Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Right

Penny felt her eyes narrow. “And what will happen to you if Percival falls?”

Brent-Cochrane leaned back in his chair, projecting complete unconcern. “If the Admiral falls,” he said, “he will carry the blame for the failure. I, as one of his subordinates, would be in an excellent position to move up, perhaps even to take his place as Sector Commander. My family would definitely prevent him from trying to slip the blame onto me. Even if I didn’t get the position, I would still be in a far better place than anyone else.”

Penny considered it. It seemed fairly likely that Brent-Cochrane was actually right. Even if he wasn’t, it might just allow her a chance to escape the fall of her patron without ill effects. Or perhaps she was deluding herself. When different patrons clashed, it was always their clients who bore the brunt of the fighting.

The thought wasn’t a cheerful one. She’d seen enough, from working at Admiral Percival’s shoulder, to know that the patronage system was the only thing keeping the Empire together. Parliament was a joke; the independent judiciary had been penetrated and broken by the Thousand Families in so many ways. And, of course, there was no Emperor. The Thousand Families, she suspected, would one day reach a point where they could no longer expand, or extend their networks of patronage any further. She had no idea what would happen then, but she was fairly sure it would be bloody. The Thousand Families would turn on one another and the Empire would burn in the crossfire.

“You might be right,” she conceded, finally. If he wanted to be blunt, she could be blunt too; besides, it was slightly refreshing. Percival would never allow her to speak freely. “What are you offering me?”

Brent-Cochrane didn’t look offended at her directness. “At the moment, I wish you to report to me — privately — on the doings of our lord and master,” he said. “When Percival falls, I will take you under my wing and have you assigned to my staff. I may even be able to get you a command of your own. Or, if you wish, I could pay you; a few hundred thousand credits would ensure that you no longer needed to serve in the Imperial Navy.”

Penny kept her face expressionless as she ran through a series of thoughts in her head. The money wouldn’t be any protection if things went sour unless she had it switched into an untraceable credit account, changed her name and vanished. Even then, Imperial Intelligence would probably be able to track her down. It was tempting to cling to what remained of her integrity, yet the truth was that she had none, and had none since she had first started to whore herself to Percival. It was a bitter thought.

And there was no point in giving her loyalty to a man who would show her none.

“I accept,” she said, tightly. Brent-Cochrane’s eyes flickered with delight. “I’d like both the credits and the placement, once the Admiral has fallen.”

“Of course,” Brent-Cochrane said. It would be small change to him, of course. He could have paid her far more without needing to worry about his bank balance. His eyes fell on her uniform jacket. Unwisely, she’d worn one of the tighter outfits and she could feel his eyes leaving trails of slime all over her breasts. “And there was one other thing I wanted…”

Penny nodded slowly and started to unbutton her jacket.

Afterwards, unlike Percival, Brent-Cochrane started to get dressed again almost at once. He had to have given some kind of signal to the outside world — although Penny had seen nothing — and no one had interrupted them during their brief tryst. Penny was relieved about that — even though it wasn’t as if she had any dignity left for a voyeur to steal — yet she wished that she were alone. She needed to think and think hard. And she wasn’t sure why Brent-Cochrane had insisted that she give herself to him. Had it been a way to pressure her, to remind her of whom she now belonged to, or was it more primal, an attempt to beat the Admiral by sleeping with his lover?

“So,” Brent-Cochrane said, once he was dressed. Despite his reputation, he hadn’t hurt her, although he hadn’t gone out of his way to make her happy either. Penny had a great deal of experience in faking it and she was sure that he was convinced that she had enjoyed herself. It didn’t hurt that, compared to the Admiral, Brent-Cochrane was Casanova himself. “What does our lord and master wish for me to do?”

Penny flushed, trying to finish pulling on her jacket. “He wants you to be in a position to intercept the rebels when they attack their next target,” she said. The stupid jacket was refusing to button up properly. She cursed it as she felt for the buttons and forced them into place. “He thinks that your fleet should be sufficient to take on and beat the rebels.”

“Oh, he does, does he?” Brent-Cochrane said. He seemed amused by her struggles with her rebellious jacket. “And did he hire a clairvoyant to predict where the rebels are going to hit next, or does he intend for me to pick a world at random?”

Penny finished pulling on her jacket and produced a small comb from an inner pocket, working on her hair. Brent-Cochrane had, unsurprisingly, wrecked her hairdo. “He has a handful of worlds that he believes are likely targets,” she admitted. “He wants you to guard Greenland.”

“He picked the worlds, or did you?” Brent-Cochrane asked, dryly. Penny flushed again. It seemed that having a superior officer who knew just how smart one actually was could be dangerous. “I would like to know how you chose them.”

Penny explained, not bothering to give the Admiral any further credit. She’d looked at the worlds in Sector 117, following her hunch that Commander Walker would seek to harm the Roosevelt Family and humiliate Percival, and sorted out twenty-one worlds that would make possible targets. She’d separated nine of them because they were heavily defended with fixed defences, including some that would deter a superdreadnaught squadron unless they really wanted to take the world. The rebels, without a major shipyard under their control, probably wouldn’t consider them serious targets. That left twelve possible targets.

“I like the logic,” Brent-Cochrane said, finally. “Why does he want me to guard Greenland in particular?”

“Stacy Roosevelt insisted on it,” Penny said, remembering that discussion. She would personally have put Greenland in the lower tier of possible targets, but Stacy had insisted and the Admiral — of course — had backed her up. “Please tell me you’re not going to grovel to her too.”

“The Roosevelt Family has strong connections to my family,” Brent-Cochrane said, with a snort. “I don’t have to do anything for her and she knows it.”

He turned back to the private terminal as Penny checked her appearance in a small pocket mirror. All traces of their love-making were gone, as if it had never happened. “But Greenland is only one of several possible targets,” he continued, “and the rebels might avoid it purely because of its strong Roosevelt connection. Commander Walker” — he winked, reminding her that he blamed Percival for the mutiny — “may follow the same logic and avoid Greenland.”

Penny shook her head. “So what do we do?”

“First, we leave the drones here, as the Admiral ordered,” Brent-Cochrane said, thoughtfully. “This is a terribly determined world, but the Blackshirts will crush their determination eventually — they always do. Its butcher’s work and they’ll love it. The assault cruisers can give them the firepower they need to make sure they don’t actually lose their foothold on the surface. And then we go here.”

His finger tapped a location in interstellar space. “You see, I don’t trust Percival to understand that we weren’t to blame if the rebels hit elsewhere,” he said, dryly. “We’ll wait here and dispatch destroyers to the nearby systems. If the rebels hit them — and that includes Greenland — we will flicker in behind them and bring them to battle. If not…”