The Oncoming Storm

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Chapter Thirteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“Approaching Boring, Captain.”

Kat leaned forward in her chair as the eerie lights of hyperspace twisted into a black vortex and Lightning – along with seven freighters – roared out of hyperspace and into a tiny solar system, dominated by a small red dwarf. The star’s official designation was UNAS-3523 – it had been charted by the UN’s survey ships during the first expansion era – but the 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet’s personnel had rapidly renamed it Boring. Kat had to admit that the informal name was perfectly accurate; the system possessed nothing more interesting than a handful of asteroids and icy comets. Situated almost perfectly along the border between the Commonwealth and the Theocracy, it was so worthless that neither side had thought it was worth annexing formally and it had come to serve as a neutral zone, of sorts.

“Launch drones,” she ordered. The agreement, negotiated by the Admiral’s staff, had specified that both escorting forces would arrive in the system at the same time, but the Theocracy was known for playing fast and loose with the terms of any agreement. Any data they picked up on her ship’s capabilities – sensors as much as weapons – would be of great value to their planners. They’d risk war just to tease out a final piece of data. “Signal the convoy to come to all stop and wait for orders.”

Convoy Theta-36253 consisted of nine ships, all – with a single exception – of older designs, ones that there was little point in seizing for study. The Admiral’s staff had cleared them for transit into the Theocracy, but Kat – not inclined to accept the Admiral’s assurances at face value – had ordered them searched while the convoy had been in transit. They’d found nothing suspicious – and little that could be used for military purposes – but Kat had the alarming sense that they’d missed something. She couldn’t understand why anyone, including her father, would wish to trade with the Theocracy. The theorists who claimed that free trade would help the leopard change its spots weren't the ones on the front line if the Theocracy’s forces did come over the border.

“Aye, Captain,” Roach said. The display updated rapidly as the drones spread out from Lightning, although Kat knew not to rely completely on the remote sensor platforms. A single ship, with its drive and active sensors shut down, could easily hide in the vastness of space, tracking her ship through its passive sensors. It was unlikely that any skipper would risk bringing his ship within weapons range without identifying himself first, but the handful of reported engagements between Commonwealth and Theocracy starships before the border had been hammered out claimed that the Theocracy’s commanders were bold and daring, fearing their superiors more than they feared their military opponents.

The thought made her smile. Once, back on Old Earth, a General had made a snide remark about his own troops. I don’t know if they frighten the enemy, but by God they frighten me, he’d said. Kat knew how he must have felt every time she contemplated the 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet. Not all of the commanding officers on the ships were beholden to the Admiral, content to spend their days partying down on the planet’s surface, but her very youth and inexperience prevented her from seeking out those who might have agreed with her. She knew none of the other commanders personally, apart from one who she’d met at one of her mother’s parties – and he was clearly inclined to support the Admiral. It was beyond her why he’d been allowed to remain in command, although the Admiral’s presence probably had something to do with it. He was the only person at <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Cadiz</st1:City></st1lace> with authority to relieve one of his commanders, and that would have drawn attention to his own shortcomings.

Her musings were interrupted by a chime from the sensor board. “Vortex forming, five hundred thousand kilometres away,” Roach reported. Kat and her XO exchanged glances. They were alone, effectively – and if the Theocracy planned to bag a heavy cruiser, they’d have brought more to the party than the single heavy cruiser they’d agreed to send to match Lightning. “Seven starships emerging; <st1:stockticker w:st="on">IFF</st1:stockticker> signals mark them as Theocracy.”

Kat braced herself as the new icons flared to life on the display. The Theocracy’s ships weren’t trying to hide, or mask themselves; something she told herself firmly was a good sign. Her sensors rapidly identified the first six starships as freighters of a common design, one that dated all the way back to the era before the Breakaway Wars. Earth’s shipyards had been stamping them out like coins, selling them to everyone who wanted to set up a colony under UN auspices. There was a fair chance that the ships confronting her now were the ones that had delivered the original settlers to Abdullah, before it had been renamed by its new masters.

A seventh ship appeared and the vortex closed behind it. The display flared red for a second as the Theocratic warship brought up its sensors and scanned for possible targets, locating Kat’s ship alarmingly quickly. It wouldn't have been too hard, Kat knew, but it was worrying. The Theocracy’s own design of heavy cruiser seemed to give more weight to a heavier missile broadside than any form of point defence, something that fitted in with their mentality – return victorious, or not at all. Her own sensors returned the favour, building up an image of the ship’s hull. The Commonwealth’s analysts would study it carefully once she returned to <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Cadiz</st1:City></st1lace> and uploaded it into the StarCom network, hopefully deducing any weaknesses in the starship class before they started exchanging blows. There were limits to what they could deduce at a distance, however; she wasn't unduly surprised to discover that the ship was masking its hull. Any internal data would have to wait until a sample was captured in action.

“They’re picking up speed,” Roach reported. The tension rose on the bridge as the starship started to glide towards Kat’s position, followed by a flock of freighters. At least that boded well for the meeting, although if the freighters turned out to be Q-Ships Kat knew she’d rapidly find herself in a very difficult position. “They’re locking tactical sensors onto our hull.”

“Return the favour,” Kat ordered. She’d taken the time to skim through the reports filed by other commanders who escorted ships to Boring and they'd all agreed that the Theocracy had a nasty habit of playing chicken with armed starships. Or, part of her mind fretted, they were trying to lure the Commonwealth into thinking that they were only trying to unnerve them, in hopes of catching Lightning unprepared when they actually opened fire. Kat’s ship was already at red alert and would remain so until they were well away from the dim red star. “Order the freighters to hold their positions and wait.”

The seconds ticked away as the Theocracy warship converged on her position, the tension rising ever higher on the bridge. It was rare for one starship to ram another, unless the second starship was crippled or the first had come too close to escape. Kat could have ordered an evasive manoeuvre at any moment, except she knew that that would concede too much to her opponent. The RAN would have court-martialled anyone who played chicken with an entire starship, but the Theocracy took a different view of the issue. A Theocratic Captain who showed daring would probably be promoted and given even more important commands.

Every Captain’s worst nightmare was an enemy ship so close to his hull that it could fire its missiles at practically point-blank range. The most powerful energy weapons in existence would take minutes to burn through the armoured hull metal – the toughest substance known to mankind – but missiles could punch through…and at point-blank range, there would be no hope of bringing point defence up in time to swat the missiles before they stuck home. Q-Ships liked luring their targets in close, but Q-Ships were built on freighter hulls and couldn’t endure a battering match with a warship. Kat’s unknown opponent was playing with fire; after all, if he entered point-blank range, she could blow him away as surely as he could blow her away. And as they both had their missiles on automated launch, the result would likely be mutual destruction.

“They’re slowing,” Roach reported. Kat let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. The Theocracy wasn’t going to start the war, at least not today. If the Admiral had been prudent, he would have sent a second warship with the convoy, one that could hang back and escape to <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Cadiz</st1:City></st1lace> if the meeting turned violent. If something had gone wrong, Kat and her crew would have become another ship lost to ‘unknown causes,’ rather than the first deaths in a war the Commonwealth had been dreading for years. “They’ve halted, at rest relative to us.”

“Good,” Kat said. “Transmit our prepared greeting.”

There was a long pause. The Theocracy was known for raising a diplomatic storm at the slightest hint of irregularity, an attitude that Kat found rather amusing given that the Theocracy hadn’t been above negotiating with some of its other victims while preparing the hammer blow that would crush all opposition and force yet another world into the Theocracy on its own terms. It was something she wished the Admiral would remember. Any negotiations with the Theocracy – any treaties with the Theocracy – would last as long as the Theocracy chose to abide by them. And then there would be war.

“We are being hailed,” Roach said. “One signal; tight-beamed to us.”

Kat frowned. A tight-beam meant that they didn’t want anyone else, even the freighters, to listen to the conversation. “Put them on,” she ordered, and forced herself to relax. At least she hadn’t had to wear her dress uniform for the meeting. “Keep our own signal tight as well.”

The holographic display reformatted itself into an image of an older man. Kat took one look at him and knew that they weren't going to get on. He had dark skin and darker eyes, a neat well-trimmed beard and a face that suggested that he ate lemon each morning, just to ensure that he developed the proper attitude for his post. For all Kat knew, that was exactly what the Theocracy’s military personnel did. Some of the horror stories they’d heard from refugees were alarming – and there had been no defectors from the Theocracy. Kat had no idea if that meant that their military personnel were completely committed to the regime or if their secret policemen were very good at rooting out dissent before it had a chance to mature into mutiny.

Her counterpart’s eyes narrowed as he took in her face. The Theocracy didn’t allow women to serve on starships; even the original female settlers had made the trip in stasis, only to be unloaded once they’d landed on the planet’s surface. The reports contradicted themselves on what role the Theocracy allowed women in their society, but they tended to agree that the first duty of a woman was to have as many strapping young sons as possible, causing a permanent population boom. It explained why the Theocracy was so intent on expansion, according to some of the analysts, although Kat wasn't so sure. Even at the height of its power, the UN had been unable to make a significant dent in Earth’s teeming billions by shipping them off-world as willing or unwilling settlers. The Theocracy would still have billions of people on Abdullah, no matter how many worlds it absorbed.

“This is Captain Falcone of HMS Lightning,” Kat said. Did she detect a second narrowing of her counterpart’s eyes when he heard her name? She couldn’t tell. “To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

“I am Captain Zaid of the Faithful Companion,” the Theocracy Captain grated. He didn’t seem pleased at all to be speaking to a woman – and an infidel woman at that. “I understand that you have brought the freighters as agreed.”

Kat refused to show any reaction to his rude tone. “I have,” she confirmed. It sounded as if the Commonwealth was paying tribute to the Theocracy. The Theocracy might well choose to see it that way. “And I understand that you have brought your freighters?”

“I have,” Captain Zaid said. “I will be searching your ships before they are permitted to cross the border.”

“Of course,” Kat agreed. The Theocracy was paranoid to the point of obsession, concealing as much as they could from outsiders. There was no way they could hide stars from the Commonwealth’s survey officers, but the picture of their naval deployments and bases was very incomplete. Compared to them, the Commonwealth was an open book. The Theocracy’s spies could pick up much of the data they needed just through reading what was in the public domain. “I will alert their commanders to prepare for your inspection teams.”

“I will also be registering a formal complaint,” Zaid continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “The Commonwealth has failed to recognise and respect our cultural values by sending such a young and inexperienced Captain when the terms of the agreement were that equal units would be deployed by both sides.”

Kat had read the reports from previous missions carefully enough to note a common theme. The Theocracy’s representatives always found something to complain about, something that could be used to harass and intimidate a Captain with less self-confidence than they should have in themselves. They’d have complained if the Commonwealth had sent a male officer in her place. The complaints were mostly ignored, although they could be a black mark in an officer’s file if they were taking out of context.

“You may do so if it pleases you,” she said, in the voice that infuriated her father and irritated her mother. It was a tone of complete unconcern, just perfect for getting under a stuck-up person’s skin. “How long do you intend to make the inspections take this time?”

The Theocracy Captain showed little reaction to her own dig. “As long as they take,” he said, flatly. Most interstellar powers would have exchanged invitations to dinner during diplomatic meetings. The Theocracy rarely did anything of the sort. “I shall inform you when the searches are complete.”

His image vanished without any warning. Kat sank back into her chair, trying to conceal her amusement – and worry. The Theocracy was going to search the ships she’d escorted – and if they found anything suspicious, they’d arrest the crew, putting her in the position of having to choose between allowing them to be taken into the Theocracy for trial or firing on the Faithful Companion. They had a long list of forbidden items, ranging from history datachips to pornographic and religious materials that might corrupt the minds of the believers. And while her people had searched the freighters to make sure that nothing was being smuggled across the border, they weren't inclined to confiscate anything not illegal under Commonwealth law. She hoped the freighter skippers and their crews had chosen to behave themselves. They knew the rules for doing business with the Theocracy.

She’d taken the opportunity to read her father’s business reports from the Theocracy and most of them had noted that the Theocracy was a poor place to invest. They had an insatiable appetite for technology of any kind – particularly anything with military applications – but very little else, apart from a handful of luxuries that she suspected went to the Caliph and his personal staff. There was no point in establishing local factories or industrial nodes in the Theocracy, and the quality of local workers could be variable. They had an excellent space-based industry, her father’s representatives had noted, but so much of it was wrapped up in military construction that the planets were suffering. The planets were forced to rely on planet-side industries and most of them had unpleasant effects on the local environment.

Three hours passed very slowly. Kat spent them studying the sensor readings on the Faithful Companion and speculating with Roach and the XO about the ship’s armament. Optical observations suggested that the heavy cruiser would definitely be able to launch more missiles in a single broadside than Lightning, but she was reasonably sure that her point defence would be able to compensate for the heavier broadside. It was much harder to tell what kind of point defence the Faithful Companion mounted, yet she was sure that it carried enough to allow it to survive an encounter with a hostile ship. Even the most fanatical servants of the Theocracy would have preferred a shield as well as a sword, even if their doctrines were based around attack, attack, and attack. If she mounted no point defence at all, Lightning would blow her out of space before she managed to punch through Lightning’s defences and inflict significant harm.

“We are being signalled, text only,” Roach informed her. Kat exchanged another glance with the XO. The text message was another hint of rudeness, particularly when two ships were close enough to chat without a delay between sending and receiving messages. “They are informing us that the ships were barely acceptable and they are turning over their freighters to us, now.”

Kat nodded. Based on past experience, the Theocracy’s crews would be minimal – and kept inside their ships, even when in orbit around <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>. It wouldn't do for the believers to be contaminated by exposure to alien viewpoints that might seduce them from the path of the righteous. And yet a handful of crew managed to escape every once or twice in a while.

“Inform them that we will escort their ships to <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>,” she ordered. “And then cut the channel.”

If the Theocracy’s Captain noticed her rudeness, he didn’t bother to complain to her face. Instead, his ship opened a vortex and led the Commonwealth freighters into hyperspace, the vortex closing behind them with a flash of light. Kat watched them do, said a silent prayer for the crew on those freighters, and then looked over at the helmsman.

“Open a vortex for us,” she ordered. “It’s time to go home.”

 

Chapter Fourteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“I wish to protest this intrusion,” an officious voice snapped. Commander Jeremy Damiani would have rolled his eyes, if he hadn’t been in a shuttle surrounded by armed Marines. “My ship was inspected prior to departure and I have nothing to hide.”

“Then you won’t mind us searching your ship,” Jeremy countered, patiently. “We will be docking with your forward airlock in five minutes.”

“This inspection was not part of the agreement,” the voice thundered. “To board my ship without my permission is an illegal act and I will make a formal complaint to your superior officer.”

“Your people were allowed to inspect our freighters,” Jeremy said. “Under the Albion Conventions we have a right to inspect your freighters in return.”

“My government did not sign the Conventions,” the voice insisted. He sounded alarmingly well-briefed for a simple freighter commander, although the Theocracy wouldn’t have sent a simple commander to <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>. “They are not binding on us.”

Jeremy shrugged, tired of the game. “You will allow my shuttle to dock or we will fire into your hull,” he informed the Theocracy skipper. “The choice is yours.”

There was a long pause. He could almost imagine what was going through the skipper’s mind. Even if Jeremy was bluffing about opening fire, the ship wouldn't be allowed to dock at <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> and would probably be turned around and deported back to the Theocracy, leaving her skipper to explain his failure to his superiors. And his superiors would be very unsympathetic indeed.

“I am opening my airlock,” the voice said, reluctantly. “Be aware that your actions onboard my ship will be monitored and a formal complaint will be dispatched to your government…”

Jeremy tuned him out as he checked the pistol on his belt. Normally, inspecting a freighter would be a task for a junior Lieutenant, or even an Ensign, but the Theocracy’s commanders had a nasty habit of intimidating a younger officer who might be less sure of his ground than an older XO. The Marines made a convincing argument in favour of behaving oneself, but that wouldn't stop a verbal barrage of abuse from the enemy skipper. He reminded himself firmly that the Theocracy wasn't the enemy, at least not yet. It was well to be careful though. God alone knew what might be waiting for them on the freighter.

The Lotus Blossom was a huge ship, a blocky mass that might be able to sink down to a planetary surface, but would never be able to get back into orbit. She was composed of modules, each one storing a different kind of produce from the Theocracy, linked into the central hull by a network of connecting tubes and cables. The ship moved like a wallowing elephant at the best of times, utterly unable to escape if even a handful of starfighters came after her with blood in their eyes. Jeremy had considered transferring to one of the interstellar shipping lines before, but it wasn't something he'd taken entirely seriously. A starship that could nether run nor fight wasn't his ideal place to work.

A dull clang echoed through the shuttle’s hull as the pilot brought her into dock with the freighter. The two airlocks melded together, allowing the atmospheres to match and sensors to determine if it was safe to exit. Jeremy had heard of a handful of nasty tricks played by resentful freighter crews on Orbital Guard inspection teams, but no red lights flashed up on the display. Lotus Blossom was as safe as Lightning, which didn’t convince Jeremy to leave the body armour and pistol in the shuttle. Two of the Marines wore full suits of combat armour; the remainder were wearing standing uniforms, but with armour under their shirts. They were ready for a hostile reception.

The airlock hissed open and Jeremy stepped through. As he had expected, Captain Junayd was waiting for him, a short dark man with a formidable beard and an even more formidable sneer. There was something about him that set alarm bells ringing in Jeremy’s head, although he couldn’t place it at first. This man was the commander of a freighter, and yet he looked as if he was used to serious command. Merchant commanders from the Theocracy had to wear the same ugly uniforms as their military personnel, but this one wore it with an ease that surprised Jeremy. He was used to wearing it.

“Although I cannot prevent you from boarding my ship,” Junayd began, “I wish to inform you that I will issue a formal protest to your commanding officer and…”

“My commanding officer ordered this inspection,” Jeremy said, shortly. The Lotus Blossom was the fourth ship he’d inspected and the unchanging routine was beginning to get to him. So far, they’d found nothing, not even samples of an intoxicating drug that was quasi-legal in the Theocracy and banned everywhere else. A clean ship was suspicious in and of itself, even without anything else. He’d never seen a freighter crew without a collection of illegal porn or alcoholic drinks before. “Please gather your crew on the bridge while my people check their papers.”

The freighter’s bridge was larger than necessary, although that might not have been as suspicious as it looked. Back when the freighters had first been designed, starship automaton was in its infancy and the Theocracy had evidently refitted the ship several times since it had entered service with their government. It had only twenty-one crewmen, but a quick check of the manifest revealed that there were twenty other men onboard the ship, all sleeping within the auxiliary cargo hold. The freighter was hardly rated for passenger transport.

“They are here to learn the ropes, as you say,” Junayd informed him. Jeremy didn’t believe him and insisted that the trainees join the rest of the crew on the bridge. As they entered the bridge Jeremy studied them carefully and didn’t like what he saw. It was natural for merchant crewmen to resent being boarded and searched by the Orbital Guard, let alone the military, but these crewmen hated him and his Marines. And there was an ease and confidence in the way they moved that suggested military training – and not too long ago, either. He checked their fingerprints, retina scans and DNA against the files and was unsurprised to discover that none of the newcomers were listed in the database. There was no master list of the Theocracy’s population.

“I want you and your crew to remain on the bridge,” Jeremy ordered, shortly. He'd been in combat situations where he’d felt less threatened. Not that the crew would try anything, of course; the Marines wore body armour and there was a direct link to Lightning. Even if they killed him and the Marines, the Captain would blow their freighter into dust before it could hope to escape. “We will be inspecting the rest of the ship.”

Normally, an inspection could be carried out within thirty minutes. This time, Jeremy gave the order for a full inspection, one that could take up to five hours. Ignoring the increasingly annoyed protests from the ship’s commander, his Marines went through the hull carefully, checking everything. The cargo matched what was on the manifest exactly – too exactly. There were plenty of products that could be sneaked through and sold for a small profit – and a small profit would go a long way in the right place. And yet, the ship was clean. On a hunch, he ordered one of the Marines to inspect the ship’s sensors and struck gold. The starship’s sensor suite was far superior to any commercial-grade model available in the Commonwealth and utterly illegal in the Theocracy, at least in their restricted commercial sphere. Only the military would be allowed free access to such systems.

He had to admire their nerve. The Lotus Blossom wouldn't have done anything to arouse suspicions; they’d simply orbit <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, unload their cargo like a good little merchant and then head home, taking with them detailed sensor recordings of Cadiz Station and the 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet. In fact, there was no way of knowing just how long they’d been slipping spy ships through the border. They could be just making sure that they had their figures right before charging across the border and attacking <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Cadiz</st1:City></st1lace>.

“Devious,” he commented, and keyed for a private channel to the Captain. “Captain, we found something you need to know about.”

He ran through a full explanation of the sensor suite and the other suspicious elements. The young men who claimed to be trainees were soldiers or he was a ground-pounding soldier himself. In fact, a quick consultation with the Marines yielded the suggestion that they were specially-trained soldiers. And if their presence had gone completely unnoticed, they could have slipped down to <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Cadiz</st1:City></st1lace> and vanished into the teeming cities, ready to help the insurgents launch a new series of assaults on the Commonwealth-appointed government.

