Democracy 1: Democracy's Right

by Christopher Nuttall

  “My God,” she breathed. Perhaps she wasn't free of prejudice after all. “What was that?”

  “That, my dear, was one of the Geeks,” Cordova announced. She wondered, suddenly, if he had arranged for them to encounter one of the cyborg-men. Or perhaps it had just been a lucky encounter. “If they had the freedom of the Empire, they would create great things, new technologies that might reshape the human race. But they don’t – that man would be under automatic sentence of death if he set foot on an Imperial world...”

  “I know,” Hannelore said. She felt a sudden wave of...culture shock, she guessed. She was tempted to ask if they could return to the cruiser, yet she didn't want to miss anything. She felt almost like a child on her first visit to a resort world. “What else is there here?”

  Cordova grinned and walked her through the massive asteroid. Sanctuary had started life as a seven-kilometre nickel-iron asteroid, one that had been mined extensively before the rebels had moved in and converted it into a base of operations. Indeed, because of its semi-public location, it served almost as a regional capital for the Rim, with starships and crews coming in to sell their wares and pick up additional supplies. Hannelore guessed that those starships included pirates, but Cordova explained that, out on the Rim, the difference between pirate and legitimate trader was blurred. If the pirates were selling goods the Rim desperately needed, very few people would ask questions.

  “We don’t allow slave traders here,” he explained, as they walked past a storefront advertising – of all things – farming equipment. “That’s not uncommon in parts of the Rim, but they’re not allowed to come here. Other than that...if they can sell whatever they bring, they’re welcome to come. It helps keep us all alive.”

  Hannelore nodded slowly, her mind spinning. The Thousand Families might have been like the asteroid’s population, back before the First Interstellar War and their rise to supreme power. It almost made her heart ache for the days when simplicity and legality had been the order of the day, rather than the deeply corrupt edifice that bore down on the entire galaxy. The First Emperor, the man who had built the Empire only to be disposed by his over-mighty subordinates, was probably turning in his grave. His lips twitched. No one knew, at least according to legend, what had happened to the man. Rumour had it that he was still out there somewhere, waiting for the call to action, the call to save the Empire. She shook her head. It was just a legend, of course, probably started by the people who had quietly murdered their former Emperor. There was no way to know for sure

  “Most of your crew wanted to join us,” Cordova said, as they entered a set of private quarters. Cordova, it seemed, maintained a residence on the asteroid, but the compartments were barren and dull. Hannelore understood. His real home was on his ship, surrounded by his loyal crew. “Where do you stand?”

  Hannelore hesitated. As a loyal subject of the Empire – and as a scion of the Thousand Families – her duty was clear. She should denounce him to his face, demand transport back to Earth and refuse any further cooperation. That was absurd; Cordova would just laugh at her, no matter what she said. She was in no position to dictate terms, a lesson that one of her distant relatives on her mother’s side had taught her. He’d been taken alive by pirates and demanded his release, only to have his face slashed badly before he’d been ransomed back to his family.

  And then...what did she have to go home to? Nothing, but disgrace; she would spend the rest of her days as a lotus eater, nothing more. No hope of a future, no hope of rising high, no hope of using her intelligence to carve out a place for her. She would become a laughing stock, like so many others. The Thousand Families stood together against the outside world – that was a lesson they had learned a long time ago, during the rise of the Second Emperor – but they were merciless to failures from their own ranks.

  “I do not know,” she admitted, finally. Part of her was tempted to ask if she couldn't just disappear into the Beyond and try to forget where she came from. The rest was uncertain. “What do you want from me anyway?”

  Cordova smiled. “I think that I have a friend who would like to meet you,” he said. He held out a hand – in the formal style of the High City, much to her surprise – and pulled her to her feet. “Come on.”

  ***

  Hannelore had grown up in the High City, where the younger members of the Thousand Families had access to all kinds of cosmetic surgery and body-sculpting technology. She had been surrounded by girls who changed their faces and bodies regularly to follow fashion – large breasts had been pushed out by small tight breasts, only to be replaced in their turn by medium breasts; albino skin had been supplemented by dark chocolate skin, then an unholy green skin that had their elders chattering in horror – and had grown used to physical beauty. The boys hadn’t been much better. They’d spent weeks in the shops, having their muscles enhanced until they all looked as if they’d spent years building up their physical strength. Most of them hadn't known how to maintain their muscles and had ended up returning to the shops time and time again, just to have them rebuilt.

  Hester Hyman was striking, mainly because she chose to wear her scars. Her face had been pretty once – even though it had probably had the hard-worn features that most commoners displayed – but now it was marred by scars, including one that looked as if it was going to spilt open at any time. Her hair, shading to white, was tied up in a severe bun; she wore nothing, but a simple combat mesh. Hannelore had wondered if it was a form of reverse vanity, before she realised just how many enemies Hester would have gunning for her. She seemed to be unarmed, but Hannelore suspected that she carried at least one weapon, perhaps more. And then she was surrounded by a set of hulking bodyguards...

