Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Light

He waved a hand towards a second chair, placed at the heart of the bridge. The Victorious had originally been designed as a flagship for a planned class of battlecruisers, although the rebellion had prevented the construction of additional units. The Commodore’s chair was next to the Captain’s chair, although it was slightly recessed, reminding everyone that the Captain had — in theory — the final authority on his ship. In practice, there were plenty of Commodores who were happy to run both the starship and the squadron themselves. The Imperial Navy, according to her husband, had never been short of friction between the ranks.

“I hope that this will be a gentle transition,” she said, remembering her first faster-than-light flight with a shudder. “Did you program the drive so that we came out at rest to the planet?”

“Yes, My Lady,” Dayton assured her. “It should be as smooth a return to normal space as we get in this day and age.”

“Emergence,” the helmsman said. The starship’s lights flickered as it returned to normal space. “Emergence complete. Drive cycling down to standby and recharging.”

Carola braced herself, but she only felt queasy for a second, as if she had swallowed something bad. It was far more likely that a return to normal space would have left her on the verge of throwing up, but the helmsman and the engineers were clearly good at their jobs. Admiral Wilhelm had insisted on regenerating his entire fleet, partly as an excuse to avoid sending additional units to the front lines, and it showed. The Cottbus Sector Fleet was the best in the Empire, with the possible exception of the Shadow Fleet.

“Emergence zone is clear,” the sensor officer reported. “I am reading at least four squadrons of superdreadnaughts near Earth, twenty-one of them apparently of an unfamiliar design…”

“How do you know they’re superdreadnaughts?” Carola asked, interrupting him. She ignored the sidelong glance from the Captain, only vaguely aware that she had committed some breach of etiquette. “They could be other ships, couldn’t they?”

“Their power curves are far too large to be anything, but superdreadnaughts,” the sensor officer said, slowly. She got the impression he hadn’t known if he should answer her or not. “There are hundreds of sublight craft moving around in the system, but I don’t have any clear identification on them yet. There’s nothing in any position to engage us, unless they’re using cloaked pickets.”

Her bemusement must have shown on her face, for Captain Dayton explained. “The pirates are fond of lurking in an emergence zone under cloak and trying to hijack freighters when they emerge from flicker-space,” he said. If he resented having to explain what must have been basic details to her, he didn’t show it. “The rebels might have had a few ships lurking in the emergence zone, but apparently not. We’re not going to be launching probes, of course.”

Carola nodded. In a universe where any emerging attack force launched probes as a matter of course, looking for cloaked starships and other unpleasant surprises, launching probes alone could be considered a hostile act. Now that they were in the solar system, with at least four squadrons of superdreadnaughts nearby, she had the urge to be as unthreatening as possible. Any one of them could have blown the Victorious into flaming plasma if the battlecruiser came within range of their weapons.

“They will have picked us up the moment we arrived,” Captain Dayton added. “I suspect that they will be trying to decide if we’re an early section of an assault force or a starship that lost its way. The longer they take to hail us and demand to know what we’re doing here, the higher up the question will have gone before its answered.”

“I see,” Carola said. She glanced down at her timepiece. “We’ve been here for three minutes. Does that mean that the rebels haven’t told their senior leaders that we’re here?”

“I have no idea,” Captain Dayton said. “The only thing we can do is…”

“ Contact ,” the sensor officer snapped, as nine red icons flickered into existence on the display. An alarm rang and Carola found herself tensing up. “I have nine battlecruisers, flickering into long-range engagement range. They’re sweeping us with targeting sensors…”

“Hold your fire,” Captain Dayton said. Carola looked up at the red sensor beams washing over the display and shivered. The drive wouldn’t have finished recharging yet. If the newcomers decided to open fire… the Victorious wouldn’t last very long. “Do nothing without a direct order…”

The Victorious won’t be victorious , a part of her mind whispered, tritely. I guess I won’t come home at all …

Her life seemed to flash in front of her eyes. She remembered meeting Markus when they’d both been younger and accepting his suit, against the wishes of her parents. She remembered becoming part of the social scene, sucking up to the Thousand Families and doing everyone else down, while painstakingly manipulating everyone she could to enhance his career. As his star rose, so did hers, while outsiders were used or cast aside as she willed. Their relationship was an odd one, even by the standards of the Empire, but it had been comfortable and it had lasted. So many others didn’t stand the test of time.

“We are being hailed,” the communications officer said, finally. “They want to know what we’re doing here.”

“Transmit our standard IFF,” Captain Dayton said. There was a long pause. “Ambassador, you’re up next.”

The display reformatted itself into a holographic flatscreen, showing a young woman wearing a light blue uniform. Carola recognised nothing, but the gold ring of a Captain she wore on her finger. She looked too young to be doing anything, but sitting in school and giggling over teenage crushes, but it was probably the effect of anti-aging treatments. Everyone who joined the Imperial Navy for a long term received them as a matter of course. It ensured that there was no shortage of volunteers and sweetened the treatment that new recruits received from their shipmates.

“ Victorious , this is Captain Cabrera of the William Butcher ,” she said. Her voice wasn’t young at all, but deep and cold. Carola mentally revised her estimate of the girl’s age upwards. “You have entered secure space. Please state your purpose or be fired upon.”

Friendly, aren’t they ? Carola thought wryly. “This is Ambassador Wilhelm, representing the Cottbus Sector,” she said, allowing ice to creep into her own voice. “Is this the way that you greet representatives to the new government?”

She pressed on before the rebel Captain could interrupt. “I have with me letters from the Sector Government and identification from the local councils,” she continued. “I expected to present them to Parliament and the Provisional Government, not to be treated like a suspect and greeted with pointed weapons. I should warn you that such a reception could cause an interplanetary incident.”

“Ah, welcome to Earth,” the rebel said, clearly feeling a little out of her depth. Carola didn’t blame her for that. The Empire’s normal way of dealing with diplomatic issues was to send in the Imperial Navy to crush any dissent. Diplomacy was a forgotten skill on Earth, although someone who had spent years as a social queen would certainly understand the principles, if she could get over the idea that social inferiors were always permanently inferior. “Might I enquire as to your intentions?”

Carola sighed with exaggerated patience. “Of course,” she said. “I intend to take up a parking orbit somewhere in orbit around Earth — yes, this entire ship is my Embassy, with diplomatic immunity under the Tau Ceti Convention — and present my credentials to the Provisional Government. Please would you designate us a parking orbit at once?”