Knight's Move

by Nuttall, Christopher

  “I believe that you are still building up your own military force,” the Governor said. She made a show of quirking her eyebrow. “Could it be that you protest too loudly?”

  “Because we know that we cannot count on you to protect us,” Feingold said, sardonically. “We know better than to trust you. Not after you abandoned us. Not while you keep ignoring our interests. Not while our people die.”

  But it wouldn't be enough, Sandy knew. The Colonial Militia had worked wonders during the war, but the aftermath had damaged the colonies as badly as the Core Worlds. She doubted that the Bottleneck Republic could scrape up the funds necessary to maintain the ships they’d built, bought or stole during the war, let alone continue to expand the fleet much longer. What was pocket change to the Federation was a sizable percentage of the Fairfax Cluster’s overall income.

  The argument raged backwards and forwards, with no clear victory. Despite her seeming annoyance, Sandy started to wonder if the Governor was actually enjoying the discussion – or if she’d had another motive for provoking the verbal confrontation. It was easy to dismiss Governor Wu as a political placeman, yet ... she had to have some intelligence to rise to such a high position, didn't she? And the Captain’s family would hardly have chosen her unless they thought she could do what they wanted.

  Unless the objective actually is to start a war, Sandy thought, coldly. Governor Wu could do that very well.

  It struck her in a moment of insight. The Governor was preparing herself for her task ... and the argument was showing her how the colonies thought. Feingold was outlining the problems she would have to confront for her, knowingly or otherwise. No fool himself, Feingold probably sensed the truth ... and might well be deliberately helping her. Or was she overestimating one and underestimating the other?

  The argument came to a halt as the staff removed empty plates and replaced them with small bowls of ice cream. Sandy had to admit that the food had been good, although it had been rather minimal; she’d grown too used to being allowed to eat all she could. But then, the Governor’s staff had brought their own food supplies when they boarded the ship. Someone had probably told them that naval rations were reprocessed. It wasn't a thought civilians tended to enjoy contemplating.

  “If you’ll take a word of advice,” Feingold offered, “you’ll start thinking of ways to compromise, rather than dictating. Like it or not, we do not consider ourselves part of the Federation. Many of our founding families were exiles from their homeworlds; others believe themselves to have been abandoned by the Core Worlds. There may be grounds for compromise, perhaps for joining the Federation as an autonomous nationalistic bloc, but not for simple absorption.”

  “By Federation law, that would be technically illegal,” Governor Wu said stiffly. “You are not a single bloc.”

  And that, Sandy knew, was true enough. Earth’s various nations had founded homeworlds of their own, which had gone on to settle other worlds ... but the Fairfax Cluster had no unifying culture, nothing beyond the desperate need to defend themselves against the Dragons. It was easy to believe that if the Federation was prepared to be patient, the Bottleneck Republic would eventually fall apart, allowing the Federation a chance to pick up the pieces. She wondered, despite herself, if Governor Wu would sense that and refrain from taking action.

  “But the alternatives are worse,” Feingold pointed out. He wasn't pleading, but there was ... something in his tone that worried Sandy. “Surely some compromise now would save trouble later.”

  If it did, Sandy thought, cynically. But she could see why the Federation wouldn't be keen on the idea. What would stop other colonies from forming unions of their own and then demanding internal autonomy? Nothing; the precedent would have been set by the Federation itself. Besides, the blocs that already existed didn't want rivals.

  The Captain tapped his knife against his glass, silencing the table. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, interrupting the argument, “I give you the Federation of Humanity.”

  Sandy smiled as she lifted her glass, then took a sip. When she’d transferred to the Federation Navy, the toast had been to victory – and destruction to the Dragons. It had changed shortly before the end of the war, apparently because of pressure from the Federation Senate. No one quite knew what they had been thinking.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Governor Wu said. She stood up and gave him a slight bow. “And thank you for allowing me to use your conference room.”

  The Captain’s face twitched, but he said nothing. Sandy scowled as she glanced past the Governor and met Windy’s eyes. The woman had recorded everything, including the discussion between her employer and the colonial representative. No doubt the recordings, suitably edited, would make their way into the hands of various news agencies. The Governor would need political support if she wanted to move against the Bottleneck Republic and slandering their representative was a good way to start. It would help to convince the ignorant masses on the Core Worlds that the colonies were populated by barbarians.

  Much to Sandy’s relief, the dinner broke up soon afterwards. She exchanged a brief glance with the Captain – they’d discuss the whole affair later – and then followed the other officers out of the compartment. There were a few hours before she was due to go back on duty. so she headed back to her cabin, undressed rapidly and settled down for a quick nap. The sooner they reached Bottleneck and Fairfax, the better. They would be able to unload the Governor and then commence patrolling the sector.

  And maybe we can do something about the raiders, she thought, as she closed her eyes. That might do more good than babysitting the Governor and her staff.

