The Trafalgar Gambit (Ark Royal) (7 page)

Jill caught his arm.  “There’s a war on?”

“They attacked Vera Cruz nearly a year ago,” Henry said.  he wasn't sure of the precise timing.  “Then they stabbed inwards and advanced on Earth, taking New Russia and several smaller colonies at the same time.  We stopped them, then launched a deep-strike raid on the alien colonies.  I was on that raid ...”

He shrugged.  “I don’t know what happened next,” he said, “but I do know some aliens tried to communicate with the fleet.”

Jill stared.  “They did?”

Henry nodded, sourly.  Humanity’s First Contact protocols had obviously failed, although if the aliens were in a warlike mood they might not have paid attention.  But building up a common language was obviously going to take time, time they didn’t have. 

“it failed,” he said.  “Other aliens stopped them.”

He looked up at her.  “Did they try asking you questions about Earth?  Anything
tactical
?”

“Of course not,” Jill said.  “I don’t
know
anything about Earth.”

“But it suggests they want to learn from you, rather than just suck you dry,” Henry said.  The aliens had kept Jill for at least a year, perhaps longer.  They could have killed her by now if they’d not thought they had a use for her.  “And we have to try to convince them to talk to the rest of humanity.  Get some proper diplomats and language experts here, talking to them.  We might be able to come to an agreement.”

Jill frowned.  “And what if they don’t
want
to come to an agreement?”

“I don’t know,” Henry said.  He thought, briefly, about how the aliens had treated occupied worlds.  New Russia had been occupied, but the aliens had largely left the human population alone.  But it could have just been a tactical decision to avoid starting the genocide until after the humans were thoroughly defeated.  “I just don’t know.”

Ted had known, intellectually, that London had more than its fair share of underground tunnels and bunkers.  Ever since the invention of flight, it had been necessary to hide large parts of the government underground, just to ensure some continuity after the country came under attack.  Nothing, not even the Troubles or the development of orbital bombardment weaponry had deterred the government from protecting itself.

But he couldn't help wondering just how safe and secure the network was, after the tidal waves and floods.  Parts of the power grid seemed to have failed completely, leaving some of the tunnel sections dark and gloomy, while he could hear the sound of water dripping in the distance.  No one had anticipated London being flooded, not since the tidal barriers had been put into service.  And no one had anticipated alien bombardment.  It was all too easy to imagine a crack in the rock and concrete above their heads widening enough to allow a flood of water into the underground network.  They’d be washed away by the water before they realised what was happening or wind up trapped in a subsection of the complex, waiting helplessly for the air to run out.

He shook his head, angrily dismissing the thought, as they passed through a series of secure airlocks and emerged in the basement of Buckingham Palace.  It was a secure complex too, he knew, although it had been centuries since the affairs of the nation were directed from any of the Royal Residencies.  And now most of the Royal Family had been moved into the countryside, with only the King and Crown Princess remaining in London to share the sufferings of their population.  They thought it made good press.

Ted snorted, cynically.  The Royal Family would never starve; Buckingham Palace was safe, secure and
warm
.  There would be emergency transport out of London if the aliens returned or rioters threatened the palace itself.  Somehow, he doubted that many of their subjects would be impressed. 

He looked around, interested, as the equerry led them up a flight of steps and down a long corridor, the walls lined with portraits of monarchs from a bygone age.  There were countless display cases everywhere, showing off the presents given to the monarchs by foreign visitors; several of them, he couldn’t help noticing, had been stripped bare, their contents shipped to bunkers well away from the coast.  The contents of the palace were a vital part of Britain’s heritage, he knew, something that had to be preserved.  But it was hard to take such concerns seriously when he knew millions of people were starving.

Janelle caught his arm as they approached a large pair of wooden doors.  “Admiral,” she said, very softly, “I don't know what to say.”

Ted nodded in agreement.  There
was
a formal protocol for meeting the monarch, but most of it had already been put aside for the private meeting.  The last time he’d met the King, it had been when he’d been awarded a whole series of medals for
Ark Royal’s
victories against the alien foe.  Everyone who had been anyone in British society had been there.  Now, they were having a private meeting ... he shook his head, gently.  Under the circumstances, it seemed absurd to think of protocol.

“Be polite,” he advised.  Offhand, he knew of no naval officers who had regular private meetings with the monarch, even though they technically worked for him.  “And try not to stare
too
much.”

The doors swung open and the equerry stepped through.  “Admiral Sir Theodore Smith,” he announced grandly, leaving out the list of letters Ted was entitled to have after his name, “and Lieutenant Janelle Lopez.”

Ted smiled and stepped through the door.  Inside, it resembled a comfortable sitting room rather than the heart of a monarch’s kingdom.  There were several chairs and a sofa, drawn up around a blazing fire, and a drinks dispenser in one corner.  It was, he realised with a flicker of insight, a place for the royals to be
people
, rather than figurehead rulers for their nation.  And the man ahead of him, wearing a simple tunic and shirt, was King Charles IV of Great Britain, Emperor of Britannia and Prince of Nova Scotia.

