“Battles in hyperspace are notoriously unpredictable,” Kat reminded him. “A single explosion could whip up an energy storm that would force us all to crash back to normal space.”
“That might not be a bad thing,” the XO said. “We could take a crack at them while they were disorganized, or back off if we were outgunned.”
Kat nodded, slowly. “And the second possibility?”
“There’s a smuggler base in the sector,” the XO said. “I go there, get intelligence, and come back. We might learn something useful.”
“You might also be betrayed,” Kat said. She considered the possibilities for a long moment, then frowned. “I doubt the Theocracy is unaware of their presence.”
“My brother’s files say the local Theocrats know about it,” the XO said. “The base really isn’t that far from Morningside. However, they turn a blind eye in exchange for certain . . . considerations.”
“Bribes,” Kat said. She shook her head in disbelief. “How does that even work?”
The XO smiled. “Tyre isn’t the most democratic state in human history,” he said, “but it is reasonably transparent and the way to climb the ladder to power is well understood. The civil service is not corrupt, any malefactors are dealt with promptly and people trust the government to leave them alone when they’re not doing anything wrong.”
Kat nodded. “Because playing moral guardian is so inefficient,” she said. “My father used to say there were certain issues that should never be touched.”
“Exactly,” the XO agreed. “But if you grow up in a society which is rotten to the core, where you can cheerfully ignore the rules if you have power and status, where your superiors will screw you over if they happen to need a scapegoat . . . you wind up with very little respect for those rules. Why should you show any respect when your superiors show none? And hell, you need power to protect yourself from anyone else.”
He shrugged. “I’d be surprised if every bureaucrat in the Theocracy isn’t a corrupt little bastard trading favors just to survive,” he added. “Get bribes from the people you’re supposed to supervise? Why not? Want a harem? Why not collect a few women as tribute and add them to your household? Your superior might pitch a fit? Offer him one of the women as a gift. Dealing with smugglers? Why not?”
Kat looked at the star chart, thoughtfully. “And you think the smugglers will know something we can use?”
“I’d be surprised if they weren’t collecting data constantly,” the XO said. “Information is power in their world.”
“They’d notice if we took Lightning,” Kat said. “How do you intend to travel?”
“I’ll take Mermaid,” the XO said. “She’s old enough to be a smuggler vessel without raising too many eyebrows. We’d be fucked if someone got a look inside, but if we run into a warship we’d be fucked anyway. I can dock with the asteroid and go inside, if we take something to barter. Those captured enemy spare parts should raise a nice price.”
He smirked. “After what we did to Verdean, Captain, I imagine the price has skyrocketed.”
Kat nodded in agreement. It would be blindingly obvious just where the spare parts had come from, but she knew from bitter experience that no one would care. If a colony world on the rim of explored space refused to ask too many questions about something that had to have been stolen by pirates, she couldn’t see desperate enemy officials caring either. It did raise the issue of accidentally aiding the enemy, but under the circumstances she didn’t see any other choice. The only real concern was losing her XO if the enemy caught them before they could escape.
“You’ll have to be very careful,” she warned. “This isn’t your brother’s territory.”
“They’ll let anyone dock, as long as they’re not blatantly hostile,” the XO assured her. “And the data . . . well, we can use it to formulate a proper plan.”
“Good,” Kat said. She glanced at her chronometer, then sighed. “It’s time for the funeral, Commander. When will you be able to leave?”
“Mermaid was largely untouched,” the XO said. “I imagine I can leave thirty minutes after the funeral.”
“We’ll set up an RV point before you go,” Kat said. “No, we’ll stay here; the rest of the squadron can wait elsewhere, with the fleet train. I may have a use in mind for the scrapped ships.”
“Good luck,” the XO said.
“I should be wishing you that,” Kat said. She half wished she could go with him, or go in his place, but she knew that was impossible. A starship commander could not risk her life on a smuggler’s asteroid, or lead a mission down to a dangerous planet. That only happened in bad movies. “Just take very good care of yourself.”
“I will,” the XO said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
The captain looked . . . different, somehow, as she read out the second set of names. William listened, holding his cap in his hand, as she recited each and every one of the dead, her voice lingering for long moments as she recalled what she’d read in the files. It was never easy to say good-bye to the dead, he knew, but it was harder when one felt guilty. Everyone who joined the Navy knew the risks, yet far too many of them were just faceless names and notes in the files. Even he didn’t know everyone attached to the squadron.
And I never will, he thought numbly. He’d come to terms with it long ago; his homeworld, for all its faults, had never tried to convince its children that they could be safely wrapped in cotton wool. Death came for everyone, no matter how much engineering one tried to splice into one’s genetic code. Even hiding in a perpetual stasis chamber was only a way to hide from the Grim Reaper. Death came for everyone and the only thing a person could do was accept that, one day, he or she too would die. But the captain felt guilty.
