Democracy's Right

Chapter Six

Colin knew that it was wrong of him, but he couldn’t resist, even though it might have consequences further down the line. Having taken over Howell’s office for himself, he had Stacy Roosevelt dragged before him in chains. It had been ten years since he had seen her in person and he was astonished at the change in her, her natural — and inbred — arrogance warring with her fear. Her eyes went very wide when she saw him, although he wasn’t sure if she recognised him from when he’d worked for Admiral Percival or if she had been briefed on him when she’d been assigned to Jackson’s Folly. The fear in her eyes was gratifying and Colin wallowed in it for longer than he should, before he straightened up and studied her thoughtfully.

The Marine Colonel had been right, Colin knew; Stacy Roosevelt was very lucky not to have been captured by pirates, or someone who had a grudge against her personally and no sense of restraint. Colin could have killed her with his bare hands, or thrown her into open space, or performed unspeakable abominations on her body — all things that had happened to others, on her command. There was a certain temptation, he had to admit, but he knew that giving into that temptation would make him no better than the Empire. Besides, he didn’t even have the excuse of interrogating her, for Stacy had sung like a canary. She had unlocked all of her secret files and surrendered her credit codes and other details. Colin considered, in the privacy of his own head, that this new Stacy was far more tolerable than the old version.

And she had no friends here. Almost all of her crew — almost all of the superdreadnaught crewmen — had volunteered to join the rebellion when they had been told what was going on. The Blackshirts had been making themselves unpopular on the superdreadnaughts and even hardened Empire loyalists hadn’t been quite so loyal. Colin had scattered the crews over the superdreadnaughts, and even over the former Observation Squadron, just to make it harder for any undiscovered agent, but he was fairly certain that most of the crew would be loyal. The command crews, at least, had too much experience of Stacy Roosevelt. Even her Flag Captain had volunteered to join the rebellion.

“Good morning, My Lady,” Colin said, mockingly. The years seemed to fade away and he remembered being younger, sitting in Admiral Percival’s quarters and hearing her contempt and distaste for the common-born Lieutenant. It should have warned him, yet even though his ears had burned with humiliation and determination to prove himself, he hadn’t realised how reluctant Percival had been to confront her. She might have been his subordinate, but which one of them was truly the patron? “I trust that you had a pleasant sleep?”

Stacy stared at him. He had wondered if she was going to give him one of her famous tantrums, but she seemed to have more self-control than that. Or perhaps she was just stunned. Her entire universe had turned upside down.

“I could have killed you,” Colin continued. “God knows I wanted to kill you, for everything you’ve done over the years. I spared your life for one reason and one reason only. I want you to take a message back to Admiral Percival at Camelot.”

“I can’t go back,” Stacy said. Her voice was raw, as if she’d been crying. Colin had left her in the care of a pair of armoured Marines, who had orders to keep an eye on her, but not to offer her any help unless she asked for it. He hadn’t asked for a report on what she’d done since she’d recovered from the stun bolt. “My family…”

Colin felt no pity, even though she looked young and innocent. She had used the power of the Roosevelt Family to get whatever she wanted from life, be it a genetically-engineered boy-toy or command of an entire superdreadnaught squadron. Now that power would turn on her… although he doubted that they would kill her, or disinherit her. It wouldn’t do for the commoners to see the Thousand Families turning on one of their number. It might give them ideas.

“The alternative is worse, trust me on that,” Colin said, dryly. “You can’t stay here. If you refuse to go back and give them my message, you will be sold into slavery somewhere along the Rim. We’ll remove your indent and anything you could use to prove that you are who you are, leaving you trapped forever. Do you still want to stay?”

Stacy shook her head with an audible gulp. “No,” she said. “Please…”

“The message will be on a datachip for Admiral Percival’s eyes only,” Colin continued. He was tempted to insist that she called him sir, but that would have only been a distraction. “You and the loyalists will be sent back on a transport ship. Once you arrive, the ship’s controls will be unlocked and you will be able to steer her into dock. You can give him the message and then… do whatever the hell you want.”

He looked up at the Marines. “Take her to the transport,” he said, tightly. Stacy’s eyes widened as she realised that she was being dismissed. “Put her onboard with the others…”

“Wait,” Stacy said, desperately. “I can give you anything you want…”

“I’m afraid that it’s too late for that,” Colin said. Quite apart from the fact that over two hundred thousand people were now depending on him to keep them alive and free, there was no way he could trust her. She would betray him as soon as she could and laugh afterwards, once she was safety back with her family. “Goodbye, Stacy; God grant we will never meet again.”

