Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Right

Penny noticed the flash of calculation that passed across Brent-Cochrane’s face before it was masked behind his vague smile. “Commodore,” Percival said, “you have done well. However , the loss of a superdreadnaught requires a board of inquiry, one chaired by a Sector Commander. You will report to Admiral Quintana of Sector 99 and he will chair the board of inquiry. You will also report to him on the rebels and the need for reinforcements in this sector.”

Brent-Cochrane’s face was expressionless, but Penny could see the anger smouldering behind his eyes. Percival was right; technically, regulations did require a board of inquiry, particularly when a superdreadnaught was involved. On the other hand, given that Brent-Cochrane had just delivered a real victory, the only victory of the war, Percival could have waived the requirement. It might not stop Brent-Cochrane’s star from rising any higher, but with some luck, it would keep him out of the sector long enough for Percival to win the war.

“Yes, sir,” Brent-Cochrane said, finally. What else could he say? “I shall report to him at once.”

Penny saw Percival’s smile and knew that he thought he had won. Somehow, she was sure that it wouldn’t be so easy.

“Only two more jumps, Captain,” her XO said. “And then we will be there.”

Captain-Commodore Angelika McDonald smiled at the younger man’s enthusiasm. Officially, flying beyond the Rim — the line marking the edge of the Empire’s territory — was forbidden without special permission, but it didn’t take a tactical genius to realise that enforcing that law was completely impossible. The only legitimate reason to pass beyond the Rim was to survey new planets for settlement, a task normally carried out by the Imperial Survey Service. Someone with as much wanderlust as her XO was probably in the wrong branch of the service.

There was no real difference between the stars on one side of the Rim and the other, but there was a sense of isolation, as if they were completely alone. It was illusionary, yet she could feel it herself. The ship’s doctor had been prescribing additional sleeping draughts and pills for the crew, while the illicit stills operating below decks were churning out additional booze. Angelika knew that some captains would have cracked down hard on the stills, or insisted on taking a cut for themselves, but she didn’t care as long as the crew was sober when they reported for duty. She’d had a drunken crewman publicly lashed to make the point clear, along with busting the crewmen operating the still down to the lowest possible grade and confiscating their funds. It had worked, or at least no crewmember had turned up drunk while on duty.

“Good enough,” she said, studying the display. They’d barely had time to complete their repairs at Camelot, but she’d been determined to get out of the star system before another battlecruiser or even heavy cruiser squadron returned from patrol duties and got given the plum assessment instead. Destroying the rebel base and capturing the rebel leadership would go a long way towards making up for the Jackson’s Folly disaster, at least in the eyes of any competent review board. Her connections would make sure of that, preventing Percival from burying his mistakes under a mountain of paperwork and false accusations. “Keep monitoring the surrounding area. You never know what we might find out here.”

She smiled, ruefully. The ban on travelling beyond the Rim had fuelled all kinds of speculation and stories about what starships encountered when they broke the law and travelled deep beyond the Rim. There were strange stories of mysterious bat-shaped starships; encounters with omnipotent entities… even discoveries of ancient super-technology amid the ruins of a dead civilisation. The Empire officially ridiculed all such claims, but Angelika had heard rumours that Imperial Intelligence had a secret department devoted to investigating them. She’d asked a few of her most trusted contacts and they’d either professed to know nothing about it, or had warned her not to ask any more questions. She’d taken the hint.

Centuries ago, after the First Interstellar War, an alien race had somehow become aware of the advancing Empire… and of how it treated non-humans. Possessing a formidable technological infrastructure of their own, the aliens had built a fleet of starships and fled, not before ensuring that their world held nothing the human race could use to find and locate them. The Runaways, as they had been called by the humans who had finally discovered their homeworld, had not been seen since, although there were always rumours. One of them was that they had set up a base somewhere in the Beyond and were preparing to wage war on humanity. That rumour had served as a justification for all kinds of emergency measures, which had somehow never been repealed.

“Aye, Captain,” her XO said.

“And run through a set of combat drills,” she added. She’d wanted to take Marines with her, but Admiral Percival had flatly refused, citing concerns about their loyalty. Instead, she had Blackshirts who were supposed to have been trained in raiding asteroid settlements. She wasn’t too encouraged, although the ones on her ships had been surprisingly civilised. They certainly hadn’t been drugged up like the ones assigned to operations on the ground. “I want to be ready for anything.”

Her XO frowned. “Captain,” he said, reluctantly. “What do we do if we run into the rebel superdreadnaughts again?”

Angelika scowled. “We run,” she said. There was no other answer. “We cannot stand up to superdreadnaughts.”

“And so production levels are estimated to continue to rise,” the Geek said, in his strange mechanical voice. Hannelore barely heard him. She was too awed — and horrified — by how the three Geeks had mutilated their own flesh with implanted systems. One of them was little more than a brain in a jar, mounted on top of a vaguely humanoid robot; the others had replaced parts of their flesh with weapons or tools. They clicked and whirred as they spoke. “The new workers are very enthusiastic.”

“Good,” Hester said. Her whispery voice wasn’t much better, a living reminder of the Empire’s brutality. “I trust that Captain Cordova will also be pleased when he awakens…?”

Cordova looked up as Hannelore elbowed him. Unlike Admiral Walker, Cordova made no pretence of enjoying the meeting, although Hannelore was certain that he was listening and mentally recording everything in his mind. He looked half-asleep, his eyelids closed and his elbows on the table. The Geeks didn’t seem concerned about the rudeness — they had no real social graces themselves — but some of the other rebels looked put out. Cordova was, after all, the designated military commander in the absence of Admiral Walker.

“I have no doubt that improving our stockpile of missiles and other weapons systems will be very useful,” Cordova said. He didn’t sound tired, which at least suggested that it had been an act, rather than a serious refusal to pay attention. “I provisionally approve your plans, with a warning that Admiral Walker may have other ideas.”

The Geeks didn’t seem to mind. “We have been studying warship design for centuries,” their leader said. Hannelore had never been able to figure out how they’d chosen their leader, or even how they conducted themselves when away from more normal humans. It was possible, she supposed, that they were real party animals on their own, but she doubted it. They seemed to veer permanently between being loners and seeking the respect and admiration of their fellows. “We can improve upon many of the Empire’s current designs.”