Democracy 1: Democracy's Right

by Christopher Nuttall

  Or perhaps the Empire will reform of its own accord, he thought, as he stared out over the waiting ranks of personnel. And maybe the horse will learn to sing.

  “There isn't much I can say that wasn't said in the message we introduced into the Interstellar Communications Network,” he said. Whatever else happened, whatever else he did, he wasn't going to try to bullshit them. They deserved better than that. “We intend to force the Empire to reform, to break the stranglehold of the Thousand Families and create a new order that will allow each and every one of us to rise to the level we deserve, rather than the level determined for us by birth. We will give the worlds the right to determine their own affairs and remove the stain on our honour caused by the frequent crushing of rebellions. I invite each and every one of you to join us.

  “I wish I could promise you a victory, but the truth is that we are far from the end of our war,” he added. He’d cribbed the next line from one of the banned history books he’d read while in the Beyond. “All we have done here is merely the end of the beginning, not the beginning of the end. The Imperial Navy is strong and the Thousand Families will feel sure that they are fighting for their own survival. There will be others who will believe that the Empire’s ultimate purpose justifies any amount of repression and who will fight us, not for evil reasons, but out of a deep concern for the future of the human race. There is no guarantee of victory.

  “If you wish to join us, please make your intentions known to one of the Marines,” he concluded. “If you wish to remain with the Empire, you have a number of possibilities. We can repatriate you to the Empire or transport you to an isolated world in the Beyond that is capable of feeding and housing you until the war is over, one way or the other. We will not punish you for choosing to believe that the wording of your oaths is more important than the sentiment behind them. We all swore to uphold the Empire, yet who is the true enemy?

  “Whatever choice you make, I guarantee you one thing. We will attempt to accommodate you as much as possible.”

  He saluted them and turned, leaving the compartment before they saw just how much his choice of words had affected him. He’d dreamed great dreams, yet part of him had never quite believed that he would make it, that he would be caught and killed long before he reached his goal. And now his old tormentor was his prisoner and the sector was effectively in his hands. No other world in the sector could stand against him now. Given a few months, he could use the sector to add to his industrial resources, putting together a creditable challenge to the entire Empire.

  But the Empire would know that as well, he knew. They’d send the Imperial Navy to reclaim or destroy the lost worlds. And the Popular Front would have to defend them. It was strange, but true; their strength was also their weakness. The rebellion had taken worlds now and had to fight to keep them, which would keep their forces tied down in their defence. The tactical situation had changed, but perhaps not improved.

  “Let me know what they decide,” he said, to the Marine. He had three other visits to make. “I want to see Percival.”

  ***

  Penny came back to awareness slowly, more aware of the dryness in her throat and the throbbing in her temples than she was of her surroundings. She could feel that she was lying on a bunk, with something wrapped around her wrist. A restraint, she wondered, before realising that it felt too light to be a restraint. Her eyes opened suddenly and she realised that she had been left in an unfamiliar compartment, one that seemed to throb with energy. She sat up and nearly collapsed as her head suddenly swam, a wave of dizziness passing through her skull. Memory returned and she realised that she had been stunned. Wherever she was, it wasn't Percival’s station.

  “Welcome back to the living,” a voice said. She looked up to see a man sitting by the side of her bunk, a man she didn't recognise. He was a tall lanky fellow, with short untameable hair and long delicate hands. He couldn't have been more different from Percival. “How are you feeling?”

  “Awful,” Penny said. Her voice sounded thick in her own ears. “Where am I?”

  “All in good time, my dear,” the man said. He reached out to touch the band around her wrist and she realised that it was a medical sensor. “You need a shower and a change and then we will talk.” He nodded towards a pile of clothes on a small table as he stood up. “I’ll leave you alone now, but you’re not stupid enough to believe that you are unobserved.”

  Penny watched him go, before she managed to stand up and stagger towards the tiny bathroom. As promised, there was a small shower waiting for her. Undressing was a hassle, but her own curiosity pushed her onwards. Wherever the ship was taking her – and she was sure that she was on a starship – it had to be better than Camelot.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The Empire recognised no right to privacy, Colin knew; unless one happened to be very well-born, a person could be watched at any time by Imperial Intelligence, often for no other reason than because the officer in charge wanted to spy on a pretty girl. It was a power that was often abused, yet few cared enough to try to fix it. The station’s brig therefore included monitors that allowed him to watch the prisoners with no fear of them sensing his gaze.

  Percival had been treated badly by his subordinates, according to the medic who had inspected him and treated his wounds. Quite apart from the blow that had knocked him out, it had been clear that he had been kicked several times, including one kick that had caved in a couple of ribs. The medic had fixed most of the damage easily, yet it would be a long time before Percival recovered. He sat on the bunk in the brig, his hands cuffed together and attached to the deck, his piggish eyes staring at nothing. He was no longer the proud confident figure the young Colin had admired, or the older arrogant asshole that had been so confident that Colin could be used and then thrown away, without any hope at all of extracting retribution.

