Democracy's Might

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Open the airlocks,” Jeremy ordered, as the Marine shuttles approached Shadow. He couldn’t help feeling nervous, no matter what the loyalists had promised. “Don’t show them any resistance.”

The rebel crews had been assigned sidearms as a matter of course. Senior Chiefs had collected the weapons as soon as the enemy accepted their surrender, ensuring that armed resistance wasn’t a possibility. It wouldn’t have accomplished anything anyway, Jeremy knew, but it was quite likely that someone would do something stupid. They all knew what fate might await them as soon as the enemy took them into custody.

“They’re ordering us to assemble the remaining crew in the shuttlebay,” the communications officer said. “And then wait.”

“Make it so,” Jeremy ordered. The injured crewmen would have to be moved, even the ones in stasis tubes. “Remind them, once again, not to offer any resistance.”

The communications officer looked disgruntled, but obeyed. Moments later, the Marines docked and started to make their way through the ship. Nothing impeded their path as they secured the shuttlebay, then headed up to the bridge. Jeremy gritted his teeth as the first armoured figure stepped through the hatch, weapon in hand. He held his hands in plain view and waited.

“Remain where you are,” the Marine ordered, as his fellows followed him onto the bridge and started to secure the crew. One of them wrapped a metal tie around Jeremy’s hands, binding them behind his back. “You will be transported off this ship soon enough.”

Jeremy scowled as he was pushed against a bulkhead and told to sit down. The first moments of any surrender were always the worst, he knew from training; the slightest hint of resistance could result in a bloodbath. But it was going to get worse if the Empire didn’t keep its word, he thought. They might well be treated very badly indeed. It wasn’t as if the Thousand Families felt any inclination to be kind to prisoners.

It was nearly thirty minutes before they were helped to their feet and pushed towards the hatch. The Marines had searched the entire ship from end to end, then shut down the remaining fusion core, leaving batteries to power the ship. Shadow already felt dead, Jeremy realised, as they were prodded into the shuttlebay. The rest of her crew had already been loaded into shuttles and transported elsewhere. He drew in a breath as his senior officers were scanned, their DNA and fingerprints checked for identification purposes, then loaded into shuttles themselves. One way or another, they were helpless now. Their fate was in the hands of the Empire.

Penny watched with mixed feelings as the prisoners were unloaded in Station One. Wachter had insisted on moving the prisoners there as soon as their ships were secured, then grabbed Penny and taken her with him to the station. Penny hoped the rebels weren’t planning a second attack, if only because Wachter wouldn’t be on his command deck, but they had taken a battering. It was unlikely that they could regroup quickly enough to mount a second attack, yet they had to know that they risked losing the war…

“We have identified seventy of them as mutineers, Admiral,” Colonel Graves reported. The grim-faced Marine had seen Wachter enter the compartment and walked over to report at once. “The remaining two hundred and fifty-two are unknown to us.”

“So few survivors,” Wachter mused. “How many bodies did you find?”

“In total, four hundred and twelve,” Graves informed him. “We didn’t pull them out of the hulks, just left them to freeze.”

Wachter exchanged a glance with Penny. There should have been more bodies, which suggested that they had either been vaporised… or that the rebels were so desperately short of crew that they’d been forced to rely heavily on automation. Maybe that explained why Omega had been so successful, at least at first. They weren’t ready to take the risk of questioning their systems so closely.

“If there’s anyone hiding on the ships, they will die when the air runs out,” Wachter said, finally. He looked over at the prisoners. “Any surprises?”

“No, sir,” Graves said. “They were quite docile.”

“That is to be expected,” Smyth’s voice said, from behind them. “They were not only beaten, they were defeated.”

Wachter swung around to face the intelligence officer. “Your help during the battle was remarkably useful,” he said.

Smyth coloured. The subtle insult hadn’t missed its target. “Thank you, Admiral,” he said, tartly. “I’ve come to take the prisoners into custody.”

Wachter gave him a long considering look. “I’ve already promised to treat them under the Gulliver Protocols,” he said. “I’m afraid that Imperial Intelligence will not be handling them.”

“The Gulliver Protocols do not apply in this case,” Smyth informed him. “While the unidentified rebels can be reasonably considered prisoners of war, even though it is a declared legal principle that the Empire is the sole source of authority and all power derives from it, the mutineers cannot be considered anything other than traitors. As such, they are specifically excluded from consideration — or protection under the protocols.”

Penny swallowed an oath. Legally, Smyth was right — and the Empire, which considered itself the ruler of the known universe, had plenty of precedents to back up its view. Everyone knew that interstellar law was what the Empire said it was, even though the Thousand Families hadn’t hesitated to change the law when it looked to be barring them from obtaining whatever it was they wanted. What was the point, Percival had once said, of absolute power if someone could get around your laws?

“I gave them my word that they would be considered prisoners of war,” Wachter said, coldly. “They surrendered, Director, on those grounds, rather than continuing to fight. I do not intend to break my word.”