The Captain didn’t waste time questioning his findings. “We can’t simply seize the ship,” she said, grimly. They could, Jeremy knew, but it would cause a major diplomatic incident. With the 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet in no state for war, he doubted that the Captain would be willing to risk a war over the freighter. “Here’s what I want you to do.”

Jeremy listened carefully, made a few suggestions of his own, and then closed the channel. Signalling to the Marines, he ordered them to head back to the shuttle and change into their combat suits, while the two who were already wearing combat suits were ordered to make their way to the bridge. Spotting a handful of other odd details – the ship’s internal surveillance systems were more advanced and intrusive than a battleship’s – only confirmed his suspicions. Once the Marines were ready, he ordered them to escort Captain Junayd to one of the lower decks. He needed a careful word with the ship’s commander, if he really was a lowly Captain.

“You, infidel,” Junayd snapped, as soon as he was pushed into the compartment. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You and your crew will be supervised for the duration of your stay at <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>,” Jeremy told him, flatly. “Your ship’s computer records will be wiped before you leave, of course. Should you wish to lodge a complaint my commander will be pleased to read it…”

“This is outrageous,” Junayd thundered. “My crew are good and loyal. What cause do you have to imprison us on our own ship?”

Jeremy leaned forward. Someone on the ship would be a cleric, a man with the twin tasks of making sure that the crew remained devout – and watching their commander for failure. He wouldn't wield command authority himself, but a negative report to his superiors could break even the proudest Captain.

“Your ship is a spy ship and your crew is a pack of spies,” he said, simply. “Don’t bother to deny it; I’m sure you could come up with a very convincing tale if you tried, but I won’t believe it.”

Junayd said nothing, merely glanced upwards towards where the surveillance bug had been before one of the Marines had smashed it and bashed a hole in the bulkhead for good measure.

“Your sensors are alarmingly good, your crew is clearly military and far too clean to be believable,” Jeremy continued. “You and your crew are spies, plain and simple. In wartime, we would be quite within our rights to interrogate you and then execute you on the spot. Seeing as we’re at peace, we’re going to hold you at Cadiz and then deport you back across the border. I advise you to behave yourself until then.”

He smiled. “Unless you want to come over to our side...?”

The only response was a snort.

“Suit yourself,” Jeremy said. “And mind what I said about behaving yourself.”

He turned and marched out of the compartment, leaving the Theocracy’s commanding officer behind. “I want two armed Marines on the bridge, a second pair of Marines in the sensor compartment and five more on the shuttle,” he ordered, keying his communicator. “The ship is to be locked down completely; any weapons are to be confiscated and the crew held under close observation.”

“Understood,” the Marine said. Even if the Theocracy soldiers were their version of the Force Recon Marines or Special Army Service, they wouldn't be foolish enough to go up against Marines wearing powered combat armour. The cargo modules on the ship had been carefully searched and revealed no heavy weapons, let alone armour, leaving only a handful of pistols in the crew’s hands. Jeremy found that suspicious on general principles – merchant crew in the Commonwealth were known to arm themselves to the teeth – but it wasn't something he could point to in a report.

He strode back to the bridge and examined it one final time, uneasily aware of dark eyes boring holes in the back of his head. Their mission had failed before it had even begun, leaving them disgraced in the eyes of their superiors. And if their commander had refused to defect, the chances were that none of the others would dare to ask for asylum, even if they wanted it. Special Forces soldiers of almost any interstellar power were a proud breed, the elite. They hated losing, but they hated the thought of disgrace even more. He hoped, despite himself, that the young men wouldn't end up crucified or whatever the Theocracy did to failures.

After making one final check on the Marine dispositions – and ensuring that anything that could be used to easily destroy the ship was removed – he headed back to the shuttle to report to the Captain. She’d want to hear everything from the horse’s mouth.

***​

“They’re spies,” Kat said, flatly.

“Yes,” her XO said, with equal flatness. “That ship is unique. The others don’t have perfect crews, military grades of cleanness – or, for that matter, military-grade sensors. They wanted to sneak into Cadiz, take a series of passive observations, and then bug out with us none the wiser. And it would have worked if we hadn’t decided to search their ships with a fine-toothed comb. A cursory inspection would have found nothing.”

Kat rubbed her tired eyes. “Is there no way we can learn if that’s the first ship they sent?”

“Not unless you’re willing to authorise...rigorous interrogation procedures,” the XO said. “They will have been treated to immunise them against truth drugs – hell, I’d bet that they have augmentations that prevent them from being interrogated at all, even with old fashioned torture. We might get answers out of them, but it’s more likely that we’re wind up with a number of dead enemy spacers and little else.”

“Apart from a court-martial for abusing prisoners,” Kat said. She scowled, darkly. The Navy – which was bound by the laws of war authorised by the King and Assembly – was legally allowed to interrogate pirates and then execute them afterwards, but the regulations on the proper treatment of POWs were severe. There were some provisions for interrogating captured enemy personnel rigorously if the CO believed that there was a desperate requirement for the information, but any officer who risked such an act had better be prepared to justify it to a board of her peers. And besides, they weren't formally at war. The worst they could do was deport the prisoners and bar them from returning to the Commonwealth.

“They’re probably laughing at us right now,” she added, crossly. On the display, the Lotus Blossom was being escorted by a pair of shuttles, a blunt reminder of the consequences if the crew attempted to regain control of their ship. The frustration was galling. “They know we can't do anything to them.”

“Their superiors will take a very dim view of their failure,” the XO pointed out. “We’ll wipe their sensors of everything they picked up since they joined the convoy and take their computers apart to be sure we didn't miss anything. The chances are that their superiors will send them to garrison a hell-world or find them a suicide mission to accomplish before they’re allowed to return to the fold.”

“Hope springs eternal,” Kat agreed, doubtfully. “And what happens if they decide to deny everything and dare us to prove it?”

“We’ll have the records and sensor readings we took from their ship,” the XO reminded her. “No competent analyst will doubt our conclusions.”

Kat nodded. “And the Admiral will have to take notice of our findings,” she added. It was the one promising sign in an episode that suggested that war was looming on the horizon – as if she’d doubted that! “He can take measures to prepare the fleet for war.”

The XO said nothing, but Kat could read his scepticism. He might be right, even though she hoped that he was wrong. If he was right, she promised herself, she would use the datachip and send an encoded message to her father and his political allies. Avalon had to know what was going on with the 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet – the only reason she could think of that Admiral Williams hadn't been removed was that Avalon didn't know how bad things were at Cadiz – and something would happen. It could hardly be worse than an Admiral who spent his time partying while his fleet fell apart and a hostile force gathered on the borders.

“Keep rotating the Marines through the spy-ship,” she ordered, finally. “And run a set of secondary inspections on the other ships before we reach Cadiz. There may be a second spy ship among the freighters.”

“Yes, Captain,” the XO said. “If I may make a suggestion?”

Kat nodded, surprised.

“Make sure you speak to the Admiral directly,” the XO said. “He won’t refuse to see you if you claim Captain’s Rights. If you don't, someone on his staff may decide to summarise the salient points for him and the impact of the report will be lost.”

“Understood,” Kat said. It was good advice, even though the last thing she wanted was to meet the Admiral – and his sons – again. Unless on a duelling field...duelling was technically banned within the Commonwealth, but there were ways around the law for someone with sufficient determination. “I’ll deliver it personally.”

 

Chapter Fifteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“You did what?”

Kat was so astonished that she forgot any semblance of respect for her superior officer. The Admiral, luckily for her career, affected not to notice. He regarded her with the same indolent smile from the last time they’d met, as if she were a young niece and he a tolerant uncle. Whatever his wife’s designs on using Kat to reach the very highest levels of High Society, clearly nothing was going to stir him from his stupor.

“I removed your Marines from the Lotus Blossom and permitted them to begin unloading their cargo,” the Admiral said. “There’s no proof at all that they were up to something naughty.”

“Admiral,” Kat said, so calmly that she surprised herself, “they have military-grade sensors, a crew that is not only military, but larger than they need and an internal surveillance system more advanced than anything we have on our warships. That ship is a disguised military vessel, a spy ship. Are you at least going to wipe their computers before they depart?”

“Of course not,” the Admiral said, surprised. “That would render it impossible for them to return home.”

Kat wouldn't have shed a tear if the Lotus Blossom had been lost in space forever, but the Admiral was wrong. “Admiral, my ship could have fed them navigational data to allow them to reach Boring without letting them pick up any more useful intelligence,” she said, sharply. “Instead, they will have accurate intelligence on your deployments which will allow them to plot an assault on Cadiz...”

“Now listen to me,” the Admiral said, with a sudden burst of irritation. Something she’d said had gotten under his skin. “I have it on the very best of authority that the Theocracy has no hostile designs on the Commonwealth. My contacts in the Foreign Office have assured me that the Theocracy is merely maintaining a front for internal consumption – besides, the new Caliph’s position is far from secure and he won’t want to risk a disastrous war with the Commonwealth. We’re powerful enough that even if they win, they’re going to be badly hurt – badly enough to tempt other powers into raiding their territory. They are not going to risk a war...”

Kat’s eyes narrowed. “And then why would they launch a series of provocations along our borders?” She demanded. “And then why would they bother to send a spy ship with an obvious crew of military officers into our space? And then why would they fund the pirates...?”

“There is no proof that the Theocracy is behind the pirates,” the Admiral said, firmly. He lowered his voice slightly, as if he intended to give his young daughter some counselling. “Our position here is delicate and there are factions back home who wish to push us into an unnecessary war for their own reasons. My priority here is to ensure that we do not push the Theocracy into doing something that will encourage that faction to start a war.”

He smiled, benevolently. “You don’t need to worry about the Theocracy,” he added. “As long as we avoid provoking them, the peace will endure. I’ll have a chinwag with their Ambassador and get the whole problem sorted out. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Admiral,” Kat said, carefully. “What proof do you have that the Theocracy means no harm? What assurances have you been offered...?”

“Simple common sense,” the Admiral said. “If the Theocracy wanted to launch a war against us, they would have done it back when we annexed Cadiz. Instead, they have accepted the border and even traded with us from time to time – trade that your own father helped to encourage. A war between our two great powers would be utterly devastating to both – how could that serve their God?”

Kat scowled. The stories coming out of the Theocracy’s refugees hadn't been encouraging. Their religion pushed them to conquer, with peace negotiations merely a delaying tactic while they prepared the hammer that would end the war in one fell swoop. And while the true believers were invariably honest with each other, they were permitted to lie to unbelievers and infidels. Nothing they said could be taken for granted and the life span of any treaty would be as long as the other party could enforce it. And the Foreign Office believed otherwise? She doubted that that was their sole belief – or they would have opposed the 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet’s deployment for fear of provoking the Theocracy – but the politics back home were murky. Not everything believed that there was a threat...and others feared the consequences of an unbridled military build-up, even if it averted war.

“Admiral,” she said, “a victorious war would allow the new Caliph to secure his position.”

“There would be no guarantee of victory,” the Admiral reminded her, dryly. “The 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet is powerful enough to stand off any attack on Cadiz – or strike deep into their territory if they choose to bypass this world. They will not risk a war. They are dangerous and their outcomes are never certain.”

Kat swallowed several angry responses that came to mind. The 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet was in no condition to show the flag, let alone launch an invasion of the Theocracy’s space. Even if they chose to bypass Cadiz, it would be months before the fleet was ready for operations – and that would give the Theocracy time to secure an unassailable position. The Admiral’s words were borderline treason...just for a moment, she wondered if her father could or would protect her if she lunged across the desk and strangled the Admiral with her bare hands. His replacement could hardly be so incompetent...and unheeding of the danger.

“Now, I wish to talk to you about other matters,” the Admiral continued. “It has come to my attention that your ship has requisitioned several thousand pounds worth of equipment and...”

An hour later, Jade escorted Kat out of the Admiral’s mansion, down through the security screen and back into a convoy of armoured vehicles for the drive back to the spaceport. Kat was furious, so angry that she would have welcomed an insurgent attack just so she could have shot back at someone. The Admiral had dressed her down, not for raiding and arresting an apparently innocent freighter, but for requisitioning too many spare parts, regardless of what her ship actually needed. Only a beancounter could have reasoned that ships would have a steady level of consumption, no matter what the ship was actually doing. She wouldn't have been too surprised to discover that someone on Cadiz Station was quietly diverting some of the supplies from the orbital stations and selling them onwards. Civilians loved Navy-designed components – they were often more robust than civilian designs – and would pay handsomely for them. Or pirates, who needed naval equipment to operate, would be happy to find someone who could be bribed into supplying them.

The shuttle flight back to Lightning was a bumpy one. Somehow – and Kat could guess how – the insurgents had acquired a handful of ancient heavy weapons, which they used to try to shoot down the shuttles. Kat held herself under tight control as the shuttle fought for height, while jet fighters and helicopters launched an assault on the insurgent positions. She didn't want to think about how many civilians would have been caught in the bombardment, knowing that the insurgents would use their deaths to recruit more fighters. The shuttle reached orbit without further delay and Kat glanced down at the planet below, hating it in that moment. It looked so safe and tranquil.

As soon as she was back onboard her ship, she summoned the XO and Bone to her cabin and briefed them in short choppy sentences. She wanted to strangle the Admiral with her bare hands – and she didn't even hide that from them. Bone had been a friend and lover from long ago, but it was a mark of how she'd come to respect and depend upon the XO that she admitted that to him. Besides, he’d been the one who’d uncovered the spy ship in the first place. The Admiral might not dare to write a black mark into her file, but the XO had no powerful patrons to protect him from blame. Kat privately doubted that the Theocracy would bother to file a complaint – not when the records from the search would prove to any competent authority that the Lotus Blossom had been far from innocent – yet the Admiral might not see it that way.

“I don’t believe it,” she ended, angrily. “The fleet is on the verge of being attacked – and it’s commanded by a moron who can use the word chinwag without shame! Is he on their payroll or what?”

“Politics,” Bone said. The Marine sounded calm, as always. Right now, Kat wanted to hold him until the anger drained away, or drag him into bed and **** his brains out. Neither one was an option, not any longer. “The Admiral was carefully picked for his position by the peace-mongers back home.”

Kat scowled at him. “And how do you know that?”

“I had a chat with the Marine CO here,” Bone said. He grinned at her, reminding her that the Marine Corps was, in its own way, more of a family than the RAN. “General Oliver Eastside is just as pissed at the Admiral as you are, Captain. He shouldn't actually be in command of the garrison at all, but the Army’s CO was assassinated and the Admiral has so far neglected to produce a replacement. From what he was saying, the Admiral has interfered so much in the operations on the ground that morale is shattered, even in the Marines.”

He scowled. “As best as I understand it, there are factions back home that believe that the Theocracy doesn't want a war,” he said. Kat nodded. The Admiral had said much the same to her. “They used their influence to ensure that Admiral Williams, who had some reason for wanting to leave Avalon, was posted out here as CO of Cadiz Station – and effective Governor of Cadiz.”

“Ever since the last one got assassinated,” the XO said.

“There seems to have been a shortage of volunteers for the post,” Bone agreed. “For what it’s worth, no one seems to believe that the Admiral has been...compromised by the Theocracy, but he’s been sent out here to ensure that we don’t do anything they could object to and if that means bending over backwards and sticking his head up his own ass to make sure he doesn't see anything that would contradict their position, that’s what he’s going to do.”

He shrugged. “Besides, why would the Admiral want to rock the boat? He has a great position here, a chance to collect kickbacks and bribes – hell, good Ambassadors and Governors find ways to profit from their positions all the time. You must admit that he’s been damn good at carrying out his mandate...”

“No he ****ing hasn’t,” Kat snapped. She thumped the table angrily, wishing that she’d picked up a taste for drinking, or quasi-legal drugs. A few hours out of her mind sounded very attractive right now. “His mandate is to defend the Commonwealth and he’s completely ****ing failing at that, isn’t he? How highly would you rate the fleet’s chances if the Theocracy came over the border today?”

“Poorly,” the XO said. He hesitated, and then took the plunge. “I’ve been talking to a few other friends in the fleet. The picture doesn't look much better on any of the battleships, or the carriers. Training has been cut back sharply, starfighter pilots aren’t getting their mandatory forty hours minimum of flight time per week and the Admiral’s lackeys insist on having all paperwork filled out in triplicate before they lower themselves to dispatching consignments of spare parts. Some of the people I know have identified others who are clearly on the take, but the IG here appears to be moribund. No one else has the authority to question the Admiral, let alone suspend him from duty for gross incompetence.”

Kat nodded, sourly. There were certain circumstances where a senior officer could be relieved of duty, but none of them seemed to apply. The Admiral hadn't ordered her to abuse prisoners, bombard population centres for no tactical reason or any of the handful of other reasons regulations considered acceptable. And unless her reasons were utterly ironclad, her career wouldn't survive the fallout either. And that would mean...

She pushed the thought aside. “Mr. XO, I want you to speak to your friends,” she said. “Tell them about the Lotus Blossom and warn them that the Theocracy may be considering an attack within the next two standard weeks. Whatever training and preparation they can make before then may make the difference between victory or defeat.”

“Maybe,” the XO said. “And what if the Admiral forbids additional training outright?”

Kat grinned. “And then there would be grounds to file a report with Avalon,” she said. She doubted it would come to that. The Admiral’s style didn’t seem to be direct orders, more a sort of quiet erosion of everything that made the RAN an effective fighting force. Kat had no illusions about how much could be done in two weeks – a figure she’d effectively pulled out of her ass – but it would make things interesting. Besides, any supply officers who were selling off naval supplies in the certain knowledge that they wouldn't be needed at Cadiz would be in for a very unpleasant surprise. “Greg, can you pass on a similar warning to the Marines?”

“Yes,” Bone said. “Are you sure...?”

“Yes,” Kat said. Her family could be made to work for her for once. The Admiral wouldn't dare to relieve her of command, knowing that it would shine a spotlight on his own failings, if not outright corruption. But that wasn't the real danger. The real danger was him finding someone to serve as a whipping boy, someone like her XO. “Do it.”

Once they were both gone, Kat sat down in front of her terminal and carefully disconnected it from the ship’s datanet. It was technically against regulations, but officers and crew in search of a little privacy did it all the time. From her time as an XO, Kat knew that it mostly happened when a crewman wanted to look at his pornographic stash or write love letters to his wife or girlfriend, hardly a major problem. Once it was separate, she opened her safe and produced the datachip she’d been given and slotted it into the terminal. It insisted on checking her fingerprints, implanted ID and retinas before it unlocked and allowed her access to the encryption program. Knowing her father, if anyone else had tried to use it the results would have been disastrous for their terminal.

She hesitated, knowing that she was about to cross her own personal Rubicon. Ever since she’d enlisted, she’d tried to avoid using her family’s influence to promote her career. And her father, caring nothing for her own personal preferences, had ensured that she received a fine command sooner than she should have been offered command. It had damaged her standing in the eyes of her comrades, but what she was about to do was worse. If it became public, the RAN would know her to be a whistle-blower, a sneak, a tattletale...and no one would ever trust her again. It wouldn't matter that the Admiral was risking the security of the entire Commonwealth, or that there was no other way to bring matters to Avalon’s attention, not when so many emotions were involved. Her career might survive, but her chances of being accepted by her peers would be lost forever.

“Father,” she said, finally. “Everything is not well on Cadiz Station.”

***​

“It was a miracle,” the Cleric said. “God has truly blinded and deafened the infidels.”

Captain Junayd allowed the Cleric his glee, even though he wouldn't celebrate himself until the Lotus Blossom had crossed the border and was safely back in Theocratic space. It was quite possible that the infidel Admiral was playing a cunning game, allowing the spy ship to make its observations before intercepting and destroying it in hyperspace, where no trace of the vessel would ever be found. Junayd knew the reasoning back home; better to list the crew of the ship as martyrs than risk the infidels stirring from their slumber. He knew exactly what he would have done if he’d been confronted with a spy ship from the Commonwealth and he couldn't believe his luck. The Theocracy’s motto echoed through his mind – God helps those who help themselves – and he scowled. A gift from God could be a two-edged sword.

“So it would seem,” he said. Their active sensors remained offline – the infidels could hardly fail to notice them – but their passive sensors were drinking in everything around them, as well as using tightbeam lasers to signal operatives already on the surface. Data was flowing into the ship’s secure databases for analysis back home, allowing him to refine his attack plans.

“I will lead the crew in offering thanks tonight,” the Cleric said. He wasn't a bad sort, really, not compared to the fire and brimstone Clerics assigned to the battleships. At least he had the sense to let the Captain do his job, rather than insist that he – as the senior representative of the Theocracy onboard – had the final say. “The infidels have no idea what we are.”

“They do,” Junayd contradicted. At least they had been allowed liberty on the orbital stations, although in their place he would have had his crew carefully watched. A copy of their data would be passed to another operative on one of the civilian craft, just in case Lotus Blossom never made it home. “And don’t forget that infidels can be tough fighters.”

His ultimate superior had worried, but accepted his decision. Coming so far from the Theocracy had been an act of bravado more than anything else, but it had allowed him to get a feel for the infidel fleet. It was weak, commanded by an idiot who couldn't recognise a spy ship when it was right in front of him. Perhaps the Cleric was right and God had blinded the infidels to the looming danger...

