The Oncoming Storm

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Billy,” a voice said. “You look as young as ever.”

  William stared. “. . . Scott?”

  His brother slipped into the compartment and sat down facing him, resting his hands on the table. “You were expecting someone else?”

  “Yes,” William said, flatly.

  He studied his brother carefully. Scott was older by ten years, but he looked younger. His hair was still brown, rather than graying; he wore a merchant spacer’s uniform and wore it well. But there was no starship ID on his collar, suggesting he was trying to conceal his vessel from prying eyes. That, William knew, was no surprise.

  “I caught sight of your captain this morning,” Scott said as he pulled a privacy generator out of his pocket and placed it on the table. “She’s very pretty—and quite young.” His eyes gleamed with amusement as he activated the generator. “Do you ever feel you made the wrong choice?”

  “No,” William said. His brother had always been able to get under his skin. “I don’t.”

  “You should have your own ship by now,” Scott said. “You’ve had thirty years in the Navy, seven of them as an XO. But she has powerful connections and I guess those trumped your experience.”

  He smiled, then twisted the expression into a leer. “But she’s young,” he said, again. “Do you ever pull her over your knee and spank her when she makes a mistake?”

  William tapped the table sharply. “Is there a reason you asked me to come here?”

  “Yes,” Scott said. “But aren’t you remotely pleased to see me?”

  “You’re a disgrace,” William said. “I haven’t seen you for nearly thirty-five years.”

  “You’ve probably heard of me,” Scott said. He leaned back, placing his hands behind his head and leaning on the partition. “Not under my real name, of course.”

  William sighed. Scott had loved a girl on their homeworld, a girl he had hoped to marry when he grew old enough to start a croft of his own. But she’d been sacrificed to the pirates to appease their wrath only a year before the Commonwealth had arrived. Scott had obtained a starship and departed Hebrides, refusing to listen to either their parents or William himself. And he’d become a smuggler. There were times William wondered if his brother hadn’t crossed the line into piracy too.

  “Probably not,” he agreed. “What are you doing here?”

  “There aren’t many barriers to free trade here,” Scott said absently. “You never know what one might be able to pick up in this system.”

  William glared at him. “Are you shipping weapons to the insurgents?”

  “I never disclose secrets belonging to my clients,” Scott said. He smirked as he saw William clenching his fists. “But I have other places to serve right now.”

  “Oh,” William said. “And those are?”

  His brother smiled, then held up a hand as the bartender returned, carrying a tray of glasses and a packet of peanuts. William’s eyes narrowed as he realized his water was nowhere in sight.

  “I took the liberty of ordering some Highland Ale for us both,” Scott said. “You do remember drinking ourselves stone cold drunk one day?”

  “Yeah,” William said. He wasn’t blind to the underlying message either. Highland Ale was cheap on their homeworld, but expensive elsewhere. Scott was displaying his wealth without ever quite bragging openly. “Dad was not pleased.”

  Scott tapped the privacy generator again as soon as the bartender withdrew, switching the frequencies. This time, William gave the generator a closer look. It wasn’t civilian, he saw, despite a careful paint job. It was military grade. His brother followed his gaze and smiled, coldly.

  “It’s astonishing just how much falls off the back of a shuttlecraft,” he said mildly. “If you know who to ask, of course.”

  “Of course,” William echoed. “Why did you ask me to come here?”

  Scott took a sip of his beer. “Can I ask you to keep some parts of the story to yourself?”

  “Maybe,” William said.

  Scott studied him and then nodded. “I’ve been smuggling for nearly forty years,” he said bluntly. “You’ve probably heard of my alias, which I won’t share with you right now because it would cause you a conflict of interest. Suffice it to say that I have a small fleet of smuggler ships and don’t give a damn about borders.”

  William put two and two together. “You’ve been smuggling goods into the Theocracy,” he said suddenly. “That’s why you’re here.”

  “Yes,” Scott said simply. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “It’s astonishing how much those wankers are prepared to pay for smuggled goods. Anyone would think they didn’t believe in their religion.”

  His face twisted with remembered pain. William winced in sympathy. Scott had been a regular churchgoer, just like the rest of the family, until he’d lost his girl. It might have been better if the priest hadn’t tried to convince him that one girl was a small price to pay for their safety. Scott had to be dragged off the badly beaten priest and he’d never gone back to the church since then, despite pleas from their mother and thrashings from their father.

  “They want porn,” Scott said. “And luxury goods.”

  “Stuff regular traders aren’t allowed to send them,” William commented. “How do you get away with it?”

  “Large bribes,” Scott said. He shrugged. “Honestly. The Theocracy isn’t that different from. . . well, Cadiz. As long as you know who to pay off, and keep them sweet, no one touches you. The Inquisitors even have a sideline in very rough porn.”

  William frowned. “Do I want to know?”

  “Probably not,” Scott said. “You were always more straight-laced than me.”

  “Oh,” William said. Their homeworld had been very conservative. It had been a shock to discover that nude photographs, video clips, and VR simulations were freely available in the Commonwealth. And then the porn just became more and more hardcore. He was used to it now, but it sometimes still shocked him, even though he knew everyone involved were actors. “Is there a point to this?”

