Democracy’s Right - Sample

Series Listing

Book One: Democracy’s Right
Book Two: Democracy’s Might (forthcoming)
Book Three: Democracy’s Price (forthcoming)

Christopher G. Nuttall

http://www.chrishanger.net
http://chrishanger.wordpress.com/
http://www.facebook.com/ChristopherGNuttall

All Comments Welcome!

Dear Readers

The book you hold in your hand (at least on your kindle) is a heavily-revised version of book one of my second major space opera trilogy – The Democracy Series.  The previous versions can be found on my website under ‘free books.’  However, I feel that this revised version adds a great deal to the universe – and I would advise you not to assume that anything that happens (or doesn’t happen) in the first version will happen in the second.

If you want a sequel, please let me know and post reviews on Amazon.  At the risk of sounding awfully mercenary (sorry) I write sequels to books that sell well.  

As always, I would be grateful if you email me to point out any spelling mistakes, placing them in context.  For example ‘THEIR is a tavern in the town.’  Kindle locations don’t copy back to me, so it’s not easy for me to see what’s wrong.

I can offer cameos, redshirt deals and suchlike in return.

Have fun!  And if you want a second book, let me know...

Christopher Nuttall

Cover Blurb

The Empire – a tyranny stretching over thousands of worlds.  The grand dreams of the founders are a joke.  The Thousand Families, the rulers of the Empire, care nothing for anything, save their own power.  From the undercity of Earth to the new colonies at the Rim, discontent, anger and rebellion seethe, but there is no hope of breaking the power of the Empire and freeing the trillions of enslaved humans and aliens.  

The Rebel – Commander Colin Walker believed in the Empire, until a treacherous superior officer betrayed him, forcing him to see the true nature of the force he served and his compliancy in terrible crimes.  Now, Colin has a plan; he and his followers in the Imperial Navy will seize their ships and rebel against the Thousand Families, uniting the thousands of rebel factions under his leadership.  Their war will set the galaxy on fire ...
Chapter One

Night was falling over Jackson’s Folly as Commander Colin Walker walked down the street towards the isolated bar, keeping a safe distance from the crowds of spacers milling about and trying to relax before they boarded their shuttles and returned to their ships.  Like almost every other planet Colin had visited, Jackson’s Folly possessed a place where spacers could come to relax after serving on their ships – and be separated from their hard-earned wages by bars, girls and other entertainments.  He smiled to himself grimly as he saw a group of Imperial Navy crewmen lining up in front of a brothel, swapping pipes of recreational drugs while waiting for their turn at the girls.  The Observation Squadron allowed a third of its crewmen to take shore leave at any given point and they didn't hesitate to take advantage of it.  Anything beat serving on starships waiting in orbit for the hammer to fall.

Colin scowled as he turned the corner and passed a group of local law enforcement personnel, watching the Imperial Navy crewmen nervously.  It hadn’t taken long for the Imperial Navy to wear out its welcome on Jackson’s Folly – if they had any welcome at all – yet dealing with rowdy crewmen risked provoking an incident.  With factions in the Empire’s local Sector Command keen to provoke an incident, in order to annex Jackson’s Folly and its daughter colonies to the Empire, giving them any ammunition at all was a dangerous idea.  The entire planet knew that it was only a matter of time before the Empire finally decided to move against them and the presence of the Observation Squadron was nothing more than a chilling reminder of the sheer power arrayed against them.  Jackson’s Folly might, if they had another two hundred years of relative independence, been able to stand off the Imperial Navy, but it was too late.  The datachip in his pocket felt heavy as he strode down the street, reminding him of what it carried.  The die was about to be cast.

He noticed a handful of spacers looking at him, wondering who and what he was, and smiled, for he looked nothing like the sober XO of HMS Shadow.  He was tall and gaunt, with a balding head and piercing blue eyes, his face covered with two days worth of stubble.  The gun he carried openly on his hip wasn’t an Imperial Navy-issue weapon, a touch intended to convince any observers that he was from one of the independent starships orbiting the planet.  The leather jacket he wore over a standard shipsuit only added to the ensemble.  Once the meeting was done, he would return to a small apartment on the planet, change back into his uniform and catch the first shuttle back to Shadow.  No one would know that he had even left the ship.

A cry split the air – a cry of happiness from one of the local casinos, where spacers gambled away most of their wages – and he smiled, even though it was a bitter reminder that he could never be as happy or carefree as them.  A group of Imperial Navy crewmen spilled out of the building and headed towards the nearest crewman’s bar, where they would drink away their winnings.  Colin envied them at that moment, knowing that they still believed in the Imperial Navy...or perhaps they just didn't care.  None of them had ever climbed high enough to understand the true nature of the system they served, or to be able to do anything about it.

The thought was a bitter one.  A decade ago, Colin had been a young and ambitious tactical officer, intent on winning his own command before he was twenty-five.  He’d been easy prey for Commodore Percival, who had been equally intent on securing a promotion to Admiral and being appointed Sector Commander.  Colin had been proud when Percival had approached him and offered the young officer his patronage, the patronage that he needed to reach higher rank.  It hadn't been easy, but Colin had carried out his side of the bargain and accomplished the impossible; he’d made Percival look good.  And Percival had received his coveted promotion.

In return, Percival had exiled him to a patrol base with little hope of escape.

The shock had opened Colin’s eyes and revealed the true nature of the Empire.  His shattered dreams were nothing compared to its vast crimes against humanity.  The Thousand Families ruled the Empire with a rod of iron, suppressing dissidence and rebellion...and Colin had helped them do it.  The system was guilty and he, who had served the system, was guilty too.  He didn't want to admit it, but he had no choice; if he’d been promoted, he would have continued to serve the Empire.  As it was, he’d spent ten years putting together a plan of his own.  His hand touched the datachip in his pocket again.  One way or another, the die was definitely about to be cast.

Colin pushed open the door and stepped into the bar.  It was a typical spacer’s bar, with drink on tap, a number of female bartenders and a pair of women doing a pole-dancing routine on the stage.  Colin glanced up at them for a moment, taking in the handful of spacers watching them while getting thoroughly drunk, and then walked through the second set of doors and into the Captain’s Club.  The bar catered to trader captains who wanted to pick up commissions and share lies about their exploits with their fellow captains and the horde of admiring groupies that congregated around them.  Business had been falling recently, Colin knew; the presence of the Imperial Navy was a powerful deterrent to independent traders who might operate on the wrong side of the law.  He picked up a glass of beer from the inner bar, sampled it quickly, and stepped into one of the private cubicles.  His fellow conspirators looked up at him as he took his seat.  They knew, he suspected, just what he had to say.

He pulled a privacy generator out of his pocket and placed it on the table, where it linked into the other privacy generators – one per person – and created a jamming field surrounding the room.  In theory, the generators would make it impossible for any kind of surveillance probe or sensor to operate within their field, keeping their conversation strictly private.  In practice...Colin knew that it was something of a gamble.  Imperial Intelligence had successfully pressed for the devices to be banned all across the Empire, but it was easy to obtain them with the right connections.  A suspicious mind might wonder if Imperial Intelligence already knew how to penetrate the fields – or even to detect them – and had passed the ban merely to lure criminals and rebels into a false sense of security.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said, as he took his seat.  “The balloon is about to go up.”

He glanced from face to face as the news sank in.  The six inner members of his conspiracy – they were far from the only members, but they were the most important – had all known that time was running out.  Ever since Colin had approached them, one by one, and started talking about rebellion against the Empire and the Thousand Families, their lives had been hanging by a thread.  A single careless word could have betrayed them to one of the army of security officers on the Observation Squadron.

“A dispatch boat arrived five hours ago,” Colin continued, pulling the datachip out of his pocket and inserting it into the reader he’d bought with him.  “It carried this dispatch for Captain-Commodore Howell.  Commodore Roosevelt” – he kept his voice level with an effort – “will be arriving with her superdreadnaughts within one standard week, travel times permitting. Once she arrives, Jackson’s Folly will be declared a world in rebellion against its rightful masters and she will take whatever steps are necessary to place them under Imperial control.  We have to act now.”

He keyed the reader and watched as the message played itself out in front of his small group.  Commodore Roosevelt, one of the more well-connected officers in the Empire and a client of Admiral Percival, clearly had plans for Jackson’s Folly and its people.  The Roosevelt Family was already the dominant power in Sector 117, which bordered Jackson’s Folly and its daughter worlds.  They intended, Colin suspected, to get their own claims in first and prevent the rest of the Thousand Families from looting the system.  

That thought, too, was a bitter one, but it had to be faced, even though he had dared to hope that Jackson’s Folly would be able to stand off the Empire.  Centuries ago, just before the Great Interstellar War, Tyler Jackson had believed that the two main human powers – the Federation and the Colonial Alliance – would go to war, destroying several hundred years of human expansion and settlement.  He’d invested in nineteen massive colony ships, each one larger than anything built before, and recruited thousands of colonists to head out into the great unknown, thousands of light years from Earth.  They’d spent a hundred years travelling before they’d even started to look for a new home and, when they’d finally discovered an Earth-like world, they’d settled on it and started to build their utopia.  It hadn't worked out too badly for them, Colin conceded; seven hundred years of growth had led to the settlement of thirteen daughter colonies and a thriving economy.  If they’d only travelled a little further away...

But they hadn't and the Empire had stumbled across their worlds.  Jackson’s Folly’s population – the Follies, as they called themselves, partly in jest – might have hoped that the Empire would leave them alone, but Colin knew better.  The Observation Squadron was only the first step towards annexing Jackson’s Folly to the Empire, if only to prevent their example from causing unrest among the Empire’s teeming population.  Now...a squadron of superdreadnaughts, the most powerful starships in existence, would ensure that Jackson’s Folly would have no hope at all of successful resistance.  The Follies had done what they could, when they realised the sheer scale of the threat, but it was too late.  They were at least fifty years behind the Empire, at least in the technological field.  The Observation Squadron alone could have punched through their defences, although it would have been costly.  The superdreadnaughts were merely icing on the cake.

“...It has been deemed, by the Imperial Judiciary, that after a careful and unbiased study of the evidence, that Tyler Jackson took loans from various combines to outfit his colony fleet,” Commodore Roosevelt continued, her youthful face contrasting oddly with the syrupy hypocrisy of her words.  Colin felt hatred deep within his breast and he pushed it down angrily, needing to keep his thoughts clear.  Commodore Stacy Roosevelt had claimed the position Colin had earned, after he’d ensured that Commodore Percival would be promoted to Admiral and given control of an entire Sector.  It had taken Colin ten years to climb back up to his current position and, by then, his hatred of his betrayer had become hatred of the entire Empire.  It was a brutal system that was sucking the life out of the entire human race.  “They therefore owe interest payments on the order of several trillion credits to the heirs of those combines – that is, the Roosevelt Family.  If they refuse to pay, their assets will be taken and used to pay their debts.”

Colin tapped the reader and the image vanished.  It still puzzled him how the Empire could have taken so long to make a decision that everyone in power knew was inevitable, but then Jackson’s Folly represented the largest prize the Empire had seen in quite some time.  The handful of isolated Rogue Worlds or the black colonies along the Rim were hardly worth the effort involved in subjecting them to Imperial rule.  Jackson’s Folly, on the other hand, had its own industrial base and a trained workforce, one that could be put to work for the glory of the Roosevelt Family and the expansion of the Empire.  Whichever Family ended up with the lion’s share of the proceeds would be in a position to control the next wave of expansion past Sector 117.  The Roosevelt Family’s enemies had probably considered it worth the attempt to prevent them claiming supreme – or even sole – control over the independent system.  Their delaying tactics had finally run out.

