Democracy's Might

Chapter Three

Captain Penelope Quick — Penny to her friends and enemies alike — stared down at her hands, fighting to control the shaking. Two weeks in Imperial Intelligence’s Luna Holding Facility had been far from pleasant, even before the Mind Techs had submitted her to their interrogation procedures. Torture and beatings would have been kinder. Instead, metallic fingers had pried their way into her mind, extracting every last fragment of information from her skull. By the time they had conceded — reluctantly — that she had been telling the truth all along, the experience had damaged her mind.

Her throat hurt from screaming. That, at least, was a tangible pain. Worse, perhaps, were the ghostly delusions of broken bones, or invisible flames scorching her skin. The guards hadn’t seemed to care when she curled up in her cell, shaking helplessly as her tortured mind tormented her. Even afterwards, the memories still took their toll on her. She doubted she would ever stop shaking, no matter what she did. It had been a surprise when they had taken her out of the cell, told her to wash and dress, then placed her on a shuttle. Her new commanding officer, it seemed, was waiting for her.

She crept over to the porthole and stared into the inky blackness of interplanetary space. It was rare for a spacer to be a claustrophobe — no one who served in the Imperial Navy could be afraid of tight spaces — but Penny no longer felt comfortable in the shuttle. She had a feeling that it would be worse on the starship, even though it was probably a superdreadnaught. The Mind Techs had done untold damage to her mind, then simply let her go. Part of her wondered if they had expected to have custody of her until her mind finally gave out. They certainly hadn’t bothered to provide any treatment for the damage they’d inflicted…

Her hands started to tremble again. Angrily, she glared down at them, then looked back out of the porthole as the superdreadnaught came into view. Like all General-class superdreadnaughts, General Clive was five kilometres long, a blunt hammer of a starship studded with sensor blisters, missile tubes and energy weapons. A dozen smaller starships held close station around her hull, several of them modified light cruisers. The rebels, she knew, had converted bulk freighters into arsenal ships, giving them a colossal throw weight in the first broadside. Her new commander, whoever he was, had put her recommendation of increasing the number of escorting starships into practice. It wouldn’t be perfect, she knew, but it would give the superdreadnaught a chance to survive.

A dull shiver ran through the shuttle as it passed through the superdreadnaught’s shields, then the force field holding her atmosphere inside the shuttlebay. Penny felt her legs tremble, moments before the shuttle touched down on the deck. Gritting her teeth, she stood up and walked over to the hatch, catching sight of her reflection as she passed a display screen. She looked awful. Her long hair had been cut short to allow the Mind Techs to attach their tools, while her eyes were surrounded by dark rings that told of a lack of sleep. And her eyes themselves looked haunted…

I told them everything, she thought, remembering her desperate attempts to convince her interrogators that she was telling the truth. But they hadn’t wanted to believe her. I told them everything and they still tore my mind to shreds.

The hatch opened; she jumped backwards, feeling a flash of panic. Outside, a single young woman waited, wearing an Ensign’s uniform. Penny couldn’t help noticing — with a flicker of envy — that it was a standard uniform, without any of the careful tailoring that some commanding officers insisted on. Percival had insisted that all of his female subordinates wear uniforms intended to show off their bodies.

She staggered and almost fell as the memory overwhelmed her. The Ensign reached out for her… and Penny jumped, almost lashing out at the young woman. Penny barely heard her questions, then her urgent call to sickbay. The deck suddenly seemed warm and comforting…

The next thing she knew was that she was in sickbay, with two concerned faces looking down at her. One of them wore the standard white uniform of a naval doctor, the other wore the black uniform of an Admiral. Penny cringed away from him, her memories bubbling up inside her skull. Her head suddenly began to hurt badly, a dull throbbing that made it hard to control her thoughts.

“I cannot imagine what they were thinking,” the doctor was saying. Penny fought to listen to her, even though her ears seemed to be failing. “There’s little physical damage, but the mental damage will take weeks or months of recovery before she can even consider returning to duty.”

“I think there aren’t many people with direct experience of the rebels,” the Admiral said. He might have been wearing the same uniform as Percival, but he certainly sounded more competent. But then, Percival was not a skilled commanding officer. Was he even still alive? Penny had no idea how the Battle of Camelot had ended. “They probably thought the same.”

Penny looked up as the doctor pressed something metallic against her skull. There was a faint hiss, followed by a numbing sensation that was a welcome relief, after the pain. Penny almost sagged, her eyelids suddenly very heavy, before she forced herself to sit upright. The doctor eyed her with concern, then held out a glass of water. Penny sipped gratefully.

“My very strong advice,” the doctor said, “would be to take it easy for the next few months.”

“I don’t think that will be possible,” Penny said. It took her four tries to say the sentence properly. “They wanted to blame me.”

