The Trafalgar Gambit

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Ted rose to his feet as Ambassador Melbourne was escorted into his cabin, after — according to the Marines — having a long shower and a change of clothes in his quarters. It was hard to blame him. The people down on the surface had compared the alien world to a tropical rainforest, with worse weather and better company. At least the aliens weren’t trying to play games with the human representatives, the ambassadors had noted. They seemed to be playing it fair.

“Ambassador,” he said. “Welcome back.”

“I don’t think they chose such an uncomfortable world on purpose, but it would have been very cunning if they had,” Ambassador Melbourne said. “I haven’t had such an unpleasant time since the last meeting in Arabia. At least this place doesn’t have flies.”

“That’s one thing,” Ted said. The biochemists had claimed the alien world was more or less habitable for humans, but he doubted many would want to settle there permanently. Both the weather and geology were completely screwed up by human standards. “And how are the talks?”

“I swear the aliens keep changing their demands to suit themselves,” Ambassador Melbourne said. “They don’t even let us answer before they alter them. It’s weird.”

He shrugged. “I know diplomats who just demand more and more,” he added, “but the aliens sometimes demand more and sometimes demand less. It makes absolutely no sense.”

“Their factions must keep arguing over just what they want from us,” Ted said. Over the last four days, countless starships had passed through the system. He assumed they were transmitting messages from other alien factions. “What do they want?”

Ambassador Melbourne sighed. “The War Faction seems to need placating,” he said. “The aliens want to keep their gains, including New Russia. In exchange for this, they will agree to peace — and that human settlers will be allowed to manage their own affairs. Or leave, if that’s what they want to do. But the aliens want to keep the worlds themselves.”

“Putting them in position to launch a second war on favourable terms if the peace breaks down,” Ted said, slowly. New Russia was only two jumps from Earth. “And it lets the War Faction claim victory.”

“We believe so,” Ambassador Melbourne said. “It’s what they want from us, Admiral. The occupied worlds may be the price for peace.”

“Crap,” Ted said. It was unlikely such a dishonourable peace would go down well with the British public — and the Russians would go ballistic. “Anything else?”

“No reparations from either side,” Ambassador Melbourne said. “We won’t help them rebuild Target One; they won’t help us rebuild Earth. We’re to share a handful of worlds along the border, but not Heinlein. That’s to remain part of the War Faction’s domain. One system, probably New Russia, is to be designated a meeting place for future discussions — they won’t try to expand any further in our direction in exchange for us doing the same.”

He sighed, again. “They weren’t willing to discuss trade at the moment,” he added. “I think they want to settle the war before discussing anything else.”

“Wise of them,” Ted said. “Do you have authority to make such an agreement?”

“More or less,” Ambassador Melbourne said.

Ted’s eyes narrowed. “More or less?”

“The Russians probably won’t accept it,” Ambassador Melbourne pointed out. “Several of the other occupied worlds have founders who won’t be pleased either. But they won’t be able to stop it, I think, without our support. And that support won’t materialise.”

Ted studied him for a long moment. “You’re talking about betraying our allies,” he said.

“You knew it was a possibility,” Ambassador Melbourne reminded him. He shook his head. “Admiral… can we win the war?”

“I don’t know,” Ted confessed. The sheer level of alien industry in the system was staggeringly high. Given time, the aliens could simply out-produce humanity and win the war easily. And there was no way to change that without a few years of peace to rebuild from the war. “It seems unlikely.”

“Without the… special weapon, it does,” Ambassador Melbourne agreed. “I have discussed the matter extensively with the other ambassadors. We have agreed to accept the terms the aliens have proposed. The Russians will be compensated with settlement rights to another world on the other side of the human sphere and we will assist them in transferring the population of New Russia to New Russia The Second. We’ll do the same for the other occupied worlds.”

He paused. “Although I don’t think that Mulligan’s population would honestly notice if the aliens claimed their skies.”

Ted nodded. Mulligan’s population largely consisted of men and women who wanted to return to the days before industry. They’d largely been ignored by the aliens after their system had been occupied, according to the recon flights. They simply didn’t have anything the aliens wanted, nor were they a threat. It was easy to imagine them just continuing to exist, largely unaware of the outside universe, while the aliens settled their seabed.

But what if the aliens start melting the icecaps, he thought. They could drown the human settlers without even noticing what they’d done.

“No,” he said, slowly. “So… you intend to accept those terms?”

“Unless the aliens change them,” Ambassador Melbourne said. “Again.”

He snorted, rudely. “I am nervous about pushing the matter too far,” he admitted. “A human diplomat would start with outrageous demands, then allow them to be pared down to something more acceptable. As long as his core demands were met, anything else would be gravy. But I don’t think the aliens use the same tactic. I have the feeling that they’re discussing it more intensely among themselves than we are… and that their faction consensus keeps shifting depending on who holds the upper hand at the moment. Trying to pare their demands down too far might shift the balance in favour of the War Faction.”

Ted groaned. “you’re trying to influence alien politics?”

