Democracy 1: Democracy's Right (20 page)

“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.

Brent-Cochrane looked at her, winked at her as soon as his eye was out of sight of the various holograms drifting in the compartment, and then turned back to his subordinates.  “We will be holding another comparable drill tomorrow,” he warned, dryly.  “I expect that each and every one of you will do better, or else.”

He tapped a switch and the holograms vanished.  “Captain,” Brent-Cochrane said, turning so that he could look up towards Penny.  His face split into a remarkably skewed grin.  “Would you believe that four superdreadnaughts could beat five?”

Penny wouldn't have, but there was no point in disagreeing with him.  Brent-Cochrane might be a mere Commodore, yet he had connections that reached back into the Empire, connections that would allow him to squash an uppity commoner-born officer, even if she was an aide to an Admiral.  Besides, the part of her that remained a professional naval officer was keenly interested.  The fleet was rarely allowed to hold any kind of unformulated war games.

“It turns out that they can,” Brent-Cochrane said, waving her to a chair.  His grin only grew wider.  “You see, the four superdreadnaughts were backed up by swarms of smaller ships, all of which added their own point defence fire to the battle – and all of which were deemed expendable.  The five superdreadnaughts simply lacked the firepower to punch through that wall of point defence before it was too late.”

He clicked his fingers as his stewardess arrived.  “Natasha,” he sang out.  “A glass of the finest Amber Dark for me and another for my guest, at once, if you please.”

Penny frowned inwardly as the stewardess vanished out of the hatch and returned with two wine glasses and a tall thin bottle, from which she poured a blue liquid into the glasses.  Penny was mildly surprised to see her – stewards and stewardesses were one of the perks of being a senior officer, yet they normally stayed in their master’s quarters and away from the CIC.  The stewardess was short, which very pale hair and a near-golden face.  It was fairly certain, Penny was sure, that she was Brent-Cochrane’s lover. 

She took one of the glasses and sniffed it carefully, as tradition dictated, although she was sure that someone as well connected as Brent-Cochrane would never stoop to serving an inferior brand.  Amber Dark originated on one world – the vines couldn't be transplanted to another world – and was so expensive that only the highest of the high were able to afford it.  Penny had only tasted it once before, when she’d been at a formal ball with Percival, and she had been impressed.  It was the finest wine in the Empire.

Brent-Cochrane lifted his glass and met her eyes.  “Confusion to the rebels,” he said, and took a sip.  No one would swill Amber Dark as if it were a cheap beer.  “I trust that you like it?”

Penny took a sip of her own, using the motion to mask her confusion.  Brent-Cochrane was being friendly, too friendly.  He’d welcomed her onboard, had her piped onto his ship by no less than the ship’s XO and even invited her into his private flag compartment.  If she’d been a very well-connected person, she would have suspected that Brent-Cochrane wanted to impress her, yet why would he bother?  Penny had nothing that Natasha – or plenty of other women – had.  Why, then, was he attempting to seduce her...and, for that matter, just what did he want?

“It’s very sweet,” she said, honestly.  She took a second sip, feeling the silky taste billowing over her tongue, and then put the glass down on the nearest table.  Natasha moved in to refill the glass.  “The Admiral has some orders for you and your squadron.”

“Let’s be honest, shall we?”  Brent-Cochrane asked, taking another sip himself.  “You’re the one who gives the Admiral ideas he turns into orders, are you not?”

Penny swallowed several responses that came to mind.  Somehow, having Brent-Cochrane - of all people – put it into words cut through all of her defences.  Percival was a known problem; he was a brutal sadist and incompetent, yet she knew him.  Brent-Cochrane was someone she knew far less well.  She dared not show him any hint of her real feelings, but somehow she was certain that they had already moved far past that stage.

“I cannot say that that is really surprising,” Brent-Cochrane said.  He was staring into his glass, watching as the light blue liquid seemed to spin around, catching and redirecting the light, but she was sure that he was watching her carefully.  “The
dear
Admiral” – his voice had become mocking, a form of mockery that he would never have dared use to his face – “is responsible for the mutiny.  Oh yes” – seeing her expression and mistaking it for surprise – “our lord and master betrayed the chief mutineer and then failed to make sure that he was truly broken.  I wonder what his superiors would make of that.”

Penny picked up her glass and took another sip, trying to sort through her conflicting feelings.  “It's quite a problem for him,” Brent-Cochrane continued, when she seemed unwilling to continue speaking.  “If he fails to contain the rebellion in time – before it spreads – he is likely to end up getting the blame and his patrons will be the first to blame him.  The Roosevelt Family isn't going to back him now, not when their interests are the worst affected.  I wonder...what will he do then?”

