The Oncoming Storm (25 page)

“Perhaps,” Scott said.

Scott took a breath. “Let me be blunt, then,” he added. “Myself and my associates are unwilling to take a side formally. We have . . . contacts who will be outraged at the thought of us working with you. Some of them are more scared of the Commonwealth than the Theocracy. Others just want to stay out of the firing line.

“But we’re prepared to provide intelligence, for a price.”

William wasn’t surprised. “What price?”

“I suppose that depends on what you’re prepared to offer,” Scott said. He leaned forward, smiling coldly. “What are you prepared to offer?”

“And what,” William asked, “are you prepared to offer?”

“It depends on what you are prepared to offer,” Scott said. “I . . .”

William slapped the table. “Stop playing games,” he snapped. “If there’s something you want, say so.”

“Money,” Scott said. “And certain . . . events . . . being officially forgotten.”

William thought fast. The captain had a discretionary fund she could use to make deals if necessary—and she had her trust fund too, he reminded himself. It was quite possible they could simply purchase whatever Scott had to offer . . . and he was fairly sure his brother wouldn’t try to cheat them. If he did, there would be no grounds for a long-term relationship.

“Money we might be able to offer,” he said.

Scott met his eyes. “Might?”

“You didn’t tell me who I’d be meeting,” William snapped. “I certainly didn’t make any preparations to pay you any actual cash!”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his credit chip. “I can offer you a few hundred crowns, if you like.”

“Point,” Scott agreed.

He leaned backwards, then took a long swig of his beer. “I have a considerable amount of navigational data,” he said. “You are aware, no doubt, that most of the hyper-routes into Theocratic space are mined or patrolled. But a handful of the more . . . hair-raising routes are largely unguarded. You might find the information useful.”

“I’d prefer to know more about pirate bases and contacts,” William said.

“I bet you would,” Scott said. “But I’m afraid”—he tapped his forehead meaningfully—“that isn’t on the table.”

Scott paused. “I will say that demand for our services has actually been growing stronger,” he added. “You may discover that you have less time than you think.”

William sighed. “Are you saying you’ll close a deal with them if we refuse or that we might not have long until the war breaks out?”

“Maybe both,” Scott said. “It’ll cost you at least a hundred crowns for a definite answer.”

Scott reached into his pocket and produced a datachip. “I brought something as a gesture of good faith,” he said. “My crews have a habit of recording everything picked up by their passive sensors, including local news broadcasts. This . . . is everything they recorded from a visit to Heaven’s Star. You used to know it as Abadan.”

William checked his implants. Abadan had been settled just before the Breakdown and remained largely untouched by the Breakaway Wars and other galactic affairs, at least until the expanding Theocracy had rolled over it. There was nothing else listed in the files, not even a mention of refugees. But if the world had been a stage-one colony before the Breakaway Wars, it was unlikely they’d had any homebuilt space industry of their own before it was too late. The only advantage they’d had was that their debts to the UN had died with the UN itself.

“You won’t find it very reassuring,” Scott said. “We can provide more, for a price.”

“Of course,” William said.

His brother leaned forward. “Can I ask you a question?”

William hesitated, then nodded.

“I could give you a command,” Scott said. His voice was very soft, as if he feared being overheard. “I have a handful of former warships in my fleet. Someone like you, with the skills of the common spacer and bearing of an officer, would be very helpful. Why don’t you join me?”

He pressed forward before William could say a word. “You would rise on your own merits,” he added. “You wouldn’t have to take orders from a girl who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. You would be free.”

“Tell me,” William said, “how you giving me a command is any different from the captain’s father giving her a command?”

“You’ve proved you can handle command,” Scott said. “And none of my people would dispute it.”

He reached out and touched William’s hand. “Come with me,” he said. “This star system is a disaster waiting to happen. Don’t stay and die for a Commonwealth that doesn’t appreciate your service.”

William stared down at the table, his thoughts awhirl. He was tempted, he had to admit, even though he would never have said it to his brother’s face. Command was his dream, yet it seemed increasingly unlikely that he would ever have a starship of his own. Even if he succeeded to command Lightning, the Admiralty would probably find another commander to replace him. And an independent shipping captain had far more autonomy than a naval commander.

“It’s immoral,” he muttered.

“I do have legit businesses,” Scott said. “You wouldn’t have to dirty your hands if you didn’t want to.”

The hell of it, William suspected, was that his brother was being sincere. Their relationship had died the day Scott had turned his back and walked away, yet before then he had always looked out for his younger brother. And the offer was tempting. If the captain had been half the brat he’d feared, he would have seriously considered turning his back on the Royal Navy. But Kat Falcone was a better person than he’d dared hope for.

“I have my duty,” he said, firmly. “And my pride.”

“Pride doesn’t put food on the table,” Scott snarled.

William’s lips twitched. “I’m not that desperate,” he said finally. “Thank you for your offer, Scott, but no.”

Scott stood. “I’ll pick up the tab,” he said. He dropped a second datachip on the table, then picked up the privacy generator. “There’s a contact code for my current location on the chip. Should you try to trace it . . . well, I’m afraid it won’t work. And you won’t see me again. Send me a message, tell me who you’ll be bringing, and we will see.”

“Understood,” William said. “How long will you be in the system?”

“I’m not sure,” Scott admitted. “If the system comes under attack . . . well, I’m gone.”

He nodded to William and then walked away.

