Democracy's Right

Chapter Nine

By any standard one wished to use, Captain Penelope Quick — Penny to her friends — knew, Camelot had not been a great terraforming success. The planet had been marginally habitable when the Imperial Navy’s survey ship had discovered it, nearly a hundred years ago. The first Sector Commander had brought in the terraforming crews and ordered them to turn the world — claimed by the Imperial Navy because most of the prime real estate in Sector 117 had been claimed by the Families — into a garden, but the teams were still working on it, seventy years later. From her vantage point on the orbital headquarters, floating in high orbit around the planet, she could see monstrous storms moving across the planet’s surface. The terraforming crews claimed that it would be another hundred years — at least — before the planet settled down and became habitable. The only habitations currently on the planet were reinforced domes and underground complexes, holding over two million Imperial Navy and supporting personnel. Even so, the important work in the system was conducted in orbit.

The datachip felt heavy in her pocket, a reminder that she was delaying — no, procrastinating. An hour ago, a bulk freighter had flickered into the Camelot system, narrowly escaping destruction by the patrolling destroyers. Admiral Percival’s orders had been strict — any unexpected arrivals were to be chased down at once — and the ship’s passengers had been lucky to survive. And one of the passengers, Commodore Stacy Roosevelt, had given Penny the datachip and told her to take it to her superior, Admiral Percival himself.

Penny shook her head as she gazed down at the planet below. Stacy had departed Camelot two weeks ago with nine superdreadnaughts and five heavy transports. It didn’t take much imagination to realise that something had gone dreadfully wrong, not if she’d transferred her flag to a bulk freighter that was well past its best. Penny also knew why Stacy wanted her to take the datachip — and the first report — to Admiral Percival. The Admiral was known for shooting the messenger, sometimes literally. It said something about just how bad the situation was, how bad it had to be, that Stacy had chosen to avoid speaking to the Admiral herself. Perhaps even her connections, second to none on Camelot, couldn’t protect her from the consequences of her failure.

The thought made Penny smile, bitterly. Years ago, the young and naive Lieutenant Quick had the misfortune of catching the eye of Admiral Percival. Percival’s offer had been simple enough; he wanted a sexual partner and he was willing to extend his patronage to Penny, in exchange for her warming his bed. Penny, who had been chafing at her slow advance in the ranks of the Imperial Navy, had accepted the bargain and discovered — too late — that Percival was a sadist of the highest order. He could be charming, even seductive, when he wanted to be, but he saw no reason to show those traits to her, not now. And, because Penny had a close association with Percival, no other patron would consider touching her. She was faced with the unenviable task of serving as Percival’s aide as well as his sexual toy, for if Percival ever fell from grace, he would take her down with him. There seemed to be no way out.

Penny shook her head, remembering those early days and how she had caught his eye. She had long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, although they seemed to reflect her inner sadness when she wasn’t taking care to project a smiling face to the world. It was no wonder that Percival had been attracted to her, all those years ago; indeed, sexual favours in return for advancement were common in the Imperial Navy. She had just been one of the unlucky ones who had discovered that the game wasn’t worth the candle. Instead of a single night of passion, she spent every night in Percival’s bed… and the improved pay and prestige wasn’t worth it. She wished that she could go back to her younger self, the ambitious Lieutenant, and tell the silly bitch to be content with her lot.

The datachip seemed to grow heavier as she turned and walked into the secured inner section of the massive space station. Admiral Percival commanded the sector from Camelot, rather than from the bridge of his flagship or down on the planet. It hadn’t taken her long to realise that Percival was something of a coward. The space station, which had defences that rivalled a superdreadnaught, was far safer than the planetary surface. She had carefully refrained from pointing out to him that the space station was also a bigger target. Besides, it wasn’t as if the Empire was about to go to war.

She passed through two layers of security around the Admiral’s private compartment, wincing as the Blackshirts on guard ran sensor probes over her body, before entering the antechamber and taking a moment to catch her breath. Whatever was on the datachip, it couldn’t be good. The thought of passing it to a younger officer and ordering him to give it to the Admiral was tempting, but Penny liked to think that she had more integrity than that. Besides, Percival might not be so quick to dispose of her. He’d have to find another partner as well as a competent aide.

“Come in,” Percival’s voice said, as she keyed the access panel. Penny braced herself and stepped inside. For a man with such depraved tastes, Admiral Percival’s office was fairly simple, decorated with only a handful of artworks. It had taken her several years to realise that Percival, by decorating his office in such a manner, was making a statement to his social superiors. Stacy Roosevelt had probably understood it at once. “I trust that you have an update on the Annual Fleet?”

“No, sir,” Penny said, as she saw Percival sitting at his desk, reading a datapad. “There is no update from the Annual Fleet.”

