Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Right

“Good,” Percival said, savagely. “Do the rebels know that we know?”

“I do not believe so,” Derbyshire said, thoughtfully. “They may not, however, keep using the same base forever.”

“So we move now,” Percival said, sharply. He looked over at Penny. “What ships do we have on station?”

“Commodore MacDonald’s squadron is the most powerful one on hand,” Penny said. Percival scowled. It would mean putting the chance for glory in the hands of a junior officer he hated, but he would still be able to claim some of the credit. “If you waited two weeks, we could send one of the superdreadnaught squadrons or…”

“No,” Percival said. His mood had completely changed. “I want you to write the orders for the good Commodore. She’s to go capture the rebel base; I want the rebels here, in chains, for trial and execution. If the base cannot be captured, they are to blow it and withdraw.”

“Yes, sir,” Penny said. Watching Percival act decisively was odd. “I’ll send the orders at once.”

“And then report back here,” Percival added. “I think we need to celebrate.”

Penny nodded, keeping the disgust off her face.

Angelika received her new orders philosophically, although she noted that if her squadron happened to run into the rebel superdreadnaughts — again — the results were unlikely to be any better than the last time. She uploaded the coordinates into the squadron’s navigational database, checked that all weapons and supplies were loaded into her ships, and then ordered her squadron to move away from the planet and the ring or orbital defences. Seven thousand kilometres from Camelot, her ships flickered out and vanished.

“There’s nothing new on the passive scans, Captain,” the tactical officer said. “The only shipping in the system are the asteroid miners and the local defence ships.”

Captain Daniel Hawthorne nodded, forcing himself to walk back to the command chair and sit down. Peering over his officer’s shoulder was accomplishing nothing, even though he was tenser than he wanted to admit. He wanted to see some action and, so far, they’d hung in the Greenland System for over two weeks without anything happening. They couldn’t even rotate crew through the system’s shore leave facilities. The orders from Commodore Brent-Cochrane had been simple. They were to remain in the system, unknown even to the local System Command, and wait. When the rebels arrived, they were to power up their drive and jump out of the system to where the Commodore and his fleet were waiting.

It was a mission suited to a destroyer — the smallest true warship in service — yet it wasn’t one that suited Daniel, nor was it one fitting for a man of his seniority. He should have been commanding a heavy cruiser or maybe even a battlecruiser, but an evening of drunken rudeness to a senior officer had put an end to that. He’d been ordered to take command of Snow White , a destroyer, and all that his seniority could do was keep him from being summarily dismissed. Was it any surprise that he’d climbed into a bottle? It was far more surprising that Commodore Brent-Cochrane, having taken command of the squadron, had helped him to climb out of it and assigned him to new responsibilities. It went against the grain to admit that he needed help from such a young man — regeneration treatments or not, he would have been astonished if the Commodore was any older than forty — but perhaps it was working. Or perhaps not; he had been floating in orbit, all systems powered down as far as they would go without depowering his ship, for two weeks… and he was bored.

He glanced around the bridge, scowling as he studied the displays. The bridge was cramped — the seven officers on duty rubbed shoulders far more than they should — and cold, despite his uniform. The destroyer’s sixty crewmen were good sorts, at least, but he’d heard the grumbles and knew that they didn’t want to stay under blackout conditions much longer. Neither did their Captain, of course, yet he understood the importance of their mission. It wasn’t something he could share with the crew.

“The rebels are very likely to target your assigned worlds,” Commodore Brent-Cochrane had said. He’d positioned his ships in interstellar space, which was against doctrine, but would give them an excellent chance of being able to respond to a crisis as soon as it appeared. “If they target your world, I want you to jump out and whistle up the troops without being detected. The rebels won’t have time to bring up their own sensors before you’re out of there.”

“Continue tracking the freighters,” he ordered. Like Piccadilly, Greenland was owned and operated solely by the Roosevelt Family. The Imperial Navy had been asked to stand guard in the system, reinforcing the two orbital fortresses and the hundreds of automated weapons platforms, but Brent-Cochrane had chosen to creatively interpret his orders. If the rebels did attack the system, he’d calculated, his force would have time to intercept before serious harm was done. It wasn’t an attitude calculated to please the Roosevelt representative at Camelot and Daniel was sure that angry messages were already burning up the light years towards Earth. “Perhaps we can run a few tracking exercises, or maybe just tighten up the scans.”

He settled back into his chair and tried to relax. Stacy Roosevelt had actually tried to issue orders directly to Brent-Cochrane’s squadron, a serious breach of military etiquette. Daniel rather hoped that she would be summarily dismissed from the Imperial Navy for gross incompetence — the Imperial Navy had lost ships before, but no one had ever managed to lose nine superdreadnaughts to a set of boarding parties — but he doubted that it would come to that. Her Family would manage to save her career, yet the Imperial Navy would probably try to send her somewhere harmless. There was no shortage of places to send young officers who couldn’t be trusted not to screw up on a more serious posting.

“Two more ships, Captain,” the sensor officer reported. Two new green icons flickered into life, new freighters heading down towards the planet. Interstellar trade within the sector was starting to die away now, even though the interplanetary trade was as strong as ever. Perhaps the rebel raiders were being careful about coming deep into an unfriendly star system, or perhaps they were just concentrating on exterminating the interstellar shipping first. Daniel scowled. That was where he should be, watching over helpless freighters as they moved from system to system, not wasting his time on a system that was perfectly capable of looking after itself. “One of the freighters has an unusual drive signature.”

Daniel looked up, interested. Any relief from boredom was welcome. “Is it a rebel ship trying to be cute?”

“Uncertain, sir,” the sensor officer said. “It could be the result of normal wear and tear, or it could be a Captain trying to pretend to be a merchant ship and not succeeding very well. We could try to slip closer and take a look at it, perhaps test the cloaking device against active sensors…”

“No,” Daniel said, reluctantly. Sneaking up on a freighter was easy, as thousands of pirates and millions of dead spacers could testify, even without a cloaking device. Snow White could probably do it without losing her cover, yet he knew better than to try. The Commodore had been most specific. They were to remain undercover until — if — the rebels attacked and only then were they to break cover. “We stay here and remain hidden.”

The sensor officer scowled, but nodded. Under cloak, they could remain hidden indefinitely, at least until they came close to the defences surrounding the planet. After what had happened at Piccadilly, the Roosevelt Family knew exactly what could happen to their other planets and had issued new orders. No starship was to be allowed to approach the defences without proving its identity several times over, using new identification codes that were being hand-carried from star to star. If Snow White ventured too close, the chances were good that the turbulence she would leave in her wake would be detected and she would be fired upon before she could identify herself. The last thing he wanted to do was die at the hands of friendly forces.