A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5) (8 page)

“And an expanding population might start waging war on its neighbours for living space,” the Captain said, quietly.  “Your decision to cure diseases for them might kill more people, in the long run, than the diseases.”

“It happened,” Professor Nordstrom said.  “There were other problems caused by meddling in purely
human
affairs.  One problem that repeated itself, time and time again, were attempts to feed the hungry by shipping in food from more productive countries.  Would you like to guess what happened?”

He went on before anyone could answer.  “In some cases, the food was seized and used to feed armies,” he answered his own question.  “But in others, it completely destroyed the profit motive for producing food
locally
.  And so, when the outsiders lost interest in supplying food, there was no one there to take up the strain and the entire population plummeted sharply.”

“But we have to
try
,” Grace insisted.  “You’re saying it’s immoral to interfere, while I’m saying it’s immoral
not
to interfere.”

“We would need to let their society adapt to each new introduction,” Professor Nordstrom said, bluntly.  “However, it wouldn't be too long before we were trying to steer their society ourselves, without regard for what
they
wanted.  And that leads to another problem.”

Joelle had to smile.  “Another problem?”

“A more serious problem,” Professor Nordstrom told her.  “When you were a child, your parents looked after you, helped you through your problems and disciplined you when you were naughty.  They cooked for you, cleaned for you and ensured you never had to face any
real
long-term consequences for bouts of random naughtiness.  Being a child isn't really like being an adult.

“Now tell me; would you
enjoy
having someone treat you as a child, now, or would you resent it bitterly?”

He was right, Joelle knew.  It had been a long time since she’d fled the nest, and she still loved and honoured her parents, but she wouldn't want them running her adult life.  The thought of being told what to do and what not to do at thirty years old was thoroughly unpleasant.  If her parents
had
been able to control her life, she knew she would have resented their meddling bitterly.  Hell, she’d resented them telling her what to do at
thirteen
.

“The Vesy may be primitive, but they are not children,” Professor Nordstrom continued.  “I’ve said that time and time again, to everyone who will listen; they are not stupid and they will resent us trying to steer their development into something we would consider civilised.  It doesn't matter what intentions we have, it doesn’t matter how much we know that they don't; they will hate and resent us for everything we do for them.  And that hatred may eventually find expression.”

He looked around the compartment, warningly.  “And how long will it be until we start regarding them as children?  One does not
hate
children.  One does not subject children to adult punishment.  But one does not consider children mature and responsible either.”

“And so they will rise up against us,” Captain Naiser said.

“They need time for their society to adapt to meet ours on a more equal basis,” Professor Nordstrom said.  “I don't think they’re going to get that time, not when so many other parties heading to Vesy.”

“Their society might improve,” Grace said.  “We could warn them of the dangers ...”

“There were a number of countries in Africa that were granted access to sex-selection pills for their children,” Professor Nordstrom said.  “Those countries were inhabited by people who were culturally inclined to favour male children.  They knew the dangers, but they used the pills anyway ... and, thirty years later, fought a series of brutal civil wars over access to women.  We could wind up giving the Vesy comparable problems.”

“Then we do our best to come to terms with the other nations,” Joelle said.  “We may be able to place limits on what can be shared with the Vesy.”

“It won’t work if one party refuses to uphold the limits,” Professor Nordstrom said.  “Smugglers were quite happy to ship pills to Africa after the international charities were formally banned from supplying them.”

“We can prevent smugglers from shipping anything to Vesy,” Joelle said, flatly.  She gave the Captain a long look.  “We need to discuss the matter later, if you don’t mind.”

The Captain nodded.  “I will be happy to meet with you when I’m not on duty,” he said.  “Leave a note in my inbox and I will get back to you.”

Joelle nodded.  She had a private suspicion that the Captain would set the meeting time to suit himself, but it hardly mattered.  It was hard to blame him for resenting her and her staff for clogging up his ship. 

She finished her mug of tea, then rose.  “With your permission, I will seek my bunk,” she added.  By custom, once she was gone the others could leave too, if they wished.  She had a feeling that the Professor would stay and chat with the officers, while Grace would probably seek out her own bunk.  God alone knew what Penny would do.  “I’ll speak to you once we’re underway.”

“Of course, Ambassador,” the Captain said.  He rose, too.  “And thank you for your company tonight.”

See if you still like me after we start working together
, Joelle thought, ruefully. 
It won’t be easy
.

Chapter Seven

“Miss Schneider would like an interview,” Howard said, as John came onto the bridge and took command.  “She actually sent three messages, each one with the same request.”

John had to smile.  It would be quite awkward when her brother found out she was on the ship, let alone what she’d been doing.  “What did you tell her?”

“That you were too busy making preparations for departure,” Howard said.  “I think she will probably start bombarding you with requests, again, once we leave.”

