Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Right

He’d considered taking his fleet back to Jackson’s Folly — the Empire wouldn’t keep the superdreadnaught squadron they’d used to break the planet’s defences there indefinitely — and destroying the pickets left in the system, but it would be a pointless exercise. It would only make Jackson’s Folly more of a target for the Empire, while Admiral Percival would simply launch a second invasion and recover the independent world. Raiding the pickets was one thing; actively liberating the planet, if only for a few weeks, was quite another.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Captain,” Cordova said, clapping her on the shoulder. Khursheda glowered at him, although she seemed to hold the renegade Captain in higher esteem than Daria. “The politics can now be left to those who remain behind to hold the fort, while we warriors have to head off to war. And, when the war is won, we can see who is still standing.”

Colin kept his face expressionless, although the truth was that he didn’t know if he truly trusted the former Imperial Navy Captain. He wasn’t in any position to complain about a mutinous officer, yet… there was something about Cordova that set him on edge. Perhaps it was the booming pronouncements he was fond of making, or perhaps it was the fact that Cordova seemed almost too good to be true. Colin had never asked him what future Cordova saw for the Empire — and, for that matter, what Cordova wanted from life. Did he want to go home one day?

“Jason is right,” he said, calmly. “We have to win the war before we can organise the reformation of the Empire and for that we need the help of the rebel factions.”

“I believe that most of them will help us,” Hester said. The older woman was looking tired and drawn, exhausted by her labours. Colin had urged her to drop into sickbay for a medical examination, but Hester had refused, citing the need to get to work. “And combined, they can threaten the Empire.”

“Until the Empire moves in reinforcements,” Khursheda countered. “Let’s face it; apart from this formation, the Shadow Fleet or whatever we wind up calling it, we have nothing larger than a heavy cruiser — and outdated heavy cruisers at that. Their modern counterparts will smash right through them.”

“Given time,” Salgak said, “we can produce new weapons and starships that will tip the balance in our favour. The first units of the new class are already under construction.” The cyborg’s augmented head twisted from side to side. “The Empire will not be expecting us to develop new concepts, perhaps even new levels of weaponry.”

“And you know that Imperial Navy Captains are not trained to expect the unexpected, let alone cope with it,” Cordova said. He stroked his beard as his smile grew wider, contemplating the tactical possibilities. “We can certainly hurt them badly before they have a chance to adapt.”

Colin lifted a hand and the room fell silent. “We have to run before we can walk,” he said, feeling a wave of tiredness passing over his body. Once the fleet was underway to its next target, he promised himself, he would lock his quarters and get several days of proper rest. He shook his head inwardly, laughing at himself. The chances were good that he would never have any real rest until the war was won. “And, with that in mind, we need to decide on our next target — and indeed our overall plan for winning the war.”

He hadn’t intended to share the details of his planning with anyone, but it had been gently, if firmly, pointed out to him by Daria that showing his distrust too openly would cause others to react against him. Besides, if any of the men and women gathered in his quarters were traitors — or Imperial Intelligence spies — the rebellion was about to be terminated before it was even fairly begun. Pushing the dark thought aside, Colin keyed the terminal and brought up a star chart of Sector 117.

The Empire, for reasons that owed more to inter-Family scrabbles and disputes rather than common sense, tended to treat each sector as a separate entity, rather than acknowledge the realities of space. Two planets that were only ten light years apart might as well be on the other side of the galaxy from each other, if they were separated by an arbitrary sector line. Colin had never been able to understand why the Empire operated in such a fashion — the best theory he had been able to develop was that it suited the shipping lines — yet it had practical implications. The worlds outside Sector 117 were unlikely to have heard about the rebellion. If his calculations were correct, if Percival had chosen to keep the news of the rebellion restricted, the other sectors wouldn’t be watching for his ships. They would have no idea that they had to watch for his ships. The thought of taking his ships over the sector line and wreaking havoc was tempting, but he pushed it aside. Admiral Percival had to be dislodged first, before the rebellion could spread.

He studied the chart, his mind automatically correcting for the slight misrepresentation of holographic displays. There were two hundred inhabited planets within Sector 117, but most of them were effectively valueless, at least when it came to rebellion. Colin’s fleet could destroy the orbital stations and the weapons platforms intended to discourage pirates from trying to hit the planet, yet what would it gain him? Nothing — and it would give Public Information a hell of a chance to discredit the rebellion. There were only fifty worlds that were important enough to merit being targeted — the remainder would fall into the rebellion’s hands once Camelot had been taken — and none of them would fail to provoke a reaction from Percival.

“First,” he said. “The main body of the fleet — under my command — will proceed to Piccadilly. We will use various tricks” — he wasn’t about to go into any detail, even here — “to sneak in and then engage the defences from very short range. Once we have destroyed the orbital defences, we will take out the facilities on the surface of the planet and withdraw before we can be engaged and destroyed.”

“Chancy,” Cordova observed. “You end up stuck there and Percival’s goons will kick your ass through the nearest airlock.”

Colin couldn’t disagree with the sentiment, however crudely Cordova chose to express it. Piccadilly was not only a valuable world in its own right — the Roosevelt Family had been developing the world and transforming it into a major industrial node, although his capture of the Annual Fleet would have hampered its further development — but it was within thirty light years of Camelot. Percival would, assuming that he had a force on stand-by, be able to dispatch one of his own superdreadnaught squadrons to intercept. And then…

The thought made him smile. His force would have its flicker drives powered up and ready to go. They’d simply flicker out as soon as the enemy ships arrived, yet… one lesson that had been hammered into his head back at the Academy was the KISS Principle. Keep It Simple, Stupid. The operation would infuriate Percival and drive his patrons into a frenzy of hate and fear, forcing them to demand that Percival did the impossible and capture or kill Colin. And yet Cordova was right. Too much could go wrong too quickly.

“We’ll remain on alert to flicker out if the shit hits the fan,” Colin assured him. It didn’t begin to express his own doubts and fears over the operation — and he suspected that Cordova knew that — but it would have to suffice. “Percival will simply be unable to intercept us.”

Cordova didn’t bother to argue, so Colin moved on to the next part of the operation. “Khursheda, you will take command of the battlecruiser squadron” — calling a unit of five battlecruisers and six heavy cruisers a squadron was pushing it, but it had to do — “and go pay a call on the ICN network. The message has already been prepared, along with the codes that will allow it to disseminate through the ICN, without Percival being able to do a thing about it.”