Poor bastard, William thought. William had had no life outside the Navy, but then he’d never really wanted to go home. Perhaps Henderson had felt the same way. Plus, he died so far from his friends.
“Crewman Henderson requested to be buried in hyperspace,” he said as he finished the ceremony. “His body will be launched into space this afternoon, after final farewells.”
He closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them. “Dismissed.”
The shuttlebay emptied rapidly, the crewmen and officers who hadn’t known Henderson heading back to their bunks while the ones who had known him gathered in front of the casket to say a final good-bye. William didn’t blame the ones who had left, although he saw a few nasty looks aimed at their backs by the ones who remained. Even if they had known Henderson, they needed to catch up on their sleep before they returned to duty. The body wouldn’t be launched into space for a few hours, even though the ceremony had been completed. Everyone had to have a fair chance to say good-bye.
He waited until the last of the mourners had left the shuttlebay, then walked over to the casket and peered down at the synthetic wood. There was no way to see the body, but he’d read the doctor’s report and seen the images. He could imagine what lurked within the box. The doctor had practically broken the body down, piece by piece, but she’d found no clues leading to the murderer.
“He was definitely drunk,” she’d said. “There was enough alcohol in his body to ensure that he was practically helpless when attacked. But there’s no suggestion he was in a brothel or even having a quickie on the streets.”
William’s lips thinned in disapproval. He hated mysteries. Henderson was the first crewman to die under his sole command, and his death might never be explained. And yet, it was possible it was nothing more than a tragic accident. A mugging gone wrong . . . knocking out the victim would be the safest way to mug them. The body then may have been concealed after the killer had realized what he’d done. God knew the planetary authorities wouldn’t hesitate to hand the killer over to the Commonwealth if they caught him. They wouldn’t dare risk that sort of diplomatic incident.
Poor bastard, he thought again. What happened to you down there?
He cursed under his breath. Save for the blow that actually killed Henderson, there was no evidence of trauma. There was nothing to suggest that the original theory was wrong, yet it nagged at his mind. Bad luck . . . or an incident someone had tried to make look like an accident? Still, the simplest theory was often the right one. Henderson had been so drunk that a half-witted mugger would have had no difficulty spotting the mark, and then sneaking up from behind.
“I’m sorry,” he said, addressing the casket. “I wish I’d known you better.”
William was always good at remembering the people under his command, even after he’d become an officer and started the long climb towards a captaincy of his own. Just remembering a man’s name and a few facts about him went a long way towards earning loyalty. He remembered Henderson, a crewman who’d been on Uncanny for over a year before William had assumed command. But nothing made him stand out. No prospects for quick promotion, no black marks that would have damned him on any other ship . . . the man had been an average crewman. And now he was dead.
I do wish I’d known you better, he thought bitterly.
Perhaps the aristocrats are luckier, he told himself as he turned to walk back to his Ready Room. They rarely spent time on the lower decks before being promoted. Kat cared about her crew, he knew, but she didn’t feel it the same way he did. How could she? She’d been trained to be an officer right from the start rather than starting her career among enlisted men. She hadn’t been taught to see them as people. She’d even been warned that getting too close could make it harder to send them to their deaths.
But I wouldn’t give it up for the world, he thought. He stepped into his Ready Room and silently blessed Janet when he saw a pot of coffee on his desk. They’re just too detached from the crewmen under their command.
He sat down and poured himself a mug of coffee, then pulled up Henderson’s file, searching for his next of kin. Like William himself, Henderson didn’t seem to have any particularly close relatives on his homeworld. His sole listed family member was a sister, one he probably hadn’t seen in years. William couldn’t help thinking that he and Henderson had a great deal in common, even if Henderson hadn’t possessed the drive to better himself by trying to become a mustang. But then, life could be hard for mustangs. William knew it all too well.
Opening his drawer, he pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen. Tradition demanded a physical letter, even though his sister would be informed of her brother’s death almost as soon as the StarCom message reached her homeworld. The Navy worked hard to make sure that the next of kin were notified first before the news outlets learned of the deaths . . . although William found it hard to believe that any of the big media corporations would care. Henderson simply wasn’t famous and his death wasn’t particularly glorious.
He felt like a fraud as he jotted down a few lines. There was no way he could say very much, certainly nothing sincere. None of Henderson’s supervisors had had very much to say about him, positive or negative. William had been taught to keep the letter positive, but what could he say?
Shaking his head, William started to write. He owed it to Henderson, who’d died under his command; he owed it to the Navy, in whose service Henderson had died. But he couldn’t help feeling as though he was lying to the poor woman. How long had it been since she’d heard from her brother?
Perhaps years. The thought caught at William’s heart. If he was anything like me . . .
“Taking so many ships was a huge risk, Captain,” Crenshaw said.
Kat resisted the urge to ask if he’d worked that out by himself or had a five-year-old point it out to him. Taking so many freighters was a huge risk; in hindsight, she should have placed a limit on how many ships could be escorted at any one time. But she hadn’t realized just how many freighters would want to go to Jorlem . . .
. . . and just how many others would plan to make the trip with a guaranteed escort?