And Captain Junayd, who was really Admiral Junayd of the Theocratic Navy, smiled.

 

Chapter Sixteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

The founders of Avalon had not intended the monarchy to be anything more than a constitutional arrangement to gain the UN’s approval for their founding charter. As such things tended to do, the monarchy had grown in power over the following century as Avalon started preparing a defence force out of fear that the UN would invade and turn the planet into yet another dumping ground for Earth’s unwanted population. By the time of the Breakaway Wars, the Monarchy and the Assembly had managed to sideline the big corporations, although they still maintained a considerable level of influence over the government. It was an uneasy balancing act that had worked for over a century, one that allowed each faction to prosper without crushing the other two. And it had prevented civil war.

Aware that their monarchy was not intended to be anything other than pomp and circumstance, the designers of Camelot Palace had reached into the past and copied a palace from Old Earth. The original had been moved brick-by-brick to Albion as the UN started to assume control of Earth, but the designers of Camelot Palace had been able to study it and improve upon the design with modern materials. Their palace was more than just the residence of the monarch and his family. It was the centre of government for Avalon and even though the Commonwealth had offices scattered over twenty-four planets, remained the public seat of government. Some cynics had claimed that the true purpose of the monarch was to take the blame when things went wrong, but they were missing the point. There were times when a single authority was required and then, when the crisis was already out of control, was when the monarchy came into its own.

Prime Minster Bruno Lombardi, Leader of the Conservative Party, strode through the side doors of Camelot Palace and allowed a uniformed usher to escort him down a flight of stairs that were never included in any of the public tours. An unsmiling pair of guards ran sensors over him before relieving him of his pistol and wristcom, despite his pro forma objections. Government buildings were the one set of places on Avalon where there was no right to bear arms, even for the Prime Minister. Political debates tended to get exciting enough without the addition of loaded weapons to the discussion, or at least that was the official reasoning presented to the public. The truth was, as always, more mundane. No one wanted to see a second monarch assassinated while on the throne.

Scowling, he checked his appearance in the mirror and rearranged his clothes. The guards had been through, as always, and it took several minutes to straighten out his stiffly formal suit and shirt before he brushed his gray hair back into a ponytail. It was the one show of elegance he permitted himself; the Conservatives stood for stability and opposed change and innovation on principle. Bruno allowed himself a tight smile as he stepped back and allowed his guide to escort him to the elevator. The Conservatives were conservatives because the current balance of power suited them very well and change might have put an end to their comfortable lives. Bruno had been in politics for most of his adult life and he intended to remain in the Assembly for decades to come. And that meant that he had to satisfy his constituents.

Few outside the Government knew that there was a set of underground bunkers five miles below Camelot, or that a network of underground passageways and elevators allowed the government class to move underground and continue their work even if Camelot itself were to be destroyed. Bruno knew, as a matter of course, that anything could happen to Avalon and if something did happen, the government would need to survive. Other governments might hesitate before slaughtering civilians in large numbers – if only because of the certainty of retaliation – but terrorists wouldn't hesitate to detonate nuclear weapons on the planet’s surface. It had happened on Earth, during the Wreaker War, the war had had paved the way for the UN’s global dictatorship. And, far from incidentally, provided the stimulus for massive expansion into space.

The elevator came to a halt and a blast of cold air caught him in the face as the doors opened, revealing a featureless corridor without any of the paintings or artworks that adorned the Palace aboveground. His implants reported a single network processor downloading information into his skull, but he ignored them. He knew the way to the Privy Council’s private chamber. To be summoned to the Privy Council was a great honour and, to his silent pride, Bruno had been a member long before becoming Prime Minister. It proved that he was someone the King felt that he could work with, even if they were often in disagreement.

An armoured door hissed open ahead of him, revealing a conference room that wouldn't have been out of place in any medium-sized office block. It was dominated by a single wooden table, with a slightly raised seat at one end, and a set of military-grade holographic projectors. A drinks cabinet sat against one gray wall; the remaining walls were unadorned, save only for a portrait of King Thomas I glaring down at his successors. He’d been a placeholder for the colony’s original founders and hadn't lived long enough to see his title become more than a meaningless formality.

Bruno strode into the room and nodded to the handful who had reached the bunker ahead of him. The Privy Council’s membership was determined by the King and it tended to vary, although once one was a member it was not done under the unwritten parts of the constitution to exclude one from meetings. Privy Councillors who were no longer wanted were generally invited to leave, with the invitation made a great deal firmer if they refused to leave gracefully. The best that could be said about the system was that it worked, mostly.

He nodded politely to Lucas Falcone as the magnate took his position. The CEO of one of the big corporations wielded more political clout than almost all of his fellow councillors; luckily, he was a natural supporter of the Conservative Party, along with most of his fellows. There was no rule restricting Privy Council membership to the Assembly, after all, and it included the Grand Admiral as well as anyone else the King saw fit to invite. A handful of councillors even dated back to the previous monarch, their positions unchallenged by the new King.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” a voice announced, “His Majesty The King.”

Bruno rose to his feet as the second pair of doors hissed open, revealing King Thomas V of Avalon. The King was almost as young as he looked, with short dark hair, an elegant rather than handsome face and a pose that spoke of true confidence. It wasn't misplaced either; tradition dictated that the monarch’s children went to the military and Thomas had served in the Royal Avalon Marine Corps with distinction. He hadn't been able to turn it into a career – the Heir had too many duties on Avalon to remain in the service – but it had made him a man, one who would have had a fine career as Prince of Avalon if his father hadn't died early. And now he was the King, to whom all swore allegiance.

“Gentlemen and ladies, be seated,” the King said, as he sat in the raised chair. It was the one concession to his position. “Thank you all for coming at such short notice.”

Bruno nodded, graciously. Inside, he was fuming – and he knew that others would be feeling the same way. There had been no indication as to the reason for the meeting, and yet he knew that the King, young as he was, wouldn't have irritated so many powerful people by summoning them on a lark. Something was up and yet none of his sources had been able to give him any clue as to why the King felt that summoning the council was necessary. There would have to be a house-cleaning, he told himself firmly. He hadn't invested so much time, money and political patronage in his sources to have them go silent when he needed them.

“We have received a disturbing report from Cadiz,” the King said, once they were all settled. He never wasted time with small talk, something that Bruno largely appreciated. The Privy Council was no place to chat about whose son was going to marry whose daughter, or about the latest scandal from the lower levels of High Society. “In a way, we have received two disturbing reports from Cadiz. The second report was only implied.”

He tapped the embedded console in front of his position and the holographic display came to life. “Admiral?”

Grand Admiral Constance Cinnabar, a tall striking woman with long brown hair and an expression of grim determination nodded. As the uniformed head of the Royal Avalon Navy – subordinate only to their Commander-in-Chief, the King – she bore the ultimate responsibility for both the RAN and Cadiz itself. Bruno scowled at the memory. The Conservatives had opposed annexing the planet, noting that they had few friends on the planet’s surface and would find themselves mired in a quagmire. They’d been proved right; Cadiz had been worthless to the Commonwealth, with the most optimistic predictions suggesting that it would be at least another twenty years before it broke even.

“A week ago, the heavy cruiser Lightning exchanged convoys with a Theocracy vessel,” Constance said. “This is standard procedure. The Theocracy patrols its borders heavily and uninvited ships are generally intercepted and arrested. As you may have heard, we have been often unsuccessful in convincing the Theocracy to release captured spacers. The Lightning’s Captain ordered the Theocracy’s cargo ships searched while they were returning to Cadiz. What they found was rather alarming.”

She tapped a key on her own console and Bruno’s implant reported that the report had been downloaded into his secure memory store. “The short version is that one of the ships, the Lotus Blossom, was outfitted as a spy ship. A cursory search would not have identified it, but the Lightning’s Captain insisted on a careful examination of all the ships and discovered its true nature. Worse, the ship’s crew was obviously military – and some of them were almost certainly intending to sneak down onto Cadiz and join up with other operatives on the surface.”

There was a long pause. Bruno considered, rapidly. The King had inherited his father’s fears about the Theocracy, to the point where he had put all of his considerable power and resources behind military preparations for war. It was testing the limits of Avalon’s written and unwritten constitutions to the limit, with some elements of the Conservative Party fearing the consequences of an unbridled military expansion and other political parties convinced that there was no threat from the Theocracy. Bruno himself was less sanguine. The reports from the refugees were alarming – and there was no denying that the Theocracy simply wasn't acting like a friendly power. It had refused joint patrols along the border, treaties of mutual assistance in case of disaster; it hadn't even joined the hyperspace monitoring watch that charted storms within hyperspace.

“That isn't the worst of it,” the Admiral added, after a moment. “This report came to us through...an unexpected source. Admiral Williams declined to recognise the spy ship for what it really was and ordered it released. We would have had no idea of what had happened without this report.”

Bruno felt his eyes narrow. “Who forwarded us this report?”

“Classified,” the King said, flatly. His tone made it clear that it was not up for debate. “Suffice it to say that we have every confidence that the report’s writer is not attempting to exaggerate the scale of the problem.”

“It would appear that 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet is far from ready for war,” Constance said. Her voice was tightly controlled, but Bruno could hear the simmering anger underlying her tone. She was the one with ultimate responsibility for the RAN and any problems reflected badly on her and her administration. There were no shortage of political leaders who wouldn't hesitate to point the finger at her, if only to cover their own mistakes. “The full report is in your implants, but the summery is that the fleet is not prepared, morale is low, the Admiral is not showing any true leadership and in fact is spending most of his time partying.”

Bruno winced. Admiral Buck Williams had been a fairly competent administrator during his stint at Merlin Base, while his wife had been little more than a contemptible social climber, desperately trying to push her way into social strata high above her station. Her sons had been marriage chips for her climb, but they’d been spoiled and never taught the discipline they would need as adults. There had been a nasty incident, Bruno knew, and while it had been hushed up afterwards, it had been expedient for the Admiral and his family to leave Avalon for a few years. High Society had a very short collective memory.

The King, in theory, had sole control over the appointment of senior military officers. In practice, the Assembly paid half of the bills for the military – the RAN alone was a black hole sucking up billions of pounds every year – and had a large say over who got promoted to what and who got stationed to where. Several factions at Court and Assembly had found themselves in alliance, with Admiral Williams suddenly branded the perfect man to take command at Cadiz. The King had agreed with bad grace, hoping that the Army CO would be able to compensate for Admiral William’s languor. And then he’d had the colossal stroke of bad luck that the Army CO had been assassinated and the Assembly was stalling on naming a replacement. The Marine who had taken over while waiting for a new General didn't have the seniority to force through change and reform, even though it was desperately needed.

“We are left with a serious problem,” the King said, flatly. Only his gaze revealed his anger. “The Theocracy is planning to attack. And we are not ready.”

“ONI is divided on the question,” Constance admitted. “One school of thought says that the Theocracy is still laying the groundwork for an invasion; the second says that we can expect an invasion at any time up to a month from now. Even the most optimistic believe that we will be at war within five years – and frankly that seems unrealistically optimistic to me. I suspect that we will be at war within the year.”

One of the other Assemblymen snorted. “But wouldn't you detect their preparations for war?”

“All they would have to do is stage their forces some distance from the border,” the Admiral said, patiently. Bruno admired her restraint. The urge to lecture a civilian on the nature of naval combat must have been overwhelming. “We will not receive any warning of their advance until they cross the border, and then only if we’re very lucky. With some care, they could ensure that the first warning we get is when they open hyperspace vortexes within the Cadiz System itself. And by then it will be too late.”

Her gaze moved across the room. “We need to remove Admiral Williams, now,” she said, coldly. “Whatever political justifications existed for allowing him to remain in command can no longer apply.”

Bruno hadn't served in the Assembly for decades without developing an ability to read the political winds. “That won’t be possible,” he admitted. “The moment we push to relieve the Admiral, the Admiral’s supporters in the Assembly will move to oppose it. We would end up with a political catfight at the worst possible moment. Nothing would be done because the factions would be scrabbling over a little Admiral.”

The King frowned. “Even if we brief them personally?”

“It would leak,” Bruno said, flatly. Whoever had sent the report had risked their career – and perhaps their freedom, depending on where the pieces fell at the end of the political struggle. “Right now, his supporters are convinced that he’s doing exactly what they want him to do. They won’t let him be relieved without a fight.”

“Then send in a team from the IG,” someone else proposed. “What the hell have they been doing out there anyway? They’ve been known to rap officers on the knuckles merely for ordering more goddamned paperwork than they needed, so why haven’t they revealed this moron’s actions?”

“Politics,” Constance said, shortly.

The King leaned forward. “Send a team of IG inspectors from Avalon under some cover story,” he ordered. “Tell the Admiral that there’s been a report of some corruption in the gas giant mines or something, anything that won’t make him cut and run home to his protectors. They can come up with a proper report we can use as leverage at the right time...”

He hesitated. “I wish I could send you out there,” he added. Bruno had to admit that it would have worked. The Grand Admiral was senior to Williams, damn the bastard’s eyes. She’d be in command merely by being there...or would she? The Navy’s formalities often puzzled him. “Have...Commodore Christian and his squadron moved to somewhere near the blasted System – run him a promotion to Vice Admiral now, before the **** hits the fan. God knows he deserves it.”

Constance nodded. “If they do come over the border...”

“Christian will have specific orders to relieve Williams, if we can't lay the political groundwork for getting rid of him,” the King said. “There will be something we can use as political leverage against his supporters, something to make them cut him loose. We just have to find it.”

He paused. “And pass a classified update to all the other station chiefs,” he added. “Let them know that we could be at war within the week.”

 

Chapter Seventeen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“Captain, the Admiral’s messenger boy has arrived.”

Kat scowled as she checked the console. The Admiral had kept them idling in orbit over the last week, leaving Kat to wonder if someone in the StarCom network had alerted him to the fact she’d sent a heavily-encrypted message to Avalon. Her father’s programmers would have made it tricky to identify either the source or the destination, but ONI had immense levels of computer processor power at its disposal and an understandable interest in any encrypted message from Cadiz. And now the Admiral had sent his young Ensign to deliver a message. It didn't bode well.

“Have him report to my office,” Kat ordered, standing up. She’d kept the crew running exercises and drills, on the theory that if the Admiral relieved her of command her successor would have a tight ship. Shore leave was still a major problem, but the XO had dealt with it by organising a handful of trips down to the secure zones on the surface of Cadiz. It was a poor reward for good service, but the last thing she wanted was to have some of her crew kidnapped by the insurgents. Not all of their victims survived the experience. “You have the bridge.”

The Ensign was the same overly-keen young man she’d met before, holding the same kind of envelope. Kat opened it slowly, hoping that it would be orders to chase pirates, escort a convoy or even patrol the border. Instead, it was a formal invitation to a party on the surface of Cadiz, several miles from New Barcelona. The Admiral, it seemed, owned a summer house on the shores of the ocean and was holding a party there in two days, a chance for Kat to meet the movers and shakers in the makeshift government. Kat’s first response was to refuse the invitation, but then she thought better of it. Perhaps there would be people there she could raise the issue of the Lotus Blossom with, before it returned to the Theocracy. The spy ship was scheduled to leave in two days and, despite placing an official request, the Admiral had refused to allow Lightning to escort her back home.

“Please inform the Admiral that I will attend,” she said, reluctantly. Had the poor boy thought that his naval career would become nothing more than serving as the Admiral’s messenger boy? It was silly; a single message could be beamed from ship to ship far quicker than even a starfighter, let alone a shuttle. Like any others she knew on Avalon, the Admiral was underlining his own importance by using human servants, a touch that annoyed Kat far more than impressed her. At least her crew had volunteered to serve in the RAN. “I’ll be down on the surface soon enough.”

The Admiral had only given her several hours to prepare, something that struck her as odd. After all, her mother would have announced any party of hers a month in advance, just to make sure that her guests had time to clear their engagement books, buy new clothes, have their hair done and still be fashionably late. Kat recalled one of the few parties she'd actually enjoyed, where two of the guests had worn the same dress from a supposedly exclusive fashion house. They’d ended up fighting each other while the rest of the guests looked on and laughed. Her mother had been rather less amused.

She grinned. If he thought he was making her panic by forcing her to rush to get organised, he didn't know her very well. She might not be able to wear her uniform to the party – she had a feeling that that would have been a bad move – but she was hardly going to waste time getting dressed. The thought of cadets spending hours getting ready at Piker’s Peak was amusing; besides, she only had one dress with her, a long black outfit that set off her hair and figure. It wasn't something she could wear on the ship – her authority would be destroyed – but she could wear it down on the planet’s surface. Her hair, thanks to her mother’s genetic engineering, didn't need much in the way of preparation. All she really needed was a shower and a quick meal. The last time she’d been dragged to a party, the host had been trying to slim down by eating less and there had been almost nothing to eat. Quite why she hadn't been in for body sculpting was beyond Kat, but she hadn’t asked. By then, all she’d wanted to do was leave as soon as possible.

After a brief check with the XO to ensure that Lightning would be in safe hands, she walked down to the shuttlebay and ordered a flight down to the planet’s surface, carrying her bag in one hand. The shuttle pilot saluted as soon as he saw her and powered up the engines, taking them out of Lightning and down towards the blue-green world below them. Kat saw, on the orbital monitor, one of the civilian stations where the Lotus Blossom was docked and ground her teeth in silent rage. The Admiral had probably refused Kat permission to escort the ship back to its home out of fear that she would take the opportunity to ensure that the spy ship suffered an accident on its way home. As if that would be possible without disappearing the entire convoy, she thought sourly. She could only ensure that the ship’s computers were wiped, after copying the data they’d collected for the Admiral’s court-martial.

This time, the ride down to the planet’s surface was surprisingly peaceful. The spaceport was still surrounded by armed soldiers, ready to repel any offensive, but the insurgents had clearly decided not to come out and play as night was falling. Kat had heard that the occupying soldiers had a clear advantage in operations at night – their visors and combat suits allowed them to see in the dark, like cats – and that the insurgents tended to limit their activities after night fell, apart from a handful of mortar rounds from automated mortars. They wouldn't want the occupying forces to get overconfident, after all.

Jade met her at the spaceport and invited her to the Admiral’s vehicle, still heavily armoured against attack. Chatting about nothing, she closed the vehcile’s doors and nodded to the driver to take them out of the city, up to the summer house. Kat watched as the armed and armoured soldiers gathered around the vehicle just before it lurched into life and headed out of the spaceport, into the city. New Barcelona looked weird as night fell; unlike any other city Kat had seen, it was dim and barely illuminated after dark. There were few powered lights of any kind, apart from a handful set up by the Commonwealth’s occupation forces.

“Bucky had to punish them for supporting the insurgents,” Jade explained, when Kat asked about the shortage of power. It wasn't as if setting up a fusion reactor was a complicated task. They could simply have pulled one out of a freighter if they had had no other choice, but they should have been able to order one from Avalon if the local industry wasn't up to producing a reactor. “So they have no power from dusk till dawn until they produce the bastards and stop supporting them.”

Kat was appalled. “Are you saying that they have no power at all?”

“None,” Jade confirmed. “The lights here are powered by power cells we provided for our own use.”

“What about the hospitals?” Kat demanded. The whole concept of collective punishment appalled her, although she might consider applying it to the Admiral’s staff. “How can they tend to patients without power?”

Jade shrugged. “That’s not our problem,” she said. “The only two hospitals in the city are actually on the outskirts and run by the Church. They’re not bad places, but they have a habit of turning away people they feel are insufficiently religious for their tastes. No sexual health clinics, no contraception and no abortion. These people don’t even get the nanites packages that are provided to every citizen back home, free of charge.”

Kat felt genuinely shocked. Avalon didn't provide free health care for its citizens, but most common problems could be avoided through a simple injection of nanites at birth. It was common sense; if diseases couldn't set their hooks in bodies, the diseases would have no way to spread. Most of humanity’s problems no longer existed on Avalon – and the handful of non-Earth diseases that had proved capable of moving from their native biospheres to humanity had been stopped in their tracks. Even the UN had issued nanites swarms free of charge, at least to those willing to leave Earth and settle elsewhere. Earth’s teeming billions would have multiplied rapidly if disease had no longer been a factor.

She turned to stare out of the window as the vehicle drove out of the city and headed up into the hills. Like most planets, Cadiz would have received the full package of Earth-native plants and animals from the survey team when they discovered the planet, forcing the native biosphere into competition with elements from the only known world to develop an intelligent form of life. There were those – and not just in the Theocracy – that believed that humanity’s unique status was a sign of divine favour, although Kat wasn't so sure. Cadiz seemed to suggest that humanity did nothing to deserve divine favour. She looked out upon the fields of corn and wheat that fed the cities and scowled. It was easy to see where the native plants were still struggling against the immigrants.

There were non-Earth plants and animals that were impossible to eat without becoming sick, or simply gaining no nutritional benefit from eating, but a handful had entered humanity’s collective palate. Indeed, there was a grape-like crop grown on Abdullah that produced a remarkable wine when cut down, trampled and allowed to ferment. The Theocracy had no qualms over selling it to infidels, even though the locals weren't allowed to drink it themselves. So far, all attempts to cultivate it outside the Theocracy had failed.

