Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Right

The Geeks had also redesigned the interior of the freighter, reasoning that they might be able to prevent the gravity compression caused by the flicker drive from destroying the ship. Markus settled down in his chair, checked that Carola was ready, and then powered up the drive. A moment later, they were gone from the system, leaving a mystery behind for the Imperial Navy. It wouldn’t puzzle them for long.

From three light years away, Jackson’s Folly was completely indistinguishable from any other star, just another steady pinprick of light shining out in the darkness. The sight left Colin feeling oddly homesick, even though he had never been back home since he’d taken the oath at the Academy. He still remembered the child within who had gazed up on the stars and wanted to be out there among them.

His wristcom buzzed. “Sir, we have a full download from the gunboat,” his Flag Captain said. “The targeting patterns have not changed significantly, but there are some additional targets in the system. I request permission to deploy the battlecruisers to go after their manufacturing ship.”

“Granted,” Colin said. He smiled as a thought struck him. “Tell them to try to take it intact if possible.”

He took one last look at the stars and turned, heading out of the observation blister. “I’m on my way,” he said. “Order the fleet to begin jump preparation. It’s time to go to war.”

“So I have sent to Camelot for additional support,” Angelika concluded. The conference had only been going on for ten minutes and she was already sick of it. Imperial Navy regulations insisted on all squadron commanders holding a conference with their subordinates regularly, yet she much preferred social gatherings on her flagship. At least they could have shared a meal as well as a long chat. “I’m sure that Admiral Percival will see the justice of our cause.”

There were some hastily-hidden smiles. No one seriously expected Admiral Percival to be motivated by anything resembling justice. It was more likely that he would consider how each possible decision would affect his own career before making up his mind. Angelika would have condemned that, but then… every Imperial Navy officer would probably make the same calculation. She probably would too, if she ever reached such rarefied heights. It was such a long way to fall.

“Until then, we will continue to support the troops on the ground and patrol the asteroids, hoping to locate their hidden bases,” she said. “I think that…”

She looked up in alarm as the GQ alert echoed though her ship. “All hands to battle stations,” her XO said. “Set condition one throughout the ship. Captain to the bridge; I say again, Captain to the bridge.”

Angelika scowled. She had chosen to hold the conference in her cabin as it allowed her to chance to be more relaxed and informal. She should have known better, she told herself as she broke the link and grabbed for her jacket, pulling it on and following it with the white hat that signified supreme command. The wags in the fleet called it the Worry Hat. The bastards, in her opinion, were quite right. She checked her appearance quickly and walked swiftly — not running, the ship’s commander could not be seen running — onto the bridge.

“I have the bridge,” she said, as the hatch hissed closed behind her. No one saluted or stood to attention, something that was not permitted during battle stations. “XO; report.”

“We have multiple hostile starships flickering into the system,” her XO reported. Angelika took the command chair and studied the main display. The glowing red icons representing nine superdreadnaughts — and a handful of supporting ships — were positioned in front of her. For a moment, she wondered if Brent-Cochrane had been permitted to return to Jackson’s Folly, but the IFF signals didn’t match. She was looking at the rebel superdreadnaughts. “I confirm nine superdreadnaughts, nineteen cruisers of varying design and four ships of unidentified purpose.”

Angelika pulled the data up on her personal terminal and frowned. The rebel superdreadnaughts were the ones Commander Walker had successfully hijacked, but the battle computers couldn’t put a name to the other ships. That suggested that they were from the Rim or the Beyond, where the Imperial Navy had lost quite a few smaller ships to mutiny — or perhaps they had simply been sold off by corrupt Imperial Navy contractors. She had urged Admiral Percival to hold a full investigation into the contractors within the system, but nothing had come of it, probably because the contractors were closely linked to the Roosevelt Family and it would only cause embarrassment. Or, perhaps, the Admiral himself was stealing the ships and selling them off. The irony made her smile. Admiral Percival was actually less corrupt than some of the other officers nearer the Core Worlds.

She shook her head. Whatever the origin of the smaller ships, the superdreadnaughts alone were more than powerful enough to destroy her command, which meant… standing still and waiting to be hit probably wasn’t a good idea.

“General signal to all ships,” she ordered. Her tone, she hoped, would discourage anyone from questioning her too closely. “I want every warship in orbit to form up around the flag. The monitors are to be dispatched at once to the waypoint” — her hands danced across her terminal, designating a set of coordinates — “I have selected, where they are to wait for further orders. If I do not issue orders within the week, they are to make their way back to Camelot and report to Admiral Percival.”

She saw another icon blinking on her display — General Branford wanted to talk to her — and ignored it. There was nothing she could do for him and his men now. The simplest tactic would be to power up the flicker drive and jump out, but it went against the grain to leave without taking a bite out of the enemy first. Of course, the enemy had bigger weapons and might take a much bigger bite out of her… she pushed that thought aside and waited for her orders to spread through the command network. There was too much to be done.

And to think I was bored and stressed , she thought, mockingly.

“Communications; transmit directly to the Petunia and the Dudley ,” she ordered. “They are to separate from their squadrons and fly directly to Camelot, where they are to report to Admiral Percival and recommend that he dispatches a superdreadnaught squadron to reclaim this system.” She scowled. Her enemies would probably accuse her of defeatism, but then her enemies weren’t looking at nine superdreadnaughts with blood in their eyes. “Inform me when they have flickered out.”

The enemy superdreadnaughts were still bearing down on her with ponderous inevitability, but her small fleet was already forming up around the Violence . She called up the tactical display and ran through several different options. There was no way they could actually hope to win — which, in some ways, simplified the tactical situation enormously — but perhaps they could bluff. And who knew; maybe the horse would learn to sing.

“The fleet is to follow the designated course,” she ordered, as the command datanet tightened up. Her hands danced over the panel, drawing out a course that would allow them to fly away from the planet in normal space, while also allowing her to take a few long-range shots at the incoming ships. It was lucky, she told herself, that she’d insisted on deploying and maintaining the external racks, even though her crew had grumbled endlessly about it. “Any starships within the outer system — most particularly Fabricator — are to head out of the system and rendezvous at the first waypoint.”