Democracy's Light

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Charlie, who had been expecting poor Andy Gillingham to have been picked up by the local security forces — those loyal to Admiral Wilhelm, rather than the Empire — had been surprised when he sent messages to Sandra, and then shown up at her apartment. He’d suspected a trap from the start and had watched carefully, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it seemed that they’d been either missed or Admiral Wilhelm had decided to leave them completely alone. It had taken two days of worrying before he’d realised the truth; Admiral Wilhelm’s people didn’t know that Andy Gillingham was their unwilling asset.

It made a grim kind of sense. The shipyards were, literally, over-crewed. Admiral Wilhelm had brought in trained personnel from four different sectors, just to ensure that he had enough starships and supplies to fight his war against the Provisional Government. Charlie had expected Gillingham and his fellows to be kept on the shipyards all the time, now that one of them had been revealed as a spy, but how could they all be crammed together indefinitely? The shipyard production rates might have fallen if morale had been allowed to fall… and cutting shore leave would have guaranteed a fall in morale. Gillingham and his fellows had to be allowed to land on the planet, if only for a few hours at a time, or the entire war effort would suffer.

The Empire, in its heyday, would have brought everyone who could have reasonably have sent the warning signal — as useless as it had been — and run them through a full interrogation, designed to sniff out any treacherous thoughts or mental conditioning. Charlie had expected that as well — and Gillingham, despite not having been properly conditioned, might well have been detected — but that too would have ruined morale. Colin had found so much support because the Empire mistreated everyone who didn’t have the right bloodline, but Admiral Wilhelm didn’t even have the kind of legitimacy provided by a thousand years of unbroken rule. If he treated his people badly, they might revolt against him and destroy his support base. If the shipyard were to be taken out, his entire war effort would grind to a halt.

They’d followed, as best as they could, the battle and its aftermath. The news channels had been full of propaganda — someone from Public Information had clearly gone to work for the Admiral — and had been claiming the complete destruction of the rebel fleet. There were other signs, however, that suggested otherwise, including the presence of two superdreadnaught squadrons in orbit and the rapid enhancement of the orbital defence network. Admiral Wilhelm was clearly worried about an attack on Cottbus — one carried out by units aware, now, that there would be no peace until Admiral Wilhelm was killed or forced to surrender — and it showed. The only question was who might be inclined to take advantage of it.

He wandered over to the terminal and checked it carefully. Admiral Wilhelm and his security officers would have been horrified to know that it existed, assuming that they didn’t already. The Empire-designed computer networks that existed on most planets, including Cottbus, were perfectly transparent to anyone who had the right command codes, allowing Imperial Intelligence to track everyone’s usage with ease. If someone was a suspected rebel, Imperial Intelligence could open their files and browse them carefully, looking for evidence or information they could use to support their claim — and encryption was forbidden, as was the development of secondary computer networks. The transparency of the system was common knowledge and very few used it for anything secure — apart from the Thousand Families, who were allowed private military-grade encryption — but it could still be useful. Sasha had ordered him to probe into the computers and see if they could locate anyone who might be helpful.

Admiral Wilhelm’s people had closed some of the access links into the system, including two that he was fairly sure that no one outside of Imperial Intelligence should have known about, but they hadn’t removed all of the private access codes. They were hardwired into the system, part of its very design, and gave whoever had access complete control of the system. It was a pity that the planetary system wasn’t connected to the orbiting shipyards or orbital fortresses, he’d reflected when he started to hack into the system, or they could have sabotaged them with comparative ease. The Imperial Navy had refused to allow such links; a wise precaution, as it turned out. It was difficult to hack into a starship’s systems unless you were already on the inside.

He called up Gillingham’s file and read it thoughtfully. There was nothing there to suggest that he was under suspicion; indeed, most of his boasts to Sandra had been plain fact. He was an important figure, he was being promoted as fast as he could manage it — and earn it, unlike most of the pre-war superior officers — and he didn’t seem to have any rebel leanings. Sandra’s covert interrogations had convinced her that while he was a decent man, he was also loyal to Admiral Wilhelm, the person who had given him the chance to shine. Given time, she could alter that, conditioning him to their side, but the more changes she made, the greater the chance that it would be picked up upon by counter-intelligence. Once Gillingham had been identified as their unwitting ally, they would certainly be exposed and captured. He doubted that Admiral Wilhelm would order them treated as standard prisoners of war.

And there was no escape from the planet. Admiral Wilhelm’s ban on any starships leaving the planet, apart from his warships, would have an effect on the system’s economy, but that wouldn’t be an immediate threat. The three agents could have vanished into the underground and completely disappeared from view — a planet was a large place, after all — but that would have ended any chance they had to strike back and complete their mission. The problem was that he couldn’t see any way to complete the mission anyway. It wasn’t that easy to trigger the self-destruct systems on orbital fortresses, or the shipyards, which meant… what?

