Falcone Strike (40 page)

By the time the courier boat dropped out of hyperspace, Admiral Junayd was thoroughly bored. There was nothing to
do
on the tiny ship, save read religious texts, pray, meditate on the state of his soul, and worry about his family. Had they hidden themselves in time? There was no way to know.

Three days after his escape, he found himself half wondering if he should reverse course and seek forgiveness even though he knew there would be none; five days afterwards, he could have sworn he was seeing the ghosts of the men he’d killed staring down at him when he snapped awake. It wasn’t uncommon for spacers to see things, he’d learned as a young cadet, but most stories were suppressed by the religious authorities. Now . . . now, there was no one to reassure him that he was imagining it. He honestly had no idea how the crewmen had managed to stay sane.

He glanced at the scanner as the courier boat approached the naval base. Three squadrons of superdreadnoughts were clearly visible, backed up by dozens of smaller ships and a
swarm
of hundreds of gunboats. He felt a sudden stab of envy—even on the defensive, the Commonwealth was a fantastically rich society—and then keyed a command into the console, slowing the starship to a halt. In theory, the Commonwealth wouldn’t shoot at a courier boat—it might have been bringing messages from the enemy leadership—but in practice, he had no way to be sure. The Theocracy hadn’t signed any of the agreements made between the major interstellar powers after the Breakaway Wars.

“I would like to defect,” he said when he was challenged. A flight of gunboats flew past, so close he could see them with the naked eye. They wouldn’t have any difficulty blowing him out of space if they saw something, anything, suspicious. “I’d prefer not to broadcast my name on an open channel. This system may well be under observation.”

It damn well should be
, he added silently. It was an irritating thought. He’d recommended the policy as part of the prewar preparations.
Unless they chose to ignore my recommendations, of course
.

He waited, patiently, until a shuttle arrived, latching onto the courier boat’s airlock. Four Marines entered, weapons at the ready. Admiral Junayd raised his hands, then waited, as patiently as he could, for them to finish sweeping his body with sensors, looking for hidden surprises. He could endure any indignity as long as he was safe. The Commonwealth wouldn’t give him command of a fleet—the idea was laughable—but they’d take care of him.

It was nearly four hours—and a careful examination that had seemed to take forever—before he came face to face with Admiral Christian.

“Admiral,” Admiral Junayd said. He would have preferred to deal with another officer, but there was no choice. “I would like to defect.”

“So you said,” Admiral Christian said. His voice was very cool. He’d faced Admiral Junayd in battle, over Cadiz, and might bear a grudge. “Might I ask why?
”

“
Because if I stayed, I would be killed,” Admiral Junayd said. If he was lucky, the combination of the lost superdreadnought and his family going into hiding would be enough to muddy the waters. The Theocracy would have its chance to pretend he died bravely instead of being executed as a failure. “I can help you, if you don’t broadcast my name.”

Admiral Christian leaned forward. “Why?
”

“
My family will be killed,” Admiral Junayd said flatly. He was too proud to lower himself to beg. The die had been cast the moment he’d shot Isaac on his own bridge. “I have gifts, if you want them, in exchange for your silence. Intelligence, tactical data, even starship design notes.”

“We’ll be delighted,” Admiral Christian said. “And welcome to the Commonwealth.”

“Thank you,” Admiral Junayd said.

William looked down at the golden star, unable to quite believe it was his. Part of him had decided, long ago, that he would
never
be offered command, no matter how hard he worked or how much experience he gained. He had tried to remain optimistic . . . he shook his head, admiring the way his name had been carved into the star. A command, a genuine command . . . he wouldn’t have minded, he told himself, if he’d been offered a garbage scow, if he’d been offered
something
.

“You will probably be assigned to a heavy cruiser,” Admiral Young had said. “I cannot make promises, not yet, but I believe that would be the best use of your talents.”

“Commander . . .
William
,” a voice said. “Captain,” he said, before catching himself. Captains called each other by their first names. “
Katherine
?
”

“
Just Kat, please,” Kat said. Even in her dress uniform, she looked way too young to be a commanding officer. “Katherine is what my parents call me.”

She smiled. “And congratulations.”

“Thank you,” William said. He held up the star. “Your work?
”

“
I recommended you for promotion after our last voyage,” Kat said. Thinking of her as anything other than
Captain
would be difficult. “They saw fit to deny my request until now.”

William scowled. Had he been awarded a command because of his service, because of Kat Falcone’s recommendation . . . or because of Rose MacDonald? Had someone felt that it was time to speed up integration, despite the risks? Or had someone decided he could be trusted to serve as an example of an integrated officer,
without
the risks? He considered, briefly, demanding an explanation, perhaps even refusing the promotion, but he knew it would be professional suicide. Promotions were rarely offered more than once.

“You’ll do fine,” she assured him. “Once you have a command, it will be back to the front lines.”

“Or behind them,” William said. “Do they have any plans to send another squadron behind enemy lines?
”

“
I suspect so,” Kat said. “However . . .”

