The Oncoming Storm

by Christopher Nuttall

  Davidson stroked his chin thoughtfully. “This does seem to be too elaborate to be a trick, Captain,” he said. “They’d have to be able to track us through hyperspace just to be sure we were in position to save Princess Drusilla from her pursuers. And hyperspace could easily have swallowed their distress call before we ever heard it. If they wanted us to intercept the destroyer and blow it to pieces, Captain, they really got quite lucky.”

  He paused. “It would have made more sense to have them enter Cadiz before threatening to destroy the ship,” he added. “There were just too many things that could go wrong.”

  The captain frowned. “So you believe it isn’t a trick?”

  “I don’t think so,” Davidson said. “This could be the break we’ve been waiting for.”

  “Captain,” Roach said, “it’s nearly three weeks from here to their homeworld. How did they manage to avoid interception for so long? And how did they even get the ship in the first place?”

  “Sheer audacity, if you believe them,” Davidson said. “I debriefed the princess’s assistant extensively. He managed to get all the paperwork filed, allowing him to slip the princess and her escorts up to the freighter in spacesuits so no one knew who was travelling, then used the bodyguards to take over the ship and set off into hyperspace.”

  William considered it. The story sounded plausible; starships had been hijacked by passengers before, particularly largely unarmed freighters. If the crew had been promised their lives, they might cooperate long enough to get the ship into hyperspace and headed towards the Commonwealth. Quite a few things could easily go wrong, but given what was at stake . . . he felt a sudden flash of admiration for Princess Drusilla. She’d clearly managed to turn her status as a second-class citizen into an advantage.

  “Boarding the ship wouldn’t have been easy, not if they wanted the princess alive,” Davidson added. “A skilled crew might just have managed to remain away from the destroyer for three weeks.”

  “Something to check,” the captain said. She paused. “Opinions?”

  Roach spoke quickly. “Captain, I don’t buy this,” he said. “We’re talking about a handful of uneducated women, from a world where women are expected to be little more than baby factories, and their bodyguards capturing a starship and traveling for three weeks without being intercepted by an immensely more competent and capable crew. And she’s someone so important we have to treat her with kid gloves. There are just too many unanswered questions for me to believe she’s what she claims to be.”

  “But they don’t benefit,” Davidson mused. “If we believe her and go on the alert, they’re not going to be able to launch their attack against unprepared defenses. How do they gain the upper hand from letting us have a woman we think is their leader’s daughter?”

  “Perhaps they want to make us look like aggressors,” Roach speculated. “Or perhaps they want to lure us into a trap.”

  Davidson snorted. “Make us look bad in front of whom?”

  He had a point, William knew. There were other interstellar powers, but none of them seemed inclined to worry overmuch about the Theocracy—or the Commonwealth, for that matter. They believed the Theocracy would either wind up hemmed in by the Commonwealth or simply collapse under its own weight. There were few low-tech worlds left for the Theocracy to conquer with a single destroyer, then occupy with a few thousand armored soldiers. Then its people would start asking if the constant state of emergency, with all production going to the military, was worth it. There would be no good answer the Theocrats could give.

  But they could keep their people in ignorance for quite some time, he thought. Unless a bigger power decided to intervene.

  The captain tapped the table again, harder this time. “Major?”

  “The story seems plausible,” Davidson said. “And we are well aware of the possibility that it is a trick. However, I honestly don’t see how they benefit. Right now, they couldn’t ask for a better chance to clobber 7th Fleet. Why put us on the alert when it gets them nothing but the certainty of stubborn resistance?”

  The captain’s face flickered, just for a second. She didn’t like what she’d been told, but why? William knew she was well aware of the danger from the Theocracy. She’d even risked her own career to send messages back to Tyre. It made no sense.

  “It could be meant to cause political trouble,” Roach suggested. “Wouldn’t there be questions asked in Parliament if we went on alert?”

