“Very good,” William said. He checked the tactical display, then nodded. “Push the button.”
“Aye, Captain,” Roach said.
The tactical display flashed as the asteroid shattered into a million fragments, the debris rocketing out in all directions. Some of it would eventually plunge into the dull red star, he knew; the remainder would drift through space forever excepting an encounter with another star system or collision with a starship. The odds against such an impact were staggering.
“Captain,” Thompson said, formally. “The asteroid has been destroyed.”
“Communications, order the colonist-carrier to accompany us,” William ordered. “Helm, open a gateway and take us out of here.”
“Aye, Captain,” Cecelia said. “Straight-line course for Haverford.”
The gateway opened, the ship shuddering slightly as she made her way into hyperspace. Whatever was wrong at Haverford, Kat would have dealt with it by now. Uncanny could offload the prisoners as soon as they arrived, then head straight back out on patrol.
Then we can get on with some real work, he thought morbidly. Taking out as many pirates as we can before we are called back to the war.
“We move in two days,” Joel said. He addressed a small group of fourteen supporters, handing out weapons as he spoke. “We use stunners at first, as long as we can. Only switch to lethal weapons if you have no choice.”
He took a moment to gauge their reaction. He’d spent months sounding them out, back when it had seemed that Uncanny would never leave orbit, but that had been before they’d been graced with a competent commanding officer. They’d had great plans—what little he’d chosen to share—yet now . . . some of them might think they could back out. If they went straight to the captain, any hope of a peaceful takeover would vanish like snow in hell.
“We don’t want to kill anyone,” he added. “Many will join us, if they are given the opportunity.”
There was another reason, he knew. Not everyone was enthusiastic about killing their fellow crew, the men and women they’d worked beside for the past three months. He knew better than to push them too hard. The prospect of dumping the undecided, those unwilling to side with a mutiny, on Haverford would calm their consciences. A stage-one colony might be a boring and hard place to live, but it wasn’t a death sentence.
“We move when the captain is off the bridge,” he added. “His movements are already being monitored, correct?”
“Correct,” Julia said. “I own the datanet now. We can track him even if he takes his wristcom off.”
Joel smiled. It was polite to pretend that the datanet tracked crewmen through their wristcoms, but it wasn’t true onboard ship. There were several other tracking systems worked into the datanet, allowing the computers to locate anyone almost at once. A civilian would be horrified to know just how extensively military personnel were watched, but to the military, such scrutiny was a fact of life. Privacy was nonexistent in the wardrooms.
If one happens to know how the surveillance is conducted, Joel thought, it’s actually quite easy to evade it.
“I’ll deal with the captain personally,” he said. The last thing he wanted was someone else getting cold feet. Sir William could not be given a chance to purge the datanet, let alone fight back against the mutiny. “Team One will take the bridge, with a little help from our friend; Team Two will take Main Engineering; Team Three will take life support. As soon as we have control, we run a formal lockdown drill. No one will think anything of it.”
“Apart from the militia,” Crewman Hanson warned. “They’d be alarmed.”
“They’ll go into lockdown too,” Joel said. Sir William’s insistence on repeated emergency drills, everything from combat alerts to repelling borders, had paid off. No one would realize that there was a real emergency until it was far too late. “And once they’re sealed in Marine Country, we keep them sealed in.”
“The whole section is designed to be isolated,” Rochester agreed. “Bit of a mistake on their part, right?”
Joel had no intention of looking a gift horse in the mouth. The marines were responsible for internal security as well as providing troops for boarding pirate vessels and storming targets on the ground. He still found it hard to believe just what they—and Kat Falcone—had done to the cloudscoop pirates. The militia on board Uncanny had been spared that responsibility. They’d done well in their training, he had to admit, yet they weren’t marines. They’d be caught and trapped before they realized what had happened to them.
Their life support will run out, he thought coldly. The militiamen couldn’t be allowed to live. They were just too dangerous. Some bright spark might manage to blast their way out of Marine Country if they were left alone long enough. That will be the end of them.
“We’ll keep the rest of the ship in lockdown,” he added. Better not to mention the next part of the plan. “We can take out a couple of crewmen at a time, giving us a chance to see if they want to join us. If they don’t, we’ll hold them until they can be dropped off somewhere harmless.”
He paused. “Are there any questions?”
Rochester frowned. “What if someone stumbles across some of our weapons?”
“We move ahead of time,” Joel said. He tapped his wristcom. “Julia worked hard to give us a private frequency, so don’t waste it. If you get the alert, stun everyone in sight who isn’t already one of us and then move.”
If they did have to move ahead of time, everything was going to become very chancy. There was no reason to think the captain knew there was trouble brewing—he didn’t seem to have been unduly alarmed by Henderson’s death—but that would change very quickly if someone discovered a stash of illicit weapons. Joel didn’t know if the captain had contingency plans when it came to mutiny, yet he knew what he would do if he had reason to suspect trouble. Arm the militia, lock down the ship, and head straight for Lightning.
Then use her marines to search Uncanny from top to bottom, Joel thought. His throat was dry. That would be the end.
Hanson swallowed. “Chief . . . do we really need to move?”
