“Perhaps they’d lost all connection to the rest of the ship, sir,” Smyth speculated. “Or something along those lines . . .”
“Then we continue to search the ship,” Chas said. “Maybe someone survived.”
“I doubt it, sir,” Smyth said. “I’m starting to think that they intended to make sure that none of their crew survived.”
“Yeah,” Chas said. “I’m starting to think so too.”
His radio bleeped. “Lieutenant, get your squad down to the weapons bay,” Captain Loomis said. “I’m going to need your help to secure the section.”
Chas blinked. “On our way, sir,” he said. Had Loomis discovered a handful of survivors? Or . . . or what? He didn’t know. “What have you found?”
“Bad news,” Loomis said. The captain sounded shaken. “Get down here at once. I think . . . I think this is political.”
“Understood, sir,” Chas said. He’d heard all the rumors. None of them had been very reassuring. Anything that could shake Loomis, a man who’d been in combat since before the war, couldn’t be good. He’d seen the elephant long before Chas had gone to boot camp, let alone passed through OCS. “We’re on our way.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
UNCHARTED STAR SYSTEM
It felt, William decided as he followed Kat into the secure conference room, a little like old times. They were both older and wiser now, and they’d grown apart over the last year, but at the same time, he couldn’t help feeling a camaraderie with her that went well beyond anything he’d felt for any of his other commanding officers. She’d treated him better, he thought, than any of the others. And, in some ways, she’d acknowledged her weaknesses in a way that none of his previous COs had. It was a lot easier to respect someone who was honest than someone who tried to hide her insecurities behind a brash or bullish exterior.
But this wasn’t old times, he reminded himself sharply. Someone could object to his presence, on the undeniable grounds that he was a foreign naval officer, which would put Kat in an awkward position. William silently promised himself that he’d go, if someone complained. Kat’s enemies wouldn’t hesitate to use him against her if they saw an opportunity to strike. They’d be able to create enough of a stink to make her life difficult indeed.
“Be seated,” Kat ordered. “What do you have for us?”
William sat, his gaze sweeping the room. Captain Janice Wilson was seated at the table, flanked by two of her underlings; her face was pale, as if she was unsure of just how bad the situation had truly become. General Winters stood behind her at parade rest, but William had no difficulty reading the tension in his body. They were so concerned about what they’d found, he realized numbly, that they’d barely noticed his presence. He had a nasty feeling it was very bad news.
“We searched the disabled superdreadnought thoroughly,” Janice said. She sounded badly shaken. “We didn’t find much until we inspected the weapons bay, where we recovered a missile that had been removed from its launch tube. Their weapons officers believed, apparently, that there was a defect in the drive that meant it couldn’t be fired at an enemy target.”
And they never thought of turning it into a mine, William considered. Did they even know how to remove the warhead or reprogram the seeker head?
Kat nodded, impatiently. “Were they trying to set off the warhead inside the ship?”
“No, Admiral,” Janice said. She took a long breath. “We . . . we discovered that someone had removed the original seeker head and replaced it with . . . ah, with a somewhat improved version. They . . . they took a number of freely available components and rigged them together, following an emergency conversion plan. And . . . and we checked the missile itself.”
She paused. “Admiral . . . the missile’s ID . . . we checked it against our records. And it was captured when we overran the enemy naval base at Galahad.”
William blinked. “I thought the Theocracy’s record keeping was so bad they might well have two or more missiles with the same ID.”
“No, sir,” Janice said. “We logged the ID ourselves when the missiles were captured and secured, then shipped to the dump at Razwhana. Missile production was falling as we retooled for the switch to next-gen missiles, so there was a concern that we might need to modify the enemy missiles and turn them against their former masters. Ah . . . a handful of engineers had quite a few ideas for jury-rigged improvements.”
Kat’s voice was very hard. “And then what? What happened to the missile?”
Janice twisted her hands. “There was some discussion about fitting them to older ships as makeshift convoy escorts, then . . . well, once the war ended, they were eventually slated for destruction. Officially, they were launched into the nearest star. That’s what the records claim, Admiral. But instead they ended up here.”
“. . . Shit,” Kat said. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying? Any idea at all?”
“Yes, Admiral,” Janice said. She made a visible attempt to calm herself. “Someone in the Commonwealth gave them back to the Theocrats.”
“Not someone in the Commonwealth,” Kat said. “Someone embedded within the Royal Navy.”
William felt his heart start to pound. “It might not be someone very high up,” he pointed out carefully. “A supply clerk at a place like Razwhana might well be able to cook the books without cover from someone further up the chain. Did anyone bother to verify that the missiles were actually destroyed?”
“Except someone backed Admiral Morrison, and then killed him,” Kat reminded him. “This is a little more serious than selling the missiles to pirates! How would a mere supply clerk even be able to locate the Theocrats? We only stumbled