“So, that’s it then,” Daria said.  The red-haired woman smiled, humourlessly.  “It’s time to either shit or get off the pot.”

Colin, despite himself, smiled, for Daria had a talent for cutting right to the heart of any problem without delay.  She was the leader of the Freebooter League; a union of independent starship captains trying to remain free of the massive shipping combines that shared out the Empire’s shipping trade between them, a position that had made her a target for Imperial Intelligence and its secondary security units.  If they had known that Colin had made contact with her – and, through her, the rebels and black colonies past the Rim – they would have had a collective heart attack.  The price on her head just kept growing.  

He studied his other conspirators openly.  Commander Adeeba Hamil was a dark-skinned woman, who had been exiled to the Observation Squadron after refusing the sexual advances of a well-connected superior officer.  Unusually for the Imperial Navy, she was from Earth itself, having fought her way off the planet and into the Imperial Navy.  The scar that ran down her cheek was a chilling reminder of her early life before she’d escaped into space and left Earth behind forever.  Lieutenant-Commander Dave Howery, in contrast, was taller than Colin, with short brown hair and an irrepressible smile.  Like Colin, he had trusted in the wrong superior officer; his patron had ensured that Howery had taken the blame for his patron’s mistake, a mistake that had led directly to a very valuable starship spending several months in a shipyard while its drive nodes were stripped out and replaced.

Colonel Neil Frandsen was very different.  Short and stocky, as all Marines seemed to be, he had been exiled to the Observation Squadron after refusing orders from a superior officer.  The Marine unit under his command had captured half of a black colony, including hundreds of non-combatant women and children, but the fighters were still holding out in the other part of the colony, presenting the Marines with a formidable tactical challenge.  His superior had ordered him to start executing the women and children in order to make the fighters surrender, an order Frandsen had refused in horror.  He’d been relieved of command and ordered back to the transport ship, a decision that had saved his life when the rebels had blown the colony and killed themselves rather than submit to the Empire.  

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 share 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 weapons 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.

The thought spurred him into action and he started to look for the Captain, but Howell was nowhere to be seen.  His massive living room, decorated with expensive wooden artefacts and odd paintings of women in compromising positions, was empty.  Colin felt sweat trickling down his back, wondering if Howell had somehow realised what was happening and had chosen to escape his quarters and hide somewhere on the starship.  He’d secured the datanet, but the Captain possessed command codes that would allow him to access and control any system from any terminal.  If Howell had escaped, the entire plot might be within seconds of unravelling.

“In here, Commander,” Howell called.  “I’m just meditating.”

Colin had never entered Howell’s sleeping quarters before, so he took a moment to look around as he entered the bedroom.  There was a single massive bed, large enough for three people, covered in silken sheets.  Howell had decorated the bedroom in more subdued colours than the living room, thankfully, although there were still several tasteless artefacts scattered around.  Colin’s attention was held, briefly, by a golden starship model, before he located Howell.  The Commodore was sitting at his terminal, studying his private files on Jackson’s Folly.  Colin smiled inwardly.  The files had been provided by Anderson and Colin had taken pains to ensure that many details that should have been alarming – like the fact that Jackson’s Folly was distributing heavy weapons to its civilian population in preparation for an underground war against the Empire – were omitted.  Colin wondered briefly if Commodore Roosevelt intended Howell to prepare a plan of operations on the surface – it seemed unlikely, but stranger things had happened – before pushing the issue aside.  It didn't matter any longer.

“Ah, Commander,” Howell said.  He sounded mildly annoyed.  “The main datanet isn't working properly.  I had to use my own command codes to access data from the open sections of the datanet.”

Colin studied him for a long moment.  Howell was everything he detested in the Empire, an incompetent man placed in a position of power, placed there by powerful patrons over far more deserving candidates.  He would whore for his position, feeding Jackson’s Folly and the billions of humans who lived on the planet and its daughter worlds into the fire, just to keep his position and all the privileges that went with it.  The Captain-Commodore had no sense of honour, or even of service to a higher ideal; he existed only to maintain the Empire, put in his place because he was a safe pair of hands.  Cold hatred flared through his mind and he drew his pistol.  Howell’s eyes had only a moment to widen in alarm before Colin shot him through the head.

He had practiced with the firearm when he’d obtained it, using the Marine firing range to practice until he knew what he was doing.  Even so, the noise sounded inhumanly loud in the confined space – and the blood flowing from Howell’s body was definitely new.  It was the first time Colin had killed someone personally – rather than serving as a tactical officer on the bridge of a starship – and it shook him more than he had expected.  It took him several seconds to gather himself and catch Howell’s right hand, pulling off the golden ring that marked his command of a starship.  The ring wasn't just a mark of command; it allowed him to access the ship’s computers and take control of any part of the datanet.  Colin tensed as he pulled it onto his own finger, wondering if there had been a mistake in the intelligence.  The ring should have registered Howell’s death and him as his legitimate successor, but if something had gone wrong...

The ring felt oddly heavy on his finger and he studied it thoughtfully.  It was chunky, decorated with the star-and-spaceship of the Imperial Navy, glittering on his finger.  Carefully, he pressed it against Howell’s terminal, praying that it worked.  There was a click and Howell’s secret files unlocked at his touch.  It had worked!  Colin skimmed them quickly, marking several down for later study, before standing up and heading back to the bridge.  The starship’s computers had acknowledged his command authority, which meant – in theory, at least – they should have no other problems.  In practice, Colin knew, they had barely begun.

“Captain,” Finnegan said, when Colin entered the bridge.  Somehow, hearing the title in someone else’s mouth made it real.  “The datanet is back up on all ships, apart from Daffodil.  The Captain was able to destroy his command ring and lock the computers before he could be stopped.”

Colin smiled as he took the command chair – his command chair.  One ship with locked computers wasn't so much of a problem.  Given time, the command codes could be removed from the network and the computers restarted.  It wouldn't even be difficult.  He checked the brief updates from the other ships quickly and smiled.  They were all in his hands and firmly locked down.  The datanets had been secured, rendering a second mutiny – a counter-mutiny – impossible.

“My friends,” he said, keying the private communications channel.  “The ships are ours!”

Chapter Three

“We have seventy agents in all,” Anderson said, as they stood together above the main shuttlebay.  “They were all captured before they could cause any damage.”

Colin nodded in relief.  Anderson – in his position as the starship’s security officer – had located most of the agents onboard, but Howell’s files had included a list of agents who reported only to Imperial Intelligence, their names unknown even to their nominal supervisor.  It was quite possible, he had to keep reminding himself, that there might be a third group of agents, ones who were unknown even to the squadron’s commander.  Imperial Intelligence wasn't known for doing things by halves.  

The agents had been quickly rounded up once the ships had been secured, whereupon they’d been transferred to one of the shuttlebays and secured there.  The Marines had turned the compartments into holding areas, allowing the prisoners to take care of themselves, but leaving them unable to escape.  Just in case, the automated systems that controlled the shuttlebay had been deactivated, rendering it impossible for even the Captain’s command codes to release the prisoners.  Colin was fairly certain that none of the agents had any command codes they could use to hack into the main system, but it was well to be careful.  

He studied the images on the security monitors thoughtfully, stoking his chin as he moved from face to face.  Most of the agents had been nonentities, crewmen and women who had done their jobs without fuss or bother, but a handful had been truly popular.  One of them had been an older wiser hand for the younger crewmen to turn to if they needed help; another was effectively a whore, selling herself to crewmen who found themselves deprived of female company.  She had been very popular; now, Colin wondered, how many crewmen were wondering just what they might have disclosed to her during pillow talk.  It wasn't a pleasant thought.  The Imperial Navy permitted relationships between crewmen – there were regulations covering the matter, although they were routinely flouted by just about everyone – and many of them became intimate.  Who outside the ship, on a planet’s surface or even an orbital habitat, could hope to understand the stresses of living on a starship?

“That leaves us with one question,” Anderson said.  “What do you want us to do with them?”

Colin nodded.  He couldn't keep the agents on the ship, not when there might be other, undiscovered, agents onboard.  They might attempt to liberate their comrades and recapture the ship.  On the other hand, he couldn't abandon them on Jackson’s Folly either, not when the Imperial Navy would be looking for someone to blame for the mutiny.  It wouldn't be hard for Public Information to make it sound as if Jackson’s Folly had organised the mutiny, even though it would have been suicide.  And then, he hadn't realised how many agents there actually were.  No one had.  There were times when he wondered if Imperial Intelligence knew how many agents they had on retainer.

“We’ll transfer them to the Garand,” he said, finally.  The bulk freighter had been captured by one of the destroyers three weeks ago, after its Captain had been identified as a man with an outstanding Imperial warrant on his head.  Colin would have liked to intervene and free the crew, but it was too late.  They’d been shipped off to Camelot to face trial, whereupon Admiral Percival’s assistant’s assistant would probably review the files and order them sentenced to the nearest penal world.  “Once we take the superdreadnaughts, they can take the bulk freighter and head back to Camelot.”

Anderson frowned.  “Do you think that that is a good idea?”

Colin blinked.  “What other choice do we have?”

“We could kill them,” Anderson pointed out.  “We could just open the shuttlebay to vacuum and expel them all into space.  They’re just too dangerous to keep alive.”

“They don’t know anything that can be used against us,” Colin countered.  He didn’t want to start his career with a massacre of helpless prisoners.  There would be enough death in the future without making it worse.  Besides, Public Information would have a field day with such an act, turning it into something comparable to a planetary scorching.  “There’s no point in killing them outright.”

“It's your decision,” Anderson said.  “I just don’t like the concept of loose ends.”

Colin nodded.  Security Officers tended towards the paranoid, particularly the ones who operated – almost alone – on starships.  If they had a suspicious mind, they could blight a career – even that of a perfectly innocent crewman – just through insisting on a rigorous interrogation.  Undergoing such a procedure wouldn't look good on anyone’s file.  He couldn't blame Anderson for wanting to lop off the loose end, but he liked to think that he stood for something better.  The thought wasn't reassuring.  How many other Imperial Navy ships had mutinied in the past, only to devolve into pirate ships and crews who made the Imperial Navy look harmless?

“No,” he said, finally.  “Besides, we are going to want to take surrenders and if they think we’re going to kill them once they’re helpless, they’re not going to surrender to us.”

Leaving Anderson behind to supervise the transfer of the prisoners to the bulk freighter, Colin walked through the starship’s corridors, inspecting the ship – his ship now, for as long as he could keep it.  Part of the crew remained in lockdown – another third of the crew was being brought up from the planet’s surface now, where they would be briefed – but those Colin trusted to do their jobs were working on the ship itself.  Thankfully, there hadn't been a firefight for control of the ship, yet Colin knew that they wouldn't have time for basic maintenance once the superdreadnaughts arrived.  His most trusted allies were already working on the message that, hopefully, would convince Commodore Roosevelt to accept that nothing had gone wrong.  Others were securing the communications section, just in case.  A single message from an undiscovered agent could ruin everything.