Joel felt a shiver run down his spine. “What do you mean?”
“We planned this whole affair because no one gave a damn about us,” Hanson said. “We’re colonials, most of us; we didn’t have a hope of escaping Unlucky or rising in the ranks. We owed no loyalty to a Navy that wasn’t loyal to us. No one batted an eyelid when Captain Abraham started to sell off the supplies that kept us alive or did anything when the life support system began to fail. Why the hell would we be loyal?”
He took a breath. “But Sir William is different,” he added. “He does give a damn about us!”
Joel met his eyes. “Do you expect his behavior to be anything more than an act?”
“He’s a colonial himself,” Hanson pointed out. “And now he’s the captain . . .”
“He’s a lone colonial in command rank,” Joel snapped. “And they gave him Unlucky!”
“They might have expected him to fail,” Rochester offered.
“They probably did,” Joel said. He fought to keep his voice flat. “If the ship had been in as bad a state as they assumed, he probably would have failed.”
“He’s one of us,” Hanson said. “He isn’t a toff with his nose in the air . . .”
“He was promoted because he kissed a Falcone’s ass,” Joel said angrily. He’d been covertly spreading that rumor and many others. “His hand is so far up inside her that it’s coming out of her mouth!”
“He turned this ship around,” Hanson said. “And if he can reach command rank, we can rise too.”
Joel carefully reached for the stunner he’d concealed in his uniform jacket. Hanson might be able to escape the death sentence for his part in the conspiracy, but he was deluding himself if he thought he could escape punishment entirely.
“Do you really think,” Joel asked, “that we can just . . . abandon the plan and get away with it?”
He took a brea
th. “We killed a commanding officer,” he added sharply. “Captain Abraham was a complete waste of space, but he was still a commanding officer. And we killed him!”
“He deserved it,” Hanson said.
Captain Abraham had received a cleaner death than he deserved, Joel considered, but there was no point in worrying about it now.
“Yes, he did,” Joel said. “How long will it be before someone realizes he was murdered?”
“This ship has a reputation for being unlucky,” Hanson said pleadingly.
“And any competent officer will eventually realize that the ship wasn’t on the verge of falling apart at the seams,” Joel said quietly. “Then he will start wondering just why the shuttle had a catastrophic failure at the worst possible moment.”
He met Hanson’s eyes. “We can’t back out now,” he said. “Are you with us or not?”
Hanson hesitated, a fraction of a second too long. Joel pulled the stunner out of his pocket and shot him. His body crumpled to the deck.
“We’ll dump him off with the remainder of the crew,” Joel said, bracing himself. If Hanson wasn’t the only one to have doubts . . . he waited, but no one moved. “If there’s anyone else who wishes to quit, just bear in mind that you are thoroughly implicated.”
He sucked in his breath. Hiding Hanson for a couple of days would be easy enough. He wouldn’t be reported missing. The asshole could be tied up and sedated, then left in a tube until the ship reached Haverford. And if something went badly wrong and the mutiny failed, he probably wouldn’t be found until after he starved to death. Joel allowed his voice to harden.
“You all know what to do with your teams,” he told them. “Remember, do nothing suspicious until I give the signal. Julia?”
“Yes, Chief?”
“Did you alter the rosters as I suggested?”
“Yes, Chief,” Julia said. She held out a datapad. “We’ll all be off duty at zero hour, save for our friend on the bridge.”
“I’ll speak to him directly,” Joel said. Only a handful of people knew he’d subverted a bridge officer. “He’ll have to sneak a weapon onto the bridge once his shift begins.”
He made a show of looking at his wristcom. “And now some of us have to go on duty, so I declare this meeting at an end.”
He nodded for Rochester to stay behind as he removed a roll of duct tape from his belt and used it to secure Hanson. There were a few things Joel could do to make Hanson’s death seem like another tragic accident—a drug overdose would be easy to fake—but he didn’t dare do anything that might attract attention. Better to maintain the illusion that Hanson was still alive and doing his job than try to explain his death.
Besides, if I kill Hanson, someone else with doubts might take them straight to the captain, he thought. And that would doom the entire plan.
“Help me get him into the crate,” Joel ordered as soon as Hanson was tied and gagged. “We can get him down to the hold and seal it there before anyone thinks to look.”
“Of course, Chief,” Rochester said. He picked up Hanson without apparent effort and dropped him into the crate. Joel banged the lid down and secured it with more tape. If Hanson suffocated . . . well, he wasn’t going to care. “What a louse. Didn’t he know he was committed?”
Joel showed no reaction, but he was annoyed. A competent commanding officer could earn staunch loyalty. A captain might be a tyrant, but as long as he showed he cared about his crew, he would earn their respect. No one had mourned Captain Abraham . . .
. . . But Sir William was a very different story.
Was, Joel thought. He scowled. Sir William had messed up all his plans without even knowing it. Yet, soon it won’t matter at all.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
William hated to admit it, but he was bored.
