Democracy's Right

Chapter Thirty-Four

“There’s nothing new on the passive scans, Captain,” the tactical officer said. “The only shipping in the system are the asteroid miners and the local defence ships.”

Captain Daniel Hawthorne nodded, forcing himself to walk back to the command chair and sit down. Peering over his officer’s shoulder was accomplishing nothing, even though he was tenser than he wanted to admit. He wanted to see some action and, so far, they’d hung in the Greenland System for over two weeks without anything happening. They couldn’t even rotate crew through the system’s shore leave facilities. The orders from Commodore Brent-Cochrane had been simple. They were to remain in the system, unknown even to the local System Command, and wait. When the rebels arrived, they were to power up their drive and jump out of the system to where the Commodore and his fleet were waiting.

It was a mission suited to a destroyer — the smallest true warship in service — yet it wasn’t one that suited Daniel, nor was it one fitting for a man of his seniority. He should have been commanding a heavy cruiser or maybe even a battlecruiser, but an evening of drunken rudeness to a senior officer had put an end to that. He’d been ordered to take command of Snow White, a destroyer, and all that his seniority could do was keep him from being summarily dismissed. Was it any surprise that he’d climbed into a bottle? It was far more surprising that Commodore Brent-Cochrane, having taken command of the squadron, had helped him to climb out of it and assigned him to new responsibilities. It went against the grain to admit that he needed help from such a young man — regeneration treatments or not, he would have been astonished if the Commodore was any older than forty — but perhaps it was working. Or perhaps not; he had been floating in orbit, all systems powered down as far as they would go without depowering his ship, for two weeks… and he was bored.

He glanced around the bridge, scowling as he studied the displays. The bridge was cramped — the seven officers on duty rubbed shoulders far more than they should — and cold, despite his uniform. The destroyer’s sixty crewmen were good sorts, at least, but he’d heard the grumbles and knew that they didn’t want to stay under blackout conditions much longer. Neither did their Captain, of course, yet he understood the importance of their mission. It wasn’t something he could share with the crew.

“The rebels are very likely to target your assigned worlds,” Commodore Brent-Cochrane had said. He’d positioned his ships in interstellar space, which was against doctrine, but would give them an excellent chance of being able to respond to a crisis as soon as it appeared. “If they target your world, I want you to jump out and whistle up the troops without being detected. The rebels won’t have time to bring up their own sensors before you’re out of there.”

“Continue tracking the freighters,” he ordered. Like Piccadilly, Greenland was owned and operated solely by the Roosevelt Family. The Imperial Navy had been asked to stand guard in the system, reinforcing the two orbital fortresses and the hundreds of automated weapons platforms, but Brent-Cochrane had chosen to creatively interpret his orders. If the rebels did attack the system, he’d calculated, his force would have time to intercept before serious harm was done. It wasn’t an attitude calculated to please the Roosevelt representative at Camelot and Daniel was sure that angry messages were already burning up the light years towards Earth. “Perhaps we can run a few tracking exercises, or maybe just tighten up the scans.”

He settled back into his chair and tried to relax. Stacy Roosevelt had actually tried to issue orders directly to Brent-Cochrane’s squadron, a serious breach of military etiquette. Daniel rather hoped that she would be summarily dismissed from the Imperial Navy for gross incompetence — the Imperial Navy had lost ships before, but no one had ever managed to lose nine superdreadnaughts to a set of boarding parties — but he doubted that it would come to that. Her Family would manage to save her career, yet the Imperial Navy would probably try to send her somewhere harmless. There was no shortage of places to send young officers who couldn’t be trusted not to screw up on a more serious posting.

“Two more ships, Captain,” the sensor officer reported. Two new green icons flickered into life, new freighters heading down towards the planet. Interstellar trade within the sector was starting to die away now, even though the interplanetary trade was as strong as ever. Perhaps the rebel raiders were being careful about coming deep into an unfriendly star system, or perhaps they were just concentrating on exterminating the interstellar shipping first. Daniel scowled. That was where he should be, watching over helpless freighters as they moved from system to system, not wasting his time on a system that was perfectly capable of looking after itself. “One of the freighters has an unusual drive signature.”

Daniel looked up, interested. Any relief from boredom was welcome. “Is it a rebel ship trying to be cute?”

“Uncertain, sir,” the sensor officer said. “It could be the result of normal wear and tear, or it could be a Captain trying to pretend to be a merchant ship and not succeeding very well. We could try to slip closer and take a look at it, perhaps test the cloaking device against active sensors…”

“No,” Daniel said, reluctantly. Sneaking up on a freighter was easy, as thousands of pirates and millions of dead spacers could testify, even without a cloaking device. Snow White could probably do it without losing her cover, yet he knew better than to try. The Commodore had been most specific. They were to remain undercover until — if — the rebels attacked and only then were they to break cover. “We stay here and remain hidden.”

