Democracy's Right

Chapter Thirty-Three

“I assume,” Percival said, in a cold hard tone, “that you have an explanation for this?”

Standing ramrod straight, her arms at her side, Captain-Commodore Angelika McDonald slowly counted up to fifty under her breath. She’d transmitted a report to Admiral Percival as soon as Violence had flickered into the system, hoping to discourage him or one of his subordinates from bombarding her with requests for details, but it hadn’t worked. Admiral Percival had ordered her to report to him as soon as possible, using words that clearly meant right damned now.

“Yes, sir,” Angelika said. She knew what Percival meant, but she was damned if she was going to allow him to place the blame on her. “I retreated in the face of superior firepower.”

“You fled in the face of the enemy,” Percival snapped. His piggy eyes glared at her, boring in on her face like twin laser beams. “The board of inquiry will…”

That did it. “With all due respect, Admiral,” Angelika said, “perhaps you would care to explain how a handful of smaller ships are expected to defeat a squadron of nine superdreadnaughts?”

His face purpled alarmingly, but she pressed her advantage. “If you hold a board of inquiry into the battle, the board will discover that I fought as long as I could and then withdrew from the system, rather than getting my command destroyed for no reason,” she added. “Once you ordered the superdreadnaughts withdrawn from the Jackson’s Folly system, the rebels could come knocking on the door any time they liked. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

“Furthermore,” she said. “I will not accept a tame board of inquiry. As is my right under Imperial Navy Regulations, I demand that the supervising officer be drawn from the nearest sector and made fully appraised of all of the important facts before holding the inquiry.”

Percival stared at her, as if he were hoping that she would wilt under his gaze. Angelika felt, oddly, as if she was in a battle, one she would win as long as she held her nerve. She’d worked closely enough with Percival to know that he was both a coward and, despite his pretensions, alarmingly exposed. His patrons would shift away once they realised that they would be tarred with the same brush of failure, Percival’s failure. He was the man on the spot when the rebels stole nine superdreadnaughts and vanished, never mind that Camelot was far too far away from Jackson’s Folly for him to exercise any real control.

She found herself silently hoping that her patrons wouldn’t let her down, for the regulations she’d cited could be put aside by a senior officer with sufficient patronage, or political clout. Or, for that matter, Percival could try to appoint one of his cronies to run it, just to ensure that it voted the right way. Her career had either been boosted beyond measure, or destroyed. But then, even a tame court-martial would expose Percival’s own failings and his enemies would have a chance to destroy him.

“I realise that you retreated in the face of superior firepower,” Percival said, finally. Angelika grinned inwardly. He’d surrendered, no matter whatever face he chose to put on defeat. “Even so, there is the issue of the loss of Jackson’s Folly or the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Blackshirts, all of which need to be discussed.”

“There’s very little to discuss,” Angelika said, calmly. “The Blackshirts were on a hostile planet when their covering forces had to leave the system.” She thought about pointing out that if she’d stood and fought, the monitors would have been destroyed along with her force, but pushed the thought aside. “The locals will have taken their revenge by now. Imperial Law allows for only one response.”

“There is nothing we can do until we make contact with one of the superdreadnaught squadrons,” Percival said, weakly. “The rebels…”

“…Will have retreated from the Jackson’s Folly system, leaving us nothing, but a rebellious planet and probably a few unpleasant surprises in orbit,” Angelika said, interrupting. Who knew — perhaps Percival could be driven into having a heart attack. His death would strengthen the Empire. “If you send back a squadron of destroyers, you would be able to recover the system without serious losses.”

Percival stared down at his priceless wooden table, muttering under his breath. Angelika took the moment to look over at the Admiral’s aide and wink at her. The aide — a tall blonde woman with a jacket tighter than regulations allowed — looked back at her, expressionlessly. Angelika would have bet half her salary that the aide was smarter than Percival and resented being placed in a position where she had to turn his half-baked ideas into reality. If she could be turned, she would make a powerful ally, but Angelika lacked the patronage or clout to reach out and make an offer.

“And are you prepared to escort that force?” Percival demanded, finally. “Or will you remain here until your squadron is reformed?”

Angelika felt her lips thin angrily, but resisted the temptation to make sarcastic remarks. Camelot, as an Imperial Navy Sector Headquarters, was heavily defended at all times, but as she’d returned to the system she’d seen new weapons emplacements and hundreds of new orbital weapons platforms. There were so many of them that she suspected that System Command would have some problems controlling them all as a unit. If she’d been in command of the system, she would have decentralised it, but Percival was too much of a control freak to allow it. Besides, he had plenty of enemies and one of them might take advantage of a decentralised network to attack him.

“Yes, sir,” she said, refusing to rise to the bait. An accusation of personal cowardliness wouldn’t look good on her record, although — coming to think of it — she couldn’t remember any time in which Percival had been in serious danger. The man was a coward as well as a sadist. “My ships are already being restocked by the facilities at this system. Once the loading is complete, we will return to Jackson’s Folly and reclaim the system.”

