Finest Hour (The Exiled Fleet Book 3) Page 4

  CHAPTER 5

  Captain Loussan of the Harlequin pirate clan pushed past one of his crewmen, keeping a close eye on the man’s hands as he did so. Unpopular captains had a bad habit of catching a knife between the ribs when they weren’t careful—and judging by the “accidental” shove he got from the crewman, Loussan was losing what little authority he had left over them. But given that they weren’t even aboard his ship, being considered a “captain” was tenuous at best.

  “By your leave, sir.” Chavez smiled at Loussan and touched the brim on an imaginary hat. “Close quarters aboard this lovely vessel being what they are.”

  “Not as cramped as an Albion brig cell, now is it?” Loussan glanced around the interior of the Joaquim, the small cargo ship that he and most of his crew boarded to leave the New Madras system just before the ley line collapsed. His observation was obvious; what was unsaid—that he had got Chavez out of that brig cell—was also heavily implied.

  “She’s no Carlin.” With a bigger smile, Chavez revealed a few missing teeth and turned away.

  Bringing up their last vessel, destroyed by the Daegon, stung Loussan. He hurried toward the ship’s bridge, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder. Reaching the sealed door, he knocked out a quick code.

  “Anyone else there?” came over a speaker.

  “Tolan, we’ve done this so many time by now that—”

  “Then you know the procedure.”

  Loussan rolled his eyes. “Eighteen crewmembers accounted for and not within rushing distance of the cabin door. Now let me in.”

  “And your nightmare toy?”

  “Ruprecht is still powered down and still locked in a cargo pod. You have cameras all over the ship, Tolan. Just bloody look at them.” Loussan put his hands on his hips.

  There was a click and Loussan opened the heavy door just enough to squeeze himself through. He pulled it shut and the locks reengaged.

  “Ugh…” Loussan wafted a hand beneath his nose and turned to Tolan sitting at the bridge controls. “When are you going to leave this place? You reek, Tolan. And coming from a man of my profession, that’s saying something.”

  Tolan sat at one of two command seats, his bare feet up on the control panel. He wore a dirty bathrobe that might have been white once, but had gone gray after too many washings with other laundry. His boxer shorts with printed smiley faces and a sleeveless undershirt with some questionable stains had also seen better days.

  Tolan’s face was off—his nose soft, jawline loose and lips almost drooping. One eye seemed to have sunk slightly lower than the other.

  “Pull yourself together, for shit’s sake,” Loussan said. “At least pretend to have a clue. It makes it easier to keep the others in line if I don’t have to fake my confidence in you. I wouldn’t throw you a shilling on Sicani if I saw you out on the street looking like that.”

  “You’re the only one I let in here.” Tolan pulled at his loose face and it snapped back like rubber. “And your opinion of me is not on my list of major concerns. What I do need is the name of a Reich tech expert on Bucky Station.”

  “We’re going to Concord?” Loussan leaned against the bulkhead. “What happened to returning to Sicani to drop off my crew?”

  “I ran into some folks that didn’t have my best interests at heart the last time I was there.” Tolan picked up a plastic cup from the deck and sipped from a straw.

  “You owe them money.”

  “And they were all upset about it.” Tolan raised a hand. “But now some blood’s been spilled on top of a few late invoices. Not my fault, by the way, totally on them. As for Bucky Station, I need a Reich tech expert to make some repairs to a few off-market systems I have on this ship. Don’t worry. I know the tech. But I do need your connections to get something else…new IFF codes. Clean IFF codes. From there, Concord has ley-line connections back to Albion space. Get me there and I’ll make sure Commodore Gage commutes your entire sentence.”

  “Don’t think the results of some in absentia trial mean a damn thing anymore,” Loussan said. “I need a ride back to wild space.”

  Tolan glanced at the porthole.

  “And my crew needs a ride back to wild space,” Loussan added. “They’re expecting Sicani.”

  “Sicani isn’t happening for reasons already disclosed. It’s Bucky Station in the Coventry system. Best I can do,” Tolan said.

  “I can dismiss my crew on Bucky…but I have to pay them off.” Loussan raised a palm.

