His Majesty's Starship Read online

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  *

  Spar Mild and retinue strode into the Dome at quarter past one in the morning and demanded an audience of Krishnamurthy. The guard sent to fetch him disappeared into a side room and there was an angry shout in Hindi. Then more shouting, and finally Krishnamurthy came stalking out, his face furious.

  “Iron Run says, there has been fighting in orbit,” said Spar Mild.

  “There has,” said Krishnamurthy, “and with respect, I am in the middle of coord-”

  “Iron Run’s orders are as follows,” said Spar Mild. “This matter has proceeded far enough and it is persuaded that you will be unable to settle things between yourselves safely. It perceives that nuclear weapons have been used in our orbit. This poses a clear hazard to us and their use will cease immediately. You will withdraw your troops from the surface of the Roving at once. Liberty will be reinstated forthwith to all humans in our system. The situation will return to its previous normalcy without delay.”

  “Normal? Sir, please, there is a fight going on in orbit-”

  “We are already taking the necessary measures,” Spar Mild said.

  *

  “There’s hundreds of them!” Nichol exclaimed.

  An exaggeration, but there were still a lot of them – the shapes that the radar showed emerging from behind the Roving’s Big Moon easily outnumbered the human ships.

  A warning tone came from the console and Nichol spun round to Gilmore.

  “One of them’s locked onto us, sir!” he said, aggrieved.

  “I don’t blame then,” Gilmore said wryly.

  “I think you will find every ship has been targeted,” Arm Wild said. “It is only precautionary. I would strongly advise that you do not-”

  There was a flash and Long March shuddered as though from a mighty blow. Ripples ran impossibly along its length and chunks of its skin broke away. The ship began to spin slowly, and then with another flash its entire midsection disintegrated into a million fragments. The bow and stern sections tumbled away from the scene.

  There was a moment’s silence and then bedlam broke loose over the radio.

  “Did you see that?”

  “My god, just a flash and then-”

  “Who was it? What was it? Did you see-”

  “What a way to go! What a way to go!”

  Gilmore and Nichol stared at the display.

  “-do likewise,” Arm Wild finished.

  A signal came through. “The First Breed require all human ships to cease hostilities immediately. We will enforce this command further if necessary, and if any other ship locks onto us, we will treat that too as a hostile act and respond accordingly. We will pick up survivors from the Long March. All human ships will power down their weapons and deactivate their targeting systems now.”

  The battle fleet moved quickly through space with the easy grace common to Rustie vessels. Human ships making the same manoeuvre would have taken hours to traverse the distance from Big Moon to Roving orbit, and more to slow down and change approach trajectories. The Rustie ships just did it, and within minutes they were in among what was left of the delegation fleet, interlacing themselves with the human ships.

  “It’s over!” Nichol exclaimed. “Sir, you did it!” His eyes shone as he looked over at his captain and even through the faceplate Gilmore, aghast, diagnosed the signs of incipient hero-worship. Gilmore groaned to himself.

  “Captain Gilmore, I am sorry I was unable to help you much in your conflict,” Arm Wild said. “My rank was not especially of use to you. However, I think I now can now use my influence to contribute in a small way.”

  *

  Krishnamurthy’s eyes were on the display that showed the two fleets mingling. He had no doubt at all that the Rustie ships could wipe out Shivaji and the rest of them at a moment’s notice, just as Long March had been dealt with.

  The delegate from the Northern Chinese Republic, pale, had already announced his withdrawal from Krishnamurthy’s plan. The gutless imbecile: it wasn’t his fault that his captain hadn’t had the brains to turn his targeting system off. Krishnamurthy felt no sorrow for the loss of Long March.

  Instead, he burned. He had been so convinced, so convinced he was right-

  And who knew, maybe he had been? He would never know, now those idiots up there had resorted to nuclear weapons. Leave Subhas Ranjitsinhji in charge of something, he thought, and this is what happens.

