The Trafalgar Gambit

Chapter Forty

“Well,” Uncle Winchester said, “I dare say your old commander would be proud.”

“I don’t think he would have cared for a state funeral,” James said, sourly. Admiral Smith had requested burial in space, according to his will. “But I suppose the politicians must have their chance to pay homage to him.”

“Welcome to politics,” Uncle Winchester said. He leaned forward. “But I dare say he would have approved.”

James had his doubts. The Russians had been blackmailed once — and it had ensured that they had largely escaped consequences for the attempt to use the bioweapon. Officially, rogue agents had carried out the attack on Ark Royal, only to be stopped at the last hurdle. The truth would remain buried — forever, if the Russians had their way. It was infuriating to think that the Russians had largely escaped punishment for their actions. The only consolation was the awareness that they wouldn’t be paid any compensation by the other powers.

But they may get New Russia back anyway, James thought. The final negotiations with the aliens had hinted that they might abandon New Russia, purely to disarm the remaining elements of the War Faction. At that point… the Russians would reassert their claim to the system and, with so many people on the planet’s surface, they’d probably win. And who knows what will happen then?

“Perhaps, Uncle,” he said, finally. “And what of your plan to leave the system to die?”

“We may send the ships out anyway,” Uncle Winchester said. “Who knows what we will encounter in the future? It might be a sensible idea to have a hidden colony or two, some distance from the rest of humanity.”

“And stake a claim before the official borders wash over the system,” James pointed out, snidely. “It might be workable.”

“Indeed it might,” Uncle Winchester said. “And congratulations, Admiral Fitzwilliam.”

James sighed. The Admiralty had been coming under fire for failing to dispatch the relief mission in time to save Ark Royal. It was irritating — for once, it wasn’t the bureaucrats fault — but they’d tried to make up for it by handing promotions out to the survivors like confetti at a wedding. James was now the youngest Admiral in the Royal Navy and charged with taking command of the multinational fleet guarding the border worlds. It wasn’t a job he particularly wanted.

“Thank you, Uncle,” he said. “And have you made the arrangements I wanted?”

“I have,” Uncle Winchester said. “No one could deny you anything, not now. I would suggest you start looking for a wife. Quite a few young ladies were introduced to London during the last season. One of them would be interested.”

“No, thank you,” James said. “I don’t want a young wife.”

He scowled. “Did you complete the arrangements exactly as specified?”

“Yes,” his uncle said. “If there had been a problem, young man, I would have told you.”

James nodded. “I think Admiral Smith would have approved of that,” he said. “And I thank you for your assistance.”

He shook his uncle’s hand, then walked to the door and headed down the stairs. Outside, rain was lashing down on London, a mocking reminder that the end of the war hadn’t brought a return to the days before the war. Even now, millions of civilians squatted in refugee camps, while hundreds of thousands more had been conscripted into labour battalions and sent out to help shore up the defences. It would be years before Britain returned to normal.

Ignoring the water dripping down his uniform, he walked through the half-empty streets until he entered Hyde Park. The refugee camp that had been established there was gone, now; the grass was so sodden with water that it was almost a marsh in its own right. But the government had insisted on placing the memorial there, right in the heart of London. A giant piece of hull metal, scorched and battered by the alien weapon that had blasted it away from Ark Royal, sat on the ground, etched with names. They’d wanted to build a whole new Nelson’s Column, James knew, for Admiral Smith. And they would, one day.

But this will do, James thought, as he stopped in front of the hull and ran his eyes down the list of names. Three thousand crewmen had died on Operation Trafalgar, starting with a handful of pilots he’d barely known and ending with ADMIRAL THEODORE SMITH. He felt a moment of bitter Survivor’s Guilt as he saw other names; Commander Williams, Commander Rose Labara, Commander Kurt Schneider, Major Charles Parnell…

He shook his head. No one knew, outside a handful of government officials, just what had happened to Commander Schneider. The Russians would keep their mouths shut, he knew, if only to avoid a full disclosure of everything that had happened on the Old Lady’s final mission. His children would never know that some people considered their father a traitor. It would certainly never be allowed to affect their lives.

“I’m sorry, Admiral,” he said, looking back at the Admiral’s name. “You deserved better.”

