Democracy 1: Democracy's Right (33 page)

And if the groups were willing – no, begging – to go face death…

He pushed the thought out of his mind as he strode into the transport.  Time was ticking away and no one knew how long it would be before the Empire returned to Jackson’s Folly.  They might well have less time than they thought.

***

Colin paced the command deck as the final set of transports completed loading up.  He’d been surprised to discover – although perhaps he shouldn’t have been – that several native-built freighters had been hidden within the system, their drives and anything else that might attract attention powered down.  They’d been rapidly reactivated and put to work, allowing him to transport out more people than he’d believed possible.  Even so, time was ticking away…

They'd completed transferring supplies down to Jackson’s Folly hours ago, although
that
had been a fairly simple task.  Colin had watched as Java and his various subordinates had taken delivery of the supplies, before fading back into the underground to prepare for the next invasion.  If there was a next invasion…in Admiral Percival’s shoes, Colin would have refused to launch another invasion until he received reinforcements from the Empire.  It was a shame that the rebels didn’t have any source close to Percival himself.  Colin knew what Percival had to deploy against his forces, but what did he
intend
to do?  Gauging intentions was an important part of intelligence work and Colin had no way of knowing what Percival was actually planning to do.  Defeat the rebellion, obviously, before it got out of control…but how did he intend to do that?

“Admiral,” the communications officer said.  “The transports are signalling that they’re casting off now.”

Colin nodded.  The orbital manufacturing complexes orbiting Jackson’s Folly were now without the workforce that made them work.  They were still intact – Colin hadn’t even taken the opportunity to upload something nasty into their computers – but without their workforce, a whole new force would have to be trained up before the Empire could make use of them.  They had the time…but did they have the patience?

“Good,” he said.  He hated to cut and run, leaving the system completely defenceless, but there was no other choice.  Besides, if they were really lucky, Percival would be diverting his superdreadnaughts towards Jackson’s Folly, allowing Colin to wreak havoc elsewhere.  Only a fool would seek to command an interstellar war as if he could micromanage it, so Colin knew better than to count on it, but it would be useful if the superdreadnaughts were distracted.  “Order them to flicker out now.”

The display updated rapidly as the transports flashed and vanished into flicker space, reappearing seven light years away at the first waypoint.  There, they would be escorted back to the Beyond, where they would be unloaded, adding new strength to the rebellion.  In the meantime…the rebel fleet had other plans, plans Colin had drawn up before the council had insisted on raiding Jackson’s Folly.  They had been delayed long enough.

Colin smiled.  Hester had – reluctantly – agreed to go back on the transport fleet, removing one worry from Colin’s mind.  Hester might be too old to lead the fight in person, but she was an inspiration.  The rebellion needed her, perhaps more than it needed Colin.  Or perhaps that was just a kind of reverse vanity.  It hadn’t been Hester who had captured nine superdreadnaughts and given the Empire its first serious fight in centuries.

“Helm, set coordinates for the reserved waypoint,” he ordered, calmly.  Behind him, Jackson’s Folly would wait for the Empire to return, like a woman awaiting her rapist with a hidden knife.  The Empire wouldn’t have any difficulty reassuming control over the high orbitals, but the ground would suddenly be much harder, if only because they would have to ship in a whole new army.  “Take us out of here.”

His smile darkened as the superdreadnaught flickered out of the system, heading deeper into the Empire, heading towards Greenland.  The second major Roosevelt-owned system and the perfect target, at least as far as Colin was concerned, for hitting it would drive the Roosevelt Family to fury.  And Percival, the failed Admiral, would lose all hope of promotion.

And then Colin would come for him too.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“I assume,” Percival said, in a cold hard tone, “that you have an explanation for this?”

Standing ramrod straight, her arms at her side, Captain-Commodore Angelika McDonald slowly counted up to fifty under her breath.  She’d transmitted a report to Admiral Percival as soon as
Violence
had flickered into the system, hoping to discourage him or one of his subordinates from bombarding her with requests for details, but it hadn’t worked.  Admiral Percival had ordered her to report to him as soon as possible, using words that clearly meant
right damned now
.

“Yes, sir,” Angelika said.  She knew what Percival meant, but she was damned if she was going to allow him to place the blame on her.  “I retreated in the face of superior firepower.”

“You fled in the face of the enemy,” Percival snapped.  His piggy eyes glared at her, boring in on her face like twin laser beams.  “The board of inquiry will...”

That did it.  “With all due respect,
Admiral
,” Angelika said, “perhaps you would care to explain how a handful of smaller ships are expected to defeat a squadron of nine superdreadnaughts?”

His face purpled alarmingly, but she pressed her advantage.  “If you hold a board of inquiry into the battle, the board will discover that I fought as long as I could and then withdrew from the system, rather than getting my command destroyed for no reason,” she added.  “Once you ordered the superdreadnaughts withdrawn from the Jackson’s Folly system, the rebels could come knocking on the door any time they liked.  It was a disaster waiting to happen.

