Coming In March From Christopher G. Nuttall ...
Cursed Command, Book III of Angel in the Whirlwind.  Pre-order from Amazon NOW!
Captain Kat Falcone owes her life and career to her former right-hand man, William McElney, and she did everything in her power to make sure he was front and center for a promotion. But now that he has it, she fears he’ll have to watch his back. Captain McElney has been assigned to HMS Uncanny—nicknamed Unlucky—a heavy cruiser tainted by the mysterious deaths of two former captains and rumors of mutineers. Nevertheless, as the interstellar war with the Theocracy rages on, the Uncanny will travel in tandem with Kat’s starship, HMS Lightning, to the notoriously lawless Jorlem Sector to forge alliances for the Commonwealth and quash rampant piracy.
As Captain McElney struggles to whip a hostile crew of miscreants into a disciplined fighting force, Kat is saddled with an undermining new executive officer—an untested aristocrat whose bigotry colors his sense of duty. Both captains wage war against ruthless pirates while conspirators aboard the Uncanny plot to seize the ship. When the starships find themselves locked in a death match with an enemy juggernaut, Kat must make a desperate and devastating sacrifice.
Free Sample:
Prologue
“Mission accomplished?”
“Yes, sir,” Crewwoman Julia Transom said. She smiled rather coldly. “Captain Abraham is dead.”
Senior Chief Joel Gibson smiled back. It hadn't been hard to arrange for Captain Abraham’s death, even though the IG would almost certainly go through the entire series of events with a fine-tooth comb. Captain Abraham wasn’t—hadn’t been—precisely aristocracy, but he’d had connections at a very high level. Yet there had been no choice. Captain Abraham had also been far too effective. Given time, he might have turned Uncanny into a real wreck, and that Joel could not allow.
He leaned forward, warningly. “And the evidence?”
“Gone,” Julia assured him. He didn't miss the flicker of fear, swiftly hidden, in her eyes. “If they manage to recover the black box, it’ll look like a random fluctuation in the shuttle’s drive field. They can take however long they want to sift through the debris. They won’t find anything incriminating.”
“Good,” Joel said. “And so we are without a commanding officer. Again.”
Julia nodded hastily. “You’d think they’d grow tired of losing officers to this ship.”
Joel shrugged. Uncanny had been in active service, technically, for three years. The first of her class, she’d been intended to serve as both a squadron command vessel and an independent command for a fire-eating captain. But she’d had a run of bad luck that had left her relegated to lunar orbit, well away from anywhere important. Spacers believed—or chose to believe—that she was cursed. Given just how many accidents had befallen her crew, they were right to be reluctant to serve on her. Joel and his allies hadn't been responsible for all of the accidents.
“They’ll want us heading out to the war, sooner or later,” he said reluctantly. Though the information was classified, he’d long-since spliced a hack into the command network. Given how much time the XO spent in the lunar fleshpots, Joel could honestly say that he read his superior’s mail long before Abraham did. “And that gives us our opportunity.”
He smirked as he turned away from her. He’d honestly never expected to stay in the Navy, not since a judge had given him a choice between taking the oath and serving his planet or going straight to a penal world. Joel had expected to put in his ten years as an ordinary crewman and then leave Tyre for good, but it hadn't taken him long to see the possibilities inherent in his new position. There was something to be said for being the only effective man in a crew of drunkards, morons, near-criminals, and people the Navy bureaucracy couldn't be bothered to discharge. There were all sorts of other possibilities for a man with imagination and guts.
Julia coughed. “Our opportunity?”
“Why, to take our fate into our own hands, of course,” Joel said.
Julia’s eyes went wide, but she said nothing. Joel nodded in approval. He trusted Julia about as much as he trusted anyone, which wasn't very much. Julia would sing like a bird if the IG found proof she’d assassinated her commanding officer. The less she knew the better. He’d considered disposing of her in another accident—and he would have done so if he hadn't needed her. How such a remarkable talent for hacking computer networks had escaped being put to better use was beyond him, but he had no doubt of her loyalty. She’d done enough to more than prove her credentials to him.
He turned back to face her. Julia’s red hair, cut close to her scalp, shimmered under the bright lights. Her uniform was a size too tight, showing every last curve of her body. There was a hardness in her face that warned that anyone who tried to take advantage of her was going to regret it, if he survived. Joel had taught her more than enough dirty tricks to give Julia an unfair advantage over those who thought that mere strength and brute force would be enough to bring her down.
