Falcone Strike Page 5

  Scott’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying the Commonwealth is seriously preparing to kill innocent captives?”

  “This is war,” William said. “And war has a habit of washing away the little niceties. This asteroid is playing host to representatives of the enemy, men who are buying goods and signing up freighters to keep the war going. That makes it a legitimate target. Maybe they can’t spare the Marines to take and hold the asteroids long enough to evacuate them, but they can smash them into rubble with a missile attack. Hard luck to the captives, of course . . .”

  “Of course,” Scott echoed. “But the decision to join openly is not one I can make alone.”

  “I know,” William said.

  Scott waved to the waitress, whose breasts jiggled as she walked over to them. “I will be back here in an hour,” he said as he passed her a handful of untraceable bills. “Until then, I wish you to take care of my brother. Bill . . . could do with some rest and relaxation.”

  William shook his head firmly. “I’ll be right here,” he said. “I don’t need anything else.”

  “Are you sure?” Scott asked mockingly. “I don’t think you’ve been laid for years. Has everything gone rusty by now?”

  “No, thank you,” William said sharply. He’d spent time and money in the Royal Navy’s brothels, but that was different. The girls were well paid, and troublemakers were ruthlessly evicted and, in some cases, charged with crimes. Here . . . he had a feeling he could beat the girl to death and no one would give a damn. “I’ll wait for you here.”

  “Very well,” Scott said. He gave the girl a slap on the rear that sent her scuttling off. “You do realize she’ll be punished for failing to attract you?”

  William glared. “This place is a nightmare.”

  “It is the only place I can be truly free,” Scott countered. “I’ll be back with the data in an hour, Bill. Feel free to call the waitress if you want anything.”

  He strode off, not looking back. William shuddered, then looked down at the table and closed his eyes. What had happened, in the time since Scott had left their homeworld, to turn him into a monster? He would have agreed with his brother, once upon a time, that their homeworld had too many rules, but the bad rules didn’t actually mean that the good rules weren’t necessary. But then, Scott had always been a wild child. He’d chafed more against the rules than anyone else in the family.

  Once I have the data, I can go, he told himself, firmly. He hadn’t been told anything officially, but he had a fair idea of what the Commonwealth Intelligence Service (CIS) wanted the data for. By now, Lightning should be nearly ready to go back on active service. I can go back to the war.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Kat had managed to successfully avoid her father by the simple expedient of shutting herself up in her suite after her orders arrived, and reading through them carefully to determine precisely what resources had been assigned to Operation Knife. Lightning, it seemed, would be returning to active service within the week, but she was the only modern vessel assigned to the operation. Kat was mildly surprised the Admiralty hadn’t added Uncanny to the flotilla, although it made a certain kind of sense. The ship already had a reputation for bad luck and assigning it to an operation that required a great deal of good luck was asking for trouble.

  She ordered a shuttle for the morning, then went to bed and awoke feeling genuinely excited for the first time since she’d been unwillingly beached. Several messages had arrived in her in-box, including one from Davidson telling her that he’d been assigned to join her at the base, and a message from her father, ordering her to meet him for breakfast. Kat sighed, showered, and dressed herself in her uniform, then headed downstairs to the dining hall. Not entirely to her surprise, her father was the only person in the room.

  “I suspected they would find a way to penalize you until the whole matter went away,” he said as Kat sat down. “Taking you off active service would probably satisfy the grown-ups in the Opposition. I wasn’t expecting the king to have his say.”

  Kat frowned. “They’re sending me on a dangerous mission,” she pointed out. The king had told her to keep their private conversation to herself, after all. “I don’t think it will be particularly safe.”

  Her father snorted. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not keen to take command again.”

  “I can’t,” Kat said. The orders had made it clear that Operation Knife would be dangerous, but she had no intention of refusing them. “And it will certainly look like I’ve been punished by being sent to a distant base, if the truth doesn’t leak out.”