  “Welcome to our lair,” Hester said. Her voice was deathly cold, the result – Hannelore realised suddenly – of torture at the hands of Imperial Intelligence. Hester’s throat was scarred too, as if someone had tried to cut her throat and hadn’t quite succeeded. It was all part of the effect and even though Hannelore was smart enough to realise it, she found herself impressed. Hester was the strongest woman she had ever met. “I trust that it meets with your approval?”

  Hannelore didn't know what to say. “It’s been interesting,” she admitted, finally. She had never imagined that she would be making small talk with Hester Hyman, a woman who had a colossal price on her head. “I rather enjoyed it.”

  “Good,” Hester said. The time for small talk was clearly over. “The Popular Front needs you. Would you be interested in joining us?”

  Hannelore blinked. “You want me to join a rebellion against the Empire?”

  “A project to reform the Empire,” Hester said, her wintery voice admitting nothing else. “I have been speaking to your crew while you were being shown around our asteroid base. They were very complementary about you. They felt that you had definite promise. Our ally felt the same way.”

  Hannelore stared at her. “You had a rebel spy in my complex?”

  “Something like that,” Hester said, vaguely. She waved a hand, indicating that there would be no further discussion about any intelligence agents. “The fact remains that you won respect from people who had no reason to respect you. We could find a place for you in the Popular Front.”

  “Committing treason,” Hannelore said. It surprised her how little the concept bothered her. She had no reason to be loyal to anyone outside her own family...and really, her two families had regarded her as more of an unwanted nuisance than anything else. After all, she was a living reminder of a failed policy. “What would you want me to do?”

  “We need someone to assist us in coordinating the industrial project,” Hester said, calmly. “You have experience in handling such matters. You would be working with several different factions, all of which suspect that the other factions intend to secretly screw them when they get the chance. And, if we fail to build a fleet that can stand up to the Empire, we will be destroyed when the Empire finally responds to us. We cannot count on Admiral Perc
ival’s replacement sharing his same level of incompetence.”

  She smiled, as if at a joke that wasn't really funny. “I had to urge people not to try to assassinate him,” she added. “He serves us better where he is.”

  Hannelore chuckled. She had only met Admiral Percival once and she hadn’t been impressed. “I see,” she said. “Why do you want me for the job?”

  Surprisingly, the answer came from behind her. “Because we will need to break up the alliances that hold the Thousand Families together,” a woman’s voice said. “If we put a person from the Families in a high position, it sends a signal to the others that there is a possible compromise, that we won't kill them all when we win.”

  Hannelore turned. She hadn't even sensed the woman behind her until she had started to speak. The woman was tall, with long red hair, a heart-shaped face and a smile that seemed to light up the room. She wore a standard shipsuit, one that clung to her body and exposed every curve. Behind her, there was a smaller oriental girl, with dark eyes that seemed to be focused on Hannelore’s face.

  “This is Daria, the leader of the Freebooters League, and Mariko,” Cordova explained, calmly.

  “You may have some time to decide,” Hester said. Her whispery voice drew Hannelore’s attention back to her. “Once you have made up your mind, you can inform the good Captain of your decision.”

  “One question, them,” Hannelore asked. “What happens if I say no?”

  “We have a small isolated colony world that we have been using as a prison,” Daria explained. “If you refuse, we’ll leave you there until the war is won or lost. It is a great deal more civilised than a penal colony, but you won’t be able to affect the war in any way.”

  Including betraying the rebel leadership to the Empire, Hannelore realised.

  ***

  She thought about it as Cordova escorted her back to his quarters and explained that he’d had a second bed put in for her personally. Unlike many of the lads from the High City, he hadn't even tried to take her to bed. Hannelore wasn't sure if he was just being polite, or if he had no interest in her at all, or...she pushed that thought aside and considered the rebel offer. If she said yes, the Empire would condemn her as a traitor and her family would disinherit her...

  And then there was the other question; were the rebels sincere when they offered her the post, or did they just want her to be window-dressing?

  She looked over at Cordova, who was reading something on a datapad. Somehow, she found it hard to believe that he was lying to her, or perhaps she didn't want to believe it. It could be just Stockholm Syndrome kicking in...

  Hannelore shrugged and made up her mind. She would take the rebel offer, assuming they were sincere. If not...well, she would be in a position to do something about it.

  “Call your leader,” she said, sitting up. “Tell her that I have decided to accept.”

  “Splendid,” Cordova said, holding out a hand. “Welcome to the Popular Front.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Do you trust her?”

  Daria nodded, although her eyes were hard. “I think that she is about as trustworthy as any member of the Thousand Families ever gets,” she said. Colin snorted. That wasn’t a particularly strong recommendation. “On the other hand, we do have testimony from her former crew and they think quite highly of her. She’s no Bleeding Heart” – the term for an aristocrat who set out to improve the lives of the poor, if they wanted it or not – “but she’s definitely someone we can work with.”