“Keep a sharp eye on the XO’s personal channel,” Joel ordered. “If the Admiralty wants to send in another CO, they’ll notify him first.”
“Unless they know what he’s doing with his time,” Julia reminded him.
Joel rolled his eyes. The XO wasn't very smart—there was only so far that aristocratic ranks and titles could take a person—but he’d shown a certain low cunning in assembling his protective shroud. Unless the Admiralty decided to make a surprise inspection, they shouldn't have any idea that the XO was enjoying himself rather than doing his duty. If they did . . . Joel found it hard to care. The XO would take the blame for everything and the plotters would pass unnoticed.
Unless they break up the crew, he thought.
He shook his head. Uncanny had served as the Royal Navy’s dumping ground for the last two years. Even her couple of combat operations in the war hadn't changed that, particularly not after the . . . incident . . . at Donne’s Reach. Breaking up the crew would force the Admiralty to distribute over a thousand unwanted crewmembers all over the Navy while facing stiff resistance from everyone else. No captain in his right mind wanted a crewman or an officer who had served on Uncanny. The ship wasn't known as Unlucky for nothing.
Julia cleared her throat. “Sir?”
“Keep an eye on his channel,” Joel ordered again. “Alert me if anything changes.”
Julia nodded, then turned and hurried out of the compartment. Joel watched her go, thinking dark thoughts. They were committed now, no matter how much he might wish to believe otherwise. Whatever he’d said to her, he knew that the IG would not take the death of a commanding officer lightly. And if they started digging through Uncanny, they’d uncover far too many oddities to look away . . .
But by then, we should be ready to move, he told himself firmly. They won't have time to stop us before it’s too late.

Chapter One
HMS Uncanny looked . . . faded.
Captain William McElney wasn't sure just what had prompted that observation, but he couldn't escape his first impression of his new command. HMS Uncanny was a blunt white arrowhead, like HMS Lightning, yet there was something about her that bothered him. Her hull was painted the same pure white as the remainder of the fleet, but it was obvious that no one had bothered to—that no one had needed to—repaint the hull. The network of sensor blisters dotted over her exterior looked new, too new. Her point defense weapons, which should have tracked his shuttle as it approached her hull, were still, utterly immobile.
“She doesn't seem to know we’re here, sir,” the pilot said.
William sucked in his breath sharply, feeling a yawning chasm opening in his chest. A command, his first command . . . he’d served the Royal Navy faithfully for years, hoping for a command of his own. And yet, the more he looked at the heavy cruiser, the more he wondered if he’d been wise to want a command. On paper, Uncanny was a dream; in practice, the First Space Lord had made it clear that the heavy cruiser was trouble.
“Send a standard greeting, then request permission to dock,” William ordered finally.
He cursed under his breath. The Theocracy had shown itself more than willing to use suicide missions to target the Commonwealth, even before the tide of the war had started to turn against them. A shuttle crammed with antimatter, exploding within an unsuspecting starship’s shuttlebay, would be more than enough to vaporize the entire cruiser. Even a standard nuke would be enough to do real damage if it detonated inside the hull. These days, no one was allowed to dock without an elaborate security screening to make sure they were who they claimed to be. Even civilians were included despite endless protests. He couldn't help wondering if the Theocracy had deliberately set out to ensure that the precautions caused more economic damage than their attacks.
Careless, he thought grimly. And dangerous in these times.
“No response,” the pilot said.
“Send it again,” William said. He didn't want to try to force a docking, certainly not on the day he boarded his first command. But if there was no choice, he’d have to try. “And then find us a docking hatch.”
“Aye, sir,” the pilot said.
William nodded, then glanced down at the shuttle’s tactical display. Uncanny should have been running a low-level sensor scan at all times, but she clearly wasn't doing anything of the sort. The vessel was technically within regulations, given how close they were to the network of fortresses guarding Tyre, yet the lack of forethought was careless. Really careless. If the ship had had to bring up her sensors in a hurry, it was going to take far longer than it should have . . .
. . . And he’d seen enough combat to know that bare minutes could mean the difference between life and death.
“Your commanding officer has written a glowing recommendation, Sir William,” the First Space Lord had said. “And so has Rose MacDonald. I’m afraid the combination of recommendations has quite upset the bureaucracy,”
William had kept his face impassive. He’d been promoted to captain; he’d been promised a command . . . yet he’d forced himself to keep his expectations low. He was too senior to command a gunboat, he thought; too junior to be offered a cruiser or carrier command. He’d expected a destroyer, perhaps a frigate. Yet, with so many conflicting recommendations, he wasn’t sure what he’d get. There were hundreds of officers with better connections and only a handful of commands.
