A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5) (10 page)

“Captain,” Grace said.  “That’s ...”

“That will do,” Joelle said.  She tapped her fork against her plate meaningfully.  “I apologise, Captain.  Some of my staff put their idealism ahead of their common sense.”

John glanced at Grace.  She was blushing.  “I was surprised you didn't invite Professor Nordstrom,” he said.  “I’m sure he could have countered her points more openly.”

“I wanted to talk with you alone,” Joelle said.  She glanced at Grace.  “I’ll speak to you later, if you don’t mind.”

It was clearly a dismissal.  Grace nodded, then rose to her feet and stalked through the hatch to the sleeping compartment.  John wondered, inanely, if the ambassador and her aide were sleeping together, instead of just sharing a cabin, then dismissed the thought.  Even if it were true, and he rather doubted it, they weren't covered by navy regulations against fraternisation.

“It's always interesting to have multiple different viewpoints on a given topic,” Joelle said, once the hatch had closed.  “But, at the same time, it also causes problems when the arguments start overriding everything else.  Do you have that problem in the military?”

“Sometimes,” John said, thinking of Admiral Fitzwilliam and Admiral Soskice.  “But we are trained to pull together, when necessary.”

“You may be right,” Joelle admitted.  “Selling weapons is perhaps the only way we can get large numbers of Vesy on our side.  But, at the same time, it will not go down well on Earth.”

“Politics,” John said, making the word a curse.

“And public relations,” Joelle added.  “You probably know just how many factions there are that want to help the Vesy, while others just want to quarantine their system or even commit genocide, on the theory the Vesy
might
be a threat one day.”

“I know,” John said.

“We have to patch together several different agreements, John,” Joelle said.  She stood and paced over to the drinks machine, then pushed a switch.  Two plastic cups of coffee dropped down into the dispenser.  “We need agreements with the Vesy to give us access to the system, but we also need agreements with other human powers to limit just what we pass on to the Vesy.  And that will get people like Grace” - she nodded towards the hatch - “het up about us treating the Vesy as children.”

“Which may be the best thing to do,” John observed.

“But Professor Nordstrom is right,” Joelle added.  She picked up one of the cups and passed it to John, then took the other for herself.  “The Vesy will resent it hugely if we hold them back - or if we are
seen
to be holding them back.  And yet, if we set up schools and teach them how to be ... well,
human
, that will shatter their society beyond repair.”

John took a sip of his coffee.  “Does their society deserve to be saved?”

Joelle looked back at him, evenly.  “Do you believe we should destroy it?”

“They are savages, by our standards,” John said, flatly.  “In some ways, they are more repressive than many human societies.  One might rightly question if such a society deserves to exist.”

“We answered that one during the Age of Unrest,” Joelle pointed out.  “The idea of reshaping foreign societies was abandoned.  Instead, we chose to merely seal them off from civilised lands.”

“Which condemned millions of people to a life of suffering,” John said, “which was made all the worse by educated youngsters leaving in droves.”

Joelle shrugged.  “We couldn't fix their problems when we had access to the boundless resources of space and all the time in the world,” she said.  “Now, with most of our resources tied up in rebuilding after the war, we couldn't spare anything for the Third World.  They can solve their own problems, if they wish.”

She sat down again, facing him.  “I will need your support, Captain, and your advice,” she said.  “This won’t be easy.”

“You will have as much support as I can give you,” John promised.  “But I don’t expect everyone to fall into line.  Control over Vesy will grant control over the system - and there are seven tramlines here.  The system is a prize worth fighting for.”

Joelle gave him a sharp look.  “You expect one of the interstellar powers to try to seize the system by force?  Invade Vesy itself?”

“It’s a possibility,” John warned.  “The Vesy couldn't put up any real resistance to a single destroyer; hell, a freighter could smash any opposition from orbit with the right weapons kit bolted to the hull.  Come up with an excuse to invade, take the planet by force, make agreements at gunpoint with the surviving city-states, then announce the system closed to everyone else and declare victory.  There’s no reason why it couldn't work.”

Joelle looked disturbed.  “Unless we got the majority of the interstellar powers to agree that invading Vesy is off the table,” she said.  “It isn't as if it’s a human world - and the last war ended with a return to the
status quo
.”

“That would compromise their ability - and ours - to launch punitive strikes,” John pointed out.  The Tadpoles could have prolonged the fighting if humanity had demanded compensation for the death and devastation caused by the war.  “I don’t think they would go for a flat ban on invasion.  What if some of their people come under attack?”

“You have a nasty imagination,” Joelle said.  She reached for a datapad and made a note, then looked back at him.  “What else do you have in mind?”

“Too much,” John said.  “For example, what happens if smugglers start shipping in tech manuals as well as weapons and pieces of technology?  Something dating back to 1800 would be useless to us, but very informative to them.”

Joelle groaned.  “It’s going to be a mess, isn't it?”

“That’s why they pay us the big bucks,” John said.  “But don’t count on this being sorted out in a hurry.”

