“In this sector of the Empire I’m actually considered young for my rank.” Her expression remained frozen, and Liam was irritated by the flush in his own cheeks. “Perhaps your own rise is exceptional, ma’am.”
“Not particularly. What was your specialization as a junior officer?”
“I was boarding party, in addition to my regular duties.”
“Have you ever fought hand to hand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you ever conduct intelligence gathering?”
“Yes.”
“How does a nobleman hide effectively amid the common folk?”
“With great care, ma’am.” He felt no need to explain himself to this woman.
“You’re a member of the local peerage, though. Why has that not seen you already in command?”
Liam paused, fighting down his growing resentment. “Noble titles aren’t a consideration to advancement in this sector.”
She rested a finger against her chin, studying him with an intensity that made him uncomfortable.
“I’d naturally be suspect of any noble-born officer still at your rank at your age,” she said. “Have you ever been charged with a crime? Were you demoted?”
The weight of Liam’s tunic seemed to close in on him, the heat rising in his chest. Being passed over for promotion because of highborn fops being dropped into command didn’t technically count as demotion, but it certainly felt like it.
“Out here in the Halo, we actually get promoted based on merit.” He meant to stop there, but the three drinks already in his bloodstream pushed him on. “If you don’t like that, you can take it up with the admiral. I don’t give a damn what you think—I’ve earned my rank, unlike a lot of more senior officers. Ma’am.”
He was only heartbeats away from rising and making his exit, but the sudden softening of the commander’s features held him in his seat.
“And from what I understand from the admiral, you’ve done a good job of keeping those senior officers out of trouble. Although I understand Captain Mistvale still holds a grudge.”
Silverhawk wasn’t the first idiot Liam had bailed out of a jam, but being a fop minder wasn’t really how he wanted to be known.
“I just do my job, ma’am.”
“By incurring the wrath of your commanding officer?”
“I’d rather that than lose the ship.”
She sat back, her expression amused. “Empire before self?”
“A lesson I think many of our noble peers would do well to remember,” he snapped.
“I agree.”
That surprised him, and his next retort died on his lips.
“You serve the Empire above all, Subcommander Blackwood?”
He wasn’t sure if she was smiling at him, but the entire tone of the conversation had suddenly shifted.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Have you ever dealt personally with the other races?”
“I’ve met plenty of brutes, but the bugs I’ve only seen in their ships from a distance. The others, no.”
“What do you think of them? The other races?”
He shrugged. “What’s to think? The brutes are mostly harmless if they’re making money, and the bugs need to be held at bay.”
“Why do the Sectoids need to be held at bay?” Her use of the race’s official name wasn’t lost on him, nor the narrowing of her eyes.
“We don’t know much about them,” he said carefully, “but it seems like every interaction we have with them is violent. It’s probably best if we stick to our space and they stick to theirs.”
“Is that how you deal with every unknown in life? Just push it away?”
“No, ma’am, but you were asking me about the Sectoids.”
“In your role as Captain Silverhawk’s executive officer, how do you deal with the unknown?”
“Each case is different. I assess what our mission was, and how best I can work through the unknowns to succeed.”
“Are you command qualified?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you married?”
Liam’s fingers closed on the armrests with an iron grip. He seemed to be facing yet another entitled noble, with an easy arrogance and no sense of personal boundaries. But even so, he sensed something in her that held his interest. She was clearly intelligent, and she was watching him with specific intent, which he struggled to fathom.
“Why?” he said. A sudden smile crossed his lips. “Do you have a proposition for me?”
Her laugh was surprisingly musical, and the coldness in her eyes sparkled away. “I think the admiral has one for both of us, if he’s managed to convince Lord Redfort to let me go,” she said as she snapped a communicator free from her belt and typed a brief message. “But are you tied down here planetside?”
“No. I’m actually looking for a new ship, since Renaissance is going into refit.”
“I hear you set a new speed record—why not slow down if the ship was at risk?”
“You’ll have to ask Captain Silverhawk.”
She nodded, her eyes dangerously close to rolling.
He swallowed the last of his drink, noting the wet bar in the wall behind her. “Can I get you a brandy, ma’am?”
“Yes, thank you. And pour one for the admiral too.”
Rising from his chair, he crossed the hardwood floor and reached for the decanter of deep amber liquid. “I didn’t catch your name, ma’am?” he asked as he measured three generous glasses.
She rose from her chair and came forward to take the proffered glass. She was nearly as tall as he was, and walked as though she was used to commanding attention. “Sophia Riverton. Commander.”
Her emphasis on the rank wasn’t lost on Liam.
“Liam Blackwood,” he said, touching his glass to hers, “subcommander.”
They drank, but before he could think of something witty to say, he noticed a flourish at the study door. Rear Admiral Grandview stepped into view. But instead of the typical room-filling pronouncement, he simply nodded to them both before gesturing for them to sit. Liam handed him a brandy and did so.
“I gather you’re getting along,” Grandview commented.
“Yes, sir,” Riverton said. “He’ll do fine, thank you.”