  “Do I look like a man of means?” Tolan scratched his crotch.

  “Commodore Gage is no fool. He knows spies like you need money to operate. And if you think you’re going to secure the labor of a specialist Reich tech and a clean IFF transponder without cash…don’t insult me. We both know how life works in wild space.”

  “OK.” Tolan shifted in his seat. “Maybe I have a couple Albion-stamped troy ounces of gold aboard the ship. I can do five a head.”

  “You trying to get me killed?” Loussan asked. “Five troys won’t last a week on Bucky. They need time to find a new ship to crew, and I don’t know if anyone’s hiring.”

  “Five troys is good for a couple months of room and board at a middling fleabag of a hotel. It won’t last if they’re drinking and whoring. Tell your crew not to be such a bunch of degenerates.”

  Loussan raised an eyebrow.

  “Fine.” Tolan slammed his cup on the control panel and blue slush jumped out and landed on his sleeve. “I can do seven.”

  “Ten or they’ll mutiny.”

  “Busting my balls here…nine and you tell them you gave up your share to get it that high,” Tolan said. “Which you are.”

  “Now wait just a second—”

  Tolan rapped on the control panel. “You’re getting this fine ship, and all her tech, soon as my mission to Albion is done and I’ve linked back up with Gage. She’s worth a lot more than a couple troys, I’ll tell you that much. And what will you do with her? Go back to the Harlequins?”

  Loussan looked out the forward windows to the star swirl of slip space and said, “Don’t think you understand family politics. Things are always complicated. The last big war was a boon time for us. Francia ships and crews coming in from the cold of Reich rule. Star nations focused on killing each other more than our extralegal capitalism…everyone got fat and rich. These Daegon, though…they seem like the type that’ll turn a blind eye to free-space poaching?”

  “Nope,” Tolan said. “Seem like a bunch of right bastards to me. ‘Free’ space won’t stay that way with them around.”

  “Used to be a good captain, good crew, good ship could always find another opportunity. Can’t raid? Smuggle. Can’t smuggle? Go freelance until you’ve got the resources…if nothing else you could always point your ship at a star with a habitable world and become a colonist,” said Loussan. “True freedom is having a choice to make. I doubt we have a choice to fight the Daegon. I’ll get your ship, Faceless, but I’ll also know what you do about those bastards. Knowing an enemy is the first step in fighting them.”

  “Wow.” Tolan sipped from his drink and the last of it burbled up the straw. “A pirate with a vision. Didn’t think you guys could plan past your next bender and breakup with an exotic dancer.”

  “That’s why I’m the captain,” Loussan said, tapping his chest. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go sugarcoat the news about Bucky’s and Concord. Just don’t set down on the planet. Bunch of fanatics down there. Not our type. And I don’t suggest you leave the bridge.”

  Tolan belched, then reached to one side of his seat and gave a pack of rations a quick pat.

  “Have fun out there,” he said and waggled his fingers at Loussan as he left.

  CHAPTER 6

  As Bertram wheeled a heavy suitcase behind him and followed a well-dressed woman on the edge of advanced age down a hallway, he glanced at a painting of Albion and the New Exeter palace on the walls.

  A younger woman in a naval uniform followed right
behind him, her back straight, her attention on the doors down the hallway.

  “I’m sure Commodore Gage will appreciate the guest quarters,” the older woman said. “The last senior military guest was here many years ago for joint exercises with the Indus, but budget constraints led to the last several iterations being cancelled, then it was indefinitely postponed. The locals would ask me about them every year like clockwork. Now there are Albion ships in orbit and my inbox is overflowing with—”

  “Madam Ambassador, the quarters…” Bertram said, on the verge of wheezing, “they’re close?”

  “Here.” She waved a hand across a sensor and a door slid open.

  Bertram pulled the case inside then set it down very gently. The sailor walked the room, eyeing each power outlet and light fixture.

  “Will the Commodore need any particular refreshment once he leaves his ship? The locals make excellent bedding if he’d prefer that to the Albion cloth we have here,” Ambassador Carruthers asked.