“You’re being given a heavy cruiser,” the First Space Lord had added, pausing just long enough for his words to sink in. “You’re being given Uncanny.”
“Thank you, sir,” William had stammered. He had expected a sting in the tail and hadn't been disappointed. He had no reason to be given a heavy cruiser, not when he'd just been made a captain, save for the simple fact that no one wanted to serve on Uncanny. The ship had a notorious reputation. “Unlucky?”
“That’s what they call it,” the First Space Lord said grimly.
He’d said a great deal more, William remembered. Uncanny had lost two previous commanding officers to accidents, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. The ship had been deployed to a cloaked fleet lying in wait for a Theocratic vanguard, only to have her cloaking system go offline at the worst possible moment. If that hadn't been bad enough, there had been a whole string of incidents culminating in the starship launching a missile barrage towards a friendly ship. The events had all been seen as glitches, but they had cost Uncanny’s commanding officer his career.
And matters weren't helped by the missiles being unarmed, William had thought when he’d reviewed the file. If she’d been shooting at an enemy ship, she’d have inflicted no damage at all.
“We need to get Uncanny into service as quickly as possible,” the First Space Lord had concluded. “And if you succeed in sorting out the mess, you’ll remain as her commanding officer permanently.”
It wasn't much of a bribe, William thought. There was no shortage of captains willing to compete for a post on Lightning—the heavy cruiser was famous—but Uncanny? He’d be surprised if there was any competition for her command chair. And yet, he had to admit, his appointment was a hell of a challenge. A heavy cruiser command was nothing to sneer at, even if she did have a reputation for being unlucky. He’d be on the path to flag rank . . .
Assuming I survive, he told himself. He hadn’t felt comfortable airing his concerns in front of his superior officer. Those accidents may not have been accidents at all . . . “Captain,” the pilot said. His voice shocked William out of his memories. “We have received permission to dock at Hatch One.”
William felt his eyes narrow as the shuttle altered course and sped towards the hatch. Hatch One was located near the bridge—it was the closest shuttle hatch to the bridge—but it wasn’t where a new captain would board his command for the first time. Normally, a captain would be met by his XO in the shuttlebay, allowing him time to meet his senior officers before formally assuming command. And the XO was supposed to be on the vessel . . . he’d checked, just before he departed Tyre. Commander Stewart Greenhill was currently in command of HMS Uncanny.
“Dock us,” he ordered, wondering just what sort of hellhole he was about to enter. “And remain docked until I give you leave to depart.”
“Aye, Captain,” the pilot said.
The hatch looked normal enough, William noted, yet he couldn't help tensing as the shuttle mated with Uncanny. Captain Abraham had died in a shuttle accident—the IG had found nothing suspicious in two weeks of careful investigation—but Captain Jove had died in a freak airlock accident. A component had decayed, according to the engineers; the airlock had registered a safe atmosphere when it had actually been open to vacuum. William had been in the Navy long enough to know that accidents happened, but he’d also learned that accidents could be made to happen. Losing two commanding officers to accidents was more than a little suspicious.
He covertly tested his shipsuit and mask, hidden in his shoulder pockets, as the hatch hissed open. Everything looked normal, but the inner hatch took just long enough to open for him to start feeling nervous. The hatch should have opened at once, unless the sensors registered vacuum or biological contamination. William took a long breath as he stepped into his cruiser and had to fight to keep from recoiling in horror. Uncanny stank like a pirate ship after a successful mission of looting, raping, and burning.
Fuck, he thought.
He felt a sudden surge of anger as he looked up and down the corridor. No one had come to greet him, neither the XO nor his senior officers. What were they playing at? Even a very busy XO should have come to meet his CO for the first time, if only to explain any problems that caught the captain’s eye. And to explain why his ship smelled worse than an unwashed outdoor toilet. It wasn't as if replacing the air filters required a goddamned shipyard! He took another breath and tasted faint hints of ionization in the air, warning him that dozens, perhaps hundreds, of components had not been replaced for far too long. Every trained spacer knew that that smell meant trouble.
