Queen of the Void (The Void Queen Trilogy Book 1)

by Michael Wallace

  A woman’s voice spoke as if from the bottom of a well. “She’s coming around, sir. All vitals normal.”

  “Very good. One never knows.” This came from a man, his tone commanding. “Where is her clothing? This is going to be an uncomfortable interview if she’s standing there naked. Quickly, now. Get her dressed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Catarina tried to rise as two sets of hands pulled on her clothes. Her limbs would not obey her commands, and she was forced to sag back against the cool bench on which they’d laid her and let them dress her. She tried to speak, and although her tongue was still numb and rubbery, she had some success. Her eyes still hurt, but she could now see shadowy figures moving in front of her.

  “Get your hands off me, you villain. I never want you touching me again.”

  “Relax,” the man with the commanding voice said. “It’s a pair of female nurses, and I’m politely averting my eyes.”

  “Polite? You’re the rudest, cruelest man I’ve ever met. I don’t know what you want, McGowan, but I swear to God—”

  His chuckle stopped her. This time, her limbs did respond, and she struggled to a sitting position. She grabbed his uniform, dragged him close, and made a lunge for his throat, but the nurses had her, and he pried her hands off. It was then that she was alert enough to recognize what she’d missed at first.

  He was too tall for McGowan, his shoulders broader than the captain’s. And while his voice held that same aristocratic bearing, the accent was different, and his tone not so haughty. Her eyes finally adjusted, and she got a good look at him for the first time. Not McGowan, but she wasn’t overly excited to see this man, either.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said.

  Admiral James Drake looked down as she took over from the nurses and buttoned her shirt. She rose on wobbly legs, the floor so cold beneath her feet that she stifled a gasp, and fastened her trousers. Drake stood with his hands clasped behind his back, studying her with an unreadable expression as the nurses turned to close up the stasis chamber from which they’d hauled her. The room was filled with sliding compartments that tucked into the wall like cold chambers at a morgue. The other chambers presumably carried Royal Marines, frozen to conserve resources until they were needed in battle.

  “Am I still on Peerless?” she asked when it became clear that Drake wasn’t going to open the conversation.

  “No.”

  “That’s something, I suppose. Dreadnought, then?”

  His mouth twitched. “Catarina, I’m sorry about what happened. It wasn’t on my orders, but you understand that I couldn’t exactly let you go once I found out what you were up to.”

  “Vargus.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t call me Catarina. It’s Vargus to you.”

  “In my mind, your sister is Vargus, not you.”

  “I heard what Isabel did, and I’m happy the two of you got on so well as you fought your little civil war. Of course, she only did it for the money—you did remember to pay her, right?”

  “Of course I . . . look, we don’t have time to run over our history. You know me well enough by now to believe me when I say that I didn’t give up the secret of your colonizing expedition. McGowan found you all on his own.”

  “I wish I could trust that,” she said.

  “It’s true. Anyway, you lied to me. You said the jump point was decaying, that it would be gone by now and you’d have disappeared into the Omega Cluster forever.” Drake smiled. “Turns out it was hiding inside the corona of a star. That’s why we’d never found it.”

  “Well, now you see the point of deception. Albion is too treacherous to trust with the truth.” She looked around. “Blast it, this floor is cold. Where are my shoes?”

  Drake snapped his fingers at one of the nurses, who returned with slippers. Not her boots, but then again, none of this clothing was hers. McGowan had probably tossed her clothes into the incinerator rather than contaminate his pristine ship with pirate garb. Catarina put on the slippers.

  “You can believe me or not, but I didn’t share your secret with anyone. Sometimes, I wished I could go with you on your colonization mission. I was tempted, believe me. But duty calls.”

  “And that Albion lieutenant of yours, what’s her name? Tolvern? Heard you got married.”

  “Governor Tolvern, now. She’s overseeing the Singapore government until the locals get their economy rebuilt. Apex left the planet in tatters. Another few months, I expect.”

