William nodded. “Is the Theocracy working with pirates and smugglers?”
“I believe so,” Mr. Abramson said. “I don’t have any direct proof, but bounties have been offered on all starships, either captured or destroyed. Quite a number of pirate outfits have benefited from the situation. Smugglers . . . rather less so.”
“Because they don’t care who gets attacked,” William said.
“Quite. I believe they are establishing connections, but . . . I don’t have any direct proof. Most of the smugglers have good reason to remain quiet about such matters.”
“Of course,” William agreed dryly.
He met Mr. Abramson’s eyes. “One final question,” he said. “Is there anyone on the planet who might overthrow the government?”
“I couldn’t point to a specific figure,” Mr. Abramson said. “Everyone I might have suspected has already been purged.”
He paused. “So, do you want the datachips sent directly to your starship or would you like them handed to you now?”
“Now,” William said. He removed the credit chip from his pocket and held it out. “You can take the first part of the payment too.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Abramson said. He rose. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
William nodded shortly.
“This isn’t good news,” Kat said an hour later.
“No,” William agreed. His analysts had checked and rechecked the datachips carefully before copying their contents onto the ship’s datanet. “On one hand, we have a captured cloudscoop; on the other, we have a genuine pirate base.”
“That cloudscoop is the immediate problem,” Kat mused. “We need to liberate it before too many unsuspecting ships can dock.”
“But we also need to destroy that base,” William said. “We don’t know how long they’ll remain there.”
Kat threw him a sharp look. “I thought exclusivity was part of the deal.”
“It is,” William confirmed. “But smart pirates won’t stay in the same place too long if they can help it.”
“True,” Kat agreed. She studied the star chart for a long moment. “The cloudscoop is in the Generis System. We were planning to take a convoy of freighters to Aston Villa, which is only a handful of light-years from Generis. If I escort the freighters there, in Lightning, you can take others to Potsdam and then proceed to the pirate base. Capture or destroy the base.”
“Of course, Captain,” William said. He wondered, absently, which one of them had the better mission. Liberating the cloudscoop would be a good deed, but capturing the pirate base and their ships might lead to a great deal of prize money. “The report did say that the cloudscoop crew were being kept prisoner.”
“We’ll have to try to free them too,” Kat said slowly. “If it’s a family business . . . Was there any information on the base?”
“It’s a converted asteroid, apparently,” William said. “But there wasn’t much else.”
He sighed. He’d have to sit down with his senior officers and plan the operation, although he had a nasty feeling they’d be making most of it up as they went along. Mr. Abramson hadn’t possessed enough information to allow for detailed planning. Firing a spread of antimatter-armed missiles at the asteroid would be more than enough to take it out, but that would kill any prisoners as well as the pirates themselves. And there would be prisoners.
Sex slaves, if nothing else, he thought sourly.
“I leave that part of the operation in your hands,” Kat told him. “Do what you can to collect intelligence, but if you have to destroy the asteroid . . . I’ll understand.”
“ONI won’t,” William said. “They always have unrealistic expectations of what we can do.”
Kat’s face tightened. “I’ll make sure they understand,” she said. “But I don’t think anyone will be too upset if the pirate base is destroyed. Organize a pair of convoys too, but no more than ten ships each,” she added. “I don’t want to have to ride herd on too many ships this time.”
“Understood,” William said. He paused. “If you announced your intention to head onwards, perhaps to Ayton, you’d have a few more ships requesting escort. And then you could leave them at Aston Villa.”
“I could also take a couple of ships to Generis,” Kat mused. “But would that be too revealing?”
“I don’t know,” William said.
He scowled. The pirates hadn’t destroyed the cloudscoop, which suggested they were more interested in exploiting it than anything else. But if they thought they were doomed, they’d be quite happy to take the cloudscoop and its crew down with them. And losing a cloudscoop would drive the price of fuel up all over the sector.
“You might have to dicker with them,” he said.
“That would be bad,” Kat said. “ONI will make an even bigger fuss over that.”
William nodded in grim agreement. It seemed to be a universal law that the people who weren’t actually on the spot thought they knew better than the people who were. Making a deal with the pirates—ransoming the cloudscoop and her crew—might be the best solution, the only way to end the problem, but the REMFs back home wouldn’t see it that way. They would come up with an idealized solution that wouldn’t have had a hope of working in the real world, then complain loudly about Kat’s failure to come up with such a brilliant scheme.
“Good luck,” he said.
“We did get a message back from the Admiralty,” Kat said. “They want us to—and I quote—‘monitor the situation.’”
“At least they don’t want us to breach Jorlem’s neutrality,” William observed. “I’m surprised they didn’t ask one of us to remain here until Glory of God departs.”
“We don’t have enough ships,” Kat said. “There wasn’t a mention of reinforcements.”
“Ouch,” William said.
The ships they’d borrowed from Vangelis had returned home, escorting a handful of freighters from Jorlem. He doubted the local defense force would join the engagement, even if they’d had enough firepower to make a difference. Glory of God would have to be practically dead in space before the locals dared take her on. Even complete surprise wouldn’t tip the odds in their favor.