“Furthermore,” she said.  “I will not accept a tame board of inquiry.  As is my right under Imperial Navy Regulations, I demand that the supervising officer be drawn from the nearest sector and made fully appraised of all of the important facts before holding the inquiry.”

Percival stared at her, as if he were hoping that she would wilt under his gaze.  Angelika felt, oddly, as if she was in a battle, one she would win as long as she held her nerve.  She’d worked closely enough with Percival to know that he was both a coward and, despite his pretensions, alarmingly exposed.  His patrons would shift away once they realised that they would be tarred with the same brush of failure, Percival’s failure.  He was the man on the spot when the rebels stole nine superdreadnaughts and vanished, never mind that Camelot was far too far away from Jackson’s Folly for him to exercise any real control.

She found herself silently hoping that
her
patrons wouldn't let her down, for the regulations she’d cited could be put aside by a senior officer with sufficient patronage, or political clout.  Or, for that matter, Percival could try to appoint one of his cronies to run it, just to ensure that it voted the right way.  Her career had either been boosted beyond measure, or destroyed.  But then, even a tame court-martial would expose Percival’s own failings and his enemies would have a chance to destroy him.

“I realise that you retreated in the face of superior firepower,” Percival said, finally.  Angelika grinned inwardly.  He’d surrendered, no matter whatever face he chose to put on defeat.  “Even so, there is the issue of the loss of Jackson’s Folly or the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Blackshirts, all of which need to be discussed.”

“There’s very little to discuss,” Angelika said, calmly.  “The Blackshirts were on a hostile planet when their covering forces had to leave the system.”  She thought about pointing out that if she’d stood and fought, the monitors would have been destroyed along with her force, but pushed the thought aside.  “The locals will have taken their revenge by now.  Imperial Law allows for only one response.”

“There is nothing we can do until we make contact with one of the superdreadnaught squadrons,” Percival said, weakly.  “The rebels...”

“...Will have retreated from the Jackson’s Folly system, leaving us nothing, but a rebellious planet and probably a few unpleasant surprises in orbit,” Angelika said, interrupting.  Who knew – perhaps Percival could be driven into having a heart attack.  His death would strengthen the Empire.  “If you send back a squadron of destroyers, you would be able to recover the system without serious losses.”

Percival stared down at his priceless wooden table, muttering under his breath.  Angelika took the moment to look over at the Admiral’s aide and wink at her.  The aide – a tall blonde woman with a jacket tighter than regulations allowed – looked back at her, expressionlessly.  Angelika would have bet half her salary that the aide was smarter than Percival and resented being placed in a position where she had to turn his half-baked ideas into reality.  If she could be turned, she would make a powerful ally, but Angelika lacked the patronage or clout to reach out and make an offer.

“And are you prepared to escort that force?”  Percival demanded, finally.  “Or will you remain here until your squadron is reformed?”

Angelika felt her lips thin angrily, but resisted the temptation to make sarcastic remarks.  Camelot, as an Imperial Navy Sector Headquarters, was heavily defended at all times, but as she’d returned to the system she’d seen new weapons emplacements and hundreds of new orbital weapons platforms.  There were so many of them that she suspected that System Command would have some problems controlling them all as a unit.  If she’d been in command of the system, she would have decentralised it, but Percival was too much of a control freak to allow it.  Besides, he had plenty of enemies and one of them might take advantage of a decentralised network to attack him.

“Yes, sir,” she said, refusing to rise to the bait.  An accusation of personal cowardliness wouldn't look good on her record, although – coming to think of it – she couldn't remember any time in which Percival had been in serious danger.  The man was a coward as well as a sadist.  “My ships are already being restocked by the facilities at this system.  Once the loading is complete, we will return to Jackson’s Folly and reclaim the system.”

Carefully, of course
, she added privately.  Whatever she had said to Percival, it seemed to her that the rebels might reason it out the same way – and deliberately lurk in the system to ambush her when she returned.  Or perhaps they would be off wreaking havoc on the other side of the sector and wouldn't know that Jackson’s Folly had been reclaimed for the second time.  There was no way to know until she returned and investigated the system.

She smiled, as if she’d just had a bright idea.  “Perhaps you would like to accompany us?”  She added.  “The crew would consider it a boost to their morale if their commanding officer was to be flying with them towards certain victory.”

Percival hesitated.  “I fear I cannot leave this base,” he said, stiffly.  Angelika snickered inwardly, knowing what he truly meant.  He could have left Camelot in the hands of his XO and accompanied the fleet to Jackson’s Folly, if he had wished to do so.  “I will embark on a grand tour of the sector once the rebellion has been destroyed.”

“Of course, sir,” Angelika said.  She stood to attention and saluted.  “And with your permission, I will return to my ship and wait for the loading to be completed.”

