Joel rubbed his forehead. Who would have thought that Goodrich, of all people, would become a competent engineer? The man had crawled into a bottle and stayed there . . . until Sir William came along. Somehow, the captain had given Goodrich back his pride. Joel had a handful of engineering crewmen under his banner, but could they be trusted if their superior was actually worthy of respect?
“Very good,” he said. Soon, their opinions wouldn’t matter any longer. “Put the entire ship into lockdown.”
“Of course, Chief,” Rochester said. “Or should I call you Captain?”
“. . . Maybe later,” Joel said.
The alert tone started to howl. Lockdowns were rare, but thankfully, Sir William had run through the drill during the long voyage from Tyre to Vangelis. All nonessential crewmen had ten minutes to get back to their wardrooms; all essential crewmen had strict orders to remain on duty without leaving their compartments. The militiamen, already inside Marine Country, would be trapped. By the time they realized it wasn’t a drill, their life support would be deactivated completely.
He took one last look at Sir William, feeling an odd twinge of guilt. Joel would have enjoyed strangling Captain Abraham with his bare hands, but Sir William . . . Shaking his head, he walked out of the cabin and locked the hatch behind him. Julia had already scrambled the entry system, but there was no point in taking chances. Anyone who wanted to launch a counterattack would have to get through the solid hatch to rescue the captain.
They’d have to realize that something was up first, Joel told himself as he walked towards the bridge. As long as they think there’s a drill underway, they won’t realize that something else is badly wrong.
He paused outside the hatch, bracing himself. The militiaman who should have been on duty was lying on the ground, stunned. Judging from the drool dripping down from his mouth, he’d been stunned repeatedly. The prospects for long-term damages, as if it mattered in the slightest, were very high.
“Captain,” Rochester said as Joel stepped onto the bridge, “the ship is yours.”
Joel took a moment to savor the statement. This was it! This was what he’d wanted and been denied ever since he’d joined the Navy. Command of a starship, Master under God . . . it did not matter, not at all, that no one had given him the ship, that he’d mutinied against her legitimate commanding officer. All that mattered was that he was in command.
He swept his gaze around the compartment. A dozen stunned officers lay on the deck, their hands bound firmly behind their backs with duct tape. Most wouldn’t join, Joel knew; the ones who had followed Sir William from his former posting would be very loyal. They’d have to be dumped on Haverford with the remainder of the crew unless they switched allegiance. And yet, would it be wise to trust them if they did?
“Mr. Thompson,” Joel said as he sat down in the command chair. The tactical specialist was the lone officer left in the compartment. “Ship’s status?”
“We are currently in lockdown, as ordered,” Thompson said carefully. He licked his lips nervously. Joel had enough blackmail information to send him to the hangman, and both of them knew it. If anything had been proved, back on his old ship, he would have been executed rather than being dumped on Uncanny. “So far, there haven’t been any requests for clarification from any of the departments, but that will change.”
“Of course,” Joel said. “And our course and speed?”
“Heading directly for Haverford,” Thompson said. “I estimate that we will reach the planned emergence point in approximately thirty-seven hours. But we can alter course on your command.”
Joel shook his head. “Weapons and defenses?”
“All unlocked,” Thompson said. “We can fly and fight the ship.”
Unless we take heavy damage, Joel thought. We can’t hope to keep control while running damage control teams all over the Uncanny.
He glanced at Julia. “Did you unlock the entire datanet?”
“All, save for the captain’s sealed core,” Julia said. She sounded annoyed. “There’s a very different set of protections on it. I’ll crack it eventually, but . . .”
“The captain can be forced to unlock it for us,” Joel said simply. He knew very little about command-grade sealed cores, but none of the rumors he’d heard were encouraging. If Julia made a single mistake, the entire unit would turn to dust. “As long as we can fly the ship, it doesn’t matter.”
“I can try,” Julia said.
“Let me see if we can get it out of Sir William first,” Joel said. He looked at Rochester. “You can handle the helm?”
