Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Right

Colin nodded. “How long will it take to replace the struts once we get home?”

The Chief Engineer considered. “Roughly two weeks, assuming that we have a strut on hand that we can modify and fit into the superdreadnaught,” he said. “If not, then Fabricator will have to manufacture a replacement strut — that might be the better option, as the Rim probably won’t have one that we can modify for a superdreadnaught — “and that will add an extra few days. Call it twenty days in all.”

“I hope you’re not padding your estimate,” Colin said, tiredly. He didn’t know who had started the engineering tradition of overestimating repair times — if only so the engineer could look like a miracle worker — but he had no patience for it at the best of times and definitely none now. Twenty days… it sounded reasonable, yet who knew what Percival could do with that time?

“No, sir,” the Chief Engineer assured him. “We may be able to cut it down to eighteen if we work additional shifts, but I doubt that it will be possible to cut it down any further.”

“Right,” Colin said. He looked up at his Captains, all of whom had known him from before the first mutinies. “There’s no point in hiding from the truth. We lost the battle and we were lucky to be able to extract ourselves without losing a superdreadnaught or two.”

There were no arguments. If they’d been in the Imperial Navy — still in the Imperial Navy — they would have had to come up with elaborate justifications to prove, if only to their superiors, that it hadn’t been a disaster. Colin remembered helping Commodore Percival come up with excuses to explain failure, all of which had been required to avoid giving his many enemies more ammunition to use against him. Now… Colin’s new navy didn’t have a tradition of painting defeats as victories and he had no intention of starting such a trend. It made it impossible to analyse what had actually happened.

“We got jumped,” he continued. “That leads us to two possibilities. First, we were simply unlucky; the Imperial Navy staked out likely targets and we just flew into one of them. Second… we were betrayed and they were there to meet us. I want you all to consider the possibilities and we will discuss countermeasures once we are safely back at base.”

He dismissed them and settled back into the sinfully-comfortable chair. If a single Imperial Intelligence agent had managed to remain undetected, who was he and why hadn’t he tried something more overt? Come to think of it, how had he managed to deduce the target and warn the Empire? Colin had picked Greenland himself and none of his crew had been told until they were underway. The only ones who had known were his Captains, but if one of them intended to betray him, they could have betrayed him back at Jackson’s Folly and the mutiny would never have got off the ground.

And yet… Imperial Intelligence had a reputation for being subtle. Could they have decided to allow the mutiny — and rebellion — to go ahead purely for some reason of their own? Colin considered it for a moment before dismissing the thought as nonsense. No one in their right mind would allow a rebel fleet to run amok in a sector and wreck planets belonging to one of the most powerful Families in the Empire. Unless Imperial Intelligence was secretly working against the Roosevelt Family and… no, that had to be nonsense too. Their position would never survive such operations.

Colin looked down at his hands, scowling. The mind techs were good, with terrifying reputations. It was quite possible that one of his inner circle had a secret personality, one implanted by Imperial Intelligence and programmed to serve as a spy. It was almost impossible to detect such a personality, if only because the victim thought that he was loyal and, if interrogated under truth drugs or lie detectors, would swear to his own loyalty. And yet, that theory fell down too, because the loyalist personality would never have allowed him to launch the mutinies.

The simplest answer was that they’d simply gotten unlucky. The Empire had set a trap and Colin had flown right into it. Even so… he keyed his console and called Anderson, issuing some very specific orders. If there was a spy onboard, witting or unwitting, they would find him before he could do any more harm.

Penny had seen Percival in a temper before; indeed, she had suffered at his hands when he’d been in a furious mood. He’d beaten her badly when he’d been told that he didn’t have the level of patronage required to move closer to the Core Worlds — where the possibility for graft and personal enrichment were endless — and again, just after the first mutinies had been reported. Now… he seemed torn between anger and delight, a dizzying combination. The first reports of the Battle of Greenland had just arrived, leaving Percival in the uncomfortable position of having to thank the man he suspected was plotting to unseat him.

Brent-Cochrane was shown into his office, his face alight with a dark smile and darker mischief. Penny felt her heart leap at the brief look he gave her, just for an instant, before he stood to attention and gave Admiral Percival an Academy-perfect salute. The white beret he had perched on his head, an insolent jab at his superior officer, was swept off, followed by an aristocratic bow. The performance did not appear to delight Admiral Percival at all.

But then, Penny knew, it wouldn’t have. If the Battle of Greenland had been truly decisive, it would have been Brent-Cochrane who had won the battle, cleaning up Percival’s mess. He would get all the credit, while Percival would be investigated for his failure to detect and prevent the mutinies before it was too late. Even with Commodore MacDonald on a flight into the Beyond to destroy the rebel base, hopefully leaving Commander Walker without his supplies and logistic backing, Percival might never manage to save his reputation.

“Admiral,” Brent-Cochrane said, every inch the naval hero. “I beg leave to report that we have defeated the rebels in the Greenland System.”

Percival was controlling himself, but Penny — who had seen him at his most vulnerable — could tell that he was on the verge of an explosion. It was tempting to think that Percival would lose control completely and end his own career, yet his instincts for political survival were too strong. Despite herself, she was curious; what would Percival do to get rid of the imprudent junior, her secret ally?

She listened as Brent-Cochrane outlined the victory. It hadn’t been a perfect victory — and it had been costly — but it was an unambiguous victory. Public Information would ensure that the story was told everywhere, mocking the rebels who had dared to believe that they could bring down the Empire. The loss of a superdreadnaught — and another one effectively out of service for some time — was worth it. If the rebels had a shipyard capable of building superdreadnaughts and replacing their losses, the Empire would have been destroyed a long time before Commander Walker had launched his mutiny.

“Good work,” Percival said, finally. He sounded more normal, which meant that he’d thought of a plan. “Once the rebel bases are destroyed, we will be able to put an end to the rebels and their rebellion.”

He glanced over at Derbyshire, who had been listening with a patient smile. “I trust that the plans for Operation Purge are complete?”

Derbyshire nodded. “Yes,” he said, flatly. Operation Purge — the Imperial Navy’s move into the Beyond — was predicted on destroying the rebel base, preventing them from mounting a new offensive. The squadrons of lighter craft would be reformed and then dispatched into the Beyond, following a targeting list drawn up by Imperial Intelligence. Every known colony in the Beyond would be destroyed, along with their inhabitants. They wouldn’t even be given a chance to surrender. “Once Commodore MacDonald returns victorious, we can begin.”