He watched the Marines drag her out and then keyed his wristcom, issuing orders for the prisoner transfer. Stacy might have failed to bribe him, but she could offer everything, up to and including a whole planet, and someone less responsible might be tempted. Anderson would see to it that she was sedated until the transport pulled out of orbit and flickered back towards Camelot. She could wake up then for the trip. She’d hate spending the time in close quarters, with hundreds of commoners for company, but it wouldn’t kill her.

Colin shook his head and turned back to the near-orbit display. The nine captured superdreadnaughts hung together, work crews scrambling to outfit them with external racks and load the racks with missiles. By Colin’s most conservative estimate, they had at least two more days before they had to depart in order to make the rendezvous with the Annual Fleet, but they’d need the time to shake down the crews and get back up into fighting trim. They’d moved too many crewmen around the fleet for them all to fall together without heavy drilling.

A handful of other icons remained dark red, mocking him. The heavy troop transports, loaded with enough Blackshirts to conquer and occupy an entire planet — at least if backed up by orbital fire, as the Marines had pointed out — represented a major problem. Colin had ordered the Blackshirts back into stasis, where they could wait until the heat death of the universe if necessary, but he had no idea what he could do with them. He didn’t want to commit mass slaughter by opening the ships to space and suffocating the soldiers, yet he didn’t want to return them to Admiral Percival or keep them prisoner himself. Where could he put them all? It would be easy to leave them on the ships, but then he wouldn’t have the ships for later use himself.

He glanced up as the door chimes rang and keyed the switch. The hatch hissed open to reveal Daria, with Mariko following right behind her. Colin got to his feet and held out his hand, but Daria surprised him with a hug, throwing her arms around him and holding him tightly. Mariko, as always, was more dignified, but Colin was sure that he saw a glint of amusement in her eyes.

“You did it,” Daria said, without letting go of him. “You actually did it!”

“I did,” Colin said, gently disentangling himself from her arms. It had been a long time since he had been held by anyone, but he didn’t have the time to think of a woman. He hadn’t even patronised the brothels down on the planet below. “Nine superdreadnaughts… a force that will make even Admiral Percival sit up and take notice.”

Daria frowned as she threw herself into one of the seats. “And how long will it be until he gets reinforcements?”

Colin shrugged. “If I know Percival,” he said, “it will be a long time before he even asks for reinforcements. The Imperial Navy wouldn’t look kindly on him for losing the ships in the first place and if he needed to ask for help… well, it would look very bad on his record. Even if he receives no formal punishment for his stupidity, his career will be frozen, unable to progress any further. His patrons will desert him and his clients will start heading away.”

He grinned. “And even if they do send him reinforcements, it will take them time to send additional superdreadnaughts into the sector, and even then it will be hard for them to find us, let alone bring us to battle,” he added. He nodded towards the star chart, which was displaying an expanding sphere where his fleet could be, a sphere already over fifty light years in diameter. The entire Imperial Navy could hide within that region of space and be completely undetectable. “As long as we don’t get careless…”

“And I’m sure that carelessness is not a trait one would apply to you,” Daria agreed, dryly. “I’ll start making the preparations with the Geeks and Nerds.”

Colin nodded. It had taken several years to build up the contacts with the various hidden colonies and organisations beyond the Rim, a task that would have been impossible without Daria and the Freebooter League. The Empire had literally billions of enemies, but without a focus they had been unable to pose more than a minor threat at best, one that could be safely ignored by the Thousand Families. He looked up at the superdreadnaughts and smiled. There was no way they could ignore that threat, once Admiral Percival deigned to tell them that it existed, and combined with the Annual Fleet… well!

“You go there and get them ready to receive us,” Colin said. “We’ll take the fleet and come meet you at the rendezvous point.”

He turned back to the display. “One additional point,” he added. “Do you know what we can do with five hundred thousand prisoners? We have to put the Blackshirts somewhere.”

Daria considered it. “Kill them all and the universe would smell a little better,” she said, darkly. “There isn’t a single person along the Rim who would condemn you for killing them, not even slightly.”

“I don’t want to start with a mass slaughter,” Colin explained. “We’re going to have to start accepting surrenders and that won’t be easy if they think they’re just going to be killed out of hand.”

“They’ll probably wind up thinking that anyway,” Daria pointed out. “Public Information will turn you into a mass murderer without any bother at all. They’ll start claiming that you have slaughtered the entire crew and replaced them with pirates drawn from a Rogue World — or Jackson’s Folly itself.”

Colin winced. Even though he had been careful to operate alone, without drawing any help — officially or unofficially — from Jackson’s Folly, it was true that the Empire would probably seize on his mutiny and rebellion as an excuse to clamp down on the planet. He felt guilty over that, even though he knew that there had been no choice — and besides, he’d read Stacy Roosevelt’s secret orders. The planet was going to be brutally subjected and brought under Imperial rule, which meant the direct rule of the Roosevelt Family. The entire governing class of the planet, it seemed, had been marked for death. Stacy had orders to round them up, interrogate them and then either execute them or transfer them to a penal world.