“Of course, Captain,” Rochester said. “You had me drilling on it, remember?”
Joel nodded. Cross-training was important, after all. He doubted the Admiralty would be pleased when they found out what he’d done with it. Thankfully, Captain Abraham and Commander Greenhill hadn’t paid much attention to the training schedule. He’d trained up a whole new command staff under their noses, and they hadn’t even blinked.
“Very good,” Joel said. “Take the helm. Keep us on course.”
Thompson frowned. “Captain,” he said. He swallowed hard. “Captain, we are meant to link up with Lightning at Haverford.”
“I know,” Joel said. “We’re going to meet up with her and destroy her.”
He went on before anyone could muster a response. “Lightning is the one thing standing between us and the ultimate objective,” he reminded them. “She has to be destroyed before she can interfere. She has no reason to believe we are hostile. We fly up to her and blast her at point-blank range before she can raise her shields.”
“This is madness,” Thompson said. “Captain, if we alter course now, we will be well on our way out of the sector before Lightning has any reason to suspect trouble. We could be halfway across the galaxy before Tyre realizes that there was a mutiny.”
“We need Lightning gone,” Joel reminded him. “It’s as simple as that, Commander.”
He leaned back in the command chair, keeping his face impassive. Thompson might verbally protest, but he was too much of a coward to do anything. Even if he managed to return control of the ship to her rightful captain, he would still have to explain his own conduct. He was damn lucky that his victims hadn’t pressed charges. Perhaps the thought of him suffering on Uncanny had been enough to mollify them.
“Thomas, assemble the rest of the group and then start isolating the remainder of the crew as planned,” Joel continued. There was no point in letting them think the matter was up for debate. “If they are willing to join us, then put them in the lower hold for the moment; everyone else can be held in the main shuttlebay, save for the officers. Leave Marine Country strictly alone.”
“Yes, Captain,” Rochester said.
Trying to radiate power and ease, Joel grinned as Rochester left the bridge. “Thompson, can you draw a bead on the colonist-carrier?”
“Yes, sir,” Thompson said. The tactical display shifted. “Passive lock, engaged; active lock, disengaged.”
Joel nodded curtly. “Blow her away.”
“Aye, Captain,” Thompson said. “Missile away.”
Uncanny shuddered as she launched a single missile towards the target. Joel watched grimly as the missile slammed into the colonist-carrier and detonated, blowing the freighter into a fireball that vanished rapidly within hyperspace. He waited, but hyperspace remained quiet. All traces of the colonist-carrier were gone.
“Target destroyed,” Thompson said. At such range, the crew would have no time to react before it was already too late. “Captain . . . why?”
“Because they deserved to die,” Joel said simply. “And because we needed the target practice.”
And to get more blood on your hands, he added, silently.
He smirked up at the tactical display. They were pirates . . . competition, as far as he was concerned. It was a shame about the crew of the freighter, but unless he missed his guess, they were smugglers. No one would miss them.
“Keep
us on course,” he ordered. Soon the remainder of the crew would realize that something was wrong, but the die had been cast. They were trapped, isolated, and alone. “And start running through tactical simulations. I want a comprehensive plan for destroying Lightning.”
Thompson looked pale. “And what about . . .?”
Joel rose and strode over to the tactical console. “You will have your reward after Lightning is blown out of space,” he said. “Until then . . . I expect you to run simulations for the next few hours, then get some rest, alone. Do not even think about trying anything stupid. Do you understand me?”
Thompson edged backwards. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Joel said. He touched the knife at his belt. “I’d hate to have to cut it off, Commander. You can have your fun afterwards.”
He eyed the younger man until he quailed, then walked back to the command chair. There wouldn’t be any problems from Thompson. The man was a sadomasochistic asshole. He liked it when his partners hurt, or bled. Joel had no idea how he’d managed to get through the academy—Thompson was addicted to his sex games—but he couldn’t help thinking that Thompson would fit in very well with a pirate crew. He was already diseased.
