Cursed Command (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Idiot,” Joel muttered.

  Word had spread rapidly, he discovered, as he marched the four drunkards back to the nearest shuttle. Hundreds of prostitutes and salesmen had descended on the bars where Uncanny’s crew were drinking, trying to claim a share of the wealth. The prostitutes were probably going to be working double shifts, Joel thought; he doubted the salesmen would do so well. Or perhaps they would. Prize money was tax free by long tradition. The spacers could blow it all on wine, women, and song and no one would care.

  They’d still have to get it to orbit, he thought. He still smiled whenever he thought of the spacer who’d bought a used aircar on shore leave and then discovered he couldn’t get it back to the ship. Better to spend the money on beer and prostitutes.

  He sobered as he handed the drunkards over to the militiamen on duty outside the shuttles, then turned and walked back down the street. A pair of missionaries stood in front of a bar, telling everyone who passed about the glory of the One True God and His True Faith. They didn’t look to be having any luck at winning converts, but Joel had a suspicion that that wasn’t the point. The missionaries were the Theocracy’s key to Jorlem, having already established a major temple on the surface.

  It will serve as more than just an embassy, he thought. He looked down at the wristcom on his wrist. They’ll be running their spies out of their base.

  Crewman Thomas Rochester met him, as planned, outside an expensive bar. The prostitutes outside looked higher class than the ones outside the other venues, their fees probably a great deal higher too. Joel passed Rochester his wristcom, reminding him to stay in the bar and out of sight. He had a portable com with him too, in case of emergencies, but as far as the ship’s sensors were concerned, Joel, or at least his wristcom, would be in the bar too.

  “I’ll take care of it for you,” Rochester promised. “Good luck with the supplier.”

  Joel nodded, and then turned and hurried towards the temple. The rest of his inner circle thought he was going to find a supplier, but Joel already knew it would be pointless. They needed more specialized help, and he could only think of one group who could provide it. Yet, it was risky as hell . . .

  They can only shoot me once, he thought, as he stepped through the doors. His implants reported a whole series of privacy fields, far more than he would have expected in a House of God. They’d probably consider me a traitor anyway.

  A man stepped out of the shadows wearing a monkish robe and cowl that kept his face concealed. “My Brother,” he said in a whispery voice. “Have you come to hear of the True Faith?”

  “I have come to speak to one of your intelligence officers,” Joel said. “We don’t have time for games.”

  The Theocrat hesitated for a second. “Very well,” he said. “Follow me.”

  He led the way through a door and down a long corridor into a secure room. Joel’s implants reported more privacy fields, including one that would have jammed his wristcom if he’d kept it with him. He couldn’t have the device tattling on him. A single man, wearing a long red robe, sat behind a solid metal desk. His face was so bland that he could have passed unnoticed almost anywhere, even on a planet like Jorlem.

  “I need to talk to someone who can make decisions,” Joel said. He shivered in fear. Red robes meant an Inquisitor, he thought. “Can you make decisions?”

  “I can,” the Theocrat said. His voice was surprisingly warm. “And I have no time for games either.”

  Joel nodded as he sat down and studied the Theocrat. He’d spent hours trying to decide how best to approach them. Should he claim to be a convert? Or should he tell them the truth, or as much of it as they needed to know? It was unlikely they’d betray him, but they might not be willing to help. And he desperately needed help. He was running out of time.

  “I am a crewman from Uncanny,” he said. “We have been planning to stage a mutiny and take command of the vessel.”

  The Theocrat rocked back in surprise. “May I ask why?”

  “Money,” Joel said. It was a believable motive. More to the point, it was one the Theocracy would accept without question. “We were planning to sell Uncanny to the highest bidder.”

  “We would be the highest bidder,” the Theocrat said. “But you don’t have the ship, do you?”

  “Not yet,” Joel said. “We need your help.”

  The Theocrat cocked his head. “And you think we would just accept you, no questions asked?”

