“They can certainly do a great deal of damage,” Kat said. She wanted to roll her eyes at his ignorance. The colonials certainly could take the ship. She rather suspected they had a contingency plan to do so. There had to have been some preplanning, well before Quist had become something more than an icon on a starchart. “We can’t let them take control of the fleet.”
She pressed her fingertips together, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “We’ll put the entire fleet into lockdown,” she continued. “You and your men . . . I assume they’ll remain loyal?”
“Of course.” Jenkins puffed up. “They’re loyal to His Majesty.”
“Good,” Kat lied. “I’ll announce a lockdown drill in twenty minutes. Go back to your men and ready them for action, then take them to the shuttlebay. I want to move fast if any of the ships drop out of the command network. We don’t want them bringing up their weapons and firing on us at point-blank range.”
Jenkins frowned. “I only have fifteen men under my command . . .”
“It will have to do,” Kat said. “There’s no other way we can keep the ship under control.”
She dismissed him with a wave, wondering if any of his men would see the looming trap. They couldn’t be as ignorant as their commander, could they? If their orders were to take control of the ship, if the colonials revolted or Kat herself turned on the king, they’d have to know how to do so. Right? But Jenkins had never struck her as the kind of person to listen to dissent from his subordinates. It helped that Kat’s orders were completely reasonable, if one didn’t know she intended to mutiny. Jenkins’s men might have to take control of the other superdreadnoughts.
And then we’ll have to secure the rest of the fleet, Kat thought. There’d been no way to hold an in-person command conference, not without arousing suspicion. They were in a war zone. There was no reason to hold a face-to-face meeting when holograms would suffice. And then proceed directly to Willow.
She tapped her console, sending a message to Winters. The marines had their own communications net, one isolated from the remainder of the crew. Winters had been convinced Jenkins couldn’t hack it—and that, if he tried, it would set off all kinds of alerts—but Kat wasn’t so sure. Jenkins might not be a complete idiot. Her father had told her, more than once, that he’d encountered hundreds of very slippery characters who pretended they couldn’t count past ten without taking off their socks. An appearance of idiocy made it easy to underestimate them. Kat had never cared for the tactic herself—she’d spent too long dealing with people who thought she’d bought her way into all of her posts—but she saw the value of it now. Jenkins could be biding his time while readying his forces to take control of the ship.
Over my dead body. Kat’s lips quirked. That was exactly what Jenkins would have in mind if he’d realized she’d turned against the king. Let’s see who strikes first.
She checked her sidearm automatically, wishing she’d spent more time on the range. She’d enjoyed shooting, once upon a time. But she’d never taken it seriously . . . not as seriously as she should have. She unbuttoned the holster, cutting down the time it would take to draw the weapon. She was pretty sure she couldn’t outdraw the commissioner’s men, if they turned on her, but it was better than nothing. Smiling, she stepped through the hatch and walked into the CIC. The space was nearly empty. The only officers on duty were ones who knew what had happened . . . and what she had in mind.
And if any of them were going to betray me, they missed the ship.
She took her chair and glanced at Kitty. “Did the communications embargo hold?”
“I believe so, Admiral.” Kitty looked pale. “The messages weren’t automatically dumped into the communications network.”
Kat nodded. There’d been a backlog of messages from the last few days, ranging from automatic updates that were now hopelessly out of date to personal messages that probably, almost certainly, contained concealed messages to colonial and aristocratic crewmen. The king himself had sent her a dozen messages, messages she hadn’t had time to view. She keyed her console. The king’s final message was the only one that mattered. He might suspect something, given that her fleet had dropped out of contact for a few days, but Hadrian had no choice. He needed her if he wanted to defend his pocket state.
“All hands, this is the Admiral,” she said. “Lockdown drill is in effect. I say again, lockdown drill is in effect.”
