Cursed Command (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  Kat smiled back. “What was wrong with their scenarios?”

  “They pitted us against a dozen enemy superdreadnoughts at once,” William said. “It might work in the movies, but in real life?”

  “We’d be destroyed,” Kat said. A heavy cruiser couldn’t survive a direct clash with a superdreadnought, not when she would be heavily outgunned. Even a truly incompetent enemy crew would have found it hard to lose. But it was good news, in a way. Sir William’s tactical staff was rising to the occasion. “I trust you ordered them to come up with something a little more realistic?”

  “Just a little,” William said. “They stuck with the enhanced enemy capabilities.”

  Kat nodded. Tactical scenarios always assumed the enemy had better sensors and shields than existed in real life, as far as anyone knew. The Commonwealth was working hard to enhance their current weapons and come up with new ones, and the Theocracy was probably doing the same. If they ran into a ship with enhanced weapons . . . well, it wouldn’t be a complete surprise.

  Standard weapons will be easier to handle, she reminded herself. It does make sense.

  “It’s good to see you again,” she said after going through the scenarios with him. If nothing else, the war had provided ample opportunities to update their tactical simulations and figure out which bright ideas were unworkable in practice. “I hope you don’t run into further trouble.”

  “Me too,” William said. He rose stoically. “I’ll keep you informed.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Despite his brave words, William felt a flicker of nervousness as his bridge crew ran through their final checks before powering up the gateway generator. The generator was a very finicky piece of equipment and there were limits to how far it could be tested without actually opening a gateway. If something went wrong . . . he dismissed the thought. Losing the generator would be embarrassing, but far from fatal. It wasn’t as if they were a long way from any help.

  “All checks completed, Captain,” Roach said. “We are ready to depart.”

  “Very good, Mr. XO,” William said. He took a long breath as he surveyed the tactical display. Was it his imagination or were the freighters trying to keep their distance from Uncanny? “Communications, signal Lightning. Inform Commodore Falcone”—the courtesy promotion felt odd—“that we are ready to depart.”

  He leaned back into his command chair, trying to relax. His crew and the dockyard workers had gone through every last nook and cranny of the ship, replacing components, updating the records, and generally keeping an eye out for trouble. They’d discovered a handful of nasty surprises, yet there had been nothing dangerous enough to force him to delay their departure. Unfortunately, they had no idea who owned the drug stash the search had uncovered, but at least it had been dumped in the recycler rather than used by its owner. The medical checks he’d ordered for when the ship was underway would probably uncover the owner. William was actually looking forward to chewing the idiot out before throwing him in the brig.

  In truth, he might already have left the ship, William thought as more and more updates flashed in front of him. If he has, we’ll never find him.

  “Signal from Lightning, sir,” Lieutenant Robert Stott said. He’d been one of William’s stronger supporters right from the start. William had already earmarked him for promotion if his superiors proved unsuited to their posts. “We can depart on schedule.”

  “Helm, bring the drive to full power,” William ordered. “And then open a gateway.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Lieutenant Cecelia Parkinson said. “Drive coming online . . . now.”

  William shot a fond smile at the back of Cecelia’s head as a dull thrumming began to echo through the ship. She’d managed to get into trouble on her middy cruise, trouble that could easily have ended her career before it had fairly begun, but she’d turned into a good officer. When he’d put out a call for volunteers to transfer to Uncanny, Cecelia had been among the first to offer her services. It had given her a boost up the ladder, one she might not have had without the transfer, yet she could easily have avoided his ship. Thankfully, she’d ignored the rumors about Uncanny.

  “All systems nominal,” Calvin Goodrich said through the datanet. “All drive functions appear to be green.”

  “Good,” William said.

  He eyed the live stream from engineering as it appeared on his console. Goodrich had shaped up in the last week, though William found it hard to place complete faith in a drunkard. He had done all he could to make sure that Goodrich would have no access to alcohol, even shipboard rotgut, yet the man was an engineer. Building his own still wouldn’t be difficult.

  “Gateway generator activating . . . now,” Cecelia reported. The display updated rapidly as the gateway blossomed to life in front of the ship. “Preparing to transit the gateway.”

  William braced himself, unsure what to expect, as Uncanny slid forward and into the portal. A series of shudders ran through the ship, chilling him; he braced himself before remembering that such an act was pointless. If something was wrong with the compensators, it could kill the entire crew before any of them realized that they were about to die. A queasy sensation spread through his body as the ship plunged through the gateway, then the sensation faded rapidly as the eerie lights of hyperspace surrounded them. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, then glanced at the status display. A handful of hyperspace nodes were marginally out of alignment. It wasn’t a serious problem, but it was enough to make the crew queasy,

  “Captain,” Roach said, “the remainder of the convoy has followed us into hyperspace.”

  “Very good,” William said. He’d agreed with Kat that Uncanny would take point, leading the way to Vangelis. “Helm, set course for Vangelis.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Cecelia said. She keyed a series of commands into her console. “Course laid in.”

  “Take us out,” William ordered.

