The False Admiral (2 page)

They were all staring at me again, or rather at my clothes.

“What? You can't expect me to wear my dress whites when I'm traveling,” I said, straightening my somewhat shabby jacket, as though that could hide some of the holes, stains, and scorches.

It had been a long time since I'd dressed this way. It felt good. Alien, but good.

“At least you don't have to salute me like this. Let's find out what's going on.” I took the emergency hand-light off my sleeper, slung my pitiful bag of belongings over my shoulder, and went into the corridor, shining the light around.

I tried to focus. I was almost afraid to look at Private Salmagard. I wasn't misreading the way she was looking at me; I wasn't that lucky. She thought she knew who I was, but she still hadn't said anything. It wasn't enough to act calm—until I knew what was going on, I had to
be
calm.

I let out a long breath, looking down the narrow corridor. It had been a long time since I'd been aboard this ship.

These old Ganraen freighters were some of the ugliest ships in existence. Dark, cramped, all metal and sharp edges. Everything was gray, except for where things had rusted to brown. There were handholds all over in case of a gravity loss. I imagined trying to navigate these rusty, jagged corridors in zero-g, and shuddered at the thought. A ship like this would be a death trap without gravity. Would it kill these guys to add a little padding?

On the bright side, the ship would be even uglier with the lights on.

“What
is
it, sir?” Nils asked. “What is this ship?”

“Ganraen cargo freighter,” I told him, still staring into the gloom. “Privateer class, maybe? I don't know.”

“How did we get
on
it?” Deilani demanded.

“I could guess,” I said. “But I don't think you'd like it.”

Fresh graduates on their way to their first assignment expected to be flown around the galaxy in the Empire's latest ships, not whatever bucket happened to be going in the right direction. It didn't matter because they were asleep in any case, but I didn't want to spoil their illusions. On a ship this size there was a lot of air, but we still needed to get a move on.

“Captain Tremma should be on the bridge.” I looked at Nils. “This is his ship. I think. You've studied Ganraen spacecraft, haven't you?”

“Yes, sir. Extensively.” There was a note of pride there. Nils seemed like the type to know ships.

“This one's been refitted to meet Evagardian specs, but it's probably still more or less recognizable. Where do you think we are in relation to the bridge?”

He considered it, gazing down the unlit corridor. A moment passed.

“Sir, this is an old ship, and I don't recognize the layout. But big Ganraen ships always launch from the stern,” he said, shrugging.

And sleepers were kept near escape craft so disoriented passengers wouldn't have to be shepherded far to reach safety. Nils thought we were on a lower deck near the stern, and that felt right.

“Sounds legit. We need to go up.” The lifts were useless without power, but there were plenty of old-fashioned ladders.

We traversed the freighter, the trainees trailing me obediently.
Whatever their feelings on the plausibility of my impressive promotion, no one else was taking the lead. Deilani was struggling with that, but we were all confused, and we all wanted to know what was going on.

It was a long walk from one end of the ship to the other, made even longer because I didn't know where I was going. Our lights showed us nothing but Ganraen corridor after Ganraen corridor. They all looked alike, and they were all stiflingly tight. Loose grating rattled underfoot every time we crossed a maintenance hatch.

There were safety covers on the deck that weren't even secured with magnets.

Now I was
really
hoping the gravity would hold. This ship was a death trap. Maybe we were lucky it didn't have power.

I preferred Evagardian ship design. The Ganraens built utilitarian vessels, but even the newer ones came out looking grim, even sinister, and Tremma's freighter was not new. Panels were missing from bulkheads, exposing piping and circuitry. The ship was well maintained, but it wasn't always easy for Tremma to get his hands on Ganraen materials, even during peacetime.

If we looked in the engine room we'd find half of everything jury-rigged, or just broken down and neglected.

That was my guess about all of this—that we'd simply broken down. What I didn't understand was where Tremma was hiding. He should've turned up minutes after the sleepers spat out the trainees, power or no power. There was no positive reading for this situation.

