Knight's Move

by Nuttall, Christopher

  And obtain plenty of contracts for Knight Corporation as well, Glen thought, cynically. The people who went to the new colony worlds were often very poor, but the colonies themselves were quite solid investments. It was rare for a colony mission to actually fail. The ones that did often hadn't had a proper development corporation behind them. And yet ... most of the colonies on the other side of the Great Wall had had only limited investment. There might be fewer pickings for Knight Corporation than Theodore had assumed.

  “I see,” he said, simply.

  He wasn't sure how he felt about it. His brothers had interfered in his life again, interfered so blatantly that he couldn't tell himself that he'd deserved his promotion. But command of a heavy cruiser at such a young age ... his career was made, as long as he didn't screw up too badly. And besides, he was loyal to the Federation. Semi-independent states were one thing, but humanity’s unity was too important to allow the colonials to tear it apart. That lack of unity explained why the early stages of the war had gone so badly.

  “We want you to assist her as much as possible,” David explained. “If she makes a decree, as laid down in the laws governing her position, you are to support it and uphold it and whatever else you have to do. That is your sole priority.”

  “My first priority is the safety of my ship and her crew,” Glen snapped. Both of his brothers looked politely uncomprehending. “I will not endanger them purely to suit your agenda.”

  “You will do as the family requires,” Theodore snapped back, with equal force. “That is your first priority.”

  “You are not being asked to endanger your crew,” David said, trying to pour oil on troubled waters. “We just require you to support our agenda.”

  “I will do as I see fit,” Glen informed them. “But like I said, my ship comes first.”

  “Acceptable,” Theodore said, after a brief glance at David. It was considered rude to use implants to talk secretly when others were in the same room, but neither of them had to care about what others considered to be rude. “If you will take this file ...”

  Glen’s implants reported that Theodore’s implants were opening a channel. He accepted the file, waited for his implants to scan it for viruses and other unpleasant surprises, then opened the file and scanned the headings. It was a biography of Governor Chandra Wu and her staff, all of whom were apparently loyal to her – and to her political patrons. The Governor looked to have modified her face to reflect strength and determination, combined with a certain vulnerability that would appeal to men. Glen suspected, just looking at the picture, that they would not get on. There was something inherently dishonest in modifying one’s face for political purposes.

  “She's a Liberal-Progressive,” he noted, with some surprise. “I would have expected a Federalist.”

  “The Federalists would raise hackles,” David said. Beside him, Theodore looked unhappy, even mutinous. “And besides, Wu is known for being power-hungry. She will not betray us.”

  Glen nodded. In his experience, all politicians were power-hungry – and none of them would willingly bite the hand that fed them. But he could understand Theodore’s concerns, even if a Liberal-Progressive would seem be more accommodating to the colonials than a Federalist. A politician whose ideology clashed too much with that of her patrons could never be trusted, not entirely. He skimmed through the file and noted that Wu was actually on the outskirts of the Liberal-Progressive Faction. They probably didn't trust her either.

  “She was responsible for feeding the refugees outside the Occupied Zone,” he said. “But the file doesn't go into many details.”

  He gritted his teeth, remembering some of his post-war duties. Millions of refugees had fled their homeworlds as the Dragons advanced, mostly ending up in makeshift refugee camps on unoccupied worlds. Many of them had gone into the military, but the remainder had been a major problem. Families had been broken up; there were kids who might never see their parents again, assuming that their parents had also escaped. Getting them all back where they belonged was a nightmare that would take years to resolve.

  “It wouldn't,” David said. “There are aspects of the whole operation that remain classified.”

  Glen looked at David, then switched his attention to Theodore. “There were ... disputes over how best to proceed,” Theodore explained, crossly. “Wu was one of those who ended up being moved to another department. It didn't damage her career.”

  But it did have some effect on her, Glen guessed. No wonder she was tempted to take whatever Theodore offered in exchange for her service.

  “Brilliant,” he said, out loud. He would need to try to obtain the information, even if it was classified. Somehow, he doubted that Wu’s involvement in the whole affair was unknown outside the government. “Can you find me a complete file?”

  Theodore and David exchanged glances. “We can try,” Theodore said, finally. “But we expect you to work with her, whatever happens.”

  “I can try,” Glen said. Dealing with his brothers always brought out the worst in him. Still, he would have bet good money that they knew the full story – and were refusing to share it with him, for whatever reason made sense to them. “But you do realise that the entire political situation is unstable?”

  “Of course,” Theodore said. “That is, I believe, why you are being assigned to the Fairfax Cluster.”

  “Admiral Webster would have been a far better bet for Governor,” Glen pointed out. The Admiral hadn't always been liked, but just about everyone respected him. “I believe the colonials would have preferred him.”

  “What they might prefer is not important,” Theodore said. His voice was very cold. He would happily ride roughshod over the colonies as long as he got what he wanted out of the whole affair. “Our priority is ensuring that Knight Corporation comes out of the post-war chaos in a position to capitalise on the end of the war. Whatever it takes, we have to survive.”