He didn’t blame her. She’d had very little time to whip her command into shape before leaving; hell, he had the feeling that someone else had been intended for the command before the king had intervened. She had had very little time to get to know her personnel, even if she hadn’t had the enforced distance of being their commanding officer. To feel guilt over their deaths was one thing; to feel guilt over not knowing them was quite another. William had served under men who hadn’t cared about their subordinates and they could be dangerous, but there was a fine line between caring for one’s subordinates and being unwilling to risk their lives.
I’m sorry, he thought. The captain was young, perhaps too young. But there will be many more deaths to come.
The captain reached the end of her list, then tapped a button. Tractor beams picked up the coffins—this time, at least, there were bodies—and carefully propelled them out into the vacuum of space. They’d drift forever, William knew; they were so far from any star that it was highly unlikely the coffins would ever be captured and drawn to a fiery death. It was possible to believe, as many spacers did, that their ghosts would haunt the void forever, influencing the affairs of the living. There were even religions built around the concept . . .
But there won’t be if the Theocracy wins the war, he thought, grimly. They’ll smash anything that looks like an enemy religion.
He shook his head as the last of the coffins drifted out into space, then watched the crew slowly filing out of the shuttlebay. The captain was looking down at the black coffin, a grim expression on her face. William chivvied the remaining crewmen out of the shuttlebay, then headed towards the bridge. The captain needed time to say good-bye to her fallen crewmen in private.
“Commander,” Roach said as he stepped onto the bridge. “Can I have a word?”
William eyed him for a long moment. The tactical officer hadn’t been hauled in for interrogation, but he had to know he was in some trouble. Parker had been in his department, after all, and it was Roach’s job to review the personnel files and spot any discrepancies. On the other hand, like everyone else, Roach had been overworked right from the start. In hindsight, they might have
been lucky that there had only been one major problem on the squadron.
“One moment,” he said. He looked at the communications officer. “Linda, contact Mermaid and inform her commander that they are being detached for a specific mission. I shall be shuttling over as soon as possible.”
“Aye, Commander,” Linda said.
“Come with me,” William said to Roach. “Lieutenant Weiberg, you have the bridge.”
“Aye, sir,” Weiberg said. He barely looked up from his console. “I have the bridge.”
William led the tactical officer through the hatch and down to his cabin. There was no dedicated office for the XO, although he had blanket permission to use the captain’s office if necessary. This time, however, he had a feeling this discussion was better held elsewhere.
“Right,” he said, once the hatch was closed and locked. “What can I do for you?”
“Commander,” Roach said. “I should have been consulted on Parker . . .”
William felt his temper start to fray. “You should have been supervising the tactical department, as well as handling your bridge duties,” he said sharply. “If you had been doing your job, perhaps Parker would have been caught before we were ambushed!”
Roach clenched his fists, then visibly forced himself to relax. He was tired; they were all tired and demoralized after the ambush and retreat. William silently cursed the staffing problems again, then reminded himself that they had plenty of spare personnel now that a handful of ships were being scrapped. The only problem would be working up the handful of remaining ships before they had to go back into battle.
“With all due respect, sir,” Roach said, “I . . .”
“No,” William said. He held up a hand before Roach could say another word, then forced himself to keep his voice calm and level. “I understand your feelings on the matter, both your outrage and your embarrassment”—and your sense it wasn’t your fault, he added silently—“however, I do not have time to deal with the matter. I do not believe you deliberately covered up anything, merely that you didn’t have the time to handle all of your responsibilities. There will, of course, be an inquest when we get home, but until then I expect you to do your duty.”
He took a breath. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Roach said.
“Good,” William said. He studied the younger man for a long moment. “I will be leaving shortly. During my absence, I expect you to work hard to rebuild your department and prepare it for the next challenge. Once I return, we will discuss any other matters. Do not let me or the captain down.”
“Yes, sir,” Roach said.
“Good,” William said, again. He sighed inwardly. Roach would either blame himself or blame everyone but himself. The entire crew really needed a rest, but they weren’t going to get one. “Very good. Dismissed.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“It looks like yet another boring system,” Lieutenant Lars Rasmussen observed.
“Set course for the asteroid cluster, then broadcast the signal code I gave you,” William ordered. “There should be a response within seconds.”
“Aye, sir,” Rasmussen said.
William concealed his amusement with an effort. Rasmussen was in command of the vessel, but William outranked him. In theory, Rasmussen had the legal authority to give orders to admirals and even politicians; in practice, it would be a brave or foolish junior officer who tried. He seemed to have compromised; he paid attention to William, but steadfastly held to his command. William would have been impressed if he’d had time to care.
“That’s a response,” Midshipwoman Grace Hawthorne said. “They’re pointing us towards a large asteroid, then demanding payment in advance.”
“How unsurprising,” William observed. “Remember: none of you are to leave the ship without my permission. If I don’t return or contact you within five hours, cast off, return to the RV point, and report to Captain Falcone.”