“We have switched out the magazines and loaded them for ship-to-ship combat,” the weapons officer assured him, as he checked the tactical section.  Captain-Commodore Howell hadn't been fond of actual weapons drills, something that Colin hadn't understood until he’d read the man’s secret instructions from Commodore Roosevelt.  Howell had been under orders to avoid causing any incidents between the Empire and Jackson’s Folly, at least until the superdreadnaughts had arrived and the Roosevelt Family could make its claim on the planet and the infrastructure the population had built up over the years.  “If it comes down to a fight...”

Colin shook his head.  The Observation Squadron was powerful, but it couldn't take on even one superdreadnaught, let alone a full squadron of nine ships.  If the plan failed, the only option would be to flicker out and hope that they could evade the Empire long enough to come up with a new plan.  The superdreadnaughts had to be taken intact and functional.  If Commodore Roosevelt managed to crash the computers, they would have to be abandoned.

“Load the internal tubes, but don’t bother with the external racks,” Colin ordered.  It would look suspicious to any observer – as if the Observation Squadron was preparing for a fight – and they couldn't afford to arouse suspicion.  He might have held Commodore Roosevelt in absolute contempt – she hadn't impressed him when they’d last met, back when he’d been Admiral Percival’s client – but he had no idea who might be advising her, or commanding her ships.  “Did you manage to unlock the missile control systems?”

“Yes, sir,” the weapons officer said.  “They’re ready to fire on your command.”

Colin nodded and continued walking, feeling the weight of the starship descending on his shoulders.  He hadn't been responsible before, even though he’d done most of the Captain’s work as well as that of the XO – even the paperwork, the paperwork the Captain was supposed to inspect and sign personally.  The thought made him smile.  Over the last few months, the Observation Squadron had ordered thousands of tons of additional supplies, all ordered under Captain-Commodore Howell’s name.  He could operate the squadron for years, if necessary, without support from Camelot or another Imperial Navy base.

His smile faded away.  He’d taken control of the ship and of the lives of the two thousand crewmembers on the vessel.  They were all depending on him now, depending on him not to throw their lives away.  He was the man responsible for everything.  Colin looked down at the chunky ring on his finger and winced.  It might have been his imagination, but it seemed to weigh more every time he looked at it.  The weight of responsibility was settling in on him, pressing down on his mind.

He remembered the young officer he’d been, the intensely focused officer who had believed that he could climb to the top of the Imperial Navy through hard work and dedication.  That young and naive officer would not have understood, but then – he wouldn't have understood the mutiny either.  That officer would have carried on serving the Empire, crushing entire worlds and populations under its iron heel, as long as the Empire rewarded his service.  It was a bitter pill to swallow, yet he had to face it squarely.  Once, there had been a time when he would have given his life for the Empire he had sworn to destroy.

An hour later, he stepped into the main shuttlebay and stared down at the massed ranks of crewmen.  It was traditional to assemble the duty shift in the main shuttlebay if the starship’s commander needed to speak to them personally, while the remainder of the crew listened in through the datanet.  A fourth of the crew should have been sleeping, or otherwise relaxing, but nothing had been normal for the past two days.  The crew who had known about the conspiracy, or had been briefed in just after the ships had been taken, were relaxed, yet the remainder of the crew was nervous.  Who knew what they were thinking or what they knew, other than the fact that the ship was operating on minimal levels and armed Marines had been posted at every access hatch.  Colin knew that many of them had to be terrified.  

He stood up on one of the smaller shuttles, suddenly realising his mind was blank.  What should he tell them?  He couldn't think of words to say.  He had planned a series of coordinated mutinies that had taken an entire squadron of starships, but he couldn't think of the words to speak to the crew, the men and women who made the ships work.  What could he tell them?  Unlike Captain Howell, he didn't even have legitimate authority on his side.  He could just have lied to them, he knew, but sooner or later the lie would have come out, risking chaos.  Colin focused his mind, pushing the uncertainty aside, and started to speak.

“I have taken command of the Observation Squadron,” he said, flatly.  By now, that wouldn't be a surprise to anyone, he suspected.  It had long been joked that rumours travelled right through solid bulkheads.  Hell, the Marines might have been under strict orders to keep their mouths shut, but the briefed crewmen might have passed on some of the briefing to their friends and comrades.  “I am taking these ships in a mutiny against the Empire.”

He continued to speak, explaining what the Empire had in mind for Jackson’s Folly and just what would have happened, if he hadn't launched the mutiny against Captain-Commodore Howell.  It helped that most of the crew had been enjoying their position above the threatened world, where they had access to remarkable – and cheap – facilities on shore leave.  It also helped that many of the crewmen had been recruited from the lower classes of society and often felt as if their superiors didn't care in the slightest what they thought.  It was another security problem, Colin knew, but it wasn't as if the Thousand Families could crew the entire Imperial Navy by themselves.  Besides, Imperial Intelligence had seeded the crews with undercover agents, hoping to catch any plans for a mutiny.  There would be some heads rolling back on Old Earth.  

It was hard to gage reaction – no one became a crewman without some ability to hide what he was thinking or feeling – but he pressed on anyway.  He told them that he couldn't promise victory, or even survival, yet they had a chance to reshape – perhaps even topple – the entire Empire.  They would even have a chance for proper advancement, without the rules and restrictions that prevented anyone from the lower decks rising to a higher position.  The Imperial Navy wasn't keen on officers from the lower orders, but Colin – while he'd been drilling the ship – had spotted dozens of crewmen who deserved higher ranks.  The rebel fleet would definitely make the best use of its manpower.  It couldn't afford to blunder along through brute force and bloody-mindedness.

“If you don’t want to join us,” Colin concluded, “or if you fear the consequences of victory or defeat, you are welcome to leave the ship and be transferred to a freighter that will transport you back to Camelot.  If you want to stay, you will be welcome.  Please make your choices now.”

He watched as discussion broke out among the crew, blending together into a buzzing conversation.  Many of the senior NCOs were intent on joining the mutiny – several of them had been involved right from the start, while others had learned to hate their superiors – although two of them seemed inclined to refuse to join the mutiny.  The crew seemed divided as well, although the ones with longer periods of service seemed more inclined to support the mutiny than those who had only served for a few months.  Several arguments and fights broke out, only to be broken up by the NCOs before the Marines could intervene.  Colin winced inwardly.  He had known that some on the lower decks settled their differences through force, in carefully-supervised fights, but he had never come face-to-face with it before.  Admiral Percival had mentioned it once, almost in passing; his opinion hadn't been kind.

Finally, much to his relief, most of the crew decided to join the mutiny.  A handful seemed inclined to worry about threats to their families or friends back home, but only a handful decided to transfer to the freighter for transport back to Camelot.  Colin felt a twinge of guilt as the Marines escorted them to the secondary shuttlebay for transfer, knowing that Imperial Intelligence would interrogate the loyalists until they were sucked dry of everything they knew about the mutiny and its leaders.  He checked his wristcom and smiled as he realised that the other ships had roughly the same percentage of loyalists, although that didn't mean that they’d removed all of the intelligence agents.  If he’d been assigned to spy on the crew, and his identity had remained uncovered, he would have joined the mutiny as well.  There would never be a better chance to infiltrate the crew and damage the rebellion from within.

“Thank you, all of you,” Colin said, once the final loyalists had been gently removed from the shuttlebay and escorted out.  There was no need to use force; indeed, Colin understood what they were going through.  He had wrestled enough with his own conscience over the rebellion, back when he’d been trapped on the patrol base, after Admiral Percival had betrayed him.  Back then, the thought of betraying the Empire had been agony; it would have been easier to go after Percival instead, yet...the system itself, the one that allowed Percival to exist, was rotten.  It had to be destroyed.  “I hope that I will be worthy of your trust.”

***
“We’ve been drilling for the last five days,” Colonel Neil Frandsen assured Colin, three days after he’d spoken to the crew.  It had been a hectic process.  Once the loyalists had been removed, the lockdown had been terminated and the crew went back to work – with a greater will, Colin had noted, than they’d shown while Shadow had been an Imperial starship.  “We’re ready for the mission.”

Colin nodded.  The Observation Squadron’s largest ship wasn't the battlecruisers, but HMS Carmichael, a Marine Transport Ship.  Colonel Frandsen commanded a full Marine Regiment, intended for emergency deployment to the surface of Jackson’s Folly – if the Follies decided to do something stupid.  It had apparently been easier to convince most of the Marines to go along with the Mutiny; Frandsen had paraded his men, explained what had happened and invited them to decide for themselves where their loyalties lay.  It would never have worked for the Imperial Army, but the Marines were a law unto themselves.  Only a handful of Marines had refused to follow their commanders and had been transferred to the freighter for transport back to Camelot.

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it.  Without the Marines, the next part of the mutiny would be impossible.  It would have been more convenient, he admitted to himself, if the superdreadnaughts had docked at one of the orbital stations, but not even Commodore Roosevelt would take such a risk.  “Are you confident of success?”

“Nothing in war is certain,” Frandsen reminded him, “but we are primed and ready for the mission.  Besides, they’re using Blackshirts for their internal security.  They don’t trust their Marines.”

His voice had darkened.  One of the titbits Colin had discovered in Howell’s files was that Commodore Roosevelt was bringing three divisions of Security Division troops to Jackson’s Folly, the dreaded Blackshirts.  The only reason to use Blackshirts was if one intended to run as harsh an occupation as possible, one where atrocities would not only be committed, but actively encouraged.  It boded ill for Jackson’s Folly.

“Don’t worry, sir,” Frandsen said.  “We talked about it once the mutiny was underway and we made up our minds.  Fighting the Blackshirts might just allow us to regain some of our honour.”

Colin nodded.  “Thank you,” he said.  According to the schedule, there were only two days left before the superdreadnaughts arrived.  And then...they would either take the ships or lose.  And it would be completely out of his hands.  He would just be an observer while the Marines took the ships.  “Good luck, Colonel.”

Chapter Four

Commodore Stacy Roosevelt, the Commanding Officer of the 123rd Superdreadnaught Squadron, was almost as young as she looked.  At thirty-one years old, she looked nineteen, with long blonde hair, a heart-shaped face and a smile that seemed to light up her face – when she cared to show it.  Her connections within the Thousand Families – she belonged to the main branch of the Roosevelt Family – were second to none in the Imperial Navy.  Although Admiral Percival was her nominal superior, in practice it tended to be the other way around.  Percival, a Roosevelt client, bowed and scraped to Stacy.  He had certainly assisted her in becoming a Commodore at such an absurdly young age.

Flag Captain Jeremy Damiani kept his face under tight control as Stacy ranted at him.  She certainly wasn’t smiling for her subordinate, the older man who had been assigned to assist her in carrying out her responsibilities.  There were times when Jeremy wondered if it was all worth it – her patronage could take him far, but being in close proximity to her was unbearable – but there was little choice.  If he abandoned his patron, she would ensure that he would have nowhere else to go; certainly, no one would back him in a tussle with the entire Roosevelt Family.  It would have been a great deal more bearable if Stacy had possessed the knowledge and training of a first-year cadet, but as it was, he was certain that the only way she had passed through the Academy was through family connections.

It didn't help that Stacy had been placed in command of the Roosevelt Family’s planned expansion into the Rim, once they had secured control of Jackson’s Folly.  The senior members of her family, people who intimidated even Stacy herself, had been very insistent that everything should go according to plan.  Stacy had, accordingly, taken control and instructed Captain-Commodore Howell to refrain from doing anything until she arrived with her superdreadnaughts, but the Roosevelt Family wasn't the only one involved with the sector.  It wasn't hard to come up with possible scenarios for disaster – and, even for Stacy, failure would mean heavy punishment.  She would probably find herself exiled to run a mining station somewhere thousands of light years from Earth, the heart of the Empire.

