His Majesty's Starship Read online

  “A scientific instrument package?” he said

  “Excellency?”

  “They want to fire a scientific instrument package into space? Why? They have access to the entire range of Rustie data.”

  “Could they not want to make their own observations and draw their own conclusions, Excellency? I would.”

  Krishnamurthy glanced at him. That impending impertinence was there again but this time the man had a point. “So would I ...”

  He indicated that one item on the display. “Expand,” he said to the aide, and watched the fuller details replace the bald summary. The package was to act as a solar observatory away from the electromagnetic smog of the system’s ecliptic. The flight plan had been filed with the Rusties. It would boost for an hour under thruster power to get well away from the ships, and then-

  He stood up. “Follow me,” he said.

  His instinct was growing as they went up to the flight deck. He was no spacer but he prided himself that he knew enough of the realities of life in orbit to get by. Another Krishnamurthy secret of success was to understand how things worked, and UK-1 was going about this business in completely the wrong way.

  He hurried onto the flight deck and over to the Ops desk. “UK-1 is planning to launch an instrument package,” he said. “Do you have anything on it?”

  “One moment, Excellency.” The operator scanned her instruments. “Yes, Excellency, it is in the last stages of its countdown and all orbital traffic has been alerted.”

  “Can we see it?”

  “Please wait, Excellency.” A moment later, the package appeared in a display. It was a squat, blunt cylinder with boosters strapped on around it: a triangle of chemical boosters intertwined with a triangle of fusion. The scale said it was about fifty feet long, thirty wide. It hung a safe distance away from UK-1 and a space crew was in the last stages of disconnecting from it. Krishnamurthy looked at it through slitted eyes. Something was wrong.

  “Its flight plan says that an hour after departure, it will change to fusion boost at one gee,” he said, thinking aloud. He had learnt that from the aide. “It is intended to establish an orbit 100 million miles above the ecliptic, but we forget how big such a distance is. Even at one gee, it would take several hours to get there.” He turned to Shivaji’s captain. “Agreed, Captain?”

  Surit Amijee did a quick mental calculation. “Agreed, Excellency. Longer, because it would have to slow down-”

  “So!” Krishnamurthy wanted to dance. “A prideship could take it there for them in no time at all and they wouldn’t have to use up time and fuel braking! It is not right, it is definitely not right-”

  “It’s firing, Excellency.”

  All eyes went to the display. It was a perfectly normal launch: gas flared from the chemical boosters and the package moved swiftly away from UK-1. Even under chemical power it was moving at quite a rate. The image recalibrated itself automatically to keep the package at centre.

  “An interesting choice for a container,” Amijee commented.

  Krishnamurthy turned quickly to him. “How so?”

  “It’s one of UK-1’s garbage scows, no internal bracing at all. They would have had to do substantial internal adjustment-”

  “It is not a package.” Krishnamurthy came to a decision. “Follow it.”

  For once, Amijee looked unsure. “Excellency?”

  “Follow it!” Krishnamurthy snapped his fingers. “The UK is hiding something from us, and if they want it hidden, I want it revealed. I want us under fusion boost in five minutes, following that thing at whatever speed is necessary to pick it up.”

  Amijee turned to his executive officer. “Sound the manoeuvring bell, spin down and power up the fusions. Plot an intercept arc. Contact Traffic Control-”

  “Five minutes, Captain,” Krishnamurthy butted in. “If they haven’t given clearance in five minutes, we go anyway.”

  Turning back to the display again, he caught Ranjitsinhji’s look.

  “A problem, Subhas?”

  “Only to say that the complexities of what we are doing are completely beyond me, Excellency.”

  It was like lecturing to a child.

  “I want some way of getting the Ones Who Command to declare us the senior partner,” Krishnamurthy said, “or even better, the only partner. My first preference would always have been to discredit the UK in some way because there is so much less possibility of it blowing back in our faces. Now, after your little mistake, I finally get my chance.”

