“Have the families of the dead put through screening, then marked down for transport off-world,” she ordered. In the distance, she heard the sound of guns. “They can set up somewhere else.”
“If we can find somewhere willing to take them,” Winters said.
Kat bit down a sharp reply. Winters was right. So many refugees were washing around what had once been the Theocracy that a few hundred more would not be warmly embraced. And these refugees would be coming directly from Ahura Mazda. They might be women and children, but they would still be about as welcome as a punch in the face.
“We will,” she said, although she wasn’t sure that was true. “Have your men . . .”
Another round of gunfire echoed over the city. A pair of helicopters, followed by a marine skimmer, flew overhead, heading for the sound of the guns. Kat tensed, expecting to see an HVM stabbing up to take out one of the helicopters, but there was nothing. Most of those weapons had been expended during the original invasion, although her intelligence staff kept picking up rumors of secret stockpiles that had only just been rediscovered by the insurgents. There was no way to be sure, but Kat suspected that all such stockpiles had been uncovered long ago. The insurgency desperately needed heavy weapons.
Captain Akbar Rosslyn hurried over to her side. “Admiral, there are reports of shootings closer, much closer,” he said. “You really should head back to Commonwealth House.”
Kat took a moment to compose herself. Rosslyn was a good man. It wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t Pat. But it still felt odd to be working next to a stranger. She hadn’t made any attempt to get to know him . . . not, she acknowledged, that she should have done so. Pat had been her equal, or close to it, when they’d met. Rosslyn was so far beneath her that they might as well be on different planets. And yet, as her chief protector, he was very close to her.
And I sound like Candy, Kat thought ruefully. Her older sister was notorious for having affairs, including one with her bodyguard. Rosslyn is doing his job.
“Keep me informed,” she ordered Winters. “I’ll be in Commonwealth House.”
Winters nodded. “I suggest we put all the local workers through another round of screenings,” he said. “We have to be sure they’re not under enemy control.”
Kat sucked in her breath. There was one sure way to make someone untrustworthy . . . and that was to treat him as though he was untrustworthy. It was true on Tyre—her father had admitted, once, that he’d turned a loyal subordinate against him—and even more true on Ahura Mazda. Odd—before the invasion, a man could be arrested at the command of his superiors at will—but true. Interrogating the workers might simply create more enemies.
“Do it,” she said reluctantly.
She turned and followed Rosslyn back to the armored car. The streets between Commonwealth House and Government House—what remained of Government House—were supposed to be safe, but there was no point in taking chances. She shouldn’t have come here at all, as Rosslyn had pointed out. But Kat had known she needed to see the blast zone with her own eyes. It was the only way to grasp the scale of their failure. Admiral Junayd was only one man, had only been one man, but too many dreams had died with him.
The vehicle hummed into life as soon as the door was closed, outriders moving into position to provide covering fire if they came under attack. Kat took a moment to center herself, then reached for the datapad to check the reports. Her staff did their best to filter things that could be better handled at a lower level, but there were still hundreds of messages coming in every hour on the hour. The planet never slept.
She forced herself to work until the vehicle turned into Commonwealth House and drove straight into the secure garage. The marines saluted her as she exited, although Rosslyn and his men looked as if they wouldn’t be happy until she was in her office. Kat returned the salutes, then took the lift straight to the upper levels. Perhaps there was a chance to grab a mug of coffee before the next meeting.
I really need to get back on a command deck, she thought. It would be so much simpler.
“Admiral,” Kitty said, as Kat stepped into the antechamber. “Commodore Higgins requested a holoconference at your earliest convenience.”
“Ah,” Kat said. Commodore Fran Higgins wasn’t known for jumping at shadows. “Set up the call in my office, then bring me some coffee.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Kitty said. “You’re also scheduled for meetings with . . .”
Kat held up a hand. “I’ll deal with them later,” she said, tiredly. Her afternoon schedule was full. Of course it was full. Meeting after meeting after meeting . . . was she actually doing any good at all? Or was she simply wasting away? “Have some lunch sent up as well, please. I think I’m going to need it.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
Kat rubbed her forehead as she stepped into her office, feeling a headache starting to form behind her temples. The office was immense, bigger even than a flag officer’s quarters on a superdreadnought . . . She couldn’t help wondering, sourly, if she’d made a mistake in accepting it. She didn’t have to show off her status, either as a fleet admiral or privy councilor. Everyone who was anyone already knew who she was.
And some of them see me as their meal ticket, she thought crossly. She’d met a handful of sycophants in the navy, yet there were entire departments in the civilian sphere that seemed to be composed of nothing but sycophants. They think they can ride me to heights of power they couldn’t reach by doing their damn jobs.
Commodore Fran Higgins’s image appeared in front of her. “Admiral,” she said. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“You’re welcome,” Kat said, sitting down at her desk. “I trust things are well with the squadron?”
Fran frowned. “Unfortunately, Admiral, that was what I intended to raise with you.”