The door opened. “It’s time,” she said, reaching out and taking his arm. “Let’s go.”

William sucked in his breath as they walked forward—he couldn’t help thinking they were walking to the altar—into the giant chamber. It was lined with nobility, ranging from dukes and lords who were household names to men and women who’d purchased their noble titles and taken their place among the planet’s rulers. He wanted to stop, but iron discipline kept him moving forward until he was standing in front of the throne. The king looked down at him and, unbelievably, winked.

“Who brings this man before me?
”

“
I, Lady Katherine Falcone, do,” Kat said. Her voice was clear, showing no hint she was intimidated by the massive gathering. But then,
she
was the daughter of a duke. “He is worthy of your recognition.”

The king rose to his feet. “Captain William McElney . . .” he said. His voice was calm, but William thought he detected hints of uncertainty buried within the tone. A junior officer, perhaps, hopelessly out of his depth. William had mentored dozens of them in his long career. “You have served Us well. Kneel.”

William hesitated, then fell to his knees. Kat dropped beside him, still holding his arm. The king drew his sword and stepped forward, holding the blade out until it was resting gently on William’s shoulder. He tensed, despite himself; a single slash and his head would be rolling on the ground. But the king would never kill someone in front of the entire aristocracy.

“It is Our very great honor to invest you with a knighthood,” the king said. “We welcome you to Our family, to those who serve Us and Our Kingdom. Arise, Sir William.”

He drew back the sword. William rose, slowly, as the crowd cheered. A knighthood wasn’t just an empty title, he knew; it was social acceptance, an open invitation to take up a place among the aristocracy. Kat gently tugged on his arm, pulling him around; he blinked in surprise as he saw Princess Drusilla standing amidst the throng. He hadn’t expected to see her again, ever. But then, her defection had been a major point in the Commonwealth’s favor.

“Come on,” Kat whispered. “It’s time to go.”

William nodded and allowed her to lead him out of the room, into an antechamber. It was suddenly very quiet as the door closed behind them.

“Congratulations, Sir William,” she said seriously. “You deserve it.”

“Thank you,” he said. “What now?
”

Kat laughed. “Join me for dinner? Patrick should be back soon; we can go eat together and talk about the future.”

William hesitated, then nodded. “Why not?”

“Katherine,” Duke Falcone said, when Kat entered his office. “Have you heard the news
?”

Kat frowned. She’d had dinner with her former XO—she knew she was going to miss him—and had been seriously considering a night on the town with Davidson before her father’s message had arrived. It had been terse, ordering her to return to the mansion at once; she’d bid her friends farewell, then caught an aircar home. Her father wouldn’t have summoned her if it hadn’t been urgent.

“No,” she said. “What news
?”

“Admiral Morrison is dead,” Duke Falcone said curtly. “There was, apparently, a tragic accident. His brain literally melted.”

Kat blinked in shock. “What happened?
”

“
According to the reports, they were preparing to use a mind probe on him,” Duke Falcone said. “They established the link, then there was a sudden surge of power, causing a colossal cerebral hemorrhage. His body was shoved into stasis at once, of course, while medics were called, but by the time they examined him it was far too late. They can keep his body alive, Katherine, yet the man himself is long gone. There isn’t a hope of interrogating him.”

“That wasn’t an accident,” Kat said.

“Almost certainly not,” Duke Falcone agreed. “Units of the Special Security Force took everyone in the complex into custody, then checked them all out
thoroughly
. The mind probe itself was examined. Apparently, it was programmed to generate a power surge when linked to a specific brainprint. As of yet, Katherine, no one has been marked as a potential suspect.”

Kat swallowed. “Someone reached into the heart of a top-secret detention facility and murdered the one man who might be able to explain what happened at Cadiz.”

“Precisely,” Duke Falcone said. “I don’t think I need to explain to you the political consequences.”

“No,” Kat said. She’d seriously considered killing Admiral Morrison herself, before thinking better of it. Clearly, his unknown patrons had been thinking along the same lines. “Whoever was backing Admiral Morrison will remain unidentified.”

“Quite,” her father agreed. “They may have acted to cover the whole disaster up, Katherine, or they may have something darker in mind. And we
still
don’t have the slightest idea who they are.”

“Or why they promoted Admiral Morrison,” Kat said. “We have no suspects at all?
”

“
There are thirteen dukes,” her father said dryly. “Seeing I know I didn’t do it, that leaves twelve possible suspects. All of whom, I might add, have enough political power to quash any accusations without solid proof.”

He shook his head. “We have a war to fight, Katherine,” he concluded. “For now, all we can do is watch, wait, and see if they reveal themselves. And take precautions, in case this is more than a simple attempt to cover up a major blunder.”

“I understand,” Kat said.

“I hope so,” her father agreed. “Because if they can reach into a top-secret detention facility and murder our single most important prisoner, without leaving any traces that point back to them, what else can they do?”