  “We can also keep an eye on her,” Anderson said, reluctantly. He’d been one of the strongest voices arguing against keeping Lady Hannelore Ellicott-Chatham anywhere near the rebel fleet or the Popular Front. “If she decides to do something stupid, we don’t give her a second chance.”

  Colin nodded. “Agreed,” he said. He looked up at Cordova, who was perched on a stool that allowed him to display his latest uniform to best advantage. Colin suspected that, if one of Imperial Intelligence’s assassins managed to get into the room and opened fire, Cordova would be the first target. He had the most striking appearance. “And how do you feel about her?”

  Cordova didn't look surprised at the question. “She has a great deal of potential,” he said. “If she’d had the resources of the Roosevelt Family behind her, she would have gone far. And she reminds me a little of myself, someone who was always held back by law and custom. I thought that I would give her the opportunity to rebel.”

  Colin smiled. Unless he missed his guess, Cordova found Lady Hannelore – she would have to ditch the title if she wanted to join the Popular Front, at least in public – attractive. He supposed that he couldn't blame him, not when she was pretty and charmingly intelligent to boot, but it risked opening up a security breach. He didn't need Anderson to remind him of the time that Imperial Intelligence had used pillow talk between an officer and his mistress, who was working for Imperial Intelligence, to condemn him for aiding and abetting criminal acts against the Empire. The story had broken up relationships all over the fleet.

  “We will see how she works out,” he said. He looked over at Colonel Frandsen. “How are the first batches of new recruits working out?”

  Frandsen considered. It wasn't usual for a Colonel to take part in training recruits – normally, even in the Marine Corps, they would rarely see anyone higher than a Captain until they had graduated – but nothing had been usual since they had rebelled against the Empire. Besides, Frandsen had insisted on monitoring the training himself and Colin hadn’t had the heart to refuse. They couldn't afford mistakes caused by inexperienced officers and Frandsen had two tours at the Marine Corps Training Centre under his belt.

  “Well enough,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “They’ve definitely got the promise. We weeded out a handful of trouble-makers and people who simply couldn't follow instructions and the remainder are undergoing heavier training now. We’re short of equipment for them, but we are working on obtaining equipment from elsewhere.”

  Daria smirked, rather like a cat. “It’s astonishing what falls out of a freighter’s closed hatches if you bribe the right person,” she said. “We may not be able to offer Marine-grade armour, but we can certainly obtain Blackshirt-level armour.”

  “That will reduce our effectiveness to some degree,” Frandsen warned. “The Blackshirt armour isn’t configured to a specific user.”

  “We'll just have to live with it,” Colin said, grimly. The Popular Front had a surprising amount of industrial capability, but it wasn't up to the task of delivering Marine-quality armour. The latest report from the Geeks had been that the Annual Fleet’s supplies had been unloaded and were being put to work now, fuelling the rebellion. “That leaves the question of our new ships. Where do we stand with those?”

  Salgak looked up, his implants whirring and clicking as he spoke. “The preliminary arsenal ships are projected as being completed in three weeks,” he said. “We expect that there will be a short period of shakedown trials before the ships can be deployed as part of the fleet, but we will monitor the process closely and probably shave a few days off the working-up period for any later ships.”

  Colin smiled. The Geeks were talking as if they were working slowly, but he knew that they were working at an astonishingly high-speed. No Imperial Navy shipyard could match them, not now they had the supplies from the Annual Fleet to work with and whatever other resources Colin could throw at them. Given twenty years, they might build up a fleet that would outclass the entire Imperial Navy, but they didn't have twenty years. The Empire knew that they existed and, now, the news was spreading outside Sector 117.

  He looked up at the holographic display, now reset to its default mode. The expanding circles suggested just how rapidly the message was moving through the Empire, towards Earth. In nine months, perhaps less, the entire Empire would know about the rebellion. The Thousand Families would react, certainly; they’d cut ships loose from Home Fleet and whatever other reserves they had on hand,
sending them to the sector to reinforce Admiral Percival and seek out the rebel bases. Time was not on their side.

  “Good,” Colin said. “Once we have a sufficient number of supporting ships on our side, we will move against Camelot and punch out Percival’s fleet. Until then...”

  He looked around the room. Between Cordova, Khursheda and himself, a number of Imperial worlds had been hit. Apart from Piccadilly, none of them had been particularly important or wealthy, but the mere act of hitting them would give them prominence in Percival’s mind. He would be tempted to spread out his fleet in hopes of picking off one of Colin’s raiding parties, reducing the forces he had on hand to cover the most important worlds. Colin had no way of knowing if he would give in to that temptation. He had most of the systems under covert observation, but it took time for word to get from one system to another, leaving the information hopelessly out of date when he received it.