The Trafalgar Gambit

Chapter Twenty-One

Ted had never taken part in high-level diplomatic meetings before the war. Afterwards, when he’d been promoted to Admiral, most of his meetings had been little more than formalities, setting the seal on matters discussed and agreed by lower-ranking diplomats. He hadn’t regretted it. Diplomats could spend hours discussing something of minor importance, laying the groundwork for later — more serious — discussions, while military officers had little time to debate their decisions. Being a commanding officer of a starship was much simpler.

But this was different.

He watched through the monitors as human and alien diplomats met for the first time. None of the humans looked particularly comfortable, although that might have been because of the alien environmental requirements rather than coming face to face with the aliens themselves. Ted had a hunch the aliens were just as uncomfortable as their human counterparts, just for different reasons. They’d probably prefer to be under the water, rather than half-sitting, half-standing in atmosphere, no matter how hot and moist the atmosphere was.

“It’s working better than I hoped,” Polly said, from where she was standing beside him. “It will be a long time before we have perfect translators, but between us we’ve managed to close the gap to the point we can actually talk to them and vice versa.”

Ted nodded. The diplomats were talking in what amounted to baby talk and the aliens were doing it right back, often using computer displays to draw out what they meant, but it seemed to be working. There was no time to use fancy words, let alone draw up an elaborate treaty, not when time was steadily ticking away. Who knew when the War Faction would send more ships into the system?

He looked at Polly. “Are you sure this is reliable?”

“We did a lot of work, they did a lot of work… I think this is the best we can do, for the moment,” Polly confessed. “I’ve been working with a couple of aliens on building up a shared system, but that’s been going slowly. Their computer designs aren’t that different from ours, Admiral, yet some of the underlying programs and operating systems are very different. The techs think the aliens don’t have any concept of a decentralised computer system, let alone a secure database.”

“They must have something for classified information,” Ted objected. He looked back towards the diplomats — and, standing at the other side of the compartment, the observers. Several of them were Russians. “Or don’t they even have a concept of classified data?”

“Unknown,” Polly said. “But they may not have anything of the sort, Admiral. They don’t think the way we do.”

Ted frowned. It was true enough that governments had a habit of trying to classify data that could be embarrassing or cost them the next election, but it was also true that quite a bit of data was classified for extremely good reasons. The bioweapon formula, he knew, would be buried in the vaults once the war was over, particularly if it was never used. It would only upset people to learn how close the taboo on engineered bioweapons had come to being broken — and by world governments, at that.

But the aliens, it seemed, didn’t understand the idea behind classifying or otherwise restricting data.

“I think they’re coming to a break,” Polly observed. “They’re leaving the compartment.”

Ted nodded. The human observers were leaving through one set of hatches, the aliens were leaving through the other, which lead to a compartment specifically designed for their comfort. It had taken a considerable amount of engineering to make it possible, but it had been done. The aliens hadn’t complained once, although they hadn’t thanked the humans either. Ted suspected, from reading Prince Henry’s report, that they didn’t have social graces in the same way the humans had them. Maybe politeness, too, was a foreign concept.

He turned as Ambassador Melbourne strode into the compartment, already removing his sweaty jacket. Ted concealed his amusement with an effort. The aliens wouldn’t notice if the human negotiators turned up wearing nothing, but their birthday suits. On the other hand, he did understand their problem. Recordings of the first talks between humans and aliens were likely to be studied for countless years… and no one would want to see them stark naked when they reviewed the data. But they could easily have worn swimsuits.

“Ambassador,” he said. “I trust that talks were productive?”

“I believe so,” Melbourne said. He jerked a head towards the hatch leading into a private compartment. “It took quite some time before we managed to smooth out communications, though. We haven’t done anything quite like this since Cortes encountered the Aztecs.”

“And this would be worse,” Ted said, as he led the way into the private compartment. Inside, there was nothing more than a pair of chairs and an empty desk. “Cortes would have been able to understand the Aztecs being human…”

“Cortes also had a handful of people who spoke both tongues,” Melbourne interrupted. He sat down, rubbing his white shirt. The sweat had stained it badly. “We have computers that may not be translating properly and some very different ideas about how the universe works.”

He shrugged. “Every so often, they have to check with their fellows on their ship,” he added, dryly. “I think we’re actually dealing with three separate alien factions, not one. Luckily, it allows us a chance to chat with our advisors too.”

“Good,” Ted said, impatiently. “What have they said to us?”

“First, they’d like to escort us to one of their worlds,” Melbourne said. “From what we think we’ve drawn from them, this will be a chance to talk to several other factions and hopefully convince them to support peace terms. There will also be an opportunity to get to know them better, I believe. Young Henry believes there is little point in hosting a cultural exchange, but I beg to differ.”

Ted rather suspected Henry had a point. The aliens were alien. They wouldn’t understand the great classics of human society, not when there were disparate human groups that didn’t understand one another either. And they shared the same biology as the rest of the human race. The aliens were nothing like humanity.