  Colin felt the pistol at his belt and scowled. No one would stop him if he wanted to walk into the brig, draw his pistol and shoot Percival through the head. He could shoot him, or beat him to death with his bare hands, or strangle him, or throw him out of an airlock...there were so many possibilities. No one would object if he wanted to spend the next few hours torturing his nemesis, inflicting horrific damage and then allowing the medics to heal Percival, before Colin tortured him again. He doubted that Percival had a single friend in the entire system. The fact that his own subordinates had turned on him at the end suggested that he had never changed, that he had never realised the need to cultivate respect and loyalty. The same uncaring attitude, that the lower orders existed only to be used and then thrown aside, that had led him to try to destroy Colin had led right to Percival’s final defeat. Let him squirm as he may, Colin knew; there was no way that the Empire would forgive him. The man who had lost control over an entire sector had no future.

  His thoughts tormented him. How many times had he dreamed about killing Percival? When he’d been trapped on the patrol base, with few prospects for escape or advancement, he had plotted hundreds of ways to kill his tormentor. The dark vindictive fantasies had kept him going, from the moment when he had sworn bloody revenge until he had made his grab for the Observation Squadron. Captain-Commodore Howell had died at Colin’s hands, the first of so many, killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why should he not kill Percival? Who would object if he chose to execute him on the spot?

  Percival had grown fat over the years, Colin saw, even though removing the fat would have been the work of a few minutes in sickbay. His weight was a message in itself; Percival didn't care what anyone else thought of his physical beauty, even though he was prepared to toady to anyone who had a higher social rank than his own. Colin had interviewed Commander Redfield and a handful of others and they had all agreed that Percival had been bedding Captain Quick, a woman who had provided the brains and tactical acumen Percival so desperately needed. She had vanished, apparently on a gunboat that had been able to flicker out while inside the station. Colin couldn't blame her for
running, yet there were too many unanswered questions surrounding her. The Imperial Navy banned gunboats and assault shuttles from trying to flicker out while inside a station or a starship. It was too easy for the jump to damage or destroy the mothership. The gunboat’s computers should have automatically prevented the jump from taking place.

  Angrily, cursing his own weakness, Colin strode through the portal and into the brig. Percival looked up at him, his eyes going wide with a hint of fear and panic before he lowered them to the deck, trying to hide his feelings. It didn't matter. Percival had rarely bothered to hide his feelings from his subordinates and he was out of practice. Colin saw it well before it could be hidden. He took the interrogator’s chair and sat, facing Percival.

  “You’re a traitor,” Percival said, finally. Colin shivered, remembering the voice, the strange combination of a high-class accent from Earth and the broader accent of an Academy graduate. Percival must have hated losing the accent that had marked him as one of the Thousand Families, even though he was – by birth – only on the edge of High Society. He’d planned and schemed and fought to claw his way to the top, never caring about who got crushed underfoot. “My patrons will crush you for this.”

  Colin snorted. “After everything else I have done,” he said, flatly, “don't you think that they will have some trouble deciding what crime they’re actually going to execute me for?”

  Percival didn't see the joke. “You are tearing away at the Empire,” he said, softly. “Do you really feel that the rebel underground could run something the size of the Empire? They would tear the Empire apart within a week. We run the Empire because we can take the long view...”

  Colin drew his pistol in one smooth motion and held it to Percival’s head. The Admiral’s eyes went very wide. He hadn't believed that Colin would – or could – kill him. Percival had always been able to game the system and ensure that the outcome, whatever it was, allowed him to survive and prosper. But Colin was outside the system and was no longer bound by its rules. He could shoot and kill Percival; he could do anything to Percival. Colin sniffed in disgust. Percival was so scared that he’d lost control of his bladder.

  “Tell me something,” Colin said, fighting down the urge to simply pull the trigger and put Percival out of everyone’s misery. “Do you really believe that mass murder and genocide helps preserve the Empire? You sent your ships to Jackson’s Folly and killed a fifth of the planet’s population. You crushed revolts and slaughtered people who wanted to choose their own way in life. You...”

  Percival started to stammer. It took him a moment to speak clearly. “You fool,” he said, as if he expected Colin to pull the trigger at any moment. “The little people are incapable of running their own lives. How do you expect something the size of the Empire to survive if everyone is pulling in different directions? We have a duty to control them to save the Empire and preserve the human race.”

  Colin slapped him, hard. Percival cried out, his pale cheek burning red where Colin had hit him, yet somehow he remained upright. Colin stared down at him, fighting the desire to hurt Percival, to tear him apart or shoot him or...there were too many possibilities.

  And yet, if he killed Percival in cold blood, what would it mean for the future?

  “You’re wrong,” Colin said, holding his voice steady through a colossal act of will. “You are the one tightening your grip so hard that eventually there will be a rebellion that will tear the Empire apart. What makes you special? Only the fact that one of your very distant ancestors did something important, many years ago, long before you were born. You cannot keep stamping down on the human race forever.”

