Democracy's Right

Chapter Four

Commodore Stacy Roosevelt, the Commanding Officer of the 123^rd Superdreadnaught Squadron, was almost as young as she looked. At thirty-one years old, she looked nineteen, with long blonde hair, a heart-shaped face and a smile that seemed to light up her face — when she cared to show it. Her connections within the Thousand Families — she belonged to the main branch of the Roosevelt Family — were second to none in the Imperial Navy. Although Admiral Percival was her nominal superior, in practice it tended to be the other way around. Percival, a Roosevelt client, bowed and scraped to Stacy. He had certainly assisted her in becoming a Commodore at such an absurdly young age.

Flag Captain Jeremy Damiani kept his face under tight control as Stacy ranted at him. She certainly wasn’t smiling for her subordinate, the older man who had been assigned to assist her in carrying out her responsibilities. There were times when Jeremy wondered if it was all worth it — her patronage could take him far, but being in close proximity to her was unbearable — but there was little choice. If he abandoned his patron, she would ensure that he would have nowhere else to go; certainly, no one would back him in a tussle with the entire Roosevelt Family. It would have been a great deal more bearable if Stacy had possessed the knowledge and training of a first-year cadet, but as it was, he was certain that the only way she had passed through the Academy was through family connections.

It didn’t help that Stacy had been placed in command of the Roosevelt Family’s planned expansion into the Rim, once they had secured control of Jackson’s Folly. The senior members of her family, people who intimidated even Stacy herself, had been very insistent that everything should go according to plan. Stacy had, accordingly, taken control and instructed Captain-Commodore Howell to refrain from doing anything until she arrived with her superdreadnaughts, but the Roosevelt Family wasn’t the only one involved with the sector. It wasn’t hard to come up with possible scenarios for disaster — and, even for Stacy, failure would mean heavy punishment. She would probably find herself exiled to run a mining station somewhere thousands of light years from Earth, the heart of the Empire.

“We are running late,” Stacy repeated. Her face, the best that money could buy, was colouring with rage and stress. Jeremy was silently grateful that they were in her stateroom, rather than on the bridge. Being screamed at in front of his crew could only reduce his command authority, what little there was of it. Like most incompetent officers, Stacy was a micromanager, without the wit to know that it would be better to allow the more experienced crewmen their heads. “Why are we running late?”

Jeremy kept his own face blank. There was no point in shouting back at her, not when a word from her could ruin his career. He wouldn’t have put it past her to ruin his career out of spite anyway, but at least he had to try. Besides, he did have a certain degree of loyalty to the Imperial Navy and he didn’t want to think about what Stacy would do without someone watching over her shoulder. It was highly unlikely that she would order a flicker jump right into an asteroid field that would destroy the squadron, yet he wanted to be careful. The Empire could not afford to lose any superdreadnaughts.

“We needed to swap out some replacement components on the drive,” he reminded her, calmly. After that, they’d made good time — indeed, they were one jump away from Jackson’s Folly — but Stacy wasn’t interested. Never mind that leaving the drive motivator in place might have resulted in the drives failing at an inconvenient time. “We will be there in one hour, Commodore.”

“I want you to find the person responsible for this delay through gross incompetence and have them removed from their post,” Stacy ordered. Jeremy nodded. The chances were good that no one was responsible, at least not in the sense that they’d done it on purpose. Drive motivators, exposed to the weird energies of the flicker drive, tended to fail more often than any other component, even after years of research. The superdreadnaughts tended to swap out almost every component on the ship over a five-year period, just to keep the ancient vessels running. “They have delayed our mission.”

“Of course, Commodore,” Jeremy said, smoothly. Bitter resentment flickered through his mind, only to be forced down and back into the rear of his mind. Scraping and bowing to a noblewoman was humiliating, but it could be a great deal worse. The post on HMS General Montgomery was prestigious. It was well worth the hassle. “I shall see to it personally.”

He smiled as he tapped the main display, bringing up the star chart. The Observation Squadron had carried out a careful tactical survey of Jackson’s Folly and its daughter colonies, preparing for the invasion that everyone knew was inevitable once the Empire realised just what a prize Jackson’s Folly actually was. There might have been a handful of Rogue Worlds, where the writ of the Empire didn’t run, but they were poor and harmless — and had nothing the Empire wanted. Stacy was meant to draw up the attack plan, yet her mind — which, he had to admit, was good at manipulating the Empire’s power structure — was no good at tactical planning. Jeremy had used the time they’d spent in transit working on a fairly basic plan, one where relatively little could go wrong.

“As you can see, Commodore, we will begin by…”

An hour later, he allowed Stacy to precede him onto the bridge. The sight of the main bridge never failed to thrill him, even though the throne-like command chair belonged to Stacy alone. Here, at the nerve centre of the superdreadnaught, the command crew could deal out death and destruction on the Empire’s many enemies, while remaining safe from anything the enemies could deal out to them. The five kilometre-long superdreadnaught was one of the most powerful ships in commission, packed with missile tubes, energy weapons and heavy shields. It would take a matching squadron of superdreadnaughts to present the squadron with a real threat and standard military doctrine called for at least two squadrons to break up an enemy squadron. It hardly mattered, of course; the Imperial Navy was the only force permitted to possess superdreadnaughts.