  Catarina stared at him. “Last I heard, you were still trying to convince the Singaporeans to come out of hiding. How long have I been down?”

  “Only a few weeks. I came as soon as I heard.”

  “It hasn’t been five years or anything?”

  “Heavens, no.”

  “Ah, okay,” she said with a sigh of relief. She grunted. “When do I get my fleet back? If you rushed over, it was surely to call off your attack dog and make everything right? Isn’t that so?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Vargus. It’s out in the open now. The crown knows about your secret planet, that the world is so rich, and that it might be the key to unlocking dozens of other systems. The king won’t simply let you claim it for yourself.”

  “That jump point is going to decay, and you’ll lose anything you put through. Maybe for a hundred years. How the devil will you make it a crown colony if you can’t maintain physical contact? You can’t run a kingdom on subspace messages.”

  “Come on, Vargus. Drop the lie. That jump point will be open a good stretch longer, maybe indefinitely. And how about all of the other jump points that you’re hiding—”

  “I’m not hiding any!”

  “—or that we might discover in the future?” Catarina began to sputter another response, but Drake held up a hand. “I’ll listen to you. You can tell me all about it. But you’ll feel better when you get moving, and better still when I’ve had a chance to show you a few things.” He turned toward the doors without waiting to hear her answer.

  She was inclined to refuse to move, to demand her freedom or tell him to go ahead and freeze her again, because she wasn’t going to cooperate. Instead, she followed him into the corridor. She was still burning with anger, but the way Drake was speaking, it was obvious he didn’t intend to have her hung as a pirate. She should guard her anger until she knew how much of what he’d taken she could get back.

  “So you’ve stolen my planet,” she said as lightly as she could manage as they stepped onto the lift at the end of the corridor. “Are you going to steal my entire fleet, too? I’ve put every penny I own into those ships and goods. And every penny of a good deal of other people, too, all acting in good faith.”

  “I’m not stealing anything.”

  “You just said—”

  “I can’t let you simply own the planet, of course. You won’t be a lord of space or whatever it was you were telling me last time.”

  Queen of the Void.

  Pain stirred deep in Catarina’s chest. It was to be not only the culmination of her dreams, but a refutation of the humiliation she’d suffered at the hands of Edward McGowan. A chance to prove that she was as good as any of them.

  “But there might be a compromise,” he added.

  “After everything Albion has done to me? I’m not compromising anything.”

  “Catarina,” he said, tone softening. “Excuse me, Captain Vargus. Let me appeal to your self-interest. Please, just listen with an open mind.”

  The lift opened and let them into a large loading bay. There, parked in the middle of the bay, were five two-man fighter craft. Clean lines, shiny exterior, fresh from the yards.

  “What are these?” she asked.

  “Falcon-class strikers.”

  The strikers had a tri-wing design, which meant that they could skirt the upper atmosphere of a planet, but were meant for operating in the void. Each had a pulse cannon and a small missile array. The cockpit was relatively small, and the pilot would be
sitting in front of a massive plasma engine to his rear and above enough destructive power to punch a hole in a frigate or destroyer. But still, a ship of that size, with little armor, would survive by the wits, maneuverability, and swagger of its pilot.

  “Falcons, you say? I can think of a few times these would have come in handy.”

  A bombproof covered the far wall, which could presumably be retracted while the rail launched the strikers into space. Workers, some clunking about in mech suits, and others armed with nothing more than human and Hroom muscle, welded new plating on the edge of the bombproof, while a forklift delivered a stack of tyrillium plate.

  “You’re converting Dreadnought into a carrier?” she asked.

  “I never said this was Dreadnought. I only said it wasn’t Peerless.”

  She looked around, more intrigued now. “This isn’t Blackbeard, either. The bay is too long. Doesn’t look like a cruiser at all, now that I think about it. You’ve got yourself a shiny new toy, don’t you?”