  “He won’t be down long enough to sleep, even if he does leave the bridge,” Bertram said, wiping sweat from his face.

  “Then why did he—”

  The sailor’s uniform ripped away as Salis’ armor flowed up and around her body from her back. The T-shaped glowing line formed on the front of her helm and diodes rippled up and down her arms.

  Carruthers backed against the wall, one hand slapping at a button on her shirt.

  “This room is clear,” Salis said. “Let him out.”

  “Finally.” Bertram popped open the suitcase and a puff of air escaped into the room. A little boy began wailing.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry my Prince.” Bertram picked Aidan up and bounced him against his knee. “I know it was dark and scary, but we had to—”

  “Noooooo!” Aidan pushed his palms toward Salis, then buried his head against Bertram’s shoulder. Bertram continued to try to calm the boy, whose cries degenerated to near-hyperventilation.

  “That’s…” Carruthers moved away from the wall. “That’s Prince Aidan. Why didn’t the Commodore tell me he was coming down here?”

  “Because the prince is a target,” Salis said. “The more people who think that the Crown Prince is aboard the Orion, the safer he’ll be down here. You’ll put this floor off-limits to your staff. All meals and items will be delivered to the elevator and received by Bertram or myself. But first, you’ll do an immediate blood-panel test of all personnel with access to this embassy and give me—and only me—the results.”

  Still crying, Aidan swung his arms around Bertram’s neck.

  “Now wait a moment,” Carruthers said. “This is my embassy and I will not take orders from some Genevan on a power trip. Exactly how old are you, young lady?”

  “Old enough to give my last dying breath for Prince Aidan. Do you need Gage to put these orders in writing, have them transported to you digitally so every spy in the system can take a glance at such suspicious orders and then draw an obvious conclusion and put the prince at risk, or do you want to do what I tell you?” Salis’ T-line glowed a little brighter.

  “I’ll see your requests are followed,” Carruthers said, her face flushed. “If anyone asks, I’ll insinuate he’s keeping a mistress in here.”

  “Commodore Gage would never—” Bertram had raised a finger to protest and Aidan squirmed so hard that Bertram almost dropped him.

  “Do either of you even know what you’re doing?” Carruthers took Aidan and sat him down on the bed. She reached out and touched Aidan’s nose, prompting Salis to take a step forward. Bertram waved her off.

  “Boop!” Carruthers wagged a bit of her thumb stuck between her fingers. “Got your nose.”

  Aidan stopped crying and chuckled. He wiped tears away and smiled at the ambassador.

  “You have children?” Salis asked.

  “Four,” Carruthers said, stroking the back of her hand down the side of Aidan’s face. “Seven grandkids. All on Albion. The better question is if I still have them, isn’t it?” She leaned closer to Aidan and smiled. “Been a tough time, Your Highness? Every time things got scary…what happened?”

  Aidan pointed at Salis, then buried his head in Carruthers’ lap.

  “He associates my armor with trauma,” Salis said. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “They never taught you how to be with kids at your dojos or monasteries or whatever they are on Geneva, did they?” Carruthers asked, the words almost an accusation. “What he must have gone through…seen?” She tilted a head to a painting of King Randolph and Queen Calista.

  Salis slapped Bertram on the arm and pointed at the painting. The steward took it off the wall, then removed every other bit of art depicting the royal family.

  “That bad…” Carruthers stroked Aidan’s hair. “I prayed it wouldn’t be that bad…”

  “Commodore Gage has things well in hand,” Bertram said. “Well as can be, all things considered."

  “Geneva is…three systems away by ley line,” Carruthers said to Salis. “Would your people take him in?”

  Salis’ visor flowed back, the thin sheets forming a helmet around her head. “Geneva maintains strict neutrality in all conflicts,” she said. “If we brought him to my home world…they would refuse him. Not my decision, that is the way of the Houses.”

  “This isn’t another Reach War,” Carruthers said. “These Daegon are a different beast entirely. The House Council would change their policy, if prompted.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me where the Crown Prince is,” Salis said. “I will be with him. Bertram, get the rest of the bags. Aidan’s blood-sugar levels will bottom out in the next ninety minutes. He’ll need to eat.”