“But that was not your promise to make,” Smyth said. There was an undeniably smug tone in his voice as he spoke. “It was decided, by the Families Council, that any captured rebels were to be turned over to Imperial Intelligence, along with anyone else who might have been… contaminated.”

He shot Penny a sidelong glance, then continued. “I am willing to concede that the Beyonders are in no need of anything, beyond re-education, but the former mutineers are traitors against the Empire. My orders specifically state that they are to be returned to Earth for interrogation, followed by execution. There can be no mercy for those who rise up against the Empire.”

Wachter met his gaze. “They can be sent to a penal world, where they can no longer threaten the Empire,” he said. “There is no need to interrogate them.”

“But there is,” Smyth insisted. He plucked a datapad from his belt and held it out. “One of them is a high-ranking officer in the rebel fleet. Think about what he knows! What we can get from him… tell me, Admiral, is it really worth blighting your own career just to keep him safe for a month or two? Because the Families Council will decide to take the captives and interrogate them.”

He lowered his voice. “And, by then, whatever they know might well be out of date,” he added. “What is the point of resisting the inevitable?”

“I believe the rebels might ask the same question,” Wachter said, sharply. “They believe that the collapse of the Empire is inevitable too.”

“More to the point,” he added, “we made them a promise. We told them that we would treat them honourably. If we break that promise, no one will ever surrender again.”

“You just gave them one hell of a beating,” Smyth said. “Does it actually matter how we treat prisoners now?”

“The rebels are not — yet — beaten,” Wachter snapped. “Until we have occupied every last rebel world, destroyed every last rebel ship and sent every last irredeemable rebel to the penal colonies the rebels are not beaten. And treating prisoners badly will only make it harder to come to any form of political agreement, let alone convince the rebels to surrender.”

Penny suspected that his words were falling on deaf ears. Smyth might understand, he might accept what they said, but his superiors would not. Imperial Intelligence had taken a major black eye when the original mutiny plots had gone undetected before they exploded into the light. They needed a victory, just as badly as the Imperial Navy had needed the Battle of Morrison. And they wouldn’t worry about whatever Wachter had told a bunch of traitorous mutineers. Why should they?

“We will employ gentle interrogation techniques on the former mutineers,” Smyth said, finally. “The Beyonders can be sent to a penal world.”

“See to it,” Wachter growled. “But remember what I said.”

He turned and looked at the final prisoners as they made their way out of the shuttles and into the corridor leading to the holding cells. Penny followed his gaze. The sight of the prisoners sent a shudder down her spine; in some ways, they looked like she’d looked, after Percival had taken his anger and frustration out on her. Their eyes were wide and fearful; a handful of them looked at her, then looked away, as if they were afraid of her. And they might well be, Penny knew. They were completely at the mercy of their captors.

Wachter snorted, then turned and led her back to the airlock. “That man will overreach himself sooner rather than later,” he snapped, as they stepped into the shuttle. “And I hope I will be there to see it.”

Penny hesitated, then took the plunge. “Do you trust him not to abuse the prisoners?”

“No,” Wachter said, simply. “But I’m damned if I know what I can do about it.”

Smyth had been right, Penny knew. The question of how to treat the prisoners could be referred to the Families Council, which wouldn’t give a damn about the consequences to loyalist personnel. If they were prepared to subject her to a full interrogation, even though it might well have damaged her mind, they wouldn’t hesitate to mind-rip actual traitors. And if they did delay matters long enough for a message to be sent to Earth and back, anything the traitors knew would be outdated.

“Sir,” she said, carefully, “permission to speak freely?”

“Always,” Wachter said.

“This is different,” Penny said. “Sir… what’s going to happen to you now?”

“They will probably send me back into retirement,” Wachter said, dryly. “I’m something of an embarrassment to them.”

“Or they’ll kill you,” Penny said.

“Perhaps,” Wachter agreed.

Penny stared at him for a long moment. “How can you be so calm?”

“There’s no point in getting worked up,” Wachter pointed out. “I knew the job was risky when I took it. I knew that the Families Council were reluctant to appoint me to this position. And yes, I knew it might prove fatal in more ways than one.”

“The rebels only have to worry about us killing them,” Penny muttered. “You have to worry about your masters seeing you as a threat too.”

Wachter nodded, wordlessly.

Penny looked up at him. “Why don’t you take over? Become Emperor?”

Wachter gave her a surprised look, so she powered on. “You have a fleet that will follow you anywhere, one tougher than any other formation in the Empire,” she told him. “Even battered, this fleet is better than Home Fleet. You could take Earth for yourself…”

“And then what?” Wachter interrupted. “The Empress didn’t hold power for long before her reign crumbled.”

“Because the patronage networks undermined her,” Penny said. “You wouldn’t have that problem!”