As we clanked through the dark, empty corridors, my apprehension grew.

Once we found the arterial corridor that ran the vessel's full
length, it was simple enough to follow it to the bridge. We had to pry open the hatch, and the graduates' surprise was obvious. The rest of the ship had led them to expect a Ganraen cockpit: a cramped space with three consoles for three Ganraen flight officers, but what they got was a minimalist Evagardian command bridge.

It was a spacious chamber with five consoles, and panoramic viewports, which were currently as dark as everything else. The floor and bulkheads were white and clean. With the way I was feeling, the padded chairs looked inviting. The bridge was modern and luxurious compared to the rest of the ship.

It was also deserted. My light fell on an old-fashioned cup on the floor, and a dark stain. I knelt to touch it. Dry.

I sank into the command chair.

I was thirsty. Hungry too. So were the others. I pointed at the control chair beside mine, realized how imperious I looked, and made the gesture a little less flamboyant. Trying to sound appropriately military, I issued my first order. “Ensign,” I said to Nils. “Dismantle that so we can get at the power cell.” I tossed him my knife and leaned back to think. An encouragingly short amount of time passed before I heard him get to work.

He was what, twenty? And Salmagard was about the same age. Deilani might be a year or two older; she would've had more training. This was a charming start to their careers.

“What could cause the gravity to feel this way?” I asked after a moment, not opening my eyes. I couldn't do this alone. I wasn't up to it. I needed the trainees to pull their weight.

“The gravity drive could still be spinning down from the power loss, sir.” That was a good answer, but Nils was wrong. This felt different.

“It's not that,” I said. “I wish it was. But we'd be able to feel it in this ship.”

“Suppose we're adrift in the belt,” Deilani said, running a hand over one of the consoles. “The interference could account for it . . . sir,” she added, a little too deliberately. It wasn't petulance or haughtiness in her voice—it was open dislike. I still didn't know what I'd done to offend her. I understood that meeting such a young admiral struck her as odd, but didn't we have bigger problems?

“Not that, either.” Her theory wasn't out of the question, but the odds were too slim. “The belt isn't even on the way,” I mused. “But what is?”

“When were we transferred from the personnel carrier, sir?” That came from Salmagard. She had a lovely voice. There was no hint of accusation in her words. Her face was calm. No hidden meaning. It was just a question. She wasn't giving me a knowing look.

She knew, though. I could feel it.

“I'd like to know that too. I guess you came from Marragard?” I eyed their rank insignias.

Marragard was where imperial servicemen were gathered for graduation from the most prestigious academies, and only the best would be assigned to the
Julian
. “Then we must've picked you up on the Demenis side. So Tremma probably picked you up at Burton Station. That's only two hops to Payne Station. Safe route.”

Deilani narrowed her eyes. “Why are we taking the long way?”

I realized that Salmagard wasn't playing dumb for me; she was doing it because Deilani was better off curious than burdened by the truth. I tried to rally, thinking of an answer for the lieutenant. I had nothing.

“I know why
I'm
taking it. Why
you're
taking it—that's not a bad question,” I said. “I'm guessing your ride had a failure of some kind, and Tremma happened to be there at the right time. Someone decided to move you along to keep to schedule. Can't keep the
Julian
at Payne Station forever.”

The
Julian
was the Evagardian Empire's brand-new flagship. Supposedly the greatest warship ever built. The Empress herself was said to be aboard her now, overseeing the second leg of her maiden voyage. After her next tour, the
Julian
would continue to be seen at major trade hubs and high-traffic stations, an unmistakable reminder of the Empress' absolute military superiority after the Empire's crushing victory over the Ganraen Commonwealth.

And these three had been assigned to her. That meant they were good; personnel selection for the pride of the armada had to be especially rigorous.

