He rolled his eyes. “We’ll be lucky if we leave within a month,” he added. “And then we will have to worry about internal security, without the damned Blackshirts.”
“Yes, sir,” Penny agreed.
That, at least, was something she wouldn't mourn. The Blackshirts were trained and conditioned to be garrison troops, ready to commit atrocities at the drop of a hat. Looting and rape were the perks of the job, although Penny rather doubted they made up for losing a chunk of their minds. But putting the Blackshirts on starships had been asking for trouble. They didn't have the experience to keep themselves safe or the restraint to keep from hurting innocent crewmen.
“I was planning to have you kick ass at Luna Base and get them to assign us more experienced crewmen,” the Admiral informed her. “But you’re not in any shape for a proper argument. Instead, I want you to start devising tactical problems based on what you’ve seen from the rebels. Make sure you give them as many advantages as possible.”
Penny nodded. Tactical simulations – the ones that weren't planned out in advance - frequently gave the enemy advantages that they shouldn't have in real life. Missile broadsides might be larger, individual missiles might be faster; in theory, practicing against a stronger opponent was good practice for fighting a real enemy. But most live-fire exercises were carefully planned to ensure the right side won. Nothing was left to chance.
She smiled. Maybe Admiral Wachter would insist on holding a random exercise, inviting his subordinates to actually compete. It might teach them more than they’d learn otherwise.
“After that, I want you to start thinking about what other surprises the rebels might come up with,” the Admiral added. “I suspect that they will have full access to the Geeks and Nerds – they’ve always been trying to push the limits of the possible. What else might they be able to devise to give themselves an unfair advantage?”
Penny considered it. Arsenal ships weren't a real innovation – she had no doubt that the ships could be duplicated – but the Admiral was right. The Geeks had always pushed the limits and the rebels had every interest in encouraging them. After all, they knew that they were still massively outgunned by the Empire. If they could come up with something completely new, it might prove disastrous.
And the Empire, as a general rule, didn't encourage innovation. Why should it, Penny asked, when the Thousand Families already had everything they wanted? But there were always scientists trying to push the limits, no matter what discouragement was thrown at them. The Geeks might just have a lead on the Empire.
“Yes, sir,” she said, again. She looked up at the holographic display, silently calculating ship transit times. The rebels would have to knock out a dozen bases before they reached Morrison, she suspected. “I won’t let you down.”
Admiral Wachter reached out and squeezed her shoulder. If Percival had done it, she knew, it would have been unpleasant. But Admiral Wachter seemed genuinely supportive.
“I know you won't,” he assured her. “Have fun.”
***
Compared to Percival, Penny decided over the following weeks, Admiral Wachter was a brilliant commanding officer. The cynical side of her mind pointed out that anyone would seem brilliant compared to Percival, but it seemed harder and harder to maintain her detachment when the Admiral was genuinely caring. He didn't object to her occasional trips to sickbay; he even ensured she had enough time to recover every time she suffered a panic attack.
It wasn't just her, too. The Admiral cared for the entire crew. He might have conscripted men and women, but he’d ensured that they didn't simply vanish into the Navy. They had permission to send messages to their families, collect their pay and all the other little details that made it easier for them to settle in. Penny still worried about a mutiny, particularly among the conscripts, but nothing materialised. But then, there were few places less conductive to a mutiny than Earth.
Home Fleet was not in good shape, she realised, after she started reading the reports from the Admiral’s repair crews. Half of the superdreadnaughts had real problems going to full power, let alone leaving the Sol System. The smaller ships were in better state, but a number of ships in the reserve were effectively nothing more than dead hulks. They’d been cannibalised to keep the other ships functional.
“It will be worse at Morrison,” Admiral Wachter predicted, as they made their final preparations for departure. Several repairs would have to be carried out while the ships were in flight. “But at least we can purge officers there. Their patrons will be hundreds of light years away. By the time they find out their clients have been purged, it will be too late.”
