Democracy 1: Democracy's Right Page 19

  Khursheda scowled at her. For some reason Colin had never been able to understand, the former Imperial Navy officer and the Freebooter didn't really seem to like one another. Khursheda had been the most vocal about not trusting Daria when they’d first made contact with her network of spies and intelligence operatives on Jackson’s Folly, where the Freebooters had been quietly slipping technology into the hands of the local government. It hadn't, according to the latest reports, been enough to stop the Empire. Jackson’s Folly was now an occupied world and would remain so until Colin won his war...assuming it was won. The alternative didn't bear thinking about.

  He’d considered taking his fleet back to Jackson’s Folly – the Empire wouldn't keep the superdreadnaught squadron they’d used to break the planet’s defences there indefinitely – and destroying the pickets left in the system, but it would be a pointless exercise. It would only make Jackson’s Folly more of a target for the Empire, while Admiral Percival would simply launch a second invasion and recover the independent world. Raiding the pickets was one thing; actively liberating the planet, if only for a few weeks, was quite another.

  “I wouldn't worry about it, Captain,” Cordova said, clapping her on the shoulder. Khursheda glowered at him, although she seemed to hold the renegade Captain in higher esteem than Daria. “The politics can now be left to those who remain behind to hold the fort, while we warriors have to head off to war. And, when the war is won, we can see who is still standing.”

  Colin kept his face expressionless, although the truth was that he didn't know if he truly trusted the former Imperial Navy Captain. He wasn't in any position to complain about a mutinous officer, yet...there was something about Cordova that set him on edge. Perhaps it was the booming pronouncements he was fond of making, or perhaps it was the fact that Cordova seemed almost too good to be true. Colin had never asked him what future Cordova saw for the Empire – and, for that matter, what Cordova wanted from life. Did he want to go home one day?

  “Jason is right,” he said, calmly. “We have to win the war before we can organise the reformation of the Empire and for that we need the help of the rebel factions.”

  “I believe that most of them will help us,” Hester said. The older woman was looking tired and drawn, exhausted by her labours. Colin had urged her to drop into sickbay for a medical examination, but Hester had refused, citing the need to get to work. “And combined, they can threaten the Empire.”

  “Until the Empire moves in reinforcements,” Khursheda countered. “Let’s face it; apart from this formation, the Shadow Fleet or whatever we wind up calling it, we have nothing larger than a heavy cruiser – and outdated heavy cruisers at that. Their modern counterparts will smash right through them.”

  “Given time,” Salgak said, “we can produce new weapons and starships that will tip the balance in our favour. The first units of the new class are already under construction.” The cyborg’s augmented head twisted from side to side. “The Empire will not be expecting us to develop new concepts, perhaps even new levels of weaponry.”

  “And you know that Imperial Navy Captains are not trained to expect the unexpected, let alone cope with it,” Cordova said. He stroked his beard as his smile grew wider, contemplating the tactical possibilities. “We can certainly hurt them badly before they have a chance to adapt.”

  Colin lifted a hand and the room fell silent. “We have to run before we can walk,” he said, feeling a wave of tiredness passing over his body. Once the fleet was underway to its next target, he promised himself, he would lock his quarters and get several days of proper rest. He shook his head inwardly, laughing at himself. The chances were good that he would never have any real rest until the war was won. “And, with that in mind, we need to decide on our next target – and indeed our overall plan for winning the war.”

  He hadn't intended to share the details of his planning with anyone, but it had been gently, if firmly, pointed out to him by Daria that showing his distrust too openly would cause others to react against him. Besides, if any of the men and women gathered in his quarters were traitors – or Imperial Intelligence spies – the rebellion was about to be terminated before it was even fairly begun. Pushing the dark thought aside, Colin keyed the terminal and brought up a star chart of Sector 117.

  The Empire, for reasons that owed more to inter-Family scrabbles and disputes rather than common sense, tended to treat each sector as a separate entity, rather than acknowledge the realities of space. Two planets that were only ten light years apart might as well be on the other side of the galaxy from each other, if they were separated by an arbitrary sector line. Colin had never been able to understand why the Empire operated in such a fashion – the best theory he had been able to develop was that it suited the shipping lines – yet it had practical implications. The worlds outside Sector 117 were unlikely to have heard about the rebellion. If his calculations were correct, if Percival had chosen to keep the news of the rebellion restricted, the other sectors wouldn't be watching for his ships. They would have no idea that they had to watch for his ships. The thought of taking his ships over the sector line and wreaking havoc was tempting, but he pushed it aside. Admiral Percival had to be dislodged first, before the rebellion could spread.

  He studied the chart, his mind automatically correcting for the slight misrepresentation of holographic displays. There were two hundred inhabited planets within Sector 117, but most of them were effectively valueless, at least when it came to rebellion. Colin’s fleet could destroy the orbital stations and the weapons platforms intended to discourage pirates from trying to hit the planet, yet what would it gain him? Nothing – and it would give Public Information a hell of a chance to discredit the rebellion. There were only fifty worlds that were important enough to merit being targeted – the remainder would fall into the rebellion’s hands once Camelot had been taken – and none of them would fail to provoke a reaction from Percival.

