The Nelson Touch

Chapter Two

“Getting what you want,” Captain James Montrose Fitzwilliam’s mother had once told him, “comes with a price. You get what you want.”

It hadn’t made any sense to James at the time. Like most children, he’d liked the idea of getting what he wanted. Sweets or chocolate when he was a young boy, a role in the school play or promotion in the Combined Cadet Force when he was older… when he’d wanted something, he’d worked towards getting it. But now, with the full weight of command settling around his shoulders, he understood precisely what his mother had meant. He was solely responsible for Ark Royal and her crew. If anything happened to his ship, he would bear full responsibility.

He stood and watched as the two shuttles settled down in the landing bay, one by one, feeling tension gripping at his heart. He’d grown up in the aristocracy, he had plenty of experience dealing with men who’d inherited or earned their titles, yet he was also very aware that the aristocracy talked. A mistake someone like Admiral Smith could shrug off would haunt James for the rest of his life. But then, the aristocracy was supposed to be a cut above the common man. The British Aristocracy had come far too close to extinction during the troubles and it had no intention of repeating the experience.

A dull thump echoed through the hull as the second shuttle landed, followed by a dull hiss that indicated the landing bay was being pressurised. James waited until it was safe, then nodded to his small party and led the way into the landing bay. They’d been told to keep the reception low-key, but that was relative. There was no way a visit from the Prime Minister of Great Britain, the Vice President of the United States and several senior military officers could go completely unremarked.

James sucked in a breath as a handful of close-protection specialists poured out of the shuttle, glancing around as if they expected assassins to be hiding in the rear of the landing bay. Not that he blamed them for being paranoid, he decided; world leaders were among the most important terrorist targets in the world, while the aliens themselves would certainly consider them legal targets. His lips quirked in droll amusement at the thought. If the aliens came after Ark Royal and her cargo of politicians, the close-protection specialists would be damn near useless.

He straightened up as the Prime Minister stepped out, followed by the Vice President. Prime Minister Gordon Bryce was a tall, strikingly handsome man, something that would have impressed James more if he hadn’t known that the politician had had his face carefully engineered to produce just the right impression on the voting public. Behind him, Vice President Louis Mayo had the same basic idea, although it was clear that he’d blurred racial traits to make himself a man for all men. The idealistic part of James wondered why people bothered with racism — in any form — when changing one’s skin colour was as easy as cutting one’s hair. His more cynical side suspected that humans had never really needed an excuse to pick on other humans.

“Welcome onboard, Prime Minister,” he said, taking a step forward. At least Bryce was a strong supporter of the military. The opposition had been calling for cuts in the long-term expansion program for decades. They’d gone remarkably quiet since Vera Cruz. “And you, Mr. Vice President.”

“Louis is fine,” the Vice President said. He had a relaxed air of informality that didn’t fool James for a moment. No one reached an elected position of such high authority without having a very sharp mind and a commendable degree of ruthlessness. “I confess I’m very interested to see your ship.”

James smiled. Ark Royal wasn’t the oldest ship still in active service, but she was definitely the oldest starship operated by a major interstellar power. She might have been outdated, she might have been as manoeuvrable as a wallowing pig, yet she had stood up to the aliens when every modern carrier that had tried to fight them had been ripped apart within seconds. And she was pretty much unique. The two American carriers that had been on a par with her had been scrapped long ago.

“I would be delighted to offer you a tour,” he replied. “If you would like to follow me?”

He gave them the sanitized tour, giving them a brief tour of the ship without showing them anything particularly sensitive. The politicians didn’t seem to notice, although they asked a number of questions that James did his best to answer. A couple of them related to the hit new series about reporters on carriers, something that made James want to roll his eyes in horror. Clearly, now their tour of alien-controlled space was over, the reporters who’d shipped on Ark Royal were telling everyone at home how brave they’d been.

“I haven’t watched an episode,” he admitted. He had no plans to do so either, not if he could avoid it. The last movie he’d watched that purported to show the Royal Navy in action had made so many errors that he’d snickered his way through the show. “But I’m sure it helped encourage recruiting for the Royal Navy.”

They wound up in the Officer’s Mess, where the cooks had prepared a small meal. There, they were joined by Admiral Smith and two of his staff, who briefly engaged the politicians in conversation while James took a moment to relax and curse the uniform designer under his breath. It seemed to be a law of nature that dress uniforms were always uncomfortable as hell, particularly when someone could not afford to show discomfort. When he was First Space Lord, James promised himself, he would have the uniform designed to be comfortable first and foremost. Looking snappy could come second.

“I was surprised that you offered no alcohol,” one of the Prime Minister’s staffers said, as the overly-long meal came to an end. “The Navy isn’t dry, is it?”

