The Oncoming Storm (6 page)

“I have heard . . . rumors, through Marine Intelligence, that things are not good along the border,” he said slowly. “But only rumors.”

Kat felt her eyes narrow. The Marine Corps had a separate intelligence section, something that irked both the Office of Naval Intelligence and the civilian External Intelligence Agency. It was normally geared around local intelligence collection to support Marine deployments, but it did tend to collect tactical and strategic intelligence as well. Sometimes, it even picked up on something the larger intelligence services had missed.

“I see,” she said carefully. “What did they say?”

“Nothing concrete,” Davidson admitted. “Mostly, there were concerns about the growing insurgency on Cadiz and the certainty that something is supplying the insurgents with heavy weapons from off-world. The wretched planet is sucking in too many of our cadre of Marines, not to mention the Army and forces from Commonwealth planets. Hell, the latter are growing increasingly reluctant to send any further forces to Cadiz, citing the Commonwealth Charter. Overall, Marine Intelligence thinks that Cadiz isn’t the only world that has received attention from the Theocracy. Those missionaries might have done more than try to spread the good word.”

Kat grimaced. The Commonwealth had total religious freedom—and total separation of church and state. There had been no choice. The Commonwealth couldn’t afford to exclude potential member states because of their religions, as long as they adhered to the Commonwealth Charter. If someone wanted to worship Satan, or accept a subordinate position because of gender, there was no law prohibiting it . . .

. . . which made it hard to deal with missionaries from the Theocracy. Kat suspected—and she knew that most of her fellow officers shared her suspicions—that the missionaries were nothing more than spies. But they couldn’t be barred from any member planet, not without breaking the Commonwealth’s laws. All the intelligence services could do was keep an eye on them and watch for signs they had something else in mind.

“All along the border,” she mused. “And those insurgent groups might be receiving help too.”

“Not on the same scale as Cadiz,” Davidson said. “But every other world voted for annexation. Cadiz . . . did not.”

And that, Kat knew, was the core of the political struggle that had deadlocked the houses of Parliament. Cadiz had been, for all intents and purposes, invaded and conquered, without even the benefit of a great many people willing to welcome the Commonwealth. Peace was needed to start investments on the surface, investments that would pay off handsomely in the long run, but the locals weren’t interested in peace. All they wanted was to get the outsiders off their world, which would leave them hopelessly vulnerable when the Theocracy came calling.

Other resistance groups could be handled. They could be fended off until the newly annexed world was ready to take responsibility for its own security . . . and the economic boom undermined whatever support the resistance had from the population. But Cadiz . . . Kat suspected that there were members of Parliament who would vote for unilateral withdrawal tomorrow if the issue were put to a vote. And that would be costly too.

Davidson cleared his throat. “It does look like war is looming,” he said. “Many of the readiness reports from Cadiz are not good either.”

Kat looked up at him, sharply. “You have evidence?”

“Just funny little reports from Marine detachments,” Davidson said. “You do realize that there are very few Bootnecks on 7th Fleet?”

Kat blinked. Davidson commanded a full company of marines, one hundred in all. A superdreadnought rated at least four companies of marines. In total, Admiral Morrison should have had around three thousand marines assigned to his fleet. Marines didn’t just kill people and break things. They served as everything from shipboard police to damage-control officers and emergency manpower.

“They’ve been assigned to the planet, largely,” Davidson explained, answering her unspoken question. “The report wasn’t too clear, but it looks as though the only ships that still have Marine complements are starships on escort or border patrol duty. Now . . . what does that tell us about the situation on the ground?”

“That it’s poor,” Kat said. It wasn’t a guess. The Commonwealth had assigned nearly a million soldiers and marines to Cadiz, but they were garrisoning an entire planet. If they needed to strip marines from their starships, she suspected, the local commander clearly felt he needed them. “And that there’s hardly anyone to provide support services for the fleet.”

She looked down at the desk. “Who’s providing onboard security?”

“Shore Patrol, I suspect,” Davidson said. “If there’s anyone providing it at all.”

