“You’ll have a chance to make it better,” William promised. The captain wanted his impressions of the situation on the ground. She’d get more than she ever expected, particularly once he started looking up other friends attached to 7th Fleet. “And you can’t fight for your crews without a good night’s sleep.”
He pressed the tab against her arm, then sat back and watched as she fell into slumber. Her face relaxed until she was almost the younger officer he remembered, before she’d been assigned to Admiral Morrison’s command. He felt a spark of bitter hatred, even though he’d never met the man. What could have gone so badly wrong that it would cripple a woman he’d once known to be a good officer?
And not just her, he told himself. Whatever rot started here has spread through the entire fleet. If the Theocracy comes knocking . . .
He shuddered. If half of what Fran had said was true, the thought was far from comforting.
Chapter Fourteen
Kat waited until her steward had served her XO and Davidson steaming mugs of coffee, taking another cup for herself as well, then leaned forward, placing her hands on her desk.
“The situation looks bad,” she said. “Just how bad is it?”
“Disastrous,” the two men said, together.
They exchanged surprised looks, then Davidson motioned for the XO to continue.
“I spoke to several other officers I know,” William said. “All of them agreed that 7th Fleet is in no condition for a fight. The average superdreadnought is at forty percent efficiency, which may be an optimistic assessment. It’s a little better for some of the smaller ships, as they still have useful work to do, but not that much better. The list of problems seems endless.”
Kat nodded, slowly. A cruiser could expect to serve as anything from an independent scouting platform to a convoy escort or colony guardship. No sane CO would risk allowing his ship to decline too far, knowing he might have to switch tasks at any moment. But superdreadnoughts spent far too much of their time near fleet bases, close to shore leave facilities for officers and crew alike. It took a strong-minded commander to keep his crew at peak efficiency when the temptations of the nearby planet were so strong.
The XO sighed. “Overall,” he added, “it seems likely that a mere squadron of superdreadnoughts could best 7th Fleet if they attacked tomorrow.”
He ran his hand through his graying hair. “Some of the officers I spoke with have been attempting to do something about the problem, but they haven’t been able to get any response from the Admiralty. And Admiral Morrison keeps pooh-poohing their concerns. A handful of officers who pushed it too far, apparently, were relieved for cause and assigned to asteroid bases in the sector. None of them were sent home for court martial.”
“Because a court martial would have required open discussion of just what was happening on Cadiz,” Kat said, thoughtfully. “Instead . . . their careers were destroyed.”
She cursed under her breath. Her trust fund ensured she didn’t have to work a day in her life if she wanted to resign herself to an eternity of lazy luxury. But no one outside the aristocracy had that option, even a senior naval officer. The officers would have noted what happened to others who questioned too loudly and shut up, despite the growing risk of attack. They wouldn’t want to see their careers blighted too.
“Yes, Captain,” the XO confirmed. “Admiral Morrison seems to have been remarkably successful in keeping matters under wraps.”
Kat looked at Davidson. “And what did you hear?”
Davidson looked . . . irked. “I called a handful of Marine officers on the surface,” he said darkly. “Most of them agreed the situation is dire, both in space and on the ground. The insurgency is still holding strong, the occupation forces are having to fight hard to hold their ground, and senior officers are losing control. There have even been rumors that the insurgents have been dehumanized to the point where atrocities have been covered up. I wish I could say it surprises me.”
Kat lifted her eyebrows expressively.
“Occupation duties are always tricky,” Davidson said. “A soldier on patrol can lose sight of common decency when confronted by a civilian population that either does nothing or actively supports the insurgents. The urge to just hit out and smash the grinning bastards into paste becomes overwhelming. It doesn’t help that there simply aren’t enough forces on the ground to keep the entire planet under control. Our troops have been substituting superior firepower for boots on the ground.”
The XO frowned. “So an area is only under control as long as we have troops on top of it?”
“Yes,” Davidson agreed. “Once the troops move away, the insurgents move back and take control again. Anyone who collaborated with our forces gets brutally murdered. By now, the only people willing to work with the occupation forces are locals without connections or people who believe we can protect their families.”
He winced, noticeably. “But even they are bearing the brunt of suspicion,” he added. “I heard a dozen horror stories from a couple of marines. If we didn’t have overwhelming firepower in orbit, Captain, I think we would have lost Cadiz by now.”
“But we have handled insurgencies on other Commonwealth worlds,” Kat said thoughtfully. “Why can’t we handle this one?”
“Every other world had a large majority in favor of joining the Commonwealth,” Davidson reminded her. “All we really had to do was train and bolster the local security forces, then assist them in asserting control over the hinterlands. Hell, most of the insurgencies faded away when the benefits of Commonwealth membership became apparent. Here . . . the locals largely hate our guts, with reason. The insurgency shows no sign of going away.”
“And we can’t build up a local force allied to us,” the XO said. “But surely some of them see the advantages . . .”
“Not enough of them,” Davidson said, cutting him off. “The whole situation is FUBAR, Captain. We can’t fix the occupation and we can’t abandon the star system.”
“Perhaps we should simply abandon the planet itself,” the XO said. “It isn’t as if we need to have installations on Cadiz.”