  He allowed himself a moment of relief as the convoy fell into formation and headed away from Tyre. The long-range sensors reported a handful of other ships entering or leaving the system, their positions obscured by hyperspace distortion, but none seemed dangerous. The Theocracy could possibly have a guardship covering the hyperspace routes in and out of the system, yet there was no point in the convoy trying to conceal its destination. Enough had been said about the trip on the public datanet for the Theocracy not to need a spy to know where the vessels were going.

  They even may be grateful that we’re not heading to the war front, he thought. We’ve already done them a great deal of damage.

  The thought made him smile. It was hard to get any solid data, but the Commonwealth’s propaganda department had been making a big deal out of the Theocracy being beaten so solidly—twice—by a mere woman. After Kat Falcone had bested the Theocracy at its own game, he rather doubted that anyone could continue to believe that women were fit to be nothing more than mothers, daughters, and wives. By now, according to some of the rumors he’d heard, the Theocracy had declared Kat the most loathed woman in the universe. He hated to think what enemy forces would do if they ever got their hands on her.

  No doubt their population has to know they’re making greater and greater sacrifices for the war, he thought darkly. Who knows when they’ll break and turn against their leaders? Or when we’ll take the offensive for the final time?

  “I have a report from engineering, Captain,” Roach said. “There were a handful of power fluctuations within the gateway generator. The chief engineer believes that they pose no real threat, but he would like to recalibrate the system anyway.”

  “Better safe than sorry,” William agreed. “Were there any other problems?”

  “None reported, Captain,” Roach said.

  But I have an appointment, William thought.

  He rose. “Mr. XO, you have the bridge,” he said briskly. There was no point in putting it off any longer. “Alert me if there are any problems.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Ro
ach said. “I have the bridge.”

  William took one last look at the display—Uncanny holding point, the freighters trailing in her wake, Lightning bringing up the rear—and sighed as he headed for the hatch. Piracy hadn’t been reported near Tyre for years, ever since the Commonwealth had started to drive the pirates out of civilized space, but the demands of the war had allowed some of the bastards to slip back into their old habits. Thankfully, only a rare and very stupid pirate would willingly take on two heavy cruisers, yet William was uncomfortably aware that the Theocracy wouldn’t care if the freighters were destroyed rather than captured. And the further the convoy headed from Tyre, the greater the chance of attracting unwelcome attention.

  He stepped through the hatch and walked slowly down to Sickbay. A week of actual work had done wonders for his ship; the air was clear, the decks had been scrubbed, and the maintenance hatches had been slammed closed and locked. The crew looked far happier than they’d been when he’d first boarded. He couldn’t help feeling pride as he opened the hatch and stepped into Sickbay. Doctor Sarah Prosser looked up at him and smiled.

  “Captain,” she said, “I’m surprised you came.”

  William resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. Doctor Prosser was yet another newcomer, a civilian doctor who’d specialized in emergency services before retraining to join the Navy after the war broke out. They were lucky to have her, he knew; the previous doctor had been unceremoniously discharged after an investigation had revealed a number of alarming discrepancies between what the ship was supposed to have in stock and what she actually had in stock. Sarah, who was around his age, had a fantastic reputation and still she’d found it hard to get a post. The Navy hadn’t been sure what to make of retrained civilians.

  “I have to set a good example,” he said finally. “If I don’t come for a checkup, no one else will want to go for a checkup either.”

  “And the records are crappy,” Sarah agreed. “It’s not so bad in your case, but everyone else . . . I don’t have up-to-date records for anyone who served on this ship for longer than a month or two.”

  “You’ll have them by the end of the week,” William said. “Just keep an eye out for druggies and other potential problems.”

  Sarah looked disapproving but nodded. William understood. A civilian doctor was sworn to keep a patient’s details to herself unless she had permission to share them; a military doctor had no such luxury. William could order her to open the medical files of every last member of the crew, and she would have no choice but to obey. He didn’t intend to abuse his power, but if there was a problem . . .

  He felt slightly deflated once again. Of course there would be problems.

  “Take off your shirt,” Sarah ordered. She nodded towards the nearest bed. “I’ll be right with you.”

  William headed to the bed. Commanding officers hated visiting the doctor, knowing that the doctor was the only person on the ship authorized to remove them from command if they believed it necessary. It hadn’t happened very often—and at least one doctor in recent memory who had deemed his captain unfit for duty had wound up facing a court-martial—but the prospect of losing their position sent shivers down the spines of commanding officers. They’d do everything in their power to remain out of sickbay as long as possible. But he had no choice. He did have to set a good example.

  “Your records insist that you’re quite healthy,” Sarah said as she bustled over to the bed and stood next to him. “This really shouldn’t take long.”

  Joel couldn’t help feeling more than a little nervous as he sat next to Julia in one of the privacy tubes. Two weeks ago, no one would have given a damn if the senior chief chose to spend his off-duty hours with a crewwoman even if it was technically against regulations, but now was a different story. A newcomer to the crew might blow the whistle, accusing him of sleeping with one of his subordinates. And while he wasn’t doing anything of the sort, being caught would be disastrous.

  “They missed the backdoors I worked into the datanet,” Julia said quietly. The compartment was supposed to be soundproofed, but there was no point in taking chances. “I managed to download a copy of our mission orders without trouble.”

