The Oncoming Storm

by Christopher Nuttall

  “A modern sensor suite doesn’t make them spies,” Admiral Morrison said with unaccustomed firmness. “They were hardly crammed full of weapons.”

  Kat’s eyes narrowed. “Intelligence is a weapon, Admiral,” she said. “Why did you release them?”

  “The trade guilds were furious,” Admiral Morrison said. “I had complaints coming in to my office almost as soon as you arrived. I skimmed the evidence, decided you had overreacted, and ordered the ship released.”

  “You released them because the traders complained,” Kat said. She had to fight to keep her voice under control. “Admiral, that was not a trading ship.”

  “You should know better than I just how many . . . non-standard trading ships there are along the border,” the admiral said. “There are quite a few with military-grade gear.”

  “But a sensor suite that is better than anything generally available?” Kat demanded. “And far more crew than they need to run the ship?”

  She shivered. Having enemy commandos onboard her vessel, even unarmed and under heavy guard, had been a nightmare. It had been a relief to reach Cadiz and transfer them to the planet’s security forces. She should have known it wouldn’t last.

  “Trade with the Theocracy brings a considerable amount of money to this planet,” Morrison said. “The Occupation Government was most upset. They actually wanted me to formally censure you for your . . . overreaction.”

  He gave her a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring. It came off as condescending.

  “I understand how hard it can be to avoid letting go of one’s first impressions,” he continued smoothly. “My first glance at the records didn’t leave me with a good taste in my mouth either. But, upon mature reflection, I decided there was simply not enough evidence to hold them against their will. There would be . . . diplomatic repercussions.”

  “The Theocracy is unlikely to want to draw attention to their spy ship,” Kat snapped. She rather suspected the crew would simply have been abandoned to their fate. “And the trade guilds don’t make that much money . . .”

  “They have quite a few links to corporations back home,” the admiral said. He gave her a wintery smile. “Your father might not be pleased to get a report that his daughter had damaged his investment.”

  Kat thought rapidly. Did the admiral know she’d sent a report to Tyre? It didn’t sound like it—and the security codes should have prevented the message from being intercepted. Or had he set out to lure her into a false sense of security? There was no way to tell.

  “My father is not part of this discussion,” she said finally. “I have my duties as a naval officer . . .”

  “You have a duty to obey orders,” the admiral countered. “In this case, the evidence has been reviewed and found to be lacking. We cannot justify holding on to the freighter. I will not put a note in your file about the incident, Captain, but I would advise you to be careful in the future.”

  Kat looked past him, out the window. In the distance, a plume of smoke was rising into the air while a pair of helicopters flew overhead. The insurgency was alive and well, even in Gibraltar itself. Just how much worse would it become, she asked herself, if the commandos she’d captured added their skills to the mix? And were they the first ones to make it to the surface?

  I should have wiped their computers, even destroyed the cores, she thought. Davidson had suggested it, which would have rendered the ship completely useless without a major refurbishment, but she’d wanted to preserve the evidence. There would be no chance to do it in the future either, not now that the charges had been formally dropped. The spy ship could collect her intelligence at leisure and then make her way back to the Theocracy. Somehow, Kat doubted she would be allowed to escort the next convoy.

  “Yes, Admiral,” she said, finally.

  “Now, onto more pleasant matters,” Morrison said. “I am hosting another party in four days, Captain, and I would like you to attend.”

  Kat fought down the urge to grind her teeth. She hated parties; she’d always hated them, particularly after she’d realized that her birthday parties were a chance for her parents to network rather than dote on their daughter. And who could attend parties when war was looming in the distance? The mere presence of the spy ship suggested the Theocracy was merely making sure of its figures before launching the attack.

  “This will be a good opportunity for you to meet your fellow commanding officers,” the admiral continued, unaware of her inner turmoil. “And there are quite a few others who would like to meet with you as well.”

  I’m still not in a position to influence my father, Kat thought. But she knew saying it out loud would be pointless.

  She forced herself to think logically. The admiral was right about one thing, at least. It would be a chance to meet the other commanding officers and take their measure. None of the reports sounded promising, but maybe things could be better in person. She could talk to them, even try to warn them about the oncoming storm. Perhaps they would listen . . .

  Or perhaps they will see me as someone promoted ahead of her competence, she thought bitterly. And they won’t listen to me.

  “I’ll attend,” she said, finally.

  “Splendid,” the admiral said. “I’ll have my society aide get in touch with your steward about dresses and suchlike. It’s completely informal, Captain. We wouldn’t want anyone allowing their rank to get in the way of pleasure, would we?”

  Kat had to draw on her implants to keep her face still. Candy had spent hours trying to play dress up with Kat, even after they had both reached their majority. She hated playing dress up as well. If there was one advantage to naval dress uniforms, which were universally hated too, it was that no one could try to outshine everyone else. It wasn’t something anyone could say of society balls. If two different women happened to wear the same dress, it could start a feud that would last for years.

  “Yes, Admiral,” she grated. She would have to give her steward some very precise instructions. Some of the dresses society butterflies had been known to wear in public barely covered anything. She was damned if she’d be talking to her fellow commanders while looking like a whore. “I look forward to it.”

