Democracy 1: Democracy's Right (34 page)

She looked up as the door chime rang, insistently.  Percival strode over to his desk and slapped his hand hard down on the release, opening the hatch.  William Derbyshire entered and blinked owlishly at Percival, as if he were a mild-mannered professor rather than Imperial Intelligence’s Head of Station.  Percival seemed to calm down instantly; he might have been the Sector Commander, but a complaint from Imperial Intelligence would result in his demotion and transfer to the other side of the Empire.

“Ah, Admiral,” Derbyshire said.  He took a seat without being invited and pulled a sealed datachip out of his pocket, opening it with his thumbprint and inserting it into the desktop processor. “There has been something of a development.”

He looked up as the symbol of Imperial Intelligence appeared on the display.  “We have been tapping all of our assets in the Beyond to attempt to locate the rebels,” he said.  “It was not an easy task.  The Beyond is a very paranoid place and even those who are well-known in the community don’t know everything.  Indeed, those who are well-known may know the least, because they’re easy for everyone to find.  The people maintain their privacy and mind their own business...”

“Sounds like paradise,” Percival growled, impatiently.  Derbyshire smiled, indulgently.  “What did one of your tame mouthpieces find?”

“It would have to be a tame ear,” Derbyshire said, absently.  Penny realised that he was enjoying mocking Percival, or making him wait before he uncovered his secret.  “We only use mouthpieces to spread lies and propaganda throughout the Beyond.  We have been spreading propaganda about the rebels, but alas – the Beyond doesn't seem to believe us.  I fear we may have lost several mouthpieces to their counter-intelligence teams.”

“Never mind that,” Percival ordered.  “What did you learn?”

Derbyshire looked up at him.  “Oh, nothing too much,” he said.  “Just the location of the rebel base.”

Percival’s mouth opened.  No sound came out.

“One of our deep-cover agents was invited to the meeting where they announced their Popular Front,” Derbyshire explained, grinning.  “It took the agent some time to get to a more...open asteroid, but once he made it...why, the message was passed on to a covert team and sent back here.  The commander made the call to come here directly, rather than continue with his program, and I’m sure that you will agree that he deserves a reward.  I have taken the liberty of writing him a commendation in your name, as well as urging that he be promoted as soon as possible.  The Empire needs minds that can react and adapt plans – or abandon them – at short notice.”

At any other time, Percival would have exploded at the thought of someone else daring to use – even by proxy – his authority.  Instead, he just stared at the desktop processor, as if it contained the key to eternal life – or, perhaps, to eternal patronage.  Penny could almost read his thoughts.  If he destroyed – or crippled – the rebellion, perhaps he wouldn't lose his power and position after all.

“Good,” Percival said, savagely.  “Do the rebels know that we know?”

“I do not believe so,” Derbyshire said, thoughtfully.  “They may not, however, keep using the same base forever.”

“So we move now,” Percival said, sharply.  He looked over at Penny.  “What ships do we have on station?”

“Commodore MacDonald’s squadron is the most powerful one on hand,” Penny said.  Percival scowled.  It would mean putting the chance for glory in the hands of a junior officer he hated, but he would still be able to claim some of the credit.  “If you waited two weeks, we could send one of the superdreadnaught squadrons or...”

“No,” Percival said.  His mood had completely changed.  “I want you to write the orders for the good Commodore.  She’s to go capture the rebel base; I want the rebels here, in chains, for trial and execution.  If the base cannot be captured, they are to blow it and withdraw.”

“Yes, sir,” Penny said.  Watching Percival act decisively was odd.  “I’ll send the orders at once.”

“And then report back here,” Percival added.  “I think we need to celebrate.”

Penny nodded, keeping the disgust off her face.

***

Angelika received her new orders philosophically, although she noted that if her squadron happened to run into the rebel superdreadnaughts – again – the results were unlikely to be any better than the last time.  She uploaded the coordinates into the squadron’s navigational database, checked that all weapons and supplies were loaded into her ships, and then ordered her squadron to move away from the planet and the ring or orbital defences.  Seven thousand kilometres from Camelot, her ships flickered out and vanished.

Chapter Thirty-Four

“There’s nothing new on the passive scans, Captain,” the tactical officer said.  “The only shipping in the system are the asteroid miners and the local defence ships.”

Captain Daniel Hawthorne nodded, forcing himself to walk back to the command chair and sit down.  Peering over his officer’s shoulder was accomplishing nothing, even though he was tenser than he wanted to admit.  He wanted to see some action and, so far, they’d hung in the Greenland System for over two weeks without anything happening.  They couldn't even rotate crew through the system’s shore leave facilities.  The orders from Commodore Brent-Cochrane had been simple.  They were to remain in the system, unknown even to the local System Command, and wait.  When the rebels arrived, they were to power up their drive and jump out of the system to where the Commodore and his fleet were waiting.