Shaking her head, Kat changed quickly into the black dress. Out of habit, she transferred her weapons into the dress, although she doubted that she would be allowed to keep them. She considered the high heels for a long moment – she hated them at the best of times – before reluctantly placing them on her feet. Jade whistled as Kat studied herself in the mirror, cursing under her breath. She looked like just another empty-headed socialite whose life was spend partying all day and night.

“Here we are,” Jade said, as the vehicle turned into a half-hidden driveway that led up to a mansion finer – if that were possible – than the one back in the city. “The Summer Palace. It was built by the leader of one of the factions here before the planet collapsed into civil war; Bucky had it renovated as a place for him to relax and forget his cares.”

Kat scowled as she took in the sight. Unlike the city mansion, the Summer Palace was almost beautiful. It was made from white stone and illuminated by spotlights, casting a faintly unreal glow over the entire edifice. Servants – native servants, she realised with some surprise – were everywhere, greeting guests and inviting them through the big double doors into the ballroom. Kat suspected that most of the great and good of Cadiz would be visiting, although most of them would probably be fashionably late. The thought made her roll her eyes. She’d had a chance to skim through Marine counter-insurgency doctrine and most of it focused on living with the people, not sealed away from them. But if she was right about the identity of some of the Admiral’s backers, they were the ones who believed that annexing Cadiz had been a terrible mistake. A bloody catastrophe that forced the pro-annexation factions to back down and abandon the planet would work in their favour.

The thought should have shocked her, but it didn’t. Her mother showed a complete lack of concern for anyone not lucky enough to be born into High Society – and often little for anyone who was too low in High Society. And she was far from the worst. Some of the socialites who came from long lines of socialites didn't even see people outside of High Society as human. The entire garrison on Cadiz could be slaughtered and they wouldn't do more than raise an eyebrow, if that. For a moment, she understood why they’d selected Admiral Williams to serve as their agent on Cadiz. They were so insulated from reality that they couldn't even begin to imagine the consequences of defeat if the Theocracy invaded. Not even the example of every other planetary ruling class defeated by the Theocracy – eliminated, along with their families and friends – could sway their minds.

“Come on,” Jade said, as she jumped out of the vehicle and waited for Kat to jump down beside her. It was impossible in high heels and she had to climb down carefully, wobbling a little as she stepped down onto the ground. “Let’s go meet the guests.”

The Admiral, it seemed, was going to be very fashionably late. Kat didn’t miss him; after sending a letter to her father, she wasn't keen to hear what the Admiral had to say about it. If, of course, he was even aware she’d sent it. The Admiral’s wife, two of his children and several of his closest friends greeted her as she entered, while Valentine saw her coming and headed off in the other direction sharply. Kat almost smiled, realising that she might enjoy herself after all. The Admiral’s brat had probably never encountered a woman who could and would say ‘no’ to him before. Dunking him in the lake had probably done him a whole world of good.

Jade introduced her to a number of guests, all important and clearly supporters of the Admiral. Kat wasn't too impressed. It struck her as a copy of High Society on Avalon, with Old Money in one corner, Industrialists in another and peers wandering between the two, chatting away about nothing. The Admiral’s wife, Jade told her, was a patron of the arts on Cadiz and was funding several hundred poets, artists and musicians, some of whom were attending the Summer Palace to show off their talents. Kat saw one picture – a portrait of the Admiral himself in full dress uniform – and had to fight to conceal her smile. The artist had definite talent; he’d captured the Admiral perfectly, right down to the indolent smile.

“Ah, young Lopez,” the Admiral’s wife said. Kat winced. Her voice was as penetrating as always, even when she tried to whisper. “Such a promising young man. I believe that his works could be displayed even in Camelot Palace itself.”

“You should send that portrait back to Avalon,” Kat said, sincerely. “It captures your husband perfectly.”

“Of course it does,” Annette agreed. She seemed unaware of Kat’s quiet amusement. The portrait might convince a few Assemblymen who were sitting on the fence to swing around and vote to recall the Admiral. “He’s also painted myself, wearing a white dress, and my sons. I’m keeping that one for myself so that I can remember them as children when I am in my dotage.”

Kat fought down a grin. The Admiral’s children were grown adults, yet they’d never been treated as adults – or, for that matter, forced to handle adult obligations. It was hardly an uncommon problem in High Society, Kat knew; three of her sisters were just as empty-headed as the Admiral’s children, while a fourth was solely concerned with building up an impregnable position in High Society. Rumour had it that she'd even attempted to bed the King himself, or convince her to marry him.

Annette marched her around the ballroom, introducing her to some of the more important guests. Jade had introduced her to some of them already, but Kat couldn't think of a way of pointing that out without being ruder than she wanted to be. Some of the guests bowed and scraped in front of Annette, others seemed merely amused. And none of them, Kat realised, were anyone she wanted to know. She seemed to be the only starship commander invited to the ball.

She took a glass of wine from one of the servants – a native girl with light brown skin, wearing a dress that showed off her chest and legs to best advantage – and sipped it, barely listening to Annette’s chatter about how wonderful some of her relatives were and how much they needed a proper wife. There were hundreds of native servants at the Summer Palace, Kat realised in surprise, moving from person to person with drinks and snacks. She wondered absently how they must feel, before realising that they would be grateful for any kind of job. As long as their fellows never realised that they worked for the occupiers, they would probably be safe – and wealthy, insofar as wealth meant anything on Cadiz.

The hours ticked by slowly and there was still no sign of the Admiral. Kat, bored, allowed herself to wander through the palace, noting a handful of occupied bedrooms before heading back down into the ballroom. By long-standing convention, no one could leave until the host had arrived – and the Admiral was taking his time. She was just debating the pros and cons of a third glass of wine when the entire building shook, sending several of the older guests crashing to the floor. Kat reached for her pistol instinctively, before realising that drawing it would panic the guests still further. That had been an explosion...!

Annette was just opening her mouth when the doors burst open and armed men piled into the room. “Nobody move,” a voice bellowed. A young man from one of the better families moved and was shot down for his pains, his brains blown out all over the floor. “You are our prisoners! Put your hands in the air, right now!”

Kat reluctantly complied. Mentally, she triggered her implant’s emergency signal. Help would be on the way...if it could arrive in time. The chances were that the insurgents intended to kill them all.

No, she told herself firmly. It isn't going to end like this.

 

Chapter Eighteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“All right,” the leader of the insurgents said. “I want men over here, in the dining room.”

Kat watched as the lords and masters of Cadiz shuffled towards the dining room, keeping their hands in the air. Several looked pale, others angry...and some as if they didn't quite believe what was happening to them. Kat could see how it had happened, even if they didn't understand it; they’d allowed native servants to work at the Palace and, at the right time, the servants had allowed the insurgents into the building. She hadn’t see any soldiers on duty outside, as if the Admiral had expected that no insurgents would risk an attack so far from the city,

She studied the insurgents with interest, taking care to keep her expression as blank and helpless as possible. They were all young men, their faces masked beneath black hoods, a wise precaution when the Admiral would hardly let this insult to his position go unanswered or unpunished. The leader seemed to be a few years older than the rest, although it was impossible to make out his face under the mask. His eyes darted from woman to woman, although he didn't look to be picking out the prettiest ones for himself. It was more as if he were checking who he’d bagged and counting up their value as hostages.

Kat had never had to deal with a hostage situation before, but Bone had and he’d told her something of the problems Marines faced in resolving them. The first few hours were always the most dangerous for both hostage-takers and the hostages themselves. It was going to be worse here, she realised, because they’d taken hundreds of hostages and they couldn't hope to get them all into hiding by the time someone outside the building realised that something was badly wrong. Even if Kat hadn't sent the emergency signal, the **** was still going to hit the fan very soon. And that meant that the insurgents would be likely to barricade themselves into the Summer Palace and turn the crisis into an opportunity to spread their word far and wide.

None of the insurgents looked as if they had any real military experience, but they held their guns as if they knew how to use them. That precise design of assault rifle had been in service since before the Breakaway Wars, if Kat recalled correctly, and it was renowned for being almost foolproof. It might not be as versatile as the latest weapons produced for the Marine Corps, but in the hands of someone with a few hours training it would be a deadly weapon. And it was so easy to produce that there were probably underground factories on Cadiz stamping them out by the bucket load. Any nanotech fabricator could assemble them without the need for serious reprogramming.

She watched as the last of the male hostages were escorted into the dining room, where their hands and legs were bound with plastic ties. That was a standard precaution in any siege, she knew, and it confirmed her earlier thought that the insurgents intended to stage a spectacular for the entire planet, if not the entire Commonwealth. They might behead the male hostages one by one, or they might simply use their helplessness to convince the rest of the population to rise up against the occupiers. She suspected that it would be impossible to reason with them; if they’d trapped themselves deliberately, they would have to be prepared to die for their cause.

“Older women, in there,” the leader ordered. Annette marched forward with icy dignity, as if the insurgents were her servants rather than her captors, and strode into the side room. It struck Kat, in a blinding flash of inspiration, that they didn't know who she was, let alone her rank. The black dress made her look younger than her age – and her mother’s engineering had ensured that she would look like a teenager until she was forty, if not older. They’d mistaken her for one of the kids! The thought was humiliating, but it also worked in her favour. They would underestimate children and give her the chance to find a way to hit back. Her pistol was suddenly a heavy weight against her waist. If they forced the women to strip down, they would find it and then start asking questions.

“Younger women, follow me,” the leader finished, and led the way into a smaller banquet hall. The Summer Palace had no fewer than nine dining halls, some clearly intended for smaller parties than others. He snatched wristcom units from their wrists as they passed; Kat offered no resistance as he took his, praying that he wouldn’t look at it too closely. “Sit against the wall and keep your hands on your heads. You won’t be hurt as long as you obey orders and say nothing.”

Kat could hear sniffling from several of the younger girls – and from one who looked older than Kat’s actual age. She couldn't blame them, even though she detested what a combination of upbringing and laziness had made them. They’d probably never been threatened by anything as severe as a telling off before, let alone any of the more imaginative punishments at Piker’s Peak. She glanced at a girl who was as young as she looked – nine years old, at least two years from puberty – and winced inwardly. The girl’s long white dress was already streaked with tears.

“Don’t worry,” she said, softly. The girl looked up at her, hopefully. Kat couldn't even remember who she was, or why she had been at the party. She seemed too young to have been invited by the Admiral’s wife, unless her parents were very important indeed. “Everything is going to be fine.”

The insurgent leader rounded on her, jamming his gun into her mouth. “And who gave you permission to speak?”

It would have been terrifying if Kat hadn't gone through Piker’s Peak. “She needed reassurance,” Kat said, lowing her eyes. Playing the damsel in distress didn't please her, but there was no other choice. “Please let me comfort the younger ones. They’ve never been so scared before in their entire lives.”

“And how do you think my children felt when they were gunned down by one of your goddamned soldiers?” The insurgent demanded. “How do you think my aunt felt when she was strip-searched in the middle of the street? How do you think my brother felt when he lost his son to one of your helicopter raids?”

Kat said nothing. “Fine, comfort the little bitches,” the insurgent snarled. “But make sure they know that if they cause any trouble, I’ll have them tied to the chairs and gagged!”

He stormed off, leaving Kat to whisper words of comfort to the quivering girls. She watched, out of the corner of her eye, as the insurgents detailed two of their men to watch the girls, but otherwise left them alone. Kat didn't understand their dialect of Spanish, but her implant threw up a number of possible translations, suggesting that the two guards had been warned not to amuse themselves with the girls. That was a relief, at least, even though it suggested that the insurgent group was better organised and disciplined than Kat would have preferred.

An hour passed very slowly. She listened carefully, but she could hear nothing over the whimpering from some of the girls. A handful needed the toilet and were escorted there by one of the guards, reporting when they returned that the guards had watched them as they did their business. Kat wasn’t too surprised. The insurgents knew that they were heavily outnumbered by their hostages and the only way they could keep control was by watching the prisoners at all times and greeting any defiance with maximum force. Kat was surprised that they hadn't tied up the girls as well, although it fitted in with the planet’s ethos. Women were simply not as dangerous as men, at least in their eyes. And it suited Kat to be underestimated when she was planning an escape.

Not for the first time, she cursed the limits on augmentation introduced by the Assembly. A captured Marine would have an implant that allowed her to update her fellows on everything that occurred within the Summer Palace. Kat could only signal for help – and she had no way of knowing if it had been received, or what was going on outside the Summer Palace. It struck her that the insurgents had probably intended to bag the Admiral as well and had to be reconsidering their plan without him in their bundle of hostages. By now, the entire building was probably sealed off by the soldiers, with desperate planners already considering how best to deal with the insurgents without killing the hostages. It was time to make sure that they had an ally on the inside.

She raised her hand and beckoned one of the insurgents over to her. “I need the toilet,” she admitted, as if she were ashamed to say it to a man. Two of the girls had already fouled themselves because they couldn't bear the thought of being watched while they did their business. “Please will you escort me there?”

The insurgent caught her arm and hauled her to her feet. “Come along,” he said, maintaining his grip. “Move.”

He pushed her out of the door and down a long corridor to the toilets. Someone had thoughtfully dismantled the door, ensuring that no one could do anything without being seen by the guards. Inside, one of the toilets had been opened to public view; the others had been sealed closed, preventing her from entering. Her guard pushed her towards the open toilet and motioned for her to get on with it. She couldn't see his face, but she was sure that there was an expression of faint disgust on him. He certainly didn't seem eager to watch. Kat hesitated and it wasn't entirely an act. One mistake would reveal the pistol and then they’d be sure to keep her tied up.

“I don’t want you to watch me,” she whispered, desperately. It was easy to pretend to be scared, pulling on her dress so that it revealed the milky-white tops of her breasts. His eyes focused on them, just for a moment. “I could make it worth your while...”

He pulled her to him and she slammed a hand into his throat. His hands constricted on her arms, but it was already too late. Kat pushed him down and rammed her hands down on his throat, crushing it below her weight. It was only afterwards that she realised that this was her very first personal kill, rather than killing entire starships through launching missiles from the tactical console. She drew her pistol and kicked off the high-heels, briefly considering donning the insurgent’s clothes before realising that that was unlikely to fool anyone. Kat was a tall woman with blonde hair and breasts; her former captor had been short and stocky.

She stood upright, picked up the dead insurgent’s assault rifle, and slipped to the door. Sooner or later, her captor’s friend was going to start wondering what had happened to him. How long did it take to go to the toilet anyway? It wasn't as if he would have let her put makeup on or anything else that might keep her away from the crowded mass of young girls. She peered out of the door and saw nothing, but she knew that that might change very quickly. God alone knew what the insurgents might have in mind for the hostages if they started to break free.

Bracing herself, she walked back down the corridor, assault rifle in hand. It had a distinctive sound and, if she was lucky, any insurgents who heard her firing would assume that it was one of their fellows putting down a balky hostage. She slowed as she approached the door to the kitchen and glanced inside. The cooks and servants had all disappeared. She slipped inside and picked up a large carving knife before noticing the half-open door to the freezer. Her curiosity got the better of her and she peeked inside, and then recoiled as she saw the mass of dead bodies. Not all of the native servants had been insurgents, she realised, and the insurgents had murdered the ones who hadn't been in on the plan.

Holding the knife ahead of her, she slipped back down to the holding area and tapped on the door. As she had expected, the insurgent guarding the girls opened it and peered out – and she rammed the knife into his head before he could react. She pushed his body back into the room, slammed it down on the floor and looked over at the girls. They all looked terrified, both of her and the terrorist she’d killed. How many of them would ever have seen a dead body, let alone picked their way through a ship overrun by pirates or a battlefield on Cadiz itself?

“Keep quiet or I’ll smack you,” she said, sharply. The last thing she needed was for them all to start screaming at once. Her priority was to get them out of the building and to safety, not anything else. “Follow me and don't say anything.”

The insurgents would have their own people on the grounds by now, Kat reasoned. Trying to get across the garden to the walls would be difficult and getting over the walls would be impossible for the children. There was another option, however; if she could get them to the roof, the Marines would be able to pick them up with tractors and get them to safety before the insurgents could react. If the Marines were waiting...Kat forced her doubts aside. Right now, all she needed to do was to get the children into position and pray.

***​

“They have who hostage?”

“The Captain,” the XO said. Greg Bone cursed under his breath as he urged the Marines into the shuttle. “They don’t seem to know that they have her, but they do.”

Maybe they killed her, Greg thought, before he pushed the thought aside, angrily. His Marines didn't need to hear him worrying over the safety of the woman who had once been his lover – and was now his commanding officer. He'd packed fifty Marines into two assault shuttles and was preparing to launch down to the surface.

“They sent a list of planetary dignities a mile long and a set of demands,” the XO continued. Greg grunted as the shuttle’s pilot activated the drive; it felt like a kick in the belly from a very unfriendly horse. The Marines scorned the compensators used by the Navy types, knowing that they needed to be aware of the shuttle’s motion to judge the right time to disembark. “They want us to quit Cadiz, basically, and pay them a shitload of compensation for the occupation. And that isn't all. They want a set of interstellar observers from nearby galactic powers to ensure that we behave ourselves.”

“And the only nearby galactic power is the Theocracy,” Greg commented. The insurgents might have hit upon a winning formula, or at least something that would embarrass the Commonwealth badly. Much of the Theocracy’s evil was hidden, unseen by interstellar opinion, but the Commonwealth had a tradition of a free press and every little incident was broadcast in glorious holographic realism right across the galaxy. He doubted that any amount of censure from the other interstellar powers would doom the Commonwealth, yet if it did come down to war, the Commonwealth would need allies – and those allies would find it politically difficult to join the war.

“Yes,” the XO agreed. He sounded harassed. “The Admiral has said nothing and none of his subordinates are even willing to wipe their own butts without his permission. Their terms are unacceptable, but he hasn't authorised any attempt to negotiate. It isn't as if we couldn't offer them some terms, even if they’re far less than what they want. He hasn't authorised your mission either.”

“Easier to gain forgiveness than permission,” Greg commented. The XO chuckled. “We’re crash-diving into the atmosphere in two minutes and we’ll be overhead in five. Have you heard anything from the Captain?”

“Nothing apart from the emergency beacon,” the XO said. He sounded worried by the silence, although the Captain’s wristcom would have been confiscated by the terrorists, unless they were completely stupid. In some ways, that was a good sign – stupidity was hard to predict – but he would have liked to know that she was safe. “The Admiral hasn't even commented on that, Marine.”

Greg nodded, unsurprised. Given the Admiral’s general lack of competence, he was probably trying to find a way to get the hostages – including his wife and two of his kids – out without committing himself to a military assault. He’d be blamed for every single casualty in the crossfire. The only hope was to agree to some of the demands, but how could he do that without blowing his own position sky high? His backers would not be amused if they ended up embarrassed by their Admiral.

The shuttle shook violently as it blasted its way into the atmosphere, baffles full on to prevent the sound of their passage being heard on the ground. He braced himself as he activated the full spread of combat implants, accessing the live feed from the shuttle’s own sensors and the drones the military forces down below had deployed into the combat zone. The insurgents seemed to have access to some pretty high-tech counter-surveillance systems; the microscopic drones were being eliminated one by one as they moved into the Summer Palace. And that kind of equipment could not be produced on Cadiz.

“All right, Marines,” he ordered, bluntly. He pushed everything out of his mind, but the mission. They had to succeed. “We jump in two minutes. Semper Fi!”

 

I'm thinking a big 'ol can of . . butt whoopin, is fixin ta be opened!!

 

HURRY!!QUICK!! I am having withdrawall symptoms!! I need a fix NOW! Dont you understand it is your falt, you got us hooked on this, you did not warn us on how addictive this is!!! I AM GOING TO SUE IF I DO NOT HAVE ANOTHER DOSE TODAY!!!!..............................did that work, ah well it was worth a try. Really, all seriousness aside keep up the good work.

 

Sorry - today was CRAZY. You should have more chapters tomorrow, I hope.

Chris

 

You've got us all addicted. Maybe we can all get together and sponsor you to get published. I'd fork over some $$ for the cause.

 

Chapter Nineteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

He was first out of the shuttle, as it should be. The wind buffeted him as he fell down towards the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1lace w:st="on"><st1laceName w:st="on">Summer</st1laceName> <st1laceType w:st="on">Palace</st1laceType></st1lace>, wrapped in nothing more substantial than a light suit of powered combat armour. The exterior of the Palace was brightly lit, illuminating the pearly-white building in the darkness, but the roof was dark. He smiled to himself at this evidence of the enemy’s essentially amateur skills, before reminding himself that the Theocracy’s profession – and fanatical – special forces units had plenty of experience in deceiving the infidels into seeing what they wanted them to see. There might be an entire network of passive sensors watching for any sign of a counter-attack.