Chapter Nine

It hadn't been easy to provide a
precise
translation of any of the titles used by Vesy rulers, not when it was impossible to define how they were selected or even what they were supposed to do.  Some of the city-states seemed to have a limited democracy - with very restricted franchises - while others were ruled by powerful citizens or religious factions.  Ivan, who appeared to be an elected king, seemed to fall somewhere in the middle.  Percy had long since given up trying to work out how the system worked.  It was something he would cheerfully leave to the xenospecialists when they finally arrived from Earth.

He bowed, keeping one hand on his pistol in line with local traditions, as Ivan stepped into the meeting room.  The Vesy was very definitely inhuman; tall, taller than the average human, with scaly green skin, dark and beady eyes and a flattened nose.  He wore a long dark cloak that passed for formal wear, among the aliens, and metal chains that ran down from his neck to vanish somewhere in the enshrouding folds of his cloak.  The sword hilt poking out from the robes was a clear warning that Ivan was armed, a freeman of his city-state as well as its ruler.  He’d been the ruler before, Percy knew, but now he was something different.  But then, his former city-state was something else too.

“I greet you,” Ivan said, in careful English.  The Vesy seemed to have a natural gift for languages; by now, English was spreading as fast as Russian.  Percy would have been impressed if he hadn't known that Russian-speaking slaves commanded high prices in the slave markets.  “I thank you for meeting me.”

“I welcome you,” Percy said.  As always, listening to the Vesy reminded him of how he’d spoken as a child, before his mother had started to scold him for talking with his mouth full.  It wasn't
easy
to make out the words, but it could be done.  “I am honoured to have you at my door.”

The Vesy smiled, human-style.  “There is much to discuss,” he said.  “We shall be blunt.”

Percy nodded, unsure if Ivan was using the Royal ‘We’ or speaking about both of them.  The aliens might speak English, but attempts to translate from Vesy-One to English tended to cause problems, particularly when Russian was also involved.  Percy had heard that it had been worse, trying to talk to the Tadpoles, yet he found it somewhat hard to believe.  Besides, the Tadpoles had been helped by communications officers who’d had plenty of time to prepare for an encounter with alien life. 
He
had a handful of Russians and their former hostages.

“There are several powerful coalitions forming against us,” Ivan said.  “We require your support.”

He paused.  “One of them has support from a rogue human.”

Percy winced.  He had always suspected that some of the Russians had been on detached duty when the Russian base had been overrun, then vanished into the countryside when the God-King and his forces were crushed.  None of the Vesy factions had openly
admitted
to keeping a Russian or two prisoner, but Percy wouldn't have expected them to give up such a potential advantage.  A trained Russian soldier could teach his captors everything from human military tactics to gunpowder weapons and other basic firearms.  Given just how many ideas had washed across the planet in the wake of the God-King’s defeat, it would be hard to be sure if one or more had been sown by a Russian advisor.

And we never found all the bodies
, he thought, sourly. 
Too many were simply lost in the final bloody hours of fighting.

“I understand,” he said. 

He cursed under his breath.  There was no way he had the authority to enter into a long-term agreement with Ivan, even if he’d had the force to back it up.  But not entering an agreement could be just as disastrous.  He’d come to realise, in the months since he’d first met the alien, that Ivan was willing to do whatever it took to protect his own people.  And, if he didn't, he would be removed.  His people might respect him, as one of the aristocrats who had forged a link between themselves and the British base, but they wouldn’t tolerate failure.

“We require your support,” Ivan said, again.  “We cannot risk being caught by superior force.”

Percy gritted his teeth.  Trying to put together a political map of Vesy had been a nightmare, even for the Russians; his best guess was that city-states from outside the God-King’s reign of terror were pressing against Ivan and the other survivors of that war.  They had intact armies and, presumably, gunpowder weapons of their own.  God knew the Russians had been lax about preventing the spread of knowledge about muskets and rifles - or cannon.  The Vesy might have been primitive, but they weren't stupid.  Duplicating Russian-designed weapons wouldn't take long.

And the God-King’s empire wasn't held together by anything stronger than naked force
, he thought. 
There’s nothing holding it together now
.

He thought, rapidly.  The hell of it was that he had next to nothing
to
offer and he knew it all too well.  Ten Royal Marines, armed with modern weapons, could dominate the battlefield ... until they ran out of ammunition.  He didn't even have an orbital bombardment system he could call upon, if the shit hit the fan.  And none of the tactics he might have used, on Earth, to win time would be workable on Vesy.  There was certainly no way he could slip an assassin into an enemy city and shoot their leadership dead ...

“There are some ideas we could give you,” he said.  One of the Marines had dug up the plans for primitive hot air balloons, similar to the observation balloons that had been used in the late 19th century, but he wasn't sure if they would be any use to the Vesy.  More advanced weapons would take years to make.  “But I don’t have the resources to offer you more.”

Ivan didn't move - the Vesy stayed inhumanly still, when not moving deliberately - but he didn't seem pleased.  “We have supplied you with workers, with materials, with food,” the alien said.  “And yet you will not assist us in our time of need?”

“There will be assistance when the ship returns,” Percy said, although he had no idea if that was actually true.  It was quite possible that the World Court would agree to quarantine Vesy permanently, at least until the Vesy reached into space on their own.  “However, I have only limited supplies ...”