  “No,” Joel said. He removed a datachip from his pocket and dropped it on the table. “I believe you will find that information to be a sufficient down payment.”

  Inquisitor Bin Zaid hadn’t expected much from his assignment to Jorlem’s newly converted and consecrated temple. Indeed, he had a private suspicion that Senior Cleric Abdullah had ordered him to take the job merely to get Bin Zaid out of his hair. Whatever else could be said about the spaceport, it just wasn’t the kind of place anyone would expect to find converts. In addition, far too many shipping agents had been rounded up or simply gone underground in the last two days.

  But this . . .

  He stared at the infidel, fighting to keep the scorn and disbelief off his face. He’d had dozens of visitors offering to sell him information, most of which was valueless, but no one had come to him and offered an entire heavy cruiser. And a top-of-the-line Commonwealth heavy cruiser at that! The opportunity was literally priceless. Taking the ship home would guarantee him promotion. Was the offer too good to be true?

  “Check the datachip,” the infidel said. “You’ll find it quite interesting.”

  Bin Zaid gave him a sharp look, then pulled out his datapad and inserted the chip into the reader, a universal design. The menu popped up at once, showing a list of classified naval documents, ranging from shipping line schematics to maintenance and repair manuals. He knew there were designers, back in the Theocracy, who would give their right arms for such information. Unless it was all faked. He wouldn’t put it past the Commonwealth to tempt him with such a staggering piece of bait.

  What if it was real, though?

  “This will all have to be analyzed, of course,” Bin Zaid said. He heard his voice quiver and cursed under his breath. “How do you believe we can be of service?”

  “We need weapons and some other supplies,” the infidel said. “If we take the ship, we’ll hand her over to you shortly afterwards. You can pay us each a billion crowns for our work and give us transport somewhere a long way from the Commonwealth. That’s around fifty billion crowns in total.”

  Bin Zaid swallowed, hard. Fifty billion crowns was well out of his budget. He knew precisely what his superiors would say if he requested so much money. If the infidel was a fraud, he was a bold one. Still, the heavy cruiser was worth . . . he didn’t even want to think about how much it might be worth. Fifty billion crowns might be cheap if the entire ship fell into their hands.

  We don’t have to pay them, he thought. He licked his lips nervously. We can immediately execute them after they hand over the ship.

  “Fifty billion crowns,” he said. He shook his head slowly. There was no point in trying to bargain. “If you hand over the cruiser, with her computer files intact, we will happily pay you for her.”

  “Of course,” the infidel said. “Give us the weapons now, and we will bring you the ship.”

  Bin Zaid nodded. “Once you have the ship, bring her to the border,” he said carefully. “We’ll make the swap there.”

  “We would prefer to make the swap here,” the infidel said. “It would be safer for all concerned.”

  Safer for you, Bin Zaid thought. It would be harder to cheat you in a system we don’t control.

  Yet, he would have been suspicious if the infidel had agreed too quickly. Doing the swap at Jorlem made perfect sense, where the banking transfer could be arranged before the command codes were handed over. Perhaps they’d have to pay up after all . . .

  “I’ll have your datachip reviewed,” Bin Zaid said, summoning one of his as
sistants. “If it checks out, we’ll provide the weapons you requested.”

  He waited, studying the infidel as his assistant took the datachip for inspection. A competent intelligence service would have no trouble coming up with a piece of data that would pass a cursory inspection, he knew, but what would be the point? The Theocracy wasn’t going to rush out and start building a carbon copy of Uncanny and her sisters. And the mere presence of the weapons wouldn’t prove anything. Commonwealth forces already knew that Glory of God was orbiting Jorlem, and they already knew the Theocracy was active on the planet’s surface. They didn’t really need any more proof of anything.

  “You are betraying your planet,” he observed. “Why?”

  The infidel made a throwaway gesture. “I want to be rich.”