Ambassador Melbourne gave him a surprised look. “You’re an Admiral,” he said. “Don’t you know how much time and effort smaller nations put in to influencing British politics?”

“No,” Ted said.

“The Americans used to get it worse,” Ambassador Melbourne added. “Now… the smaller nations have nothing we want, so we force them to work hard for our favour.”

“Politics,” Ted said.

“Politics,” Ambassador Melbourne agreed. “In this case, we don’t want the aliens to get buyer’s remorse shortly after making the deal with us. So… we offer them excellent terms and hope they’re not greedier than the average human despot.”

“How very reassuring,” Ted said. He paused as a nasty thought struck him. “Have you discussed this with the observers?”

“Not yet, but we’re going to need some of them to sign off on it,” Ambassador Melbourne said. “Practically speaking, if America, France, China and us agree, the peace treaty will go through. However, it could lead to some very nasty diplomatic arguments.”

“Or outright war,” Ted warned. “The Russians will feel they’ve been sold out.”

“We have contingency plans,” Ambassador Melbourne said, confidently. “The Russians will be given plenty of compensation.”

Ted had his doubts. The Russians had spent nearly eighty years and a substantial chunk of their GNP on turning New Russia into a going concern. Before the war, they’d even established a formidable industrial base in the system, although it didn’t compare to Earth’s or Target One. From a strictly unemotional point of view, the compensation might be sufficient, particularly given that they would have to invest in a great deal of rebuilding in any case. But he had the feeling the Russians would not be keen to simply abandon New Russia. It was part of their motherland now.

But what can they do about it? He asked himself. They can’t continue the war alone…

“I hope the aliens keep the treaty,” he said. He read Prince Henry’s notes. The man had the makings of a worthwhile naval strategist, if he was allowed to remain in the military. “If they plan to buy a few years of peace before restarting the war… well, New Russia is only a handful of hops from Earth.”

“Give us a few years and we will have plenty of nasty surprises ready for them,” Ambassador Melbourne said, confidently. “And we will have time to prepare more defences around Earth and the other settled worlds.”

“True,” Ted agreed, reluctantly. “But I still think we need to be careful.”

Ambassador Melbourne rose to his feet. “I need to get a nap, then discuss matters with the observers in the morning,” he said. “Thank you for your time, Admiral.”

Ted watched him walk through the hatch, then keyed his console. “Major Parnell, Captain Fitzwilliam, report to my office,” he ordered. “Immediately.”

The Marine must have run, Ted decided, as Major Parnell entered the office, barely five minutes after Ted had called him. Or perhaps he’d been somewhere nearer Officer Country than he’d been prepared to admit. Half of the Marines were keeping an eye on the alien diplomats and the Russians, after all. Ted rather wished he’d been able to draw more Marines from Earth before departing the planet.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, Major,” Ted said. Captain Fitzwilliam joined them a moment later. “The Russians are about to be sold out.”

He explained, bluntly. “We can expect a violent reaction,” he concluded. “I want you and your men to be on alert.”

“We should call a security drill,” Parnell suggested. “We’ve been calling them at random during the trip, so they shouldn’t trigger any alarms.”

“Not here,” Ted said. They were orbiting an alien world. A single mistake could accidentally restart the war. “But I want you to secure the ship as much as possible without sounding the alert. We need to be ready if the shit hits the fan.”

“Risky,” Fitzwilliam said. “The last thing we want is the aliens mistaking our internal problems for a planned attack.”

Ted nodded. “But we have no choice,” he said. “We cannot risk restarting the war.”

Parnell frowned. “Admiral, with all due respect, we could secure the Russians now,” he said, simply. “There would be no problem in taking and holding them as prisoners until we returned to Earth.”

“But then there would be a diplomatic headache,” Ted pointed out, flatly. “They’d claim their diplomatic immunity was violated. Unless we had a suitable excuse it could be used against us.”

“The safety of the ship is at stake,” Fitzwilliam said.

“I know that,” Ted snapped. He took a breath, calming himself. “Captain, these are very delicate diplomatic negotiations. We don’t dare risk an incident that can be used as an excuse to undermine them.”

“I don’t like it,” Fitzwilliam confessed. “This seems far too much like we’re baiting the Russians, trying to tempt them into revealing their hand.”

Ted knew he had a point. From a dispassionate point of view, allowing the Russians to prove their hostile intent would make it easier to convince the diplomats on Earth to disregard the Russian objections. But it was also risky. The Russians would do something to upset the negotiations, he suspected, unless they intended to try to muster support on Earth. But what?

“We may not have a choice,” Ted said. “There’s just too much at stake.”

“I hope you’re right,” Parnell said. He pulled himself to attention. “And we have a couple of platoons of Marines down on the surface. We’re undermanned, sir.”

Ted nodded, bitterly.

“Deputise crewmen, if necessary,” he said. They’d planned counter-boarding operations, with armed crewmen serving as first responders. “But make sure they’re well-briefed.”

“Aye, sir,” Parnell said. “It will be a nightmare.”