He won’t last for long, Joel added silently. I won’t let him live after Lightning has been destroyed.
He forced himself to relax as Uncanny continued on her way. Taking the ship hadn’t been hard once he’d obtained the weapons, but Lightning was a dangerous complication. She had to be taken by surprise.
If we can force the captain to cooperate, he thought, taking her by surprise will be easy.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
William felt sick.
It was hard, so hard, to think clearly as he fought his way back to awareness. His entire body felt numb, as if he were caught in quicksand; his thoughts felt sluggish, as if nothing quite made sense. It felt like hours before he was able to recall what had happened, who had stunned him and left him bound on the floor of his cabin. It felt like hours more before he put the pieces together and worked out what was going on.
A mutiny, he thought through a haze of nausea. The senior chief is leading a mutiny.
He swallowed hard to keep from throwing up, forcing himself to think. The mutiny had to have been planned for a long time. Nothing had happened, as far as he knew, to push the plotters into drawing up the plan and striking within the week. If anything, there had been plenty of good reasons not to have a mutiny. Hadn’t the crew, under his command, earned a huge bonus? No, the plot had to have been formulated while Captain Abraham had been in command . . .
They want the ship, he told himself. A dozen crewmen could have easily deserted on Jorlem or Vangelis and, as long as they were careful, never be caught. They want the ship and then . . . .
He forced his eyes to open and looked around. The cabin lights were dim, red warning signals blinking on and off. They’d put the ship in lockdown, he realized. They hadn’t subverted the entire crew. He was relieved and worried in equal measure. If he managed to break free, he could find help . . . but if the mutineers didn’t control the entire crew, they might simply space the remaining shipmates as soon as possible. They might have done it already.
William cursed as he tugged uselessly at his bonds. He’d lost the ship. There hadn’t been a single mutiny in the entire history of the Navy until now. Even if he regained control, no one would ever trust him with a ship again. Maybe the Uncanny’s curse hadn’t been beaten after all . . .
He cleared his head. The situation was bad, but that was no excuse for giving in. There would be a chance to break free. And when it came, he had to take it.
The hatch hissed open. He rolled over and looked up just in time to see the senior chief stride confidently inside. A large automatic pistol was positioned prominently on his belt; he carried a datapad in one hand, keying it as he moved into the cabin. Someone had to have isolated the entire subsection of the datanet, William concluded. Even if he managed to get to his terminal, he probably wouldn’t be able to use it to call for help.
“Sir William,” the senior chief said.
“That’s Captain to you,” William snapped. Maybe it would be better to be submissive, but he couldn’t bring himself to bend his knee to a mutineer. “You’ll never get away with this.”
The senior chief knelt down beside him. “I already have,” he said. “Uncanny is very tiny on an interstellar scale. No one is going to find us unless we let them.”
“Uncanny also requires a constant supply of spare parts,” William sneered. The hull would last for decades, perhaps centuries, but the starship’s innards were a different story. “How do you intend to find them? Turn pirate and raid the Navy’s supply dumps?”
“I already have solutions to most of those problems,” the senior chief said. He met William’s eyes. “And I’m sure you know why I’ve kept you alive.”
William glared daggers at him. “You’re going to take my ship and turn her into a pirate cruiser,” he said. “You’ve seen the aftermath of pirate attacks . . . are you planning to loot, rape, and kill your way across the entire sector?”
The senior chief showed a flash of raw anger. “Of course not,” he said. “I have something better in mind.”
“Really,” William said. He snorted. “You intend to sell this ship to the Theocracy?”
“The Theocracy certainly believes that’s what I have in mind,” Joel said. “I had to bargain with them for weapons. All the hacks I had planned to take weapons from the lockers were foiled by you.”
“You’re welcome,” William said dryly.