  “I’ve been hiring out more ships to work within the Theocracy,” Scott said. “I don’t mean just smuggling work, either. I mean hauling just about everything you can imagine from star to star.”

  “You’d think they have their own freighters for that,” William said slowly. A very nasty idea was starting to build up in his head. “What happened to them?”

  “A very good question,” Scott agreed. “Time was we couldn’t penetrate more than a few star systems into the Theocracy. The officials got more and more expensive to bribe. Hell, some systems were off-limits no matter what we offered. But now . . . now, we’re actually hauling freight for them regularly. It’s all rather odd.”

  William shivered. Civilians might think of the Navy as being nothing more than warships, but the fleet train—the freighters that transported missiles, spare parts, and other essentials—was just as important. A large part of Cadiz’s importance lay in the stockpile of supplies that had been built up in the system ever since it had been annexed. But if someone had wanted to launch an invasion of hostile space, they would need freighters to keep their warships supplied with everything they might need to function.

  “They’re reserving their freighters for some other reason,” William said slowly.

  “That’s right, Billy,” his brother said. “And I don’t think it bodes well for your mistress.”

  He smirked, then pressed on. “Not the only odd thing too,” he continued. “I’ve seen agents moving through the underground, looking to hire mercenaries and pirate ships. But I think you’ve already seen some evidence of this.”

  “You have a pipeline into the admiral’s office,” William said.

  “The occupation government leaks like that bucket you dropped down the gorge,” Scott said. “I didn’t have to spend more than a few hundred crowns to get a look at the report your captain filed. Most of your conclusions were correct. Someone is paying pirates handsomely to destroy
ships rather than try to take them as prizes.”

  “If you have proof of this,” William said, “it’s your duty to share it with us.”

  “I don’t have a duty,” Scott said. “Am I a Commonwealth citizen?”

  William winced again. His brother had never been quite the same since his girl had been taken by the pirates. Once, he would have been as selfless as anyone else raised by a poor but proud family. Now, he looked out for himself, first and foremost. He’d certainly never done anything to help the rest of his family, although that might have been a favor of sorts. Their parents wouldn’t have accepted anything from such a tainted source.

  “If war comes . . .”

  “There will be room for us,” Scott said, cutting him off. “We can make deals with whichever side comes out on top.”

  “If you believed that,” William said, swallowing his anger, “you would never have come to me at all.”

  Scott smiled openly. “True, I suppose,” he said.

  William pressed his advantage. “The Theocracy is prepared to tolerate you—now,” he said. “That will change, I think, if they win the war. They certainly won’t want to see their civilians corrupted by outside influences. I think you’ll be invited to a meeting that will be nothing more than cover for a mass slaughter.”

  “Perhaps,” Scott said.

  Scott took a breath. “Let me be blunt, then,” he added. “Myself and my associates are unwilling to take a side formally. We have . . . contacts who will be outraged at the thought of us working with you. Some of them are more scared of the Commonwealth than the Theocracy. Others just want to stay out of the firing line.

  “But we’re prepared to provide intelligence, for a price.”

  William wasn’t surprised. “What price?”

  “I suppose that depends on what you’re prepared to offer,” Scott said. He leaned forward, smiling coldly. “What are you prepared to offer?”

  “And what,” William asked, “are you prepared to offer?”

  “It depends on what you are prepared to offer,” Scott said. “I . . .”

  William slapped the table. “Stop playing games,” he snapped. “If there’s something you want, say so.”

  “Money,” Scott said. “And certain . . . events . . . being officially forgotten.”

  William thought fast. The captain had a discretionary fund she could use to make deals if necessary—and she had her trust fund too, he reminded himself. It was quite possible they could simply purchase whatever Scott had to offer . . . and he was fairly sure his brother wouldn’t try to cheat them. If he did, there would be no grounds for a long-term relationship.

  “Money we might be able to offer,” he said.

  Scott met his eyes. “Might?”

  “You didn’t tell me who I’d be meeting,” William snapped. “I certainly didn’t make any preparations to pay you any actual cash!”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his credit chip. “I can offer you a few hundred crowns, if you like.”

  “Point,” Scott agreed.

  He leaned backwards, then took a long swig of his beer. “I have a considerable amount of navigational data,” he said. “You are aware, no doubt, that most of the hyper-routes into Theocratic space are mined or patrolled. But a handful of the more . . . hair-raising routes are largely unguarded. You might find the information useful.”

  “I’d prefer to know more about pirate bases and contacts,” William said.

  “I bet you would,” Scott said. “But I’m afraid”—he tapped his forehead meaningfully—“that isn’t on the table.”

  Scott paused. “I will say that demand for our services has actually been growing stronger,” he added. “You may discover that you have less time than you think.”

  William sighed. “Are you saying you’ll close a deal with them if we refuse or that we might not have long until the war breaks out?”

  “Maybe both,” Scott said. “It’ll cost you at least a hundred crowns for a definite answer.”

