Without Mercy

by Eric Thomson

  “I’ve been wondering the same.” His face hardened.

  “Perhaps the Colonial Office has a double or triple agent on Kilia? Everyone else in the known galaxy seems to think that benighted station is spy central, the place where every dirty deed can happen so long as Tarrant gets his cut. He or she sold you out somehow without either knowing or betraying the cover you assumed upon leaving Cullan.”

  He nodded.

  “A fair presumption, Captain. My agency will find out in due course and deal with the problem. But congratulations. Operating as a false privateer seems to have sharpened your instincts for treachery.”

  Dunmoore didn’t know whether to take Forenza’s words as a compliment or a subtle insult. Either could be just as likely.

  “So where does that leave us? Tarrant’s pirates are in my brig; your fellow passengers are in one of my cargo holds turned accommodations pod; part of my crew is operating Kattegat Maru, and that ship’s real crew is still in the wind. Not to mention my earning the SSB and Tarrant’s undying enmity.”

  “An impressive list, Captain.” His mouth twitched with amusement. “At least you can count on the Colonial Office’s gratitude once again.”

  Her cocked right eyebrow expressed a world of skepticism.

  “Your superiors were pleased with my handling of the Toboso incident?”

  “Delighted would be a more apt word to describe their reaction at the outcome, something I’m sure they passed on to the Admiralty. But if you can keep both brig and passenger accommodations filled for a while longer, finding Captain Fennon and her people should be priority number one. Tarrant is a vile piece of work who won’t blink an eye at seeing them sold off into slavery, or simply tossed out an airlock. He doesn’t enjoy leaving witnesses.”

  “I daresay he’ll enjoy me even less once I’m done.”

  Forenza gave her an ironic salute.

  “Bravo, Captain. That’s the spirit. Kilia’s management has been a thorn in the Colonial Office’s side for years, but since Tarrant operates under SSB protection, we’ve not been able to assert even a modicum of control so far. My superiors would surely be grateful if the Navy helps change that state of affairs.”

  “If the Navy changes that state of affairs it will be for the greater good, not to give the Colonial Office a leg up on its war with the SSB.” She waited for him to acknowledge with a polite nod before continuing. “Not that I can solve the Kilia problem by myself, but small steps, right? How do you wish to proceed, Ser Forenza? Keep this cover identity and return to your fellow Kattegat Maru passengers until I land them at a safe port?”

  “I would prefer to avoid that course of action, now you’ve singled me out with this interview. Besides, I might be useful in dealing with Tarrant. Could you possibly allow me some sort of status aboard as an officer of the Commonwealth government? Something like a supercargo as I believe you naval types call it? I will subject myself to the Universal Code of Military Discipline until I leave Iolanthe, of course.”

  Dunmoore studied Forenza, wondering whether he knew the full meaning of the term supercargo and if so, whether he mentioned the term intentionally as a way of showing he controlled the government’s interests for the rest of this operation. She quickly decided that he did.

  “So long as we’re clear I will see to the interests of the civilians involved and those of the Navy before considering the interests of the Colonial Office or your own mission.”

  Forenza inclined his head.

  “I would not wish it any other way, Captain.”

  “In that case, welcome aboard.”

  **

  “Forgive me, Skipper, but did you lose your ever-loving mind?”

  Holt’s incredulous stare matched his tone once Dunmoore told him about her truce with Forenza and his temporary status as an officer of the Commonwealth government in Iolanthe until they were done.

  “The man’s a bloody serial killer in the service of the Colonial Office, not one of the most illustriously patriotic and law-abiding departments from what I noted in my days with naval counterintelligence.”

  “I can’t put him back with the other abductees. Who knows what mischief he might cause? Besides, Forenza might be useful when it comes to Enoc Tarrant or, God forbid if we’re forced to go deeper into the Unclaimed Zone.”

  She paused to let Holt digest her words. When he gave her a grudging nod, she continued.

  “But I won’t go so far as trusting him. Or rather, I will trust him to pursue the Colonial Office’s interests as well as his own, and they seem to coincide with ours at the moment, especially where the SSB is concerned.”

