His Majesty's Starship (41 page)

The prince’s face replaced the Turner on the wall display. He seemed half amused, half annoyed. From the twist of his mouth and the tone of his voice, it was impossible to tell which.

“You did this, Gilmore,” he said. “I know it. I know you’re involved, somehow, and I’ve been told by my people that you’re blocking access to that bastard Plantagenet.”

“Did you actually have a reason for calling me, sir?” Gilmore said.

There was a murmur off screen, and though Gilmore couldn’t hear the words he recognised the tone of a translator unit. The prince glanced down, then back, visibly controlling himself. He was being used as a messenger boy.

“We’ve all been in talks with Arm Wild and reached certain agreements,” he said. “One, the First Breed want to establish a human point of presence on the Roving right now. The vast majority of them have never met a human and most don’t know what to expect, and we also have to learn a lot from them. We’re leaving behind scientists to study their records, planners to develop the new human zones downstairs that have been allocated to us ... and that’s where you and the other captains come in. Arm Wild has chosen to honour all the nations that took part in the delegation by having each ship volunteer a crewmember to sit on a committee whose job it will be to name places.”

“Don’t they already have them?” Gilmore said dryly.

“Not usefully,” the prince said with a hint of impatience. “Most locations on the Roving are unpronounceable to us and only a few place names can be changed into another language. How would you translate ‘London’ under similar circumstances? And when there’s a non-verbal component to the language as well-”

“Point taken,” Gilmore said.

“Good. Each ship is to submit a crewmember by 17:00 Capital time tomorrow.”

“And the second point, sir?” Gilmore said.

The prince paused. He glared at Gilmore and the way his jaw wobbled suggested he was grinding his teeth.

“To thank you, Captain. In a couple of days the delegation fleet will return to Earth and UK-1 will go with them, though we plan to return. We’ve got seven thousand people on board and not all of them will want to move to a new system. A lot needs to be settled back home so it’ll be some months before we come back; though when we do, it will be to stay. It appears that as a result of a conversation you had with Arm Wild, the First Breed intend to use UK-1 as the port of-”

“-entry to the Roving,” Gilmore said, saying the words at the same time as the prince. He fought back a grin: he had been careful to include the idea in his talk with Arm Wild and Spar Mild, stressing the ways Earth’s various governments could offer different services to the Rusties, but he had had no way of knowing how much of it had stuck.

James frowned, but perhaps remembered what Gilmore had said earlier about slander charges.

“Well ... guessed, Captain. A port of entry for the Roving. They will pay us for our services, naturally. This gives us an advantageous position. Of course, I would have proposed it to him if you hadn’t already.”

“Naturally, sir,” Gilmore said. “You’re the negotiator, after all. Is there a point three, sir?”

The prince gazed thoughtfully at him. “Unless you’re happy to stay a commander for the rest of your natural life, resign now,” he said quietly – murmured, almost. “Your little tinpot ship is to be scrapped and you’ll get no further advancement in the Fleet. Out.”

Charming man, Gilmore thought, as blanked the display and the Turner painting reappeared in its place, but then he threw his head back and laughed. That dealt with the treason possibility, anyway. UK-1 had the most advantageous deal it could hope for, short of actually re-establishing its ruler’s former empire on a new world. And he, Gilmore, had been publicly credited with it.

He stood and stretched, and reached out for the comms panel. “Will all hands please meet me in the wardroom?” he said. He looked around and his eye rested for a moment on the Temeraire. His fingers brushed the bulkhead as he left.

“Me, sir?” said Julia. He could tell from her expression that he wasn’t going to get much argument.

“There’s more to naming a place than giving it a label,” he said. “You need to capture the spirit of the place, the essence. Give the Roving names that the future Roving nation will be proud to own, and remember that the place originally belonged to the Rusties and the Ones Who Command before them, so try and avoid New Somewheres.”

“I’ll be glad to, sir!”

“And make sure that you name an outstanding natural feature after
Ark Royal
.” He looked round at the four smiling faces and wondered where they would all be in a year’s time. A lot could happen in a year. Not so long ago, humanity was confined to the solar system, there was no step-through and the UK was a joke kingdom out in the asteroids. Now ...

Assuming Hannah didn’t leave the Fleet in disgust, she would get the ship she had already earned, and not before time. Doubtless she would end up commanding starships around the galaxy.

