The Oncoming Storm Read online

  PROFESSIONALLY PUBLISHED BOOKS BY CHRISTOPHER G. NUTTALL

  Elsewhen Press

  The Royal Sorceress

  The Royal Sorceress (Book I)

  The Great Game (Book II)

  Necropolis (Book III)

  Bookworm

  Bookworm

  Bookworm II: The Very Ugly Duckling

  Bookworm III: The Best Laid Plans

  Inverse Shadows

  Sufficiently Advanced Technology

  Stand Alone

  A Life Less Ordinary

  The Mind’s Eye

  Twilight Times Books

  Schooled in Magic

  Schooled in Magic (Book I)

  Lessons in Etiquette (Book II)

  Study in Slaughter (Book III)

  Work Experience (Book IV)

  The School of Hard Knocks (Book V)

  Love’s Labor’s Won (Book VI)

  Trial By Fire (Book VII)

  The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire

  Barbarians at The Gates (Book I)

  The Shadow of Cincinnatus (Book II)

  Henchmen Press

  First Strike

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2015 Christopher G. Nuttall

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by 47North, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503947085

  ISBN-10: 1503947084

  Cover design by Ray Lundgren

  Illustrated by Paul Youll

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  APPENDIX: TIMELINE

  Excerpt: Falcone Strike

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  Admiral Junayd passed through the security field and stepped into the conference room, careful to remove his cap as he bowed to the First Speaker and the Lord Cleric. They nodded in return, pressing their hands together in greeting, then motioned him to a chair at the round table. Junayd sat down and composed himself, despite the growing excitement running through his mind. The greatest military operation in the Theocracy’s history was about to begin. It was no time to allow his enthusiasm to overpower his common sense.

  He looked up at the giant painting behind the First Speaker. Hundreds of men and women, some bound, others in chains, were making their way towards a giant starship that was sitting on the ground like a common aircraft. It was a lie, he knew, a fanciful depiction of a carefully planned exodus from Earth, but the essential truth shone through. The Believers had been forced into exile, forced to leave God’s chosen world. Many of the exiles had lost the will to live in horror at what had been done to them.

  But others had understood. God would not have allowed His faithful to be removed from their homeworld without a reason. It would be safer for them to be elsewhere. And now Earth was scorched rubble: the great cities of Rome, Jerusalem, and Mecca little more than blackened marks on a dead world. The religious leaders who had failed to realize their time was over were gone. And the United Nations, the force that had served as their enforcer, was gone too. The True Faith could begin its expansion into the galaxy—and no infidels would stand in its way.

  He nodded in greeting as Inquisitor Samuilu stepped into the room, unable to avoid feeling a cold shiver running down his back as he met the man’s eyes. Everyone was secretly guilty of something, the Inquisitors believed, and innocence was no defense if one caught their ever-roaming eye. Even a high-ranking admiral was not immune to suspicion. The Inquisitors spent most of their time rooting out heresy on the occupied worlds, but they had never relaxed their watch over the Believers.

  And a word from them would be enough to condemn anyone to the stocks—or the gallows.

  “Let us begin,” the First Speaker said.

  He spoke the words of a very old prayer, echoed by the other three men in the room, then looked up at Junayd. “Admiral,” he said. “How fares our planning?”

  Junayd took a long breath. “We will be ready to launch the offensive in six months, Your Holiness,” he began. “Planning has been completed for a short, sharp campaign that will bring the infidel Commonwealth to its knees. We will trap and destroy their border fleets, then advance towards their homeworlds before they know what has hit them. Victory will be assured.”

  “Only God can assure one of victory,” the Lord Cleric said.

  That, Junayd knew, was true. Other religions, the shadows of the True Faith, had believed that God granted victory to his followers without forcing them to work for it. But the True Believers knew that God only helped those who helped themselves. What was the point of victory—or redemption—if it was just handed out on silver platters? But he dared not seem uncertain, not now. There was no shortage of others who would take his place if he ran afoul of his superiors.

  “We have been watching their deployments to Cadiz ever since they annexed the border world,” he said, instead. “Their readiness levels are at the lowest we have observed since we started monitoring them closely. The admiral in command spends most of his time on the planet, training and exercising schedules are not followed, and morale is incredibly low. We would not wish to wait long enough for the Commonwealth to appoint an effective commander to take Admiral Morrison’s place.”

  The First Speaker smirked. “That would be inconvenient,” he agreed.