  “The enemy of our enemy is not necessarily our friend, Skipper. However, I get your meaning. Just keep in mind gratitude isn’t a big thing in his universe, nor is interagency cooperation. I’ll make sure he doesn’t stray into areas off-limits to anyone not part of the ship’s company.”

  “Thank you, Zeke.”

  “You can thank me by making sure we’re not unwittingly pulled into whatever power games the Colonial Office and the SSB are playing in this sector. And by sending a confidential report on the matter to Admiral Nagira, so he can decide whether it’s a matter for my erstwhile counterintelligence colleagues.”

  “Going over Admiral Petras’ head will put his nose out of joint, since technically we already belong to Task Force Luckner, but yes to both.”

  Holt winked at her.

  “Only if Petras finds out, and Nagira will make sure he doesn’t after reading your report.”

  “You think the Colonial Office being at odds with the SSB could threaten the Fleet?”

  He shook his head.

  “Not directly, but since the Shrehari seem to be operating in these parts as well, who knows how this internecine warfare between branches of the Commonwealth government could affect the war effort?”

  “I doubt it’ll help.” She exhaled softly, suppressing a sigh of irritation. “I’d love to know what Forenza and his lot are doing in the Unclaimed Zone, and what everyone is up to on Kilia. It’s telling that we were probably the most honest people there during our last visit, even if we were masquerading as a privateer.”

  “True, sadly. Not to change the subject, but what are your intentions concerning our rescuees, Kattegat Maru, and Skelly Kursu’s pirates. We’re not an accommodation ship, and chances are we’ll find ourselves in battle again before this operation winds down.”

  Her lips twisted with indecision.

  “There are no ideal options. I can’t risk dropping anyone off in a civilian port, no matter how safe. We need to dock Kattegat Maru at the nearest starbase and see our guests registered and processed by the Navy before their release. That should reduce the risk of Tarrant, the SSB, or anyone else trying to make them vanish so they can re-establish the mystery that would have enshrouded the freighter fate, were it not for Carrie Fennon. It means Kattegat Maru and everyone involved stays under Iolanthe’s wing until the end.”

  “Good thinking. Forenza was right in complimenting you on your heightened instinct for treachery. Should we even transfer the abductees to Kattegat Maru before leaving Hecate?”

  “If we can make them reasonably comfortable, they might as well stay put for now, assuming we carry enough supplies to feed another forty-five people on top of Kursu’s crew for a few more weeks.”

  “We do.”

  Knowing Holt had even the minutest details on Iolanthe’s condition at his fingertips, she didn’t bother asking for more information.

  Instead, she said, “Then it’s settled. The risk of being aboard Iolanthe if we go into battle is no greater than traveling in a soft target such as Katie.”

  “Even less risky this way, and I’m sure Emma will concur. Although she has a platoon of Tatiana’s finest to back up her relief crew, hauling almost four dozen unknown individuals around while maintaining both our cover and her ship’s safety might be a bit much.” Holt climbed to his feet. “I’ll see that the bosun starts improving our i
mprovised passenger pod.”

  “And make sure we stay in character as the privateer Persephone if our guests draw Chief Dwyn’s mates into conversation, or worse yet, one of them escapes the pod for an impromptu tour.”

  — Forty-Two —

  “We are just under half a million kilometers short of Kilia’s hyperlimit and running silent,” Holt announced once the transition nausea wore off after a twelve-hour jump from the system’s heliopause. “If they’re watching the limit, I doubt they saw us.”

  “Kattegat Maru is running silent too,” Chief Yens added. “She’s as tight as any Navy unit.”

  Dunmoore had debated leaving the freighter at the system’s edge to make her now habitual hole in space during the interstellar crossing from Hecate. That crossing included a dogleg to approach the Octavius subspace array so she could send a classified report to Nagira via the SOCOM priority channel. Iolanthe’s signals chief, however, took great care to avoid picking up any messages.

  But when they emerged at Kilia’s heliopause, she decided it would be safer if Katie remained under the Q-ship’s direct protection, to Lieutenant Commander Cullop’s relief. The latter made no bones about her feelings at watching a small Shrehari strike force pass within detection range while she loitered near the Hecate system’s edge, alone and vulnerable in the dark.

