Democracy's Right

Chapter Fifty-Three

Commander Fox stared down into the water hole and prayed that the shape deep within the dark waters was a fish, rather than one of the nastier creatures that inhabited Garstang. Life on the penal world wasn’t as bad as he had feared — they’d been lucky enough to make contact with one of the groups that had refused to leave, a religious group that had been exiled because the Empire wanted their land — yet it was dangerous. He couldn’t close his eyes for a moment before something else would emerge from the water or the ground and try to kill him.

He stabbed down with his spear and smiled in relief as he punched right through the creature’s skin, sending a cloud of blood drifting into the water. Moving swiftly, he pulled the spear and the weird alien fish out of the water and started to run, while behind him the water hole seemed to explode as nastier creatures — drawn by the blood — exploded into the open. The entire water hole wouldn’t be safe for days. He was still running when he saw the light in the sky.

There had been no transports or supply capsules since the day the rebels had abandoned him and his men on the planet, yet now there was a single drop capsule falling through the atmosphere. As he watched, it deployed parachutes and started to steer itself towards the nearest settlement, the one he’d found and joined. He turned and started to run towards where the capsule was landing, intent on discovering who or what was in it first. The rebel leadership had doubtless been caught and arrested by now — and sentencing them to the penal world would have been more than appropriate. The capsule came down gently and touched down, the parachutes falling over the conical shape, right on the edge of a sandy depression. Fox swore as he kept running. The people in the capsule had no idea just how much danger was all around them. How could they? The Imperial Survey Report contained no such details.

The capsule was already opening as he came running up, praying that his footsteps hadn’t attracted the attention of something bigger and nastier than he was. A head stuck out, sniffed the air, and withdrew just as quickly. Fox had to smile, even though it wasn’t really funny; all worlds had their own particular smell, but the penal worlds smelt worse than most. After all, if they were rated as more than marginally habitable, they wouldn’t have been turned into cheap dumping grounds for convicts, rebels, terrorists and people whose only sin was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Empire had no shortage of other ways to kill its enemies.

“Don’t go near the sand,” he shouted. Once, running so hard would have left him out of breath, yet now it seemed almost effortless to run so far. The planet had been good for his health, if nothing else; only the quick and the sharp survived on the penal world. “Get out of the capsule and walk away from the sand”

The hatch opened again and a single overweight person climbed out. He was wearing a grey convict’s suit, yet Fox recognised him without any trouble at all. It had been Admiral Percival who had assigned him to the penal world in the first place; the Admiral looked pallid and unhealthy, yet it was unmistakably him. He was shaking and shivering, although it was warm and damp air, and looked as if he’d had a very hard time. The truth dawned on Fox as he reached the Admiral’s side; the rebels were winning the war! He took a glance inside the capsule and found a small package of supplies, but little else. Fox picked them up, slung them over his back, and started to pull the Admiral away from the sand. Judging from the smell leaking out of the capsule, the Admiral had thrown up during the descent.

“That’s mine,” the Admiral protested, as Fox pulled him along. He had to be away from the sand before something very nasty came swimming through the ground and emerged to attack them. “You thief, you…”

Fox started to obey and then stopped. Why should he obey? It wasn’t as if the Admiral was still an Admiral. He wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t been abandoned by his patrons and condemned to a life of servitude. Fox felt his mouth falling open into an unpleasant smile. The Admiral could be killed, right now, and no one would give a damn.

“I hope there’s something good to eat,” the Admiral continued, unaware of Fox’s inner thoughts. “I haven’t had a good meal since…”

It was his tone that finally drove Fox over the edge. Once they were safely away from the sand, he turned around and slammed the flat of his palm into the Admiral’s chest. Percival doubled over, choking and coughing, retching as he fell to the ground. Real physical pain would have been a rarity to him, Fox knew; who would have dared to lay a finger on his body, no matter how obnoxious he decided to be?