She pasted a concerned expression on her face as the Admiral keyed a switch, bringing up the lights in the compartment to full intensity. Admiral Percival had been handsome once, yet now he looked unpleasant, although honesty compelled her to admit that that might be her awareness of his inner nature talking. He was balding, with a chest that was going steadily to fat, concealed only by skilful tailoring. His piggish eyes stared suspiciously at her, for once without the lust her skilfully tailored uniform awoke in his mind. Admiral Percival might not have had the connections and patronage he claimed to have — if he had, he would have been Grand Admiral — but he was an expert at the great game of intrigue and could tell when something was badly wrong. And, the nasty part of her mind whispered, he was right.

The Admiral had been worried for the last three days about the Annual Fleet, which had been meant to arrive five days ago. Penny herself wasn’t so worried. The fleet was coming directly from the Core Worlds and it was almost certain to be delayed, whatever the Imperial Navy might have promised. Percival knew that, at least theoretically, but his contacts with the Roosevelt Family were breathing down his neck. It was a complete waste of time. There was nothing Percival could do to make the fleet arrive faster. And, of course, he knew that, adding to his foul temper at the unjust nature of the universe.

She took a moment to think, parsing her words carefully. “Admiral, Commodore Roosevelt has returned from Jackson’s Folly,” she said. If she could make sure that Stacy got all the blame, perhaps she could escape unscathed. “There has been an incident.”

Percival stared at her. He would have been informed at once if the superdreadnaughts had returned, but he had missed Stacy’s bulk freighter. No one had known who the ship carried until the Marines had boarded her and discovered Stacy and three hundred officers and men.

“An incident,” he repeated. He sounded suspicious. “What kind of incident?”

Penny kept her face carefully blank. “She lost the superdreadnaughts,” she said. Percival’s eyes opened wide. “This datachip is supposed to explain it.”

She leaned over and inserted the chip into the Admiral’s reader, watching over Percival’s shoulder as the image appeared on the screen. A young officer, wearing a Commander’s uniform, was standing in Stacy’s flag deck, on the superdreadnaught. Penny didn’t recognise him, but from Percival’s sudden intake of breath, it was clear that he did.

“Admiral Percival,” the unnamed Commander said. His voice was mocking, almost cocky. “By now, you will know that we have taken over both the Observation Squadron and Commodore Roosevelt’s superdreadnaught squadron. You may consider this a declaration of war. We are officers and men who have grown aware of the true nature of the Empire — and of people such as you — and we are sworn to bring it down, or die trying. I advise you to consider surrender. We are coming for you.”

Penny concealed her own reaction with an effort, for Percival had gone red with anger. It was clear that the message had been carefully designed to incite him to fury, perhaps to push him into doing something stupid. It wasn’t a very informative message, but then, the real message had been Stacy Roosevelt’s return to Camelot. It not only proved that the Commander was telling the truth, yet it was also a gesture of contempt. Besides, she thought in the privacy of her own head, returning Stacy only hurt the Empire. Shooting her in the head or blowing her out the airlock would have been rather more helpful.

“Walker,” Percival hissed. He seemed to be having difficulty controlling himself. “God damn it — I told Howell he couldn’t be trusted!”

That, Penny suspected, was an outright lie. Whoever Commander Walker was, if there had been the slightest suggestion from the Admiral that he couldn’t be trusted, he would not have been promoted to Commander, let alone transferred to the Observation Squadron. She pulled her personal terminal off her belt and checked its records. There was a Commander Colin Walker attached to the Observation Squadron, Captain Howell’s XO. The image matched.

Percival glared up at her. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Penny admitted. She was more shaken than she cared to admit. A rebel with an entire squadron of superdreadnaughts under his command could do a great deal of damage before the Empire found and destroyed the ships. If the Empire ever did find and destroy the ships, for space was vast and it was impossible to cover all of the possible targets. How had Stacy managed to lose the ships? “All I have is that datachip.”

Percival stared down at the table. “Call a meeting,” he ordered, finally. “I want to speak to Stacy personally and then we will decide what to do.”

Penny hoped that the cosmetic scales on her face covered the bruises as she followed Admiral Percival into the Flag Briefing Room. Percival had heard Stacy’s account of what had happened — Penny suspected that it had been modified a little to make Stacy look better, although nothing could have saved her from looking a total fool — and thrown a furious tantrum of his own. Penny wanted to rub her cheek where he’d slapped her, but it would only have drawn attention to the marks. She just hoped that no one could see them.

“Attention on deck,” Admiral Percival growled. The four people waiting for them stood up at once. “Be seated. We have a long day ahead of us.”

He took his own chair and looked at Stacy Roosevelt. “Rebels have taken a superdreadnaught squadron,” he said, flatly. “Apparently, the Observation Squadron decided to mutiny and then take the superdreadnaughts when Commodore Roosevelt arrived. They were totally successful.”

Penny watched the other two Commodores, the commanders of Percival’s remaining superdreadnaught squadrons, as Percival outlined what had happened. Commodore William, an older man with a sense of decency, looked shocked, almost as if he was unable to believe what had happened. William — like Percival, he had rejected his family’s name, being very low in the hierarchy — might not have been the most competent of officers, but he was reliable. Penny would have given her right eye to serve under him.

