The crowd grew louder and nastier. A handful of rocks came sailing over the wall, seemingly tossed at random. They didn't come close to any of the Marines. Even so, Sidney’s hands felt sweaty as he gripped his rifle. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt any of the civilians, but he knew they would have no choice if the walls collapsed. It looked as though the crowd was putting intense pressure on the stone.
“We’re transferring the governors and their staff to the shuttles,” the Sergeant said. “Once the complex is clear, we’ll pull out.”
He must have decided that the buildings are indefensible, Sidney thought. The crowd was getting louder, several young men working hard to psych up the rest for a charge. Or expendable.
A dull roar of anger echoed through the air as the crowd saw the governors being pushed towards the shuttles. There was a loud crack as the gate broke open. Sidney cursed out loud, despite the order to maintain strict communications discipline, then lifted his rifle and fired warning shots over the crowd’s heads. It didn't work. The pressure of the people at the rear kept pushing the people at the front forward, even if they’d changed their minds after seeing the Marines up close. Sidney braced himself, unsure of what to do. If they opened fire, there would be a massacre.
“Deploy gas,” the Sergeant ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Post said.
Sidney watched as gas shells crashed down amongst the rioters. Blue gas sprayed everywhere; the rioters disintegrated into a churning mass of panicky civilians as the gas worked its way into their eyes and throat. They stumbled everywhere, some of them knocked to the ground and trampled by their fellows; Sidney saw a young boy crushed to death before he could do anything to intervene.
“RETURN TO YOUR HOMES,” the Sergeant bellowed, through his suit’s loudspeaker. His voice drowned out the panic from the crowd. “GO HOME, REMAIN THERE.”
“You know,” Howell remarked, as the rioters slowly dispersed, “I thought we were meant to be liberating these people.”
Sidney rolled his eyes. Who could trust planet-dwellers to have any common sense? The rioters had only managed to hurt themselves. There were at least a dozen bodies on the ground, mixed in with choking people who had had a bad reaction to the gas. But at least the Marines hadn't had to chop the crowd to pieces. There was no such thing as strength in numbers when one side was armed with plasma cannon and rail guns.
“They’re stupid panicky idiots,” the Sergeant said, sharply. Behind them, the first shuttles took off, clawing for sky. “Do what you can for the wounded, place the bodies somewhere out of the way. Hopefully, we won't have to set up an administration for the entire planet.”
Sidney reflected on the Sergeant’s words as they patrolled the outer edge of the walls – and then the nearby streets, ensuring that looting and rioting was kept as far from their positions as possible. Planet-dwellers didn't seem to have the intrinsic concern for their environment of the space-born. The moment the planet’s government had surrendered, he saw, the civilians had started to riot. And there was nothing he and his comrades could do.
The populace, those they saw, looked bitter and resentful. Sidney shook his head in disbelief. Didn't these people know they’d been liberated from the Empire? But it looked as though they honestly didn't care – or didn't realise that it would be better after the Thousand Families were destroyed. And yet ... he shook his head, grimly. These people had been lucky. The Empire hadn't come down on them too hard. They had no conception of what life was like elsewhere ...
By the time they were finally recalled to the ships, he was thoroughly sick of the population on the ground.
***
It wasn't too surprising, Colin knew, that there were a handful of cabins in the superdreadnaught that were thoroughly wired for sound, despite being intended for senior officers. Imperial Navy officers and crewmen had no right to privacy, no matter what they thought; Imperial Intelligence heard and saw everything that took place on the starship. It seemed to have escaped their attention that there was so much data they couldn't hope to analyse it all, Colin had decided, although Anderson had pointed out that the intimidation value alone was worth the effort. Colin, after all, had held most of his planning meetings on Jackson’s Folly.
Admiral Ravi Lanai, according to her file, wasn't an experienced officer. Colin had expected someone older, with more time on a command deck, but he had to admit that was nothing more than prejudice. Ravi had certainly given him a hard time, even if she hadn't managed to stop the rebel advance. But he knew that she hadn't had the firepower to win. The question, Colin knew, was if her superiors would see it that way.