“Second, we have discussed potential peace terms,” Melbourne continued. “The aliens themselves weren’t agreed on what they wanted from us. I believe that one faction wishes to return to the pre-war situation, while the other two wanted to end the war, but keep the worlds and systems they took from us.”

“That won’t please the Russians,” Ted said. He scowled, inwardly. The Marines were overstretched keeping an eye on both the Russians and the alien diplomats. “Do they have a reason for that?”

“I believe they think it will serve as a bribe to convince several other factions to throw their weight behind peace,” Melbourne said. “But it’s difficult to be sure, Admiral.”

“So it would seem,” Ted said.

He thought he understood. The alien factions, like most of humanity, probably hadn’t seen much wrong with a short victorious war. Wars only tended to become massively unpopular when countless soldiers were dying and the war seemed unwinnable. If Ark Royal had been scrapped, the aliens would probably be occupying Earth and congratulating themselves on the success of their strategy by now. Instead, they’d been forced to sit back and think carefully about their future.

And they’ll want to see something for all the blood and treasure they spilled, he thought, morbidly. Even if it is just a handful of worlds along the border.

The Ambassador shrugged. “But we haven’t agreed on anything definite yet,” he warned. “I think they’ve extended a safe conduct to us, but I don’t know if we can count on it.”

“I’ll discuss it with my officers,” Ted assured him. “Where do they want us to go?”

“They gave us a starchart,” Melbourne said. “It’s not too far from where we believed Faction Two to be based.”

“How lucky for us,” Ted said, dryly. He turned to the hatch. “I’ll discuss it with my officers, Ambassador, then get back to you.”

He paused. “Do they want you to visit their ship?”

“It’s a possibility,” Melbourne said. “Do you want to visit?”

“Maybe in peacetime,” Ted said.

It was tempting, but he knew better. Fitzwilliam would sit on him if he tried to visit the alien ship during wartime. He wondered briefly if he could come up with an excuse to send the CAG there — it would give him a semi-legitimate excuse to avoid his blackmailers — but he knew it wouldn’t pass muster. The Commander Air Group was no ambassador. Sending him to the alien ship made about as much sense as sending the Captain down to an unexplored planet.

“Keep talking to them,” he said, as he stepped back into the main compartment. “But don’t give away too much too soon.”

Behind him, he heard Melbourne snort.

“Are we sure,” James asked, “that these coordinates are correct?”

“We checked them against the tramlines, sir,” Lieutenant Commander Daniel Lightbridge said. The helmsman looked nervous, yet eager. “There’s no doubt about where we’re heading.”

James frowned. He understood, as much as anyone else, why it was important to make peace with the aliens. But, at the same time, he disliked the idea of heading further into unexplored space at alien behest. It would be easy for the aliens — or one of their factions — to set an ambush that would cripple or destroy Ark Royal.

“I don’t see that we have any choice,” the Admiral said. “This will put us very near one of the alien worlds.”

The bioweapon, James thought. It wouldn’t take long, according to the techs, to prep a deployment system. The aliens would regret stabbing a knife in the Old Lady’s back, he knew, if they ever realised the connection. Their sensor networks weren’t good enough to pick up a stealth missile penetrating their defences. If we have to use it, we’ll be in an excellent place to deploy it for best effect.

“But it will also risk the flotilla,” he pointed out. It was his job to play Cassandra. “Even if this faction means well, Admiral, others are outright hostile. We could be flying right into a trap.”

“That would always be a risk,” the Admiral countered. “They tried to ambush us last time we were here, Captain.”

James nodded. “But this time it will be easier for them to set a trap,” he said. “If they knew we were coming…”

He scowled. If the aliens had detected them while they were trying to sneak through the backdoor to Target One, they might have planned a trap — or even a holding mission to keep the Old Lady where she was while the aliens gathered the forces to destroy her. Or was he just being paranoid? It was clear the aliens had treated the human captives relatively well, certainly by human standards, and — unknowingly — they’d returned Prince Henry to his people. James had to admire the Prince for how well he’d handled his situation. He’d done very well.

But had the aliens brainwashed him?

It was a constant worry whenever someone had spent a long time in captivity. Human minds, struggling to defend themselves, started empathising with their captors, even to the point of joining them. Stockholm Syndrome didn’t just make hostages untrustworthy as rescue forces stormed terrorist lairs. It kept abused partners and children with their abusers, convincing them they deserved their treatment… and that was without drugs or direct mental manipulation warping their judgement. James had few illusions. Given enough time, there wasn’t anyone, no matter how loyal or patriotic, who couldn’t be turned into a dagger aimed at his own country. It had happened before and it would no doubt happen again.

The doctor saw no signs of tampering, he thought, and could the aliens really do a perfect job of it? They’ve only had a handful of years to study living humans…

He shook his head. There was no way to know. It was just another uncertainty in a mission that had too many of them already.

