Christopher G. Nuttall
DEMOCRACY’S RIGHT
Author’s Note
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. I can offer cameos, redshirt deals and suchlike in return.
Have fun! And if you want a fourth book, let me know…
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.