A hatch hissed open in the distance. William braced himself, unsure what to expect as someone hurried down the corridor towards him. He rested his hands on his hips—it was hard to resist the temptation to draw his sidearm—as the welcome party came into view. A very small welcome party. It was a young woman wearing a steward’s uniform; she was young enough to be his daughter, yet with a hardness in her eyes that shocked him. Whatever military bearing she’d had before leaving Piker’s Peak was long gone. Her salute, when she finally gave it, was so sloppy, her instructors would have cried themselves senseless.
“Stand at ease,” William curtly ordered. He took a moment to match the face to the files he’d studied during the flight from Tyre. Janet Richmond, Captain Abraham’s personal steward. Blonde enough to remind him of Kat Falcone, but lacking Kat’s poise and grim determination to prove herself. “Where is the XO?”
Janet quailed. William suddenly realized that he might have been too harsh. “I . . .”
William took a breath. Janet was a steward. She wasn't in the chain of command. Hell, he doubted she had any authority outside her CO’s suite. What the hell was she doing here?
“Calm down,” he ordered, forcing his own voice to calm. “Where is the XO?”
“He’s not on the ship, sir,” Janet said carefully. She cringed back, as if she expected to be slapped. “Commander Greenhill hasn't been on the ship for the last ten days.”
William felt his mouth drop open. “What?”
“He left the ship ten days ago,” Janet said. She sounded as if she were pleading with him for . . . what? Understanding? “He ordered the communications staff to keep up the pretense that he was onboard.”
“I see,” William said.
He had to fight, hard, to keep his anger under control. He hadn't thought much of Commander Greenhill after he'd read the man’s file, but he’d promised himself that he would keep an open mind. Now . . . Commander Greenhill would be lucky if he was merely kicked out of the Navy. Going on unauthorized leave when he was meant to be in command of his ship? Dereliction of duty was a shooting offense in wartime.
“Please don’t tell him I told you,” Janet pleaded. “He’ll get angry.”
“He’ll get dead,” William snapped. Shooting was too good for Commander Greenhill. Far too good for him. William had been raised to do his duty or die trying, no matter what curves life threw him. Commander Greenhill didn't even have the decency to resign his commission and totter off to spend the rest of his life in the nearest bar. “Who is on this fucking ship?”
Janet cringed, again.
“The chief engineer is in command,” she said finally. “But he’s in his cabin . . . the bridge crew are scattered . . . the crew . . .”
“Let me guess,” William said. He hated himself for taking his anger out on her, but it was so hard to remain focused. “They’re currently too drunk to notice that they’re steadily poisoning their own fucking atmosphere?”
He saw a dozen answers cross Janet’s face before she nodded, once.
William shook his head, feeling an odd flicker of sympathy for Commander Greenhill. He might have had a good reason to throw in the towel, after all. Offhand, William couldn't remember a ship and crew falling so far, certainly not in Commonwealth history. A handful of UN ships had turned pirate, he recalled, after the Breakaway Wars, and quickly fell into very bad habits.
And most of them were small ships, he thought numbly. This is a heavy cruiser.
“Take me to the bridge,” he ordered, meeting her eyes. “And don’t call ahead to say I’m coming.”
“Yes, sir,” Janet said.
She turned and hurried down the corridor, moving so quickly that she was practically running . . . as if, William reflected grimly, she wanted to get away from him. He hadn't paid much attention to her file, he recalled; in hindsight, that might have been a mistake. A captain had considerable authority over who served as his steward, after all. Had Captain Abraham been motivated by something other than efficiency?
He followed Janet, feeling his anger simmering as he took in the condition of his starship. A dozen maintenance lockers had been left open, their contents scattered over the deck; a handful of overhead lockers had been torn open; the strange smell only grew more unpleasant the farther they moved into the ship.  He winced inwardly as he smelled the telltale presence of rats and cockroaches. He’d been wrong, he reflected, as they passed through a pair of solid hatches and entered Officer Country. There were pirate ships from the edge of explored space that were in better condition than Uncanny.
Janet stopped and turned to face him. “It wasn't their fault,” she said. “Sir . . .”
William scowled at her. “What wasn’t their fault?”
“Everything,” Janet said. She turned back and opened the hatch to the bridge. “You’ll see in a minute . . .”
William followed her onto the bridge . . . and stopped, dead. A single officer sat in front of the tactical console, smoking something that smelled of burning grass. William stared at him, and then realized, to his shock, that there was no one else on the bridge. Regulations insisted on at least three officers on duty at all times, even when the starship was in orbit around the safest world in the Commonwealth. Where were the other two? It struck him, a moment later, that Janet might be one of the other officers. Was she even qualified to stand watch?
