Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Right

He checked the call log as he waited for acknowledgement and smiled. Only two superdreadnaughts seemed to be completely free of mutineers, far more than he had dared hope. The remainder were either in the hands of his allies or being disputed. The Blackshirt transports were demanding orders from the Admiral. It seemed that he had ordered them to prepare to dispatch troops to the various superdreadnaughts, but then they’d lost contact with him.

“Detach yourself from the command datanet and form a new one,” he ordered, once he had made contact with his allies. Another superdreadnaught had fallen, leaving only ten as loyalist ships. The loyalists were panicking, uncertain of what to do. “I’m trying to talk to the rebels now.”

The first sign Colin had that all was not well with the enemy side was when one of their superdreadnaughts exploded for no apparent reason. It had been easy to tell that the ship had self-destructed — he knew perfectly well that his fortresses hadn’t fired on it, or at least not enough to destroy her — yet why? Ships did not explode for no apparent reason. Even a fused flicker drive would have merely rendered the ship unable to flicker away.

“Admiral, we’re picking up a message from the enemy flagship,” the communications officer said. “They’re saying that they had a mutiny and they want our support!”

Colin didn’t hesitate. It could have been a trick, or a trap, but not even the Empire would sacrifice an entire superdreadnaught just to bait a trap.

“General signal to the fleet,” he ordered. “The battle line will advance to support the friendly ships.”

He keyed another console and linked into the Marine command net. “Neil,” he said, “you can start getting your shuttles ready. I have a number of ships that you need to board.”

“They’re coming out to support us,” Stanford said, in relief. It had occurred to him that the rebels might not believe him, even if he had taken the superdreadnaught out of action. Two other superdreadnaughts had fallen to mutineers, leaving the remaining ships isolated and unable to act. The rebel crews had targeted them with energy weapons, just in case. He keyed his console and linked into the loyalist command net. They might not have known it, but the Admiral’s access permissions allowed him to go anywhere. “This is the rebel commander.”

He paused, choosing his words carefully. “We have you targeted with our energy weapons,” he said. “You cannot bring up your flicker drives in time to escape if we open fire. You can open fire yourself, but we will tear your ships apart at point-blank range. You cannot escape. All you can do is die bravely.

“If you surrender, you will be treated honourably,” he added. “You have two minutes to reply.”

The response was immediate. “They’re signalling that they want to surrender,” one of his allies reported. He’d worked in the communications department, even if he’d never served on the bridge. “It’s over.”

It took an hour before Colin was sure, but once there were armed Marines on each of the new starships and their loyalist crews had been removed, he allowed himself a sigh of relief. He had hoped that the message he’d sent would inspire others to revolt against the Empire, yet he had never expected… the mutinies had come in the nick of time. It hadn’t been planned from the start, although it would never be told that way. He smiled at the thought. The reports he would send back to Earth would claim that it had all been organised months in advance. The Empire would look as if it was composed of fools and if a few Imperial Intelligence officers paid for it with their heads… well, it was all to the good.

He stood in what had once been Admiral Percival’s private viewing blister and stared out at the new fleet. The rebellion had a real fleet now, one capable of challenging a second sector fleet or anything short of Home Fleet itself. The Empire would need to pull together a new fleet to destroy the rebellion and that would take time. Perhaps too much time; after all, the Empire was vast. The Imperial Navy was scattered over thousands of light years.

Colin looked out across the stars, thinking and planning.

The Empire had no idea what was coming its way.

Commander Fox stared down into the water hole and prayed that the shape deep within the dark waters was a fish, rather than one of the nastier creatures that inhabited Garstang. Life on the penal world wasn’t as bad as he had feared — they’d been lucky enough to make contact with one of the groups that had refused to leave, a religious group that had been exiled because the Empire wanted their land — yet it was dangerous. He couldn’t close his eyes for a moment before something else would emerge from the water or the ground and try to kill him.

He stabbed down with his spear and smiled in relief as he punched right through the creature’s skin, sending a cloud of blood drifting into the water. Moving swiftly, he pulled the spear and the weird alien fish out of the water and started to run, while behind him the water hole seemed to explode as nastier creatures — drawn by the blood — exploded into the open. The entire water hole wouldn’t be safe for days. He was still running when he saw the light in the sky.

There had been no transports or supply capsules since the day the rebels had abandoned him and his men on the planet, yet now there was a single drop capsule falling through the atmosphere. As he watched, it deployed parachutes and started to steer itself towards the nearest settlement, the one he’d found and joined. He turned and started to run towards where the capsule was landing, intent on discovering who or what was in it first. The rebel leadership had doubtless been caught and arrested by now — and sentencing them to the penal world would have been more than appropriate. The capsule came down gently and touched down, the parachutes falling over the conical shape, right on the edge of a sandy depression. Fox swore as he kept running. The people in the capsule had no idea just how much danger was all around them. How could they? The Imperial Survey Report contained no such details.

The capsule was already opening as he came running up, praying that his footsteps hadn’t attracted the attention of something bigger and nastier than he was. A head stuck out, sniffed the air, and withdrew just as quickly. Fox had to smile, even though it wasn’t really funny; all worlds had their own particular smell, but the penal worlds smelt worse than most. After all, if they were rated as more than marginally habitable, they wouldn’t have been turned into cheap dumping grounds for convicts, rebels, terrorists and people whose only sin was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Empire had no shortage of other ways to kill its enemies.

“Don’t go near the sand,” he shouted. Once, running so hard would have left him out of breath, yet now it seemed almost effortless to run so far. The planet had been good for his health, if nothing else; only the quick and the sharp survived on the penal world. “Get out of the capsule and walk away from the sand”

The hatch opened again and a single overweight person climbed out. He was wearing a grey convict’s suit, yet Fox recognised him without any trouble at all. It had been Admiral Percival who had assigned him to the penal world in the first place; the Admiral looked pallid and unhealthy, yet it was unmistakably him. He was shaking and shivering, although it was warm and damp air, and looked as if he’d had a very hard time. The truth dawned on Fox as he reached the Admiral’s side; the rebels were winning the war! He took a glance inside the capsule and found a small package of supplies, but little else. Fox picked them up, slung them over his back, and started to pull the Admiral away from the sand. Judging from the smell leaking out of the capsule, the Admiral had thrown up during the descent.