The Cruel Stars (Ark Royal Book 11)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Unless they decide to jump ship,” Anson said. “Mum ... not everyone is going to be happy, serving under the military.”

  “I suppose not,” Abigail said. Two of her crewers had ties to various belter independence movements. It wasn't the sort of thing that would impress the military, if they cared enough to vet the freighter’s crew. But even if they did, it was unlikely they’d turn up anything incriminating. “And, like I keep saying, we don’t have a choice.”

  She dismissed them, then walked slowly back to the bridge. Her ship felt odd, even though nothing had changed. Yet, she reminded herself. Tomorrow, they’d remove the cargo pallets and then start refitting the vessel. And then she’d be commander of a light carrier instead of a freighter.

  And I’ll have a target painted on my arse, she thought, as she stepped onto the bridge. It isn't as if they’re going to tear out the drive and replace it with something that can actually turn on a dime.

  Carl Rogers looked up, then nodded to the status board. Everything was green. Abigail dismissed him with a nod, picking up her datapad as he left the compartment. There were a handful of messages waiting in her inbox, including a pair of agitated demands from her client for an updated ETA. She cursed under her breath as she read the second message, knowing she couldn't reply. Her name was going to be mud in shipping circles, if the Royal Navy refused to allow her to explain what had actually happened. By the time the truth came out, her client would have slandered her to the entire community.

  And he’ll be convinced he’s doing the right thing, Abigail told herself, crossly. The Belt practically ran on reputation. No one would care if someone uploaded nude photographs or videos of her to the datanet, but breaking a contract ...? She’d be shunned and abhorred by all right-thinking Belters. And the hell of it is that he’ll have a point.

  She considered her options for a long moment, then dismissed it. There was no point in worrying about something outside her control. Either the news broke before the client could start smearing her or it didn’t. If the former, she could explain; if the latter, she could put forward a convincing case to regain her reputation. It would just be tricky to avoid hammering an understandably-outraged client in the court of public opinion.

  The hatch opened. Farris Ashburn stepped onto the bridge.

  “It’s late,” Abigail said. “You should be sleeping.”

  “I wanted to tell you in person,” Ashburn said. He looked ashamed. “I’m jumping ship.”

  Abigail looked him up and down. He had a carryall slung over one shoulder, suggesting he’d taken the time to pack before coming to the bridge. She didn't really blame him for that, not when she knew there were captains who’d frogmarch a deserter to the airlock and kick him off the ship. Abigail wouldn't do that, not unless she was firing a crewman, but Ashburn had no way of knowing it. He hadn't served with her for very long.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said. “May I ask why?”

  “I’m not remotely comfortable serving under the military,” Ashburn said. “And I would prefer not to discuss it further.”

  Abigail nodded, slowly. Privacy was practically a holy concept in the belt. Too many of the original settlers had fled an Earth that had grown less and less private until the government, corporations and even ordinary civilians could find out almost anything about anyone just by exploring the datanet. And besides, too many Belters shared cramped quarters. What little fragments of privacy they had were jealously guarded. Whatever Ashburn’s reasons, she had no right to pry into them. He was leaving her crew, after all.

  “You’ll be going into lockdown,” she pointed out. She’d told them that, hadn't she? Yes, she had. And she wouldn't let Ashburn change his mind, not now. A man who had declared his intention to leave could no longer be considered reliable. “And after that ...”

  She lifted her datapad and brought up Ashburn’s file. It was simple enough, merely recording his time on four separate freighters. None of his commanding officers had had much to say about him, although they’d vouched for his competency. Abigail had thought that that wasn't actually a bad thing. The crewers who were remembered were either extremely good or so unspeakably bad that they posthumously won the Darwin Award.

  “I don’t have any complaints about you,” she said. She could have bitched about him jumping ship, but it wouldn't be particularly fair. He’d been given the opportunity to leave and he’d taken it. It wasn't as if he'd deserted at short notice. “I’ll give you a reference, but” - she waved a hand at the bulkhead - “it may be a while before anyone sees it. Or hears from me, if they want to check.”

  “I understand,” Ashburn said. “I think I’ll head further out, anyway. They say there’s good work in the Terra Nova System.”

  “As long as you don’t mind the risk of being blown up,” Abigail pointed out. The civil war on Terra Nova was heating up, again. She’d once transported a load of emigrants from Terra Nova who’d wanted to go somewhere - anywhere - else. “But I suppose the asteroids will be reasonably safe.”

  “I hope so,” Ashburn said. “And thank you.”

  Abigail shrugged. “It’s no trouble,” she said. She nodded to the hatch. Technically, she should have walked him to the airlock, but she wasn’t feeling gracious. “Watch yourself out there.”

  She watched him go, feeling torn. She knew better than to have a crewman who didn't want to be there, but - at the same time - she felt as though he’d deserted her. And yet, she knew she was being unfair. Farris Ashburn hadn't signed up for naval service, any more than he’d signed up to spend his whole life working under her.

  And he probably won’t be the only one, either, she thought. Two of her crewers were reservists, not counting herself, but the others had no obligation to stay with the ship. How many others are going to want to leave?

