His Majesty's Starship (37 page)

Gilmore didn’t. “Two of my crew are still on UK-1,” he said. “Leroux won’t let them go.”

“He won’t?” James ground his teeth. Damn Leroux, he had been ordered. “You’ll have them back as soon as possible.” He nodded at Dyer, who reached for her own aide.

Another pause. Gilmore actually seemed to be considering whether or not to obey the order. Didn’t he realise how-

“Very good, sir. Gilmore out.”

*

It took an impressive 17 minutes for the missing crew to be returned, during which time
Ark Royal
’s main engine was powered up and the ship positioned to boost after
Shivaji
.

They came in through the lock to cries of delight from Julia and Hannah, who also had a hug for Samad.

“Later,” said Gilmore. He spoke to Samad, Peter and Julia in turn. “Get aft, take the spare desk, make final adjustments and start a two minute countdown. We’ll boost at two gees.” He briefed the newcomers on the situation, using the p/a for Samad’s benefit.

On the flight deck, Hannah had the main desk and Julia the watch desk; the two auxiliary desks were taken by Gilmore and Peter. “How will we stop them, sir?” Peter said. Gilmore had been putting that question out of his mind but knew it had to be answered.

“However we can,” he said, biting the bullet. He carefully didn’t look at Hannah directly.

“We still don’t know what they’re chasing,” Hannah said.

“No,” Gilmore agreed, “but the prince convinced me it’s in the UK’s best interests for us to stop them.” He listened to his own words and knew how they sounded: since when had the UK’s interests been of interest to him? But his differences lay with the UK’s rulers: the UK was also 7000 people and they were quite another matter. He had a duty to them.

“Sir?” Hannah sounded disbelieving.

“If you don’t like the rules, Commander,” Gilmore said, “you don’t join the club. The fact is, we all work for Prince James and these are our orders. If we can’t live with that, we should never have joined.” God, I sound like a Rustie. “And what
Shivaji
is doing is piracy,” he added.

“Main engine is standing by,” Samad reported.

“Thirty seconds,” Hannah said tightly.

“Clearance from Traffic Control,” said Julia, over the rising hum of the flight systems.

“All hands prepare for boost,” said Hannah, and the manoeuvring bell sounded.

Ark Royal
’s main engine fired.

*

R.V. Krishnamurthy looked at the blip on the displays as a cobra might look at a mouse, just out of striking range but getting slowly closer, so slowly ...

“We’ll be able to send over grapples in seven minutes,” said Amijee. Krishnamurthy could detect his reluctance to have anything to do with this matter; a Hindu of the old school.

“Perhaps we could use a laser to cut the boosters off,” said Krishnamurthy. “How close would we need to be to be?”

Amijee consulted. “Another two minutes, Excellency, though if we ignited the fuel-”

“I’ve seen what happens when lasers ignite fuel,” Krishnamurthy said mildly. “Cut off the fusion boosters. When the chemical boosters stop firing, the scow will be ours. Have a laser operative stand by.” He turned to Brigadier Rao of the NVN. “Your people are to stand by in space armour. You will be sent out to retrieve the package and bring it into the boat bay.”

“Yes, Excellency.”

“Excellency.” Ranjitsinhji murmured in his ear. “I feel it my place to bring all the facts to your attention. Our actions on the Roving were sanctioned by Delhi; this was not. It is blatantly illegal by all international standards. Can you be sure you will be supported in your actions?”

Krishnamurthy stared him down. “Delhi has always allowed me some latitude, Subhas, and always supported me.”

“You are trying to force the UK out of the equation, but if your actions have that effect on ourselves instead-”

“Watch and learn, Subhas. Watch and learn.”

“I am watching,” said Ranjitsinhji with a horrible complacency. That settled it: whatever the outcome of this little venture, Krishnamurthy had decided Ranjitsinhji would soon be a non-person.

“Excuse me, Excellency,” Amijee said, “but there may be a ship following us.”

“May be?” said Krishnamurthy. “May? You can’t tell?”

“It’s directly aft of our fusion flame, if it exists at all. It’s only stray leakage of signals that arouses our suspicions. And if it exists, it is closing.”

“How long?”