  But this way, he had his dignity. It was almost as if the Rusties were giving him a chance. Perhaps they were. No, there was no perhaps. They were. The burning anger turned into a sweet, warm glow. Play this right and he was still a contender.

  “I am persuaded,” he said to Spar Mild, “that this situation cannot be resolved by human means. I apologise to Iron Run for any inconvenience that has been caused and I formally order my forces, and the forces of my allies, to stand down. I renounce my claim to lead the humans on the Roving.”

  “A wise decision,” Spar Mild agreed. “Incidentally, Iron Run says that all military equipment now on this world and belonging to you or your partners is impounded.”

  “Please!” Krishnamurthy exclaimed, forgetting himself. “You expect us to hand over our arms and yet you let the others keep theirs? I point out to you that certain parties had a military presence on this world before we did! They came down in the first wave, masquerading as diplomats-”

  “Their weapons too are impounded,” said Spar Mild, “and all artificial intelligence devices will be returned to their owners.”

  “Excuse me.” A new contender entered the ring. Paul Ganschow of Starward strode up to the Rusties, blithely pushing aside the guards that had been holding him. “I formally request on behalf of Starward that this man-” He pointed grandly at Krishnamurthy “-be held for trial, on the grounds of-”

  “Iron Run refuses your request,” said Spar Mild.

  Ganschow let his arm fall and stared at the Rustie. “You cannot be serious!”

  “I am very serious.”

  Ganschow glared at Krishnamurthy. “Okay, so they’re letting you off. But you’re finished.”

  “He is not finished,” Spar Mild said. “He is still a delegate and his presence here is as valid to us as your own.”

  “What?” Ganschow shouted.

  “This is Iron Run’s conclusive word on the matter.” Even through the translator, Spar Mild was beginning to sound impatient. “The Convocation will proceed as originally planned. This point is neither debatable nor negotiable. This individual is the designated delegate for the Confederation of South-East Asia and so will attend. We promised all delegates safe passage to and from our world and that is what will happen. Now, as much as is possible and with certain safeguards, we have restored the situation that existed before this matter arose. There will be no recriminations for what has transpired for as long as all the humans in this system are under our protection.”

  That’s right, Krishnamurthy thought. Be angry with them. See me, Mr First Breed? I’m being good and doing exactly as I’m told. He was also thinking already about how the situation could be saved, and what could still be got out of it. He still had Kirton ... ah, yes, Kirton. Kirton, who had dealt him such a grand dud ... some things could be avenged.

  “It is late and Iron Run advises sleep for you all,” Spar Mild finished. “The Convocation will begin at the arranged time of 09:00 hours this morning. Good night.”

  *

  Julia and Peter heard the shouting out in the corridor. They were both still awake and still clueless as to what was going on outside. They had heard the roar of thrusters: Shivaji had manoeuvred, turning round. Then silence that seemed to last forever. Without their aides and without any kind of timepiece it was impossible to tell how long had passed.

  Finally, very recently, bedlam; raised voices that spread through the ship. And footsteps: the deliberate tramp-tramping that comes with military boots worn by someone with a bad attitude. The footsteps stopped outside their room.

  “Oh my
God, this is it,” Julia said.

  The door slid open and an NVN man stood there. Julia recoiled at the hate on his face.

  “Get up,” he snapped. Neither of them made any move. He took a step forward and his hand went to his sidearm. “I said, get up’”

  Slowly, they got up.

  “Out.”

  They went out. Two more NVN were there, one either side of the door, both with rifles. The NVN fell in behind them and they were marched down the corridor.

  Julia stole a sideways look at Peter, before a gun nudged her none too softly in the back and a voice barked, “eyes forward!” He was holding his head high, looking straight ahead, but there was no doubting he looked as pale as she felt. Making a stand, doing his duty to king and country and denying Krishnamurthy his little triumph, was all well and good, but look where it had got them.

  And then they turned down a passageway that Julia remembered, and there was no further doubt at all in her mind. It led to Shivaji’s boatbay. Good, strong bulkheads to put them up against; a nice, wide open space with plenty of field of fire. A killing ground. They were walking to their execution.