He pushed the thought aside as he surveyed the compartment. The holographic display that should have showed the system was gone; five consoles were deactivated, four more dismantled for parts. He’d never seen anything like it, at least not outside a shipyard putting the finishing touches on a brand new starship. Creeping horror threatened to overcome him as he keyed the nearest console, demanding a status update. The internal sensor net was down . . . completely. He’d never seen that outside starships that had been battered into hulks by enemy fire.
“It’s nonfunctional,” Janet said.
“I can see that,” William snarled. He strode over to the smoking officer and tore the cigarette out of his mouth, dropping it on the deck and grinding it under his heel. “What happened to the bridge?”
The officer stared at him. “Who are you?”
“I’m your new commanding officer,” William snapped. Up close, the man’s breath made him want to reel. He had no idea what the man had been smoking, but it couldn't be good for him. Or anyone. “Who are you?”
The officer’s mouth opened and shut for a long moment. “Lieutenant Rodney Graham, sir,” he managed, finally. “I’m officer of the watch.”
“Glad to hear it,” William said. “What happened to my bridge?”
“The engineers cannibalized it to keep other starships running,” Janet said quietly. “They were practically stripping out the entire hull . . .”
William understood, just for a moment, why one of his uncles had drunk himself to death after his farm had failed. It hadn’t been the old man’s fault, not really. He’d just seen his investments fail, one after the other, even before the pirates had arrived to threaten his homeworld. Maybe the remainder of the ship’s crew—his crew—felt the same way.
The First Space Lord couldn't have known, William thought grimly. Even if they hadn’t stripped out essential components, they’d been vandalizing their own ship and rendering it unserviceable.
He cursed under his breath savagely. It was difficult, sometimes, to get spare parts from the bureaucracy. Even during wartime, the bureaucrats insisted on having the forms filled out before they released the components, despite the best efforts of supply officers. Having a source of supplies they could tap without having to fill out the paperwork would be wonderful, as far as the supply officers were concerned. God knew, he’d rewarded a couple of officers for being excellent scroungers . . .
It may not be as bad as it seems, he told himself. Or that could be just wishful thinking.
“Right,” he said, pushing the thought aside. “I want you,” he glared at Graham“to recall each and every officer and crewman who is currently not on the ship. If they are back before the end of the shift”—he made a show of glancing at his wristcom—“nothing further will be said about their absence. This time.”
Graham looked as if he wanted to object but didn't quite dare. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” William said. “I suggest”—he hardened his tone to make it very clear that it wasn't a suggestion—“that you get rid of any drugs and anything else that could get you in hot water before I hold a search. This is your one chance to clean up your act.”
He turned and met Janet’s eyes. “And you are to take me to the chief engineer.”
Janet paled. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” William said. He wondered, suddenly, what Kat Falcone would make of a ruined starship and a wrecked crew. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Two
“You gave him Unlucky?”
“Uncanny,” the First Space Lord corrected. “Her name is Uncanny.”
Kat closed her eyes in pain. She owed Commander William McElney—Captain William McElney—her life and career. He’d been her XO on HMS Lightning and she knew, all too well, that she would have lost everything without him. She’d called in every favor she was owed and made promises of future favors to ensure that the delay between his promotion and his assignment to a command was as short as possible. Still, she’d never expected that he might be offered Unlucky. That ship had killed two of her commanding officers and ruined three more.
“Might I ask,” she said in a tone she knew would get anyone else in trouble, “why you gave him that ship?”
“Politics,” the First Space Lord said dryly.
“Heavy politics,” King Hadrian added.
Kat swallowed, hard. King Hadrian had sought her out more than once since her return from Theocratic Space, but she’d never been sure why. Perhaps he just wanted the benefit of her experience. The monarch had vast power in wartime, but King Hadrian had no military experience. He’d never been allowed to leave his homeworld, even after being crowned.
“Politics,” she repeated finally.
“It’s a delicate balancing act,” the First Space Lord said. “On one hand, we have noncitizens of Tyre who want postings to the very highest levels; on the other hand, we have the existing power structure complaining about outsiders being allowed to compete with insiders. And you know it. We have to navigate this political storm before it tears the Commonwealth apart.”
“We don’t have enough ships to go around,” King Hadrian said.
“Yet,” Kat countered.
