Democracy 1: Democracy's Right

by Christopher Nuttall

  Major Vincent Anderson, Security Officer, was the final member of Colin’s inner circle and perhaps the most important. Colin still didn't understand why the Security Officer had come to him and asked to join, rather than arresting him for planning to rebel against the Empire. Anderson, whose bland face was somehow instantly forgettable, had been worth his weight in any substance Colin cared to name, identifying Imperial Intelligence’s agents within the squadron and even a handful down on the planet. After all, they all reported to him. Colin knew that there might well be agents who didn't report to Anderson – the Empire wasn't very trusting, even of its most loyal servants – but they could be handled. Or so he hoped. It was quite possible that Imperial Intelligence was playing a waiting game and planning to wipe out his entire conspiracy in one sudden blow.

  Colin’s lips twitched. If the game was easy, he reminded himself, anyone could play.

  “We can take the ships, of course,” Anderson said. Colin nodded. Taking the Observation Squadron wouldn’t be hard, not with the Marines and most of the senior crew on his side. “The real problem is taking the superdreadnaughts. If something goes wrong...”

  “We lose,” Colin agreed. The Imperial Navy suffered quite a few mutinies each year, with starship crews taking their ships and vanishing out somewhere beyond the Rim. The Empire would not be significantly concerned if the entire Observation Squadron went rogue, for the largest combat unit in the squadron was a battlecruiser. Colin knew that he could cause havoc within the sector with the Observation Squadron, but it wouldn't be a threat to the entire Empire. For that, he needed superdreadnaughts – and no mutiny had ever succeeded onboard a superdreadnaught. “The timing will be tight, but we will not lose.”

  “And then we have to capture the Annual Fleet,” Daria reminded him. “If we can do that, we become a major threat to the entire Empire.”

  Colin nodded. There was no shortage of rebels in and outside the Empire, but without a proper military they couldn't hope to overthrow the Thousand Families or even fight them to a standstill. Back when he’d been stranded on the patrol base, he’d realised that as long as the Empire held most of the industrial nodes and shipyards in human space, it was effectively unbeatable. It stretched across thousands of light years and had trillions of humans caught within its rule. Even so, its main weakness was its ponderous nature. It would take time for the Empire to deploy massive reinforcements to Sector 117, reinforcements that would arrive too late – if Colin took a squadron of superdreadnaughts.

  “This is it,” he said, softly. It had taken two years to build up the conspiracy, two years of knowing that a single mistake would bring Imperial Intelligence down on his head. “This is the best chance we will have for years, if at all. If we don't move now, we may as well admit that we’re never going to move at all.”

  There was a long pause. They had all – the Imperial Navy and Marine officers, at least – sworn to uphold the Empire. It had taken time for their faith in the Empire to be badly shaken and destroyed, lifting the scales from their eyes and showing them the true nature of the beast they served. Colin remembered the naive young officer he had been and winced. There had been a time when he had been proud to wear the blue uniform of the Imperial Navy, back when the universe had been full of promise. Now...now he knew that he had worked to keep worlds under an iron hand.

  “The factions out past the Rim won’t wait,” Mariko said, slowly. Daria’s aide spoke softly, but with genuine conviction. Where Daria was bold and brash, Mariko seemed to fade into the background, barely noticed by anyone. She was small, with classical oriental features, yet there was nothing wrong with her mind. Colin privately admired her, although he would have been hard pressed to say what he admired about her. “They had great hopes for Jackson’s Folly.”

  “True,” Frandsen agreed. “I suggest that we move now. If we allow Jackson’s Folly to be invaded and occupied, we become just as guilty as those we used to serve. We can take the ships, Commander. You only have to give the word.”

  “Yes,” Anderson agreed. “We have to jump now or never.”

  Colin nodded. “Commodore Roosevelt said that she would be here in a week,” he said. He knew better than to rely on that statement. The vagaries of the Flicker Drive and schedule creep made all such statements estimates at best. “If we move in one day from now...”

  He listened to their comments, drawing up the final version of the operations plan, and then they scattered, heading back to their ships. Colin left last, finishing his beer and walking back out onto the streets. Unlike most spacer bars he’d visited, the beer tasted better than something that had come out of the wrong end of a horse. It would be a shame to lose Jackson’s Folly. The worlds had so much potential.

  Colin shook his head as he walked back to the small apartment. They didn't dare ask anyone on the planet for help, even for the smallest detail. If the Empire suspected that Jackson’s Folly was involved in Colin’s rebellion, their response would be swift and brutal. The planet would be scorched, killing all seven billion humans on the surface. It could not be allowed.

  He pushed the thought out of his head. They would have to operate alone, but they could do it. Besides...what did they have to lose?

  Chapter Two

  “Another emergency drill, Commander?”

  “Yes, sir,” Colin said, calmly. He’d run emergency drills at least twice a week ever since Shadow and the remainder of the Observation Squadron had taken up position near Jackson’s Folly. The battlecruiser and its attendant ships hadn’t had a properly drilled crew when Colin had taken up his position and fixing it had been his first priority. After all, they were orbiting a world that had good reason to hate the Empire and might just be considering launching a pre-emptive strike against the Observation Squadron. Later, it had become an excellent way to spot and recruit talent for the conspiracy. “It keeps the crew on their toes.”

