Free Retreat Hell by Christopher Nuttall Page A

were going to die because of his decision?
    “I will,” he said.  “And then we can return to the issue at hand.”
    He put the coffee cup down before his grip cracked the ceramic.  The hearing would be sharp, very sharp.  And Gordon knew, without lying to himself, that he was going to enjoy it.  His son might be dead, but he would ensure that the full story behind the fateful deployment was brought out into the open for judgement.  And, if it seemed that someone had been careless, he would make damn sure they were crushed like bugs.
    The whistle blew, calling them back to the Council Chamber.  Sighing, Gordon nodded goodbye to his aide and strode over towards the door.  The other councillors met him outside, exchanging brief greetings as they made their way up the corridor.  It was tradition, almost, that the councillors couldn't talk to one another in the building, outside the Council Chamber.  Gordon rather approved, even though it could be irritating.  They couldn't do anything outside the light of publicity.
    That was the problem with the Empire , he thought.  No accountability.  And now I have to hold someone to account for the death of my son .
    ***
    President Gabriella Cracker disliked politics intensely.  She’d never asked to be the granddaughter of Peter Cracker, let alone to be forced to take her father’s position as rebel leader.  And yet she’d had no choice.  Despite her youth, she'd seen and heard enough to know the rebels would fragment into a multitude of smaller groups if she didn't step up and take command.  For all their claims to fight for democracy, they’d only proved capable of uniting behind a Cracker.
    It had placed no shortage of restrictions on her life.  She had to move from place to place constantly, one step ahead of the old Council’s hunters, talking to senior resistance leaders and pushing them to work together as a group.  There had been no hope of a boyfriend; the boys she knew were all awed by her reputation or terrified at the prospect of dating someone who could order them killed if they put a foot wrong.  Nor had there been any hope of a normal life.  By the time she’d been captured, after the Battle of Camelot, it had almost been a relief.  And then to hear that there would be a political solution ...
    Avalon had expanded, faster and further than she would have believed possible.  Who would have thought that a comparatively minor colony world along the Rim of explored and settled space would wind up as the core of a new empire?  She certainly hadn't assumed anything of the sort, not when she’d been in command of the Crackers.  The best she’d known they could hope for was an agreement with the Empire that would allow them internal independence.  And even that was a gamble.  The last time the Empire had intervened openly in Avalon’s affairs, the Crackers had been smashed from orbit.
    But we’re paying a price for our size now , she thought.  How can we continue to be representative if we swallow up several sectors ?
    The Empire had based political representation on population size, she knew, something that had given the Core Worlds immense political clout.  Even the entire population of the Commonwealth, put together, couldn't match the population of a single Core World.  The Commonwealth had set out to change that, to ensure that each world got one vote regardless of its population size, but even that presented its own problems.  Would Corinthian – or Avalon, for that matter – accept equality with farming worlds that had only a handful of settlers?
    She thought she understood, now, why the Empire had become so undemocratic.  The more space it controlled, the harder it was to have any form of accountability.  They’d had to send out orders, then wait for months before they heard back from their subordinates.  And the Commonwealth was growing larger every year.  How long would it be, she asked herself, before they started issuing