His gaze sharpened.  “And what will you do, I wonder, when Percival crashes and burns?”

“I do not know,” Penny admitted.  She had never felt so vulnerable.  Like it or not, she had linked her career to Admiral Percival’s career – and if he fell, so too did she.  His family might ensure that he received a posting somewhere well away from everyone else – or perhaps arrange a quiet retirement for him – but they wouldn't bother to do anything for her.  She would be lucky to be allowed to resign; it was far more likely that she’d be turned into a scapegoat for Percival’s failure.  Five years of helping him, of trying to steer him away from mistakes and allowing him to indulge his unnatural lusts with her would have been for nothing.

“I could help you,” Brent-Cochrane said, surprisingly.  Penny knew better than to think he was offering out of the goodness of his heart.  There would very definitely be a quid pro quo involved somewhere.  “You could transfer yourself to me.”

Penny felt her eyes narrow.  “And what will happen to you if Percival falls?”

Brent-Cochrane leaned back in his chair, projecting complete unconcern.  “If the Admiral falls,” he said, “he will carry the blame for the failure.  I, as one of his subordinates, would be in an excellent position to move up, perhaps even to take his place as Sector Commander.  My family would definitely prevent him from trying to slip the blame onto me.  Even if I didn't get the position, I would still be in a far better place than anyone else.”

Penny considered it.  It seemed fairly likely that Brent-Cochrane was actually right.  Even if he wasn't, it might just allow her a chance to escape the fall of her patron without ill effects.  Or perhaps she was deluding herself.  When different patrons clashed, it was always their clients who bore the brunt of the fighting. 

The thought wasn't a cheerful one.  She’d seen enough, from working at Admiral Percival’s shoulder, to know that the patronage system was the only thing keeping the Empire together.  Parliament was a joke; the independent judiciary had been penetrated and broken by the Thousand Families in so many ways.  And, of course, there was no Emperor.  The Thousand Families, she suspected, would one day reach a point where they could no longer expand, or extend their networks of patronage any further.  She had no idea what would happen then, but she was fairly sure it would be bloody.  The Thousand Families would turn on one another and the Empire would burn in the crossfire.

“You might be right,” she conceded, finally.  If he wanted to be blunt, she could be blunt too; besides, it was slightly refreshing.  Percival would never allow her to speak freely.  “What are you offering me?”

Brent-Cochrane didn't look offended at her directness.  “At the moment, I wish you to report to me – privately – on the doings of our lord and master,” he said.  “When Percival falls, I will take you under my wing and have you assigned to my staff.  I may even be able to get you a command of your own.  Or, if you wish, I could pay you; a few hundred thousand credits would ensure that you no longer needed to serve in the Imperial Navy.”

Penny kept her face expressionless as she ran through a series of thoughts in her head.  The money wouldn't be any protection if things went sour unless she had it switched into an untraceable credit account, changed her name and vanished.  Even then, Imperial Intelligence would probably be able to track her down.  It was tempting to cling to what remained of her integrity, yet the truth was that she had none, and had none since she had first started to whore herself to Percival.  It was a bitter thought. 

And there was no point in giving her loyalty to a man who would show her none.

“I accept,” she said, tightly.  Brent-Cochrane’s eyes flickered with delight.  “I’d like both the credits and the placement, once the Admiral has fallen.”

“Of course,” Brent-Cochrane said.  It would be small change to him, of course.  He could have paid her far more without needing to worry about his bank balance.  His eyes fell on her uniform jacket.  Unwisely, she’d worn one of the tighter outfits and she could feel his eyes leaving trails of slime all over her breasts.  “And there was one other thing I wanted...”
 

Penny nodded slowly and started to unbutton her jacket.

***

Afterwards, unlike Percival, Brent-Cochrane started to get dressed again almost at once.  He had to have given some kind of signal to the outside world – although Penny had seen nothing – and no one had interrupted them during their brief tryst.  Penny was relieved about that – even though it wasn't as if she had any dignity left for a voyeur to steal – yet she wished that she were alone.  She needed to think and think hard.   And she wasn't sure why Brent-Cochrane had insisted that she give herself to him.  Had it been a way to pressure her, to remind her of whom she now belonged to, or was it more primal, an attempt to beat the Admiral by sleeping with his lover?