  “Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine,” Carruthers said. “I can’t imagine why Aidan doesn’t like you around.”

  “I’m not a nanny. I’m his protector.” Salis canted her head slightly.

  “A child needs more than physical safety,” Carruthers said. “So much more. We have a number of Albian women working as tutors for some of the wealthier Indus here in Theni. I can put out feelers for—”

  “You’ve got the job,” Salis said, nodding slightly.

  “I’m the Albion ambassador.” Carruthers’ mouth was set in a firm line.

  “You have a staff. You have a duty to the Crown and the prince. Whatever the Indus need from Albion, they will ask from Gage. Seems simple to me.” Salis tapped on a wall. “We’ll need the other side reinforced and a direct route to the bomb shelters. It will take me forty-nine seconds to get the prince into safety with the current layout. Genevan standard is thirty or less.”

  “Four decades in service and here I am taking orders from a whelp,” Carruthers muttered.

  “Where’s the kitchen?” Bertram asked as he put clothes from the case into a dresser. “Do the locals have anything in the way of chicken nuggets with barbeque sauce?”

  “They’re all vegetarians down here,” Carruthers said. “But we have proper food in the freezers.”

  Bertram shut a drawer, his mouth slightly open. “They don’t eat…meat? Maybe we should go back into orbit.” Bertram raised an eyebrow at Salis, who stared daggers back at him.

  “Frozen food it is then.”

  ****

  Wyman held a hand over a panel in his Typhoon’s cockpit, his breath fogging with the canopy open and untreated air breezing past his face.

  “Anytime?” He half leaned over one side to glance down at Indus technicians working under his fighter.

  “Almost.” A man wiped a hand through a beard thick with frost, then kicked a generator. “Activate your phase variance couplings.”

  “I told you,” Wyman said, rolling his eyes, “we don’t have phase variance couplings. We use mulita-phase inverters to cross the electron exchange and—”

  “Yes, yes…” The tech waved a hand at him. “I meant this.”

  “You meant it last time and we fried aileron controls,” Wyman deadpanned.

  “Push the button! Ar
en’t you cold?”

  “Damn right I’m cold in this frigging snow cone of a planet,” he muttered. “Activating!” He mashed a thumb against a button and his cockpit came to life. “Holy—it’s working! No one touch anything!”

  Wyman ran system diagnostics and closed the canopy. Hot air rushed through vents and he loosened the top of his borrowed jacket and sighed, like he’d stepped into a sauna after a long day.

  There was a knock on the canopy. Ranbir was there, slashing fingertips across his throat to tell Wyman to cut the power.

  Wyman mimed not being able to hear, and Ranbir waved his hand harder.

  “Never a minute off with these guys.” Wyman shut his Typhoon down and reopened the canopy.

  “Your systems check out,” Ranbir said. “My techs will get your bird green across the board, but they will work faster if you’re not around distracting them.”

  “No need to make fancy excuses to get me into someplace warmer.” Wyman lurched out of the cockpit, his muscular frame leaving little room for maneuvering. “Where’s Ivor?”

  “Waiting for us,” Ranbir said as the two walked toward the exit where armed soldiers stood ready, all huddled near a portable heater. “She invited me to your embassy for dinner, but I’ve no taste for Albion food. Everything is boiled in a pot and everything has meat in it. Won’t you two come with me to langar?”

  “If it’s someplace warm, I’m all for it.” Wyman pressed a gloved finger against the side of his nose, feeling the frozen snot creak against the touch.

  “Certainly,” Ranbir said. They passed a shop and Ivor came out, nearly slipping on the ice.

  “I’m getting the hang of this,” she said as she shuffled toward them, keeping her feet as flat against the sidewalk as she could. “Busting your ass a couple times will teach you the right way.”

  “There.” Ranbir pointed down the street to a gold-wrapped flagpole with a yellow triangle at the top. “That Gurdwara has langar in the next few minutes. You are always welcome to come here, but it’s best I accompany you this first time.”