The sensor officer scowled, but nodded. Under cloak, they could remain hidden indefinitely, at least until they came close to the defences surrounding the planet. After what had happened at Piccadilly, the Roosevelt Family knew exactly what could happen to their other planets and had issued new orders. No starship was to be allowed to approach the defences without proving its identity several times over, using new identification codes that were being hand-carried from star to star. If Snow White ventured too close, the chances were good that the turbulence she would leave in her wake would be detected and she would be fired upon before she could identify herself. The last thing he wanted to do was die at the hands of friendly forces.

Daniel shared his frustration, but there was nothing he could do, apart from endless drills and repair work. He was proud of his crew, for all that they were fewer in number than he deserved, than he had earned through his years of service to the Empire. Snow White was a tight little ship, even if her previous Captain had insisted on decorating her with images of a dark-haired woman with extraordinarily pale skin. Some of the images were nude, yet still demure, as if the girl was imbued with inner dignity. Daniel had found the images haunting at first, but he had grown to love them over the years. He had no idea what the crew thought about it.

“Hold us here,” he ordered. The two newcomers were heading down towards the planet, exchanging signs and countersigns with the defences. A Marine assault shuttle was already flying towards them, intent on searching the ships before they were allowed to come any closer. “I think it’s time for a drill.”

Without further delay, he hit a pre-programmed set of commands and the alert sirens began to blare through the hull.

“And so all of the repairs have been completed,” Flag Captain Jeremy Damiani said. His statement was echoed by the other Captains, whose ghostly images floated in the middle of Colin’s stateroom like spectres at a feast. The Imperial Navy might insist on all such discussions being done in person, but Colin saw no reason to maintain an outdated tradition. Besides, he suspected that it was done so that the various commanders could show off their cooks and the Popular Front had no time for such nonsense. “We are fully combat-capable and raring to go.”

Colin smiled, knowing that Percival — assuming that he had an accurate report on the Battle of Jackson’s Folly — would be astonished and horrified to discover how quickly his ships had been repaired. Thanks to Daria — and, to a lesser extent Hester — he had tapped into a rich vein of talent in the Beyond, engineers and repair crews who actually knew what they were doing. The Imperial Navy might prefer not to educate its crews too much, but the Beyond had no time for such luxuries and Colin hadn’t hesitated to take advantage of it. The superdreadnaughts had swapped out all the damaged components and replaced them within days.

“Excellent,” he said. He glanced up at the commanding officer of the General Grant, which had been the main target during the Battle of Jackson’s Folly. “Are you sure that your ship is in fighting trim?”

“I am certain of it, sir,” the young commander said. Like Colin, he’d been an XO on the Observation Squadron before the mutiny and an enthusiastic participant from Day One. It was ironic, but if there was one thing that the Empire and the Popular Front had in coming, it was that neither of them would willingly give a superdreadnaught to a man they didn’t trust. Colin had decided, not without regret, to move the superdreadnaught officers elsewhere, just in case. “We had to go EVA to swap out some of the armour plates, but we’re back in order now and” — he grinned at Damiani — “raring to go.”

Colin smiled. “Excellent,” he said, again. The recon missions had already been dispatched to Greenland, although he had been reluctant to use the same tactic more often than necessary. By now, the Imperial Navy would know to look for a freighter that appeared to have been abandoned by its crew. Or perhaps they would be paranoid about everything that entered their system, with very good reason. The reports from his agents at Camelot had reported that Admiral Percival had started updating the IFF signals again, this time making it impossible for a ship to enter the inner system without being searched. “If there are no other concerns…”

He waited, but no one spoke. “This may be our most challenging encounter yet,” he added. The preliminary recon missions had suggested that there was nothing unexpected within the system, yet two armoured fortresses in orbit and thousands of automated platforms were nothing to laugh at, particularly when they couldn’t sneak up on the bastards and blow them away before they could react. “Once we get the recon data back from the gunboats, we jump in hard and fast, concentrating on wrecking as much of the Roosevelt Family’s investment as possible, before we vanish again.”

Colin smiled ruefully at the thought. Standard Imperial Navy doctrine held that superdreadnaughts were only to be used for decisive attacks — and, of course, for intimidating anyone who might be questioning their loyalty to the Empire. The idea of using them for hit and run raids would have horrified his instructors, but Colin had discovered that the tactic worked very well. Certainly, battlecruisers had their advantages when it came to raiding — they could outgun anything that could actually catch them — yet there was something to be said for using ships so powerful that very little else could stand up to them… and besides, it wasn’t as if the planets could run away. No one had yet succeeded in building a flicker drive powerful enough to transport a whole planet somewhere else.

“There’s no point in pushing to actually take the planet,” he concluded. He’d thought as much, but he’d resolved to remain flexible until he saw what they were actually facing. “We get in, wreak havoc and get out again. No heroics.”

He smiled at their expressions and then made a show of checking his watch. “You have your orders,” he said. “Good luck to us all.”