  “You think whatever this is will discredit them?”

  “Whatever it is, it is a secret that they do not want revealed,” Krishnamurthy said. “That is good enough for me.”

  He saw the gleam in Ranjitsinhji’s eye: it was either the thrill of the chase or the thrill of deciding his master had finally gone mad. Let him think what he would – Krishnamurthy knew who was right.

  “Four minutes and forty seconds,” he murmured.

  *

  Shivaji had blasted out of orbit without warning, and there was no disguising where it was heading.

  Prince James paced up and down in the flight control room of UK-1 and looked at the radar display in an agony of indecision. It couldn’t go wrong now. It couldn’t. They were so close.

  “How soon can you blow it up?” he said to Admiral Dyer.

  “It’ll blow automatically five minutes after the fusion boosters cut in,” Dyer said.

  “How long until that?”

  “Fifty minutes.”

  “How long until Shivaji reaches it?”

  “Forty minutes at their present rate.”

  “Damn! How could they know? How could they possibly know? It’s not natural! And we have nothing to send after it?”

  Dyer said nothing and James came to the only decision that made sense.

  “Oh, God.” He flipped his aide open. “Get Gilmore.”

  Gilmore’s face appeared a moment later. “Sir?”

  “Captain, we’ve launched a scow and we believe Shivaji intends to steal it.”

  “Yes, sir. We’ve been tracking them.”

  “Get after them! Now. I want you to stop that ship, or convince them that to proceed would be a bad mistake. For the UK’s sake, they cannot be allowed to get hold of that package.”

  Gilmore frowned. Dammit, the man wasn’t getting the urgency of the situation. “May I ask what’s in the scow, sir?”

  “No, you may-” James bit his tongue to control his anger. “Just- just say that it could undo everything we’ve accomplished here. Remember, nothing has been signed yet. We could still be heading back to Earth with our tail between our legs and someone else could get the prize. Captain, you will get a full explanation upon your return, I give you my word on that. And I don’t give my word lightly.”

  A pause. “No, sir, you don’t. How would we stop Shivaji?”

  “By any means necessary. Use your judgement. You still have Plantagenet on board, don’t you?”

  Gilmore narrowed his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

  “Then use him. Now move!”

  Gilmore didn’t. “Two of my crew are still on UK-1,” he said. “Leroux won’t let them go.”

  “He won’t?” James ground his teeth. Damn Leroux, he had been ordered. “You’ll have them back as soon as possible.” He nodded at Dyer, who reached for her own aide.

  Another pause. Gilmore actually seemed to be considering whether or not to obey the order. Didn’t he realise how-

  “Very good, sir. Gilmore out.”

  *

  It took an impressive 17 minutes for the missing crew to be returned, during which time Ark Royal’s main engine was powered up and the ship positioned to boost after Shivaji.

  They came in through the lock to cries of delight from Julia and Hannah, who also had a hug for Samad.

  “Later,” said Gilmore. He spoke to Samad, Peter and Julia in turn. “Get aft, take the spare desk, make final adjustments and start a two minute countdown. We’ll boost at t
wo gees.” He briefed the newcomers on the situation, using the p/a for Samad’s benefit.

  On the flight deck, Hannah had the main desk and Julia the watch desk; the two auxiliary desks were taken by Gilmore and Peter. “How will we stop them, sir?” Peter said. Gilmore had been putting that question out of his mind but knew it had to be answered.

  “However we can,” he said, biting the bullet. He carefully didn’t look at Hannah directly.

  “We still don’t know what they’re chasing,” Hannah said.

  “No,” Gilmore agreed, “but the prince convinced me it’s in the UK’s best interests for us to stop them.” He listened to his own words and knew how they sounded: since when had the UK’s interests been of interest to him? But his differences lay with the UK’s rulers: the UK was also 7000 people and they were quite another matter. He had a duty to them.

  “Sir?” Hannah sounded disbelieving.

