Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Right

Penny crossed her legs again and keyed the terminal, bringing up a chart of Sector 117. “There are thousands of possible targets,” she said, “depending on just what the rebels have in mind. They could go after our shipping” — the Annual Fleet still hadn’t appeared, leading her to wonder if the rebels had jumped and destroyed the fleet — “or they could target the various Family-owned worlds in the sector, weakening our position and embarrassing us at home. Only a handful of worlds can hope to stand their fleet off for longer than a few hours; if we assume that they won’t go after such worlds…”

“Really,” Derbyshire interrupted. “And what grounds do you have for assuming such a thing?”

Penny refused to allow him to fluster her. “The rebels do not have access to any shipyards capable of repairing a superdreadnaught,” she said. “Repairing a superdreadnaught, even in a shipyard, is not a trivial task. They would probably prefer to keep their superdreadnaughts undamaged for as long as possible.”

“Unless they’ve somehow established a shipyard in the Beyond,” Percival added. He sounded as if his previous delight had turned sour. “They could be turning out their own superdreadnaughts.”

“If that were the case,” Derbyshire said, “we’d have seen newer superdreadnaughts pointed at us by now, built by the underground movements based along the Rim.”

Penny nodded. “And there is another factor to consider,” she added. She looked up at her patron, feeling her insides churning. Percival wasn’t going to like this at all, not even slightly. “Commander Walker has a grudge against you personally.”

“Ungrateful piece of shit,” Percival said. His voice had turned savage, as if he were so angry he had to fight to get the words out. “I take him from the gutter, build him up into a fine young officer and this is how he repays me?”

Penny doubted that it had been that way at all. Reading between the lines, she suspected that Percival had used Commander Walker as a tool and then discarded him when his usefulness was over. The secure files had been quite indicative, with carefully-written statements in Walker’s file that suggested he was too ambitious to be trusted with high command. Her lips twitched, humourlessly. Percival had been quite right about that, although not for the right reasons. He’d just seen it as squashing a bug with unsubtle ambitions.

“Regardless, he has a grudge,” Penny said, calmly. “And that grudge is going to lead him to strike against you — and to pick targets that hurt you.”

“Camelot itself, then,” Percival said. His voice broke off, suddenly. “I see what you mean.”

Penny smiled. “You’re a Roosevelt client, so hurting the Roosevelt Family hurts you, because it makes you look incompetent,” she said, firmly. “There are nine worlds within the sector that would make good targets, with the dual aim of embarrassing you and weakening the Roosevelt hold on this sector. Those worlds will be targeted by the rebels, certainly soon if not now.”

She keyed the terminal. “We call the superdreadnaughts back from Jackson’s Folly, but we leave decoy drones in their place,” she said. “Commodore Brent-Cochrane moves his squadron to the most likely target and lurks there, under cloak. When the rebels show up, he moves to intercept and destroy them.”

“Defeating the rebellion in one blow,” Percival agreed. His grin grew wider, like a shark’s. “I must compliment you. Sending you on invasion missions as an observer clearly helps you to think.”

Penny smiled, modestly. It wouldn’t remain her idea for very long.

“I will cut the orders for Brent-Cochrane at once,” Percival added. Penny didn’t miss the long look Stacy gave him, warning him that he had better ensure that the Roosevelt Family’s interests were protected. “And then” — he reached out and ran a finger down her arm — “perhaps we can celebrate in private.”

Penny nodded, keeping her true feelings concealed with the ease of long practice. There was no point in pointing out that the rebels hadn’t been beaten yet. It would only have upset him.

“So,” Hester said. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Colin shrugged. It had never occurred to him that he might suffer from a fear of crowds. In the Imperial Navy Academy, he’d been packed in with other cadets of his own age, while senior cadets had ruled with a rod of iron, keeping trouble-makers in line with beatings and demerits. The cramped, almost claustrophobic conditions hadn’t bothered him; indeed, he’d been having trouble sleeping in the massive Admiral’s quarters that had been set aside for Stacy Roosevelt. He certainly had never experienced any discomfort on starships, even as a young Midshipman.

And yet… standing in the centre of the massive room, exchanging small talk with everyone — they sought him out personally — made him want to run off and hide, perhaps back onboard the superdreadnaught. He’d been in formal balls before as one of Percival’s aides, yet there he’d been very much a wallflower, too lowly to be noticed. Here, he was the centre of attention. Everyone from underground leaders to starship commanders and cult leaders had come to see him, him personally. It was almost too much to bear. He would have preferred to face a fleet of superdreadnaughts wearing only a towel.

“I have been worse,” he said, gravely. Hester had effectively taken over his social schedule, introducing him to the real movers and shakers along the Rim. Some of them had been keen to work with the rebels, hoping that one day they would be able to return to the worlds the Empire had taken; others had been less willing to cooperate, either through fear of the Empire or simple disinterest. “Is all of this really necessary?”

It came out more plaintive than he had hoped and Hester smiled in understanding. “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she said, moving her lips so that they were right next to his ear. Her breath was chilly, freezing cold. “The first time I had to address a congress of revolutionary factions, I was so nervous that I kept going to the toilet and they eventually had to send someone to see how I was. There are more kinds of bravery than merely charging into battle and dying heroically.”

Colin snorted. The Thousand Families seemed to be born with the kind of arrogance that made such parties bearable. He couldn’t imagine Stacy Roosevelt, or even Percival himself, having a problem with the gathering. They would have been happily chatting about nothing, or sharing spiteful tales about their rivals, or even cutting deniable deals with all and sundry. They would have been delighted to be the centre of attention, and very insulted if they’d been ignored. Colin… wanted to run and hide.

In hopes of a distraction, he looked around the massive chamber. Someone had carved it into the heart of an icy asteroid, using fusion torches to carve out a romantic retreat, yet it felt surprisingly warm. Hundreds of representatives moved through the chamber, chatting with others, although all of them had made time to speak to Colin. He’d thought that he would have to make contact, but as Hester had promised, they all came to him. And, of course, they all wanted something.

He caught sight of an inhumanly tall form and shivered. The Nerds, unlike the Geeks, believed in unrestrained genetic engineering and exploration of human potential. By now, centuries after the first of them had been forced to flee the Empire, there was a small subculture of genetically-modified humans running through the Beyond, all too aware that the Empire would shoot them and dissect them if they were captured. Some could pass for baseline human; others, hybrids between human and animal DNA, were very far from human. The Nerds had been willing to pledge their support, just like their counterparts, but they’d had a price. The Empire’s restrictions on genetic engineering, intended to prevent commoners from improving themselves, had to be scrapped.