Kat nodded, then rose to her feet and saluted, formally, to the table. The king winked at her while the prime minister and the Leader of the Opposition merely nodded back as Kat turned and walked out of the room. An equerry met her as soon as the door closed and beckoned her to follow him into a smaller waiting room. Kat glanced around in surprise, then tensed automatically. It felt very much like a trap . . .
“Captain Falcone,” King Hadrian said as he entered through another door. “It’s a pleasure to talk with you in private, at last.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Kat said. Up close, the king looked surprisingly normal, but there was an inner stubbornness that reminded her of herself. His short dark hair topped an angular face that was both handsome and charismatic, although she had the feeling he had yet to grow into his looks. The smile he gave her was both warm and rakish. “And thank you . . . thank you for earlier.”
“The politicians are often too concerned with playing politics to realize where the true interests of the kingdom lie,” the king said. He looked her up and down once, then smiled again. “Please, relax and have a seat. I don’t bite.”
Kat forced herself to sit down in one of the comfortable chairs. The king was both part of the aristocracy and above them, one of the few who could and would call out aristocrats for bad behavior. His position, as long as he enjoyed the support of the dukes, was almost untouchable, granting him vast power over the Commonwealth. And yet, there were strong limits to what he could do. Some of her father’s enemies would not be amused at how he’d saved her from the consequences of not thinking before she spoke.
She cleared her throat, feeling like a little girl. “Aren’t you meant to be in the meeting, Your Majesty?”
“It’s mainly boring details concerning war production,” King Hadrian said. He waved a hand, dismissively, then sat down facing her. “Not that they’re not important, of course, but I cannot afford to get bogged down in the little details. I have to concentrate on the bigger picture.”
He smiled at her again. “And the bigger picture suggests that beaching you for telling a particularly annoying halfwit to go bugger himself isn’t a good idea.”
“I didn’t tell him to go bugger himself,” Kat protested.
The king affected surprise. “Really? I was watching the morning news and it said that you slapped him across the face, breaking his jaw.”
Kat groaned. “I didn’t even touch him!”
“Stories do have a habit of growing in the telling,” the king said. “And . . . well, a halfwit like him has enemies. They can indulge their fantasies of someone beating the crap out of him, safe in the knowledge that any actual court case will prove your innocence.”
“I should sue for libel,” Kat muttered.
The king smirked. “Is someone claiming you thumped him actually libel?”
He shrugged. “Not that it matters, in the end,” he added. “The bigger picture says that the Commonwealth needs you doing what you do best, out on the front lines—or, in this case, well beyond them. A know-it-all-who-doesn’t isn’t particularly important, not when the fate of the Commonwealth itself is at stake.”
Kat looked down at her hands. Months ago—it felt like years—she’d been horrified when her father had used his influence in her favor, granting her a command she knew she hadn’t earned and one she realized everyone else would know she hadn’t earned too. Now, she’d proved herself worthy of command . . . and the king had done her another favor, saving her from the consequences of her actions. And if someone believed the more exaggerated stories, they might think she’d been saved from more than a few ill-chosen words.
But he’s right, she thought. We do need to look at the bigger picture.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, finally.
“Think nothing of it,” King Hadrian said. “We’re quite alike, you and I.”
Kat blinked. “I think no one is likely to mistake you for me, Your Majesty,” she said. “I have blonde hair, for a start.”
“Mentally, of course,” the king said. “I was prepared to do an end run around politicians too concerned with maintaining their authority to consider the long-term view. You did an end run around Admiral Morrison to get 7th Fleet ready to fight, and, when the shit hit the fan, you took command and saved half the fleet from certain destruction. The Royal Navy has good reason to be proud of you, Captain Falcone. I have good reason to be proud of you.”
He sighed. “Maintaining the balance that holds the Commonwealth together is all well and good,” he added, “but right now . . . well, there is a war on. I suspect we may have to reshape the Commonwealth completely before the war is over.”
“Like finding more opportunities for spacers who weren’t born on Tyre,” Kat said. “Or even born before their homeworlds joined the Commonwealth.”
The king gave her a sharp look. “Like your XO?”
“He should have held a command of his own long before I ever did,” Kat said. “And I recommended him for command in my final report.”
“We found a more important mission for him,” the king said. “But you’re right; devising ways to integrate such personnel is important, yet difficult.”
Kat nodded. The patronage networks that pervaded Tyre had worked fine, as long as the kingdom hadn’t tried to assimilate entire populations. But when it had, the system had run into problems. Newcomers had no links to preexisting patronage networks, so they tended to be denied promotions they’d otherwise earned . . . which, unsurprisingly, led to resentment and outright discontent. Her XO had to have regarded her appointment as a bad joke before she’d proved herself. He was old enough to be her father.
“Maybe you can make a start on it,” the king added. He met her eyes suddenly. “We need a second victory, Captain. We need something we can sell to the people, something to prove we can win.”
“I understand,” Kat said. She paused. “Is there any chance of a negotiated settlement?”
