Hope's Folly (25 page)

“You're talking commercial freighters transporting not only parts but personnel. We'd need at least two P-75s running as security in case Tage or the Farosians decided to intercept. We don't have two P-75s we can pull off Baris jumpgate duty right now, not even with the extra squadrons from Corsau and Dafir filling in the gaps.” If Tage pushed an entire phalanx of ships through a critical gate from Baris into Calth, guarding components on their way to Seth would be the least of Philip's problems. The
Folly
wouldn't even be at Seth at that point. She'd be out there, doing whatever she could with whatever she had.

“Umoran Planetary Defense has Ratch fighters and P-33s,” Adney countered.

“Which we need here, guarding Seth and this ship. Commander, I hear your concerns,” he said, as she opened her mouth for another argument. “Every single one and more paraded through my head last night. I'm looking for answers—and for
better
answers too. You have some good suggestions. I'll consider them. But right now I need to keep Sparks, Welford, and Mather working toward our earliest possible departure for Ferrin's. Unless I see critical reasons not to, that will be in the next thirty-six hours.”

He had to get the
Folly
functional and out there before Tage made his next move. If that meant working outside “ Fleet-accepted parameters,” so be it. He didn't see they had any choice.

And he knew with a sinking feeling, as Adney made her excuses and left his office, hurrying stiff-backed into the corridor, that his second in command didn't share his vision.

His screen pinged. He swiveled, then tapped at the pulsing databox tagged with Seth Security's ID. The communications link opened, and Security Chief Roderiko Hamil's bald-headed image filled part of the screen. The rest held Yardmaster Bahati Delainey's angular face. Both looked troubled, dark eyes narrowed, brows drawn, mouths pinched. Delainey's hands were folded tightly on the tabletop.

Philip's sinking feeling sank even further, plummeting like an overloaded lugger caught helplessly in a sun's gravity well.

“Admiral Guthrie,” Chief Hamil said. “Samling just led us to some information that appears to be critical.”

Samling. Gilbert Samling, the Farosian agent who, along with Amalia Mirrow, had tried to stuff Philip in a life pod with Nayla Dalby's address on it. Both Mirrow and Samling had been kept in Seth Security custody, as Consul Falkner had yet to authorize an Alliance version of ImpSec or a formal intelligence division to deal with enemy agents. Not that Philip had any personnel to spare for interrogations at the moment.

“I just hope we can react in time,” the chief was saying.

“The Farosians intend to move against Seth,” Philip guessed grimly.

“Not quite,” Hamil said. “The C-Six jumpgate. They know your ship needs to get to Ferrin's to complete a refit. They want you delayed here, if not trapped.”

“To attack this ship or kidnap me?”

“Samling's not saying. All we know is it sounds like they've got their Star-Ripper moving in to blow the gate, sometime in the next four hours.”

Years of training kept Philip's mouth from dropping open but couldn't stop his body from going rigid. Four
hours.
By hell's fat unholy ass. Even if the
Folly
was fully refitted, bristling with weapons, drives pristine, it would take her two hours to get to the C-6 in time to confront the Farosians. If she didn't, the wrecked jumpgate would load an additional nine shipdays’ travel to the
Folly's
journey to Ferrin's—there was no alternate jumpgate in the old trader data—and disrupt God-only-knew-what incoming supplies to an already battered section of Calth and, from there, into Dafir and Narfial.

Something the Farosians obviously knew. They wanted the
Folly
on the slower route, where they could launch attack after attack on her or draw her into an ambush. And they wanted to hamper any incoming help.

“I need to determine where our closest resources are,” Philip said, damning the fact he couldn't raise the
Nowicki
on a simultaneous link. Maybe Jodey had pulled in O'Neil's P-75. Maybe he could get her and a couple of P-40s from Calth 9 out here in time—if that would even be enough firepower. All the
Folly
had at this juncture were her laser banks and two—as Sparks liked to remind him— heavy-duty tow fields. But, as Adney had pointed out, the UPD had ships. “You've alerted Umoran Defense?”

