The Oncoming Storm

by Christopher Nuttall

  It wasn’t something he could talk to anyone about, not even to the ship’s doctor. Naval officers had no right to privacy. The ship’s doctor had a duty to break her oath of confidentiality if she believed one of the crewmen was a serious danger to himself or his fellows. And he wasn’t sure what Doctor Braham would do if he confessed his doubts to her. Grumbling about the captain, no matter how she’d been given the job, would be a severe breach of military etiquette.

  Not that, in the end, it had mattered.

  He’d been wrong about her. She was inexperienced, she needed to learn fast, but she wasn’t grossly incompetent. Nor had she hidden behind her rank or her father’s title. She had acted as befitted a good commanding officer and he had to admit that, even though it was only in the privacy of his own head. And he should take it into account. The contingency plans he’d been devising to take command if necessary, an act that could be construed as mutiny if the Admiralty happened to want a scapegoat, shouldn’t be taken any further. He owed her the same trust and confidence he owed every other commanding officer, at least until the man had proved himself beyond redemption.

  She wouldn’t be the first officer to need to learn fast upon assuming command, he thought. He’d started his career as a crewman, after all, watching the senior chiefs gently manipulate young officers into becoming paragons of virtue. The Army did it all the time. It was only the Marines who insisted on having everyone spend a few years as an infantryman first before assigning them to other roles. And I need to stop being so suspicious of her.

  He turned his head as the hatch opened behind him, revealing a young woman wearing a midshipwoman’s uniform. Midshipwoman Cecelia Parkinson, he reminded himself. She was young enough to be his granddaughter, with short red hair and a freckled face. He couldn’t help noting that she looked rather pale and worn, unsurprisingly. But was it the stress of going into combat or something worse?

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, flushing. She stumbled backwards so rapidly he thought she was about to trip over her own uniform. “I thought the compartment was free.”

  “I forgot to lock it,” William said. Had he ever been that young? The captain was barely ten years older than Cecelia, with far more poise and self-control. “It isn’t a court-martial offense to walk through an unlocked hatch.”

  The poor girl’s face grew even redder and she muttered something incoherent.

  “Don’t worry,” William said, rising to his feet. “I was just leaving.”

  She opened her mouth to object, but he stepped past her and through the hatch before she could say a word. It was probably her first real chance to take a break and look out at hyperspace and he wasn’t about to deprive her of it. No true officer would act in such a fashion. And besides, if he remembered what he’d seen in the files correctly, she probably needed some time to think.

  Making a mental note to have a word with the senior chief, he strode down the corridor and back to the bridge.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Captain,” the XO said. “We are ten minutes away from Cadiz.”

  Kat nodded, then sat. The two weeks since the pirate attack had passed almost without incident, apart from a brief sensor contact that might have been another pirate vessel—or just another random glitch thrown up by hyperspace. All they could say for certain was that the contact hadn’t attempted to close the range and attack.

  “The convoy master will be pleased,” she said. He hadn’t been too happy when he’d discovered his starship had been tapped to tow the pirate hulk. “Take us back into real space as soon as we reach optimal coordinates.”

  She studied the display as Lightning and her convoy plunged towards Cadiz. Unusually, there were several semi-permanent energy storms near the planet, limiting the number of hyper-routes starships could use to reach the planet. There were guardships within hyperspace, monitoring constantly for incoming fleets, although she knew there would be far too many false alarms. She’d half expected the approaches to be mined when she’d read the files, but 7th Fleet’s CO had apparently decided there was too great a risk of accidentally destroying a civilian ship. If there hadn’t been a war looming, Kat would have thought he was right.

  “We are entering optimal coordinates now,” Weiberg reported, breaking into her thoughts. “Vortex generator online; ready to return to real space.”

  “Take us out,” Kat ordered. It would be a relief to see stars again, even if it marked the start of her mission. “Now.”

