Commodore Fran Higgins’s image appeared in front of her. “Admiral,” she said. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“You’re welcome,” Kat said, sitting down at her desk. “I trust things are well with the squadron?”
Fran frowned. “Unfortunately, Admiral, that was what I intended to raise with you.”
Kat looked up, studying the older woman. Fran’s career had nearly been destroyed by her former commander, one of Admiral Morrison’s sycophants. She might have lost everything if the Theocracy hadn’t attacked Cadiz, giving her a chance to save her ship and crew from enemy fire. The commendations she’d earned for preserving her superdreadnought, and the desperate need for experienced officers, had ensured that her career continued to prosper.
“I see,” Kat said. The last set of reports had insisted there weren’t any problems, beyond a shortage of suitable shore leave facilities. “Is there an issue?”
“I received instructions to prepare to transfer two destroyer squadrons back to the Commonwealth,” Fran said. “Apparently they’re not going to be replaced.”
Kat winced. “I haven’t heard anything about it,” she said. “Let me see . . .”
She reached for her datapad. Had she missed an update? Or hadn’t it been sent to her in the first place? Technically, she was the senior officer in the sector, but Fran was in command of the task force. Fran should have been bumped up to admiral when the responsibilities had fallen on her . . . Kat wasn’t sure why she hadn’t been. Politics, probably. Anyone who reached high rank in the navy was either extremely well connected or the client of someone who was. But Fran wasn’t anyone’s client.
Unless she’s mine, Kat thought, flicking through the message headers. There didn’t seem to be anything relating to fleet deployment. And that would link her to my entire family.
She shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “What’s the deadline?”
“Two months,” Fran said. “They want me to send out the recall orders now.”
“Hold them for a day,” Kat ordered after a moment’s thought. “I’ll contact the Admiralty and ask for . . . clarification.”
“Please do,” Fran said. “Admiral, if we have to strip eighteen destroyers out of our line of battle . . .”
Kat nodded, irritated. She knew the dangers. The two squadrons of superdreadnoughts orbiting Ahura Mazda were not designed to escort freighters, hunt pirates, or even patrol the fringes of explored space. The navy might as well swat flies with sledgehammers. No, escorting and patrol duties required a large number of destroyers, frigates, and cruisers, not superdreadnoughts. Cutting eighteen destroyers out of the task force and sending them home would put a severe crimp in the task force’s ability to operate. Even recalling them to Ahura Mazda, prior to sending them home, would be inconvenient.
“Don’t recall them immediately,” she said. She wasn’t going to order escorts to simply abandon the ships they were supposed to be accompanying. “I want them to complete their current missions first.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Fran said.
“But cut orders for them to return here once their missions are completed,” Kat added after a moment. She could stall for a few days, perhaps even a couple of weeks, but after that she would have no choice. She’d have to send the ships home. “Orders are orders . . .”
She cleared her throat. “I take it there’s been no sudden upswing in pirate activity?”
“No, Admiral,” Fran said. “There were a handful of raids along the fringe, but nothing too serious. The real problem, right now, is providing security for refugee transports, keeping in mind we need to provide the refugee transports. And we have no idea where to put half of them.”
Kat made a face. “I wish I knew,” she said. “This world seems intent on tearing itself apart.”
Fran met her eyes. “Did you read Captain Bartholomew’s report? From Judd?”
“Yes,” Kat said. “He didn’t paint a pretty picture.”
“It won’t be long before the lid blows off,” Fran said. “And then there will be bloodshed.”
Kat nodded. The Theocracy hadn’t just left behind troops and administrative staff. It had left behind collaborators, true believers . . . and their families. Some people had genuinely believed in the True Faith, others had merely pretended to accept it as the price for survival . . . and now that the war was over, there was no place for either type. None of the liberated worlds wanted to keep their collaborators. Kat had no sympathy for men who’d gloried in the opportunity to lord it over their fellows, but . . . what about their families? Or the ones who’d had no choice? Did they all deserve to die?
And yet, we don’t have anywhere to put them, she thought. No world wants to take them . . .
“We may wind up having to expand settlements here,” she said. “At least the occupiers know about keeping a planet running.”
“Don’t count on it,” Fran said. “Judd was a very fertile world before the Theocrats arrived. Now they’re struggling to feed themselves. A decade of mismanagement led to a near-complete collapse in production.”
Which helped to keep the population under control, Kat thought sourly. The Theocrats had had no compunction about brutalizing Ahura Mazda’s population. Why should they have hesitated to brutalize infidels? No wonder their occupations were so horrific. Their troops knew no better.
She looked up as Kitty entered the room, carrying a tray of coffee and biscuits. “I’ll speak to you later,” she told Fran. “And inform me at once if you receive any further directives.”
Fran’s image vanished. Kat glared down at her hands. The Admiralty should not be sending instructions to her subordinates without copying her, even if Fran was the task force’s commander. Kat was in charge of the sector . . . what would have happened, she asked herself silently, if she’d started making plans that depended on those destroyers? The sector’s economy was a mess in any case. Taking away eighteen destroyers would only make it worse.
She nodded to Kitty. “Contact Tyre,” she said. “Inform them that I