  Bin Zaid felt a flicker of sharp contempt. The infidels had no loyalty to anything greater than themselves, no concept of stern obedience to a single will. He doubted the man in front of him had suffered for anything, let alone submitted himself to the question so that every last flicker of doubt or unbelief was flushed out of his system. Inquisitor Bin Zaid and his brothers had put themselves through fire just to prepare themselves for their roles. The infidels might be powerful, but they lacked the inner strength they needed to take the entire universe and bend it to their will.

  “And you’ll be very rich afterwards,” Bin Zaid said.

  His assistant returned, looking surprised. “The data checks out, Your Holiness,” he said. “I think it’s genuine.”

  “Good,” Bin Zaid said.

  He smiled coldly. There was no point in informing his superior, not yet. Either the milksop would refuse to work with the infidels or steal the credit for himself. Bin Zaid could arrange for the weapons to be handed over on his own, without permission. By the time his superiors found out, they would be unable to steal the credit. He’d have to tell them, sooner rather than later, but no one would ever be able to take it from him.

  “It seems to be fine,” he said, addressing the infidel. God had truly weakened those who chose not to embrace the faith. “And how do you want the weapons delivered to you?”

  Joel kept his face impassive through force of habit even though he felt almost lightheaded with relief. They’d bought it! The files he’d given them were genuine—he couldn’t risk the Theocracy discovering a fake—but asking them for weapons might have been a step too far. He’d offered them something beyond price, yet they might have asked—quite reasonably—if the whole deal weren’t too good to be true.

  “I have ways to slip a crate or two up to the ship,” he said. His people were in the right positions. They were already taking on some supplies at Jorlem. Adding a couple of additional shipping crates wouldn’t be a problem. “You slip them into the warehouse nearest the spaceport, and I’ll see to it they get picked up.”

  “Very clever,” the Theocrat said. He couldn’t hide the eagerness in his tone. “And then you bring the ship here.”

  “Of course,” Joel said. If he had intended to hand Uncanny over to them, Jorlem was the logical place. They’d have very little opportunity to screw them. “I’ll even throw the remainder of the crew to you as well.”

  The Theocrat’s eyes gleamed. “It will be our pleasure to do business with you.”

  Joel nodded in agreement. The Theocrat was planning something, he was sure. It hardly mattered. Uncanny wouldn’t be returning to Jorlem, whatever happened. They’d just have to make do with a datachip full of outdated manuals. Joel suspected the enemy intelligence service might already have copies of some of them. Not that it mattered, in any case.

  “The weapons will be available tomorrow morning,” the Theocrat added. “And may God go with you.”

  I rather doubt He wants anything to do with me, Joel thought. He was an oath breaker by any reasonable definition of the word, and now a traitor too. Whatever happens, we are committed.

  He nodded shortly, then rose to his feet to head for the door. The hooded man appeared, leading him back to the exit. Joel allowed himself a moment of relief when he saw that the rain had finally started, pelting down so hard that even the hardened prostitutes had been driven indoors. He could hear thunder grumbling high overhead as he hurried across the street and into the bar. Rochester was sitting at a side table, a topless girl sitting on his lap.

  “Hey, boss,” he said. “Did it go well?”

  Joel shot him a meaningful look as he sat down next to the crewman and recovered his wristcom. A brown-haired girl wearing a long dress materialized from nowhere, her eyes nervous even as she tried her hardest to look seductive. Probably not a professional then, Joel decided as he studied her. More likely someone who’d bribed her way into the spaceport for a day in the hopes of making some money.

  He grinned, rather toothily. “First time?”

  The girl flushed. “N-no,” she stammered. “I’ve been here before.”

  Joel rolled his eyes. He’d heard a great many tall stories before, normally told by spacers trying to avoid a chewing out for something; he was good at sniffing out a lie. If the girl had ever set foot in the spaceport before, he would have been astonished. He doubted she was a virgin, but it was probably her first time doing it for cash.

  “I’m sure,” he said.

  “The girls here are hot,” Rochester said. The blonde on his lap giggled, pressing her breasts into his face. “Come on, Chief. Live a little.”

