Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Right

“We’re going to start bringing down additional shuttles now,” he said, trying to avoid looking at one woman. Heavily pregnant, one of her legs was missing, forcing her to walk around on a wooden cage. The sight disturbed him on a very primal level. “And then we can get you all out of here.”

“Thank you,” the chief said. The sheer gratitude in his voice was almost embarrassing. His wife, a weak-looking girl with fading hair, gazed up at the Marines worshipfully. “Thank you.”

Colin paced the command deck, feeling the seconds ticking away.

It was irrational, he knew, yet he couldn’t stop feeling as if some great unseen doom was rushing towards him. Seeing the images from the planet below — he’d had them put on the open datanet, allowing the entire crew to see what they were fighting against — had reminded him of his certain fate if he were to lose the war. And, if he’d had any doubts, it was also proof that he was fighting on the right side. Colin wouldn’t have lost any sleep over the deaths of serial killers or paedophiles, yet the Empire had placed such abominable people in with rebels and others who had merely wanted a better life for themselves. It was a chilling reminder of the true nature of the Empire. It was a system that just didn’t care.

The records they’d recovered from the orbital station hadn’t been that detailed, not entirely to Colin’s surprise. Hester had given them a list of names she wanted recovered, yet Colin knew that it would be as much a matter of luck as judgement. The Marines had dispatched shuttles on recon missions to search for unregistered settlements — the Empire hadn’t bothered to keep close track of the prisoners, hence the shortage of data on the planet’s vicious wildlife — but there was no way to guarantee results. Colin was mildly surprised that the planet hadn’t been turned into a hunting world for members of the Thousand Families — there were several worlds with unpleasant wildlife that served in that role — yet they were over six months from Earth. Or perhaps someone senior had conspired to hide the data in order to save them having to find another penal world.

He glanced up at the display as another of the small freighters broke orbit and headed down towards the planet’s surface, summoned by one of the Marine teams. The smaller freighters had one advantage over the other transports; if worst came to worse, they could flicker out from within the planet’s atmosphere, escaping any vengeful Imperial Navy fleet. Colin had reinforced their crews with Marines — some of the prisoners they rescued were likely to fall into the category of people who had thoroughly deserved their sentence –yet it was something else that worried him. He had already privately determined that if they did happen to recover a genuine criminal, that criminal would be escorted to an airlock and ejected out into space. It was harsh, but if they released a real criminal, the Empire would get a hell of a propaganda victory out of it. Besides, he had grown up on a world where criminals had often been free to do as they pleased. A quick decompression was almost merciful.

“Admiral, we may have a problem,” Flag Captain Jeremy Damiani said. Colin looked up sharply. Damiani would not have been human if he hadn’t resented the elevation of a mere Commander over his head, even though he hadn’t been part of the rebellion, yet he’d carried out his duties well. Even Anderson, a compulsive paranoid, had admitted that. “The long-range sensors picked up traces of a flicker emergence.”

Colin brought up the display on his own private console and frowned. Something had definitely emerged into the system, out beyond the orbit of the outermost world. It wasn’t charging at them and spitting out missiles, which suggested that Percival hadn’t anticipated their movements and had a superdreadnaught squadron of his own in a position to intercept them, but it was worrying. Who were they and what did they want? It was possible, he knew, that they might be pirates or free-traders, yet Colin didn’t believe in coincidence. Besides, the interrogation of Commander Fox hadn’t revealed any links to free-traders, a depressing burst of honesty on the part of an otherwise deeply corrupt man.

“They’re watching us,” he decided. It made sense. None of the nearby stars had a force capable of meeting his superdreadnaughts and destroying them, so they’d sent a single ship in to watch his force and attempt to track them when they flickered out. He ran through the calculations in his head, but there was no way to tell which particular system had sent the observing starship. If it was an observing starship and not just a free-trader trying to hide, or a pirate crew plotting their latest raid. “I want you to detach two of the battlecruisers and send them on a recon patrol. We might as well try to scare them out of concealment.”

“Yes, sir,” Damiani said. He hesitated. It was the job of a Flag Captain to raise any concerns he might have, yet his previous commanding officer hadn’t thought highly of anyone who dared to question her. “The enemy ship will have cloaked. They may not find anything.”

“Possibly,” Colin said. He shrugged. “It’s still worth a try.” He keyed his console, bringing up the link to the landing parties. “Inform the Marines to try to speed things up, if possible. We may be running out of time up here.”

Simon looked around his hut, marvelling at how little there was that he truly cared for, or about. The small collection of clothes — made from local materials — could be left behind without causing his heart to turn over, while the handful of tools they’d made could be abandoned to the tender mercies of the bandits. The blankets Alice and he had used when they’d snuggled together against the cold — the planet’s variable star ensured that some winters were colder than others — were nothing more than a reminder of everything they’d lost, including two children. Alice had miscarried twice before they’d finally given up trying to have kids. It was just another example of how the Empire didn’t care. They claimed to want a colony created by Simon and his descendents, yet the conditions they’d created seemed designed to prevent them from having any descendents.

Shaking his head, he walked out of the hut, leaving the door open. It had never really been locked anyway, not when locks had been beyond their capabilities to produce. The bandits could take Haven, if they wanted it; the entire settlement had chosen to leave and head off into orbit with the Marines. The rebels had promised that, if they didn’t want to fight, they could go to a more survivable colony somewhere past the Rim. They hadn’t given details, and not all of the involuntary settlers trusted them, but it was the best offer they had. Besides, the Empire wouldn’t waste time with an imaginative pretence, not if they wanted to rid the planet of human life. They would just have dropped a tailored virus and exterminated the settlers.

The shuttles had lifted off for a moment and used their drives to scorch the sand, preventing the sand-crawlers from breaking through to the surface and coming to attack the humans as they walked out onto the sand. The Marines had spread out and were maintaining a perimeter, although Simon privately suspected that some of them wanted trophies to take back to their base. One of the crawlers — a spider-like creature that they rarely saw openly — had been yanked out of its nest and torn apart by one of the Marines. Simon envied them their powered armour. Without it, they would probably have been forced into stony ground too, not unlike the settlers.

“Hurry,” one of the Marines ordered. At Simon’s request, a small party had been sent to contact the Crabs and invite them to leave as well, although he’d detected little enthusiasm for the job. Humans had been told for so long that they were vastly superior to any alien race that even the decent ones believed it. “We may not have much time.”