He blanked the terminal and sat upright as the hatch hissed open, revealing Sandy – and a stunningly beautiful raven-haired girl. Even in a standard naval uniform, she looked astonishing; Glen would have bet half of his shares in the family corporation that crew and officers alike had turned to stare as she walked past. He groaned inwardly a moment later; Intelligence Officers might be a law unto themselves, but her appearance was going to be shockingly bad for discipline.
She does it on purpose, he thought, remembering some of the corporate spies and agents his brothers had handled. Thankfully, Glen had been too young for those games. Every little advantage they can take, they will take. And young men will talk freely to a pretty girl.
“Welcome onboard,” he said, pasting a fake smile on his face.
“Thank you, sir,” the Intelligence Officer said. Her voice was low, almost sultry. Judging from the look Sandy shot at her back, the XO didn't like her either. She took the seat facing him without waiting for permission. “I’m Commander (Intelligence) Cynthia Smith.”
Glen shook her hand automatically, thinking hard. Was she related to his old CO? Probably not, he told himself; Smith was a very common name. But Intelligence Officers had sealed files, files even starship commanders couldn't open and read. She might hope that he would jump to that conclusion ...
“Thank you, Sandy,” he said.
Sandy nodded and withdrew from the compartment, leaving him alone with Cynthia. Glen studied her for a long moment – her uniform was a size too tight, something he would bet was uncomfortable even if it was also sexy – then leaned back in his chair. Judging from her appearance, she wasn't here to tell him about alien threats, but to keep an eye on the crew.
Wonderful, he thought, sourly. He hoped that no one else would make that connection, yet he was fairly sure that was a fool’s hope. Sandy was far from stupid; there was no point in wearing a uniform that skirted the boundaries of regulations unless seduction was in mind ... and it was unlikely that a human could seduce a non-human. There might be a whole series of tasteless pornography showing just that, but Glen had never encountered anyone who actually claimed to have done it in real life.
“Commander,” he said. There was no point in trying to cross verbal swords with an Intelligence Officer. They tended to be better at it than regular naval personnel. “I shall be blunt. Why have you been assigned to this ship?”
“I have been ordered to be completely frank with you,” Cynthia replied. If she was surprised by the question, she didn't show it. But chances were that she had been trained to show only what she wanted to show. “There are ... factions that are concerned with the Fairfax Cluster, who believe that it is rapidly becoming a powder keg.”
“More of a compressed antimatter bomb,” Glen observed. He’d barely had a chance to read some of the intelligence summaries, but the ones he had read suggested that matters were not improving after the formal end of the war. In places, the war was still going on. “And your mission is to ...?”
“Establish a formal intelligence network and keep an eye out for secessionist sympathies,” Cynthia said, bluntly. “And monitor your crew for ... questionable viewpoints.”
Glen felt a flash of anger. “My crew?”
Cynthia didn't flinch at his tone. “There are some among your crew who may have divided loyalties,” she said bluntly. “My orders are to monitor them and report back to my superiors.”
“Really,” Glen said. He fought to keep his growing anger under control. “I was under the distinct impression that nationalism was part and parcel of the Federation, despite the fires of war.”
“But there are too many problems in the Fairfax Cluster to risk allowing such sentiments to go unmonitored,” Cynthia countered. “That sector isn't somewhere that might grumble, but remains part of the Federation.”
Glen had to admit that she had a point. The nationalist blocs were largely committed to the Federation in any case, if only because they had enough weight in the Federation’s councils to ensure that their interests were protected. There was more to gain through cooperation than outright warfare, as long as the Federation didn't become too powerful and started to overshadow the nationalist blocs. But the Fairfax Cluster hadn't had such strong ties to the Federation even before the war. Now, they thought they’d been abandoned and left to live or die on their own.
“There are rules,” he said, shortly. “You will respect my crew. I expect to see each and every one of the reports you send back to your superiors. And if I think you’re crossing the line, I will put you in the brig for the remainder of the deployment. Do you understand me?”
Cynthia’s face, for a very brief moment, showed a flicker of annoyance. Intelligence Officers had a wide range of powers to spy on crewmen, even officers; the defeatism that had gripped part of the Federation Navy after the Battle of Starlight had threatened to destroy the Navy’s moral completely. And military personnel gave up most of their rights when they enlisted. But Glen would never be comfortable with spying on his own crew ...
“People grumble,” he said flatly. God knew he’d grumbled, bitched and moaned himself in the past, when he had been a junior officer. “I do not wish to use such grumbles used as evidence of a deadly plot. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Cynthia said, tightly. “However, it is my duty ...”
“To do as you are told by the commanding officer of this ship,” Glen snapped. Whatever else could be said about their wide-ranging authority, Intelligence Officers were never part of the chain of command. The youngest ensign on the ship would take command before Cynthia, if a freak accident killed everyone higher up the chain. “The XO has assigned you a cabin. I suggest that you remain there until we are finally ready to depart.”
