A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5) (6 page)

“Come,” John said.

Howard stepped into the cabin, looking amused.  “I just received an update from Engineer Johnston,” he said.  “Apparently, he won’t be back until tomorrow morning.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” John said.  Howard sent him an odd look - clearly, he hadn't realised that Mike Johnston was attempting to court Juliet Watson - then schooled his face back into bland inoffensiveness.  John concealed his own amusement and waved a hand at the sofa.  “Please, take a seat.”

“Thank you, sir,” Howard said, as he sat down.  “I understand you met Lieutenant-Commander Rosenberg?”

“She seems competent, judging by her record,” John said.  “But she only saw service towards the end of the war?”

“Yes, sir,” Howard said.  “There aren’t that many experienced junior officers at the moment.”

“Too true,” John mused.  “We really should work on bringing more mustangs into the ranks.”

He sighed, inwardly.  He wasn't
precisely
a mustang, but he knew that mustangs faced considerable hardships as they made the jump from being an enlisted crewman to an officer’s billet.  They were often more experienced than their fellows, who were normally quite a few years younger, yet they rarely fitted in socially.  The Old Boy’s Network that cast a long shadow over promotions boards didn't normally boost the careers of mustang officers.  It was often considered preferable to assist a junior officer with the right connections.

“She did handle herself well, sir,” Howard said.

“I know,” John said.

He cleared his throat.  “You seem to have done an excellent job,” he added, “so thank you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Howard said.

“I also expect you to speak your mind,” John added, after a moment.  He tapped the datapad meaningfully.  “I know that what gets written down isn't always the precise truth, but really ... I do need your uncensored impressions of everything from the crew to our orders.  It won’t be held against you.”

“Yes, sir,” Howard said.

John met his eyes.  “So tell me,” he ordered.  “Are there any problems I should know about that aren't in the reports?”

Howard looked back at him, evenly.  “The only real problem I have, sir, is that the crew have grown alarmingly used to inconsistent first officers,” he said.  His voice was very flat.  “Commander Watson largely left matters in the hands of department heads, who often didn't have the authority to deal with various problems; Commander Richards ... ah, Senior Chief Richards ... was a hands-on XO, but he often let himself get preoccupied with the small things, rather than the bigger picture.  I therefore found myself dealing with officers who thought they had to handle problems themselves and crewmen who thought they could come to me with anything.”

“Ouch,” John said.  He’d been an XO himself, but his predecessor had been a good man and a reliable officer.  “How have you been coping with this problem, which - I note - has never been mentioned in the files?”

“I held a long meeting with the department heads shortly after our return to Earth and outlined what I expected them to do and what I expected them to forward to me,” Howard said.  “There was some dispute - they’d grown used to the extra authority - but I managed to handle it.  I also spoke with the Senior Chief and worked with him to both maintain my distance and support crewmen who needed advice and a helping hand.”

“Very good,” John said.  He’d discuss the matter with Richards later, he knew, but it
sounded
good.  “What problems have the crew had?”

“The usual, sir,” Howard assured him.  “A couple of outbreaks of drunkenness, after alcohol was smuggled up from Sin City.  A nasty little fight between two crewmen that put one of them in sickbay and the other in the brig; I’ve had them both handed over to the redcaps for long-term investigation and punishment.  And one incident of a crewwoman using a hacked pleasure implant and nearly killing herself.”

John winced.  “How did you handle the drunkenness?”

“Both crewmen were put on punishment duty,” Howard said.  “I didn't feel they deserved to be busted, but they needed to feel some punishment for nearly killing themselves.  The crewwoman has been remanded to Luna City for psychotic observation and evaluation.  I don't think she will ever be able to return to active duty.”

“Probably not,” John agreed.  He’d have to read the notes, but if someone was stupid enough to hack a pleasure implant it was quite likely they’d accidentally kill themselves.  The crewwoman had been lucky, for a given value of luck.  She might spend the rest of her life hopelessly addicted to the sensation of having her pleasure centres triggered, time and time again.  “But keep an eye on it anyway.”

“Yes, sir,” Howard said.  He paused.  “Is this normal? I mean ... all these problems ...”

“They tend to get worse when we spend months at anchor, doing bugger all,” John told him, flatly.  “Crewmen are at their best when there’s something to do; they’re at their worst when they’re stuck in the ship, while the pleasures of Sin City are only a shuttle flight away.  It’s why we try hard to keep them busy.”

He shrugged, then glanced at the datapad.  “I’m transmitting our orders to you,” he added, after a moment.  “We’ll discuss the problems we will face later, once you’ve had a chance to read them.  It won’t be an easy mission.”

“Yes, sir,” Howard said.  “I understand we will be transporting ambassadors.”

“One ambassador and her staff,” John said.  “And we’re going back to Vesy.”

“Hopefully, no Russians this time,” Howard said.

John snorted.  “Maybe not,” he said.  He’d glanced at the orbital monitors while he’d been on Nelson Base.  A number of ships had filed flight plans for Vesy - and several others had filed plans that were so vague that he suspected they too were heading to the newly-discovered alien homeworld.  “But everyone else is coming instead.”