Carefully, of course, she added privately. Whatever she had said to Percival, it seemed to her that the rebels might reason it out the same way — and deliberately lurk in the system to ambush her when she returned. Or perhaps they would be off wreaking havoc on the other side of the sector and wouldn’t know that Jackson’s Folly had been reclaimed for the second time. There was no way to know until she returned and investigated the system.

She smiled, as if she’d just had a bright idea. “Perhaps you would like to accompany us?” She added. “The crew would consider it a boost to their morale if their commanding officer was to be flying with them towards certain victory.”

Percival hesitated. “I fear I cannot leave this base,” he said, stiffly. Angelika snickered inwardly, knowing what he truly meant. He could have left Camelot in the hands of his XO and accompanied the fleet to Jackson’s Folly, if he had wished to do so. “I will embark on a grand tour of the sector once the rebellion has been destroyed.”

“Of course, sir,” Angelika said. She stood to attention and saluted. “And with your permission, I will return to my ship and wait for the loading to be completed.”

“Go,” Percival growled. “And Captain, if you fail to reclaim the world for the Empire, just don’t bother coming back.”

Penny made sure to stay out of Percival’s way as he stalked the compartment, clenching his fists and muttering under his breath as he railed against both Captain-Commodore MacDonald and many of his own well-born or well-connected subordinates. Penny had known that Percival had a tendency towards paranoia — it wasn’t a bad trait to have if they really were out to get you — yet she was surprised at just how deeply it had worked its way into his mind. He hadn’t been blind to Brent-Cochrane’s manoeuvrings — or his rather-less-than-subtle dig at his commanding officer — and now there was a second officer seemingly intent on pushing him over the brink.

She smiled inwardly as he bent over the terminal and tapped it rapidly, scrolling through sheets of reports provided by various star systems. He had ordered, against Penny’s advice, that every star system and duty station was to report its status as often as possible — and fired off demerits and demotions for officers who failed to produce comprehensive reports. In theory, it should have allowed him a perfect image of the sector and how it was functioning; in practice, it was just another waste of time, a substitute for real action. She couldn’t imagine Brent-Cochrane or another competent officer wasting his time with such garbage.

Angelika’s position, Penny suspected, was stronger than she had known. If Percival had ordered a board of inquiry to convene, that board of inquiry would have had to look into everything, up to and including the original mutinies that had overwhelmed the Observation Squadron. And, even with a tame board of inquiry, there would be no way to hide the sheer scale of Percival’s failures. By law, the details would have to be communicated to Imperial Navy HQ on Luna, alerting them to the problems in Sector 117. Thanks to the rebels, they were going to know soon enough anyway, but Percival’s board of inquiry would sharpen a few minds. He might as well have signed his own death warrant.

“Bitch,” Percival said, finally. He brought his hand hard down on the wooden table, shaking it badly. It was real Earth-born wood, a rarity so far from Humanity’s homeworld, and it was worth more than Penny would ever see in her life. And yet, Percival was prepared to damage it, even to destroy it, just because he was angry. “That bitch presumes that she can dictate to me!”

Penny thought it was safest to say nothing and let him work it out of his system, so she pretended to pay attention as Percival raged, blaming each and everyone — apart from himself — for the disasters that had swept through Sector 117. He stormed backwards and forwards, banging his hand against the bulkheads and the desk, but he didn’t lay a hand on her. Penny was relieved, but also puzzled. Had he sensed something about her, perhaps the hope she’d felt after Brent-Cochrane had welcomed her into his circle? Or had he just decided not to take his anger out on her?

“And so we have to find more Blackshirts and sent them to Jackson’s Folly, where they too will be killed,” Percival finished. “How many Blackshirts can we scrape up if we cut all of the garrisons in the Sector down to the bare minimum?”

Penny, who had worked the numbers out weeks ago, was ready. “Around seven hundred thousand, sir,” she said, briskly. There just weren’t that many Blackshirts left in the Sector, not after the rebels had captured the first invasion force intact and devastated the second force months later. She would be very surprised to discover that a single Blackshirt was left alive on Jackson’s Folly. Percival had stripped out a sizable force for the first invasion and had to do the same for the second invasion. There might be an unlimited supply of Blackshirts — there was no shortage of people willing to join, be injected with tailored drugs and sent out to kill on behalf of the Empire — yet it took time to train up new ones. “I’m afraid that transport is also going to be a bottleneck.”

“Those goddamned raiders,” Percival exploded. Penny could only nod. She didn’t know how they’d done it, but the rebels had managed to get most of the rebel groups working together, specifically targeting Imperial shipping. Their targeted raids — they were so well targeted that she was sure that they had a source somewhere within Camelot — were having a dangerous effect on local shipping. “God damn those bastards to hell!”