“We’ll depart tomorrow,” Kat said. “Keep in touch through the StarCom network. We’ll try to meet up back here in a month, assuming nothing else gets in our way.”
“Of course, Captain,” William said. He paused. “Did the Admiralty have anything to say about Jorlem’s flirting with the Theocracy?”
“Nothing,” Kat said. “Right now, I suspect they think there’s nothing they can do.”
“And that the Theocracy won’t be able to keep its promises,” William added. “Perhaps we should be trying to outbid them. If we were the ones buying ships instead . . .”
“I’ll have to suggest that,” Kat said. “But would the sellers know they were selling to the Theocracy?”
William didn’t know. It wasn’t easy to follow the money in the Commonwealth, let alone the Jorlem Sector. The purchasing agents might have no idea where the ships were going . . . hell, they might assume they were purchasing ships for pirates. And outbidding everyone would have awkward long-term effects.
“Perhaps if we just outbid everyone for warships,” he mused slowly. “We could then loan them to Vangelis and every other world willing to assist in convoy protection.”
“Good idea,” Kat said. She smiled. “And I’ll make sure to suggest it to the Admiralty.”
“They might take it more seriously if it came from you,” William countered.
“It involves spending money,” Kat said. Her smile widened. “They’ll hate it on principle.”
She shook her head. “I’ll see you in a month, all being well,” she added. “Keep me informed.”
“Of course, Kat,” William said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“We really need more data,” Roach said grimly.
William nodded in agreement. The convoy was two days out of Jorlem, heading to Potsdam o
n a course that, William hoped, would make life difficult for anyone shadowing their passage through hyperspace. William had taken the opportunity to sit down in his Ready Room with his XO and do some planning before starting more departmental inspections.
“All we really know about the pirate base is that it’s an asteroid,” Roach added, “but what sort of asteroid?”
“We’ll sneak into the system and find out,” William said. Mr. Abramson’s datachip had shown a precise location for the pirate base. “And then we’ll plan our operation.”
He clicked off the tactical display. “How’s crew morale?”
“Improving, sir,” Roach said. “Some grumbles about limited shore leave on Jorlem, but Henderson’s death put a damper on them. The crew probably does need some proper leave sooner rather than later.”
“There may be opportunities at Potsdam,” William said. “It doesn’t seem to be a security nightmare.”
“No, sir,” Roach said.
He pulled his datapad off his belt and glanced at the latest reports. “Overall, shipboard efficiency is as good as can be expected,” he added. “The old hands seem to have lost most of their bad habits, thankfully. None of the officers have reported any major problems. Indeed, I think a number of crewmen could be put down for promotion right now. There are still a number of gambling rings, apparently, but none of them seem to be getting out of hand.”
“Good,” William said. “I trust you have been monitoring the crew’s spending patterns?”
“Yes, sir,” Roach said.
He sounded unhappy. William didn’t blame him. There was no way that any of the crew could be mistaken for a child, a child whose parents needed to keep an eye on his spending. Also, privacy was important on Tyre. Covertly monitoring a grown man’s spending went against the grain.
“It has to be done,” William said. “It’s better to nip any gambling problems in the bud.”
“Yes, sir,” Roach said. “But they might be gambling other things.”
William took a deep breath. In his experience, young crewmembers could get into trouble with depressing ease. Gambling . . . drugs . . . women . . . men . . . there were just too many temptations for a young serviceperson leaving his or her homeworld for the first time. And older crewmembers, the ones who would probably never be considered for a promotion, didn’t help. He still shuddered at the thought of just how much alcohol he’d been talked into consuming during his first period of shore leave many, many years ago. The whole experience was a blurry memory.
“Yes, they could be,” he said. “That’s why it’s better to leave them an outlet for their mischievous sides. There’s always someone who will try to push the limits.”
“Yes, sir,” Roach said.
He paused. “Maintenance schedules are being kept,” he continued. “We’re actually using more spare parts than predicted, but we should have enough to keep us going until we return to the Commonwealth. If worse comes to worst, we can borrow additional spares from Lightning or refurbish some of the older components. They’re designed to be refurbished on the fly, if necessary.”
“But only as a last resort,” William said. He’d had too much experience on ships held together by spit and baling wire. “Continue to monitor the situation.”
“Yes, sir,” Roach said. “The bean counters will not be pleased.”
“Fuck them,” William said curtly. He had yet to see a projection from the bean counters that wasn’t a gross underestimate. “Keeping the crew alive is more important than satisfying their figures.”
“Yes, sir,” Roach said. “I—”
He broke off as the alarms howled. The intercom squawked a moment later. “Captain to the bridge! I say again, captain to the bridge!”
William rose, leading the way through the hatch and onto the bridge. “Report!”
“Two contacts approaching on attack vector,” Lieutenant Commander Thompson said, rising from the command chair. “They’re coming directly for us.”
“They must have been shadowing us for some time,” Roach muttered.