  “There’s a difference between putting the defenses on alert and storming across the border, looking to kick ass and take names,” Davidson snapped. “They’d know the difference.”

  William smiled. “Would the politicians?”

  The captain cleared her throat, loudly. “They certainly don’t seem to benefit,” she agreed reluctantly. “But it could still be a trick.”

  She shook her head. “We have to report it to Tyre anyway,” she said. “We’ll put a crew on the freighter, then head back to Cadiz at best possible speed. Once there, we will brief the admiral on our discovery. The attack could begin at any moment.”

  William frowned. “But why haven’t they jumped already?”

  Davidson leaned forward. “They could be waiting for His Majesty’s birthday,” he said. “We’d have most of our personnel down on the surface, getting rat-assed drunk, with only skeleton crews on the ships. It’s pretty much tradition by now. And if they caught us then, we’d have our trousers round our knees and our . . .”

  “Thank you,” the captain said quickly. “But His Majesty’s birthday is three months away. Think what we could do with three months.”

  “Get 7th Fleet ready for a fight,” William agreed. He wondered, suddenly, what would have happened if the insurgents had managed to kill the admiral and most of his commanding officers. The efficiency of the fleet would probably have doubled. “And even get some reinforcements out here.”

  “They may understand Admiral Morrison very well,” Davidson grumbled. “I don’t think they’d expect him to change the habits of a lifetime.”

  Captain Falcone looked torn. William understood. Speaking disrespectfully of a superior officer was a court-martial offense. But it was hard for anyone to argue that Admiral Morrison deserved respect. Whatever he’d done to earn his place on Cadiz, to buy patronage from powerful people, it hadn’t been based on a lifetime of dedicated service, skill, and efficiency.

  She rose to her feet. “I will be writing the report to Tyre,” she said. “Mr. XO, please see to putting the crew on the freighter, then getting us underway. I want to be back at Cadiz as soon as possible.”

  “Aye, Captain,” William said.

  “We do have an issue with the handmaidens,” Doctor Braham said before the captain could take her leave. “Should we put them in stasis too?”

  “Please do,” the captain said, after a moment. “Mr. XO, Major, I want you to assign two officers to debrief Princess Drusilla as extensively as possible. Female officers.”

  “Aye, Captain,” William said. “We’ll find out what she knows.”

  The captain nodded, then turned and walked out of the compartment. William looked from face to face, silently dismissing them, then reached for his terminal and started to assign a crew to the freighter. There would be no prize money for this ship, he was fairly sure, but it would give some of his crew a chance to stretch their legs and spend time away from Lightning. After a moment, he added a pair of engineering techs to the roster. If there were any unpleasant surprises on the freighter, they’d find them before the ship got anywhere near Cadiz.

  “I’m going to assign one of my marines to the princess,” Davidson said slowly. “Do you have a suitable officer to assign to her?”

  William considered it, carefully. Midshipwoman Parkinson was probably young enough to seem unthreatening, at least to a woman who hadn’t grown up surrounded by powerful and self-confident young women. It was quite possible Princess Drusilla would be scared by one of the female marines. But Parkinson didn�
�t have the confidence to stand up for herself . . . it was possible Princess Drusilla would overwhelm her.

  But she’ll have a marine to supervise, he thought. She’ll do.

  “I think so,” he said, finally. “We also need to sort out a list of questions for her, see if we can pick holes in her story.”

  Davidson nodded. “Kid gloves,” he said. “But at least we can monitor her brainwaves. If she lies to us, we’ll know about it.”

  “Let’s hope so,” William said. One possibility that hadn’t been raised at the meeting was that the princess might believe she was telling the truth but had actually been lied to by her father. “I dare say we’ll find out soon.”

  Kat sat in her Ready Room, feeling oddly conflicted.

