Director Smyth was a tall, inhumanly thin man with a pinched face and receding hairline. He looked faintly sinister to Penny, although that could have just been her imagination. The Director was standing in front of a set of monitor screens, each one showing a different person in an interrogation cell. If her experience was anything to go by, Penny realised, they hadn't yet started work. The detainees were being given time to imagine what lay ahead of them.
“Admiral,” Smyth said. His voice was as cold as his eyes. “What can we do for you?”
“You can start by explaining why you moved the returnees to this complex,” Wachter said. “I issued specific orders that I was to be informed when someone – anyone – returned from rebel captivity.”
Smyth smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. “Imperial Intelligence has standing orders to take anyone who has spent time in captivity into custody as soon as possible,” he said. “In this case, they have to be checked for conditioning and then sent to Earth for further interrogation.”
“There wasn't time for them to be conditioned,” Wachter snapped. He’d reviewed the entire file on the flight. “And they chose to come back to us.”
“They also lost a battle against the rebels,” Smyth pointed out. “There are standing orders for defeatist officers also to be returned to Earth.”
“That has yet to be established,” Wachter said, coldly. “And executing officers who suffer defeat through no fault of their own is not helpful for morale.”
“My duty is ensuring that defeatism doesn't spread,” Smyth said. “We already have too many whispers of trouble running through the sector. Defeatism will defeat us as surely as rebel missiles.”
“So will convincing officers and men that they won’t survive their superiors if they lose battles,” Wachter said. “The proper procedure for handling a defeat is to examine the sensor records, hold an inquest and then decide if a court-martial is merited. That does not included snatching naval personnel without due cause, threatening them with a full-spectrum interrogation and then ...”
“I have authority from Imperial Intelligence to do whatever it takes to provide intelligence,” Smyth interrupted. “These .... returnees have to be interrogated so we can learn what they know.”
“The rebels wouldn't have let them see anything we could use tactically,” Wachter said. He met Smyth’s eyes. “Tell me, Director. What sort of message do you think you’re sending to the officers and crew here? At Morrison?”
Smyth glared at him. “That Imperial Intelligence is doing its duty?”
“No,” Wachter said. He took a step forward. “That they cannot expect mercy, if they are captured and then choose to return. That there is no point in remaining loyal to the Empire if captured, because if they survive the rebels they sure as hell won’t survive Imperial Intelligence. That they will be made the scapegoats for each and every defeat ...”
He took another step forward. “I have spent the past few months trying desperately to shore up morale, hoping and praying that it is enough to prevent a mutiny when the rebels finally arrive,” he added. “I have removed bad or corrupt commanding officers. I have sorted out pay which was often months overdue. I have promoted or otherwise rewarded officers and crewmen who showed genuine promise at anything other than ass-kissing. And I will not allow you to jeopardize all that just because you think these people” – he waved a hand at the monitors – “might know something you can use to make yourself look impressive.
Penny stared at him. No one, absolutely no one, stood up to Imperial Intelligence. Even Percival, for all of his contacts and patrons, had trod carefully around the spooks. Everyone knew that being targeted by the intelligence officers could ruin a career, even if one happened to be completely innocent. But Wachter ... Wachter didn't seem to care.
“There are two ways this can go,” Wachter added, in a voice as cold and deadly as interstellar space. “You can decide that they are innocent of all charges and release them into my custody ... or the Marines will storm the station, liberate them and arrest your people on charges of impeding the war effort. Because I will not tolerate such stupidity.”
“We are not under your command,” Smyth hissed. “Imperial Intelligence doesn't answer to you.”
“I have authority directly from the Families Council,” Wachter countered. “Do you answer to them?”
Smyth hesitated, suddenly very aware of the dangerous waters surrounding him. Penny felt a moment of sympathy, which rapidly faded away as she recalled what Imperial Intelligence had done to her in their search for a scapegoat. The Families Council might be worried about what Wachter would do with the Morrison Fleet, but they would be equally nervous about Imperial Intelligence. Besides, it would take a month to get a message to Earth. By then, the battle for Morrison might well have been fought.
“I will formally protest this to my superiors,” he said, finally. “But you can take the prisoners.”
“Thank you,” Wachter said, with mocking politeness. “Once the Marines arrive, have them transferred to Station Seven. Gently, mind you. I don’t want any of them to accidentally expire.”
“They may well have been conditioned,” Smyth warned. “I must ask you not to let them anywhere sensitive.”
“They will be watched,” Wachter assured him. He turned and marched towards the hatch. “Penny; come.”
He didn't say another word until they were back in the shuttle, heading back towards General Clive. “That man will cost us the war if he isn't careful,” he snapped. “It wouldn't take long for rumours to start to spread.”
“Yes, sir,” Penny said. She shook her head in admiration. “Did you really intend to have the Marines storm the station?”
“People are playing political games,” Wachter reminded her. “First Captain Solomon – he’s a Rothschild client if I recall correctly – and now Imperial Intelligence. They’re quite desperate to avoid the blame for missing the warning signs before the first mutiny.”