“Shut up and listen,” Fox snarled. The Admiral had curled into a ball, peering up at Fox as if he were on the verge of collapse. He’d been told that some convicts never did recover from the shock of discovering the true nature of their world, red in tooth and claw. “Your former rank means nothing! You have no way of contacting your friends or allies! You are alone and dependent on our good will. If you work hard, we will take you in and allow you to stay with us. If you don’t want to do that, just stay here or wander off and something will be along to kill you sooner or later. The choice is yours.”

He walked off, not looking back. He hadn’t been joking. If the Admiral joined the community, he would work as hard as anyone else or be expelled into the wilderness, where he would surely die or join the remaining bandits — no, they’d probably kill and eat him on sight. He had enough blubber on him, even after his period of imprisonment, to feed an entire bandit gang for a few days.

After a moment, Percival picked himself up and tottered after him.

“This meeting is hereby called to order,” Hester Hyman said. She was standing at one end of a long table, made from Old Earth wood. The Popular Front’s council had transferred itself to Camelot as soon as the second round of mutinies had saved the world from recapture, determined to build a new political structure within Sector 117 and further afield. “We have come a very long way.”

Hannelore Ellicott-Chatham tuned her out, aware that Jason Cordova — sitting next to her — was doing the same. The first day of any political meeting was sure to be nothing, but boring, even though the representatives had more sense than to waste time arguing over the size and shape of the conference table. Now that the sector fleet had been captured, it hadn’t been difficult to overwhelm the local garrisons and liberate the other worlds in the sector, freeing them to join the rebellion. The Roosevelt Family’s secret stockpiles of war material and even a handful of unregistered shipyards would end up powering a war intent on bringing down the Families, once and for all. Her own task, coordinating the conversion of the local industrial base into a base that could support a massive war against the Empire, was already underway. There were few who disagreed or sought to talk peace with their former masters.

The Beyond itself was undergoing some changes, once the details of Operation Purge had been recovered from Admiral Percival’s sealed databanks. The Beyond had been shocked to discover just how much the Empire had known about them, including a number of places that had been thought to be undiscovered and undetectable. Some had packed up and headed further away from the Empire; others had come forward and added their own resources to the growing Popular Front. The Empire had no idea of the sheer level of hatred and discontent along the Rim, or of how many people would come and join the rebellion as it established itself. Hannelore herself had been shocked to discover just how much was hidden out beyond the Rim, or even within it.

She wasn’t too sure of her own position at times, but Cordova had vouched for her and most of the Popular Front seemed to trust him, even if not all of them liked the renegade Captain. Hannelore herself wasn’t too sure, but she could see another person hidden under the act, a person who only emerged when they were in private. Cordova had said little about his origins, yet she was sure that he came from higher social roots than he’d been prepared to admit. Besides, who was she to comment about someone’s birth? In the Popular Front, noble birth was a handicap, rather than a boon.

The three representatives from Jackson’s Folly looked tired, yet determined. Admiral Percival had been toying with plans to scorch sections of their worlds — even though he had been unable to simply throw the entire planet into the fire in the hopes that it would make the daughter colonies be more reasonable — and they knew that the die was cast. If the Popular Front succeeded, Jackson’s Folly and her daughter colonies would be free; if not, they would all be thrown into the fire. There could be no negotiations, save from a position of strength. If the Empire could be reformed, well and good, but if not they were prepared to burn the Empire to the ground. Hannelore couldn’t blame them, even though she feared their determination. After the war was over, they would have to find some way of living together or the Empire would splinter down into civil war — another civil war.

She settled back in her seat as Hester continued to speak. The Follies were quite right. The die had been cast and there was no going back. She was committed now, as were they all.

The spy knew that she had been lucky to remain undetected, even though the rebels were now aware of her existence. At least William Derbyshire, Imperial Intelligence’s Head of Station, had been smart enough to purge his files before the rebels took the station, leaving them with no direct lead to her identity.

She couldn’t believe how lucky the rebels had been, as if the universe itself had been conspiring against the Empire. The mutinies in the Sector 99 Sector Fleet would only be the beginning, for Admiral Walker and his allies had tapped into a rich vein of discontent. How many people in the Imperial Navy, the spy asked herself, would share the sense that no matter how competent and capable they were, they would never be able to advance? There would be thousands; no, hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions. If even a tenth of the Imperial Navy decided to join the rebels, the Empire would have a real fight on its hands.

