Cursed Command (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  If they don’t kill me at once, he thought. But it is a chance . . .

  “Very well,” he said. “I’ll do as you wish.”

  “Good,” William said. “And now that that’s settled . . . why?”

  To remain alive, Joel thought. But he knew that wasn’t the real question. Why did I mutiny?

  A dozen answers ran through his head. He’d resented being assigned to Uncanny, just like everyone else; he’d resented having to deal with Captain Abraham and his gang of aristocratic criminals. And he’d resented the lack of promotion, the lack of chances to improve his career . . . he’d known, deep inside, that he could be more than a simple crewman on a single ship.

  But Joel also desired money and power. He’d known too much poverty and powerlessness in his life.

  “We’re not that different,” he said finally.

  William’s face hardened. “I’m nothing like you.”

  “Yes, you are,” Joel said. “You’re the colonial who became a mustang and slowly, so slowly, worked his way up to command rank. You remained loyal, even though there was no reason to remain loyal. I’m the man who saw all of his potential career paths blocked by his superiors, the one who witnessed too much mistreatment to have any loyalty to the Navy. If things had been different, you could have been me.”

  “I am a man of honor,” William said tightly.

  “Yes, you are,” Joel said, “but how long would you have remained a man of honor if you had never risen in the ranks? Loyalty is a two-way street.”

  He exhaled, hard, and then steadied himself. “If you hadn’t earned so much loyalty from the crew,” Joel admitted quietly, “you would have lost your ship to me.”

  “Captain,” Roach said. “All systems check out A-OK. We are ready to depart.”

  William barely heard his XO. He was not a man given to brooding, but—no matter how he might have wished to deny it—Joel Gibson’s words had touched a nerve. What would he have become if his ambitions had been denied? If there had been no pathway to advancement? If he’d been stuck in a dead-end post on a ship everyone regarded as a dumping ground for incompetents, losers, and outright criminals? Might he too have been tempted to mutiny?

  Taking Uncanny wouldn’t have been difficult, he thought. But what would I have done afterwards.

  He would have preferred to believe, despite himself, that Joel Gibson had been working for the Theocracy. A major security breach, of course, but such a discovery would have been preferable to learning that some of his own crew were plotting a mutiny. The repercussions would shake the military to its foundations, crushing whatever faith the Navy had in its colonial officers. He’d be lucky not to be dismissed from the service even though he’d recovered his ship. He had been in command when all hell had broken loose.

  This will lead to more resentments, he thought. And that will cause more problems at the worst possible time.

  Roach cleared his throat. “Captain?”

  William lurched to attention. Woolgathering was bad enough, but being caught woolgathering on the bridge was worse, far worse. But then he was in deep shit already.

  “Check with Lightning, then open a gateway,” he ordered. There was no point in dwelling on what awaited him when he returned to Tyre. “Set course for Jorlem.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Cecelia said.

  If we survive the next few days, William thought, we’ll probably be recalled to Tyre at once.

  William watched as the gateway opened, Lightning following Uncanny into hyperspace as they set course for Jorlem. If they caught Glory of God by surprise, they’d have a decent chance to destroy her before she managed to launch a counterattack. There was no way to know just how far the Theocracy was prepared to trust Gibson. He’d certainly never planned to hand Uncanny over to them.

  “Mr. XO, you have the bridge,” William said. He took one last look at the tactical display. There was no sign of anything that might keep them from their destination. “Keep us on our current course.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Roach said.

  William stepped through the hatch and into his Ready Room. Janet—who had been held in her quarters, along with most of the crew—had placed a mug of coffee on the desk, but she’d made no attempt to clean up the mess. Gibson had searched the Ready Room thoroughly, hunting for . . . something. It looked as though he’d tried to crack the safe too, but it had clearly defeated him. William sat down in front of his desk, keying his terminal to bring it to life. He had to write a report . . .

  . . . But he was unsure what to write.