He stopped as his radio bleeped.  “Corporal, report to HQ,” Peerce said.  There was an urgency in his voice that Percy had never heard before, even when the shit was hitting the fan.  “I say again, report to HQ at once.”

“Excuse me,” Percy said.  “I need to run.”

Ivan nodded, mimicking the human expression.  The meeting room was not only outside the walls, it was designed to make both races as comfortable as possible.  Ivan would be able to relax until Percy returned, if he wished, or return to his city-state and resume the discussion later.  Percy nodded back, then hurried out the door and down towards the gateway leading into the fort.  Nothing seemed to have changed, he noted as he passed the guests and entered the large prefabricated building, but Peerce’s voice had sounded urgent.  Had a starship finally returned to Vesy?

“Corporal,” Peerce said, as Percy entered the compartment.  “The orbital satellites have picked up a number of ships heading to the planet.”

Percy nodded.  “Human ships?”

It would have been a stupid question, once.  It wasn't any longer.

“IFFs suggest they’re a mixture of American, French and Indian ships, with a handful that aren't broadcasting IFFs” Peerce said.  “There may be more; the orbital network isn’t designed to track ships beyond a couple of AUs.  The Indians seem to have the largest contingent; there are nine freighters, five warships and a starship of indeterminate design and function.  She might be a troop transporter.”

“Shit,” Percy said, as he checked the holographic display.  None of the ships were British, as far as he could tell, and he had a feeling they’d resent being told what to do by a mere corporal ... particularly one who had nothing to back up his orders.  If the newcomers wanted to land on the other side of the planet, there was nothing Percy could do to stop them.  “Send them the pre-planned greeting, then an invitation to land at Fort Knight.”

“We might find it hard to handle them all,” Peerce said.  “We don’t have the barracks or warehouses to cope with more than a small influx.”

“At least they’d have access to translators here,” Percy said, although he knew Peerce was right.  He couldn’t help feeling more than a little out of his depth.  Would it really have been so hard for a starship to be dispatched back to Vesy at once?  “We can offer to introduce them to the locals.”

There was a long pause.  “Picking up a signal from the Americans,” the operator said, after a moment.  “It’s relayed through the satellite network.”

Percy nodded.  “Let’s hear it.”

A dark-skinned man appeared in the display.  “This is Captain Samuel Johnston of USS
Rhode Island
,” he said.  “Thank you for your invitation to land at Fort Knight.  It will be our pleasure to join you on the surface as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” Percy said.  “Welcome to Vesy.”

The American’s image vanished from the display.  Percy let out a sigh of relief; it looked as though the Americans, at least, were going to be reasonable.  But then, the Americans might not have access to the files from either
Warspite
or the Russian deserters.  They might feel it was better to make their first contacts with the Vesy through Fort Knight.  The next starship might not be so cooperative. 

“Picking up another signal,” the operator said.  “It's from one of the ships without an IFF.”

“Greetings,” a voice said.  There was no visual image.  “We represent the Society of Interstellar Brotherhood.  It is our intention to land on Vesy and assist our new brothers to reach for the stars.”

Percy groaned.  The Society of Interstellar Brotherhood had picketed Redford Barracks on Earth, back when he’d been stationed there.  He honestly hadn’t been able to understand why
anyone
would consider aliens to be brothers of men, not when the sole known alien race - at the time - had started a war and slaughtered millions of humans.  And then they’d started insisting that humanity intervene and save the Tadpoles from themselves or something along those lines.  Percy really hadn't paid too much attention.  The idea of humanity trying to do more than maintain the peace was laughable.

“Welcome to Vesy,” he said, carefully.  “I must inform you that all contacts with the Vesy are handled through Fort Knight, so please take a slot in orbit and await landing permission.”

“We have no intention of waiting before we make contact,” the voice said.  “You have no authority to deny us permission to land.”

Percy wondered, briefly, if he could ask the Americans to intervene.  But it would be something well about his pay grade ... and it could easily explode in his face, if it led to a diplomatic incident.  Instead, he thought fast.  There had to be an argument he could use to convince them to see sense.

“You will need translators to
talk
to the Vesy,” he said, after a moment.  “The only way to get them is to work through Fort Knight.  Of course, you
could
land elsewhere, but you would have to relearn their language for yourself and they might misinterpret your actions ...”

There was a long pause.  “We will work through Fort Knight, if we can land within a day,” the voice said, finally.  “Our ship isn't chartered indefinitely.”

Percy glanced at the data download - someone on the ship had had the sense to send their details,
finally
- and groaned.  They’d chartered an Israeli ship - and the Israelis were notoriously stubborn about defending their rights.  His half-formulated plan to take their shuttle, then seize their starship and hold the Brothers in orbit until more ships arrived from Earth would have to be abandoned.  It would cause a major diplomatic incident for nothing.

Peerce reached over and tapped the mute button.  “Bring them down here,” he advised, softly.  “We can hold them at Fort Knight if necessary.”

“Understood,” Percy said.  He untapped the button and cleared his throat.  “We will arrange living space for you at Fort Knight.  You should be able to land within a day, as you request.”