Penny scowled. “Were there any to see?”
“A large conspiracy could not have been kept secret indefinitely,” Wachter said. “And everything we know about the first set of mutinies confirms that they were planned carefully in advance. I’d bet half my salary that the security officer on the squadron was either breathtakingly incompetent or up to his neck in the plot.”
“I thought they were conditioned into absolute loyalty,” Penny objected. “Or could the conditioning be broken?”
“Not someone like that,” Wachter said. “Or Smyth, for that matter. A conditioned officer has little imagination or initiative. He might react to something obvious, but miss something dangerously subtle. No, the security officer was probably involved in the mutiny. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”
Penny shook her head in disbelief. She was used to thinking of Imperial Intelligence as something more than human, a vast implacable force that supervised their lives and watched for the merest sniff of discontent. But cold logic told her that Imperial Intelligence was far from perfect. They’d completely missed the planned mutiny until it was far too late. Even in hindsight, the clues were hard to see.
“They’re human,” Wachter reminded her. He tapped the shuttle’s bulkhead gently. “No matter their power and authority, they’re human. And humans make mistakes – or have hopes, dreams and ambitions that get stepped on by their superiors. That’s why the mutiny took place. And that’s why we cannot allow Imperial Intelligence to overstep its bounds any longer.”
Penny nodded, wordlessly.
Wachter reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You did well, in there.”
“Thank you,” Penny said, feeling her cheeks heat. “So did you.”
The intercom buzzed. “Admiral, Commodore Yamani and the 234th Battlecruiser Squadron have returned to the system,” Commander Cain said. “They encountered the rebels at Parallax.”
“A week away,” Wachter said, quietly. “They could be here any minute.”
P
enny felt cold ice congealing in her belly. She’d worked hard – they’d all worked hard – to repair the damage neglect, incompetence and corruption had done to the fleet, but now they were about to face a proper test. The rebels would be out for blood.
“Alert everyone on the main command team,” Wachter ordered. “I want a holographic conference in one hour.”
He closed the channel, then looked up at Penny.
“It's time to bait the trap,” he told her. “And then we will see who emerges victorious.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“That’s impressive,” Daria said, quietly.
Colin couldn’t help nodding in agreement. Morrison was impressive. The naval base had been built up over centuries and had everything apart from a Class-III shipyard; industrial node, repair yards, orbital defences ... and facilities on the ground for rest and recreation. It had been years since he had last visited the system – and that had been a very brief layover before his assignment to then-Commodore Percival – but it was clear from a glance that someone was working desperately to get the system’s defences up and running.
“Fifty-nine superdreadnaughts, nearly three hundred smaller ships,” Colin said. “Thirty-five orbital fortresses, an uncountable number of automated platforms and hundreds of additional gunboats. Morrison itself would be damn near impregnable if all of those defences are up and running.”
“They might not be,” Damiani pointed out. Colin had combined the two fleets into one large force for the attack on Morrison. “We have a good idea just how far the system had been allowed to decay. Even with the best will in the world, it would take years to repair all the damage.”
“But we dare not take that for granted,” Colin said. The scouts hadn't been able to slip too close to the planet, but what they’d found had been thoroughly intimidating. “And yet we dare not leave Morrison in our rear.”
The mystery commander – it still irked him that they didn't know who they were facing – seemed to be playing it carefully. He'd held most of his ships within the planet’s gravity shadow, which limited their ability to escape ... but combined with the planet’s massive defences, it would be difficult to damage them in any case. Colin knew, without false modesty, that he could tear up the rest of the system without difficulty, yet it wouldn't make a difference. The planet’s orbital facilities and the fleet had to be destroyed as soon as possible.
Or were the ships there because they couldn't move?
Colin had been through all the reports, piece by piece. They all agreed that Morrison had been allowed to decay, something that had jibed with his own observations. After all, if Stacy Roosevelt’s squadron could skimp on maintenance, why not a squadron that was never called upon to do anything more challenging than float in orbit and look intimidating? But he knew better than to assume that was the case. The enemy seemed determined to lure him down to face the combined firepower of both ships and orbital fortresses. It might well succeed, too.
He gritted his teeth. They couldn't leave Morrison in their rear. He knew it ... and he knew that the enemy commander knew it too. He had no choice, but to engage the planet’s defences, even though they would be armed and waiting for him. It was odd, given how flexible space travel was, to have to engage a specific target ... and yet, there was no choice.
“We’ll try to lure them out,” he said, finally. He suspected that the enemy commander wouldn't want to take the bait, but he would be under immense pressure to prevent the destruction of the rest of the system’s facilities. “And if that fails, we’ll go in after them.”
“Chancy,” Damiani said. “They will have too much firepower at their command.”
Colin nodded. “If worst comes to worst, we’ll rotate the arsenal ships and launch several missile swarms in quick succession,” he said. “But we have to take out those ships, at the very least.”
He looked over at Daria. “Is the fleet train ready to support us?”