Greg Bone braced himself as the suit rotated so that he would hit the roof feet-first. The darkened roof was rapidly scanned for heat sources by the swarm of microscopic drones and located two people gazing out into the darkness, both carrying assult rifles under their arms. He felt a flicker of contempt at how they were blinding themselves by relying on the spotlights – the human eye, being lazy, tended to flow towards what it could see clearly – just before the antigravity unit cut in and his fall slowed, allowing him to land gently on the roof. Even with the antigravity system, he still made a noise, but it was already too late for the insurgents guarding the roof. A pair of jangler pulses cut them both down before they could raise the alarm.

“Check them,” he subvocalised as he moved to inspect the two hatches leading down into the palace. Jangler pulses stunned unprotected humans, sending them crashing down into an uncomfortable stupor and a hangover that rivalled anything enjoyed by someone who drank more than he should, but if the targets wore any protection, the effects could be minimised. “Team Two; get ready to follow Team One into the building.”

The network of drones seemed to be working better now the Marines were closer. Each tiny unit was serving as a relay station for the other drones, allowing them to operate – although at a reduced level of efficiency – even within the jamming. Greg linked into the tactical network established by the troops on the outside of the Summer Palace – at least someone there wasn’t running around like a chicken with its head cut off – and updated them on the team’s status. The moment he gave the signal, assault units and medics would come running to help save the remaining hostages. They were anticipating casualties, too many casualties.

“They’re both out,” Corporal Higgins reported. She was both a Marine commando and a medic, held back from the front-line teams because her training might save one of her comrades from sudden death. Greg trusted her implicitly. “I’ll secure them both, just in case. Blood scan reveals nothing, but a time-release drug or implant could help them to wake up sooner than anticipated.”

Greg nodded and turned his attention back to the hatch. It had been left unlocked, something that aroused his suspicions. The network of drones reported that the stairwell below was empty, illuminated only by a set of emergency lighting. He opened the hatch, watching carefully for a low-tech IED or another surprise that might have slipped past the drones, and then slipped down into the passageway. Even without the Captain under threat, a possible hostage, he would still have led the way. Marine Captains had to lead by example.

He found himself in a dimly-lit corridor, abandoned by all. The remainder of the team followed him down and fanned out, checking out the artworks that lined the walls as possible hiding places for an IED. They found a safe someone had hidden behind a painting of a woman with a mysterious smile, but little else. The safe looked old enough to have been installed before the Admiral had taken over Cadiz Station, perhaps old enough to date back to the original settlement of <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>. There was no way to know and he pushed it out of his mind. Instead, he muttered orders and one team moved down to secure the big stairwells that led up to the higher levels, while the other approached the stairwells and hidden passages used by the servants. Oddly, he found himself thinking about Kat’s father. Had he built himself a palace where he wouldn’t have to see any of the servants who actually keep the building functional? It was the ultimate expression of high-born arrogance.

“Contact,” one of the Marines signalled. “Multiple contacts; coming up the stairwell.”

Greg snapped orders quickly and decisively. They might not have chameleon suits to conceal them in plain sight, but they could and did hide behind the artworks, establishing clear fields of fire as the drones struggled to get a look at the newcomers. There was little light in the stairwell, but they seemed to be very young, a mixture of children and teenagers. They came into the light, their leader wearing a black dress and carrying an assault rifle as if she was born to shoot…and he found himself laughing. Kat had busted free…and freed the prisoners!

“Captain,” he said. Kat looked surprised to see him, although she covered it nicely. The other hostages – former hostages – looked terrified. Greg and his team wore black suits that covered everything and allowed them to blend into the shadows. In some ways, they had to look more terrifying than the insurgents downstairs. “I’m glad to see you’re alive.”

It was so hard to hold back from enveloping her in a hug, but cool professionalism saved the day. “There are thirty-seven younger hostages here,” Kat said, flatly. “I need you to get them lifted off the roof, now.”

“I’ll have the shuttles pick them up with tractors,” Greg agreed. They’d find it terrifying - even trained Marines had nightmares about flights enveloped in a tractor beam – but at least they’d be safe. He thought briefly about finding a secure place to hold them while his Marines cleared the building, before realising that the insurgents might have a fallback position that involved blowing up the entire building and declaring it a draw. They had to get the children and other hostages out of the palace. “And you have to go with them.”

Kat barely heard him. “And get on the horn to System Command,” she continued. “This could be the first shot in the war we dreaded. If they’d succeeded in taking the Admiral prisoner, they would have decapitated the government…”

“The Admiral isn’t in any fit state to issue orders,” Greg said. Perhaps an appeal to duty would succeed in convincing her to move before she was caught up in the blast when – if – the terrorists blew the building. And besides, she was right. It could well be the opening shot in a war. “You need to get up into orbit with your ship. We’ll handle things here.”

His Captain looked as if she wanted to argue, but thought better of it. Greg understood her feelings – she’d escaped and wanted to take the fight to the enemy – yet he didn’t want her in the crossfire when they hit the insurgents. She had no armour, only an enemy-designed weapon and no business jumping into the middle of a skirmish. Her place was on her starship’s bridge.

“Understood,” she said, curtly. Greg knew he’d pay for that later, but at least she’d be alive and out of danger. “Take as many of the bastards prisoner as you can. The Admiral’s staff will want to interrogate them.”

Once she was gone, along with the rest of the hostages, Greg nodded to his Marines and they advanced carefully down the servant staircase. It was badly lit and slippery, even to their night-vision gear and enhanced eyeballs, but they made it down to the lower levels without incident. The plans of the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1laceName w:st="on">Summer</st1laceName> <st1laceType w:st="on">Palace</st1laceType></st1lace> they’d downloaded into their implants and combat suits were matched over the reports from the drones, showing the location of most of the insurgents and hostages. It was hard to be sure without ID implants, but it appeared that most of the remaining hostages were in the dining hall and the dance hall. The drones kept trying to slip inside, yet the jamming was so intense that it was impossible to get more than a few fuzzy images relayed back to their combat suits. Greg ground his teeth as he considered the situation and started to issue orders. They had to have support from the Theocracy. The kind of equipment needed to jam military-grade microburst transmissions was well beyond anything that might be available on <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>. Even the original settlers had been limited in what they could produce and the UN, for all kinds of reasons, had never sought to encourage them to develop a tech base of their own.

They advanced carefully along the corridor, hugging the walls as they slipped down into a staging area. Most of the insurgents were still gathered in the dining room – lecturing the negotiator outside the building and broadcasting propaganda to the entire planet – but there were a handful wandering the corridors, watching for stray hostages. Greg knew it wouldn’t be long before they realised that something was badly wrong, perhaps when they tried to call the guards who’d watched the Captain and discovered that they were no longer responding. The sensors mounted on his suit detected enemy transmissions – low-power gear, but almost certainly not native to <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> – and calculated that they could be jammed at a word from Greg. It would have to wait until they were ready to commit themselves to the final move, if only because jamming would definitely alert the enemy that something was wrong.

He slipped into the kitchen, allowing the drones to lead the way. Two insurgents were standing in front of the table, helping themselves to the piles of expensive creations produced for the Admiral’s party. Greg shot them both with a jangler pulse and watched as they fell over the table, squashing cream cakes and perfect little combinations of chocolate and ice cream into a puddle. The Admiral partied while the occupation forces took casualties from the insurgents and the native population remained mired in poverty and squalor. It was easy to see why the Admiral – and the Commonwealth – had gained little ground in trying to prepare <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> for full membership and participation in the Commonwealth. Why would any of the locals want to join the Commonwealth when its representative was so corrupt?

The thought made him smile darkly as he checked the two insurgents, searching their bodies before yanking their hands back and tying them with plastic ties. It was the strongest argument against the Theocracy being involved, at least in this operation. The Admiral’s replacement could hardly have been less competent than Admiral Williams – and even the most hidebound martinet would have had a fit at the state of the 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet and the planet’s defences. A competent officer in command of Cadiz Station had to be one of their worst nightmares. Why would they want to rock the boat?

One of the insurgents was running the risk of rolling over and suffocating himself in a cream cake. Greg pulled him free and dumped him on the floor, nodding to the rest of his team. The second team had already signalled back, noting that they’d stunned four more insurgents, but that one of their victims had been heading to the room that had been used to house the younger hostages. They’d know that something was badly wrong.

“This way,” he muttered. The insurgents hadn’t done too badly, but they’d underestimated the nature of their enemies. It wasn’t too unusual; indeed, terrorists and insurgents tended to believe that the stories about Special Forces units were exaggerations, nothing more than propaganda to discourage resistance. The insurgents had placed guards on all the doors leading into the dining room and dance room – that wasn’t a bad thought – but they hadn’t considered the fragility of the walls. A man in powered combat armour – even light powered combat armour – could simply crash through them.

He checked the drones, deploying hundreds of new sensor platforms into the air in the hopes of producing a better picture from inside the jamming. It wasn’t good enough, but the communications sensors were already picking up increased chatter on the terrorist waveband. They knew something was up, definitely; they’d even stopped hectoring the negotiator and bombarding him with impossible demands. Greg checked the walls, braced himself, and sent a single signal to the troops on the outside.

“Go.”

Everything seemed to unfold very slowly, although he knew that it was nothing more than bare seconds. The snipers on the outside opened fire, taking out the insurgents patrolling the grounds before they realised that there was a threat, let alone take cover. They hadn’t risked trying to take prisoners this time, not when the terrorists had an unknown level of protection; the snipers had simply shot them through the head and left them to die. The assault units were already on their way, with the medic unit right behind them. And then Greg sprang at the wall, his enhanced legs boosted by the armour, and crashed right through plaster that was over a hundred years old. There was a moment of disorientation and then he was inside the dining room.

The terrorists were spinning around, but they seemed to be moving very slowly. Greg brought up his jangler and started to fire on wide beam, unconcerned about the risk of hitting hostages. They’d only be stunned if they caught a pulse by accident. Most of the insurgents fell to his blasts, but a couple managed to stay on their feet and dive for cover behind tables and chairs, firing back towards the Marines. He grunted as a bullet slammed into his chest, most of the impact absorbed by his armour, even though he knew it would be sore for several hours. Switching to lethal ammunition, he blew the tables away and riddled the insurgents with bullets.

“Team Two reporting,” a Marine said. Her cold precise voice would have chilled water and frozen it to ice. “Nine terrorists stunned; four dead. Nine hostages also stunned, plus one killed by a terrorist bullet.”

Greg hoped she was right. In the confusion – the investigators would take weeks to put together everything that had happened – it was alarmingly possible that one or more of the hostages would be accidentally killed by one of the Marines. And if that happened, there would be enquires and recriminations from people who had never served in combat and didn’t understand that accidents happened, particularly when men had to make their decisions at lightning speeds. His team checked the hostages, most of whom looked to be in shock, apart from two who’d been hit by jangler pulses. They’d survive, he knew, but they would have the mother of all hangovers. The cynical part of his mind wondered if they’d try to sue the Marines.

“Get the medics in here,” he ordered, as the Marines hastily separated out the prisoners from the hostages. Sometimes terrorists tried to hide among their hostages, threatening their lives to keep them from warning the security forces trying to rescue them. The Admiral’s office had forwarded the Marines a complete set of identification details for the hostages, at least the ones who had been officially invited to the party. A number seemed to have decided to crash it rather than accept exclusion. They’d have to be held until their identities were confirmed.

He glanced over at the small pile of terrorists and smiled to himself. None of them looked very brave now they’d faced armed men just as willing to kill as they were, and far better trained and equipped. A number were drooling in their stupor or had shat themselves, creating another stink for the soldiers taking them away to one of the detention camps. The Marines themselves would finish searching the building, rescuing any hostages who’d managed to hide in the confusion, and ensuring that no terrorists managed to escape into the carefully-tailored forest behind the palace. An update in his HUD warned him that the media had finally been permitted to walk into the palace grounds, although not into the palace itself, and would be seeking people to interview. His Marines had orders to avoid interviews, but somehow he was sure that there would be plenty of takers among the soldiers and medics. Who could resist a chance at Commonwealth-wide fame?

Shaking his head, he supervised the search and then ordered the Marines to return to the roof of the building, where they would be picked up by the returning shuttles. Hundreds of shuttles were landing outside the palace, transporting the hostages to New Barcelona, where they would receive the latest in hospital treatment. Many of them had been in shock, even the ones who hadn’t caught a jangler pulse and collapsed. They’d probably need weeks and months of expensive therapy before they recovered.

“Pussies, the lot of them,” he grunted, as he brought up the rear. The reporters down in the grounds saw the Marines and started to shout questions, some of them as absurd as any he had ever heard from a civilian. Of course the Marines hadn’t teleported into the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1laceName w:st="on">Summer</st1laceName> <st1laceType w:st="on">Palace</st1laceType></st1lace>! No one had even managed to come up with a workable theory for teleportation, let alone produce working hardware. The tractor beams caught them and yanked them up towards the shuttles before he could come up with a suitably sarcastic reply.

He was still smiling to himself as the shuttles climbed up towards orbit. They’d deployed quicker than anyone on the planet and successfully liberated the hostages, with a little help from the Captain. Even an IG officer with his head up his ass would be able to see that there was something wrong. Who knew? They might even fix all the myriad problems before the Theocracy finished finalising the assault plans and came over the border.

Sure, he thought sardonically, as the shuttle approached Lightning. None of the fleet’s problems could be fixed quickly. Hope springs eternal, normally in the minds of the deluded.

 

Chapter Twenty<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“What were they thinking?”

Admiral Junayd would cheerfully have strangled each and every insurgent on <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1:City w:st="on">Cadiz</st1:City> who took part in the attack on the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1laceName w:st="on">Summer</st1laceName> <st1laceType w:st="on">Palace</st1laceType></st1lace>, if any had survived and escaped detention from one of the penal islands maintained by the occupation authorities. The Admiral and his Cleric had watched the whole affair in numb disbelief, at least on the Admiral’s part. The Cleric had been delighted to see the infidels squirm, even after the insurgents were hit by the infidel warriors and crushed with neither warning nor mercy. After all, the insurgents were also infidels, useful only as tools in the service of the faithful.

“They saw a chance to hurt the infidel forces and succeeded,” the Cleric said, with a certain hint of smugness. “The infidels will not easily recover from this embarrassment.”

Junayd gritted his teeth with rage. “Those stupid idiots,” he snapped, angrily. “They just had to show off, didn’t they?”

He’d studied history, a rarity within the Theocracy. The common folk didn’t need to know history in order to do their duty to God and Caliph; besides, the true history of the galaxy might have shattered their faith in the Theocracy and its leaders. Those who rose to senior positions within the military were allowed to study battles and campaigns in the past, but few were historical generalists. Junayd was, despite whispers in some quarters that his interest in history made him less godly, less able to lead the forces of the Theocracy to victory, and he knew that they were playing with fire. Insurgent forces were quite happy to accept help from outside powers, but they were less willing to serve as outright servants of outright powers. The leadership might recognise the need for a certain pragmatic…understanding with their supporters, yet it wasn't a belief shared by their followers. Most insurgents were spearheaded by young men and young men, by the nature of the beast, rarely cared for inaction or patient preparation, let alone working to benefit others instead of themselves. And few down on the planet hewed openly to the Theocracy.

It hadn’t mattered as long as there had been no carefully-laid plans to go to war, but with the attack fleet already making final preparations around a dim red star, the last thing the Theocracy needed was an event on <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> that might alert the infidels to the weakness of their defences. Hell, even an officer as lazy as Admiral Williams would be forced to order a full review, which would inevitably reveal that the 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet was in no condition for a fight and that there were a hundred major security glitches on dozens of ground-side bases. The insurgents had won a tactical victory, even though they’d been forced back out by the occupying forces, but they had imperilled the overall plan.

The Cleric was unconvinced. “What do you mean, my son?”

“It was the perfect opportunity to decapitate the infidel government and throw the planet into chaos,” Junayd said, coldly. “They would have taken hours to establish who was in charge, let alone start the new CO issuing orders. In that time, we could have brought in the attack fleet and obliterated the defences and the 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet before they could either get ready to fight us or escape into hyperspace. And they just wasted the opportunity!”

“The infidels are not yet fully under our control,” the Cleric reminded him. “They cannot be expected to behave as one of your soldiers or spacers.”

“No, but if they want more supplies, they’d better start acting like they’re going to do as we say,” Junayd hissed. Moving supplies down to <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> was relatively easy, certainly with a local commander who was adamantly opposed to any interference with free trade, let alone anything that could be regarded as harassment. The ships entering orbit were rarely searched, even though Admiral Williams had the legal authority to search every ship that sent its cargo down to the planet. But now, after his wife had been taken hostage and nearly killed, even the laziest of men would change their habits. A search of every freighter entering orbit would make it impossible to send further supplies down to the insurgents.

And that, in turn, would fray the already weak bonds between the Theocracy and the insurgency. Some of the insurgents were already suspicious of the Theocracy’s true reasons for supplying them with weapons and advisors, although they had grown careful not to say so out loud after some of the loudest critics had been killed or driven out by their fellows. Without a steady stream of supplies, the insurgency would revert back to striking at whim, without any overall plan for victory. And that would hamper the Theocracy’s plan.

“Inform the infidels that we would like to depart orbit as soon as possible,” he said, flatly. If the Admiral became truly alert, he might search a massive freighter called Lotus Blossom. Even if they released the ship and crew after wiping the databanks, the intelligence they’d gathered would be wasted. And if they held them prisoner, Junayd would be unable to return to his command. One of his rivals would assume command and push Junayd out of favour with the Caliph. “And then send a message down to the planet’s surface. The advisors are to do all they can to ensure that the insurgents return underground and wait for the inevitable reprisals to be completed.”

“God will favour us,” the Cleric assured him. “He will not leave us unprotected when the time comes to confront the infidels in their den.”

Junayd said nothing, biting down several replies that came to mind. The Theocracy had hammered a single lesson into his head time and time again. God helps those who help themselves. And if part of the plan had been derailed…

Only an idiot attempted to coordinate multiple prongs of an offensive across interstellar space, but no one had contemplated military operations on this scale before, even during the Breakaway Wars. They were entering unknown territory, without precedent, and that worried him. A single mistake at the wrong time might shatter the entire offensive plan.

“Make sure they get the message,” he said, finally. “Failure will not be tolerated.”

***​

Like most worlds, Cadiz was divided between land and water, with a strong preference in favour of water. Seventy percent of the planet’s surface was covered by water, creating an impassable barrier for any settlements scattered over the different continents. The UN’s decision to place all of the colonists on the same continent made little sense to Kat, unless it was deliberate malice; the different cultures dumped on the same world would have little elbow room to expand.

The Cadiz Detention Centre (Secure) had been built on a small island, several thousand miles from any settled landmass. Kat had been told that the planet’s shipping industry was still in its infancy – the industrialists required funding and the banks required stability – and there was little hope of any of the insurgents landing on the island to rescue their compatriots. There was little actual security on the island either, apart from a number of high-value detainees who could provide information to the interrogators based in the small fortress on the peak of the island’s single mountain. The detainees couldn't hope to escape and any who tried to swim away or build rafts would fall prey to the planet’s native fish. She recalled what the Admiral had said about hunting and smiled as the shuttle twisted in the air and banked down towards the island. Some of the native life of Cadiz was the stuff of nightmares – and it had acquired a taste for human flesh.

“They’ve cleared us to land,” the pilot said, as the shuttle came to a hover and dropped the final few metres to the landing pad. Kat braced herself as the shuttle hit the ground, hard enough to rock the entire craft. The island was surrounded by a semi-permanent windstorm that made navigation difficult, even for a Marine landing shuttle. It was another passive security measure that made approach impossible for the locals, although not for the Theocracy’s most fanatical units. “The security here is quite impressive.”

Kat had to smile. Barely two days after she’d been taken hostage – and broken free – the entire planet was still on alert. She’d hoped that the Admiral would order new security checks on all of the freighters on orbit, but instead he’d settled for a full review of all the garrisons and security measures down on the planet’s surface. They IG, for once not muzzled by political considerations, had turned up a number of security flaws that needed to be neutralised, even through the political cost would be alarming. Several junior-grade COs would need to be relieved and sent back to OCS.

The hatch hissed open and a team of armed soldiers greeted her, their weapons not quite pointed at any potential targets. Kat’s implant reported that secure processors were checking and rechecking their identifications, just in case the insurgents had managed to steal a shuttle and use it to reach the detention centre. As soon as the checks were completed, she was ushered into the centre itself and into a conference room that wouldn't have been out of place in any of her father’s offices. It was decorated in a neat style that suggested an ordered mind, but there was a large drinks cabinet and a set of comfortable chairs. It wasn’t what she would have expected from a prison.

Bone followed her, used one hand to hold her back and produced a sniffer from a pouch on his belt. Kat waited impatiently as he checked the room – he'd become alarmingly solicitous over the last two days, as if he feared that Kat would walk into another trap – to ensure that there were no hidden surprises waiting for them. Her implant reported that there were two non-responsive processors hidden in the room, but nothing else.

“I guess the cakes are rather fattening,” Bone said, waving one hand at a covered tray. Kat blinked in surprise as she saw the fudge and cream donuts, shipped all the way from Avalon if the label was to be believed. “The bastards live lives of luxury.”

“I’m afraid not,” a new voice said. “We merely keep those cakes for important guests.”

