Kat stared at the man in disbelief. The last time she’d seen Admiral Morrison, he’d been at ground zero of a major attack on the Occupation Force HQ, on Cadiz. She’d honestly assumed he was dead, even though she hadn’t seen the body. The Theocracy hadn’t gloated about taking him prisoner, or offered to trade him for another prisoner, or even used his survival as a propaganda tool. It wouldn’t have been hard to claim that Admiral Morrison had been a deep-cover agent all along, undermining the Commonwealth’s faith in the Royal Navy at the worst possible moment. Hell, Kat knew there were people who believed that Admiral Morrison had been a traitor. He’d certainly been a fool.
And someone ensured he got the post, she thought, recalling her father’s words. Someone important and powerful, powerful enough to use Admiral Morrison without leaving traces even someone as capable as her father could track. Someone put him in a position where he could do a great deal of harm.
She swallowed, feeling as though her mouth was suddenly dry. Her father had said that only one of the dukes, the most powerful aristocrats on Tyre, could have organized the placement and then successfully covered it up. If one of the dukes had done it, perhaps as an enemy puppet, perhaps with intentions of his own, it would be a major scandal. Faith in the aristocracy would collapse into rubble. She was seriously tempted to simply draw her sidearm and shoot, leaving the mystery forever unsolved. But she wanted to catch whoever had been behind him, wanted it very much. They had to be punished for their crimes.
“Captain,” Admiral Morrison croaked, “I . . .”
Kat studied him, grimly. Admiral Morrison had been strikingly handsome, the product of both genetic tailoring and hours spent having his body reshaped in line with the latest fashions. Now, he looked ghastly; he’d lost weight, his eyes were haunted, and his voice sounded broken. The Theocracy couldn’t have been running him as a deep-cover agent, Kat was sure; they wouldn’t need to torture anyone working for them. She would have felt sorry for him, if she hadn’t known what he’d done. For whatever reason, Admiral Morrison had lowered the defenses around Cadiz to the point the enemy had no difficulty in overrunning them when they finally crossed the border.
And we were damn lucky to save anything, she told herself sharply.
“I assume command,” Admiral Morrison said. He made an effort to pull himself up to his full height. “I am an admiral and . . .”
“No,” Kat said flatly. Even if it hadn’t been against regulations to trust POWs until they’d been checked out, she wouldn’t have handed command over to him. “You are in deep shit.”
She had to fight down the urge to rub his nose in the impending court-martial. By the time it had finished, he might find himself wishing he was back in the POW camp.
“You will be taken to Sickbay,” she added, “then placed in stasis until we return to Tyre.”
She looked at Davidson. “Take him to Sickbay, then stay with him until he’s in stasis,” she ordered shortly. “I don’t want him trying to assert authority or speaking to anyone apart from the doctor until we get him back home.”
“Aye, Captain,” Davidson said.
“Most of the POWs are unharmed,” the XO said as the Marines escorted Admiral Morrison towards the hatch. “A handful of senior officers, male and female, were brutalized, probably in hopes of extracting information from them. Several of the victims were in quite serious condition when we recovered them. They’re currently in stasis, waiting for medical attention.”
“Good,” Kat said, still distracted. Admiral Morrison—alive? A dozen fanciful explanations ran through her head, each one easily dismissed with a tiny flicker of rational thought. “How many people know about the admiral?”
“Only a handful of Marines and the medics,” the XO assured her. “I was careful to keep him isolated from the rest of the former POWs, once I realized who he was. They didn’t have any idea he was one of the . . . special prisoners.”
“They’d want to lynch him,” Kat muttered. She understood the impulse. “We’ll keep everyone else in the dark as much as possible, at least until we reach Tyre.”
“I’ve already told the medics to keep it to themselves,” the XO said. “The Marines won’t talk out of turn.”
“No, they won’t,” Kat agreed. They started to walk back towards the bridge. “Overall, Commander, how did it go?”
