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assured Colin, three days after he’d spoken to the crew.  It had been a hectic process.  Once the loyalists had been removed, the lockdown had been terminated and the crew went back to work – with a greater will, Colin had noted, than they’d shown while Shadow had been an Imperial starship.  “We’re ready for the mission.”
     
    Colin nodded.  The Observation Squadron’s largest ship wasn't the battlecruisers, but HMS Carmichael , a Marine Transport Ship.  Colonel Frandsen commanded a full Marine Regiment, intended for emergency deployment to the surface of Jackson’s Folly – if the Follies decided to do something stupid.  It had apparently been easier to convince most of the Marines to go along with the Mutiny; Frandsen had paraded his men, explained what had happened and invited them to decide for themselves where their loyalties lay.  It would never have worked for the Imperial Army, but the Marines were a law unto themselves.  Only a handful of Marines had refused to follow their commanders and had been transferred to the freighter for transport back to Camelot.
     
    “Thank you,” he said, and meant it.  Without the Marines, the next part of the mutiny would be impossible.  It would have been more convenient, he admitted to himself, if the superdreadnaughts had docked at one of the orbital stations, but not even Commodore Roosevelt would take such a risk.  “Are you confident of success?”
     
    “Nothing in war is certain,” Frandsen reminded him, “but we are primed and ready for the mission.  Besides, they’re using Blackshirts for their internal security.  They don’t trust their Marines.”
     
    His voice had darkened.  One of the titbits Colin had discovered in Howell’s files was that Commodore Roosevelt was bringing three divisions of Security Division troops to Jackson’s Folly, the dreaded Blackshirts.  The only reason to use Blackshirts was if one intended to run as harsh an occupation as possible, one where atrocities would not only be committed, but actively encouraged.  It boded ill for Jackson’s Folly.
     
    “Don’t worry, sir,” Frandsen said.  “We talked about it once the mutiny was underway and we made up our minds.  Fighting the Blackshirts might just allow us to regain some of our honour.”
     
    Colin nodded.  “Thank you,” he said.  According to the schedule, there were only two days left before the superdreadnaughts arrived.  And then...they would either take the ships or lose.  And it would be completely out of his hands.  He would just be an observer while the Marines took the ships.  “Good luck, Colonel.”

Chapter Four

    Commodore Stacy Roosevelt, the Commanding Officer of the 123 rd Superdreadnaught Squadron, was almost as young as she looked.  At thirty-one years old, she looked nineteen, with long blonde hair, a heart-shaped face and a smile that seemed to light up her face – when she cared to show it.  Her connections within the Thousand Families – she belonged to the main branch of the Roosevelt Family – were second to none in the Imperial Navy.  Although Admiral Percival was her nominal superior, in practice it tended to be the other way around.  Percival, a Roosevelt client, bowed and scraped to Stacy.  He had certainly assisted her in becoming a Commodore at such an absurdly young age.
     
    Flag Captain Jeremy Damiani kept his face under tight control as Stacy ranted at him.  She certainly wasn’t smiling for her subordinate, the older man who had been assigned to assist her in carrying out her responsibilities.  There were times when Jeremy wondered if it was all worth it – her patronage could take him far, but being in close proximity to her was unbearable – but there was little choice.  If he abandoned his patron, she would ensure that he would have nowhere else to go; certainly, no one would back him in a tussle with the entire Roosevelt Family.  It would have been a great deal more bearable if Stacy had