Democracy 1: Democracy's Right (37 page)

***

Captain Travis Ward cursed as the enemy superdreadnaughts grew closer, although he wasn't sure who or what he was cursing.  The enemy, for being clever enough to ambush the rebel fleet, Admiral Walker, for flying right into an ambush...or himself for being stupid enough to believe in a scarred woman called Hester Hyman.  He’d fled one world as the Imperial Navy overran it, only to discover that the Empire just kept moving outwards, like a tidal wave of destruction that smashed everything it touched. 
Valiant
, his cruiser, was the last remaining starship from the Kingdom of Thayne.  The Empire had overrun the system with its normal calm efficiency and all Travis had been able to do was take his cruiser and go on the run.  The Beyond had taken him and his crew in, given them a home, but there had been no hope for his world – or for his family, trapped under the Imperial Navy’s blockade.  Travis had no way of knowing if they were alive or dead.

He could have jumped out and fled, yet something kept him in his place, something more than the fact that the Imperial Navy seemed to be ignoring the smaller ships.  The Popular Front had given him hope and, even if he was more than a little cynical about their prospects, it had meant the world to his crew.  Like Jason Cordova, they could never go home again, unless the Empire was beaten.  And the best hope for defeating the Empire seemed about to die.

“Prepare to flicker,” he ordered, keying his console.  If Admiral Walker needed time, Travis and his crew would buy it for him.  Running was simple, but he had a far more dangerous stunt in mind.  “And then remove all the governors from the flicker drive.”

His crew didn't argue, even though they understood what he was proposing.  “Yes, sir,” the helmsman said.  Turning and charging towards the enemy ships would be a quick way of committing suicide without harming the enemy, but he had another idea.  “I have laid in the course, sir.”

“It’s been a honour, gentlemen,” Travis said.  He keyed his console again, accessing files that he had never even looked at since he and his crew had gone into exile.  His wife and children, permanently young and unscarred, photographs taken before the Empire had arrived.  “Jump!”

Scientists had long known that it was possible to use a flicker drive to add additional velocity to a starship, yet it wasn't a practical tactic because the effects overwhelmed the compensators and killed the crew outright. 
Valiant
, her course already laid in, flickered through space and rematerialised right in front of one of the superdreadnaughts.  Before the enemy ship could react, the cruiser rammed the superdreadnaught and exploded.

***

“What the hell?”

“Unknown,” the tactical officer said, sounding equally puzzled.  The explosion had been extremely powerful, powerful enough to burn out the superdreadnaught’s shields and drives, leaving it floating helplessly in space.  “I don't know.”

Colin looked up at the timer.  The Imperial Navy ships seemed to have slowed, if only so their commander could figure out what had just hit him.  Colin had no intention of giving him time to figure it out.  If they kept slowing, they might just manage to escape...

***

Brent-Cochrane’s first thought was that the rebels had invented a new weapons system after all, but that didn't seem likely or his entire squadron would have been destroyed by now.  The waves of distortion coming from the explosion was making it harder for his sensors to work out what had happened, or why.  Doubtless one of the analysts would figure it out eventually, but until then...his ships had actually lost speed in the confusion.  He cursed and ordered the ships to maintain course.  Even through the rebels had nine superdreadnaughts to his seven, his sensors were making it clear that the rebels no longer had their full battery of firepower at their disposal.

He gritted his teeth.  The battle wasn’t over yet.

***

“Flicker drives ready, Admiral,” the helmsman reported.  Colin almost sagged with relief, but held himself together through sheer force of will.  “We are good to go.”

“Get us out of here,” Colin ordered.  “Jump us out now!”

A moment later, the damaged superdreadnaughts and their remaining escorts vanished from the Greenland System.

***

“They’re gone, sir,” the tactical officer said.

Brent-Cochrane shrugged.  “So they are,” he agreed.  It looked bad, but then, he’d damaged the rebel ships and prevented them from scoring another easy victory.  And, if Public Information couldn't spin that into a great victory, they weren't worth the money the Empire lavished on them.  “Signal to all ships; stand down from condition-one and forward updated damage reports to me.”

His grin grew wider. “And add a further signal,” he added.  “Well done.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Just how bad is it?”

The Chief Engineer rubbed his forehead.  The fleet had been holding position nine light years from Greenland while they conducted a preliminary assessment of the damage and planned repairs.  Colin had also sent half of his crew to their bunks to rest, knowing that the stress of the battle would have tired them out, too much to risk allowing them to help with the repairs.  The superdreadnaught’s Chief Engineer, a man who should have held a far higher rank in the Imperial Navy, had refused to be put to bed.  His beautiful ship had been badly damaged.

“Not as bad as it could have been,” he admitted, finally.  Colin wanted to shout at him, to demand answers, but they were both on the verge of collapse.  His Flag Captain had urged him to get some sleep himself, yet he had refused, knowing that he had to oversee at least the preliminary repair work.  “The main armour plating held up remarkably well.”

