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And then the trouble started, Colin reflected. He wasn’t popular. We would have had another mutiny on our hands.

He’d been unsure what to do. The Shadow Fleet could hardly refuse reinforcements, but he couldn’t allow Quigley any power, not when his own squadron was on the verge of mutiny — a second mutiny, from the Empire’s point of view. In the end, he’d accepted Anderson’s suggestion. Quigley was fond of flying his own shuttle. It had been simple enough to arrange an ‘accident’ that had destroyed the shuttle, taking the wretched Commodore with it.

“Make sure no one ever finds out what happened,” Colin ordered. The Shadow Fleet had expanded rapidly as more and more mutineers brought their ships to join the formation. Few of them knew Colin, even by reputation. He couldn’t afford his subordinates having doubts about him, not when they had to take the offensive. “We can’t even afford rumours.”

He scowled. Admiral Percival had had legitimate authority behind him, even though he’d been a bastard of the first rank. Contemplating Percival’s new life on the penal colony was a thought that definitely kept him warm at night. But Colin found it harder to maintain his authority; he’d mutinied against his superiors, why couldn’t his subordinates mutiny against him? If they thought that Colin was actively purging the ranks of unwanted officers and crew…

“I did the work myself,” Anderson assured him. The Security Officer, who had proved his loyalty to the rebellion by not alerting Percival when he’d first detected signs that a mutiny was planned, stepped closer. “There is nothing left to suggest that it was anything other than a tragic accident.”

“Let’s hope so,” Colin said. He took one last look out at the gathering fleet, then turned and strode towards the hatch. “Is everything prepared for the meeting?”

“I believe so,” Anderson said. “Are we finally ready to take the offensive?”

Colin scowled. Several sectors had fallen into rebel hands like ripe fruit, simply because the Imperial Navy had never bothered to station anything larger than a light cruiser to defend them. However, the region of space they occupied was finally starting to brush up against worlds and sectors that were quite heavily defended. Some of the defended worlds could be bypassed and isolated, at least until the war was won or lost; others, he knew, had to be reduced before the rebels could drive on Earth.

“I hope so,” he said. “The bastards still have vast firepower under their command, vastly more firepower than us. We can’t give them too much time to recover.”

He led the way into the conference room, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction as his subordinates — and the handful of political representatives — rose to their feet. It was the sort of respect he’d wanted when he’d served the Empire, back when he’d been naive enough to believe that a talented man without connections could succeed. But Percival had destroyed both his hopes and his faith in the Empire. Colin wondered, absently, just how Percival was coping on the penal world. The files agreed that half the convicts dumped on the surface died within the first six months.

“Please, be seated,” he said, taking his seat at the head of the table. They sat down and gazed at him expectantly. “It has been five months since we secured Camelot, five months during which we have prepared for the offensive against Earth. We dare not wait any longer.”

They were an odd group, he told himself. Former Imperial Navy officers, like himself; rebels from a dozen planets or hidden asteroid settlements… and Jason Cordova, who looked, as always, larger than life. The man who had refused to scorch a planet on the Empire’s command and then fled into the Beyond with his ship, rather than return to face judgement — and certain death. Colin rather admired him, although there were times he doubted Cordova’s common sense. After so long in the Beyond, the man might well not be completely sane any longer.

Beside him, Hannelore Ellicott-Chatham looked nervous. Unlike most of the rebels, she had been an aristocrat who had set up an independent mining company of her own before it had been captured by Cordova. Now, she was working as a supply officer — she was genuinely talented, Colin had to admit — and Cordova’s lover. The evil part of Colin’s mind wondered which occupation was more demanding.

Commodore Jeremy Damiani sat next to Colin himself, his face expressionless. He’d worked for Stacy Roosevelt before she’d lost her superdreadnaughts to the rebels, then switched sides without a second thought. Colin knew that Damiani was reliable; he had good reason to be grateful for Stacy refusing to leave him in command of her ships. If he’d been in command, the rebellion might have ended there and then. But now he was a loyal rebel…

Colin pushed the thought aside as he faced the group. “The Empire will know about us now,” he said. His most optimistic calculations suggested that Earth would have known about the rebellion for at least two weeks, although he knew better than to rely on it. It was quite possible that someone on Percival’s staff had reported accurately to his patron, even though Percival himself had tried to keep a lid on the news. “Right now, they will be mobilising to confront us. They will have no choice.”

He looked from face to face, willing them to understand. Already, between the Geeks and thousands of talented workers who had finally been allowed to use their talents, the rebel-controlled industrial nodes were working miracles. Given ten years, Colin suspected, the Shadow Fleet would be able to roll over the Empire with ease. But they didn’t have ten years, not when the Empire was now well aware of the threat. The Thousand Families wouldn’t dare let a challenge to their power go unanswered.

Colin had no illusions, even though he knew — better than most — the true condition of the naval reserve. The starships and formations along the border had been forced to run regular maintenance cycles, but bases closer to Earth had been allowed to grow lax. Corruption had set in; starships had been pillaged for components that could be sold to civilians. There were entire squadrons that only existed on paper. But, given time, the Empire could still put together a formidable challenge…

And, if it geared up for all-out war, it would easily be able to out-produce the rebels.

“We will divide our offensive into three formations,” Colin continued. He’d hashed out the plan himself, then consulted a handful of subordinates. This was the first time he’d presented it to the entire council. “The Main Strike Fleet, under my command, will advance towards Morrison, where we will attempt to reduce and occupy the naval base. As Morrison is likely to be their staging base for any counterattacks, depriving the Imperial Navy of the base’s facilities will be a crippling blow.”

He paused, scowling at the holographic star chart. A competent enemy commander would understand that Morrison had to be held — or give up any thoughts of a counterattack for several years — but who knew who he’d be facing? Another Percival… or someone more competent? Colin had nothing, apart from contempt, for the Thousand Families, but they did sometimes produce competent officers and administrators. The question rattled around and around in his mind, receiving no answer. Who would he be facing?

“The Deep Strike Fleet, under Commodore Damiani, will be advancing ahead of the Main Strike Fleet, raiding planetary defences and orbital installations,” Colin said. “This serves two purposes; it will confuse the enemy about our ultimate intentions and create political pressure for the Imperial Navy to defend the targeted worlds. If we’re lucky, they will spread out their forces to cover potential targets. Even if they don’t, they will have to cope with the political fallout from losing the worlds and installations.”