  She had no doubt the Theocracy was planning an offensive—and a great deal earlier than His Majesty’s birthday. The date was simply too obvious. Besides, by then, someone might have replaced Admiral Morrison with a more efficient officer. But, at the same time she disliked Princess Drusilla. The reaction was so strong it surprised her. She’d encountered society butterflies and madams who hadn’t irritated her anywhere near as badly whenever they’d opened their mouths. It primed her to disbelieve anything the princess said, on principle.

  An officer cannot afford to let her personal feelings interfere with her job, she told herself sternly. But her own thoughts mocked her. Do you dislike the princess because she could be you, if things were different, or because Patrick finds her attractive?

  Angrily, she pushed the thought aside, then started composing the next message to her father. Given half a chance, Admiral Morrison would probably sit on the whole affair—or try to hand the princess back to the Theocracy just to avoid a diplomatic incident. He couldn’t be allowed to hide anything. And yet . . .

  She finished writing about the bare bones of the incident, then added notes about her own reactions and that of her officers. The story would play well on Tyre, she knew. Perhaps too well.

  She muttered curses under her breath as she called up the recordings and reviewed them again. Princess Drusilla was good, very good. Manipulation was second nature to her—and, in truth, it was hard to blame the girl. What other tools did she have to exercise some control over her life? And if she was telling the truth about her father’s plans for her . . . Kat couldn’t blame her for running. God knew there were aristocrats on Tyre who’d fled just to escape their families and they had never been threatened with brainwashing. Even the most manipulative aristocrat on Tyre wouldn’t consider rewriting his children’s minds just to suit himself.

  “We’ll see,” she concluded. “But where do we go from here?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “I have received orders from Tyre,” Admiral Morrison said. He looked angry, although Kat couldn’t tell if he was annoyed at his orders or angry that he had to leave his comfortable lodgings and meet Kat at the spaceport. “These orders, in my view, are provocative.”

  Kat sucked in a breath. The admiral had wanted to put a lid on the whole affair, as she’d feared, but it had been too late to prevent her from sending a message to Tyre. This time, he seemed to be aware she’d sent the message, even though he hadn’t called her to rip her head off. The thought brought her no pleasure. Given what had happened at the party, it was quite likely the admiral was reconsidering his plans for her.

  “They are our orders, sir,” she said, trying to sound respectful. It wasn’t easy. “The Admiralty needs hard data.”

  The admiral looked thunderous, but she thought she saw a hint of fear on his face. It was hard to blame him. The Admiralty’s orders, sent back a day after Lightning had returned to Cadiz, admitted of no ambiguity. Kat was to take her cruiser, slip over the border, and investigate the reported staging base directly. If she found an enemy fleet there, she was to hightail it back to Cadiz and inform the Admiralty that the war was about to begin. And that would bring the admiral’s failings to the attention of his superiors.

  “So it would seem,” he said, finally. “But there are too many risks involved in this operation.”

  “Orders are orders, sir,” Kat said. She couldn’t help feeling nervous at the prospect too, even though she was grateful that someone was finally doing something. “And we have to know.”

  She smiled. Admiral Morrison had wanted to keep the princess at Cadiz, but the Admiralty had ordered Kat to dispatch her to Tyre as quickly as possible. Thankfully, a light cruiser had been on the verge of heading home and it had been a simple matter to arrange a transfer. The handmaidens would go with her, while the remaining bodyguards and starship crewmen would be held at Cadiz until a decision was made, one way or the other. Kat would have preferred to send them to Tyre too, but no one was quite sure what they wanted to do with themselves.

  “So we do,” the admiral said gratingly. “You’ll depart tomorrow, Captain. And I wish you the very best of luck.”

  He turned and strode out of the conference room, leaving Kat alone. She sighed to herself, then looked over at the navigational display. The star Princess Drusilla had highlighted would make a good staging base, she knew, if only because it was as worthless and unremarkable as the star they’d used as an RV point for the convoy. It was highly unlikely that anyone would consider visiting the area unless they had something to hide. Civilian shippers probably wouldn’t go anywhere near the place.

  But it was getting there that would be the problem.

