“And are you prepared to escort that force?” Percival demanded, finally. “Or will you remain here until your squadron is reformed?”
Angelika felt her lips thin angrily, but resisted the temptation to make sarcastic remarks. Camelot, as an Imperial Navy Sector Headquarters, was heavily defended at all times, but as she’d returned to the system she’d seen new weapons emplacements and hundreds of new orbital weapons platforms. There were so many of them that she suspected that System Command would have some problems controlling them all as a unit. If she’d been in command of the system, she would have decentralised it, but Percival was too much of a control freak to allow it. Besides, he had plenty of enemies and one of them might take advantage of a decentralised network to attack him.
“Yes, sir,” she said, refusing to rise to the bait. An accusation of personal cowardliness wouldn’t look good on her record, although — coming to think of it — she couldn’t remember any time in which Percival had been in serious danger. The man was a coward as well as a sadist. “My ships are already being restocked by the facilities at this system. Once the loading is complete, we will return to Jackson’s Folly and reclaim the system.”
Carefully, of course, she added privately. Whatever she had said to Percival, it seemed to her that the rebels might reason it out the same way — and deliberately lurk in the system to ambush her when she returned. Or perhaps they would be off wreaking havoc on the other side of the sector and wouldn’t know that Jackson’s Folly had been reclaimed for the second time. There was no way to know until she returned and investigated the system.
She smiled, as if she’d just had a bright idea. “Perhaps you would like to accompany us?” She added. “The crew would consider it a boost to their morale if their commanding officer was to be flying with them towards certain victory.”
Percival hesitated. “I fear I cannot leave this base,” he said, stiffly. Angelika snickered inwardly, knowing what he truly meant. He could have left Camelot in the hands of his XO and accompanied the fleet to Jackson’s Folly, if he had wished to do so. “I will embark on a grand tour of the sector once the rebellion has been destroyed.”
“Of course, sir,” Angelika said. She stood to attention and saluted. “And with your permission, I will return to my ship and wait for the loading to be completed.”
“Go,” Percival growled. “And Captain, if you fail to reclaim the world for the Empire, just don’t bother coming back.”
Penny made sure to stay out of Percival’s way as he stalked the compartment, clenching his fists and muttering under his breath as he railed against both Captain-Commodore MacDonald and many of his own well-born or well-connected subordinates. Penny had known that Percival had a tendency towards paranoia — it wasn’t a bad trait to have if they really were out to get you — yet she was surprised at just how deeply it had worked its way into his mind. He hadn’t been blind to Brent-Cochrane’s manoeuvrings — or his rather-less-than-subtle dig at his commanding officer — and now there was a second officer seemingly intent on pushing him over the brink.
She smiled inwardly as he bent over the terminal and tapped it rapidly, scrolling through sheets of reports provided by various star systems. He had ordered, against Penny’s advice, that every star system and duty station was to report its status as often as possible — and fired off demerits and demotions for officers who failed to produce comprehensive reports. In theory, it should have allowed him a perfect image of the sector and how it was functioning; in practice, it was just another waste of time, a substitute for real action. She couldn’t imagine Brent-Cochrane or another competent officer wasting his time with such garbage.
Angelika’s position, Penny suspected, was stronger than she had known. If Percival had ordered a board of inquiry to convene, that board of inquiry would have had to look into everything, up to and including the original mutinies that had overwhelmed the Observation Squadron. And, even with a tame board of inquiry, there would be no way to hide the sheer scale of Percival’s failures. By law, the details would have to be communicated to Imperial Navy HQ on Luna, alerting them to the problems in Sector 117. Thanks to the rebels, they were going to know soon enough anyway, but Percival’s board of inquiry would sharpen a few minds. He might as well have signed his own death warrant.
“Bitch,” Percival said, finally. He brought his hand hard down on the wooden table, shaking it badly. It was real Earth-born wood, a rarity so far from Humanity’s homeworld, and it was worth more than Penny would ever see in her life. And yet, Percival was prepared to damage it, even to destroy it, just because he was angry. “That bitch presumes that she can dictate to me!”
Penny thought it was safest to say nothing and let him work it out of his system, so she pretended to pay attention as Percival raged, blaming each and everyone — apart from himself — for the disasters that had swept through Sector 117. He stormed backwards and forwards, banging his hand against the bulkheads and the desk, but he didn’t lay a hand on her. Penny was relieved, but also puzzled. Had he sensed something about her, perhaps the hope she’d felt after Brent-Cochrane had welcomed her into his circle? Or had he just decided not to take his anger out on her?
“And so we have to find more Blackshirts and sent them to Jackson’s Folly, where they too will be killed,” Percival finished. “How many Blackshirts can we scrape up if we cut all of the garrisons in the Sector down to the bare minimum?”
Penny, who had worked the numbers out weeks ago, was ready. “Around seven hundred thousand, sir,” she said, briskly. There just weren’t that many Blackshirts left in the Sector, not after the rebels had captured the first invasion force intact and devastated the second force months later. She would be very surprised to discover that a single Blackshirt was left alive on Jackson’s Folly. Percival had stripped out a sizable force for the first invasion and had to do the same for the second invasion. There might be an unlimited supply of Blackshirts — there was no shortage of people willing to join, be injected with tailored drugs and sent out to kill on behalf of the Empire — yet it took time to train up new ones. “I’m afraid that transport is also going to be a bottleneck.”
“Those goddamned raiders,” Percival exploded. Penny could only nod. She didn’t know how they’d done it, but the rebels had managed to get most of the rebel groups working together, specifically targeting Imperial shipping. Their targeted raids — they were so well targeted that she was sure that they had a source somewhere within Camelot — were having a dangerous effect on local shipping. “God damn those bastards to hell!”
Penny carefully didn’t mention a second problem. No matter how she looked at it, it was alarmingly clear that too much tonnage was disappearing for it to be raiders, unless the raiders possessed a fleet large enough to stand up to several battle squadrons. She hadn’t brought it to Percival’s attention, but she suspected that the true explanation was much simpler than they had realised. The ships were vanishing because their crews were mutinying against their superiors — or the shipping lines that held them in bondage — and setting out to find the rebels. It seemed impossible, until she looked at the freighter designs. There was no way they could all be secured without placing a company of Blackshirts on each and every freighter. And that, judging from some of the incidents on Imperial Navy starships, would do nothing for morale.