His Majesty's Starship Page 11
Gilmore’s eyes narrowed as he caught the subtle bulges on either side of the bow, which hadn’t been there the last time he had had this view. Now he knew they were there they seemed to stand out a mile and he wondered how obvious the torpedo attachments looked to anyone who didn’t know the ship’s design.
Another, stronger vibration as the main engines fired and Ark Royal moved rapidly off the display. He switched it off. She had looked special. Not changed, but special. Maybe it was all in the mind but she was his command; she had carried him across lightyears to this system and now she was serene and unperturbed in her orbit, waiting for him to return.
He sat back in his seat and fidgeted. His weathersuit was stiff and unfamiliar about him.
“This is Sharman, complying,” Nichol said from the cockpit, replying to some unheard flight direction. Then, to his passengers: “atmosphere in two minutes, Captain, your majesty.” He had his back to them and so didn’t see the look of irritation on the prince’s face. Gilmore supposed that of all the faults Nichol could have had, being unable to remember the distinction between ‘highness’ and ‘majesty’ was the least, but clearly the prince thought otherwise.
They flew in from the east, over the Roving’s largest continent: the fleet’s landers travelled in echelons towards their destination on the continent’s western coast, overlooking the Great Strait. Below them was a dark, thick carpet of trees – the rain forests that covered the continent’s eastern cape. They flew over a range of skyscraping mountains and came to a wooded plain that stretched into the distance.
It took another half hour to make the landing. Arm Wild had said that the capital’s name was untranslatable, but because his translator was set simply to say ‘Capital’, that was the name it had acquired among the humans. It was a sizeable community that covered the flood plain and rose up out of the valley of a large river the width of the Mississippi. Gilmore wondered if the Rusties below were standing and looking up at the small alien invasion going on above them.
“Landing in five minutes,” Nichol said. They were approaching Capital’s spaceport, an ugly concrete blot on the green landscape to the north of the city. There was a roar as the verticals took over, supplementing the now meagre lift of the boat’s wings. A whirr as the landing carriage dropped; and, finally, a slight bump as they touched down. The engines quietened from their high whistle to a faint murmur and Sharman was rolling forward at walking speed. Then it stopped and the engines died down entirely. They were on the Roving.
Gilmore grunted as he stood up. Ark Royal’s ring had gradually been cranked up during the voyage to simulate the Roving’s Earth-plus gravity but still it was an effort.
Nichol appeared from the cockpit, also wincing slightly. “They’re ready for us when we are, sir,” he said.
Gilmore nodded. “Welcome home, Arm Wild,” he said, and cracked the hatch.
It was a bright and sunny in Capital: a spring day for a town with a maritime climate. There was a fresh breeze blowing and Gilmore filled his lungs with sweet air.
Nichol was the last to step down onto the ground and he seemed about to make a chatty remark before finally remembering that he, Ark Royal’s most junior crewman, was in the presence of his captain and a prince. Prince James made the remark instead, speaking for all three humans.
“Isn’t it fresh?” he said. “Uncanned, unpolluted ...”
“Our transport,” said Arm Wild, pointing. A small fleet of wheeled vehicles was approaching the landing craft. “How many of you are attending the Convocation?”
“Just the two of us for the moment,” the prince said.
“Mr Nichol, stand by for further orders,” Gilmore added.
“Aye aye, sir.” Nichol looked forlorn at not being at the first formal meeting but Gilmore didn’t doubt that the tedium would far outweigh the advantages. Rank didn’t always have its privileges.
Capital was nowhere near as crowded as a human city. There were no tall buildings but very many large ones, much wider than they were high and completely out of proportion as far as a human’s eye could see. Though there was a vague pattern – the typical arrangement seemed to be a palace-sized building, surrounded by open space with greenery or lakes or streams – the architecture itself was eclectic. The buildings were ornate, invariably covered with carvings. Some had pillars or flying buttresses or other architectural optional extras; others just stood alone. Some were regular and blockish; others looked like fantastic jumbled piles of stone. The types of stone used also varied – sometimes it looked like sandstone, sometimes like granite, sometimes it was blue or purple or pink. Arm Wild said they were the pridehalls: the prides of the First Breed lived communally, on top of their work.
Gilmore decided he liked Capital. Roads curved, the pridehalls were all different shapes, nothing was predictable. There was a very organic feel to the place, as if it had been here for a long time and grown naturally, well settled into the landscape.
The convoy was moving through an open space dominated at the centre by what had to be a monument of some kind – a collection of Rusties, carved in a reddish stone. Four of them stood facing in four different directions, in an alert poise that made Gilmore think the human equivalent would be shading the eyes with one hand while scanning the horizon.
“To commemorate the prideship that first discovered an alien species,” Arm Wild said.