  Percival looked up at him. Colin wondered absently if the man was in shock. No one had dared to lift a hand to him in the past, yet now he’d been slapped twice in the same day and found himself stripped of all status. It would have been a dizzying fall. No one deserved it more, yet Colin felt a flicker of sympathy and hated himself for the thought. How could he feel any sympathy for his nemesis at all?

  “Answer me one other question,” Colin said. “Answer me...and I will know if you lie. Why did you betray me?”

  There was a long pause. “Because you’re nothing,” Percival said. He’d clearly decided to tell the truth, even though it might mean a bullet in the head. His voice became mocking, tearing away at whatever remained of Colin’s self-control. “You were someone with ideas above your station. I fed those ideas as long as I needed you, then I discarded you when you were no longer required and replaced you with someone who was so much more useful. You were never important to me, Walker; I never thought about you after I’d discarded you. You were just a tool.”

  His mouth lolled open. “And you thought that it was personal,” he added. “What are you to me? I didn't care enough for it to be personal. You were nothing.”

  Colin lifted the pistol and pointed it at Percival’s forehead. “You want to know something else?” Percival added. “You come in here and condemn me for doing what I had to do to maintain the Empire. You are just as guilty as I am. You helped plan missions that slaughtered rebels and crushed entire planets. You are responsible for many of the acts you whine about now. Your hands are as bloody as mine and consider; without you, would I have become the Sector Commander?”

  A red mist seemed to descend across Colin’s mind. It took everything he had not to fire the pistol and kill the Admiral in cold blood. Slowly, he fought for calm. Percival deserved something more...appropriate than a mere bullet in the head.

  “You may be right,” Colin said, returning the pistol to his holster. “I may be partly complicit in your crimes. I’ll tell you this, though; I will redeem myself and the service I swore to serve until the end of my days. And in the end, few will remember you. You will just be a figure of fun for historians to chuckle over.”

  He stood up and walked to the hatch, turning before he left the cell. “I haven’t quite decided what to do with you,” he added, “but I will tell you this. There is a strong feeling that we should just send you back to the Empire. They’re going to be desperate to find someone to blame for this little...crisis. Perhaps we should give them someone, eh?”

  Colin walked out and the hatch hissed closed behind him, cutting off Percival’s parting shot – if he shouted anything. Percival might well believe him. The Empire would want someone to blame and, if Percival was the sole survivor from the higher ranks, it would be him. Their method of execution would be far more imaginative and painful than anything Colin could hand out for him.

  He ignored the presence of the Marine and paused long enough to recover his temper, running through breathing exercises he had learned at the Academy. Percival had managed to get under his skin, all the more so because everything he had said had the unmistakable ring of truth. Colin had believed – had chosen to believe – that Percival had it in for him personally, yet Percival’s own words countered that. Colin...had just been there when Percival had wanted a tool. Colin’s own ambition had blinded him about his true place in Percival’s scheme of things.

  Eventually, he walked down to the second brig and looked down at the monitors. Stacy Roosevelt was lying on the bunk, staring up at nothing. She had actually tried to hide when the Marines landed to arrest her, but the staff at the resort – for high ranking offices and managers only, of course – had betrayed her at once. She hadn't been any better than Percival at making friends and winning allies. Stacy was wearing only what she had on when she’d been arrested; a bikini top and a pair of shorts. The impression was that of a young and innocent girl with disturbingly old eyes.

  Colin felt his vindictive streak boiling up within him and he walked on, pushing Stacy to the back of his mind. The third brig held someone he didn't know personally, Spencer O’Conner. The older man – even with regeneration treatments, he was clearly aging and his file claimed that he was over a hundred and thirty years old – was the Roosevelt Family’s manager, the grown-up sent to watch Stacy and the planets the Family had seeded ov
er the years. Colin had been intrigued the moment he'd seen the file, because the choice of O’Conner was odd. He wasn't a direct family member, so he couldn't be trusted completely...so why was he out in Sector 117?

  O’Conner looked up as Colin opened the hatch and stepped into the brig. He moved with a delicacy that suggested that his body’s coordination was wearing out, no matter how healthy he looked. His white hair seemed to shine in the light; his blue eyes were alarmingly perceptive. Someone who had lived so long, Colin knew, would have developed remarkable skills for reading a person, or a situation. Again, he wondered why O’Conner had been sent out to serve the Roosevelt Family. It didn't quite add up.

  “The famous Commander Walker,” O’Conner said. His voice was far more accented than Percival’s duller tones. “I trust you will understand if I don’t get up?”

  He rattled his chains to illustrate his point. “Of course,” Colin said, as he took the interrogator’s chair. O’Conner seemed to exude charm, which might explain why he’d been given the job – whatever the job had truly been. “I trust that you will understand if I get right to the point? What were you building for the Roosevelt Family in this sector?”