  Chapter Eight

  Who, Glen asked himself silently, does the Captain confide in?

  The answer was clear enough. There was no one the Captain could talk to as an equal, or even as a friend. Everyone on the ship was his subordinate, apart from the Governor and her staff and he would prefer not to confide in her. Over the last few days, the Governor had invited him to tea twice, clearly in hopes of forging a relationship. Glen had begged off the second time, explaining that he had no shortage of work to do. The first private meeting had been a political minefield.

  Damn Theodore anyway, Glen thought, feeling more like a resentful teenager than a responsible starship commander. But his brothers had always brought out the worst in him; they’d dedicated themselves to the corporation, rather than to Glen or even their own children. Part of the reason he’d gone into the Navy was a search for brotherhood, a sense of belonging that had been lacking from his own family. But now he was alone. There was no one he could just share his thoughts with.

  There had occasionally been suggestions that families could travel on starships. Those suggestions had only ever applied to long-range survey ships, which could take years to complete their missions ... and most of those ships had been recalled when the war had started in earnest. There had always been rumours about hidden colonies established thousands of light years from Earth, where the human race would continue if the Dragons won the war, but no one knew anything for sure. All that really mattered, right now, was that Glen stood alone.

  He picked up a datapad and glowered at it, as if he could force the documents to fade away with the sheer force of his displeasure. It never failed to surprise him just how much paperwork there was to do on a starship, even though the XO was supposed to handle most of the day-to-day administration. He’d certainly felt swamped once or twice on Ark Royal, but Ark Royal had been a colossal fleet carrier. Dauntless was smaller; surely, he told himself, she shouldn't generate so much paperwork. But the bureaucrats had been clawing back power ever since the war had come to an end ...

  The hatch chimed. He scowled – he’d hoped for some peace to come to grips with the paperwork – and then sent the command to the room’s processor, ordering it to open the hatch. It hissed open, revealing Cynthia. The Intelligence Officer strode into the compartment and came to a halt in front of Glen’s desk, swinging her hips in a fas
hion calculated to attract the male gaze. Glen couldn't help finding it annoying. There was something about the way she did it that bothered him intensely.

  But he had to admit that he was well prepared to resist her. There was nothing like being a shareholder in Knight Corporation to make one irresistible to women. Glen had been swamped with women ever since he’d turned fourteen, most of whom had been pushed at him by their mothers or had the lust for money in their eye. He still cringed at the memory of having ‘the talk’ with Theodore, who had told him to make damn sure he always kept his contraceptive implant up to date. A child born of his seed would have a claim to some of his shares, as laid down in the corporate by-laws. Their father had been a firm believer in keeping power within the family.

  “Be seated,” he ordered, returning the datapad to the desk. “What can I do for you?”

  “Certain matters have come to my attention,” Cynthia said. She sat down and rested her hands in her lap. “Are you aware that your XO appears to have developed a friendship with Representative Feingold?”

  Glen shook his head, although he wasn't too surprised. Sandy was, in her own way, just as isolated as himself. Dauntless’s crew didn't include anyone else from the Fairfax Sector and she had to be feeling a little homesick. According to her file, she had never even been home on leave. Her accumulated leave time was actually quite considerable. Privately, Glen had wondered if she simply intended to take a long holiday at some point in the future.

  “This is a matter of some concern,” Cynthia added. “What if he manages to convince her to betray her oaths to the Federation?”

  Glen lifted an eyebrow, irked. “And what exactly do they say to one another?”

  “I don’t know,” Cynthia said, frustrated. “I have not been able to establish any surveillance devices in Feingold’s cabin.”

  “It would be a major scandal if you were caught,” Glen agreed. Politicians often carried anti-surveillance devices with them, wherever they went. There were just too many reporters willing to do anything to get a scoop, even spy on confidential meetings. Privacy was a joke on Earth. “It would certainly bring your career to an end.”

  Cynthia shrugged. “I am willing to take whatever risks are necessary to carry out my duties,” she said. Glen privately suspected that her poise was largely an act. Being caught running surveillance on a politician, even a colonial representative, would have consequences. At the very least, she would be unceremoniously dismissed from the TFN. And if it turned into a major scandal, she might find herself dumped on a prison colony. “But I know nothing about what they have been saying to one another.”

  “They could be talking about their home,” Glen pointed out. “Or he could be seducing her.”

  “I don’t think so,” Cynthia said. “Your XO is clearly interested in women, rather than men.”

  Glen rolled his eyes. He hadn't noticed – and Cynthia’s file hadn't said anything about love interests. Not that it would have, unless she was formally married or in a long-term partnership. The TFN didn't bother to regulate it's personnel’s sexual activities beyond banning relationships between officers and crew of different ranks. Or if someone put their relationship ahead of their duty.

  “That might not stop him trying to seduce her,” he said, dryly. “Do you have any proof that they are actually doing anything untoward? Anything that might be counted as treasonable?”