It was a mission suited to a destroyer – the smallest true warship in service – yet it wasn't one that suited Daniel, nor was it one fitting for a man of his seniority.  He should have been commanding a heavy cruiser or maybe even a battlecruiser, but an evening of drunken rudeness to a senior officer had put an end to that.  He’d been ordered to take command of
Snow White
, a destroyer, and all that his seniority could do was keep him from being summarily dismissed.  Was it any surprise that he'd climbed into a bottle?  It was far more surprising that Commodore Brent-Cochrane, having taken command of the squadron, had helped him to climb
out
of it and assigned him to new responsibilities.  It went against the grain to admit that he needed help from such a young man – regeneration treatments or not, he would have been astonished if the Commodore was any older than forty – but perhaps it was working.  Or perhaps not; he had been floating in orbit, all systems powered down as far as they would go without depowering his ship, for two weeks...and he was bored.

He glanced around the bridge, scowling as he studied the displays.  The bridge was cramped – the seven officers on duty rubbed shoulders far more than they should – and cold, despite his uniform.  The destroyer’s sixty crewmen were good sorts, at least, but he’d heard the grumbles and knew that they didn't want to stay under blackout conditions much longer.  Neither did their Captain, of course, yet he understood the importance of their mission.  It wasn't something he could share with the crew.

“The rebels are very likely to target your assigned worlds,” Commodore Brent-Cochrane had said.  He’d positioned his ships in interstellar space, which was against doctrine, but would give them an excellent chance of being able to respond to a crisis as soon as it appeared.  “If they target your world, I want you to jump out and whistle up the troops without being detected.  The rebels won’t have time to bring up their own sensors before you’re out of there.”

“Continue tracking the freighters,” he ordered.  Like Piccadilly, Greenland was owned and operated solely by the Roosevelt Family.  The Imperial Navy had been asked to stand guard in the system, reinforcing the two orbital fortresses and the hundreds of automated weapons platforms, but Brent-Cochrane had chosen to creatively interpret his orders.  If the rebels did attack the system, he’d calculated, his force would have time to intercept before serious harm was done.  It wasn’t an attitude calculated to please the Roosevelt representative at Camelot and Daniel was sure that angry messages were already burning up the light years towards Earth.  “Perhaps we can run a few tracking exercises, or maybe just tighten up the scans.”

He settled back into his chair and tried to relax.  Stacy Roosevelt had actually tried to issue orders directly to Brent-Cochrane’s squadron, a serious breach of military etiquette.  Daniel rather hoped that she would be summarily dismissed from the Imperial Navy for gross incompetence – the Imperial Navy had lost ships before, but no one had ever managed to lose nine superdreadnaughts to a set of boarding parties – but he doubted that it would come to that.  Her Family would manage to save her career, yet the Imperial Navy would probably try to send her somewhere harmless.  There was no shortage of places to send young officers who couldn't be trusted not to screw up on a more serious posting.

“Two more ships, Captain,” the sensor officer reported.  Two new green icons flickered into life, new freighters heading down towards the planet.  Interstellar trade within the sector was starting to die away now, even though the interplanetary trade was as strong as ever.  Perhaps the rebel raiders were being careful about coming deep into an unfriendly star system, or perhaps they were just concentrating on exterminating the interstellar shipping first.  Daniel scowled. 
That
was where he should be, watching over helpless freighters as they moved from system to system, not wasting his time on a system that was perfectly capable of looking after itself.  “One of the freighters has an unusual drive signature.”

Daniel looked up, interested.  Any relief from boredom was welcome.  “Is it a rebel ship trying to be cute?”

“Uncertain, sir,” the sensor officer said.  “It could be the result of normal wear and tear, or it could be a Captain trying to pretend to be a merchant ship and not succeeding very well.  We could try to slip closer and take a look at it, perhaps test the cloaking device against active sensors...”

“No,” Daniel said, reluctantly.  Sneaking up on a freighter was easy, as thousands of pirates and millions of dead spacers could testify, even without a cloaking device. 
Snow White
could probably do it without losing her cover, yet he knew better than to try.  The Commodore had been most specific.  They were to remain undercover until – if – the rebels attacked and only then were they to break cover.  “We stay here and remain hidden.”

The sensor officer scowled, but nodded.  Under cloak, they could remain hidden indefinitely, at least until they came close to the defences surrounding the planet.  After what had happened at Piccadilly, the Roosevelt Family knew exactly what could happen to their other planets and had issued new orders.  No starship was to be allowed to approach the defences without proving its identity several times over, using new identification codes that were being hand-carried from star to star.  If
Snow White
ventured too close, the chances were good that the turbulence she would leave in her wake would be detected and she would be fired upon before she could identify herself.  The last thing he wanted to do was die at the hands of friendly forces.

Daniel shared his frustration, but there was nothing he could do, apart from endless drills and repair work.  He was proud of his crew, for all that they were fewer in number than he deserved, than he had earned through his years of service to the Empire. 
Snow White
was a tight little ship, even if her previous Captain had insisted on decorating her with images of a dark-haired woman with extraordinarily pale skin.  Some of the images were nude, yet still demure, as if the girl was imbued with inner dignity.  Daniel had found the images haunting at first, but he had grown to love them over the years.  He had no idea what the crew thought about it.