“Lieutenant Kamau is making them aware of the information as I'm talking to you. They have their 33s and Ratch fighters. We have two 33s ready to deploy on your signal. I don't know if that's enough to stop a Star-Ripper, but that's not our only problem.” Hamil turned to Yardmaster Delainey with a nod.

“We've been alerted that a hospital ship is on top priority incoming,” she said. “They report a serious internal systems’ malfunction. If they can't make it to the yards, more than fifty of their critical patients will die—including two of Consul Falkner's top aides, who were on Corsau when the Empire attacked. The ship's scheduled to exit the C-Six. They have no idea they'll be facing a Farosian Star-Ripper when they come through jump. And we have no way to warn them.”

An admiral doesn't make excuses. An admiral doesn't explain. An admiral acts.

Sparks was the last to arrive in Philip's office, ruddy face slightly redder than usual. “Damned lifts,” he murmured, slightly out of breath as he took the open chair next to Con Welford in front of Philip's desk. Con and Sparks exchanged glances. Con shrugged.

“Seal the door, Subbie,” Philip told Rya. He stood behind his desk, fisted hands resting lightly against the top, and didn't miss how Con's glance now flicked to Rya and away again as she pushed off the bulkhead.

Worry about it later.
Philip, tight-lipped, let his gaze wander over Dina Adney, then Con, Sparks, and finally back to Rya, catching a twitch of movement by her feet. The large white and black cat had ghosted in from the corridor just before the doors closed. The beast plodded softly behind her as she returned to her place against the bulkhead, next to the already closed door to his quarters.

Adney, Con, Sparks, Bennton: the newly expanded list of the only four people on board the
Folly
he could risk trusting with his plans. Each represented a key position: command, helm, engineering, and security. If need be, he'd handle weapons himself. He knew Adney trusted Mather at communications, as Jodey had.

“What I'm going to tell you now doesn't leave this room. This ship breaks dock—
must
break dock—in forty-five minutes.” His voice was low, deep, and allowed for no argument.

Adney, as expected, had one. “With all due respect, Admiral, forty—”

He cut her off and gave a succinct recap of what Hamil and Delainey had told him. A Farosian Star-Ripper. A crippled hospital ship with VIP patients. A move to hamper Falkner's government; a move to make the
Folly and
the Alliance Fleet do the Farosians’ bidding on the Farosians’ timetable.

He'd be thrice damned if he'd cooperate. There would be no discussion on the matter. The Star-Ripper's ETA at the gate's vicinity was in less than three and a half hours.

They must be moving in forty-five minutes.

“Delainey is going to engineer a power failure at our docking clamps,” he told them as Adney leaned forward and started to speak. He could guess at her question: how could the
Folly,
in her current state of disrepair, possibly take on a heavily armed Star-Ripper? He would get to that. But first: “As far as anyone on dock, in the yard, or on this ship is concerned, we're simply relocating to another berth in the yard.”

He looked squarely at Adney. “Adney, you're going to have to take the brunt of crew confusion until I give the all-clear. It won't be long. Chief Hamil will have his people on the docks watching for any unusual reaction. Once I'm sure no one's hijacking a Ratch fighter and coming after us, I'll issue general orders over intra-ship, providing it's working.”

“Mather confirmed it's fixed,” Con said.

“Sparks, I'm going to need those sublights cranking to max on very short notice.”

“The drives are one of the few things on this ship I have no worries about.”

“Constantine, helm will have the only true course coordinates. Can you rig nav to read something else?”

“In forty minutes? No, sir.” Con shook his head. “But I can blank their screens temporarily. Just another glitch, you know.” He shrugged. “Since we're supposedly only going to the other side of the shipyard, it won't worry anyone. At least not until we're hitting the lanes.”