“Good.”
Liam was used to senior officers talking over and past him, but he appreciated it less and less each year. “I’ll do fine for what, sir?”
“A new kind of mission, Subcommander. One which requires able, freethinking officers who aren’t afraid to take risks.”
“I think I fit that description, sir.”
“Because there will be risks,” Grandview continued as if Liam hadn’t spoken, his face hardening. “And not just the kind you’re used to.”
“You intrigue me, sir.”
Grandview glanced at Riverton. The commander set down her drink and sat back. “I think we’re both ready to hear the details, sir,” she said.
The admiral pulled out a palm-sized device and placed it on the table between them. He activated it. A soft crackle pulsed through the air, followed by a faint whine that grew higher in pitch until it vanished beyond audible range. Liam recognized the effects of the dissonator as it masked the room from any surveillance equipment.
“You’ve both probably heard rumors, but let me state it plain: war with the Sectoids is imminent, and we aren’t ready. The Emperor has ordered every warship to be prepared for action, and all supply lines to be cleared.
“We’re having particular difficulties in the Silica sector. Intelligence suggests that there is a coordinated effort among the pirates to disrupt His Majesty’s commerce, and that they’re operating from a fixed base somewhere within Silica. Their attacks are becoming more brazen—and more damaging—but whenever we send in a large warship to investigate, the pirates vanish. This suggests that either they have spies active within our own hierarchy or they have a way of detecting our major vessels at a distance. Whatever the cause, our traditional
methods are completely failing, and we no longer have the luxury of time to figure out why.
“What I’m charging you with, Commander Riverton, is to quietly take command of one of our test ships, Daring, and undertake a very unconventional kind of mission. And you, Subcommander Blackwood, will be the executive officer.”
Liam kept his face neutral, fighting down a long-burning frustration that was getting difficult to ignore. Second-in-command, again. Assistant to another captain who would take all the glory, again.
“Does this mission involve fighting the Sectoids?” Riverton asked, with a sudden edge to her voice.
“Your mission is to clear out these pirates and open the trade lanes so that we can reinforce our fleet if war comes.” He leaned forward, expression grim. “Which it may sooner rather than later, and if so, there will be plenty of opportunity to fight the bugs.”
“I’m saddened to hear that,” Riverton said quietly.
Liam glanced sideways at that curious comment. Was she saddened to hear that she might have to fight Sectoids, or not have the chance to? There was an intensity in her expression that struck him as misplaced in this conversation.
“There will be the usual risks you would expect in a Navy mission,” Grandview continued, “but there is one more risk which you must understand. This mission is top secret, and it has been debated considerably among the admiralty. Many of my peers don’t agree with it, and if it fails then they will do everything they can to denounce you as rogues, and denounce me as mad. The Emperor has given his consent, but only if we succeed. If this mission fails, it will be the end of our careers.”
Liam froze. Even members of the nobility could be dishonorably discharged from service if their actions embarrassed the crown—Grandview’s comment was more than an idle exaggeration. He glanced to Riverton beside him and noted the cold set of her features.
“That’s quite a risk,” she said slowly. “One I’m not sure I’m willing to take . . . unless adequately compensated.”
“I agree,” the admiral replied. “Which is why I convinced the Emperor to grant those of us involved in this mission a very special motivation, ideal for taking down pirates.”
Riverton’s stony expression shifted into a predatory smile. “Prize money?”
Grandview nodded.
“According to the traditional split?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Liam glanced between them. Prize money? As in, the crew kept the value of the cargo seized? He did a quick calculation of what an XO’s share might be. It might even be enough for him to buy his own ship . . . He cleared his throat. “But, sir,” he said, “there hasn’t been prize money awarded in a generation. How can we make a claim like that?”
“I have a letter with the Imperial seal stating that it shall be honored, for this mission.” He sat back. “None of us here are going to inherit our ancestral estates—what better way to secure our futures than through service to the Empire? Take down those pirates, and you will be both honored and rich.”
“But if we fail, we’ll be dishonored and destitute,” Liam pointed out.
“Risk versus reward, Liam. The question is, do you think you’ll succeed, or fail?”
“I don’t think I’d be sitting here if you thought I’d fail.”
“I’m betting my own career on this too. I’m betting it on you”—his gaze shifted to Riverton—“and your captain.”
“What sort of support will I have?” Riverton asked.
“You’ll be acting independently of Navy command, and posing as a civilian merchantman. Replenish on your own, and stay clear of other Navy ships. Your orders are directly from the Emperor, through me.”
“Rules of engagement?”
“You have a free hand, Commander, provided you succeed in your mission.”
Riverton turned her head, her gaze pinning Liam where he sat. Her eyes flickered down and up, assessing him once again. “Are you up for this, Subcommander?” she asked.
Liam paused long enough for his two superiors to think he was deeply considering. But he already knew his answer. Sit around on Passagia on half pay waiting for another commission while the threat of the Renaissance disaster loomed, or risk everything on a bold adventure that promised riches? It was hardly a difficult choice. “Yes, ma’am.”