  Space twisted in front of them, then parted, as though an angry god had torn a hole in the very fabric of reality. Kat gazed at stars shining their light into hyperspace before the first freighters slid through the tear and back into real space. Her ship brought up the rear, closing the tear behind them. An odd feeling ran through the ship, a sensation no one had ever been able to fully describe; then it faded away.

  They were back where they belonged.

  “We have entered the Cadiz System,” Weiberg said, formally.

  Kat looked at her XO. “Please make a note in the log,” she said. They’d moved from one command region to another. “And then transmit our IFF code to Cadiz.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the XO said. Lieutenant Ross echoed him a moment later.

  Kat looked at the display as the passive sensors started to suck in and process data from all over the Cadiz System. It didn’t take an expert eye to realize that the system looked odd, as if it hadn’t quite followed normal development patterns. There were installations orbiting the gas giants and mining stations in the asteroids, but there were relatively few stations near Cadiz itself. The brief guide to the system she’d read during the flight had stated that several corporations had actually invested in terraforming packages for Cadiz V, a Mars-type world on the very edge of the habitable zone. It was a recipe for later trouble.

  She sighed. Normally, a Commonwealth world would have a unified government able to handle off-planet development—and a solid claim on their star system. Cadiz, on the other hand, had no unified government; the only power that patrolled the outer edges of their star system was the Royal Navy. Corporate investment in the system had been made without the permission of any local government, thus ensuring that Cadiz’s inhabitants received no true benefits from their resources. It was just another problem fuelling the growing insurgency on the planet’s surface.

  But we didn’t have a choice, she told herself.

  And her thoughts mocked her. The strong have always told themselves they have no choice but to steal from the rich.

  She rubbed her eyes. Cadiz sat directly between the Commonwealth and the Theocracy, a world that either side could use as a jumping-off point for an attack into the other’s space. It could not be allowed to remain apart from the Commonwealth, some had argued, because the Theocracy had shown no hesitation in invading worlds incapable of defending themselves. And yet the locals hadn’t wanted to join the Commonwealth. They might not have been as successful as Tyre, but they had made a solid investment and intended to work towards the future on their own. But the Commonwealth, reluctantly, hadn’t respected their wishes.

  They called it an annexation, Kat knew, and claimed it was for their own good. But the locals weren’t happy. And, because it was impossible to form a stable government, Cadiz was losing control over its own resources. Indeed, if Cadiz V became a settled world in its own right, it would just sow the seeds for more tension. Cadiz might become nothing more than an economic backwater while Cadiz V controlled the system.

  The display bleeped as it picked up the starships orbiting Cadiz. Kat sucked in her breath as she saw the icons for three superdreadnought squadrons, followed by numerous smaller icons representing cruisers, destroyers, and gunboats. It looked, at first, like an unstoppable force, a gathering of the most powerful warships in the galaxy. And yet, as more and more detail appeared on the display, it became evident that something was wrong—7th Fleet should be moving around rather than holding the same position.

  She cringed i
nwardly as she thought through the implications. There was almost no control over civilian starships moving in and out of the system. Any of them could be a spy ship, reporting to the Theocracy; they’d know precisely where to find their targets. Standard procedure was to have the fleet in constant motion, or at least change position every few days, but Admiral Morrison seemed to believe it wasn’t necessary.

  “Captain,” Lieutenant Ross said, “we have picked up a formal response to our IFF codes.”

  Kat glanced at her display. It had been nearly twenty minutes since they’d sent the codes. It shouldn’t have taken more than ten minutes to receive a reply.

  “Sloppy,” her XO muttered. His face was grim. “They should have detected our arrival and challenged us at once.”

  “True,” Kat muttered back. They’d come out of hyperspace five light minutes from Cadiz, but the twist in space-time should have been detectable from right across the system, instantly. Cadiz should have sent a challenge the moment they’d arrived, the signal crossing the IFF codes Lightning had sent back. “They definitely should have challenged us.”

