Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Right

The man’s face drained of colour. Neil rolled his eyes behind his helmet. Of course; who else would hold a position on a massive fortress, apart from a coward. The man was certainly afraid to contradict him, although that wasn’t a problem. It might make the occupation easier.

“Yes, sir,” the man said, finally. “Ah… should I escort you to the command centre?”

“Of course,” Neil said. “Lead the way, please.”

He followed the officer through the station’s passageways, concealing his surprise at how few crewmen they encountered. A quick query of the station’s datanet — unlocked for them to access as part of the surrender terms — revealed that most of the crew had been ordered to go to their quarters and remain there, while the Blackshirts had been sent to the gym. It was large enough to contain an entire company of Blackshirts for a brief period, although Neil didn’t hesitate to dispatch several platoons of Marines to keep an eye on them. The Blackshirts might not accept any orders to surrender and try to put up armed resistance. Luckily, they weren’t wearing proper armour, allowing the Marines to vent the compartments and suffocate them if necessary. Neil wasn’t inclined to take chances.

The command centre’s hatches had been locked open, allowing him to stride right into the nerve centre of the station. Commander Alan Redfield — a young man with a developing paunch — looked up at him nervously, then stood to attention and saluted. Neil returned the salute, just before noticing a grossly-overweight man lying on the deck, groaning. Admiral Percival looked just as ugly as he’d been told.

“Welcome onboard,” Redfield said. Neil suspected that he meant it. The prospects of a Blackshirt mutiny had to have been floating through the Commander’s mind. “I surrender this station and the planet to you.”

“I accept your surrender,” Neil said, equally formally. He wasn’t sure if Redfield had the authority to surrender the planet, but if someone on Camelot wanted to try to hold out it would last as long as it took to drop a KEW on their base. Very few planets had ground-based planetary defence centres, if only because taking them out always tore up the real estate and inflicted vast damage on the planetary surface. “I believe that my commander will wish to make an offer to you all, but until then I have to treat you with some care.”

“I understand,” Redfield said. He didn’t sound unhappy about it, but then… it was clear that he believed that he was lucky to be alive. The images of over eighty superdreadnaughts surrounding the planet floated in space, suggesting that the sensors on the fortress couldn’t tell the real superdreadnaughts from the drones. “Sir… what about him?”

He gestured to Percival, who was clearly trying to wake up from his unwanted slumber. The bruise on his face suggested that someone had knocked him out.

“We’ll take him into custody,” Neil said. Admiral Walker would probably want to deal with him personally. Neil didn’t care. He might never have known Percival personally, but the bastard represented everything that was wrong with the Empire, from power without accountability to corruption and decadence. “We don’t want someone to damage him before we can decide what to do with the bastard.”

He smiled. Judging from the damage someone had inflicted on the Admiral, it was clear that Admiral Walker hadn’t been the only person he’d managed to offend. If he’d been winning friends and influencing people at his usual rate — if Walker’s stories were to be believed — he’d be lucky to survive long enough to stand trial.

“That leaves the others,” he said. “How many other high-ranking officers are here?”

“Commodore Roosevelt is down on the planet,” Redfield said. Neil grinned, remembering his last meeting with Stacy Roosevelt. If it hadn’t been for her connections, she would have been shot for gross incompetence; even with her connections, she would never see command again. “Captain Quick, the Admiral’s former… aide was relieved of duty. She was sent to her quarters.”

“Good,” Neil said. He shook his head. “I think you had better go to your quarters, at least until we have this station firmly under control.”

It took thirty minutes to confirm that the station was occupied, once the Blackshirts had been surrounded and disarmed. Neil had expected trouble, but once he’d started to pump the air out of the gym they’d become very reasonable very quickly. The Blackshirts had marched out with their hands held high and had been searched and stripped, before being transferred to one of the freighters which would provide transport to the prison world. There were so many Blackshirts on the surface now that it probably rated as a first-stage colony — or would, if there had been an equal number of women on the surface. There were no female Blackshirts — and the others who had refused to join the rebellion were sent to the other side of the planet.

“We searched the station,” a Marine reported. “There is no sign of Captain Quick.”

Neil frowned, puzzled. The station’s internal sensors were superb, far superior to anything they’d deployed outside the station. It should have been impossible for anyone to hide for long, even if they knew enough about the sensor network to circumvent it in some compartments. His mind drifted back to the report of a gunboat jumping out of the station — a risky trick that could have torn the station apart — and wondered if she had been on the ship. It would have been a ballsy stunt, but doable.

“Leave it for the moment,” he said, finally. Tracking down one officer wasn’t a priority for the moment. “We have other fish to fry.”

Four hours after the station had been declared secure — and the planet had surrendered at gunpoint — Colin was welcomed onboard the station by the Marines. The Colonel showed him around, allowing him a chance to inspect Admiral Percival’s quarters before introducing him to some of the surrendered officers. All of the battle stations had surrendered, although their senior officers couldn’t be trusted. They’d been separated from their men and transported onboard the prison barge. Colin had no idea what would become of them in the future — although he would have to decide it soon enough — but it didn’t matter. Manning the stations was the important issue for the moment. Percival’s fleet might have been smashed, but the Imperial Navy was far from defeated. It might take them a few months to put together a more powerful force, yet Colin knew that one would be on the way sooner or later.

The Marines had, at his request, assembled most of the station’s officers and men in one of the big shuttlebays. Colin remembered, in a sudden flicker of déjà vu, speaking to his men following the first mutiny. Then, he’d spoken from the heart, telling them that the mutiny might fail and that they might all die for his cause. Now… now, whatever else happened, the Empire’s faith in its own superiority wouldn’t survive, even if the Popular Front was destroyed. The next rebellion might topple the Empire completely.

Or perhaps the Empire will reform of its own accord , he thought, as he stared out over the waiting ranks of personnel. And maybe the horse will learn to sing .

“There isn’t much I can say that wasn’t said in the message we introduced into the Interstellar Communications Network,” he said. Whatever else happened, whatever else he did, he wasn’t going to try to bullshit them. They deserved better than that. “We intend to force the Empire to reform, to break the stranglehold of the Thousand Families and create a new order that will allow each and every one of us to rise to the level we deserve, rather than the level determined for us by birth. We will give the worlds the right to determine their own affairs and remove the stain on our honour caused by the frequent crushing of rebellions. I invite each and every one of you to join us.