“We are running late,” Stacy repeated.   Her face, the best that money could buy, was colouring with rage and stress.  Jeremy was silently grateful that they were in her stateroom, rather than on the bridge.  Being screamed at in front of his crew could only reduce his command authority, what little there was of it.  Like most incompetent officers, Stacy was a micromanager, without the wit to know that it would be better to allow the more experienced crewmen their heads.  “Why are we running late?”

Jeremy kept his own face blank.  There was no point in shouting back at her, not when a word from her could ruin his career.  He wouldn't have put it past her to ruin his career out of spite anyway, but at least he had to try.  Besides, he did have a certain degree of loyalty to the Imperial Navy and he didn't want to think about what Stacy would do without someone watching over her shoulder.  It was highly unlikely that she would order a flicker jump right into an asteroid field that would destroy the squadron, yet he wanted to be careful.  The Empire could not afford to lose any superdreadnaughts.

“We needed to swap out some replacement components on the drive,” he reminded her, calmly.  After that, they’d made good time – indeed, they were one jump away from Jackson’s Folly – but Stacy wasn't interested.  Never mind that leaving the drive motivator in place might have resulted in the drives failing at an inconvenient time.  “We will be there in one hour, Commodore.”

“I want you to find the person responsible for this delay through gross incompetence and have them removed from their post,” Stacy ordered.  Jeremy nodded.  The chances were good that no one was responsible, at least not in the sense that they’d done it on purpose.  Drive motivators, exposed to the weird energies of the flicker drive, tended to fail more often than any other component, even after years of research.  The superdreadnaughts tended to swap out almost every component on the ship over a five-year period, just to keep the ancient vessels running.  “They have delayed our mission.”

“Of course, Commodore,” Jeremy said, smoothly.  Bitter resentment flickered through his mind, only to be forced down and back into the rear of his mind.  Scraping and bowing to a noblewoman was humiliating, but it could be a great deal worse.  The post on HMS General Montgomery was prestigious.  It was well worth the hassle.  “I shall see to it personally.”

He smiled as he tapped the main display, bringing up the star chart.  The Observation Squadron had carried out a careful tactical survey of Jackson’s Folly and its daughter colonies, preparing for the invasion that everyone knew was inevitable once the Empire realised just what a prize Jackson’s Folly actually was.  There might have been a handful of Rogue Worlds, where the writ of the Empire didn’t run, but they were poor and harmless – and had nothing the Empire wanted.  Stacy was meant to draw up the attack plan, yet her mind – which, he had to admit, was good at manipulating the Empire’s power structure – was no good at tactical planning.  Jeremy had used the time they’d spent in transit working on a fairly basic plan, one where relatively little could go wrong.

“As you can see, Commodore, we will begin by...”

An hour later, he allowed Stacy to precede him onto the bridge.  The sight of the main bridge never failed to thrill him, even though the throne-like command chair belonged to Stacy alone.  Here, at the nerve centre of the superdreadnaught, the command crew could deal out death and destruction on the Empire’s many enemies, while remaining safe from anything the enemies could deal out to them.  The five kilometre-long superdreadnaught was one of the most powerful ships in commission, packed with missile tubes, energy weapons and heavy shields.  It would take a matching squadron of superdreadnaughts to present the squadron with a real threat and standard military doctrine called for at least two squadrons to break up an enemy squadron.  It hardly mattered, of course; the Imperial Navy was the only force permitted to possess superdreadnaughts.

“My Lady Commodore,” the helmsman said, as Stacy settled down into her command chair.  She looked almost like a child sitting in her father’s chair, but her eyes were as alert as ever.  Had any of the crew neglected the proper honorific, she would have noticed – and remembered.  “We are ready to make the final jump.”

Stacy leaned forward, her anger forgotten.  “Then by all means,” she ordered, “jump!”

Jeremy braced himself as the flicker drive engaged, launching the superdreadnaught across five light years in a split-second.  The scientists swore that the transits were not instantaneous – they lasted a certain infinitively-tiny length of time – but it felt instantaneous.  It also felt, just for a second, as if his insides had been turned upside down.  It was a gentle transit, yet it was something that no one ever got used to feeling.  He’d been on ships that had jumped while travelling at high sublight speeds and the crews had ended up vomiting badly on the decks.

“Transit completed,” the helmsman said.  The display updated rapidly as the gravimetric sensors picked out Jackson’s Folly, the primary star and the handful of other planets within the system.  IFF beacons began to appear as the passive sensors picked up the freighters moving between planets, although he had to remind himself that a hostile starship could be keeping its emissions to the bare minimum, rendering it nearly undetectable.  “The flicker drives are cycling down now.”

Jeremy relaxed and settled back into his own chair.  The flicker drive might have given mankind the stars, but it had also introduced a whole new degree of tactical problems.  It was impossible, even for the Empire’s most advanced and powerful ships, to keep the flicker drive spun up and ready to jump out.  It would burn out the drive and leave the vessel stranded.  What that meant, from a tactical point of view, was that if they ran into trouble, it would take time – at least ten minutes for a superdreadnaught – before the drive could be powered up again and jump them out.  They would have to stand and fight until then.

“Get me a direct link to the Observation Squadron,” Stacy ordered.  Her clear voice echoed in the bridge.  “I want to talk directly to Captain Howell.”

***
“I confirm nine superdreadnaughts and seven heavy transport ships,” the tactical officer said.  Colin nodded as the icons appeared in the display, further from the planet than he had anticipated.  Was it a simple navigational error or something far more sinister?  The flicker drive wasn't known for being supremely accurate, certainly not at interstellar distances.  “The IFF signals match the 123rd Superdreadnaught Squadron.”

“Send them a standard greeting,” Colin ordered, as the superdreadnaughts came alive, their tactical sensors scouring space for potential threats.  Commodore Roosevelt wasn't even trying to hide, or to conceal what her sensors were doing, although there was no real need for her do either.  It wasn’t as if there was something in the system that could threaten her.  “And then hold the holographic program on standby.”

“Aye, sir,” the communications officer said.  The tension on the bridge rose sharply.  They were committed now.  “We are picking up a response.  Commodore Roosevelt would like to speak to Captain Howell.”

She isn't giving him his brevet rank, Colin thought, with a flicker of grim amusement.  “Activate the hologram,” he ordered.  It had taken several weeks of preparation, before the mutiny had been launched, to construct a hologram that would fool basic security checks.  He’d tested it against Shadow’s security systems and it had fooled them, but if Stacy asked a question they couldn’t answer...everything would fall apart.  “Send her the pre-recorded message.”

***
“Commodore, welcome to Jackson’s Folly,” Captain-Commodore Howell said.  Jeremy watched impatiently as Howell ran through a series of greetings.  He had never served with Howell, but he knew – from Stacy – that he didn't have the initiative to get dressed in the morning without orders from higher authority, in triplicate.  Maybe not the desired kind of person for a major command...unless, of course, one wanted the commander to do nothing, but wait until higher authority arrived.  “I’m afraid that there has been an incident.”

Stacy sucked in her breath sharply.  “We discovered that certain other elements were collaborating with the illegitimate government on Jackson’s Folly,” Howell continued.  “I have ordered those elements arrested and I intend to transfer them to your loyal ships at once.  I have also arrested the government of the planet, as per the contingency plan you sent me, and they too will be transferred.  Please prepare to take them into custody.”

Jeremy blinked at Stacy’s savage smile...and then understood.  Howell had discovered that the other elements were not rebels or terrorists from beyond the Rim, but others from the Empire – from other Families.  If another Family had wanted to derail the Roosevelt Family’s expansion into the new sector, it would make sense for them to provide covert assistance to Jackson’s Folly.  Given time, they might even manage to get their clients onto the Observation Squadron and use the starships to assist the local government.  And yet...Howell had detected the plot and arrested the people responsible.  Stacy could take them into her custody and use them to embarrass their superiors.  They might even be so embarrassed that they would back off and leave the sector to the Roosevelt Family.

“Of course,” Stacy said, sweetly.  She looked over at Jeremy.  “Have some of my household troopers moved to supervise the prisoners as they are unloaded from the shuttles.  They are not to come to any harm, but they are not to be allowed a chance to escape.”

“Yes, Commodore,” Jeremy said, surprised.  She sounded almost competent...but then, she’d just been offered a chance to secure her position in the line of succession.  The Roosevelt Family would want a new Head one of these days and Stacy almost certainly had her eye on the prize.  She would be the most powerful woman in the Empire.  “I shall see to it personally.”

On the display, nineteen heavy transport shuttles were launched from the Observation Squadron.  There were too many of them to land on any one superdreadnaught, Jeremy realised; they would have to be staggered out or spread out over the other superdreadnaughts, presenting him with an interesting logistics challenge.  He considered asking Stacy if he could delay their arrival times until he could organise space for them, but he knew her too well.  She had no concept of delayed gratification.  She would want to have them all under her control as soon as possible.

He keyed his console, authorising the shuttles to dock, scattered out over all nine superdreadnaughts.  The Household Troops could escort the prisoners to their quarters – if they were members of the Thousand Families, they could not be mistreated or Stacy’s superiors would disown her – and then secure them until they could be sent home in disgrace.  Another feather in Stacy’s cap...who knew, perhaps her superiors would be so pleased that she would be promoted away from his superdreadnaught squadron.

“Bring them in as soon as possible,” Stacy ordered, tightly.  “And then prepare to engage the enemy.”

Jeremy nodded.  The red icons on the display – the battleships protecting Jackson’s Folly – were already moving into a defensive formation.  He was privately impressed by their determination – he would have considered jumping out and waging a hit-and-run war against the Empire rather than standing in defence of their homeworld – but it wouldn't matter.  They couldn't stand against his superdreadnaughts, even with Stacy in command.

The thought was bitter, yet it had to be faced.  Another world was about to be ground under and brought to heel...and there was nothing he could do, but watch.

***
“The shuttles are away, sir.”

Colin nodded, watching as the icons accelerated towards their target ships.  Preparing the holographic message had been a gamble, even though they’d discovered Commodore Roosevelt’s secret orders to Captain-Commodore Howell.  If she’d insisted on the shuttles all going to one superdreadnaught, the Marines would have to have used the emergency plan and if that had failed...they would have died, followed rapidly by the Observation Squadron itself.  He wished, desperately, that he was flying with the Marines.  It was the first time he had sent men into danger, where some or all of them might be killed, without being with them.  

He sat back and tried to remain calm.  It was tempting to spin up the drives, just so they could flicker out and escape if everything went to hell, but that would risk alerting the enemy ships.  If they realised that the Observation Squadron wasn't behaving normally, what would they think?  Would they think that Howell was just being careful, or would they realise that something was very wrong?  No; they had to sit still, knowing that if the raiders were detected ahead of time, they were committed to a missile duel with nine superdreadnaughts.  It was a battle that would only have one outcome.

“Good,” he said.  There wouldn't even be any live feed from the shuttles.  “Hold our position and stand by.”

There was nothing else he could do, but wait.

***
The great advantage of the Marine Goblin-class assault shuttle, as far as Colonel Neil Frandsen was concerned, was that it could pass for a Cloud-class heavy transport shuttle, even at close range.  Its weapons were mounted on recessed platforms, allowing them to be concealed from suspicious eyes until it was far too late, while it could carry thirty armoured Marines into the heart of the enemy position.  In this case, Neil knew, three shuttles were going to land on the General Montgomery.