“My Lady Commodore,” the helmsman said, as Stacy settled down into her command chair. She looked almost like a child sitting in her father’s chair, but her eyes were as alert as ever. Had any of the crew neglected the proper honorific, she would have noticed — and remembered. “We are ready to make the final jump.”

Stacy leaned forward, her anger forgotten. “Then by all means,” she ordered, “jump!”

Jeremy braced himself as the flicker drive engaged, launching the superdreadnaught across five light years in a split-second. The scientists swore that the transits were not instantaneous — they lasted a certain infinitively-tiny length of time — but it felt instantaneous. It also felt, just for a second, as if his insides had been turned upside down. It was a gentle transit, yet it was something that no one ever got used to feeling. He’d been on ships that had jumped while travelling at high sublight speeds and the crews had ended up vomiting badly on the decks.

“Transit completed,” the helmsman said. The display updated rapidly as the gravimetric sensors picked out Jackson’s Folly, the primary star and the handful of other planets within the system. IFF beacons began to appear as the passive sensors picked up the freighters moving between planets, although he had to remind himself that a hostile starship could be keeping its emissions to the bare minimum, rendering it nearly undetectable. “The flicker drives are cycling down now.”

Jeremy relaxed and settled back into his own chair. The flicker drive might have given mankind the stars, but it had also introduced a whole new degree of tactical problems. It was impossible, even for the Empire’s most advanced and powerful ships, to keep the flicker drive spun up and ready to jump out. It would burn out the drive and leave the vessel stranded. What that meant, from a tactical point of view, was that if they ran into trouble, it would take time — at least ten minutes for a superdreadnaught — before the drive could be powered up again and jump them out. They would have to stand and fight until then.

“Get me a direct link to the Observation Squadron,” Stacy ordered. Her clear voice echoed in the bridge. “I want to talk directly to Captain Howell.”

“I confirm nine superdreadnaughts and seven heavy transport ships,” the tactical officer said. Colin nodded as the icons appeared in the display, further from the planet than he had anticipated. Was it a simple navigational error or something far more sinister? The flicker drive wasn’t known for being supremely accurate, certainly not at interstellar distances. “The IFF signals match the 123^rd Superdreadnaught Squadron.”

“Send them a standard greeting,” Colin ordered, as the superdreadnaughts came alive, their tactical sensors scouring space for potential threats. Commodore Roosevelt wasn’t even trying to hide, or to conceal what her sensors were doing, although there was no real need for her do either. It wasn’t as if there was something in the system that could threaten her. “And then hold the holographic program on standby.”

“Aye, sir,” the communications officer said. The tension on the bridge rose sharply. They were committed now. “We are picking up a response. Commodore Roosevelt would like to speak to Captain Howell.”

She isn’t giving him his brevet rank, Colin thought, with a flicker of grim amusement. “Activate the hologram,” he ordered. It had taken several weeks of preparation, before the mutiny had been launched, to construct a hologram that would fool basic security checks. He’d tested it against Shadow’s security systems and it had fooled them, but if Stacy asked a question they couldn’t answer… everything would fall apart. “Send her the pre-recorded message.”

“Commodore, welcome to Jackson’s Folly,” Captain-Commodore Howell said. Jeremy watched impatiently as Howell ran through a series of greetings. He had never served with Howell, but he knew — from Stacy — that he didn’t have the initiative to get dressed in the morning without orders from higher authority, in triplicate. Maybe not the desired kind of person for a major command… unless, of course, one wanted the commander to do nothing, but wait until higher authority arrived. “I’m afraid that there has been an incident.”

Stacy sucked in her breath sharply. “We discovered that certain other elements were collaborating with the illegitimate government on Jackson’s Folly,” Howell continued. “I have ordered those elements arrested and I intend to transfer them to your loyal ships at once. I have also arrested the government of the planet, as per the contingency plan you sent me, and they too will be transferred. Please prepare to take them into custody.”

Jeremy blinked at Stacy’s savage smile… and then understood. Howell had discovered that the other elements were not rebels or terrorists from beyond the Rim, but others from the Empire — from other Families. If another Family had wanted to derail the Roosevelt Family’s expansion into the new sector, it would make sense for them to provide covert assistance to Jackson’s Folly. Given time, they might even manage to get their clients onto the Observation Squadron and use the starships to assist the local government. And yet… Howell had detected the plot and arrested the people responsible. Stacy could take them into her custody and use them to embarrass their superiors. They might even be so embarrassed that they would back off and leave the sector to the Roosevelt Family.

“Of course,” Stacy said, sweetly. She looked over at Jeremy. “Have some of my household troopers moved to supervise the prisoners as they are unloaded from the shuttles. They are not to come to any harm, but they are not to be allowed a chance to escape.”