I was hoping to reach the
Julian
as well, just not for the same reasons. Salmagard was no longer discreetly watching me. The fact that she wasn't sharing her conclusions with Deilani at least hinted that she'd drawn some of the right ones. I was lucky that Salmagard was there. This was all very strange, and I wasn't at my best. I needed a friend.

The route Tremma had been taking . . . Well, we could be anywhere. Thinking about it made my head hurt worse.

“You're very young for an admiral, sir.”

I looked up at Deilani. “I know,” I told her.

“I've got it, Admiral.” Nils sounded pleased with himself. His timing was good.

I got up and went over to him. “I'll take it from here. Get that panel off, uncover the ports.”

Nils gave me a look that was half suspicion, half admiration. He'd guessed what I had in mind.

The energy cell was used to power the mechanisms that physically moved the chair when a vessel was under fire, adjusting as the ship shakes and rolls so the commander doesn't lose concentration. I tossed the cell to Nils, who knew exactly what to do. In minutes he had power running to the console.

I was hoping the computer would have something to say about the state of the ship. Not that I knew how to ask. “If you would,” I said, motioning Nils into the chair.

Deilani was staring at my hand.

“What?”

“You have very courtly manners, Admiral.” She sort of wiggled her hand. “Can you teach me to do that?”

Next time I'd just point.

“Nils,” I prodded, turning away from her without a reply. The ensign looked uncertain, but game. There was no doubt he knew his way around ship systems better than I did. It was time to get answers.

The system was running in its most basic emergency mode, so Nils had to physically enter data with his fingers, which he was impressively good at.

“Something's wrong with it,” he reported immediately. “Sir,” he added hastily.

I was so different from the officers these three had been exposed to that they just couldn't see me as one. My lack of uniform didn't help, and neither did my sudden promotion to admiral. It probably didn't seem believable to them, but that crest on my sleeper was hard to argue with. Deilani wanted to argue; I had a feeling she just wasn't sure how to go about it. We were all off-balance.

But someone had to take charge, and my gut told me I was a better choice than Lieutenant Deilani, at least for now.

“The system's corrupted,” Nils said.

“How?”

He shook his head. “I don't know, sir. I can't do anything with it.”

“Is there damage to the ship?”

“I wouldn't know how to check with this,” he said, a bit sheepishly. “Not without at least basic protocols running.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “Sir, I want to try to get emergency power online.”

“Won't do any good if the reactor's damaged,” Deilani pointed out. She wasn't even looking at Nils. She was looking at me. She was
always
looking at me. It wasn't like I'd never been stared at before, but this was starting to wear me down.

“I don't think it is. I don't think there's any damage to the ship,” Nils replied. “Anything that would knock out the power,
then
fail-safe the sleepers, would set off hit-confirm protocols—but the zero-g handles and oxygen masks in the corridors hadn't been deployed, and neither had the automatic sealant. There's no sign out there or in here that anything's hit us. Even just a small meteor would put us on breach alert, but there hasn't been anything.”

I
should have noticed that.

“You're right,” I said, grateful to have the ensign there. “If you think you can get power, do it.” I turned to Salmagard and Deilani. “There should be an executive escape craft near the bridge—find it and get a survival pack. We're all dehydrated, and I don't want to have to go banging on pipes yet.”

I wasn't kidding myself; giving Deilani something to do
wouldn't make her happy, but I couldn't think with her here, trying to glare her way through my skull.

Salmagard looked pleased by the order, and Deilani appeared faintly annoyed. “Go on. Don't act like you're not thirsty too,” I said, turning back to Nils. They took their lights and left the bridge to search. At least Deilani didn't argue.

“I'm not coming up with much, sir. I've never seen an Evagardian system so crippled.”

“No pressure. But we might be dead if you don't figure it out.”

He gave me a funny look. “One idea,” he said. “This ship
has
been refitted and repurposed with our tech. There might be a power supply that I can tap to run provisional functions temporarily.”

“How long is temporarily?”