Penny carefully didn’t mention a second problem. No matter how she looked at it, it was alarmingly clear that too much tonnage was disappearing for it to be raiders, unless the raiders possessed a fleet large enough to stand up to several battle squadrons. She hadn’t brought it to Percival’s attention, but she suspected that the true explanation was much simpler than they had realised. The ships were vanishing because their crews were mutinying against their superiors — or the shipping lines that held them in bondage — and setting out to find the rebels. It seemed impossible, until she looked at the freighter designs. There was no way they could all be secured without placing a company of Blackshirts on each and every freighter. And that, judging from some of the incidents on Imperial Navy starships, would do nothing for morale.

By her off-hand calculations, the shipping in Sector 117 was disappearing at an alarming rate, damaging the ties that held the sector together. What would happen then? There was no way to know for sure, but some of the planets simply couldn’t feed themselves, which would result in mass starvation. At least the rebels hadn’t been targeting cloudscoops, although that might change in a hurry. A shortage of HE-3 would ensure that interstellar shipping ground to a halt. And what would Percival do then?

She looked up as the door chime rang, insistently. Percival strode over to his desk and slapped his hand hard down on the release, opening the hatch. William Derbyshire entered and blinked owlishly at Percival, as if he were a mild-mannered professor rather than Imperial Intelligence’s Head of Station. Percival seemed to calm down instantly; he might have been the Sector Commander, but a complaint from Imperial Intelligence would result in his demotion and transfer to the other side of the Empire.

“Ah, Admiral,” Derbyshire said. He took a seat without being invited and pulled a sealed datachip out of his pocket, opening it with his thumbprint and inserting it into the desktop processor. “There has been something of a development.”

He looked up as the symbol of Imperial Intelligence appeared on the display. “We have been tapping all of our assets in the Beyond to attempt to locate the rebels,” he said. “It was not an easy task. The Beyond is a very paranoid place and even those who are well-known in the community don’t know everything. Indeed, those who are well-known may know the least, because they’re easy for everyone to find. The people maintain their privacy and mind their own business…”

“Sounds like paradise,” Percival growled, impatiently. Derbyshire smiled, indulgently. “What did one of your tame mouthpieces find?”

“It would have to be a tame ear,” Derbyshire said, absently. Penny realised that he was enjoying mocking Percival, or making him wait before he uncovered his secret. “We only use mouthpieces to spread lies and propaganda throughout the Beyond. We have been spreading propaganda about the rebels, but alas — the Beyond doesn’t seem to believe us. I fear we may have lost several mouthpieces to their counter-intelligence teams.”

“Never mind that,” Percival ordered. “What did you learn?”

Derbyshire looked up at him. “Oh, nothing too much,” he said. “Just the location of the rebel base.”

Percival’s mouth opened. No sound came out.

“One of our deep-cover agents was invited to the meeting where they announced their Popular Front,” Derbyshire explained, grinning. “It took the agent some time to get to a more… open asteroid, but once he made it… why, the message was passed on to a covert team and sent back here. The commander made the call to come here directly, rather than continue with his program, and I’m sure that you will agree that he deserves a reward. I have taken the liberty of writing him a commendation in your name, as well as urging that he be promoted as soon as possible. The Empire needs minds that can react and adapt plans — or abandon them — at short notice.”

At any other time, Percival would have exploded at the thought of someone else daring to use — even by proxy — his authority. Instead, he just stared at the desktop processor, as if it contained the key to eternal life — or, perhaps, to eternal patronage. Penny could almost read his thoughts. If he destroyed — or crippled — the rebellion, perhaps he wouldn’t lose his power and position after all.

“Good,” Percival said, savagely. “Do the rebels know that we know?”

“I do not believe so,” Derbyshire said, thoughtfully. “They may not, however, keep using the same base forever.”

“So we move now,” Percival said, sharply. He looked over at Penny. “What ships do we have on station?”

“Commodore MacDonald’s squadron is the most powerful one on hand,” Penny said. Percival scowled. It would mean putting the chance for glory in the hands of a junior officer he hated, but he would still be able to claim some of the credit. “If you waited two weeks, we could send one of the superdreadnaught squadrons or…”

“No,” Percival said. His mood had completely changed. “I want you to write the orders for the good Commodore. She’s to go capture the rebel base; I want the rebels here, in chains, for trial and execution. If the base cannot be captured, they are to blow it and withdraw.”

“Yes, sir,” Penny said. Watching Percival act decisively was odd. “I’ll send the orders at once.”

“And then report back here,” Percival added. “I think we need to celebrate.”

Penny nodded, keeping the disgust off her face.

Angelika received her new orders philosophically, although she noted that if her squadron happened to run into the rebel superdreadnaughts — again — the results were unlikely to be any better than the last time. She uploaded the coordinates into the squadron’s navigational database, checked that all weapons and supplies were loaded into her ships, and then ordered her squadron to move away from the planet and the ring or orbital defences. Seven thousand kilometres from Camelot, her ships flickered out and vanished.