He studied his HUD as he ran through the final checks of his armour and weapons.  Commander – no, Captain now – Walker had been keen to avoid heavy casualties if possible, but Neil knew that it was quite possible that they would lose the entire team along with the superdreadnaught.  It didn't matter so much to him.  After he’d been effectively cashiered for refusing orders to slaughter helpless captives, his life had been meaningless.  Colin Walker had offered him a chance for redemption, both for himself and the Marine Corps.  It said a great deal about how dissatisfaction that spread through the ranks that only a handful of his regiment had refused to join the rebellion.

“Ten seconds, sir,” the pilot said.  The looming bulk of the superdreadnaught was growing rapidly through the forward portal.  Neil activated his implant and linked into the shuttle’s sensors, checking out their target shuttlebay.  There would be a welcoming committee for the high-value prisoners they were supposed to be carrying, but they would be lightly armed and properly unarmoured.  The prisoners were supposed to be helpless, after all.  “Nine...eight...seven...”

Neil felt a combat trance falling over him as the shuttle entered the shuttlebay, passing through the forcefield that kept the air within the bay.  The shuttle’s sensors revealed a small group of armed men wearing the crimson colours of the Roosevelt Family, marking them out as Household Troops.  His smile widened.  Household Troops were good at looking pretty, but few of them had any real experience of actual fighting on the battlefield.  They would be no match for his men.

“Weapons ready, sir,” the pilot said.

Neil nodded.  The other advantage of the Goblin’s design was that all of the Marines could be ejected swiftly from the ship, making it impossible for the enemy to bottle them up inside and trap them – or eject the shuttle back into space.

“Fire,” he ordered.

Chapter Five

Lieutenant Wagner watched as the three shuttles slowly lowered themselves onto the deck, their sleek forms obscured by the shimmering drive fields propelling them through space.  He was rather surprised that the pilots had chosen to fly right into the shuttlebay, rather than use the starship’s tractor beams to land slowly and precisely, but Lady Roosevelt had ordered that they land as quickly as possible.  Wagner had served the Roosevelt Family long enough to know that what Lady Roosevelt wanted, Lady Roosevelt got, at least as long as her subordinates wanted to keep their cushy jobs.  The Household Troops knew better than to object.  They could always be transferred to the Imperial Army and sent to serve on some godforsaken muddy ball at the edge of the Empire, where the only recreation was banging inbred girls and shooting pigeons.

The drive fields shimmered away to almost nothing and Wagner blinked in surprise.  The shuttle seemed to be opening its hatches...no, it was opening shields protecting heavy weapons!  For a second, he was frozen in place as the weapons revealed themselves, and then training took over and his hand raced towards the emergency button.  It was too late.  The heavy plasma cannons mounted on the Marine shuttle opened fire and Wagner’s body was vaporised, along with the men under his command.  The Marines had taken the shuttlebay in the first second of the boarding mission.

***
Neil braced himself as he was catapulted out of the shuttle, his armour automatically compensating for the motion and bringing him down towards the deck.  His HUD updated rapidly as the suit’s sensors started to monitor the ship’s internal status, noting the by-products of heavy plasma weapons being fired and the sudden dearth of any armed resistance.  The charred bodies that were all that remained of the Household Troops could be safely ignored, so Neil led the first platoon in a charge towards the shuttlebay control compartment, where a uniformed crewman was staring at the Marines as if they were demons from hell.  Even if he had reacted at once, it was already too late to seal the ship and vent the shuttlebay into space; the deployed Marines were already flowing into the ship.  The plasma fire had disabled the inner hatches.

He crashed through the window and came down inside the control compartment.  The crewman was still stunned, but Neil shot him anyway, using the stunner to render him unconscious.  The man would be out of it for an hour, by which time the boarding action would have succeeded – or failed.  He checked the updates from the other Marines as they flowed into the nearby compartments, stunning everyone they encountered.  The great beauty of the stunners, at least in his opinion, was that they could – quite literally – shoot first and ask questions later.  He triggered a specific command in his suit and extended a data line into the computers, accessing the shuttlebay’s primary monitoring system.  If the superdreadnaught’s security team was on the ball, they should already be trying to lock the Marines out, seal off the entire section and trap the Marines until they could assemble the force to take them out.  The feedback started at once, confirming his fears.

“Deal with it,” he ordered.  One of the Marines – a communications tech – squatted down beside him and used her own suit to access the systems, overriding the main security codes and isolating the shuttlebay’s control systems.  Neil had wondered if they would be able to take control of the entire datanet from the shuttlebay, but – not entirely to his surprise – the system was hard-isolated from the datanet.  The Empire was understandably paranoid about computer security.  “See if you can get me a live feed from the cameras.”

“The main system has been secured,” the tech said, slowly.  Her voice was thoughtful.  Like every Marine, she was a combatant first and a tech second, but she tended to resent her position.  No Marine was expendable, yet she was less expendable than most, purely because of her advanced training.  “The ship’s security system isn't linked into this system.”

Neil nodded.  It had been worth a try, even though he hadn't expected success.  “12th Platoon stays here and guards the shuttles,” he ordered.  They’d planned the mission out in advance, but there was always room for improvising – after all, no battle plan survived contact with the enemy.  “The rest of us will move to our assigned targets.”

He led the fire team out of the shuttlebay and headed down towards the hatch connecting the shuttlebay compartment to the rest of the ship.  It would be easy to get lost inside the massive superdreadnaught, but his HUD constantly projected a map in front of his eyes.  The hatch itself was computer-locked, yet – for safety reasons – it was actually quite easy to open it unless the inner system had been fused.  It wouldn't have mattered even if they had fused the inner systems; Neil would have brought up one of the heavy plasma cannons and blasted his way through the hatch.  No one, not even the most paranoid designer, would put warship-grade armour on the inside of a starship.

The hatch chugged open and he smiled as he saw the assembled security team on the other side.  The Blackshirts were clearly unprepared to come face-to-face with armed Marines; at a guess, they’d been scattered through the ship when the Marines had landed inside their shuttlebay and their commander was still trying to coordinate a response.  The Blackshirts had no time to react before the Marines scythed them down and kept moving.  The massive superdreadnaught might have an equally massive crew, but few of them would be armed.  The Marines could, he hoped, secure the vital compartments...and then the crew would have the choice between surrendering or dying when the air was pumped out of their quarters.

***
On the bridge, Jeremy was watching helplessly as disaster started to unfold.  The first warning they’d had was when the security sensors lit up when the plasma cannons fired, by which time it was too late to fire on the shuttles and destroy them.  The armoured intruders – they were wearing Marine armour, although that didn't prove that they were Marines – were already spreading through the ship and taking out the security sensors as they moved.  Three entire compartments were already completely black, with no way of knowing what was happening inside.  The handful of security personnel they’d encountered had simply been brushed aside.

He looked up at Stacy, who was staring at the screen.  “Do something,” she ordered, hysterically.  Jeremy could almost sympathise with her position.  It had been her orders that had allowed the intruders to board all nine superdreadnaughts, her orders that had exposed the entire squadron to boarding missions.  Even if they rallied and defeated the intruders, it would still look very bad on her record, although he was sure she would find a way to pass the blame to someone else.  “Do something!”

Jeremy considered and then started to redeploy the security teams towards the intruders.  There had been no warning, so there had been no internal security alert and the counter-boarding parties had to make their way to the armoury first, just to arm themselves.  The intruders, who clearly knew their way around a superdreadnaught, would also be heading to the armoury, where they could cut off all hope of a successful defence.  Even the dreaded security troops – the Blackshirts – were not permitted weapons onboard, unless they were on duty.  He glanced down at the link to the transports, wondering if it would be wise to order them to start unloading their troops from the stasis units and prepare to transfer them to the superdreadnaughts.  It was against regulations, but he couldn't think of any other way to resist.

“Yes, Commodore,” he said.  Keying his console, he started to contact the various transports.  At least the Observation Squadron hadn't opened fire on them, although he suspected that that would just a matter of time.  The transports might have been larger than superdreadnaughts, but they didn't have the defences or weapons protecting the most powerful weapons in the Empire’s arsenal.  “I will redeploy troops from the transports and have them brought over here.”

He glanced down at the internal security monitors.  Several more compartments had gone black, with brief reports of weapons fire and intruders before they went silent.  The intruders were definitely heading towards the most vital parts of the ship, including the armoury, engineering...and the flag bridge.  It was funny how the best-protected sections were also, in some ways, the most vulnerable.  He caught himself glancing over towards the hatch sealing the bridge off from the rest of the ship.  How long would it last against fire from a heavy plasma cannon?

Another compartment went black and he swore.  “I think we also need to evacuate this compartment,” he added.  He’d sealed the compartments, but the intruders weren't slowing down at all.  “We may be at risk.”

“Impossible,” Stacy said, flatly.  Her eyes were wide with panic and stubborn determination, unwilling to abandon her bridge.  He swallowed several words that came to mind.  There was a point when one just had to abandon an untenable position and move elsewhere, or die in place, for nothing.  They had reached that point, but Stacy – used to seeing the universe bend to her will – hadn't realised it.  “We must not abandon the bridge.”

***
The ambush had been hastily organised, but that hadn’t stopped it taking out two Marines and seriously injuring a third.  Neil ordered a quick fallback to safer positions, where the Marines threw grenades into the compartment to destroy the plasma cannon the Blackshirts had used to ambush them.  The resulting explosion shattered the compartment – superheated plasma burned through almost everything it touched – and left the Blackshirts in no position to fire.  The only survivor ran screaming towards the Marines, his entire body ablaze.  He was clearly beyond help, so Neil punched him in the face and shattered his skull.  It was the only thing he could do for the dying man.  The Marines advanced more carefully, pressing through the compartments one by one, watching for a second ambush.  They were approaching the armoury.

Neil stood aside as they opened the final hatch, one heavy enough to resist even plasma fire for several minutes.  The Blackshirts were desperately trying to distribute weapons and armour, but it was too late.  The Marines cut through the unarmoured Blackshirts with stunners, saving the heavier weapons for the armoured enemy soldiers, who either tried to fight or surrender.  Neil was unimpressed by their conduct.  The Blackshirts were used to being nothing more than a cudgel, used by their masters to crush resistance with the liberal application of heavy weapons; the Marines were a precision force.  They were unused to heavy resistance, let alone something attacking them in the heart of a starship.  It was beyond him why Commodore Roosevelt had chosen to use them as an internal security force, unless she felt that the Marines could not be trusted.

His lips twitched as he detailed a platoon to secure the armoury and ensure that no newcomers could claim weapons and use them against his team.  It was quite possible that most of the crew would join the rebels once they realised what had happened, but for the moment he had to be careful.  If there had been no less than seventy intelligence agents on the Observation Squadron, there could be far more on the superdreadnaughts, ships the Empire didn't dare lose.  He checked with the communications tech, who was using the main security terminal in the armoury to access the main system and smiled.  Suddenly, the Marines had access to their enemy’s security sensors.