Penny smiled. After years spent wrestling with the supply department under Percival, she couldn't wait. The bureaucrats were in for a nasty surprise.
Chapter Four
“I think they’re on the alert.”
Commodore Adeeba Hamil nodded in agreement as the light freighter drifted towards the giant station orbiting Mars. The Imperial Navy had deployed several squadrons of light cruisers to screen the planet, with a squadron of superdreadnaughts in reserve. Others, according to the civilian-grade sensors mounted on the freighter, were gathering near Jupiter, preparing to go to war.
“It looks that way,” she said. Colin would have to be warned of the enemy formation, but they wouldn't be going back to Jackson’s Folly for months. “Are you sure we can get down to Mars?”
“As long as the DNA reprofiling worked, you should be fine,” the smuggler assured him. He'd introduced himself as Fred, when they’d made contact at the independent asteroid; he'd assured them that it was easier to reach Earth by contacting the underground on Mars. “If it didn't ...”
He let her fill out the rest of the details for herself. Adeeba had been a Commander in the Imperial Navy – and one of the original mutineers at Jackson’s Folly. Her DNA pattern was registered within the Navy’s databanks, along with everyone else who had ever even considered joining the Navy. If the reprofiling had failed, she would be caught the moment the inspectors tested her DNA. And, at that point, the implants in her head would kill her.
“I'm sure we’ll be fine,” she said. She'd always been happier on the command deck of a starship, but there were only a handful of rebels with any experience of Earth. Colin hadn't had many choices when the time came to pick envoys to Earth's underground. “And if we’re not, you can plead innocent and pay bribes.”
“Maybe,” Fred groused. “But I will be in deep shit anyway.”
Adeeba nodded, running her hand through her long dark hair. She’d grown up on Earth, experiencing enough along the way to convince her that the Empire was neither fair nor reasonable when it felt that it’s security was threatened. Fred would probably be held responsible for shipping them to Mars, even if he hadn't had the slightest idea who they were or what they represented. It wasn't just her and Neil who were at risk, but the Mars Underground itself.
She looked up as Colonel Neil Frandsen entered the compartment. The Marine was trying to slouch, but it wasn't working very well. There was no mistaking the extensive discipline that had been hammered into the former Imperial Marine, or the fact he was a very dangerous and experienced man. Like Adeeba, he’d seen the dark side of the Empire and had been unable to remain silent. And, just like her, he was risking a fate worse than death if they were caught.
“I’ve got our papers ready,” Frandsen informed her. “Everything has been checked and checked again.”
“Just don’t forget your lines,” Fred advised them, as the freighter advanced towards the station. “One mistake, right now, and they will interrogate you extensively. Unless, of course, you pay them a bribe.”
Adeeba rolled her eyes. Mars was humanity’s oldest colony world, home to nearly five billion humans, most of them living in the teeming rat warrens under the terraformed landscape. Like Earth, corruption and decay were a fact of life. There was so much competition between the families that ran the planet that there was no room for the ordinar
y citizens to gain power, let alone independence. No wonder, she decided, that there was an underground on Mars.
She couldn't help feeling nervous as the freighter finally docked with the station, but all her fears seemed groundless. The customs officer barely even glanced at them; he ran their IDs through the central processor, checked their DNA and then impatiently waved them through the security door and into the station. Adeeba kept her face expressionless as they walked into the throng of visitors, then found their way to the space elevator. Four hours later, they were on Mars.
Robinson City was odd, even by the Empire’s standards. It was composed of a series of giant domes, each one housing those wealthy enough to have surface homes, built on top of a warren that dated all the way back to the first settlements on Mars. Most of the locals in the warren seemed drab, almost completely colourless; the ethnic groups that had settled Mars, centuries ago, had long since blended together into something unique to the red planet. She wasn't even sure how to tell the difference between the different occupations. The only people who seemed obvious were the prostitutes.