William looked at the bottle of beer and then took a long swig himself. It tasted worse than he remembered, but was oddly familiar nonetheless. Part of him was tempted to order more, to drink himself as senseless as they’d done years ago, but he knew his duty. Leaving the rest of the beer on the table, he stood and walked through the bar’s doors. Outside, there was no sign of Scott. All he could see was a flashing light advertising a nearby brothel. He was tempted to knock on the door, to find a girl for the night, but he pushed the thought aside.

I have to get back to the ship, he thought. And then work out what I’m going to tell the captain.

“Don’t worry about having a smuggler in the family,” Kat said the following morning. “I have politicians in mine.”

The XO looked relieved. Technically, he should have declared any potentially . . . embarrassing family connections when he’d joined the Navy. His brother might not have been quite as notorious as he’d hinted at the time, but it would still look very bad on his service record. And, if his brother was one of the smugglers wanted by the law, it was unlikely his career would survive.

“Thank you, Captain,” the XO said.

Kat looked down at her hands. “I’ll send the information to Tyre,” she said, flatly. “And add it to every other factoid we’ve collected. But I don’t know if anyone will pay attention.”

The XO sighed. “Did your father not send anything back to you?”

“Nothing useful,” Kat admitted. “All he sent was a brief acknowledgement and a note that the matter would be discussed.”

She sighed. “And I have to waste time going to the admiral’s party rather than patrolling the border or doing something useful.”

“Yes, Captain,” the XO agreed. “Think of it as a chance to gain some useful intelligence.”

“Think of it as a chance to practice removing lips from my ass,” Kat countered, crossly. Morrison’s guest list had been announced on the planetary datanet, as if anyone cared who the admiral chose to invite to his parties. Most of the guests were either naval officers or civilian administrators looking for posts in the private sector after they finished their terms of office on Cadiz. “I should take a blowtorch and a monofilament knife for swift removal.”

The XO smirked. “And can you do anything for them?”

“I doubt it,” Kat said. “I was never groomed to take an important place within the corporation.”

She rose to her feet and started to pace the compartment. “How long do we have?”

“I wish I knew,” the XO said. He stayed in his seat, watching her. “I’ll be speaking to my friends tomorrow night.”

“Have fun,” Kat said. She wished she could go, but she knew the XO’s friends would talk much more freely without her around. “And tell them they will have my full support, if necessary.”

“I wish it were that easy,” the XO said. “What about your family’s people within the system?”

“Few of them are in any place to assist us,” Kat said, slowly. “But I do plan to talk to them when I have a moment.”

The XO stood. “I’ll inform you of the outcome,” he said. “The only other problem right now is shore leave rota. There have been complaints.”

“I know,” Kat said. She’d heard from Davidson that there had been grumbles. “But we’re not allowing the crew levels to drop below seventy percent, not now. I want to be ready to fight if the shit hits the fan.”

The XO nodded. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Dismissed,” Kat said.

She waited for him to leave, then sat back down at her desk and called up the file the admiral’s office had sent her. It was clear, alarmingly so, that Morrison had imported personal staff from Tyre and then put them on the occupation force’s budget. One staff member had sent Kat details of the frock the admiral expected her to wear at the party. Instead of a dress uniform he wanted her to wear a little black cocktail dress. She’d look good in it, Kat had to admit, but she wouldn’t look anything like a commanding officer. It would be hard to restore discipline if any of her crew saw her in the getup.

Bastard, she thought, angrily. What the hell is his game?

It was depressingly easy to hire a bar for the night, William discovered. The captain had given him a credit chip with a sizable balance, which had allowed him to reserve the entire bar, buy a considerable amount of alcohol, and give the staff the night off. It had required a deposit of an extra thousand crowns to secure their absence, but it was worth it. There would be no eavesdroppers when he and his friends met to discuss the situation. God alone knew what rumors would start if anyone overheard.

We’d probably all get charged with plotting a mutiny, he thought as he watched Davidson and Corporal Kevin Loomis scan the entire bar for bugs. They’d already found and disabled a couple of monitors, but he was feeling paranoid. Or perhaps with using common sense in the vicinity of a senior officer.

“It’s clean,” Davidson confirmed finally. “The security fields should ensure no one can overhear you.”

William nodded. “Go back to the shuttle,” he ordered as he checked the bar himself. The supplier hadn’t bothered to do more than drop the crates of booze behind the bar. It didn’t bother him. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

“No shore leave for us,” Davidson agreed. The Marines had to stagger their shore leave, just like everyone else. “Good luck, Commander.”

“Thank you,” William said.

It was nearly twenty minutes before the door opened for the first time, revealing Commander Fran Higgins. William smiled at her, then tossed her a bottle of beer and waved her to one of the chairs. She gave him a puzzled glance, but said nothing as the door opened again to allow two more officers to enter the bar. William passed them both drinks and smiled, waving away their questions. There would be time to talk once everyone had arrived.

“William,” Commander Trent said, “is there a reason for this gathering?”

“Patience,” William said. Trent was a friend, rather than a former subordinate. It put them on more equal terms. “I’ll get to the meat of the matter when everyone has arrived.”

He couldn’t help noticing that several of the officers, perhaps suspecting the truth, had brought privacy generators of their own. His implants monitored the intermingling fields, decided they were suitable, then ignored them. He kept passing out bottles of beer, waiting for the final few officers to arrive. As soon as they entered the bar, he closed and locked the door before walking round the table and sitting down.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I called you here,” he said. There were some chuckles at a joke that had been old before humanity had reached for the stars. “Before we start, I should tell you we can speak freely. The bar is clean and there are at least twelve privacy generators operating within the room.”

“Doesn’t look very clean,” Commander Jove said. He waved a hand towards a dark stain on the wall. “I dread to imagine what that is.”