“People don’t want to think about it,” William said, quietly.
“Here, everyone acknowledges it,” Scott said. “There’s no attempt to come up with an extensive justification, no attempt to prove that one party has the right or the obligation or the desperate need to take something from the other party. They just take and, if they have the strength, that’s the end of the matter.”
Scott smiled. “You don’t want to think about it either.”
“Because it’s horrible,” William said. “You have neither laws nor morals.”
“The powerful have been getting around laws since the day the first caveman decided it was a good idea to tie a rock to the end of his club,” Scott said sweetly. “And morals are a social construction, which the powerful can avoid if they wish. Here . . . well, you can do anything if you have the strength, and you don’t have to hide.”
William shook his head. “Scott,” he said slowly, “what will happen to this place if the Theocracy wins the war?”
“They have a use for us,” Scott said. “They’ll leave us alone.”
He smiled, suddenly. “They’re no different,” he added. “There are over a thousand separate categories of forbidden items in the Theocracy . . . and yet their wealthy and powerful come here, or pay for us to smuggle the goods into their territory. The rules made for little people, supposedly enforced by God Himself, are ignored by those with the power to avoid punishment.”
William frowned. “Are you sure? You’re useful to them now, but how long will that last?”
Scott frowned back. “Are you saying they will lose the war?”
“They might,” William pointed out. “And how do you plan to explain selling weapons and ships to the enemy when the Commonwealth catches up with you?”
“Money, dear boy,” Scott said.
“I don’t think that will be accepted,” William said. “You know as well as I do, brother, that the Theocracy is in desperate need of freighters; hell, you brought it to our attention, back before the war. The Commonwealth will, at best, see you as willing collaborators.”
“Assuming the Commonwealth wins the war,” Scott said. “What sort of revenge do you think the Theocracy will take if they win the war?”
“Pick a side,” William said.
Scott snorted. “And what, again, are you offering me?”
William leaned forward. “We want the data and, perhaps, your services,” he said. “In exchange for the former, I am authorized to offer one billion crowns; half now, half upon the data being tested and verified.”
“You have a great deal of faith in me,” Scott said, amused.
“In exchange for the latter, we are prepared to offer the chance to go legit,” William continued, refusing to allow his brother to distract him. “You and your crews can form a small shipping line and make profit legally, with your pasts officially forgotten. The fact you were shipping war materials, or items that could be considered war materials, will be buried so deeply no one will ever know. You will even have access to a line of credit intended to help you expand your operations at very low rates of interest.”
Scott shrugged. “Do you expect them to keep their word?”
“I don’t think the Commonwealth wishes to develop a reputation for breaking promises,” William said. “It makes it harder to make new ones.”
His brother considered it for a long moment. “And if we choose to only supply the data?”
“You will be paid, but there will be no promises for the post-war world,” William said. “And if you try to make a deal after the war, you will be in a very weak position indeed.”
“How true,” Scott said.
William waited, saying nothing.
“I can offer you the data now, or I will, once it’s compiled,” Scott said. “There are some other routes into enemy space that are not well-guarded, although they’re dangerous to fly if you’re not careful. But the other offer? I will have to discuss it with my captains. They’re not all keen on doing anything that might get them into the middle of a shooting match.”
“They’re already in the middle of a shooting match,” William said. “How long will it be, you think, before someone sends a squadron out here to blow the asteroid?”
Scott’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying the Commonwealth is seriously preparing to kill innocent captives?”
“This is war,” William said. “And war has a habit of washing away the little niceties. This asteroid is playing host to representatives of the enemy, men who are buying goods and signing up freighters to keep the war going. That makes it a legitimate target. Maybe they can’t spare the Marines to take and hold the asteroids long enough to evacuate them, but they can smash them into rubble with a missile attack. Hard luck to the captives, of course . . .”
“Of course,” Scott echoed. “But the decision to join openly is not one I can make alone.”
“I know,” William said.
Scott waved to the waitress, whose breasts jiggled as she walked over to them. “I will be back here in an hour,” he said as he passed her a handful of untraceable bills. “Until then, I wish you to take care of my brother. Bill . . . could do with some rest and relaxation.”
William shook his head firmly. “I’ll be right here,” he said. “I don’t need anything else.”
“Are you sure?” Scott asked mockingly. “I don’t think you’ve been laid for years. Has everything gone rusty by now?”
“No, thank you,” William said sharply. He’d spent time and money in the Royal Navy’s brothels, but that was different. The girls were well paid, and troublemakers were ruthlessly evicted and, in some cases, charged with crimes. Here . . . he had a feeling he could beat the girl to death and no one would give a damn. “I’ll wait for you here.”
“Very well,” Scott said. He gave the girl a slap on the rear that sent her scuttling off. “You do realize she’ll be punished for failing to attract you?”
William glared. “This place is a nightmare.”
“It is the only place I can be truly free,” Scott countered. “I’ll be back with the data in an hour, Bill. Feel free to call the waitress if you want anything.”
