down at the deck. Berating a normal pilot was one thing; berating the heir to the throne was quite another. The King might have little formal power, but a word or two in the right ear could also be career-wrecking. He understood both the XO’s anger and the Admiral’s argument, even though he tended to sympathise with her. Her career could be destroyed if Prince Henry decided he hated her.
Hell
, he thought.
My career might have already been damaged. What would Molly make of that?
He knew what she’d think of him having the prince under his command. She’d expect him to befriend the prince, to use him as a contact to promote the family ... even though it would be utterly inappropriate. And she would be horrified to hear that he’d disciplined the prince, even though he needed discipline. She’d be terrified at the thought of his retaliation.
The Admiral was right, he knew. They
had
to keep the secret as closely as possible.
“Yes, sir,” he said, when the Admiral looked at him. “It will go no further than Rose.”
“Make sure of it,” the Admiral warned. He looked around the room. “We will be entering the next system in four hours. By then, I want the Alpha shift to be well-rested and ready for anything.”
Kurt nodded. They had no way of knowing what awaited them on the other side of the tramline. It could be anything from an alien-held system to another largely useless star and a handful of asteroids. Or it could even be a third intelligent race. The thought was surprisingly welcoming. What if there were other aliens, friendlier than the first aliens, out there? Aliens who might just talk to humanity rather than start a war?
“I believe half of my pilots are currently sleeping,” he said. He’d have a few sharp words with the Wing Commanders if they weren't. “They should be ready to take to their cockpits, if necessary.”
The Admiral smiled. “My aide is insistent that I host a dinner party,” he added. He looked oddly reluctant to do any such thing. “You are all, naturally, invited to attend.”
That
wasn't an invitation, Kurt knew. It was a command.
“Yes, sir,” he said, simply. “I assume it’s for the other commanding officers?”
“Most of them, yes,” the Admiral said. He didn't sound pleased. “I’d prefer not to host any form of dinner, not now, but we finally have some time to do it.”
Kurt couldn't disagree with the logic. They’d spent far too much time just rushing around, trying to get the fleet ready for departure. There had been no time for social events. It was odd to think of having one in unknown space, where the aliens might be lurking in the darkness, but it would give the various commanding officers a chance to meet and get to know each other a little better.
“And let’s hope that we aren’t attacked while everyone is here,” the XO said.
“We won’t host the dinner unless the next system is clear,” the Admiral said, firmly. He looked over at Kurt. “Try to organise some get-togethers for pilots too. We may as well try to make sure it isn't just the commanders who meet and chat.”
“The Japanese aren't so willing to socialise, outside battle,” Kurt said. “But the French and Americans would certainly come to the party.”
“Good,” the Admiral said. “Just make sure we’re not caught on the hop.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Another boring system,” Admiral Stanley Shallcross said. “I'm starting to think we’re lost.”
Ted had to smile. They'd crossed through the tramline, every weapon and sensor primed for attack, only to discover that the new system was almost as useless as the previous system. The only moment of interest had come when they’d located a planet roughly the size of Luna, but a careful – if long-distance – investigation had revealed no trace of alien settlements. Ted had conceded, reluctantly, that the aliens only used the system as a transit point, if they used it as anything at all. But, with three tramlines going though the system, it was unlikely that they’d completely ignored it.
We'd picket the system if we had it
, he thought,
even if we didn't settle the planet. Why didn't the aliens picket the system
?
He pushed the thought out of his head and concentrated on socialising. It wasn't something he was very good at, even when he’d been a Captain; his career had been largely centred around
Ark Royal
and no one had ever invited him to any social events. Now, he found it hard to understand why they were even necessary, to the point Lopez had had to argue for hours before he'd reluctantly agreed to host the dinner. She’d pointed out, quite reasonably, that he should be meeting with his subordinates in informal session to help build up a rapport with them. And that it would be good for international relations.
“I don’t think we’re lost,” he said. “We just don’t know where we are.”
The American laughed and downed his glass of juice. Ted had been insistent on one thing; alcohol was
not
to be served, no matter the lax regulations when senior officers were concerned. So far, no one had complained, which was interesting. The last time he’d heard about a multinational gathering on a carrier, back before the war, a large amount of expensive alcohol had been drunk.
“But enough about the war,” Shallcross added. “We should talk about something else tonight.”
Ted looked across the compartment. Lieutenant Lopez had outdone herself, first in sourcing the food and drinks, then in arranging the decorations so the compartment looked both large enough to hold everyone while also being comfortable. Two-thirds of Ted’s subordinate commanding officers chatted away, learning more about their fellows with each word. Ted just wished he was as good at chatting to strangers as some of his subordinates. It was hard to hold a conversation with anyone new.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said, after a moment. He’d read the file the Americans had provided, but it had clearly been sanitized. “Why did you join the navy?”
“My father was a soldier from a family of soldiers,” Shallcross said. “So I joined the navy in teenage rebellion. I meant to go into the SEALS, but it turned out I had a knack for commanding starships and I was told it would be better if I stayed in the command track.”
Ted had to smile. “You don’t seem to have done badly,” he said. “Command of two carriers, then a battle squadron ... that’s nothing to sniff at, is it?”
“I like to think so,” Shallcross said. “But my father still thinks I sit on the bridge, sipping my tea, while the groundpounders pound ground.”
Ted lifted an eyebrow. “Tea?”
“Apparently, naval officers are too effeminate to drink coffee,” Shallcross said. He shrugged, expressively. “My father was a very odd man. Went out to Washington as soon as we were all old enough to leave home, built a log cabin and settled in for the long haul. Last I heard, he was organising hunting and crossing swords with the elected mayor of the nearest community.”
“Better than my father,” Ted said. “He died when I was a child.”
He felt oddly morbid for a long moment. It had never really dawned on him until after he’d sobered up that he was now older than his father had been when he’d died. His father had had three kids and a moderately successful career. Ted’s career had stalled until his ship had suddenly become important again and he’d never married, or had children. It was something he’d never really wanted for himself.