Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Might

“Hold fire,” he ordered. “Contact the rebels and offer them our surrender.”

Penny braced herself. It was possible that the rebels weren’t in the mood to take prisoners — or that they wouldn’t simply get the message until it was too late. Messages could be lost easily in the chaos of a battle, everyone knew. And then there were the Blackshirts from Earth. Would they tamely accept an order to surrender?

“The rebels are holding fire,” the tactical officer said.

“Picking up a message,” the communications officer added. “They’re ordering us to drop our remaining shields and shut down our drives.”

“Make it so,” Wachter ordered. “I…”

The security officer swore. “Admiral, the Marines report that some of the Blackshirts have turned on them,” he said. “They’re advancing towards the bridge and CIC.”

“Seal the compartment,” Wachter ordered. “Alert the Marines on the orbital fortifications. They are not to allow them to fall into anyone’s hands.”

Penny unbuttoned her holster. She’d spent enough time practicing at the firing range to qualify for a marksman badge, although she hadn’t bothered to actually apply. It would have appeared in her file and warned potential enemies that she could actually hit her target. A quick check revealed that someone had taken down the internal security system. The Blackshirts and their allies might just make it to the bridge after all.

“Contact the rebels,” Wachter ordered. Somehow, he still managed to sound calm. “Inform them of our situation and request assistance.”

Penny stared at him. “You think they’ll help?”

“If they want the planet’s facilities, they’ll help,” Wachter said. He nodded towards the status board. Several orbital fortresses had dropped out entirely, suggesting that the Blackshirts had taken control. “They won’t have any choice.”

“Director Smyth is broadcasting on all channels,” the communications officer said, suddenly. “He’s accusing you of treason and ordering all loyal officers to take you into custody and resume the battle.”

Penny shook her head in disbelief. She had little regard for Imperial Intelligence’s intelligence, but they had to realise the battle was lost. If they hadn’t been in the gravity shadow, they could have flickered out and rebooted the network at leisure, yet they were definitely trapped. And now, with shields and drives gone, they would be sitting ducks if they tried to resume the fight. The rebels would blow them away within seconds.

“Admiral,” she said, very quietly, “shouldn’t we neutralise the ships? And the orbital facilities?”

Wachter hesitated, considering it. “Only if we lose control to the Blackshirts,” he said. “And only then.”

Penny lifted her eyebrows. “Sir,” she said, “that will put more superdreadnaughts in rebel hands…”

“All badly damaged,” Wachter reminded her. “One way or another, the war will be over by the time the rebels can put the superdreadnaughts back into service.”

“I don’t understand,” Penny said, but she knew that was a lie. If the rebels won, there was no point in destroying starships and facilities out of spite. The Empire would still need to rebuild, even if the Thousand Families were gone. And Wachter was loyal to the Empire. “I…”

She leaned forward. “It’s been a honour, sir,” she added. “And thank you.”

Wachter nodded in silent understanding.

Together, they prepared themselves for the worst.

“They’re asking for help,” the communications officer said, surprised. “Half of the fortresses seem to be in a state of mutiny.”

Colin wasn’t too surprised. Whatever authority the Thousand Families had granted Admiral Wachter would come with caveats attached. It was probable that he didn’t have complete control over the planetary defences, which might well remain under someone else’s control… someone more known for loyalty than competence. And the Blackshirts rarely surrendered, knowing what their fate would be at rebel hands. Colin had liberated a dozen worlds controlled by the Blackshirts… and very few of them had survived long enough to be interned.

But it was a major problem. It seemed as though a civil war was breaking out on Morrison, which meant… what? If he inserted his Marines, who knew which side they were meant to be supporting? Or should he try to keep them out of the fight and wait for a victor to emerge? But the longer it took, the greater the chance the loyalists would manage to purge and reboot their systems and then he would have to punch his way through the rest of the defences.

He looked over at Anderson. “Thoughts?”

Anderson seemed surprised to be asked. “The Marines will have to be very careful,” he said, finally. “If the Blackshirts have the support of local security officers and embedded agents, it will be very hard to tell friend from foe.”

“They’re not our friends,” Colin commented, grimly. “They’re… surrendering, at best.”

He wondered, absently, just how far they could trust anyone who had served under Admiral Wachter. The most loyal rebels — as if that wasn’t a contradiction in terms — had been the victims of their commanding officers, not the trusted subordinates. Colin himself might not have rebelled if his ambitions had been permissible, within the system. But Admiral Wachter had worked hard to get the loyalty of his crewmen. How many of them could be trusted to join the Shadow Fleet?

Maybe we can get Admiral Wachter to join us , he thought. We might be lucky .

“Send the Marines,” he ordered. “I want them to concentrate on the superdreadnaughts, then the orbital fortresses. The planet can wait.”

“The Marines at the hatch are under attack,” the communications officer reported. She’d taken up the job of trying to coordinate the internal defence of the starship, while the tactical and security officers took up position to defend the CIC. “They can’t…”

A dull thump echoed through the hatch. Penny looked at Wachter, who held his pistol in one hand as if he knew how to use it. Not all of the officers had bothered to qualify, Penny had discovered to her alarm; pistol shooting wasn’t a skill naval officers were encouraged to develop. But there was no alternative. The hatch started to glow as the Blackshirts began to cut their way into the CIC. By Penny’s calculations, they would be through in five minutes at most.

“Take your mask,” she ordered. “Everyone who doesn’t have a weapon, move into the Admiral’s office.”

Wachter gave her an odd smile. “Were you a Marine in a previous life?”

“Just common sense,” Penny said. She wasn’t about to admit that she’d planned for a mutiny ever since hearing about the mutinies at Jackson’s Folly. Percival had made so many enemies that she was still surprised no one had risen up against him by the time Camelot had fallen to the rebels. “And they might be safer there.”

Wachter shook his head. Penny nodded, grimly. Anyone who had had contact with Admiral Wachter would be considered a suspect at best, an outright traitor at worst. And besides, Blackshirts were known for committing atrocities in the heat of combat. The Empire encouraged that trait, believing that terror helped keep people in line, even though it tended to result in destroyed targets and dead rebels. But then, the Empire wasn’t known for caring about enemy lives.

The hatch blew open; dark-clad figures stormed into the CIC. Penny opened fire at once, joined by Wachter and the other three officers with personal weapons. The Blackshirts toppled backwards — they hadn’t even bothered to don proper armour — but there were more of them behind the first group. One of them threw a gas grenade into the compartment, which exploded and released a cloud of yellow gas. Penny prayed that the mask would be sufficient to keep it out as she kept firing, driving the Blackshirts back. But there seemed to be no shortage of Blackshirts…