Kat looked up, studying the older woman. Fran’s career had nearly been destroyed by her former commander, one of Admiral Morrison’s sycophants. She might have lost everything if the Theocracy hadn’t attacked Cadiz, giving her a chance to save her ship and crew from enemy fire. The commendations she’d earned for preserving her superdreadnought, and the desperate need for experienced officers, had ensured that her career continued to prosper.
“I see,” Kat said. The last set of reports had insisted there weren’t any problems, beyond a shortage of suitable shore leave facilities. “Is there an issue?”
“I received instructions to prepare to transfer two destroyer squadrons back to the Commonwealth,” Fran said. “Apparently they’re not going to be replaced.”
Kat winced. “I haven’t heard anything about it,” she said. “Let me see . . .”
She reached for her datapad. Had she missed an update? Or hadn’t it been sent to her in the first place? Technically, she was the senior officer in the sector, but Fran was in command of the task force. Fran should have been bumped up to admiral when the responsibilities had fallen on her . . . Kat wasn’t sure why she hadn’t been. Politics, probably. Anyone who reached high rank in the navy was either extremely well connected or the client of someone who was. But Fran wasn’t anyone’s client.
Unless she’s mine, Kat thought, flicking through the message headers. There didn’t seem to be anything relating to fleet deployment. And that would link her to my entire family.
She shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “What’s the deadline?”
“Two months,” Fran said. “They want me to send out the recall orders now.”
“Hold them for a day,” Kat ordered after a moment’s thought. “I’ll contact the Admiralty and ask for . . . clarification.”
“Please do,” Fran said. “Admiral, if we have to strip eighteen destroyers out of our line of battle . . .”
Kat nodded, irritated. She knew the dangers. The two squadrons of superdreadnoughts orbiting Ahura Mazda were not designed to escort freighters, hunt pirates, or even patrol the fringes of explored space. The navy might as well swat flies with sledgehammers. No, escorting and
patrol duties required a large number of destroyers, frigates, and cruisers, not superdreadnoughts. Cutting eighteen destroyers out of the task force and sending them home would put a severe crimp in the task force’s ability to operate. Even recalling them to Ahura Mazda, prior to sending them home, would be inconvenient.
“Don’t recall them immediately,” she said. She wasn’t going to order escorts to simply abandon the ships they were supposed to be accompanying. “I want them to complete their current missions first.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Fran said.
“But cut orders for them to return here once their missions are completed,” Kat added after a moment. She could stall for a few days, perhaps even a couple of weeks, but after that she would have no choice. She’d have to send the ships home. “Orders are orders . . .”
She cleared her throat. “I take it there’s been no sudden upswing in pirate activity?”
“No, Admiral,” Fran said. “There were a handful of raids along the fringe, but nothing too serious. The real problem, right now, is providing security for refugee transports, keeping in mind we need to provide the refugee transports. And we have no idea where to put half of them.”
Kat made a face. “I wish I knew,” she said. “This world seems intent on tearing itself apart.”
Fran met her eyes. “Did you read Captain Bartholomew’s report? From Judd?”
“Yes,” Kat said. “He didn’t paint a pretty picture.”
“It won’t be long before the lid blows off,” Fran said. “And then there will be bloodshed.”
Kat nodded. The Theocracy hadn’t just left behind troops and administrative staff. It had left behind collaborators, true believers . . . and their families. Some people had genuinely believed in the True Faith, others had merely pretended to accept it as the price for survival . . . and now that the war was over, there was no place for either type. None of the liberated worlds wanted to keep their collaborators. Kat had no sympathy for men who’d gloried in the opportunity to lord it over their fellows, but . . . what about their families? Or the ones who’d had no choice? Did they all deserve to die?
And yet, we don’t have anywhere to put them, she thought. No world wants to take them . . .
“We may wind up having to expand settlements here,” she said. “At least the occupiers know about keeping a planet running.”
“Don’t count on it,” Fran said. “Judd was a very fertile world before the Theocrats arrived. Now they’re struggling to feed themselves. A decade of mismanagement led to a near-complete collapse in production.”
Which helped to keep the population under control, Kat thought sourly. The Theocrats had had no compunction about brutalizing Ahura Mazda’s population. Why should they have hesitated to brutalize infidels? No wonder their occupations were so horrific. Their troops knew no better.
She looked up as Kitty entered the room, carrying a tray of coffee and biscuits. “I’ll speak to you later,” she told Fran. “And inform me at once if you receive any further directives.”
Fran’s image vanished. Kat glared down at her hands. The Admiralty should not be sending instructions to her subordinates without copying her, even if Fran was the task force’s commander. Kat was in charge of the sector . . . what would have happened, she asked herself silently, if she’d started making plans that depended on those destroyers? The sector’s economy was a mess in any case. Taking away eighteen destroyers would only make it worse.
She nodded to Kitty. “Contact Tyre,” she said. “Inform them that I require an urgent conference with the king.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Kitty said. “Do you want to cancel your afternoon meetings?”