He carefully unbuckled the Victoria Cross from his uniform and looked down at it. Admiral Smith had wound up with medals from almost every nation on Earth, after Ark Royal’s first cruise. Now, they were stored in the Imperial War Museum. One day, when the world was normal again, people would flock to see them and hear about the adventures of HMS Ark Royal. He wondered, sardonically, if they’d ever learn that the Admiral had beaten the demon drink as well as the aliens. Or would the slate be washed clean?

Carefully, he placed the medal beside the hull fragment, then turned and walked away.

“You can’t be serious!”

Henry allowed himself a smirk. God! He hated Victor Forsyth. The man was a PR hack, dedicated to making the Royal Family look good at all times. He might have been more tolerable if he hadn’t also insisted that Henry bow, scrape and grovel whenever there was the slightest hint of controversy. After watching Ark Royal die, Henry was damned if he was apologising for anything ever again, no matter who got their panties in a bunch. And he no longer cared about what it did to the Monarchy. It was, after all, nothing less than child abuse to have someone like Forsyth make him feel guilty for everything. Regular beatings would have been kinder.

“I’m very much afraid that I am,” he said, dryly. It was wrong of him, but he revelled in Forsyth’s shock. “I’ve already packed my personal possessions. And I’ve also written a speech. Do you like it?”

“You can’t go up in front of the media and say that,” Forsyth objected. “It would do inestimable harm to the country! People’s confidence would be shattered…”

Henry waved a hand around to indicate the luxurious room. “I don’t think they’d be amused to discover that people like you and I were still living in luxury when half the country is starving,” he said. “And let’s be honest, shall we? That is precisely what we are doing.”

He stood. “I’ve explained everything to my father,” he added. “And while he isn’t too pleased, he understands. I’ll be leaving London tomorrow and I won’t return.”

Winchester cleared his throat. “Perhaps we could arrange a compromise, Your Highness,” he said. “There are ways we can appease both sides of the issue.”

“There’s no room for compromise,” Henry said. He ticked off points on his fingers as he spoke. “I do not want to be part of the Royal Family any longer. I don’t want my fiancée or my children to be part of the Royal Family. I…”

“Janelle Lopez has her duties to the Royal Navy,” Forsyth said. “She might not be allowed to resign…”

Henry smirked. “You do realise you’re talking about a heroine, one of the few people to know Admiral Smith and survive? I dare say the media would be very interested if you tried to pressure her.”

Forsyth blanched. “But…”

“But what?” Henry demanded. “You kept me here through ties of love and loyalty and patriotism. I still love my family, but I see no reason to surrender the rest of my life to become a figurehead for the government and the country. What could I possibly do to show the people that the Royal Family is part of them that will outshine almost dying in the final battle of the war?”

He snorted. “And stop trying to appeal to my loyalty,” he added. “I got sick of it after they took photographs of me on the toilet as a young boy. If it had been anyone else, you assholes, the reporter would have been charged with taking indecent pictures of children and slapped in jail. But for me… the bastard got away with it scot free.”

Winchester held up his hand. “We would not presume to threaten your future wife,” he said, “but the country is not particularly stable at the moment. You leaving now could threaten confidence in the government when we need it to remain stable.”

Henry snorted. “At rock bottom?”

“We have a compromise,” Winchester said. “There will be an embassy on Atlantis, as I believe the alien homeworld will be designated. You are a naval officer with considerable experience of working with the aliens, as is your future wife. I believe you could be assigned there for the remainder of your term in the military, if not longer. You would have privacy, Your Highness, and you would be well away from Earth.”

“And my sister would succeed the throne, if she wants it,” Henry said. “Let’s face it. She will make a much better figurehead than myself.”

He paused. “And what about my children?”

“If your sister dies childless,” Winchester said, “they would be in line to take the throne…”

“No,” Henry said. “My price for doing this is that I and any children I might have are excluded from the succession permanently. If Elizabeth dies childless, there are other potential heirs…”

“And you’re the one in first place,” Forsyth said.

“And it hardly matters,” Henry snapped. “If there was power in the throne, I might take it and use it… and my first decree would be to have you beheaded. But there’s no reward for making myself a target for reporters, pollutions — sorry, politicians — and everyone with a grudge against Britain.”