Colin nodded, impatiently.  If the battle had gone on for a few more minutes, even without the enemy ships slipping into energy range, it would have been disastrous.  The shields had been on the verge of complete collapse, rendering the hull vulnerable to enemy fire…even so, enough had leaked through the shields to leave parts of the hull scorched and blackened.  The bombardment against the shields themselves had been almost as bad, leaving hundreds of components burned out or badly damaged.  And seventeen crewmen were dead, killed by the enemy.  After the number of loyalists Colin had killed, it seemed painful, almost as if he had killed them personally.

It was not a rational thought.  But they’d followed him and now they were dead.

“So the structure is intact,” the Chief Engineer continued.  “We have already begun swapping out compartments from the storage bins and replacing the burned-out systems.  Given a few days, we should be back at roughly eighty percent, perhaps more if we manage to fabricate some new components here.  If not, we will have to go back to base and complete the repairs there.  The main priority is replacing the shield generators and we don’t have enough spares to replace them all.”

“And once they’re burned out, they can’t be repaired,” Colin said, in understanding.  He had never been trained as an engineer – the Imperial Navy preferred to separate the various departments, mainly through invisible lines of command – but he knew the basics, if only through making himself the master of
Shadow
, back before the mutiny.  Shield generators were built to withstand and contain vast levels of energy, redirecting it away from the ship or even into storage power cells, yet when they were overloaded they vaporised.  Four of the deaths had occurred when shield generators had exploded and damaged the starship’s interior.  “Can we fight?”

The Chief Engineer shrugged.  “Depend what you want us to fight,” he said.  “If we run into another squadron of enemy superdreadnaughts, one that is in top condition…we’re dead.  The squadron we escaped might be able to kick our ass if they ran into us now, even though we did take out one of their ships and cripple another.  Something smaller…a battlecruiser squadron, perhaps…I wouldn’t want to fight if we could avoid it.  We are not in a good state right now.”

“Yeah,” Colin said.  He’d been running through the entire battle in his mind.  They’d been committed to a missile dual the moment the enemy superdreadnaughts arrived, ensuring that damage would be roughly even.  The suicide of the
Valiant
and her crew had saved the lives of his crew – and saved the rebellion from coming to an abrupt end - yet he couldn’t order anyone to do that again.  Guilt threatened to leech up and overwhelm him, even though he knew that he hadn’t ordered the suicidal tactic.  “What about our drives?”

“The flicker drive is intact and usable, once we complete the first level of repairs,” the Chief Engineer said.  Colin sighed in relief.  Being stranded in interstellar space would have been disastrous.  By the time they limped back to the nearest inhabited star – which was controlled by the Empire – the rebellion would be over.  “We lost five drive nodes in the final moments of fighting and we need to replace them before we can power up the drive field to its fullest extent.  I suggest that we don’t attempt any more high speed chases until we complete repairs.”

Colin snorted.  The chances were good that he wouldn’t be the one making that decision.  Or perhaps not; if they crawled back to Sanctuary, they could make repairs and return to the war as good as new, backed up by the arsenal ships and the other new designs the Geeks had produced.  By now, the first squadron of arsenal ships should be ready for deployment.  And, unless he missed his guess, some idiot was going to start second-guessing him and claiming that he should have waited for them to join his fleet before attacking Greenland.

“Get some sleep,” he ordered, finally.  It was probably time to take his advice and get some rest himself.  “We’ll stay here for two more days and then start flickering home.”

He’d considered the possibility of the enemy superdreadnaughts coming after them, but if they’d been able to track Colin through the jump they’d probably have been on top of him by now.  It was a gamble, but with an overstressed squadron of starships Colin suspected that there was no other choice.  If the drives and other systems were stressed much further, they might suffer a catastrophic failure, stranding the fleet.  Or perhaps the enemy were just waiting for reinforcements.  Colin hated being uncertain of what to do, or even second-guessing himself, and yet he couldn’t avoid it now.  They’d come within a whisper of losing the battle and the entire rebellion.  The Popular Front would be meaningless without his fleet.

The thought tormented him as he returned to his uncomfortably large cabin and settled down in the bed.  Stacy Roosevelt hadn’t been content with a standard Navy-issue bed; no, she’d brought in a designer bed from some overpriced company on Earth and decorated it in her own frilly style.  Colin had the bedding replaced, yet it was still too comfortable for his tastes, as keyed up as he was.  He tossed and turned for nearly an hour before surrendering to the inevitable and injecting himself with a mild sedative.  Even so, he was still tense when he awoke and climbed into the shower.  The flow of hot water helped to calm his mood.

“I require an overall damage report,” he said, once he called his nine Captains and their Chief Engineers to a conference.  Their holograms had materialised in his quarters, apart from his own Chief Engineer, who was busy working on replacing the damaged drive nodes.  “How badly off are we?”

He kept his face expressionless as the damage reports rolled over him.  Six superdreadnaughts were in the same condition as
General Montgomery
, with minor damage that would take time and effort to repair.  Two more had suffered worse in the battle, including some structural damage that had been caused by warheads exploding against the hull.  No smaller ship could have survived such an impact, yet even so Colin knew that repairing the superdreadnaughts was vital.  They couldn’t operate without the squadron.