  “Good,” Joel said. “Did you find anything else?”

  “Nothing special,” Julia said. “Our new captain doesn’t seem to have any dark secrets stashed on the datanet.”

  Joel had a feeling that Julia spent too long on the datanet, forgetting that there was a real world outside her beloved computers. If Sir William had a dark secret, he’d be an utter fool to upload proof to the ship’s datanet. It was supposed to record and save everything, after all. Even classified files could be copied and saved without warning. And besides, Sir William didn’t have the time to be doing anything illicit. Reluctantly, Joel had to admit that the captain pushed himself harder than he pushed any of his crewmembers.

  Joel took the datapad she offered him and skimmed through the orders. The Admiralty had always loved being verbose, something that even the demands of war hadn’t changed. They could have boiled down their orders to three sentences, but instead they’d chosen to write a small novella. And Captain Falcone had added notes of her own. Lightning and Uncanny were to proceed to Jorlem via Vangelis, then split up and show the flag, moving from star to star before meeting up again. He had no idea just who had written the first set of orders, but the vagueness of the details suggested they’d been outlined by a uniformed bureaucrat.

  Or someone who gets paid by the word, he thought as he copied the orders for his private datapad. I could flesh out a story by a few thousand words if I had a crown for every word I used.

  “That’s good to know,” he said. “Did you get an updated manifest too?”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t look finished,” Julia warned. “In the last couple of days, we were taking on more supplies than we knew what to do with.”

  “As long as we have a rough idea,” Joel assured her. He took the datachip she passed him and slipped it into his datapad for later contemplation. “Is there anything else in the files I ought to know about?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” Julia said. “I had a look through the updated personnel files, but I didn’t see any red flags. Oh . . . maybe one thing . . . Major Gareth Lupine has some family ties to the aristocracy. It might explain why he joined the planetary militia.”

  Joel smirked. “Trying to stay out of danger? That exploded in his face.”

  He leaned forward thoughtfully. “Did he volunteer for this mission or was he pushed?”

  “I don’t know,” Julia said. “There’s nothing in the files to suggest anything, one way or the other. I imagine he probably could have talked himself out of the posting if he’d wanted to.”

  Joel stroked his chin. “Did you pick up anything from the news?”

  Julia looked at him. “What?”

  “Society pages,” Joel explained patiently. “Who’s sleeping with whom, who cut who dead at the latest ball to support the troops, who’s had a scandal they can’t bury no matter how much cash they throw at it . . .”

  “I didn’t think to check,” Julia said. She paused. “I don’t know how much was archived in the datanet when we left.”

  Joel nodded and waited as her fingers flew over the datapad. Unfortunately, they hadn’t thought to check the gossip before leaving Tyre. They could put in a request for information once they reached Vangelis, but if someone was monitoring StarCom traffic from Uncanny they’d certainly have grounds for suspicion. He wasn’t sure what—if anything—it would prove, yet . . . he shook his head. It was definitely better not to take chances.

  “Nothing too detailed,” Julia said finally. She held up the datapad so he could read the articles. “Major Lupine will be taking his company of militiamen out on active service after retraining in a deep-space facility, all honor to Major Lupine, et cetera, et cetera. There’s a bit of boilerplate about his family’s splendid record of devotion and honesty to the crown, but nothing of any a
ctual use. If there was a scandal, sir, it’s been very well buried.”

  “There probably wasn’t a scandal,” Joel said thoughtfully. He would have liked a way to subvert the militiaman, but regrettably there was nothing to be done. “Has the militia done anything out of the ordinary? Anything that should worry us?”

  “Not as far as I can tell,” Julia assured him. “They’re spending their time drilling endlessly and marching around the ship, looking tough.”

  “And silly,” Joel added, although the drills weren’t remotely funny. The militiamen were smart enough to familiarize themselves with the ship before they actually had to fight. He’d been relieved to hear that Uncanny wouldn’t be receiving any marines, but the militia might make formidable opponents in their own right. “Keep an eye on them.”

  “Of course,” Julia said.

  She smirked. “Don’t forget to visit the doctor for your checkup.”

  Joel winced. He had nothing to be afraid of, but there were several crewmen who were doing everything in their power to avoid Sickbay as long as possible. A major problem was on the horizon. God alone knew what would happen when the doctor uncovered traces of illegal drugs in their bloodstreams, but he doubted it would be pleasant. The idiots would certainly tell all they knew to avoid punishment.

  Perhaps it was time to make sure his tracks were thoroughly buried.

  Yet with a competent officer in command, an accident might be taken as deliberate murder, he thought. And who knows what will happen then?

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Tell me,” Kat said. “What did you make of the latest exercise?”

  She sat on the chair in her Ready Room, Commander Crenshaw and Major Patrick Davidson facing her on the sofa. The exercise had been fairly standard—she’d been careful not to work any particular surprises into the planning—but she was curious to know what Crenshaw had made of it. He’d been . . . odd, the past few days. She’d kept an eye on him, just to ensure he actually did his duty . . . and he had. But something was wrong. She just wasn’t sure what.