“Not to the best of my knowledge,” he said. He braced himself, then pushed forward. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Granted,” the First Space Lord said.
“I rather thought we were,” Uncle Winchester said.
James ignored him. “Sir, with all due respect, this whole conversation is dreadfully improper,” he said. “I should not be asked to… pass judgement on my commanding officer, certainly not outside a formal Board of Inquiry. In any case, while I admit I had concerns about the Captain’s drinking, I have seen no evidence that he has returned to his old habits in the seven weeks I have served under his command.
“Furthermore, he is perhaps the most experienced officer we could hope to have with the older weapons that won us a victory,” he continued. “Most newer officers, including myself, were trained to serve on modern carriers, not solid masses of metal like Ark Royal. But those carriers are nothing more than targets for the alien starfighters. We need him, sir. We shouldn't be planning to stick a knife in his back.”
The First Space Lord’s expression darkened for a long moment. James wondered if he'd gone too far, then reminded himself that at least he still had his pride. And besides, Uncle Winchester would defend him, if necessary. He still recalled the older man ticking off his aunt for assuming that James and his brothers had ruined her prize flowerbed.
“I concede your point,” the First Space Lord said, finally. “However, there are… issues with Captain Smith. I shall be expecting you to watch him closely and take whatever action seems appropriate if the Captain slides back into drunkenness.”
He stood and marched out of the room. James watched him go, then turned to look at his uncle. “Farnham always was too political,” Uncle Winchester muttered. “But at such high attitude, politics and war are always intermingled. He’s better than most at running interference between politicians and naval officers.”
“Yes, uncle,” James agreed.
Uncle Winchester stood. “Go back to the party, keep an eye on your junior officers and try to have fun,” he advised. “Or go find a debutante and have some fun with her. You’ll be back in space soon enough.”
James nodded. The schedule had insisted that Ark Royal’s crewmen return to her immediately after the party. He didn't really blame the organisers, not when the media were already laying siege to the building. One careless word in the wrong pair of ears could trigger a political earthquake.
“Thank you, uncle,” he said, sourly. He couldn't escape the feeling of being used — without even being given a reward for his service. “And… can I avoid this from happening again?”
Uncle Winchester reached out and grabbed James’s shoulder. “The family gives you an advantage over your less… wellborn comrades,” he said. “You have automatic entrance to places like Sandhurst or the Luna Academy, if you wish to take advantage of it. But the price comes in upholding the system of government… and serving as part of backchannel discussions, if necessary. And if you fail the family, or refuse to pay your dues, the results will be unpleasant.”
James nodded. Automatic entrance was one thing, automatic graduation was quite another. There was no way he would be allowed to pass through the Academy without actually being qualified, something that Uncle Winchester — among others — had hammered into his head while he was still packing his first regulation suitcase. It hadn't really dawned on him that there was another price for access to the Old Boys Network. But the network had always been good at entangling people before it demanded payment. Hell, one didn't even have to be an aristocrat to engage in a little mutual back-scratching.
He returned to the party and noted, to his relief, that nothing seemed to have gone spectacularly wrong. Most of the drinks were being claimed by senior officers, he couldn't help noticing; the Captain, thankfully, had restricted himself to juice and water. Absently, James wondered if he should tell the Captain what had happened, before deciding that it would be a bad idea. No one would trust him if he did. All he could do was watch his Captain’s back…
…And pray to God that his faith in his CO was not misplaced.
Chapter Thirteen
“I’ve told everyone at school that you’re a pilot and they’re dead excited. How many BEMs did you kill?”
Kurt smiled at his son’s enthusiasm. Percy had never quite believed that his father — his staid harassed investment banker father — was also a starfighter pilot, not until Kurt had been featured on the local news. Kurt was privately rather annoyed by how easily the media had gotten access to his files — they’d even dug up a set of photos taken when he’d first served on a carrier — but it had definitely improved his relationship with his son.
“I killed seven enemy starfighters,” he said, shortly. “Thirteen more and I will make ace.”
“That’s great,” Percy said, grinning from ear to ear. “I…”
He was pushed out of the screen by Penny, who looked sulky. “Madam Cowpat is still being a pain,” she said. “Why do I have to put up with her again?”
Kurt sighed. “Just put up with her,” he ordered. Not that he could really blame Penny for disliking her teacher. It was clear that Madam Capet was far from ideal as a French teacher, but for some reason the school couldn't sack her or even convince her to shape up. “You’ll move onto the next teacher soon.”
“The only French words I know are rude ones,” Penny continued. “You should demand your money back.”
“What you get out of school depends on what you put into it,” Kurt said. Had he been so blatantly disrespectful to his teachers as a child? Probably. “And if Madam Capet is so completely unsuitable, we can arrange some private tutoring during the summer holidays.”
Penny’s face fell. She’d been talking about joining her friends on a visit to the moon… although Kurt had privately resolved to forbid it even before the war had started restricting civilian spaceflight. No teenage girl wanted to spend her summer holidays with a private tutor… hell, Kurt wasn't even sure if he could afford a private tutor. His boss wasn't legally allowed to fire him for being recalled to active service, but Kurt suspected that it was only a matter of time before the penny-pinching bastard started reducing Kurt’s salary. But if Penny needed it…
“You two nip off downstairs,” Molly ordered, her face appearing in the screen. She sat down in front of the monitor as the two teenagers left the room, closing the door behind them. “When are you coming home?”
Kurt blinked at her tone. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “The war has only just begun.”
“I’m being driven crazy by these two,” Molly said, ignoring him. “Penny is fighting with one of her friends, while Percy is talking about joining the Royal Navy. I expect you to put that out of his mind.”
“Why?” Kurt asked. “He won’t be able to sign up for another two years, at the very earliest…”
“I won’t have my son risking his life,” Molly snapped, interrupting him. “He will not be allowed to throw his life away.”
Kurt felt his head start to pound. “Your husband is already risking his life,” he remarked, sharply. “What about me?”
“If it were up to me,” Molly said, “you wouldn't have gone at all.”
She sighed, rubbing her own forehead. “Suzie’s father is one of those damned peaceniks,” she added. “She gave Penny a very hard time and now the girls aren’t talking to one another.”
It took Kurt a moment to place the name. One of Penny’s friends, a young girl on the verge of womanhood, so much so that he felt like a dirty old man whenever he looked at her. She hadn't struck him as particularly malicious, although teenagers could often be very unpleasant to one another one moment and then make up the next. If her father was indeed a peacenik…