  “I have a room upstairs,” the girl said. “Are you . . .?”

  “Why not?” Joel asked. He snapped his wristcom back on his wrist, then rose. “Lead on, my dear.”

  The girl took his arm, pulling him towards a stairwell. Joel shook his head as he followed her. She was nineteen, perhaps twenty, but she probably had no hope of a decent career on her homeworld. Even if she did, she could lose it all in an instant if she offended the wrong man. He couldn’t help feeling a stab of sympathy. The girl—he didn’t even know her name—would ply her trade here until she grew too old, unless she was robbed or raped or mutilated by one of her customers. No one would give a damn about an inexpensive prostitute. There were plenty more where she came from.

  We make it worse, he thought tightly. Brothels on Tyre were closely regulated; Jorlem was far less controlled. Spacers like us, eager for a quick fuck.

  He pushed the thought aside as he followed her into the bedroom and closed the door. There was no point in worrying about it. Instead, he watched as she fumbled with her dress and let it fall to the floor. Underneath, she was naked. He took a long moment to look her up and down, her face reddening as he inspected her, and then he reached for the girl.

  I need to relax, he told himself as her fingers fumbled with his uniform buttons. An experienced prostitute would have been able to strip him in seconds. She needs to earn the money.

  Afterwards, feeling an odd sensation he didn’t want to admit to, he left a dozen crowns on the dresser for her.

  Even so, he knew it wouldn’t be enough to make a difference.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “He seems to have rounded up a few dozen of the pirate contacts,” Kat said as she poured them both a drink. President Alexis had sent a few bottles of his favorite wines to her as a gift. “But I don’t know how far the purge goes.”

  William nodded. “As long as the pirates and their allies are ducking for cover,” he said, “it’ll make it harder for them to continue recruiting newcomers, as well as fencing loot.”

  “It depends,” Kat said. “How many of them will be quietly released from jail and allowed to leave the planet after we leave?”

  “The president has good reason to appear to cooperate, even if his cooperation has its limits,” William reassured her. “And we have access to the interrogation records. If we recapture any of the bastards, we’ll know they were allowed to escape.”

  Kat sipped her wine. She’d sent copies of the records to Vangelis and every other world with a StarCom. Not everyone checked the crews of arriving freighters, even when they lan
ded on the surface, but now former pirates had a good chance of being caught if they passed through planetary immigration. If it was shown that Alexis had let pirates escape, all hell would break loose.

  They’ll have to have their DNA reconfigured if they want to escape detection, she thought wryly. The technology to do so probably doesn’t exist in this sector.

  “President Alexis wasn’t happy about me sharing the records,” she said thoughtfully. “He seemed to feel it will reflect badly on his planet.”

  “It probably will,” William said. “And if someone managed to trace looted supplies to Jorlem, there would be a case against the planetary government. A merchant in the Commonwealth might even try to bring suit against Jorlem.”

  “Which would be a diplomatic headache,” Kat said. “As well as making Jorlem look bad.”

  She took another sip of her wine before moving on. It was the first chance they’d had for a private chat since Uncanny had returned to Jorlem. There was no point in wasting it brooding over President Alexis and his deeply corrupt government. They had too many other matters to discuss.

  “Good work on the pirate base,” she said. “It should definitely put a crimp in their activities.”

  “One would hope so,” William said. “I just hope we haven’t accidentally sold the ships right back to their former owners.”

  “I don’t think so,” Kat said. “We checked the buyers extensively. They’re all legit shipping agents. We’ll have someone to blame if the ships go back into pirate hands.”

  She smiled. Selling the starships to various planetary governments had been a good idea—she’d even accepted a handful of lower bids to make sure they went to places where they could do the most good—but she didn’t know if the new owners could handle the ships. They were simple, nothing remotely as advanced as Lightning or Uncanny, yet most stage-two colony worlds would struggle to recruit trained spacers. Some former hostages were willing to stay on the ships and work for their new owners, but they wouldn’t be enough. The new crews would have to learn on the job.