  She stopped suddenly. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t make her warm, alive body carry her to a place where she would end up cold and dead-

  The gun nudged her, harder, in the kidneys.

  “Keep moving!”

  “Come on, Julia,” Peter said softly. He held out a hand, and she took it. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She tried a brave, very small smile.

  “They- they’d have done it to us anyway,” she said. “Even if you’d gone along with them.”

  “I expect so. Shall we go?”

  So, hand-in-hand and with their certain killers behind them, they walked into the boatbay.

  Julia scanned it dully. Where would it be? Which few square metres of ferro-polymer here were the place she would pass from this life into the next? Not there: fuel tanks. Her gaze moved along to a row of Shivaji’s landing boats. No, not there. Still onwards, over the small boat poised on the main hub elevator. It reminded her of Sharman. Not there-

  Yet, it was there. That was where they were being taken to.

  And then, almost all at the same time and yet seeming to be years apart, she saw:

  ... the registration lettering on the side of the little boat ...

  ... a grinning Adrian Nichol standing in the hatch ...

  ... and Arm Wild standing next to him. Arm Wild, in glorious, real solidity. Arm Wild, miraculously transported from the Highlands to here.

  “Hi, Jules, Pete,” Adrian said. He looked pointedly at their clasped hands. “Am I interrupting something?” They let go of each other quickly.

  “Thank you,” Arm Wild said to the NVN men. “We will take them from here.” Then the Rustie looked from one to the other. “You are alive. That is agreeable to me.”

  “But what are you doing here?” Julia said.

  “And what’s happening out there?” said Peter. “What-”

  “A lot has been happening out there,” Arm Wild said. He stood aside, clearing the way for them to enter the airlock. “Come. We are taking you back to your ship.”

  “It’s over?” Julia said. Arm Wild looked at her.

  “This affair is over,” he said, “but as the Convocation is yet to happen, the important events have not even begun.”

  - 20 -

  22 May 2149

  Sharman cleared Shivaji’s entry port and headed out into space. Julia looked back at the receding vessel and shuddered.

  “I never want to see that ship again.”

  “You will not have to,” Arm Wild said..

  “What will happen to them now?” Julia said.

  “If you are asking will there be retribution, the answer is no.”

  “You’re joking! Arm Wild, they kidnapped us, they started a small war, they-”

  “They are under our protection, as are you,” said Arm Wild. “After the Convocation, the delegation fleet will be escorted back to Earth by a prideship. What you do at that end is your concern but in our space, please allow us to make our own rules.”

  “I’m sorry,” Julia said at once. This was the sternest thing she had yet heard from Arm Wild. “Though wasn’t that exactly what they were doing? Dictating rules in your own space?”

  “We are prepared to be flexible,” Arm Wild said, “but the Convocation is a sacred trust and will not be altered by one iota.”

  “Arm Wild, where are we going?” Peter turned away from the viewport and finally joined in the conversation. “It looks like a higher orbit.”

  “That is where Ark Royal now is, as a result of your captain’s manoeuvre.”

  “What manoeuvre?”

  “To fool Shivaji into firing a nuclear weapon.”

  “How can you fool someone into doing that?” Peter said in disbelief.

  “Arm Wild, will you tell us exactly what’s been going on?” said Julia.

  Arm Wild told them.

  “And your fleet opened fire on a delegation ship?” Peter said in disbelief.

  “They did.”

  “I thought you said we were all under your protection?”

  “You are.”

  “That’s a funny way of protecting.”

  Arm Wild looked at him with his unreadable alien stare. “Some of you have shown a funny way of appreciating our hospitality.”

  “But ...” Peter said helplessly.

  “Peter Kirton, have you learnt nothing about us?” said Arm Wild. “I believe I can understand your objections, very dimly, because I have been to Earth and have perused your ways, but the First Breed hold that juniors are responsible for the actions of a senior, and if they do not approve of those actions, they replace the senior. If the crew of any human ship are not prepared to endorse the actions of their seniors and to face the consequences of those actions, then they should not be on that ship.”