  She shook her head in annoyance. There was no point in worrying about it, not now. The die was cast. In truth, it had been cast the moment the aliens had shown themselves.

  “Too many other things to worry about,” she muttered. “Starting with the criminals in my new crew.”

  Chapter Six

  It was typical of the Royal Navy, Alan had often considered, that ‘hurry up and wait’ was practically its unofficial motto. After racing him and a number of other convicts from Colchester to the isolated - and apparently unnamed - military base, the Royal Navy hadn't shown any particular urgency about shipping him to his new post. It took five days for a shuttle flight to orbit to be arranged, then another for Alan, Bennett and Alan’s new assistant to be transferred to an intersystem high-boost shuttle for the flight to Tallyman. The only advantage, as far as he could tell, was that it gave him time to read the files and think about the future.

  He looked over at Bennett, sleeping in an acceleration couch, and sighed. The big man was a consummate actor, among other things. When they were in company, Bennett was polite and respectful and everything Alan might want from a junior officer; when they were alone, Bennett allowed his dislike and distrust to shine through. Alan had been tempted to make remarks about daddy issues, but it had seemed pointless. He was stuck with Bennett until the war was over or, more likely, they were both blown out of space.

  It could be worse, he told himself, firmly. I could be back at Colchester.

  Lieutenant Madison Hudson cleared her throat. “Do you want another mug of tea?”

  “No, thank you,” Alan said. Tea was the one thing that wasn't in short supply, even on a tiny intersystem shuttle. The Royal Navy practically ran on tea. “But feel free to get one for yourself, if you want it.”

  He watched his new assistant as she rose and headed for the dispenser. Lieutenant Madison Hudson - she’d told him that she preferred to be called Maddy - was young and beautiful, with curly red hair, bright green eyes and a body that reminded him, once again, that it had been too long since he’d lain with anyone. And yet, she was young enough to make him feel slightly guilty about looking. The way she practically bowed and scrape
d in front of Bennett and himself suggested she hadn't had a very good time in her prison. God knew where she’d been, but it probably hadn’t been Colchester.

  Which isn't too surprising, he thought. A young woman probably wouldn't be sentenced to Colchester unless there was something very significant about her crimes.

  He sighed, inwardly. Maddy’s career had been fairly normal for a logistics support officer - a stint in starfighter command, a desk job on Nelson Base, an assignment as personal assistant to a senior officer - until she’d been caught embezzling money from the navy’s funds. It had been quite clever, according to the report. Maddy’s superior had come very close to taking the fall, as he’d signed a number of financial documents without bothering to read them very closely. Indeed, it had been sheer luck that the scheme had been uncovered before Maddy had quietly left the navy, taking her ill-gotten gains with her. Maddy had been sentenced to five years in prison, three years ago. Alan was mildly surprised she’d agreed to serve in exchange for a formal pardon. She had far less time on her sentence

  Her prison must have been bad, Alan told himself. A young and pretty woman behind bars would be victimised by her fellow inmates, even if the guards were too professional to take advantage of her themselves. And she doesn't look as though she can defend herself.

  He leaned back in his chair, silently counting down the minutes to arrival. Maddy had the skills he needed, at least on paper. Once the remainder of the crew arrived - the starfighter pilots and their support staff - they could get to work. He’d have to make sure that everyone drilled as hard as possible, no matter the situation. The pilots assigned to an escort carrier would not be the cream of the crop. Chances were that most of them would not have had their contracts renewed when they finally expired.

  And some of them probably have disciplinary problems, he thought, morbidly. I’ll have to knock them all into shape.

  The shuttle shivered, slightly. “Attention,” the pilot’s voice said. “We will be docking in twenty minutes. Please gather your luggage and prepare to disembark.”

  Alan rolled his eyes. It wasn't as if they were on a monorail, with only a few minutes to jump off before the doors slid closed and the train resumed its journey. He wasn't sure how long the shuttle would be docked to the converted freighter, but it would be more than long enough for them to collect all of their belongings and depart in a calm and reasonable manner. Besides, they only had one carryall each. It wasn’t as if naval personnel were allowed to take more than the basics when they travelled to their latest assignments.

  Bennett opened his eyes. “Twenty minutes, he said?”

  “Yeah,” Alan agreed, shortly. He stood and removed his carryall from the overhead compartment. “Do you have everything you need?”

  “Yes, sir,” Bennett said. “Maddy?”

  “I have everything,” Maddy said, quietly.

  Another shudder ran through the shuttle as it slowed. Alan walked to the nearest porthole and peered out into interplanetary space. A freighter - a giant Workhorse-class freighter - was floating nearby, illuminated by powerful spotlights. Dozens of dockyard workers, some in spacesuits and others in worker bees, were swarming over the hull, slowly manoeuvring prefabricated pieces of material into place. When assembled, the entire lower half of the ship would be converted into everything a couple of starfighter squadrons needed to operate for quite some time. Archibald Haddock wouldn't have anything like the flexibility of a fleet carrier, he told himself, but she would suffice. He felt his heart starting to pound as they drew closer. Two weeks ago, he’d known he’d never serve on a starship again. Now ...