A dull drumbeat echoed through the giant starship as the crew hurried to their lockdown posts. Kat watched progress on the display, feeling a hint of pride combined with the grim sense it no longer mattered. She’d drilled her crews extensively over the last few days, working hard to ensure that the right people were in the right place at the right time. Jenkins had been monitoring the drills, she was sure, but how could he spot the dangerous moments amid the flurry of movements? An experienced officer wouldn’t have worked out she was planning a coup of her own, unless he was paranoid as hell. And Kat was sure she’d be dead by now or fighting for her life if Jenkins suspected something.
Kitty looked up. “Admiral, the commissioners have taken up position in the shuttlebay,” she said. “They’re requesting permission to power up two assault shuttles for deployment.”
“Tell them to hold position and wait until the ship itself has gone into lockdown,” Kat ordered. The remnants of her crew were rushing now, trying to get to their places before the hatches started slamming closed. They’d be too badly scattered and isolated to mount a countercoup. She hoped. “We might need them.”
She looked at the display, feeling numb. So far, only a handful of her officers knew about her plans. The timing had been terrible. The ones in the know could secure their ships and should be doing it now if everything had gone according to plan, but the others would have to be kept in the dark, at least until she could be assured of their loyalties. She kicked herself mentally for allowing her original squadrons to be broken up, ships and crew scattered across the remainder of the fleet. In hindsight, Hadrian had been trying to prevent a second round of mutinies. And he might well have succeeded.
Not well enough, she thought as hatches started to seal themselves. And he won’t live long enough to correct his mistake.
Kitty cleared her throat. “Admiral, the lockdown is in effect,” she said. “All crew are accounted for.”
“Good.” Kat let out a breath. “Pass control of the shuttlebay to my console.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
Kat nodded as her console bleeped, bringing up the shuttlebay control systems. The shuttlebay could be isolated from the remainder of the ship, if the people on duty knew they needed to pull out the communications blocks before it was too late, but Jenkins hadn’t bothered. Her lips curved into a predatory smile. He hadn’t known he needed to bother, damn him. His men milled around the shuttles in shipsuits, not spacesuits. That was careless of him. They’d have masks, she was sure, but the vacuum would get them well before they could find an emergency chamber or airlock. The shuttlebay was supposed to be safe, but she had the codes to make it very unsafe indeed.
She scanned the live feed from the shuttlebay, counting heads until she was sure all sixteen of the commissioners were inside. Kitty had told her that everyone was where they were supposed to be, but Kat hadn’t been particularly reassured. There were ways to spoof the sensors, if one had time to make preparations. The king’s men knew how to do it too, which was how so many of his clients had been able to take control of their ships and fly them to Caledonia. She wondered, sourly, just how many of them had come to regret their choice. There were limits to loyalty. They wouldn’t all go along with effective genocide.
“Contact Winters,” Kat ordered. “Tell him to move now.”
She inputted her codes into the datacore, isolating the shuttlebay and commanding the hatch to open. The commissioners looked astonished, then relieved as they realized the forcefield was still in place. There was no real danger, not yet. A handful started to make their way to
the shuttles, as if they expected to be able to use them. Kat locked down the shuttles, just in case, then deactivated the forcefield. The atmosphere vented with terrifying speed. Figures were yanked off the deck and pulled into vacuum before they had a chance to magnetize their boots. She wondered, as she counted wriggling shapes falling into the darkness, if Jenkins had realized what was happening. If he’d had a chance to grab a mask . . .
“Shuttlebay vented, Admiral,” Kitty said. “One commissioner is holding on to a shuttle. The others are gone.”
Kat nodded, feeling a twinge of guilt. The poor bastards didn’t have any protective gear. They would suffocate or freeze well before they could be rescued. No one even knew they were in trouble. The other ships might notice something, but venting the shuttlebay was a well-established emergency drill. They might not spot the tiny figures until it was far too late.
“The shuttlebay is to remain sealed,” she ordered. “In thirty minutes, the bay can be repressurized and the body removed.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Kitty said.
