Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Right

“Just repair her to the original specifications,” he ordered. Whatever they produced in the future, he would have to fight the next battle with the weapons the Empire had designed and built. “What about the other starships?”

The Geek cocked his head, accessing their private band. It might as well be telepathy for it allowed direct mind-to-mind communication, something the Empire banned for reasons that escaped Colin. Or perhaps there was a very simple explanation; the mind techs used such systems for probing through a person’s mind and they didn’t want to share.

“They will all be ready for combat in two weeks,” the Geek said. He smiled, a strange smile that took up the exposed part of his face. “And then you must win or die.”

Colin nodded. “Of course,” he said, dryly. “I knew the job was dangerous when I took it.”

He walked back slowly towards the bridge, pausing long enough to look into sickbay and check up on the crewmen who were slowly recovering from their wounds. It wasn’t a pleasant sight, yet he felt as if he had no choice, but to offer what support and comfort he could. The wounded, at least, seemed happy, even though they wouldn’t be on the superdreadnaught when it flickered out to Camelot. Colin had already resolved not to take anyone along he didn’t strictly need, even though both Hester and Daria had requested, then demanded, permission to accompany the fleet.

Two hours later, he stood in the shuttlebay and watched as the black-clad crewmen carried the caskets, one by one, into the launcher. The Imperial Navy’s funeral service was time-honoured, laid down by the First Emperor himself, and even the Thousand Families respected it. Colin waited until the senior crew and a selection of crewmen — chosen from the friends of the diseased — had arrived, before he began to speak. It was his duty as the fleet’s commander.

“We are gathered here today to say goodbye to our friends and comrades who were killed in action,” he said. There were lines in the service extolling the dead as being devoted servants of the Empire, lines he’d decided to cut out, for speaking them would be a sick joke. “They gave their lives so that we could live. For our tomorrow, they gave their today.”

He paused, feeling the weight of the squadron pressing down on him. A crewman had died when a shield generator had exploded too close to him, slamming his body hard against a bulkhead and rendering him a mass of blood and flesh. His coffin was closed and sealed. Another crewwoman had died when a burst of energy flared through the ship, vaporising her head and leaving the rest of her surprisingly intact. Her coffin, too, was sealed.

“They died upholding the values they believed in and we are diminished because of their deaths,” he said. It was hard, so hard, to choose the right words. “We — we who have chosen to seek to reform the Empire — feel now that we have lost something truly important, people who believed in our cause and gave their all so that the cause could go on. In their name we will not fail, for to do so means that they have died in vain. Their names will be remembered forever as the ones who died in order that our dream might live.”

He closed his eyes for a long second of silent meditation, as laid down in regulations, and then nodded to the drummer. The drummer started to tap his instrument, a long slow beat that had never failed to send a chill down Colin’s spine. At each high point, a casket was ejected into space, heading towards the local star. They would be lost within the vastness of space until they finally hit the star and vaporised. Very few Imperial Navy crewmen, even those who came from the Thousand Families, were ever buried in any other manner. Those who lived in space died in space.

“May they rest in peace,” Colin concluded, once the final casket had been launched. The watchers echoed him. “They will not be forgotten.”

Two weeks later, the superdreadnaughts were finally ready to move, accompanied by a small fleet of ships from the various rebel forces. The arsenal ships — the key to the operation — looked unremarkable compared to the other ships, but Colin hoped that that would keep the Empire from looking too closely at them. His other surprises should help with that, or so he hoped. Far too many devices had never been tested in combat.

“All ships, this is the Admiral,” he said, as he took his command chair. He’d insisted on running through full tests before signing off on the repair work, but there had been no errors. The Geeks did good work, which was more than he could saw for many Imperial Navy shipyards. The contractors were often more interested in making money than in doing a good job. “Prepare to jump.”

He settled back in his command chair. Whatever else happened, the die was about to be cast. Either they won, or they lost. There were no other options.

“Jump,” he ordered.

“Where is she?”

Penny watched as Percival strode around his quarters, repeating the same question time and time again. It had been nearly three weeks since they had expected to hear from the battlecruisers they’d dispatched to attack the rebel base, even if it was just a report of a deserted star system and a piece of misinformation that Imperial Intelligence had swallowed hook, line and sinker. Percival had gathered a powerful force for the execution of Operation Purge, yet he couldn’t deploy the fleet into the Beyond until he knew for sure that the rebel leadership was in disarray and there were few prospects of a renewed offensive against the Empire.

“I’m sure she’s on her way back now,” Penny said, as soothingly as she could. The truth was that she was worried too, for the battlecruisers were dangerously overdue. Perhaps their commander had discovered the location of additional rebel bases and moved to attack them, or perhaps there was a simpler — and less pleasant — explanation. The battlecruisers had encountered the rebel superdreadnaughts and had been destroyed. “She is a reliable officer.”

“Yes, she is, unlike some,” Percival said tightly, scowling as he glared towards the sector display hovering in the centre of the compartment. His paranoia had grown to terrifying heights over the last few days. He’d started reshuffling his command staff, moving officers from one post to another, while combining his two superdreadnaught squadrons into one overwhelmingly powerful force. Using superdreadnaughts to deal with the average rebel ship was like using an atomic bomb to swat a single man, yet he seemed impervious to logic and reason. “No one can be trusted.”

Penny held herself composed, despite the shiver that ran down her spine. How long would it take for Percival’s paranoia to lead him to conclude that she was a threat, that she’d been conspiring with his rival… or perhaps, even, that she intended to lead the lower decks in a mutiny of her own. It would be suicidal, with so many Blackshirts on the command station, yet Percival might believe that she intended to try. His ranting about how the universe was conspiring against him, striving to deny him his rightful place, was growing ever more extreme. He had barely touched her in two weeks.

At one time, she would have been grateful, for even the merest touch of his hand left her feeling unclean, no matter how long she spent in the shower. Now… she couldn’t help, but view it as an ominous development, a sign of his growing paranoia. If he had decided that he no longer wanted her, how long would it be before she found herself exiled to a remote mining station, or simply killed outright? After all, Percival had dispatched Commander Walker to a remote patrol base and look how that had turned out.