He nodded politely to her as he opened the hatch and stepped into the cabin. Ravi was seated on a sofa, reading her way through a book. She looked older than Stacy Roosevelt, as if she hadn't really bothered to have her body kept young. But then, she did project an air of maturity that would have been utterly out of place on Stacy’s teenage body. Colin shuddered at the memory, then sat down facing Ravi. Maybe there was time to have a proper talk.
“Admiral,” he said, carefully. “You fought well.”
Ravi’s lips quirked. “As did you.”
Colin waited, then continued when it was obvious she wasn't going to say anything else. “I understand that you want to return to the Empire,” he said. “Can I ask why?”
“It’s my duty,” Ravi said, simply. “My family have always been loyalists.”
“I read your file,” Colin said. “You’ve been quite lucky.”
Ravi nodded, but said nothing.
“Your people speak well of you,” Colin continued. “We have only had a relative handful of recruits from your crews, despite the beating they took at our hands. Quite a few of them have insisted on returning to the Empire. I think you had quite a bit to do with their loyalty.”
“Thank you,” Ravi said.
Colin studied her for a long moment. Ravi had been lucky. With so many competing interests in the system, she had been able to carry out her duty with only a minimum of political interference. She was unlikely to rise any higher, but then she was already high enough to suit her ambitions. Besides, when she retired, she could look forward to quite a few patrons ensuring that she had a comfortable retirement. The smarter patrons knew to ensure that they looked after their clients until the end of their lives.
“They’re going to die,” Colin said. He didn't know for sure that whoever was in command at Morrison would kill the returning crewmen, but he knew how Percival had treated those who’d had enough loyalty to return home. They’d been interrogated and brain-sucked, then dumped on Camelot. Colin had rescued some of them when the planet had been taken, but others had died before he arrived. “And you too, for that matter.”
“I still have to report,” Ravi said, stubbornly. “And I would prefer not to be interned.”
“You will be blamed for the defeat here,” Colin warned her. “They’ll look for someone they can hold to account – and you will make an easy scapegoat. If you're not interested in joining us, you should consider being interned. We won’t treat you badly ...”
Ravi looked up, her dark eyes meeting his. “Why do you care?”
Colin hesitated, then admitted the truth. “The Thousand Families are going to be destroyed,” he said. “But there is still going to be an Empire afterwards – and an Imperial Navy. You could serve, Admiral. We need officers who can inspire such loyalty and devotion in their men.”
“But that would be a betrayal,” Ravi said. She didn't take her eyes from his face. “How do you know that whatever you create, whatever replaces the Empire, will be better than its predecessor?”
“I know that the Empire cannot be allowed to go on,” Colin countered. “It is draining the lifeblood from humanity. It has pretty much reached the limits of worlds it can simply invade, occupy and start exploiting. Already, the Thousand Families are turning on each other. What happens when their struggle turns physical?”
“You didn’t answer my
question,” Ravi pointed out. “How do you know that your Empire will be better than our Empire?”
Colin frowned. “I have faith,” he said. “We can solve most of the problems caused by the Empire, break up the power and economic blocs that keep it under control ...”
“And then ... what?” Ravi asked. “You don't know you’ll do better. What will you do the moment someone defies you? Or wants to leave the Empire? Human disunity almost killed us once; are you prepared to accept disunity and the risks that come with it ... or will you use force to keep the Empire together? And if you do, Commander Walker, what makes you any better than the Thousand Families?”
She looked at Colin’s hands, then smiled. “Are you going to beat me for disagreeing with you?”
Colin realised that he’d clenched his fists. Slowly, he unclenched them and clasped his hands behind his back, fighting for calm. Ravi was right, he had to admit; shattering the Thousand Families and their grip on power would unleash forces that might tear the Empire apart. But he still believed that those forces could be accommodated. If each planet had internal autonomy, it would be harder for outsiders to exploit them ...