“And how long ago was that?” Gilmore asked. The Rusties had always clammed up when pressed for details of the other sentient aliens that they had discovered, but on their home ground he wondered if they might be more open.
“About eighty years,” Arm Wild said.
“Did you invite any of them to the Roving?”
Arm Wild paused before replying. “No, Captain,” he said, and Gilmore sensed the shutters coming down again on the topic. “We felt we could proceed better with your race. Once the Convocation has come to a satisfactory completion, then perhaps we can concern ourselves about the others. Look, we are almost there.”
There was a geodesic dome standing in its own grounds just outside town. Its white panels made it look like half of a radar dome buried in the ground, or one of the early Mars bases.
“Accommodation will be unrefined but, we hope, satisfactory,” Arm Wild said. “Once we had agreed to invite you here, we had to devise something quickly to accommodate you. We hope it suffices.”
The prince said he was confident that it would.
The convoy drew to a halt outside the main entrance to the dome. The humans climbed out slowly, once again having to subject their legs and backs to the Roving’s gravity. A group of Rusties was there waiting for them.
“You are privileged, Captain Gilmore,” Arm Wild said quietly. “That is Iron Run and the Twelve.”
“The twelve what?”
“The twelve most senior Clan Seniors,” Arm Wild said, “and Iron Run is the Senior of the Nation. Now please be quiet!”
And there was only one nation ... so this was the most senior Rustie on the Roving. Gilmore did a quick count and could see fourteen Rusties: so, it was the Twelve, and Iron Run, and another.
Two Rusties stepped forward: Arm Wild said it was Iron Run and the Senior’s mouthtalker, Spar Mild. The mystery of the fourteenth Rustie was solved.
“Human friends.” Unlike the Rusties of the Earth mission, this one hadn’t learned to subvocalise. Spar Mild’s own voice could just be heard under the translated Standard. “Iron Run welcomes you to our world and to this Convocation. The nation of the First Breed looks forward to working with you. Please, come inside.”
They were led into the dome along a wide corridor with – Gilmore winced – a deep red carpet and walls of marigold and cerise, and a potted plant of some description every few paces. They came out into a wide open space at the dome’s centre. Up above was the dome’s highest point, its panels translucent with the sun shining on them; around them were three circular balconies lined with doors that were refreshingly familiar: tall and
narrow, human-sized. The ground floor was given over to a bar, a lounge and a refectory, each with a long side open to the central lobby.
Rusties approached bearing refreshments, and the formalities began
*
Three hours later, having finally escaped, Gilmore lay gratefully back on the bunk in the small room that had been allocated to him and let the mattress take his weight. He had wondered if the Rusties would expect the humans to live together as they did themselves, but apparently they had heard that humans were solitary creatures and gone to the opposite extreme, providing their guests with these cells. Barely six feet wide, ten long and perhaps seven high.
He took out his aide and activated it. He considered recording something for Joel to listen to one day – How I Arrived on the Roving and What It Was Like – but for the moment there were other priorities. “Get me a channel to Ark Royal,” he said.
“Please wait,” it said – the automatic response of the semi-sentient AI in it, which was now exploring all the various telecom routes available. Arm Wild had said the dome had a fully functioning network compatible with all Earth standards and connected to the Roving’s net. Gilmore’s aide cast its perception out into the network, made the acquaintance of the various Rustie protocols, bounced around several servers and satellites, and then Gilmore was hearing Hannah Dereshev’s voice:
“Captain?”
“Number One. How’s things?”
“Orbiting peacefully, sir. How about you?”
“Heavy,” Gilmore said, meaning the gravity but happy to let Hannah draw whatever conclusions she liked. “The full programme starts tomorrow, to which I am cordially invited. What I’m calling to say is, there’s no reason the off-watch crew shouldn’t come down whenever you’re ready.” He paused and grimaced, remembering that he would have been on watch with Julia but for the prince’s insistence, and he felt as if he were betraying a trust. “Accommodation is adequate, in-” He cast an eye around the cell “-a minimalist sort of way. Remember to bring my bags, and the prince’s.”
“Aye aye, sir!” There was no disguising the glee in his executive officer’s voice. “I’ll recall Adrian straight away.”
“Don’t forget your weathersuits,” Gilmore said. “You’ll need ’em. And when you get here, take things easy – it’s surprisingly easy to over-exert yourself.”
“Thanks for the hint, Captain. Any further advice?”
“Yes.” Gilmore looked at the floor and the walls, adorned in the same style as the lobby of the Dome. “Never ask a Rustie to do your decorating.”
*
Arm Wild, too, was glad to get away from the reception. For the moment Prince James was the responsibility of First Breed who were far more senior than itself; its other function was to liaise with the crew of Ark Royal, who were not here yet. Michael Gilmore had gone to lie down, indulging the strange human taste for solitude, so Arm Wild was free for the moment.