  “It won’t,” her father said. “That armchair admiral might not be able to keep a secret if his life depended on it, but the Leader of the Opposition knows which side his bread is buttered on. As far as anyone will know, you’ve been sent to one of those bases where disgraced officers go to drink themselves to death.”

  “Yes, father,” Kat said.

  “I wasn’t expecting the king to join the conversation,” her father said, again. “And for him to exert his authority in such a manner . . . it’s odd, to say the least.”

  Kat nodded. “Maybe he thought I was in real trouble,” she said. “Or maybe he just doesn’t like anyone trying to push around one of his officers.”

  “Could be,” her father said. He sighed. “You’re a genuine war hero, Katherine, whether you recognize it or not. Having you here, drumming up support for the war, was always a good use of your talents. There are other starship commanders, but relatively few heroes.”

  “I could name a dozen others who deserve the Royal Lion without even trying,” Kat said sharply. “I’m not that special.”

  Her father looked her in the eye. “Our system was designed to handle one planet, one star system,” he said. “Expanding to include a number of other worlds, especially several that had different systems of government, was always going to put a strain on our society. Your XO, for example, might well have risen to command years ago if our system hadn’t been focused on aristocrats and those with powerful patrons. If we’d had time to adapt to the influx, we might well have coped admirably . . . but right now, we have to fight a war. That’s one of the reasons so many senior officers were prepared to throw you under the shuttlecraft. They really didn’t have time to fight another political battle.”

  Kat winced. “I’m sorry . . .”

  “So you should be,” her father said, shortly. He looked her in the eye. “We need this war to end soon, Katherine, and the only way we can end it is through victory. Eat your breakfast, then . . . good luck.”

  Kat nodded. Her father had never been given to emotional displays, not to her. She’d always been the youngest child, the baby of the family . . . and the one who saw her father the least. To see him now, to see him regularly, felt odd. She pushed the thought aside sharply. She’d chosen a career that ensured she would only see her family while she was on shore leave, if they happened to be on the same planet as she was. There was no point in mourning, now, over what she could never have had.

  Her father ate his breakfast in silence, then rose and left her alone. Kat felt strange, almost abandoned, in the giant dining hall; it was so empty, as now she was used to crowds. She finished her breakfast, collected her bag from her room, and walked down to the shuttlepad, halfwishing she’d had a chance to say good-bye to her mother before she left. But her mother was out, socializing, something she did every day. Kat shook her head, wondering just how someone could spend their lives in High Society without their brains turning to mush, then walked onto the shuttlepad and into the waiting shuttle.

  “Captain Falcone,” the shuttle pilot said. Her implants pinged, warning her they were being probed, her identity checked against the Navy’s files. “Welcome onboard.”

  “Thank you,” Kat said. The pilot looked to be a civilian, probably a reservist who’d lost the military veneer between his departure from the Navy and his recall. Middle-aged, if she was any judge, he’d probably done his time, then mov
ed into the civilian sphere and better-paid jobs. “Do you have an ETA to our destination?”

  “Seven hours, I’m afraid,” the pilot said. “This craft isn’t rated for hyperspace. Do you have any other baggage?”

  Kat shook her head. Midshipmen weren’t allowed anything more than a single carryall and she’d grown used to never having more, even though she’d been promoted at breakneck speed. Besides, anything she really needed could be found on the ship. She stowed her bag in the locker, then took a seat and opened her datapad. There would be additional orders and files waiting for her on the datanet, probably including personnel files. God alone knew what sort of crewmen would be assigned to a deep-strike mission.

  The pilot didn’t seem inclined to make conversation, thankfully. He merely returned to his seat, then toggled switches. A low hum echoed through the craft as its drives came online, then it shuddered and launched itself into the air. Kat smiled, remembering the first set of simulations she’d been put through at Piker’s Peak, then turned her attention back to her datapad. Her father had uploaded a sample of news reports too, some centered on her and Justin Deveron. She couldn’t help being amused when she noted that most of the media seemed to be solidly on her side, including a handful of Opposition outlets. No doubt Justin Deveron had made himself unpopular there too.

