The Glory of the Empress Read online

  Mao’s voice came over the com.

  “We’re about to do an unscheduled jump. Don’t panic. Cophony will expect us to try to hit as many targets as we can. But that’s not our objective anymore. It’s not going to be easy to stay one step ahead, but we have to. It’s not really my style, but that means it’s time to get aggressive. I know Major Nelson talked it up like we needed to be afraid of Tenbrook. She thinks we should tread lightly.”

  A pause.

  “But I don’t plan to do that,” Mao continued. “Tenbrook is the new mission. He is the interface between the mercenary talent and the Commonwealth. If we take him out of the picture, we take those ships out of the war, at least for a while. That’s worth doing. They say this is the greatest warship ever built, next to the Julian. That isn’t true; this isn’t a warship. They just say it is because it sounds better than calling it what it is. If you ever believed this ship was meant for battle, you were kidding yourself. The Lydia is meant for wet work. It always has been. So if we get the chance, and Tenbrook really does come after us, I intend to play to our strengths. That’s all.”

  The com went silent.

  Bjorn and Kladinova exchanged a look. Bjorn didn’t know if Mao was speaking her mind or trying to distract the crew from the more provocative details of Major Nelson’s visit. “I’m ready,” Kladinova said. She looked determined. Even excited. “But my sync variance is too high.”

  Bjorn was puzzled. “You have the best of anyone.”

  “It’s not enough. I can still feel it.” She hesitated, and her gaze on him grew more intense. “I need more Harbinger.” She fingered the back of her neck, where the sync collar injected Harbinger directly into her spinal cord.

  The metaphor used in training was that the interface between the pilot and the fighter was a machine, but Harbinger was the lubricant. As Bjorn understood it, Harbinger made its host more adaptable to foreign elements. The nanomachines connecting the brain and the nervous system to the fighter wouldn’t work without Harbinger there to facilitate the relationship.

  Harbinger was also able to alter DNA permanently. It had to be used carefully. Rationed. Uncontrolled, it could be lethal to the host.

  “I can tell,” Kladinova said. “I can tell that I can do more. I know it.”

  Still watching her, Bjorn lit up his holo and scanned her records. Her levels had been normal. Her sync rate was good.

  “How do you know?” he asked. He could tell now—this was the source of her peculiar behavior. She couldn’t increase her dosage alone; she needed approval from her handler. Kladinova had been loath to bring it up with him. Maybe she didn’t like to admit that she actually needed him for something.

  The ship shuddered. That was the jump. Bjorn looked to the shield, but the stars were already resolving themselves outside, revealing their location. Bjorn didn’t see anything readily identifiable. He wondered how far ahead Mao had pushed them.

  “I don’t know,” Kladinova said. “I don’t know how to explain it. But it’s there. Just out of reach.”

  “What is?”

  She made a frustrated face. “The fighter,” she said, finally.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s still just a fighter. But if I can go deeper, I can do more. I can fly better.”

  “The ship is an extension of your body,” Bjorn said.

  “No.” He was taken aback by her vehemence. “No, maybe for you it is. Not for me. It’s clumsy. It’s slow. It’s nothing. But it could be fast. I can do more. It’s there.”

  What she was saying was borderline nonsensical, but Bjorn was beginning to understand.

  “What are you asking me to do?”

  “I wasn’t going to,” she said, looking back at the fighter. “But it’s different now. Now we’re in danger. We need it all.”

  “The commander will never approve it.”

  “I’m not asking her. I’m asking you.” She said it through gritted teeth. She was the same, her impeccable ringlets and deep, dark eyes. But her face was hard.

  “Never going to happen,” Bjorn said firmly. “It’s too dangerous. Harbinger is the variable. It’s the part of this system we don’t talk about. It’s as un-Evagardian as anything in this universe. More than that, it’ll ruin your genes if you let it get out of control. You know what it can do to you. You of all people should not be saying this.”

  “I don’t care,” she said fiercely. “I want to fly. You have access, not me. We can do this.”

  Bjorn turned to look around the bay. He saw no one from Team Four. Woodhouse was probably in his bunk. General Dayal was usually on the bridge. And Morel was still with Rada in maintenance. All the same, he pushed Kladinova behind the fighter so they would be out of sight.

  She was startled, but he didn’t give her time to express her outrage at his impertinence.

  “You know you’re out of line,” he said quietly, leaning close. “We’re short a man. You need to pull it together, because we need you at your best. You’re going to keep flying brilliantly, and we’re both going to forget about this.”

  She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.

  “Do you understand?” he pressed, giving his glare everything he could. This wasn’t him. Or, at least, it wasn’t supposed to be. Their faces were almost touching.

  The Service had not trained him to glare.

  After a long moment, looking stricken, she nodded.

  “Like the general said,” Bjorn told her, backing away, “momentary lapse of judgment. Don’t let it happen again. Please,” he added. “For me.”

  Shaken, he walked away from the fighter and didn’t look back. In the corridor, he sagged against the bulkhead and took a deep breath.

  Mao had it wrong. Bjorn had been looking for a rational explanation for his pilot’s behavior. Now he had it.