“We had to fight our way through a set of warrens once,” Frandsen said, once they found a room. The landlady took cash and asked no questions, even though it was obvious that neither of them came from Mars. “Even finding our way was tricky.”
Adeeba nodded in understanding. The warren didn't seem to have street names, corridor designations or anything else that might help an outsider find their way around. Somehow, she suspected that it would be easy to get lost if they walked further underground. She remembered what she’d been told by Fred, before they flickered into the Sol System, and scowled. Finding the underground would be easy. Convincing the underground that they could be trusted would be hard.
They went out for dinner, finding a small eatery several corridors away from their rented room. The food was bland, utterly tasteless. Adeeba ate it anyway – naval rations were worse – and then followed Frandsen through a twisting series of corridors. She hoped the Marine was better at keeping track of where they were going, she decided, as they reached a warehouse on the lower levels. If they got split up, she knew she would never find her way back to the surface.
“Halt,” a voice ordered, as they stepped into the warehouse. “Keep your hands where we can see them.”
Adeeba winced, inwardly. The warehouse was dark. She couldn't see the speaker. Carefully, she lifted her hands, then swallowed hard. Making contact was always dangerous, she’d been warned. They might just be about to walk right into Imperial Intelligence’s waiting arms.
“We come from Tamerlane, selling quality,” she said. It was their official excuse for visiting Mars, but it was also a code phrase from the underground. “And we need to see the Big Man.”
“Indeed,” the voice sneered. “Put your bags on the floor – gently – then get undressed.”
Adeeba exchanged glances with Frandsen, then placed the bag on the floor and pulled off her shirt, followed rapidly by her trousers. Whatever body modesty she'd once possessed had been lost by years in the Navy, where close quarters – often unisex quarters – were common. Even so, she hesitated before removing her bra and panties and dropping them on the dusty ground. They were both completely naked – and vulnerable.
A light flicked on, revealing two separate doors. “Girl, go to the left,” the voice ordered, coldly. There was no hint of any emotion in its tone. “Boy, go to the right. We have to scan you both thoroughly.”
The examination was as uncomfortable as Adeeba had feared, although the two grim-faced women who examined her were surprisingly professional. They checked her implants carefully, reluctantly conceded that she wasn't carrying anything dangerous, then pushed her through a second door. Inside, there was a tall man carrying a pair of dressing gowns. He passed one of them to Adeeba and she donned it, gratefully. A moment later, Frandsen joined them. Adeeba couldn't help staring at his scars before he pulled his own gown on, concealing his body.
“This way,” the man said.
He led them into a smaller room, a makeshift office. A dark-skinned man was sitting on a packing crate, waiting for them. He stood up, nodded politely to them both, then indicated that they should sit on crates themselves. A small pot of tea, bubbling in the corner, let out a low whistle. The man poured three mugs of tea – it was tradition on Mars, Adeeba recalled – and handed them out, then sat down facing them.
“You can call me the Big Man,” he said. His accent was noticeably from Mars, although it was exaggerated enough to make her wonder if it were an act. The man’s face was bland enough to suggest genetic modification. Chances were he could vanish quickly into the warrens if Imperial Security or the Blackshirts came after him. “And you’re from the rebellion.”
“Yes,” Adeeba said, shortly. “We need your help to get to Earth.”
“So I hear,” the Big Man said. “And that leads to a simple question. Can you guarantee that the Empire will be overthrown?”
Adeeba hesitated, composing her reply. “We can offer no guarantees,” she said, carefully. “However, with your help, we have a greater chance of success.”
“That is true,” the Big Man agreed. “However, we are also very vulnerable. If we stage an uprising on Mars – or Earth – we may well be crushed. The Imps will control the high orbitals. Somehow, I don’t think they will have many qualms about bombarding Mars, let alone Earth.”
“Probably not,” Adeeba said. “They will certainly react harshly to any challenge to their authority.”
