“True,” Henry said, sitting down facing her. He’d been to France once and offended his hosts by calling New France New France. It was called something different in French, but his language skills were marginal and he could barely speak a handful of words in other languages. “What do you think the aliens call it?”
“Wet, perhaps,” Janelle said. “Maybe they call their homeworld Water.”
It took Henry a moment to understand the joke. “Like we call our homeworld Earth?”
“Exactly,” Janelle said. She nodded towards the orb overhead. “It’s a pretty world, isn’t it? I was looking at the reports from the biologists. There are plants from three different worlds there already, they think, but human crops could be added quite easily. We could live there.”
“As long as the aliens didn’t kill us,” Henry pointed out. “Do they really understand English?”
“We don’t know,” Janelle said. She looked down at the deck, embarrassed. “No one is quite sure if they understood the Admiral’s warning or if it was just a coincidence. The Admiral had to speak quite sharply to one of the scientists, with a threat to throw him in the brig if he tried to put any of his ideas into practice.”
Henry looked over at her. “His ideas?”
“He wanted to force the aliens to talk by making them uncomfortable,” Janelle said. “His theory was that making them suffer would teach them to talk to us, just so they could tell us to stop. It isn’t the first such proposal, sadly.”
“I heard rumours,” Henry said. There had been great expectations when the first alien prisoners had been brought back to the solar system. Everyone had assumed that the communications barrier would soon be broken. But as time wore on, nothing seemed to have been developed at all. The aliens had kept their mouths firmly closed. “But I heard nothing concrete.”
Janelle shook her head, running her hands through her long dark hair. “The Russians have been pressing for sterner measures since New Russia was invaded,” she said. “I heard that they even threatened to take the POWs by force and start interrogating them in a Russian complex.”
Henry stared at her. “Really?”
“It’s hard to tell,” Janelle admitted. “The Russians are quite fond of issuing threats, but there are times when they’re just making noise and times when they actually mean them.”
“Doing that, now, would destroy the alliance,” Henry pointed out. “Surely they wouldn’t be so damn insane…”
“I think they’re desperate,” Janelle said. She looked up at him. “Much of their space-based industry and investment was concentrated in New Russia. The losses they took were staggering; we lost a couple of carriers, but they lost a great deal of investment. I suspect that they’d have had a major financial collapse if the other powers hadn’t stepped in to help.”
“I recall,” Henry said. “I read it on the datanet.”
He felt a twinge of guilt at the lie, even though he had had no choice. The information hadn’t been on the datanet. It had been one of the many pointless briefings he’d been given, back when they’d been trying to talk him out of joining the Royal Navy as a starfighter pilot. The Earth’s economy was odd, now that there were out-system colonies, but a major financial crash in Russia would probably have done serious damage to everyone else. Just what the PR staff had expected him to do about it was beyond him. Dress up in sackcloth and wait for people to start hurling tomatoes? It wouldn’t have been the stupidest idea they came up with either. Hell, they seemed to believe that a grovelling apology from a royal would turn away wrath.
“And they haven’t been able to liberate New Russia either,” Janelle added. “And even if they did, they would still be in considerable trouble.”
“So they start hunting for desperate measures,” Henry said. He stood and walked over to the transparent blister, staring out at the stars. “They’re mad.”
“Sounds that way,” Janelle agreed. She stepped up behind him. “I’m sorry for your losses, Charles.”
“Me too,” Henry said. He’d known several of the dead pilots personally. Part of him exulted at having survived when others had died, part of him cursed himself for being so damn unfeeling. The dead pilots had had family and friends, men and women who would miss them now that they were gone… most of whom didn’t even have the slightest idea the pilots were dead. “Does it get any easier?”
“No,” Janelle said. “But you do go on, regardless.”
There was something in her voice that caught at him. “Why?”
“My grandfather used to say that you always had to go on,” Janelle said. “But he didn’t go on, not really. He applied for citizenship, got it and never left again. My father… was more than a little embarrassed by our heritage. And I… I went into the Royal Navy and joined the Old Lady’s crew.”
Henry lifted an eyebrow. He’d spent months learning to master the expression. “Why did you join the crew before the war?”
“My grandfather’s ass was saved by the Old Lady,” Janelle said. She reached out and touched the transparent blister, her fingertips seeming to hang in space against the stars. “He was one of the first settlers on the New Haven Colony — they wanted to be completely independent from the rest of the universe, particularly Earth. And then they had a major environmental failure and screamed for help.”
She smiled, but the expression didn’t quite touch her eyes. “It was the Royal Navy who responded,” she said. “Sticking with the Old Lady when there was a chance to get a slot onboard her seemed a worthwhile use of my career.”
“It must have been one hell of a gamble,” Henry said, mildly impressed. Serving on Ark Royal, prior to the war, had been a good way to lose any chances of promotion one might have had. “Or were you just that devoted to the ship?”
“It seemed a good idea at the time,” Janelle admitted. “And besides, it worked out in the long run.”
Henry couldn’t disagree. Being Flag Lieutenant to the Royal Navy’s most famous Admiral would open a great many doors for Janelle Lopez. She’d meet many powerful politicians, officers or aristocrats, including Captain Fitzwilliam himself. If she went into command track after her stint as Flag Lieutenant, her record would ensure she had a shot at commanding a starship of her own. Or she could continue to shepherd the Admiral’s career and develop a position as the power behind the scenes. Some of the most effective people in Britain’s Civil Service had done wonders without anyone ever learning their name.
And, quite by accident, she’d struck up a relationship with the Heir to the Throne.
Or was it an accident? Even if she hadn’t been told directly, she might well have been able to deduce the true identity of Charles Augustus. In hindsight, it was far too obvious; he might as well have stuck with Charles Welsh. But it had seemed a good idea at the time.
If I ask her, she might lie, he told himself. And merely asking the question would be far too suspicious if she doesn’t know who I am.
Janelle leaned forward. “Charles?”
Henry hesitated, thinking hard. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was light years away.”
“You certainly looked like it,” Janelle said. “Penny for your thoughts?”
It hurt to lie, somehow But he had grown far too used to lying over the years.
“I was thinking of the coming battle,” he said. “They’re not going to let us just sit here and threaten their planet without a fight.”
“We haven’t seen hide or hair of them for two days,” Janelle pointed out.