Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Right

A dull hum echoed through the gunboat as the flicker drive came to life. Markus hadn’t admitted it — gunboat pilots never showed their fear, not even in front of their lives — but this was the part of the mission that most worried him. The weird energies released by an activated flicker drive couldn’t be shielded — or concealed — by anything short of a planet. If they were lucky, the platform would mistake the gunboat’s flicker drive for the freighter’s drive — the data packet they’d transmitted had warned that the drive was unstable — but if they weren’t lucky… actually, there was very little they could do. The bulk freighter might have been within missile range, yet the crew would have plenty of warning.

“They’re saying that the drive is clearly unstable and suggest that we abandon ship,” Carola said. They shared another grin. Under Imperial Law, an abandoned ship could be declared salvage and end up the property of whoever recovered it. The Imperial Navy wouldn’t want the bulk freighter, yet a real freighter crew would have had to pay massive bribes just to recover their ship. The big Family-owned shipping lines saw to that. “They’re even offering to send a shuttle to take us off the ship.”

“And their time is up,” Markus said. He keyed a final set of commands into the main computer. “Jump in three… two… one… jump !”

Admiral Walker’s idea, Markus had considered, was so simple that he’d wondered why no one had ever thought of it before. Or, perhaps, someone had thought of it and decided that it was far too risky to attempt even under strictly controlled conditions. When a starship flickered out, it created a twist in the fabric of time and space, a twist that could be extremely dangerous to anything nearby. Indeed, gunboat pilots were known for waiting around until a missile got close enough to be caught in the effect and flickering out, detonating the missile as they vanished. Flickering out from inside a mothership would cause horrific damage to the mothership, to the point where the Imperial Navy hard-coded safety systems to prevent anyone from being stupid enough to try it.

The bulk freighter, however, was expendable. Admiral Walker’s crew of Geeks had cut out almost the entire cargo bay section and replaced it with a single bay, with the gunboat positioned in the exact centre. If the freighter survived, it could be recovered and repaired; if not, it was, after all, expendable. When Markus hit the final switch, his gunboat flickered out, the signature of its disappearance being masked by the destabilising freighter drive. It might have been impossible to send a message at FTL speeds, but Admiral Walker’s tactic would allow the rebels some improved coordination — if it worked.

Markus swore as the entire gunboat shuddered so hard that he feared it would come apart. One of the dangers of the tactic had been that parts of the freighter would be sucked into the twist with them and wind up slamming against the gunboat’s hull. A second danger, a far more likely one, was that the mass of the freighter would randomly affect the jump, sending them to the wrong location or burning out the drives. Markus had used five years of experience to program the jump, along with the most sophisticated computers the Empire could produce, and even he was nervous. He would never have admitted it, of course.

“Success,” Carola proclaimed. The gunboat was tumbling wildly — the artificial gravity seemed to be fading away, suggesting that there was more damage they couldn’t detect — but they were alive. “We are in the right location.”

Markus laughed as the display lit up with IFF signals. Admiral Walker’s fleet was waiting for them. “Start uploading the data,” he ordered. He checked the damage-control system, which was covered in red lights. “And then tell them that we need a pick-up.”

Fox blinked in surprise as the entire freighter started to disintegrate. His first response was irritation — the freighter’s spokeswoman had sounded attractive and desperate — but as he studied the sensors, he found himself puzzled. There seemed to be no valid reason for the starship to disintegrate. It wasn’t unknown for a very badly tuned flicker drive to start weakening the vessel’s structure, but any freighter crew worth their salt would have known to watch for and avoid that. It looked almost as if they had tried to flicker out, only to have the drive fail spectacularly.

“Get the shuttle out there,” he ordered. His crew had, at least, responded quickly, even though they’d grumbled a great deal. He couldn’t really blame them. Savaging a bulk freighter — its manifest had stated that it was carrying farming tools, rather than anything interesting — wasn’t an easy task, even if the freighter was intact. As it was, it looked as if a single misjudgement could cause a disaster. “I want…”

He broke off as new red icons spangled into existence on the display. “Holy shit!”

“Jump completed, sir,” the helmsman reported.

“Enemy tactical sensors are scanning us,” the tactical officer added. “I think they can’t believe their eyes.”

Colin smiled. He knew how he would have reacted if he’d been in command of the base and had suddenly seen nine superdreadnaughts and over a hundred smaller ships bearing down on him. It was possible that the Imperial Navy crewmen would believe that they were legitimate starships on a legitimate mission, but he’d decided not to try to use the fake IFF signals. The Geeks swore blind that Colin’s fleet would be able to pretend to be either of Percival’s remaining superdreadnaught squadrons, yet Colin wanted to hide that capability until they hit a far harder target than Garstang.

The planet grew in the main display as his fleet headed towards the network of orbital weapons platforms surrounding the penal world. It didn’t look healthy , not to Colin’s eyes, a sign of a world at war with itself. Unlike most marginally-habitable worlds, Garstang’s native ecology had proven itself able to fight the infusion of Earth-native plants and animals, creating a nightmarish environment for the unwilling colonists. Eventually, it would settle down into a balanced position — the terraforming crews had been certain of that — but for the moment it made an ideal penal world. Colin couldn’t keep his eyes off it. If his rebellion failed, most of his crew would be sentenced to a penal world, although he himself would be publically executed. The Empire would never show mercy to his men.

“They’re hailing us,” the communications officer said. “They’re asking what we’re doing here.”

Colin’s lips twitched. Admiral Percival clearly hadn’t warned the penal colony that nine superdreadnaughts had fallen into enemy hands, or that they might be raided by rebel forces. The Imperial Navy crew on the platforms had to know that something was wrong — the fleet bearing down on them included some very non-standard starships — yet they might not realise just how badly they were screwed. His lips tightened into a humourless smile. A single salvo of missiles from his fleet would utterly destroy the planet’s defences and allow him to recover as many of the prisoners as he could without any fear of being interrupted.

Provided, of course, that we can find that picket ship , he thought, sourly. The superdreadnaught’s massive arrays of tactical sensors were probing space — there was no point in trying to hide — but they hadn’t located the picket ship. Colin wasn’t too surprised. As long as the crew was careful, they could just keep their heads down, power up their own flicker drive and jump out. The thought was bleakly amusing. Where could they go to get reinforcements capable of taking on nine superdreadnaughts? There was only one place they could go — Camelot — and that was several days away.