“But if you’re determined to avert a slaughter, transfer them to one of the colonies along the Rim,” Daria continued, unaware of his inner thoughts. “There are several worlds there that are borderline, with small populations and some interest in seeing that the Empire suffers badly, keeping it away from their worlds. We could just drop them there and leave them to take care of themselves. They’d have a chance to survive and we wouldn’t have to worry about what they might be doing in our rear.”

Colin smiled. “Good thought,” he agreed. If nothing else, perhaps the Blackshirts could do what millions of convicts had been doing since the human race started to expand into space. Having been unwillingly transported to a borderline world, they’d have the choice between making it liveable or dying there. “I’ll send the transports back with you and they can be emptied on one of those worlds.”

“Of course,” Daria agreed. “And then I will set up the meetings with the underground organisations. They will all want a piece of you.”

“I know,” Colin joked. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

The Flag Briefing Room on the General Montgomery was massive, easily large enough to hold every Captain in a full task force, perhaps even one of the sector fleets. Colin hadn’t set foot in one since Admiral Percival had betrayed him, yet he’d seen several before then and they had all been different. Normally, the Captain of the superdreadnaught was entitled to decorate the ship in whatever style he felt appropriate, but Stacy Roosevelt had taken that entitlement for herself. Her taste, Colin decided, was appallingly bad. Golden artefacts, each one worth more than even a Captain made in a year, were scattered around, while the bulkheads were painted a strange mixture of gold and silver. Colin had already privately resolved to have it changed as soon as possible, if they ever had the time. Besides, the artworks — although he felt that calling them artworks was being charitable — were worth millions of credits. The rebellion might need funding.

He glanced from face to face as his senior officers rose, greeting him as he entered the room. He’d had to reshuffle his most trusted officers to ensure that each of the superdreadnaughts had a hard core of his personnel onboard — and armed Marines, just in case — and they were all getting used to their new responsibilities. At least, unlike Stacy Roosevelt, Colin believed in frequent drills and proper rewards for good service, ensuring that his crew were already motivated to do their best. Besides, the thought of execution or a permanent exile on a penal world would keep a few minds concentrated on avoiding capture. Given a few days, the superdreadnaughts would be functioning at maximum efficiency. If only they had more time…

“Gentlemen, be seated,” he said, as he took his own seat. Commodore Roosevelt had obtained her own chair for the briefing room, one shaped more like a throne than a typical Navy-issue chair, and Colin felt vaguely silly sitting on it. Even so, it was just another thing that would have to be replaced once they had the time. “First, thank you all for your efforts. We are ready to flicker out on schedule.”

He smiled at their reactions. There were some senior officers, ones he had known personally, who would have demanded a standing ovation from their subordinates, but none of them would have clapped and cheered for him — not that he wanted such treatment, anyway. He needed his subordinates to be open and honest with him, not for them to start dressing up defeat as victory. The thought made his smile grow wider. Public Information, for all of its skill at controlling the media, would have some problems convincing the population that losing nine superdreadnaughts to a mutiny was a victory.

“If we make it to the Annual Fleet’s waypoint ahead of time, we will use the position to conduct additional drills until we can operate as a unit,” he continued. The superdreadnaught crews hadn’t been drilled properly under Commodore Roosevelt, although some of the brighter Captains had drilled their crews as if they were operating alone, without the rest of the squadron. “If not, we will need to engage at once or abandon our prize. Our operational plan reflects that reality.”

“Yes,” Khursheda said. She was now one of the superdreadnaught Captains, the vessel’s prior Captain having refused to join the revolution. He would be sharing Stacy Roosevelt’s living quarters on her way back to Camelot. “Colin… is it necessary to strike so hard?”

Colin frowned at her expression. He understood her point, of course; it meant that the escorts, including men and women who might join the rebellion, wouldn’t have a chance to surrender. He hated the concept himself, but there was little choice. His small squadron couldn’t afford a battle where there were more than a handful of variables. God alone knew how quickly the convoy escorts would respond.

And, worse, they would be alarmingly close to Camelot itself.

“I think that we don’t have a choice,” he said, grimly. “If we fail to take the Annual Fleet intact, we may be unable to press our advantage and destabilise the entire sector. And that, my friends, dooms us to inevitable defeat.”

There was no further argument. Few of them were happy with it, but they were all professional naval officers and understood the realities of combat in deep space. They couldn’t afford to lose their first battle, or the rebellion would collapse before it had even begun. And that, they knew, would doom any hope of freedom from the Empire.

Two hours later, the combined fleet flickered out towards its first destination.