“Risk is our business,” she said. Her response was unsatisfactory, but as one of the Navy’s unofficial mottos, it was unanswerable. “But you’re right, it is risky.”
She looked up at the holographic display, cursing under her breath. Thankfully, most of the merchant skippers had enough sense to maintain formation, but she’d had to herd a couple of the more imprudent ships back into line. She’d ringed the convoy with sensor and ECM drones in hopes of spotting trouble, yet she was grimly aware that a handful of antimatter warheads could scatter the entire convoy. In an attempt to keep pirates from preying on the convoy, she’d offered the Theocracy a target it couldn’t miss.
Unless they don’t know we’re here, she reminded herself. And they shouldn’t.
She scowled at the thought. She’d filed a flight plan with Vangelis’s System Command, then unilaterally changed it as soon as the convoy had entered hyperspace. If they were lucky, any leakers within System Command would have passed the wrong flight plan to pirates champing at the bit to attack. But if there had been an enemy spy watching the convoy’s departure, he might just have been able to see them change course.
They shouldn’t have time to move their ships, if they were planning an ambush, she thought. But we won’t ever know for sure.
“We could send half of the freighters off on their own,” Crenshaw said. “Or we could leave them waiting in interstellar space.”
Kat considered the suggestion for a long moment. If they were lucky, and the odds would be massively in their favor, they could hide half the convoy somewhere in the depths of interstellar space where the pirates wouldn’t have a hope of finding them. But they simply didn’t have time to play games. According to reports, pirate activity, and raider activity perhaps, was on the rise. She needed to start patrolling the sector as quickly as possible.
“It’s a good idea,�
�� she said. “But we don’t have the time.”
Crenshaw beamed. Kat wondered idly if he was pleased at the acknowledgement or being in a position to blame her if something went wrong. She was surprised he hadn’t asked for his doubts to be noted in the log. But then, if everything went right, his doubts would make him look like an idiot. Part of the XO’s job was to bring concerns to his commanding officer, but there were limits.
She looked up at him. “How did the crew cope with having their shore leave curtailed?”
“No trouble,” Crenshaw assured her. He sounded surprisingly confident. “They understood the dangers.”
Kat lifted her eyebrows. She had no doubt that her crew did understand the dangers, but she would have been surprised if there hadn’t been any grumbling. Lightning was hardly a tiny gunboat, yet her crew had been cooped up in her hull for the past six weeks. They’d want to get out of the ship for a few hours, despite the risks.
“They do have some reason to look forward to shore leave on Jorlem,” Crenshaw added after a moment. “There are plenty of stories about that world.”
“Few of them good,” Kat said. Vangelis was relatively decent; Jorlem, if half the reports were to be believed, was staggeringly corrupt. The planet was nothing more than a dictatorship held together by overwhelming force. “But we should be able to get some shore leave.”
“I’m sure they will be pleased to hear that,” Crenshaw said.
Kat tended to agree. “As long as they don’t leave the spaceport zone,” she added. Some members of her crew would want to go elsewhere. “I can’t guarantee their safety outside it.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Somewhat to Kat’s surprise, the two-week journey to Jorlem passed without even catching a sniff of a pirate vessel, let alone an enemy raider. It was possible, she concluded as the convoy made its final approach, that her deception plan might have sent the pirates in the wrong direction, but it was also possible that they’d been fooled into believing that the escorts were waiting for them. Hyperspace played enough odd tricks on sensors to make it difficult for the pirates to sort out the real warships from the drones.
“Captain, we are approaching the planned emergence zone,” Lieutenant Wheeler said. “I estimate that we can open the gateway in five minutes.”
“See to it,” Kat ordered. She’d been careful not to give Jorlem the correct emergence zone coordinates either. Ships usually didn’t fly out of hyperspace right into the face of enemy fire, but if the pirates knew precisely where she was going to arrive . . . she pushed the idea aside and took one last look at the fleet display. “Take us out as planned.”
She leaned back in her command chair as the final few seconds ticked down to zero. They’d succeeded, despite the risks. They’d escorted a vast number of freighters to Jorlem, something that would do wonders for the sector’s economy and the Commonwealth’s reputation. Kat knew all too well that some of the freighters would probably be caught when they went on to their next destinations, but it didn’t detract from their current achievement . . .
“Gateway opening now,” Wheeler reported. “We’re going through.”
“The freighters are following us,” Crenshaw added. “They’re falling into the post-emergence formation.”
“Tactical scan,” Kat snapped.
“Working, Captain,” Weiberg said. “No immediate threats; I say again, no immediate threats.”
Kat relaxed, just a little. The odds had been in their favor, but still . . . They’d made it out of hyperspace without incident.
“Continue scan,” she ordered. “I want a full accounting of everything within the system.”
“Aye, Captain,” Weiberg said.
“Uncanny has exited the gateway,” Linda reported.
“Good,” Kat said. She watched the tactical display as it updated rapidly. Jorlem had been settled for longer than Vangelis, but had only around half as much interplanetary traffic making its way through the system. And there was . . . something . . . about the world that suggested that the local government didn’t have complete authority outside its atmosphere. There was something haphazard about the cloudscoops, asteroid bases, and freighters that reminded her of the early days of space travel. Kat couldn’t escape the impression that there was no rhyme or reason to the settlement . . .