  Catarina caught the eager tone in her own voice and stopped. As interesting as the ship was, she was more concerned with whatever Drake was trying to maneuver her into, and so she turned away from the workers, put her hands on her hips, and stared off at the wall until he spoke up.

  “I can’t let you have the planet,” he said at last. “Not as a sovereign. But I could see you installed at the head of your own barony.”

  “A barony?” She snorted. “That’s weak, James. Very weak.”

  “It’s generous offer.”

  “I know Albion law. A barony is either ten thousand square miles or a hundred thousand subjects, whichever is smaller. You’ll give me one small piece of the planet and keep the rest for yourself.” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t take a deal in any event, but for a barony? At least offer me an earldom, it would be less insulting.”

  “If you wouldn’t take it, what’s the point?” Something touched the corner of his mouth that looked like a hint of a smile, and she wondered if he were hiding something.

  “To show that you’re negotiating in good faith.”

  “And what if it were an entire duchy? No, how about if you were Grand Duchess of New Albion?”

  “The planet is called Segovia.”

  “Not on the new charts, it’s not.”

  “Wait, what do you mean, a grand duchy? What’s the difference between that and the other thing? The regular kind of duchy, I mean?”

  “The planet of Mercia was settled as a grand duchy. For the first ten years after settlement, the duke who financed the expedition maintained full control over internal affairs. Mercia was subordinate to the crown on foreign policy and external trade, but no Albion troops or ships could land on the planet without the permission of the grand duke.”

  A few weeks ago, Catarina would have scoffed at such an offer, but now she turned it over carefully. Everything had been taken from her, and she was being given most of it back again.

  “It’s only just and fair,” Drake said. “You found the planet, you organized the expedition to settle it at great cost. True, some of the funds were raised through, well, let us say questionable methods, but given your past service to the crown, we will pardon any excesses.”

  “It’s more generous than I expected,” she admitted. “I would have to talk to my crew, and I would have to see the full extent of your terms.”

  “Of course. But I expect they’ll do your bidding.”

  “Everything formalized by treaty, and so on and so forth.”

  “Naturally,” he said.

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “So you’ll just let me go, is that it? I collect my ships, my barges and colonists, and go down to the planet? And all I have to do is pledge fealty to the crown?”

  Admiral Drake strolled away from her without indicating that she follow. She chafed at the unspoken assumption that she would do so, and considered staying put until he treated her as an equal. Instead, she followed.

  He leaned in to inspect one of the falcons, and ran a hand along its nose while he asked a technician about the results of a recent training run. When the two men finished speaking, Drake turned back to Catarina.

  “You’re standing in the launch bay of an Ironside-class battle cruiser.”

  “I thought that was an old model,” she said. “Obsolete, wasn’t it?”

  “It was obsolete, not anymore. The old battle cruisers took too much damage and delivered too little, and they were ruinously expensive. They were replaced with a battleship—Dreadnought was even more expensive, but also significantly more survivable in combat and with guns to match—and by smaller Aggressor- and Punisher-class cruisers like Blackbeard, Peerless, and Richmond. This is the first battle cruiser built in thirty years.”

  “Why now?”

  “Because we’ve upgraded the armor—it finally lives up to its name, Ironside—upgraded the guns, and added a striker capability.” Drake gestured at the falcons.

  “Give me the specs.”

  “Crew of two hundred and fourteen, plus four hundred marines in stasis. Twenty-two guns in the main battery, plus a secondary battery of seven guns. Mark-IV and Hunter-II torpedo tubes, a heavy missile launch platform. She’s stronger than Peerless or Blackbeard, and with her strikers, could inflict real damage on Dreadnought herself.” He smiled. “My flagship would prevail in the end, of course.”

  “Naturally. Who could possibly stand up against the mighty James Drake and his battleship?”