“Eight minutes, Excellency.”

Krishnamurthy smiled. “That will be too late, will it not? Let them come.”

*

Gilmore looked at the figures as if willpower could make them change, but the other ship had the lead and would continue to have it.

“Still nothing from
Shivaji
?” he said to Julia.

“Nothing, sir. I don’t think they can hear us.”

“Damn.” Gilmore had been too clever. Though he said so himself, it had been a pretty good idea to come up directly aft of the Confederation ship, hidden from its instruments by its own fusion burn ... but the same tactic prevented radio getting through. He had wanted to give
Shivaji
a graceful way out – order them to cease boost and prepare to return to their previous position. “We’re going to have to get their attention,” he said. He touched one of the contacts on his desk.

“Plantagenet,” he said. “Can you hear me?” The others just looked at him, knowing what choices faced him and glad they didn’t have to make them themselves.

“I hear you, Captain.” The AI was as didactic as ever. “I must protest at the treatment I have received-”

“The prince once told me that you have the torpedo targeting software in your code. I need it.”

“I see. I must ask the circumstances: it appears I have certain safeguards that prevent the software being used for improper purposes.”

Gilmore tapped his fingers on the desk. “Consult the ship’s log and you’ll see what is happening.”

“Do you intend to release me from my cage?”

“Do you intend to tell me why you tampered with Lieutenant Kirton’s software?”

“I regret I am unable to do so.”

“Then I don’t intend to release you. Mr Kirton, download the log to Plantagenet.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

There was a pause. Too long a pause.

“Plantagenet?” Gilmore demanded.

“Interesting,” said Plantagenet after another second. “I have missed a great deal. The UK winning the bid, the death of King Richard-”

“Just give me the software!” Gilmore demanded.

“If you will undertake to hear my case once this matter is over, then I will comply with your request.”

Gilmore ground his teeth.

“Agreed,” he said.

“Then I am ready to download the software.”

“Lieutenant, give him as small a window as possible.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Peter said again.

“It is done,” Plantagenet said a moment later.

“Give control to my desk,” said Gilmore. The laser fields in front of him lit up with something quite unlike their usual display of the ship’s systems.

He looked at the images, trying to remember the prince’s description of the ship’s armaments on the outward journey and assimilating the sense of the displays accordingly. He couldn’t remember and he didn’t have time now to guess.

“What do I do now?” he said.

“You must make your choices known to the weapons AI. I will activate it for you.”

“Please indicate your choice,” said the voice of the system.

“One fusion, space-to-space,” Gilmore said. Something within him was screaming with horror but he pushed it deep down inside himself.

Hannah cleared her throat. “Captain,” she said. “May I remind you that you gave your word
Ark Royal
would not fire first?”

Gilmore looked at her. Her gaze was firm but her jaw trembled. He could be about to lose his closest friend because, of all things, he was trusting Prince James. What had happened to him?

Perhaps he had simply accepted that like it or not, space would be dominated by the likes of Prince James or the likes of Krishnamurthy: two evils, perhaps, but with one clearly lesser than the other. But James was going to pay for this, even so.

“I could use all kinds of clever arguments to justify this, Number One,” he said. “Just say I believe I am acting in the spirit of my original statement.” Without waiting for an answer he turned back to the desk.

“Please indicate your target,” the AI said.

“First, what is the blast radius of one of these warheads?” Without a surrounding atmosphere to deliver the shockwave of the blast, even a fusion bomb was limited in what it could do in space. Hard radiation and heat would be the main killers.

“In space, radiation damage will be caused to a vessel of standard shielding within five miles of the explosion, heat damage within one mile.” The display changed to show the projected spheres of damage. “Please indicate your target.”

Gilmore thought. “Target is fifty miles abeam of
Shivaji
.”

“‘
Shivaji
’” is an unknown parameter.”

“The large ship off the bow.”

An image of
Shivaji
appeared. “This is the nearest match found to your description. Please confirm that this-”

“That’s it,” Gilmore said.

“Please confirm choice. One space-to-space fusion warhead to explode fifty miles abeam of
Shivaji
.”

“I confirm that,” said Gilmore.

