Democracy's Might

Chapter Five

“It is done,” Major Vincent Anderson reported.

Colin nodded, not looking away from the view of the stars — and the Shadow Fleet, gathered around his flagship. It was strange to feel guilty after everything he’d done, from breaking his sworn oaths to the Imperial Navy to sending people to their deaths in his name, but he couldn’t help feeling bad. And yet there had been no choice. Commodore Quigley could have torn the Popular Front apart.

He’d been unpopular among his crews — and among his superiors, which was unusual. Even Admiral Percival, never a very good judge of character, had refused to grant him further promotion, something that had clearly rankled. The Commodore had been as ambitious as Colin himself and much less moral. By the time his squadron heard of the mutinies and the rebellion, he’d clearly been planning something for himself. Instead, he’d simply taken his squadron and defected to the rebels.

And then the trouble started, Colin reflected. He wasn’t popular. We would have had another mutiny on our hands.

He’d been unsure what to do. The Shadow Fleet could hardly refuse reinforcements, but he couldn’t allow Quigley any power, not when his own squadron was on the verge of mutiny — a second mutiny, from the Empire’s point of view. In the end, he’d accepted Anderson’s suggestion. Quigley was fond of flying his own shuttle. It had been simple enough to arrange an ‘accident’ that had destroyed the shuttle, taking the wretched Commodore with it.

“Make sure no one ever finds out what happened,” Colin ordered. The Shadow Fleet had expanded rapidly as more and more mutineers brought their ships to join the formation. Few of them knew Colin, even by reputation. He couldn’t afford his subordinates having doubts about him, not when they had to take the offensive. “We can’t even afford rumours.”

He scowled. Admiral Percival had had legitimate authority behind him, even though he’d been a bastard of the first rank. Contemplating Percival’s new life on the penal colony was a thought that definitely kept him warm at night. But Colin found it harder to maintain his authority; he’d mutinied against his superiors, why couldn’t his subordinates mutiny against him? If they thought that Colin was actively purging the ranks of unwanted officers and crew…

“I did the work myself,” Anderson assured him. The Security Officer, who had proved his loyalty to the rebellion by not alerting Percival when he’d first detected signs that a mutiny was planned, stepped closer. “There is nothing left to suggest that it was anything other than a tragic accident.”

“Let’s hope so,” Colin said. He took one last look out at the gathering fleet, then turned and strode towards the hatch. “Is everything prepared for the meeting?”

“I believe so,” Anderson said. “Are we finally ready to take the offensive?”

Colin scowled. Several sectors had fallen into rebel hands like ripe fruit, simply because the Imperial Navy had never bothered to station anything larger than a light cruiser to defend them. However, the region of space they occupied was finally starting to brush up against worlds and sectors that were quite heavily defended. Some of the defended worlds could be bypassed and isolated, at least until the war was won or lost; others, he knew, had to be reduced before the rebels could drive on Earth.

“I hope so,” he said. “The bastards still have vast firepower under their command, vastly more firepower than us. We can’t give them too much time to recover.”

He led the way into the conference room, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction as his subordinates — and the handful of political representatives — rose to their feet. It was the sort of respect he’d wanted when he’d served the Empire, back when he’d been naive enough to believe that a talented man without connections could succeed. But Percival had destroyed both his hopes and his faith in the Empire. Colin wondered, absently, just how Percival was coping on the penal world. The files agreed that half the convicts dumped on the surface died within the first six months.

“Please, be seated,” he said, taking his seat at the head of the table. They sat down and gazed at him expectantly. “It has been five months since we secured Camelot, five months during which we have prepared for the offensive against Earth. We dare not wait any longer.”

They were an odd group, he told himself. Former Imperial Navy officers, like himself; rebels from a dozen planets or hidden asteroid settlements… and Jason Cordova, who looked, as always, larger than life. The man who had refused to scorch a planet on the Empire’s command and then fled into the Beyond with his ship, rather than return to face judgement — and certain death. Colin rather admired him, although there were times he doubted Cordova’s common sense. After so long in the Beyond, the man might well not be completely sane any longer.

Beside him, Hannelore Ellicott-Chatham looked nervous. Unlike most of the rebels, she had been an aristocrat who had set up an independent mining company of her own before it had been captured by Cordova. Now, she was working as a supply officer — she was genuinely talented, Colin had to admit — and Cordova’s lover. The evil part of Colin’s mind wondered which occupation was more demanding.

Commodore Jeremy Damiani sat next to Colin himself, his face expressionless. He’d worked for Stacy Roosevelt before she’d lost her superdreadnaughts to the rebels, then switched sides without a second thought. Colin knew that Damiani was reliable; he had good reason to be grateful for Stacy refusing to leave him in command of her ships. If he’d been in command, the rebellion might have ended there and then. But now he was a loyal rebel…

Colin pushed the thought aside as he faced the group. “The Empire will know about us now,” he said. His most optimistic calculations suggested that Earth would have known about the rebellion for at least two weeks, although he knew better than to rely on it. It was quite possible that someone on Percival’s staff had reported accurately to his patron, even though Percival himself had tried to keep a lid on the news. “Right now, they will be mobilising to confront us. They will have no choice.”