She shook her head, irritated. The Commonwealth had a formidable industrial base, but the demands of wartime were pushing it to the limit. Her father, the Minister of War Production, had told her that production was still being ramped up even though countless new starships, gunboats, and missiles were rattling off the assembly line. According to the latest projections, the Commonwealth wouldn’t achieve a decisive tonnage advantage over the Theocracy for another two to three years. 
But we now know that we overestimated their industrial base, Kat reminded herself. They’re already running hot, while we’re still increasing our production rate.
“Yet,” King Hadrian agreed. “But we do not have enough stability, not right now anyway, to risk upsetting the political balance of power.”
“And not allowing outsiders to be promoted will also upset the balance of power,” Kat pointed out tartly.
“Quite,” the First Space Lord said. “So we promote your XO and offer him a chance to put an . . . unlucky . . . starship back into active service. If he does well, we can use him as a test case to prove that outsiders should get their chance; if he doesn't . . . well, at least we have good reason to justify turning down other promotions.”
Kat managed to keep her face impassive, but not without effort. The Kingdom of Tyre had never intended to become a multistar political entity, not when everyone had assumed that the UN’s hegemony over humanity’s growing domain would last indefinitely. However, the UN had fallen into war, leaving chaos in its wake. Tyre had created the Commonwealth, a union of stars and planets, with the intention of integrating the newcomers slowly and carefully. And yet the war had blown all of their careful plans out the airlock. The Commonwealth had to square the urgent need for manpower with the political requirement not to sacrifice the ethos that had made the Commonwealth great. 
But William deserved his promotion, Kat thought. How many others also deserve promotion?
“I am not an all-powerful ruler,” King Hadrian said. “We cannot ram through such changes without paying a stiff price.”
He cleared his throat. “In any case,” he added, “we did not call you here to discuss your former XO.”
Kat leaned forward, stiffly. She didn’t share her father’s obsession with political games—no one had really expected the tenth child of Duke Lucas Falcone to wield political power—but she knew enough to expect trouble. King Hadrian wouldn't have called her to the palace’s war room, knowing that it would have displeased some of his ministers, if he hadn't wanted her here. And if he wanted her here, he had a reason. He wouldn't have summoned her on a whim.
The First Space Lord tapped a switch. A holographic star chart materialized in front of them, hanging over the table. Kat devoured it, noting with interest the handful of stars that had seen raiding parties from the Theocracy sweeping through in hopes of delaying the Commonwealth’s mobilization. None of those raiding parties had taken or held territory, not since the first thrusts into Commonwealth territory. The war seemed to have stalemated.
“As you are aware,” the First Space Lord said, “Admiral Junayd defected six months ago, after you embarrassed him in front of his superiors. Since then, he’s been singing like a canary in a coal mine. We’ve learned a great deal about the Theocracy’s industrial base, its long-term plans for conquest, and most importantly, how its government actually works. Our analysts have been able to confirm enough of the data to discern that Junayd’s been telling the truth.”
Kat nodded. Admiral Junayd would have to be insane to lie. She honestly couldn't imagine the Theocracy choosing to sacrifice an entire superdreadnought, perhaps more than one, in a vain attempt to prove Junayd’s bona fides. There was the vague possibility, her father had warned, that the whole thing was a con, but Admiral Junayd had been checked and tested extensively.
“Admiral Junayd did not know just what his former allies had in mind to break the stalemate,” the First Space Lord added, “but he does know some of their long-term plans. Despite waging war against us, the Theocracy has continued its aim to subvert nearby star systems and eventually bring them under its control. Admiral Junayd believes that the Theocracy intends to continue those plans.”
Kat blinked. “Even now?”
“They’re committed to spreading their religion,” King Hadrian reminded her. “Even if they lose the war, even if their homeworld gets blasted from orbit, their religion will survive.”
“Maybe,” Kat said. “But they could be wrong.”
The thought made her shudder. She’d seen thousands of refugees fleeing the Theocracy and knew there were hundreds of millions trapped on a dozen occupied worlds. She rather doubted that the Theocracy would survive if it lost control of the high orbitals. The level of hatred the Theocracy had unleashed promised bloody purges once the war was over. The Theocracy had meted out savage treatment to their helpless prey and, once the boot was on the other foot, savage treatment would be meted out to them in turn.
“They could be,” the First Space Lord agreed.
He pointed to a cluster of stars near the Commonwealth’s border. “The Jorlem Sector,” he said by way of introduction. “I believe you’ve been there?”
“I visited briefly, when I was assigned to HMS Thomas,” Kat recalled. “But I only had a couple of days leave on Vangelis. I never saw Jorlem itself.”