“They won’t be blaming you,” the Admiral said. He gave her a thoughtful look. “The record — and the data they took from your mind — indicates that it was all Percival’s fault. As the Roosevelt Family is currently in deep shit, it seems unlikely that anyone will actually bother to try to save his reputation.”

“Good,” Penny said, after a moment. “Is he alive?”

“We don’t know,” the Admiral told her. “The rebels might well have killed him.”

“Good,” Penny said, shortly. Once, such words would have earned her a court martial; now, she no longer cared. “I hope the bastard rots in hell.”

The Admiral gave her a droll smile. It took her a moment to realise that he not only agreed with her, he wasn’t shy about making it known either. Oddly, the sight made her want to cry. What would she have been able to do if she had served under an Admiral who had been more interested in his job than sex?

“ONI feels that you should be assigned to my command,” the Admiral said, after a moment of silent reflection. “Under the circumstances, I would understand if you wish to remain in sickbay…”

“No,” Penny said, shortly. The pain would be back soon, she was sure, but she wanted to see what it was like working with a competent Admiral. Besides, if she seemed useless, the best she could hope for was a dishonourable discharge. She wouldn’t be able to afford treatments for mental damage after being kicked out of the navy. “I can work under you.”

“I hope you’re right,” the Admiral said. He stuck out a hand. Penny grasped it and shook, firmly. “I am Admiral Wachter.”

Penny blinked in surprise. Admiral Wachter was a legend! But who else would be selected to defend the Empire?

“They have inflicted considerable trauma on your mind,” the doctor informed her, sharply. “So far, there has been only limited physical damage, but that might not matter. I expect you to come back here as soon as you feel anything, even a mild headache. In fact, I want you to sleep here for the next few weeks. That will allow me to monitor your condition.”

Penny opened her mouth to object, then changed her mind. She had always enjoyed having a cabin of her own, a place to retreat from the universe, but the doctor was right. If she wanted to heal, she would need medical attention and constant supervision. Somehow, she had the feeling that the Admiral would be unhappy if she didn’t seek help when she needed it.

She stood upright. Her legs seemed stable, although she suspected that it wouldn’t be long before they were trembling again. She wasn’t even sure why her body was shaking in the first place. Her interrogators hadn’t physically hurt her, apart from strapping her down to the bed.

“Come with me,” the Admiral said. “But don’t hesitate to call for help if you need it.”

The interior of the General Clive was plain, almost Spartan. Penny had served on starships that had been decorated to suit their commander’s personal tastes, but the superdreadnaught’s CO didn’t seem to have bothered. Or perhaps he or she believed that simplicity was best, which had the added advantage of allowing the crew access to the superdreadnaught’s innards. There was an old story about a CO’s artworks that had blocked access to a damaged component, years ago, and of how the entire ship had had to be scrapped. Penny suspected that there was some element of truth in the tale.

She felt an odd sense of relief as she stepped onto the flag deck and looked up at the giant holographic display dominating the compartment. The superdreadnaught was surrounded twenty-six other superdreadnaughts and nearly four hundred smaller ships, all holding a tight formation. Judging by the display, the tactical crews were holding near-constant exercises, practicing desperately to defend against a missile swarm. It didn’t look as though they were succeeding, but they were clearly out of practice. They’d get better in time.

“Take a seat,” the Admiral said. “Tell me what you make of this.”

Penny sat, gratefully, and watched as he tapped a switch, replacing the tactical display with an interstellar star chart. The rebels seemed to hold hundreds of stars, mainly concentrated on Sector 117. Penny reminded herself, savagely, that the information was almost certainly months out of date. Without any way of sending messages faster-than-light, the Empire was dependent on news brought back by starships… and it took months to get a message from the edge of the Empire to Earth. The rebels might easily have advanced closer to Earth in the time it had taken for Earth to even know that there had been a rebellion.

“They’re going to be coming for Earth,” she said, finally. Sector 117, thanks to the Roosevelt Family, had a functional industrial base. The rebels wouldn’t have hesitated to press it into service, aided and abetted by workers who hated their masters with a fierce passion. “And they’re going to be coming soon.”

“Precisely the conclusion drawn by the Grand Admiral’s tactical staff,” the Admiral said. He gave her a smile that made her smile back. “Our objective is to stop the rebels at Morrison, then push them back and ultimately defeat their forces. This is not going to be easy.”

Penny couldn’t disagree. Admiral Percival had been the worst possible commanding officer for Sector 117, a man more interested in maintaining his position and enjoying his pleasures than actually fighting. The rebels had run rings round him, then eventually captured his home base and the supplies stockpiled there. By now, the rebels were strong enough that a major fleet deployment would be required to stop them, which would draw down the forces elsewhere. And that, in turn, would encourage other uprisings against the Empire.

She had no illusions about the Empire’s popularity outside the Core Worlds. It had none. There were countless planets groaning under the weight of taxes, even when they weren’t being directly exploited by one of the Thousand Families. The only thing saving the Empire from a general uprising had been the willingness to apply force to stamp on rebels and the lack of a united rebel front. Now, the force had been discredited and the rebels did have a leader. She couldn’t help feeling that the war was going to push the Empire right to the limit.