He had looked more impressive the first time Ted had met him, Ted mentally conceded, but he’d also looked stressed, knowing that he was permanently on camera.  Even Ted, who had tried to spend the last two decades on
Ark Royal
shutting out the rest of the universe, had known just how intrusive the media were around the Royal Family.  The King and his family had never been able to relax, never been able to do anything for fear it would reflect badly on them – and there was nothing that could not be made to look bad, given time and carefully handling by an unscrupulous reporter and team of editors.  But there were no cameras here, not at the heart of Buckingham Palace.  The King could be himself.

It would have been impossible to tell he
was
the King, Ted decided, if he hadn't known ahead of time.  He looked middle-aged, the very picture of a mature adult, but lacking the dignity offered by his formal robes and the crown he’d worn during the award ceremony.  His hair was grey, slowly shading to white.  He’d never bothered to have his face rejuvenated, Ted noted.  Was it because he wasn't vain enough to have cosmetic surgery or was it because his protocol officers insisted it was beneath the King’s dignity to have himself redesigned to look younger?  There was no way to know.

“Admiral,” the King said.  His voice was very calm, very controlled.  “Please don’t stand on formality, not here.”

He motioned Ted to a seat, then bowed to Janelle as she hastily curtseyed.  “Please, relax,” he insisted.  “Elizabeth and I have been waiting for you.”

He motioned for Janelle to sit on the sofa, next to his daughter, then sat back in his chair.

“I appreciate you coming to see us,” he continued.  “We weren't sure if you’d be able to make it.”

We weren't given a choice
, Ted thought.  But he understood.  The political issues surrounding Prince Henry were a minefield, even if the disasters that had struck the country had pushed the Prince’s life and untimely death onto the backburner.  It wasn't the King who would make the decisions, despite being the boy’s father.  The Prime Minister was the one who would have to decide how best to present Prince Henry’s death to the world.  Or maybe it had been some bureaucrat in the Civil Service who had made the final call.

He looked at the two girls and felt a stab of pity.  They made an odd study in contrasts; Janelle was dark-skinned, with dark hair cropped close to her scalp in accordance with naval regulations, while Elizabeth was blonde, her hair hanging all the way down to the small of her back.  The Princess was several years older than her brother, he recalled, but it had been an open question which one of them would actually succeed their father.  He couldn't help wondering, from the way the Princess held herself, if she’d been in two minds about taking the throne.  But Henry had very definitely
not
wanted to become King.

“I would like to hear about my son’s final moments,” the King said.  “And about his life on your ship.”

Ted hesitated then recollected what he could and launched into the tale.  Henry had been a starfighter pilot, with all the strengths and weaknesses of men and women who had known their next mission could be their last.  He’d lacked the discipline of the Royal Marines or the engineering crews, but he’d been a skilled pilot and
Ark Royal
had been happy to have him as part of the crew.  And it wasn't a lie, he knew.  Prince Henry would have gone far if he hadn’t been killed by the aliens.

“He was a good pilot,” he concluded.  It was unusual for pilots to serve more than three years in the cockpit, but Henry could have gone on to become a CAG – Commander Air Group – or aspired to frigate command, if he’d wanted to stay in the navy.  “And he is deeply missed.”

“And you were fucking him,” Elizabeth said.  Her voice was icy cold.  “Did you know who he was?”

“
Elizabeth
,” her father snapped.

His daughter stared at him with bright blue eyes.  “It has to be asked,” she said.  “You
know
how many ...”

“
Elizabeth
,” her father repeated.

“I didn't know who he was,” Janelle said, quietly.  “As far as I knew, he was just ... Charles Augustus, a starfighter pilot.”

The King shook his head.  “Charles Augustus,” he muttered.  “In hindsight, the media will make it out to be blindingly obvious.”

“But you were screwing him,” Elizabeth insisted.  “Did he never tell you the truth?”

“No,” Janelle said.  Her fists bunched for a long moment, then she forced herself to relax.  “I never knew.”

Ted eyed the girls with some concern.  Janelle had been upset – more than upset – after Henry had died, even before he’d told her who her lover had been.  He’d actually broken his own rule and given her compassionate leave, even though all it had meant in practice was that she got to stay in her cabin rather than carry out her duties.  In hindsight, perhaps he should have kept her busy, with tasks that would keep her mind off her woes. 

There’s a reason married couples aren't allowed to serve together
, he thought, morbidly. 
If one of them dies, the other becomes useless – even dangerous
.

Princess Elizabeth, on the other hand, sounded bitchy – and yet he knew she had good reason to worry.  Her brother would have had no shortage of suitors, Ted suspected, and most of them would have been more interested in claiming a royal title than in Henry himself.  Elizabeth herself would have the same problem, perhaps made worse by the uncertainty over which of the royal children would inherit the throne.  She would never know if anyone who showed interest in her cared more for her – or for the title.  Ted felt a flicker of sympathy for the girl, despite her rudeness.  It was very hard to blame her.

“The Prince never revealed his true identity to anyone,” he said, as reassuringly as he could.  Princess Elizabeth was young enough to be
his
daughter, but he knew next to nothing about being a father.  “No one knew until they caught up with the news broadcasts from Earth,”

The King cleared his throat.  “Be that as it may,” he said, “it still raises uncomfortable questions.”

He looked at Janelle.  “Did either of you discuss the future?”