Democracy 1: Democracy's Right

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Signal to General Branford,” she ordered. “My intentions are to fight a running battle before leaving the system. You are urged to safeguard your positions and hold out. The Navy will be back.”

  ***

  Colin watched the enemy fleet’s deployments with something akin to awe. If Percival had been so badly outmatched, he would have set a new speed record fleeing the system, without bothering to consider the multiple ways he could delay and even harm the advancing rebel juggernaut. The enemy commander present in the system, however, was brave and shrewd enough to realise that if they held out, they might successfully damage his fleet before they left the system.

  “Impressive,” he mused. The enemy fleet’s monitors were already rising out of the planet’s gravity shadow. If he’d risked jumping in closer, he might have been able to intercept them, but then...that risked scattering his fleet. Besides, monitors were the one class of starship that Percival wasn't actually short of; destroying five or six of them wouldn't crimp him for long. “And it puts the ball in my hands.”

  He tossed different ideas around in his head. If the monitors had remained in orbit, he would have ignored the remaining Imperial Navy starships and gone for them, but instead there was no point in charging at the planet. It wasn’t going anywhere. The enemy commander was tempting him with a chance to destroy nearly sixty starships, or perhaps force them to surrender and add them to his fleet. And it wasn't a opportunity he could refuse, not only for the chance to weaken Percival, but also for the possibility of removing a dangerously-smart enemy commander from the playing field. The commander, whoever he or she was, had pulled him into a neat little trap.

  “Alter course to intercept,” he ordered. The battlecruisers and other smaller ships that made up the Imperial Navy’s occupation squadron had one advantage over his ships; they could simply outrun his ships, even in normal space. The sublight drive fields that provided propulsion might have the same top speed for all craft, but the superdreadnaughts, with their far greater mass, had a far lower rate of acceleration. The enemy missiles would have a far shorter flight time than his own missiles – his missiles would be chasing an enemy, while his ships would be flying towards the enemy missiles – which gave them another advantage. But then, he told himself, if it became evident that they meant to keep the range open, he would simply break off the chase. “Prepare to open fire.”

  He keyed his switch. “Commodore Ismoilzoda, you are cleared to break off and perform your own mission,” he added. “Good luck.”

  ***

  “They took the bait, Captain,” the helmsman said. “They’re coming after us.”

  Angelika smiled, dryly. The helmsman was young, the youngest person on the bridge. He wasn't old enough to realise that nine superdreadnaughts in hot pursuit wasn't actually a good thing...well, it was at the moment, but it wouldn't remain that way. Given time, the range would stabilise and then the superdreadnaught’s superior firepower would begin to tell. And then her ships would have to flicker out or die.

  “Good,” she said, concealing her own thoughts. Every Imperial Navy officer had to come to terms with his or her own mortality, yet they were also used to carrying the biggest stick in the known universe. A battlecruiser should have been secure against anything pirates or rebels could throw at it, but instead Violence felt fragile with nine superdreadnaughts bearing down on her. Angelika wondered, absently, if she had remembered to update her will. It seemed so silly to worry about mundane things when the enemy ships were about to attack.

  She looked up at the tactical display. Unless the rebels had somehow developed long-range missiles with additional speed, their firing range would be identical to hers, which meant that when the red circle marking powered missile range touched the enemy ships, they could open fire on her. Or would they wait and allow the range to fall a little more? What was the enemy commander thinking?

  “Bring up the point defence and prepare to engage enemy missiles,” Angelika said, calmly. There was no point in panic, even though the red circle was sliding ever closer to the enemy ships. “Lock weapons on the lead superdreadnaught and prepare to engage.”

  “Weapons locked on target, Captain,” the tactical officer said. Angelika could hear the quaver in his voice, but he was carrying out his duty. “We are ready to engage.”

  “Place the damage control parties on full alert,” Angelika added. Her XO nodded. There was no way that the squadron was going to escape without damage. “And prepare...”

  The red circle slowly touched the icons representing the enemy ships.

  “Fire,” she ordered. “Full spread!”

  ***

  “The enemy ships have opened fire,” the tactical officer reported. Colin nodded. The enemy ships had fully-loaded external racks and they had launched nearly a thousand missiles towards his ships. They seemed to be focusing in on one target, the General Grant. The commander of the lead superdreadnaught had requested the position as a reward for excellent performance on the gunnery drills. Part of Colin’s mind wondered if he was so pleased with his performance now. “I am breaking down the formation now...”

  “Activate our point defence datanet and prepare to engage,” Colin ordered. The tactical system had been constantly updating itself in preparation for the engagement. Now, with the threat developing in front of them, they could at last take action. “Prepare to fire.”

  He was tempted to fire back at once, but that would have merely exposed his missiles to a longer flight time than strictly necessary. He watched the timer, noting that it would take the enemy missiles nearly four minutes to reach his ships, adding a curious sense of slow motion to the combat. At three minutes, he would open fire, avoiding the danger of a lucky hit wrecking one or all of his external racks. Nuclear warheads didn't detonate if they were hit, unlike some other warheads, but it would still pose a serious risk.