“I am dead set against it,” the king said. “We did throw the ambassador and his staff out after the first attacks on Tyre. But they are sending messages into the datanet, promising peace in exchange for submission . . . or even the surrender of the occupied worlds. I don’t think there’s any strong peace party, not yet, but that could change.”
And you might be overruled, Kat thought. Or impeached, if the houses of Parliament thought you were failing in your duties.
The king shrugged. “I will ensure that Captain Davidson is assigned to your command,” he added. He winked at her. “I trust that will meet with your approval?”
Kat blushed, furiously. “That’s going to look awkward . . .”
“Looking good or bad is not the issue,” the king said. He looked her directly in the eye. “All that matters is winning the war.”
He rose to his feet. “And with that in mind, Captain, I suggest you start planning your operations,” he concluded. “You will have complete freedom of action, once you cross the border, as we don’t know enough about enemy territory to offer precise instructions. I strongly advise you not to waste your time—or your authority.”
Of course, Kat agreed, as she rose too. It was independent command on a scale she hadn’t expected, even with her father’s patronage, for years. But if she failed and survived, she’d never be allowed to sit in a command chair again. I won’t get a second chance.
“And don’t tell anyone we met,” he added, turning to leave. “It would only confuse their small minds.”
CHAPTER FOUR
If there is a more wretched hive of scum and villainy than here, Commander William McElney thought as he strode through the asteroid, I don’t want to see it.
He kept his face impassive, somehow, despite the urge to sneak back out of the asteroid and return with a small flotilla of patrol ships. There were countless warrants, he was sure, that could be settled overnight if the Royal Navy r
aided the asteroid cluster and captured the inhabitants. The Burton System existed on the very edge of civilized space, on the no-man’s-land between the Commonwealth and the Theocracy; it was no surprise, perhaps, that the wretched refuse of both systems had congregated here, beyond the reach of either power. No one cared about the Burton System, save for those with nowhere to go. It was, after all, largely worthless.
Unless you’re interested in smuggling goods from one power to the other, he thought. Or if you wanted to find something you couldn’t get anywhere else.
He sighed as he walked past the stalls—offering everything from illegal drugs and stimulant programs to weapons that were banned even on Heinlein—and the prostitutes standing beside them, doing their very best to lure him into their arms for a night. None of them looked particularly appealing; indeed, he had a feeling that most of them had started life as penniless girls, tricked into slavery, if they hadn’t been captured by pirates and sold to pimps. One of them, kneeling on the ground with her mouth wide open, had had her teeth knocked out, probably to keep her from biting her customers. William wanted to do something—anything—to help her, but what could he do? As far as they knew, he was nothing more than an independent trader, one of many who wanted nothing more than food, drink, sex, and supplies, perhaps not in that order. He shook his head, mentally, and looked away. There was nothing he could do.
“Hey,” a voice called. “I have sims here, just for the discerning customer.”
William recoiled as the man shoved his datapad in William’s face. It showed a list of simulations, ranging from mild pornography to scenarios he hadn’t believed physically possible until he’d left his homeworld for the first time. Fighting down the urge to punch the hustler as hard as he could, he shook his head firmly and walked on, checking his pockets out of habit. Someone could easily have used the moment of distraction as an opportunity to pick his pocket, despite the risk. The asteroid’s rulers might cater to everyone who had money, but they policed their territory with an iron hand. Allowing their inhabitants to steal from clients was bad for business.
He gritted his teeth, then walked into the larger cavern. A dozen men, all clearly from the Theocracy, were buying up every starship component on sale, offering prices that were obviously inflated. William smirked, remembering what the Commonwealth had concluded about the Theocracy from earlier dealings, then walked past as another group of men started complaining loudly. The Theocrats were driving up the prices for everyone, not just themselves, and they might well put a few dozen ships right out of business. They might even have planned it that way, William considered. A few booths down, there was an agent hiring cargo vessels for an undisclosed master . . . and it almost had to be the Theocracy. Who else would be interested in hiring so many ships?
They’d be smarter to work for the Commonwealth, William thought as he stepped past the booth and walked towards the diner. The Commonwealth won’t behead them for bringing contraband into their space.
He smiled at the thought, then stopped outside the diner. A naked girl, barely out of her teens, looked up at him, her smile turning into a frown as it became apparent she didn’t recognize him. William sighed, then held out the message he’d been sent an hour ago. The girl glanced at it, then nodded and beckoned for him to follow her, twitching her bare ass in a ludicrously sassy motion. William wasn’t quite sure where to look, so he fixed his gaze on her shoulder blades and kept it there until she stopped by a private booth.
“Bill,” a voice said. “How nice to see you again.”
The girl dropped to her knees. “Can I get either of you anything?”
“A bottle of Old Spacer,” Commodore Scott McElney said. The smuggler chief—and black sheep of the family—smiled up at his brother as the girl rose and hurried away. “You can have her, you know, for a small gratuity.”
William scowled, then sat down facing his brother. “This place . . . is terrible.”
“If you have it, flaunt it,” Scott said. “And if you have the power to make others flaunt it, make them flaunt it.”