  “But that’s not-”

  “Human?” said Arm Wild. It wasn’t what Peter had been about to say, but he let it pass and fumed quietly for the remainder of the trip.

  *

  Adrian Nichol drifted in his suit over the bow of Ark Royal.

  The bow turret and the front of the ship were a mass of melted slag, wrecked by Shivaji’s laser. ‘A’ compartment, which included the forward airlock, was completely open to space: to get out he had gone into ‘B’ compartment and depressurised. Since Ark Royal’s flight deck was ‘C’ compartment, Adrian reflected that they should be grateful for small mercies.

  He jetted slowly aft along the ship. “Some scarring here, sir,” he reported. “We don’t appear to be holed.” He waved a vapour detector over the area. “Confirmed, we’re intact. Need a new paint job, though.”

  “That’s the least of our troubles,” said Gilmore’s voice in his ears. “Carry on.”

  Adrian headed for the face of the centrifuge ring compartment, the site of the impact that had set the ship spinning. He looked at the lesser damage first: some of the heat fins that ribbed the compartment were buckled. Then he went over to look at the hole.

  It was some five feet across and the lump that had caused it had gone clean through the compartment and out the other side. Adrian passed in and looked around. Inside, the lights were on: this was meant to be a pressurised part of the ship. If the centrifuge ring was a doughnut then he was in its hole and the space was crammed: computer centre, emergency cryo capsules, air tanks, life support ...

  Small ferro-polymer fragments of ship were floating around and Adrian studied them carefully for sharp or jagged edges before proceeding. The ceiling of the centrifuge ring was a smooth curve, motionless and as far as he could see unblemished, and Adrian reported this.

  “Apart from that, quite a bit of severed fibre,” he said with only a little concern. Ark Royal was robust – any command path could be rerouted along alternative circuits and they had plenty of spare fibre on board to plug the gaps. At first glance the ship was looking good
, though whether they would be able to spin the ring again or boost safely without the ship coming apart at the seams would have to wait to be seem. “And nothing serious has been damaged,” he added with relief. Replacing the ship’s optical memory banks, say, would have been quite another matter.

  The exit wound on the aft face of the compartment was twice the size of the entry. Adrian peeped out aft, afraid of what he might see. More scarring down the side of the ship but, as instruments had already confirmed, the external tanks were intact.

  Adrian fired his suit thrusters and pulled back from the ship, retreating until he was far enough away in space to take in the whole vessel with a single glance. Then he slowly jetted around her. A close-up inspection could focus the mind too much: you could concentrate so much on one area that you completely ignored damage in another. But again, no further damage showed. The ship had taken a battering but come through it with full colours. He reported no further damage.

  There was movement in the corner of his eye. A landing boat was firing thrusters to brake, hanging in space by Ark Royal’s bow.

  “We’ve got company, sir,” he said.

  “I know. It’s the others,” Gilmore said. “Stay out there: I’m sending out help.”

  When the two suited figures of Samad and Hannah pulled themselves through the pressure door from ‘B’ compartment, the flight deck was suddenly full. Gilmore was at the watch desk, and Julia and Peter at the two auxiliary desks, together picking their way through the ship’s systems. For the first time in what seemed ages (four days, but five long ones) the flight deck was crowded again.

  “What have you been doing to my ship?” Samad demanded as he removed his helmet. “Have you seen the bow?”

  “You’d be proud of her,” Gilmore said over the hubbub of reunion. “Welcome back.” He raised his voice. “When you’re ready ...” He waited for the silence. “Mr Loonat, don’t bother unsuiting. Join Mr Nichol outside. We’ll start repressurising the aft compartments and I want you to look out for leaks. After that you can give the engines an external inspection. Number One, when you’re ready, join me in ‘E’ compartment. I’d appreciate your help breaking out the spares we’re going to need.”