The Oncoming Storm (16 page)

They passed through the gates, revealing a number of short-range guns behind the walls. If someone lobbed mortar shells into the complex, she reasoned, the gunners could track the shells back to their point of origin and return fire. And, if they reacted quickly enough, they might even kill the enemy mortar team before they could escape. But the cost in civilian life had to be quite high.

The vehicle came to a halt. Corporal Whisper opened the hatch, revealing a grim-faced woman in a tight-fitting uniform that had to have been specially tailored to show off her body to best advantage. Kat felt a flicker of sympathy. It was clear, just from her stance, that the woman didn’t want to wear the uniform, but it had been forced on her. And it was easy to guess just who had decided such a revealing uniform was a good idea.

“Captain Falcone,” the woman said. “I’m Commander Jeannette Macintyre, the admiral’s aide. Welcome to Cadiz.”

Kat studied her for a long moment. Commander Macintyre was beautiful, with long red hair and a perfect face, but her stance was all wrong. Someone had insisted she have her body upgraded, Kat decided, although it was impossible to say who. The look on Macintyre’s face also suggested she wasn’t inclined to share any confidences with Kat. She probably assumed the worst of her.

“Thank you,” Kat said, holding out a hand. “It’s been an interesting tour.”

Macintyre smiled as she grasped Kat’s hand and shook it, firmly. In the distance, Kat heard the sound of explosions.

“It isn’t a safe place for anyone,” Macintyre said finally. “The admiral is waiting to see you.”

Kat followed her through a network of corridors and then a collection of offices that seemed to be crammed with bureaucrats and officers trying to maintain the occupation. She couldn’t help noticing that most of them happened to be young and female—and almost none of them looked local. But that wasn’t a surprise, she told herself. If none of the locals could be trusted, they couldn’t be allowed to work in government. And yet, that would ensure Cadiz would have almost no one versed in running a government when the Commonwealth finally withdrew. They’d fall into chaos almost at once.

Perhaps that’s not a bad thing, she thought, at least for the workers. They would be taken for collaborators.

She pushed that thought aside as Macintyre led her into the admiral’s office. Kat had to keep her face under strict control as she glanced round—there was a staggering amount of gilt embedded in the walls, surrounding a number of artwork from Cadiz—and then looked at the admiral, who was standing in front of a holographic display. In person, he was even more striking, but it wasn’t real. He’d definitely not had his looks spliced into his genes before birth. Like Macintyre, there was something subtly wrong about how he moved.

“Captain Falcone,” he said. He held out a hand. “Welcome to Cadiz.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kat said. She grasped his hand, allowing him to shake hers. His handshake was perfect, too perfect. It was just like the curtseys would-be aristocratic women were expected to drop every time they encountered someone from a high-ranking family. “It’s good to be here.”

Admiral Morrison studied her for a long moment, his gaze seemingly welcoming . . . but Kat detected an element of cold calculation behind his smile. She forced herself to hold still under his scrutiny, then allowed herself a moment of relief as he finally let go of her hand and motioned her towards a chair. Kat sat down and crossed her legs, then frowned inwardly as the admiral sat on the sofa, facing her. His poise was again perfect, too perfect. It was just like the rest of him.

“I understand that you have had an eventful trip,” Admiral Morrison said. “A captured pirate ship, no less!”

Kat’s eyes narrowed. She hadn’t sent any report to the admiral, not yet. By tradition, the first report was always supposed to be made in person. But the convoy master might have filed a report of his own . . . or someone might have noticed they were towing a pirate ship with them. There were too many possibilities . . .

“Yes, sir,” she said. “We took the ship intact, capturing some of its crew and liberating some of its slaves, all of whom are currently held in stasis. I would like to transfer them to the planet’s surface as quickly as possible.”

The admiral made a dismissive wave with his hand. “You can make arrangements with my aide for the prisoners to be added to the holding pens,” he said. “The former captives can remain in stasis until they can be shipped to Tyre.”

Kat frowned. “They can’t receive treatment here?”

“There are better facilities on Tyre,” the admiral said.