“No,” he said, coldly. “If you won’t join us, we will make arrangements for you to be transported to Morrison.”
“Thank you,” Ravi said, primly. She picked up her book and opened it, looking down at the page. “Was there anything else?”
Colin scowled in irritation. “Merely that I think you’re wasted,” Colin said. “You’ll be killed at Morrison, killed for losing to superior force. They won’t stop looking for scapegoats just because you fought well. And I doubt your patrons will lift a finger to help you.”
“I know the risks,” Ravi said, closing her book. “But I am loyal to the Empire.”
“I had that certainty once too,” Colin admitted. He stood, then looked down at her. “I hope you survive, Admiral. We will need people like you after we win the war.”
He strode out of the cabin, then nodded to the Marine on duty outside. “Don’t let anyone see her,” he ordered. “She can be transferred to the freighter once the life support is checked out.”
“Yes, sir,” the Marine said.
Colin’s communicator buzzed. “Admiral,” his XO said, “a space yacht has just entered the system. They’re broadcasting a message, requesting to speak with you.”
“A yacht?” Colin repeated. The only people who could afford dedicated pleasure starships were the aristocracy. Someone from the Thousand Families? “Do we have an IFF?”
“Nothing that matches anything in our database,” the XO reported. “What do you want to do?”
Colin considered it, briefly. “Tell them to keep their distance,” he ordered. It was possible that someone had placed a bomb on the starship, but it wouldn't be powerful enough to take out the entire fleet. “Have the Marines board the ship, then check out the passengers. If they are clean, they can be brought onboard and I’ll speak to them. If not, we can deal with it at once.”
“Yes, sir,” the XO said.
“And ask Daria to join us,” Colin added. The fleet train had arrived just after Tyson had fallen. “She should be a part of any discussions.”
Chapter Eighteen
Lord Pompey Cicero knew that he was considered stodgy and unimaginative. It wasn't something that bothered him, not when he considered the other family members of his generation. Only a handful were really interested in anything other than enjoying themselves and not all of those could be trusted with anything significant. When he’d taken up a position in the family's security force, he'd known it was a vote of confidence from the Family Head – and an acknowledgement that Pompey wouldn't seek pleasure at the expense of the family.
It had been relatively simple picking a possible rebel target before Morrison, although he had to admit that he’d nearly gotten it wrong. Passion had lurked in a nearby system for a week before the courier boat had arrived, warning the system authorities that the rebels had attacked Tyson. Cursing his own oversight, Pompey had brought the drive online and flickered into the Tyson System even before Gwendolyn had climbed out of her bunk. He didn't want to know what she was doing, but they'd spent as little time together as possible while they'd been on the ship.
Gwendolyn came onto the bridge and took a seat, watching as the rebel shuttle approached their starship. Pompey didn't really like her; she might have had a mind like a steel trap, but she was almost terrifyingly ambitious. Given enough time, she might even be able to put together a challenge to the Family Head. Pompey knew that competition was one of the sources of strength, yet this was no time for competition. The Empire itself was at stake.
“So,” Gwendolyn said, running her fingers through her long blonde hair, “are we there yet?”
Pompey rolled his eyes. It was quite possible, he knew, that the rebels would simply take them captive and try to ransom them back to the family. Kidnapping an aristocrat bore the death sentence, but the rebels could hardly be executed twice. By now, they’d probably earned at least five or six death sentences apiece.
“Yes,” he said, simply. “I suggest that you try to restrain yourself when they board the ship. I do not believe they will feel inclined to defer to you.”
He gave her a sharp look. She wore a long white dress that was near-transparent in all the right places. It would be hard to imagine anything less like a diplomat ... unless, of course, she wanted to be underestimated. The Thousand Families were heirs to a rejuvenation technology that could have a man of two hundred look barely twenty, but they did tend to disregard youth. Gwendolyn might well have profited, in the past, by looking young, nubile and innocent.