He took a breath. “You have my terms,” he said. “If you can handle them, let me know and I will speak to Janelle about it. If not… bye-bye.”

Grinning, he turned and walked out of the room. Maybe it wasn’t quite as satisfying as the fantasy he’d had of slowly feeding Forsyth and his ilk into a mincing machine, then feeding their remains to reporters, but it had felt good. And even if he did take the post on Atlantis…

… He would be a long way from any damned reporters.

And that, he knew, was all he really wanted.

James hadn’t visited his father’s study since the day he’d entered the Academy. It had normally been denied to him and his siblings, as his father did most of his work from the manor and flatly barred his children from disturbing him during office hours. The only times he’d visited had been when the servants had wanted to report his conduct to his father, who had always taken a dim view of it.

He looked around the room, marvelling at how little had changed. The walls were covered with bookshelves, the desk — a copy of one in Buckingham Palace — was bare, save for a computer terminal and a piece of paper with a handful of scrawled notes. He was studying the book titles, wondering how many of them his father had actually read, when the door opened, revealing Percy and Penny Schneider. Behind them, Gayle — their nanny, according to Commander Schneider — looked reluctant to enter the room.

“Please, take a seat,” he said. “All three of you.”

He sighed inwardly as he met their eyes. Percy was clearly trying to be a grown man, suppressing his emotions in public, while Penny and Gayle both looked badly upset. It was hard to blame any of them. Their mother — and Gayle’s parents — had vanished in the tidal waves, while their father had died shortly afterwards on active service. And they were far from alone. Hundreds of thousands — perhaps millions — of people remained missing, presumed dead. Or perhaps they’d simply changed their identities and vanished.

“Your father was a very brave man,” he said, simply. “He gave his life to save countless others.”

He looked at Gayle. “I believe he intended to adopt you, at least until you reached adulthood,” he added. “He certainly filed the paperwork to do so before Ark Royal left Earth for the final time. I don’t think there would have been any major objections. He was a war hero, after all, and already the father of two teenage children.”

“Yes, sir,” Gayle muttered.

James understood. She’d lost her parents, then her prospective adopter in quick succession. The normal legal headaches to adoption had been removed in the wake of the crisis, but the legal protections had also been removed. There had already been incidents, according to the media, when children and teenagers had been adopted by deliberately abusive adults and treated worse than slaves. Gayle had no reason to look forward to a bright future. None of them had, not really.

“It is my intention to adopt you,” James said. “All three of you. I believe your father would have wanted me to see you — all three of you — safe.”

Percy frowned. “And the price of this?”

“Nothing,” James said. He understood. Percy would have been exposed to more darkness in the last few months than he’d seen in his entire previous life. It had matured him, but it had also left him cynical and worn. “Just… try to live up to your father’s standards.”

Penny sighed. “But here…?”

“For the moment,” James said. He looked around the room, trying to understand how it must seem to them. Their parents had never been rich. “There are options, if you don’t want to join my extended family. I believe there are asteroid settlements, or farmsteads on Britannia, or… I could probably arrange almost anything for you. But I believe that if you live here, at least until you become legal adults, you’d have the best possible introduction into society.”

He took a breath. “I’m expected to report onboard Formidable within two weeks,” he said. “By then, the diplomatic headaches should have been sorted out and we’ll know where the borders actually are. I’d prefer you gave me an answer by the end of the week and, until then, you are more than welcome to stay here.”

Percy rose to his feet. “Thank you, sir,” he said. He was certainly trying to be formal. “We will discuss it amongst ourselves and let you know.”

James nodded, then watched as they filed out of the room. They’d do well whatever they chose, he was sure. And the aristocracy had thrived when it had finally started integrating talented commoners. Kurt Schneider had died a hero. His children would be sought after for marriages, if they chose to stay. And if they didn’t…

He shook his head, then tapped the computer terminal. Uncle Winchester had sent him a detailed set of diagrams for the planned next generation carrier, one built after the lessons of the First Interstellar War were analysed and integrated into the design. She would look like the Old Lady, he knew, although she was also smoother in places, despite the ever-present weapons and sensor blisters. He smiled, then swallowed hard when he saw the nametag on the top of the diagram. HMS Theodore Smith.

It was, he decided, precisely what humanity’s first interstellar naval hero deserved.