Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Light

Or perhaps they want to keep their rackets to themselves , he thought, cynically.

“We are prepared to pay you ten thousand credits for services,” Sasha said, finally. They’d spent nearly two hours listening to him, learning much about the command fortress, but little of any real use. Charlie had seriously considered suggesting taking Peter back to their apartment and allowing Sandra to work her will on him, but that might have been revealing. “We require your knowledge of the local personnel.”

“Anyone,” Peter assured her, reaching for yet another drink from the robotic servitor. “You want anything, I know someone who can supply it, for a price. What do you want, lady?”

Sasha’s lips quirked into something that might have been mistaken for a smile. “Rebels,” she said, flatly. “There will be a rebel cell somewhere around and I want to meet them. Who are they?”

Peter stared at her, his mind numbed by the drink. “Rebels?” He asked, blearily. “You want to talk to rebels? Rebels on the command deck, what?”

Sasha merely looked at him. “Yeah, I can introduce you to rebels,” Peter said, finally. “Why do you want to talk to them?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Sasha said. Charlie allowed himself a moment of relief. Peter might have been so drunk that he couldn’t tell the difference between right and wrong, but once he sobered up, he might come to the right conclusion and start attempting to blackmail them for credits. Worse, he might blunder and bring the local security forces down on their heads. “I will give you ten thousand credits for an introduction to the local rebel cell.”

“Of course, of course,” Peter said. He pushed the last drink aside and stood up. “I will find you a rebel, great lady. Just you wait and see.”

Charlie frowned as Peter left the booth. “Are you sure…?”

“Yes,” Sasha said. “There were rebel cells everywhere, remember?”

Charlie nodded. Back at the start of the rebellion, just before the Battle of Harmony, Colin had sent a pair of messages though the ICN, using Geek-level software hacks to ensure that the message reached everywhere connected to the ICN, despite the best efforts of Imperial Intelligence. The first message had told everyone about the rebellion — which Admiral Percival had tried to hush up — and the second had told young officers just how to rebel. It had included practical advice on forming a cell, taking control of their starships and remaining hidden until it was time to strike. The message had spread far and wide, even into Cottbus itself… and the advancing Shadow Fleet had found rebel cells everywhere. They’d even been reinforced by new starships after the crews had mutinied and taken the ship.

And there would definitely be a rebel cell or more on Cottbus. It hadn’t been unknown for there to be several cells, each operating in ignorance of the other cells, to exist on a planet… and even though Admiral Wilhelm was respected, there would definitely be a cell on the planet. He doubted that Peter would know everyone in a cell, but he might well know one or two people who were involved with a cell, even if he wasn’t a rebel himself. The amount he drank, Charlie decided, suggested that any halfway sane cell would consider him a security risk.

He scowled as the waitress, a woman wearing only a bra and panties combination, came over and offered them both a drink, doing it in a manner that suggested that she could be bought, for a suitable price. He wasn’t too tempted. The patrons had probably had her already, in many places. She turned away, disappointed, revealing a shapely bottom, which was patted quickly by Peter as he came back with a young Midshipman. Charlie tensed inwardly. If Peter had made a mistake, their cover was about to be ripped away.

“I’m Midshipman Quinn,” the young man said. Charlie read his nametag and nodded. There was little point in trying to hide names when he was in uniform. “I understand that you wanted to see me?”

“One moment,” Sasha said. She called over the waitress, slipped her credit chip several hundred credits, and asked her to take care of Peter. Once they were gone, she turned back to Quinn and smiled. “We were told that you were the person we needed to talk to. You see, we’re from the Shadow Fleet.”

Quinn’s eyes went wide. Charlie watched with genuine amusement. The young man was genuine, all right. He wasn’t old enough to have perfect control over his expressions, although clearly he was already sick of the system. It made him a perfect rebel. It looked as if they’d hit pay dirt.

“Really?” He asked, finally. Caution warred with optimism in his voice. “Can you prove that?”

“Of course,” Sasha said. “Can you prove what you are?”

Daria walked into the room as if she owned it and sat down on a chair that had been old when the Empire had been formed from the ashes of the Federation. Tiberius watched, barely concealing the wince that formed in his heart, even though it was an ugly chair and worth very little, at least as far as he was concerned. His father had told him that someone had forged it, based on a far old design, and that the Family had kept it to illustrate a point. If he had known what that point actually was, he’d never had time to share it with his son.

He took his own seat more casually and smiled. “Jason will do as he is told,” he said, without bothering with any preamble. It wasn’t safe for her to stay too long at his estate, even though it was one of a handful of places where they could be sure of complete privacy. The official reason for the meeting, a discussion about Freebooter ships working to support Cicero mining interests, wouldn’t hold up under careful scrutiny. Somehow, it was hard to imagine that Colin wasn’t aware of some of their plans and that he was preparing a deadly counterattack. “I hit him with both the carrot and the stick.”

“Good,” Daria said, smoothly. Her gaze fell to the piece of artwork on the mantle. Dathi artwork was rare throughout the Empire, not least because it was officially banned and regarded as almost blasphemous by the commoners, who would quite happily report anyone possessing a piece without a special licence. Tiberius disliked it, even though it served a purpose; he had the nagging feeling that there was some message in the artwork that was lurking at the very edge of perception. One of his ancestors had collected several pieces, picked up from the ruined and blasted worlds that had been left orbiting uncaring stars, but he would have preferred to dispose of them. Like most of the Family’s vast collection, placed within a bombproof shelter deep below the estate, it was left alone unless it came back into fashion. “We do not want to lose either him or Lady Tyler.”

Tiberius frowned. “She did give up her title,” he pointed out. “Do we really need to keep her even if she agrees to join us?”

Daria smiled. “She’s the most competent person running the Empire’s economy in the last fifty years,” she said. “Yes, we need her, if only to provide a degree of continuity that would otherwise be lacking. She isn’t exactly Gwendolyn, of course, but she’s someone we’re going to need and someone we have a hold on.”

“She could have reclaimed her title at any time,” he said, remembering a brief discussion with Lord Tyler. Unlike Jason Cordova, Kathy had never been disowned by her Family, despite her allegiance to the rebels. “She chose not to reclaim it. Can she be trusted?”

“Very few people can be trusted,” Daria said. There was a mocking, almost amused, note in her voice, an icy reminder that she’d been betrayed and forced to flee her throne. “People are governed by self-interest. I dare say that Colin could find something to break the ties between you and I, if he knew about us and decided that it was a good idea.”