  He pulled his computer from a side pocket, tapped the screen, and handed it to her. The screen showed a schematic of the battle cruiser. It was significantly larger and more lethal looking than McGowan’s cruiser, let alone her own frigate. Orient Tiger seemed like a scruffy pirate schooner in comparison. The battle cruiser’s gun arrays were impressive, the armor stout and well positioned. The twin plasma engines gave it tremendous acceleration up to ten percent the speed of light. Fast enough to haul itself and a towed object through a jump point.

  Catarina scrolled through the rest of the specs. “It’s a fine ship. Do you intend to turn out any more of these?”

  “I do. The next Ironside leaves the yards in about five months. Beyond that, we’ve got four more Punisher-class cruisers under construction, and another thirty corvettes, destroyers, frigates, and torpedo boats will be leaving the yards before the end of the year. The Hroom are contributing sloops, and the Singaporean yards are constructing new war junks.”

  “And you are telling me all of this, why, exactly?”

  “Because I’m giving you this battle cruiser and sending you into the void.”

  “What?” she said. “Oh, no. You can’t be serious.”

  “I am absolutely serious.”

  “I’m no good for you. I’m a pirate, remember? A freebooter. I took my goods to Segovia to get away from Albion, not to serve her. I’ll consider this grand duchy idea, but I won’t be captaining a navy ship.”

  “The duchy must be earned. It’s not a gift.”

  She clenched her fists. “I earned my goddamn duchy when I discovered the planet.”

  “We’re in a fight for survival, Vargus. The buzzards killed tens of millions on Singapore and hundreds of millions of Hroom in the empire. They’ll be back, and when they come, they’ll exterminate every last one of us, and that includes you and your precious settlers. I am asking you to contribute to the defense of the human race, nothing more and nothing less.”

  This stopped her cold. She had no rebuttal for several long moments.

  “I’m no officer,” she said at last. “I have no experience in the navy. What crew would listen to me, anyway?”

  “Your own crew, of course. We’ll transfer over the men and women of Orient Tiger, throw in a few of my own people, and you’ll set out.”

  She shoved the computer back into his hands. “Forget it, Drake.”

  “Six months. Then you’re back to New Albion.”

  “Segovia,” she snapped. “That’s the name of the bloody plane
t. Not New Albion!”

  “Grand Duchess of . . . very well, of Segovia. Twenty-five years of guaranteed internal sovereignty, not ten.”

  “Now you’re just making up things on the fly.”

  “I’m negotiating, Vargus. You get that, right?”

  She threw up her hands. “Why me? Surely you can find the crew without my people. You must have been training them as fast as you can.”

  “I want your ships, too.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “But more than that, I need your gear and your settlers.”

  “Ah,” she said. “Now we get to it.”

  “Yes, yes we do. We get right to the heart of the matter.” His voice had hardened, and he held up a hand as she started to sputter a protest. “Stop! I’m going to lay out all of my cards, but I need you to shut your mouth and listen.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. In the background, crew shouted as they maneuvered a big piece of bombproof shielding into place. A woman with a mech suit clanked past, carrying several hundred pounds of tyrillium scale. Two mechanics fiddled with one of the hydraulic struts of the falcon striker to her left.

  “Okay, Admiral. Let’s hear what you’ve got to say.”

  Chapter Eight

  The bridge of the battle cruiser was a mass of spaghetti-like cables, half-assembled consoles, exposed circuit boards, and half-installed fire suppression systems. Electricians and carpenters worked under the whine of electric screwdrivers and the hiss of plasma torches.

  But what drew Catarina’s eye was the main viewscreen. As soon as she looked at it, she knew she’d been tricked yet again. The cool blue-and-green sphere of Albion filled the screen. The familiar contours of the Canadian continent stretched across the surface, with the Zealand Islands reaching west into the ocean. A small side screen show Fort William, the captured asteroid with its gun emplacements, missile bays dug into the surface, and spaceyards, now raised above the bombproofs, where workers labored over the shell of a navy corvette.

  A tether held the battle cruiser to the fort, and she could see the elegant curve of the ship, which bent away from whatever camera was providing the view. Workers in pressure suits moved over the surface.