The Trafalgar Gambit

Chapter Seven

“I say, my boy,” Uncle Graham said. “You look like a drowned rat. And smell like one too.”

Captain James Montrose Fitzwilliam sighed as he stepped into the library. There was at least one over-bred idiot in every aristocratic family, the result of too much inbreeding or a complete lack of discipline when they were children. Uncle Graham had been an idiot when James had been born and he hadn’t really improved since. But then, he’d never been forced to actually work for a living.

“It happens to be raining out there,” James said, with as much patience as he could muster. It wasn’t much. Winchester Hall had escaped the tidal waves, but the never-ending rain had ruined the gardens and turned the grass into a muddy ocean. The refugee camp established on the fields outside the walls only made matters worse. “And I didn’t have an umbrella.”

“I know, laddie,” Uncle Graham said. “We haven’t been able to play cricket for weeks.”

James sighed, again. There were times when he understood just why the republicans wanted to get rid of the aristocracy. If people like himself genuinely earned their places — and he recalled how he’d tried to gain command of Ark Royal and shuddered — there were quite a few aristocrats who did nothing to make themselves worthy of the rights they claimed from the British State. Uncle Graham should have been sterilised as soon as it became clear that he wasn’t going to improve. Fortunately, no one had expressed interest in marrying him.

He strode past his uncle and into the next room. Uncle Winchester was seated at his desk, going through a large stack of paperwork. Beside him, his secretary took notes, her face illuminated oddly by the firelight. The flames burning in the fireplace, James decided, were almost hypnotic. It was enough to make him want to forget the disaster that had struck the country outside the walls.

“James,” Uncle Winchester said. He nodded to his secretary, who stood and walked out the door, closing it firmly behind her. “You’re late.”

“The roads were completely flooded,” James said, shortly. He’d been in combat. He wasn’t going to be intimidated by Uncle Winchester. “I had to divert quite some way before I got to the estate.”

“You should have taken a shuttle,” Uncle Winchester said. He looked James up and down, then nodded shortly. “Take a seat, please.”

James sat. “The shuttles were required for distributing emergency supplies,” he said, curtly. “I was damned if I was going to take one away from its duties just to get here on time.”

Uncle Winchester didn’t bother to argue. “I got your request,” he said. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“Yes, Uncle,” James said, firmly.

He sighed. The CAG wasn’t the only officer or crewman with family in refugee camps. A quick check had revealed over three hundred registered dependents in various camps, along with several thousand deaths. He’d asked Uncle Winchester to take the Kurt Schneider’s family into his home, but also to ensure the remaining family members were protected. It was his duty as a commanding officer to take care of his men.

“It has been done,” Uncle Winchester said. “The young girls have been given rooms in the Hall; the young man has insisted on remaining with the volunteers. And everyone else has been placed on the priority list for transport elsewhere.”

James nodded. Thankfully, large parts of the country remained untouched by the tidal waves, allowing the government to start setting up proper holding facilities for the refugees. It would be a long time before they had anywhere decent to live — abandoned and second homes were already being tapped under the Disaster Relief Act — but they would be safe, at least.

“Thank you,” he said.

“This leads to another question,” Uncle Winchester said. “Do you want them to be added to the Emergency Evacuation List?”

“What Emergency Evacuation List?” James asked. “If this building comes under attack…?”

“No,” Uncle Winchester said. “The list of people we plan to take away from Earth if the war is not concluded soon.”

James stared at him. “Uncle…?”

“Formidable was just commissioned at the Britannic Yards,” Uncle Winchester said, slowly. “She was originally intended to be named Prince of Wales, but the Admiralty wanted a replacement for the carrier they lost at New Russia. Unfortunately, she isn’t any better armoured than her namesake. Putting her in the line of battle, here and now, will simply give the aliens more targets to engage. We have other plans for her.”

“Other plans,” James repeated, feeling a sinking sensation in his chest. “Do I want to know?”

“We also rushed two large colonist-carriers through their trials,” Uncle Winchester continued smoothly. “They were intended for the Boer Republic, but we seized them for ourselves. They’re both designed to set up a separate colony without the need for supplies from Earth… I believe the Boers intended to pull a Heinlein and just vanish from the rest of human space.”

James put two and two together. “And that’s what you intend to do too, isn’t it?”

“Correct,” Uncle Winchester said. “Formidable will escort both ships, crammed with our best and brightest, through the tramlines and as far away from the aliens as possible. All three ships are designed for several years of independent operations, so they should be able to get quite some distance before they start looking for a new world to settle. Once they do, of course, they will start building up a force that can retake human space.”

“Or simply avoid the aliens indefinitely,” James observed.

“In the long run, that is unlikely to be possible,” Uncle Winchester said. “We have no idea how fast the aliens intend to continue their expansion, but eventually they will discover the colony. There are plans to build a colony without any form of high technology, yet even that would eventually be detectable. Ideally, the colony will develop new weapons and technologies that can be used to take the war back to the aliens.”

