Democracy's Right

Chapter Three

“We have seventy agents in all,” Anderson said, as they stood together above the main shuttlebay. “They were all captured before they could cause any damage.”

Colin nodded in relief. Anderson — in his position as the starship’s security officer — had located most of the agents onboard, but Howell’s files had included a list of agents who reported only to Imperial Intelligence, their names unknown even to their nominal supervisor. It was quite possible, he had to keep reminding himself, that there might be a third group of agents, ones who were unknown even to the squadron’s commander. Imperial Intelligence wasn’t known for doing things by halves.

The agents had been quickly rounded up once the ships had been secured, whereupon they’d been transferred to one of the shuttlebays and secured there. The Marines had turned the compartments into holding areas, allowing the prisoners to take care of themselves, but leaving them unable to escape. Just in case, the automated systems that controlled the shuttlebay had been deactivated, rendering it impossible for even the Captain’s command codes to release the prisoners. Colin was fairly certain that none of the agents had any command codes they could use to hack into the main system, but it was well to be careful.

He studied the images on the security monitors thoughtfully, stoking his chin as he moved from face to face. Most of the agents had been nonentities, crewmen and women who had done their jobs without fuss or bother, but a handful had been truly popular. One of them had been an older wiser hand for the younger crewmen to turn to if they needed help; another was effectively a whore, selling herself to crewmen who found themselves deprived of female company. She had been very popular; now, Colin wondered, how many crewmen were wondering just what they might have disclosed to her during pillow talk. It wasn’t a pleasant thought. The Imperial Navy permitted relationships between crewmen — there were regulations covering the matter, although they were routinely flouted by just about everyone — and many of them became intimate. Who outside the ship, on a planet’s surface or even an orbital habitat, could hope to understand the stresses of living on a starship?

“That leaves us with one question,” Anderson said. “What do you want us to do with them?”

Colin nodded. He couldn’t keep the agents on the ship, not when there might be other, undiscovered, agents onboard. They might attempt to liberate their comrades and recapture the ship. On the other hand, he couldn’t abandon them on Jackson’s Folly either, not when the Imperial Navy would be looking for someone to blame for the mutiny. It wouldn’t be hard for Public Information to make it sound as if Jackson’s Folly had organised the mutiny, even though it would have been suicide. And then, he hadn’t realised how many agents there actually were. No one had. There were times when he wondered if Imperial Intelligence knew how many agents they had on retainer.

“We’ll transfer them to the Garand,” he said, finally. The bulk freighter had been captured by one of the destroyers three weeks ago, after its Captain had been identified as a man with an outstanding Imperial warrant on his head. Colin would have liked to intervene and free the crew, but it was too late. They’d been shipped off to Camelot to face trial, whereupon Admiral Percival’s assistant’s assistant would probably review the files and order them sentenced to the nearest penal world. “Once we take the superdreadnaughts, they can take the bulk freighter and head back to Camelot.”

Anderson frowned. “Do you think that that is a good idea?”

Colin blinked. “What other choice do we have?”

“We could kill them,” Anderson pointed out. “We could just open the shuttlebay to vacuum and expel them all into space. They’re just too dangerous to keep alive.”

“They don’t know anything that can be used against us,” Colin countered. He didn’t want to start his career with a massacre of helpless prisoners. There would be enough death in the future without making it worse. Besides, Public Information would have a field day with such an act, turning it into something comparable to a planetary scorching. “There’s no point in killing them outright.”

“It’s your decision,” Anderson said. “I just don’t like the concept of loose ends.”

Colin nodded. Security Officers tended towards the paranoid, particularly the ones who operated — almost alone — on starships. If they had a suspicious mind, they could blight a career — even that of a perfectly innocent crewman — just through insisting on a rigorous interrogation. Undergoing such a procedure wouldn’t look good on anyone’s file. He couldn’t blame Anderson for wanting to lop off the loose end, but he liked to think that he stood for something better. The thought wasn’t reassuring. How many other Imperial Navy ships had mutinied in the past, only to devolve into pirate ships and crews who made the Imperial Navy look harmless?

“No,” he said, finally. “Besides, we are going to want to take surrenders and if they think we’re going to kill them once they’re helpless, they’re not going to surrender to us.”

Leaving Anderson behind to supervise the transfer of the prisoners to the bulk freighter, Colin walked through the starship’s corridors, inspecting the ship — his ship now, for as long as he could keep it. Part of the crew remained in lockdown — another third of the crew was being brought up from the planet’s surface now, where they would be briefed — but those Colin trusted to do their jobs were working on the ship itself. Thankfully, there hadn’t been a firefight for control of the ship, yet Colin knew that they wouldn’t have time for basic maintenance once the superdreadnaughts arrived. His most trusted allies were already working on the message that, hopefully, would convince Commodore Roosevelt to accept that nothing had gone wrong. Others were securing the communications section, just in case. A single message from an undiscovered agent could ruin everything.

