Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Might

“Brace for impact,” Jeremy roared, as the missiles closed in rapidly. Four died, but three more made it through to detonate against the shields. “All hands, brace for impact…”

A laser head detonated, sending a beam of focused energy punching through the shields and digging into the rear of the ship. Jeremy clung to his command chair for dear life as the ship shuddered, alarms echoing through the entire ship. He forced himself to look up at the status display, then cursed as he saw just how much damage had been inflicted on his ship.

“Fusion Two and Three are gone,” the damage control officer reported. “Fusion Four needs to be shut down, the sooner the better. And the flicker drive is disabled.”

Jeremy felt cold ice running down his spine. If the flicker drive was gone… he looked down at his console, trying to think. The drive field was still functional, but with only one fusion core to provide power and a handful of missing nodes it was anyone’s guess how long it would remain at full power. There was no time to evacuate his crew to another ship, not with the enemy breathing down their necks. Hell, it was far too likely that they would drop out of formation any second now…

A dull thump ran through the ship, followed by a sudden shift in the gravity field. “Sir, we just lost two more nodes,” the helmsman reported. “We’re losing speed rapidly.”

We’re dead , Jeremy thought.

“Bring us about, if you can,” he ordered. There was no point in trying to evade the enemy, not now. Even a ponderous superdreadnaught could run them down — and a gunboat could poke holes in the hull. If nothing else, they’d have a better chance at shooting down the gunboats before they were overwhelmed. “And lock weapons on the lead enemy gunboats.”

“Aye, sir,” the helmsman said. The tactical officer echoed him a moment later.

Jeremy felt a moment of grim pride. His crew had fought splendidly, even though there was no longer any way to escape. Judging by the reports, repairing the flicker drive would be a job for a shipyard, not his damage control crews. But there was no hope of getting to a friendly yard.

“Fire at will,” he ordered.

Colin cursed out loud as he saw Shadow fall out of formation, almost completely dropping out of the datanet. The last update suggested that the ship was too badly damaged to escape, leaving her crew — including one of his closest friends — at the mercy of the Imperial Navy.

“Admiral,” the coordinator reported, “the safety interlocks have been removed.”

“Understood,” Colin said. He stared down at the display. It had been easier when it had just been his life at risk… but had there ever been a time when that was true? “Prepare to jump.”

No one really knew what happened if a ship jumped from inside a gravity shadow. Some theories said that the ship was displaced in time rather than space, others suggested that the ship was simply ripped apart and the atoms scattered over countless light years. But now… if they were wrong, if the gravity shadow was real, the entire fleet was about to commit suicide.

And, even if most of the fleet got away, there would be some ships left behind.

I’m sorry , he thought, grimly.

“Jump,” he ordered.

“Admiral,” the tactical officer said, “the rebel fleet is jumping out.”

Penny looked over at Wachter, wondering — despite herself — just what shape his irritation would take. The enemy had escaped a trap that should have caught them and held them still long enough for their ships to be battered to nothingness, even though she knew that the trap had been largely illusionary. Someone on the other side had worked out what was actually happening and had managed to remove the safety interlocks in time to escape.

“A pity,” Wachter said. “But we still drove them away from the planet.”

Penny relaxed, silently annoyed with herself. How many times did she have to recall that Wachter wasn’t Percival?

She watched the rebel ships leaving, noting absently just how badly scattered their formation had become. Instead of a single mass jump, the ships were leaving, one by one. And five ships remained behind, seemingly trapped.

“Transmit a demand for surrender,” Wachter ordered. “Tell them that we will treat them decently, under the Gulliver Protocols. And then move our ships to cover them.”

Jeremy looked down at his display. Further resistance was futile, he knew. A battered squadron of superdreadnaughts were covering Shadow , ready to atomise the battlecruiser if she showed any signs of being willing to continue the fight. He wanted to fire, but it would only get his crew killed. Would the enemy honour their word?

But he couldn’t let them get killed for nothing.

“Purge the computers, then drop shields,” he ordered. The damaged battlecruiser would need months of repair before she could return to duty, even assuming the Empire believed it worth the investment. “And signal our surrender.”

“Admiral,” the communications officer said, “the remaining rebel ships are surrendering.”

“Good,” Wachter said. He keyed his console. “Deploy the Marines.”

He looked up at Penny, then around the compartment. “And send a courier boat to Earth,” he added. “We have met the enemy and kicked his ass.”

It was not, Penny decided, very elegant. But it got the point across nicely. They’d won the battle, given the enemy a bloody nose and secured Morrison. It would be weeks before the rebels could resume the offensive, if they ever did. Wachter had definitely kicked their collective ass. She knew she should be pleased…

So why did she feel so ambivalent about their victory?

“Open the airlocks,” Jeremy ordered, as the Marine shuttles approached Shadow . He couldn’t help feeling nervous, no matter what the loyalists had promised. “Don’t show them any resistance.”

The rebel crews had been assigned sidearms as a matter of course. Senior Chiefs had collected the weapons as soon as the enemy accepted their surrender, ensuring that armed resistance wasn’t a possibility. It wouldn’t have accomplished anything anyway, Jeremy knew, but it was quite likely that someone would do something stupid. They all knew what fate might await them as soon as the enemy took them into custody.

“They’re ordering us to assemble the remaining crew in the shuttlebay,” the communications officer said. “And then wait.”

“Make it so,” Jeremy ordered. The injured crewmen would have to be moved, even the ones in stasis tubes. “Remind them, once again, not to offer any resistance.”

The communications officer looked disgruntled, but obeyed. Moments later, the Marines docked and started to make their way through the ship. Nothing impeded their path as they secured the shuttlebay, then headed up to the bridge. Jeremy gritted his teeth as the first armoured figure stepped through the hatch, weapon in hand. He held his hands in plain view and waited.

“Remain where you are,” the Marine ordered, as his fellows followed him onto the bridge and started to secure the crew. One of them wrapped a metal tie around Jeremy’s hands, binding them behind his back. “You will be transported off this ship soon enough.”

Jeremy scowled as he was pushed against a bulkhead and told to sit down. The first moments of any surrender were always the worst, he knew from training; the slightest hint of resistance could result in a bloodbath. But it was going to get worse if the Empire didn’t keep its word, he thought. They might well be treated very badly indeed. It wasn’t as if the Thousand Families felt any inclination to be kind to prisoners.