Kat tapped the datapad, bringing up the schedule. “Yes,” she said. She had a feeling that the conference would go on for some time. Besides, none of the meetings were particularly important. Everyone involved could get some work done for a change. “Cancel the first two and place the third on the back burner.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
CHAPTER FIVE
* * *
UNCHARTED STAR SYSTEM
There was nothing to recommend the star system to anyone, save for a handful of orbiting asteroids and a couple of comets that had gone unremarked during the first and last official visit by a survey ship. A dull red star marked the system as practically useless, as far as the Theocracy was concerned. There was certainly no large population of unbelievers to enslave for the greater glory of God. The only people who might be interested in the system were pirates, smugglers, and colonists who wanted to remain undiscovered. It didn’t even have a name!
We’ll have to fix that, Admiral Zaskar thought, as Righteous Revenge made her slow way towards the asteroids. Perhaps something with the proper tone.
He kept a wary eye on the display, expecting enemy icons to pop into existence at any moment. The long-range passive sensors were picking up nothing that might suggest there was any technological presence in the system, but he knew better than to take that for granted. Commonwealth cloaking technology had been dangerously advanced even before his remaining sensor nodes had begun to decay. It was quite possible, as some of his officers had pointed out, that they might be flying directly into a trap. But he’d chosen to take the risk. They didn’t have much choice.
“Hold position on the edge of the asteroid cluster,” Askew said. The mystery agent had shown no signs of discomfort on the superdreadnought, even though the ship’s slow collapse had to be obvious. “We’ll take a shuttle into the base.”
Admiral Zaskar gave him a sharp look. “Did your . . . backers . . . build this for us?”
“I’m afraid not,” Askew said. “The settlement originally belonged to a bunch of colonists who launched themselves into space to find paradise. They hollowed out one of the asteroids and established a colony, only to discover that they were short on practically everything they needed to live. The last of them passed away twenty years ago. My backers made a careful note of the colony’s location for future use.”
“And no one else knows about it,” Admiral Zaskar said.
“As far as we know,” Askew assured him. “There weren’t many records left behind.”
Admiral Zaskar scowled. He wasn’t sure he believed the story, not completely. There were thousands of colonies, mainly asteroid settlements, which existed off the books, but they were alarmingly close to the Theocracy. He found it hard to imagine an isolationist group that wanted to remain unnoticed setting up shop here. And yet, he had to admit they might have been right. The unnamed system had attracted no interest, even during the height of the war.
A pirate base would be more believable, he thought. But too many people would know where to find it.
“Hold position,” he ordered the helmsman. “And have my private shuttle prepared.”
Askew looked impatient, the first genuine emotion Admiral Zaskar had seen on his face, but he waited quietly while the shuttle was prepared. Zaskar was mildly surprised. Any experienced spacer would have known that prep could have been done more quickly if the crews had started work before they reached their destination. But then, he’d been determined to sweep as much of the dull system as possible before risking exposure. An enemy force lurking under cloak might just give itself away . . .
“We’ll go,” he said to Moses. “Are you coming?”
“Of course,” Moses said.
Admiral Zaskar tried to keep the tension off his face as they made their way to the shuttle and cast off, heading straight for the asteroid. Askew took the controls, handling the craft with a grace and precision that suggested he’d flown such a vessel before; Admiral Zaskar resisted, barely, the temptation to ask Askew where he’d flown before. It didn’t have to be in the Theocracy, he had to admit. The shuttle design had been stolen from New Washington and put into mass production. Askew could have flown such shuttles anywhere.
“There are actually four habitable asteroids,” Askew commented, steering a course towards the nearest. “One was designed
for constant rotation, but we canceled the spin when we took control. It would have been far too revealing. The other three were mined for raw materials and later converted into living space. They never had gravity in the first place.”
“That may be an advantage,” Admiral Zaskar commented. “We’re going to have to refit the ships anyway.”
“And reload with newer weapons,” Askew told him. The asteroid came closer, a bulky shadow looming against the darkness. “Give me a moment . . .”
His fingers worked the console, sending an IFF code. There was a pause, just long enough for Admiral Zaskar to wonder if something had gone wrong, then a chink of light appeared on the side of the asteroid. He leaned forward, trying to see as much as possible, as the light rapidly expanded into a giant hatch. Inside, he could see a handful of crude machines predating the Theocracy, he thought, and a number of crates lashed to the rocky wall. A giant hangar bay . . .
“Here we go,” Askew said. He steered the shuttle inside and gently landed it on the deck. Low vibrations ran through the craft as the hatch slid closed. “We’ll have to wait a few moments for the chamber to pressurize.”
Admiral Zaskar glanced at him. “No forcefield?”
“No,” Askew said. “I believe the original founders didn’t have forcefields.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Moses said. “As long as the supplies you’ve promised us are here . . .”
“They are,” Askew said. The hatch popped open. “As you can see, we’ve been ready for quite some time.”
Debt of Honor (The Embers of War) Page 5