Somewhere, there will be a rebel, Charlie thought, and smiled. He called up other files and started to skim through them thoughtfully. Admiral Wilhelm might talk the talk about wanting to bring democracy to his sector, but so far it was nothing, but military rule. He might have embraced the concept of rewarding competence, unlike most of the other Admirals, but there would still be winners and losers. The only task would be to find them.

He checked the sensor in Sandra’s room, unsurprised to see that she and Gillingham were making love again with a passion that seemed genuine, at least on his side, and carefully placed the terminal in the secure box. Sasha had been out exploring the Cottbus nightlife, learning where the fault lines lay between the Imperial Navy and the criminal sector, and it was time to meet her. Between them, they could find a rebel, no matter how reluctant, and build him up into a real threat.

The Vacuum Sucker was a fairly typical spacers bar. It was large, cheap and cramped; Charlie was unable to move quickly, just for the sheer press of bodies. Given it’s rating in the guide, it probably hosted only crewmen and junior officers, mainly the handful of mustangs in the Imperial Navy. Admiral Wilhelm had embraced the concept of promoting mustangs to command rank with all the fervour of the converted and the results had been impressive. Like Colin before him, he had seen the potential that was ruthlessly suppressed and had taken advantage of it, even though he was maintaining his own power base at the same time. How long would it be, Charlie wondered as he searched for Sasha amidst the crewers, before someone arose to challenge him?

He smiled as he passed through a handful of girls towards one of the private booths at the rear of the bar. Spacers were easy marks for women of easy virtue and hundreds of them, some working professionals, others merely out for a good time, gravitated towards every spacer bar in the city. They would give their victim a good time in exchange for being wined, dined and feted with presents, rather like girls like them had been doing since time out of mind. The spacers, who didn’t have anything to spend their money on while in space, took part quite happily, seeking someone — anyone — so that they wouldn’t have to spend the nights alone. The bar, and the hundreds of other establishments, even offered rooms for the night, although several couples in darkened corners hadn’t bothered to wait. He watched, tracking how the women moved and pulled their marks out of the mass of spacers drinking and laughing as they celebrated the battle, and shook his head. There might have been little difference, at bottom, between them and Sandra, but at least Sandra had style.

The buzz of conversation rose up around him and he listened, carefully, without seeming to listen. It was a skill he’d learnt back when he’d been recruited into Imperial Intelligence and it served him well. The main body of clientele were from the orbiting fortresses, cheering their victory, even if the fleet had largely won the battle. There was an ongoing rivalry between fortress crews and starship crewmen — even though there was supposed to be an ongoing exchange program between the two divisions of the fleet — and it turned violent at times. Most of the discussions involved resentments, real or imagined, about how the starship crews were going to win glory in the Empire, while they were stuck at home. It reminded him of Colin’s speech before the Battle of Earth. The fortress crews might have been a vital part of Admiral Wilhelm’s war effort, but they didn’t feel that way.

He slipped into the booth and nodded politely to Sasha and her dining companion. He was a young man, at least in appearance, but Charlie could pick out the subtle clues that suggested that he was at least fifty years old, with an expression to match. Charlie pegged him at once. He had been passed over for promotion, not once, but many times, and wore his bitterness on his sleeve. His face might have been handsome under other circumstances — he suspected that he’d changed it in hopes of becoming more successful — but now, it had a worn, almost hangdog look.

“This is Peter,” Sasha said, introducing him. “Peter, this is Charlie, an associate of mine.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Peter drawled. His voice alone might have explained his lack of promotion. It was filled with a curious mixture of arrogance and fear, like a dog that expected to be kicked again. “Is he going to help me get promoted as well?”

Charlie couldn’t help himself; he checked, quickly, to see if the counter-surveillance field was operating. Even using it was dangerous, assuming that Admiral Wilhelm’s forces ran a security sweep, but there was an odd kind of security in the bar. Very few security officers, even the dreaded SD Troopers, would enter such a bar without heavily armed backup. The crewers might turn on them, secure in the sheer weight of numbers, and beat hell out of them. It had happened before.

“Don’t worry,” Sasha said, shooting him a glance. “We can’t be heard here.”

Peter, who had clearly been drinking heavily, kept talking with a surprising lack of discretion. It wasn’t hard to guess that he had been involved in several rackets to supply Imperial Navy technology onto the black market, nor that he knew most of the smugglers and criminals in the port personally. To hear him talk, he was a great successes at the gaming tables, but Charlie suspected that the truth was that he lost heavily and was deeply in debt to the local criminal fraternity. Admiral Wilhelm’s sweep, as soon as he’d taken overt control, had wiped out most of the criminals, but like cockroaches, they were very hard to kill. Enough remained to keep Peter firmly in their debt, even if they were keeping their heads down…

Idiots, Charlie thought, coldly. Imperial Intelligence had plenty of experience operating in such an environment. They can get us pretty much whatever we want.

