Ted had his doubts. The Russians had spent nearly eighty years and a substantial chunk of their GNP on turning New Russia into a going concern. Before the war, they’d even established a formidable industrial base in the system, although it didn’t compare to Earth’s or Target One. From a strictly unemotional point of view, the compensation might be sufficient, particularly given that they would have to invest in a great deal of rebuilding in any case. But he had the feeling the Russians would not be keen to simply abandon New Russia. It was part of their motherland now.
But what can they do about it? He asked himself. They can’t continue the war alone…
“I hope the aliens keep the treaty,” he said. He read Prince Henry’s notes. The man had the makings of a worthwhile naval strategist, if he was allowed to remain in the military. “If they plan to buy a few years of peace before restarting the war… well, New Russia is only a handful of hops from Earth.”
“Give us a few years and we will have plenty of nasty surprises ready for them,” Ambassador Melbourne said, confidently. “And we will have time to prepare more defences around Earth and the other settled worlds.”
“True,” Ted agreed, reluctantly. “But I still think we need to be careful.”
Ambassador Melbourne rose to his feet. “I need to get a nap, then discuss matters with the observers in the morning,” he said. “Thank you for your time, Admiral.”
Ted watched him walk through the hatch, then keyed his console. “Major Parnell, Captain Fitzwilliam, report to my office,” he ordered. “Immediately.”
The Marine must have run, Ted decided, as Major Parnell entered the office, barely five minutes after Ted had called him. Or perhaps he’d been somewhere nearer Officer Country than he’d been prepared to admit. Half of the Marines were keeping an eye on the alien diplomats and the Russians, after all. Ted rather wished he’d been able to draw more Marines from Earth before departing the planet.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes, Major,” Ted said. Captain Fitzwilliam joined them a moment later. “The Russians are about to be sold out.”
He explained, bluntly. “We can expect a violent reaction,” he concluded. “I want you and your men to be on alert.”
“We should call a security drill,” Parnell suggested. “We’ve been calling them at random during the trip, so they shouldn’t trigger any alarms.”
“Not here,” Ted said. They were orbiting an alien world. A single mistake could accidentally restart the war. “But I want you to secure the ship as much as possible without sounding the alert. We need to be ready if the shit hits the fan.”
“Risky,” Fitzwilliam said. “The last thing we want is the aliens mistaking our internal problems for a planned attack.”
Ted nodded. “But we have no choice,” he said. “We cannot risk restarting the war.”
Parnell frowned. “Admiral, with all due respect, we could secure the Russians now,” he said, simply. “There would be no problem in taking and holding them as prisoners until we returned to Earth.”
“But then there would be a diplomatic headache,” Ted pointed out, flatly. “They’d claim their diplomatic immunity was violated. Unless we had a suitable excuse it could be used against us.”
“The safety of the ship is at stake,” Fitzwilliam said.
“I know that,” Ted snapped. He took a breath, calming himself. “Captain, these are very delicate diplomatic negotiations. We don’t dare risk an incident that can be used as an excuse to undermine them.”
“I don’t like it,” Fitzwilliam confessed. “This seems far too much like we’re baiting the Russians, trying to tempt them into revealing their hand.”
Ted knew he had a point. From a dispassionate point of view, allowing the Russians to prove their hostile intent would make it easier to convince the diplomats on Earth to disregard the Russian objections. But it was also risky. The Russians would do something to upset the negotiations, he suspected, unless they intended to try to muster support on Earth. But what?
“We may not have a choice,” Ted said. “There’s just too much at stake.”
“I hope you’re right,” Parnell said. He pulled himself to attention. “And we have a couple of platoons of Marines down on the surface. We’re undermanned, sir.”
Ted nodded, bitterly.
“Deputise crewmen, if necessary,” he said. They’d planned counter-boarding operations, with armed crewmen serving as first responders. “But make sure they’re well-briefed.”
“Aye, sir,” Parnell said. “It will be a nightmare.”
He paused. “Can I at least wipe the codes from the system? If they attempt to use them, Admiral, we’d know.”
“Do it,” Fitzwilliam urged.
“Please,” Ted agreed. “And be ready for anything.”
“Aye, sir,” Parnell said.
He saluted, then left the office.
“I’m not happy about this, Admiral,” Fitzwilliam said, flatly. “This is my ship. The final word on decisions concerning her safety is mine.”
Ted glared at him, then lowered his eyes. He wasn’t commander of Ark Royal any longer, no matter how much he might miss the days when he was her master. It was Fitzwilliam who commanded now, he knew, and Ted had stamped on his toes quite badly. But most Admirals wouldn’t have merely moved up in rank while staying on the same ship. They would have transferred to another ship, just to break the emotional ties between them and their previous command. Ted hadn’t done that, not when Ark Royal was the only effective fleet carrier in human service. He’d stayed on his former command.
“I know, Captain,” he said. “And I am sorry.”
“There are too many things at stake here, Admiral,” Fitzwilliam added. “I think you need to be more careful about balancing them. That’s why you have subordinates.”
“Yes, Captain,” Ted snapped.
He sighed. “See to your ship, Captain,” he ordered. “And pray that we manage to get through the next few days alive.”
Captain Fitzwilliam turned and left. The stress was getting to him, Ted saw, but it was getting to all of them. Fighting the war had been much simpler, even when he’d been trying to balance competing national imperatives — and egos — during Operation Nelson. Now, the slightest mistake could prove disastrous.
When we get home, I’ll transfer my flag, he thought. Or take that desk job, if the war comes to an end. They won’t let me command another fleet.
It wasn’t a comforting thought. He was growing too old to command a fleet, particularly without the seasoning the more conventional officers had had. And yet he would regret returning to Earth and spending the rest of his days there. Shaking his head, Ted returned to his paperwork — and his silent prayers. One tiny mistake… and all hell could break loose.
Years ago, Odette Roma had made one tiny, but fatal mistake. She’d developed a gambling habit, one that had threatened to consume her life. Her salary as a Personal Assistant in the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International Development — the Diplomatic Service — hadn’t been anything like enough to cover her losses. She’d faced utter ruin when someone had arrived to offer to pay her debts, in exchange for tiny pieces of intelligence from her work.
There had been no choice, she told herself. If she admitted her gambling losses to her superiors, they would brand her a security risk and transfer her somewhere less prestigious, if they didn’t simply fire her and make sure she was blacklisted everywhere in Europe. But if she took the money, she would be able to cover her debts… and she wouldn’t have to give out much intelligence. Her contact swore he worked for a corporation. She wasn’t exactly committing treason if she was merely helping a French corporation, was she?