The spy settled down in her hiding place and started to wait. There would be a chance to make contact with Imperial Intelligence again, for some who came over to the rebels would be working for the Empire, and then she would have a new link to her superiors. And even if that didn’t happen, she knew her duty. There would be a chance to strike a blow at the very core of the rebel leadership. All she had to do was wait and it would come.

The two weeks since the Second Battle of Camelot had been crazy, but Colin had always found time to go to the observation blister and stare out at his growing fleet. The Imperial Navy starships, the ships from the Beyond and new designs the Geeks had put into production… a fleet capable of holding its own against a comparable Imperial Navy fleet. Earth didn’t even know it yet — the first reports of the rebellion, assuming that one of Percival’s subordinates had sent an unofficial signal to his patrons, wouldn’t be at Earth for another month — but the Empire was in serious trouble. Colin and his fleet would be able to advance quite some distance before the Empire started putting together a superior fleet to stop them. And by then the whole equation would have changed.

Colin smiled. The Geeks had designed several other tricks, each one either a development of Imperial Navy technology or something radically new. By the time they were deployed, the Imperial Navy would be gearing up for a conventional war, not something new. He’d come a long way from the officer who had sworn a petulant oath to avenge himself on his superior; whatever happened to the rebellion and the Popular Front, the Empire would never be the same.

And then there was Khursheda and Colonel Frandsen, off on their own mission. It was a long shot, but if it worked it would do the impossible and shorten the war.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Daria said. Colin turned and smiled in welcome. He hadn’t seen much of Daria for the past week; she’d been busy organising the hundreds of commercial starships that had come over to the rebellion. The fleet would have better logistics than the Imperial Navy, at least at first. Once the fleet started advancing towards Earth, they would be on the end of long supply lines, while the Imperial Navy would be falling back towards its bases. “Gloating over your victory?”

“Something like that,” Colin admitted, with a shrug. There was no sign of Mariko, which was odd; she was normally attached to Daria at the hip, her silent shadow. “Percival won’t be abusing anyone, ever again.”

“No,” Daria agreed. They’d found Percival’s private collection of videos once they’d searched his quarters, including hours of footage of his aide. Colin had watched some of them and then ordered them all destroyed. Wherever Penny Quick was — and whoever had taken her off the fortress had covered his tracks very well — he hoped that she was thinking about rebelling herself. “You could have killed him.”

Colin nodded. “I thought about it,” he said. “I just” — it was hard to put it into words, even for a friend — “I just thought that if I pulled the trigger, with him helpless, part of me would die with him.”

“So you sent him to a planet that’s known for killing seventy percent of the people who are dumped on it,” Daria said, dryly. “You could have shot him and it would have been kinder.”

“At least he has a chance,” Colin said. The thought made him smile. “And besides, I wanted to make him suffer.”

Daria came up beside him and stood by his side, staring out into space. “I think you succeeded,” she said. “And now the war goes on anyway.”

“Soon,” Colin agreed. Everyone was working at a backbreaking pace, but it would be weeks yet before the fleet was ready to advance. Sector 99 would be ripe for the plucking with its sector fleet destroyed or captured, but after that it would get progressively harder. “Earth is only six months away.”

Daria laughed and took his arm. “Relax,” she said, seriously. “You don’t want to burn yourself out just yet.”

She leaned forward and Colin found himself leaning towards her, his lips moving to meet hers, when his wristcom beeped. He found himself laughing as the moment was broken, before tapping the wristcom and listening to the message.

“That had better be important,” Daria said, shaking her head. “What did they say?”

Colin grinned at her. “We just had a heavy cruiser squadron drop in,” he said. “They’re from Sector 97 and they say they want to join us.” He laughed and pulled her in for a delighted hug. “Don’t you see? The message is out and spreading. Nothing can stop us now.”