Commodore Rupert Brent-Cochrane, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying Stacy’s discomfort. Brent-Cochrane — the name signified a pairing between two different branches of the Thousand Families — was young, ambitious and completely ruthless. He had carried out two scorching missions of worlds that had dared to rise in revolt against the Empire and ruled his crew with an iron hand. A tiny medal on his uniform marked him as a member of the Disciples of Gor, a cult that existed within the Thousand Families and some of their most trusted sycophants. Few knew for sure what they did behind closed doors, but some of the rumours were terrifying. The man might have been classically handsome — the result of expensive modifications by body-shapers — yet his eyes told the true story. The Commodore was even more of a sadist than Percival.

William Derbyshire, Imperial Intelligence’s Head of Station, looked uncomfortable and well he might, Penny knew. Imperial Intelligence had clearly failed badly, for they hadn’t detected the mutiny plot, let alone prevented it from being carried out. Percival would be looking for scapegoats and, unless Penny missed her guess, most of the blame would fall on Imperial Intelligence. They should have had agents onboard the Observation Squadron and none of them, it seemed, had picked up any hint of what was about to happen. It seemed, even, that most of the agents had been sent back to Camelot with Stacy Roosevelt.

“An entire superdreadnaught squadron lost to rebels,” Brent-Cochrane said, finally. He grinned nastily at Stacy. His connections were almost equal to hers — and, Penny had to admit, he was a great deal more competent. “What were you thinking?”

Stacy flinched under his smile. “I was carrying out orders from my family,” she said. It sounded weak, as if she was desperately searching for excuses. Penny doubted the grown-ups in the Roosevelt Family would be pleased when they heard what had happened. Instead of given them Jackson’s Folly, Stacy had given them a monumental embarrassment. “I was…”

She turned suddenly to look at Derbyshire. “Why didn’t Imperial Intelligence pick up on the plot?”

Derbyshire didn’t smile at her. “As yet, we have had no time to study the intelligence feed from the Observation Squadron,” he said. Penny knew that he meant he needed time to find a way to cover his ass. “However, if only a tiny fraction of the crew were involved, it would be very hard to pick up any warning before it was too late.”

“And then you let them board you,” Brent-Cochrane mocked. “What were you thinking?”

“There is no point in assigning blame now,” Admiral Percival said. Penny smiled inwardly, despite the throbbing pain on her cheek. Percival still needed the Roosevelt Family, needed them enough to cushion Stacy Roosevelt’s fall. “Our mission is simple. We have to destroy or recapture those superdreadnaughts before they wreak havoc.”

“I know,” Brent-Cochrane grinned. “We launch a flight of shuttles and claim that they are more rebels trying to escape…”

He broke off as Percival glared at him. “How exactly do we recover those ships?”

There was a long pause. The blunt truth, they all knew, was that Walker could be anywhere. By now, he could be in the next sector, or far beyond the Rim. He’d declared war on the Empire, which meant that he would have to keep attacking… but also that he would be able to choose the time and place of his attacks. In order to defeat his force, Percival would have to intercept it with one of his own superdreadnaught squadrons. Penny had run a brief comparison and realised that there were hundreds of possible targets… and only two superdreadnaught squadrons that could be deployed to cover them against enemy threats.

The smart thing to do, she knew, would be to call in help from one of the other sectors, but Percival had already rejected that suggestion. Indeed, he’d slapped her for even mentioning the possibility, for he would look extremely bad when his peers heard about the loss of the superdreadnaughts. If he could hunt down and destroy the rebels quickly, his reputation could be saved, but unless the rebels flew right into the teeth of Camelot’s defences — which was not likely to happen — it would prove impossible.

“The first priority is to deal with Jackson’s Folly,” Percival said. “They may have been involved in the mutiny; certainly, they used the planet as a base to plot their operations.” Penny, who knew that there was no intelligence even suggesting that possibility, held her tongue. “They have to be prevented from aiding the rebels any further.”

“So we scorch the planet and occupy the smaller worlds,” Brent-Cochrane suggested eagerly. “That would prevent them from being of any assistance.”

“No,” Percival said. Stacy looked as if she wanted to say something as well, but held her tongue. “We need the worlds intact and their populations alive.”

He straightened up. “Commodore Brent-Cochrane; you are ordered to take your superdreadnaughts to Jackson’s Folly and occupy the planet,” he said. “You will take with you four divisions of Security Division troops and additional squadrons of smaller ships — I will assign them to you tonight. The rebels may seek to engage your ships. If so, I expect you to defeat them and prevent Walker from causing any further harm.”

“Of course, Admiral,” Brent-Cochrane said.

“Penny, you will go with him,” Percival added. “I want a full report from you personally.”

“Yes, Admiral,” Penny said. She was almost relieved, for she had a hunch that there was more bad news to come. She didn’t want to be near Percival when it arrived. “I won’t let you down.”