  He looked down at the blank screen for a long moment. Bad news had been reported to the Admiralty before. Kat had had to write a comprehensive report after the Fall of Cadiz, which had included a description of the precautions she’d taken to save as much of the fleet as she could, but this was different. This was mutiny . . . something inflicted on the Navy by one of its own. Whatever happened, there was no way the Navy would forget this day.

  Many other colonials will be treated as scapegoats because of it, he thought sourly. It couldn’t be covered up. There was no way it could be covered up. There will be countless new resentments to pour fuel on the fire.

  He cursed Joel under his breath, savagely. Why couldn’t he have just deserted? The entire plot would have vanished if the ringleaders had jumped ship. No one left behind would have known enough to resurrect it—or expose it. Captain Abraham’s death would have been forever classed as an accident; just one more stroke of bad luck on a ship known for bad luck. Perhaps, just perhaps, it would have been forgotten soon enough. Captain Abraham’s family probably wouldn’t have asked too many questions after the truth about him came out. A criminal in the family . . .

  Or perhaps there is some truth to the curse after all. He felt like a heel for thinking it—he had grown to love Uncanny. This is a very unlucky ship.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  “This is either the intelligence coup of the decade,” Ambassador Lord Cleric Abdullah said, “or an absolute disaster waiting to happen.”

  Inquisitor Bin Zaid smiled. His superior—who wouldn’t be his superior much longer once news of his success got back home—didn’t sound impressed. But then Bin Zaid had been careful to make it impossible for the Lord Cleric to claim more than a tiny fraction of the credit. He’d get some, of course; he just wouldn’t be able to claim enough of it to keep Bin Zaid from getting the recognition he deserved. His career would take off like a rocket as soon as he handed Uncanny over to his superiors.

  He held up the datapad. “They took the ship,” he said. The message had arrived less than an hour ago. “They are waiting for us to come claim her.”

  “At a truly staggering cost,” Abdullah said.

  “It would be worth it at twice the price,” Captain Samuel said. Bin Zaid knew the older man didn’t like either of the others, but he still sounded awed. “A full-fledged enemy heavy cruiser to study.”

  He shook his head. “We’ll be going out to investigate,” he added. “If everything checks out, you can authorize the transfer.”

  Bin Zaid smirked. The mutineers apparently hadn’t taken any precautions against treachery. Infidels could be remarkably trusting at times. If there were no precautions, there would be nothing stopping the janissaries from taking Uncanny and her entire crew, the mutineers as well as the loyalists. They would all be taken back to the Theocracy as spoils of war.

  Then, my career will be pushed into orbit, he thought.

  “We will also be careful,” Samuel added. “This could be a trap.”

  “We don’t want to scare them,” Bin Zaid said hastily.

  “No,” Samuel said. “But we don’t want to risk my ship, either.”

  Your ship, Bin Zaid thought. But there was no avoiding the fact that Samuel was in command of Glory of God. Even an Inquisitor couldn’t overrule a captain without very good reason. It doesn’t matter, as long as everyone knows that Uncanny is my ship.

  “We’ll depart orbit in five minu
tes,” Samuel said. “You might want to spend the next hour in prayer.”

  “Under the circumstances, I’ll pray on the bridge,” Bin Zaid said. “They know me. They’ll want to speak to me.”

  “As you wish,” Samuel said.

  Bin Zaid smiled as Samuel led the way to the bridge. The starship’s captain wouldn’t want an Inquisitor on his bridge, looking over his shoulder and perhaps contradicting him in front of the crew. But he had no choice. Bin Zaid refused to give up any more control over the affair. Let the Lord Cleric and the captain fume if they wished. This was his affair and he was the one who would reap the rewards.

  His smile grew wider. And why not? I was the one who saw the opportunity and took it.

  “Gateway opening, Captain,” Roach reported. He’d taken the tactical console. “Glory of God has arrived.”

