Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Right

Penny had done something she knew was stupid, but she no longer gave a damn. Instead of obeying Percival’s orders and going back to her quarters — which she barely used, as Percival had been fond of ordering her to sleep on the couch in his quarters — she had gone into the smaller back-up communications room and evicted the two officers on duty. They, at least, hadn’t heard about her disgrace and relief — and if they saw the mark on her face, they said nothing. She had watched in disbelief and horror as sixteen superdreadnaughts were rapidly destroyed. The rebels hadn’t been bluffing, yet…

She thought about it, tossing possibilities over and over in her head. They couldn’t have captured so many superdreadnaughts without Percival hearing about it and she’d heard everything that Percival had heard, apart from a handful of private discussions with Stacy Roosevelt. It had to be a trick of some kind, yet the missiles had been very real. How had they done it? She listened as the rebels broadcast their demand for surrender and shook her head. Percival wouldn’t have the sense to surrender, which meant that the fortress — and the other eight in orbit around Camelot — were about to be destroyed. Penny reached down and touched the pistol at her belt. She could use it, gun down Percival and surrender to the rebels.

The hatch opened and two Blackshirts — their eyes dull with the effects of the drugs they used — stepped inside. Penny read her fate in their eyes and reached for her pistol, but it was too late. One of them threw himself at her, knocked her to the deck and tore the pistol away, before yanking her hands behind her back and securing them with a single strip of malleable metal. He hauled her to her feet, searched her roughly, and started to march her towards the hatch — and stopped. Another pair of Blackshirts was standing there, holding stunners.

Her captor blinked. “Who are you?” He asked, in a cold dead voice. “What are you doing here?”

The newcomers stunned him and his mate. Penny swayed, barely able to keep her balance, as they collapsed to the ground like sacks of potatoes. The second pair of Blackshirts — they looked more alert, as if they hadn’t been taking their drugs — looked at her. She had the uneasy feeling that they were communicating with each other in a manner she couldn’t detect, or understand. Who were they?

One of the newcomers winked at her, lifted his stunner and shot her with it. There was a blue-white flash and then she collapsed into darkness. The last thing she heard, before the darkness closed in completely, was an unfamiliar voice giving orders in a tone that suggested he knew he would be obeyed.

“Take her to the ship,” he ordered. “This fortress will not remain intact much longer.”

Commander Alan Redfield felt nothing, but numb horror. His cousin’s sister-in-law, who happened to be related to someone in the Imperial Navy Personnel Department, had promised him a nice safe posting for his time in the Imperial Navy. Camelot had been safe enough; the world might be thoroughly unpleasant, but it was improving and the recreational facilities were first-rate. He’d even spent some of his leave enjoying a VR simulation, something rare outside the Core Worlds.

And now, death had come to the Camelot System. He couldn’t understand how the rebels had obtained so much firepower, but they had… and sixteen superdreadnaughts had been wiped out, just because their commanders had been unwilling to believe that there was a real threat. Captain Quick, who had at least tried to warn her superior, had been slapped and dismissed. Alan shuddered in disgust. He had known that Captain Quick was the Admiral’s mistress — unwillingly, he guessed — yet he hadn’t realised how far Percival was prepared to go.

The Admiral himself was still in his command chair, staring at where the icons representing Commodore William’s superdreadnaughts had been. If he had heard the communication from the rebels — it had been on all channels; Alan had heard it through his earpiece — he gave no sign. He spoke no defiance nor craven surrender.

Alan took a breath. As Duty Officer, it was his job to alert the Admiral to any new developments, yet a word from Percival could wreck his career, despite his handful of well-placed family members. If the Admiral was prepared to destroy the woman who shared his bed, what would he do to a junior officer who lacked even that small contact with the Admiral? On the other hand, the sight of so many superdreadnaughts bearing down on him did tend to concentrate the mind.

“Admiral,” he said, trying to sound as business-like as possible, “the rebels are demanding a response.”

“I’ll give them a response,” Percival bellowed. His sudden shift from silence to outright rage was disorientating. “I’ll blow his ships to plasma and throw the bastard out of an airlock!”

“Admiral,” Alan said, quietly. He knew that he was taking his career in his hands, but somehow it was growing harder to care. His older brother had called him a coward and perhaps he was right. The thought of dying because his Admiral had refused to see sense and surrender was too much. “We cannot win this fight. Those superdreadnaughts have enough firepower to cut through the datanet and destroy this fortress. It may take them time to obliterate all of the fortresses, but they can do it.”

He hesitated on the next few words. “And they have offered to accept your surrender and even offered to guarantee your safe conduct,” he added. If Percival was a coward, as his behaviour seemed to suggest, it might appeal to him when more logical arguments failed. “You could return home and…”

“Be silent,” Percival snapped. He stood up and marched over to the tactical console. Nothing, not even his superbly-tailored uniform, could disguise the fear running through his body and voice. Alan could see sweat staining his uniform. “When they enter weapons range, you are ordered to open fire. Do you understand me?”

He turned to stare at Alan. “ Do you understand me ?”

There was only one answer to that. “Yes, sir,” Alan said. He glanced down at the console to avoid looking any further at Percival. “I understand. The enemy ships will enter firing range in twelve minutes.”

“Open fire as soon as they enter firing range and then keep firing until their ships are smashed,” Percival ordered. “Do not quit firing without my permission.”

Colin kept his expression calm and composed, but inwardly he could feel worry working its way through his system. There were nine battle stations in orbit around the planet, positioned so that at least four of them could engage his fleet at any one time. He was still advancing forward, yet if Percival didn’t see sense — or at least what Colin wanted him to see — and surrender, he would have to fall back, reload the arsenal ships and return to the system. And that would blow any lingering belief that the superdreadnaughts were real out of Percival’s mind.

He checked the display. Superdreadnaughts couldn’t go much closer to the planet without being caught in the gravity shadow, preventing escape, although the drones could continue to advance and simply be ordered to self-destruct before they could be captured. Even so, he did have his sole squadron of superdreadnaughts and if Percival didn’t surrender, he would have to flicker out. The timer was ticking down…

Alan watched as the enemy superdreadnaughts drew closer, their tactical sensors already locking onto the fortress and supplying information to their missiles. The fortresses had deployed their countermeasures, of course, but unlike starships it was very hard to hide the presence of a fortress. They were so massive that they actually generated tiny gravitational fields of their own.