  “We have allies on the planet’s surface,” Junayd continued. “They will be ready to go on the offensive when our fleet arrives in the system. Cadiz will be cut off from the StarCom network, her command and control systems crippled, allowing us to score a decisive victory before the infidels can mobilize. Their long-term potential is staggering.”

  He kept his face impassive, refusing to admit how much that bothered him. The first conquests made by the Theocracy had been easy. They’d largely been primitive worlds, with no spacefaring capability at all. It had taken little more than a destroyer to crush formal resistance, then the Inquisitors had gone to work, digging out all who would dare to resist their place in the The
ocracy. But the Commonwealth was different. It was a multisystem political entity with a growing trading fleet as well as a formidable military machine.

  The Theocracy’s industrial base was geared to support the colossal war machine they intended to use to conquer the settled galaxy. It was limited, more limited than Junayd cared to admit, yet they would never be able to relax some of the restrictions on economic and social development. It would give people ideas. But the Commonwealth didn’t have that problem. Somehow, the infidels had created an economy that was growing by leaps and bounds. It presented a formidable threat as well as a challenge.

  And it wasn’t the only state to emerge from the ashes left by the Breakaway Wars. It was quite possible that the Commonwealth and the Theocracy could batter each other to pieces, and then watch helplessly as another state moved in and took over. Or, for that matter, that the other states would block expansion of the True Faith. It could not be allowed.

  “But nothing compared to ours,” the Lord Cleric said.

  The First Speaker smiled. “Six months,” he mused. “Can you not attack earlier?”

  “We would need to call up freighters to support the military offensive,” Junayd said. “It will take several months to assemble them without damaging our economy too extensively.”

  Junayd paused. “Besides, we would also need to position our forces on our side of the border,” he added. “And then place our agents in the right locations to do harm.”

  The First Speaker looked at the Lord Cleric, who nodded.

  “You have permission to start assembling our forces,” the First Speaker said, firmly. “And may God defend the right.”

  “I thank you,” Junayd said. He stood, placing his hand on his heart. “And I pledge to you, Your Holiness, that the Commonwealth will be ours within a year.”

  Chapter One

  “The Hotel Magnificent, My Lady,” the shuttle pilot said. “I’ll drop down on the roof?”

  “Yes, please,” Captain Lady Katherine Falcone said. She felt a tingle from her implants as security scanners swept the shuttle, confirming her presence. “I believe they should already have cleared us to land.”

  She looked down as the shuttle dropped towards the landing pad. It had been four years since she’d seen Tyre City from the air, but it never failed to impress. The designers had covered everything, from the Royal Palace to the military barracks and giant apartment blocks, in white marble, creating a glittering haze as aircars and shuttles flew overhead. Only the brooding presence of the giant planetary defense center, carved into a nearby mountain, spoiled the impression of a city out of fantasy. But then, the kings of Tyre had had the money to make their fantasies reality.

  The shuttle touched down gently, allowing Kat to stand up and make her way through the hatch and out into the warm morning air. A pair of bodyguards stood there, their faces hidden behind black masks; her implants reported that she was being scanned, again, before the bodyguards stepped aside and allowed her to walk through the door into the hotel. She sighed inwardly as they followed her. They knew who she was. It was the paranoia of living in a goldfish bowl, among many other things, that had caused her to seek out her own career, as far from her family as possible.

  She caught sight of her own reflection in a mirrored door before it opened and tried not to wince. Her family had the very best enhancements sequenced into their genes, ensuring that she had an estimated lifespan of over two hundred years, but she looked young, as if she were barely out of her teens. The long blond hair she had refused to cut, despite years on various starships, fell around her heart-shaped face, drawing attention from everyone who looked at her. The black uniform she wore, complete with the golden star on her shoulder that designated starship command, fitted her perfectly. But then, her body was perfect too.

  At least I’m not Candy, she thought, thankfully. Her older sister spent most of her life aping fashion, even to the point of changing her body or gender completely, just to fit in with her friends. But I could have turned out just like her.

  “My Lady,” a voice said.

  Kat looked up to see a thin, dark-skinned girl wearing a dress that left very little to the imagination. She sighed. One would have thought that the Hotel Magnificent could have dressed its maids and other staff in something more classy than a dress that wouldn’t have been out of place in a pornographic VR sim. But she supposed the vast majority of the visitors probably appreciated the dresses. Besides, it was easy to underestimate someone who looked so harmless.

  “Your father is waiting for you in the dining room,” the maid said. She curtseyed. “If you would care to accompany me . . .”

