The Trafalgar Gambit

Chapter Nineteen

“Fall into formation,” Kurt ordered, as the starfighters lanced away from the carrier. “And remember to randomise your manoeuvres.”

He smiled, despite the risk of imminent death. It had been a long argument to convince the Captain to put him back on the flight roster — and that had been before he’d made a full confession — but it had been worth it. Here, he could pretend to be a simple pilot, rather than a man caught at the centre of a byzantine plot. And besides, he didn’t want to leave his largely untrained pilots at the mercy of the aliens. They needed someone experienced to lead the way.

“Launch missiles from the outside edge of the envelope,” he reminded them, designating targets for the starfighters and bombers. “Then close in and strafe their hulls.”

He smirked at the thought. If there was one thing the aliens were probably regretting, it was teaching humanity how to produce their own plasma weapons. Once, humanity’s starfighters wouldn’t have been a serious threat to the alien ships. Now, even a single starfighter could do a great deal of damage. The aliens had good reason to curse themselves for not armouring their own ships against weapons they knew perfectly well existed.

But then their carriers would move like wallowing pigs, he thought. He could see the alien logic, even though he disagreed with it. And they’d be sitting ducks for mass drivers.

He eyed Contact One warily as his starfighters flashed past it, but the alien craft did nothing suspicious. Kurt continued to mutter advice and reassurance to his pilots, even though most of them had mastered the basic simulations. But a real battle could be dangerously unpredictable. At least the aliens didn’t have starfighters of their own…

“Break and attack,” he ordered. The alien sensors swept over the fighters, preparing to open fire. “I say again, break and attack.”

He yanked his fighter into a crazy corkscrew as he flew into engagement range, followed by the remaining starfighters. Contact Three opened fire, filling space with deadly plasma bolts that chased the starfighters as they closed in on their target. It wasn’t fair, part of Kurt’s mind noted. Too many human starfighter pilots had died at the Battle of New Russia because they hadn’t had the slightest idea of what they were facing. Now… they knew and they still lost pilots every time they faced the aliens.

“Fire,” he snapped. The missile launched from his starfighter and zoomed towards the alien ship. One by one, the other starfighters opened fire, their missiles closing in on their targets. The alien ship switched its fire to the missiles, allowing the starfighters to get close enough to read the alien writing on the hull. Kurt smiled, nastily, and opened fire. Streaks of brilliant plasma burned through the alien hull and slammed deep into the ship’s innards.

They seem to be less explosive than carriers, he thought, as he yanked his starfighter away a second before a bolt of plasma would have ended his life. Maybe they have fewer stockpiles of fuel and weapons.

It didn’t matter. The alien craft exploded into a hail of plasma, the blast wiping out two of the pilots who had strayed too close to their target. Kurt heard a gasp from one of the other pilots, another trainee. Clearly, she hadn’t taken the warnings about how many of them were going to die to heart. He pulled his attention away from her — Rose would talk to her later, assuming they both survived — and checked the overall situation. Contacts Two, Three and Four were gone. Contact Five was breaking off and hightailing it back towards the tramline.

“Engage and destroy,” Kurt ordered, savagely. It felt good to lash out and destroy something, even if it was nothing more than an alien starship. He tried to imagine the aliens wearing Fred’s face and felt a rush of bloodlust that shocked even him If this was his last chance to fly a starfighter, he was damned if he was wasting it. “I say again, engage and destroy.”

“The last enemy ship is retreating,” Janelle reported. “But she won’t make it to the tramline before our starfighters get her.”

“It won’t matter,” Ted said. It would be roughly two hours before the forces orbiting Target One picked up any signals the aliens might have sent, but there was no way he could get to them before they realised the humans were in their star system. Maybe the aliens hadn’t sent any signals… he shook his head. Long-range passive sensors would certainly pick up something. “But order them to take her out if they can.”

He watched, feeling the old helplessness again, as the starfighters closed in on their target. The aliens fought savagely, but hopelessly, refusing to give in right to the last. Ted silently saluted the aliens as their starship died, then turned his attention back to Contact One. She was sitting there, following her orders, and waiting. Was he looking at the first step towards ending the war or a Trojan Horse? Might the aliens have deliberately intended to drive Contact One into their arms?

But that would require far too much to go right for them, he thought, grimly. They’re powerful, but they’re not gods.

“Inform Doctor MacDonald that she can begin transmitting her contact sequences now,” Ted ordered. The first attempts to use the First Contact packages to address the aliens had failed, but the aliens had clearly sent back one of their own during the first abortive attempt at communication. Maybe this time it would work better. “Then recall the starfighters, apart from the CSP. I want to be ready if Contact One so much as twitches in our direction.”

He looked down at the display, thinking dark thoughts. The alien shipkiller plasma cannon only worked at relatively short range — and Contact One was definitely outside the minimal range for effective use. But there were other weapons, missiles and mass drives in particular, that could do very real damage. The paranoid part of his mind was insisting that they made their way to a safer distance, despite the risks of losing the first real chance to communicate with the aliens. It was the safe thing to do.