Wherever she went, Samad would be there too. He was young and flexible enough to come to terms with the new technology. Or perhaps he could move into command. He would manage.

Julia? It was up to her. She now had the opportunity to pursue her private agenda with Leaf Ruby, and what she did with it was her concern.

Peter? Like the others, a rising star in the Fleet, even if (as he had always said was the case) he couldn’t claim credit for Polyglot. No problems there.

And Michael Gilmore? Good question.

“The prince has decreed that
Ark Royal
is to be scrapped,” he said. “Our journey home will be the last in this ship and I expect our last together. So.” He raised the glass in his hand. “Our first toast will be, to
Ark Royal
.”

“To
Ark Royal
,” they said, and drank.

“I wish you all well in your futures,” he said. “I only hope that you don’t get dragged down by association with me. So let’s remember an officer who didn’t have time to get dragged down by anyone. To Mr Nichol, and absent friends.”

“To absent friends,” they agreed.

“We’re going to need a new officer from UK-1,” Hannah said thoughtfully.

“Later, Number One, later,” Gilmore said.

The toasts went on, and in the midst of all the merrymaking Gilmore’s aide announced that Arm Wild was trying to contact him. He went out of the room to take the call.

“Prince James has never grasped the pick-up range of our translator units,” Arm Wild said. “I believe I heard him advise you to resign.”

Gilmore smiled. “You heard correctly, Arm Wild. However, I’d already sent in my resignation. I’ve reached the stage where wild horses couldn’t keep me here.”

“That is an interesting expression but I believe I register the sense of it. You have developed a pronounced antipathy to the Royal Space Fleet?”

“On the contrary, Arm Wild, some of my best friends and my happiest memories are with the Fleet. I just recognise that it’s now best for both of us if the Fleet and I go our separate ways. By the way, congratulations on your, um, promotion.”

“I thank you, and I hope we will see more of each other,” said Arm Wild.

Gilmore cocked his head to one side, suddenly wary. “Oh?”

“Let me make you an offer,” Arm Wild said. “Prince James mentioned our need to familiarise our two species with one another. We also want a small party to stay behind to make a proper assessment of First Breed space technology and to work out how our skills can combine. Essentially, I am talking about drawing up a blueprint for the entirely new combined spaceforce that we are going to need. The successful candidate will have administrative ability, a detailed knowledge of human space technology and the breadth of mind to see the new potentials. An ability to relate to the First Breed is an advantage. I would like to offer you that job.”

Gilmore’s eyes went round. “I-”

The old fears came crashing back.
It’s a challenge and you’re not up to challenges. You can’t do it.

“I’m flattered,” he said.

“The prince has already promised the help of his best engineers, and we know they are familiar with our technology. Between you all, we should-”

“Wait, wait,” Gilmore said, holding up his hands. “Look, about us being familiar with your technology ... Arm Wild, you should know-”

“Perhaps they are as yet unable to design a step-through generator from scratch,” said Arm Wild, “but they have shown they are capable of adapting an existing one.”

“Don’t tell me the prince told you that!” Gilmore exclaimed.

“He did not need to. Should he have?”

Gilmore stared at the leader of the First Breed. Meeting Arm Wild’s blank gaze, Gilmore thought that it was at times like this, when he had just about got used to the shape and physiognomy of the Rusties, that they looked so darn
alien
. Arm Wild could be looking puzzled or he could be grinning widely, knowing perfectly well what Gilmore was talking about.

“How did you know?” Gilmore said.

“You know I am not technical by nature, but I gather from those who are that the resonance caused by UK-1’s step-through indicates it was using a generator from one of the ships we scattered around your solar system, in the hope that someone would find them-”

“You planted it!”

“It was part of the Convocation, as decided by the Ones Who Command. They were hidden in places such that anyone who found one would, by definition, be of an adventurous and explorative nature. Anyone who could decipher the clues would also, by definition, be of the required technical proficiency to replace the Ones Who Command.”

Gilmore laughed out loud. “Arm Wild, you’re a cunning bugger.”

“Context suggests that was a compliment,” Arm Wild said. “Now, the prince also mentioned that your ship is to be scrapped. I believe that scrapped ships are also offered for sale?”

“Well, yes, as a rule.”