  “Of course,” Kat said. Why would her father have chosen to meet her in the dining room? “I would be honored.”

  She saw the answer as soon as the maid led her into the giant room. It was immense, large enough for nearly fifty tables . . . and they were all completely empty, save one. Kat felt an odd mixture of embarrassment and shame as she saw her father, realizing that he’d spent millions of crowns merely to hire the room and ensure that everyone else who might have had a reservation was paid off. It was a display of power that she couldn’t help but feel was a little vulgar. But one truth she’d learned as a child was that if you were rich enough, it didn’t matter what sort of person you were. Everyone would want to be your friend.

  Her father, Duke Lucas Falcone, rose to his feet as she approached. He was a tall man, his hair starting to go gray after years of serving as CEO of the Falcone Consortium. Kat didn’t envy him his position, even though she knew there was almost no chance of her inheriting anything more than a trust account and some stocks and shares. She’d seen enough of how her older siblings had been prepared to take his place to know she didn’t want it for herself.

  “Father,” she said, carefully. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

  “I was in the city,” her father said gravely. “It was no hassle to see my youngest daughter.”

  He motioned for Kat to take a seat and then sat down facing her. Two maids appeared, as if from nowhere, each one carrying a menu in her delicate hands. Kat took one and placed it on the table, rolling her eyes at the sheer assortment of cutlery and glasses in front of her. The value of the knives and forks alone could have fed a poorer family for several weeks.

  “Please tell me you don’t roll your eyes like a teenager on your command deck,” her father said, tiredly. “I don’t think your crew would be very impressed.”

  Kat felt her face heat. She was twenty-nine years old and he still made her feel like a child the few times they met in person. He’d rarely had time for her or any of her nine siblings when they’d been children, leaving them in the care of the household staff. There were times when she understood precisely why Candy was intent on blowing through her trust fund as rapidly as possible. She wanted attention from her parents—and they’d only really paid attention when she’d done something shocking or scandalous. Kat had felt the same way as she’d grown into adulthood. But she’d joined the Navy instead of becoming a trust-fund brat.

  “I imagine they wouldn’t be,” she said tartly. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Order your food first,” her father advised. “This place does an excellent caviar and chutney . . .”

  “Fish and chips, please,” Kat said to the maid. Her father looked impassive, but she knew him well enough to tell he’d probably swallowed a disparaging comment. Fish and chips was a plebeian dish and they both knew it. “And a glass of water.”

  Her father ordered—something both expensive and unpronounceable—and then waited for the maids to leave before leaning forward to face her. “You wanted to talk to me,” he said flatly. “Talk.”

  “I have been promoted to command a heavy cruiser,” Kat said, tapping the golden badge on her shoulder. “What did you have to do with my promotion?”

  “Congratulations would seem to be in order,” her father mused. “Perhaps champagne . . .”

  �
��Father!” Kat snapped. She took a breath, forcing herself to calm down. “I am too young and inexperienced to take command of a heavy cruiser,” she said. “And there were at least forty other officers, some with previous command experience, ahead of me. I should not have been placed in command.”

  Her father smiled. “You doubt your own abilities? What happened to the girl who broke her arm climbing up the trees on the estate?”

  Kat met his eyes, willing him to understand just how serious this was. “I should not have been offered command,” she said. “Why did you pull strings to ensure I received the ship?”

  “Because it was necessary,” her father said.

  “Necessary?” Kat repeated.

  “Command of a heavy cruiser at such a young age,” her father mused. “It will look good on your service record, won’t it?”

  Kat stared at him angrily. She’d been haunted by the Falcone name ever since she’d been old enough to realize that not everyone lived in a vast estate, nor had almost everything they desired as soon as they desired it. Going into the Royal Tyre Navy had seemed like a chance to escape her name, to earn fame and promotion on her own merits. But she was still followed by her family’s name . . .

  “Every single officer in the service will know you ensured I would get command,” she said, finally. “I will never be taken seriously again.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” her father said, after a long moment, “but wasn’t it you who was decorated for heroism when raiders attacked your ship?”

  “It won’t matter,” Kat said. “I did well at Piker’s Peak—and I didn’t come first—but this is going to stink like Limburger.”

  Her father smiled. “You could always decline the command.”

  “You know I can’t do that,” Kat snapped. Declining promotion was technically permitted, within regulations, but it guaranteed that promotion would never be offered again. Her father should have understood . . . or perhaps he didn’t. The corporate world was nothing like the military, no matter what management fads said. “Father . . .”