Kat took a moment to breathe. Interstellar law was an odd thing, all the more so now the aftereffects of the Breakdown were slowly fading away. Technically, whoever owned Cadiz owned the entire system, which meant the investments made in the system would be at risk if Cadiz was abandoned and allowed to go its own merry way. There were a dozen large corporations in the Commonwealth that would refuse to accept losing control of their investments. But with Cadiz V being terraformed, there might soon be a second settled world in the system. It was a horrible, ghastly mess.
But we would have overwhelming firepower, she thought slowly. What would it matter what Cadiz thought if they couldn’t reach orbit?
“It would look very bad,” she said, finally. “It wouldn’t play well at home and it wouldn’t play well with the other interstellar powers—or even the other independent worlds along the Rim. The Theocracy will probably make use of the whole story to convince people we can’t be trusted.”
“They’d have to be out of their minds,” the XO commented. “Haven’t they been listening to what the refugees told us?”
“It’s easy to manipulate the news,” Kat said, remembering one of the few lessons she’d had directly from her father. The Falcone Consortium owned a large chunk of the mainstream media. No editor would dare run a story that impinged on the corporation’s interests. “And the Theocracy is very good at it.”
She remembered the reports and shivered. There were no independent media outlets on Theocratic worlds, no one pushing anything but the official version of events. The locals welcomed the Theocracy; they either converted happily or lived in peace under their own religions and everything was simply wonderful. Kat knew the refugees told a different story, but they simply didn’t have the reach and exposure Theocratic propaganda had. And, the farther away a planet was from the expanding border, the more likely its population would believe the T
heocracy’s version of affairs.
We should be telling them the truth, she thought. But the truth sounded less attractive than a barrage of lies. Or we should forward the refugees on to them.
“The overall situation is dire,” Kat said, finally. She took a sip of her coffee. “Mr. XO, there are some things we need to discuss with you.”
The thought made her feel a twinge of pain. She’d had the sense the XO had come to respect her, at least to some degree, after they’d tackled the pirate ship. Maybe she was still too young for her role, but at least she’d handled the situation competently. And yet . . . now she had to discuss her father’s request for information with him. It was easy to imagine him considering her willingness to cooperate with her father a form of disloyalty to the navy.
She shook her head. What choice did she have?
“I wasn’t just assigned to command this starship,” she said, hesitatingly. “I . . . was also asked to carry out an independent review of 7th Fleet—and Cadiz’s security.”
The XO’s face went blank. Kat sighed, mentally bidding farewell to their new rapport, then pressed onwards. Davidson showed no reaction.
“I have a backchannel through the StarCom,” she continued. “The message I send won’t be intercepted or read by prying eyes. I intend to write a full report on what we’ve observed over the last two days.”
“Admiral Morrison will be furious if he finds out you’ve gone behind his back,” the XO said mildly. “This isn’t sending a private report to the IG, is it?”
He hadn’t asked who would receive Kat’s message, she noted. Was it that obvious?
Of course it is, she told herself angrily. Who else would request a report from right outside the normal channels from YOU?
“No, it isn’t,” Kat said. She loved her career, but she could give it up if necessary. Besides, she could always formally protest an assignment to an asteroid station and demand a court martial. She had a feeling Admiral Morrison would bend over backwards to avoid putting her in front of a Captains’ Board. “But I don’t see any other option.”
“You would be making yourself a pawn in a political struggle,” the XO said in the same mild tone. It was impossible to tell if he approved or disapproved of her actions. “Whatever happened, Captain, your career would never be your own again.”
“It never has been,” Kat said, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone. She looked at him, wishing she could read his face. “The entire report will be under my name.”
The XO shook his head. “I just saw an officer I trained, an officer I respected, trying to drink herself to death,” he said softly. “She just couldn’t cope any longer with the strain placed on her by her superiors. It has to be stopped.”
He paused. “Feel free to put my name on the report as well,” he offered. “It might help if your readers think it isn’t just your work.”
Kat gave him a relieved smile, even though she knew he had far more at stake than she did. Her XO was a powerless nobody, someone who hadn’t even been born a Commonwealth citizen. His career could be blighted or destroyed completely with a word or two from Admiral Morrison. Kat could fund him, perhaps even find him a place within the Falcone Consortium, but it wouldn’t be the same. Yet he was offering to place his career at risk for her.
“Mine too,” Davidson said, breaking his silence. He hesitated, minutely. It would have been unnoticeable if Kat hadn’t known him so well. “Captain, I confess I have no idea why General Eastside has not reported the situation to Tyre. But I do have to make a report myself.”
Kat wasn’t surprised. The Marine Corps, always on the tip of the spear, encouraged its junior officers to send reports and feedback back to Tyre. There were times when it allowed officers to do an end-run around a sometimes stodgy military bureaucracy. But someone should have already reported the problems, not settled for rumors and innuendo. Why hadn’t the senior marine on the spot reported the problem himself?
“Add it to mine,” Kat advised. “I don’t want anyone to read the report until it reaches Tyre.”
The XO smiled. “Afraid of what the admiral will say?”
