“Go to the bridge, then lay in a course,” Ted ordered. “I’ll join you before we leave the system.”
He closed his eyes as soon as the XO left, leaving him alone. The victory hadn't come cheaply, he knew, even though the aliens had suffered worse by an order of magnitude. Thirty-two starfighter pilots dead, ninety-two officers and men on the destroyed frigate… that weapon was going to be a major problem. It was quite possible that a close-range duel with one of the alien craft would be impossible.
And they'd all died under his command.
Angrily, he pushed the guilt aside and opened his eyes. A naval career, even one spent on an isolated asteroid mining station, always carried the risk of a violent death. No one joined the navy believing it to be safe. Hell, space was never safe. The civilian death rate was actually higher than the navy’s, although civilian starships tended to operate far closer to the margins than naval starships. He knew that to be true. But somehow it didn't make his task any easier.
Gritting his teeth, he strode out of the Briefing Room and marched towards the bridge, almost tripping over several boxes of spare parts someone had stowed in the passageway. He made a mental note to discuss it with his XO. As important as it was to cram the ship to the gunwales with spare parts, it was equally important not to impede the crew from rushing to battle stations when the alarm sounded.
“Captain,” Fitzwilliam said, when he stepped through the airlock. “Our course is laid in, ready to go.”
Ted took his command chair and nodded. “Take us home,” he ordered. It felt good to say it, even though part of him worried over the reaction from the Admiralty. Would they have expected him to destroy the entire alien force? “Best possible speed.”
He smiled to himself, wanly. A week ago, crewmen assigned to Ark Royal had been mocked by their fellows. The Old Lady was ancient, a relic of a bygone era… there had been several fights, which had been broken up by the local police. But who, he asked himself, would be laughing now? The Old Lady had more than proved herself in combat.
Good, he thought, patting his command chair. Now we just have to win the war.
Chapter Twelve
Ted had never set foot in Westminster Abbey. Not as a schoolchild, not as a tourist and not as a naval officer. But now… he settled uncomfortably on his seat, wishing desperately for drink, as the service for the dead droned on. The Admiralty had surrendered to the political desire to honour the dead in Westminster Abbey… he shook his head, cursing the politicians under his breath. Surely, the dead deserved better than this farce of a ceremony.
He looked around, feeling oddly out of place among the brass. It seemed that every officer above the rank of Commodore had been summoned to the Abbey, along with thousands of politicians, celebrities and reporters. The latter were baying for blood — or newsworthy quotes — outside the Abbey, calling out to everyone they saw for something they could record and put on the datanet. Ted would have preferred to face the aliens again, rather than the reporters. At least the aliens would only have killed him, rather than dissecting his career, reputation and appearance.
It took nearly an hour before the service finally came to an end. By that time, Ted was praying desperately for something — anything — to break the monotony. Everyone from the Prime Minister to the First Space Lord seemed to have something to say, even though most of it consisted of useless platitudes. Ted wished he could make his escape as soon as the end came, but he knew better. There was a reception being held immediately after for Ark Royal’s senior officers. It would be hellish.
He glanced down at his terminal as the PM left the Abbey, followed by a stream of senior officers. There was a security alert at the top; apparently, thousands of additional reporters were pressing against the police barricades, even though they all had access to the live feed from within the Abbey. But that wouldn’t be the same, Ted knew, as catching someone in the act of doing something embarrassing. Or recording something that could be taken out of context and then turned into a weapon. It struck him, not for the first time, that it had probably been reporters who had arranged for a ban on duelling. They would have found themselves challenged repeatedly, otherwise.
Outside, the baying of the reporters grew louder as he followed the First Space Lord out of the Abbey and down towards a set of white cars. They shouted and screamed, begging for him to turn and look at them, or answer their questions, no matter how absurd they were. Ted kept his face as expressionless as possible, sighing in relief the moment he climbed into the car and shut the door. After having his character alternatively praised and assassinated, he would be happy if he never saw any reporter ever again.
“The politicians needed soothing and so did the general public,” the First Space Lord said, once he’d run a bug detector over the car. Technically, bugging government or military facilities was illegal, but that didn't stop the media. “They were really quite upset.”
Ted nodded. It had been two days since Ark Royal had returned to Earth and the public had gone wild. Everyone had known that the aliens were invincible… until Ark Royal proved otherwise. Certainly, quite a few armchair admirals had complained about the decision to abandon the backdoor system after the battle, but the Admiralty had understood. The aliens might easily come back with more firepower… or simply pick another star to use as a waypoint on the way to Earth.
“It's a farce, sir,” he said. He cursed himself a moment later. Normally, he would never have been so expressive in front of a superior officer. “My people deserved better.”
“They always do,” the First Space Lord said. He smiled as the car came to a halt in front of a large building, protected by a row of policemen. “Enjoy the reception, Captain. You’re the hero of the hour.”
Ted sighed, inwardly. He was the highest-ranking officer from the carrier… but most of the guests would be higher-ranking still. Every naval officer — and probably a few army officers — had tried hard to wrangle invitations. His crewmen would be hopelessly junior to the officers they were supposed to chitchat with, promising a day of awkward chatter and embarrassing silences. But it had to be endured.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, unconvincingly.
Inside, a band was playing, hundreds of senior officers were already milling about… and there was a large table full of expensive booze. Ted stared, wondering just how many thousands of pounds had been spent on the wine alone, then reached for a glass before stopping himself. He couldn't afford to get drunk, not now. Instead, he took a glass of orange juice and looked around for someone he could actually talk to. But there was no one, apart from the Japanese Naval Attaché. And he was known to be the most frightful bore.
Sighing, Ted walked over to greet him anyway. It had been two years since they’d last met, when the Japanese officer had managed to convince the Royal Navy to give him a tour of Ark Royal. Ted had wondered, in all seriousness, if the Japanese Navy intended to build their own armoured carriers, but nothing had ever materialised. Under the circumstances, he decided, that seemed something of a pity.
“Congratulations on your victory,” the Japanese officer said. “I wish to hear all about it.”
James had grown up in an aristocratic family, although he liked to think that he had made it into the navy on his own abilities. As boring as aristocratic parties could be — and the reception was organised on the same principles — they were also an excellent chance to network. He took a glass of water this time — getting tipsy could still be embarrassing, if not disastrous — and moved from person to person, keeping an eye on the other crewmen as he did. Not all of them had any experience in parties and the last thing he wanted was to have to get them out of trouble.