“One of the border worlds or asteroid settlements,” William said. “I could give him a couple of thousand crowns, if his information pans out. That would be enough to get him started.”
“Might be doable,” Quietus said. “What would you want from him?”
“Everything,” William said simply. “Ship schedules, charts of Theocratic space, locations of naval bases . . . everything he can bring, in short. And I would pay you two thousand crowns for arranging it.”
Quietus lifted his eyebrows. “Three thousand crowns, considering the risk.”
“Two thousand,” William said. “That’s enough for you to set up somewhere else too.”
“Very well,” Quietus said. “You will pay me one hundred crowns for trying to recruit someone who wants out. If I find a possible candidate who fits your requirements, I will arrange for him to be smuggled here, at which point you will pay me the remaining one thousand, nine hundred crowns. It will take at least five days to accomplish those tasks. Do we have a bargain?”
“We do,” William said.
“I may also request transport myself,” Quietus said. “Would that be acceptable?”
“If you wish,” William said. He had a feeling the CIS would want a few words with Quietus before he was allowed to go, but that was Quietus’s problem. “I may have to place you in stasis until we reach our destination, but you would be allowed to leave once we arrive.”
“Very good,” Quietus said. He cocked his head, sending a contact code into William’s implants. “You will be informed if I succeed or fail.”
William rose, then spent the rest of the hour exploring the marketplace and looking for anything that might prove useful. It was odd; starship components seemed to be very expensive, while personnel weapons were surprisingly cheap. He couldn’t help wondering if the smugglers were selling them to insurgencies on occupied worlds, then dismissed the thought. No matter the number of corrupt officials involved with the smugglers, they’d have to be insane to allow the smugglers to supply weapons to their enemies. Unless, of course, they were so far gone they hardly cared.
“They came for the supplies, sir,” Rasmussen said, when he returned to the ship. “We handed them over, as you ordered.”
“Good,” William said. It would be at least an hour before he could collect the rest of the cash, but he could wait. “I have some new orders for you.”
It was seven days before Quietus finally got back in touch with him, seven days during which William grew more and more paranoid about possible betrayal. Whoever Quietus had tapped to serve as a defector might be having second thoughts, or taking part in an elaborate sting operation. Maybe they’d brought an entire enemy squadron with them, or a handful of armed janissaries who would try to capture Mermaid. But, when Quietus called him to a private office, he discovered that matters were more awkward than he’d realized.
“This is John,” Quietus said. He waved a hand at a one-way mirror, which looked into another office. A pale-skinned man sat at a table, looking nervous. “He is—he was—a mid-level official on Aswan. Commodore Malian, his former superior, used him as a go-between, but their new commanding officer is a bit more of a hard-ass. John felt it might be safer to leave, so he took the bait. It was very hard to get him, his two wives, and their five children out of the system without sounding any alarms.”
William blinked. “There are seven of them?”
“Eight, if you count John, and nine, if you count me,” Quietus said. “I do want to go too.”
Idiot, William told himself. Just because I have no wife and children doesn’t mean that everyone else is equally free to leave at a moment’s notice.
“I will need to check the data first,” William said. If John really had worked at Aswan, he would know enough to keep the intelligence staff happy for months. “And then we can transfer them to my ship.”
“Of course,” Quietus said. He produced a datapad and held it out. “A sample can be found here.”
William scowled at him, then peered down at the datapad. It certainly looked authentic. A handful of updated starship schedules, a couple of outlines of the defenses of various systems . . . it was either authentic or a very good fake. And the latter would be easy to spot, once the analysts went to work. There would be an opportunity for revenge on John, Quietus, and John’s family afterwards, if necessary. They would certainly be reluctant to cheat him if they believed he was a pirate.
“Very well,” he said. “I will require the full data once everyone is on my ship.”
“Of course,” Quietus said. “Shall I tell him to prepare?”
“Yes,” William said. “Tell him we will leave in twenty minutes.”
He keyed his wristcom and sent a few orders, then waited impatiently for John to return with his family. The two wives were veiled, their faces hidden behind black robes that robbed them of all individuality; two of the children, both girls, were veiled too, although he could see their brown eyes. All three of the boys wore long robes; he couldn’t help reminding himself to be careful, recalling just how fanatical young men could be. They might not understand why their father had taken them from their home and, when they realized they were actually going to the Commonwealth, they might do something stupid.
John’s voice was strange, oddly accented. “You are the one who will take us all?”
“I am,” William confirmed. “If you will come with me . . . ?”
He frowned as he led the way down the corridor. The women brought up the rear; the young girls at the very back, hiding from the boys. There was something about such blatant inequality that sent chills down his spine; his homeworld had prided itself on breeding tough-minded men and women, where one’s strength and determination meant more than one’s gender. To be treated as chattel because of one’s birth . . . it was a repulsive historical nightmare. But it was one that had to be endured until the Theocracy was crushed. If a princess could gain the nerve to escape, no doubt other women had the same sparks of independence glowing within them too.
“Do not touch anything within the ship without permission,” William warned as they reached the airlock. “This is not a safe environment.”