He detailed several platoons to seal all the approaches and then checked in on the platoon approaching engineering.  The heavy armour surrounding the starship’s flicker drive was impeding their advance, but they’d be in the main compartment within twenty minutes at the most, unless the enemy had prepared a nasty surprise for them inside.  He checked their own sensors and allowed himself a nasty grin.  The engineering crew were clearly unable to put up a defence, leaving it solely in the hands of the Blackshirts.  Once they were gone, there would be nothing stopping the Marines from taking engineering – and, with it, control of the ship.

“With me,” he ordered, and led the final platoons towards the bridge.  There were no internal monitors in the bridge itself, but he checked all around the bridge and saw only a handful of Blackshirts, preparing to give their lives in defence of their superior.  He wondered, briefly, if Commodore Roosevelt would have the nerve to hit the self-destruct and destroy the ship, before putting the thought out of his mind.  There was nothing he could do about it.  

The faces of the hostages from the asteroid he’d invaded, the ones he had refused to kill, drifted in front of his mind.  Whatever happened, perhaps he was now on the road to redemption.

***
“Commodore,” Jeremy said, “they have secured control of the internal security systems.”

Stacy barely looked at him.  She had been throwing a tantrum for the last few minutes, one that the bridge crew had been trying to ignore, even though she was cursing them all as incompetents and fools who had allowed her ship to be boarded.  Her slight form was shaking with rage; she’d already threatened to have the entire crew transferred to a penal world, hardly something to fill their minds with confidence and determination.  If the bridge crew had been armed, he wouldn't have been surprised if one of them had shot her in the head.  He wasn’t sure that he would have blamed the murderer either.

“The ship is no longer secure,” Jeremy pushed.  “We have to move out of this compartment and evacuate.”

“And go where?”  Stacy asked.  Her voice came in great gasps, a mark of her fear and growing panic.  She ought to be using her command codes to purge the superdreadnaught’s databases, or even trigger the self-destruct, but she was too scared to think clearly.  And, without her command codes, no one else on the squadron could render the ships useless.  “Where can we go?”

Jeremy looked down at the main display.  The transports were still decanting their troops, but it was clear to him that they would be too late.  By the time they had their troops loaded into shuttles and dispatched to the superdreadnaughts, they would be in enemy hands.  Even so, if he could get Stacy to a shuttle, he could get her to one of the transports and they could escape...

A treacherous thought floated through his mind.  Did he have to get Stacy to a shuttle?  The thought of abandoning her on the superdreadnaught was tempting, all the more so because his career was over anyway.  The Imperial Navy would court-martial him for gross incompetence and the fact that it had been Stacy, not him, who had issued the orders wouldn't cut any ice with them at all.  And that was if he was lucky.  If he was unlucky, Stacy’s family would ensure that the rest of his life would be on a penal world; nasty, brutish and short.

And, even if he saved her life, he didn't think that she would be grateful.

“We can go to the transports,” he said, taking a second look at the display.  The Observation Squadron, whatever had happened to it, had retreated out of firing range, preventing the superdreadnaughts from destroying their tormentors before it was too late.  “They’re already spinning up their drives and preparing to flicker out.  We can get onboard, flee this system and return with reinforcements.”

Stacy looked up at him.  It took him a second to realise that, under the bluster, she was absolutely terrified.  She was so scared that she was barely able to move, clinging onto the command chair as if it was the only security in an uncertain world.  Sweat streaked her face as she looked away, ashamed of her own weakness.

“And then...?”  She asked, so quietly that he could barely hear her.  “What happens then?”

Jeremy opened his mouth to reply, but the bridge darkened suddenly, confirming that the engineering compartment had fallen to the intruders.  He checked his terminal and swore as he realised that power – and control – was being rerouted, leaving the bridge operating on emergency power only.  The background hum of the drive, so ever-present that he had long ago grown used to feeling it in his bones, started to ebb away.  His ship was dying.

“We need to move,” he snapped.  He reached for her arm and pulled her out of the command chair, even though he had never dared to touch her before.  “Come on...”

A dull thump echoed outside the main hatch and Stacy froze.  The intruders were right outside.  Jeremy looked up, towards the access hatch to the internal tubes, which would allow them a second means of escape...if Stacy had the presence of mind to use it.  It was too late.  Before he could say, or do, anything, the communications officer touched the emergency release and the hatch jumped open.  Four armoured figures strode into the compartment, weapons primed and ready.

“I’ll give you anything,” Stacy said.  Jeremy realised in a sudden burst of amusement that she was pleading with their captors.  “I can give you money or power or anything you want, just let me go unharmed and I will give you anything and...”

The armoured figure stunned her, leaving her body to fall against Jeremy and then crash to the deck.  A moment later, Jeremy was stunned too.  His last thought was of home...and of a family he hadn't seen in years, ever since he had joined the Imperial Navy.

***
Neil looked down at Commodore Roosevelt and shook his head, not bothering to conceal his disgust.  The girl – and she was almost as young as she looked, he knew – had failed in her duty, even her duty to her Family.  She was very lucky that she hadn't been captured by pirates.  The last member of the Thousand Families to be captured by pirates had been bled dry and then executed when she could give them no more.

He checked the Marine datanet and smiled.  All nine superdreadnaughts had been taken, although not without casualties.  The mission had been a complete success.

Colin will be pleased, he thought, with wry amusement.  And now the rebellion can begin.

Chapter Six

Colin knew that it was wrong of him, but he couldn't resist, even though it might have consequences further down the line.  Having taken over Howell’s office for himself, he had Stacy Roosevelt dragged before him in chains.  It had been ten years since he had seen her in person and he was astonished at the change in her, her natural – and inbred – arrogance warring with her fear.  Her eyes went very wide when she saw him, although he wasn't sure if she recognised him from when he’d worked for Admiral Percival or if she had been briefed on him when she’d been assigned to Jackson’s Folly.  The fear in her eyes was gratifying and Colin wallowed in it for longer than he should, before he straightened up and studied her thoughtfully.

The Marine Colonel had been right, Colin knew; Stacy Roosevelt was very lucky not to have been captured by pirates, or someone who had a grudge against her personally and no sense of restraint.  Colin could have killed her with his bare hands, or thrown her into open space, or performed unspeakable abominations on her body – all things that had happened to others, on her command.  There was a certain temptation, he had to admit, but he knew that giving into that temptation would make him no better than the Empire.  Besides, he didn't even have the excuse of interrogating her, for Stacy had sung like a canary.  She had unlocked all of her secret files and surrendered her credit codes and other details.  Colin considered, in the privacy of his own head, that this new Stacy was far more tolerable than the old version.

And she had no friends here.  Almost all of her crew – almost all of the superdreadnaught crewmen – had volunteered to join the rebellion when they had been told what was going on.  The Blackshirts had been making themselves unpopular on the superdreadnaughts and even hardened Empire loyalists hadn't been quite so loyal.  Colin had scattered the crews over the superdreadnaughts, and even over the former Observation Squadron, just to make it harder for any undiscovered agent, but he was fairly certain that most of the crew would be loyal.  The command crews, at least, had too much experience of Stacy Roosevelt.  Even her Flag Captain had volunteered to join the rebellion.

“Good morning, My Lady,” Colin said, mockingly.  The years seemed to fade away and he remembered being younger, sitting in Admiral Percival’s quarters and hearing her contempt and distaste for the common-born Lieutenant.  It should have warned him, yet even though his ears had burned with humiliation and determination to prove himself, he hadn't realised how reluctant Percival had been to confront her.  She might have been his subordinate, but which one of them was truly the patron?  “I trust that you had a pleasant sleep?”

Stacy stared at him.  He had wondered if she was going to give him one of her famous tantrums, but she seemed to have more self-control than that.  Or perhaps she was just stunned.  Her entire universe had turned upside down.

“I could have killed you,” Colin continued.  “God knows I wanted to kill you, for everything you’ve done over the years.  I spared your life for one reason and one reason only.  I want you to take a message back to Admiral Percival at Camelot.”

“I can’t go back,” Stacy said.  Her voice was raw, as if she’d been crying.  Colin had left her in the care of a pair of armoured Marines, who had orders to keep an eye on her, but not to offer her any help unless she asked for it.  He hadn't asked for a report on what she’d done since she’d recovered from the stun bolt.  “My family...”

Colin felt no pity, even though she looked young and innocent.  She had used the power of the Roosevelt Family to get whatever she wanted from life, be it a genetically-engineered boy-toy or command of an entire superdreadnaught squadron.  Now that power would turn on her...although he doubted that they would kill her, or disinherit her.  It wouldn't do for the commoners to see the Thousand Families turning on one of their number.  It might give them ideas.

“The alternative is worse, trust me on that,” Colin said, dryly.  “You can't stay here.  If you refuse to go back and give them my message, you will be sold into slavery somewhere along the Rim.  We’ll remove your indent and anything you could use to prove that you are who you are, leaving you trapped forever.  Do you still want to stay?”

Stacy shook her head with an audible gulp.  “No,” she said.  “Please...”

“The message will be on a datachip for Admiral Percival’s eyes only,” Colin continued.  He was tempted to insist that she called him sir, but that would have only been a distraction.  “You and the loyalists will be sent back on a transport ship.  Once you arrive, the ship’s controls will be unlocked and you will be able to steer her into dock.  You can give him the message and then...do whatever the hell you want.”

He looked up at the Marines.  “Take her to the transport,” he said, tightly.  Stacy’s eyes widened as she realised that she was being dismissed.  “Put her onboard with the others...”

“Wait,” Stacy said, desperately. “I can give you anything you want...”

“I’m afraid that it’s too late for that,” Colin said.  Quite apart from the fact that over two hundred thousand people were now depending on him to keep them alive and free, there was no way he could trust her.  She would betray him as soon as she could and laugh afterwards, once she was safety back with her family.  “Goodbye, Stacy; God grant we will never meet again.”

He watched the Marines drag her out and then keyed his wristcom, issuing orders for the prisoner transfer.  Stacy might have failed to bribe him, but she could offer everything, up to and including a whole planet, and someone less responsible might be tempted.  Anderson would see to it that she was sedated until the transport pulled out of orbit and flickered back towards Camelot.  She could wake up then for the trip.  She’d hate spending the time in close quarters, with hundreds of commoners for company, but it wouldn't kill her.

Colin shook his head and turned back to the near-orbit display.  The nine captured superdreadnaughts hung together, work crews scrambling to outfit them with external racks and load the racks with missiles.  By Colin’s most conservative estimate, they had at least two more days before they had to depart in order to make the rendezvous with the Annual Fleet, but they’d need the time to shake down the crews and get back up into fighting trim.  They’d moved too many crewmen around the fleet for them all to fall together without heavy drilling.

A handful of other icons remained dark red, mocking him.  The heavy troop transports, loaded with enough Blackshirts to conquer and occupy an entire planet – at least if backed up by orbital fire, as the Marines had pointed out – represented a major problem.  Colin had ordered the Blackshirts back into stasis, where they could wait until the heat death of the universe if necessary, but he had no idea what he could do with them.  He didn't want to commit mass slaughter by opening the ships to space and suffocating the soldiers, yet he didn't want to return them to Admiral Percival or keep them prisoner himself.  Where could he put them all?  It would be easy to leave them on the ships, but then he wouldn't have the ships for later use himself.

He glanced up as the door chimes rang and keyed the switch.  The hatch hissed open to reveal Daria, with Mariko following right behind her.  Colin got to his feet and held out his hand, but Daria surprised him with a hug, throwing her arms around him and holding him tightly.  Mariko, as always, was more dignified, but Colin was sure that he saw a glint of amusement in her eyes.