“Very well, all things considered,” the XO said. “They did send a pair of destroyers after us, but they were just a heartbeat too late. We got lucky.”
“Very lucky,” Kat agreed. She just hoped they wouldn’t run into another enemy fleet as they crossed the front lines. The squadron didn’t have enough missiles left to fire a full salvo, let alone fight a running battle. “And now we’re heading home, crammed with former POWs, prisoners, a single defector and his family . . . and enough intelligence to really help the war effort. I think they’ll rank it a success.”
“If they muster the firepower to take advantage of it,” William said. “The enemy will figure out we got a defector, I suspect. They’ll change things.”
Kat nodded. It wouldn’t be long before the enemy’s High Command compared notes and realized they’d been conned. They’d have to change all the codes, making it much harder to insert additional fake messages into the StarCom network. There were Rear-Echelon Motherfuckers (REMFs), she was sure, who would complain she’d thrown away a priceless intelligence scoop, but she knew better. It simply wasn’t possible to insert fake messages on a regular basis.
“They can’t move stars and planets,” she said. “And I don’t think they have the resources to move their facilities while fighting the war. There will be time to put a far stronger raiding force together and take it directly into the heart of the enemy fortifications.”
“I hope so, Captain,” the XO said. He looked at her, suddenly. “What does it mean for us that Admiral Morrison survived?”
Kat hesitated. There hadn’t been a court-martial for Admiral Morrison, if only because there was no point in putting a corpse on trial. But now that they’d recovered him, there would have to be a court-martial . . . and, given what was at stake, it would have to be public. She found it hard to care if Admiral Morrison was systematically disgraced before he was marched to the gallows, but it might undermine the Commonwealth. No, she told herself. It would undermine the Commonwealth. Admiral Morrison was directly responsible for the loss of three worlds and countless ships. How many other officers would be smeared by his failures?
And if he was a spy, if there is the merest suggestion he was a spy, we’ll tear our ranks apart looking for others, she thought dully. Admiral Morrison might be a fool, or a patsy, but he would have been vetted before he was promoted to captain, let alone admiral. If he escaped the vetting, clearly our procedures are inadequate. They will need to be tightened up.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. She briefly considered altering course, attempting to meet Admiral Christian and borrowing his StarCom, but she knew that would just set the cat among the pigeons earlier. “I honestly don’t know.”
She took a breath. “Is there any other news?”
“Possibly,” the XO said. “We recovered Commander Sarah Parker too. Ironically, despite his . . . moral failures, Lieutenant Parker played a role in rescuing his sister.”
Kat shook her head. “Have you told her . . . ?”
“Not yet, Captain,” the XO said. “What are they going to do with Mr. Parker?”
“I wish I knew,” Kat said.
It wasn’t something she wanted to think about. Lieutenant Parker was guilty of treason—and his treason had led to the loss of three ships and hundreds of deaths. On the other hand, a competent defender could point out that he’d tried to avoid serving as a spy, even if it had backfired on him. And there was the very real fact that the bureaucracy had failed to flag him as a potential security risk, ensuring he would be stationed somewhere harmless until the end of the war.
And he did help us win the battle, damage the enemy, an
d save his sister, she thought numbly. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?
“We’ll see what happens when we get home,” she said finally. There would have to be punishment, if only because of the dead. There was no way a mere dishonorable discharge would suffice. But maybe he wouldn’t have to be dumped on a penal world. “Until then . . . let him meet his sister, if he wishes. It may be his last chance.”
She cleared her throat. “We’ll proceed home at best possible speed,” she said. “I’m sure you will be speaking to the observer at some point, Commander. She is not to hear about Admiral Morrison, not at all. We’re going to have enough problems dealing with this hot potato without having a second political crisis on our hands.”
“I understand,” the XO said. “And Captain?”
“Yes?”
“You were right,” the XO said. “Attacking Aswan was the right thing to do—and it worked.”