Kat turned and studied the display. Thirty minutes was excessive. She’d never had any reason to think the commissioners had enhancements that would allow them to survive in a vacuum for more than a few minutes. Their entire bodies would need to be rewritten if they wanted to thrive in a vacuum. And yet, she was feeling paranoid. The king had had access to the very cutting edge of personal enhancement. He could have enhanced his guardsmen beyond all reason, if he’d wished. No one would have asked awkward questions.
“Keep the fleet in lockdown,” she commanded. “Add a second priority access user to the StarCom, then forward the details to me.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Kitty said.
“Then inform the fleet that we’ll be breaking orbit in twenty minutes,” Kat added. “The lockdown will remain in place until we’re on the way.”
She sucked in her breath. She’d have to tell the crews something, if only to keep their imaginations from filling in the blanks. Lockdowns rarely lasted long, unless it was a genuine emergency. But . . . the sheer lack of information would grate on the isolated crewers, pushing them to eventually do something stupid. She forced herself to consider the issue, knowing she didn’t dare tell them the truth. Both sides would rise up against her if they knew what was really going on.
A shame we can’t sedate everyone, Kat thought. It would take five days to reach Willow, and that was if they redlined the drives. But that would put their lives at risk.
She stood. “I’ll be in my cabin,” she said. “Inform me when the fleet is ready to depart.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
Kat heard the doubt in Kitty’s tone, but she ignored it as she stepped back into her cabin and closed the hatch. The terminal was bleeping, alerting her to an urgent message. Kat sat down and checked the list. Scott was trying to contact her, using priority codes he shouldn’t know existed. William must have given them to his brother. Kat pressed her palm against the scanner. William would be in deep shit if someone decided to make an issue of it. He might wind up sharing her prison cell.
The thought sobered her. She was doomed. Whatever happened, her career was over. And . . . there was no way she could be sent quietly into exile. She’d betrayed more than just the family. The entire planet would want her dead. She touched her sidearm, wondering if suicide would be better than facing the hangman. But . . . it would be too much like giving up.
Scott’s face appeared in front of her. “Kat,” he said. “Have you heard the news?”
“From Caledonia?” Kat pushed as much conviction into her voice as she could. “I have.”
She pressed on before he could say a word. “The king wants me to meet him at Willow. I intend to do so, and kill him. Inform William that he is to meet me there and”—her lips curved into a humorless smile—“you might want to be a little more diplomatic.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” Scott said dryly. “It will be my pleasure, Your Supreme Eminence.”
“And hopefully we can put an end to it,” Kat said. “I’m giving you priority access rights to the StarCom”—she keyed her console, forwarding the codes to Scott—“so you can get the message to him quickly. Wait until we’re gone to send it.”
“Hyperspace near Caledonia is fucked,” Scott warned. “I don’t know how long it will be before William can set sail.”
Kat grimaced. “Tell him to set course as soon as possible,” she said. She should have seen it coming. The king had plenty of incentive to trigger hyperspace storms to cover his retreat, even though they were dangerously unpredictable. William’s fleet might be able to leave in an hour . . . or might be becalmed for weeks, if not months. “If not . . . I’ll do whatever I can do.”
Scott tossed her a jaunty salute. “Good luck, Your Vengefulness.”
“I’m also forwarding a pair of messages,” Kat said, ignoring his mockery. She’d taken the time to record them after overcoming her guilt for sending messages when her crew couldn’t do the same. “I’d appreciate it if you delivered them to their destination. You’ll be paid on delivery.”
“Good thing I’m already being paid through the nose,” Scott grumbled as she sent the messages. “Your brother had better keep his word.”
“I’m sure he will,” Kat said. Peter might be unimaginative, but he wasn’t stupid. A reputation for breaking his word, even to a smuggler and mercenary, would follow him for the rest of his life. No one would ever trust him again and rightly so. The family would eventually dismiss him from his post, after his reputation started to ruin them. “And you have a perfect opportunity to go straight.”