  Diana Kladinova was insane.

  Rada stepped into the spine and froze at the sight of him.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked immediately. Bjorn wasn’t surprised that his state of mind was showing on his face.

  He wasn’t kidding himself.

  “We’re in trouble,” he said, not knowing what he was going to say next. He didn’t get the chance. The com chimed.

  “So, maybe that jump wasn’t such a good idea,” Mao said in a shipwide broadcast. “We just jumped into the fire. I have two contacts, and they are massive. Combat alert. Here go the Klaxons. This is my song.”

  And the Klaxons began to wail.

  9

  BJORN and Rada acted at the same moment. Rada darted into the bay, and Bjorn ran for the bridge. He was the first one there, but Major Compton was right behind him.

  Bjorn stared at the two massive ships on the feed.

  “Oh, Empress,” he said.

  “Seats, gentlemen,” Mao said distractedly.

  Compton clapped Bjorn on the shoulder and took his place at his console. Bjorn got into his own seat and raised his systems.

  Sergeant Golding and Captain Woodhouse arrived.

  “What have we got?” Golding asked, tying her locks back.

  “Look for yourself.”

  “Ganraens,” Woodhouse said, scowling.

  “They aren’t warships,” Compton said.

  “But look at the size of them.”

  “They’re pleasure craft,” Compton replied, cutting him off. “Luxury cruisers. Old ones.”

  “Would you look at the size of them,” Woodhouse repeated, ignoring him. “They’re like dreadnoughts.”

  “They’re not as big as they look.” Mao pointed. “See all this baggage they’re carrying?” She got to her feet. “Those are the biggest industrial cargo pods I’ve ever seen.”

  Bjorn had to agree. Massive pressure pods covered both cruisers, making them appear larger than they were.

  “What’s in the
m?” Sergeant Golding asked, eyes wide.

  “Good question. Lydia, what’s their heading?”

  “This course will take them directly to Burton Station,” the AI replied. “Arrival in approximately four hundred hours.”

  “I’ve never heard of anyone taking a pleasure cruise through Demenis,” Mao said, tapping a knuckle against her lips. “But what kind of pirates use boats like these?”

  “None on record, Commander.”

  “Is it Tenbrook?” Woodhouse asked, looking over at her.

  “I don’t know. He’s the one who thinks outside the box, the one that does things differently. The CEO pirate. But these things can barely move. You don’t get much piracy done with ships that can’t chase or run. And look, there’s damage.”

  “I was going to mention that,” Bjorn said, swiping the image over to the commander. “Those are rail-gun penetrations.”

  “Why on earth would you shoot a monster like that with a rail gun? It’d take you all day to get it done.” Major Compton shook his head.

  Mao chewed her lip. “Lydia, where are these ships registered?”

  “Royal View, Commander. It’s a luxury cruise organization out of Little Norwich.”

  The Ganraen capital station. The seat of Commonwealth leadership.

  “Are they tied to the war in any meaningful way?”

  “No, ma’am. There’s nothing in my cache to indicate that Royal View vessels have been repurposed or commandeered for the war effort. There is also no record of any being taken by privateers.”

  “If that’s true, then these guys are AWOL. People can’t just leave Commonwealth space with the war on. Lydia, what’s the human capacity of a ship like that?”

  “Forty thousand, Commander.”

  “Each?”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  Mao let out a long breath and leaned back in her chair. “Sounds like enough.”

  That struck Bjorn as something of an understatement.

  “We need to scan them for weapons and personnel,” Major Compton said.

  “No,” Mao said, shaking her head. “I don’t want to tip our hand yet. If they’re here for us, for whatever reason, they might be looking for that.”

  “You think this is a trap?” Bjorn asked.

  “I think if there was ever a time to be paranoid, it’s now.” Mao leaned on the console and stared at the ships on the screen. “But what kind of trap could it be?”

  “Suppose those cargo pods are full of ordnance. We’re small, we’re fast,” Major Compton said. “We’re impossible to detect. If you don’t know where the enemy’s hiding in the city, you can level the city. It worked for New Sochi.”

  “That’s a cheery thought. They’d still need a way to draw us in.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Anyone here got a smart play that does not involve murdering these two ships in cold blood?” Mao got up from her seat and perched on the console, crossing her legs and looking at them expectantly.

  “Can’t attack until we know who they are,” Major Compton said. “And you won’t scan them. That means hailing them, but that shows our cards just the same, doesn’t it?”

  “Not if we do it correctly. Lydia, launch a proxy, and scramble it. Make it look like the signal’s bounced a thousand times.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “Who are we pretending to be?” Major Compton asked curiously.

  “I want them to think I’m in an intelligence office somewhere, just being routed through a network of undetectable probes that can’t possibly be here because this wasn’t Evagardian space a week ago.”

  “Subtle,” Woodhouse said.

  “Only if we can sell it,” Compton countered.

  “And that depends on who they are.” Mao shrugged. “Lydia, I want us ready to move. We need to be able to get out of here faster than they can even think about trying something.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “I want fighters ready to sortie on my command.”