  “Well, no,” Cynthia said. “But it is odd ...”

  “I was an XO on Ark Royal,” Glen reminded her, crossly. “There were quite a few cases where visitors to the ship tried to seduce some of the crew, even if they weren't interested.”

  “He fixated on the one person on the ship who might share his attitudes,” Cynthia insisted. “And she is spending time with him. That is worrying.”

  Glen sighed. “But it doesn't prove anything,” he said. “You cannot build a case against my XO out of the mere fact that she spends time with anyone, not even a colonial representative who happens to come from her homeworld. They might appreciate the chance to speak to someone who shared the same accent.”

  He shook his head, holding up his hand to prevent Cynthia from interrupting. “All you seem to be doing is harassing my XO, which I am not inclined to tolerate. Do you have any reason, anything at all, to be suspicious of her beyond talking to someone from her homeworld?”

  “No,” Cynthia said. “But I am obliged to always consider the worst case scenario ...”

  “So you are,” Glen agreed. “Might I point out that suspecting someone of disloyalty – and making it clear that you suspect them – is an excellent way to make them disloyal?”

  It was one of the few life lessons he’d actually absorbed from Theodore. One of his subordinates had been accused of industrial espionage and had been told, bluntly, to take a lie detector test or be fired. He’d been proven innocent – the whole affair had been a coincidence – but he’d left soon afterwards, taking a bunch of confidential information with him and making it public. Theodore had been censured by the rest of the family for his poor handling of the situation, yet that hadn't undone the damage he’d caused. There were times when Glen wondered why his other brothers hadn’t taken advantage of the situation to unseat Theodore.

  “Intelligence Officers do not have the luxury of giving suspects the benefit of the doubt,” Cynthia said. “I have to assume the worst.”

  “So you said,” Glen said. His temper was fraying. “But I have to trust my XO. If you don’t have any real proof, I would appreciate it if you kept your suspicions to yourself.”

  He watched her leave, for once not swinging her hips, then turned back to the datapad. It would be just like Knight Corporation’s near-disaster, he told himself, if he believed that Sandy might be spying on him. But the hell of it was that he could see Cynthia’s point too. If the Bottleneck Republic did declare formal independence, which way would officers like Sandy jump? And some of them were in a position to do real damage before they were rounded up and interned.

  And if they did, he asked himself, would they be enemy nationals or traitors?

  Gritting his teeth, he returned to the paperwork. It had to be done.

  And it might distract him from his new thoughts.

  ***

  “You appear to be slipping,” Jess taunted, as she jumped backwards. “Or are you too angry to think straight?”

  Sandy scowled, then took another swipe at the Marine. Jess was right; anger and frustration were driving her, rather than cool calculation. But then, she had good reason to be angry and knew it. Sweat trickled down her brow as she came after Jess, trying to land a blow on her before she could dodge. The Marine seemed to move out the way effortlessly.

  “You’re out of practice,” Jess sneered, leaning forward. Sandy launched a punch at her jaw that missed when the Marine darted back. “You call yourself a Marine?”

  “I call myself a Commander,” Sandy said, as she came to a halt. She was no Marine. Sweat was dripping off her brow; angrily, she removed one of her gloves and wiped her hand across her forehead. Jess always made Sandy push herself to the limit. “Being a Marine isn't in the job description.”

  “Good thing you’re not in the movies,” Jess said. She didn't even seem to be sweating, Sandy noted. Her powerful body, rippling with muscles, bore the scars of years in the Marine Corps. “You’d be expected to lead away teams personally.”

  Sandy snorted. The movies had the Captain or the First Officer leading such teams in person, even though there were far more qualified personnel on even the smallest starship. No starship crewman would board a pirate ship when the Marines could handle it without their presence. Real life, as always, was less dramatic than the movies made it out to be.

  “It’s been too long,” she said, looking around the training room. Thankfully, Jess had reserved it for them and them alone, leaving the rest of her Marines in Marine Country. “I think I need more exercise.”

  “Just keep imagining the Governor’s face on the
training holograms,” Jess advised. “That should encourage you to hit harder.”

  “Thank you,” Sandy said. “And maybe the Intelligence Officer too.”

  “Some of my Marines have already been ogling her,” Jess said, in tones of deepest disapproval. “I had to tell them that she was so cold that their cocks would freeze and break off inside her.”

  They shared a laugh. Marines were technically outside the starship’s chain of command, with their CO reporting directly to the Captain. It gave them a certain degree of independence, although both parties were careful not to put too much pressure on the relationship. And, Sandy knew, affairs between Marines and crew were not uncommon. They just tended not to last more than a few months.

  “I’d like to get her into the training room,” Sandy said, as she stepped into the refresher and pulled off her sodden shirt. Jess always made her sweat buckets when they worked out together. The Marine was incapable of giving any less than her best, which was probably why Sandy rarely managed to land a punch. “One or two blows and she would be much more respectful.”