“Aye, Admiral,” Janelle said. “Doctor MacDonald is sending her signals now.”

Ted nodded. Everyone had assumed that mathematics would be universal — but then, everyone had assumed that any alien race would be peaceful, or at least make some attempt to communicate before opening fire. It struck him as odd, given the number of berserkers or downright alien aliens in science-fiction, perhaps a legacy of a more idealistic time. But it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was making contact now.

“I think they’re transmitting signals back,” Janelle said. “Steams of numbers and…”

She broke off. “Admiral,” she said, her voice shaking, “I think you’re going to want to see this.”

Henry had been lost in prayers when the shaking had finally come to an end. It was impossible, as always, to see outside the bulkheads, but he assumed the aliens had managed to destroy or lose their enemies. The only alternative was that the aliens had been forced to surrender and they were about to be handed over to another alien faction. And then one of the aliens slithered back into the cell.

“Observe,” it said. A holographic image appeared in the cell. “A ship.”

“Ark Royal,” Henry said, shocked. There could be no mistake. The giant carrier was unique. He’d seen images of planned future carriers, craft that would — once again — incorporate heavy armour into their designs, but none of them had looked like the Old Lady. She was a relic of a bygone age in too many ways. “You made contact!”

“They are sending us numbers,” the alien said. As always, it’s voice was atonal, but Henry thought he detected a hint of humour in its face. “We will send them you.”

Henry hesitated. Naked and wet, soaked in sweat, he knew he would hardly make the best impression. But there was no choice. Whatever had happened outside the bulkheads, it had clearly resulted in the best possible outcome. The aliens had made contact with humanity!

“Yes,” he said. “But how?”

The alien strode over to the bulkhead and pressed one leathery hand against the metal, pulling it away to reveal a hidden compartment. Henry was unwillingly impressed. There were secret compartments and passageways throughout Buckingham Palace — he and Elizabeth had made a game of finding them — but he hadn’t had the slightest idea the compartment was there. Inside, there was a human communication system that looked several years out of date.

They must have taken it from Heinlein, he thought. Or from Vera Cruz.

“You’d better get out of the pickup,” he said to Jill. “School kids are going to be watching this moment for centuries to come.”

Jill snorted, but obeyed. Henry adjusted his position so the camera was pointed at his face, then keyed the switch. There was a long pause, then he saw a response. Admiral Smith’s face was staring back at him. He looked as though he’d seen a ghost.

He must have thought I was dead, Henry thought, ruefully. It was vanishingly rare for anyone to survive a starfighter accident, let alone a direct hit. There wouldn’t have been any time, he suspected, to puzzle through the records and determine what had happened to his starfighter. They would have concluded he’d been killed by the aliens…

“Admiral,” he said. He couldn’t resist. “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

Ted had known the aliens had taken prisoners. Ark Royal had rescued a number of them at Alien-1, drugged victims of the alien attacks on various colonies. But he’d never dared hope that Prince Henry had been taken prisoner. The reports had stated his plasma chambers had lost containment. Even if he’d survived that, he would be stranded in interstellar space, well away from any hope of rescue.

But the aliens had picked him up.

“So it would seem,” Ted said, feeling his heartbeat slowly returning to normal. Reports of Prince Henry’s death had definitely been greatly exaggerated. He cast a look at Janelle, who seemed to have paled alarmingly. It had to be worse for her. “Are you safe?”

“Everything is just peachy,” Prince Henry said. “We’re both safe and well, sir, but I have a vitally important report to make to you. This whole war is a mistake.”

Just peachy, Ted thought. The old code for starfighter pilots, informing their superiors that they weren’t under any form of duress. Although that, he knew, might well mean nothing when the aliens were involved. They’d have plenty of opportunity to experiment with brainwashing humans.

“I’m glad to see you alive,” he said, sincerely. There would be time to evaluate his claim the war had been a mistake afterwards. “How do your… new friends wish to proceed.”

He recoiled slightly as an alien stepped into the pickup’s range. It was far from the first time he’d seen an alien, but he couldn’t help thinking that this one was far more dangerous than the captives — or the dead bodies that had been fished out of the wreckage, months ago. Up close, it seemed to be breathing heavily… and it was floating. There was no gravity in the alien ship.

Is that how they produce better drives? He asked himself. They don’t bother with internal gravity?

“Send. Shuttle.” The alien said. The voice was atonal. Clearly, Polly MacDonald hadn’t been the only one trying to break the communications barrier. “We. Will. Come.”

“We’re picking up a set of images,” Janelle said. Her voice had steadied, somehow. “They’re showing us where to dock the shuttle.”

Ted looked at the diagrams, then nodded. “Tell the shuttle to launch, but remind the Marines to use full biohazard protocols,” he ordered. He looked back at the screen. “…Henry, you will have to be checked thoroughly, as will your guests. Can you explain it to them?”