  There was a flash of light in the distance, followed by a fireball rising up into the sky. Kat shook her head, feeling a moment of pity for everyone on the surface caught between the insurgents and the Commonwealth military. If half of the reports Davidson had forwarded to her were accurate, the Commonwealth was definitely losing control over its long-serving soldiers. The number of “incidents” was on the rise.

  And those are only the ones we know about, she thought. How many more haven’t been recorded, let alone investigated and punished?

  The admiral was speaking. Kat winced, inwardly. She’d distracted herself.

  “I’m sorry, Admiral,” she said. “I was staring at the blast.”

  “You get used to them,” the admiral said. “I was suggesting you spend some time in the facilities here. They’re designed for senior officers.”

  Kat wanted to go back to Lightning, but she knew she should have a look round the government complex. Who knew when she’d have another chance?

  “It would be my pleasure,” she said finally. “Your aide can escort me.”

  The admiral nodded, then summoned Commander Jeannette Macintyre and issued orders, ending with a wink. Kat sensed trouble long before Commander Macintyre escorted her out of the admiral’s office and down a long flight of stairs to a restaurant that wouldn’t have been too out of place on Tyre itself. Kat couldn’t help being reminded of the Hotel Magnificent; the waiters looked snooty, the customers looked rich . . . and half the tables were empty.

  “I’ve already eaten,” Kat said when Macintyre started to steer her towards a table. “I’d just like to see the rest of the complex.”

  It was larger than she’d realized, Kat discovered, as Macintyre gave her a short tour. And it was also surprisingly luxurious. There were two swimming pools—one f
or enlisted, the other for senior officers and bureaucrats—both of which seemed to be incredibly busy. Behind them, there were three bars, again separated by social class, and a large gym. It was better equipped than the compartment on Thunderous—or Lightning.

  “Most of the workers here can’t leave the complex,” Macintyre explained. “There’s no shore leave, not even a brief trip to the spaceport. They have to find their entertainment here.”

  Kat shook her head in disbelief. She knew a little about funding, thanks to her father, and she had a sneaking suspicion that the bureaucrats had spent more than they should have had available to decorate their living quarters. The Commonwealth had poured a vast amount of money into Cadiz, but where had half the money gone? She knew, all too well, that the bureaucrats had to spend their entire budget or it would be cut. If they hadn’t been able to spend it on Cadiz, had they spent it on themselves?

  Another flash of light in the air caught her attention. “That’s a mortar shell,” Macintyre explained, utterly unperturbed. “We shoot them down before they can strike the complex, vaporizing the bastards. Everyone loves seeing them explode.”

  Kat heard the sound of guns, firing from the other side of the complex. “And those?”

  “Firing back at the bastards,” Macintyre said. “We try to kill as many mortar crews as possible.”

  “I see,” Kat said.

  Macintyre leaned forward. “Would you like some companionship?”

  Kat felt herself flush. She’d never really explored the brothels near Piker’s Peak, even though they catered to both male and female customers. It shouldn’t really have surprised her that there was a brothel attached to Government House. The admiral would probably have ordered one if it hadn’t been there already. But they had never really been her style.

  “I think I would like to go back to my ship,” she said instead. “There’s nothing for me here.”

  Commander Macintyre offered no objection, somewhat to Kat’s surprise. Instead, the aide just called the security commander and arranged for a convoy to escort Kat back to the spaceport. Kat wasn’t surprised—but more than a little alarmed—to discover that shuttles weren’t allowed to land in the complex or even overfly the city. It was clear that the situation on the ground was actively degrading, far worse than any of the reports suggested. She couldn’t help imagining what would happen if the Commonwealth ever lost control of the high orbitals. It would be a nightmare.

  “The admiral is a busy man,” Macintyre said, apologetically. “He will have more time for you in the future.”

  Kat kept her opinion of that to herself. The less time the admiral had for her, the better. She silently composed a second report to her father as they waited for the escort, then climbed into the small tank and took her seat. This time, there was no transparent window allowing her to see out into the city. All she could do was sit and wait for the vehicle to reach the spaceport, hearing from time to time bullets pinging off the armor. It was clear the insurgents weren’t afraid to challenge the occupation force directly.

  They’re wearing us down, she thought, morbidly. The occupation force had powered armor and access to the best medical treatment in the galaxy, but there was still a steady stream of casualties heading back home. If it grew worse, she suspected, there would be more urgent questions asked in Parliament, perhaps even widespread protests against the war. It hadn’t happened before, but Cadiz was a special case. There wasn’t even a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.

  Kat let out a sigh of relief when they reached the spaceport and the hatch opened, allowing her to scramble out onto the tarmac. She wasn’t claustrophobic—it was impossible to serve in the Navy if one was scared of tight places—but she had disliked being in the vehicle intensely. It probably wouldn’t have been any better if she’d been able to see outside, knowing bullets and homemade rockets would be hurled in her direction. She walked towards the shuttle, then climbed through the hatch and ordered the pilot to take her back into space. It would be a relief to be away from the planet’s surface.

  And if it can do this to me, she thought grimly, what does it do to someone who spends months here?