“We have to take the risk,” the Admiral said. “I’d be happy holding the talks somewhere neutral, but we don’t seem to have that option. Instead…”

He cleared his throat. “We will pass through the tramline here,” he said, tapping the display. “The aliens will be asked to stay with us until we pass through, just in case. We don’t want our course to be predicable.”

“It will be,” James said, bluntly. He understood the Admiral’s concern — and he trusted his judgement — but far too much could go wrong. “We won’t be remotely stealthy if we have an alien ship escorting us.”

“I know,” the Admiral said. He looked down at the table. “I want to detach Holmes from the flotilla. She is to make her way back to Earth, under very tight stealth, carrying a complete copy of our translation algorithms, reports and whatever else can be copied over. If the doctors agree, she is to take Miss Pearlman too. I think it would be better for her to be returned to Earth.”

James frowned. “You don’t want to send the Prince back too?”

“I think we will need him in the future,” the Admiral said. “And he is a trained starfighter pilot, if we dare clear him for duty. Miss Pearlman is none of those things.”

James considered it. It was quite likely the King would be furious at hearing his son had been recovered, but not sent back to Earth at once. The political questions that everyone had thought had died with the Prince would be reopened, starting with the old issue of just who would succeed the Throne. But he understood the Admiral’s decision. Prince Henry could still be useful.

“Miss Pearlman might be helpful,” he pointed out. “Or do you think she can’t be any more informative?”

“We don’t seem to need her any longer,” the Admiral said. “And she needs better treatment than we can supply onboard the ship. She’s on the verge of collapse, James. The aliens didn’t realise it, we think, but they were slowly starving her to death. She needs specialised treatment on Earth.”

“Don’t let the doctors hear you say that,” James said, dryly. “But I understand. Besides, she might just be the last heir to the Heinlein Foundation’s Trust.”

“If they let her claim it,” the Admiral mused. He shook his head. “Prepare your ship for departure, Captain. And pray that this isn’t all an elaborate trick.”

James looked up at the starchart. The spider’s web of tramlines shone through alien space, showing a handful of potential hub systems for the alien civilisation. One of them, he was sure, was the alien homeworld. But it was impossible to be sure which one. The aliens, apparently, had flatly declined to discuss the location of their homeworld with their human counterparts. Under the circumstances, James knew, it was very hard to blame them.

They attacked our homeworld, he thought, sourly. Why wouldn’t we attack theirs?

He thought of the bioweapon and went cold.

“Jill’s going back to Earth?”

“Yes,” Janelle said. There was an odd note to her voice. “Will you miss her?”

Henry sat upright. Of course… Janelle would have seen Jill, naked as the day she was born, accompanying him back to Ark Royal. Perhaps she’d wondered what they’d done together, when there had been no hope of getting back to Earth. Or perhaps she was simply concerned…

“I’m glad she’s getting treatment,” he said. The thought of slowly wasting away was horrific, but it would have happened if they hadn’t returned to the Old Lady. “We never felt anything badly wrong.”

“The doctors think you might have been fed painkillers as well,” Janelle said. “We know they drug some of their captives. They could just have been experimenting with the dose.”

Henry winced. “Didn’t the blood tests come up negative?”

“They didn’t find anything we recognised,” Janelle confirmed. “But they might well have missed something, if it had time to filter out of your bloodstream.”

“Never mind,” Henry said, sharply. He shook his head. They’d allowed him to watch the negotiations through the monitors, but not to actually take part. “Are we going further into alien space now?”

“So it would seem,” Janelle said, slowly. “How do you feel about that?”

“I… don’t care where I go, as long as I go with you,” Henry said. It had been a famous line from one of the romantic movies Elizabeth had loved to watch, before she’d realised just how many frogs she would have to kiss before she found her Prince Charming. “I…”

He ducked as Janelle picked up a terminal and waved it at him threateningly. She wasn’t the sort of person to be impressed by romantic platitudes.

“I don’t know how I feel,” he admitted, instead. “I want to get it over with, Janelle, but I also don’t want to go home.”

Janelle patted his shoulder, then kissed his forehead.

“You probably should record a message for your family,” she said. “I believe everyone else in the crew will be doing the same.”

Henry sighed. Part of him was still insanely tempted to try to convince the Admiral to leave him out of his report. But it wasn’t even remotely possible.

“I will,” he said, reluctantly. What did one say to a family that had burned a casket, then mourned him? Had they mourned publically, knowing the media would crucify them if they didn’t, or had they tried to keep their grief to themselves? Had they felt grief at all? Or had Elizabeth envied him for escaping the media? “But I honestly don’t know what I’m going to tell them.”

“Well,” Jasmine said. “Did you miss them?”

“Of course,” Henry said, offended.

“Then start by telling them that,” Janelle said, practically. “And then tell them just how much you’ve achieved over the last couple of months.”

“I can’t,” Henry said. He shook his head in bitter dismay. “The message won’t stay private, you see.”