  “First,” he said. “The main body of the fleet – under my command – will proceed to Piccadilly. We will use various tricks” – he wasn't about to go into any detail, even here – “to sneak in and then engage the defences from very short range. Once we have destroyed the orbital defences, we will take out the facilities on the surface of the planet and withdraw before we can be engaged and destroyed.”

  “Chancy,” Cordova observed. “You end up stuck there and Percival’s goons will kick your ass through the nearest airlock.”

  Colin couldn't disagree with the sentiment, however crudely Cordova chose to express it. Piccadilly was not only a valuable world in its own right – the Roosevelt Family had been developing the world and transforming it into a major industrial node, although his capture of the Annual Fleet would have hampered its further development – but it was within thirty light years of Camelot. Percival would, assuming that he had a force on stand-by, be able to dispatch one of his own superdreadnaught squadrons to intercept. And then...

  The thought made him smile. His force would have its flicker drives powered up and ready to go. They’d simply flicker out as soon as the enemy ships arrived, yet...one lesson that had been hammered into his head back at the Academy was the KISS Principle. Keep It Simple, Stupid. The operation would infuriate Percival and drive his patrons into a frenzy of hate and fear, forcing them to demand that Percival did the impossible and capture or kill Colin. And yet Cordova was right. Too much could go wrong too quickly.

  “We'll remain on alert to flicker out if the shit hits the fan,” Colin assured him. It didn't begin to express his own doubts and fears over the operation – and he suspected that Cordova knew that – but it would have to suffice. “Percival will simply be unable to intercept us.”

  Cordova didn't bother to argue, so Colin moved on to the next part of the operation. “Khursheda, you will take command of the battlecruiser squadron” – calling a unit of five battlecruisers and six heavy cruisers a squadron was pushing it, but it had to do – “and go pay a call on the ICN network.
The message has already been prepared, along with the codes that will allow it to disseminate through the ICN, without Percival being able to do a thing about it.”

  “Of course, sir,” Khursheda said. The thought of action had galvanised her, even though she’d only been a Commodore for the last two weeks. Colin had plenty of enthusiastic younger officers and crewmen, but he was short of experienced commanding officers and he was unwilling to risk bringing in too many strangers from the Rim. Some of them, he knew, would be Imperial Intelligence operatives, or perhaps they would have been cashiered for very good reasons.

  “Don’t risk your ships,” Colin added. “If you find yourself in a position to exchange fire with Percival’s ships, don’t unless you have a heavy firepower advantage. We cannot afford to lose you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Khursheda said. Her dark face seemed to light up. “We won’t let you down.”

  “Excellent,” Colin said. He looked up at Cordova. “You have the most interesting part of the operation.” Cordova smiled, as if he already knew what Colin was going to say. “You will be raiding the enemy’s smaller interests and mining facilities.”

  “Behaving like pirates,” Cordova said. He sounded vaguely disapproving, although the way he stroked his beard suggested that he enjoyed the thought. Indeed, looking at the outfit he wore, Colin wondered if Cordova thought that he was a pirate king. It was possible...yet, unlike most pirates, there were no atrocities to Cordova’s name. Or perhaps, he thought in the privacy of his own mind, no known atrocities. “My crew will doubtless enjoy the chance to loot.”

  Colin nodded, hiding his disapproval. He wasn't too surprised – Cordova and his ship had been fugitives from the Empire since before Colin had been working for Admiral Percival – yet it was somehow disappointing, like finding an idol unexpectedly tarnished. And then, Cordova would also have command of many of the starships that had been donated to Colin’s cause – including many real pirates, hiding under the rebellion’s flag. Perhaps Cordova was the right choice after all; his reputation would never allow him to turn a blind eye to atrocities. He guarded his reputation like the older spinster women of the Thousand Families guarded their honour.

  “Which leads neatly to another point,” Colin added. “No atrocities. I want there to be none at all. I want you to make it clear to your men that I will punish any atrocity in the harshest possible manner, even if I have to hand them over to the Empire myself. We cannot allow anything to blacken our reputation.”

  “Public Information will turn us all into dangerously insane terrorists, whatever we do,” Hester said, her voice harsh and unfeeling. “Whatever it takes to overthrow and destroy the Empire, we will do it. The Empire will not allow us to tell our side of the story.”

  “The rumour mill will be more accurate,” Colin said, refusing to allow either of them to distract him. The Empire might have its own version of events, an official version that would be slavishly followed by every media outlet in business – if they wanted to remain in business – but the rumour mill, running through starship crews and groundside officers, would be much more accurate. A fake atrocity, one created from whole cloth by Public Information to discredit the rebellion, would be noticeable. A real one, however, would also be noticeable. The rumour mill would carry the word that Public Information, for once, had told the truth. “We do not have a choice.”

  He looked up at Cordova, holding the bigger man’s eyes with his own. “No atrocities,” he repeated. “I am counting on you to ensure that they do not take place.”

  “There will be no atrocities,” Cordova promised. His booming voice admitted of no doubts, or fears. “If any under my command dare to prey on helpless captives, I will kill them personally, in a manner so horrific that none will dare to follow in their footsteps.”

