The helmsman blinked in surprise. “Commodore?”
“Set course for Morrison,” Sahrye repeated, calmly. She wasn’t used to repeating herself, but she understood the man’s surprise. Their orders were to harass the rebels, not to make one attack and then fall back. “I want to get there before the rebels.”
She contemplated vectors in her mind. It was a week to Morrison, assuming that the flicker drives held out. Irritatingly, the drive itself provided instant transport — or as close to instant as made no difference — but recharging the drive took time, while making several jumps in a row put a strain on the system. And, if they happened to need to replace the drive motivator nodes in transit, the time it took to reach their destination would increase rather steeply.
The rebels would probably take it gently, she told herself. They couldn’t afford to lose starships, not now. Morrison was armed to the teeth and, thanks to the Admiral, the Morrison Fleet was slowly recovering from years of neglect. The rebels would have to assume that the fleet was in tip-top condition…
They’ll go after Morrison with everything they can bring to bear against the world, she told herself. We have to be there to help.
“Course set,” the helmsman said. “All ships report ready to jump.”
Sahrye rubbed her chest, feeling ghostly pains in her body. The report from sickbay stated that forty-two crewmen had been overwhelmed by flicker shock. It was rare to see so many cases on one ship, but few of them had actually taken part in a combat jump, certainly not one of such violence. But it had paid off for the squadron. They’d surprised the enemy and achieved their objective, then withdrawn without loss. Compared to the beatings the rebels had handed out, time and time again, she’d won a major victory.
“Take us back to Morrison,” she ordered, quietly.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“You appear to have not made many improvements,” Admiral Wachter commented. “Dare I ask what you actually did?”
Penny watched with some amusement as Captain Solomon cringed under the Admiral’s cold gaze. The superdreadnaught General Sugiyama had been inspected two weeks ago, whereupon it had been discovered that the ship was in a pitiful state. Admiral Wachter had angrily berated Captain Solomon, reminded him of his combat record, then told him that he had two weeks to fix the damage. The inspection tour had revealed that hardly anything had actually been done.
“Let me help,” Wachter said, when the Captain said nothing. “You should have replaced the entire tactical system — but you haven’t. You should have checked the missiles you have in storage and replaced them if they were found to have decayed — but you haven’t. You should have resorted your crew, removed the worst of the bullies and appointed new supervisors — but you haven’t. Why, exactly, did you decide to leave your shop in the same crappy state it was when I first had it inspected?”
The Captain swallowed, then stood upright. “I have patrons…”
Wachter lifted a single eyebrow. “And your patrons told you to delay matters?”
“They said I had to do it,” Captain Solomon insisted. “I don’t know why…”
“I can guess,” Wachter said. He met the Captain’s eyes. “Let’s consider this, shall we? The rebels cannot be more than a month away — and they’re probably quite a bit closer. We have to get as many superdreadnaughts as possible into fighting trim before they arrive. And then your patrons give you orders to delay the repair work? What do you think they have in mind?”
He pressed on before the Captain could answer. “It doesn’t matter what they have in mind,” he said. “I think they’re committing treason by trying to slow down the repair work. If the rebels smash the fleet here, it will be years before we can take the offensive even if Home Fleet successfully defends Earth. And you, Captain, were considered expendable. They knew I wouldn’t leave you in command.”
Penny kept her face expressionless. She knew what it was like to be a client — and to be caught between common sense and orders from one’s superiors. But Admiral Wachter was right. They needed every last superdreadnaught ready for action as soon as possible — and orders to delay matters simply made no sense. And yet… Captain Solomon had known that defying his patrons would have cost him his career, if they were feeling forgiving. Patrons could never risk showing weakness, for fear that their other clients would desert them,
“You are relieved of command,” Wachter said, addressing Solomon. He nodded to the four Marines he’d brought with him. “These gentlemen will escort you to the holding camp on Morrison, where you can write me a full explanation of what you were ordered to do and just why you thought you should do it. Maybe, just maybe, I can find you a post less challenging, one where your patrons will leave you alone.”
He watched as the Marines hauled the protesting Solomon off his bridge, then looked around for the ship’s XO. “Commander Hastings?”
The younger man stood up, eying the Admiral nervously. Penny hastily scanned his file and winced, inwardly. Hastings was far too young for his rank. A quick check revealed that he was a lower scion of a lower family. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised, although she knew it could be a bad omen. Percival had come from similar origins and he’d grown into an utterly incompetent monster.
“You are promoted to Captain,” Wachter said, “and placed in command of this ship. I will assign you a competent XO and a cadre of maintenance crewmen within the day. You are ordered to get this ship up and running at acceptable levels within two weeks. Failure to do so will cost you your rank. Do you understand me?”
Hastings nodded. He looked confident, although Penny couldn’t tell if he genuinely believed he could handle it or he was simply recklessly overconfident. She told herself it was probably the latter. Aristocrats were rarely placed in positions where they could fail.
“I suggest you listen to the experienced newcomers,” Wachter added. “They do know what they’re talking about, Captain.”
He turned and strode through the hatch, heading back down towards the shuttlebay. Penny saluted Captain Hastings quickly, then followed. The ship’s bulkheads were covered in fancy artwork, some of them downright erotic. Penny was no expert in art, but she had a feeling that most of them were original works — and that Captain Solomon had spent most of his ship’s discretionary budget on decoration. Percival had done the same, years ago.
“They wanted to encourage more aristocrats to take up command posts,” Wachter commented, when she said that out loud. “There had to be some incentives beyond the prospect of having one’s body blown to atoms if war actually did break out. So they came up with the idea that officers could decorate their ships to suit themselves, at least as long as the ships were still combat-worthy. Somewhere along the line they forgot about keeping the ships ready to fight.”
Penny nodded in understanding. No one in their right mind would have appointed Percival to command a squadron, let alone a whole sector, if they’d genuinely expected trouble. But then, there had been no reason to expect trouble, at least not in foresight. Hindsight, on the other hand, showed that the Empire had underestimated the ingenuity of some of its junior crewmen. And then there had been quite a few commanding officers on Morrison who had never left the pleasure dens, even to board the starships they nominally commanded.
She followed him into the shuttle and took a seat. Unlike Percival, Wachter seemed content with a simple transport shuttle, one that might be used for moving crewmen from one ship to another. The pilot powered up the drives and took them out into space as Penny accessed the fleet-wide datanet through the shuttle’s systems and asked for an update. They would have been alerted at once if the rebels had attacked, but everything else had been put on hold.