He cleared his throat and waved them both to chairs. “Welcome to Detention Centre Alpha” he said. He was tall, with short dark hair that was slowly going bald on top. His handshake was firm, giving the impression that he had already sized Kat up and decided that she was worthy of respect. “I’m Director Irving; for my sins, I am the Director of this facility. I understand that you requested a briefing?”

“Yes,” Kat said, with equal formality. The Admiral hadn't cleared her visiting the centre, something she didn't intend to mention to the Director. It might have upset him. Once, she would have agonised over practicing even a minor deceit – and it wasn't as if the Admiral had forbidden her to visit the centre – but now she felt almost unconcerned about her actions. “We were there when the prisoners were taken.”

Irving gave her a long thoughtful look. “Ah,” he said. “Captain Falcone, in person. The media has turned you into quite a hero.”

Kat flushed. The Marines hadn't stayed around to be interviewed, so the reporters had focused on the support staff, one of whom had directed them to the Admiral’s PR officer. That worthy had named Kat as the one who had broken free, brought in the Marines – and killed the terrorist leader in single combat, at least according to the official story. Kat had pointed out that she’d left the building on the orders of the Marines, but no one wanted to know it. The heroic story played much better in the media. She’d even received feelers from movie-makers who wanted to turn it into a live-action holographic drama.

“Reports of my heroism are greatly exaggerated,” Kat said, shaking her head. “You’d think that the true heroes would be recognised by all.”

Irving smiled. “The media has always been a fickle creature,” he agreed. “You’ll be their darling until someone else comes along and pushes you out of the spotlight, so enjoy it while you can.”

He tapped the table and activated the holographic display. “All of the insurgents, living or dead, were brought here,” he said. “The dead bodies were scrutinised for any clue as to their origins. Unfortunately, we were unable to pin them down more precisely than stating that they were almost certainly native to Cadiz, rather than operatives from elsewhere.”

Kat frowned. “Can you be sure of that?”

“Not completely, no,” Irving admitted. “The original settlers of Cadiz had a clearly-defined genotype, but most of the involuntary settlers shared that genotype even if they had nothing else in common with the first settlers. Unlike some worlds – like the United Stars of America, for example – there aren't that many non-Latin immigrants to Cadiz. Most of their descendents make up clearly separate ethnic groups, isolated from the majority.”

“Which shares nothing, but a distinct point of origin,” Bone commented, sourly.

Kat had other thoughts. “So they weren't from the Theocracy,” she said. “They were native to this planet?”

“They may well have gone to the Theocracy for training,” Irving said. “There are enough rumours about Theocratic forces being involved in the insurgency, but these people didn't originate on Abdullah. There are a couple of worlds in the Theocracy that might have birth them, yet I don’t think the Caliph allows them spaceflight.”

He shrugged, and then returned to his lecture. “We interrogated the survivors at length,” he continued. “We have some experience in defusing suicide implants at this centre, but it proved to be unnecessary. They were never given anything more than suicide pills, which would have certainly terminated their lives if they’d managed to swallow them. The Marines stunned them before they could even consider ending their lives. Unfortunately, they knew almost nothing.”

Kat swore. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” he confirmed. “They were apparently born in New Barcelona and ran with one of the street gangs from a very early age. At some point one of the OG...”

“OG?” Kat asked.

“Old Gangsters,” Irving said. “The street gangs don’t tend to last very long. If they don’t find some kind of living, or get sucked into the insurgency, they tend to die before they’re forty, mostly in pointless skirmishes between gangs. Those that do make it into their forties get a great deal of respect from the younger ones. We’ve suspected that there is a link between the OG and the insurgents for quite some time.

“Anyway, they got creamed off and sent to a training camp somewhere in the north,” he continued. “We have analysts tossing questions at them to see if we can locate it, although frankly I’m not hopeful of success. The insurgents wouldn't have lasted so long if they didn't have the basic tricks down pat – and making damn sure that no one who can locate their base is allowed to fall into enemy hands is one of them. They got several months of training, and then they were assigned to a handful of ambush missions before they were sent to prepare for the attack on the Summer Palace.”

Bone held up a hand. “How did they get inside?”

Irving scowled. “It seems that someone slipped someone else a hefty bribe and a number of security clearances were proffered for a number of assistant Kitchen Porters at the Summer Palace. It’s a filthy job, only really suited for young men with no other prospects; naturally, they proved to be very good at the job. On the night of the attack, they produced weapons, took out the guards at the gate and allowed their fellows entry into the Palace. The rest you know.”

“They took hostages and threatened to execute them in the full view of the entire planet,” Kat said, flatly. Her sleep had been rough for the last two days, even though the Doctor had prescribed sedatives and plenty of sleep. At least the Theocracy hadn't taken advantage of the chaos to launch an attack. Simply logic suggested that the insurgents had operated independently, yet they were clearly working with the Theocracy. It was a puzzle her tired mind refused to solve. “I was there.”

She shook her head, trying to banish the cobwebs. “Did they know anything about outside help to the insurgency?”

“Nothing overt,” Irving said. “They were told by their leaders that there was an interstellar resistance movement against Commonwealth domination and that they were receiving help from the movement’s centre, but they weren't told any specific details. We’ve interrogated them quite thoroughly on that matter, Captain, and they know nothing of great use.”

Kat shared a long glance with Bone. If they’d acquired direct proof of the Theocracy’s involvement...but they hadn't. She could point to everything that had happened and claim that it meant that the Theocracy was involved, yet anyone who wanted to turn their eyes away from the evidence could do so, easily. There was no pan-Commonwealth resistance movement – there was little sentiment for independence on any other Commonwealth world – and the whole story sounded like a smokescreen. Or misinformation to be relayed to the Commonwealth and confuse people.

“I understand,” she said. The trip had been wasted. “What’s going to happen to them?”

“Standard procedure is to find them a work gang and make them sweat off their debt to society,” Irving said. “I believe in this case the Admiral wants to make a specific example. I think he was talking about executing them.”

Kat opened her mouth to object, and then remembered the frightened children she’d shepherded to safety. Whatever justice lay in Cadiz’s fight for independence, it had been lost when they’d targeted children and other innocents. They deserved everything they got, even at the hands of the Admiral.

“Thank you,” she said. “We won’t detain you any longer.”

 

Chapter Twenty-One<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

The air of New Barcelona stank under the hot sun – a sickening mix of gasoline, animals and the stench of too many people forced to live in too close proximity - but Kat barely noticed the smell. They were gathered together in the main square, only a few hundred meters from the secure area in the heart of the city, surrounding the Admiral’s mansion. The soldiers had been busy, Kat knew; they’d established roadblocks for five miles around the secure zone, searched the area house-by-house for weapons and arrested anyone possessing even a small weapon for self-defence. She doubted that the hundreds of reporters gathered at one end of the square, nervously congratulating each other on their bravery in venturing into the city, realised just how much had been done to ensure their safety. They still wore their body armour, swelteringly hot in the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1:time w:st="on" Hour="12" Minute="0">midday</st1:time> sun.

Her eyes were fixed upon the stand at the other end of the square. It was a simple wooden stage, dominated by the nine gallows erected on top of the platform. A single length of rope hung down, ending in a noose. It had taken her several minutes to understand its purpose – there were no public executions on Avalon – and then she’d felt sick. The Admiral intended to hang nine of the prisoners in the heart of the city, daring the city’s inhabitants to riot with so many armed soldiers in the vicinity. It was sickening, against all sense of decency – but not, quite, forbidden by law. Indeed, there had been public executions on Avalon in the early years of settlement. Had any of them been as sickening as this?

A loud drumbeat echoed over the square as the Admiral’s personal guard emerged from one of the nearby buildings. They wore their dress uniforms, swelteringly hot in the heat, and escorted nine of the captives, the youngest and least informative of the prisoners Greg Bone and his Marines had taken. The prisoners didn’t look very impressive or threatening; they wore orange prison suits and their hands were cuffed behind their back. Despite their crimes, Kat felt a tinge of sympathy for them, even though they’d threatened her personally. It wasn’t a sentiment shared by the expatriates, who watched with grim approval as the prisoners were marched up the ramp and onto the platform. They’d been demanding justice – or revenge – in no uncertain terms since the attack on the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1laceName w:st="on">Summer</st1laceName> <st1laceType w:st="on">Palace</st1laceType></st1lace> and the Admiral’s position depended on keeping his supporters happy. Not that he would have objected loudly, Kat knew; his wife and two of his children, as worthless as they were, had been among the hostages. It was sheer luck that had kept them from joining the dead. The Admiral’s wife had apparently declined to attend the execution, but Kat could see all four of his children in the crowd watching as the guards fitted nooses around the necks of the captives.

“Sick,” Bone muttered. Like her, he wore his dress uniform, although in his case the uniform included elements that allowed him to resist the heat, at least to some degree. He looked over towards the barricades, and the teeming city beyond. Everyone would be watching the news channel that would display the executions in glorious holographic imagery, creating nine new martyrs for the insurgency’s cause. She doubted that it would play very well in the Commonwealth either, let alone in some of the interstellar powers that had moralistically banned the death penalty. Avalon’s executions were carried out in secure compounds and they certainly weren’t broadcast to the entire universe.

The Admiral stepped onto the platform, seemingly unconcerned about the looks of hatred from the prisoners, and cleared his throat. For once, he looked energetic rather than indolent, something Kat would have welcomed if he had focused on the 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet and preparing for the war everyone knew was coming. They might have uncovered no evidence that proved that the Theocracy was involved, but Kat had no doubt of it. It seemed that the Admiral and his backers, most of who were safely on Avalon, were the only ones who doubted that the Theocracy was backing the insurgents. The only real surprise was that they hadn’t used the insurgent attack as cover for bringing in their own fleet and invading the System.

She watched as the media reporters focused on the Admiral. Lucy had rejected over a hundred separate requests for an interview from the media, much to Kat’s private relief. She disliked and distrusted reporters as a general rule, even though some of the ones who had embedded with the RAN weren’t bad guys. Her sister’s sexual exploits were regularly splashed across the tabloid front pages, something Kat found disgusting. It seemed that the reporters spent half their time trying to bathe in reflected glory and the other half of their time trying to drag celebrities down into the common herd. The Admiral ignored their shouted questions with a thoroughness Kat could only admire, waiting for quiet before he began his speech. It was a long time coming.

“There are those who choose to reject the gift that we bring <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>,” the Admiral said. His voice echoed out over the square. “There are those who refuse to accept that the time of separation, of division, of endless conflict between peoples of all castes and creeds, is over. And there are those who play upon their small resentments, their fear of being left behind, and fan tiny sparks into a burning blaze. They are taught to believe that any means are acceptable, if only it will return the world around them to a legendary pristine state. They are taught nothing, but delusions. No one can halt the march of progress.

“Five days ago, the nine men you see before you took part in a cowardly attack on the <st1laceName w:st="on">Summer</st1laceName> <st1laceType w:st="on">Palace</st1laceType>, a building constructed by one of the first settlers of <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>. They slaughtered seventy-seven of their fellow residents of <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, whose only crime was trying to earn enough money to put bread on the table, and they held women and children hostage. I have no doubt that if they had been allowed free reign to act as they pleased, without restriction, they would have slaughtered every one of their hostages before vanishing into the night. It was a cowardly act, committed by cowards who dare not face those who can fight back. And they believed that it would force us to question our resolve.”

Kat kept her face expressionless. While she’d been breaking free and trying to get the children out of the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1laceName w:st="on">Summer</st1laceName> <st1laceType w:st="on">Palace</st1laceType></st1lace>, the Admiral – by all accounts – had lurked in his office, unable or unwilling to make a decision…and his subordinates had followed his lead. Their frozen panic had allowed Kat’s crew to act ruthlessly and decisively, yet it wasn’t part of their role. The forces on the ground should have been able to handle the situation without Bone’s Marines. And they’d spent the hours since the insurgents had struck desperately passing the buck, fearful of being caught with responsibility when their time finally ran out.

The irony didn’t amuse her. If the insurgents had slaughtered so many hostages, the Admiral’s position would have been untenable even if his supporters on Avalon had tried to keep him in place. The Assembly, which would have lost friends, relatives and valuable campaign contributors, would have demanded a full and open public enquiry. Kat suspected that the Admiral would be forced to resign before there was an open investigation of the state of <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>’s defences, but it wouldn’t have mattered. By saving the hostages, Kat and her Marines had shored up the Admiral’s position.

“We have brought them before you now to show that our resolve will not be broken,” the Admiral continued. “We made a commitment that we would help the forces of progress on <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, a commitment that included massive investment in the system and military support in upholding the rule of law. We will not be daunted by terrorism, no matter the costs terrorists believe they can impose on us, and we will not give into their demands. Terrorism will achieve nothing, apart from certain punishment for those too cowardly to fight openly, or those unwilling to take part in the democratic process. They have prevented us from holding a proper planet-wide election for far too long. Today, I wish to announce that we will hold the first election in two months.”

A low mutter ran through the crowd. Kat understood, she suspected, what they were thinking. Any democratically-elected government on <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> would, at the very least, revoke the sweetheart deals the various expatriates had secured with the occupational authorities. The off-world corporations would no longer hold special commissions from the locals, while they would be forced to honour their commitments to establish schools and training centres on <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, allowing the locals to have a chance to move into the labour market.

And at worst, the new government would thank the Commonwealth for its help and politely invite them to depart the system. That would open up a whole new can of worms; the corporations would demand returns on their investments, while the space-dwelling colonies, mainly inhabited by people from outside the system, would refuse to join any new government. The Commonwealth would be caught between a number of choices, none of them good; refuse to honour the election results, support the asteroid colonies against <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, or abandon Commonwealth citizens and investments. And the Theocracy would definitely have a chance to fish in troubled waters.

The Admiral turned to face the nine captives. “You took women and children hostage,” he said, flatly. There was no mistaking the cold disdain in his voice, or the icy determination to push ahead, come what may. “Your crimes are completely beyond redemption. You have no place on <st1:City w:st="on">Cadiz</st1:City>, not the <st1:City w:st="on">Cadiz</st1:City> of the future or even the imaginary <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Cadiz</st1:City></st1lace> you hold up as your goal. We have judged you guilty; you knew what you were doing, you knew what you would be called upon to do when you joined your fellow terrorists, and you chose to do nothing when you could have saved countless lives. For your crimes, there can only be one punishment. The sentence is death. There is no appeal.”

He nodded to one of his guards, who pushed a button. Trapdoors opened under their feet and the captives plunged downward, the nooses tightening sharply around their necks. Seven of them were lucky – their necks broke instantly – but two were unlucky enough to fall with less force. Kat heard several people in the crowd being violently sick as the two insurgents slowly choked to death, coughing and sputtering as they gasped for breath. There was no chance of escape; they died slowly, in terrible pain.

There was dead silence in the square as the last insurgent died. Kat forced herself to swallow hard, trying to tell herself that she’d seen worse. And yet she hadn’t, even when she’d picked through the remains of a freighter that had been hit and looted by pirates, before they’d abandoned her on the edge of a star system with her distress beacon blazing merrily away. They’d never caught up with the pirates, even after a determined search; they’d committed an atrocity and escaped with their lives. And the Admiral seemed almost as unconcerned as they’d been…

She hadn’t realised just how spiteful the Admiral could be. His service record had been closed to her, but there had been whispers – and she’d seen how his staff hastened to obey his every command. He was lazy, more concerned with maintaining his position than doing his job, yet when he was crossed…she was suddenly grateful that he didn’t seem to have realised that she’d gone over his head and appealed to her father. And yet, nothing had returned from Avalon. Had the Admiral’s supporters been able to forestall any action against him?

“There are those who deserve recognition for their part in the siege and its resolution,” the Admiral said. All eyes were fixed on him, if only to avoid looking at the dangling bodies. “Many people showed true heroism in facing and defeating the terrorists. Captain Kat Falcone, step forward.”

Kat almost missed her cue out of surprise. The Admiral hadn’t told her that he was going to call on her! It was an open secret that all ‘surprise’ public ceremonies were carefully rehearsed first, just to ensure that nothing went wrong. Bone nudged her gently and she started forward, schooling her face into an inscrutable mask. The sense that thousands of cameras were watching her, broadcasting her every step to the entire Commonwealth, chilled her to the bone. Kat’s mother took it for granted that the entire Commonwealth was interested in everything she did, particularly the leaks she authorised ahead of time, but Kat had never wanted the limelight. The only consolation was that she’d earned the award, rather than obtaining it because of her name.

“Captain Falcone,” the Admiral said, when she stopped in front of him. “At great personal risk, you escaped the terrorists and signalled for help. Your actions saved hundreds of lives, including the lives of my wife and sons. You were decisive enough to order the Marines into the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1laceName w:st="on">Summer</st1laceName> <st1laceType w:st="on">Palace</st1laceType></st1lace>, clearing the way for them to land. For this bravery, this conspicuous display of heroism, you must be rewarded.”

Kat kept her face expressionless, somehow. It had been her XO who’d ordered the Marines into the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1laceName w:st="on">Summer</st1laceName> <st1laceType w:st="on">Palace</st1laceType></st1lace> and Captain Bone who’d led them in eliminating the insurgents and freeing the hostages. Why was she getting all the credit? Was the Admiral buttering her up in the hopes of reviving his wife’s marriage plans, or was he deliberately slighting her crew? Or was it a particularly subtle form of revenge?

“The Cadiz Medallion was first devised by the original settlers of <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, as a reward for those who helped tame the planet and constructed the first cities,” the Admiral said. He opened a small box to reveal a golden coin, dotted with silver engravings. It glittered far brighter than the Medal of Honour, or the Order of the <st1lace w:st="on"><st1laceType w:st="on">Commonwealth</st1laceType> of <st1laceName w:st="on">Avalon</st1laceName></st1lace>, both awards that were the exclusive province of the King. “We adopted it as a reward for conspicuous gallantry while in action on the planet’s surface. It is my pleasure to present you with the Medallion as a reward for your bravery.”

He picked up the medal and held it out. Kat reluctantly bowed her head and allowed him to hang it around her neck, as the ceremony dictated. Later, she would have it attached to her dress uniform permanently, displaying the award to all comers. She had a nasty feeling that the medal was effectively worthless, but she’d have to check. And she would have to apologise to those who had been slighted by the Admiral. Her crew deserved better than to languish in obscurity.

The reporters went crazy as word spread about Kat’s father. They all knew his name, knew that he was one of the wealthiest men in the Commonwealth…and they knew that his older daughters provided endless fodder for the tabloids. They’d have Kat turned into a genuine heroine by the time word reached Avalon, ensuring that only a garbled version of the story was ever allowed into the datanet. The Marines – and her XO – would be forgotten by the time the story reached the public. And the Admiral’s blunders would be lost in the files.

It struck her, for a moment, that she could use the platform the Admiral had given her to challenge him openly. She could raise the question of Theocratic activities on <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, or the question of just how poorly the occupation was being handled…and, of course, the condition of the 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet. And yet she dreaded the possibility of even speaking to the press. The media outlets her father controlled would be sympathetic – they would have no choice – but the others would be savage, either backing her to the hilt or pouring scorn on her. Her career would hit a solid steel wall, whatever happened to the Admiral. And it might just encourage the Theocracy to launch their attack before the 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet could be readied for combat.

The Admiral dismissed her and she returned to the crowd, watching absently as the Admiral issued a handful of other commendations and ensured that his face was plastered all over the media for the next few days, at least until his face was pushed off the screens by the death or marriage of a celebrity. Kat rolled her eyes as the ceremony began to break up, already hearing the sounds of gunfire in the distance. The Admiral’s speech had touched a few nerves among the local population. At a guess, the expatriates would be less safe than ever before.

It wasn’t entirely a surprise when she was called into the Admiral’s mansion an hour later, while waiting for the armoured convoy back to the spaceport. A group of locals had tried to rush the palace gates, only to be shot down by jangler pulses. At least there would be no loss of life, although they’d have terrible headaches when they awoke. Kat knew just how they felt.

“Your command will be detached to patrol the border line between us and the Theocracy,” the Admiral said, once they’d exchanged insincere greetings. “You will watch for intruders, pirates and other possible sources of concern.”

Kat had no difficulty in reading between the lines. The Admiral was trying to get rid of her and, as much as it galled her to admit it, the plan was going to succeed. A border patrol could last up to two months before they returned to <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, plenty of time for the media to forget about her. The devious bastard had spent years at Court. Of course he would understand the dangers of turning her into a media heroine.

“Yes, Admiral,” she said, reluctantly. At least she would be away from <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>. “We will depart as soon as possible.”

 

Chapter Twenty-Two<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“The navigation gets a little wonky here, Captain,” Lieutenant Nicola Robertson admitted. Hyperspace seemed to be churning around Lightning, as if she was an old-style wet navy ship ploughing through the oceans. It wasn’t a bad analogy, Kat knew; hyperspace was a teeming ocean of energy storms. “There are four gravity masses in corresponding normal space and they’re throwing out a great deal of interference.”

Kat nodded, reluctantly. No one had ever been able to work out precisely how hyperspace interacted with normal space, but the vast majority of hyperspace physicists believed that gravity twisted normal space into a pattern, given enough gravity, warped into hyperspace. It sent waves of chaotic energy storms flaring into hyperspace, rendering large sections of the alternate dimension difficult to navigate, even for the most capable starships. The other theory, which involved quantum interaction between hyper-tense quantum strings linked to objects within normal space, gave her a headache whenever she tried to understand it.