  “Good,” Colin said. He wasn't about to admit it, but allowing Cordova to command the additional starships would get two headaches out of his skull. Cordova would have a command consummate with his status and Colin wouldn't have to worry about breaking highly-independent ship crews into something reassembling military discipline. “Hester...what is the status of insurgent cells on Imperial worlds?”

  Hester looked thoughtful. Colin had asked her before, several times, but she had always been reluctant to discuss the issue. Colin, occupied with other matters, had allowed that particular matter to slide. It wasn't something he could do any longer.

  “There are hundreds of cells on hundreds of worlds that are willing to rise up against the Empire,” Hester said, in her whispery voice. “And yet, they know that if they rise, they will be killed. The Empire will come and put the rebellion down as brutally as possible and the survivors will be crushed under grinding taxes.”

  Colin nodded. Even the Empire, which had a limitless supply of men to convert into Blackshirts, had difficulty maintaining a sizable force on the surface of each and every world in the Empire. But then, it didn't matter. There were plenty of planetary populations that could have destroyed the Blackshirts in a single night, only to discover the Imperial Navy’s superdreadnaughts flickering into their system and coming to lay waste to their worlds. Hester was right. The insurgents would not risk showing their hand until they knew that their world was secure.

  “We can start slipping more weapons into their bases,” Colin said. If nothing else, the Rim was awash in weapons, from ones manufactured by hidden colonies to weapons that had been diverted from the Empire’s stores. “And then they will be ready when we finally capture Camelot and liberate the sector.”

  He looked up. He was tired, so tired, yet he was also happy. After everything he’d done to reach this point, there was still no end in sight...but he was no longer alone.

  “I have faith in us,” he said, hoping that his words would inspire. “We can win this war. We will win this war.”

  ***

  The spy had been growing impatient for the last four days, waiting for a chance to get off the asteroid. No such luck; the resistance leaders had insisted - in a rare display of unanimity - that no one was to leave until they had completed their business and departed. The spy cursed their logic as much as she admired their effectiveness. She could have warned the Empire that an attack was about to be launched – even though she had no idea of the target – if only she could get off the asteroid!

  As calmly as she could, she returned to his work and waited. There would be a chance to slip back onto one of the more well-known asteroids soon enough, and then she could make contact with an Imperial Intelligence undercover team. And then, the spy told herself, there would be a chance to stop the rebellion dead in its tracks.

  Chapter Twenty

  For a crazy few minutes, just after Onslaught had flickered into the Jackson’s Folly system, Penny had thought that the mutineers had returned to the system and engaged the Imperial Navy. Five superdreadnaughts were posturing at a smaller task force of four superdreadnaughts and assorted smaller ships, going through a ballet that was both complex and extremely simple. The absence of weapons fire and the IFF signals transmitted from the superdreadnaughts revealed – to her slight embarrassment – that the starships were doing something rarely seen in the Imperial Navy, random drilling.

  It wasn't, she noted as her battlecruiser linked into the datanet serving as umpire for the duel, a live-fire exercise. The Imperial Navy frowned on live-fire drills, both because of the cost and because of the danger. Penny had been a child when the crew of a superdreadnaught had accidently armed a missile within the launch tubes – they’d somehow cut it free of the safety systems that should have prevented the missile from arming before it was launched – and detonated it inside the ship. The superdreadnaught had survived the blast – it was lucky that the other warheads had not detonated, as that would have vaporised the entire ship – yet her Captain had been unceremoniously cashiered from the service and her entire surviving crew had been blacklisted. Imperial Intelligence, according to some of the files she'd seen ever since she’d become Percival
’s aide, had suspected it was deliberate sabotage, but the people responsible had died in the blast. There was no way to know for sure.

  By the time she was welcomed onboard Commodore Rupert Brent-Cochrane’s command ship, she was actually quite intrigued by the results of the exercise. Everyone knew that superdreadnaughts couldn't be beaten by anything less than a matching force of superdreadnaughts, yet Penny had wondered before if that was actually true. The Imperial Navy’s sole combat duties for the past few centuries had been swatting pirates, hunting rebels and raining missiles on helpless planets. It didn't exactly encourage innovation and creative thinking, while the rebels – already badly outmatched – had one hell of an incentive to get as creative as possible. She barely noticed when the shuttle landed in the superdreadnaught’s shuttlebay and only looked up when she realised that Commander Figaro, the superdreadnaught’s XO, was waiting with a party of senior officers. Penny, who had never been piped onboard a ship before, accepted his salute with some surprise and allowed him to escort her to the Commodore. Brent-Cochrane, it seemed, was not in the CIC, but in one of the smaller compartments, chatting to his subordinate commanders over the datanet.

  The nine superdreadnaught commanders didn't look happy, even before Figaro opened the hatch and announced Penny, before withdrawing at speed. Penny could understand their unease; quite apart from an unprecedented set of war games, they were holding the post-battle assessment over the datanet, rather than meeting in person. Some of them, she realised, looked particularly unhappy. She guessed that they’d been on the losing side.