Kat felt her frown deepen. There might well be better facilities on Tyre, but not by much, and certainly not better enough to justify keeping the former captives in stasis until they were transferred to yet another planet. But it was the admiral’s call. If the situation on the ground was as bad as it seemed, the hospitals on the planet’s surface might be overflowing with casualties. Besides, sending them back to Tyre would make it harder for anyone to cover up the pirate attack.

“Yes, sir,” she said, finally. “We also found some disturbing evidence on the pirate ship.”

She briefly outlined what they’d discovered—and the conclusions they’d drawn, afterwards. The admiral seemed attentive enough, but she’d enough career experience to tell he wasn’t really interested. She couldn’t tell if he was playing dumb or if he genuinely didn’t care, but either way it was worrying. It was also in line with everything else she’d seen since entering the system.

“Admiral,” she concluded, “someone is backing the pirates. There is simply no other explanation.”

“They’re pirates,” Admiral Morrison said with a sneer. “They’re hardly an organized fighting force.”

“They don’t have to be,” Kat said. “All they have to do is attack and destroy our shipping.”

She thought, briefly, of her father’s warnings. If freighters continued to be lost to “causes unknown,” insurance rates would start to rise steeply. This would lead to increased shipping costs, which would drive many of the smaller firms out of business and force the larger firms to tighten their belts. It was quite likely, she knew, that the bigger corporations were downplaying the situation purely to avoid an economic downturn. But they couldn’t keep the pretense up indefinitely.

“The pirates are taking losses too,” Kat added. “They couldn’t operate their starships without a backer, certainly not if they’re blowing up prizes rather than selling them.”

“There’s no proof,” the admiral said. “I do not believe that accusations of anything would improve relationships between ourselves and the Theocracy.”

“We have plenty of evidence that something is very wrong,” Kat insisted. “Who else benefits?”

Admiral Morrison offered a look of nonchalance. “I hope you will attend my party,” he said. “There will be dignitaries from all over the system in attendance.”

The sudden change in subject left Kat feeling breathless. “Admiral . . .”

“I believe most of my superdreadnought commanders will attend,” Morrison continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “The CEO of Cadiz Incorporated will also be attending. He was particularly interested in meeting you.”

“Oh,” Kat said.

“Indeed,” the admiral agreed. “I think he has a proposal he wishes to put before you.”

“I have no say in the affairs of Falcone,” Kat said flatly. It was true. Her eldest brother would inherit most of the family stock, leaving her with just her trust fund and a bundle of nonvoting stock. “The discussion would not be productive.”

She took a breath, knowing she was about to put her career on the line. “Admiral,” she added, “how can you ignore the growing threat to our shipping lines?”

For a moment, she saw a trace of anger behind the admiral’s eyes, and then it was gone.

“The decision to annex Cadiz was, in my view, a mistake,” the admiral said, finally. His voice was so flat she just knew he was using implants to keep it under control. That too was rude, at least in private conversation. “We did something very provocative, something that could have provoked a war, something that could have torn our government apart, purely for our own selfless interests. It would be smart for us to refrain from any other provocative actions in the future.”

He cleared his throat, loudly. “Your ship will escort the convoy to the border in five days, once several pieces of cargo have been loaded onto the freighters,” he continued. His tone made it clear he considered the assignment a punishment. “After that, we will discuss your future . . . operations.”

Kat fought down the urge to grind her teeth in frustration. How could the admiral be so blind? But the hell of it was that he had a point. The decision to annex Cadiz had come alarmingly close to tearing the Commonwealth apart, no matter the justification behind it.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, rising to her feet. “I will return to my ship.”

“My aide will show you out,” the admiral said. He stood and then held out a hand. “And I do trust I will see you at one of my parties, Captain. I believe you have a great deal to offer.”

“Yes, sir,” Kat said. She shook the admiral’s hand reluctantly. “But my starship always comes first.”

Night was falling over Cadiz Spaceport as the shuttle dropped down to the landing pad and landed neatly, the pilot shutting down the drives moments later. William climbed to his feet, opened the hatch, and stepped through onto the tarmac. The air was cooler than the captain had reported, but there was a strange smell that bothered him more than he cared to admit. It reminded him of his homeworld.

