Odd, she thought. She hadn’t expected a formal greeting ceremony, but it was vanishingly rare for a new commanding officer not to be met by someone. Where . . .?
A hatch banged open, revealing a dark-skinned woman wearing overalls and a rank badge—commander—on one shoulder. She seemed to be a froth of frantic energy, her eyes darting from side to side before locking onto Kat with unnerving intensity. The woman’s lips curved into a smile, which faded as she cocked her head, clearly consulting her implants. Kat felt a flicker of irritation, but controlled it firmly. No one would be in command of a repair station unless his or her competence was considered beyond question.
“Captain Falcone,” the woman said. She held out a hand, glanced at the oil staining her skin and hastily withdrew it. “I’m Commander Sasha. Welcome onboard.”
“Thank you,” Kat said, a little bemused. Clearly, Sasha was very much a hands-on commander. “I’d like to see the ships, if you please.”
“Right this way,” Sasha said, turning back to the hatch. “Or do you want to drop off your bag first? I assume you’ll want to stay onboard Lightning?”
“We’re scheduled to leave in two weeks,” Kat said, more sharply than she’d intended. “I don’t think I have time to stay anywhere else.”
“Of course, of course,” Sasha said. “Lightning is pretty much done, save for a handful of minor issues your chief engineer is handling. She’s handling very well for a ship that went through hell only a few months ago. Shame it can’t be said of some of the other beauties we have here. They really shouldn’t be going back into space at all.”
Kat stared at her back. “Is it really that bad?”
“We started with thirty ships so old that even pirates would refuse to use them,” Sasha said without looking back. “Most of them were surplus from the UN before the Breakaway Wars; they belonged to a handful of systems that joined the Commonwealth and traded them in for newer warships. Too small to be converted into freighters, really; too common to go straight into museums. And really too pretty to be scrapped.”
Kat frowned. “Thirty ships?”
“Ten of them proved to be completely beyond repair,” Sasha explained. She opened a hatch by pushing her hand against a scanner, then motioned Kat to step through. “Five more had to be cannibalized to get the other ships operational. We upgraded everything we could, Captain, but they still have problems. I really wouldn’t want to take any of them through the more turbulent regions of hyperspace.”
The chamber was dominated by a holographic display, showing fifteen starships attached to the giant repair station. Kat carefully did not look at Lightning; instead, she studied the older ships, her implants accessing the local processor nodes and downloading data from each of the files. If anything, Sasha had been optimistic. Half of the ships under her command would be nothing more than targets if the Theocracy happened to get into range. Their armor was ancient, their targeting sensors were lousy, and their point defense was weak . . .
“It’s not actually that bad,” Sasha replied when Kat said that out loud. “We have managed to upgrade quite a few of their systems. Their sensors are perhaps the worst, but we did obtain some replacement components from the fabrication nodes and coated their hulls in sensor blisters. And we managed to double their missile loads . . .”
Kat frowned. Modern missiles were much larger than their counterparts from the Breakaway Wars. It was quite likely the ancient ships wouldn’t have anything like the firepower of a modern ship the same size, let alone everything else. She rubbed her forehead and then turned her attention to the rest of the display. Maybe Justin Deveron would have the last laugh after all, she had to admit. Her squadron would be a joke if it were matched against a pair of Theocratic battle cruisers.
“Those are the ships,” she said. “What about the crews?”
Sasha looked hesitant. “We have about half our assigned crews already here,” she said. “The remainder have yet to arrive, because the Admiralty keeps reassigning people earmarked for us at short notice. Several of the ships don’t even have commanding officers . . .”
“Clearly I will have to go through the files, again,” Kat said darkly. The Admiralty probably considered the squadron nothing more than a forlorn hope; hell, she’d be surprised if they rated that high, given their weaknesses. “Maybe I can get away with leaving half of the ships here.”
“They’re all assigned to your command,” Sasha said.
Kat looked back at the display. “Can they match Lightning for speed?”
“We did reconfigure the drives,” Sasha said. “Their normal space velocity is superior to a commercial-grade drive, although inferior to most warships . . .”
“Oh, goody,” Kat said sarcastically. It would be embarrassing as hell to go back to the Admiralty and report she hadn’t managed to blow up a single enemy freighter because her ships had been outrun. After they’d finished laughing, they’d put her in front of a real court-martial board and dismiss her from the service for gross incompetence. “I assume there aren’t any other surprises?”
“Not many,” Sasha said in a manner that was clearly intended to be reassuring. “The files aren’t quite up to date, but . . .”
Kat rolled her eyes. She’d been taught, time and time again, that there were files that needed to be updated because it was vitally important to know what had changed and files that needed to be updated because the bureaucrats would complain if they weren’t. She had a feeling that the files Sasha was talking about fell into the first category. A ship that was a hodgepodge of old and new technology could become a right mess if the engineers literally had no idea of just what, if anything, had changed . . .
“Then we need to start work,” Kat said tartly. She’d have to see how many of her old officers had remained on Lightning, then start pestering the Admiralty for replacements. “I’ll put my bag on my ship, then you can show me around.”