The display flashed red. “Captain,” Weiberg snapped as alarms began to howl. “I’m picking up a Theocratic starship orbiting Jorlem!”
“Red alert,” Kat ordered. The alarms grew louder. “Order the convoy to prepare to reenter hyperspace on my command.”
She thought rapidly as the display updated. The enemy ship was clearly visible, making no attempt to hide. The local government had to be aware of its existence, which meant . . . what? Had Jorlem surrendered to the Theocracy? But none of the scans suggested that there had been a recent battle. The planetary defenses, such as they were, seemed to be intact. So were the handful of destroyers and gunboats operated by the planetary navy.
They might have sold out, Kat thought. It wouldn’t be the first time, according to ONI, that the Theocracy had found willing allies among a planetary government. Or they might have been bribed into compliance.
“Tactical report,” Crenshaw said. “What is that ship?”
“It looks like an overcompensating battlecruiser,” Weiberg said. Kat would have smiled if the situation hadn’t been so dire. “I would have said she was actually closer to a battleship, but her power curves are definitely lighter than any battleship on record . . .”
Kat was no expert on starship design, but it did look as though the vessel’s designers had been trying to crossbreed a battlecruiser with a battleship, combining the former’s speed with the latter’s armor. The Commonwealth had tried to build heavier battlecruisers, if she recalled correctly, yet the designers had run into problems balancing the two aspects. Had the Theocracy solved a problem that had plagued the Royal Navy for years? Or had they merely put together a testbed starship and then pressed her into service?
She glanced at Weiberg. “Is she hostile?”
Weiberg frowned down at his console. “I’m not sure, Captain,” he said. “She’s running a standard tactical scan and her shields are up, but she hasn’t targeted us.”
“That means nothing,” Crenshaw said sharply.
Kat nodded. The convoy hadn’t been trying to hide. She would have been surprised if the enemy ship hadn’t managed to get a passive lock on her hull without using anything that would alert her crew. ONI believed that the Theocracy’s sensors were poor, but not that poor. And yet . . .
She scowled. Two heavy cruisers might be able to take the battleship-battlecruiser, even if the Vangelis ships avoided action. And she had authority to engage the Theocracy wherever she found it. But she could be certain of taking heavy casualties, perhaps losing one or both of her ships . . .
“Captain, I’m picking up a message from System Command,” Linda said. “They’re ordering us to stand down and take up orbital positions on the other side of the planet.”
Crenshaw snorted. “They’re ordering us to stand down?”
Kat silenced him with a glare. “Ask them what’s going on,” she ordered. Had the planet been threatened into submission? Or were they silently hoping that Kat and her tiny squadron could drive the enemy ship away? “And request updated shipping slots for the freighters.”
She waited, bracing herself as the convoy neared the planet. The enemy ship hadn’t moved, nor had it done anything to suggest that it was preparing to attack. Kat puzzled over the scenario as more and more data flowed into the display, telling her things she didn’t want to know about the battleship-battlecruiser’s known and presumed abilities. More missile tubes and energy weapons than a standard battlecruiser, estimated drive curves only barely below a heavy cruiser’s . . . none of the reports made reassuring reading. She could evade the ship with ease if she wanted to avoid engagement, but beating her would be a different story.
Linda made a chok
ing noise. “They’re claiming that the Theocracy has sent a diplomatic mission to Jorlem,” she said. “And they’re insisting that we do nothing hostile within their space.”
Kat blinked in surprise. A diplomatic mission? In her experience, the Theocracy didn’t do diplomacy. The ambassadors they’d sent to Tyre had been spies, rather than genuine diplomats. And that had been to a major power. The Theocracy’s approach to minor planets was nothing more than intimidation backed by brute force, a “submit or die” strategy.
She thought rapidly. Her orders authorized her to engage the Theocracy . . . but picking a fight in someone else’s space would cause a diplomatic nightmare, even if she won without causing any damage to the local infrastructure. She had no great regard for the local government, but the rest of the sector would be unamused. All the goodwill she’d won by escorting the freighters would be lost. And yet, a ship of that size and power could not be allowed to fly around the sector without hindrance.
It’s an odd choice, she thought. The battleship-battlecruiser was intimidating, at least to anyone who didn’t have a superdreadnought or two to defend their world, but it wasn’t designed to raid shipping. It was just like swatting flies with a sledgehammer. They’d have done better to flood the sector with light units.
“Inform them that we recognize their right to control their space,” she said. “But we will defend ourselves if attacked.”
“Aye, Captain,” Linda said.
Crenshaw gave her an incredulous look, but she ignored him. The enemy ship had to have arrived within the last two weeks, after the convoy had left Vangelis. There would have been an alert, she was sure, if it had arrived sooner. The StarCom orbiting Jorlem certainly looked intact. And even if it wasn’t, a freighter crew would have spread the word . . .
Cursed Command (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 3) Page 17