“Go,” Percival growled.  “And
Captain
, if you fail to reclaim the world for the Empire, just don't bother coming back.”

***

Penny made sure to stay out of Percival’s way as he stalked the compartment, clenching his fists and muttering under his breath as he railed against both Captain-Commodore MacDonald and many of his own well-born or well-connected subordinates.  Penny had known that Percival had a tendency towards paranoia – it wasn't a bad trait to have if they really were out to get you – yet she was surprised at just how deeply it had worked its way into his mind.  He hadn’t been blind to Brent-Cochrane’s manoeuvrings – or his rather-less-than-subtle dig at his commanding officer – and now there was a second officer seemingly intent on pushing him over the brink.

She smiled inwardly as he bent over the terminal and tapped it rapidly, scrolling through sheets of reports provided by various star systems.  He had ordered, against Penny’s advice, that every star system and duty station was to report its status as often as possible – and fired off demerits and demotions for officers who failed to produce comprehensive reports.  In theory, it should have allowed him a perfect image of the sector and how it was functioning; in practice, it was just another waste of time, a substitute for real action.  She couldn't imagine Brent-Cochrane or another competent officer wasting his time with such garbage.

Angelika’s position, Penny suspected, was stronger than she had known.  If Percival had ordered a board of inquiry to convene, that board of inquiry would have had to look into everything, up to and including the original mutinies that had overwhelmed the Observation Squadron.  And, even with a tame board of inquiry, there would be no way to hide the sheer scale of Percival’s failures.  By law, the details would have to be communicated to Imperial Navy HQ on Luna, alerting them to the problems in Sector 117.  Thanks to the rebels, they were going to know soon enough anyway, but Percival’s board of inquiry would sharpen a few minds.  He might as well have signed his own death warrant.

“
Bitch
,” Percival said, finally.  He brought his hand hard down on the wooden table, shaking it badly.  It was real Earth-born wood, a rarity so far from Humanity’s homeworld, and it was worth more than Penny would ever see in her life.  And yet, Percival was prepared to damage it, even to destroy it, just because he was angry.  “That bitch presumes that she can dictate to me!”

Penny thought it was safest to say nothing and let him work it out of his system, so she pretended to pay attention as Percival raged, blaming each and everyone – apart from himself – for the disasters that had swept through Sector 117.  He stormed backwards and forwards, banging his hand against the bulkheads and the desk, but he didn't lay a hand on her.  Penny was relieved, but also puzzled.  Had he sensed something about her, perhaps the hope she’d felt after Brent-Cochrane had welcomed her into his circle?  Or had he just decided not to take his anger out on her?

“And so we have to find more Blackshirts and sent them to Jackson’s Folly, where they too will be killed,” Percival finished.  “How many Blackshirts can we scrape up if we cut all of the garrisons in the Sector down to the bare minimum?”

Penny, who had worked the numbers out weeks ago, was ready.  “Around seven hundred thousand, sir,” she said, briskly.  There just weren't that many Blackshirts left in the Sector, not after the rebels had captured the first invasion force intact and devastated the second force months later.  She would be very surprised to discover that a single Blackshirt was left alive on Jackson’s Folly.  Percival had stripped out a sizable force for the first invasion and had to do the same for the second invasion.  There might be an unlimited supply of Blackshirts – there was no shortage of people willing to join, be injected with tailored drugs and sent out to kill on behalf of the Empire – yet it took time to train up new ones.  “I’m afraid that transport is also going to be a bottleneck.”

“Those goddamned raiders,” Percival exploded.  Penny could only nod.  She didn’t know how they’d done it, but the rebels had managed to get most of the rebel groups working together, specifically targeting Imperial shipping.  Their targeted raids – they were so well targeted that she was sure that they had a source somewhere within Camelot – were having a dangerous effect on local shipping.  “God damn those bastards to hell!”

Penny carefully didn't mention a second problem.  No matter how she looked at it, it was alarmingly clear that too much tonnage was disappearing for it to be raiders, unless the raiders possessed a fleet large enough to stand up to several battle squadrons.  She hadn't brought it to Percival’s attention, but she suspected that the true explanation was much simpler than they had realised.  The ships were vanishing because their crews were mutinying against their superiors – or the shipping lines that held them in bondage – and setting out to find the rebels.  It seemed impossible, until she looked at the freighter designs.  There was no way they could all be secured without placing a company of Blackshirts on each and every freighter.  And that, judging from some of the incidents on Imperial Navy starships, would do nothing for morale.

By her off-hand calculations, the shipping in Sector 117 was disappearing at an alarming rate, damaging the ties that held the sector together.  What would happen then?  There was no way to know for sure, but some of the planets simply couldn’t feed themselves, which would result in mass starvation.  At least the rebels hadn't been targeting cloudscoops, although that might change in a hurry.  A shortage of HE-3 would ensure that interstellar shipping ground to a halt.  And what would Percival do then?