The Oncoming Storm (20 page)

“Someone must have noticed,” Davidson said. “If there was a steady pattern of components being drained into Theocratic space . . .”

“They wouldn’t,” the XO said gruffly. “We’re not looking at classified pieces of kit here, Major. There isn’t anything on the list that can’t be obtained for a few hundred crowns just about anywhere in the Commonwealth. I’d bet good money that most of the components on that ship were third- or fourth-hand by the time they were purchased by the Theocracy’s agents. As long as the money was upfront, no one would ask too many questions.”

“But the Theocracy shouldn’t need the components,” Kat mused. It was a puzzle, all right, one that made little sense. “Or is their industrial base weaker than we supposed?”

“I’ve studied command economies,” Davidson said. “It’s quite possible they’re very good at producing warship tech, but less good at meeting their economic needs. They might have thrust everything they had into building their navy, then discovered they needed a civilian economy too.”

Kat nodded, slowly. It made sense.

“But we know almost nothing about the Theocracy’s internal structure,” she mused. All they really heard from the Theocracy was propaganda, and she was fairly sure that it was mostly lies. “Could they be far weaker than we thought?”

“Bluff and bluster?” Davidson asked. He sounded as though he liked the idea. “The Wizard of Oz in space? Pay no attention to the absence of starships behind the border? Maybe they don’t have anything larger than a light cruiser and they’ve been bluffing everyone they’ve met?”

“We know they took some worlds that should have been able to mount a defense against one or two ships,” the XO said sharply before anyone could get too excited. “I don’t think they would be so keen to press up against our space if they were truly too weak to put up a fight.”

He shrugged. “Besides, their world was a careful investment, as carefully planned as Tyre herself,” he added. “They didn’t owe the UN crippling amounts of money. I don’t think we dare assume they didn’t manage to put together a first-rate industrial base of their own. It’s in their damned doctrine.”

“They do seem to believe that one has to deserve to win to actually win,” Davidson agreed sourly. “It will make them dangerous, certainly far more dangerous than their predecessors.”

“So we have something else to report once we get back to Cadiz,” Kat said. She sighed. It was quite possible her father would have sent a reply, but it was equally possible that someone had noted the message and traced it back to her, even if they couldn’t read it. “Did you find anything else even remotely suspicious?”

“No,” the XO said. “Cargo and crew manifests checked out. We ran the crews against the database and identified most of them. A handful weren’t registered with the various trade guilds, but that means nothing. Membership in the guilds isn’t compulsory.”

And is keenly discouraged in places, Kat thought. Tyre had strict laws governing how unions could form and what they could do. Her grandparents had helped write them.

“They could be enemy agents,” Davidson suggested. “The shipping firms would be a good place to hide an intelligent asset or two.”

“And then have them report back while under guise of being searched,” the XO said. “It could work.”

“Yes, it could,” Kat mused. “But we don’t have grounds to hold any of them, do we?”

“None,” the XO said. “Some of the ships were skirting the edge when it comes to shipping regulations, but they’re out on the border. No one will give a damn if we report them.”

“It’s their lives at stake,” Kat agreed. Besides, if they pushed the limits too far, no one would insure the ships against accidents, let alone pirate attacks. “And out of our jurisdiction.”

She straightened up. “Write a full report,” she said, “and we’ll attach it to the next message we send back to Tyre. And then get some sleep. We’ll need to be alert when we reach the rendezvous point.”

“Aye, Captain,” the XO said. “Will you get some sleep too?”

“I’ll do my best,” Kat said. The thought of sleep was tempting, but she had far too much paperwork to grind through. She’d downloaded everything she could from Cadiz before they’d departed the system, trying to put together a picture of just how 7th Fleet had decayed into a useless mass. “It’s still a day to the RV point.”

“Plenty of time to sleep,” Davidson rumbled. He rose. “I’ll prep the teams to inspect the next set of ships, Captain.”

Kat almost asked him to stay, but held her tongue just in time. Instead, she nodded.

“See to it,” she ordered. The freighters from the Theocracy would have to be inspected carefully, very carefully. Who knew what they might be carrying? “And get some sleep too.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Davidson said. He headed for the hatch, which hissed open in front of him. “Goodnight, Captain.”

The hatch hissed closed behind him.

“I’ll write the reports,” the XO said. He looked as though he was on the verge of saying something himself, then thought better of it. “Please make sure you get some sleep.”

“I will,” Kat promised. She watched him leave the room, then sighed. “But I don’t know if I’ll have time to sleep.”

The dull red star had no name, only a catalogue number. It had been visited once, according to the files, by a UN survey team that hadn’t spent any longer than necessary in the system, then simply left alone until an RV point had been required for transhipment between the Commonwealth and the Theocracy. The otherwise useless star system had seemed a perfect place for ships from both sides to meet with nothing at stake.

Kat studied the system display, feeling more than a little boredom. There was nothing in the system, not even a comet or a handful of asteroids. And the Theocratic ships were late. She settled back in her command chair, reaching for her private terminal, then paused as an alarm sounded. Moments later, a blue-green icon flashed up on the display.

“One vortex detected, Captain,” Roach said. “I’m picking up seven freighters and one starship of unknown design. Mass readings suggest a light cruiser.”

Kat leaned forward, interested, as the Theocratic ships spilled out of the vortex. The freighters looked practically identical to other designs used all over the galaxy, but the light cruiser looked as though it only carried energy weapons instead of a mixture of energy weapons and missile tubes. She could see some advantages in the design, yet she knew the enemy ship would be vulnerable to a missile-armed attacker engaging from outside her own range.

She might have been designed to serve as a point defense cruiser, Kat mused, thoughtfully. It would make a certain kind of sense.