  “The admiral wasn’t pleased,” she said when she reached her shuttle. Her XO was waiting for her, his face pale. “But our orders have been confirmed.”

  “Good,” William said. Neither of them had been happy at being called down together, even though the XO had to be debriefed while Kat spoke to the admiral. “Did he give you any updated navigational information?”

  Kat shook her head. The Theocracy’s border was dangerous to starships, with energy storms moving randomly though space. There were a handful of known hyper-routes, but the Theocracy would have plenty of time to mount patrols, lay minefields, and take other precautions to discourage anyone from visiting. Taking Lightning through a carefully surveyed route would be asking for detection.

  “I expected as much,” the XO observed. “But I did have a thought.”

  Kat looked at him, putting two and two together. “Your brother?”

  “He might have something to help us,” the XO said. He looked at his terminal. “But I don’t even know if he’s still here.”

  “Send a message,” Kat said. “If he’s here, we can ask him if he has anything useful for us.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the XO said. He keyed the message into his terminal, but then hesitated. “Do you want to accompany me?”

  “I’ll be needed to authorize the credit chip,” Kat said. She had a feeling the XO didn’t want her along, but she wanted to meet his brother, particularly if she was paying him out of her trust fund. It was unlikely she’d ever be able to claim it back from the government. “And besides, meeting him can hardly be more dangerous than the admiral’s party.”

  The XO snorted as a reply popped up in his terminal. “I’d recommend changing into civilian clothes, Captain,” he said after reading the message. “You don’t want to attract attention.”

  The street of bars, brothels, and gambling arcades looked different in daylight, Kat decided, as they strode down the road an hour later. Bright sunlight obscured some of the charm, revealing hints that some partygoers had partied too hard and were now suffering hangovers and other aftereffects. A gang of locals wearing bright uniforms was trying to sweep the road, while a handful of crewmen shouted unhelpful advice from the side. Kat eyed the locals suspiciously, wondering if they could be trusted. If the admiral’s servants had turned on him . . .

  “This bar caters to smugglers and other forms of lowlife,” the XO muttered as he escorted her into a tiny building. “It’s very secure.”

  Kat nodded, thoughtfully. Her implants were blinking up warnings, stating that the building was
drenched in privacy fields. One or two of them might be countered by modern surveillance technology, but several fields working in unison would be enough to defeat even the most sophisticated system. Using so many in one place, she suspected, was technically against the law, although she doubted the case would ever go to court. The general public disliked the idea of being spied on by anyone.

  “It would have to be,” she muttered back. Even in the semidarkness, it was clear that no one came to the Dead Donkey for the ambience. Kat saw a cockroach scuttling across the floor, suggesting the owner didn’t care about health and safety regulations . . . if, of course, there were any on Cadiz. Such matters were the task of the local government and Cadiz had none. “Why else would anyone come here?”

  “Billy,” a voice caroled. “Over here!”

  Kat turned and saw a man who looked like a younger version of her XO. Only the eyes, hard and cold, suggested he was actually the older brother. His gaze flickered over her once, then locked on to her eyes, a motion that warned her it would be dangerous to underestimate Scott McElney. The shirt she’d found was a size too tight, but he hadn’t even looked at her breasts, just her eyes. He wasn’t going to underestimate her.

  “You must be Katherine Falcone,” Scott said. He held out a hand. “It is a pleasure to meet an aristocrat who actually gets her hands dirty from time to time.”

  “Thank you,” Kat said. She shook his hand and then allowed him to motion her towards a bench in a private compartment. “How many aristocrats have you met?”

  Scott tapped his nose, but said nothing.

  The XO leaned forward. “This isn’t a friendly chat,” he said. His voice was tense, as if he hadn’t wanted to have company when he spoke to his brother. “The last time we met, you mentioned navigational data. Do you have such data on hand?”

  “I have quite a bit of data on hand,” Scott said. “What, precisely, are you looking for?”