“Also true,” the Big Man said. “So tell me. Why should we assist you?”
Frandsen leaned forward. “Aren't you committed to overthrowing the Empire?”
“There’s a difference between taking brave steps and committing suicide,” the Big Man pointed out. If he was offended by Frandsen’s tone, he didn't show it. “The point remains that we are massively outgunned, on both Earth and Mars. I will not throw lives away for no good reason.”
“We are not asking you to rebel at once,” Adeeba said. “Like you said, it would be useless – and futile. We want you to do two things for us. First, we want you to prepare for the day we attack the Sol System, so you can be ready to rise up then. Second, we want you to help sabotage the Empire’s war effort. You have, I believe, access to some bureaucrats in the logistics section?”
“A few,” the Big Man said, without committing himself. “There are others on Earth with more connections.”
He shrugged. “And what are you prepared to offer in exchange?”
“You should already be able to obtain weapons,” Frandsen said. “I can offer military training for men and women who are willing to fight.”
“Training we can get, if we need it,” the Big Man said. He looked at them both for a long moment. “And what sort of universe do you envisage taking shape after the Thousand Bastards are defeated?”
Adeeba smiled. Colin had given her very specific instructions for when that point was raised.
“Mars will gain autonomy,” she said, simply. “You will be responsible for your own affairs, without any interference from the Empire. You will send elected representatives to Parliament on Earth to debate the overall course of the Empire, like the other worlds.”
The Big Man lifted an eyebrow. Parliament was a joke, everyone knew, a thin gloss of legality covering the naked power wielded by the Thousand Families. MPs might have been democratically elected once; now, they were effectively picked at random by the Thousand Families. There was so little power in Parliament that even the damned patronage system barely touched the MPs. Some of the candidates, Colin had once observed, were selected for amusement value and nothing else.
“We believe that a democratically-elected Parliament will have more ability to reflect the wishes of the Empire’s population than anything else,” Adeeba explained. She understood the man's doubts, but the rebels hadn't been able to come up with a better idea. “There will also be checks and balances in place.”
“Mars has a small population, compared to Earth,” the Big Man said. “What is to stop Earth from outvoting us?”
“Each planet will have one representative,” Adeeba said. “Earth won’t have more votes than Mars.”
“I could see that working, I suppose,” the Big Man said. “And what if I wanted support against other factions on Mars?”
Adeeba winced. They'd expected the question, sooner or later, but anticipation didn't make it any easier. One of the reasons the various undergrounds had never united against the Empire was a simple failure to agree on a common goal. Some factions wanted to take power for themselves, others wanted to split the Empire up into smaller power groups ... and still others had darker motives. Imperial Intelligence, according to the files they’d recovered on Camelot, had been encouraging infighting among the rebel groups for centuries. As long as the rebels were fighting each other, they weren't a threat to the Empire.
“We are not going to take sides,” she said, seriously. If they supported one faction, others might unite against them – or simply tip off the security forces. “Our objective is the destruction of the Empire. We can fight over what comes afterwards once the Empire is gone.”
The Big Man smiled. “Understandable,” he said. “I will provide you both with transport to Earth and an introduction to friends of mine on the surface. I trust that will be enough, for the moment? I’d prefer not to go into detail about other steps.”
Frandsen leaned forward. “How do you propose to get us to Earth?”
“They monitor passengers coming and going from the planet,” the Big Man said. He winked at them. “They don't pay as much attention to shipping crates. The ride will be uncomfortable, but safe enough.”
Unless someone tips them off, Adeeba thought, coldly. There would be thousands of starships unloading in Earth orbit every day. No one could inspect all of the crates before they were sent down to the surface. A few bribes would make sure of that, she suspected, if the security officers looked resolute. They'd been warned that the underground had strong ties with criminal organisations. It was the only way to survive.
Democracy's Right: Book 02 - Democracy's Might Page 4