  Captain-Commodore Thomas Howell nodded, already bored with the conversation. In a rational universe, Howell would have made an excellent scholar or perhaps a gardener, rather than the commander of eighteen starships orbiting a hostile world. He was in his late seventies – thanks to regeneration treatments, he looked around fifty – with short white hair and a perpetual impression of being distracted by some weightier thought. He was a client of Commodore Roosevelt, who had pulled strings with Admiral Percival to ensure that Howell was placed in command of the Observation Squadron. Perversely, as Howell had orders to avoid causing any incidents until Commodore Roosevelt and her superdreadnaughts arrived, it made Colin’s life easier. He could afford to rotate a third of the crew down to the surface at any one time.

  The Imperial Navy’s design philosophy was based around over-engineering. Shadow had a crew of over two thousand officers and crewmen, but Colin could have fought the ship with only a five hundred-strong crew onboard, thanks to the heavy redundancies built into the battlecruiser. The Imperial Navy tended to dislike automated systems – artificial intelligence was banned in the Empire – yet even the most reactionary commander couldn't avoid using at least a limited degree of AI. No human mind could hope to handle a missile duel between starships, juggling both offense and defence along with manoeuvre and damage control. The crew’s electronic servants had to be trusted to handle the defence.

  “Excellent, Commander,” Howell said, finally. “And has there been any update from Sector Command?”

  The honest answer to that was yes, but Colin wasn't supposed to know about the private message Commodore Roosevelt had forwarded to Howell. It had been included in the standard data dump from Camelot – Sector 117’s Imperial Navy base – yet it had been flagged for Howell personally and should have simply been dumped into his terminal. Colin had subverted some of the crew working in the communications section and had them copy every private message received by Howell into a storage node for his later inspection. It had provided an unusual window into the operations behind the scenes, including how the Roosevelt Family intended to sh
are out the booty from Jackson’s Folly.

  “No, sir,” Colin said. There was no way to know if Howell had already seen the private message or if he just hadn't checked his terminal yet. “We are merely waiting for the next update from Admiral Percival.”

  Howell nodded again. Colin kept his face blank, even though inside he was seething. Howell wasn’t remotely suited to command a starship and it showed; hell, part of the reason Colin had been offered the post of XO had been because Howell had wanted an XO who could, effectively, run the ship. It was lucky that Jackson’s Folly seemed determined to avoid provoking the Empire, perhaps under the assumption that the Empire needed a legal pretext to invade; Colin wasn’t at all sure that the Observation Squadron could have handled itself as a unit. On paper, Captain-Commodore Howell had more than enough firepower to defeat any attack on his squadron; in reality...none of the starships had worked together before they had been thrown into a squadron and hastily dispatched to the independent system. Colin had run any number of drills since then, but most of the Captains seemed opposed to learning to work as a team.

  The first emergency drill, conducted three days after their arrival at Jackson’s Folly, had been a disaster. In the weeks and months since then, Colin had worked to train the crew to the point where he felt that they might be the finest battlecruiser crew in the Imperial Navy – and, more importantly from his point of view, be able to take control of their ship very quickly. The battalion of Marines carried onboard would be deployed to secure the most important compartments of the ship, while Colin’s inner circle would take command of Shadow and the other ships in the squadron. He resisted the urge to glance at his wristcom. The time was ticking away to zero hour.

  He looked up, instead, at the massive orbital display, a hologram floating in the centre of the bridge. Jackson’s Folly was surrounded by hundreds of icons, each one representing a man-made construction in orbit around the planet. Orbital stations – all being hastily armed after the Empire had stumbled across the planet – floated in high orbit, while hundreds of starships flickered in and out of the system. The independent traders were allowed to operate freely within the system, although that wouldn't last. Once the Roosevelt Family had secured control of Jackson’s Folly, their private shipping line would be the only one allowed to service the new colonies. The independent traders would be driven out of the market though legal manipulations and naked force.

  His eye tracked a small number of red icons, although he kept his face impassive. Tyler Jackson had lived just before the Great Interstellar War and his descendents hadn't known about many of the developments in military technology, back when humanity had fought and exterminated the Dathi. Jackson’s Folly had no superdreadnaughts. The largest ship in their fleet was a battleship, a design that had been outdated centuries ago. Jackson’s Folly had improved on the design, Colin had to admit, but they lacked the throw weight to stand up to superdreadnaughts or even battlecruisers, when the battlecruisers were operating as a team. No matter how he worked the problem, Colin knew the truth; Jackson’s Folly would belong to the Empire when the Empire chose to take it. The only question was if they knew that their resistance would prove futile.

  “I will be in my quarters, meditating,” Howell said, grandly. He had spent so long in his quarters that the Observation Squadron had started to wonder if it had a commander. Colin didn't mind too much, although it offended his sense of the rightness of things. The thought made him smile inside; a more alert commanding officer might have noticed his XO drawing up a plan to take the squadron and turn it against the Empire. “You have the bridge.”