  She cleared her throat. “Did they send us specific orders?”

  “No, Captain,” Ross said. “They just acknowledged our arrival.”

  Kat wondered, for a brief moment, if the system had already fallen. The thought sent a chill down her spine. Were they flying right into an ambush? But it seemed unlikely. The superdreadnoughts orbiting Cadiz were Royal Navy designs, while there was no sign that a battle had been fought in the system. No matter the readiness level of 7th Fleet, she found it impossible to believe the system had fallen without a battle. Someone would have tried to fight.

  “Keep us on course,” she ordered. “And request orbital slots for the convoy.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Ross said.

  More disturbing signs started to appear as Lightning flew towards the planet. The fleet in orbit should have had at least some of its starships at battle readiness at all times. Instead, their drives and sensors were stepped down to the point it would take nearly an hour to bring them back up to full power. Every ship was also supposed to keep its shield generators on standby, but she had a feeling they hadn’t even bothered to take that basic precaution. She shook her head in growing disbelief. Superdreadnoughts were tough, built to take a staggering amount of punishment, but an antimatter warhead impacting against an unprotected hull would be disastrous. She realized 7th Fleet was staggeringly vulnerable.

  “They should be running gunboat patrols too,” the XO said, through their implants. It was rude to use implants to talk in front of other people, but it helped keep their conversation private. “Someone could be sneaking up on the ships under cloak right now and they wouldn’t even have a clue they were there.”

  Kat couldn’t disagree. Cloaking systems were only perfect if the starship under cloak stayed very still, pretending to be a hole in space. A starship under power emitted faint radiations that weren’t completely concealed by the cloak, though the vessel would still be hard to track. Gunboat patrols should have made it impossible for someone to sneak up on the fleet, yet the only gunboats she could see on the display were performing routine maneuvers. They certainly weren’t patrolling space as aggressively as she would have liked.

  She turned her attention to Cadiz itself. There was a smaller orbital presence than she would have expected from a world at its development level, but there were dozens of freighters in orbit, along with several commercial stations. And, she realized slowly, 7th Fleet didn’t seem to be doing anything to inspect the freighters coming in and out of Cadiz. They could be moving heavy weapons down to the surface, yet no one was even searching the ships before they entered orbit! And, by Commonwealth law, any freighter that was allowed to enter orbit was immune from further searches without clear proof of wrongdoing.

  There’s no single authority here, she thought grimly. And because of that, it’s hard to monitor everything that happens within the star system.

  The only remotely encouraging sign was the level of security round the orbital StarCom, although she would have preferred considerably more. A handful of automated weapons platforms guarded the structure, while a bubble of clear space was enforced by gunboats and Marine shuttles. But then losing the StarCom would be disastrous, even if the system didn’t come under immediate attack. How would the corporate representatives on Cadiz communicate with their superiors without it?

  She smiled humorlessly. Perhaps I should arrange for something to happen to it, she thought. Losing the StarCom would unite all the corporations against Admiral Morrison.

  It was nearly thirty minutes before another signal arrived from Cadiz. “Captain, we have been assigned orbital slots,” Ross reported. “There’s also a private message for you.”

  “Pass it over,” Kat ordered. Who would send her a private message? But she knew the answer before the message popped up in her in-box. Admiral Morrison, according to her father, was a contemptible social climber. Making the acquaintance of Duke Falcone’s daughter could only benefit him in the long run. “And inform System Command that we will take up our orbital slots as quickly as possible.”

  She frowned as she saw the slots appear on the display. The freighters would be entering low orbit, while Lightning herself would be permitted to remain in high orbit, which would allow them some maneuvering room if the shit hit the fan. It didn’t look very safe at all, but there was no point in picking a fight with Admiral Morrison—or the system’s controllers, such as they were—so quickly. Instead, she rose to her feet and nodded to the XO.