  Glen took a bite of his food, thinking hard. There were political undercurrents at work, he was sure. He’d spent long enough in the military to sense them, even if he couldn't quite see them yet. He would have to watch his back – and that of his crew. No doubt the Governor would expect him to bend the regulations in her favour as much as possible.

  It was not going to be an easy voyage.

  “The strong survive,” he observed.

  “Indeed they do,” Theodore agreed. He shifted, eying his brother as he'd done years ago, when Glen had asked for his blessing before he left for the Academy. The memory made Glen shiver. His brother had been the closest thing to a male role model he’d had until he’d gone to the Academy, where he’d met others. “And we will survive.”

  Chapter Three

  “Commander?”

  Commander Sandy Mannerheim rubbed sleep from her eyes as she sat upright in her bunk, muttering curses under her breath. She'd intended to catch a few hours of sleep between duty shifts, but Dauntless was a new ship and problems just kept popping up as her crew tested each and every component. Sandy was already keeping a log of glitches she intended to rub in the face of the yard master, the next time he showed his face. It wasn't as if he was going to be entering hyperspace on a new and largely untested starship.

  “Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat. “What is it?”

  “We just received a ping from Luna Base,” the duty officer said. “Our new Captain is on his way. ETA; thirty minutes.”

  “Understood,” Sandy said. She swung her legs off the bunk and stood upright. Formal protocol demanded a reception in the shuttlebay, but half of the senior officers were busy and the other half were desperately trying to sleep. Their estimated departure date was only a week off and they were still finding problems. “Inform Colonel Armstrong and request that she meet me in the shuttlebay before the Captain arrives.”

  She closed the connection, then pulled off her tunic and stepped into the shower. Warm water cascaded down over her, followed by a gust of hot air that left her dry. If there was one a
dvantage to serving on a fed starship, it was almost unlimited water ... but there was no time to enjoy it, not now. If their new commander couldn't have the full formal reception, the very least she could do was to be there in her dress uniform and hope that he was reasonable enough to understand why the senior staff hadn't greeted him. They hadn't even been told who their new commander was.

  It should have been her command, she told herself. She had joined the Colonial Militia at fourteen and risen in the ranks, then transferred to the Terran Federation Navy after Second Bottleneck, when contact had been re-established between the colonies and the Federation. It hadn't been that bad until the war had come to an end, whereupon competence and experience had been replaced by political connections, at least when it came to assigning promotion. It didn't help that she’d been born on the other side of the Great Wall. The bureaucrats on Luna Base didn't seem to realise that paperwork was a so-so thing for the colonies.

  She stepped back into the cabin and eyed herself critically in the mirror. Her blonde hair had been cut short, a style that made her look severe; her arms and legs were muscular, while her blue eyes were sharp and clear. The only sign that she’d been in combat was a nasty scar on her cheek, which she had never bothered to have removed. It made her look intimidating to the new recruits, the ones who had never seen war. Shaking her head, she pulled her dress uniform on and buttoned it up, then checked her pistol and facemask out of habit. The Colonial Militia’s starships had never been as well-built as the Federation Navy’s ships. Their construction habits were the one thing she would take home, if she could.

  They probably wouldn't thank me for it, she thought ruefully. It’s easy to forget that space is dangerous on a Federation warship.

  Her implant blinked up a message in front of her eyes, alerting her to the arrival of a new file from Luna Base. They’d finally gotten around to sending her the Captain’s file. Rolling her eyes, she marked it for later attention and strode out of the cabin, heading down towards the shuttlebay. Half of the ship’s bulkheads were still open, allowing maintenance crews to work on her innards. She sighed in dismay at the sight, even though she knew that there was no alternative. The end of the war had also put an end to agreements banning labour disputes on shipyards and other war-related industries.

  Bloody unions, she told herself. Now that the war is over, they’re trying to claw back their power.

  Pushing the thought to one side, she stepped into the shuttlebay and smiled as she saw Jess Armstrong standing there. The Marine Captain – she was always addressed as Colonel onboard ship, to prevent confusion – looked tough enough to chew her way through iron bars and shit bricks. She was from one of the Core Worlds, but Sandy had always gotten on with her. Jess was fond of claiming that she’d been offered a choice between jail or joining the Marines and there were times when Sandy believed it.

  “Our new CO is arriving,” Jess said, nodding towards the opening hatch. Once, the sight had been disturbing; now, Sandy could pick out the shimmer of the force field keeping the atmosphere inside the ship. “Did you review his file?”

  Sandy shook her head, then accessed her implants and reviewed the file, skimming through the highlights. It was surprisingly short; their new Captain had served on a cruiser, then a fleet carrier ... and little else, apart from training craft. He didn't have any actual command to his credit, although he did have several awards for tactical bravery. The Terran Cross wasn't normally awarded for political purposes, not after the last public outcry. And he’d been at the Battle of Sphere Prime.