The Senior Chief ignored the jibe. “This ship is the most powerful unit in the sector, excepting only Lightning and Glory of God,” he said. “I intend to take her and put together a vest-pocket empire of my own.”
William stared. “You’re insane,” he said. “Do you honestly believe the Commonwealth will let you get away with it?”
“The first king was a lucky bandit,” the senior chief said. “This sector has a great deal of potential, if united under the right hand. The Commonwealth will probably be glad of the chance to open negotiations with a single power rather than a number of deeply corrupt worlds. Think what Jorlem could become if she actually had a decent government.”
His demeanor changed. “The pirates are just parasites,” he added. “Think what they could do if their energies were harnessed to a greater goal.”
“Like I said, you’re insane,” William said. “I think you’ve been on this ship too long and it has addled your mind.”
“Perhaps,” Joel said. “But really . . . how many of my supporters, do you think, are colonials? Men and women who found themselves constantly left behind by the Tyre-born? How pleased were you, Sir William, when they gave a command that should have been yours to a girl young enough to be your daughter?”
He smirked. “Why should we be loyal, Sir William? The Commonwealth has not been loyal to us.”
William’s mind raced, trying to keep up with what he was being told. The man was either lying or certifiably mad. And yet, William didn’t believe that Gibson was lying. Uncanny wouldn’t be a very effective pirate ship, not in the long run. She could cut a swath through most convoy escorts for a couple of years, but then successive system failures would cripple her. Using her to carve out a small empire might be an effective use of her firepower, particularly if the senior chief somehow managed to conceal his involvement from the Commonwealth. If he could take control of Jorlem or Vangelis . . .
It was madness, utter madness. But the plan just might work.
William bowed his head and took a breath before looking up. “Forget this lunacy,” he said. “Surrender now and I’ll see to it that you get a life sentence on a penal world rather than the hangman’s noose.”
“A slow death sentence,” the senior chief said sharply. “Sir William, be reasonable. If you cooperate with me, I will dump you and your loyalists on Haverford. You can survive there until you are picked up. If you
don’t cooperate with me . . . we have ways of making you talk.”
“I think you need to say that in a bad accent,” William said. The senior chief’s face darkened, but he said nothing in return. “My implants won’t let you force information out of me.”
“No,” Joel agreed. “On the other hand, a couple of my followers have . . . tendencies that would have got them arrested, if they hadn’t managed to evade all suspicion. I’ll set them loose on a couple of the young female crewmen. You can watch.”
“You bastard,” William said. “You . . .”
“Perhaps,” Joel said. “But really, after spending a couple of years watching how this ship was allowed to decay, I find it hard to care about crossing lines. I will do whatever I have to do.”
William wasn’t afraid of pain or torture, even though he knew his implants would kill him if it seemed as if he would break. He was afraid of watching his crew suffer. He’d grown up on a world where protecting young women was practically hard-wired into the men. To be forced to watch them endure cruelty, to be helpless to stop it . . . wasn’t something he could withstand. The senior chief knew it.
“Give me the command codes,” Joel said. “You owe the Navy nothing. A man of your talents should be sitting in a command chair of his own . . .”
“I was sitting in a command chair of my own,” William snarled.
“Yes, you were,” Joel agreed. “You should have been given a command chair a great deal sooner.”
He shrugged. “At any rate, I have to deal with Lightning,” he added. “After that . . . well, we’ll see if we can make you talk.”
William stared. “Deal with Lightning?”
“I can’t have another heavy cruiser running around the sector,” Joel said. “I can take the ship out before she realizes she’s under attack. Then there will be no one left to stop me.”
He turned and headed towards the hatch. “You can think about it,” he called back. “And about just how much loyalty you owe the Navy.”
William glared at Joel’s back as he strode out of the hatch, then looked frantically around the cabin. No weapons in sight. He needed to break free, but he didn’t know how . . . would someone come to save him? Or did the remainder of the crew even know the ship had been taken?
Cursed Command (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 3) Page 33