Chapter Five

As a child, Corporal Percy Schneider rather suspected he would have loved Fort Knight.  It looked rather like a Wild West fort, complete with wooden outer walls, a handful of buildings just beyond the doors and a large Union Jack flying in the strange-smelling breeze.  But, as an adult, he was grimly aware that Fort Knight wasn't particularly defensible against anything more dangerous than Braves on horseback.  The ten Royal Marines - and thirty former Russian prisoners - wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight if the base came under attack.

But at least we could hold long enough to get the civilians out
, he thought, although he knew the civilians wouldn't be able to stay away for long.  Vesy was an
alien
world, without any safe places for runaway humans. 
And we would make them pay for attacking us
.

He sighed, then walked towards the office they’d put together from prefabricated components borrowed from Pegasus.  The Vesy themselves admired the prefabricated buildings, but they’d been happy to take a few trinkets in exchange for building wooden cabins and barracks for the human settlers.  Percy had a feeling that the base would be expanded rapidly, once Earth heard about the existence of a second alien race; besides, paying the Vesy to help expand the facilities kept them sweet.  He was all-too-aware that there would be no help from any other human faction if the base came under attack.

“Corporal,” Platoon Sergeant Danny Peerce said, as Percy stepped up to the metal doorway leading into the office.  “The miscreants are inside.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Percy said.  “I’ll chew them out personally.”

“Just remember there aren't any replacements,” Peerce warned.  “You can't have anyone beached permanently - or dumped in the brig.”

Percy nodded.  They had an odd relationship; he might have been given command of the section, a ten-man team of Royal Marines, but Peerce outranked him - and had much more experience, to boot.  And yet, the Sergeant seemed content to treat Percy as a promising young officer who needed mentoring, rather than an outright subordinate.  Percy wasn't sure if his family name was working in his favour, or someone had seen promise in him he hadn't seen for himself, but it led to some awkward conversations.  It would have been harder if he hadn't had a sneaking suspicion that Peerce was actually
enjoying
himself.

It must be nice to mentor an officer you can relieve if necessary
, Percy thought, as he stepped through the hatch. 
Normally, it wouldn't be so easy to get rid of an over-promoted upper-class twit
.

“Gentlemen,” he said, as Peerce followed him into the office and closed the hatch behind him.  “I trust you have an explanation for this?”

Private John Hardesty and Private William Oakley exchanged looks.  “We thought we wanted to spice things up a little,” Hardesty said, finally.  “They wanted to learn what we were doing ...”

“So you decided to teach the Vesy how to play Poker,” Percy said.  He had no idea if it was against regulations to teach aliens how to gamble, but he had a feeling it was probably covered by the non-interference edict.  Except, of course, for the simple fact that the non-interference edict had already been smashed to pieces by the Russians.  “And now the game is spreading through their society?”

“Yes, sir,” Hardesty said. 

Percy fought down the urge to rub his forehead in frustration.  The hell of it was that there was very little to do on Vesy, besides standing guard and talking to the aliens.  He couldn't spare the manpower to do building work, let alone exercises that might work off some of the growing boredom.  And there certainly weren't any available women - or men - to chase.  The former hostages were off-limits, even if they’d been interested.  He didn't really blame the two for looking for something else to do.

“Do you know,” he asked, “what this will do to them?”

“No, sir,” Oakley said.

“Me neither,” Percy said.  “It could cause a great deal of damage - and not just to them!”

He groaned, inwardly.  It was easy to see the Vesy getting into debt to a pair of humans - and trading gold or silver to pay off the debt.  He’d heard tales of men stationed in the Middle East who’d wound up in real trouble after taking bribes from the locals.  But it was also easy to see his men being corrupted and then manipulated into secretly passing information or technology on to the Vesy.  What would a Marine do when he owed the aliens more than he could reasonably pay ... and knew he would be in deep shit if his superiors ever found out?

“We are guests on their world,” he added, sharply.  “When you were gambling, what were you gambling for?”

“Chips,” Oakley said.  He sounded rather offended.  “We weren't gambling for money, sir.”

“And how long,” Percy asked him, “would it have stayed that way?”

It hadn't been
that
long since he’d been a mere private himself.  He still remembered gambling with his fellows on deployment ... and how easy it had been to wind up in debt, once they moved from gambling with matchsticks to playing for real money.  He’d learnt a sharp lesson after his first real game, when he’d been taken for a ride by an older and more experienced player.  It could easily have ended badly, with him owing most of his salary to the cardsharp.  There was one in every unit.

But eventually gambling for matchsticks loses its thrill
, he thought, ruefully. 
Because really, what’s the point of playing for matchsticks?

He pushed the thought aside and glowered at the pair of them.  Peerce had been right, as always; there wasn't much he
could
do to them.  They weren't on Earth, where they could be reassigned, or a starship where there was no shortage of miserable tasks to do for punishment duty.  He needed them both on the walls, just in case the shit
did
hit the fan.

“You will
not
talk to the aliens, at least until I am relieved by superior authority,” he ordered, coolly.  “You will remain in Fort Knight.  In addition, you will forfeit one week’s pay as a reminder not to gamble with big green men.  Do you accept my judgement?”