Kat fought down the urge to start screaming. The Shore Patrol was universally loathed among spacers, being neither spacers themselves nor civilian law enforcement. Their normal role was nothing more than patrolling spaceports, pulling drunken spacers out of bars, and providing first responders for certain emergencies. It was far from uncommon for isolated Shore Patrolmen to be beaten by drunken spacers, who would then slip away to their starships and swear innocence when the senior chiefs demanded answers. If Shore Patrolmen were providing boarding parties . . .

She shook her head in disbelief. Boarding a starship, even if the crew had surrendered, was a tricky job at the best of times. The Shore Patrol weren’t even trained as junior crewmen, let along experienced spacers. There was a reason such tasks were normally left to the Marines.

“I think that’s something that should be relayed to my father,” she said, although she wasn’t sure what—if anything—could be done with it. Any half-decent PR flack could come up with a dozen excuses that would sound plausible, at least to a civilian. “But . . .”

She looked up, meeting his gray eyes. “I don’t think my XO trusts me.”

“So you said,” Davidson replied. “You must be rattled. It’s not like you to jump around.”

Kat nodded wordlessly. He knew her well.

Davidson placed his hands on her table, then leaned forward. “You are too young and too inexperienced to be formally assigned command of this ship,” he said. “Your XO—and your other officers—will be aware of it. As your family name is rather well known . . .”

Kat snorted, rudely. There wasn’t a person in the Commonwealth who hadn’t heard of the Falcone family.

“. . . they will suspect that strings were pulled to get you command,” Davidson continued. He paused, significantly. “No. They will know that strings were pulled to get you command—a command you didn’t earn. They will be very worried about your competence and well they should be. For all they know, your previous successes came about because of your family name too.”

“They should have seen me at Piker’s Peak,” Kat said ruefully. “I didn’t flunk out, but . . . I didn’t exactly win any awards.”

“I don’t think that would reassure them,” Davidson said. “Whenever someone new takes command, even in the Marines, there is a period when everything is out of shape and nothing feels quite right. No one quite trusts the newcomer, particularly if they haven’t served with her or him before. Hell, things change even when the new CO is promoted from the ranks of those already serving within the unit. In your case, it’s worse because you have far less experience than anyone else.”

Kat nodded. “Even a marine who was promoted as soon as it was legally possible would have the experience of being an infantryman,” she mused. “I didn’t come up from the ranks.”

“No, you didn’t,” Davidson said. “And your XO did. I don’t blame him for having a chip on his shoulder.”

“I know,” Kat said. She’d reviewed personnel files until she’d felt her eyes glazing over, starting with William McElney. “He wasn’t even born as a Commonwealth citizen.”

“That’s a problem that will probably come back to bite us,” Davidson said. “We treat people like him as second-class citizens, no matter their competence.”

Kat sighed, remembering lessons from a series of tutors. The idea of creating the Commonwealth had caused an almighty struggle in the houses of Parliament, with some families contemplating a whole new series of markets for their goods while others feared the dilution of their power base in the wake of an influx of newcomers. In the end, a compromise had been hammered out, ensuring the current balance of power was maintained while the newcomers were allowed to enter the aristocracy. Given time, the projections had maintained, the newcomers would become part of High Society.

They might be right, she thought. But that does no good for anyone born before their world joined the Commonwealth. They’ll never rise as high as they could.

“My advice,” Davidson said, “is to be the best captain you can be.”

Kat glowered at him. “And I couldn’t have thought of that for myself?”

“Sometimes the only way out is through,” Davidson said, unabashed. “You will have to work hard to convince them that you deserved to be promoted. Think of yourself as a version of Labelle Jones.”

“Oh,” Kat said. Her lips twitched, humorlessly. “That isn’t the most reassuring thing you could say.”

She remembered. The story had been taught at Piker’s Peak as a cautionary tale, although no one had been quite sure if it was a warning about the dangers of favoritism or how people could jump to the wrong conclusions. A young officer, assigned to a remote station, had been promoted several times, simply because the bureaucracy insisted that someone higher in rank had to be in command. But when the screwup had finally been noticed by the Inspectorate General, no one had been willing to believe it was just a clerical error. The poor officer’s next set of superiors had assumed the worst, that she’d been the beneficiary of an absurd degree of favoritism and piled work on her until she’d nearly collapsed.

