Ted nodded. Some components and supplies from different nations were compatible, but others couldn’t be forced to work together for love or money. An American carrier might not be able to handle British starfighters and vice versa. If that problem could be fixed, the number of deployable carriers would rise rather sharply. He made a mental note to ensure that supplies were passed around, particularly French or Japanese supplies. It wouldn’t do to lose the starfighters if they lost the carriers.
“The good news is that we finally have a working plasma system of our own,” the First Space Lord added. “But you can read about that in your briefing notes.”
“I hope it doesn’t have the same problems as the alien systems,” Ted said. Fitzwilliam had already briefed him on the new systems — and their limitations. “We used EMP to disable them, once upon a time.”
“It does,” the First Space Lord confirmed grimly. “We won’t be switching completely to plasma weapons, even if we could afford it. We’ll be keeping both old and new systems for quite some time.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I have every faith in you, Admiral Smith, to handle the international aspects of the mission without problems,” he said. “We cannot afford to lose this war.”
Ted couldn’t disagree. The one conflict humanity had engaged in after the discovery of the tramlines had been brief, with nothing more than a few shots fired before the diplomats had sorted out a peace treaty. Now, humanity faced a foe with unknown motives, but the evidence suggested that — at best — the aliens intended to deny space to the human race. And, at worst, they might have extermination in mind.
“Yes, sir,” he said. He, Fitzwilliam and Lieutenant Lopez had gone over the intelligence summaries with a very critical eye. They hadn’t been able to find anything that disproved the suggestion that the multi-tramline nexus would be important to the aliens. But there was a difference between knowing the base was there and being able to reach it. “We won’t let you down.”
He wondered, suddenly, just how many doubts the First Space Lord had about him personally. There was no denying that he’d been a drunkard, or that he still felt the urge to take a drink from time to time. Medical treatment had helped with that, of course, removing the addiction that had driven him forwards — and so had the fact he’d found something useful to do with his life. But there was a vast difference between commanding an old carrier and a fleet of six carriers, only one of them British. How tempted had the Admiralty been, he asked himself, to suggest to the Americans that there would be no resistance if they demanded command of the operation?
“I’m glad to hear it,” the First Space Lord said. He paused, then leaned forward. “There are, however, political issues involved. Local political issues.”
Ted exchanged glances with Fitzwilliam, who looked blank. On one hand, this war had few political issues; the aliens weren’t inclined to talk, so it was kill or be killed. But, on the other hand, support for the war depended on local politics, both in Britain and all over the world. If the general population believed the war was lost…
The First Space Lord smiled, humourlessly. “Have you been following the debate in the online forums?”
“No,” Ted said. Earth’s datanet didn’t even reach to the moon, let alone Ark Royal’s current anchorage. Even when he’d been on Earth, he’d had no time to browse the forums. “What sort of debate?”
Fitzwilliam cleared his throat. “The one about Prince Henry?
“Indeed,” the First Space Lord said.
He met Ted’s eyes. “Prince Henry has… for want of a better word… pushed his way into the accelerated starfighter training program,” he said. “It was always his ambition to become a starfighter pilot, continuing the proud tradition of the younger scions of the Royal Family serving in the military. However, when it was agreed that he could attend the Academy, there wasn’t actually a war on.”
Ted blinked in surprise. “We didn’t start running the accelerated training program until after the war had started,” he said. “How…?”
“There were… political issues,” the First Space Lord conceded. He spread out his hands, grimly. “Put bluntly, Admiral, there is a strong feeling among the general public that the Royal Family should take part in the war. At the same time, with the position of the Prince… uncertain, quite a few officers were resistant to placing him in actual danger. In the end, he effectively forced Buckingham Palace to give him a chance to train under an assumed name.”
Ted had spent far too much of his career on Ark Royal, but he knew something of the tangled politics surrounding the Prince. Prince Henry was the firstborn son of King Charles IV, but he wasn’t the firstborn child. Technically, being born male jumped him ahead of his sister in the line of succession. The law was ancient, but it had never actually been taken off the books. Traditionalists insisted that Prince Henry was the first in line to the throne. On the other hand, it was the 23rd Century. Why should the Prince succeed his father when he was not the firstborn child?
“What a mess,” he said. “How did he force the Palace to concede the point?”
“He threatened to publically abdicate his position,” the First Space Lord said. “I do not believe he enjoyed a very happy childhood.”
“No,” Fitzwilliam agreed. “He would have no privacy at all, would he?”
“There have been scandals,” the First Space Lord agreed. “Nothing major, nothing we would hold against anyone else, but in his position… well, it makes the monarchy look bad.”
Ted frowned. “As interesting as this is,” he said, “what does it actually have to do with us?”
The First Space Lord looked embarrassed. “The Prince has managed to get himself assigned to Ark Royal,” he explained. “Still under a false name…”
Ted stared at him. “Sir,” he said, “you do realise there’s a very good chance that we may lose him?”
“I know,” the First Space Lord confessed. “But we are in a very poor position.”
“No, we’re not,” Ted said, firmly. “He’s an officer in the Royal Navy. His job is to follow orders. Assign him to a home defence squadron, if he must fly starfighters, either here or on Britannia. And, if he makes a fuss about it, tell him we can send him to an isolated mining camp instead.”
“It isn’t that simple,” Fitzwilliam said. He looked up at the First Space Lord. “Is it?”
“No,” the First Space Lord said. He produced a sheet of papers and passed them over to Ted, who flicked through them carefully. “His scores at the Academy were very good — and, as he was under a false name, there was no risk of favouritism. I believe his training instructors included a few of your former crewmen. There are no grounds for denying him an assignment to a carrier that won’t stink when they are dragged out into the public eye. And I am damn sure, Admiral, that they will be dragged out. The media will make sure of it.”
“Operational security,” Ted muttered. The scores were very good. Poor marks for discipline, he noted, but nothing bad enough to merit being booted out of the training program. “Tell them we don’t give out personnel details and leave it at that, sir.”
“It won’t work, not for the Prince,” the First Space Lord said. He sighed. “You know, I believe, just how close the monarchy and the aristocracy came to being legislated out of existence. Right now, the Royal Family cannot afford to look like they’re shirking their share of the military burden. Perhaps, if he’d started when he’d intended to start, it wouldn’t be such a problem. Now, even if we rated him as such a high performer we could justify assigning him to a training slot, Ted, it would look very bad. There would be questions asked in the Houses of Parliament — both Houses of Parliament.”