“I had hoped to set out within the week,” Admiral Wachter continued. “As it is, we are having to bring these superdreadnaughts up to scratch and train new crews — crews often taken from merchant ships. I dare say they’re unhappy.”

Penny winced. There was legal precedent for conscripting merchant crews when the Imperial Navy was short on crewmen — quite a few merchantmen had naval experience — but it was never very popular. Most of the conscripted had left the Navy because they disliked working under military discipline and corrupt superiors. Bringing them back onboard was asking for trouble.

“There are millions of naval personal on Luna,” the Admiral continued. “Millions of them. And do you know how many have the experience of actually working on a starship? Only a handful.”

He rolled his eyes. “We’ll be lucky if we leave within a month,” he added. “And then we will have to worry about internal security, without the damned Blackshirts.”

“Yes, sir,” Penny agreed.

That, at least, was something she wouldn’t mourn. The Blackshirts were trained and conditioned to be garrison troops, ready to commit atrocities at the drop of a hat. Looting and rape were the perks of the job, although Penny rather doubted they made up for losing a chunk of their minds. But putting the Blackshirts on starships had been asking for trouble. They didn’t have the experience to keep themselves safe or the restraint to keep from hurting innocent crewmen.

“I was planning to have you kick ass at Luna Base and get them to assign us more experienced crewmen,” the Admiral informed her. “But you’re not in any shape for a proper argument. Instead, I want you to start devising tactical problems based on what you’ve seen from the rebels. Make sure you give them as many advantages as possible.”

Penny nodded. Tactical simulations — the ones that weren’t planned out in advance — frequently gave the enemy advantages that they shouldn’t have in real life. Missile broadsides might be larger, individual missiles might be faster; in theory, practicing against a stronger opponent was good practice for fighting a real enemy. But most live-fire exercises were carefully planned to ensure the right side won. Nothing was left to chance.

She smiled. Maybe Admiral Wachter would insist on holding a random exercise, inviting his subordinates to actually compete. It might teach them more than they’d learn otherwise.

“After that, I want you to start thinking about what other surprises the rebels might come up with,” the Admiral added. “I suspect that they will have full access to the Geeks and Nerds — they’ve always been trying to push the limits of the possible. What else might they be able to devise to give themselves an unfair advantage?”

Penny considered it. Arsenal ships weren’t a real innovation — she had no doubt that the ships could be duplicated — but the Admiral was right. The Geeks had always pushed the limits and the rebels had every interest in encouraging them. After all, they knew that they were still massively outgunned by the Empire. If they could come up with something completely new, it might prove disastrous.

And the Empire, as a general rule, didn’t encourage innovation. Why should it, Penny asked, when the Thousand Families already had everything they wanted? But there were always scientists trying to push the limits, no matter what discouragement was thrown at them. The Geeks might just have a lead on the Empire.

“Yes, sir,” she said, again. She looked up at the holographic display, silently calculating ship transit times. The rebels would have to knock out a dozen bases before they reached Morrison, she suspected. “I won’t let you down.”

Admiral Wachter reached out and squeezed her shoulder. If Percival had done it, she knew, it would have been unpleasant. But Admiral Wachter seemed genuinely supportive.

“I know you won’t,” he assured her. “Have fun.”

Compared to Percival, Penny decided over the following weeks, Admiral Wachter was a brilliant commanding officer. The cynical side of her mind pointed out that anyone would seem brilliant compared to Percival, but it seemed harder and harder to maintain her detachment when the Admiral was genuinely caring. He didn’t object to her occasional trips to sickbay; he even ensured she had enough time to recover every time she suffered a panic attack.

It wasn’t just her, too. The Admiral cared for the entire crew. He might have conscripted men and women, but he’d ensured that they didn’t simply vanish into the Navy. They had permission to send messages to their families, collect their pay and all the other little details that made it easier for them to settle in. Penny still worried about a mutiny, particularly among the conscripts, but nothing materialised. But then, there were few places less conductive to a mutiny than Earth.

Home Fleet was not in good shape, she realised, after she started reading the reports from the Admiral’s repair crews. Half of the superdreadnaughts had real problems going to full power, let alone leaving the Sol System. The smaller ships were in better state, but a number of ships in the reserve were effectively nothing more than dead hulks. They’d been cannibalised to keep the other ships functional.

“It will be worse at Morrison,” Admiral Wachter predicted, as they made their final preparations for departure. Several repairs would have to be carried out while the ships were in flight. “But at least we can purge officers there. Their patrons will be hundreds of light years away. By the time they find out their clients have been purged, it will be too late.”

Penny smiled. After years spent wrestling with the supply department under Percival, she couldn’t wait. The bureaucrats were in for a nasty surprise.