“We need to replace two of the main struts running through the ship,” the Chief Engineer of
General Grant
admitted.  Given that the
General Grant
had been badly damaged during the Battle of Jackson’s Folly, Colin suspected that some of the damage was caused by the remains of earlier damage, including damage that had been supposed to be repaired.  No matter how hard they worked at it, field repairs were not comparable to work done in a shipyard.  “Without those…”

Colin could imagine.  The superdreadnaught might, if it was lucky, survive…if it didn’t have to fight, or run.  If one of the main struts broke, it wouldn’t a complete disaster, but two of them would require immediate repair before the ship started to shake itself apart.  Colin had been a young Midshipman when the light cruiser
Candy
had suffered a structural failure and disintegrated while in flight.  Her Captain had been lucky not to survive the incident, as his reports, studied by the Board of Inquiry convened after the disaster, had clearly shown that he had been aware of the danger and ignored it.

“We can shore it up for the trip back home” Colin smiled, for the Rim had become home for them now – “and then replace it, but I cannot recommend that we take the ship into battle,” the ship’s Chief Engineer concluded.  “Any attempt to go to full military power will be disastrous.”

Colin nodded.  “How long will it take to replace the struts once we get home?”

The Chief Engineer considered.  “Roughly two weeks, assuming that we have a strut on hand that we can modify and fit into the superdreadnaught,” he said.  “If not, then
Fabricator
will have to manufacture a replacement strut – that might be the better option, as the Rim probably won’t have one that we can modify for a superdreadnaught – “and that will add an extra few days.  Call it twenty days in all.”

“I hope you’re not padding your estimate,” Colin said, tiredly.  He didn’t know who had started the engineering tradition of overestimating repair times – if only so the engineer could look like a miracle worker – but he had no patience for it at the best of times and definitely none now.  Twenty days…it sounded reasonable, yet who knew what Percival could do with that time?

“No, sir,” the Chief Engineer assured him.  “We may be able to cut it down to eighteen if we work additional shifts, but I doubt that it will be possible to cut it down any further.”

“Right,” Colin said.  He looked up at his Captains, all of whom had known him from before the first mutinies.  “There’s no point in hiding from the truth.  We lost the battle and we were lucky to be able to extract ourselves without losing a superdreadnaught or two.”

There were no arguments.  If they’d been in the Imperial Navy –
still
in the Imperial Navy – they would have had to come up with elaborate justifications to prove, if only to their superiors, that it hadn’t been a disaster.  Colin remembered helping Commodore Percival come up with excuses to explain failure, all of which had been required to avoid giving his many enemies more ammunition to use against him.  Now…Colin’s new navy didn’t have a tradition of painting defeats as victories and he had no intention of starting such a trend.  It made it impossible to analyse what had actually happened.

“We got jumped,” he continued.  “That leads us to two possibilities.  First, we were simply unlucky; the Imperial Navy staked out likely targets and we just flew into one of them.  Second…we were betrayed and they were there to meet us.  I want you all to consider the possibilities and we will discuss countermeasures once we are safely back at base.”

He dismissed them and settled back into the sinfully-comfortable chair.  If a single Imperial Intelligence agent
had
managed to remain undetected, who was he and why hadn’t he tried something more overt?  Come to think of it, how had he managed to deduce the target and warn the Empire?  Colin had picked Greenland himself and none of his crew had been told until they were underway.  The only ones who had known were his Captains, but if one of them intended to betray him, they could have betrayed him back at Jackson’s Folly and the mutiny would never have got off the ground.

And yet…Imperial Intelligence had a reputation for being subtle.  Could they have decided to allow the mutiny – and rebellion – to go ahead purely for some reason of their own?  Colin considered it for a moment before dismissing the thought as nonsense.  No one in their right mind would allow a rebel fleet to run amok in a sector and wreck planets belonging to one of the most powerful Families in the Empire.  Unless Imperial Intelligence was secretly working against the Roosevelt Family and…no, that had to be nonsense too.  Their position would never survive such operations.

Colin looked down at his hands, scowling.  The mind techs were good, with terrifying reputations.  It was quite possible that one of his inner circle had a secret personality, one implanted by Imperial Intelligence and programmed to serve as a spy.  It was almost impossible to detect such a personality, if only because the victim
thought
that he was loyal and, if interrogated under truth drugs or lie detectors, would swear to his own loyalty.  And yet, that theory fell down too, because the loyalist personality would never have allowed him to launch the mutinies.

The simplest answer was that they’d simply gotten unlucky.  The Empire had set a trap and Colin had flown right into it.  Even so…he keyed his console and called Anderson, issuing some very specific orders.  If there was a spy onboard, witting or unwitting, they would find him before he could do any more harm.

***

Penny had seen Percival in a temper before; indeed, she had suffered at his hands when he’d been in a furious mood.  He’d beaten her badly when he’d been told that he didn’t have the level of patronage required to move closer to the Core Worlds – where the possibility for graft and personal enrichment were endless – and again, just after the first mutinies had been reported.  Now…he seemed torn between anger and delight, a dizzying combination.  The first reports of the Battle of Greenland had just arrived, leaving Percival in the uncomfortable position of having to thank the man he suspected was plotting to unseat him.