  She called the XO and Davidson as soon as the shuttle docked, inviting them both to her Ready Room. As soon as they arrived, she explained—briefly—what the admiral had done to the spy ship. Both of them reacted with horror, but there was nothing they could do. The spy ship had been released and there might not be a chance to search it again, after she left Cadiz.

  “The admiral isn’t interested in preparing for war,” Kat said. She’d checked the message buffer. Her father hadn’t replied. “And it might take too long for any new orders to arrive from Tyre.”

  The XO leaned forward. “Your father can’t do anything?”

  “My father isn’t all-powerful,” Kat pointed out. “Someone is backing Admiral Morrison and that someone will have to be . . . dissuaded. It’s never easy when so many different political personalities are involved.”

  She ran her hand through her blond hair. “We need to make some contingency plans of our own,” she added. “And we need to bring in others from the rest of the fleet.”

  The XO’s eyes narrowed. “I received a message only an hour ago, inviting me to the Dead Donkey,” he said. “That’s a bar in the spaceport, Captain. It has quite a bad reputation.”

  Kat had to smile. “For Cadiz?”

  “Yes,” the XO said. “But it’s also one of the places the Shore Patrol doesn’t dare go.”

  “Sounds like someone wants to chat,” Davidson said. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  The XO shook his head. “The message was unsigned,” he said. “If it’s someone Fran might have pointed in my direction, Major, they won’t want to see a Marine. They might assume the worst.”

  Kat cleared her throat. “How many officers do you know—and trust—on the fleet?”

  The XO hesitated. “I’ve recognized round thirty names,” he said. “There might well be others. Pretty much all of them are mustangs with their heads screwed on properly.”

  Kat took a breath. What she was about to propose was not—technically—against naval regulations. On the other hand, the admiral might well be able to class it as conspiracy to commit mutiny or barratry, both of which carried the death sentence. Kat’s father would be able to save her, if at a cost, but anyone else who took part was doing so at the risk of their life. And their reputation would be shot to hell.

  “I’ll make an assessment of the other commanding officers at the admiral’s party,” she said, “but we have to assume the worst. We need to convince your friends to help prepare 7th Fleet for battle as quickly—and covertly—as possible.”

  The XO frowned. “That will be difficult,” he said. “Even the most data-constipated bureaucrat would be unable to avoid noticing the sudden upswing in requisitions.”

  Kat cursed under her breath. He was right.

  “It has to be done,” she said, finally. She looked at Davidson. “Can you warn the marines on the ground that the system might come under attack?”

  “I can try,” Davidson said. “But if the fleet isn’t ready to defend the planet, the marines on the surface will be screwed.”

  “I know,” Kat said. Any other planet would have countless loyalists ready to resist the Theocracy. But Cadiz was different. They’d learn their mistake soon enough, if the refugees were telling the truth, yet it would be too late to save the forces on the ground. “Do what you can.”

  The XO gave her a long look. “What guarantees can I offer my colleagues?”

  “I don’t know,” Kat admitted. It was possible her father would be able to arrange for her to get wide authority, perhaps quasi-sealed orders she could use to justify her actions. But they would have to be procured from the Admiralty and there would be resistance, not least because she was such a junior captain. “They may be risking their lives as well as their careers.”

  The XO didn’t object. In some ways, that w
orried her more than she cared to admit.

  “I’ll meet with this contact,” the XO said, “and then get in touch with my old friends. No one will think anything of us meeting in a bar for a drink and a yarn about old times.”

  “Thank you,” Kat said. She wished she had more contacts, but the XO had been in the Navy longer than she’d been alive. Most of the officers she knew were on Tyre. “If it does go to shit, I’ll do what I can.”

  “I know you will,” the XO said. He sounded as though the last of his reservations had faded away. “Thank you, Captain.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Finding the Dead Donkey was not an easy task in the evening darkness, William discovered. The bar didn’t have any lights advertising its presence, apart from a single slit in the door that hinted there was something inside. It had no windows and no sign, save for a drawing of a donkey lying on the ground, surrounded by flies. But it did have had one thing going for it, he decided as he walked through the door; it was the perfect place to meet someone without the Shore Patrol interrupting the meeting.

  He gritted his teeth as he looked round, searching for the rendezvous point. The Dead Donkey was a large bar, decorated with pictures of animals in the wild, but the tables were separated by privacy walls, while several expensive—and only semi-legal—ECM generators were operating, making it extremely difficult for anyone to overhear anything. Even the air was tainted with foul-smelling smoke. Gritting his teeth, fighting the instincts that warned him the air was badly contaminated, he walked into the section and sat down. There was no sign of his contact.

  He looked up as the bartender appeared, one hand clutching a battered-looking terminal. “A drink, sir?”

  “Water, please,” William said. He wanted something stronger, but he had a feeling he’d need all of his wits about him. “And a small packet of peanuts.”

  The bartender nodded and withdrew. William sighed and studied the pornographic images someone had drawn on the privacy wall. They were very imaginative, if somewhat impractical. Besides, no one would come to the Dead Donkey hoping to pick up a woman for the night. There were brothels for that back towards the more civilized parts of the spaceport.