He looked from face to face, willing them to understand. Already, between the Geeks and thousands of talented workers who had finally been allowed to use their talents, the rebel-controlled industrial nodes were working miracles. Given ten years, Colin suspected, the Shadow Fleet would be able to roll over the Empire with ease. But they didn’t have ten years, not when the Empire was now well aware of the threat. The Thousand Families wouldn’t dare let a challenge to their power go unanswered.

Colin had no illusions, even though he knew — better than most — the true condition of the naval reserve. The starships and formations along the border had been forced to run regular maintenance cycles, but bases closer to Earth had been allowed to grow lax. Corruption had set in; starships had been pillaged for components that could be sold to civilians. There were entire squadrons that only existed on paper. But, given time, the Empire could still put together a formidable challenge…

And, if it geared up for all-out war, it would easily be able to out-produce the rebels.

“We will divide our offensive into three formations,” Colin continued. He’d hashed out the plan himself, then consulted a handful of subordinates. This was the first time he’d presented it to the entire council. “The Main Strike Fleet, under my command, will advance towards Morrison, where we will attempt to reduce and occupy the naval base. As Morrison is likely to be their staging base for any counterattacks, depriving the Imperial Navy of the base’s facilities will be a crippling blow.”

He paused, scowling at the holographic star chart. A competent enemy commander would understand that Morrison had to be held — or give up any thoughts of a counterattack for several years — but who knew who he’d be facing? Another Percival… or someone more competent? Colin had nothing, apart from contempt, for the Thousand Families, but they did sometimes produce competent officers and administrators. The question rattled around and around in his mind, receiving no answer. Who would he be facing?

“The Deep Strike Fleet, under Commodore Damiani, will be advancing ahead of the Main Strike Fleet, raiding planetary defences and orbital installations,” Colin said. “This serves two purposes; it will confuse the enemy about our ultimate intentions and create political pressure for the Imperial Navy to defend the targeted worlds. If we’re lucky, they will spread out their forces to cover potential targets. Even if they don’t, they will have to cope with the political fallout from losing the worlds and installations.”

Colin smiled, coldly. He had never claimed to be an expert in economics, but rebel analysts had tried hard to predict what would happen when the Roosevelt Family finally collapsed. Their best-case projection suggested that the other families would manage to take their assets for themselves, preventing the collapse from spreading further, yet it would place even more strain on the Empire. And, if they couldn’t prevent the collapse from spreading, the Empire might find it impossible to pay for the war.

“Finally, the Deep Raid Fleet, under Captain Cordova, will raid shipping and other isolated targets within the Core Worlds,” Colin concluded. “This will not only force them to divert additional forces to cover convoys, it will create a sense of unease among their leadership. If we can reach out and touch the Core Worlds, what’s to say we can’t reach out and touch Earth itself?

“I won’t lie to you. The Empire still has a staggering advantage in firepower — and we will be going up against tough fixed defences, no matter how badly corruption has eroded their ability to fight. We could still lose — but the Empire’s self-confidence will not survive.”

There was a long pause. Only a handful knew about the secret mission to Earth, let alone the plans for coordinated action with the underground movements. He didn’t dare discuss that openly, not when news might spread through the fleet and into unfriendly ears. There were so many newcomers that it was quite likely that some of them were reporting back to the Empire. And besides, they’d never figured out how the Empire had managed to locate Sanctuary Asteroid.

Finally, he nodded to Salgak.

The Geek’s voice buzzed as he spoke, drawing attention to the metal implants that marred his pale flesh. Such augmentation was banned in the Empire, even for the upper classes; the Geeks wore their implants proudly, as a badge of honour. Colin honestly couldn’t imagine why anyone would augment themselves so heavily it was questionable if they were human any longer, unless it was a gesture of defiance. The Empire wouldn’t hesitate to kill any scientist who started pushing the limits of research and development.

“We have turned our missile production facilities over to the Popular Front,” the Geek stated, bluntly. “Instead, we have worked on improving the missile systems and developing new weapons and technologies. We have managed to improve the performance of standard shipkiller missiles in several different ways. One of them will give the missiles additional powered flight range.”

Colin smiled. That wouldn’t be too useful against enemy starships — the standard tactic against an overwhelming barrage of missiles was to flicker out — but it would be very useful when they confronted fixed defences. Orbital fortresses weren’t much larger than superdreadnaughts, yet they had no need to devote mass to drives, allowing them to stockpile far more missiles in their hulls. Being able to engage them outside their own effective range would definitely give the enemy a nasty surprise.