“Aye, sir,” Rasmussen said.
William nodded, then watched grimly as the asteroid slowly came into view. He’d seen quite a few hidden settlements, but this one wasn’t really hidden at all. It emitted enough betraying radiation for the enemy to have no trouble finding it if they bothered to look. He’d had doubts, no matter what he’d said to the captain, but now . . . now he realized he’d been correct all along. The Theocracy knew the base was there and turned a blind eye.
“Take us towards the docking port,” he said as the asteroid turned slowly, revealing a handful of ports cut into the stone. Several starships were clearly visible, including two old warships and something that looked like an early model pleasure yacht. The remainder were freighters of various designs, one of which was a complete unknown. Something the Theocracy had produced? Or something from the other side of the settled universe? “I’ll pay when the hatch opens.”
He picked up his carryall as the ship docked, then made his way down to the airlock and stepped through. A pair of grim-faced men were waiting for him, one with his arms removed and replaced by a set of very visible combat augmentations. William refused to show any reaction—it was a childish attempt to intimidate him—as he held out their payment, a handful of Commonwealth credit chips. They would be worthless in the Theocracy, of course, but smugglers were no respecters of borders. Besides, the crown was worth more than anything the Theocracy used for money.
“That would be suitable,” the first man grunted after checking the chips carefully. “You have the right to use this airlock and docking port for two days. Fuel, energy, and anything else is extra.”
“Thank you,” William said dryly. “Can you point me towards the market?”
The man nodded. “Down in Section C,” he said gruffly. “Be warned that you may not offer insult, aggression, or violence towards anyone else within the rock. Any offenders will be put outside the airlock without a protective suit.”
He turned and strode off, followed by his augmented companion. William frowned after him—that level of visible augmentation was unusual—then headed down towards Section C. The layout of the asteroid looked to be fairly standard; there didn’t seem to be many differences between this location and the handful of other smuggler bases he’d visited, although the population here seemed to be smaller. It probably had something to do with their location, he reasoned; the chance of making a fortune off corrupt officials versus the prospect of being brutally killed if the Theocracy’s enforcers got hold of them. He shrugged, then stepped through the door into the marketplace, looking around with interest. It was smaller than his brother’s asteroid, but almost as well-appointed.
“I have spare parts to sell,” he said once he found a prospective reseller. He held out a datapad containing the manifest, then smiled. “Make me an offer.”
The reseller—a dark-skinned woman who seemed to have been slimmed down until she was hellishly thin—eyed the manifest sourly. “I’ll give you ten thousand credits, five thousand joys, or one thousand crowns the lot.”
William frowned. “Credits?”
“You can only use them here,” the reseller said. She smiled, revealing very sharp teeth. “Useless anywhere else, I’m afraid.”
And no doubt rigged to benefit the asteroid’s managers, William thought. “You can have the lot for ten thousand crowns.”
The woman snorted. “I’d give you ten thousand joys,” she said. William puzzled over it for a moment, then realized it had to be a slang term for the Theocracy’s currency. “You don’t have anything like enough here for ten thousand crowns.”
They haggled backwards and forwards for a long moment, then settled on seven thousand crowns. William took the advance payment, called the ship to arrange for delivery, and then settled on a time to pick up the rest of the payment. The reseller, having melted slightly, offered him a handful of items from her selection, although she admitted—with another toothy smile—that time
s were hard. William guessed the Theocracy was buying up everything it could, as well as redirecting production towards the war. There would simply be much less to steal.
“I need to speak to an information broker,” he said, finally. “Can you recommend one?”
“Quietus over there is the best on the rock,” the reseller said. She giggled, a high-pitched sound that put William’s hackles on edge. “Not that that’s saying much, out here.”
William nodded, thanked her, and headed over to the information broker. He looked very much like the others he had met while he’d been on a quest for his brother—short, very composed, and clearly augmented heavily. One of his eyes had been replaced by an implant; the other looked normal, but flecks of gold were clearly visible. William sat down facing him and waited until the man had activated his privacy generator.
“I need information on shipping movements through Theocratic space,” William said, calmly. The man would probably take him for a pirate, but it hardly mattered. “What do you have?”
Quietus looked thoughtful for a long moment. “I have shipping charts, but nothing more detailed,” he said. “The convoy details I have are subject to change without notice.”
Which is an excellent excuse for scamming me, William thought. “Can you get anything more authentic?”
“My sources might be reluctant to share such details,” Quietus said. “It would get them in trouble. You would need to make a very good offer.”
William considered it. “A thousand crowns?”
“Not good enough, given what is at stake,” Quietus said. “They wouldn’t live long enough to spend it.”
“I can take someone onboard, then transport him and his money out of the Theocracy,” William offered. He supposed if he had to work for the Theocracy he’d want out too. “I think that would constitute suitable payment.”
Quietus smiled. “And where would you take him?”
Falcone Strike (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 2) Page 30