  The timer ticked relentlessly down as the swarm of enemy missiles approached. Despite his calm appearance, Colin was nervous, for it was their first engagement against a genuinely prepared foe. The Annual Fleet had barely had seconds to fire back. The penal world had never fired and surrendered at once. The defenders of Piccadilly had been taken by surprise. Here...the enemy had as long as they could possibly need to prepare their weapons. The effects were right in front of him. The enemy missiles seemed to be one great harmonious mass. Sorting out the real missiles from the decoys would take time...time they didn't have.

  “Tactical,” he said, as the timer ticked down to zero. “You may fire at will.”

  The superdreadnaught lurched as it unloaded its first massive salvo, leaving Colin to sit back in his command chair and watch as the enemy missiles flew into a maelstrom of fire. The problem with external racks – and with the arsenal ship concept – was that they were only one-shot weapons. An external rack blocked the inner missile tubes, meaning that it had to be used and destroyed before the enemy targeted the superdreadnaught, perhaps blocking the ship’s missile tubes and rendering it partly defenceless. It gave the ships a hell of an opening salvo, but once they were fired, the superdreadnaught’s throw weight fell sharply.

  General Grant shuddered badly as several missiles slammed home, but the point defence network held true, preventing most of the missiles from getting through. The superdreadnaught suffered minor damage. Colin checked with the ship’s captain and was relieved to discover that damage control teams were already on the way. One advantage the Rim-dweller had over most of the Imperial Navy crewmen was that they knew more about the technology than merely the basics, or how to replace it. Given time, the Rim would become a far stronger threat than the Empire had ever dared fear.

  He settled back in his chair and watched as the superdreadnaughts launched their second salvo towards the retreating starships.

  ***

  “All hands, brace for impact; I say again, all hands...”

  Violence rocked sharply as two missiles crashed home against her rear shields, powerful energies breaking thr
ough the shields to lick and tear at the starship’s hull. Her point defence weapons rotated and added their own fire to the datanet trying to cover the retreating fleet, but the sheer volume of fire the superdreadnaughts could throw was breaking the network down by main force. Angelika smiled, darkly, as her ship shook again. The rebels were cheating.

  “Captain, Fantastic and Glorious Godley have been destroyed,” the coordination officer reported, through a coughing fit. The air on the bridge was starting to smoke as power surges ran through the ship, caused by overloading shield generators. “Vigilante has lost main drives and is stranded. The rebels will take her intact.”

  “Not without a working drive,” Angelika snapped. The battlecruiser shook again, new red lights flaring up on the display. They had been exchanging fire for just over ten minutes and her fleet was being battered to pieces. Two of the smaller rebel cruisers had been destroyed and one of the superdreadnaughts was limping, suggesting that she had knocked out one of its drive nodes, but it was a poor exchange rate. It was far more likely that the rebels would simply destroy the crippled battlecruiser, unless they could find a tug to savage her and transport her back to their base. “Refocus the defence network and...”

  Her ship rocked, violently. “Rear shields are down, Captain,” the tactical officer warned. Angelika swore under her breath. Without the rear shields, the enemy missiles could literally shoot through the hole and slam into the hull. The cadets at the Academy had a rude term for that, but somehow it seemed less funny now. “Our rear point defence array is offline and...”

  “Bring up the flicker drive,” Angelika ordered. She’d risked overstressing the drive, knowing that when they needed to leave, they wouldn't have time to power up the drive. “All ships are to jump out to the first waypoint on my command...”

  She took one last look at the enemy superdreadnaughts, making their ponderous advance, and scowled. She hated to lose, even against vastly superior firepower. “Jump us out,” she ordered. “Now!”

  The flicker drive engaged and they vanished from the Jackson’s Folly system.

  ***

  “The enemy ships have jumped out,” the tactical officer reported. “They’re gone.”

  Colin nodded. He wasn't too surprised. “Secure from General Quarters,” he ordered. The damage report scrolled up in front of him. Apart from General Grant, which had lost two drive nodes, none of the superdreadnaughts were badly damaged. “Take us back to the planet at maximum speed.”

  “Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Lightning flickered into the system, already moving at considerable speed. Khursheda heard the sound of retching behind her as the shock hit some of her crew – the drugs to counter flicker-shock were not always effective – and gave them what privacy she could by refusing to look at them. The secondary bridge crew would take over if any of her bridge crew were to be rendered ineffective by the shock.

  “Jump complete, Commodore,” the helmsman said. “We have emerged at the targeted coordinates.”

  Khursheda nodded. They’d planned their jump carefully, avoiding any large masses with their own gravitational field. Even now, centuries after it was developed, the flicker drive wasn't understood perfectly, but the human race did know that large gravity masses interfered with precision. The small squadron had flickered from the main body of the fleet to its target, a handful of detected sources within the Jackson’s Folly asteroid belt.

  “Sensors are picking up enemy ships,” the tactical officer said. “I confirm the presence of four destroyers and one manufacturing ship. The IFF signal identifies it as Fabricator.”