“And I’d tell you to change, if we had time,” he added. “But they’re almost here.”
A dull thump echoed through the hull as the shuttle docked with the forward airlock. The hatch hissed open a moment later, allowing the Marines to step into the ship. They looked alert, Pompey noted, although there was something about their movements that suggested they were very new or that they’d had very limited training. But there had always been a shortage of Marines, even before questions had been raised about their political reliability. It would have been easy for them to take control of a number of starships and start a revolution.
“Welcome onboard,” he said, calmly. “Please, make yourself at home.”
“Please remain where you are,” the Marine ordered. “Is there anyone else onboard this ship?”
“No,” Pompey said. Gwendolyn had started complaining, after the second day, that there was no one to do the hard work of cooking, cleaning and washing clothes. Pompey had taken it in his stride. Besides, his clothes were relatively simple. “We’re alone.”
The Marines didn't take his word for it, unsurprisingly. Two of them remained on the bridge, not quite pointing their weapons at Pompey and Gwendolyn, while the remainder searched the ship from end to end. They didn't find anything; Passion was unarmed, designed to be operated by a single person, as long as the automatics held out. Eventually, the Marines placed the entire ship into shutdown mode and led the two visitors into the shuttle. Inside, their bodies were thoroughly scanned, then confirmed clean. Pompey had even removed the implanted weapons he'd been given when he’d qualified as a security officer.
“Take a seat,” the Marine ordered, pointing to a pair of metal chairs. “We’ll have you on the superdreadnaught soon enough.”
Pompey nodded. Gwendolyn, for a wonder, kept her mouth shut. The Marines were being fairly decent, under the circumstances. If Pompey had been in charge of supervising unexpected guests, he would have searched them more carefully. But that would have been inconsiderate.
He smiled inwardly as the shuttle disengaged from the starship. They’d made it – and they’d made contact with the rebels. Now the ball was in Gwendolyn’s court.
***
“Interesting,” Colin commented, as the two newcomers were escorted out of the shuttle and marched towards the conference room that had be
en put aside for the meeting. “What do you think they want?”
“Lord Pompey and Lady Gwendolyn, both from the Cicero Family,” Mariko commented. It was rare to hear her speak at all, certainly not before Daria. “Both quite young, in age as well as body. Pompey is twenty-seven, according to the files; Gwendolyn is twenty-two. I think they’re probably rated as expendable if the talks go badly wrong.”
She paused. “But the Family Head is also unusually young,” she added. “He might be more flexible than the others.”
Colin nodded. It did make a certain kind of sense. The Thousand Families were dominated by the elderly, many of whom had allowed themselves to ossify mentally. It was true of the Imperial Navy too, he knew. The Admirals at Luna Base were often old enough to be Colin’s grandparents, but they still refused to retire gracefully and allow the young to move up and take their places.
“You clearly didn't waste your time,” Daria said. “What else did you pull from the files?”
“Almost nothing about them specifically,” Mariko admitted. “The files rarely hold detailed information on non-naval personnel.”
There was a tap on the hatch. Colin tapped his console and the hatch opened, revealing the Marines and the two newcomers. He deactivated the monitor screen and stood as the newcomers were shown into the compartment, studying them both carefully. There was an air of competence around Pompey that he would have found reassuring, if they’d been on the same side. He was bland, utterly inoffensive ... and his eyes were observing everything. It was impossible to escape the feeling that, young as he was, Pompey was a formidable man.
Gwendolyn was younger, wearing a dress that showed her assets to best advantage. Colin couldn't help a flicker of attraction, which he fought down ruthlessly. Gwendolyn had clearly dressed to short-circuit their minds and it was working. Her face was perfect, the result of genetic engineering or cosmetic surgery, her hair shone like the sun. But her eyes were flickering everywhere, drinking in the entire compartment. No matter what she looked like, he realised, she was very capable at her chosen field. Her family had chosen its emissary very carefully.
Democracy's Right: Book 02 - Democracy's Might Page 17