“You did it,” Daria said, without letting go of him.  “You actually did it!”

“I did,” Colin said, gently disentangling himself from her arms.  It had been a long time since he had been held by anyone, but he didn't have the time to think of a woman.  He hadn't even patronised the brothels down on the planet below.  “Nine superdreadnaughts...a force that will make even Admiral Percival sit up and take notice.”

Daria frowned as she threw herself into one of the seats.  “And how long will it be until he gets reinforcements?”

Colin shrugged.  “If I know Percival,” he said, “it will be a long time before he even asks for reinforcements.  The Imperial Navy wouldn't look kindly on him for losing the ships in the first place and if he needed to ask for help...well, it would look very bad on his record.  Even if he receives no formal punishment for his stupidity, his career will be frozen, unable to progress any further.  His patrons will desert him and his clients will start heading away.”

He grinned.  “And even if they do send him reinforcements, it will take them time to send additional superdreadnaughts into the sector, and even then it will be hard for them to find us, let alone bring us to battle,” he added.  He nodded towards the star chart, which was displaying an expanding sphere where his fleet could be, a sphere already over fifty light years in diameter.  The entire Imperial Navy could hide within that region of space and be completely undetectable.  “As long as we don’t get careless...”

“And I’m sure that carelessness is not a trait one would apply to you,” Daria agreed, dryly.  “I’ll start making the preparations with the Geeks and Nerds.”

Colin nodded.  It had taken several years to build up the contacts with the various hidden colonies and organisations beyond the Rim, a task that would have been impossible without Daria and the Freebooter League.  The Empire had literally billions of enemies, but without a focus they had been unable to pose more than a minor threat at best, one that could be safely ignored by the Thousand Families.  He looked up at the superdreadnaughts and smiled.  There was no way they could ignore that threat, once Admiral Percival deigned to tell them that it existed, and combined with the Annual Fleet...well!

“You go there and get them ready to receive us,” Colin said.  “We’ll take the fleet and come meet you at the rendezvous point.”

He turned back to the display.  “One additional point,” he added.  “Do you know what we can do with five hundred thousand prisoners?  We have to put the Blackshirts somewhere.”

Daria considered it.  “Kill them all and the universe would smell a little better,” she said, darkly.  “There isn't a single person along the Rim who would condemn you for killing them, not even slightly.”

“I don’t want to start with a mass slaughter,” Colin explained.  “We’re going to have to start accepting surrenders and that won’t be easy if they think they’re just going to be killed out of hand.”

“They’ll probably wind up thinking that anyway,” Daria pointed out.  “Public Information will turn you into a mass murderer without any bother at all.  They’ll start claiming that you have slaughtered the entire crew and replaced them with pirates drawn from a Rogue World – or Jackson’s Folly itself.”

Colin winced.  Even though he had been careful to operate alone, without drawing any help – officially or unofficially – from Jackson’s Folly, it was true that the Empire would probably seize on his mutiny and rebellion as an excuse to clamp down on the planet.  He felt guilty over that, even though he knew that there had been no choice – and besides, he’d read Stacy Roosevelt’s secret orders.  The planet was going to be brutally subjected and brought under Imperial rule, which meant the direct rule of the Roosevelt Family.  The entire governing class of the planet, it seemed, had been marked for death.  Stacy had orders to round them up, interrogate them and then either execute them or transfer them to a penal world.

“But if you’re determined to avert a slaughter, transfer them to one of the colonies along the Rim,” Daria continued, unaware of his inner thoughts.  “There are several worlds there that are borderline, with small populations and some interest in seeing that the Empire suffers badly, keeping it away from their worlds.  We could just drop them there and leave them to take care of themselves.  They’d have a chance to survive and we wouldn't have to worry about what they might be doing in our rear.”

Colin smiled.  “Good thought,” he agreed.  If nothing else, perhaps the Blackshirts could do what millions of convicts had been doing since the human race started to expand into space.  Having been unwillingly transported to a borderline world, they’d have the choice between making it liveable or dying there.  “I’ll send the transports back with you and they can be emptied on one of those worlds.”

“Of course,” Daria agreed.  “And then I will set up the meetings with the underground organisations.  They will all want a piece of you.”

“I know,” Colin joked.  “That’s what I’m worried about.”

***
The Flag Briefing Room on the General Montgomery was massive, easily large enough to hold every Captain in a full task force, perhaps even one of the sector fleets.  Colin hadn't set foot in one since Admiral Percival had betrayed him, yet he’d seen several before then and they had all been different.  Normally, the Captain of the superdreadnaught was entitled to decorate the ship in whatever style he felt appropriate, but Stacy Roosevelt had taken that entitlement for herself.  Her taste, Colin decided, was appallingly bad.  Golden artefacts, each one worth more than even a Captain made in a year, were scattered around, while the bulkheads were painted a strange mixture of gold and silver.  Colin had already privately resolved to have it changed as soon as possible, if they ever had the time.  Besides, the artworks – although he felt that calling them artworks was being charitable – were worth millions of credits.  The rebellion might need funding.

He glanced from face to face as his senior officers rose, greeting him as he entered the room.  He’d had to reshuffle his most trusted officers to ensure that each of the superdreadnaughts had a hard core of his personnel onboard – and armed Marines, just in case – and they were all getting used to their new responsibilities.  At least, unlike Stacy Roosevelt, Colin believed in frequent drills and proper rewards for good service, ensuring that his crew were already motivated to do their best.  Besides, the thought of execution or a permanent exile on a penal world would keep a few minds concentrated on avoiding capture.  Given a few days, the superdreadnaughts would be functioning at maximum efficiency.  If only they had more time...

“Gentlemen, be seated,” he said, as he took his own seat.  Commodore Roosevelt had obtained her own chair for the briefing room, one shaped more like a throne than a typical Navy-issue chair, and Colin felt vaguely silly sitting on it.  Even so, it was just another thing that would have to be replaced once they had the time.  “First, thank you all for your efforts.  We are ready to flicker out on schedule.”

He smiled at their reactions.  There were some senior officers, ones he had known personally, who would have demanded a standing ovation from their subordinates, but none of them would have clapped and cheered for him – not that he wanted such treatment, anyway.  He needed his subordinates to be open and honest with him, not for them to start dressing up defeat as victory.  The thought made his smile grow wider.  Public Information, for all of its skill at controlling the media, would have some problems convincing the population that losing nine superdreadnaughts to a mutiny was a victory.

“If we make it to the Annual Fleet’s waypoint ahead of time, we will use the position to conduct additional drills until we can operate as a unit,” he continued.  The superdreadnaught crews hadn’t been drilled properly under Commodore Roosevelt, although some of the brighter Captains had drilled their crews as if they were operating alone, without the rest of the squadron.  “If not, we will need to engage at once or abandon our prize.  Our operational plan reflects that reality.”

“Yes,” Adeeba said.  She was now one of the superdreadnaught Captains, the vessel’s prior Captain having refused to join the revolution.  He would be sharing Stacy Roosevelt’s living quarters on her way back to Camelot.  “Colin...is it necessary to strike so hard?”

Colin frowned at her expression.  He understood her point, of course; it meant that the escorts, including men and women who might join the rebellion, wouldn't have a chance to surrender.  He hated the concept himself, but there was little choice.  His small squadron couldn't afford a battle where there were more than a handful of variables.  God alone knew how quickly the convoy escorts would respond.

And, worse, they would be alarmingly close to Camelot itself.

“I think that we don’t have a choice,” he said, grimly.  “If we fail to take the Annual Fleet intact, we may be unable to press our advantage and destabilise the entire sector.  And that, my friends, dooms us to inevitable defeat.”

There was no further argument.  Few of them were happy with it, but they were all professional naval officers and understood the realities of combat in deep space.  They couldn't afford to lose their first battle, or the rebellion would collapse before it had even begun.  And that, they knew, would doom any hope of freedom from the Empire.

Two hours later, the combined fleet flickered out towards its first destination.

Chapter Seven

“Commodore, Markus Twain reports that she is finally ready to jump,” Lieutenant Cohen reported.  “All ships have now reported ready.”

“Finally,” Commodore Sonja Warren said, not bothering to hide her irritation.  “Helm; begin jump preparation.  I want to jump to the next waypoint before something else goes wrong.”

“Aye, Commodore,” the helmswoman said.  “Jump preparation begun; jump in two minutes precisely.”

Sonja scowled down at her hands, reminding herself not to snap at her crew.  The assignment to escort the Annual Fleet to Sector 117 – and command of over thirty starships, the largest formation outside the Sector Fleets – was an indication of how much trust the Admiralty had in her abilities, but it was one of the most tedious assignments in the Imperial Navy.  It was quite possible for a battlecruiser like Pegasus to make the trip from Earth to the Rim in under six months, yet escorting fifty bulk freighters ensured that the trip would stretch out to nearly nine months.  The freighters were old, had far less precise drives and simply took longer to recharge before they flickered onwards to their next waypoint.  It didn't help that, in order to ensure security, they had orders not to go within a light year of an inhabited system.  Her crew were tired and needed shore leave, but there was no chance of that until they set foot on Camelot.

She relaxed slightly at the thought.  The next jump would take them to within two light years of Camelot, then there would be one final jump and they would be home free.  Admiral Percival’s Sector Fleet could take over escort duties for the individual ships as they were scattered to the various inhabited worlds in the sector, allowing her crews – and Sonja herself – to have a well-earned rest.  She had no idea what the shore leave facilities were like on Camelot, but she would have been happy just to go off duty for a few weeks and spend it all in bed, alone.  It would be so lovely to have some guaranteed peace and quiet.

“Attention all ships,” the helmswoman said.  “Jump in one minute and counting.  Slave navigational computers to Pegasus: I say again, slave navigational computers to Pegasus.”

Sonja kept her face expressionless, even though she wanted to roll her eyes.  For some reason best known to themselves, the Admiralty had insisted on concealing the waypoint coordinates from the freighter crews, even though they’d shared them with Admiral Percival and his command staff.  The Annual Fleet might be the most desirable target for pirates – or the independent black colonies along the Rim – in the entire sector, but no pirate fleet could hope to rally the firepower to defeat the convoy’s escorts.  Hell, she would have been delighted if they had tried.  Blowing pirate ships into flaming debris would have broken the monotony.

The Empire was more than a little paranoid when it came to industrial nodes and stations, to the point where all of the standard Imperial-approved designs were firmly controlled by one or more of the Thousand Families and their corporate interests.  Sector 117 needed an industrial base of its own, one that could support an expansion in the sector’s economy, yet the population would never be allowed to build one of their own.  Instead, at great expense, they had been forced to import the industrial nodes from factories closer to Earth, keeping them dependent upon the Empire.  Sonja didn't know for sure, but she would have bet half her salary that Imperial Intelligence had added in a handful of their own components, ensuring that the Empire knew what had been built in the nodes – and when.  It didn't really matter in this case, at least.  She knew that the freighters would eventually be unloaded at worlds that were already firmly under the Empire’s thumb.  The Roosevelt Family had seen to that.

She checked the live feed from the display as the seconds ticked away and the freighters slaved themselves to the command ship.  She doubted that any of their commanders were happy about it – she wouldn't have wanted to slave her ship to any other ship, whatever the reason behind it – but they couldn't argue.  They came from the Family-owned shipping lines and would know better than to rock the boat too much.  It would have serious career repercussions.  No merchant career, no matter how illustrious, could survive a complaint from the Imperial Navy.