“Thank you,” Kat said. She wasn’t sure why his approval meant so much, but it did. “And Commander, I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“It’s good to know that so many prisoners were rescued,” Rose said.
William smiled. “The Navy believes in looking after its personnel,” he said. “If someone is taken prisoner, we do our damndest to free them.”
“Even at a considerable risk,” Rose added.
“It’s part of the unspoken contract,” William said. He looked her in the eye. “If someone is wounded, we do everything we can to save them; if someone is lost, we do everything we can to find them; if someone is killed, we do everything we can to get their body back home, or bury it in space if that was their wish. The Navy is, in many ways, a giant family. We’re not perfect, but we try hard to look after our people.”
“So it would seem,” Rose said. “However, integration is still a problem.”
“I think it’s a problem that will fade,” William said. “Like it or not, the member worlds of the Commonwealth started at different levels, in both technology and training. As the years go by, we will deal with those problems and even out the differences. We may lose a certain diversity, but we will gain a more integrated navy.”
Rose nodded, slowly. “Do you think that’s a good thing?”
“I think we cannot afford to rely on Tyre producing all our defenders,” William said. “And besides, military training can be the key to a better life in the future. In the long run, it will be good for everyone.”
“Assuming our homeworld is freed,” Rose said pessimistically. “I was listening to some of the debriefings conducted before the attack on Verdean. The Theocracy tore that world’s society apart.”
William nodded, remembering Perrier, Jean-Luc, and the others. They had more supplies than they’d ever dreamed of before they’d been liberated from the penal world, but they were still hopelessly outgunned. Maybe they’d be crushed from orbit . . . or maybe they’d have the patience to wait, biding their time, until the Royal Navy returned in force. He couldn’t help wondering what would happen to Hebrides if the enemy remained in control for several years. Would there be anything left of the homeworld he knew and loved?
Not that you loved it enough to stay, he thought savagely. Scott had a point about neither of us staying where we were born.
“And what will they do,” Rose asked, “if they believe they will actually lose the war?”
“I wish I knew,” William said. He’d discussed it, endlessly, with the captain and Major Davidson. Some enemy commanders might surrender, if they realized they wouldn’t be murdered in cold blood once they put down their weapons, but others might start trying to take down innocents with them. “We can make promises, let them keep their lives, yet they may truly believe in their religion. Surrender, to them, is the end of the world.”
He cleared his throat. “What do you intend to write in your report?”
“That integration needs to speed up,” Rose said flatly. “It’s the only way to prevent the Commonwealth from becoming a menace.”
William hesitated. On one hand, he doubted the Commonwealth—or Tyre—could become a menace to the member states, not without altering its entire structure. Tyre was practically designed to allow talented newcomers to rise, even enter the power structure at quite a high level. But on the other hand, there was the nagging fact that he hadn’t been offered a command—at least, until the captain had given him temporary squadron command. And then . . . what if the Commonwealth did start exploiting its member worlds? Tyre and a couple of other worlds were vastly more powerful than the rest of the Commonwealth put together.
“War will see to that,” he said. “The demand for new spacers will bring in more and more officers and crewmen from all over the Commonwealth.”
He paused. “But, for the moment, is it really wise to start another political crisis? We have too many of them already.”
“Probably not,” Rose said. “But it’s vitally important we register our concerns now.”
William sighed. “The war comes first,” he said. “We can argue how to share out the spoils of war afterwards.”
“If there are spoils,” Rose said. “And if we survive long enough to take advantage of them.”
She shook her head. “How long until we get home?”
“Five weeks,” William said. The captain was determined to avoid a leak. “You’ll have plenty of time to write your report.”
By the time the courier boat dropped out of hyperspace, Admiral Junayd was thoroughly bored. There was nothing to do on the tiny ship, save read religious texts, pray, meditate on the state of his soul, and worry about his family. Had they hidden themselves in time? There was no way to know.
