Christopher Nuttall - The Trafalgar Gambit

Winchester held up his hand. “We would not presume to threaten your future wife,” he said, “but the country is not particularly stable at the moment. You leaving now could threaten confidence in the government when we need it to remain stable.”

Henry snorted. “At rock bottom?”

“We have a compromise,” Winchester said. “There will be an embassy on Atlantis, as I believe the alien homeworld will be designated. You are a naval officer with considerable experience of working with the aliens, as is your future wife. I believe you could be assigned there for the remainder of your term in the military, if not longer. You would have privacy, Your Highness, and you would be well away from Earth.”

“And my sister would succeed the throne, if she wants it,” Henry said. “Let’s face it. She will make a much better figurehead than myself.”

He paused. “And what about my children?”

“If your sister dies childless,” Winchester said, “they would be in line to take the throne…”

“No,” Henry said. “My price for doing this is that I and any children I might have are excluded from the succession permanently. If Elizabeth dies childless, there are other potential heirs…”

“And you’re the one in first place,” Forsyth said.

“And it hardly matters,” Henry snapped. “If there was power in the throne, I might take it and use it… and my first decree would be to have you beheaded. But there’s no reward for making myself a target for reporters, pollutions — sorry, politicians — and everyone with a grudge against Britain.”

He took a breath. “You have my terms,” he said. “If you can handle them, let me know and I will speak to Janelle about it. If not… bye-bye.”

Grinning, he turned and walked out of the room. Maybe it wasn’t quite as satisfying as the fantasy he’d had of slowly feeding Forsyth and his ilk into a mincing machine, then feeding their remains to reporters, but it had felt good. And even if he did take the post on Atlantis…

… He would be a long way from any damned reporters.

And that, he knew, was all he really wanted.

James hadn’t visited his father’s study since the day he’d entered the Academy. It had normally been denied to him and his siblings, as his father did most of his work from the manor and flatly barred his children from disturbing him during office hours. The only times he’d visited had been when the servants had wanted to report his conduct to his father, who had always taken a dim view of it.

He looked around the room, marvelling at how little had changed. The walls were covered with bookshelves, the desk — a copy of one in Buckingham Palace — was bare, save for a computer terminal and a piece of paper with a handful of scrawled notes. He was studying the book titles, wondering how many of them his father had actually read, when the door opened, revealing Percy and Penny Schneider. Behind them, Gayle — their nanny, according to Commander Schneider — looked reluctant to enter the room.

“Please, take a seat,” he said. “All three of you.”

He sighed inwardly as he met their eyes. Percy was clearly trying to be a grown man, suppressing his emotions in public, while Penny and Gayle both looked badly upset. It was hard to blame any of them. Their mother — and Gayle’s parents — had vanished in the tidal waves, while their father had died shortly afterwards on active service. And they were far from alone. Hundreds of thousands — perhaps millions — of people remained missing, presumed dead. Or perhaps they’d simply changed their identities and vanished.

“Your father was a very brave man,” he said, simply. “He gave his life to save countless others.”

He looked at Gayle. “I believe he intended to adopt you, at least until you reached adulthood,” he added. “He certainly filed the paperwork to do so before Ark Royal left Earth for the final time. I don’t think there would have been any major objections. He was a war hero, after all, and already the father of two teenage children.”

“Yes, sir,” Gayle muttered.

James understood. She’d lost her parents, then her prospective adopter in quick succession. The normal legal headaches to adoption had been removed in the wake of the crisis, but the legal protections had also been removed. There had already been incidents, according to the media, when children and teenagers had been adopted by deliberately abusive adults and treated worse than slaves. Gayle had no reason to look forward to a bright future. None of them had, not really.

“It is my intention to adopt you,” James said. “All three of you. I believe your father would have wanted me to see you — all three of you — safe.”

Percy frowned. “And the price of this?”

“Nothing,” James said. He understood. Percy would have been exposed to more darkness in the last few months than he’d seen in his entire previous life. It had matured him, but it had also left him cynical and worn. “Just… try to live up to your father’s standards.”

Penny sighed. “But here…?”

“For the moment,” James said. He looked around the room, trying to understand how it must seem to them. Their parents had never been rich. “There are options, if you don’t want to join my extended family. I believe there are asteroid settlements, or farmsteads on Britannia, or… I could probably arrange almost anything for you. But I believe that if you live here, at least until you become legal adults, you’d have the best possible introduction into society.”

He took a breath. “I’m expected to report onboard Formidable within two weeks,” he said. “By then, the diplomatic headaches should have been sorted out and we’ll know where the borders actually are . I’d prefer you gave me an answer by the end of the week and, until then, you are more than welcome to stay here.”

Percy rose to his feet. “Thank you, sir,” he said. He was certainly trying to be formal. “We will discuss it amongst ourselves and let you know.”

James nodded, then watched as they filed out of the room. They’d do well whatever they chose, he was sure. And the aristocracy had thrived when it had finally started integrating talented commoners. Kurt Schneider had died a hero. His children would be sought after for marriages, if they chose to stay. And if they didn’t…

He shook his head, then tapped the computer terminal. Uncle Winchester had sent him a detailed set of diagrams for the planned next generation carrier, one built after the lessons of the First Interstellar War were analysed and integrated into the design. She would look like the Old Lady, he knew, although she was also smoother in places, despite the ever-present weapons and sensor blisters. He smiled, then swallowed hard when he saw the nametag on the top of the diagram. HMS Theodore Smith .

It was, he decided, precisely what humanity’s first interstellar naval hero deserved.

Wow. Just wow.

I posted Ark Royal on 15th January 2014. By the end of the month, I had sold over 10’000 copies, a success that left me absolutely stunned. I wrote The Nelson Touch — Book II — in March and sold 6000 copies in eight days. As of writing, Ark Royal has over 1000 reviews and has sold upwards of 65’000 copies. I am astonished and delighted and very — very — proud.

And, when I asked readers to vote for Book III or a spin-off, the majority vote was for Book III. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

When I started to plot out this series, I fixed on two things. First, that I would leave the background history — future history — a little vague. I’ve seen books suffer from having a detailed history that later proved incorrect or was treated as terrifying by some readers. The Troubles, in particular, were left undefined. I may go back to that era and write a book set there and then, but it will be very different from Ark Royal — and intensely political.