The evidence we found could easily be twisted to frame the king, she thought. Or they might even believe the king is to blame.
“Admiral, the Royal Tyre is breaking orbit,” Kitty added. “The king’s ship is deploying chaff and ECM drones.”
Her voice rose. “And all the fortresses are going active!”
Kat gritted her teeth. The fortress crews had to be incredibly confused. They were under Parliament’s command, but Parliament itself might have been scattered. Or, worse, under the control of a single faction. They might try to hold their fire until the situation clarified itself, but if they came under attack . . . they’d fire back. And then all hell would break loose.
As if it hasn’t already, she thought.
She looked at Kitty as the younger woman turned back to her console. “Is the king on his ship?”
“Unknown,” Kitty said. “But he’s well within engagement range. If the fortresses open fire.”
And a lot of other ships are breaking orbit too, Kat thought. The king might be on one of them instead.
“William,” Tanya said, “what the hell is going on?”
“Someone is mounting a coup,” William said. He kept his certainty that it was the king to himself. “And we have to go dark.”
He cursed the timing under his breath as he brought the shuttle to a halt relative to the primary star. They’d been in transit when the shit hit the fan; too far from Violence to return to her, too close to the scrapyard for his peace of mind. Someone might easily assume, in the wake of the reports of firefights on a dozen starships and fortresses, that they were infiltrators bent on wreaking havoc. He powered down as much as he dared, hoping that the situation soon calmed down. The shuttle wouldn’t stand up to a plasma blast if someone assumed they were a threat and opened fire.
Tanya shook her head. “Why? Why are they doing this?”
“It doesn’t matter at the moment,” William said. The king’s speech had sounded impressive—he’d give the young officer wannabe that much—but had lacked substance. He certainly hadn’t named any names. “All we can do is wait to see who comes out on top.”
The radio bleeped, announcing an emergency bulletin. “This is Israel Harrison, former Leader of the Opposition and currently prime minister pro tem,” a voice said. It was so different to the voice William remembered that he honestly wondered if it really was Israel Harrison. But then, a computer-generated fake would be perfect, fooling all but the most thorough analysis. “Three hours ago, the Houses of Parliament met in concert to debate a bill to impeach the king.”
There was a pause, as if the speaker was unsure how to proceed. “The bill was never debated,” Harrison continued. “Instead, the Houses of Parliament were attacked by armed troops. Many members of both houses were killed, along with their defenders. The king, knowing that there was a good chance he’d be impeached, chose to mount a coup. His supporters made a desperate, and ultimately futile, attempt to take control of the orbital and groundside defenses. However, the king himself escaped.”
Harrison took a long breath. “We are aware that many people feel a personal loyalty to the king. We do not fault them for feeling that they should honor their oaths. But Parliament has the ultimate right to judge the king and, if necessary, remove him from his post. His actions have put him beyond the pale. It is our belief that he was responsible for provoking the war and, perhaps worse, assisting the Theocrats in an attempt to justify keeping the wartime state of emergency in existence.
“The king will be given a fair trial. We swear this on our honor. The trial will be open to the public. There will be no attempt to hide anything. The entire galaxy will see the debate and judge his guilt or innocence for itself. But he cannot be allowed to roam free. If he comes to you, take him into custody. Not for us, not for yourself, but for the good of the entire planet. The future of Tyre itself rests on you.”
“Shit,” William muttered.
Tanya looked pale. “What do we do?”
“Nothing,” William said. Thankfully both sides would probably regard Tanya as a neutral party. God alone knew what they’d make of him. “We’re out of it. All we can do is wait and see who comes out on top.”
Peter had never visited Planetary Defense’s HQ, although he, like most of the other senior aristocrats and MPs, had a standing invitation. The Royal Navy might be the king’s, but Planetary Defense was theirs. Now, it was one of the few safe places on Tyre. The king’s household troops might have been scattered, at least for the moment, but the chaos on the streets was growing worse. Too many people had heard the king’s broadcast and listened. They believed him . . .
Because they want to believe him, Peter thought. They could have coped with one crisis, but not several different crises at the same time. They want to believe that they lost their jobs because we’re all evildoers who delight in tormenting anyone below us, not because we had no choice.
“Royal Tyre is breaking orbit,” Admiral Fisher reported. His face hung in the center of the display, looking faintly out of place beside the image of the high orbitals and a dizzying series of icons that Peter couldn’t even begin to comprehend. “She’s heading straight for Violence.”
