Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Might

“All missiles deployed,” the weapons officer said, finally. He didn’t bother to look at his commander as he spoke. Their minds were already touching in the computer network. “Forty minutes to likely detection range.”

Kosovo allowed himself a tight smile. The fortresses protecting the Terra Nova Shipyard — which didn’t actually orbit Terra Nova itself, yet another hint of the Empire’s regretful imprecision — were buried deep in the gas giant’s gravity shadow. Under normal circumstances, they would have plenty of warning before an enemy attack fleet could get into range. Even now, with Morrison gone and Earth itself about to come under attack, the fortifications were not at full alert. But then, he considered, the imps had no idea how to maintain their systems. Every time they went to battlestations, they took years off their technology’s lifespan.

Pathetic , he thought.

It didn’t help that the missiles were another Geek invention. They looked like standard Imperial Navy-issue missiles, but the Geeks had coated them in stealthy materials that would absorb radar and sensor pulses directed at them. There was no way they could remain hidden once their drives went active, of course, yet as long as they remained on their ballistic trajectories they would be effectively impossible to detect. They could drift right through the massive sensor network protecting the shipyard as if they weren’t there.

“Steer us out of the gravity shadow,” he ordered. “And then hold us at the planned observation point.”

The Geeks had two interests in joining the war. One was in securing the right to experiment as they pleased, without their technology being considered disruptive and threatening to the natural order. The other was in actually testing their more interesting theories and concepts. Kosovo knew himself to be far from the Geek ideal, yet even he was fascinated by the thought of actually seeing some of the new technology in war. Who knew if theory would live up to practice?

He glanced around his bridge. An Imperial Navy inspection team would have had a fit if they’d seen it, for it didn’t look clean or tidy at all. The consoles were open, exposing their innards; wiring lay everywhere and all four bridge crewmen were connected to the processors though implants inserted into their skulls. It was a mess. And yet, it was faster and more efficient than anything the Imperial Navy possessed. The Geeks looked forward to the day when everyone could merge with computers and expand their minds. They were sure that it would be a step closer to redesigning the human race as a whole.

“And send a laser signal,” he added. “The missiles are on their way.”

The gas giant didn’t look anything like as spectacular as Jupiter, Colin considered, as the rebel fleet crept closer to the gravity shadow. It was a massive blue-green ball of light, hanging in the darkness of space; there were no rings or clouds of space dust orbiting it for the tourists to admire. The gas giant’s only companion was a moon half the size of Earth, a moon that had been terraformed long ago. Now, it served as the barracks for the millions of shipyard workers and their families.

He had to admit that the shipyard itself looked impressive, though. There were hundreds of construction slips, industrial nodes and asteroid resource bases, surrounded by dozens of orbital fortresses and a small formation of enemy ships. Someone in the Bernadotte Family had to have paid out a large fortune in bribes, he decided, or perhaps there was some elaborate quid pro quo involved. The Household Troops were not supposed to have access to so many superdreadnaughts, no matter how important their possessions were.

“Admiral,” the sensor officer reported. “The enemy superdreadnaughts are powering up and inching out of the gravity shadow.”

Right on time , Colin noted. He glanced at the countdown and smiled to himself. Cordova would be demonstrating in the Sol System, showing himself and a fleet of illusionary superdreadnaughts to the enemy. He’d planned on the assumption that the enemy fleet wouldn’t withdraw, but it was nice to see the plan working. It would be a great deal easier to secure the shipyard without the superdreadnaughts.

“Keep us well away from their flight path,” he ordered. “We don’t want to be detected now.”

The cloaking devices had two major flaws, both of which had been hammered into his head at the academy. They couldn’t hide everything , thus a starship too close to a cloaked ship might well be able to detect it. And it was impossible to raise shields or fire weapons without breaking the cloak. If the enemy superdreadnaughts picked up a sniff of their presence, the rebel fleet would be hammered before it had a chance to respond. But as the superdreadnaughts advanced out of the gravity shadow, they missed the rebels completely. One by one, they flickered out towards Earth.

“They’re gone, sir,” the sensor officer reported.

Colin smiled. The timing had been perfect. “Order the missiles to engage as soon as they enter terminal attack range,” he ordered. “And then prepare to sound battlestations.”

Commodore Wilma Bernadotte watched the superdreadnaughts vanish, silently cursing the Families Council under her breath. The agreements that allowed the Bernadotte Family to operate superdreadnaughts of its own had never stipulated that they would be under Imperial Navy command, but the conditions attached to deploying an additional squadron of superdreadnaughts to Terra Nova had changed that — and not for the better. Now the Families Council was panicking and Terra Nova was being stripped of its defences, right after the loss of Wolf 359.

Wilma would have liked to gloat about the Sandakan Family’s misfortune. After all, losing Wolf 359 would hurt the Empire — but it would ensure more demands for products from Terra Nova. The economic slowdown that had seen half the slips left empty and industrial nodes idle would come to an end, she knew, once people realised they could start ordering their products from Terra Nova instead. And the Bernadotte Family would be well-placed to start taking advantage of its sudden prominence. There was no way the other two shipyards could be replaced in less than a decade, assuming the money could be found to rebuild them. Until then, Bernadotte would reign supreme.

She ran a hand through her purple hair as she surveyed the tactical display. The Bernadotte Family owned the gas giant and its companion moon completely, forbidding all others from entering the colossal gravity shadow. It ensured that anything that showed itself was considered a smuggler, a pirate or a rebel spy. Wilma had standing orders to engage anything that didn’t carry a secure IFF beacon, issued by the family. Even the Imperial Navy wasn’t allowed to enter the gravity shadow without her permission.

But she couldn’t help feeling worried. The shipyard was dangerously exposed — and almost certainly on the list of rebel targets. She’d seen what had happened at Morrison… and even though she’d ordered her crews to take precautions she couldn’t help worrying about losing her own point defence. The colossal investment she’d made in orbital weapons platforms and automated systems would be wasted if her point defence network went down. In fact…

Her thoughts were rudely interrupted by alarms howling through her command station. Red icons flared to life on the display, impossibly close to the defences. For a long moment, Wilma’s mind refused to accept what she was seeing. The passive sensor network would have picked up any starships, cloaked or not, that had come so close to the defences. There was no way those missiles could be real…