“I can try,” Henry said. He had shown no visible reaction to hearing Janelle’s voice. “I understand protocols, sir. I’ll try to explain it to them.”

“Good,” Ted said. “The shuttle will be with you in” — he glanced at the display — “ten minutes. I look forward to seeing you again.”

But it won’t stop us poking and prodding at you until we’re sure you’re not under outside influence, he thought as the channel closed. And we may never be entirely sure…

He looked over at Janelle. “You can’t see Henry until the doctors have checked him thoroughly,” he said. “But you can watch, if you like, and meet him afterwards. I think you both deserve a chance to meet and talk.”

Janelle looked at him doubtfully. “But what if he doesn’t…”

She broke off. Ted snorted, inwardly. The CIC of a carrier in the middle of a hostile star system was no place for a discussion about someone’s relationship. There was quite enough of that already. But she deserved something more.

“I think you’d be best finding out now,” Ted said, quietly. He understood. Janelle had been shocked, badly, to learn who Charles Augustus really was. It had ruined her life and damaged her prospects without the consolation of having him in her life. And now… Ted knew he wouldn’t have been so concerned if it had been anyone else dating her. “And then you will know.”

“Yes, sir,” Janelle said. “And thank you.”

Ted watched her leave the compartment, then keyed his console. “Captain, we will need to put some distance between ourselves and Target One,” he said. “Plan out a course through Tramline Four as soon as possible.”

“Aye, sir,” Fitzwilliam said.

Henry wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Ark Royal. He hadn’t expected a heavily-modified Marine shuttle, let alone armoured marines who had invited the two humans and seven aliens into the shuttle in a manner that could hardly be considered diplomatic. The aliens seemed to take it in their stride, but Henry was annoyed and Jill seemed openly worried. What if the aliens decided to be insulted later?

But they showed no sign of reaction as the shuttle powered its way back towards the carrier, even when the Marines started scanning them for unpleasant surprises. The small bags of equipment the aliens had brought with them were inspected carefully, with each of them checked thoroughly before being returned to the aliens. None of it seemed dangerous, Henry decided, although the Marines appeared doubtful. But they were unwilling to cause a diplomatic incident by confiscating it.

His tension grew as they approached the carrier, only to be directed to an airlock instead of the shuttlebay. The Marines watched them carefully as the hatch sealed, then pointed towards the airlock. Outside, there were a small team of medical officers in biohazard gear, eying them warily. A pair of trolleys were already waiting for them.

“Go to the docs,” the Marines ordered. “We’ll take care of the aliens.”

“Don’t say please and thank you,” Henry said. “Be blunt — and keep them together.”

The Marine nodded. Henry nodded back, then climbed onto one of the stretchers. Jill climbed onto the other one and lay down, allowing the medics to push them into the biohazard room. Henry sighed inwardly as the doctors started taking blood samples, washing their skin with various chemicals and poking and prodding everywhere. It felt worse than the medical exam he’d undergone during basic training, what felt like years ago. The pilots had joked it was an endurance test rather than a genuine medical inspection.

“You don’t seem to have any immediate physical problems,” Doctor Jeanette Hastings said. “But you do seem to have some malnutrition, Your Highness. I think whatever they were feeding you wasn’t quite right for human consumption.”

“I never had my period after the first couple of months,” Jill said. “Did they do something to me?”

“I suspect they fed you something that was a natural contraceptive,” Doctor Hastings said, turning to face her. “Your malnutrition is considerably more advanced. I’m going to advise the Captain to let me keep you in here for observation and a structured course of treatment.”

She frowned. “They also stung you,” she added, turning back to face Henry. “There were a couple of surveillance devices stuck to your skin, both firmly fixed down. They could track you wherever you went, at the very least. The devices might also have been audio-visual receptors.”

Henry winced. Privacy was always a joke these days when the government really wanted to keep an eye on someone. Everyone was guilty of something… and, in his case, the media often tried to sting him with nanotech bugs too. It was something he hated, yet another reason for just walking away from the monarchy. At least the aliens hadn’t been interested in his sexual habits. He’d say that much for them.

“Take them off me,” he said.

“Already done,” Hastings assured him. She stepped backwards. “The Admiral has requested your presence at a briefing in fifty minutes. I would advise you to dress, get something to eat and report back here afterwards. I’ll be making up some tailored slop for you too.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Henry said. He swung his legs over the side of the stretcher and stood. “Am I all right?”

“If there was a concern, Your Highness, you would not be let out of this compartment,” Hastings said, shortly. “Now go. I believe someone wants to see you.”

Henry gave her a sharp look, then pulled on a clean uniform — they hadn’t given him a starfighter pilot’s uniform — and stepped out of the hatch. Outside, he stopped dead as he realised just who was waiting for him. Janelle was standing there, staring at him.

And then, before he could react, she slapped him across the face.

“That,” she said, “was for letting me think you were dead.”