His Majesty's Starship (24 page)

“Ranking officers are Commander Ong on
Algol
. Lieutenant
Soldner
on
Bruxelles
. Third Officer Gerasimov on
Nikolai
. Lieutenant Commander Davis on
Enterprise
.”

Gilmore groaned. He was the only actual captain of a ship in their little group and he had a horrible feeling he might have to act that way.

“Get-” he said. No, said the little demon on his shoulder, they won’t listen to you. Why should they? They’re all far better than you anyway. Let them take the responsibility.

Gilmore swallowed and tried again. “Get-” he said.

I mean, this is war! What gives you the idea you can lead them? One of them will get in touch any moment now with their plan.

Any moment now.

Real soon.

“Get them all,” Gilmore said. “Use direct laser transmission only. Conference mode.” It was happening again. It was falling into place. He could see what had to be done; he could see the way through this situation. He could do it.

“Complying,” said the AI. “Conference mode set up.”

“Okay. Patch me in.” Four faces appeared on the display with varying degrees of irritation or worry. Soldner and Ong were women, Gerasimov and Davis men. “Michael Gilmore, officer commanding
Ark Royal
,” he said. “You all heard that?” Gilmore said. They all had.

“I ... they ... they can’t,” Gerasimov stammered. He was like a scared boy. “They can’t get away with this-”

“Not if we don’t let them,” Gilmore said. “Our lords and masters are working together, so we should too.”

“So far, so good,” said Ong, her tone implying that Gilmore wasn’t saying anything new. “What do you suggest?”

“One of us should take overall command and I nominate myself as the most senior.”

Ong looked as if she were considering the idea; Soldner looked sceptical; Gerasimov looked glad to have the responsibility taken out of his hands.

“Are you sure?” said Davis.

“I’m the only ship’s captain.”

“Do you have experience of combat in space?”

“Do you?” Gilmore said. Davis managed a wry grin for an answer.

“How long have you held your present rank, Commander?” said Ong. Gilmore thought quickly and was tempted to exaggerate, but for all he knew she had his record on another display in front of her.

“Two months,” he said. “I got my present rank on 20 March.”

“Then I’m ahead of you,” Ong said. “Right, listen up, everyone. We need-”

“And I refer you to the file ‘tontine’, of which you all have copies,” Gilmore said. “There’s only one commanding officer of a ship present, and that’s me.”

Ong smouldered, but their orders as laid down in the tontine file were clear and they all knew it. “You have command, Gilmore,” she said coolly. “How do you plan to use it?”

“Just one question,” said Soldner. “I concede your seniority, but it just seems a little incongruous, the European Union taking orders from-” She smirked. “-the UK?”

Gilmore put a lid on his temper. “Lieutenant, I wouldn’t dream of telling you how to run your ship but I’m damned if I’m going to turn mine over to a gang of pirates. If you don’t like this, fine, you’re on your own and good luck to you.” He took a breath. “First off, we put our cards on the table and confirm what we already know.” Here it came: his next words would give tacit acceptance of the truth that he hated. His ship was armed and those weapons might have to be used. “What do we have that we can fight with?”

There was embarrassed silence from the others and Ong rolled her eyes. “All right, I’ll start,” she said. “Algol has torpedoes on board, grapeshot and fusion warheads. Our meteor laser has also been enhanced into the terawatt range. You,
Ark Royal
?”

“Torpedoes, same warheads as yours.” Gilmore said with reluctance.

“Excellent!”

“There’s a problem there, though-”

“A problem? A problem? We’re in a state of war with the Confederation and you’ve got a problem?”

“I’ve been forced to confine the AI containing the targeting software,” Gilmore said. “It was unreliable and posed a threat to my ship.”

“Oh, for ...”

Gilmore felt he was already losing control of this session to her, so he interrupted. “However, we also have an enhanced laser and that we can control with the usual software. Mr Gerasimov?”

“Fusion and grapeshot torpedoes and marines,” said Gerasimov. “We have no way of getting our marines down to the surface, though.”

“Uh huh.
Enterprise
?”