He listened as Peter, his tongue loosened by all the drink, chatted away about everything and nothing. He was a second-level supply clerk — not even a Midshipman, as he complained — on the command fortress, but that was about as far as he could hope to rise. A properly-run organisation would have disposed of him long ago, unless there was no choice… and Admiral Wilhelm was clearly short of experienced crewmen. If he’d been on a superdreadnaught, he would have been discharged years ago, or sent somewhere where he could drink himself to death peacefully. He didn’t see it that way, of course. To him, his lack of promotion prospects was the result of conspiracy by his jealous superiors, who feared what he would do if promoted to higher rank. The irony, Charlie decided, was that they might have been right. A lowly supply clerk couldn’t do that much to rot away at the Imperial Navy, but someone more senior…

Or perhaps they want to keep their rackets to themselves, he thought, cynically.

“We are prepared to pay you ten thousand credits for services,” Sasha said, finally. They’d spent nearly two hours listening to him, learning much about the command fortress, but little of any real use. Charlie had seriously considered suggesting taking Peter back to their apartment and allowing Sandra to work her will on him, but that might have been revealing. “We require your knowledge of the local personnel.”

“Anyone,” Peter assured her, reaching for yet another drink from the robotic servitor. “You want anything, I know someone who can supply it, for a price. What do you want, lady?”

Sasha’s lips quirked into something that might have been mistaken for a smile. “Rebels,” she said, flatly. “There will be a rebel cell somewhere around and I want to meet them. Who are they?”

Peter stared at her, his mind numbed by the drink. “Rebels?” He asked, blearily. “You want to talk to rebels? Rebels on the command deck, what?”

Sasha merely looked at him. “Yeah, I can introduce you to rebels,” Peter said, finally. “Why do you want to talk to them?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Sasha said. Charlie allowed himself a moment of relief. Peter might have been so drunk that he couldn’t tell the difference between right and wrong, but once he sobered up, he might come to the right conclusion and start attempting to blackmail them for credits. Worse, he might blunder and bring the local security forces down on their heads. “I will give you ten thousand credits for an introduction to the local rebel cell.”

“Of course, of course,” Peter said. He pushed the last drink aside and stood up. “I will find you a rebel, great lady. Just you wait and see.”

Charlie frowned as Peter left the booth. “Are you sure…?”

“Yes,” Sasha said. “There were rebel cells everywhere, remember?”

Charlie nodded. Back at the start of the rebellion, just before the Battle of Harmony, Colin had sent a pair of messages though the ICN, using Geek-level software hacks to ensure that the message reached everywhere connected to the ICN, despite the best efforts of Imperial Intelligence. The first message had told everyone about the rebellion — which Admiral Percival had tried to hush up — and the second had told young officers just how to rebel. It had included practical advice on forming a cell, taking control of their starships and remaining hidden until it was time to strike. The message had spread far and wide, even into Cottbus itself… and the advancing Shadow Fleet had found rebel cells everywhere. They’d even been reinforced by new starships after the crews had mutinied and taken the ship.

And there would definitely be a rebel cell or more on Cottbus. It hadn’t been unknown for there to be several cells, each operating in ignorance of the other cells, to exist on a planet… and even though Admiral Wilhelm was respected, there would definitely be a cell on the planet. He doubted that Peter would know everyone in a cell, but he might well know one or two people who were involved with a cell, even if he wasn’t a rebel himself. The amount he drank, Charlie decided, suggested that any halfway sane cell would consider him a security risk.

He scowled as the waitress, a woman wearing only a bra and panties combination, came over and offered them both a drink, doing it in a manner that suggested that she could be bought, for a suitable price. He wasn’t too tempted. The patrons had probably had her already, in many places. She turned away, disappointed, revealing a shapely bottom, which was patted quickly by Peter as he came back with a young Midshipman. Charlie tensed inwardly. If Peter had made a mistake, their cover was about to be ripped away.

“I’m Midshipman Quinn,” the young man said. Charlie read his nametag and nodded. There was little point in trying to hide names when he was in uniform. “I understand that you wanted to see me?”

“One moment,” Sasha said. She called over the waitress, slipped her credit chip several hundred credits, and asked her to take care of Peter. Once they were gone, she turned back to Quinn and smiled. “We were told that you were the person we needed to talk to. You see, we’re from the Shadow Fleet.”

Quinn’s eyes went wide. Charlie watched with genuine amusement. The young man was genuine, all right. He wasn’t old enough to have perfect control over his expressions, although clearly he was already sick of the system. It made him a perfect rebel. It looked as if they’d hit pay dirt.

“Really?” He asked, finally. Caution warred with optimism in his voice. “Can you prove that?”

“Of course,” Sasha said. “Can you prove what you are?”