  Or they’re trying to come up with an excuse for not throwing a hammer at me, she thought sourly. None of the stories from the major outlets seemed to be particularly exaggerated, although one reporter seemed to think that the whole incident was proof that she was having an affair with Admiral Christian. Kat rolled her eyes at the thought, then closed the file. She hadn’t even met Admiral Christian until after the First Battle of Cadiz and they had barely had time to prepare a counterattack, let alone have an affair. And I was dating Pat at the time.

  She shrugged, then turned her attention to the other files until the shuttle finally slowed, beginning its approach to Hyperion Base. Kat put the datapad away and leaned forward as the gas giant came into view, surrounded by a network of orbital battle stations and automated weapons platforms. A good third of the system’s industry orbited the gas giant, she knew; her tutors had drummed its importance into her time and time again. Hundreds of fabrication nodes, asteroid smelters, cloudscoops . . . everything the Commonwealth needed to turn out warships, gunboats, and war materials to hold the line. She glanced down at the scanners as the shuttle drew closer, sucking in her breath at the sight of dozens of starships under construction. The Theocracy wouldn’t stand a chance if the Commonwealth lasted long enough to bring its full might to bear.

  But if we’d started this earlier, much earlier, they wouldn’t have stood a chance at all, she thought, grimly. She thought the Theocracy’s industrial base was smaller than the Commonwealth’s, but no one really knew for sure. They may be able to defeat us before we even the odds and then out produce them into the dust.

  “Incoming gunboats,” the shuttle pilot said. “I hope those codes of yours are correct.”

  Kat nodded as three icons swept towards them on attack vector. “They’re direct from the Admiralty,” she said, remembering the first time she’d seen gunboats in action. Theocratic gunboats had been devastating against unprepared targets at Cadiz, although they’d been less effective against ships and crews who knew what to expect. Not, in the end, that it would matter; the gunboats approaching them would have no difficulty blowing the shuttle into dust if they had any reason to suspect trouble. “I’m pretty sure they’re accurate.”

  She tensed as the gunboats closed in, then flashed past the shuttle and into the distance. The pilot let out a sigh of relief and then took the shuttle into the giant complex, following a flight path downloaded to him from the security office. Kat knew they wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near some of the facilities, although she had a feeling that most of the really secret work was carried out somewhere in deep space, somewhere where no one would stumble on it except through an improbable dose of sheer luck. The shuttle glided onwards until, finally, the Knife Squadron came into view.

  Kat took one last look at the scanner, then peered through the viewport, trying to soak in every detail. Lightning was exactly as she remembered; the repair crews had even replaced the paint coating her hull, making her look as though she’d only just left the yard for the first time. Beside her, there were fourteen other ships, all older designs. Kat recognized a handful from history files, but seven were completely unfamiliar to her. They looked old, too old. A modern warship could blast them out of space in moments.

  Then we’d better make sure we don’t encounter any modern warships, she thought. The UN had designed its warships to be modular and everyone else had followed their lead, but she was fairly sure there were hard limits to how far they could be upgraded without prohibitive costs. Freighters could serve for hundreds of years without ever going out of service; a warship had to keep up with the times or it would be nothing more than a target. But they might serve as a distraction, if necessary.

  She pushed the thought to one side as the shuttle coasted down to the manned station and linked airlocks. Kat held onto her seat as the artificial gravity fields matched, then stood and removed her bag from the locker. The pilot saluted, then opened the hatch and waited for her to step through the airlock. Kat took a breath as the station’s atmosphere started to flow into the shuttle—it smelled, as always, of too many humans and pieces of machinery in close proximity—then stepped through the airlock, into the station. No one was waiting for her outside the hatch.