“I’m not trying to be reassuring,” Davidson said. “I’m trying to tell you that earning the respect and trust of your subordinates isn’t going to be easy.”

“I know,” Kat said. She looked down at her hands for a long moment and then looked up. “And how are your marines?”

“Settling in,” Davidson said. “We would like the use of the main corridor, if you don’t mind.”

“Once it’s clear of junk,” Kat said. At least the crew was making rapid progress now. “And . . .”

She shook her head, dismissing the thought. Part of her had wanted to ask if he was seeing someone. His file had said he wasn’t married, but marines rarely married until they left the service or became combat lifers. But he might still have a girlfriend on Tyre or one of the other ships . . . God knew she hadn’t exactly been chaste since they’d split up and gone their separate ways.

“. . . I’ll expect you to handle your men,” she said, instead. Their relationship could never be the same, no matter what she wanted. And she was being stupid even considering the possibility, not when she was his commanding officer. “And I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

Davidson lifted an eyebrow. “Dinner?”

Kat smirked but then tried to hide it. Perhaps he’d had the same thought too.

“You’re the last officer to board the ship,” she said, instead. “I was waiting for you before hosting a formal dinner.”

“I look forward to it,” Davidson said stiffly. He rose to his feet. “With your permission, Captain, I will return to Marine Country. I have training exercises to plan.”

“Me too,” Kat said. They couldn’t fly into battle, not yet, but they could run exercises to make sure they made all the obvious mistakes before actually facing a real enemy. “I’ll see you tonight.”

She watched him go, then turned back to her terminal, feeling an odd tinge of regret. She missed what they’d shared, more than she cared to admit . . .

But at least, she told herself firmly, there was one person she could trust on her ship.

All things considered, Commander William McElney conceded reluctantly, it could have been worse.

The captain was inexperienced, at least when it came to being a commanding officer. She had a tendency to do too much of the work that should have been left to her XO, a common trait in newly promoted captains. But at least she wasn’t a tyrant or a whiny brat in a naval uniform. He’d served under both kinds of commanding officers in his long career. But he was still worried about the first time Lightning went into battle. Who knew how the captain would react?

He pushed the thought to one side as he stepped into the conference room and glanced around the table, silently gratified to note that all of the senior officers had made it. They’d spent the last two days finalizing preparations for departure, something that had worn them out and made him urge the captain to ensure they had a day or two of rest before they actually departed the system. There was no time for shore leave, even to the orbital Intercourse and Intoxication station, but at least they could have stood down for a day. But the captain had warned that it would depend on their orders from the Admiralty.

The conference room seemed smaller than he remembered, now that it was actually serving its designated role. A large holographic image of the starship hung over the table, which was surrounded by comfortable chairs and a handful of consoles. A coffee maker sat against one bulkhead, with several officers glancing wistfully towards the machine. William sighed and then motioned for the steward to begin serving coffee. There were days when he knew the Navy practically ran on coffee. He took his seat, beside the captain’s chair at the head of the table, and waited. Captain Falcone entered the compartment moments later.

She looked tired but happy, he noted as he rose to his feet in greeting. Somehow, actually working so closely with her made it easier to ignore the fact she looked too young to be on a starship, let alone sitting in the command chair. He had a feeling, judging from her expression, that the Admiralty had finally gotten around to cutting the starship her orders. No captain, not even the most rule-abiding commanding officer, would be entirely happy drifting in orbit near Tyre. It would be far too easy for the Admiralty to interfere with the smooth running of their starship.

He sighed at the thought. The new crewmen had arrived, as promised, and some of them were going to be trouble. He would have rejected them, if there had been time, but the missives from the Admiralty insisting that they move up their departure date had grown more frequent and more ominous. Instead, all he could do was ride herd on the potential troublemakers and make sure the senior chiefs did the same. It was possible that careful supervision would turn them into valuable crewmen. Or at least keep them out of trouble.