Riverton rose to her feet, extending her hand to the admiral. “Lord Grandview,” she said quietly, “my executive officer and I accept this commission.”
Chapter 3
It was the fog that she hated the most. Huddling under her cloak, Amelia Virtue quickened her pace along the wet cobblestones, weaving through the mass of shuffling townsfolk. On either side, the buildings sagged inward; the glow of lights escaping from behind curtains, and the occasional streetlamp, making the street bright enough to navigate. Pools of water lay in the broken surface of the stone, splashing against her boots with each step. Her feet were already cold, and even with her cloak the damp chill of the fog was seeping into her bones. Life aboard a Navy ship might be cramped and sterile, but at least it was warm and dry. Passagia II was blessed with more water than anyone knew what to do with, but Amelia wished it would just stay in the oceans and not hang about in the air like soup.
Through the gloom, she spotted the hanging sign of the Laughing Boar. Flickering light spilled out through its iron-framed front windows and as she approached the heavy wooden door swung open to disgorge a trio of merrymakers. She slipped past them, reveling in the wave of warmth that engulfed her as she stepped into the room. She breathed in the mingled scent of tavern fare and ale, of smoke and unwashed people; the large, dim interior was bustling with activity, tables crowded and a mass of patrons hugging the bar on the far wall. Sailors, mostly, Amelia reckoned, based on the general air of bravado and the number of empty flagons littering the space. Renaissance wasn’t the only ship to have recently returned to port, and the Laughing Boar was a fleet favorite.
Amelia dropped the hood of her cloak and wiped the moisture from her face. She spotted her friends after another quick scan of the room and angled toward them. At her size, there was no way she could muscle other patrons out of her way, but she had long ago learned the fine art of dodging through a crowd. Staying low and quick had kept her alive many times growing up, especially when she’d clasped a fat purse recently liberated from a market toff.
Emerging at the table, she spotted a slight opening between the stools of a man and a woman. Placing a hand on each of their shoulders, she grinned down at them.
“Any space at the table for a poor, drowned bin-rat?”
Mia Hedge returned the grin, shifting over on her stool and patting the exposed wood. She looked much more relaxed than when Amelia had last seen her on board Renaissance, her dirty-blond hair spilling over bare shoulders. And there was something odd about her attire.
“Are you wearing a dress?” Amelia blurted in shock.
Hedge rose from her seat and offered a half curtsy, laughing as she sat down again. “I always do on the first night ashore.”
“Why?”
“Because I can,” Hedge said triumphantly, reaching for her tankard and taking a deep pull.
Amelia squeezed in next to her, wrapping an affectionate arm around her friend’s shoulders. She glanced to her other side and saw Atticus Flatrock peering down at them. His girth spilled over both sides of his own stool, his wry smile barely visible through the mass of dark beard hiding most of his face.
“What I really want to see,” Amelia said, “is this old space dog in a dress!”
Flatrock barked a laugh. “Not saying it’s never happened,” he retorted, “but only for the right audience.”
A rumble of laughter erupted around the table. Nearly a dozen men and women were crowded around, ranging in age from the young lad who’d probably be passed out after two drinks to the grizzled old coot who kept smoothing the last silver wisps on his bald head. Amelia vaguely recognized only a few faces, but she joined in the banter like an old friend.
Some of the sailors were discussing how they had signed on with Inspiration, the cruiser docked just aft of Renaissance at the orbital yard high above them. She was preparing for a deployment against a reported Sectoid incursion into Human space.
“You really think you’re going to see combat against the bugs?” Amelia asked.
“Maybe,” one of the women answered. Her face seemed permanently fixed in a scowl.
“You better hope not,” the old coot warned. “I’ve heard enough stories of the bugs to make me never join a ship which plans on chasing them.”
The Inspiration sailors scoffed, but Amelia knew there was truth in the old man’s words. At least, if the rumors she’d heard were true.
“What kind of stories?” the young lad asked, downing the last of his ale and reaching for a new tankard.
“I’ve heard,” the old coot said, leaning in, “that the bugs have arms like swords, so fast that you don’t even see them strike. If you still have your head on your shoulders, the only thing you’ll see is one of your arms hitting the deck.”
“That’s if they get close enough for blades,” Amelia added, enjoying the look of fear growing on the lad’s face. “Apparently they can spit acid from five paces that will burn your flesh to the bone.”
“And they come in such numbers,” Flatrock added, “that even if you kill ten of them, ten more will be there to take their place.”
“Nobody’s fought the bugs in hand-to-hand in a generation,” snapped the woman from Inspiration. “They just hide on their giant ships and interfere with our trade.”
“Something’s changed,” the old coot warned. “There’s a lot more bug ships being sighted in Human space. Why do you think you’re heading out?”
A tense silence fell over the table for a moment.
“Well,” Amelia said to break the spell, “maybe we can just pay the brutes to fight them for us.”
This got a laugh from some.
“I think the brutes are cute,” Hedge said. “Like really big dogs, but with no fur, and small heads, and big tails . . .”
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