“For Kat,” Peter said.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Admiral Fisher said. “She’ll be out of engagement range in seven minutes.”
Duke Rudbek leaned forward. “Is the king on Royal Tyre?”
“I don’t know,” Admiral Fisher said. “The records show a number of shuttles traveled between the palace and the ship, but we don’t know who was actually on them. He could easily be somewhere else.”
Particularly if he assumed the defenses would fire on the ship, Peter thought. Royal Tyre was heavily defended—she’d cost twice as much as a superdreadnought—but she was far too close to the orbital battlestations for comfort. He must have assumed the worst.
“If he gets away, this has all been for nothing,” Harrison said. “We have to stop him.”
“Agreed,” Duke Rudbek said. “Admiral, you are authorized to attempt to disable his ship so she can be boarded.”
“Disabling her will be very difficult,” Admiral Fisher warned. “She’s designed to take a battering.”
“Do your best,” Duke Rudbek said. “Fire!”
Admiral Fisher frowned. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
“Admiral, the fortresses are targeting the Royal Tyre!”
Kat gritted her teeth. The Royal Tyre was far too close to the fortresses for comfort. One of them was even close enough to risk firing missiles on sprint mode. The odds of scoring a hit would be poor, but they could fire more than enough missiles to ensure that some would succeed.
“Prepare to launch ECM drones,” she ordered. There wasn’t anything else she could do, unless she wanted to take her fleet a great deal closer. Dueling with heavy battlestations at knife-range was not a good idea. She could hit them, in theory, if she opened fire now, but their point defense would have ample time to take countermeasures. “And . . .”
The display updated, again. “Admiral, two of the battlestations just opened fire on the others,” Kitty reported. “They’re engaging everyone within range!”
Not enough, Kat thought. The royal yacht was coming under fire. Her defenses were cutting edge, but there were so many missiles that some of them were bound to get through. The damage mounted rapidly as Royal Tyre’s shield started to fail. There’s nothing we can do, unless . . .
Royal Tyre exploded. Kat felt a stab of pain in her heart as she watched the expanding ball of plasma.
She’d liked the king. And yet . . . Her eyes narrowed. Trying to escape like that had been stupid. Very stupid. The king wasn’t stupid . . .
“Admiral, a shuttle is heading right towards us,” Kitty said. “We’re being hailed.”
Kat knew who she was going to see, even before Hadrian’s face appeared in front of her. “Kat,” he said. “Permission to come aboard?”
“Granted,” Kat said. She had to smil
e in relief, even though she knew that matters had just become a great deal more complicated. Parliament’s promise of a fair trial . . . could that be trusted? Or would they take the time to frame the king properly? “And I suggest you hurry.”
“I will,” the king said. “Once I’ve docked, set course for Caledonia.”
Kat frowned. She still hadn’t decided what to do. And yet, the king had the right to issue orders . . . Caledonia wasn’t a bad choice either. A well-developed world that could support the fleet, at least for a few months. If they had to fight a war, they’d need bases as well as ships.
“Admiral,” Kitty said, “the planetary defenses are targeting us!”
They must have had someone watching us from under cloak, Kat thought. Someone close enough to see we picked up a shuttle, someone smart enough to realize that there was only one person who could be on the shuttle.
She made up her mind. “General signal to the fleet,” she ordered. “All ships are to open vortexes, then proceed directly to Caledonia.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
The orbital battlestations opened fire. But it was far too late.
“Shit,” Duke Rudbek snapped.
Peter was inclined to agree. Kat’s fleet had left but wasn’t alone. Dozens of Home Fleet ships had followed her into hyperspace, and while he would have liked to believe that they were chasing her, he knew better. The Royal Navy had always been loyal to the monarchy rather than Parliament. Indeed, it was more of a surprise that so many ships had remained at Tyre.
And the king is still alive, Peter told himself. He wasn’t on his ship.
He took a breath. “What now?”
“Now?” Harrison laughed, humorlessly. “We’re at war. A civil war. And it will tear the kingdom in half.”
“It’s already torn in half,” Duke Rudbek said. He’d never taken his eyes off the display, even after the last starship had vanished into hyperspace. “And, no matter what we do, nothing will ever be the same.”
“Our world is burning down,” Peter agreed. “But, from the ashes, we will build something new.”
EPILOGUE
* * *
IN TRANSIT
King Hadrian lay on his bunk, staring up at the unmarked ceiling, silently cursing his luck.