“We have switched out the magazines and loaded them for ship-to-ship combat,” the weapons officer assured him, as he checked the tactical section. Captain-Commodore Howell hadn’t been fond of actual weapons drills, something that Colin hadn’t understood until he’d read the man’s secret instructions from Commodore Roosevelt. Howell had been under orders to avoid causing any incidents between the Empire and Jackson’s Folly, at least until the superdreadnaughts had arrived and the Roosevelt Family could make its claim on the planet and the infrastructure the population had built up over the years. “If it comes down to a fight…”

Colin shook his head. The Observation Squadron was powerful, but it couldn’t take on even one superdreadnaught, let alone a full squadron of nine ships. If the plan failed, the only option would be to flicker out and hope that they could evade the Empire long enough to come up with a new plan. The superdreadnaughts had to be taken intact and functional. If Commodore Roosevelt managed to crash the computers, they would have to be abandoned.

“Load the internal tubes, but don’t bother with the external racks,” Colin ordered. It would look suspicious to any observer — as if the Observation Squadron was preparing for a fight — and they couldn’t afford to arouse suspicion. He might have held Commodore Roosevelt in absolute contempt — she hadn’t impressed him when they’d last met, back when he’d been Admiral Percival’s client — but he had no idea who might be advising her, or commanding her ships. “Did you manage to unlock the missile control systems?”

“Yes, sir,” the weapons officer said. “They’re ready to fire on your command.”

Colin nodded and continued walking, feeling the weight of the starship descending on his shoulders. He hadn’t been responsible before, even though he’d done most of the Captain’s work as well as that of the XO — even the paperwork, the paperwork the Captain was supposed to inspect and sign personally. The thought made him smile. Over the last few months, the Observation Squadron had ordered thousands of tons of additional supplies, all ordered under Captain-Commodore Howell’s name. He could operate the squadron for years, if necessary, without support from Camelot or another Imperial Navy base.

His smile faded away. He’d taken control of the ship and of the lives of the two thousand crewmembers on the vessel. They were all depending on him now, depending on him not to throw their lives away. He was the man responsible for everything. Colin looked down at the chunky ring on his finger and winced. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed to weigh more every time he looked at it. The weight of responsibility was settling in on him, pressing down on his mind.

He remembered the young officer he’d been, the intensely focused officer who had believed that he could climb to the top of the Imperial Navy through hard work and dedication. That young and naive officer would not have understood, but then — he wouldn’t have understood the mutiny either. That officer would have carried on serving the Empire, crushing entire worlds and populations under its iron heel, as long as the Empire rewarded his service. It was a bitter pill to swallow, yet he had to face it squarely. Once, there had been a time when he would have given his life for the Empire he had sworn to destroy.

An hour later, he stepped into the main shuttlebay and stared down at the massed ranks of crewmen. It was traditional to assemble the duty shift in the main shuttlebay if the starship’s commander needed to speak to them personally, while the remainder of the crew listened in through the datanet. A fourth of the crew should have been sleeping, or otherwise relaxing, but nothing had been normal for the past two days. The crew who had known about the conspiracy, or had been briefed in just after the ships had been taken, were relaxed, yet the remainder of the crew was nervous. Who knew what they were thinking or what they knew, other than the fact that the ship was operating on minimal levels and armed Marines had been posted at every access hatch. Colin knew that many of them had to be terrified.

He stood up on one of the smaller shuttles, suddenly realising his mind was blank. What should he tell them? He couldn’t think of words to say. He had planned a series of coordinated mutinies that had taken an entire squadron of starships, but he couldn’t think of the words to speak to the crew, the men and women who made the ships work. What could he tell them? Unlike Captain Howell, he didn’t even have legitimate authority on his side. He could just have lied to them, he knew, but sooner or later the lie would have come out, risking chaos. Colin focused his mind, pushing the uncertainty aside, and started to speak.

“I have taken command of the Observation Squadron,” he said, flatly. By now, that wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, he suspected. It had long been joked that rumours travelled right through solid bulkheads. Hell, the Marines might have been under strict orders to keep their mouths shut, but the briefed crewmen might have passed on some of the briefing to their friends and comrades. “I am taking these ships in a mutiny against the Empire.”

He continued to speak, explaining what the Empire had in mind for Jackson’s Folly and just what would have happened, if he hadn’t launched the mutiny against Captain-Commodore Howell. It helped that most of the crew had been enjoying their position above the threatened world, where they had access to remarkable — and cheap — facilities on shore leave. It also helped that many of the crewmen had been recruited from the lower classes of society and often felt as if their superiors didn’t care in the slightest what they thought. It was another security problem, Colin knew, but it wasn’t as if the Thousand Families could crew the entire Imperial Navy by themselves. Besides, Imperial Intelligence had seeded the crews with undercover agents, hoping to catch any plans for a mutiny. There would be some heads rolling back on Old Earth.