“Parameters are set.” There was a whirr and a clunk from forward. “Torpedo is run out and ready for firing,” said the system. According to the displays the torpedo was held thirty feet away from the hull by an extended arm.

“Captain,” said Hannah. Gilmore braced himself, but she simply said, “the Rusties only intervened in the last conflict when nuclear weapons started being used.”

“Thank you, Number One. May I remind you that that was in orbit around the Roving and we are now too far out for nuclear explosions to pose a threat to them. Weapons?”

“Standing by,” said the AI.

“Fire,” said Gilmore.

The torpedo blasted away from
Ark Royal
at 50 gees.

Almost at once the warhead detached from the main booster section. The booster carried on in the same direction but disintegrated into smaller sections. The designers of these torpedoes had thought of everything – they had added built-in chaff to confuse the defences of anything they attacked.

The warhead closed in on its target. It was a sphere, with clusters of thrusters at each pole and at 90o around its equator. It was constantly heading in the same general direction but zig-zagging, darting from side to side and up and down at random. It was too small to have enough fuel to keep up the manoeuvring for long, but it didn’t need long – just enough to confuse the target and get close to it.

And then the torpedo exploded. There was no fireball in space, just a dazzling flash of light, heat greater than the inside of a sun and a deadly blast of hard radiation.

“Run out two more,” said Gilmore. “Target, straddling
Shivaji
, twenty miles abeam.”

*

“What was that?” Amijee bellowed. “Ops?”

“A nuclear explosion, unknown source,” said the person at the Ops station.

“I can guess its source. Has it damaged us?”

“Negative. I would guess it was a warning shot.”

“Then we must cut-”

“Carry on,” said Krishnamurthy. “We must get that scow.”

“Excellency, they didn’t aim precisely fifty miles off our beam by chance! As long as we’re boosting, we’ll be unmissable.”

“Electronic countermeasures-” said Krishnamurthy.

“Our flame must be the juiciest target in space.”

“Then we return fire.”

“Our torpedoes all face forward. We will have to turn, which means cutting the burn-”

An alarm sounded. “What is that?” Krishnamurthy demanded.

“The five minute bell,” said Amijee. “At this rate of boost, in five minutes we won’t have enough fuel to return to our old orbit.”

“Then we have five minutes-” said Krishnamurthy.

A second white flash blazed across space; and another, the other side of the ship.

“Range, twenty miles,” Ops reported.

“Increase power,” Krishnamurthy ordered.

“Excellency, we’re not rated for more acceleration-” Amijee protested.

“Increase power,” Krishnamurthy repeated. He strode to the helm station. “I am taking command of this vessel. Increase thrust to three gees.”

Bewildered, the pilot looked from Krishnamurthy, to Amijee, to Ranjitsinhji, to Rao, and back to Krishnamurthy. He finally decided who he was most afraid of and his hand reached for the thrust controls.

“Belay,” said Amijee. “Sound the free fall bell and cut the burn.”

“Do as I say,” Krishnamurthy whispered in the pilot’s ear.

Amijee looked helplessly from Krishnamurthy to Rao.

“Tell him!” he pleaded the NVN man.

“Excellency.” Rao stepped forward. “It is my opinion that you are no longer fit to serve the Confederation. Pilot, do as your captain says. Excellency, you will be escorted to your cabin-”

Krishnamurthy barely heard him over the ringing in his ears. No longer fit to serve the Confederation? No longer fit to serve the Confederation? When he had dedicated his life to his country while this man, this jumped-up NVN nincompoop was just a puking brat in arms-

He looked at the display. Just a minute more and they would be in range. He would show them. He would have the UK’s secret, whatever it was, and he would show them-

He lunged for the thrust controls.

It was like three heavy blows slugging into him, and his mind only distantly related them to the three rapid shots that had been fired. Dazed and terribly weak, terribly tired, he realised he was on the floor. The blurred shapes before his eyes were the pilot’s feet and the red stuff flowing rapidly in all directions was coming out of him.

Two more feet stopped in front of him. The trousers were clad in civilian white, not NVN green. He looked up and his gaze passed a pistol hanging loosely by its owner’s side. His stare came to rest on the face, an infinite distance away and still receding. He could barely keep his eyes open.