“We would like to purchase
Ark Royal
, as is, sight unseen. I know the design of the substructure is old, but the equipment on board is the state of your art and will give our engineers a useful starting point for merging our technologies. It has the added advantage of being here. Another reason for approaching you with this offer, incidentally, is that you are very familiar with your own ship.”

“Well, yes ...” And then it hit Gilmore: every new ship built by Rusties and humans together would be a descendant of his
Ark Royal
. The fears disappeared.

“Look,” he said, “I don’t have the authority to sell you the ship, but-”

“We included it in our negotiations with UK-1. The prince will discover it in the little lettering.”

“Then will you include one more thing?” Gilmore said. “I want the highest level AI on board, Plantagenet, to be given sanctuary in the ship’s network. He’ll be able to help your engineers with their observations.”

“This is acceptable.”

“Then you have a deal,” Gilmore said.

When he had finished talking to Arm Wild, he cued his aide again. “Contact Midshipman Gilmore, UK-1.”

“Please wait,” the aide said. “Midshipman Gilmore is on watch and asks that a message be left.”

Gilmore smiled, approving. Duty first. That’s my boy. “Joel, it’s me. Listen, I promised you a tour of my ship. Well, you’d better make it soon. Next couple of days. Let me know when you can make it. Talk to you later.”

He rejoined the crew in the wardroom. They were looking at him curiously: they must have heard his laughter. He retrieved his glass and toyed with it. If
Ark Royal
were to stay here, the crew would need new berths-

“The good news,” he said, meeting Hannah’s eyes, “is that we won’t be needing any new officers at all.”

EPILOGUE

From:
Senior of the First Breed Earth Mission
First Breed residence, Manhattan

FOR IMMEDIATE GENERAL RELEASE

The Senior of the First Breed nation, Arm Wild, today extended its personal invitation to all humans who wish to apply for citizenship of the new Human/First Breed Commonwealth.

The Commonwealth exists independent of all previously existing states and nations on either world. Its most urgent needs are currently for:

• trained spacers, for its rapidly expanding space exploration and defence fleet;
  

• engineers and scientists to assist in the cross-technological development programmes now under way;
  

• farmers and settlers for the vast areas of land left empty by the tragic extinction of the Ones Who Command;
  

as well as the many other skills expected in a dynamic, energetic young culture.

Arm Wild said: “Our original invitation two years ago urged the nations of Earth to take this opportunity to make a fresh start. I now extend that to all the people of Earth. This is a unique opportunity to cast aside the old ties of planet-bound nationalism once and for all. Join us in space.”

Arm Wild added: “The First Breed welcome our human friends into the Commonwealth as partners and equals.”

For further information, instruct your aide to consult the Emigration Helpdesk at the First Breed Embassy.

Verbatim Bald

First Breed residence, Manhattan

24 August 2150 CE

To Jamie, Thomas and Thomas

Many thanks to everyone who gave encouragement, suggestions and – even better – criticism: Chris Amies; Tina Anghelatos; David Angier; Richard Baxter; Paul Beardsley; Tim ‘O’Neills are passé’ Bellerby; Chris Beckett; Molly Brown; Suzanne Dominy; Lawrence Dyer; David Fickling; Peter Garratt; Philip Gladwin; Liz Holliday; Tony and Jenny Jeapes; Jane Killick; Robert Kirby; Andy Lane; Ian Lee; Mark McCaghrey; Jon Pilling; Ben Sharpe; Gus Smith; Alex Starling; Charles Stross. An especial thank you to this book’s publishers: David Fickling who got it into print on paper, and Cheryl Morgan for this edition.

About Ben Jeapes

Ben watched far too much
Dr Who
at an early age and started writing science fiction at the age of 18 in the mistaken belief that it would be quite easy (it isn’t). As well as 18 short stories he is also the author of
His Majesty’s Starship
(1998),
The Xenocide Mission
(2002),
The New World Order
(2004) and
Time’s Chariot
(2008), plus numerous items of ghostwriting and hackwork that annoyingly earn more than his own stuff. His ambition is to live to be 101 and 7 months, so as to reach the 1000th anniversary of the Battle of Hastings and the arrival (so family lore has it) of the man responsible for his surname in the British Isles. He is English and as quietly proud of the fact as you would expect of the descendant of a Danish mercenary who fought for a bunch of Norsemen living in northern France.