  Scott reached into his pocket and produced a datachip. “I brought something as a gesture of good faith,” he said. “My crews have a habit of recording everything picked up by their passive sensors, including local news broadcasts. This . . . is everything they recorded from a visit to Heaven’s Star. You used to know it as Abadan.”

  William checked his implants. Abadan had been settled just before the Breakdown and remained largely untouched by the Breakaway Wars and other galactic affairs, at least until the expanding Theocracy had rolled over it. There was nothing else listed in the files, not even a mention of refugees. But if the world had been a stage-one colony before the Breakaway Wars, it was unlikely they’d had any homebuilt space industry of their own before it was too late. The only advantage they’d had was that their debts to the UN had died with the UN itself.

  “You won’t find it very reassuring,” Scott said. “We can provide more, for a price.”

  “Of course,” William said.

  His brother leaned forward. “Can I ask you a question?”

  William hesitated, then nodded.

  “I could give you a command,” Scott said. His voice was very soft, as if he feared being overheard. “I have a handful of former warships in my fleet. Someone like you, with the skills of the common spacer and bearing of an officer, would be very helpful. Why don’t you join me?”

  He pressed forward before William could say a word. “You would rise on your own merits,” he added. “You wouldn’t have to take orders from a girl who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. You would be free.”

  “Tell me,” William said, “how you giving me a command is any different from the captain’s father giving her a command?”

  “You’ve proved you can handle command,” Scott said. “And none of my people would dispute it.”

  He reached out and touched William’s hand. “Come with me,” he said. “This star system is a disaster waiting to happen. Don’t stay and die for a Commonwealth that doesn’t appreciate your service.”

  William stared down at the table, his thoughts awhirl. He was tempted, he had to admit, even though he would never have said it to his brother’s face. Command was his dream, yet it seemed increasingly unlikely that he would ever have a starship of his own. Even if he succeeded to command Lightning, the Admiralty would probably find another commander to replace him. And an independent shipping captain had far more autonomy than a naval commander.

  “It’s immoral,” he muttered.

  “I do have legit businesses,” Scott said. “You wouldn’t have to dirty your hands if you didn’t want to.”

  The hell of it, William suspected, was that his brother was being sincere. Their relationship had died the day Scott had turned his back and walked away, yet before then he had always looked out for his younger brother. And the offer was tempting. If the captain had been half the brat he’d feared, he would have seriously considered turning his back on the Royal Navy. But Kat Falcone was a better person than he’d dared hope for.

  “I have my duty,” he said, firmly. “And my pride.”

  “Pride doesn’t put food on the table,” Scott snarled.

  William’s lips twitched. “I’m not that desperate,” he said finally. “Thank you for your offer, Scott, but no.”

  Scott stood. “I’ll pick up the tab,” he said. He dropped a second datachip on the table, then picked up the privacy generator. “There’s a contact code for my current location on the chip. Should you try to trace it . . . well, I’m afraid it won’t work. And you won’t see me again. Send me a message, tell me who you’ll be bringing, and we will see.”

  “Understood,” William said. “How long will you be in the system?”

  “I’m not sure,” Scott admitted. “If the system comes under attack . . . well, I’m gone.”

  He nodded to William and then walked away.

  William looked at the bottle of beer and then took a long swig himself. It tasted worse than he remembered,
but was oddly familiar nonetheless. Part of him was tempted to order more, to drink himself as senseless as they’d done years ago, but he knew his duty. Leaving the rest of the beer on the table, he stood and walked through the bar’s doors. Outside, there was no sign of Scott. All he could see was a flashing light advertising a nearby brothel. He was tempted to knock on the door, to find a girl for the night, but he pushed the thought aside.

  I have to get back to the ship, he thought. And then work out what I’m going to tell the captain.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Don’t worry about having a smuggler in the family,” Kat said the following morning. “I have politicians in mine.”

  The XO looked relieved. Technically, he should have declared any potentially . . . embarrassing family connections when he’d joined the Navy. His brother might not have been quite as notorious as he’d hinted at the time, but it would still look very bad on his service record. And, if his brother was one of the smugglers wanted by the law, it was unlikely his career would survive.

  “Thank you, Captain,” the XO said.

  Kat looked down at her hands. “I’ll send the information to Tyre,” she said, flatly. “And add it to every other factoid we’ve collected. But I don’t know if anyone will pay attention.”

  The XO sighed. “Did your father not send anything back to you?”

  “Nothing useful,” Kat admitted. “All he sent was a brief acknowledgement and a note that the matter would be discussed.”

  She sighed. “And I have to waste time going to the admiral’s party rather than patrolling the border or doing something useful.”

  “Yes, Captain,” the XO agreed. “Think of it as a chance to gain some useful intelligence.”

  “Think of it as a chance to practice removing lips from my ass,” Kat countered, crossly. Morrison’s guest list had been announced on the planetary datanet, as if anyone cared who the admiral chose to invite to his parties. Most of the guests were either naval officers or civilian administrators looking for posts in the private sector after they finished their terms of office on Cadiz. “I should take a blowtorch and a monofilament knife for swift removal.”