He strode off, not looking back. William shuddered, then looked down at the table and closed his eyes. What had happened, in the time since Scott had left their homeworld, to turn him into a monster? He would have agreed with his brother, once upon a time, that their homeworld had too many rules, but the bad rules didn’t actually mean that the good rules weren’t necessary. But then, Scott had always been a wild child. He’d chafed more against the rules than anyone else in the family.
Once I have the data, I can go, he told himself, firmly. He hadn’t been told anything officially, but he had a fair idea of what the Commonwealth Intelligence Service (CIS) wanted the data for. By now, Lightning should be nearly ready to go back on active service. I can go back to the war.
CHAPTER FIVE
Kat had managed to successfully avoid her father by the simple expedient of shutting herself up in her suite after her orders arrived, and reading through them carefully to determine precisely what resources had been assigned to Operation Knife. Lightning, it seemed, would be returning to active service within the week, but she was the only modern vessel assigned to the operation. Kat was mildly surprised the Admiralty hadn’t added Uncanny to the flotilla, although it made a certain kind of sense. The ship already had a reputation for bad luck and assigning it to an operation that required a great deal of good luck was asking for trouble.
She ordered a shuttle for the morning, then went to bed and awoke feeling genuinely excited for the first time since she’d been unwillingly beached. Several messages had arrived in her in-box, including one from Davidson telling her that he’d been assigned to join her at the base, and a message from her father, ordering her to meet him for breakfast. Kat sighed, showered, and dr
essed herself in her uniform, then headed downstairs to the dining hall. Not entirely to her surprise, her father was the only person in the room.
“I suspected they would find a way to penalize you until the whole matter went away,” he said as Kat sat down. “Taking you off active service would probably satisfy the grown-ups in the Opposition. I wasn’t expecting the king to have his say.”
Kat frowned. “They’re sending me on a dangerous mission,” she pointed out. The king had told her to keep their private conversation to herself, after all. “I don’t think it will be particularly safe.”
Her father snorted. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not keen to take command again.”
“I can’t,” Kat said. The orders had made it clear that Operation Knife would be dangerous, but she had no intention of refusing them. “And it will certainly look like I’ve been punished by being sent to a distant base, if the truth doesn’t leak out.”
“It won’t,” her father said. “That armchair admiral might not be able to keep a secret if his life depended on it, but the Leader of the Opposition knows which side his bread is buttered on. As far as anyone will know, you’ve been sent to one of those bases where disgraced officers go to drink themselves to death.”
“Yes, father,” Kat said.
“I wasn’t expecting the king to join the conversation,” her father said, again. “And for him to exert his authority in such a manner . . . it’s odd, to say the least.”
Kat nodded. “Maybe he thought I was in real trouble,” she said. “Or maybe he just doesn’t like anyone trying to push around one of his officers.”
“Could be,” her father said. He sighed. “You’re a genuine war hero, Katherine, whether you recognize it or not. Having you here, drumming up support for the war, was always a good use of your talents. There are other starship commanders, but relatively few heroes.”
“I could name a dozen others who deserve the Royal Lion without even trying,” Kat said sharply. “I’m not that special.”
Her father looked her in the eye. “Our system was designed to handle one planet, one star system,” he said. “Expanding to include a number of other worlds, especially several that had different systems of government, was always going to put a strain on our society. Your XO, for example, might well have risen to command years ago if our system hadn’t been focused on aristocrats and those with powerful patrons. If we’d had time to adapt to the influx, we might well have coped admirably . . . but right now, we have to fight a war. That’s one of the reasons so many senior officers were prepared to throw you under the shuttlecraft. They really didn’t have time to fight another political battle.”
Kat winced. “I’m sorry . . .”
“So you should be,” her father said, shortly. He looked her in the eye. “We need this war to end soon, Katherine, and the only way we can end it is through victory. Eat your breakfast, then . . . good luck.”
Kat nodded. Her father had never been given to emotional displays, not to her. She’d always been the youngest child, the baby of the family . . . and the one who saw her father the least. To see him now, to see him regularly, felt odd. She pushed the thought aside sharply. She’d chosen a career that ensured she would only see her family while she was on shore leave, if they happened to be on the same planet as she was. There was no point in mourning, now, over what she could never have had.
Her father ate his breakfast in silence, then rose and left her alone. Kat felt strange, almost abandoned, in the giant dining hall; it was so empty, as now she was used to crowds. She finished her breakfast, collected her bag from her room, and walked down to the shuttlepad, half-wishing she’d had a chance to say good-bye to her mother before she left. But her mother was out, socializing, something she did every day. Kat shook her head, wondering just how someone could spend their lives in High Society without their brains turning to mush, then walked onto the shuttlepad and into the waiting shuttle.
“Captain Falcone,” the shuttle pilot said. Her implants pinged, warning her they were being probed, her identity checked against the Navy’s files. “Welcome onboard.”
