Kat felt her temper start to crack. “I have a greater responsibility to the navy,” she snapped back. She tapped the insignia above her breast. “I am an officer in the Royal Navy, sworn to protect the people! And right now your political games are making it impossible to do my duty! How many times am I going to be told that a superdreadnought squadron is going to be withdrawn in the morning only to have the redeployment canceled in the afternoon?”
“The king is . . . moving to secure more power for himself,” Peter told her. “The balance of power that has kept the kingdom running for centuries is starting to crack.”
“It was starting to crack years ago,” Kat said. She took a long breath, forcing herself to calm down. Her oldest brother had always brought out the worst in her. “Peter, from my point of view, the king is the only person who seems to be concerned with the crisis. You and the rest of the political class are playing games while the whole edifice starts to fall apart. How many people do you want to die?”
Peter made a very visible effort to calm himself too. “Kat . . . do you think that the average man or woman in the streets, on Tyre, cares one jot about the endless series of atrocities from your sector? Look, I get what you mean. I know that each of those statistics represents a living breathing person, a person who was killed by the remnants of the enemy fleet or died in the aftermath. But the average man doesn’t care. He is more interested in keeping his job and feeding his family.”
“He’s in no danger of losing his job,” Kat said.
“Yes, he is,” Peter said. “I’ll send you the files, if you like.”
Kat glanced at her datapad. “Half the stories on the datanet, the ones forwarded through the StarCom network, suggest that the king’s proposals will lead to an economic boom,” she said. “And the other half suggest that we could be on the verge of complete collapse.”
“We are,” Peter said. “Kat, where do your loyalties lie?”
“I told you,” Kat said sharply. “With the Kingdom and Commonwealth of Tyre.”
“And you’re a privy councilor,” Peter reminded her. “Did you not swear an oath to the king?”
“I swore an oath to the king when I entered Piker’s Peak,” Kat said. Officially, the navy served the monarchy; unofficially, Parliament had considerable influence. “Or have you forgotten that all naval cadets swear loyalty?”
“It was a more personal oath,” Peter said, “wasn’t it?”
Kat placed her hands on her lap to keep them from clenching. The oath had meant something to her, the day she’d stood up to make it. She’d believed that she was joining something much greater than herself. It had never occurred to her, not then, that she might not keep her oath. Even now, the thought of going against the navy, or the king, was thoroughly unpleasant. She loved the navy. And she liked and respected the king.
But what happens, she asked herself, if the situation goes entirely to hell?
“You play your political games,” she said, icily. It was hard, so hard, to keep from snarling at him. She’d detested politics to the point she’d been prepared to surrender her family name if it meant she could join the navy. And she had never quite forgiven her father for meddling in her career. “And I will do my duty.”
“You have a duty to the family,” Peter snapped.
“I swore to forsake all other duties,” Kat snapped back. Had he never looked up the text of the oath? But then, he probably didn’t take it seriously. Too many officers, clients of powerful patrons, didn’t take it seriously either. “Peter . . . people are dying out here.”
“So you said.” Peter glared at her. “Kat, the family . . .”
“Doesn’t need me,” Kat said. She made a show of looking at her wristcom. “I have duties to attend to. We’ll talk later.”
Peter nodded, stiffly. “Be careful out there,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
UNCHARTED STAR SYSTEM
“You are sure of this?”
Simon Askew leaned back in his chair, smiling coldly. “Have I ever led you astray?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Admiral Zaskar said. He resisted, barely, the urge to start pacing his office. “Are you sure of this?”
“My superiors have their sources within the Commonwealth,” Askew said. “And they have confirmed that the data is accurate. The Royal Navy will be running a major convoy through the Gap on this date, three weeks from now. And yes, they will stop here”—he jabbed a finger at the display—“long enough for you to intercept them.”
“A gift from God,” Moses said.
“It’s suspicious,” Admiral Zaskar said. “They’re sending this convoy with no escort?”
“No superdreadnoughts,” Askew corrected. “The largest ship in the escort squadron is a heavy cruiser.”
“But they will be making a stop at Cadiz,” Admiral Zaskar pointed out. “They could easily pick up a superdreadnought squadron there for transit through the Gap.”
“Not according to my superiors,” Askew told him. “They’re relying on making a fast run through the Gap to . . . to your former homeworld. They aren’t expecting trouble.”
Admiral Zaskar eyed him doubtfully. The target seemed far too good to be true. Hitting defenseless or semidefenseless worlds wouldn’t really harm the Commonwealth, not directly. Taking out a hundred freighters and their escorts, on the other hand, would be a poke in the eye the Commonwealth could not ignore. The more he looked at the convoy’s details, the more he had to admit that it was a tempting target. His superdreadnoughts could make mincemeat of those freighters and then withdraw back into hyperspace before the escorts could stop them. Hell, he could take out the escorts too. It was a very tempting target.
But it was also suspicious. The Royal Navy could easily have arranged for the convoy to link up with a superdreadnought squadron, once they were well outside sensor range. The entire convoy might be nothing more than a trap. He’d need to