King Hadrian looked surprised. “You are not familiar with the sector?”
Kat shook her head. Groundhogs never really comprehended the sheer immensity of interstellar space. The Jorlem Sector held over fifty stars and over a hundred settled worlds, ranging from tiny farming settlements to Jorlem itself. She hadn't really seen much of Vangelis, save for a few tourist traps near the spaceport. The idea that her limited experience made her an expert on the sector was absurd.
Although quite a few analysts claim to be experts without ever having left their homeworld, she reminded herself. At least the king is trying to talk to people who might know better than himself.
“I couldn't call myself an expert,” she said.
“Very wise,” the First Space Lord said. 
He gave her a half smile as he pointed to the star chart. “The important part, right now, is that the Theocracy is planning to . . . seduce . . . a number of independent planets within the sector,” he told her. “Our defector believes that the Theocracy intends to offer all sorts of incentives to its potential allies, ranging from protection from Theocratic incursions to honored positions within the Theocracy.”
“They wouldn't fall for that,” Kat insisted.
“They might,” the First Space Lord said. “There’s a great deal of resentment and suspicion of the Commonwealth in that sector, Captain. They may see the Theocracy as the lesser of two evils.”
“They’ll regret it,” Kat said. She shook her head in disbelief. “How can people be so stupid?”
“Poor trade policies,” the king said. “A number of worlds have expressed interest in joining the Commonwealth, Kat, but their local rivals have been much less enthusiastic. They’ve actually been trying to arm themselves to the teeth for the last couple of decades. Not enough to be a threat to us on their own, of course, but allied with the Theocracy . . .”
Kat nodded as his voice trailed off. The Theocracy had poured its resources into building the largest fleet of warships it could but neglected the sinews of war. She’d known, long before Operation Knife, that the Theocracy was trying to buy up freighters and hire merchant spacers in a desperate attempt to solve their problems, yet that hadn't been enough. The Theocratic advance into Commonwealth space might well have gotten farther if its logistics system hadn't collapsed mere weeks after the war began.
“They could tip the balance back in their favor,” she said.
“That’s not the only implication,” the king confirmed. “If the Theocrats open trade links with the Jorlem Sector, they’ll have access to markets and traders from right across the human sphere. It wouldn't be hard for them to purchase military-grade gear from a dozen potential sources, mil-spec gear that might be enough to neutralize our advantages. There would be nothing we could do about it. Diplomatic protests won’t be enough when vast sums of money are at stake.”
“We could buy the gear ourselves,” Kat pointed out.
“Measures are underway,” the First Space Lord said.
He leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. “HMS Lightning and HMS Uncanny are being posted to the Jorlem Sector,” he informed her. “Our regular patrols through the sector have been withdrawn with the advent of war, so the normal trade routes have become increasingly lawless. Intelligence believes that pirate and smuggler consortiums have relocated themselves after pickings in our territory became rather slim.”
“Or the Theocracy may be trying to put pressure on the locals,” Kat offered.
“It’s a possibility,” the king agreed.
Kat scowled as she contemplated the situation. Theocratic forces hadn't hesitated to sponsor pirate activity within Commonwealth space, hoping to weaken their targets before the war actually began. There was no reason they couldn't do the same in the Jorlem Sector, with an additional nasty little twist. If the Jorlem Sector joined the Theocracy, those raiders could be sent elsewhere . . . but if the Jorlem Sector joined the Commonwealth instead, the Navy would have to divert patrols to protect the sector, putting yet another demand on the Navy’s very limited time and resources—just the sort of scheme that would appeal to the Theocrats. Whatever happened, whatever the sector’s governments did, the Theocracy would come out ahead.
“Ideally, you’ll be doing nothing more than showing the flag and assisting the locals in hunting down pirates and other threats,” the First Space Lord told her. “Six months of patrolling should do wonders for our reputation. If you can forge a set of alliances, we’d be delighted . . . but we’re not expecting it. Right now, it’s more reasonable to simply foster warm relations in the sector; we can worry about convincing them to apply for membership later.”
“Because we can’t defend them now,” Kat said.
“Yes,” the king said. “In the long term, yes; we’d like them to join. But for the moment, we’d prefer to keep them at a distance.”
“You’ll be given specific orders in the next couple of days,” the First Space Lord added. “Do you have any questions for the moment?”
“Yes, sir,” Kat said. “Why me? Why us?”