James swallowed. The aliens had shown themselves to be innovative, first in creating weapons intended to scythe through humanity’s most modern starships and then, when confronted with Ark Royal, building weapons that had blasted their way through the Old Lady’s armour. Somehow, he doubted humanity’s enigmatic opponents would sit on their hands and stagnate while the refugees rebuilt a technological base and advanced well ahead of them. They’d certainly have far more resources than a single planet settled by a few hundred thousand humans.

“Chancy,” he said, finally. “And what happens if they do stumble across the colony?”

“The colonists die,” Uncle Winchester said. He sighed, loudly. “Given five or ten years, James, we’d kick their assess. The boffins are going nuts over all the discoveries from the alien battlecruiser you captured. Genuine original science is being performed. Some of them are even talking about ways to duplicate the tramline effect or use gravity-based drives to power missiles and starships. But we won’t have time to put more than a handful of new weapons into production before we get crushed by the aliens.”

He sighed, again. “Right now, humanity’s entire fleet is down to twelve carriers, not counting Ark Royal or the modified freighters. We’re making some progress on protective armour that will stand up to alien weapons, but it will still take months to get it into production and use it to coat the remaining ships. We have more frigates and destroyers, yet they’re not enough to make a difference. The bottom line, James, is that we are on the verge of losing this war.”

James leaned forward. “We don’t know how badly the aliens have been hurt,” he said, slowly. Ark Royal’s various missions had taken out at least twenty alien carriers, although post-battle analysis had suggested some of them might be repairable. “For all we know, we might have seen the worst they can throw at us.”

“But we don’t know,” Uncle Winchester said. “Have we taken out their entire fleet — or have we only scratched the surface?”

“I don’t know,” James said.

He recalled the projections the analysts had devised when they’d discovered and attacked Target One. They’d pointed out that Target One couldn’t have produced carriers for itself, suggesting there were other shipyards located somewhere deeper in alien space. But where were the shipyards? If they could be destroyed, the war might come to an end.

“We do have the vague hope of contacting another alien faction,” Uncle Winchester said. “But if it fails, we have to plan for the worst.”

“Yes, Uncle,” James said.

“This plan must remain a secret,” Uncle Winchester warned. “There will be panic if any word gets out.”

“That’s why the media has been discussing Prince Henry, despite the floods,” James said, in sudden understanding. “You’re using it as a distraction.”

“Essentially,” Uncle Winchester said. “The floods themselves are one hell of a distraction, of course, but the media is helping by trying to” — he smirked — “distract people.”

James snorted. He’d reviewed the datanet channels while the car had made its slow way to the house and most of them had been broadcasting entertainment programs from a bygone age. Soap operas had always disgusted him, but maybe he just wasn’t the viewer demographic they were made for. But if they showed mundane lives… their viewers, surely, would have mundane lives.

Or maybe he was just missing the point.

“Most people just want to relax and forget their woes, or wallow in woes belonging to other people,” Uncle Winchester added. “Or some of them want to feel reassured that life will return to normal.”

“But it won’t,” James said. Even if the war ended tomorrow, even if humanity came to a peace agreement with the aliens, it would be decades before life returned to anything like normal. Humanity would have to rebuild from the war, then come to terms with the fact that they were no longer alone in the universe — and that some of their new friends wanted to pick a fight rather than talk. “Surely they know better than that.”

“Most people are idiots,” Uncle Winchester said. He paused. “James, there was a reason I asked you here, today.”

James lifted his eyebrows. He’d suspected as much. Strings had been pulled to arrange for him to visit Winchester Hall, strings that had been in motion long before he’d approached his Uncle to ask for a favour. Those strings wouldn’t have been pulled if they hadn’t wanted something from him that went above and beyond the call of duty.

He settled back, cursing inwardly. There were days when he understood precisely why Prince Henry had sought to join the Royal Navy under an assumed name.

“Formidable — and the entire colony mission - will need a commander,” Uncle Winchester said. “I’d like you to take command.”

“I should have expected that,” James said, slowly. “You do realise my carrier expertise is limited to Ark Royal? Formidable is a very different kettle of fish.”

“You won’t be expected to take the ship into battle,” Uncle Winchester assured him. “All we want you to do is find a new world and set up a colony there.”

“Except you have no more idea than I do of what might be lurking at the far end of the tramlines,” James pointed out. “We might discover a second alien race, far more hostile than the first. Or we might discover the aliens themselves, trying to block our escape. You need a commander who knows more about modern carriers.”

“We need one who understands the urgency of the situation,” Uncle Winchester grated. “I would hesitate to nominate someone else…”

“But you should,” James said. “I had to learn the limits of my capabilities the hard way.”

“So you did,” Uncle Winchester said. “And there were other reasons to put you on Ark Royal. But those reasons are gone now, if you are to be believed, and it is time for you to move onwards.”