  “Aren’t we being a little timid?” Woodhouse asked.

  “Yes. And you’re welcome. Also, a heads-up,” Mao said, keying the com. “But no matter what happens here, from this moment we’re going to be on indefinite alert.”

  Bjorn winced. That meant a pilot would always be ready to sortie instantaneously. Six-hour shifts with the handler on the bridge and the pilot in their cockpit.

  “How would we sink one of these?” Mao asked.

  “Have one unit fly over and disrupt shields, concentrate fire on the bridge and reactor with all three others,” Major Compton said.

  “I like it. Make that the game plan. Get the pilots prepped. Lydia, we ready?”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “Then open a channel to the lead ship. No visual.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  Mao took a deep breath and leaned back, less sitting on the command console than lying on it. She laced her hands behind her head and closed her eyes.

  A man appeared on-screen. He was unshaven, and about Compton’s age. His skin was dusky, and his uniform looked like that of a civilian flight officer. It was rumpled. He looked exhausted.

  “Evagardian signal,” he said, “this is Royal View cruiser Sunbath. I’m Pilot Captain Doyle. Can I ask who you are?”

  “Sunbath, are you aware that you are traveling through imperial space?”

  “Yes.”

  “On whose authority?”

  “Our own.” Sleep deprivation showed clearly on his face.

  “You’re going to have to do better than that. Who are you, what are you doing, and why are you on a course for an Evagardian station?”

  Doyle rubbed his eyes. “We’re immigrants,” he said.

  Mao sat up. “Repeat that.”

  “Immigrants. Refugees.”

  “There are channels for you. There are Evagardian immigration offices in Free Trade space.”

  “Circumstances aren’t allowing for that.”

  “Is that how you sustained that damage? Your government tried to stop you from leaving?”

  “No. It was pirates.”

  “What happened?” Mao asked bluntly.

  “They tried to shake us down.”

  “Why the rail-gun damage?”

  “They were making a point. Our ships are over capacity. Any breach means lives,” Doyle said darkly.

  Bjorn was suddenly queasy. Those pods were all full of people?

  “Did you fight them off?”

  “We bought them off.”

  “With what?”

  “Everything we had.”

  Mao got up and started to pace. “You’re telling me those pods are full of humans.”

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “Sixty thousand on my ship. Fifty on my wife’s.”

  Mao blinked. “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Immigrants,” Doyle repeated firmly.

  Bjorn watched the commander think. “Stand by,” she said, and terminated the communication. “Well, I didn’t see that coming.”

  “Is this even possible? How’d they get out of Commonwealth space? Their wartime loyalty laws don’t mess around,” Compton said.

  “The war isn’t going any better for them than it is for us. They can’t have many ships to send after their own people. There’s no money in it.” Mao bit her thumb. “But this is ridiculous. This many people—are you serious?”

  “You said it yourself.” Woodhouse continued to gaze at the ships on the screen. “The war isn’t going well for them. Besides, a hundred thousand isn’t even close to the number of immigrants we’d be having if the war wasn’t on.”

  “But to organize something on this scale, he’s got to be a hell of a guy.”

  “Maybe he’s
just flying the ship,” Compton said.

  “Then he wouldn’t be the one talking to me. Show him to me, Lydia.”

  Doyle’s face appeared on-screen.

  “We don’t know that he’s telling the truth,” Woodhouse pointed out.

  “He can’t be onto us,” Mao said. “So I’m not sure what to think. My concern is that if this is legit, why haven’t we heard of it? They must have broken free before we launched, and a hundred thousand Ganraens jumping ship sounds newsworthy to me.”

  “The Commonwealth systems have never been about freedom of information, Commander. This is an image nightmare. Ganrae already refuses to talk about how many of its people accept the Empress’ offer,” Compton said, holding out his hand, palm up. “So of course they’d suppress something like this. Just like we do. Like we did with New Sochi. Like we’re doing with Cophony. We don’t go out of our way to spread that stuff around.”

  She frowned. “So, pirates hit them with a rail gun to make their point, and the refugees paid them off. I’m surprised the pirates didn’t double-cross.”

  “The guy said his wife was in command of the other ship,” Woodhouse said. “There’s no way those two aren’t separatists.”

  “That’s not our problem, even if it’s true,” Mao said. “We aren’t politicians. Give me a full sweep.”

  Bjorn checked his cockpit feed. Kladinova was strapped in and ready to go. Now that he was paying attention, he could see a nervous tic in her wrist. Her face and eyes were intense, but her vitals showed her breathing more quickly than was optimal.

  “Easy,” he murmured into the com. Her heart rate spiked, then steadied; he’d startled her. She was wound tight. Bjorn looked at his emergency override. He lifted the plastic shield hiding the key, then lowered it and shook his head.

  “Lydia, is he telling the truth?”

  “Readings are consistent,” the AI replied. “Personnel density at dangerous levels.”

  “Of course it is,” Woodhouse spluttered. “It’s like a whole colony in there.”

  “What about weapons? Are they hiding anything?”

  “There is some aftermarket armor,” the AI said, “but not a great deal. Tactically these vessels pose no threat.”