  “If you don’t like the rules, Commander,” Gilmore said, “you don’t join the club. The fact is, we all work for Prince James and these are our orders. If we can’t live with that, we should never have joined.” God, I sound like a Rustie. “And what Shivaji is doing is piracy,” he added.

  “Main engine is standing by,” Samad reported.

  “Thirty seconds,” Hannah said tightly.

  “Clearance from Traffic Control,” said Julia, over the rising hum of the flight systems.

  “All hands prepare for boost,” said Hannah, and the manoeuvring bell sounded.

  Ark Royal’s main engine fired.

  *

  R.V. Krishnamurthy looked at the blip on the displays as a cobra might look at a mouse, just out of striking range but getting slowly closer, so slowly ...

  “We’ll be able to send over grapples in seven minutes,” said Amijee. Krishnamurthy could detect his reluctance to have anything to do with this matter; a Hindu of the old school.

  “Perhaps we could use a laser to cut the boosters off,” said Krishnamurthy. “How close would we need to be to be?”

  Amijee consulted. “Another two minutes, Excellency, though if we ignited the fuel-”

  “I’ve seen what happens when lasers ignite fuel,” Krishnamurthy said mildly. “Cut off the fusion boosters. When the chemical boosters stop firing, the scow will be ours. Have a laser operative stand by.” He turned to Brigadier Rao of the NVN. “Your people are to stand by in space armour. You will be sent out to retrieve the package and bring it into the boat bay.”

  “Yes, Excellency.”

  “Excellency.” Ranjitsinhji murmured in his ear. “I feel it my place to bring all the facts to your attention. Our actions on the Roving were sanctioned by Delhi; this was not. It is blatantly illegal by all international standards. Can you be sure you will be supported in your actions?”

  Krishnamurthy stared him down. “Delhi has always allowed me some latitude, Subhas, and always supported me.”

  “You are trying to force the UK out of the equation, but if your actions have that effect on ourselves instead-”

  “Watch and learn, Subhas. Watch and learn.”

  “I am watching,” said Ranjitsinhji with a horrible complacency. That settled it: whatever the outcome of this little venture, Krishnamurthy had decided Ranjitsinhji would soon be a non-person.

  “Excuse me, Excellency,” Amijee said, “but there may be a ship following us.”

  “May be?” said Krishnamurthy. “May? You can’t tell?”

  “It’s directly aft of our fusion flame, if it exists at all. It’s only stray leakage of signals that arouses our suspicions. And if it exists, it is closing.”

  “How long?”

  “Eight minutes, Excellency.”

  Krishnamurthy smiled. “That will be too late, will it not? Let them come.”

  *

  Gilmore looked at the figures as if willpower could make them change, but the other ship had the lead and would continue to have it.

  “Still nothing from Shivaji?” he said to Julia.

  “Nothing, sir. I don’t think they can hear us.”

  “Damn.” Gilmore had been too clever. Though he said so himself, it had been a pretty good idea to come up directly aft of the Confederation ship, hidden from its instruments by its own fusion burn ... but the same tactic prevented radio getting through. He had wanted to give Shivaji a graceful way out – order them to cease boost and prepare to return to their previous position. “We’re going to have to get their attention,” he said. He touched one of the contacts on his desk.

  “Plantagenet,” he said. “Can you hear me?” The others just looked at him, knowing what choices faced him and glad they didn’t have to make them themselves.

  “I hear you, Captain.” The AI was as didactic as ever. “I must protest at the treatment I have received-”

  “The prince once told me that you have the torpedo targeting software in your code. I need it.”

  “I see. I must ask the circumstances: it appears I have certain safeguards that prevent the software being used for improper purposes.”

  Gilmore tapped his fingers on the desk. “Consult the ship’s log and you’ll see what is happening.”

  “Do you intend to release me from my cage?”

  “Do you intend to tell me why you tampered with Lieutenant Kirton’s software?”

  “I regret I am unable to do so.”