  The freighter was ugly, he noted. She looked like a brick, with only a handful of sensor blisters breaking the monotony of the hull. Ark Royal, for all her crudity, was far more elegant than Haddock. And yet, there was something about her that called to him. Perhaps it was just the realisation that she represented his last chance. If he screwed up now, during a war, he’d be lucky if he was just pitched out the airlock.

  Then I better hadn't screw up, he told himself, firmly.

  He turned away from the porthole as the shuttle docked and followed Maddy down to the opening hatch. It was hard not to stare at her rear, despite the loose-fitting naval overalls she wore. She was perfect ... he shook his head, angrily. He couldn't allow himself to become distracted, not now. Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion that Maddy’s looks had helped her convince Admiral Givens not to read the paperwork too closely. Alan had met Admiral Givens, seven years ago. He’d never struck Alan as particularly competent. It was a surprise that he hadn't been unceremoniously transferred to Ark Royal years ago.

  He probably had friends in high places, Alan thought. That’s why he was allowed to retire after Maddy nearly framed him for grand larceny.

  There was, technically, a formal protocol to be followed when boarding a starship for the first time. Alan had decided not to bother, when he’d heard about the assignment. He wasn't the commanding officer, let alone an admiral. And besides, a freighter crew couldn't be expected to present arms ... if they had the room to present arms. Haddock didn't have a flight deck - yet - and even when she did, it wouldn't be designed for formal receptions. He allowed Maddy to step through the hatch, then followed her. The smell struck him as soon as he was through the hatch.

  He wrinkled his nose, despite himself. The air smelled of too many people in too close proximity, mingled with a faint hint of ionisation and burning. It could have been worse, he reminded himself sharply. Crewmen on long-distance voyages often lost their sense of smell after a few weeks - or, at least, they grew accustomed to the pong. He looked around, pushing the matter out of his mind. A painting of a bearded man in an old-style naval uniform had been drawn on the nearest bulkhead. The man looked to be on the verge of exploding with rage.

  “Our namesake,” a quiet voice said. “Captain Haddock himself.”

  Alan turned. A middle-aged woman was standing by the bulkhead, wearing a form-fitting shipsuit that looked to have seen better days. He studied her for a long moment, noting the dark hair, almond eyes and heavyset body ... her mother or grandmother, he decided, had probably been one of the mail order brides from the security zones. They’d preferred the uncertainties of married life in space to life in the zones. Alan didn't really blame the poor women. The security zones were constantly torn apart by civil and religious conflict and women, as always, got the worst of it. A spacer’s bride would have a better life than someone trapped in the zones. Women were treated with respect in space.

  The woman looked back at him, her eyes cold and dispassionate. “Welcome onboard,” she said. “I’m Captain Harrison, Abigail Harrison. I’ll show you to your quarters so you can drop off your bags, then I’ll give you a tour of the ship. Or what parts of it you can access at the moment, anyway.”

  “That would be very interesting,” Alan said. He winced, inwardly. It was clear that Captain Harrison knew something about them. What had she been told? If she knew that Alan had been in Colchester, what did she think he’d done? “Thank you for your time.”

  Abigail eyed him for a long moment. “Follow me,” she grunted. “And don’t stick your hand into any of the open panels.”

  Alan looked around with interest as they walked up the corridor. Abigail hadn't been joking about the open panels. A dozen wall and ceiling panels had been removed, exposing the ship’s power distribution network. Alan frowned as he realised that half the visible components were no longer original, perhaps not even from British factories. Belters were supposed to be good at getting Russian and Chinese components to mesh with their British counterparts, but he couldn't help being concerned. The original components had been significantly over-engineered. He had no way to know if their replacements lived up to the same standards.

  We’d better hope, he told himself. And check everything, twice. Better to have a blow-out here than in deep space.

  The corridors were decorated with all kinds of paintings and pictures, some
clearly drawn by children while others owed their existence to more talented artists. Alan felt a stab of envy, mingled with grim amusement and regret. Haddock was a home as much as she was a ship, a home that was being turned into a fortress. His training told him he should order the decorations taken down, common sense insisted he should keep his mouth shut. The civilian crew wouldn't be happy if they were told to embrace military culture. If they’d wanted to follow orders without question, they would have joined the military.

  They stopped outside a pair of hatches. “You and Lieutenant Bennett will be sharing this compartment,” Abigail informed them, as the closest hatch hissed open. “Lieutenant Hudson has this cabin to herself, for the moment. She’ll be paired up with another woman when we have a suitable candidate.”

  “Thank you,” Maddy said, quietly.

  Abigail nodded, then indicated the open hatch. “Two bunks, a wardrobe and a private washroom. Water is limited at the moment, so showers are restricted to five minutes each. Hopefully, we’ll get the recyclers back online in the next few days and then we can take longer showers. There’s a small terminal in the bulkhead, but I suggest you use your datapad for anything private. I can't guarantee computer security.”