“Torpedoes, marines.” Davis sounded bored. “All the marines are downstairs and I think can be discounted at this time. Enhanced laser.”

“
Bruxelles
?” Gilmore said.

“Torpedoes and enhanced laser,” said Soldner.

“Okay,” said Gilmore. “We can all look after ourselves. Does anyone have any kind of battle software on board? Something with tactical capability?”

“We’ve got dedicated targeting software-” Ong started.

“That wasn’t the question. I meant something that can analyse the situation, coordinate the ships, plot strategy.” The four sheepish looks answered his question. “Oh, good.”

“How about you, Gilmore?” said Davis. “Experts at combat in outer space are kinda thin on the ground, hadn’t you noticed?”

“No, I don’t have anything either,” Gilmore said, “but you can bet they do. They’ve planned this too well. They’ll have a great big battle AI programmed with every theoretical trick in the book.”

“So what do we do?”

“We make it up as we go along,” Gilmore said. On their displays, his face would have vanished and been replaced with an orbital schematic. He continued: “This is the orbital layout.” Of the enemy,
Shivaji
and
Pacifica
were ahead, the Northern Chinese
Long March
behind and the Southern Africans’
Great Zimbabwe
above. “We should apportion targets now, purely defensive. We fight back if we’re attacked but we don’t start anything.”

“Why the hell not?” said Ong.

“Because we’re the aggrieved parties, that’s why. Krishnamurthy will use the slightest excuse to justify his actions and we don’t want to give him any. This man nuked a city out of spite, remember. A few ships won’t bother him.”

“Fair enough.” Ong studied the schematic. “I’m nearest to the gee-zee and I’ll handle her.”

“Right,” Gilmore said. “
Bruxelles
and
Nikolai
, spin 180 degrees. You’re responsible for dealing with
Long March
. Ms Ong, you and I will stay as we are. Mr Gerasimov, are your marines equipped for space fighting?”

“So I’m told.”

“Then keep them suited up ready for combat. It may come to that. Oh, and my landing boat is approaching and will be with us in about ten minutes. Please don’t shoot it down.”

*

It was a room where no humans had yet been. They might have guessed at its existence but they had no idea of its location, and the First Breed had been careful to keep it that way. It was part of the Chambers of Command and it was from here that Iron Run led its nation.

An image of the human R.V. Krishnamurthy was frozen against the wall at one end of the room, the brief final flash of grin painfully rigid. Iron Run looked at it with curiosity.

[Interrogative] <>

<> said its mouthtalker, Spar Mild.

<> [Interrogative] <>

[Outrage] <> began one of the others.

[Correction] <> said Iron Run.

[Outrage] <>

<> said Iron Run.

[Dogmatic] <>

<> said Iron Run, <>

[Insistent] <>

[Very dominant] <> Iron Run declared. <>

Once Iron Run had made a decision, it knew the others would follow it with all their hearts and minds. They waited to see what it would be.

[Decision] <> Iron Run said.

*

Weight returned as the elevator carried the boat from
Shivaji
’s entry port at the hub down to the ship’s skin. The outer door opened.

“Out, please,” said Major Rajan. Julia and Peter stood slowly and left the boat, preceded by a couple of soldiers and followed by the rest. The soldiers were keeping a good distance away from them and had a firm grip on their guns, which struck Peter as redundant: even if he had managed to jump heroically at one of them and wrest away his weapon without instantly being gunned down, he wouldn’t have had the first idea of what to do with it.

Julia nudged him, very gently, and moved her head as if to say, “look around you.” He did so.
Shivaji
’s boat bay was enormous – far bigger than was normal for a ship her size. A closer look showed the scars on the bulkheads left over after her refit. Walls had been folded back and down; he supposed that when they were up the bay would have been its normal size, which perhaps was how they had hidden its alterations and contents from
Shivaji
’s Rustie liaison. There were six landing boats present and space for several more, which presumably were now downstairs or in orbit. A row of armoured vehicles stood along one side.

“This way,” said Rajan. They left the bay, still under escort, and were taken down corridors and past crew members, who discreetly didn’t stare, to an airlock. The inner door was open and, through it, Peter could see the outer door set into the floor. The soldiers stood to attention as a civilian man in a white Nehru jacket approached them.