“Do it.” Philip faced Rya, the member of his impromptu team who had the least amount of experience, who probably surprised the others by her presence here in the admiral's office. Hell, it surprised him, if he was perfectly honest about it. She was a nugget, a novice, her few years in ImpSec notwithstanding.

But she was ImpSec trained. And she was Cory's daughter. He … trusted her, beyond any fully rational explanation. He connected with Rya—and he knew he did, even if that admission scared him—on a very different level. Looking at her now, her eyes bright and clear, a slight flush on her face, a shine in the haphazard curls tumbling from beneath her dark service beret … Looking at her now he was aware of every one of the sixteen years that separated them.

But the moment she moved, spoke, questioned him, challenged him, made him think, made him laugh, those years disappeared and they
connected.

That almost scared him more than the Farosians and their weapons-laden Star-Ripper.

“Bennton,” he said, watching a spark light in her eyes, feeling a corresponding lurch in his own heart. “I have to assume we have moles on board, and I have to assume the ship's movement is going to force their hand. Someone may try to take the bridge. Or someone may try to send a message off ship, warning the Farosians what we're doing. Welford and Commander Adney can try to monitor any outgoing communications. We might not be able to stop it—”

“If I catch it in time, maybe,” Con put in.

“—but we will be aware of it. The first problem, though, is all yours.”

She nodded, a curl falling into her eyes. She brushed it away with a crisp movement. “First, shut down the lifts. They're malfunctioning, anyway.”

Sparks snorted.

“That means anyone coming to take the bridge has to take the forward stairs. We'll hear them coming. Second, shut the blast doors in the crew and mess areas on Three and Four. People aren't going to like being trapped, but it will be for only a short period of time.” She angled her head at Con Welford. “Can you or Sparks do that? Another malfunction?”

“A ship runs blast-door safety tests all the time,” Con said. “We just announce a test commencing at that specific time, and the crew will kick back and wait it out.”

“That will leave only bridge crew and whoever is in divisionals on Two Aft to worry about,” she said. “But divisionals would have to go down to Three to come up to the bridge. Not a huge delay, but it buys us a little more secure time.”

Adney shifted in her seat. Still not happy, Philip noticed. His executive officer held her datapad in a choking grip. And she was staring at Rya, her expression almost bitter. Did Rya have a run-in with Adney? He made a mental note to ask his XO later.

“I'm concerned about engineering.” Rya took a step toward Sparks. “The bridge isn't the only vulnerable area if we have a mole on board who wants to stop us.”

“Most of the crew will be contained on Three or Four,” Sparks said. “I can run my drives for a short time with only Kagdan, Vange, and Dillon. And trust me, Lieutenant Bennton. I'm one damned good shot with a Carver. My team will take down anyone I miss.”

Philip knew Sparks trusted those three. He wasn't sure right now that was good enough insurance. “Sparks—”

“Hear you loud and clear, Admiral. They know security is tight and why, just like everyone else on this ship does. Kirro Station. And that's all they're going to know until you tell me otherwise.”

“Admiral.” Adney sat forward stiffly, as if pushed by some invisible force. It was clear she wanted to be heard now, not even giving Philip a chance to respond to Sparks's comment. “I must respectfully voice my dissent. Restricting the crew. Threatening to shoot them.” She glanced quickly at Rya. “Then proceeding under such conditions in a ship with no defenses. You
can't seriously think we can win in a firefight with a Star-Ripper?”

Philip leaned forward also, bracing his hands on the top of his desk. “We're not going to engage the Farosians in a firefight, Commander Adney. That's exactly what they're expecting us to do. And that's the very reason I have no intention of doing it.”

At departure-minus-fifteen, Rya tracked Philip down in his office. He hadn't been there five minutes earlier. She'd checked. But he was here now, leaning over his deskscreen, frowning. He straightened as she stepped through the open doorway, one eyebrow arching slightly.

“Lieutenant Bennton?” Her name was both a question and an acknowledgment that the mode was business. “Subbie” had a friendlier tone. And when he called her “Rebel,” parts of her positively overheated.