“It’s a gesture of respect to our American cousins,” James lied, smoothly. It was true enough that the Americans banned alcohol on their starships — they probably had as many problems with illicit stills as the British — but the truth was different. He didn’t want to risk encouraging Admiral Smith to start drinking again. “Besides, we will need clear heads for the briefing.”

“A sensible thought,” the First Space Lord agreed. He lifted his glass of non-alcoholic wine from Mars and cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, the King!”

There was a brief mutter as the toast was echoed, then the First Space Lord put his glass on the table and leaned forward. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “time is pressing.”

“Certainly,” the Prime Minister said. “Should we repair to the briefing room?”

James nodded, issued orders for the Officer’s Mess to be cleared, then led the way into the large briefing compartment. It had seemed too large at first; now, with Ark Royal effectively the most important starship in the navy, it was too small to host everyone who might have to attend a briefing. But there was enough room for the Prime Minister and his party.

The First Space Lord cleared his throat as soon as everyone had found a seat. “As you know, the war appears to have stalemated,” he said, briskly. “The aliens have made no attempt to expand their positions within human space, while we have been rather unsuccessful at liberating any of the star systems they have occupied. We do not believe that this period of uneasy peace will endure.”

James nodded in agreement. Humanity had been caught by surprise when the aliens first attacked, but that surprise was long gone. Every major interstellar power was converting its industry to produce supplies for the war, while working out shared protocols for combined operations against the common foe. If nothing else, the alien invasion had done wonders for humanity’s unity and technological development. There were even rumours that the human race was on the verge of a colossal breakthrough in gravity-manipulation technology.

“Furthermore, attempts to open diplomatic relationships with the aliens have failed,” the First Space Lord continued. “We know nothing about the alien society, from how they’re governed to what they want… and why the war actually started. In short, we appear committed to fighting to the bitter end.”

Admiral Smith leaned forward. “There has been no progress with the alien prisoners?”

“None,” the First Space Lord said. “Oh, the scientists tell me they’re making progress on unlocking their biology, but we haven’t been able to talk to them at all. We can’t tell if they’re deliberately refusing to talk or if we’re simply not getting the message across to them.”

He paused. “Since your cruise through the New Russia system, we’ve kept pinging spy probes into the system to keep an eye on the aliens,” he continued. “They have discovered that the aliens are massing a sizable force near the planet, including fifteen carriers and a number of ships of unknown capabilities. Intelligence believes that the aliens intend to drive on Earth. I don’t need to tell you, I think, that losing Earth would prove disastrous.”

James nodded. Earth held roughly sixty percent of humanity’s industrial base. Losing it would shorten the war significantly. Worse, perhaps, it would also make it harder for the various human colonies to coordinate their actions with one another. The aliens would be able to deal with them, one by one, after they recovered from taking Earth.

The First Space Lord looked around the room. “The Earth Defence Command has been considering the problem,” he said. “It believes that the only way to deal with the threat is to go on the offensive and strike into alien space directly. We can force them to react to us for a change.”

James met Admiral Smith’s eyes. They’d been in alien-controlled space, but they knew next to nothing about its internal layout, let alone the location of the alien industrial nodes and their homeworld. And it was impossible to escape the feeling that the aliens knew everything about humanity’s star systems. Their assault on humanity had neatly isolated a number of smaller colonies and taken New Russia out of the game.

“Lieutenant Phipps will brief you,” the First Space Lord concluded.

Lieutenant Harold Phipps stood up and took control of the display system. He was a surprisingly young man, but there was a definite hint of intelligence in his eyes. James guessed that Phipps had shown a talent for intelligence work in the Academy and had been fast-tracked into either Naval Intelligence or MI6. James disliked intelligence officers on principle, but he resolved to give Phipps a chance to prove himself. Besides, it wasn’t as if they had much else to go on.

“My department has been taking the lead on analysing the computers on the alien starship you captured,” Phipps said, bluntly. “It has been an incredibly frustrating experience. Parts of the system are badly damaged, probably through an attempted core purge, while other parts are completely incompatible with our technology. Recovering data has been a long slow process.”

James snorted. “We managed to get their drive to work,” he pointed out.

“Their starship drive technology is advanced, but it isn’t that different from our own,” Phipps explained. “The basic principles are the same as ours, merely… expanded a little. Their computers, on the other hand, are very different. Most of our attempts to read their computer cores have resulted in failure or output we are unable to understand. We believe that they actually use a holographic matrix rather than…”

The First Space Lord cleared his throat, loudly.

Phipps looked embarrassed. “Sorry,” he apologised. “I get too enthusiastic at times.”

He paused, then went on. “Two weeks ago, we had a breakthrough,” he said. “We managed to pull some navigational data out of the computer, then compare it to our own database of stellar locations and projected tramlines. What we ended up with, I believe, is a chart of tramlines linking alien space together.”