“You must be Mr Kirton,” he said to Peter.

“Yes,” Peter said cautiously.

“Excellent!” The man beamed. “Secretary Ranjitsinhji. I am the personal assistant of Excellency R.V. Krishnamurthy.” Peter was aware of the latter name, but only dimly. Terrestrial politics had never interested him. Ranjitsinhji used a conversational tone and could have been talking about the weather. He took out an aide and began to enter data. “Your first name is Peter, I believe. Do you have a middle one?”

“William,” Peter said, baffled.

“And outside of
Ark Royal
, what is your permanent residence?”

“Pete,” Julia said quietly. Ranjitsinhji glanced up at her.

“Just a few administrative details,” he said mildly. “Well, Mr Kirton?”

Peter gave his room number in the officers’ mess on UK-1. Ranjitsinhji held the aide up.

“Now I just need your verification,” he said. “Please say your name out loud.”

“Pete!” Julia said again, more urgently. She needn’t have bothered: Peter knew that saying a name was as good as writing a signature and he had no intention of signing anything.

“What’s it for?” he said.

“Is that relevant?” said Ranjitsinhji.

“Well, under the circumstances-”

“Mr Kirton, you come from Mars, do you not?”

Peter blinked at the change of subject. “Yes.”

“Do you share the religious sentiments of your fellows?”

“By and large.”

“If I were to order your execution now, would you be worried?”

“I-” Peter gulped. “Yes.”

“But once you are dead, you believe in the reward of eternal life?”

“Yes ...”

Ranjitsinhji nodded in satisfaction as though they had just reached mutual agreement in an argument between friends. “And what if you were to meet your creator with the responsibility for someone else’s murder on your soul?”

“That ... would be more problematic,” Peter agreed.

“Good.” Ranjitsinhji still used his discussing-the-weather tone of voice. “Major Rajan, throw this lady out of the lock.”

“Sir?” Rajan said.

“Major Rajan, you may be Defence Force and not NVN but surely you can hear adequately. Throw this lady out of the lock.”

“Yes, sir.” Rajan paused only for about half a second, and though the look on his face showed he really didn’t want to do this he gestured to two of his men.

“What-” Julia yelped as they grabbed her. “Get off me! Get them off-”

Peter took a step forward and folded up as a fist ploughed into his stomach. He dropped to the floor and gasped for breath.

Julia raked a foot down the inside leg of one of the men holding her and managed to get a knee into the groin of someone else coming to his aid. For a moment she was free but then arms closed around her from behind and lifted her bodily off the floor. The lock door opened and Julia was thrown in. She gathered herself up to leap out but the door hissed shut in her face. She hammered on the window. “Pete!”

“Open the outer door,” said Ranjitsinhji. Rajan hesitated for half a second and then his hand came down on the controls-

“I’ll do it!” Peter wheezed. Rajan’s hand stopped and he looked at his superior.

Ranjitsinhji held the aide up.

“Peter William Kirton,” Peter muttered.

“Excellent! Major, let the lady out. Mr Kirton, you have just voluntarily transferred your citizenship to the Confederation.”

“What?” said Peter.

“Of course, you need to be on UK-1 to renounce your UK citizenship, but that is a minor detail. Now, there is one other thing we require of you. Bring them both, please, Major.”

*

“Welcome back on board, Arm Wild,” Gilmore said as the Rustie and Adrian Nichol entered the flight deck. It was shortly after 20:00: the coup had only been going on for an hour and it already seemed much longer. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

“Conflict involving the delegate ships was not entirely unexpected,” Arm Wild said.

“I didn’t think so. What precautions did you take?”

Arm Wild paused for a moment before speaking. “I do not believe I am betraying any confidences here. We have a fleet of armed ships hiding behind Big Moon, though that was more a precautionary measure should all the delegation ships band together against us. So long as there is no danger of the conflict spreading below orbit, or damaging our interests in any other way, the guidelines of the Convocation are that we should wait and see what you do.”