Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Right

He linked in with the Marines searching the ship and skimmed through their reports. There were no unpleasant surprises hidden away, apart from a small collection of weapons that couldn’t have penetrated Marine armour. It was lucky that the crew hadn’t tried to resist. He rather hoped that they would behave themselves for the rest of the trip. He was quite prepared to stun or cuff them if necessary, but he hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. A trained crew willing to join the rebels would be very useful.

Not all of the ship crews were being so cooperative. A couple had tried to offer armed resistance, while several others had flatly refused to cooperate with the Marines. Neil suspected that they were worried about what the shipping line would say afterwards; the Thousand Families would be looking for someone to blame and they might just focus on the freighter crews. As the time ticked away, he allowed himself to relax slightly. Once the drives were powered up, they could be away in a split-second, without any possibility of pursuit. And then the cargo could be unloaded at leisure.

“The freighters are all reporting in, sir,” the communications officer said. “They’re ready to jump out on command.”

Colin relaxed slightly. It was probably only nerves, but he’d had the creeping sense that they’d been running out of time as the seconds ticked away. He knew that it was unlikely that anyone could intercept them, or even realise that something had gone wrong until it was far too late, yet somehow his mind refused to believe it. They might well have pushed their luck too far. If Admiral Percival’s fleet arrived, Colin would have had no choice, but to destroy the freighters and jump out, calling it a draw.

He looked up again at the icon representing Camelot and smiled. “Send them the coordinates for the jump,” he ordered. He’d kept them back, even from the Marines, until it was time to go. If they’d had to pull out in a hurry, it would have meant abandoning the Marines to the tender mercies of the mind techs and Imperial Intelligence. “And then prepare to jump out ourselves.”

“Aye, sir,” the helmsman said. Colin could feel the tension draining away. The rebels had their first victory, an overwhelmingly one-sided victory. It was a shame that he couldn’t gloat about it to Admiral Percival, or insert it into the Interstellar Communications Network, but the longer no one knew what had happened to the Annual Fleet, the better. By the time they reached their base out beyond the Rim, Admiral Percival would know what had happened at Jackson’s Folly. “We are ready to jump.”

Colin nodded. “Take us out of here,” he ordered. “You may jump when ready.”

He relaxed as the flicker drive engaged, moving the entire fleet eight light years from Camelot. The cargo would be transferred — along with some of the Marines, just to make sure that none of it got lost along the way — and then he and his fleet would head out to meet up with Daria. And then the real war could begin.

His smile grew wider. He just wished he could see Percival’s face when he heard the news.

By any standard one wished to use, Captain Penelope Quick — Penny to her friends — knew, Camelot had not been a great terraforming success. The planet had been marginally habitable when the Imperial Navy’s survey ship had discovered it, nearly a hundred years ago. The first Sector Commander had brought in the terraforming crews and ordered them to turn the world — claimed by the Imperial Navy because most of the prime real estate in Sector 117 had been claimed by the Families — into a garden, but the teams were still working on it, seventy years later. From her vantage point on the orbital headquarters, floating in high orbit around the planet, she could see monstrous storms moving across the planet’s surface. The terraforming crews claimed that it would be another hundred years — at least — before the planet settled down and became habitable. The only habitations currently on the planet were reinforced domes and underground complexes, holding over two million Imperial Navy and supporting personnel. Even so, the important work in the system was conducted in orbit.

The datachip felt heavy in her pocket, a reminder that she was delaying — no, procrastinating. An hour ago, a bulk freighter had flickered into the Camelot system, narrowly escaping destruction by the patrolling destroyers. Admiral Percival’s orders had been strict — any unexpected arrivals were to be chased down at once — and the ship’s passengers had been lucky to survive. And one of the passengers, Commodore Stacy Roosevelt, had given Penny the datachip and told her to take it to her superior, Admiral Percival himself.

Penny shook her head as she gazed down at the planet below. Stacy had departed Camelot two weeks ago with nine superdreadnaughts and five heavy transports. It didn’t take much imagination to realise that something had gone dreadfully wrong, not if she’d transferred her flag to a bulk freighter that was well past its best. Penny also knew why Stacy wanted her to take the datachip — and the first report — to Admiral Percival. The Admiral was known for shooting the messenger, sometimes literally. It said something about just how bad the situation was, how bad it had to be, that Stacy had chosen to avoid speaking to the Admiral herself. Perhaps even her connections, second to none on Camelot, couldn’t protect her from the consequences of her failure.

The thought made Penny smile, bitterly. Years ago, the young and naive Lieutenant Quick had the misfortune of catching the eye of Admiral Percival. Percival’s offer had been simple enough; he wanted a sexual partner and he was willing to extend his patronage to Penny, in exchange for her warming his bed. Penny, who had been chafing at her slow advance in the ranks of the Imperial Navy, had accepted the bargain and discovered — too late — that Percival was a sadist of the highest order. He could be charming, even seductive, when he wanted to be, but he saw no reason to show those traits to her, not now. And, because Penny had a close association with Percival, no other patron would consider touching her. She was faced with the unenviable task of serving as Percival’s aide as well as his sexual toy, for if Percival ever fell from grace, he would take her down with him. There seemed to be no way out.

Penny shook her head, remembering those early days and how she had caught his eye. She had long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, although they seemed to reflect her inner sadness when she wasn’t taking care to project a smiling face to the world. It was no wonder that Percival had been attracted to her, all those years ago; indeed, sexual favours in return for advancement were common in the Imperial Navy. She had just been one of the unlucky ones who had discovered that the game wasn’t worth the candle. Instead of a single night of passion, she spent every night in Percival’s bed… and the improved pay and prestige wasn’t worth it. She wished that she could go back to her younger self, the ambitious Lieutenant, and tell the silly bitch to be content with her lot.

The datachip seemed to grow heavier as she turned and walked into the secured inner section of the massive space station. Admiral Percival commanded the sector from Camelot, rather than from the bridge of his flagship or down on the planet. It hadn’t taken her long to realise that Percival was something of a coward. The space station, which had defences that rivalled a superdreadnaught, was far safer than the planetary surface. She had carefully refrained from pointing out to him that the space station was also a bigger target. Besides, it wasn’t as if the Empire was about to go to war.