Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Right

“She’ll be back,” Penny said, as gently as she could. “Would you like a drink or perhaps even some other…?”

The alarm sounded before she could complete her sentence. It wasn’t the standard alarm, but one warning of incoming enemy starships, one that had never been sounded outside of drills and exercises. Percival was on his feet at once, grabbing for the white beret that technically should only belong to the commander of a squadron of starships, and heading for the hatch. Penny followed him, surprised at his reaction, before realising that part of him had feared the worst. Commander Walker wouldn’t die that easily. Poor Percival was tormented by nightmares of the monster he’d created, the one that could tear down the place he’d created for himself, even in death.

She followed him through the secured corridors — pausing long enough to nod to the Blackshirts and Household Troops on duty — and into the command centre. The staff were a little disorganised — Percival had broken up the working teams and reconfigured them, seemingly at random — but at least they knew what they were doing. A hundred red icons hovered in the main display, advancing towards Camelot. The rebels weren’t even trying to hide.

“Status report,” Percival ordered, as he took the command chair. He’d had it made especially for him and it reassembled a throne more than anything else. Penny considered it to be in very poor taste, particularly the carvings the artisan had worked into the metal. “What has the bastard brought to the party?”

The Duty Officer turned, unable to quite hide the flinch when he saw Percival. It wasn’t too surprising. Over the last few weeks, Percival had been a looming presence in the background, even though he’d hardly spent any time in the command centre before then. After all, who would dare to attack Camelot? There were nine battle stations and hundreds of automated platforms covering the Imperial Navy’s repair facilities… and that didn’t even count the fleet Percival had been assembling for Operation Purge. The rebels might not have known it, but they’d jumped right into five-to-one odds.

Her lips twitched as she stood behind Percival. The rebels clearly made a habit of running tactical surveys on every system they attacked first — as doctrine suggested — and they would almost certainly know that Percival had additional ships and defences. Their attack, therefore, was suicidal unless they’d come up with something new, but what? It struck her, suddenly, that the battlecruisers might have run into something they couldn’t handle, something new. The Empire feared the Geeks, feared them enough to order them executed on sight rather than even trying to exploit what they’d developed, and Imperial Intelligence had insisted that the Geeks were part of the rebellion.

She looked down at Percival, read the subtle signs on his posture, and knew that there was no point in saying anything. Percival knew the odds — at least the conventional odds — and he was clinging to them, yet… she could see that he felt fear. He knew Commander Walker, knew him far better than Penny; he knew that his enemy was a tactical genius. In his head, she realised, Percival was already defeated.

“Admiral,” the Duty Officer said. “There are nine superdreadnaughts, three battlecruisers, fifty-two cruisers of indeterminate class and a number of smaller ships, including a force of freighters. They’re advancing on Commodore William’s position as we speak.”

Penny nodded. Commodore William wasn’t known for being imaginative, but he was known as a safe pair of hands, someone who would never rise above command of a superdreadnaught squadron. Percival had granted him command of the forces assembled for Operation Purge because he would never seek to unseat his superior officer… unless, of course, that was an act. No one survived for years in the Imperial Navy without developing the remarkable skill of dissembling.

“Nine superdreadnaughts,” Percival repeated. “They are all in full working order?”

“As far as we can determine,” the Duty Officer said, carefully. Public Information’s version of the Battle of Greenland had five rebel superdreadnaughts battered to the point of near-uselessness. Questioning the official version could have terminated a career. “We are too far away for effective scans.”

“Order Commodore William to close with the enemy and destroy him,” Percival ordered, settling back in his chair. Penny wondered, in a moment of insight, if Percival had started to believe his own propaganda. He no longer looked defeated. The Imperial Navy had sixteen superdreadnaughts and supporting ships; the rebels had only nine, including some which might be too badly damaged to operate at full capacity. “They are to be destroyed!”

“All ships have arrived in the system,” the tactical officer said. “The enemy has detected our presence.”

Colin nodded. That hadn’t been unexpected. Camelot had the best sensor network in the system and, really, he hadn’t been trying to hide. He wanted Percival looking right at him. The main display was updating as the probes flared away from his ships, rocketing down towards the planet and the fleet forming up in a position to intercept his ships. The enemy didn’t know it, but the live feed from the probes was far superior to anything they could develop for themselves. Colin could practically count the scars on some of the superdreadnaught hulls facing him.

He’d run through a dozen different possibilities for Camelot’s defenders. In Percival’s place, he would have kept his ships near the planet and combined their point defence with that of the fixed defences. Even with arsenal ships, that would have been a hard nut to crack… which was part of the reason he’d shown Percival his hand so blatantly. If Percival wanted a decisive victory, Colin would offer him one, before snatching it out of reach.

“Deploy the fleet into Formation Alpha,” he ordered. Tension was running down his spine. What if there was something he had failed to take into account? What if he’d underestimated the opposition? The enemy commander he’d faced at Greenland had been smart, smart enough to be dangerous even without having a numerical advantage in superdreadnaughts. “Prepare to activate the drones.”

“All drones are linked into the datanet system,” the tactical officer confirmed. “They’re ready to go.”

Colin took a breath. It was important to appear calm and unworried — or so he’d been taught, back when he’d been a young and ruthlessly ambitious officer — even though they were sailing blithely towards certain destruction. He wondered what was going through Percival’s head, or even if Percival had quietly decided to board a gunboat and command the defence from the nearest star system. It didn’t matter. One way or another, the entire future of the Empire — if it would be reformed or if it would continue to decay until it collapsed from within — would be decided here.

“Open a channel,” he ordered. The communications tech nodded. As they’d planned, the message would be broadcast in clear, allowing Percival’s subordinates to hear it. “Admiral Percival, this is Admiral Walker, representing the Popular Front to Reform the Empire. You are ordered to stand down your ships and prepare to be boarded. Your time as commander of this sector is over.”

Colin smiled before he continued. If he knew Percival, the message would both infuriate and terrify him.

“…Speak now to the men and women on the defences,” the voice rolled on. “Ask yourself this; can the Empire long survive? Join us; join the one effort to reform the Empire, rather than breaking it up or…”