John sat down in the command chair and checked the status display. 
Dashing
and
Daring
had taken up position on each side of the freighters, while
Tootal
was holding position just in front of them.  She wasn't exactly a warship, John reminded himself, but she could give any pirate ship a nasty surprise if one dared to attack her.  But then, even the
thought
of piracy had seemed absurd until recently.  How could anyone afford to keep a pirate ship running while raiding worlds and ships on the edge of explored space?

The Russians did it
, he thought, sourly. 
But their ships were breaking down well before we caught them
.

“Tell her that I will make time for an interview once we pass through Terra Nova,” he said, finally.  “I’ve really been interviewed too many times in the last six months.”

“Yes, sir,” Howard said.

John settled down in the command chair, then inspected the list of updates from Nelson Base.  The small squadron was cleared to depart, on schedule, with a hint that if they could leave earlier the Admiralty would be pleased.  They were fully provisioned, ready to take the quick route to Vesy, while a handful of other ships would take the longer route.  It was irritating that the handful of interstellar liners couldn't use alien-grade tramlines - it meant he had to endure having the Ambassador and her staff on his ship - but there was no way around it.  Nothing smaller than a fleet carrier could jump a liner through a tramline ...

He pushed the thought aside and glanced at the crew readiness reports.  “The replacements arrived onboard?”

“Yes, sir,” Howard said.  “They seem to be fitting in well, based on one day of active service.”

“Keep an eye on them,” John ordered.  He cleared his throat, then looked at the communications console.  “Lieutenant Forbes, transmit a Prepare to Depart signal to the convoy, with a baseline tag of ten minutes.”

“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Gillian Forbes said.  “Signal sent.”

John nodded in acknowledgement.  Lieutenant Forbes had spent the last five months grappling with the Vesy language database the Russians had amassed and, while no human could speak the language properly, she was sure she could understand Vesy-One.  No one, not even the Russians, were sure if there were other languages on the planet or not, although John was inclined to suspect there were.  The Roman world had been far smaller than an entire planet and they’d spoken dozens of different languages.  But they’d also had Latin as a common language ...

He shook his head.  No doubt they’d find out when the small army of researchers went to work on Vesy. 

And it lets us keep control
, he thought, with some amusement. 
We can deactivate automatic translators and voders if necessary
.

“They’ve acknowledged,” Lieutenant Forbes informed him.  “They’re powering up their drives now.”

John nodded, feeling a spark of genuine excitement.  It wasn't quite the same as taking
Warspite
into the unknown - he couldn't help feeling a twinge of guilt at not having completed the survey of local stars and tramlines around Pegasus - but there was definitely
something
about taking his small squadron away from Earth.  He, not the Admiralty, not the Prime Minister, not even the King himself, would be in command, master of his squadron.  It was a heady responsibility, but one he enjoyed.  There was nothing quite like it as a starfighter pilot.

But you had other entertainments
, he reminded himself. 
You could spend your time off-duty shacked up with Colin and no one gave a damn
.

The thought caused him a flicker of pain.  It had been five years since the war, five years since Colin had been blown to bits by the Tadpoles ... and his loss still hurt.  It sometimes made him wonder if there was something wrong with him, when most starfighter pilots moved from love interest to love interest with nary a qualm.  Or maybe it had just been love ... hell, they’d talked about finding a home together when the war came to an end.  Not, in the end, that it had mattered.  Colin had died and John had been unable to even
think
of staying on as a starfighter pilot.  It felt too much like a betrayal.

He cleared his throat.  “Mr. Howard,” he said.  “Ship’s status?”

“All systems are nominal, Captain,” Howard said.  “We are ready to depart on your command.”

“Lieutenant Forbes, send a signal to Nelson Base,” John ordered.  “Inform them that we are departing on schedule.”

“Aye, sir,” Gillian said.

John sucked in his breath, feeling a dull thrumming echoing through the hull as the main drives came online.  This time, there would be no problems; this time, everything had been checked and rechecked twice by different officers.  If there was another criminal gang operating within the bowels of his ship, it would have been forced to pull in its horns or be mercilessly exposed to the cold light of day.  This time, he would not suffer the humiliation of having his starship drifting helplessly through space, an easy target for anyone who wanted to pick off a cruiser without risk. 

And the pirates taught us that there are still threats out there
, he thought, bitterly. 
And the Tadpoles may restart the war if they feel we are still a threat to them.

It wasn't a comforting thought.  The Russians hadn't been particularly forthcoming on the question of just how many ships might have gone rogue and it was quite possible there were more deserters out there.  There were a number of Russian ships unaccounted for, according to MI6, but the chaos of the Battle of New Russia had probably concealed their destruction from prying eyes.  And the Russians were not the only ones who had lost ships.  John had been told, in confidence, that a review of the available records suggested that upwards of seventeen ships from other interstellar powers remained unaccounted for. 