  “Good hunting,” Khursheda said. She studied her display for a long moment, before looking up at the communications officer. There was no way that Fabricator could power up its drive and escape, but the destroyers could run any time they liked…if they abandoned the single most valuable ship in the system. “Demand their surrender.”

  “Aye, Commodore,” the communications officer said. The dark-skinned woman worked her console for a few seconds. “They are not responding.”

  “Lock weapons on target and go to active scans,” Khursheda ordered. The display sharpened as powerful sensors began probing space, hunting for targets. The manufacturing ship, twice the size of a superdreadnaught, was very clear on the display. The smaller destroyers, moving to cover the larger ship, were tiny. They couldn’t even stand up to one battlecruiser, let alone four of them. “Repeat our surrender demand. Remind them that we will take them alive and treat them decently if they surrender.”

  There was a long pause. Khursheda found herself hoping that Admiral Walker was right, that others would wish to join the rebellion or perhaps to stand on the sidelines, without choosing a side. She knew that most of the Observation Squadron had joined the rebellion, as had the superdreadnaught crews, but Admiral Percival had time to prepare for a second round of mutinies. Placing Blackshirts on the various crews was absurd, at least from an efficiency point of view, but it would make any further mutinies impossible. Perhaps the reason why the manufacturing ship wasn't surrendering was that there was a team of Blackshirts onboard, forbidding surrender by force of arms.

  “They’re responding,” the communications officer said. As one, the four destroyers flickered out, vanishing somewhere in the vastness of interstellar space. Khursheda checked the readings from the sensors, but they were insufficient to determine where the destroyers might have gone. Somewhere within fifteen light years was the best the computers could do. The Imperial Navy’s researchers had promised that the ability to refine such projections was within reach, but no one, not even the Geeks, had cracked the underlying problem. “They’re offering to surrender in exchange for amnesty.”

  Khursheda exchanged a puzzled glance with her XO. Why would they want Amnesty? It took her a second to realise that the crew of the manufacturing ship clearly feared that they would be blamed for whatever was going on down on Jackson’s Folly, or perhaps handed over to the locals for punishment. Admiral Walker would have done neither, Khursheda was sure. If he could resist the temptation to kill Stacy Roosevelt, he could probably resist the temptation to hurt men who had done nothing to him personally.

  “Tell them that as long as they unlock the computers and refrain from causing any damage, we will leave them unharmed,” she promised. Perhaps the crew would be willing to join the rebellion. She keyed her console, linking her directly to the Marine shuttles waiting in the shuttlebay. “Major, you are cleared to launch; good luck.”

  The display updated as the two shuttles raced away from her ship. Once the Marines were onboard and the manufacturing ship was secure, they’d take it to the first waypoint and wait for Admiral Walker and the other ships. The captured ship would be taken directly to the Geeks, where it would be used to produce additional material to supply the rebellion. The crew, if they refused to join the rebellion, would be transferred to the uncharted colony and left there until the war was over. Her lips twitched in sour amusement. The rebels, if they went on at such a rate, would end up building up a larger prison world than the Empire.

  “The Marines have secured the ship,” the communications officer reported. “They’re warning that it will be at least another hour before the ship can flicker out.”

  “We can wait,” Khursheda said. If there did happen to be an Imperial Navy superdreadnaught squadron within range, they would have to abandon their conquest and flicker out…or maybe not. “Tell them to move the ship to this location” – her hand danced over the console, designating a position several light seconds away – “and power down everything, but the essentials.”

  “Aye, Commodore,” the communications officer said.

  Khursheda sat back in her command chair. The Imperial Navy might return to the system before she could depart, but in that case she would literally hide the manufacturing ship right under their nose. She checked the timer and smiled. Now…all they had to do was wait for the time t
o leave.

  ***

  “We’re coming up on the planet now,” the helmsman said. Jackson’s Folly loomed ahead of them on the display, a lovely green-blue world surrounded by red icons. Colin’s probes and sensor teams had been struggling to sort out the Imperial-held space facilities from friendly – or at least harmless – facilities, but it was a nightmarish struggle. There was far too much debris in orbit.

  “Dispatch Marine teams to the orbital manufacturing facilities,” Colin ordered. According to the intelligence they’d picked up, the facilities the locals had built – the facilities Stacy Roosevelt had been so eager to capture intact – were currently occupied by the Blackshirts, who supervised the workers while holding their families hostage. Even so, it wasn't a safe place to be a Blackshirt; the locals were alarmingly good at trapping and killing the invaders. It helped that the Blackshirts were neither trained nor equipped to operate in orbit. “Prepare to isolate targets on the ground.”

  The Blackshirt commander – General Branford, according to intelligence – had been smart, smart enough to shut down his advanced tracking systems and try to hide. Colin’s own sensors could track some movement on the planet’s surface, but it was hard to distinguish between enemy movement and friendly activity. His communications officers were attempting to listen to communications from the planet’s surface, yet they were finding it hard to pull out anything useful from the babble. Only a handful of Blackshirt signallers were still transmitting, marking their locations as targets for KEW strikes.