The king smiled. “There are several reasons,” he said. “First, you have a growing reputation for military skill—you saved an entire fleet at First Cadiz, practically won Second Cadiz singlehandedly . . . and then raided deep into enemy space, throwing them back onto the defensive.”
“Admiral Christian might have a few things to say about that, sire,” Kat said. “I didn't win the battle singlehandedly.”
“No, but that’s what the media is saying,” the king said. “Are you suggesting that . . . that they’re fibbing? I am shocked!”
He went on before Kat could come up with an answer. “The point is that you are a military hero, a genuine military hero, and you have very close links to the aristocracy. Sending you to the Jorlem Sector is an excellent way of showing how important we consider the sector to be. You talking to their rulers on equal terms is a sign of respect. And you can talk to their militaries, discussing the exact nature of the enemy threat and how it can be defeated. Your reputation will precede you.”
The media will make sure of it, Kat thought darkly. She loathed the media.
“Your former XO, your fellow captain, is also an advertisement for social advancement within the Commonwealth, even though he wasn't born on Tyre,” the king added. “He was knighted six months ago, which makes him a de facto member of the aristocracy, and he was given his own command. A heavy cruiser to boot. He’s living proof that noncitizens can and do advance within the system.”
“Of course, sire,” Kat said. “The fact that it was a struggle to get him promoted, after years of loyal service, is neither here nor there. The fact that Unlucky is on the verge of falling apart . . .”
“Of course not,” the king interrupted. He shot her an annoyed look. “We are trying to fight a war, Captain, while trying to patch over the holes in the Commonwealth’s structure. It needs to be handled carefully.”
“It does,” Kat agreed. “And what do we do if we encounter a predatory merchant?”
“Whatever you see fit,” the king said. 
Kat resisted the urge to rub her eyes. There was no escaping the simple fact that a number of Tyre’s merchants had established trade links that effectively exploited stars and planets outside the Commonwealth. Their behavior was technically illegal, but it was difficult to prosecute them when they also tended to have allies in high places. The kingdom’s determination to protect its people, even at the risk of war, didn't help. There was no way she could stand back and watch as a crowd threatened to lynch a Commonwealth citizen, but she didn't want to risk her ship and crew to save someone who only deserved a quick trial and a one-way ticket to a penal world.
“I want carte blanche,” she said flatly.
“Already in your orders,” the king said. Kat had the uneasy feeling that someone had anticipated her demand. “We’re at war. The normal rules don’t apply.”
And they just dumped a hot potato in my lap, Kat thought. She was starting to suspect that there were other reasons for her appointment. No one could say she didn't have ties to the merchant sector, not when her father ran, or had run, one of the largest corporations in the sector. But which way am I expected to jump?
“Thank you,” she said. She’d consider the problem later. “When do you want us to depart?”
“Ideally, a week from today,” the First Space Lord said. “But organizing a convoy to Vangelis may take longer. Spacers . . . are none too happy about the convoy requirements.”
“They wouldn't be,” Kat said. She’d never served on a merchant freighter, but thanks to her family, she understood the logistical problems facing civilian skippers better than most military officers. “If they miss their due dates, they face fines . . . perhaps even the loss of their ships.”
“We’ve introduced emergency legislation to tackle the problem,” the king said. “But it’s stalled in the House of Lords. Too many people are suspicious of how it can be misused.”
Kat sighed. “Is there any evidence it will be misused?”
“Of course not,” the king said. “But who needs evidence when there are political points to score?”
“Touché,” Kat said.
She shook her head. In all fairness, she could see both sides of the debate. A merchant skipper in danger of losing his ship would run terrifying risks, if necessary, to make his scheduled deadlines. Even with stasis fields, certain cargos were all too perishable; they might arrive too late for anyone to want to buy them, but introducing legislation to override contractual requirements would open up a whole new can of worms. Either deadlines would no longer matter, in which case the merchant skippers could and would cheat at will, or each and every case would have to be decided individually, tying up the courts for years. It would be a political nightmare.
But a collapse of interstellar trade would be a nightmare too, she thought.
“You’ll receive your formal orders soon,” the First Space Lord said. “Good luck with your new XO.”
Kat had to fight a frown. She’d requested that her former tactical officer be promoted, but she’d heard nothing. Somehow, she suspected that the bureaucracy had found a reason to turn down her request. And that meant her new XO would be transferred from another ship . . .
“Thank you, sir,” Kat said. She had no trouble recognizing a dismissal. “I won’t let you down.”
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