  Colin watched as Howell left the bridge and settled back into the command chair, keying the console and bringing up reports from all over the ship. The emergency drill was underway now, with Marine parties fanning out to secure vital compartments and connections, while all non-essential crewmembers were hurried back to their sleeping quarters. Oddly enough, it had been considering what Jackson’s Folly could do to the Observation Squadron that had given Colin the idea, although only a handful of people knew that this drill was different. The Marines carried loaded weapons and had orders to prevent any attempt to retake the ship, using lethal force if necessary. One by one, the various compartments fell under his control, isolating any remaining loyalists. It all seemed to be going according to plan.

  He keyed a command sequence into the console and brought up an isolated section of the datanet, the interlinked computer network that coordinated joint operations within the squadron’s ships. He’d secured it weeks ago with Anderson’s help, ensuring that his teams would have access to communications while the loyalists would lose their own ability to use the datanet. The crew were used to disruptions caused by the emergency drill – Colin had even taken sections of the datanet down to ensure that they knew how to operate without the relay system connecting them to the remainder of the ship – and there should be nothing to alert anyone that there was a mutiny underway. Even if they did realise, it was already too late; the Marines had secured the armoury and the only supply of firearms on the starship.

  Colin forced himself to remain calm and to avoid showing any signs of his own tension. He had put the mutiny – the rebellion – in motion, yet now its success or failure was all out of his hands. If Imperial Intelligence had an undiscovered agent within the conspiracy, he might well have signed his own death warrant. If...he shook his head inwardly, studying the display as various Marine units reported in with innocuous codes, ones that would raise no hackles if a suspicious mind happened to intercept them. The mutiny was under way and the die was well and truly cast.

  His wristcom buzzed once, a pre-arranged signal from the Marine Colonel. The ship was effectively completely under their control – and helpless. If Murphy chose to put in an appearance – and he did have the inconvenient habit of appearing when he was least wanted – the Observation Squadron would find itself in serious trouble. He stood up and nodded towards the tactical officer as a fire team of four Marines appeared on the bridge. If any of the uninvolved bridge crew chose to side with the Empire, they would have no opportunity to cause havoc.

  “Commander Finnegan, you have the bridge,” Colin said. Lieutenant-Commander Ian Finnegan was another member of the conspiracy, a tall dark-skinned man with a long-standing grudge against the Empire. His homeworld had been devastated for refusing to pay its taxes several years ago, a bombardment that had taken the lives of his mother, father and three of his siblings. “I will be back momentarily.”

  He stepped off the bridge through the connecting door into Officer Country, the quarters that served the starship’s senior officers and were barred to all junior ranks. The Marine sentry on guard saluted as Colin headed through the airlock and into his own compartment. He’d never bothered to collect items to fill his quarters – his only real decoration was a painting his mother had done of him on his graduation day – and so he walked across to a sealed drawer and opened it with his fingerprints. The cold metal of the chemically-propelled pistol gleamed at him as he unearthed it from the small pile of clothes and placed it on his belt. He was suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat as he loaded the pistol and checked the clips. His mouth was very dry. He’d built cut-outs into the operational plan, just so he could abort if necessary, but now he was committed.

  “Idiot,” he told himself, swallowing hard. The sheer enormity of what he was about to do hit him like a sledgehammer. Whatever happened, his life would never be the same. “You were committed from the moment you started pulling people into your plot.”

  As Colin had expected, Officer Country was deserted, allowing him to make his way to the Captain’s quarters without hesitation. The Marine who would normally have been on guard had been called away for other duties, leaving the Captain defenceless – unless, Colin reminded himself, Howell had stocked up on weapons and ammunition within his cabin. A Captain had effectively boundless authority while a starship was on active service and Howell could have drawn weapo
ns from the armoury if he had felt the need. The normal restrictions on the use of firearms didn’t apply to the Captain.

  Colin pressed his fingers against the sensor, at the same time tapping a certain command into his wristcom. The Captain’s quarters were now completely isolated from the datanet. The security sensors on the starship couldn't track the use of chemically-powered weapons – a serious flaw in their coverage Colin had taken care never to point out – but there was no point in taking chances. He swallowed as the hatch swung open, allowing him to enter the Captain’s cabin.

  He’d thought that his own quarters were palatial, vastly more than he needed, but Howell seemed to have an entire section for his own use. The Captain had a living room, a pair of bathrooms with real baths – crewmen had to make do with showers – and no less than three bedrooms. It wasn't unknown for Captains to bring their latest lovers onboard and install them in their cabins, something that was technically against regulations, but was winked at by the Imperial Navy. Colin was privately disgusted by the whole concept, although part of him wondered if his disgust had more to do with envy than he was prepared to admit. The ship’s XO could bestow considerable patronage, if only on the ship itself, yet he had sworn never to abuse his authority like that. It would have made him far too much like Admiral Percival.