“Of course, Captain,” Sasha said.
CHAPTER SIX
“That’s the data, I believe,” William said. “Everything he was able to scrape together.”
Commander Janice Wilson eyed it doubtfully. “Do you trust him?”
William eyed her sharply. He hadn’t been allowed access to her file, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Janice had never been in the field, no matter how capable she was as an intelligence analyst. Her questions weren’t bad ones, yet they insisted on a degree of precision that anyone who knew anything about the real world would know better than to expect. The smugglers weren’t an organized nation-state; they were, at best, an anarchic grouping of men and women who shared a more or less common interest. Expecting them all to pull in the same direction was naive.
“I think the data is accurate, or at least as accurate as he can make it,” he said finally. “He would not want to develop a reputation for selling trash.”
“I see,” Janice said. She was a thin-lipped woman who seemed to be permanently disapproving of everything. “And will he join us?”
“I suspect he will consider it,” William said tiredly. “However, you may have to make the offer a little sweeter to get him to openly choose a side.”
“He won’t be shot for treason when we win the war,” Janice insisted. “Isn’t that good enough?”
“We told him that he could go legit,” William reminded her. “This is a particularly bad moment to try to change the agreement. He isn’t the only smuggler we could induce into coming out of the cold, if agreement could be reached.”
Janice’s lips pursed. “It just seems . . . unpleasant to make deals with such scum.”
“It is,” William said. “But people who are as pure as new-fallen snow don’t tend to become smugglers.”
He shrugged. In some ways, he agreed with her; Scott might have been his brother, once upon a time, but he’d jumped off the slippery slope a long time ago. His charges against their home
world weren’t inaccurate, William had to admit, yet they didn’t excuse Scott from his own crimes. He could have taken his resources back home and started struggling for reform long ago, before the war broke out. Now . . . there was a good prospect that the old power structure wouldn’t survive the war, no matter what happened. The Theocracy would behead every priest they caught, just to make it clear that there was no other religion but theirs.
“He’s your brother,” Janice said. “Do you trust him?”
“I trust him to put his own interests first,” William said. “And yes, if we offer him something in his interests, he will probably work for us. But he will want to do it on his terms.”
“And that means kowtowing to smugglers,” Janice said.
William snorted. “Would you prefer to kowtow to the Theocrats?”
He smiled coldly at her reaction. The Theocrats had occupied Cadiz and promptly started purging the planet’s society of anyone who could pose a threat to them. Former resistance leaders, fighters, religious figures, and teachers—along with any women who’d held authority—had been marked for extermination. They hadn’t even bothered to wait until they’d won the war! The only upside, as far as William could tell, was that it had been a sharp lesson to anyone who would prefer a negotiated truce, or even a surrender. Defeat didn’t just mean humiliation; defeat meant the end of life as they knew it.
“They wouldn’t let me live,” Janice said flatly.
“No, they wouldn’t,” William agreed.
He shrugged again. “You don’t get to argue about legal or nice ways to win the war when you’re staring down the barrels of extinction,” he added. “All you get to do is deploy every weapon that comes to hand and if some of them happen to be smugglers . . . well, you use them anyway and thank your gods you’re not unleashing genetically engineered supermen or some other nightmare from the past.”
Janice looked doubtful. William wasn’t too surprised. Tyre had been a powerful state right from the start, when fourteen corporations had turned it into a base of operations and themselves into the first aristocrats. There had never been any significant danger to the world; hell, their declaration of independence from the UN had been little more than a formality. The Breakaway Wars hadn’t even touched them. But Hebrides had had a difficult life, ever since the first break with Earth. They’d learned hard lessons Tyre’s population had never had to learn at all.
Until now, he told himself. Will they learn those lessons in time?
“That’s as may be,” she said finally. “Do you believe you can be of further assistance?”
“Not unless you want me to go back to Scott,” William said. “And, frankly, I’m not keen to do anything of the sort.”
“He’s your brother,” Janice said, again.
“Yes, I know,” William said. “To me, Scott’s the one who ran away from his obligations; to him, I’m the one who serves a distant power instead of fighting to reform the planet. We don’t have much in common these days.”
And he chooses to wallow in depravity because he can’t see any way to keep others from doing it, he added silently. Or maybe that’s just what he tells himself, to keep from realizing what a monster he’s become.
“I used to fight with my brother,” Janice said brightly. “But I don’t hate him.”
“I pity Scott,” William said. He rather doubted Janice’s brother had run off to become a smuggler, although fleeing to the naval academy seemed more likely. “Your brother probably had a very different life.”
“Probably,” Janice said. She looked him in the eye. “It is my belief and the belief of my superiors that there isn’t any more work for you with us, at least at the moment. As you have proved you can be trusted to keep your mouth shut, you have a couple of options.”
Definitely no field experience, William thought. Janice didn’t realize, honestly didn’t realize, just how offensive she was being. She’d get into real trouble if she went out of a secure base and into the real world.