  “Are the warheads we planted in Kilia’s crust still transmitting?”

  Yens didn’t immediately respond. Then she glanced over her shoulder at Dunmoore with a look of disgust.

  “Nothing, sir. Either those goons are jamming the signal, or they deactivated them.” One of the sensor techs nudged her, pointing at his console. “Or perhaps the boneheads helped. There are four of them trying unsuccessfully to replicate our trick by trailing Kilia’s approximate L5 position with systems dampened. Two Ptar and two Tol. Their emissions signature, what little we’re getting, is consistent with those we encountered in the Hecate system.”

  Dunmoore stroked the scar on her jawline, eyes narrowed.

  “Why did they come here instead of returning to Shrehari-controlled space? And why wait in ambush rather than orbit the station openly like any other visitor?”

  “A better question would be why is this entire mess centered on Kilia?” Holt, or rather his holographic projection at her elbow asked.

  Mikhail Forenza, present in the CIC for their approach to Kilia at Dunmoore’s behest in case he might prove useful, albeit over her first officer’s objections, broke his silence.

  “Commander Holt is right, Captain. Kilia appears to be a locus of sorts. Perhaps not a major one, but of some importance nonetheless.”

  Dunmoore swiveled her command chair around to face the Colonial Office agent, sitting next to Major Salminen, whom she’d appointed Forenza’s keeper during his time in the CIC.

  “Would you care to enlighten us?”

  “If I had answers, I’d share them with you, Captain.”

  “In that case, would you care to speculate?”

  A thin smile tugged at his mouth.

  “I’m a field operative, not an analyst.”

  “Field operative?” Her sardonic smile dripped with skepticism. “Is that what they call your job nowadays? Never mind, I don’t want to know, but I’d still appreciate hearing your views since we appear to be intruding on Colonial Office interests.”

  “SSB interests as well, don’t forget.” Forenza turned his eyes upward to stare at the deckhead as if parsing his memories and steepled his fingertips beneath his chin, a gesture Dunmoore recognized as an unconscious tic.

  “Let’s see if I can find sense in this, leaving aside the Shrehari which are your area of expertise.”

  For a second or two, Dunmoore fancied she could actually hear Holt roll his one eye, and she forcefully repressed the urge to grin.

  “I let the Shrehari hunt Iolanthe instead of the other way around. It saves on fuel although the end result is always the same. That’s the beauty of commanding a Q-ship.”

  Thorin Sirico wasn’t entirely successful in swallowing a guffaw.

  “Sir?”

  Dunmoore turned back toward Yens.

  “What’s up, Chief?”

  “None of the ships orbiting Kilia match the specs for Baba Yaga we recovered from Bukavac, and I can’t detect anyone else trying to hide other than the boneheads. There are a few interesting hulls in orbit, however. The sort preferred by spacers who value speed and firepower over carrying capacity if you know what I mean.”

  Dunmoore swallowed a curse. Her fingers began their accustomed dance on her thigh while she scrolled through the available options. Opening a comlink with Tarrant would pinpoint their position and if he was cozying up to the Shrehari, betray Iolanthe to a superior force as well. Yet he was probably the only one who knew where Baba Yaga and therefore Fennon and her crew might be headed.

  And if the warheads they’d planted in Kilia’s crust no longer transmitted a signal, she’d lost her sole means of pressuring Tarrant into cooperating. Or did she?

  “Zeke, how hard would it be to rig the Growlers so they appear as rated warships to anyone more than a few hundred thousand kilometers away? I want Tarrant and the boneheads to consider the wisdom of not fighting.”

  A moment of silence punctuated her question before the first officer replied.

  “You’re plotting a bluff, Skipper? Pretend we’re Task Force Luckner by ourselves? Once every bastard in this system picks up the emissions, they’ll lock on with visual sensors and see that our Growlers aren’t heavy frigates. Maybe we can make Kattegat Maru look like one, but that’s about the extent of it.”

  “I was thinking holographic projections on top of a jury-rigged emissions generator, Zeke. It only has to work until Tarrant gives us answers.”