“I’d prefer not to pick a fight with him right now,” Kat said. Part of her would relish the confrontation, but it would be disastrous. The issue at hand could be easily buried if enough people were convinced she was a snotty little brat who initiated a feud because she wasn’t happy with her orders. “And I would prefer to have the IG send out a team without any more fuss than strictly necessary.”
“Their presence might alert the Theocracy that their window for attack is closing,” the XO agreed. He looked down at the table, thoughtfully. “The Admiralty might want to assign three new squadrons of superdreadnoughts to Cadiz, then remove Admiral Morrison and call back 7th Fleet for refit.”
Kat leaned forward, alarmed. “It’s that bad?”
“I think several of the superdreadnoughts will need months of hard labor before they’ll be anything like combat capable,” the XO said. He paused. “You know you can download fleet statistics from the datanet?”
“Yes,” Kat said. She’d been an XO. Maybe not as long as he’d been an XO, but she knew a few tricks. It had been an eye-opening experience in many ways. “Most of the captains spend their days on the surface.”
“There’s supposed to be a note in the database every time a component is requisitioned from naval stockpiles and sent to a starship,” the XO said. “Right now, only a hundred or so requisitions have been made over the last four months.”
“That’s absurd,” Kat said. Lightning alone had made over five hundred requisitions since she’d taken command. “A superdreadnought should have”—she tried to work it out in her head—“at least a thousand a month.”
The XO gave her a cold smile. “Or they’re not doing any maintenance,” he said. “Naval components are tough, but standing orders are to replace them long before they reach their expiration date. If they’re not being replaced regularly . . .”
Davidson cleared his throat. “This is starting to look like more than incompetence,” he said, grimly. “This is starting to look like outright treason.”
The XO blinked. “Are you suggesting Admiral Morrison is in the pay of the Theocracy?”
“Someone should have reported this up the chain of command,” Davidson said. He tapped off points on his fingers as he spoke. “There’s a duty—a legal duty—for Marine officers to report superiors who are grossly incompetent. Naval officers . . . well, someone might well have tried to blow a whistle by now.”
“Fran did,” the XO said, quietly. “So did others.”
“And those reports haven’t reached the Admiralty,” Davidson said. “I certainly wasn’t told more than rumors when I received my orders—and there should have been a full briefing from Marine Intelligence. This smacks of outright treason.”
Kat considered it, slowly. It was possible, she had to admit, but it didn’t seem likely. The admiral could have surrendered the planet to the Theocracy by now, if he’d been working for them directly. A few careful orders prior to attack and 7th Fleet would be utterly incapable of defending itself. Why would the Theocracy play a waiting game when the chances of their agent being exposed would only grow stronger with each passing day? Someone would eventually get a message to the Admiralty . . .
“Admiral Morrison is the blue-eyed boy of a number of politicians,” she said finally, remembering her father’s files. “They put him in position in the hopes of preventing any further . . . adventurism.”
“This is madness,” Davidson said. “His political backers can’t save him from a shit storm of that magnitude.”
“I don’t think they give a damn about his career,” Kat said. “All they care about is ensuring we don’t blunder into a war.”
“As opposed to having one rammed down our throats when the Theocracy comes over the border,” Davidson said dryly. “Are they out of their minds?”
But Kat understood. Reality was a flexible concept if
one happened to be as wealthy and powerful as the highest families on Tyre. Wealth insulated them from the cold equations of everyday life. Indeed, no matter how much money they spent, it was unlikely they could ever bankrupt themselves. But some problems couldn’t be bought off by money.
She had a feeling, when the investigation finally took place, that they wouldn’t discover a vast overarching conspiracy. Instead, they’d discover a thousand tiny decisions that made sense, individually, but added up to disaster. She could understand Admiral Morrison wanting to avoid provocation; she could understand the shipping companies wanting to avoid a rise in insurance rates; she could understand officers not wanting to blight their careers; she could understand bureaucratic supply officers not wanting to give up their supplies . . .
Or was it a conspiracy after all? It seemed absurdly paranoid. A conspiracy on that scale would be either unworkable or unstoppable. She knew how hard it was to keep even a small organization a secret. And yet even paranoids had enemies.
“I will write the report,” she said. “We’re scheduled to leave in four days, escorting the convoy to the border. I’ll transmit it just before we leave.”
Davidson frowned. “I can’t say I’m happy with doing this in such an . . . underhand manner,” he confessed. “Is it right?”
Kat hesitated. Davidson had always been honorable. It was one of the things she’d loved about him. He preferred to do things in a direct manner, if possible, rather than sneak round behind his superior’s back.
“I don’t see that we have any choice,” the XO said. “If we file a report through channels, it will go missing somewhere along the way.”
“I agree,” Kat said simply. “We can’t take the chance.”
“Then I will write a formal report for Marine HQ,” Davidson said. “Can you send it with your message?”
“Yes,” Kat said. Her father might try to use what she’d sent for political advantage. If the report went to Marine HQ too, it would be harder for him to suppress it. “And I’ll also suggest reinforcements be sent before anything else happens.”
The Oncoming Storm Page 14