Hardesty opened his mouth.  “Sir, I ...”

Oakley elbowed him sharply, cutting off his friend’s response.  Percy silently blessed him; if the case had been heard by someone higher up the food chain, it was unlikely they would have gotten off so lightly.  They
could
request an appeal to a superior officer, if they wished, but it would probably have gone against them.  A superior might not be so inclined to understand the unique pressures of living on Vesy, surrounded by hordes of aliens who could turn nasty at any moment.

“We accept,” Oakley said, quickly.  “We won’t have any further contact with the aliens.”

“Glad to hear it,” Percy said.  He relaxed, slightly.  “You
do
realise that we almost lost the Russian base when the aliens attacked?  And that Fort Knight is
flimsy
in comparison?”

He waited for his words to sink in.  None of them had any illusions about just how long they could hold out, even with modern weapons.  They’d kill hundreds of aliens for every Marine, Percy knew, but they couldn’t hope to replace the bullets they fired, while the aliens had almost unlimited weapons and manpower.  The Vesy would just keep soaking up the bullets and pressing forward until they stormed the walls and overwhelmed the fort.

Or dig a tunnel underneath the base
, he thought, sourly. 
Or come up with a devious way of using our weapons against us
.

“We cannot take the risk of provoking them into attacking us,” he added.  “A fight over gambling debts could easily have gotten out of hand, leading to an outright battle we could only lose.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Oakley said.

“Yes, sir,” Hardesty echoed, a little sullenly.  “I understand.”

“Then go,” Percy ordered, nodding to the hatch.  “I ...”

There was a sharp tap at the hatch.  Peerce opened it.  “Mr. Fanwood?”

“I was hoping to speak to the CO,” Fanwood said.  He was a tall bald man, wearing a pair of trousers and little else.   He’d been hastily assigned to Vesy from Pegasus, which had caused no end of problems as the engineers had been kitted out for sub-zero temperatures, not sweltering tropical heat.  “I have a final report for him.”

“Come in,” Percy said.  He glanced at Hardesty and Oakley.  “Dismissed, gentlemen.”

“Come with me,” Peerce ordered.  “Now.”

Percy watched him lead the two miscreants out of the office, then turned to Fanwood.  “What can I do for you?”

“We’ve got the generator and the last of the prefabricated buildings installed,” Fanwood informed him, cheerfully.  “Most of the crap we brought wasn't suited for an Earth-like planet, Corporal, but we managed to adapt it without problems.  In addition, there’s enough battery power and supplies to keep us going for at least two weeks.”

Percy frowned.  “I thought the idea was to keep us going for three.”

“Rubbish,” Fanwood said, in his best impression of Major Bloodnok.  “Whoever heard of a Fort Knight lasting three weeks?”

“When I get my hands on the person who insisted that the
Goon Show
made suitable entertainment in the mess,” Percy said, “I’m going to strangle him.”

Fanwood snickered.  “It’s a terrible pun,” he agreed.  “More practically, however, there are limits to what we could bring from Pegasus.  We may wind up dependent on food from the locals.”

Percy groaned.  The Vesy biochemistry wasn't entirely compatible with humanity’s, something that really shouldn't have surprised him.  Most of their food was safe to eat, but some tasted disgusting to humans and some was outright poison.  It wasn't something he wanted to rely on, if it could be avoided, yet there were limits to how much could be recycled in the base.  They might wind up buying food from the Vesy after all.

And if we do buy food from them
, he asked himself,
what will they want in return
?

He was no diplomat.  No one on the base was a diplomat, because no one had anticipated running into an uncontacted alien race.  All he could do, when the aliens sent delegations to the base, was tell them that proper diplomats were on their way and that they would all be free to talk to them, when they finally arrived.  But with different alien factions having different ideas about how to deal with humanity, it was going to be one hell of a mess by the time the diplomats arrived.  Until then ...

We don’t have much we can trade to them
, he added, mentally. 
And anything we give them might wind up being used against us
.

Fanwood cleared his throat.  “We might be able to start planting crops from Earth in the local soil, using the remains of the Russian farms, but it would probably have an impact on the local ecology,” he said.  “I’d prefer not to risk it here.”

“I understand,” Percy said.  No one would shed any tears for a weak planetary biosphere, consumed and ruined by an influx of plants from Earth, but Vesy was another matter.  Quite apart from the fact that crops from Earth might not take root properly, the ecological disaster they might cause would do untold harm to the Vesy themselves.  “Didn't the Russians do any impact work?”

“I rather doubt they cared enough to bother, even if they had the ability to try,” Fanwood said, darkly.  “There’s certainly nothing in their records to suggest they considered the impact on the local biosphere before scattering seeds into the fields.”

“Probably not,” Percy agreed. 

He shook his head.  “Is there anything else we can beg from Pegasus?”

“I doubt it,” Fanwood admitted.  “The base was intended to grow gradually, Corporal.  They weren't given a surplus of supplies before the original founding mission departed Earth.  It’s risky even passing as much as they have to Vesy; no matter what else happens, the colony program has stalled until they get replacements.  There’s little else they can spare without risking their own lives.”