“Yes,” Daria said, simply. “The Geeks have also said that more weapons are on their way. But I don't know if they will change the balance of power.”
Colin swallowed a curse. Every day he gave the enemy commander to strengthen his position would be paid for in blood. If the Geeks had come up with something completely new, would it be enough to prevent heavy losses? He shook his head, grimly. All of their battles since Camelot had been against grossly inferior forces. This time, they were going to face a battle fleet primed and ready for them. He had no doubt that the enemy commander would have prepared, as best as he could for the arsenal ships ... and whatever other surprises he could imagine. And what surprises would he have up his sleeve?
“We jump in twelve hours,” Colin said. “Inform the alpha crews to make sure they get a good night’s sleep, then a meal. Beta crews can finish resupplying the ships, then get some sleep too. They’re going to need it.”
“Yes, sir,” Damiani said. “And our plan of attack?”
“We’ll go with Alpha-Five,” Colin said. It wasn’t the most subtle plan he’d devised, but there was little subtle in charging at a brick wall. If the enemy commander refused to take the bait, they would have to engage the defences directly. And that would be bloody. “You and your squadrons will provide flank cover. The superdreadnaughts and arsenal ships can duel with their opponents.”
“We’ve altered the arsenal ship missile programming,” Commander Tobias reported. “If they try to use nukes to take out swarms of missiles at once, it will be considerably harder.”
“Let us hope so,” Colin said. They’d also copied the idea themselves, but unless the enemy had come up with their own arsenal ships it wouldn't be necessary. “Get some sleep, ladies and gentlemen. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He watched as they filed out of the room, then turned and looked back at the display. The target was waiting for them, almost daring the rebels to attack. Colin would have preferred to avoid it completely, but he knew there was no choice. The enemy were practically offering him the chance to destroy their fleet on a platter. And that meant ... he gritted his teeth, bitterly. If they were making such an offer, they probably had a nasty surprise waiting for him.
Shaking his head, he reached for the switch and turned off the display. The Morrison Fleet had to be destroyed. There was no alternative.
But the thought didn't make him feel any better.
***
“You know, this could be our last night alive,” Crewman Rogers said.
The spy had to admit he had a point. They were going to be flying straight into the teeth of the Empire’s heaviest defences, at least outside the Sol System. There would be casualties, massive casualties... and it was quite possible that one of the destroyed ships would be General Montgomery. It might very well be their last night alive.
“Honestly,” she said, putting as much flirtation into her voice as she could, “couldn't you come up with a better chat-up line?”
“And I have really never seen an angel fly so low,” Rogers said, as sweetly as he could. “Or take me to bed, love. You’ve pulled.”
“Idiot,” the spy said. “Those lines are dreadful.”
She shook her head. It was quite normal for Rogers to try to forget what was coming, but she had other worries. There had been no response, as far as she could tell, to the message she’d sent, nor had the superdreadnaught’s security staff realised that she’d sent the message at all. Or they had realised and were merely biding their time. The spy couldn't understand why they hadn't nabbed her, if they had realised she was there ... but maybe they were playing a complex game. Intelligence officers tended to like complex plots. She doubted the rebel ones would be any different, even if they were rebels.
Her conditioning nagged at her, reminding her of her duty. But what could she do? One single person couldn't sabotage the superdreadnaught, certainly not without help. But her conditioning wouldn't let her do nothing, even though cold logic told her that there was nothing she could do. All she could do was wait.
<
br /> “But this is our last night,” Rogers whined. “You might die a virgin.”
The spy burst out laughing. She was no virgin. Imperial Intelligence had taught her how to seduce, how to convince men to lower their guard around her – and that had often meant pillow talk, when the men were half-asleep and unaware of their words. But Rogers had nothing useful he could tell her ...
A thought rang through her head. Why not?
She stood and held out a hand. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go find a privacy tube.”
Rogers gaped at her, then grinned boyishly. He’d been nervous, she realised. Was he a virgin? It was rare for a crewman to be a virgin, if only because the senior crewmen often took the juniors to brothels when they docked at naval bases. But Rogers might easily have chosen not to go, if he'd been nervous. Brothels were rarely decent places for young and inexperienced men.
“Thank you,” he said, as they made their way to the nearest tube. Thankfully, it was unoccupied. “I ... I’ll make you proud.”
The spy fought down the urge to jeer. Instead, she kissed him as soon as they were inside.
“Relax,” she said. Perhaps it was his first time, after all. “There’s no need to hurry.”
Afterwards, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
***
It was unusual to hold a holographic conference, Penny knew, as the images popped into the conference room. The etiquette that underpinned the Empire frowned on sending a holographic representative, even if one happened to be on one’s deathbed. Penny had never presumed to understand etiquette, but Wachter’s decision to put it aside sent a strong message to his subordinates. She hoped they picked up the right one.
“Attention on deck,” she said. If there was one advantage to using holograms, it was that there was no need to use the massive conference chamber. Instead, they could comfortably fit into a smaller compartment. “The Admiral is on the deck.”
Democracy's Right: Book 02 - Democracy's Might Page 23
