The Trafalgar Gambit (Ark Royal) (36 page)

***

Kurt lifted his eyebrows in surprise as his orders popped up on the display.  The aliens had come up with something new – no, not entirely
new
, but certainly a new adaption of an older concept.  And if it could be taken out, the battle might be won without further ado.  He relayed his orders to the rest of the squadron, then yanked his starfighter around and raced towards the alien tanker.  The remaining pilots followed in his wake.

“Switch to random fire,” he ordered, as the alien starfighters rose up to bar his way.  The tanker didn't seem to be anything like as manoeuvrable as an assault shuttle, let alone a starfighter.  It's only real defence was remaining undetected.  “Don’t let them lure you into a dogfight.”

A quick glance at the scope told him that two pilots had ignored his orders, but the remainder held firm behind him as they blasted through the alien formation and closed in rapidly on the tanker.  It tried to alter course, then open fire with weapons of its own, but it was futile.  Kurt pushed down on the trigger and watched with unholy glee as the tanker exploded into a colossal fireball, which faded rapidly in the inky darkness of space.  Behind him, the aliens reversed course and threw themselves back towards the carrier.  They had to know they didn’t have a hope of survival, he realised, so they were determined to inflict what damage they could in their remaining hour of life.

“Pursuit course,” he ordered.  He wasn't
that
worried about the Old Lady, but the frigates and escort carriers were at serious risk.  As, he reminded himself sharply, was the alien starship from the Peace Faction.  “Take the bastards out!”

But he already knew it might be too late.

***

“Enemy starfighters closing on attack vector,” Farley reported.  “CSP is moving to engage.”

“Activate point defence,” James ordered, sharply.  The aliens looked more intent on ramming his ship than trying to strafe her with plasma fire.  But then, they had good reason to know that strafing
Ark Royal
was a waste of time.  Unless they blew off her weapons and sensor blisters ... he shook his head.  There was no time to waste thinking about the potential dangers.  “And fire as soon as the aliens come into range.”

The alien craft swooped down on
Ark Royal
, then scattered.  Three plunged directly towards the carrier, two picked off before they could slam into the hull; the third rammed the hull directly, only to inflict nothing more than a scar.  The remaining starfighters headed towards the smaller ships, despite the growing hail of point defence.  One of them slammed into
Bolton
and the escort carrier vanished in a tearing explosion.  The final alien starfighters changed course and headed towards the fleet transport.  But it was too late.  The CSP overwhelmed and destroyed them short of their target.

“HMS
Bolton
confirmed destroyed,” Farley said, quietly.  “No lifepods; I say again, no lifepods.”

James winced.  He’d seen too many people die since the war had begun.  Very few of them had had a chance to escape into the lifepods before their ships exploded.  Prince Henry had really been incredibly lucky.  But at least
Bolton
was replaceable.  She'd only carried fifty crewmen, not counting her pilots.  The Royal Navy had had a dozen more conversions under way when the flotilla had departed the Sol System.

“Launch a final shell of recon drones, then stand down,” he ordered.  “Recall all but one of the starfighter squadrons; designate the remaining squadron as CSP.  Recycle one squadron to replace the CSP as soon as possible.”

“Aye, sir,” Farley said.

James let out a long breath.  “Commander Williams, you have the bridge,” he said.  “Inform me if anything changes.”

“Aye, Captain,” Commander Williams said.  “I have the bridge.”

James nodded, then strode towards the hatch to his office.  He needed a rest, urgently.  And so did the Admiral.  But nagging the Admiral wasn't his job.

But you should ask him to rest anyway
, he thought, as he stepped through the hatch. 
He needs his sleep too
.

***

“It does look as though the War Faction has determined that the other factions are committing treason,” Ambassador Melbourne said.  “What else explains attacks that will widen the war?”

Henry shrugged.  Ambassador Melbourne wasn't as bad as some of the ambassadors he’d had to deal with, thankfully.  But then, the Ambassador knew Henry had done a considerable amount of legwork in organising the first true diplomatic meeting between humans and aliens.  He wasn't just a useless Prince to the Ambassador.

“So it would seem,” he said.  He paused.  “You know, I never thought to ask.  What do they call themselves?”

“Something we cannot even
begin
to pronounce,” Ambassador Melbourne told him.  “We did ask them, but we don’t have a proper translation for the answer.  We’re still arguing if we should call them something in Latin, perhaps ‘intelligent fishes.’”

Henry shrugged, again.  He knew no Latin.

“But others think that would be offensive,” Ambassador Melbourne added.  “They don’t seem to think the way we do, but they might object to being called fishes.”

“They have more in common with frogs,” Henry said.  “But I suppose the French would be pissed if we called them frogs.”

Ambassador Melbourne nodded, bluntly.

“I think you didn't come here to talk to me about naming conventions,” he said, shortly.  “It is nice to talk to you, Your Highness, but I don’t have time for a long chat.  What do you want?”

You to be polite
, Henry thought, although it was hard to blame the Ambassador.  Henry
had
interrupted a meeting with the Ambassador’s aides, just to make his request.  As reasonable as the Ambassador was, interrupting him could not have gone down well. 