  William leaned forward as a single red icon flashed to life on the display. He’d half expected the battleship-battlecruiser to make the trip in realspace, but common sense had told him that was unlikely. Glory of God could be tracked in realspace. The locals might have wondered why she was heading to the system’s second gas giant if they’d known she was heading there. They still might, he had to admit, but it hardly mattered. The Theocracy had clearly decided that the prize it had been offered was worth the risk of souring their relationship with the planetary government.

  Not that they could do much with the government in any case, he thought darkly. The president is doing his damnedest to sit on the fence.

  “Send her the prerecorded message,” he ordered. “And then wait for her response.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Stott said.

  “Passive locks engaged,” Roach reported. “Missile launch cycle is active; I say again, missile launch cycle is active.”

  “Hold your fire,” William cautioned. Gibson had faced the same problem back when he’d attempted to take out Lightning. Firing too soon would give the enemy a chance to evade and return fire. “Do not give them any reason to suspect trouble.”

  They’re probably already suspicious, he thought grimly. He and his crew had worked their way through as many possible options as they could imagine, but they’d been forced to conclude that they would have to play it by ear. Mutineers offering to hand over an entire starship simply don’t exist outside of thriller novels and movies.

  William kept a sharp eye on the display as Glory of God closed in on their position. Lightning was out there somewhere, under cloak. The plan called for Lightning to circle around and engage Glory of God from the rear, if she survived the first barrage, but there was no way to know if she was proceeding as planned. Lightning’s cloaking device was just too good. Uncanny had no way to track her progress.

  If we did have such capabilities, he thought, Glory of God would be able to track her too.

  “Picking up a signal,” Stott said. “They’re requesting permission to land boarders before handing over the cash.”

  “Deny it,” William ordered. No one in their right mind would abandon their bargaining power so easily. The Theocracy would probably smell a rat if he conceded too easily. “Tell them we want the money transferred first, then we’ll evacuate the ship and hand over the command codes.”

  Stott sent the message. Gibson obviously hadn’t given much thought to just how he planned to hand over the ship, which wasn’t surprising. He hadn’t intended to hand over the ship. Now William had to lure Glory of God into firing range before the Theocracy either ordered them to hand over the cruiser or decided to cut its losses and open fire.

  They would be right. If the mutineers were still in command, William thought, we couldn’t even turn and run.

  “Enemy ship will enter sprint-mode missile range in five minutes,” Roach reported. “I have a constantly updating firing circuit running in primary mode.”

  “Careful with your hands,” William said dryly.

  He braced himself. If the Theocracy had been remotely trustworthy, there would be no need for such a complex handover. Gibson and his inner circle could take a couple of shuttles and fly directly to Jorlem, carrying enough money to ensure that no one would ask questions when they docked. But William knew how corrupt the Theocracy actually was. He wouldn’t put it past enemy agents to look for a way to keep Uncanny as well as the money. Hell, their agents might just try to keep the cash for themselves.

  “They’re insisting on boarding the ship,” Stott reported. “They say we can keep control, but they want to inspect the merchandise before making the trade.”

  “They’re slowing,” Roach added. “They may not enter minimum range.”

  William swore under his breath. If Glory of God remained outside point-blank range, William wouldn’t be able to destroy her in his opening salvo. That would mean a brutal engagement at knife-range. How could he lure her closer? It wasn’t as if the Theocrats would have any trouble shuttling troops over from their current position . . .

  “Tell them we’ve rigged the ship to blow if they try to take control without permission,” he said. “But they can land a single shuttle of troops if they wish.”

  “Aye, sir,” Stott said.

  “They’re coming to a halt, relative to us,” Roach said. “We could close the range ourselves.”

  William considered his next move. If they moved forward, the Theocracy would smell a rat. If they stayed where they were, all hope of destroying the enemy ship in a single salvo would be lost. That would risk everything . . .

  “Move us forward,” he ordered finally. “Fire as soon as we enter minimum range.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Roach said.