“Hold us here,” he ordered.  The two newcomers were heading down towards the planet, exchanging signs and countersigns with the defences.  A Marine assault shuttle was already flying towards them, intent on searching the ships before they were allowed to come any closer.  “I think it’s time for a drill.”

Without further delay, he hit a pre-programmed set of commands and the alert sirens began to blare through the hull.

***

“And so all of the repairs have been completed,” Flag Captain Jeremy Damiani said.  His statement was echoed by the other Captains, whose ghostly images floated in the middle of Colin’s stateroom like spectres at a feast.  The Imperial Navy might insist on all such discussions being done in person, but Colin saw no reason to maintain an outdated tradition.  Besides, he suspected that it was done so that the various commanders could show off their cooks and the Popular Front had no time for such nonsense.  “We are fully combat-capable and raring to go.”

Colin smiled, knowing that Percival – assuming that he had an accurate report on the Battle of Jackson’s Folly – would be astonished and horrified to discover how quickly his ships had been repaired.  Thanks to Daria – and, to a lesser extent Hester – he had tapped into a rich vein of talent in the Beyond, engineers and repair crews who actually knew what they were doing.  The Imperial Navy might prefer not to educate its crews too much, but the Beyond had no time for such luxuries and Colin hadn't hesitated to take advantage of it.  The superdreadnaughts had swapped out all the damaged components and replaced them within days.

“Excellent,” he said.  He glanced up at the commanding officer of the
General Grant
, which had been the main target during the Battle of Jackson’s Folly.  “Are you sure that your ship is in fighting trim?”

“I am certain of it, sir,” the young commander said.  Like Colin, he’d been an XO on the Observation Squadron before the mutiny and an enthusiastic participant from Day One.  It was ironic, but if there was one thing that the Empire and the Popular Front had in coming, it was that neither of them would willingly give a superdreadnaught to a man they didn't trust.  Colin had decided, not without regret, to move the superdreadnaught officers elsewhere, just in case.  “We had to go EVA to swap out some of the armour plates, but we’re back in order now and” – he grinned at Damiani – “raring to go.”

Colin smiled.  “Excellent,” he said, again.  The recon missions had already been dispatched to Greenland, although he had been reluctant to use the same tactic more often than necessary.  By now, the Imperial Navy would know to look for a freighter that appeared to have been abandoned by its crew.  Or perhaps they would be paranoid about everything that entered their system, with very good reason.  The reports from his agents at Camelot had reported that Admiral Percival had started updating the IFF signals again, this time making it impossible for a ship to enter the inner system without being searched.  “If there are no other concerns...”

He waited, but no one spoke.  “This may be our most challenging encounter yet,” he added.  The preliminary recon missions had suggested that there was nothing unexpected within the system, yet two armoured fortresses in orbit and thousands of automated platforms were nothing to laugh at, particularly when they couldn't sneak up on the bastards and blow them away before they could react.  “Once we get the recon data back from the gunboats, we jump in hard and fast, concentrating on wrecking as much of the Roosevelt Family’s investment as possible, before we vanish again.”

Colin smiled ruefully at the thought.  Standard Imperial Navy doctrine held that superdreadnaughts were only to be used for decisive attacks – and, of course, for intimidating anyone who might be questioning their loyalty to the Empire.  The idea of using them for hit and run raids would have horrified his instructors, but Colin had discovered that the tactic worked very well.  Certainly, battlecruisers had their advantages when it came to raiding – they could outgun anything that could actually catch them – yet there was something to be said for using ships so powerful that very little else could stand up to them...and besides, it wasn't as if the planets could run away.  No one had yet succeeded in building a flicker drive powerful enough to transport a whole planet somewhere else.

“There’s no point in pushing to actually take the planet,” he concluded.  He'd thought as much, but he’d resolved to remain flexible until he saw what they were actually facing.  “We get in, wreak havoc and get out again.  No heroics.”

He smiled at their expressions and then made a show of checking his watch.  “You have your orders,” he said.  “Good luck to us all.”

Colin sat back as the holograms vanished, one by one.  The Empire’s standard etiquette was that sending a hologram was rude, unless the sender was bedridden or otherwise unable to attend.  Personally, Colin had never understood it...but then, he had never really understood the point of many traditions.  Percival, who had been a past master of political backstabbing, had once commented – in a moment of candour – that failing to maintain what society regarded as good manners was often seen as a sign of weakness.  Among the Thousand Families, showing weakness was very likely to lead to disaster.  Even so, Colin saw no reason to maintain the tradition and had no intention of allowing his fleet to adopt it.

“No heroics,” Anderson said, from where he had been sitting on the other side of the cabin.  “Do you think that that is going to make them cautious?”

Colin shrugged.  There were some wilder souls in the rebellion who deserved their own independent commands, where they could indulge their taste for fighting without risking the overall plan.  Once the newer starships started coming out of the shipyards the Geeks were constructing, he would be able to start assigning more officers to command slots, while ensuring that the superdreadnaughts remained firmly in the hands of his loyalists.