“Thirty seconds to jump,” the helmswoman said.  She looked absurdly young for her position – or perhaps that was because Sonja herself felt old and tired.  There were only two more jumps, she reminded herself, and then they would be safe and sound.  “Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven...”

Sonja caught sight of her own reflection in the display and smiled to herself.  Unlike many other well-connected commanding officers, she hadn't bothered to design her own uniform, or even decorate her flagship in whatever style she chose.  She wore the basic blue of the Imperial Navy, contrasting oddly with her short black hair and sharp face.  She realised that she looked tired and promised herself at least four hours of sleep once the coming jump was completed.  Her XO could handle the pause while the freighters recharged their flicker drives and braced themselves for the final jump.  Or perhaps she just wouldn't have the time.  Her ship’s doctor had been nagging at her about her physical exam, the one she’d been dodging for the last year or so.  Sonja hated being poked and prodded – she suspected that the doctor made it uncomfortable on purpose – but regulations were clear.  Every crewman, even the starship’s commander, had to undergo a complete physical exam every five years.  Her time was definitely running out.

The thought made her smile grew wider.  She had played the great game of patronage carefully, trading patrons when necessary, until she had finally reached the command she sought.  The Imperial Navy had been good to her and she would serve it loyally for as long as she could, yet even the greatest of connections couldn't save her from the physical examination.  Even the Imperial Navy, a patronage-riddled entity, drew the line there.  A commander who might collapse while on duty was a danger to everyone, including herself.

“...Three, two, one,” the helmswoman said.  “Jump!”

The Annual Fleet flickered out towards its next waypoint.

***
Colin sat in the sinfully comfortable command chair on the bridge of the General Montgomery, silently swearing to himself that he would have the chair pulled out and replaced with a properly uncomfortable one as soon as he had the time.  He didn't understand how the various commanders of the superdreadnaught had avoided falling asleep while on duty, although in Stacy Roosevelt’s case her falling asleep on the bridge could only have improved efficiency.  Her Flag Captain has probably been relieved to hear snores coming from her command chair.

He shook his head and stared down at the datapad in his hand, flicking through the files on the superdreadnaught’s crew.  He hadn't been surprised to discover that the Thousand Families kept their own files on their clients, although he had been surprised to discover that they routinely shared them.  Or maybe it was just between patrons; Stacy Roosevelt had access to most of Admiral Percival’s files, including Colin’s own.  He had read it with a certain amount of amusement, and private relief that Stacy was out of reach.  Percival had pulled no punches; Colin had been damned as overly ambitious, which was true enough, but also for having desires far above his station.  Percival, in what he had doubtless considered the greatest of wit, had written about the common-born officer with ambitions to rise to the very top and join the aristocracy.  Percival’s final comment – that Colin should spend the rest of his life on an isolated patrol base – would probably come back to haunt him.  Colin doubted that even his connections could save him from nemesis.

The next file related to a crewwoman who had refused a superior’s advances and ended with the suggestion that she should never see promotion again, at least until she changed her mind and opened her legs for her superior.  Colin shook his head in disbelief.  He had always known that he had a vindictive streak – he’d considered doing horrible things to Stacy Roosevelt, purely out of a desire for revenge – but this was far beyond anything he had ever considered.  Colin was mildly surprised that the crewwoman hadn't been transferred to somewhere unpleasant – a far-off asteroid mining colony, perhaps – yet perhaps her superior’s lust had not dimmed.  Or perhaps he just hadn't wanted to commit anything to the files.  Not all members of the Thousand Families were bastards.  The superior’s social equals might have had a few things to say about his conduct.

Colin tapped the file, marking it – and the crewwoman – for later attention, and went on to the next file.  He’d reasoned that if he read the secure files and noted the crewmen who had bad reports from their superiors, those crewmen would make ideal recruits for the rebels and he could recruit them.  The crewmen who had good reports might be less trustworthy, although Colin knew that the reports themselves weren't exactly perfect.  One of the comments in his own file had come from a superior officer Colin had only met once, back before he’d accepted Admiral Percival’s offer of patronage.  It hadn't been a pleasant comment, which struck Colin as vaguely amusing; he’d barely remembered the meeting himself.

An hour later, he put the file aside and stared around the bridge.  The superdreadnaught’s flag bridge was massive, as befitted a command ship and one of the most powerful starships in the Empire, but Colin found it oddly exposed.  Even the battlecruiser’s bridge had been more cramped than the superdreadnaught’s.  Dozens of consoles were scattered around, each one manned by a crewman, including several that Colin had transferred from the Observation Squadron.  They’d spent the last few days drilling endlessly until Colin was fairly sure that the fleet could operate as a unit, although they wouldn’t know for sure until they went into battle, or at least conducted some live-fire drills.  They would have to wait until they’d secured the Annual Fleet and then escaped out beyond the Rim.  And once the fleet was there...

Don’t count your chickens before they have hatched, he reminded himself, as he studied the massive holographic display floating in the centre of the bridge.  Camelot’s star, an oddly-variable G2 star, was a bare two light years away.  On a human scale, it might as well have been on the other side of the galaxy, but anyone who graduated from the Imperial Navy’s Academy – to say nothing of the far-tougher OCS – would know just how stellar geography played a role in naval combat.  It was quite possible that Admiral Percival’s Sector Fleet would be able to respond to a distress call from the Annual Fleet – one brought by a destroyer or picket boat that escaped the attack – and get there in time to wreck Colin’s plan.  Colin would have preferred to attack at the fleet’s last waypoint, but Stacy Roosevelt’s timing had been inconvenient.  And, of course, once the fleet arrived at Camelot, attacking it would be impossible.  

He clicked his wristcom and brought up a display he’d programmed into it the day they’d flickered out, away from Jackson’s Folly.  The bulk freighter he’d given to the loyalists had been carefully selected, for its flicker drive was in poor condition.  It was perfectly safe, it would just take Stacy and the rest of the loyalists at least two weeks to return to Camelot, four days after Colin ambushed the Annual Fleet.  The vindictive side of his nature kept reminding him that he could have programmed the ship to take the loyalists straight into the local sun, but he forced it down.  A mass slaughter, he kept telling himself, would only make it harder for others to surrender.

“Admiral, the drills have been completed,” Flag Captain Jeremy Damiani reported.  Stacy Roosevelt’s former Flag Captain had volunteered to serve with the rebels – and, after reading his file, Colin had understood why.  Stacy had poured so much poison into his file that Damiani didn't have a hope of transferring to any other position – or patron.  Colin wasn't entirely sure if he trusted the man, but he was short on experienced officers and besides, there were armed Marines scattered throughout the superdreadnaught.  “Your ship is ready for battle.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Colin said, gravely.  It felt weird to be called Admiral, yet he’d taken the title for himself.  It also felt bittersweet.  He would never command a starship again, lord and master under God; he would never know the joys and sorrows of independent command.  He was devoted to his cause – after everything he’d done, the Empire would never forgive him or his followers – yet part of him still wanted to command.  “Are the external racks loaded and deployed?”

“Yes, Admiral,” Damiani said.  “We are ready for Sucker Punch.”

Colin felt an odd twinge of guilt at his words.  He cared very little for the commanding officers of the Annual Fleet, but he cared a great deal about the crewmen onboard the ships.  Many of them – indeed, perhaps most of them – would want to join the rebels, if they were offered the chance.  Colin didn't dare offer them that chance.  A freighter might take hours to repower its drive and flicker out, leaving the freighters sitting ducks for his fleet, but the same couldn't be said of the military ships escorting the civilian vessels.  A destroyer or a courier boat would only need a few minutes to repower and spin up the flicker drive, jumping to Camelot to alert Admiral Percival.  Colin held Percival in the deepest of contempt, yet even he would react quickly to anything threatening the Annual Fleet.  He didn't dare risk allowing anyone to sound the alarm, which meant that he had to destroy the escorts as quickly as possible, without offering or accepting surrender.

You’re a hypocrite, he told himself, tartly.  You say that you don’t want to engage in mass slaughter, yet you are willing to plan the deaths of hundreds of thousands just to ensure that you can loot the fleet in peace.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought.  “Good,” he said, instead.  He glanced down at the display.  It was empty, apart from the shaded icons representing his fleet, lurking under cloaking fields.  The second they opened fire, the escorts would know that they were there and even where they were, but by then it would be far too late.  Or so Colin hoped.  If there was one other lesson that was pummelled into the heads of young cadets at the Academy, it was KISS: Keep It Simple, Stupid.  The simpler an operational plan, they’d been told, the less that could go spectacularly wrong.  “And all we have to do now is wait.”

“Yes, sir,” Damiani said.  “Admiral...how long are we going to wait?”

Colin understood his concern.  The information they’d recovered from Stacy Roosevelt’s files had been the latest she’d had, but it had been nine months out of date when it had been sent to her.  It was quite possible that the Annual Fleet’s commander had decided to change the waypoint coordinates, or even decided to risk jumping from their last waypoint direct to Camelot.  Colin and his rebel fleet could wait for weeks without knowing what had happened, or that they’d missed their target.

“As long as it takes,” Colin said.  It wasn't entirely hopeless.  One of Daria’s ships had the Camelot System under permanent observation.  They’d know if the Annual Fleet arrived and that the rebels had missed their chance.  “We lose this and we have to go back to Plan B.”

Damiani frowned.  “Plan B?”

“I’m still working on it,” Colin admitted.  He had a contingency plan, but it wasn't one he wanted to share, not yet.  “Without the Annual Fleet, we’d take much longer to build up a rebel fleet...”

“Admiral,” the tactical officer barked.  “Contacts!  I have multiple starships, flickering in right on top of us!”

Colin braced himself as new red icons flared into existence on the display.  The tactical computers were already categorising them, separating the freighters from their escorts, before assigning new targeting priorities to the datanet.  The superdreadnaughts and battlecruisers were already linked together; now, with their targets finally in range, they were targeting the enemy ships and preparing to fire.

“Fire,” Colin ordered, quietly.

The superdreadnaught shuddered as it unleashed the first massive broadside.  Even without the external racks, a superdreadnaught could launch over three hundred missiles per salvo, but the external racks tripled the superdreadnaught’s throw weight.  All nine superdreadnaughts had fired in the same moment, their missiles linked into the datanet and roaring towards their targets, backed up by ECM and decoys designed to make it harder for the enemy tactical computers to defeat the incoming salvo.  It was overkill, as Colin’s council of war had pointed out, but he didn't dare take chances.  They had to win their first battle.

“Impact in forty seconds,” the tactical officer said.

***
Sonja relaxed slightly as the jump completed, feeling the knot of tension in her stomach slowly unlocking and fading away.  At least they'd been jumping from rest, rather than at high speed.  It wouldn't have been a pleasant experience for the freighter crewmen, of course, but her crews could handle the sensation.  A combat jump, on the other hand, would have been much more dangerous and uncomfortable.

“Get me an updated count on the ships,” she ordered.  She wouldn't have put it past the civilian ships to somehow screw up the coordinates – even if they were slaved to her ship – and appear somewhere else.  Civilians couldn't be trusted.  Every naval officer knew that.  “I want them all located...”

“Commodore,” the tactical officer interrupted.  Sonja whirled around, her rebuke fading away as she took in his tone of panic.  She’d never heard him badly shaken before, even when they’d jumped alarmingly close to an asteroid and almost rammed it.  “We have incoming missiles!  We’re under attack!”