“The first one is that you can go back into the general personnel pool,” Janice said. “As an experienced XO, you would be snapped up very quickly. The second option, which may be more to your liking, is a return to your old post, XO of Lightning. Which one would you like?”
Command, William thought. But it was unlikely command would be offered to him, not when there was no shortage of officers with better connections. And they might want to drag me back here on short notice.
“Lightning,” he said, after a moment’s consideration. At least he liked Captain Falcone, once she’d proven herself. A little rough around the edges, perhaps, but a worthy commanding officer. And she’d shown incredible nerve before the war had officially started. “When do I leave?”
Janice blinked. “You don’t want any shore leave?”
“I’ve been crawling through sewers,” William snapped. Maybe the asteroid had been clean, but morally it stank to high heaven. “I’d be happier on a starship than shore leave right now.”
“You could have a couple of days in any one of the entertainment complexes,” Janice pointed out, perhaps driven by an impulse to look after one of her agents. “I don’t think it would make any difference.”
“I don’t think I could cope with it,” William said. Part of his mind told him to relax, to take all he could get, but the rest of him wanted something clean to do. “Being back on a starship would be much more relaxing.”
Janice eyed him for a long moment, then cocked her head, consulting her implants. “A shuttle will be leaving here in five hours, heading to Hyperion,” she said. “You’ll have a seat on it, Commander, and orders that will arrange for your transfer to Lightning. Good luck.”
“Thank you, Commander,” William said.
“I am also obligated to remind you that everything you’ve done here is classified,” she warned. “You must not discuss your work with anyone, without prior permission.”
William nodded, impatiently.
“There is a swimming pool in the residency complex, as well as some simulators,” Janice added. “Feel free to use them, if you can’t get to sleep.”
William nodded. He’d been surprised, the first time he’d visited the unnamed asteroid, that it had so many facilities, but it was clear that most of the staff rarely left; hell, they probably endured longer deployments than any starship crewmen, even though they were in the Tyre System. He rose to his feet, then shook Janice’s hand when she gravely extended it to him before turning and stepping through the hatch. Outside, he turned and walked down towards the residency complex where he’d been assigned a small cabin. His implants blinked up warnings as he passed secure compartments, reminding him he wasn’t allowed to try to open the hatches. If he tried, he’d been warned months ago, he’d be lucky to see freedom again.
His cabin was small, not much larger than the one he’d enjoyed as a newly minted lieutenant on a starship. He lay down on the bed and forced himself to relax, then swore under his breath as his orders flashed up on the bedside terminal. Lightning was apparently orbiting the gas giant, but there was nothing else, not even warning orders for a future deployment to the front lines. Had the damage been greater than he’d realized? Or had the mission orders, whatever they were, been classified? He hoped, prayed, that it was the latter. Being stuck orbiting a gas giant would be maddening, with his homeworld occupied and the enemy pressing his comrades hard.
He gritted his teeth, realizing that sleep would elude him for the rest of the night, then sat up and accessed the latest intelligence reports. There wasn’t much from Hebrides, but what there was didn’t seem encouraging. The Theocracy had landed a large army and seemed to be engaged in massive counterinsurgency campaigns; the locals, meanwhile, had taken to the mountains and were raiding the enemy whenever they got a chance. Long-range scans from prowling recon starships noted that the occupiers were calling in kinetic energy weapon strik
es regularly, almost on a daily basis. He couldn’t help feeling pride, even as cold fear for his friends and family threatened to overwhelm him. At least they were going down fighting.
But they could still lose, he thought. Scott and I might be among the last survivors.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought, so he contemplated it morbidly as he changed into his swimming trunks and headed down to the pool. It was deserted, save for a couple of intelligence analysts swimming laps around the edge of the water. He took a shower, then dived into the water and swam until he felt his body starting to tire. There was no point in trying to talk to either of the analysts, he knew; they rarely had anything interesting to say. They might have done so before—it did happen—but they would probably be under strict orders not to talk to their friends let alone someone in a swimming pool. He smiled at the thought, then climbed out of the pool, showered again, and then walked back to his cabin. An update, blinking away merrily on his display, told him that the shuttle departure time had been moved up. He shook his head in wry amusement—clearly, they were keen to be rid of him now that he’d outlived his usefulness—and then changed back into his uniform. It felt good to be wearing a proper uniform once again.
Janice met him as he left his cabin for the final time, his carryall slung over his shoulder. “I took the liberty of adding a note to your file about your work for us,” she said, falling into step beside him. “Your career won’t suffer for it.”
“Thank you,” William said dryly. Given his lack of aristocratic connections, it wasn’t likely a link with intelligence could do any more harm. But at least it would look as though he hadn’t spent the last six months twiddling his thumbs instead of overseeing Lightning’s repairs or simply being assigned to another ship. “That’s very considerate of you.”
Janice beamed. “Your commander may be in some trouble,” she added. “Telling truth to someone who has no power can be more dangerous than telling truth to power.”
Falcone Strike (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 2) Page 6