  “Mr. XO, you have the bridge,” she said. “Inform me when we enter orbit.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the XO said.

  Kat saw her forebodings reflected in his eyes as she walked past him and into her Ready Room. Inside, she waited until the hatch had hissed closed behind her, then sat down at her desk, and accessed the private message. It was keyed to her specific command implants, which was oddly amusing. Admiral Morrison might not have been interested in her if she’d still been a commander and XO of a starship, responsible to her captain. It would have suggested she wasn’t interested in pulling strings on her own behalf.

  The thought made her feel coldly furious at her father. She hadn’t even looked at the message, but she was sure Admiral Morrison wanted to make use of her. She’d run into other senior officers with the same ambition, yet this was different. This commanding officer, thanks to her father, had evidence that she was interested in pulling strings on her own behalf . . .

  Gritting her teeth, she pressed her palm against the terminal, then frowned as the holographic image appeared in front of her. Thankfully, the message had been recorded and sent before they were close enough to Cadiz for a real-time conference. Admiral Morrison was strikingly handsome, with muscles on his muscles, his uniform tailored to show his looks and build off to best advantage. But his appearance was too handsome, too striking, to be real. It suggested deep insecurities that even a minor visit to a cosmetic bodyshop had been unable to cure. Even the genetic engineering that had shaped Kat’s appearance had given her something more natural.

  But it’s easy to see why he impresses some civilians, she thought as she keyed the switch to start the playback. He looks the very model of a modern space admiral.

  “Captain Falcone,” Admiral Lord Buckland Morrison said. His voice was perfect too, almost as practiced as one of the political leaders speaking in the houses of Parliament. But there was something about it that suggested it was far from natural. “Please allow me to welcome you to Cadiz.”

  Kat nodded, impatiently. It wasn’t common for starship commanders to be sent messages of welcome by the station commander. They were meant to be good little subordinates and present themselves to the admiral’s office as soon as they entered orbit. Sending Kat a message, she knew, was not a good sign.

  “I look forward to meeting you in person,” the admiral continued. “You are welcome to visit my office once your ship has
entered orbit. I would also like to invite you to a party at my estate the following week. You would be more than welcome.”

  “A party,” Kat repeated, incredulously. Who the hell did the admiral think she was? Candy Falcone? “He wants me to go to a party?”

  “Your crew are, of course, welcome to begin their shore leave roster while the convoy prepares itself for its next destination,” the admiral concluded. He smiled at her. It would have been attractive if she hadn’t been so sure it was fake. “And I look forward to meeting you in person.”

  Insecure, Kat thought as the message came to an end. She couldn’t help being reminded of her first boyfriend, although they’d both been teenagers at the time. He told me the same things twice, as if he were afraid I’d miss what he was saying or go somewhere else. And so did the admiral.

  Her father would have wanted her to get to know the admiral, she knew, although it was because he wanted evidence he could use to stick a knife in Morrison’s back. Kat herself . . . would have preferred to spend as little time with the admiral as possible. But a direct invitation from her superior officer would be hard to avoid, even with her family connections. Someone without them would have had to humor the admiral, at least as long as they valued their career.

  She winced. Suddenly, the condition of the orbiting superdreadnoughts made a great deal of sense.

  You’re jumping to conclusions, she thought, coldly. You don’t know if the superdreadnought commanders have been spending too much time on the planet’s surface.

  But it did seem alarmingly plausible.

  “Record,” she ordered, after she was sure she could trust her voice to remain even. “Admiral Morrison, I will land on the planet’s surface once my ship has entered orbit. I look forward to meeting you in person. However, I have duties to my ship and I may not be able to attend your party. Thank you for your time.”

  It was borderline rude, she knew; she’d known officers and aristocrats who would have exploded under much less provocation. But she had a feeling Admiral Morrison would let it slide. She sent the message with a tap of the console, then called the XO into her Ready Room. When he arrived, she replayed the message for him, smiling to herself at his reaction.