  Samuel glanced at Bin Zaid. “They’re moving forward,” he said. There was a hint of alarm in his voice. “Is that something you told them to do?”

  Bin Zaid swallowed . . . hard. “No,” he said. He hadn’t issued any orders to the mutineers. “I told them to prepare to receive boarders.”

  “Maybe they didn’t listen,” the Lord Cleric said.

  “Then tell them to hold position,” Samuel said. He raised his voice. “Raise shields! Stand by all weapons!”

  “Captain,” Roach said, “they’re raising shields.”

  “Fire,” William shouted.

  “Incoming fire,” the tactical officer warned. The display blazed with red icons. “I say again, incoming fire!”

  Bin Zaid stared. “What . . .?”

  “It was a trap,” Samuel said angrily. On the display, Uncanny was rolling over to launch a second barrage of missiles. “A fucking trap!”

  He glared at his tactical officer. “Return fire,” he barked. “Get those shields up!”

  “It can’t be,” Bin Zaid said. He didn’t want to believe what he was seeing. His career . . . his plans for the future . . . all gone. The mutineers had tricked him! They hadn’t been real mutineers at all. “It can’t . . .”

  Glory of God shook violently as she unleashed a barrage of her own. Bin Zaid looked back at the display, feeling his entire body shake. The enemy missiles were closing with staggering speed, the point defense grid fighting desperately to take as many of them out as possible. But Glory of God had been caught by surprise. Her active sensors were still coming to life. Her shields were still taking shape . . .

  “It can’t be happening,” Bin Zaid said. Had all his plans come to naught? His future . . . had it shrunk to slow torture and execution in a cell? “It can’t . . .”

  “It can,” Samuel said. Bin Zaid looked at him. The captain was holding a pistol in his hand, pointed directly at Bin Zaid’s forehead. “And it is.”

  He pulled the trigger. Bin Zaid’s world went dark.

  “Evasive action,” William barked. Glory of God’s commander was wasted on a semi-diplomatic mission to the Jorlem Sector. What reflexes! Caught by surprise, he’d still managed to bring up his shields and launch a barrage in return before William’s missiles slammed into his hull. “Launch drones, hold nothing back!”

  “Aye, Captain,” Roach said. “Launching third ba
rrage now. Lightning has launched her first barrage!”

  William nodded as the lead antimatter warheads slammed into the enemy ship. Her shields flickered—they hadn’t been fully raised when the missiles struck home—but they held, even though he suspected they’d probably lost several shield generators. She was turning rapidly, bringing her missile tubes to bear on Uncanny even as Lightning aimed another salvo of missiles into her rear. William had a nasty feeling that her commanding officer was hopping mad. He seemed to be paying very little attention to Lightning.

  That will change, he thought. He knows who has to be in command of that ship.

  “Incoming missiles,” Roach warned. “Decoys engaging, Captain; point defense going active . . . now.”

  Glory of God hadn’t expected serious trouble, William noted, as the enemy missiles plowed into his defenses. He had had his missiles constantly updated with new firing solutions, programming their warheads to go straight for their target, but the Theocracy hadn’t had time to do the same themselves. A dozen missiles lost their target locks and wasted themselves on his decoys, a dozen more were hit by his point defense and taken out. Glory of God had also bunched their missiles up enough that one hit was often enough to take out several other missiles. But the remainder were still coming . . .

  “All hands, brace for impact,” he warned. “I say again, all hands brace for impact!”

  Uncanny rang like a bell as the missiles struck home. William grabbed hold of his command chair and hung on for dear life, knowing precisely what would happen if the internal compensators failed. Red lights flashed up in front of him, warning of damage to the ship’s internal systems. Even if the raw fury of the antimatter warheads didn’t get through the shields, the shaking alone would do considerable damage . . .

  “Shield generators two through five have burned out,” Goodrich reported. “Major damage to power distribution nodes in sections alpha-three-seven and gamma-three-nine!”