Admiral Smith coughed. “You believe?”

“It matches up with our projections,” Phipps explained. “And some of the navigational data is definitely linked to human space. We don’t know if they obtained the data from the Heinlein Colony or they ran projections comparable to ours, but we believe we now have an idea of the layout of their territory.”

He keyed a switch. A holographic starchart appeared in front of them. “This is Alien-1,” Phipps said, “where the first set of POWs were captured. As you can see, the tramlines follow Ark Royal’s course as she retreated from the system, then captured the alien battlecruiser here. But other tramlines lead further into alien space. In particular, this system caught our attention.”

James blinked in surprise. The star, if the projections were accurate, held nine tramlines leading to other stars. Unless the alien economy was significantly different from humanity’s — and nothing they’d seen suggested that was true — the system would be vitally important to the aliens. After all, Britannia held five tramlines and collecting transit fees made up a healthy percentage of the British Government’s revenue.

“It is our belief that this system represents a major alien settlement, at the very least,” Phipps continued. “Even if it didn’t, it would still be vitally important to them. Blocking the system and destroying whatever settlements are there would be a major strike against them.”

“I understand,” Admiral Smith said. “You want us to attack the system.”

He sounded irked. It took James a moment to realise that his commanding officer hadn’t been in the loop until now. The staff at Nelson Base had done the preliminary planning without bothering to alert the officer who would be commanding the mission. It was, at the very least, thoughtless and stupid. He made a mental note to raise the issue with his uncle as soon as possible, then looked up at the display. If the aliens truly ruled all that territory, he decided, they controlled territory over nine times the size of humanity’s territory. The implications were downright alarming.

The Prime Minister smiled. “It will be a joint operation,” he said. “But you will be in command.”

“Yes,” the First Space Lord said. “We have opened high-level discussions with various interstellar powers. The Americans” — he nodded to the Vice President — “have already agreed to make a major commitment. We expect both the French and the Chinese to make commitments of their own. The Russians… are tapped out by the war. It is unlikely they will produce more than a token contribution.”

“They lost half of their industry when New Russia fell,” Admiral Smith commented. “It is unlikely they will agree to risk their remaining forces.”

“Indeed,” the First Space Lord said. He nodded towards the display. “The objective is simple; take the enemy system, if possible. You will have a major ground-pounding element attached to the fleet. If not, rip the industries apart and then fall back as quickly as you can, before the aliens manage to mousetrap you. We imagine they will be very unhappy to see you in their rear.”

Admiral Smith frowned. “I have a question,” he said. “How do you intend us to get there without fighting our way through successive alien-held systems?”

James held his breath. The question had occurred to him too.

“We have been able to reconfigure the FTL drives on modern starships to make use of alien tramlines,” the First Space Lord said. “Ark Royal herself will have a… system attached to her that will allow the same capability. Instead of proceeding through known tramlines, you will proceed in a roundabout course that shouldn’t take you anywhere near an economically viable system.”

Admiral Smith and James exchanged glances. It was true enough that some systems were just useless for anything other than transit points, but the aliens would almost certainly picket them anyway, just to make sure no one tried to sneak in through the backdoor. Humanity might have been caught by surprise by the alien FTL technology, yet the aliens wouldn’t make the same mistake themselves. Come to think of it, he knew, quite a few such systems were settled by outcast groups that wanted nothing to do with the rest of humanity. The aliens might have similar groups in their territory.

“It does have its risks,” the First Space Lord conceded. “But this might be our best chance to hit the enemy right where it hurts.”

He paused, then nodded to the Prime Minister. “The fleet will be assembled over the next fortnight,” he said. “Once the fleet is ready, we can launch the operation at once.”

“We will need to train and exercise together,” Admiral Smith said. “Even now, there are differences in our operational protocols. We can’t afford a communications breakdown in the heat of battle.”

“You’ll have all the time you want,” the Prime Minister said. “I don’t think I need to tell you, any of you, that this is immensely important. We cannot afford a defeat.”

James nodded, silently admiring the man’s nerve. Sending even a small number of carriers to take the offensive risked denuding the defences of Earth. If the operation failed, or the aliens mounted their own offensive before they realised that Ark Royal was in their rear, it could get very sticky. He had a feeling that quite a few politicians had argued for an attack on New Russia instead. But, at best, that would only liberate the planet. It wouldn’t threaten the alien homeworlds.

“We won’t let you down,” Admiral Smith said. James knew him well enough to tell that he wasn’t as confident as he sounded. Even if everything went according to plan the operation would still be very tricky to pull off successfully. “Does the operation have a name?”

The First Space Lord smiled. “Operation Nelson,” he said. “I thought it was fitting.”