Three days after his escape, he found himself half wondering if he should reverse course and seek forgiveness even though he knew there would be none; five days afterwards, he could have sworn he was seeing the ghosts of the men he’d killed staring down at him when he snapped awake. It wasn’t uncommon for spacers to see things, he’d learned as a young cadet, but most stories were suppressed by the religious authorities. Now . . . now, there was no one to reassure him that he was imagining it. He honestly had no idea how the crewmen had managed to stay sane.
He glanced at the scanner as the courier boat approached the naval base. Three squadrons of superdreadnoughts were clearly visible, backed up by dozens of smaller ships and a swarm of hundreds of gunboats. He felt a sudden stab of envy—even on the defensive, the Commonwealth was a fantastically rich society—and then keyed a command into the console, slowing the starship to a halt. In theory, the Commonwealth wouldn’t shoot at a courier boat—it might have been bringing messages from the enemy leadership—but in practice, he had no way to be sure. The Theocracy hadn’t signed any of the agreements made between the major interstellar powers after the Breakaway Wars.
“I would like to defect,” he said when he was challenged. A flight of gunboats flew past, so close he could see them with the naked eye. They wouldn’t have any difficulty blowing him out of space if they saw something, anything, suspicious. “I’d prefer not to broadcast my name on an open channel. This system may well be under observation.”
It damn well should be, he added silently. It was an irritating thought. He’d recommended the policy as part of the prewar preparations. Unless they chose to ignore my recommendations, of course.
He waited, patiently, until a shuttle arrived, latching onto the courier boat’s airlock. Four Marines entered, weapons at the ready. Admiral Junayd raised his hands, then waited, as patiently as he could, for them to finish sweeping his body with sensors, looking for hidden surprises. He could endure any indignity as long as he was safe. The Commonwealth wouldn’t give him command of a fleet—the idea was laughable—but they’d take care of him.
It was nearly four hours—and a careful examination that had seemed to take forever—before he came face to face with Admiral Christian.
“Admiral,” Admiral Junayd said. He would have preferred to deal with another officer
, but there was no choice. “I would like to defect.”
“So you said,” Admiral Christian said. His voice was very cool. He’d faced Admiral Junayd in battle, over Cadiz, and might bear a grudge. “Might I ask why?”
“Because if I stayed, I would be killed,” Admiral Junayd said. If he was lucky, the combination of the lost superdreadnought and his family going into hiding would be enough to muddy the waters. The Theocracy would have its chance to pretend he died bravely instead of being executed as a failure. “I can help you, if you don’t broadcast my name.”
Admiral Christian leaned forward. “Why?”
“My family will be killed,” Admiral Junayd said flatly. He was too proud to lower himself to beg. The die had been cast the moment he’d shot Isaac on his own bridge. “I have gifts, if you want them, in exchange for your silence. Intelligence, tactical data, even starship design notes.”
“We’ll be delighted,” Admiral Christian said. “And welcome to the Commonwealth.”
“Thank you,” Admiral Junayd said.
CHAPTER FORTY
“Admiral Junayd defected?”
“Yes, Captain,” Grand Admiral Tobias Vaughn said. “Admiral Junayd defected. He seemed to believe his life was in danger, thanks to you.”
Kat shook her head in disbelief. “They were prepared to kill one of their commanding officers?”
“It does explain some of the oddities about their system,” Vaughn said. “We moved him to a high-security facility on Tyre and started debriefing him. He knows enough to make taking care of him for the rest of his life very worthwhile.”
“Yes, sir,” Kat said.
“The other piece of good news is that Admiral Christian managed to pull off the ambush you suggested,” Vaughn continued. “Nine enemy superdreadnoughts were destroyed, in exchange for two of our own. Thanks to the defectors, we now know just how badly that will hurt them once they realize what happened. It’s possible we will be able to go on the offensive sooner than we hoped.”
Falcone Strike (Angel in the Whirlwind #2) Page 38