“So would we,” Winchester said. “The whole affair is quite ill-timed, particularly with the legal issues over the succession.”
James sighed. In 2013, the succession laws had been rewritten to state that the firstborn child, male or female, would inherit the throne. But in 2030, during the troubles, the laws had been dismissed as the work of senseless liberals by the sitting Prime Minister and returned to the pre-2013 state, along with many others. James remembered history lessons where historians debated if the Prime Minister had been right or if he’d thrown out the baby along with the bathwater. It was hard to argue against the claim that England’s Queens, on the whole, had done better than England’s Kings. But reaction had been the order of the day back during the troubles. Even now, historians still had problems coming to terms with everything that had happened back then.
“Princess Elizabeth is the first girl to be born first since 2030, James,” Winchester said. “I believe there were quiet accusations of sex-selection at the time, although I don’t think that anything was proved one way or the other. Now… the question of succession has been reopened once again.”
He shook his head. “In many ways, Elizabeth would make a better Queen than Henry would make a King,” he added. “She’s more… restrained than her younger brother.”
“And he’s signed himself up with the navy,” James muttered. “And no one knew who he was?”
“The Academy Commandant knew,” Winchester said. “I don’t believe anyone else knew who he was, not after his features had been altered. But it was still a major risk.”
James felt an odd quiver of respect. He’d never bothered to change his name; he’d entered the Academy and risen through the ranks as a known scion of the aristocracy. In some cases, it had helped; in others, his superiors had pushed him harder just to check that he’d actually earned his position through merit, rather than being promoted by someone trying to curry favour with the aristocracy. But the Prince had gone into the Academy as just another pilot trainee. Whatever he’d earned, he’d earned it fairly.
“He deserved it, I guess,” James said. Maybe he should have gone the same route. “But we cannot afford to keep him out of action.”
“I expect you to keep an eye on him too,” Winchester said. “And I will be expecting regular reports.”
James sighed, but nodded.
“I have a question,” he said. “How do you plan to keep this from the media?”
“We have issued Security Notices to the media, in the event of someone leaking the secret,” Winchester said. “There were some plans to have the Prince move publically through the Academy, but he flatly refused to cooperate. Now… well, at least we will be able to tell everyone after the fact that the Prince did serve in combat. It isn’t ideal, but it’s the only way he would accept.”
James rolled his eyes. Several decades ago, a Prince had simply walked away from his title, pointing out that the constant media scrutiny and harassment made it impossible to live a decent life. He’d never asked to be a Prince, nor to be a role model. Instead, he’d resigned his position and simply vanished. As far as anyone knew, the media had never tracked him down to his new home. The most likely speculation, he recalled, was that the Prince had gone into the military or survey service and vanished into the ranks. But no one really knew for sure.
But the Royal Family had barely survived the scandal. The last thing they wanted was a repeat of the same incident. God alone knew where the pieces would fall.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” he said. The aristocracy was full of young men of both talent and a firm belief in their own entitlement. James had to admit he’d been one of them. “But I’m not going to take him in hand, uncle.”
Winchester reached into his jacket and produced a creamy white envelope. “Your orders,” he said, flipping the envelope over to show the stamp on the back. “In the event of real trouble, you are to remove the Prince from active duty and ship him back home to Earth.”
James narrowed his eyes. “Real trouble?”
“Anything you think justifies his separation from your ship,” Winchester said. He passed James the envelope. “And good luck.”
“Thank you,” James said, sourly. “Tell me something, Uncle. Why wasn’t the Admiral kept abreast of the planning process?”
“Too much debate over how we should proceed,” Winchester admitted. “It was decided to keep it restricted until we had a workable plan ready to go.”
Hyde Park was surprisingly empty for a hot summer day, Ted discovered, as he walked along the path towards Buckingham Palace. There were only a handful of mothers escorting their children through the park and a couple of hopeful buskers, no one else. By the time he reached the gates of the Palace, he was starting to wonder if someone had evacuated the city or extended the school year.
He paused outside the gates, looking up at the Palace, then turned his gaze to the monuments erected outside the Palace. One of them listed every serviceman and woman killed in the war against the aliens, headed by the commanding officers of the two British carriers that had been destroyed at New Russia. Another listed casualties from earlier wars, ranging from the First World War to the Second Falklands War and the Mars Dispute. The latter had been surprisingly brutal, but the diplomats had managed to prevent it spilling right out of control. Later, when Terra Nova had been discovered, another war had threatened… and then the diplomats had agreed to share settlement rights.
His lips quirked in bitter amusement as he turned and started to walk towards the monorail, then stopped and flagged down an electric taxi. London’s black cabs were traditional, even if they weren’t powered by petrol any longer. The cabbie stuck out a head and asked where he was going, then motioned for Ted to climb in the back. Ted settled down into the seat as the taxi hummed into life, heading back towards Heathrow Spaceport. His shuttle was waiting for him there.
He smiled to himself as he caught sight of a large poster, exhorting the population to KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON. They’d been popular since the dawn of the troubles — the design dated all the way back to the Second World War — but it was rare to see them in such numbers. Another poster reminded the population that loose lips sank ships, although Ted doubted it mattered. As far as anyone had been able to tell, the aliens had never managed to establish a spy ring within humanity’s settled star systems. But it was something Ted would have done, if he’d been on the other side…
“Kids these days,” the cabbie muttered, as a line of schoolchildren ran across the road. They were wearing blue uniforms, with trousers or skirts that reached down to their ankles. “They all want to die, I tell you.”
Ted shrugged. He’d made more than a few speeches at various schools, during his time on Earth, and he had to admit that plenty of kids wanted to join the navy, now there was a war on. But it would be years before the oldest of them could join, unless conscription became a very real possibility. Until then, they would just have to study hard and join the various campaigns to help with the war effort. Most of the campaigns, Ted suspected, were worse than useless
He smiled. Somehow, he doubted soldiers and spacers in training would appreciate schoolchildren coming to sing while they trained. But knitted clothes would probably be welcome…
“There’s a war on,” he said, instead. The government departments responsible for monitoring public sentiment had noted that people were growing less and less inclined to prepare for the future, a future that might be suddenly terminated by the aliens. “They’re just trying to live while they can.”