“We’re being scanned,” Roach warned. The display washed red as the enemy sensors caught sight of Lightning and her convoy. “They have a solid lock on our hull.”

“Yellow alert,” Kat ordered. The Theocratic ships would have to come a great deal closer if they wanted to catch her by surprise. “Send them our IFF codes.”

There was a long pause. “They’re requesting an open channel,” Ross reported as the enemy ships came closer. “Captain?”

“Open channel,” Kat ordered. She cleared her throat. “This is Captain Falcone of HMS Lightning.”

Twenty seconds passed before the reply arrived. A grim-faced man appeared in front of her, wearing a green uniform covered in gold braid and unfamiliar writing. He wore a green skullcap on his head, his beard trimmed into a neat goatee. A beard meant something among the Theocracy, Kat recalled, although she couldn’t remember what. Was it devotion or something else?

“I am Captain Zaid of the Faithful Companion,” he grated. He sounded coldly furious, although there was no way to tell why he was annoyed. “Transmit your manifests now.”

Kat kept her face impassive with an effort. “Transmit the manifests,” she ordered, then turned her attention back to the Theocratic officer. “Transmit your own manifests.”

There was a long pause as both sides analyzed the manifests against what they’d been promised. “Everything appears to be in order,” Captain Zaid said, reluctantly. “We will transfer our freighters to your command.”

“Picking up data packets from the freighters,” Ross injected. “Everything seems to be in order.”

“We will transfer ours to you,” Kat said, feeling a moment of sympathy for the merchantmen. They would be going into Theocratic space, where they would be at the mercy of the Theocrats and their clerics. “And thank you for your time.”

Captain Zaid’s face twitched, then his image vanished from the display. Kat watched, feeling an odd tingle of unease as the Theocratic starship opened a vortex, then ordered the Commonwealth freighters through the tear in space-time. As soon as the last of the freighters were through, the warship followed, departing without even a final message. It was oddly rude, Kat noted, as if Captain Zaid hadn’t wanted to talk to her any more than strictly necessary.

“He probably had someone looking over his shoulder,” the XO muttered, so quietly that only Kat could hear. “They wouldn’t risk allowing him to be friendly.”

Kat nodded, sourly. “Open a vortex into hyperspace,” she ordered. “Order the freighters to proceed into hyperspace, then take us in after them.”

She looked up at the XO. “You’ll have to search their ships, one by one,” she said. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, Captain,” the XO said. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

The first two freighters were normal, William was surprised to discover, insofar as anything was normal on a Theocratic starship. There was a captain and crew, but there was also a cleric whose job seemed to be keeping an eye on the crewmen for impure thoughts. He insisted on staying with the crew at all times, refusing to allow them to be interviewed in private by the Marines—and the crew themselves seemed reluctant to be interviewed without him. They’d need his testimony, William suspected, to prove they hadn’t said anything they shouldn’t to the infidels.

But it was the third freighter that set alarm bells ringing at the back of his head. It was simply too good. He was used to freighter ships pushing the margins, not freighter ships where everything was shipshape and Bristol fashion. The crew looked far too good to be merchantmen, while the captain didn’t even seem outraged at having outsiders tramping through his ship. And that was far from normal.

“Search this ship thoroughly,” he ordered, finally. “And check every last item against the manifest.”

Captain Junayd looked . . . placid. His cleric looked absolutely furious, but the captain looked completely unconcerned. The alarm bells grew louder. William had never met a freighter commander who hadn’t resented having Marines boarding his ship and poking through his hold. And yet this commander didn’t seem to care. Spitefully, William ordered the vessel’s cabins searched too. But that didn’t provoke any reaction either.

“As you can see, we have nothing to hide,” Junayd said an hour later. He seemed far too amused at William’s discomposure. “The ship is clean.”

“So it would seem,” William agreed. “But we are far from finished.”

He looked down as the engineering crew inspected the freighter’s control systems and—finally—found something out of place. The vessel’s drives and shields were civilian grade, no more capable than anything from the Commonwealth, but her sensors were top-of-the-line military gear. Her passive sensors were on a par with Lightning’s, the engineers reported, while her active sensors might actually be better. Now that they had a clue, the engineers pushed harder and reported that there was a whole secondary computer network concealed within the hull.

The ship looked like a harmless merchantman, William concluded, but she was a spy.

At his command, five armored marines came onto the bridge. “I’m afraid we will be taking you and your ship into custody,” William said. “I would ask you not to do anything stupid.”

Captain Junayd, for the first time, showed a hint of something other than amusement. “We have been cleared to deliver our cargo to Cadiz,” he said, his voice darkening. “To hold us is a breach of the trade agreement between the Theocracy and the Commonwealth. It will have the most unpleasant repercussions for your career.”

“I’ll take that chance,” William said. He checked the crew manifest, quickly. There were seventy men on the ship, thirty more than any halfway competent crew needed to operate the vessel. What were they doing on the ship? “You and your crew can be held in reasonable comfort onboard my vessel or you can be held in stasis.”

The cleric swore vilely in a language William didn’t recognize. There were few samples of the language the Theocracy used, mainly because their personnel always used English when talking to outsiders, but it didn’t sound pleasant. Captain Junayd gave him a sharp look, somehow shutting the cleric up instantly. That was interesting. None of the other freighter commanders had shown anything like that degree of control over their watchdogs.

“We will file a formal protest, of course,” Junayd said. “But as long as you’re bringing my vessel to Cadiz anyway, we will be happy to accept quarters of reasonable comfort.”

“Of course,” William agreed. He looked round the bridge for a long moment, then back at the Theocratic officer. He was sure he was looking at a naval officer, not a civilian merchantman. “I suggest you order your crew to behave themselves. They are under our jurisdiction now.”