“Yes, Commodore,” Jeremy said, surprised. She sounded almost competent… but then, she’d just been offered a chance to secure her position in the line of succession. The Roosevelt Family would want a new Head one of these days and Stacy almost certainly had her eye on the prize. She would be the most powerful woman in the Empire. “I shall see to it personally.”

On the display, nineteen heavy transport shuttles were launched from the Observation Squadron. There were too many of them to land on any one superdreadnaught, Jeremy realised; they would have to be staggered out or spread out over the other superdreadnaughts, presenting him with an interesting logistics challenge. He considered asking Stacy if he could delay their arrival times until he could organise space for them, but he knew her too well. She had no concept of delayed gratification. She would want to have them all under her control as soon as possible.

He keyed his console, authorising the shuttles to dock, scattered out over all nine superdreadnaughts. The Household Troops could escort the prisoners to their quarters — if they were members of the Thousand Families, they could not be mistreated or Stacy’s superiors would disown her — and then secure them until they could be sent home in disgrace. Another feather in Stacy’s cap… who knew, perhaps her superiors would be so pleased that she would be promoted away from his superdreadnaught squadron.

“Bring them in as soon as possible,” Stacy ordered, tightly. “And then prepare to engage the enemy.”

Jeremy nodded. The red icons on the display — the battleships protecting Jackson’s Folly — were already moving into a defensive formation. He was privately impressed by their determination — he would have considered jumping out and waging a hit-and-run war against the Empire rather than standing in defence of their homeworld — but it wouldn’t matter. They couldn’t stand against his superdreadnaughts, even with Stacy in command.

The thought was bitter, yet it had to be faced. Another world was about to be ground under and brought to heel… and there was nothing he could do, but watch.

“The shuttles are away, sir.”

Colin nodded, watching as the icons accelerated towards their target ships. Preparing the holographic message had been a gamble, even though they’d discovered Commodore Roosevelt’s secret orders to Captain-Commodore Howell. If she’d insisted on the shuttles all going to one superdreadnaught, the Marines would have to have used the emergency plan and if that had failed… they would have died, followed rapidly by the Observation Squadron itself. He wished, desperately, that he was flying with the Marines. It was the first time he had sent men into danger, where some or all of them might be killed, without being with them.

He sat back and tried to remain calm. It was tempting to spin up the drives, just so they could flicker out and escape if everything went to hell, but that would risk alerting the enemy ships. If they realised that the Observation Squadron wasn’t behaving normally, what would they think? Would they think that Howell was just being careful, or would they realise that something was very wrong? No; they had to sit still, knowing that if the raiders were detected ahead of time, they were committed to a missile duel with nine superdreadnaughts. It was a battle that would only have one outcome.

“Good,” he said. There wouldn’t even be any live feed from the shuttles. “Hold our position and stand by.”

There was nothing else he could do, but wait.

The great advantage of the Marine Goblin-class assault shuttle, as far as Colonel Neil Frandsen was concerned, was that it could pass for a Cloud-class heavy transport shuttle, even at close range. Its weapons were mounted on recessed platforms, allowing them to be concealed from suspicious eyes until it was far too late, while it could carry thirty armoured Marines into the heart of the enemy position. In this case, Neil knew, three shuttles were going to land on the General Montgomery.

He studied his HUD as he ran through the final checks of his armour and weapons. Commander — no, Captain now — Walker had been keen to avoid heavy casualties if possible, but Neil knew that it was quite possible that they would lose the entire team along with the superdreadnaught. It didn’t matter so much to him. After he’d been effectively cashiered for refusing orders to slaughter helpless captives, his life had been meaningless. Colin Walker had offered him a chance for redemption, both for himself and the Marine Corps. It said a great deal about how dissatisfaction that spread through the ranks that only a handful of his regiment had refused to join the rebellion.

“Ten seconds, sir,” the pilot said. The looming bulk of the superdreadnaught was growing rapidly through the forward portal. Neil activated his implant and linked into the shuttle’s sensors, checking out their target shuttlebay. There would be a welcoming committee for the high-value prisoners they were supposed to be carrying, but they would be lightly armed and properly unarmoured. The prisoners were supposed to be helpless, after all. “Nine… eight… seven…”

Neil felt a combat trance falling over him as the shuttle entered the shuttlebay, passing through the forcefield that kept the air within the bay. The shuttle’s sensors revealed a small group of armed men wearing the crimson colours of the Roosevelt Family, marking them out as Household Troops. His smile widened. Household Troops were good at looking pretty, but few of them had any real experience of actual fighting on the battlefield. They would be no match for his men.

“Weapons ready, sir,” the pilot said.

Neil nodded. The other advantage of the Goblin’s design was that all of the Marines could be ejected swiftly from the ship, making it impossible for the enemy to bottle them up inside and trap them — or eject the shuttle back into space.

“Fire,” he ordered.