“We’ll see,” Scott said. He winked at her. “You never know, do you?”
His image vanished from the display. Kat let out a breath, then stood. There was too much to be done before the fleet could link up with the king. And . . . she had to think past his death, damn it. She owed it to her people. The ones who had followed her hadn’t known what they were doing. They’d thought they were fighting for the right side.
And if that means paying the price for leading them into treason, she told herself, you can damn well pay the price for them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
IN TRANSIT
HMS Implacable was not a happy ship.
Francis was no military expert, as he’d reminded the king more than once, but he could feel the grimness pervading the hull. The crew might be loyalists, yet they hadn’t signed up to be exiles. Admiral Ruben had made all sorts of promises and posted guards all over the ship, but he hadn’t been able to stop the rumors. Quist had been destroyed. Caledonia had been destroyed. Tyre itself had been blown to atoms by a previously unknown planet-cracking weapon. And no one, no matter what they said or did, had been able to disprove them.
It didn’t help, Francis reflected as he lay on his bunk, that the ship was crammed with exiles. The king’s closest allies had fled Caledonia, bringing their families and friends with them, displacing the ship’s senior officers from their cabins. Dozens of officers were bunking with the crew, something that wouldn’t do wonders for morale either. Resentments were threatening to tear the crew apart, particularly when half of the exiles seemed convinced they could get good terms if they turned the ship around and surrendered to Admiral McElney. Francis wasn’t convinced of that. There was nothing left for any of the exiles on Tyre.
And we’re isolated from the outside universe. That doesn’t help either.
He sighed, inwardly. The fleet had made a brief stop at Sycamore, long enough for the king to send orders to his remaining followers and Francis to send a message to his superiors, then slipped back into hyperspace. The crew and passengers had no way of knowing what was going on back home, neither on Tyre nor Caledonia. The handful of updates they had downloaded hadn’t been particularly reassuring. Caledonia was occupied, the Colonial Alliance effectively defunct and the House of Lords pretty much the victor by default. The king’s fleet had shrunk to forty warships, not counting Admiral Falcon
e and her fleet. He no longer had any reasonable hope of winning the war.
But that doesn’t stop him talking about his plans to return home. There were times when he wondered if the king knew his fleet was heading away from Tyre. He made it sound as though they’d drop out of hyperspace and find themselves at Tyre . . . Francis had been so alarmed, the first time he’d heard the rant, that he’d checked the ship’s navigational data. They were quite definitely heading towards Willow. And he’s not thinking about the future.
He scowled. He’d had a lot of time, over the last few days, to consider everything that had happened. His staffers were probably dead. Admiral Jacanas and his officers would have put everyone in the bunker, once the shooting started, but they hadn’t reckoned on mass planetary bombardment. The bunker hadn’t been designed to stand up to an assault powerful enough to wreck the entire city. And even if they had survived, somehow, they’d be trapped, waiting helplessly for the power to run out. Francis tried not to think about his people starving or suffocating underground, but the thought had a habit of haunting him when he didn’t manage to distract himself. Guilt gnawed at him as he remembered the last time he’d seen Jacanas. He could have told the admiral to evacuate the embassy long before the bombs started falling.
And your career is doomed, unless you convince the king to work with you. He thought he heard Admiral Jacanas laughing at him. Or maybe it was one of his old rivals, one of the men he’d climbed over to get the posting to Caledonia. The government will need a scapegoat, and you’re elected.
He forced himself to think, hard. No point in simply giving up. He wouldn’t be allowed to withdraw from public life. And the king wouldn’t give up. The situation had to be managed, unless some kindly soul put a bullet in Hadrian’s brain. Francis had no choice. He had to manage the situation, somehow. It was his only hope of salvaging something from the utter disaster his career had become. And who knew? If it was successful, he might still reach the very top.
Debt of War (The Embers of War) Page 34