The hatch hissed open, revealing two crewmen. Both of them had clearly taken the instructions to wear something piratical to heart. The red shirts and black trousers, with several weapons hanging from their belts, made them look like characters out of a bad romantic play rather than real pirates. William sensed Quietus having second thoughts, but it was far too late. He led the small group through the hatch and into a medium-sized cabin that was easy to secure.
“You are not to leave this compartment without an escort,” he said as he waved the women and children inside. “We will get you somewhere safe as quickly as possible.”
One of the boys glanced at his sister, then said something in a language William didn’t recognize. John snapped at him, raising a hand as if he intended to strike the child; the boy cowered back, then glowered at his younger sister . . . as if, somehow, it was all her fault. William felt cold; it looked, very much, as if John kept his family in line with a rod of iron. What had the boy said? Had he objected to sharing a cabin with the girls? Or what?
“It . . . it would be better if you could put the girls in a separate cabin,” John said. “Is that possible?”
“Perhaps,” William said darkly. Although, judging by the expression on the boy’s face, it would probably be safer for the girls to keep the two sexes apart. “I will try and make arrangements.”
“Thank you,” John said.
William sighed and closed the hatch. “We’ll be casting off in five minutes,” he said once he showed Quietus to his cabin. “I need that data now.”
“Here,” Quietus said. He gave William a sharp look. “You’re not pirates or smugglers, are you?”
“No,” William said. “But we will keep our agreement
, believe me.”
He closed the hatch, then keyed his wristcom. “Lieutenant, you may cast off when ready,” he said. “Take an evasive course back to the RV point.”
“Aye, sir,” Rasmussen said.
William smiled to himself, then sobered as he remembered the two women. Princess Drusilla hadn’t been so submissive, but she’d been a princess. Was that the fate awaiting every woman in the Commonwealth, if their homeworlds were occupied? He remembered everything that had happened on Cadiz, before the counterattack, and shuddered. Any woman who dared show an independent streak had been savagely punished.
“When you have a moment, clear a cabin for the girls,” he ordered. “And see if your XO can talk to them. They may respond better to another woman.”
“Aye, sir,” Rasmussen said.
William carried the datachip to his tiny cabin as he felt the patrol boat cast off, then plugged it into his isolated terminal. There was a pause, then long streams of data started to flicker up in front of him, everything Quietus had promised and more. He couldn’t help smiling in relief as he realized it had all been worthwhile, once the data was carefully examined. They now knew enough about the Theocracy to start hammering it apart, piece by piece.
Most of their shipyards, even their repair yards, are concentrated around their core worlds, he thought slowly. Even a naval base like Aswan has only a handful of repair facilities. Their ships have to limp all the way home for major repairs . . .
It made no sense, from a practical viewpoint, but the Theocracy was more interested in social control than building a formidable military machine. William was no expert, yet it seemed to him as though the enemy’s industrial base was already running hot. They’d practically bankrupted themselves just to build the military they had, let alone keep it going. And, without a network of repair yards, they couldn’t cope with increasing numbers of damaged ships.
His wristcom buzzed. “Commander,” Rasmussen said. “We are now in hyperspace. No sign of pursuit.”
“Good,” William said. He made a mental note to thank Scott when he next saw him, then nodded to himself. “Make sure our guests remain reasonably comfortable until we rejoin the squadron, Lieutenant. I want to keep them in a good mood.”
“Aye, sir,” Rasmussen said. He hesitated, noticeably. “Do you think we succeeded?”
William looked at the data unfolding in front of him. “I think so,” he said. “But we may not know for several weeks, at best. And one other thing?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Not a word about this mission, not to anyone,” William warned. “This secret must remain secret for the nonce.”
“Yes, sir,” Rasmussen said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“The younger of the wives has been . . . treated,” Doctor Katy Braham said. There was more than a little distaste in her voice. “Not to put too fine a point on it, she follows orders. All orders. She quite literally has no will of her own.”
Kat swallowed, tasting bile in her mouth. Princess Drusilla had explained, back when she’d defected from the Theocracy, that her father had intended to turn her into a Stepford Wife, but Kat had found it hard to believe that anyone could be so cruel. Kat’s father might have been exasperated with her from time to time, yet he’d never set out to steal her free will. But the evidence was right in front of her—a woman, barely out of her teens, who was helpless to resist any commands. Someone had rewired her brain to make her an obedient slave.
It was worse, she suspected. The woman knew what had happened to her—knew it, hated it, and yet was unable to resist. There was a helpless fury in her eyes that sent chills down Kat’s spine, the fury of a slave trapped in unbreakable bonds. She couldn’t so much as block her ears to prevent the commands from reaching her mind, let alone refuse to obey them. It was a chilling presentiment of what might be in store for Kat if the Theocracy won.
The XO looked pale. “Is there any way to reverse the treatment?”
“I’m not sure,” the doctor admitted. “These procedures were originally developed for patients who had serious mental problems; later, some very wealthy people on Earth used them to create a cadre of loyal servants before the whole practice was banned. In this case . . .”