It was hard to gage reaction — no one became a crewman without some ability to hide what he was thinking or feeling — but he pressed on anyway. He told them that he couldn’t promise victory, or even survival, yet they had a chance to reshape — perhaps even topple — the entire Empire. They would even have a chance for proper advancement, without the rules and restrictions that prevented anyone from the lower decks rising to a higher position. The Imperial Navy wasn’t keen on officers from the lower orders, but Colin — while he’d been drilling the ship — had spotted dozens of crewmen who deserved higher ranks. The rebel fleet would definitely make the best use of its manpower. It couldn’t afford to blunder along through brute force and bloody-mindedness.

“If you don’t want to join us,” Colin concluded, “or if you fear the consequences of victory or defeat, you are welcome to leave the ship and be transferred to a freighter that will transport you back to Camelot. If you want to stay, you will be welcome. Please make your choices now.”

He watched as discussion broke out among the crew, blending together into a buzzing conversation. Many of the senior NCOs were intent on joining the mutiny — several of them had been involved right from the start, while others had learned to hate their superiors — although two of them seemed inclined to refuse to join the mutiny. The crew seemed divided as well, although the ones with longer periods of service seemed more inclined to support the mutiny than those who had only served for a few months. Several arguments and fights broke out, only to be broken up by the NCOs before the Marines could intervene. Colin winced inwardly. He had known that some on the lower decks settled their differences through force, in carefully-supervised fights, but he had never come face-to-face with it before. Admiral Percival had mentioned it once, almost in passing; his opinion hadn’t been kind.

Finally, much to his relief, most of the crew decided to join the mutiny. A handful seemed inclined to worry about threats to their families or friends back home, but only a handful decided to transfer to the freighter for transport back to Camelot. Colin felt a twinge of guilt as the Marines escorted them to the secondary shuttlebay for transfer, knowing that Imperial Intelligence would interrogate the loyalists until they were sucked dry of everything they knew about the mutiny and its leaders. He checked his wristcom and smiled as he realised that the other ships had roughly the same percentage of loyalists, although that didn’t mean that they’d removed all of the intelligence agents. If he’d been assigned to spy on the crew, and his identity had remained uncovered, he would have joined the mutiny as well. There would never be a better chance to infiltrate the crew and damage the rebellion from within.

“Thank you, all of you,” Colin said, once the final loyalists had been gently removed from the shuttlebay and escorted out. There was no need to use force; indeed, Colin understood what they were going through. He had wrestled enough with his own conscience over the rebellion, back when he’d been trapped on the patrol base, after Admiral Percival had betrayed him. Back then, the thought of betraying the Empire had been agony; it would have been easier to go after Percival instead, yet… the system itself, the one that allowed Percival to exist, was rotten. It had to be destroyed. “I hope that I will be worthy of your trust.”

“We’ve been drilling for the last five days,” Colonel Neil Frandsen assured Colin, three days after he’d spoken to the crew. It had been a hectic process. Once the loyalists had been removed, the lockdown had been terminated and the crew went back to work — with a greater will, Colin had noted, than they’d shown while Shadow had been an Imperial starship. “We’re ready for the mission.”

Colin nodded. The Observation Squadron’s largest ship wasn’t the battlecruisers, but HMS Carmichael, a Marine Transport Ship. Colonel Frandsen commanded a full Marine Regiment, intended for emergency deployment to the surface of Jackson’s Folly — if the Follies decided to do something stupid. It had apparently been easier to convince most of the Marines to go along with the Mutiny; Frandsen had paraded his men, explained what had happened and invited them to decide for themselves where their loyalties lay. It would never have worked for the Imperial Army, but the Marines were a law unto themselves. Only a handful of Marines had refused to follow their commanders and had been transferred to the freighter for transport back to Camelot.

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it. Without the Marines, the next part of the mutiny would be impossible. It would have been more convenient, he admitted to himself, if the superdreadnaughts had docked at one of the orbital stations, but not even Commodore Roosevelt would take such a risk. “Are you confident of success?”

“Nothing in war is certain,” Frandsen reminded him, “but we are primed and ready for the mission. Besides, they’re using Blackshirts for their internal security. They don’t trust their Marines.”

His voice had darkened. One of the titbits Colin had discovered in Howell’s files was that Commodore Roosevelt was bringing three divisions of Security Division troops to Jackson’s Folly, the dreaded Blackshirts. The only reason to use Blackshirts was if one intended to run as harsh an occupation as possible, one where atrocities would not only be committed, but actively encouraged. It boded ill for Jackson’s Folly.

“Don’t worry, sir,” Frandsen said. “We talked about it once the mutiny was underway and we made up our minds. Fighting the Blackshirts might just allow us to regain some of our honour.”

Colin nodded. “Thank you,” he said. According to the schedule, there were only two days left before the superdreadnaughts arrived. And then… they would either take the ships or lose. And it would be completely out of his hands. He would just be an observer while the Marines took the ships. “Good luck, Colonel.”