The plan had been perfect, more or less, and had worked better than he’d dared to dream. Simple yet audacious, the kind of plan—he admitted to himself if no one else—that very few people would consider. And yet he’d seen no choice. He wanted, needed, the kind of power his father and grandfather had been denied. It was the only way to accomplish his goals.
But sheer chance had made a mockery of his careful planning. He’d known, of course, that the Theocrats would eventually be destroyed. Askew had had very clear orders to steer them into a trap once they’d outlived their usefulness. King Hadrian had no qualms about stealing the credit for their destruction either, as he had been pushing for more active deployments to the liberated sector. But who would have imagined that the idiots would have allowed themselves to be followed home? Or that they would have left evidence for the investigators to find? Bad luck had nearly doomed everything; nothing but sheer good luck had saved him from total disaster. If Parliament had obtained solid proof of his activities, they would have impeached him at once. He’d barely been able to get his forces into place for one final, desperate gamble.
At least the evidence against me isn’t conclusive, he thought. He’d taken care to bury his tracks. Many of the men who could have given his enemies more pieces of the puzzle were now dead. Others were a long way away. There isn’t enough to make my people turn on me.
It was a bitter thought. He’d grown up in a world where he was both powerful and insignificant, important and unimportant . . . a figurehead and a figure of fun. His kingship was the core of his life, yet he’d never been allowed to prove himself. He was a bird in a golden cage, bound by laws and customs designed by people who had never allowed themselves to believe the universe could change. And yet, the universe had changed. The kingdom needed to change with it.
And I will make it change, he promised himself. He’d meant every word of the oath he’d sworn, back when he’d been crowned. He would do what was right for his people, and if that meant upsetting the entire apple cart . . . well, the apple cart had been unsteady for decades. I will do whatever I need to do to make it change.
He smiled, although he knew the task ahead of him would be hard. He’d always known this path would be difficult, perhaps even impossible. It would have been easy to resign himself to mindless hedonism, like so many younger aristocrats. But the memory of the sneers aimed at his father’s back, when he wasn’t looking, haunted him. He would be powerful, he would make them respect and fear him, and no one would ever treat him as a joke again.
Closing his eyes, he allowed the superdreadnought’s background hum to lull him to sleep. He felt oddly relaxed, even though he knew that worse was to come. But the die was cast now. There would be war. And he would win . . .
. . . and nothing, absolutely nothing, would be the same again.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dear Readers,
I find myself in the unfortunate position of having to apologize for two things. However, as I’m sure you’ll agree, I have a good excuse.
I wrote the first draft of Debt of Honor in June 2018, with the intention of writing the following two books in a fairly tight stream. At that time, however, my persistent health problems—dating from November 2017—were finally identified as lymphoma. Chemotherapy was prescribed. This may just have been in time to save my life. I collapsed when I went for the first set of treatments, allowing the doctors to realize that I also had a nasty chest infection. I ended up spending three weeks in the hospital, having antibiotics fed into my system and my lung drained of fluid. This was not a pleasant experience.
To cut a long story short, 47North was kind enough to allow me time to recuperate and write Debt of War, the second book in this trilogy, before publishing this book. I apologize for the delay.
The second apology is a little more mea culpa.
When I came up with the Angel in the Whirlwind series, I conceived it as being akin to Honor Harrington or Kris Longknife, a series of books following an overall story arc. There was a miscommunication, and 47North thought they were buying a trilogy. This didn’t become apparent until I was writing Cursed Command, when my editor asked why that novel didn’t wrap up the trilogy. Oops.
I’ve therefore written this book, and its two successors, as a trilogy within the overall story arc. I apologize for any confusion this may cause.
Christopher G. Nuttall
Edinburgh, 2019
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Christopher G. Nuttall planned to write science fiction since he first learned to read. Born and raised in Edinburgh, Scotland, he studied history, which inspired him to imagine new worlds and create an alternate-history website. Those imaginings provided a solid base for storytelling and eventually led him to publish more than one hundred works, including novels, short stories, and one novella. Christopher is the author of more than a dozen series, including the bestselling Ark Royal books, as well as the Angel in the Whirlwind, The Royal Sorceress, Bookworm, Schooled in Magic, Twilight of the Gods, and Zero Enigma series. He still resides in Edinburgh with his partner, muse, and critic, Aisha. For more information, visit his blog at www.chrishanger.wordpress.com and his website at www.chrishanger.net.
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