William sat down and studied the tactical display. The two contacts were approaching from the rear, bearing down on the last couple of ships in the convoy. They didn’t seem to be making any attempt to hide; hell, there wasn’t even enough nearby hyperspace distortion to make it hard to see them. Either they were the most careless pirates in existence or they wanted to be seen. And that meant . . .
“Order the convoy to alter course,” he said, keying his console. If the pirates were trying to distract him, chances were that at least one more pirate ship was lurking along the convoy’s projected course. “And launch two probes ahead of us.”
“Aye, Captain,” Thompson said.
“They both read out as destroyers,” Roach commented. “Flag unknown.”
William frowned. Theocracy?
He shook his head. ONI had amassed extensive files on starships from all over the human sphere, but it was quite possible that something had slipped through the net. It was also possible that the Uncanny was merely facing ships that had been modified so extensively that they were now unrecognizable.
“Get your best guesses up on the tactical display,” he ordered. “And ready firing solutions.”
“Aye, Captain,” Roach said.
The enemy ships drew closer. The probes hadn’t detected anything lying in wait, which meant . . . what? Were the pirates incompetent? William had no respect for pirates, most of whom treated their ships so badly it was a miracle they didn’t suffocate, but very few pirates were stupid enough to play games with a heavy cruiser. The two destroyers were doomed if they kept closing on his position, and they had to know it. Unless . . .
“Order the convoy to pick up speed,” he said. The tactical display was still clear, save for the two enemy ships. “And warn them to be ready for a crash-transit back into realspace.”
“Aye, Captain,” Lieutenant Stott said.
Roach glanced at him. “You think they’ll try to trigger an energy storm?”
“If they just want to destroy the ships,” William commented, “it’s their best chance.”
“Shit,” Roach breathed.
William nodded. It was rare for major fleet engagements to take place in hyperspace, if only because no one knew precisely what it would take to set off an energy storm. A couple of antimatter detonations would be more than enough. And if the approaching ships were armed with antimatter warheads, they’d cause a storm even if his point defense managed to pick them off in time.
“We could drop back into realspace now, sir,” Roach suggested.
“I considered it,” William said. “But they’ll just wait for us in hyperspace.”
He looked at Thompson. “Are there no other enemy ships within sensor range?”
“No, sir,” Thompson said. “I’m only picking up two ships.”
And there isn’t enough distortion to cause too many sensor problems, William thought. A stealthed ship might be hiding in front of them, but their course change would have thrown it off. Unless the enemy had guessed their new vector ahead of time . . . No, that was unlikely. He’d picked the vector randomly. They want to set off a storm.
“Helm, bring us around,” he ordered. “Tactical, prepare to engage as soon as the enemy ships are within weapons range.”
“Aye, Captain,” Cecelia said.
“Weapons ready, Captain,” Thompson agreed. “Warhead loads?”
“Standard nukes,” William ordered. There was no way to be sure, but that option should minimize the chances of their setting off a storm themselves. “Fire on my command.”
He tensed as the three ships converged rapidly. Moving away from the convoy was a risk, even though it would give the freighters a better chance at opening a gateway and returning to realspace if a storm did blow up. If there was another watching ship lurking in the shadows, the freighters would have to face it alone. But it was the only way to keep the enemy ships away from the convoy.
&
nbsp; “Weapons range in twenty seconds, Captain,” Thompson reported. “Targets locked. I . . .”
He paused as an alert sounded. “Missile separation! I say again, missile separation!”
William swore. Unless there was something very odd about that missile, the pirates didn’t have a hope of actually hitting them. But it didn’t matter. A handful of antimatter warheads would be more than enough to set off an energy storm.
“Evasive action,” he ordered. “Helm, ready the gateway generator . . .”
“Detonation,” Thompson snapped. “Antimatter warhead! I say again, antimatter warhead!”
“Take us back to the convoy,” William ordered.
He braced himself as a dull shuddering ran through the ship. The energy surge wasn’t going away. A storm was already forming, waves of energy flaring out of nowhere and blurring together into a wall of unimaginable power. The enemy ships, trapped on the other side of the wall, vanished into nothingness. He hoped, absently, that they’d been swallowed by the monster they’d unleashed, but there was no way to know. All he could think about was getting out of the storm before it surged towards them. Uncanny was far too close to the energy nexus for comfort.
“Captain, the storm is building rapidly,” Lieutenant Gross reported.
“Keep us moving,” William ordered. They could try to return to realspace, but he had a nasty feeling that they were too close to the energy storm to open a gateway safely. “Alert the convoy. Order them to head away from the storm.”
“Aye, Captain,” Stott said.
The shaking grew stronger, sending chills down his spine. Uncanny was terrifyingly powerful compared to the ships of the Breakaway Wars, but she was still a toy compared to the raw power of hyperspace. No one could plunge into an energy storm and live. Skirting the edge of the storm alone was supremely risky . . .
William gripped his command chair, keeping his face impassive. He’d been through worse during their mission into enemy territory, back before the start of the war. The Seven Sisters had been far worse than a simple energy storm. But it was hard to keep focused, even though he needed to present a calm face to the crew. There was something deeply primal about the terror unleashed by the storm.
Cursed Command (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 3) Page 21