Boredom was something every military officer learned to appreciate. Boredom meant that no one was trying to kill you. But the boredom William experienced as Uncanny made her steady way towards Haverford was deadening. The pirates hadn’t taken the bait he’d dangled in hyperspace. He’d been hoping to lure one or two ships into weapons range. He honestly didn’t know if they’d even seen the bait or not. The Uncanny wasn’t on any of the regular shipping lanes. There was certainly no reason to assume that the pirates might be watching them.
They might have seen us leave their base, if they were, he thought sourly. They know we don’t have a cluster of freighters with us.
He sat in his cabin and worked his way through an endless series of updates the Admiralty appeared to believe that every commanding officer should know. William had no idea who had compiled the bundle, but he would have bet good money that he’d never been in command of a starship. Shipping movements were of interest—particularly when focused on the Jorlem Sector—and intelligence updates were always important, yet why was he supposed to care about recruitment policies all over the Commonwealth? And just what idiot thought it was a good idea to send out an all-ships alert for a crate of spare parts that had gone missing on the other side of the Commonwealth?
We only just started our first real war, he told himself. The time servers and bureaucrats haven’t been weeded out yet.
William turned his attention to the reports from his departmental heads. A number of crewmen had been marked down for promotions, which he would have to authorize and then have confirmed by the personnel department back on Tyre. The process was annoying as anyone who had served on Uncanny was automatically considered a failure, but it would have to be endured. Besides they had maintained a very successful cruise so far. The stigma would have faded, even if it hadn’t been washed away completely. Soon it would be gone for good.
He rubbed his eyes as he glanced through the files. A number of crewmen had also been recommended for special commendations—they’d flown the shuttles into the pirate base—and he had no doubt those would be authorized by Tyre. The others . . . he might have to fight to get them their promotions. But he would. Crewmen moving up the ladder would do wonders for morale.
His intercom buzzed. “Captain, do you want more coffee?”
William smiled. He’d never gotten used to having a steward, and he’d largely banned Janet from his quarters unless he needed coffee. It wasn’t as if he needed someone to take care of his clothes. He had only brought a handful of uniforms and a single set of civilian clothes with him when he’d boarded Uncanny. Janet had very little to do, beyond keeping the coffeepot filled.
“No, thank you,” William said. He’d drunk so much that he’d probably slosh around when he went to bed. “Get some rest if you want.”
“Aye, Captain,” Janet said.
William felt his smile fade as she closed the connection. Captain Abraham had compromised her career beyond all hope of repair unless she was very lucky. The Captain’s Whore, they called her . . . she would be lucky to get promoted even if she did pass her exams. William intended to sponsor her if she completed the pre-academy training modules before Uncanny returned home, but she would have a difficult time. Still, her future path looked brighter than if she’d stayed with Captain Abraham.
William rose. Roach could handle the ship for a few more hours. He and his XO had already agreed to give some of the other junior officers some additional command experience. He could get a few hours of sleep himself and then start studying the shipping routes. If Uncanny picked up a few more freighters at Jorlem, she could head deeper into the sector and dare the pirates to come after her . . .
The doorbell chimed. William frowned. It was unusual for anyone to visit the captain when he was in his cabin. He keyed the switch. The hatch hissed open a moment later, revealing the senior chief. Why would he visit without calling ahead?
“Chief,” William said, turning to face him. “What . . .?”
The senior chief lifted his hand. William barely had a second to register the weapon’s presence . . .
. . . a moment before the world went away in a flare of blue-white light.
Joel watched, f
eeling an odd mixture of emotions as Sir William collapsed to the deck. The captain was still dangerous. He should be killed. Joel knew he should cut the man’s throat before he could recover. But he needed the command codes locked in the captain’s brain. Sir William would have to be forced to surrender them willingly.
Joel looked around the cabin and then removed a roll of duct tape from his pocket. He wrapped a strip around the captain’s hands, binding them behind his back. Another strip was wrapped tightly around his ankles, rendering him immobile. Joel sat back and checked his work and then glanced into the remainder of the suite. He’d slipped in and out of Captain Abraham’s cabin before with its embarrassing decadence, but it seemed that Sir William preferred a more Spartan appearance. The bling that had dominated Captain Abraham’s living space was gone. Joel wondered absently if his family had even dared claim it.
Shaking his head, he peered into the bedroom. The frilly bed was gone, replaced by a simple bed that had clearly been taken from the ship’s stores. He recalled a handful of pornographic paintings hanging from the bulkheads, but they were gone too. Instead, the bulkheads were barren save for a handful of photographs placed in a neat row above the bed. He recognized Kat Falcone, wearing her naval uniform, but the others were strangers. Joel considered them for a long moment, then walked back to check the bathroom. It was easily twice as large as a wardroom, but again, all of the bling had been removed. Joel felt a pang of a familiar . . . something . . . as he stepped back into the main compartment.
If things had been different, he and Sir William could have been friends.
This is no time for sentimentality, he told himself sharply. He dared not allow himself to forget. You were committed from the moment you murdered Captain Abraham.
He keyed his wristcom. “Report,” he ordered.
“The bridge is secure,” Rochester reported. “Life support is also secure. There was a fight in Main Engineering, but we locked down the datanet before they could summon help.”
Cursed Command (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 3) Page 32