He watched her go, unable to help noticing that her trousers were tight too, then rubbed his forehead. The mission was going to be hard enough – he’d known that as soon as he realised that his brothers were involved – but someone like her would only make matters worse. She could easily shatter crew morale if she were caught spying on them.
Shaking his head, Glen returned to his terminal. There was just too much work to do.
Chapter Five
“I wonder,” Sandy asked herself, “which sadistic bastard designed the dress uniforms?”
The standard naval uniform was light, woven from smart material that protected its wearer in all environments and, if necessary, could even serve as an emergency spacesuit. But the dress uniform was tight, uncomfortable, and decorated with too much gold braid to be taken completely seriously, at least for an experienced spacer. Maybe it had been a civilian who’d designed it, she decided as she set her cap and glanced at herself in the mirror. It had clearly been someone without any real experience in space.
She stepped out of her cabin and walked down to the shuttlebay, where the remainder of the senior crew were gathering. Sandy would have preferred not to provide a full welcoming party for Governor Wu and her staff – it was embarrassing enough that she hadn't been able to provide one for her new CO – but protocol was protocol. A Governor was not only a civilian appointee; Governor Wu also held the rank of commander-in-chief of all military assets within the Fairfax Cluster. She might not be expected to take direct command, but she could issue suggestions that had to be heeded.
As long as she doesn't start issuing orders to the Colonial Militia, Sandy thought, grimly. The Militia was unlikely to be impressed by a civilian appointee, particularly not one who had no military experience of her own. And she has no real authority over them, at least not in their own minds.
The thought made her face twist into a frown, which she banished moments later. Her reputation for blunt speaking would not make her any allies among the Governor’s staff ... if, of course, they weren't already concerned about her homeworld. Fairfax was a hotbed of anti-Federation sentiment, an understandable response to being largely abandoned during the war. Sandy could understand, even approve of, the need for human unity, but it
wouldn't work if larger human powers tried to bully smaller powers. The smaller ones would grow to resent it, eventually sparking a civil war.
“Captain,” she said, as Captain Knight entered the shuttlebay. He managed to look good in his dress uniform, no small achievement. “The shuttle is approaching now.”
Captain Knight nodded. He might have used connections to get up the promotions ladder, but she hadn't caught him making a major mistake over the week since he had taken command. Of course, he had been an XO and sometimes trespassed into her territory, yet she couldn't really hold it against him. She’d once had a commanding officer who seemed to believe that he could hide in his office and let her do everything.
And he had managed to convince the dockyard manager to send them more workers.
Dauntless was almost ready for deployment now, she knew. She would have preferred a full shakedown cruise, the standard circuit of the Sol System that had been traditional ever since the human race had learned how to open portals into hyperspace, but that wasn't an option, not when the Governor was clearly impatient to be off. They’d just have to hope that nothing went too badly wrong in hyperspace.
She fought to keep her face under control as Commander Cynthia Smith entered the shuttlebay. The Intelligence Officer might claim to be there to provide Intelligence’s view of the situation in the Fairfax Cluster, but Sandy suspected that her real reason for being assigned to Dauntless was keeping an eye on the crew. As a former officer in the Colonial Militia, Sandy was definitely one of her prime targets for surveillance. No doubt her cabin had already been bugged. Cynthia might have been told to remain in her cabin, but Sandy had tracked her slipping all over the ship during the last few days.
There was a dull rumble as the shuttlebay hatch opened, revealing the inky darkness of space, broken only by faint pinpricks of light from the stars. It was a long moment before the shuttle appeared, illuminated by the starship’s running lights, and drifted through the forcefield to land on the deck. Sandy felt an odd flash of Déjà Vu – just how many times had she greeted a senior officer on the shuttlebay deck? – which she pushed aside ruthlessly. This was no time to lose herself in idle rumination.
The shuttle’s hatch opened, revealing a pair of Senate Security officers. They advanced out of the tiny craft, weapons at the ready, then took up position on each side of the hatch. Sandy wasn't sure if she should laugh or be insulted; did the Governor believe that armed guards increased her statue or was she convinced that Dauntless wasn't safe? There was no recorded case of a naval officer assassinating a politician and hardly anyone else would be assigned to Dauntless. It wasn't as if they were carrying a small army of reporters as they went to war.
Of course, she thought, as Governor Wu stepped out of the shuttle, there are worse things than reporters.
Governor Wu seemed almost patrician. She was tall, with elegant cheekbones, long dark hair, soft brown eyes and dark brown skin. The Governor had been born on Terra Nova, according to her file; she’d had certain facial traits engineered into her body when she entered politics, trying to create the impression of a woman who could be trusted to make the right decisions. Sandy had to admit that the Governor knew how to make an entrance, even though it cost her a considerable amount of money. The suit she wore cost more than a Commander made in a year by itself.
Captain Knight stepped forward. “Welcome onboard, Madame Governor,” he said.