  “That would mean unmasking Iolanthe. No one will buy a privateer escorted by a couple of smaller privateers, all of whom can ruin any marauder’s day. Otherwise, their fame would have spread throughout the sector already.”

  “So we go in as a Navy battlecruiser, and you talk with Tarrant as Iolanthe’s commanding officer. That way the secret of Persephone and Captain Shannon O’Donnell stay intact. The Shrehari already saw our true form and know how savage we can be. Add in a pair of Growlers projecting the image of Voivode class frigates — Gregor Pushkin’s Jan Sobieski and whichever was next off the slipways...”

  “Charles Martel,” Sirico helpfully offered.

  “Those two. Make Katie up to appear as if she were a corvette and that’ll convince anyone we’re a task force with teeth.”

  “I’ll ask Renny.”

  Holt’s tone was less than enthusiastic, and she knew he would voice his objections in private shortly.

  “Please do.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. By the way, we could disguise your appearance for the comlink and pass you off as Captain Corto, for example, or even Admiral Petras. I’ve always wondered how you’d come across as someone of his sort.”

  “No. For one thing, I wouldn’t be able to mimic a flag officer in speech and mannerisms as well as you. Besides, it would be best if Iolanthe, in her battlecruiser incarnation, was ostensibly commanded by someone other than a woman, red-haired, icy blond or otherwise. The fewer similarities between the Furious Faerie and her privateer alter ego, the better. Besides, you’re a more talented actor than I am.”

  “You mean talented bullshit artist. Do I get a temporary promotion to commodore?”

  “No, but you can borrow a set of my captain’s stripes.”

  “Shame.” Holt grinned. “Wearing a star on the collar is one of my lifetime goals.”

  “Stow your ambitions and speak with Renny.”

  “I hear and obey.”

  The first officer’s hologram faded out of existence.

  Behind her, Forenza chuckled softly.

  “I like your style, Captain Dunmoore. Funnily enough, many appear to believe you’re a reckless damn the torpedoes officer who prefers charging at the enemy headlong. Your reputa
tion is sadly off the mark.” When she glared at him, his mirth grew. “Oh yes, I sounded out my contacts in the Fleet when the Colonial Office ordered me to Toboso. This was right after Anton Gerber sent a distress signal about your interference in Colonial Office business.”

  “Reputations in the Navy are often off the mark, Ser Forenza, as you might remember. Having a reputation at odds with reality can be helpful. Unexpected tactical choices can confuse an opponent and give a ruthless warship captain the chance to land a fatal blow.”

  Forenza inclined his head in acknowledgment.

  “I could say the same about successful operatives in my line of business.”

  Holt’s hologram reappeared at her elbow.

  “I spoke with Renny, Skipper. He figures it can be done, but won’t vouch for the quality of the results. Faking a starship’s emissions is one thing. Wrapping a Growler in a believable hologram to make its appearance match a fake power curve is another altogether.”

  “How long?”

  “Up to a day.”

  “Which means eight hours in Renny-speak. Let’s do this.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Holt’s hologram vanished once more.

  “Renny-speak?” Forenza asked, amused curiosity dancing in his hooded eyes.

  “There are rumors Fleet engineers always multiply their time estimates by a factor of three, so they might pass for miracle workers.”

  “Ah. The Colonial Office bureaucracy has something similar, except it’s not to pass for miracle workers by delivering faster than predicted. They enjoy dragging things out in the hope a problem might disappear.”

  “That’s true of any large headquarters, even in the Navy. Changing the subject ever so slightly, did you come up with any fresh insights on Kilia?”

  “Other than it serves as the hub for Enoc Tarrant’s criminal and quasi-criminal activities? A hub with spokes reaching into the Unclaimed Zone as well as the Commonwealth and I daresay the Empire’s outskirts, one used by many other interests so long as Tarrant gets a taste? No. Places such as this exist on the margins of the law, often beyond government control, choosing no favorites among warring parties, and profiting from all sides. I don’t believe you’ll find the solution here. It’s only a waypoint in these parts, not a destination.”