He leered cheerfully towards another waitress, who was equally nude, then smirked at William. “I must say I was surprised to hear from you,” Scott said as he brought out a privacy generator and placed it on the table. “You’re quite the war hero.”
“Thank you,” William said. The Royal Lion he’d been awarded, after the Second Battle of Cadiz, allowed him to claim a salute from everyone who didn’t have the award. It was something he intended to exploit as much as possible. “And you’re still a smuggler chief.”
“Of course,” Scott said. The waitress returned, carrying a heavy bottle and two glasses. “It’s on me, of course.”
His eyes followed the waitress as she sashayed away, then he turned back to his brother. “The last time we spoke privately, I offered you a chance to come work for me,” he said. “Dare I assume you’re interested?”
“No,” William said flatly. “I wouldn’t care to live here for the rest of my life.”
Scott made a show of looking offended. “It may only be an asteroid where dogs eat dogs—and pussies too—but it’s home to me.”
“No, it isn’t,” William said. “Home is under occupation these days, as I’m sure you’ve heard.”
His brother frowned. “Home kicked me out pretty comprehensively, unless you’ve forgotten,” he said. “The priest read me out from the altar, remember?”
William winced. Hebrides had always been a closely knit society, but the strain of pirate attacks, before the Commonwealth had rediscovered the colony, had done untold damage to countless lives. Scott . . . had grown darker and darker until he’d finally crossed the line and been formally disowned, both from his family and the greater community. Most men would have cringed at the thought, but not Scott. He’d left his homeworld and become a smuggler chief.
“I don’t believe you hate everyone we knew back there,” William said. “What about Mary? Or Kate? Or Carolyn?”
His brother glared at him. “Low blow, Bill.”
“Mary had children, three of them girls,” William said. Scott had been friendly with Mary, or as friendly as an unmarried boy could be with an unmarried girl. “They would be in their teens by now, I believe. What sort of life do you think they’re having under the Theocrats?”
He sighed, and then continued. “Kate is a teacher, remember? If they killed teachers on Cadiz, where some of the population would be friendly to them right from the start, what do you think they did to her? And Carolyn married Father Theodore. He’ll be dead now, along with his wife and family . . .”
“Father Theodore never liked me,” Scott snapped.
“Carolyn liked you,” William said. Carolyn had been their second cousin, too close to them to be considered a potential wife. “She wanted you to chaperone her when she spoke with him, remember?”
“Maybe we should remember Harris,” Scott said. “Or Brennan. Or James.”
“They might be dead too,” William pointed out.
“And good riddance,” Scott snapped back.
He glowered at his brother, then leaned forward. “What do you want, Bill?”
“You helped us to find a passage into enemy space,” William said. “We need to find ways to slip more ships into their territory and whatever intelligence you can give us on the internal layout of their space.”
Scott eyed him, darkly. “Any fool could get that from the navigational service.”
“Any fool wouldn’t think the navigational service could do more than tell us where the stars are,” William said, placing tight controls on his temper. Scott had always been good at getting under his skin. “Where are their bases, where are their production nodes . . . which worlds have resistance movements and which worlds are completely pacified, ground into the dirt by the bastards?”
“I see,” Scott said. “And how much are you prepared to pay for the
data?”
William gave him a long look. “Don’t you care about our homeworld?”
Scott’s eyes flashed with sudden anger. “You know why I like this place?”
William felt a matching surge of anger. “Because you appreciate the chance to live life without any restraints?”
“Because there are no lies here,” Scott said. He waved a hand at one of the naked waitresses. “Here, no one tells themselves any pleasant lies to hide the dark truth. That poor bitch is here because she couldn’t pay her debts, or sold herself into slavery, or was simply overpowered and forced to work for her master. The master too is owned by someone higher up the food chain; he dreams of climbing higher, then knifing his former master in the back and taking everything he owns for himself. Outside, there are men and women who made the free choice to drink or drug themselves into a stupor, and sim addicts who have indulged themselves for so long that they’re no longer sure just what’s real and what isn’t.”
“No rules,” William said.
“None at all,” Scott agreed.
William looked him in the eye. “Might makes right is a fine way to live, I am sure, as long as you happen to be the one with the might. What happens when you run into someone stronger?”
“Here, there would be no lies or evasions,” Scott said. “Tell me; how many of our kinsfolk, mainly young girls, were sacrificed to the pirates back before the Commonwealth arrived?”
William shuddered. Scott’s girlfriend had been sacrificed to save countless others. “Hundreds?”
“Maybe more,” Scott said. His eyes flashed with bitter pain. “Matters were really quite disordered back then. How do we know the actual figure wasn’t much higher? But tell me . . . those girls were the cost of our survival, sold into a ghastly slavery so that the rest of us could live. Why aren’t we honest about the price we paid, the price they paid, for us to live?
“We’re not honest. Nor were the priests. They were hypocrites. I brought in food and drink; they read me out from the altar, condemning me even as I saved their lives. Where was their god when they needed him?”
Falcone Strike (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 2) Page 4