On the voyage it had interviewed each member of the crew and found that Julia Coyne, Ark Royal’s systems officer, was an advocate of that strange human art form, music. They had got to discussing the various arts on their various planets and it had made her a promise.
The Dome was fully equipped with all proper facilities and it was easy to find a communication chamber. Arm Wild entered, again wondering at the humans in one corner of its mind – how could they have taken so long to invent fully immersive, interactive virtual displays? Only a race that didn’t use fulltalk could have been so tardy.
The display came up around it and it spoke a name.
<
The image of Leaf Ruby, the Roving’s greatest performer (in the opinion of Arm Wild, and of many others) appeared before it. The older First Breed was more portly around the middle than Arm Wild and its muzzle was blunter.
[Interrogative] <
[Deferential] <
[Thoughtful interrogative statement] <
<
<
[Wary optimism] said Arm Wild. <
[Expression of interest] Leaf Ruby said. [Speculative hope] <
<
<
[Full agreement] said Arm Wild. <>
[Flattered, honoured] said Leaf Ruby. [Interrogative] <
<
<
[Flattered, touched] said Arm Wild. <>
<> Leaf Ruby said.
*
“Wow!” said Adrian Nichol. He stretched out his arms – he could almost touch either wall of his cubicle. “My cabin on the ship’s bigger than this.”
Julia Coyne, slightly taller than him, held her own arms out and her fingertips brushed the walls. “See what you mean,” she said. “Mine’s the same.”
They went out into the corridor where there was more room. Ark Royal’s crew had six rooms all together on the Dome’s second level, doors facing towards the translucent white panels of the Dome’s outer edge.
“I see what he meant about the decorating,” Adrian said, looking back at the cubicle’s garish colours.
Hannah Dereshev came out of her own room. All the cubicles were singles, which wasn’t yet an issue as Samad was on orbit watch with Peter Kirton. “I think they based it on the decoration in a typical four star hotel, like they saw on Earth,” she said, “but without our own idea of what would be tasteful.”
“And the cells?” Julia said.
“This place was built by Rusties who’d been told what humans were like but never actually met any,” Hannah said. “I think they did quite well, considering.”
More humans were coming around the curve of the corridor, in the uniform of the American ship Enterprise.
“Hey, we’ve got the Naffies next to us,” Adrian said in his most diplomatic manner, referring to the North American Federation. “You’d have thought they’d have put us in alphabetical order, or something.”
“Maybe they did. Which alphabet were you thinking of?” said Hannah.
Adrian smiled at the nearest American who took the room next to his. “Hi there,” he said.
“Hi,” the American grunted. He was tall, broad shouldered and had crew cut blond hair – the picture of the all-American boy. Adrian opened his mouth to introduce himself and the American pointedly went in and shut his door.
“Friendly,” Adrian said.
“You coming with us?” Julia said. “Apparently there’s a bar on the ground level.”
“Sure. I’ll freshen up first.”
“See you later, then,” she said
.
Adrian went back to his room to get wash things and a change of clothes, then set out to look for the nearest washroom.
There was another Enterprise man in there, splashing water on his face. Adrian decided to try again. “Hi,” he said. “Adrian Nichol, Ark Royal.”
The man’s appearance was identical to his comrade, down to his sour expression, but he seemed prepared to be more civil. “Carl Pieri, Enterprise.”
“Glad to meet you.” Adrian was putting two and two together. The crew cut, the muscles ...
“You’ll be one of the marines, yeah?” he said. The next moment he was pinned against the wall, his feet off the floor and Pieri’s face inches from his own.
“Who told you about that?” Pieri shook him. “Who?”
Adrian wheezed, the breath knocked out of him. The American’s tight hold on his collar didn’t help.
“What the hell are you doing?” said another voice, with the accent of the American Deep South.
Adrian was dropped and Pieri jumped to attention. “Sir!”
Adrian rubbed his neck and took in the newcomer. He had a captain’s stripes.
“Sir! He asked if I was a marine, sir!” Pieri said.
The captain grinned. “And you wouldn’t tell him if you were, would you?”
“Sir! No, sir!”
The captain waved a hand at the door. “Get out of here, Pieri.”
“Sir! Yes, sir!”
The other two were left together. “McLaughlin, Enterprise,” the captain said. “I’m sorry about that, son.” He glanced around – at the mirror, at the ceiling, at the corners of the room – and put a hand on Adrian’s shoulder. “Come on out, will you?”
Out in the corridor, he said, “who are you?”
“Nichol,” Adrian said, just getting his breath back. “Sir. Sub-lieutenant Nichol, HMSS Ark Royal.”
“Sub-lieutenant? You could get Pieri on a charge of assaulting an officer, if you wanted. If he was a marine, that is. Which of course, he isn’t. You get the picture, sub?”