“Thank you,” the Governor replied. She didn't offer to shake his hand, even though Sandy’s quiet investigations had proven that Captain Knight had far better connections than the Governor. After all, the Liberal-Progressives had come alarmingly close to dropping her like a hot rock once already. “It is a pleasure to be here.”
Sandy would have bet good money that it wasn’t. Dauntless might be the newest heavy cruiser in the navy, but she wasn't actually designed for a pleasure cruise. Even Admirals, when they flew their flags on superdreadnaughts or fleet carriers, had to endure small cabins. But then, they were palatial by navy standards. If the Governor had been expecting a luxurious trip, she was going to be disappointed.
Captain Knight introduced his senior crew – the Governor’s eyes paused briefly on Sandy before passing over her to Jess – and then motioned for the Governor’s staff to come out of the shuttle. Sandy sighed inwardly – protocol rarely seemed more absurd – but kept her face blank as a pale-faced man emerged and was introduced as Harrison Montgomery, the Governor’s personal assistant. Behind him, there was a mousy woman with short brown hair who seemed to vibrate with nervous energy, wearing a complete set of monitoring and recording equipment. She was introduced as the Governor’s media representative, Windy Holbrooke. Judging from her expression, none too well hidden, the military scared her a little. That, Sandy knew, was far from an uncommon reaction among some civilians.
But not on the colonies, she thought, wryly. There, everyone knows how to fight.
She wanted to shake her head. As XO, it would be her duty to inform Windy that she had to be careful what she recorded onboard Dauntless. There was no way to know what piece of information would provide insights into starship operations or technology for unfriendly eyes. During the war, there had been more than a few security breaches that might have cost lives, if the Dragons had bothered to pay attention to human news media. Thankfully, they never quite realised just how free the human media actually was. But then, their people were only told what their superiors thought they needed to know.
Governor Wu nodded towards the shuttle, once the remainder of her staff had exited. Sandy could understand a personal assistant and a media representative, but why would she bring along two maids, a cook and a handful of people with no clear job? It was inefficient, to say the least; Sandy couldn't help wondering if the Governor believed that a large party would command respect from the colonials. Maybe she did have the money to pay people to stand around doing nothing. It still wouldn't impress people who could hardly afford such a display of conspicuous consumption.
A middle-aged man stepped out of the shuttle and bowed politely to Captain Knight. Sandy couldn't help feeling a rush of affection, even though she didn't know the man; the colonial was clearly real, in a sense that Governor Wu could never match. His face bore the scars of a lifetime of working the soil, then fighting to protect his homeworld from the Dragons. The Bottleneck Republic had chosen its representative well.
But maybe not well enough, Sandy thought, sardonically. Representative Virgil Feingold looked ... rustic. To Earth, the core of the Federation and the most cosmopolitan planet in the galaxy, he would look like something out of the depths of history. Unsophisticated, reactionary, a stick-in-the-mud ... hardly impressive. It was hard to avoid the conclusion that Feingold’s mere appearance had convinced the sophisticates of Earth that the colonies were truly as barbaric as the media claimed they were.
“Welcome onboard,” Captain Knight said. The representative from the colonies had been added at the last minute, but the Captain showed no sign of irritation, even if they had had to rearrange cabin assignments at the last moment. “My XO will show you to your cabin.”
He looked over at the other senior crew, who saluted the Governor and then dispersed. Sandy couldn't help feeling that they were probably relieved that the ceremony was over. The Captain nodded to the Governor, then escorted her and her staff to their quarters, where they would hopefully remain until they reached Bottleneck. Sandy turned to face Feingold as soon as the Governor was gone and gave him a relieved smile. The sophisticates might sneer at him behind his back – or even to his face – but she found him reassuringly real.
“Welcome onboard,” she said, and meant it. “It’s a pleasure to have you on the ship.”
Feingold gave her a droll smile. “Fairfax?”
Sandy nodded. Her homeworld was the core of the Bottleneck Republic, insofar as any world could be considered its capital. The Federation might like centralised authority, but the Bottleneck Republic had been too disunited
even to consider the possibility. Besides, the Dragons were fond of attacking sector capitals and core worlds and expecting the rest of the sector to fall without a fight. If they hadn't driven in towards Earth in 2555, the war might well have gone the other way.
Or maybe it wouldn’t, she thought. The Dragons had never really appreciated the true industrial might of the Federation. She might have disliked and distrusted the Core Worlds and the interstellar corporations, but even she couldn't dispute their efficiency when it came to producing warships and war material. Losing Earth would have been painful; it wouldn't have been fatal. There were enough industrial nodes away from the homeworld to rebuild the TFN even after a desperate struggle to save Earth.
“It’s good to see a friendly face,” Feingold said, as she started to lead him towards the hatch. “Chandra is an interesting conversationalist, but she never lets her guard slip around me and her cronies know better than to talk openly. I was rather dreading this trip.”
Sandy nodded in understanding. “Why didn't you take a different ship?”
“The Senate offered me transport on a military ship,” Feingold explained. “I think they believed I would be impressed with the display of military might.”
Knight's Move Page 5