Colin sat back as the holograms vanished, one by one. The Empire’s standard etiquette was that sending a hologram was rude, unless the sender was bedridden or otherwise unable to attend. Personally, Colin had never understood it… but then, he had never really understood the point of many traditions. Percival, who had been a past master of political backstabbing, had once commented — in a moment of candour — that failing to maintain what society regarded as good manners was often seen as a sign of weakness. Among the Thousand Families, showing weakness was very likely to lead to disaster. Even so, Colin saw no reason to maintain the tradition and had no intention of allowing his fleet to adopt it.

“No heroics,” Anderson said, from where he had been sitting on the other side of the cabin. “Do you think that that is going to make them cautious?”

Colin shrugged. There were some wilder souls in the rebellion who deserved their own independent commands, where they could indulge their taste for fighting without risking the overall plan. Once the newer starships started coming out of the shipyards the Geeks were constructing, he would be able to start assigning more officers to command slots, while ensuring that the superdreadnaughts remained firmly in the hands of his loyalists.

“I see no reason to risk ourselves here,” he said, finally. “It isn’t as if we can take the world… and it isn’t as if we’d be allowed to keep it, even if we did take the world.”

He changed the subject before Anderson could return to the issue. “Did you learn anything from the secret files?”

“Nothing,” Anderson admitted. “There was a great deal of data — some of which we can use for blackmail, or simply release it into the public sphere to cause confusion — but nothing relating to any long-term Roosevelt-led plans for this sector. I suspect that if Commodore Roosevelt knows anything about them — and I don’t think she does — the details would be locked up in her pretty head. You should have let me brain-suck her.”

Colin shook his head in disgust, although, if the truth were told, he wasn’t sure what he was disgusted at! Stacy’s secret files had included a great deal of blackmail material, including at least one Admiral and several civilian contractors who were into the most disgusting perversions, even by the standards of the Empire. No amount of protection, influence or wealth would save them if the information got out, which might have helped explain why Stacy had been allowed to maintain her command. Colin found himself caught between two possibilities; he could expose them, or blackmail them. His practical side suggested that blackmail would help the rebellion, but his vindictive streak suggested that releasing the information would ensure that the perpetrators got what they deserved. It had, quite simply, never occurred to him that anyone would be — could be — a greater pervert than Percival.

“No,” he said. “Do you have any theories?”

The Security Officer frowned, stroking his chin. “None,” he said, finally. “It could be a display of wealth intended to impress their fellows — they’re always boasting about how fabulously rich they are — but anyone they thought was worth the effort of impressing would already know how much money they have. Or… perhaps they wanted to create their own workforce and eventually dominate the sector…”

“They already dominate the sector,” Colin said. He was thinking of Lady Ellicott-Chatham. She didn’t have any connections to the Roosevelt Family, as far as he knew, but perhaps she would know something. Jason Cordova could ask. Colin was no expert in the arts of love, yet he was sure that Cordova was attracted to the girl. “Or maybe…”

The GQ alert sounded, interrupting him. “All hands to battle stations,” Damiani’s voice said. “Set Condition One throughout the ship; Admiral Walker to the CIC. This is not a drill; I say again, this is not a drill.”

Colin stood up, reaching for his jacket. “We’ll discuss it later,” he said. “Once the battle is over, we’ll go through the data again.”

The CIC was buzzing with activity when Colin stepped into the compartment. “Report,” he ordered.

“The gunboats have returned, sir,” the tactical officer reported. “We’re getting the data download from them now.”

Colin nodded, pushing the other concerns out of his mind. It was time to make war.

“Show me,” he ordered. The display lit up with the latest data. There were no unexpected surprises within the system, although the weapons platforms in orbit seemed to be stronger and more numerous than the early reports had suggested. “Bring up the flicker drive and prepare to jump.”

He settled down in his command chair and waited for the other ships to report in, linking into the datanet binding the fleet together. “All ships report ready, sir,” the tactical officer said. “They await your command.”

Colin nodded. “Jump,” he ordered.

The sound of alarms echoing through the ship brought Daniel out of a fitful sleep. “Captain, this is Lieutenant Ellsworth,” a voice said. “Sir, multiple hostile warships have just flickered into the system!”

Daniel pulled himself out of his bunk, grabbed his jacket and raced for the bridge. “Begin powering up the drive,” he ordered, as he ploughed through the door. “Give me a report, right bloody now!”

“We have nine superdreadnaughts and assorted smaller ships,” the Lieutenant said, as he gratefully vacated the Captain’s chair. “IFF signals do not match anything in the updated database.”

“Prepare to take us out of here,” Daniel ordered. The sound of the drive powering up echoed through the ship. A destroyer’s great advantage was that it could flash-wake the flicker drive and be reasonably certain of arriving at the endpoint in one piece. The rebels didn’t know it, Daniel knew, but they had flown right into a trap. And the trap was about to be sprung. “Jump!”

A moment later, Snow White vanished from the Greenland System.