He paused. “Can I at least wipe the codes from the system? If they attempt to use them, Admiral, we’d know.”

“Do it,” Fitzwilliam urged.

“Please,” Ted agreed. “And be ready for anything.”

“Aye, sir,” Parnell said.

He saluted, then left the office.

“I’m not happy about this, Admiral,” Fitzwilliam said, flatly. “This is my ship. The final word on decisions concerning her safety is mine.”

Ted glared at him, then lowered his eyes. He wasn’t commander of Ark Royal any longer, no matter how much he might miss the days when he was her master. It was Fitzwilliam who commanded now, he knew, and Ted had stamped on his toes quite badly. But most Admirals wouldn’t have merely moved up in rank while staying on the same ship. They would have transferred to another ship, just to break the emotional ties between them and their previous command. Ted hadn’t done that, not when Ark Royal was the only effective fleet carrier in human service. He’d stayed on his former command.

“I know, Captain,” he said. “And I am sorry.”

“There are too many things at stake here, Admiral,” Fitzwilliam added. “I think you need to be more careful about balancing them. That’s why you have subordinates.”

“Yes, Captain,” Ted snapped.

He sighed. “See to your ship, Captain,” he ordered. “And pray that we manage to get through the next few days alive.”

Captain Fitzwilliam turned and left. The stress was getting to him, Ted saw, but it was getting to all of them. Fighting the war had been much simpler, even when he’d been trying to balance competing national imperatives — and egos — during Operation Nelson. Now, the slightest mistake could prove disastrous.

When we get home, I’ll transfer my flag, he thought. Or take that desk job, if the war comes to an end. They won’t let me command another fleet.

It wasn’t a comforting thought. He was growing too old to command a fleet, particularly without the seasoning the more conventional officers had had. And yet he would regret returning to Earth and spending the rest of his days there. Shaking his head, Ted returned to his paperwork — and his silent prayers. One tiny mistake… and all hell could break loose.

Years ago, Odette Roma had made one tiny, but fatal mistake. She’d developed a gambling habit, one that had threatened to consume her life. Her salary as a Personal Assistant in the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International Development — the Diplomatic Service — hadn’t been anything like enough to cover her losses. She’d faced utter ruin when someone had arrived to offer to pay her debts, in exchange for tiny pieces of intelligence from her work.

There had been no choice, she told herself. If she admitted her gambling losses to her superiors, they would brand her a security risk and transfer her somewhere less prestigious, if they didn’t simply fire her and make sure she was blacklisted everywhere in Europe. But if she took the money, she would be able to cover her debts… and she wouldn’t have to give out much intelligence. Her contact swore he worked for a corporation. She wasn’t exactly committing treason if she was merely helping a French corporation, was she?

But she knew better now, after five years of sending pieces of ever more sensitive information to her contact. She wasn’t working for a corporation, but a foreign power — and she was hopelessly compromised. If the truth ever came out, she would never see the light of day again. She’d be buried in an asteroid penal colony and carefully interrogated by the Direction centrale du renseignement intérieur until they knew everything she’d told her contact — and then shot her for high treason. Odette had considered suicide and she’d considered making a clean breast of it, but she’d known it would be the end. How could she face her family and co-workers once they knew what she’d done?

She looked down at the datapad in front of her. Ambassador Pierre Gasconne was a fat overweight tub of lard with wandering hands — she’d been ordered to do whatever it took to ensure she was attached to the Ambassador when he departed Earth - but she had to admit he was a skilled diplomat. France wouldn’t do too badly out of the treaty the ambassadors had hammered out, even if it was very far from perfect. But other powers would be far worse off.

Her instructions were clear. If she learned anything about the planned treaty, anything at all, she was to copy it to an address on the diplomatic datanet. She knew better than to try to trace it back to her contact. In truth, she wasn’t entirely sure who she was working for. But there was no choice. If she failed them, she knew, her career would be utterly destroyed.

Carefully, she copied the data from the pad into one of the spare terminals, then transmitted it to the address she’d been given. Moments later, the terminal automatically wiped itself blank, erasing all traces of the message. It was a standard security precaution when travelling on an insecure starship. Who knew who might raid her cabin when she was eating in the mess? But it hardly mattered. She knew the message was on its way to her contact…

Shaking her head, she sat down at the table and started to work through the proposed treaty, line by line. It was her job, after all. And her contact evidently didn’t mean France any harm — or so she told herself. They could have used the intelligence she’d sent them against France quite easily, if that had been what they’d had in mind. Instead, they’d done almost nothing as far as she could tell. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad bargain after all. Perhaps she was even helping France by sending her contact intelligence…

Or perhaps she was just deluding herself.

She’d never be allowed to quit, she knew. Her contact wouldn’t let her resign or vanish into the underworld. Resigning without his permission would be repaid by betrayal. Her reputation would be destroyed, her life shattered and she would never see the outside world again. No, she had no choice. She had to do whatever they wanted her to do.

What other choice did she have?