  Her lips twitched. She'd been there too.

  The shuttle came into view, a boxy shape that seemed to be little more than a flying brick that shouldn't be able to move at all. Sandy watched as the pilot neatly put the craft down on the deck, then deactivated the drives. The faint hum faded away into nothingness. She took a step forward as the hatch hissed open, revealing a young man in a navy-blue uniform. He didn't seem to have bothered to wear his dress uniform. It was, she told herself firmly, a good sign.

  She pulled herself to attention as the Captain stepped out of the shuttle. He made no acknowledgement; instead, as per protocol, he formally saluted the flag painted on the far side of the shuttlebay, then saluted Sandy. Sandy returned his salute, then relaxed minutely, studying her new commandeer with all the experience of thirty years in the military. He really was alarmingly young. And his face suggested that someone had engineered the best possible genotype into his genetic code before birth.

  “Welcome onboard, Captain,” Sandy said. She buried the resentment at the back of her mind. Whatever connections Captain Knight had, it was unlikely that he’d personally barred her from further promotion. There were more officers than slots in the years following the end of the war. “It is a pleasure to see you.”

  The Captain extended his hand. Sandy took it and shook it, then introduced Jess, who gave their new commander a disturbing smile. The Captain didn't seem to notice the traditional Marine game, but then he had been an XO on a fleet carrier. He was probably used to the Marine tradition of trying to gross out the spacers, who never had to get down in the mud and get their hands and uniforms dirty.

  “Thank you,” he said. His voice was almost unaccented, suggesting that he’d grown up on Earth or Mars. Earth tended to have the most blended accents in the known universe, a result of its position as the wellspring of human culture. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”

  Sandy nodded, brusquely. “I’m afraid that the majority of the senior crew are currently on duty or trying to catch some sleep, sir,” she explained. She might as well hit him with the bad news at once and see how he reacted. “There are too many problems on the ship to allow us to relax just yet.”

  She paused, waiting to see what he’d say, then pressed on. “I can take you to the bridge and you can formally assume command, or I can give you the full tour. Which one would you prefer?”

  “The tour,” the Captain said, after a moment. “I need to know just what has happened to my ship.”

  “The shipyard was still too used to cutting corners,” Sandy said, tightly. She turned to lead him towards the hatch that led into the ship’s interior. “Which isn't too bad if the ships aren't expected to last more than a few months, but what little I was told about our mission suggested that we would be operating some distance from the Federation. Right now, we are going over the entire ship in cynical detail and checking everything.”

  The Captain nodded, ruefully. Of course, Sandy reminded herself; he’d been an XO before his promotion. The shipyards had developed bad habits during the war, when there had been a desperate need for war material, but it could not be tolerated. If a vital component failed while they were in hyperspace, it was far too likely that they would never be seen again.

  Curious to see his reaction, she led him on a tour of the most important parts of the ship. Main Engineering was a hive of activity; thankfully, they had tested all five fusion cores and discovered that they were in perfect working order. But then, replacing even one of them was a nightmare at the best of times. In theory, one fusion core was enough to power the entire ship, but she knew no CO who would care to rely on it. They would certainly be unable to operate at full capacity without at least three cores.

  Tactical was a slight improvement; weapons and targeting sensors were one area where it wasn't easy to skimp on the basics. But the training programs she had intended to use to ensure that the crew were brought up to standard had been delayed, even though she had thought that they were standardized. Clearly, someone had decided to modify the system now that the war was over. The Captain said nothing, but she could see his grim scowl flicker over his face before he hid it behind a blank mask. He’d been an XO long enough to fully understand the value of constant training.

  The only two compartments of the ship that were fully functional were sickbay and Marine Country. Sandy showed him the sickbay quickly, including the rows of stasis pods for crewmen who were too badly wounded to be
healed onboard ship. They’d all been tested by the Medical Directorate, Doctor Gayle Foster assured them. Nothing could be allowed to go wrong with the ship’s medical bay.

  “I’ve also passed my xenobiology courses,” Gayle said. She had started life as a civilian doctor before making the switch to the military. “I can provide basic treatments for all known forms of intelligent life.”

  Sandy scowled. She knew that xenophobia was bad, but it was hard to avoid a basic distrust of aliens – all aliens – after what the Dragons had done to the Occupied Zones. Most of the stories were nightmarish, ranging from mass slaughter to enslavement, collaboration and eventual genocide. Humans had resisted, of course, but it was impossible to defeat a foe who controlled the high orbitals on the ground. And, when many worlds had been on the verge of liberation, the Dragons had unleashed biological weapons on the remaining inhabitants.

  She led the Captain to Marine Country, where a full company of Marines waited for his inspection. The Federation Marines were renowned as the best of the best, the men and women who had stormed countless worlds, clearing the way for national formations to secure the ground. Even now, with countless officers and men being told that they had to leave the military, the Marines still stood proud. But then, there was no shortage of work for them to do on the formerly occupied worlds.