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.”
“That’s good, sir,” Kat said.
Vaughn cleared his throat. “Overall, Captain, the operation was a complete success, despite the loss of a number of outdated ships,” he said. “The damage you did will shock the enemy; the intelligence you gathered will allow us to target other raids in the future; and the contacts you made, on Verdean if nowhere else, will assist us in securing control of the system when we launch the big counteroffensive. You did very well.”
“Thank you, sir,” Kat said.
“Certain . . . intelligence officers have complained that you used the StarCom, rather than shipping it back home for study,” Vaughn added. “They were most put out by their inability to put it together for a second time. However, His Majesty told them off in no uncertain terms. Recovering a number of POWs, as well as burnishing your reputation as one of the leading lights of the Navy, has been good for the public. I dare say civilian morale has improved tremendously.”
He paused. “And Justin Deveron is no longer a problem,” he added. “His patrons were not amused when the whole affair made them look bad, as it did. You shouldn’t have to think about him again.”
“I didn’t think about him,” Kat said coolly.
The admiral smiled, then met her eyes. “Your recommendations regarding promotions, Captain, will be taken into account,” he said. “Commander McElney will receive a starship of his own as well as a knighthood, although it may be several months until he is firmly seated in the command chair. I’m afraid your rank of commodore cannot be made permanent, under the circumstances, but you will probably be able to choose your next assignment. Admiral Christian has put in a request for your services, as have a couple of other senior commanders. Still, you won’t be allowed to leave the system until Admiral Morrison has been indicted.”
Kat leaned forward. “Sir?”
“Admiral Morrison will be put in front of a public court-martial, once a full investigation has been carried out,” Vaughn said shortly. “You may be required to testify in front of the court.”
He paused. “Mr. Parker will pass into intelligence’s custody,” he added. “Under the circumstances, he will spend the rest of his life in an open prison or exile, rather than a penal colony, which is as lenient as we can be. Heads will be rolling, considering the scale of the security breach. Luckily, the news hasn’t been made public or it would be impossible to avoid another court-martial.”
“Thank you, sir,” Kat said. She had expected less, no matter what strings she pulled. “I felt sorry for him.”
“Emotions should not be allowed to rule us, Captain,” Vaughn said sternly. “He was dealt a bad hand, I agree, but he made poor choices. It was sheer luck that recovered his sister, not anything he did.”
“Yes, sir,” Kat said.
“You’re expected to attend the ceremony at the Palace,” Vaughn said. “Until then, consider yourself on leave. Lightning will be returned—again—to the yard crews, who will no doubt complain bitterly about having to redo most of their work. I dare say your father wants a word with you.”
Kat nodded. “I would like to attend Admiral Junayd’s debriefing sessions.”
“I suspect that will not be possible,” Vaughn said. “Intelligence complained bitterly about your . . . promises to the female defectors.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Kat began. “I . . .”
“I understand your feelings,” Vaughn said, holding up a hand. “And I have not seen fit to stand in your way. However, there will be consequences for your decisions. I strongly suggest you stay out of their way for a while.”
Kat scowled. “Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed, Captain,” Vaughn said. “And, once again, well done.”
William looked down at the golden star, unable to quite believe it was his. Part of him had decided, long ago, that he would never be offered command, no matter how hard he worked or how much experience he gained. He had tried to remain optimistic . . . he shook his head, admiring the way his name had been carved into the star. A command, a genuine command . . . he wouldn’t have minded, he told himself, if he’d been offered a garbage scow, if he’d been offered something.
“You will probably be assigned to a heavy cruiser,” Admiral Young had said. “I cannot make promises, not yet, but I believe that would be the best use of your talents.”
“Commander . . . William,” a voice said.
“Captain,” he said, before catching himself. Captains called each other by their first names. “Katherine?”
“Just Kat, please,” Kat said. Even in her dress uniform, she looked way too young to be a commanding officer. “Katherine is what my parents call me.”
She smiled. “And congratulations.”
“Thank you,” William said. He held up the star. “Your work?”
“I recommended you for promotion after our last voyage,” Kat said. Thinking of her as anything other than Captain would be difficult. “They saw fit to deny my request until now.”