We should have asked the Tadpoles for their records of the battle
, he thought. 
But no one really wanted to open that particular can of worms
.

“Course laid in, sir,” Lieutenant Carlos Armstrong reported.  “We’re on a least-time course to Vesy.”

John leaned back in his command chair.  “Lieutenant Forbes,” he said, “order the other ships to follow us.”

“Aye, sir,” Gillian said.

“Helm, take us out,” John added.

Another dull quiver ran through the ship as she came to life, slowly heading out of orbit and into the open space beyond.  John watched the holographic display carefully, silently counting the number of starships leaving Earth.  The swarm of giant colonist-carriers he recalled from
Warspite’s
first departure hadn't slowed at all; indeed, it had only grown more frantic.  Hundreds of thousands of people were leaving the planet each month, hoping to set up a home somewhere well away from Earth.  The human race would no longer have most of its eggs in one basket.

And if we’d lost Earth, we would have lost the war
, John thought, grimly. 
Most of our population and industrial base would be gone
.

He caught sight of one icon and frowned.  The Indians had refused to join the British Commonwealth, when it had reasserted itself during the Age of Unrest, and they’d been held back by their determination to make their own way into space, but they were catching up now.  INS
Viraat
was large enough to pass for an American fleet carrier, although her commissioning had been delayed when the Indians had obtained the formula for heavy ablative armour and coated her hull for additional protection.  Not that John particularly blamed them, he had to admit.  The Battle of New Russia had taught the human race that lightly-armoured carriers were nothing more than easy targets for the Tadpoles, who had casually wiped out seven such ships in the battle. 

She could almost pass for Theodore Smith
, he thought, recalling the first of the post-war British carriers.  She’d entered service only the previous year and was still working up, along with her two sisters. 
All she would need is more armour and more heavy weapons
.

He sighed, inwardly.  Beyond her, there were hundreds of other warships, belonging to twenty different human powers.  No one would take the risk of leaving Earth undefended, not after the bombardment; no one, not even the powers that refused to cooperate with their neighbours outside the Solar System, would ignore the Solar Treaty.  If someone tried to challenge humanity over its homeworld, every spacefaring power would react ...

And if we do have a clash with someone outside the Sol System
, he thought,
it won’t be allowed to spread here.

“Captain,” Howard said.  “All systems are functioning at acceptable levels.”

“Good,” John said.  He wouldn't be
entirely
happy until they’d jumped through the first alien-grade tramline - that had been when disaster had struck, months ago - but it was a relief to know that everything seemed to be working properly.  Some problems only showed themselves when the ship was actually underway.  “And the squadron?”

“They don’t seem to be having any difficulty keeping up with us,” Howard said.

Armstrong coughed.  “We could move faster, sir.”

John shook his head, even though he knew Armstrong couldn't see him.  “I think we need to stick with them,” he said, dryly.  “Keep an eye on the convoy and inform me if there are any problems.”

“Yes, sir,” Howard said.

“And remind the crew that we are approaching the Last Line,” John added.  “If they want to send any messages home, they won’t have another chance for a few weeks.”

“Yes, sir,” Howard said, again.

John glanced at his display, then shrugged.  There wasn’t anyone on Earth he cared to send a message to, not now.  His parents had always disapproved of his career choice, while his sister had swallowed the wrong line of propaganda and assumed that John was responsible for killing hundreds of aliens.  Given that they’d been trying to kill his men at the time - and killed or enslaved hundreds of thousands of their own kind - it wasn't something that would keep him up at night.

Instead, he looked at the final set of intelligence reports from MI6.  Hundreds of starships were on their way to Vesy, although - as most of them were incapable of using alien-grade tramlines - it was quite possible the squadron would beat most of them to the planet.  At that point ... he cursed under his breath as he recalled his orders.  He’d asked the First Space Lord for clarification, but the Admiral hadn't been able to give him any.  There was too much risk of being unable to maintain the balance between the two political factions in the Royal Navy.

Life was so much easier when we were fighting the war
, John thought, morbidly. 
At least we knew who the enemy was, back then
.

“Captain,” Armstrong said.  “We will make transit in ten minutes.”

“Inform our guests,” John ordered.  It was rare for a Royal Naval crewman, at least one on active service, to have a bad reaction to the transit through the tramline, but sometimes a vulnerable civilian wouldn’t be noticed until they made the jump.  “And tell the doctor to stand by, just in case.”

He groaned, inwardly.  As always, the ship’s doctor had been distressingly thorough when he’d poked and prodded at John, even though his sensors could have told him most of what he’d picked up by touch.  John knew he wasn't the only crewman to dread physical exams - it seemed to be common throughout the Royal Navy - but there was no point in complaining.  It was laid down in regulations and no one, not even the ship’s commander, was spared.