  “Then I don’t intend to release you. Mr Kirton, download the log to Plantagenet.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  There was a pause. Too long a pause.

  “Plantagenet?” Gilmore demanded.

  “Interesting,” said Plantagenet after another second. “I have missed a great deal. The UK winning the bid, the death of King Richard-”

  “Just give me the software!” Gilmore demanded.

  “If you will undertake to hear my case once this matter is over, then I will comply with your request.”

  Gilmore ground his teeth.

  “Agreed,” he said.

  “Then I am ready to download the software.”

  “Lieutenant, give him as small a window as possible.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Peter said again.

  “It is done,” Plantagenet said a moment later.

  “Give control to my desk,” said Gilmore. The laser fields in front of him lit up with something quite unlike their usual display of the ship’s systems.

  He looked at the images, trying to remember the prince’s description of the ship’s armaments on the outward journey and assimilating the sense of the displays accordingly. He couldn’t remember and he didn’t have time now to guess.

  “What do I do now?” he said.

  “You must make your choices known to the weapons AI. I will activate it for you.”

  “Please indicate your choice,” said the voice of the system.

  “One fusion, space-to-space,” Gilmore said. Something within him was screaming with horror but he pushed it deep down inside himself.

  Hannah cleared her throat. “Captain,” she said. “May I remind you that you gave your word Ark Royal would not fire first?”

  Gilmore looked at her. Her gaze was firm but her jaw trembled. He could be about to lose his closest friend because, of all things, he was trusting Prince James. What had happened to him?

  Perhaps he had simply accepted that like it or not, space would be dominated by the likes of Prince James or the likes of Krishnamurthy: two evils, perhaps, but with one clearly lesser than the other. But James was going to pay for this, even so.

  “I could use all kinds of clever arguments to justify this, Number One,” he said. “Just say I believe I am acting in the spirit of my original statement.” Without waiting for an answer he turned back to the desk.

  “Please indicate your target,” the AI said.

  “First, what is the blast radius of one of these warheads?” Without a surrounding atmosphere to deliver the shockwave of the blast, even a fusion bomb was limited in what it could do in space. Hard radiation an
d heat would be the main killers.

  “In space, radiation damage will be caused to a vessel of standard shielding within five miles of the explosion, heat damage within one mile.” The display changed to show the projected spheres of damage. “Please indicate your target.”

  Gilmore thought. “Target is fifty miles abeam of Shivaji.”

  “‘Shivaji’” is an unknown parameter.”

  “The large ship off the bow.”

  An image of Shivaji appeared. “This is the nearest match found to your description. Please confirm that this-”

  “That’s it,” Gilmore said.

  “Please confirm choice. One space-to-space fusion warhead to explode fifty miles abeam of Shivaji.”

  “I confirm that,” said Gilmore.

  “Parameters are set.” There was a whirr and a clunk from forward. “Torpedo is run out and ready for firing,” said the system. According to the displays the torpedo was held thirty feet away from the hull by an extended arm.

  “Captain,” said Hannah. Gilmore braced himself, but she simply said, “the Rusties only intervened in the last conflict when nuclear weapons started being used.”

  “Thank you, Number One. May I remind you that that was in orbit around the Roving and we are now too far out for nuclear explosions to pose a threat to them. Weapons?”

  “Standing by,” said the AI.

  “Fire,” said Gilmore.

  The torpedo blasted away from Ark Royal at 50 gees.

  Almost at once the warhead detached from the main booster section. The booster carried on in the same direction but disintegrated into smaller sections. The designers of these torpedoes had thought of everything – they had added built-in chaff to confuse the defences of anything they attacked.

  The warhead closed in on its target. It was a sphere, with clusters of thrusters at each pole and at 90o around its equator. It was constantly heading in the same general direction but zig-zagging, darting from side to side and up and down at random. It was too small to have enough fuel to keep up the manoeuvring for long, but it didn’t need long – just enough to confuse the target and get close to it.