Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Might

“You didn’t answer my question,” Ravi pointed out. “How do you know that your Empire will be better than our Empire?”

Colin frowned. “I have faith,” he said. “We can solve most of the problems caused by the Empire, break up the power and economic blocs that keep it under control…”

“And then… what?” Ravi asked. “You don’t know you’ll do better. What will you do the moment someone defies you? Or wants to leave the Empire? Human disunity almost killed us once; are you prepared to accept disunity and the risks that come with it… or will you use force to keep the Empire together? And if you do, Commander Walker, what makes you any better than the Thousand Families?”

She looked at Colin’s hands, then smiled. “Are you going to beat me for disagreeing with you?”

Colin realised that he’d clenched his fists. Slowly, he unclenched them and clasped his hands behind his back, fighting for calm. Ravi was right, he had to admit; shattering the Thousand Families and their grip on power would unleash forces that might tear the Empire apart. But he still believed that those forces could be accommodated. If each planet had internal autonomy, it would be harder for outsiders to exploit them…

“No,” he said, coldly. “If you won’t join us, we will make arrangements for you to be transported to Morrison.”

“Thank you,” Ravi said, primly. She picked up her book and opened it, looking down at the page. “Was there anything else?”

Colin scowled in irritation. “Merely that I think you’re wasted,” Colin said. “You’ll be killed at Morrison, killed for losing to superior force. They won’t stop looking for scapegoats just because you fought well. And I doubt your patrons will lift a finger to help you.”

“I know the risks,” Ravi said, closing her book. “But I am loyal to the Empire.”

“I had that certainty once too,” Colin admitted. He stood, then looked down at her. “I hope you survive, Admiral. We will need people like you after we win the war.”

He strode out of the cabin, then nodded to the Marine on duty outside. “Don’t let anyone see her,” he ordered. “She can be transferred to the freighter once the life support is checked out.”

“Yes, sir,” the Marine said.

Colin’s communicator buzzed. “Admiral,” his XO said, “a space yacht has just entered the system. They’re broadcasting a message, requesting to speak with you.”

“A yacht?” Colin repeated. The only people who could afford dedicated pleasure starships were the aristocracy. Someone from the Thousand Families? “Do we have an IFF?”

“Nothing that matches anything in our database,” the XO reported. “What do you want to do?”

Colin considered it, briefly. “Tell them to keep their distance,” he ordered. It was possible that someone had placed a bomb on the starship, but it wouldn’t be powerful enough to take out the entire fleet. “Have the Marines board the ship, then check out the passengers. If they are clean, they can be brought onboard and I’ll speak to them. If not, we can deal with it at once.”

“Yes, sir,” the XO said.

“And ask Daria to join us,” Colin added. The fleet train had arrived just after Tyson had fallen. “She should be a part of any discussions.”

Lord Pompey Cicero knew that he was considered stodgy and unimaginative. It wasn’t something that bothered him, not when he considered the other family members of his generation. Only a handful were really interested in anything other than enjoying themselves and not all of those could be trusted with anything significant. When he’d taken up a position in the family’s security force, he’d known it was a vote of confidence from the Family Head — and an acknowledgement that Pompey wouldn’t seek pleasure at the expense of the family.

It had been relatively simple picking a possible rebel target before Morrison, although he had to admit that he’d nearly gotten it wrong. Passion had lurked in a nearby system for a week before the courier boat had arrived, warning the system authorities that the rebels had attacked Tyson. Cursing his own oversight, Pompey had brought the drive online and flickered into the Tyson System even before Gwendolyn had climbed out of her bunk. He didn’t want to know what she was doing, but they’d spent as little time together as possible while they’d been on the ship.

Gwendolyn came onto the bridge and took a seat, watching as the rebel shuttle approached their starship. Pompey didn’t really like her; she might have had a mind like a steel trap, but she was almost terrifyingly ambitious. Given enough time, she might even be able to put together a challenge to the Family Head. Pompey knew that competition was one of the sources of strength, yet this was no time for competition. The Empire itself was at stake.

“So,” Gwendolyn said, running her fingers through her long blonde hair, “are we there yet?”

Pompey rolled his eyes. It was quite possible, he knew, that the rebels would simply take them captive and try to ransom them back to the family. Kidnapping an aristocrat bore the death sentence, but the rebels could hardly be executed twice . By now, they’d probably earned at least five or six death sentences apiece.

“Yes,” he said, simply. “I suggest that you try to restrain yourself when they board the ship. I do not believe they will feel inclined to defer to you.”

He gave her a sharp look. She wore a long white dress that was near-transparent in all the right places. It would be hard to imagine anything less like a diplomat… unless, of course, she wanted to be underestimated. The Thousand Families were heirs to a rejuvenation technology that could have a man of two hundred look barely twenty, but they did tend to disregard youth. Gwendolyn might well have profited, in the past, by looking young, nubile and innocent.

“And I’d tell you to change, if we had time,” he added. “But they’re almost here.”

A dull thump echoed through the hull as the shuttle docked with the forward airlock. The hatch hissed open a moment later, allowing the Marines to step into the ship. They looked alert, Pompey noted, although there was something about their movements that suggested they were very new or that they’d had very limited training. But there had always been a shortage of Marines, even before questions had been raised about their political reliability. It would have been easy for them to take control of a number of starships and start a revolution.

“Welcome onboard,” he said, calmly. “Please, make yourself at home.”

“Please remain where you are,” the Marine ordered. “Is there anyone else onboard this ship?”

“No,” Pompey said. Gwendolyn had started complaining, after the second day, that there was no one to do the hard work of cooking, cleaning and washing clothes. Pompey had taken it in his stride. Besides, his clothes were relatively simple. “We’re alone.”

The Marines didn’t take his word for it, unsurprisingly. Two of them remained on the bridge, not quite pointing their weapons at Pompey and Gwendolyn, while the remainder searched the ship from end to end. They didn’t find anything; Passion was unarmed, designed to be operated by a single person, as long as the automatics held out. Eventually, the Marines placed the entire ship into shutdown mode and led the two visitors into the shuttle. Inside, their bodies were thoroughly scanned, then confirmed clean. Pompey had even removed the implanted weapons he’d been given when he’d qualified as a security officer.

“Take a seat,” the Marine ordered, pointing to a pair of metal chairs. “We’ll have you on the superdreadnaught soon enough.”