“Thank you,” Kat said. The pilot looked to be a civilian, probably a reservist who’d lost the military veneer between his departure from the Navy and his recall. Middle-aged, if she was any judge, he’d probably done his time, then moved into the civilian sphere and better-paid jobs. “Do you have an ETA to our destination?”
“Seven hours, I’m afraid,” the pilot said. “This craft isn’t rated for hyperspace. Do you have any other baggage?”
Kat shook her head. Midshipmen weren’t allowed anything more than a single carryall and she’d grown used to never having more, even though she’d been promoted at breakneck speed. Besides, anything she really needed could be found on the ship. She stowed her bag in the locker, then took a seat and opened her datapad. There would be additional orders and files waiting for her on the datanet, probably including personnel files. God alone knew what sort of crewmen would be assigned to a deep-strike mission.
The pilot didn’t seem inclined to make conversation, thankfully. He merely returned to his seat, then toggled switches. A low hum echoed through the craft as its drives came online, then it shuddered and launched itself into the air. Kat smiled, remembering the first set of simulations she’d been put through at Piker’s Peak, then turned her attention back to her datapad. Her father had uploaded a sample of news reports too, some centered on her and Justin Deveron. She couldn’t help being amused when she noted that most of the media seemed to be solidly on her side, including a handful of Opposition outlets. No doubt Justin Deveron had made himself unpopular there too.
Or they’re trying to come up with an excuse for not throwing a hammer at me, she thought sourly. None of the stories from the major outlets seemed to be particularly exaggerated, although one reporter seemed to think that the whole incident was proof that she was having an affair with Admiral Christian. Kat rolled her eyes at the thought, then closed the file. She hadn’t even met Admiral Christian until after the First Battle of Cadiz and they had barely had time to prepare a counterattack, let alone have an affair. And I was dating Pat at the time.
She shrugged, then turned her attention to the other files until the shuttle finally slowed, beginning its approach to Hyperion Base. Kat put the datapad away and leaned forward as the gas giant came into view, surrounded by a network of orbital battle stations and automated weapons platforms. A good third of the system’s industry orbited the gas giant, she knew; her tutors had drummed its importance into her time and time again. Hundreds of fabrication nodes, asteroid smelters, cloudscoops . . . everything the Commonwealth needed to turn out warships, gunboats, and war materials to hold the line. She glanced down at the scanners as the shuttle drew closer, sucking in her breath at the sight of dozens of starships under construction. The Theocracy wouldn’t stand a chance if the Commonwealth lasted long enough to bring its full might to bear.
But if we’d started this earlier, much earlier, they wouldn’t have stood a chance at all, she thought, grimly. She thought the Theocracy’s industrial base was smaller than the Commonwealth’s, but no one really knew for sure. They may be able to defeat us before we even the odds and then outproduce them into the dust.
“Incoming gunboats,” the shuttle pilot said. “I hope those codes of yours are correct.”
Kat nodded as three icons swept towards them on attack vector. “They’re direct from the Admiralty,” she said, remembering the first time she’d seen gunboats in action. Theocratic gunboats had been devastating against unprepared targets at Cadiz, although they’d been less effective against ships and crews who knew what to expect. Not, in the end, that it would matter; the gunboats approaching them would have no difficulty blowing the shuttle into dust if they had any reason to suspect trouble. “I’m pretty sure they’re accurate.”
She tensed as the gunboats closed in, t
hen flashed past the shuttle and into the distance. The pilot let out a sigh of relief and then took the shuttle into the giant complex, following a flight path downloaded to him from the security office. Kat knew they wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near some of the facilities, although she had a feeling that most of the really secret work was carried out somewhere in deep space, somewhere where no one would stumble on it except through an improbable dose of sheer luck. The shuttle glided onwards until, finally, the Knife Squadron came into view.
Kat took one last look at the scanner, then peered through the viewport, trying to soak in every detail. Lightning was exactly as she remembered; the repair crews had even replaced the paint coating her hull, making her look as though she’d only just left the yard for the first time. Beside her, there were fourteen other ships, all older designs. Kat recognized a handful from history files, but seven were completely unfamiliar to her. They looked old, too old. A modern warship could blast them out of space in moments.
Then we’d better make sure we don’t encounter any modern warships, she thought. The UN had designed its warships to be modular and everyone else had followed their lead, but she was fairly sure there were hard limits to how far they could be upgraded without prohibitive costs. Freighters could serve for hundreds of years without ever going out of service; a warship had to keep up with the times or it would be nothing more than a target. But they might serve as a distraction, if necessary.
She pushed the thought to one side as the shuttle coasted down to the manned station and linked airlocks. Kat held onto her seat as the artificial gravity fields matched, then stood and removed her bag from the locker. The pilot saluted, then opened the hatch and waited for her to step through the airlock. Kat took a breath as the station’s atmosphere started to flow into the shuttle—it smelled, as always, of too many humans and pieces of machinery in close proximity—then stepped through the airlock, into the station. No one was waiting for her outside the hatch.
Falcone Strike (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 2) Page 5