She sighed, studying the medical readouts. “In this case, the brain might have adapted to the modifications,” she said. “This is far more complex than a simple conditioning—and a conditioning, while it can be removed, might well leave the victim in a state of shock for years to come. I suggest putting her in stasis until we get back to Tyre, then sending her over to a medical crew that specializes in brain injuries. There’s nothing more I can do for her here.”
Kat nodded slowly. “What else can you tell me about them?”
“The boys are healthy, if arrogant,” the doctor said. “They had some problems being examined by a female doctor, although I’m not sure if that was out of misogyny or a form of misplaced modesty. The girls, on the other hand, are too thin for their age; the senior wife, too, has not had enough to eat. She’s quite a piece of work herself, I might add. She didn’t hesitate to tell me I should have a husband and kids rather than be working as a doctor.”
“I see,” Kat said. “Is she conditioned too?”
“No,” the doctor said. “But I think she would be very unwise to disobey her husband, at least openly. My honest opinion, Captain, is that we should hang on to the women; the defector, if he wishes, can go to one of the independent colonies.”
“He’d want to take the boys with him,” the XO said. “It sounds like they need a healthy dose of boarding school.”
“That attitude would be knocked out of them pretty quickly on one of the independent worlds,” the doctor said, firmly. “Or they’d be killed by someone when they gave offense.”
Kat held up a hand. “Keep them separated for the moment,” she said. She couldn’t help thinking the doctor was right, but her brothers had been arrogant little shits when they’d been young too. On the other hand, they hadn’t been raised in such a poisonous atmosphere, nor had they been taught that their sisters were automatically inferior. “We can sort out their disposition later.”
“The Child Protection Service would not hesitate to remove the girls, at least,” the doctor warned. “This isn’t a typical case, but we have had other problems concerning immigrant children who were mistreated by their parents.”
“By your standards,” the XO said.
The doctor rounded on him. “I hardly think that programming a young woman into a life of helpless servitude and half starving young girls is acceptable by anyone’s standards,” she said. “Not to mention the sheer disgusting loss of potential this represents. The Theocracy is a cancer on the face of the galaxy, a perversion of everything we stand for. It has to be destroyed.”
She slapped the table hard. “Fuck cultural sensitivity,” she hissed. “There are some things we should refuse to fucking tolerate.”
Kat blinked in surprise. She’d never heard the doctor swear before, not even after the escape from Cadiz or the ambush at Morningside. But the doctor was right. There was no way that anyone could leave the girls with their father and brothers, not when they would be treated like dirt. It would be easy enough to arrange for them to be slipped into Commonwealth society, with foster families, while their mother was deprogrammed.
“Take care of them,” she said softly. “Mr. XO?”
She turned and led the way back to her office, then sat down on the chair. “It’s going to be a headache explaining this to your friend,” she said. “He’s going to think we’re stealing his family from him.”
“I think we don’t have a choice,” the XO said bitterly. “But it’s still going to come back to haunt us.”
Kat looked into his troubled eyes. “Why?”
“Intelligence is a murky field,” the XO reminded her. “A defector, someone who can tell us
a great deal about the enemy’s intentions, is a pearl beyond price. Treating them well, giving them money and places to stay—and making it publicly clear that that’s what we have done—helps to encourage other defectors. I have a feeling the CIS will complain, loudly, if the message we send is something else. Like, for example, come to the Commonwealth and have your family taken from you.”
“No,” Kat said flatly. “There are some lines we will not cross.”
“You might be surprised,” the XO said. “They had me making deals with smugglers—and some of the people I spoke to might have been pirates, the murderers and rapists we execute on sight. I don’t find it hard to believe that the CIS might make deals with people who are even worse, at least by our standards.”
Kat looked down at her hands. She didn’t want to believe him, but she had a feeling he might well be right. There was idealism . . . and then there was politics, and the demands of fighting and winning a war that could not be lost. She knew more than she wanted to know about the endless tussle for supremacy in Tyre City, the willingness to stoop to new lows just to gain a temporary advantage. Maybe the CIS would insist that the girls be returned to their father, even though they would be abused.
I’ll adopt them if that happens, she thought darkly. Technically, that would require her father’s permission, but she had a feeling she could make it hard for him to deny her. Let them try to take the girls from me, if I added them to the family. The bad publicity alone would be disastrous.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she said finally. “I understand you learned a great deal about our enemy?”
“Indeed,” the XO said. “And Davidson’s team of interrogators are learning a great deal more.”
He tapped the terminal, bringing up a star chart. “The enemy,” he said, as the display centered on their current location. “For the first time, we have a detailed outline of enemy space.”
Kat nodded slowly. The defector had definitely brought enough information to make the risk of smuggling him out of Aswan more than worthwhile. Now, she knew where the enemy based their major shipyards, although they were clearly too heavily defended for her remaining ships to attack. It wouldn’t be hard to slip more scoutships through the Reach and get hard data, then plot a major attack. Convincing the Admiralty to cut loose enough superdreadnoughts to mount an offensive would be a great deal harder.
Falcone Strike (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 2) Page 31