James took a breath. “Uncle,” he said. “I won’t desert Ark Royal or Admiral Smith, not now.”

His Uncle studied him coldly. “It is your duty to go where you are sent,” he said, after a tense moment. “I will not accept you trying to escape your duty for sentimental reasons.”

“I’m the commander of Ark Royal,” James said. “She’s due to depart in twelve days — and isn’t that going to be a right headache? There is no time to prepare another officer, even Commander Williams, to take my place.”

He stood and walked to the windows. Outside, rain pelted the glass sheets and ran down towards the flowerbeds below, but he could still see the refugee camp outside the walls. A few hundred people resided there — even he hadn’t been able to pull an exact number from the datanet — after losing their homes and everything they owned to the tidal waves. Three weeks ago, they had been civilians, the people he was pledged to defend. Now, they were nothing but helpless refugees. How many of them, he wondered, had donated money to charities intent on helping people from Africa or the Middle East? Had they ever thought they would end up like the victims of endless civil wars and religious conflicts?

“And I owe it to the people down there not to run,” he added. “There are no guarantees of survival, Uncle, but I am damned if I will run.”

“The issue here is not bravery or cowardice,” Uncle Winchester said. He tapped the table to underline his words. “The issue here is the survival of the human race itself.”

“Or the British part of it,” James pointed out. No one would repeat the mistakes of Terra Nova in a hurry. He smiled at the thought, then sobered. “Do other countries have their own plans?”

“We assume so,” Uncle Winchester said. “The Americans had a colonist fleet that was due to depart just before Vera Cruz. It was placed on hold and nothing has been seen or said about it since. There are some indications that France and Brazil are planning their own departures, but we don’t know for sure. They may just be considering moving additional settlers to their colonies in the wake of the Battle of Earth.”

James nodded. Moving to Britannia — on the other side of Earth from the aliens — would seem very attractive right now. They’d been lucky, he knew; the aliens had deliberately avoided firing on the orbital towers, even though they were easy targets. If the towers had fallen, the death toll would have been far higher. It suggested the aliens were far more than just mindless killers. Perhaps there was a way to coexist with them after all.

But if Earth fell, Britannia wouldn’t last much longer.

He took a breath. “Uncle,” he said, as he turned to face the older man, “I respectfully refuse to take command of Formidable.”

Uncle Winchester slowly rose to his feet. “Are you refusing the promotion?”

“My duty is with Ark Royal,” James said. He fought hard to control his growing anger. “I have no intention of fleeing Earth…”

“You have a duty to ensure the human race survives,” Uncle Winchester snapped. “You will be in command of a carrier, with a full complement of fighter pilots and starfighters, protecting two colonist-carriers and a genetic databank. The human race will live on where you choose to settle. It’s your damn duty to take command of the fleet.”

“There are others who are better equipped to take command,” James said. Understanding clicked in his mind. “And most of them have ties to the aristocracy. Offer to take their families along and they will probably be happy to take command of the fleet. You will get to maintain your social structure indefinitely, provided you don’t forget the lessons of the Troubles. And the very best of British luck.”

He turned and started to make his way towards the door. “I won’t mention this to anyone, Uncle, but I won’t be involved. I can’t.”

“Very well,” Uncle Winchester said. “Go back to Ark Royal. Resume command. Prepare for your deployment… which may very well be your last. And do everything in your power to establish a peaceful outcome to the war.”

“Yes, sir,” James said.

“You’ll need these files,” Uncle Winchester added. He picked a datachip off the desk and tossed it to James. “I was going to ask you to pass them to Admiral Smith, but seeing you’re still in command…”

“Thank you,” James said. “Do you know who will be appointed the Ambassador?”

“That’s still being haggled over by the Foreign Office,” Uncle Winchester said. He snorted in a remarkably child-like manner. “Some of the mandarins want an experience diplomat, preferably someone who cut his teeth making deals with the Americans or the other spacefaring powers. Others want someone more used to handling African or Middle Eastern powers…”

“That would be disastrous,” James said, quietly. “They’re too used to negotiating from a position of strength.”

He sighed. After the economic storms of the mid-21st Century, large parts of Africa and the Middle East had become backwaters. The old nation-states were long gone, replaced by states built on religious, racial or ethnic lines. None of them were any match for a spacefaring power; if they caused trouble, the standard response was to send in Special Forces or call down strikes from orbit. No one, these days, wasted time trying to rebuild entire nations. If their people wanted better nations or rulers, the thinking ran, they could do it for themselves.

It was heartless, some said. But all previous nation-building attempts had failed.

“Deals are being struck,” Uncle Winchester said. “I believe there will be an answer soon enough, James. Until then…”

He shrugged expressively. “Get your ship ready for combat, Captain,” he added. “I have a feeling that these negotiations will be far from easy.”