Behind him, the forty-nine officers and crew who had been assigned to the shore leave roster strode out of the shuttle. He turned round to face them, sighing inwardly. There was something about the prospect of shore leave that turned even the most disciplined spacers into a rowdy mob. He cleared his throat loudly and they quieted, knowing he could still bar them from leave, even now.

“You should all have reviewed the safety briefing before boarding the shuttle,” he said, knowing some of them probably wouldn’t have taken the time to even skim the file. “Do not attempt to leave the spaceport or enter any secure zone. Should you do either . . . you’ll probably spend an uncomfortable night in the cells before I come and get you.”

He paused as the sound of helicopters clattered overhead before fading away in the distance, then continued.

“Do not spend more than you have on your credit card, do not come stumbling back to the shuttle drunk, and do not do anything you don’t want to appear on your service record,” he added. He turned and pointed towards the shore leave section. “Dismissed.”

The crew cheered, then ran past him and through the gates. William snorted, knowing he’d been just as enthusiastic once upon a time, and then strode after them with casual measured steps. The thought of shore leave was hypnotic, he had to admit, but it wasn’t really what he wanted, not now. Forty-eight hours was hardly enough to relax properly. Once upon a time, he’d booked himself into a hotel and just spent four days in bed.

He smiled as he passed through the gates and peered down the long road. It looked like any other strip of entertainment intended to keep spacers happy on shore leave: a line of bars, strip clubs, gambling arcades, and brothels. His smile grew wider at some of the memories, then he sobered as he caught sight of two armored marines patrolling the street. No matter how hard they tried to disguise it, the spaceport was a prime target for the insurgency. It wouldn’t be hard for a spy to slip through the gates and cause trouble.

A line of spacers, the gold badges on their collars marking them as superdreadnought crew, came pouring out of one of the bars, heading towards the brothels. They’d clearly not spent much time on shore leave, William decided, recalling his own adventures. It was generally better to go to the brothel first rather than the bars or gambling joints. The only spacer he recalled spending much time gambling while on shore leave had been an asexual teetotaler, someone who wasn’t interested in anything else. Everyone else knew the games tended to be rigged, no matter what the house promised.

He sighed, feeling too responsible to just go to a brothel and carouse, then turned and walked towards the bar at the top of the road. The title, emblazoned on the door in glowing letters, read OFFICER DOWN. It wasn’t particularly funny, he decided, as he pushed the door open, but it was unlikely any of the junior ranks would dare enter. The establishment was meant for officers and officers alone.

No doubt there’s a higher class of prostitute here, he thought as he closed the door behind himself and glanced round. The interior looked like a high-class cafe on Tyre, one of the places that sold cakes and cream teas along with expensive liquor and fancy drinks. And I’m too poor to spend any time here.

“William,” a female voice called. “It is you, isn’t it?”

William stared. He knew that voice.

“William,” Commander Fran Higgins said. “Long time no see.”

“You too,” William said. He walked over and sat down facing her. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

“I’d have called you if I’d known,” Fran agreed. She smiled as the waiter arrived, carrying a small notebook in one hand rather than a data terminal. “My friend here would like a Cream Plum, thank you.”

The waiter bowed and retreated. William blinked in surprise, then looked at Fran. She looked almost as he remembered, with short brown hair and a face that was solid rather than pretty, but she looked tired. In a way, she looked older than William himself—and he knew she was ten years younger.

“It’s good to see you again, Fran,” he said. “But why are you drinking here?”

Commander Higgins gave him a sharp look. “Why are you drinking here?”

“Touché,” William said. “I’m here because I don’t want to have fun in front of the crew.”

Fran snorted, rudely. “Snap.”

The waiter returned, carrying a small glass, which he placed in front of William. The XO eyed it doubtfully—it seemed too fragile for him to pick up—then reached for it and took a sip. The taste was surprisingly strong, but there seemed to have relatively little alcohol. But that probably shouldn’t have been a surprise. Officers were not meant to get drunk in public.