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convince the Indians to leave, without using force, perhaps it should be taken. 
     
    Except they will start wondering what else they can force out of us , he thought.  And then we’ll be blackmailed again .
     
    “So we ready the task force,” the Prime Minister said.  He glanced at the First Space Lord.  “I believe Parliament will authorise readying for war, if the Indians cannot be convinced to withdraw now.  They’re due to meet in two hours.”
     
    “Yes, Prime Minister,” the First Space Lord said. 
     
    “We’ll work out the political objectives afterwards,” the Prime Minister said.  His gaze moved to James.  “I assume you will be commanding the task force?”
     
    “It’s my plan, sir,” James said.  “Besides, Theodore Smith is my flagship.”
     
    The Prime Minister smiled.  “You’ll have orders once Parliament has met,” he said.  “But I dare say we’ll meet again before you go.”
     
    “Yes, sir,” James said.
     
    “I don’t like this,” Murchison said.  “We stand to lose an awful lot.”
     
    “We have no choice,” Uncle Winchester said.  “The Indians have seen to that, Neville.”
     
    The Prime Minister rose to his feet.  “Henry, I imagine you and your nephew have a great deal to talk about,” he said.  “Sandra will show you to one of the private rooms.  You’ll be informed once Parliament has voted.”
     
    “Thank you, Prime Minister,” Uncle Winchester said.
     
    James sighed inwardly as the room emptied.  He’d hoped to have a chance to visit the Cenotaph and the Ark Royal memorial before returning to Nelson Base, but it looked as though Uncle Winchester wanted to talk.  It had probably been decided beforehand, almost certainly with the concurrence of the First Space Lord.  James hadn't been needed to give the briefing, after all.  The First Space Lord had minions to do that sort of thing.
     
    Sandra led them to a small room, poured them both fresh cups of tea and left without a backwards glance.  James watched the door closing behind her, then turned to stare at his uncle.  Uncle Winchester looked tired, worn down by arguing; he hadn't looked so tired, James recalled, back when the Tadpoles had started the war.  No one had really believed in aliens until Vera Cruz ...
     
    “You convinced the Prime Minister, I think,” Uncle Winchester said, without preamble.  “I dare say Parliament will vote for war.”
     
    James nodded.  “They can't let it pass, can they?”
     
    “Probably not,” Uncle Winchester said.  “Yes, there’s a case to be made that we don’t really need to worry about Vesy, but Pegasus and Cromwell are quite important.  Parliament will understand that, I believe.”
     
    He rubbed his forehead.  “When are you going to get married?”
     
    “I haven’t found anyone,” James said, feeling his cheeks heat.  It was an old argument.  “Do we have to have this discussion every time we meet?”
     
    “Yes,” Uncle Winchester said, flatly.  “You need to start raising the next generation of the family.”
     
    “I have Percy and Penny,” James pointed out.
     
    “Neither of whom are blood relations,” Uncle Winchester said.  “You cannot leave your titles to them.”
     
    James met his eyes.  “There was a time when I believed that my birth made me superior to everyone else,” he said.  “I have learned hard lessons since.”
     
    “You were a little brat back then,” Uncle Winchester agreed.  “Locking the maid in the storeroom was particularly unpleasant.  And then there was the time you gorged yourself silly on ...”
     
    “Uncle,” James said.  It wasn't something he wanted to remember.  “Are you ever going to let me forget it?”
     
    “I’ll be telling your grandkids all about it,” Uncle Winchester said.  “And sneering at you when you complain about what awful brats your children are.  You gave your parents quite a hard time.”
     
    He cleared his throat.  “I