  Odd, she thought. She hadn’t expected a formal greeting ceremony, but it was vanishingly rare for a new commanding officer not to be met by someone. Where . . . ? A hatch banged open, revealing a dark-skinned woman wearing overalls and a rank badge—commander—on one shoulder. She seemed to be a froth of frantic energy, her eyes darting from side to side before locking onto Kat with unnerving intensity. The woman’s lips curved into a smile, which faded as she cocked her head, clearly consulting her implants. Kat felt a flicker of irritation, but controlled it firmly. No one would be in command of a repair station unless his or her competence was considered beyond question.

  “Captain Falcone,” the woman said. She held out a hand, glanced at the oil staining her skin and hastily withdrew it. “I’m Commander Sasha. Welcome onboard.”

  “Thank you,” Kat said, a little bemused. Clearly, Sasha was very much a hands-on commander. “I’d like to see the ships, if you please.”

  “Right this way,” Sasha said, turning back to the hatch. “Or do you want to drop off your bag first? I assume you’ll want to stay onboard Lightning?”

  “We’re scheduled to leave in two weeks,” Kat said, more sharply than she’d intended. “I don’t think I have time to stay anywhere else.”

  “Of course, of course,” Sasha said. “Lightning is pretty much done, save for a handful of minor issues your chief engineer is handling. She’s handling very well for a ship that went through hell only a few months ago. Shame it can’t be said of some of the other beauties we have here. They really shouldn’t be going back into space at all.”

  Kat stared at her back. “Is it really that bad?”

  “We started with thirty ships so old that even pirates would refuse to use them,” Sasha said without looking back. “Most of them were surplus from the UN before the Breakaway Wars; they belonged to a handful of systems that joined the Commonwealth and traded them in for newer warships. Too small to be converted into freighters, really; too common to go straight into museums. And really too pretty to be scrapped.”

  Kat frowned. “Thirty ships?”

  “Ten of them proved to be completely beyond repair,” Sasha explained. She opened a hatch by pushing her hand against a scanner, then motioned Kat to step through. “Five more had to be cannibalized to get the other ships operational. We upgraded everything we could, Captain, but they still have problems. I really wouldn’t want to take any of them through the more turbulent regions of hy
perspace.”

  The chamber was dominated by a holographic display, showing fifteen starships attached to the giant repair station. Kat carefully did not look at Lightning; instead, she studied the older ships, her implants accessing the local processor nodes and downloading data from each of the files. If anything, Sasha had been optimistic. Half of the ships under her command would be nothing more than targets if the Theocracy happened to get into range. Their armor was ancient, their targeting sensors were lousy, and their point defense was weak . . .

  “It’s not actually that bad,” Sasha replied when Kat said that out loud. “We have managed to upgrade quite a few of their systems. Their sensors are perhaps the worst, but we did obtain some replacement components from the fabrication nodes and coated their hulls in sensor blisters. And we managed to double their missile loads . . .”

  Kat frowned. Modern missiles were much larger than their counterparts from the Breakaway Wars. It was quite likely the ancient ships wouldn’t have anything like the firepower of a modern ship the same size, let alone everything else. She rubbed her forehead and then turned her attention to the rest of the display. Maybe Justin Deveron would have the last laugh after all, she had to admit. Her squadron would be a joke if it were matched against a pair of Theocratic battle cruisers.

  “Those are the ships,” she said. “What about the crews?”

  Sasha looked hesitant. “We have about half our assigned crews already here,” she said. “The remainder have yet to arrive, because the Admiralty keeps reassigning people earmarked for us at short notice. Several of the ships don’t even have commanding officers . . .”

  “Clearly I will have to go through the files, again,” Kat said darkly. The Admiralty probably considered the squadron nothing more than a forlorn hope; hell, she’d be surprised if they rated that high, given their weaknesses. “Maybe I can get away with leaving half of the ships here.”