“I believe you will have packed a few hampers,” he said, remembering his first diplomatic mission.  “Please can I borrow one?”

Ambassador Melbourne’s eyes narrowed.  “Can I ask why?”

“I’d prefer not,” Henry said.  “But I would be prepared to offer my endorsement in the future.”

The Ambassador studied him for a long moment.  Henry was powerless, formally, and he would have little power even if he took the Throne.  But he would have a great deal of informal influence, if he saw fit to use it properly.  The Ambassador would be able to call in the debt one day.

“Very well,” Ambassador Melbourne said, finally.  “But I would advise you to be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Henry lied.  “Have it delivered to my cabin at the end of the day.”

It had been years since Henry had seen a full-sized hamper, even one designed for a handful of people rather than a full diplomatic party.  Setting it up on his own had been a headache, but it wasn't as though he was short of time.  His only real official duty was monitoring the diplomatic talks and offering his insights, such as they were.  Trained researchers seemed to have already moved ahead, thanks to computer assistance, of where he’d been when they’d returned to the Old Lady.

He looked up as he heard the door chime.  “Come,” he called.  “It’s open.”

The hatch hissed open, revealing Janelle.  She started into the room ... and then stopped and stared in disbelief.  Henry had set up the table with knives, forks, plates and glasses from the hamper, each one worth more than a midshipwoman would see in a year.  The cold meats and bread in the centre of the table, surrounded by sauces and spices, were just the icing on the cake.

“... Henry?”

Henry rose to his feet, suddenly very nervous.  It had seemed a good idea, even a great idea, when he'd first had it, but now ... he honestly wasn't sure if it had been a good idea after all.  They’d first met and courted in the heat of battle, with the certainty of death hanging over their heads, and now ... she’d thought him dead and a liar and ... what if she laughed in his face or slapped him again?

“I thought we needed a proper dinner,” he said.  He waved a hand to indicate the table and the glowing candles he’d placed around the compartment.  “What do you think?”

Janelle stared at him, then shook her head in amused disbelief.  “Where did you get the food?”

“There’s always a diplomatic hamper or two dozen wherever the diplomats go,” Henry said, as he motioned for her to take one of the seats.  “They always have the best food, intended for the diplomat and his counterpart to share while bonding – or perhaps doing some secret negotiation.  I just asked for one.”

Janelle sat down.  “And you want to share it with me?”

Henry swallowed.  This wasn't going according to plan.

“I wanted us to have a proper dinner,” he said.  “And a proper chat.  We haven't really had time for it since we reunited, have we?”

“No,” Janelle said.  He could see the doubt in her eyes warring with something else.  Guilt, perhaps.  There wasn’t much food on the table, but it was of higher quality than anything else on the ship.  The mess served slop by comparison.  “Henry ...”

“Please, eat,” Henry said.  He took a piece of bread, buttered it expertly, then reached for a chunk of chicken.  “This is all going to a good cause.”

Janelle hesitated, then took a piece of bread for herself.  They munched in companionable silence for several minutes, trying out the different slices of chicken, pork and beef with their respective toppings.  It
was
a very diplomatic meal, Henry knew, as he swallowed a piece of beef with horseradish sauce.  The diners could take whatever they wanted, add whatever seasoning they wanted to try and eat.  There would be no row over badly chosen dishes.

He put down his final piece of bread with some satisfaction, then poured them both a glass of rose water.  It had been a surprise to discover that there was no alcohol in the hamper, but perhaps that was for the best.  Alcohol might have made them both act badly. 

“There's rarely very much in these hampers,” he explained, as she took her glass.  “The idea is to show off the very top-class foods, rather than try to negotiate when the other side is stuffed to bursting.  It isn't an easy balance to strike.”

He sat back in his chair and looked at her.  She was stunning, as always, but there was a harder edge around her now.  Loving him, losing him ... and discovering that her life was no longer her own had to have left scars.  Henry cursed himself under his breath, then leaned forward.  He wanted – he needed – to make her understand.

“I fell in love with you,” he said.  It was so hard to find the right words.  “I wanted to enjoy being with someone who wanted me for myself.”

“And so you did,” Janelle said.  Her voice was very even, but he thought he heard a quaver in her tone.  “But I never expected to discover you were hiding a dark secret.”

“I know,” Henry said.  Most boys would have concealed a past girlfriend or an unwholesome relationship, perhaps an experiment with homosexuality. 
He’d
concealed a connection to the Royal Family.  “I should have told you from the start.”

“But you couldn't,” Janelle said.  “You had no way of knowing what I would do with it.”

“No,” Henry said.  He swallowed, again.  Other royals had been betrayed through trusting in the wrong person.  “You might have wanted to become a Princess or you might have contacted the media or ...”

“I understand,” Janelle said, tonelessly.

“I was going to tell you,” Henry said, remembering the Admiral chewing him out for selfishness.  “I told myself that I would confess the truth on the voyage back to Earth and if you decided you didn't want to be part of the Royal Family – or even have a relationship with someone in the family – we would separate and no one would be any the wiser.”

“That would not have happened,” Janelle pointed out.  “
Someone
saw fit to contact the media about me after your name was revealed.”