William scowled. Had he been awarded a command because of his service, because of Kat Falcone’s recommendation . . . or because of Rose MacDonald? Had someone felt that it was time to speed up integration, despite the risks? Or had someone decided he could be trusted to serve as an example of an integrated officer, without the risks? He considered, briefly, demanding an explanation, perhaps even refusing the promotion, but he knew it would be professional suicide. Promotions were rarely offered more than once.
“You’ll do fine,” she assured him. “Once you have a command, it will be back to the front lines.”
“Or behind them,” William said. “Do they have any plans to send another squadron behind enemy lines?”
“I suspect so,” Kat said. “However . . .”
The door opened. “It’s time,” she said, reaching out and taking his arm. “Let’s go.”
William sucked in his breath as they walked forward—he couldn’t help thinking they were walking to the altar—into the giant chamber. It was lined with nobility, ranging from dukes and lords who were household names to men and women who’d purchased their noble titles and taken their place among the planet’s rulers. He wanted to stop, but iron discipline kept him moving forward until he was standing in front of the throne. The king looked down at him and, unbelievably, winked.
“Who brings this man before me?”
“I, Lady Katherine Falcone, do,” Kat said. Her voice was clear, showing no hint she was intimidated by the massive gathering. But then, she was the daughter of a duke. “He is worthy of your recognition.”
The king rose to his feet. “Captain William McElney . . .” he said. His voice was calm, but William thought he detected hints of uncertainty buried within the tone. A junior officer, perhaps, hopelessly out of his depth. William had mentored dozens of them in his long career. “You have served Us well. Kneel.”
William hesitated, then fell to his knees. Kat dropped beside him, still holding his arm. The king drew his sword and stepped forward, holding the blade out until it was resting gently on William’s shoulder. He tensed, despite himself; a single slash and his head would be rolling on the ground. But the king would never kill someone in front of the entire aristocracy.
“It is Our very great honor to invest you with a knighthood,” the king said. “We welcome you to Our family, to those who serve Us and Our Kingdom. Arise, Sir William.”
He drew back the sword. William rose, slowly, as the crowd cheered. A knighthood wasn’t just an empty title, he knew; it was social acceptance, an open invitation to take up a place among the aristocracy. Kat gently tugged on his arm, pulling him around; he blinked in surprise as he saw Princess Drusilla standing amidst the throng. He hadn’t expected to see her again, ever. But then, her defection had been a major point in the Commonwealth’s favor.
“Come on,” Kat whispered. “It’s time to go.”
William nodded and allowed her to lead him out of the room, into an antechamber. I
t was suddenly very quiet as the door closed behind them.
“Congratulations, Sir William,” she said seriously. “You deserve it.”
“Thank you,” he said. “What now?”
Kat laughed. “Join me for dinner? Patrick should be back soon; we can go eat together and talk about the future.”
William hesitated, then nodded. “Why not?”
“Katherine,” Duke Falcone said, when Kat entered his office. “Have you heard the news?”
Kat frowned. She’d had dinner with her former XO—she knew she was going to miss him—and had been seriously considering a night on the town with Davidson before her father’s message had arrived. It had been terse, ordering her to return to the mansion at once; she’d bid her friends farewell, then caught an aircar home. Her father wouldn’t have summoned her if it hadn’t been urgent.
“No,” she said. “What news?”
“Admiral Morrison is dead,” Duke Falcone said curtly. “There was, apparently, a tragic accident. His brain literally melted.”
Kat blinked in shock. “What happened?”
“According to the reports, they were preparing to use a mind probe on him,” Duke Falcone said. “They established the link, then there was a sudden surge of power, causing a colossal cerebral hemorrhage. His body was shoved into stasis at once, of course, while medics were called, but by the time they examined him it was far too late. They can keep his body alive, Katherine, yet the man himself is long gone. There isn’t a hope of interrogating him.”
“That wasn’t an accident,” Kat said.
“Almost certainly not,” Duke Falcone agreed. “Units of the Special Security Force took everyone in the complex into custody, then checked them all out thoroughly. The mind probe itself was examined. Apparently, it was programmed to generate a power surge when linked to a specific brainprint. As of yet, Katherine, no one has been marked as a potential suspect.”
Falcone Strike (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 2) Page 39