Wachter sighed. “I would,” he said. “The Thousand Families didn’t end up ruling the Empire because of their good looks. They control, directly or indirectly, almost all of the industrial base. Even if I managed to purge the Imperial Navy of the patronage networks, which would be almost impossible, I’d never manage to dismantle their control of the industrial production nodes without crippling the Empire. Besides…”

He shrugged. “The Thousand Families compete amongst themselves,” he added. “It was meant, I think, to help keep them reasonably honest, back in the days when the Empire was young. And then some of them had the bright idea of dividing the Empire up amongst themselves, which ensured that competition slowed to a bare minimum until now. But if I took command, with absolute authority, I would still make a mess of it. The Empire is simply too big to be controlled by one man.”

Penny felt tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. “I don’t want you to die,” she confessed. Perhaps the Mind Techs had done far worse to her than she’d realised. “And the Imperial Navy doesn’t deserve to lose you.”

Wachter reached out and gave her a hug. “The Empire is all we have,” he said. “It’s the only way to keep humanity united. But it does have a price.”

Penny allowed herself to relax into his arms for a long moment, then pulled back. He could utterly destroy her now, she knew. It had always been true — but now he could tell Imperial Intelligence that she’d tried to talk him into outright treason. Or he might suspect that she was trying to lure him into saying something incriminating. Imperial Intelligence was fond of such methods, knowing that rumours of their existence would encourage people to reveal any mutinous crewmates for fear that their loyalty was being tested. But somehow she was sure that he wouldn’t breathe a word of what she’d said.

“Here,” Wachter said, quietly. He passed her a handkerchief, which she used to dab her eyes gently. “Don’t worry about me, really. I’ll be fine.”

Penny shook her head. She knew better.

The holding cell was barely large enough to swing a cat. Jeremy sat on the bunk, trying to massage some feeling back into his wrists. The Marines — and then the black-clad officers who had taken him from them — hadn’t bothered to remove the metal tie, leaving his hands firmly trapped behind his back. Sooner or later, he suspected, they were going to have to untie him just so he could go to the toilet or it was going to get messy.

They didn’t seem to have decided to keep their word, he decided, as the hours wore on. He’d undergone some training for captivity in the academy, but it hadn’t been very detailed. The only people who might take Imperial Navy crewmen prisoners were pirates and they were unlikely to be interested in anything other than rape and possible ransom. Assuming, of course, that their captive was worth anything. Most Imperial Navy crewmen were worthless, as far as the aristocracy was concerned.

He was still mulling over the problem when the hatch slammed open, revealing a pair of masked men. They came forward, grabbed Jeremy’s legs and shackled them together, then spun him around, cut the metal tie free from his hands and then cuffed them again in front of him. Jeremy had a moment to see the red marks around his wrists before they hauled him to his feet and marched him through a series of barren corridors and into a small room. It was empty, apart from a metal table and two chairs.

“Please, be seated,” a male voice said.

Jeremy looked up, surprised, as he was thrust into a chair. The speaker was a middle-aged man, wearing a black uniform. His accent suggested Earth or Mars, probably Mars. Jeremy studied him for a long moment, then looked back at the table. The speaker didn’t look like a naval officer, which suggested he wasn’t the CO who’d won the battle.

“You are, technically speaking, a traitor,” the man said. He didn’t bother to introduce himself. “You could be shot out of hand and no one would give a shit.”

It was a mistake, Jeremy knew, to talk to his captors. But he couldn’t help himself.

“I surrendered on the promise of good treatment,” he pointed out, tartly. “This” — he rattled his cuffs — “doesn’t feel like good treatment.”

The man lifted an eyebrow. “Compared to what we would normally do to traitors?”

“…Point,” Jeremy conceded.

“Let me be blunt,” the man said. He took the seat facing Jeremy and placed his fingertips together, contemplatively. “You were one of the original mutineers. There’s no doubt about that, is there? You served on the Observation Squadron and either knew about the mutiny plans from the start or joined when the plans were put into operation. That makes you a traitor.”

Jeremy said nothing.

“The punishment for traitors is a slow painful death, as I’m sure you’re aware,” the man continued, after a long moment. “Admiral Wachter” — Jeremy started; he recognised the name — “has no authority to make deals with rebels. Not to put too fine a point on it, the promises he made you have no legal power. However, we are prepared to honour the promise in exchange for certain pieces of information.”

Jeremy snorted. “Name, rank and serial number?”

“A bit more than that,” the man said. “Tactical information, the location of your bases, anything other than that…”

“No,” Jeremy said, simply.

The man sighed, loudly. “You seem to believe that you have a choice,” he said. “Information can be extracted from your brain, willingly or unwillingly. The only question is just what state you will be left in, afterwards. People have been known to become vegetables after a session with the mind-rippers. They are quite efficient. Torture can be resisted, drugs can be misled, but direct mental examination can remove all traces of deceit from your mind.”

“Tell me something,” Jeremy said, after a moment. “What guarantee do I have that you’ll keep your word this time?”

The man looked like he had bitten into a sour apple. “The word of an Imperial Intelligence officer?”

Jeremy made a rude noise, but said nothing.

“Fine,” the man said, tiredly. He looked behind Jeremy, at the two men who’d been standing behind him. “Take him to the mind-ripper.”