The Four Sisters were four stars with very heavy gravitational pull, orbiting so close to each other that there were several cults within the Commonwealth that claimed that they had been created by an advanced elder race, or God Himself. Kat wasn’t inclined to believe any of the more exotic theories, but like reefs to the ancient civilisations of Earth, they provided a natural barrier along part of the borderline between the Commonwealth and the Theocracy. There was no reason why a particularly daring Captain couldn’t thread his way through the energy storms that reflected the presence of the stars in hyperspace, but only a complete lunatic would take an entire fleet through the Four Sisters. The most fanatic Theocrat would turn back in horror. A single miscalculation could wipe out the fleet without the Commonwealth knowing that it had ever been threatened with invasion.

She glanced down at the chart of hyperspace. Two weeks on patrol and they’d seen nothing, but then there was really nothing to see. The idea of patrolling the border was laughable, even to the civilians. Any halfway competent smuggler, pirate or Theocracy raiding fleet could slip past the patrolling starships and raid deep into Commonwealth space without ever sounding the alarm. The patrols were nothing more than an attempt to calm public opinion on several worlds alarmingly close to the border, although they rarely succeeded even as a public relations exercise. An entire fleet could reach <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Cadiz</st1:City></st1lace> and be reasonably sure of evading detection until they were mere hours from the system, if the defenders were lucky.

“We’ll give them a wide berth,” she ordered. Lightning wasn’t on alert; there was little point while in hyperspace, although she was running regular drills to ensure that the crew didn’t lose their edge. “Plot us a course around them and upload it to the helm, then you and Lieutenant Weiberg can steer us clear of those storms. I don’t like the look of them.”

“Aye, Captain,” Nicola said. She gave Kat a faint smile, almost as if she was on the verge of bursting with excitement. It was the closest she would get to commanding a starship, at least until she reached Commander – if she ever did. The demand for trained and experienced navigators was high and the RAN rarely allowed them to leave the field, once they had established themselves as competent. “I don’t think the storms will pose a threat, but we’ll stay well clear of them, just in case.”

In olden days, sailors had had to worry about storms. Hyperspace travel was as safe as several centuries of human ingenuity could make it, but it could still be immensely dangerous. Storms could appear without warning and blaze across hundreds of light years, before fading back into the shimmering energies of hyperspace. Any starship caught in their path would be lucky if it could return to normal space before the storm overwhelmed their drives and tore them apart. All of the major powers – apart from the Theocracy – collaborated in monitoring hyperspace, but so far no one had been able to establish a pattern, still less a defence, against violent storms. The best theory was that hyperspace energy fields grew excited in response to random quantum events, which had always struck Kat as a complicated way of admitting that they didn't know what happened and wouldn't find out anytime soon.

Kat nodded to the young Lieutenant and walked off the bridge, passing command to the Tactical Officer. The XO and the Chief Engineer were busy monitoring a disturbing flutter within Fusion Three, one that the Chief Engineer had assured her didn't pose a serious threat, at least as long as they didn't have to rely on that reactor alone to power the ship. Kat wasn't particularly reassured, but short of cutting short the patrol and returning to a shipyard to have Fusion Three replaced, there was little they could do about it. Starship fusion plants were designed to be solid, with multiple redundancies for every system, but if they failed they failed completely. It didn't help that the only way to remove the fusion plant was to cut through the armour covering the hull, a time-consuming task that rendered the ship effectively defenceless until it was repaired.

She shook her head, cursing the Admiral in the privacy of her own thoughts. He’d certainly neglected any impact she might have had by talking to the press – and ensured that she would be permanently out of date with events at Cadiz. She wouldn't know what was happening back on Cadiz until she returned, and by then the system might have been occupied by the Theocracy and a fleet of heavy battleships would be waiting for her. It was unlikely that the Theocracy would target her personally, unless her fame had truly spread into the rest of the Commonwealth. The Theocracy had a habit of targeting enemy heroes for pointed object lessons, just one other detail that had slipped past the pacifist factions back home. They saw no reason to moderate their approach to war, or post-conquest pacification or mass conversion. The insurgents on Cadiz would be horrified when they realised what the Theocracy did to the planets it occupied, but by then it would be far too late. Indeed, by working with the insurgents, the Theocracy had probably been able to compile a list of people to round up and eliminate once the high orbitals were safely in their hands.

Kat banished the thought as she stepped into the observation blister and stared out into the shimmering lights of hyperspace. The theorists claimed that hyperspace was a squashed version of normal space, a two-dimensional universe that allowed rapid transit from point to point without having to break the speed of light, the speed limit of normal space. Kat wasn't so sure, but every time she tried to wrap her head around the problem, her head started to hurt. What she saw might not even be real, nothing more than her mind’s desperate attempt to comprehend something utterly unlike the normal universe that had given birth to mankind. The theorists even claimed that one day it might be possible to manipulate hyperspace to access vast new sources of power or even create permanent wormholes binding the galaxy together, but Kat wasn't about to hold her breath. Every attempt to tap the forces of hyperspace had resulted in a colossal explosion and a great many dead scientists.

Her wristcom bleeped, reminding her of her dinner date. The thought made her smile; it wasn't a real date, certainly nothing like the intimate dinners she’d been able to have back on the Amelia Pond with then-Lieutenant Greg Bone. Her former Captain had believed that he and his XO should share at least one meal a week, if only to discuss matters away from the official surroundings of the bridge or the Captain’s office, and Kat had continued the tradition. Besides, it was the only time she could socialise while onboard – and she disliked socialising with civilians when Lightning was orbiting Cadiz. The thought made her scowl. Before Lightning had opened a hyperspace vortex and vanished into hyperspace, the public opinion polls among the expatriates had been running seven-to-one in favour of the public executions. No one had bothered to ask the locals what they thought. Kat hoped that the expatriates had enough sense to see the writing on the wall and get off Cadiz before the Theocracy arrived. The local insurgents would string them all up from lampposts if the occupation force ever lost control of the high orbitals.

She hadn't spent much time in her cabin since Lightning had departed Cadiz Station. Even when she wasn’t on the bridge, there was always something to do and she’d found herself spending most of her time moving from department to department, learning more about her ship and crew every time. Lucy had prepared her a meal each night that she’d often found she barely had time to eat, let alone notice what she was eating. The Steward had clicked her tongue, as if Kat was a small girl refusing to eat her greens. Stewards were meant to take care of their superior officers – a Steward might spend her entire career with a single officer – but Kat had never cared for the practice. It reminded her far too much of the armies of servants her mother had raised to ensure that she was always top of the social scene.

Lucy had excelled herself this time, as always. The table was neatly set, with a single heated basin of curry and rice and a pair of wine glasses. Kat had been amused to discover that Lucy, who came from humble parentage, was a bit of a wine snob, a habit Kat had never acquired despite her lofty birth. She would have been happy with an interior vintage from one of the orbital vineyards, as long as it tasted good. The XO’s only comment on the question was a droll observation that he preferred beer and would be sure to get rolling drunk on his next period of shore leave. Kat had decided, after a moment, that he was joking.

The chime on the hatch came right on time. Lucy opened the hatch, beckoned the XO in, and then vanished into her own cabin. Kat had finally managed to talk her out of waiting at the table – she’d been horrified at the suggestion that she might join her superior officers at dinner – and she knew that Lucy would only reappear when the time came to serve desert. The XO, who had been quietly amused the first time they’d shared a meal, had said little on the subject.

“Captain,” the XO said, as he took his seat. “Fusion Three shouldn’t be a problem for a while, but we may have to get it replaced within the next four months.”

Kat nodded. The Admiral’s beancounters would complain about the cost – fusion units for starships didn't come cheap – but there really was no other alternative. Military gear was durable, designed for intensive use, yet even it had its limits. She didn't even want to think about what might happen when – if – the 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet ever went to full military power. The maintenance logs – those she’d been able to access – suggested that the crews had been skimping on maintenance, if the logs were even remotely accurate. If they weren’t...

She shuddered at the thought. The maintenance logs had to be kept up to date, or repair crews would have no idea what parts had been replaced and what had been left to slowly wear themselves out. The RAN had even written regulations allowing for the public flogging of any crewman caught writing lies into the maintenance logs, although Kat had never heard of anyone actually being flogged. It hardly mattered, anyway; skimping on maintenance was one thing, but not updating the logs was grounds for immediate dismissal from the Navy.

“Let me know the details and I’ll forward the request to Cadiz Station,” she said, as she started to serve the curry. “Does he anticipate any problems?”

“Probably not, unless we cannot get access to a full-class shipyard,” the XO said. He took his plate with evident enthusiasm. One thing a heavy cruiser had that a destroyer lacked was a separate kitchen for officers, allowing them a chance at better rations than the crewmen. Kat wasn't entirely in favour of the concept, but she had to admit that the excellent food was a powerful argument for having a separate mess. “The Admiral may balk at the cost.”

Kat shrugged. “That would play well in the media,” she said. “Admiral Refuses Heroic Captain Ship Repairs.”

“The beancounters are very good at coming up with justifications for doing nothing,” the XO said. His face, for a moment, showed the strain of dealing with supply departments for most of his career. “They’d claim that the Mark VI Naval Fusion Reactor is rated for far more stress before it suffers a catastrophic failure sequence.”

“I’ll ram it through,” Kat promised. She hesitated. There was a question she wanted to ask, but did she dare ask it? The XO was meant to be her tactical alter ego, supporter and general disciplinarian, the man who translated her orders into reality, yet there were limits. And he had far greater experience than her, even if he’d never been offered his own ship. It was one injustice that Kat intended to correct. “Mr. XO – Jeremy – how am I doing?”

The XO didn't look surprised at the question. “You won a great deal of respect from the crew during the raid on the Summer Palace,” he said. There was no trace of his own opinion in his voice. “The Captain has to maintain a certain distance from her crew, but she also has to demonstrate personal bravery and a willingness to lead from the front. You certainly did both.”

Kat frowned. In at least one respect, she was the equal of the most junior crewman on the ship; if Lightning exploded, she would die as surely as the crewman, probably without knowing what had hit her. If the ship took crippling damage and the fusion cores blew, Lightning would be vaporised instantly.

“And you’ve also managed to gain a little personal authority, as opposed to positional authority,” the XO added, after a moment. “Positional authority is when people do as you say because you’ve been appointed as their superior officer; personal authority is when people do as you say because you are you, because they trust you to know what you’re doing. You haven’t blundered too badly.”

He grinned. “And the bonus for capturing the pirate ship and destroying the other one didn’t hurt your reputation either,” he added. “The crew were very grateful.”

Kat snorted. The major interstellar insurers had been offering bounties for captured or destroyed pirate ships ever since it had become clear that piracy in space wasn't going to go away in a hurry. Lightning’s crew had collected the bonus at Cadiz and it had been shared out among the crew, according to tradition. Kat was entitled to a tenth of it, but her trust fund already held more money than she could hope to spend in a long and exciting life.

“No one is particularly keen to be so close to the border and the hyperspace storms, but that’s hardly your fault,” he concluded. “It’s time to start breaking out the old stories from the early probes into hyperspace.”

“Spacers have been scaring each other with them for years,” Kat said. She’d heard them herself when she’d graduated from Piker’s Peak and found herself assigned to work under the most fearsome Senior Chief she’d encountered, then or ever. “Strange black ships in hyperspace, alien monsters that fly through hyperspace without ships, giant bats that flap their wings and the entire universe changes around them...”

The intercom chimed before the XO could say anything. “Captain, we’re picking up a distress call,” Roach said. The tactical officer sounded worried. A distress signal in hyperspace required a hell of a lot of power to push it through the interference that could be expected. “They’re on our side of the boarder, but close to the borderline itself.”

Kat and the XO exchanged glances. “It could be a trap,” he murmured. “The God-Bothers have never signed any of the conventions on hyperspace navigation and mutual assistance to stricken ships.”

“We have to go,” Kat said. She wasn't about to abandon a ship in trouble, even if there was a danger that they could be being lured into a trap. “Mr. Roach; bring the ship to red alert and change course towards the source of the distress signal.”

“Aye, Captain,” Roach said. The howling of the red alert siren downed out his next few words. “...On our way now.”

Kat took a regretful glance at the remainder of the curry, and then led the way up towards the bridge. Behind her, she knew, Lucy would scoop it up and preserve it for when they had dealt with the distress signal. The XO followed her as she slipped through the two hatches, nodded to the Marines on duty at the main hatch and then entered the bridge.

“Captain on the bridge,” the XO barked. There was a brief straightening of shoulders – no other gestures of respect were allowed when the ship was at battle stations – and then the crew looked back down at their consoles. “Mr. Roach; report!”

“Captain, we are picking up an unidentified freighter,” Roach reported. “It’s heading right towards us, deeper into the Commonwealth.” He hesitated, as if he knew that what he was about to say wouldn't be believed. “And it’s being pursued.”

Kat took her seat and looked up at the display. An orange icon was being followed by a red icon, far too close for comfort. Easy weapons range; hell, it should have blown the freighter apart by now. “Pursued?”

“Yes, Captain,” Roach said. “The ship is being hunted down by a Theocracy destroyer.”

 

Chris, it is a real pleasure to read your work...thank you!

 

It really is. I'm finding myself every day looking forward to each 'installment'. Wondering what is going to happen next.


Thank you, Chris!

 

Nothing better on the internet and little better in print

 

Chapter Twenty-Three<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

Kat felt her blood run cold.

“A Theocracy destroyer,” the XO said. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir,” Roach said. “It’s one of their most modern designs; the entry in Jane’s Starship Database lists it as Omar-class. One hundred meters long, packed with firepower at the expense of life support – at least according to the reports.”

Kat shook her head. It hardly mattered what the Theocracy ship was packing, not compared to the mystery of what it was doing in Commonwealth space – and just why it was hunting down an apparently harmless freighter. It shouldn’t be on the Commonwealth side of the border at all, even though it was almost impossible to monitor the border closely enough to prevent any intrusions.

“Intercept course,” she ordered. The destroyer’s presence didn’t bode well, even without the mysterious freighter. They had to be trying to take the freighter intact, or they would have destroyed it by now. “Open a channel to the Theocracy vessel.”

“Aye, Captain,” Roach said. There was a roar of static from her console. Radio waves – and even pin-point communications lasers – behaved oddly in hyperspace. All messages would have to be repeated several times to ensure that the recipient picked up the complete message. “Channel open.”

“Theocracy vessel, this is Captain Kat Falcone of the Royal Avalon Navy starship Lightning,” Kat said. “You are engaged in hostile acts within our territory. Stand down your weapons and prepare for inspection.”

There was a long pause. “No response, Captain,” Roach said. The freighter seemed to be at the end of its tether, the drives shutting down slowly, leaving the craft spinning out of control. “They’re still closing on the freighter.”

Kat exchanged a long glance with the XO. The Theocracy ship was on the Commonwealth’s side of the border, whatever the reason for its mission. They had to respond – at the very least, they had to drive the enemy vessel back across the border – and yet firing on her could result in the war they’d dreaded for so long. Kat knew the state of <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Cadiz</st1:City></st1lace>’s defences, and the condition of the 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet; there could hardly be a worse time to start a war. And yet they couldn’t allow the intrusion to go unanswered. She felt herself struggling with indecision, feeling the full weight of command crashing down on her shoulders. There was no one else to take the decision. It had to be her.

“Repeat the message,” she ordered, tightly. The seconds ticked by with no response; Kat stared down at her console, wondering if the Theocracy destroyer was truly on its own. Unlike many other powers, the Theocracy didn’t share much open source information on its navy – and an entire fleet could be hiding only a few million kilometres away in hyperspace and they’d never be able to see it until it was far too late.

She braced herself. “Mr Roach; lock weapons on the Theocracy destroyer.”

“Aye, Captain,” Roach said. The enemy ship would be able to detect the targeting sensors; they’d know that she was preparing to fire. Would they open communications, break off…or try to get the first shot in before Kat could open fire? “Weapons locked…we’re picking up a hail, standard interstellar open channel.”

“Put them through,” Kat ordered. If they could end the situation through diplomacy, it might forstall the war. “Put it on the main display.”

An image appeared in front of her, a dark-skinned man wearing the flamboyant naval uniform designed by the Theocracy. His dark eyes seemed to blaze with anger, and barely hidden desperation. A second man stood behind him, wearing a flowing white robe rather than a naval uniform, without any badge of rank. It was enough to allow Kat to identify him as the Cleric overseeing the operation, with the power to relieve the ship’s Captain for anything from insufficient zeal to refusing to show any respect to the religious establishment. She couldn’t understand why the Theocracy’s officers tolerated their presence, but then absolute monarchies – and the Theocracy was governed by an absolute monarch – were never very good at coping with dissent. Anyone who raised their voice or questioned official government policy rapidly found themselves exiled to a penal world, if they were lucky. The unlucky ones made object lessons for everyone else.

The officer’s dark eyes seemed to narrow as he took in her face and form. He might never have seen a woman on the bridge of a starship before, let alone in command of more firepower than a single destroyer. Even the merchants who braved the Theocracy tended to keep female crew off the ships, or consigned them to hiding places while the Theocrats were inspecting the ship. The few recorded encounters had caused angry diplomatic protests from both sides. Kat knew that she had to look young enough to be his daughter – the Theocracy wasn’t fond of allowing anti-aging treatments to be used by the general population – and she doubted that he would be willing to respect her. Besides, the Cleric would be the true master, whatever the Captain might say. And he was scowling at Kat’s face.

“I am Captain Zaid of the Faithful Companion,” the Theocrat said. His Standard – the UN’s efforts to ensure that everyone spoke at least one shared language had been the one positive fruit of their period of absolute rule – was oddly accented, but understandable. The Faithful Companion might not have been seen before, but ONI had noted that it was a honoured name in the Theocracy, although they never seemed to attach it to anything larger than a light cruiser. And four of the current ship’s predecessors had been destroyed during the first expansion phase, before the Theocracy had run into someone strong enough to make them pause and prepare for further expansion through conquest.

It wasn’t good news. Spacers, even in the Theocracy, believed that a ship’s name carried the deeds and legacy of the previous ships. The Captain would feel an urge to live up to that legacy, even if it meant counting a confrontation with a far more powerful ship. And besides, Kat couldn’t be sure that the Faithful Companion was truly alone. There might be an entire battle fleet rushing up in support.

“I am Captain Falcone of the…”

“I know who you are,” Zaid snapped, interrupting her. It was a breach of interstellar protocol that made Kat narrow her eyes sharply, even though the enemy commander seemed to be distressed, as if something was weighing down on him. “This is internal Theocracy business. You have no right to interfere. Be gone.”

Kat felt her lips thinning as she stared at the Captain and his Cleric. “This is Commonwealth space,” she said. The RAN would back her up on that point, even though the Theocracy hadn’t signed any of the interstellar accords defining territorial space. Setting a dangerous precedent would unravel any number of complicated defence plans and mutual understandings between different powers. “You are here without permission, conducting military operations in our space. I must ask you to stand down and explain your presence here.”

There was a long pause. The holographic image fizzled with static for brief moments, before stabilising and returning to normal. “The freighter carries criminals from justice,” Zaid said, finally. He sounded convincing, yet Kat was sure that he was lying. And besides, the Theocracy had so many laws that it was impossible to live without breaking one or more of them regularly. The criminals might have been accused of mass murder, or they might have been accused of drinking alcohol, or having premarital sex. “I have orders to recover the criminals and return them to Abdullah for judgement.”

“If that is the case,” Kat said, “I suggest that you file a complaint with the Commonwealth Judiciary. I will board the freighter, take the criminals to <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> and hold them there until you present your case before the Judiciary. If they are found guilty of recognised crimes, they will be handed over to you.”

“This affair is none of your business,” Zaid thundered. Kat guessed that there was some reason why they didn’t simply agree to have the Commonwealth take the supposed criminals into custody. They might not have committed crimes recognised under Commonwealth law, or they might be refugees, fleeing imprisonment or death. She wasn’t going to return anyone whose only crime had been practicing their own religion peacefully, without joining their fellows in mass conversion to the Theocracy’s state religion. “You will leave, now.”

“No,” Kat said, firmly. “We will not allow you to take unknown personages from our territory without our permission. This affair became our business as soon as you and your quarry crossed the border. We will know what is going on before we permit you to do anything.”

The Cleric bent down suddenly and whispered in the Captain’s ear. Kat felt an odd spurt of sympathy for the Captain, even if he did serve the Theocracy. Having someone who could relieve you – without the slightest idea of how a starship actually worked, or how to conduct a major battle – had to be galling. And the Cleric might just push the Captain into starting a fight he couldn’t win.

“This is an internal affair,” Zaid informed her. “I must warn you that this matter is very significant to the highest levels of government. Your involvement may lead to disastrous consequences.”

Kat felt her heartbeat race. The highest levels of government, in the Theocracy, meant the Caliph. And if the Caliph was involved…who was on that freighter? She wished that it was possible to talk to the freighter’s crew, but laser hails received no response and radio calls would be picked up by the Faithful Companion. Her heart refused to calm down. Whatever the legal rights and wrongs of the situation, she was running the risk of firing the first shot in a war that could only result in mutual devastation. It was within the scope of her authority to defend Commonwealth space, but firing the first shot in an interstellar war…?