“Another modification will make the missiles effective against enemy drive systems,” Salgak stated. “However, we are unable to produce them except in very small numbers. It requires a degree of precision that standard shipyards and industrial nodes are incapable of duplicating. There are also problems with the arming systems; the missiles may have to be fired from very short range, if they are to be completely effective.

“In hopes of tackling this problem, we have been designing a modified gunboat that we hope will be able to launch one or two such missiles. However, cramming drives, shields and weapons into a gunboat hull is tricky. We may have better luck if we leave the flicker drive out, then minimise everything else.”

“The gunboats would not be able to retreat,” Damiani pointed out, sharply. “If the battle was lost, they would be trapped.”

“There are hard limits to how much the flicker drive unit can be reduced,” the Geek informed them. “So far, we have been unable to overcome those limits.”

There was a pause. “Our research, combined with the additional resources captured from naval bases and facilities, has offered several new possibilities,” Salgak added. “One suggests that we might be able to wrap a flicker field around gunboats or missiles, tossing them into the enemy system. Another suggests that we might be able to build a working FTL communicator.”

Colin leaned forward, fascinated. “You believe you can actually make one work?”

“To a very limited extent,” Salgak said. “The flicker drive works by folding space around the starship, creating a link between its start and end point. We believe that we might be able to drive mass-less energy though a flicker field, projecting the energy forward at FTL speeds. However, the system would be very basic. It would certainly not allow us to extend a datanet over interstellar space.”

He paused. “It would also be quite flimsy,” the Geek added. “The signalling might burn out the system.”

“Like how keeping a flicker drive powered up places wear and tear on the drive systems,” Colin mused. For once, the bureaucrats at Luna Base had a point. The flicker drive was temperamental at the best of times — and, once burned out, it was impossible to replace without a shipyard. Imperial Navy regulations stated that a flicker drive was not to be powered up until the time came to jump, which tended to leave a starship taking incoming fire while it’s engineers frantically activated the drive. “But it would be very useful to have a working FTL communicator.”

He considered the possibilities. If the rebels had real-time information on what was happening even a single sector away, it would be easy to outmanoeuvre the Empire. The Thousand Families would be permanently out of date, while Colin could issue orders and know they would be obeyed instantly. Central command would become a very real possibility.

The Empire would really like such a system, he thought, grimly. They’d never have to fret over giving so much authority away again.

“We will work on the system,” the Geek buzzed. “But we caution you that it may be years before the system is workable. We dare not develop a Superiority complex.”

Colin had to smile. Superiority was a story cadets had been forced to read while training at Luna Base. The storyteller had recounted the story of how his side in an interstellar war had built several different superweapons, each of which had presented their own colossal problems when they’d actually been deployed. In the meantime, their enemies had kept chugging out standard starships and weapons… which had given them an overpowering advantage — and victory. Colin had wondered, at the time, if the story had been written by someone trying to justify the general freeze on research. It hadn’t been until much later that he’d discovered that the story actually dated all the way back to the pre-space era.

But the writer was right. They could start throwing resources into developing new weapons, but lose the war because the new weapons failed to live up to their promise.

“No, but we will be outgunned once the Empire gets organised,” he said. “What about actual starship production?”

Hannelore leaned forward. “We have taken possession of the Roosevelt Family’s facilities in the sector,” she said. “Most of them were designed to produce heavy cruisers or lighter ships, nothing heavier. They may have intended to launch a civil war of their own.”

Colin snorted. Somehow, he had the feeling that the Roosevelt Family was in deep trouble, back on Earth.

“We should have our first heavy cruiser coming out of the slips in two months,” Hannelore continued. “Our crews are motivated to succeed; I hope to ramp up production in the next three to four months, once we get the bugs out. We’re also completing the first missile defence ship, but that will require extensive testing before we move to mass production.”

“Good,” Colin said. There was nothing particularly special about the arsenal ships. He would be surprised if the Empire failed to duplicate the freighter modifications within a month or two of seeing the concept in action. By then, he wanted a countermeasure of his own in place. “And superdreadnaughts?”

“We’re cutting out much of the Class-III shipyard infrastructure,” Hannelore said. “However, it will still be several months before we’re ready to produce our own superdreadnaughts — and at least nine months after that before the ship is ready for launch.”

Colin nodded, although it wasn’t good news. The rebels had captured fifty-six superdreadnaughts in all, including a handful that had mutinied and then made it out to Sector 117 after the Battle of Camelot. But the Empire still had several hundred under its control, an irresistible force if they were combined into a single unit. Colin doubted the Empire would put so much firepower under anyone’s control, but it was still a nightmare.

“Work on it,” he ordered, tiredly. He looked around the room, then smiled. One way or another, they would either emerge victorious or lose the war within a year. “We launch in two days. Good luck to us all.”