“I have no scope for leeway in this situation,” Kat said. “I will take the freighter into custody. You may assign an officer to see to the…welfare of the prisoners until they reach <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> and a final decision as to their disposition can be made. I cannot offer anything else.”

“Captain,” Roach said, urgently, “they’ve just locked weapons on the freighter!”

“Stand by point defence,” Kat ordered. Were they trying to back her into a corner, where the only choice was to fight or back down, allowing the Theocracy to take the freighter’s crew and then escape? “Helm…”

Captain Zaid turned to look at her. “This is your final warning,” he said. “You will allow us to board the freighter and recover the prisoners, or face the consequences.”

Kat met his dark eyes and held them. “I will not permit you to carry out acts of aggression in Commonwealth space,” she said, as calmly as she could. Inside, she was frantically reviewing the ROE they’d been given just before they departed <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, trying to fit them to the situation. She had the legal right to open fire if an unwanted enemy vessel refused to depart, but this situation was unprecedented. Her neck would be exposed for the Admiral – and her father’s enemies – to take a shot at cutting it off. And her career might be about to come to a screeching halt. “I cannot…”

The dark-eyed face vanished. “Captain, they cut communications,” Roach reported. “They just flicked us with their targeting sensors.”

“Target them again,” Kat ordered. The sensors were hardly required to launch missiles; pinging the other ship was a way of underlining her words, and the seriousness of the situation. “Stand by all weapons…”

A sane Captain would have backed down – a sane Captain, or one without an insane or ignorant Cleric. The Faithful Companion launched a spread of missiles, targeted directly on the rogue freighter. Whatever ambitions they’d had to recover the freighter and her crew intact and alive no longer applied, which meant that whoever was onboard had to be frighteningly important to the Theocracy. A defector…or someone who could help the Commonwealth prepare for the coming war. And the missiles might eradicate any hope before the Commonwealth knew what it had been offered.

“Point defence, take out those missiles,” Kat snapped. Lightning could stand up to a nuclear-tipped missile strike, but a freighter had almost no ability to take a blow and survive. They’d vaporise the entire ship. She keyed her console, sharply. “Captain Zaid, this is your final warning. <st1lace w:st="on"><st1laceName w:st="on">Leave</st1laceName> <st1laceType w:st="on">Commonwealth</st1laceType></st1lace> space now or I’ll open fire.”

The Faithful Companion was moving, heading right towards the freighter. Kat realised – with a reluctant tinge of admiration – just what Zaid had in mind. If he reached point-blank range, she would have to either fire on his ship or lose the freighter. A flicker of anger passed through her mind; Avalon had conquered the evil of sex discrimination long ago, but the Theocracy was a throwback to a far darker age. They didn’t take her seriously. And if he thought that she would be timid, it was no wonder that he was prepared to risk everything.

“No response, Captain,” Roach reported.

“Target their drives,” Kat ordered. The weight of command crashed down around her shoulder again. Did she dare open fire, knowing that it might start the war? There was no choice… “Fire!”

Lightning spat a stream of missiles towards the destroyer’s drive section. Assuming the Theocracy built as many safety precautions into their ships as the RAN, the destroyer would lose her drives, but most of her crew would be able to survive. The starship twisted as she watched, bringing its point defence to bear on the incoming missiles, before turning and heading back across the border. It was too late. Two missiles survived the point defence’s best efforts and slammed into the target’s rear section.

“Two direct hits,” Roach reported. “That’s a tough little ship, Captain. They still have at least one drive section.”

“Prepare to fire a second barrage,” Kat ordered. The Faithful Companion was limping back towards the border. It crossed her mind that perhaps it would be wise if the destroyer never returned home, allowing the Commonwealth to bury the evidence of what had happened out along the border, but it would feel too much like murder. Besides, the Theocracy would assume the worst even if they never received any direct proof of the brief and savage encounter. “Keep a sensor lock on them until they cross the border.”

She turned her attention back to the freighter. Captain Zaid’s crew were alarmingly competent; their hits had taken out the freighter’s drive, without either vaporising the ship or flooding her with lethal radiation. The freighter was an ugly design, a massive blocky ship that could never hope to land on a planetary surface, yet someone had been able to use it to escape the Theocracy. Kat shook her head slowly, before keying her console.

“Unidentified freighter, prepare to be boarded,” she said. She switched links quickly. “Major Bone; I want you and your team to secure the freighter and report on its condition.”

“We may have to tow her back to <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>,” the XO said. Kat nodded. The Faithful Companion might have a few faithful companions waiting for her on the other side of the border, including a heavy cruiser or two. A single battlecruiser or battleship would be able to brush Lightning aside and destroy the freighter. It would be wise not to be around when they arrived – if they arrived. “I don’t think that ship can be repaired any time soon.”

“It looks that way,” Kat agreed.

“Picking up a low-power signal,” Roach said. “They want to talk.”

It was a weak voice, but unmistakably male. “Commonwealth ship, we need to talk,” it said. “We are formally requesting political asylum.”

Kat had expected that, after the Faithful Companion had risked everything in trying to destroy the freighter. “I understand,” she said. “My Marines are going to board your ship and conduct a search. We need to know what we’re dealing with before we make any final decisions. Once we have secured your ship, we will tow you to the nearest naval base” – and that, unfortunately, was <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> – “and my superiors will decide if you should be granted asylum or not.”

There was a long pause. “You don’t understand,” the voice said. “We cannot be returned to Abdullah. We would sooner kill ourselves.”

Kat felt a sudden flicker of sympathy. “If you have committed no crimes under Commonwealth Law, you will not be returned to the Theocracy,” she said, firmly. “However, I cannot allow you to proceed without searching your ship. My Marines are on their way. Please allow them to dock without resistance.”

“Understood, Captain,” the voice said. “Please hurry. They will be after us again soon.”

The XO leaned forward. “I have a bad feeling about this, Captain,” he warned.

Kat didn’t disagree. Her own instincts were tingling. The Theocracy had never shown any particular concern about preventing refugees from fleeing, even the spacers who might be of service in the Theocratic Navy or Merchant Marine. And now a Captain of a mere destroyer had risked destruction to prevent a single freighter from escaping. Something was very wrong.

She followed the Marines as they boarded and swarmed into the freighter. There was no resistance. The skeleton crew looked half-starved and desperate, even though the freighter itself was richly appointed. Some of them chatted to the Marines, others just watched through blank helpless eyes. They no longer had hope.

“Captain,” Bone said, “I believe that you should see this.”

Kat accessed the live feed from his combat suit. Bone had walked into a cabin, occupied by a single woman. That alone was surprising – the Theocracy didn’t allow women in space, at least outside stasis tubes – but her face caught Kat’s attention at once. The political implications were going to be devastating…

“I urgently request political asylum,” she said, in a husky voice that was both charming and seductive at the same time. “I am the Princess Jasmine, Sister to the Caliph. And I know what he has in mind for you.”

 

Chapter Twenty-Four<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

The Princess Jasmine managed to make Kat feel dowdy and inferior at the same time, even as the Marines were showing her into Kat’s cabin. She was tall, with long flowing black hair, brown skin with soft brown eyes and a perfect face, carrying herself as if she were walking into her throne room. Her body was partly concealed behind a long shapeless dress, but her every movement drew the eye towards the contours of her body. Kat knew that Jasmine had probably grown up in a world where her sexuality was her only weapon, but it didn't stop her feeling a certain resentment – even dislike – of the perfect princess. She was magnificent.

“Welcome onboard,” Kat said, as the hatch closed behind the Marines. A female Marine had searched the Princess before allowing her to board Lightning, confirming that she carried nothing dangerous – apart from her very presence. Her flight into Commonwealth space was a political disaster in the making. Everyone from the Admiral to the talking heads trotted out by the news agencies would be second-guessing her, presuming to say what they would have done if they had found themselves in her place. The media made heroes – and it could destroy them with chilling ease. “I’m sorry that we cannot offer you quarters appropriate to your station.”

“That’s all right,” Jasmine said. She smiled a charming smile that made Kat want to grind her teeth. Kat had saved her pretty face from death – or worse – and she still acted as if Kat was the supplicant. “I didn't come here on a diplomatic mission.”

“No,” Kat agreed. She looked up into Jasmine’s eyes, scowling inwardly. Her brown eyes were so soft and innocent, manipulating Kat as easily as they would have manipulated an older and wiser man. “I’m afraid you may have caused a diplomatic crisis between two interstellar powers. Why did you come here?”

Jasmine leaned backwards in her seat, her movement suggesting – just for a second – the shape of her breasts under her robe. “I fled here because I knew that my brother was going to have me killed, or married off to his Grand Vizier,” she said, frankly. Her voice was perfect, a combination of fear and determination that would have affected any male within shouting range. “I did not wish to marry his oldest friend.”

Kat frowned. “And you would have had to marry him?”

“I was told that women are never allowed to choose their own partners,” Jasmine said. There was an odd hint of...longing in her voice. “My brother told me that I was going to marry his friend and that would be that. I decided that I would sooner flee to safer harbours.”

“Maybe a great deal less safe because of your actions,” Kat said. She straightened up. “You told me that you know what the Theocracy has in mind for us. I need you to tell me, now, so I know what to do with you.”

Jasmine met her eyes with calm resolve. “I need a guarantee about my future first,” she said. “Do you know what they will do to me if I go back?”

Kat hesitated. The thought of being forced into an unwanted marriage was horrifying, even though marriages in Avalon’s High Society were often nothing more than ceremonies that bound two families together, organised by the parents. But then, adultery was a fact of life and as long as the couple presented a show of unity in public, hardly anyone would care. She had the distant feeling that an adulater in the Theocracy would suffer a far more serious fate.

“No,” she said, finally. “What will they do to you?”

“They will take me into a little white room and rewrite me,” Jasmine said. “I will be gone, replaced by an obedient housewife who will do her husband’s bidding and little else. My personality will be destroyed – I will be dead, to all intents and purposes. It will be the end of me.”

Kat felt bile rising in her throat. There were some societies that practiced brain-wiping and rewriting as a punishment for convicted criminals – creating a new personality that lacked criminal tendencies – but she’d never heard of it being used to create an obedient wife. And yet it fitted in quite neatly with the Theocracy’s attitude to high-class women; the changes wouldn't be genetic, affecting the next generation of children, and the women would become perfect for their husbands. The thought was sickening.

“That’s what they did to one of my Aunts,” Jasmine continued. Real tears were glistening at the corner of her eye. “She was always demanding more and more from my father, until he had her taken away. When she returned, she was just...a statue, a helpless shadow of herself. A stranger had returned, wearing her body. She’d do whatever she was told and nothing else. When she wasn't needed, she just sat and waited for orders. I don’t want that to happen to me!”

“I can understand that,” Kat said. Her mind was still grappling with the concept. If word got out, the Commonwealth public would unite behind Jasmine – and the pro-war faction – and present a united front to the Theocracy. Or perhaps they wouldn't care; after all, Jasmine had been raised in a gilded cage for her entire life. She had lived her life hundreds of light years from Avalon and there were always problems closer to home. “How did you escape?”

“My bodyguard, Mu’Tamid,” Jasmine said. She winked. “My father had him fixed, of course, before he would allow poor Mu’Tamid to be alone with me. But he’s loyal to me and when I asked him to help plot an escape, he was more than willing. No one questions orders from my brother, even orders that appear to be from my brother.”

Kat frowned. “Fixed?”

“They took away his testicles,” Jasmine said. Kat blanched. “They gave him some kind of chemical treatment that reconciled him to losing his manhood, and then gave him to me. I have to be virgin when I am presented to my husband, or the family will be shamed...”

Her voice broke off. “And if I go back, my mind will be wiped,” she repeated. Kat heard her choke back a sob. “There will be nothing left of me.”

Kat thought furiously. She was shocked at the thought of rewriting a girl’s personality to make her more obedient, but she was also shocked at how casually Jasmine treated her bodyguard’s castration. A modern medical facility could probably reverse the treatment and force-grow him a new pair of testicles, yet somehow she doubted that such treatments would ever be permitted in the Theocracy. Poor Mu’Tamid would probably wind up executed once his usefulness had come to an end, unless the Theocracy had a retirement program for old Eunuchs.

“I am not without sympathy for you,” she said, finally. “However, I need to make a decision regarding your...future and I need you to tell me what you know before I can make any decision. What do you know about the Theocracy’s plans?”

Jasmine hesitated, her head tilting forward in silent pleading. Kat wasn't unmoved, but she kept her face grave and expressionless. It helped that she’d never been particularly interested in women, instead of men; Jasmine’s unspoken seduction, however she chose to describe it, couldn't really affect her.

“My brother is ambitious,” Jasmine said, finally. “He’s my full brother, you see; that’s why he’s giving me away to his best friend, rather that offer me to one of the powerful men on Abdullah.” She laughed, rather shakily. “Anyone who marries me who happens to have noble blood will have a shot at becoming the next Caliph. His friend doesn't have a single drop of noble blood in him. Can’t beat one of the blood royal, after all.”

She stroked her long dark hair. “His father was content to build up and wait for a clear moment to attack and invade the Commonwealth,” she added. “My brother thinks that that moment has come. Ever since he took the throne, he’s been preparing for a sneak attack on the Commonwealth, one that he hopes will crush you in a single opening campaign.”

Kat winced. “And how do you know about it?”

Jasmine grinned, with a wink that invited Kat to share the joke. “My brother loves to boast and so he boasts to me,” she said. “I listened and said little. Later, I accessed his private computers and learned about the attack plans. I thought that they would provide enough of a bargaining chip to ensure that I could stay on Avalon, away from the Theocracy.”

“Maybe they will,” Kat said, finally. “The Faithful Companion was after you personally, wasn't it?”

“Yes,” Jasmine said, seriously. Her face paled for a second, her eyes widening somehow. “They would have been punished if they’d killed me, even at the cost of me defecting to the Commonwealth. Your fire gave them the excuse they needed to break off.”

“Maybe,” Kat said. She believed Jasmine...but anyone who had grown up in a snakepit like Abdullah, with her sex forcing her into a subordinate position despite her lofty birth, would be a skilled liar and dissembler. And then there was the possibility that Jasmine was an unknowing part of her brother’s plan. “I will take you to Cadiz.”

Jasmine paled, again. “My brother has servants on Cadiz,” she said. “They’ll take me or kill me or...”

“You will be under armed guard,” Kat reassured her. “You’ll be on a secure station rather than on the ground – and I think you’ll be transferred into the Commonwealth sooner rather than later. I need to take you there, however, in order to report to my superiors.”

She held up a hand before Jasmine could say anything. “For the moment, you will remain on my ship,” she added. “I’ll arrange for cabin space for you and your companions, but you may have to share a cabin...”

“But I can't,” Jasmine protested. “I can’t sleep with someone else in the room.”

“Cabin,” Kat corrected, pedantically. “This ship does not have...quarters sufficient for one of your exulted birth. I imagine that you will find better lodgings on Cadiz.”

She called the Marines into the room and issued orders. A female Marine would be assigned to stay with Jasmine, at least until the Princess was settled into the starship and familiar with the low-level computer interfaces provided for visitors. Jasmine would probably find the starship cramped compared to her palace on Abdullah, but she would have to learn to endure. Kat felt an odd moment of wry sympathy. She’d had the same reaction when she’d entered Piker’s Peak for the first time and discovered that the quarters for junior recruits were tiny – and she was expected to share with boys!

As soon as the Princess had departed, with the hatch closed behind her, Kat keyed her intercom. “All senior staff, report to my cabin,” she ordered. “Now.”

She’d taken the precaution of turning the pickups in the room on, allowing her to record the entire conversation. It took only a few minutes to replay it for her senior officers, even the parts that showed her in a bad light. Kat guessed, from some of their expressions, that it was easier to sympathise with Jasmine before one had actually met her. Jasmine was young, clearly out of her depth and scared to death, yet she would never admit it, or that she was a supplicant in need of help desperately.

And her mere presence was a horrible ghastly mess.

“Interesting,” Bone said, finally. Kat wondered, just for a second, if her former lover was attracted to the princess. How could he not find her attractive? “The question is simple; is she really who she claims to be?”

Kat blinked. That had, quite honestly, never occurred to her.

“I can’t tell you if she is the genuine sister of the Caliph,” Doctor Katy Braham said, flatly. “What I can tell you is that she comes from a very wealthy and powerful family. She’s been enhanced – improved strength, brain-activity and anti-aging treatments – all banned in the Theocracy and certainly unavailable to anyone without vast amounts of cash and political clout. Her genetics have actually been improved as well, although most of it is hackwork – which does suggest a Theocratic origin, as the Theocracy forbids research into genetic enhancement. Her body” – she shrugged – “was encoded into her genes. She will look as stunning as she does for at least another forty years, barring accidents. There will be no problem with bearing children and they should all grow up to be healthy.”

She hesitated. “I ran a DNA scan and compared it to the files we do have on the original UN-backed settlement program,” she said, after a moment. “There are a hundred other explanations, but there is a distant link between her and the first settlers. The records at Cadiz or Avalon should be able to shed more light on the issue – or disprove it.”

Bone snorted. “Assuming she is real, then, there are three possibilities,” he said. “One; she intends to help us and has brought genuine invasion plans. Two; she intends to help us, but her brother is using her as a pawn and the invasion plans are faked. Three; she’s a willing ally of her brother and is actively trying to deceive us.”

“The Theocracy would hardly benefit from placing us on alert,” the XO pointed out. “That argues that the attack plans are genuine.”

“Ah, but there may be method to their madness,” Bone added. “Right this moment, most of the interstellar powers view the Theocracy as our problem. We are between them and the more populated systems towards Old Earth. The Theocracy cannot realistically expand out past the Rim of the Human Sphere and they cannot go around us without making themselves horrifically vulnerable. Sooner or later, they have to either come to terms with us or crush us. They probably favour the latter.

“So they send Jasmine, either as a willing conspirator or as a dupe, to us. The Faithful Companion may have had orders to make a show of resistance, but ensure that the Princess reaches us safely. We see the plans, decide that the only option is to strike first, and launch a pre-emptive strike. Bingo; any potential allies see us as the aggressor, while the Theocracy launches its own invasion of our space.”

“Too complicated,” the XO said. “Remember when we were worried that the attack on the Summer Palace might be a decapitation strike launched before the main attack fleet appeared in the system? Even that would be far too complicated for any sane strategist. Too much could go wrong. This plan...if we failed to take the bait...”

“Could we afford to ignore it?” Bone said, seriously. “If we were told that our only chance at defeating the Theocracy was to strike first, would we take it?”

He shrugged. “So they come up with a cunning plan and put it into action,” he concluded. “And if it fails, they just shrug and continue preparing for war.”

“I’ve got a cunning plan,” the Chief Engineer said. “Words last spoken by Admiral Baldrick just before the UN forces arrived for the Massacre of Tudor. This plan is just too clever to work.”

Kat tapped the table. “We cannot afford to dismiss it,” she said. “How many people did she bring with her?”

“Seventy-five,” Bone said. “Seventeen of them were the freighter’s crew; apparently they were held at gunpoint and weren’t actually willing to flee to the Commonwealth. Thirteen others were her bodyguard, all...castrated men with weapon implants, which are – oddly enough – also forbidden in the Theocracy. The remainder were the Princess’s maids, who were so devoted to her that they agreed to come with her into exile. You’ll be amused to discover that they are young, beautiful, and all insistent on remaining near their mistress.”

“She’s their only island in this strange new world,” the Doctor said, slowly. “I suspect that some of them may have been conditioned to be loyal, but it would require a more thorough examination than anything I can perform here to be sure. The bodyguards are also a more serious problem. They’re almost as enhanced as the Marines and some of the tech I simply don’t recognise at all.”

“And they may have been conditioned to be loyal to the Caliph,” Bone added. “Dragon’s Teeth, just waiting for their chance to turn on us.”

“We will head back to Cadiz at once,” Kat said, firmly. “We’ll tow the freighter to an isolated spot, open a gateway and shove her back into normal space. The investigating team can come out here and recover her once they have finished questioning the princess. The Admiral...”

She scowled. The Admiral would no doubt be delighted to have another high-class visitor to his endless round of parties and self-indulgence – despite nearly losing his wife and two of his sons – but she doubted that he would be quick to rush to the alert, let alone inform Avalon. It might be time to send a second message to her father...and then it struck her that she didn't have to do anything underhand, not this time. Regulations would cover her rear end.

“If the Faithful Companion comes back with friends, we will avoid engagement,” she concluded. “Thank you, all of you.”

The meeting ended as the senior officers filed out of her cabin. Kat frowned, considering Jasmine’s frozen holographic image, and the effect she had on men. Her crew had been affected, and there was going to be trouble once the media caught sight of her. The perfect princess...young, foreign, and dreadfully glamorous. They’d love her on sight. And there would be trouble once her crew realised that the princess had brought a swarm of beautiful female servants onboard...

Shaking her head, she headed for the bridge. It was time to start moving, fast.

God alone knew how much time they had left.