Democracy 1: Democracy's Right

by Christopher Nuttall

“They have not responded,” the communications officer said, as the timer ticked down to zero. “They didn't even attempt to discuss terms.”

  “We offered,” Angelika said. The asteroid’s population was either part of the rebel leadership or supporting the rebel leadership. The former would go in chains and be transported to Camelot; the latter would be sent to a penal world. It made perfect sense for the rebels to refuse to surrender, which opened up its own risks. They might believe that they could destroy their asteroid and take out hundreds of Imperial soldiers at the same time. “Prepare to close to engagement range.”

  She smiled as the enemy defences, the pitifully weak defences they’d installed, came into range. “Target the enemy weapons platforms first,” she ordered. “You may fire at will.”

  A second later, Violence launched her first salvo against the rebel base.

  ***

  The command centre was filled with panic, Neil was disgusted to discover. The rebels hadn't had a formal command structure for the base – it hadn't been designed for permanent occupancy – and most of the workers worked for one group or another, rather than pledging themselves to a single force. Sanctuary had no real government or defence force. His Marines – and the recruits they’d been running through combat training – were the only defence the asteroid had.

  “They’ve opened fire,” an operator shouted. Neil cursed his luck. In the Imperial Navy, an operator who started to panic while on duty would be summarily removed from duty and transferred to a posting where they couldn't do so much harm. Even the well-connected would tend to be removed from their positions. “They’re firing on us!”

  “Get a grip, man,” Neil snapped, using his best Drill Sergeant voice. It had an immediate effect. As he had thought – and prayed – the staff wanted someone to tell them what to do. “They’re not firing on the asteroid; they’re firing on the defence platforms. Unlock them and get them firing back, now!”

  Most of the operators got to work, but one of them folded his arms and looked defiant. “Who are you,” he demanded, “to give us orders?”

  Neil could have explained, pointing out that he had more active combat experience than everyone in the room, but he didn't have the time. He settled for punching the speaker in the head and knocking him out, leaving his body to collapse on the floor. The remainder of the staff took one look and suddenly became a great deal more attentive, although Neil had to remind himself to watch his back. He wouldn't put it past some of them to draw their weapons and shoot him in the back when they had the chance.

  He keyed his personal communicator and linked into the private frequency used by high-ranking officers. “Mrs Hyman, we have to defend the asteroid,” he said. He had already considered all of the possible means of escape, only to conclude that there was no way out of the trap. The Imperial Navy could destroy any ship before it had a chance to power up the flicker drive and escape. Attacking into the teeth of such firepower would be suicide. Perhaps he could slip a handful of people out in a stealthed ship with powered down drives and weapons systems, yet even that was doubtful with so many sensors operating at full power. The Imperial Navy certainly wasn't bothering to hide. “I need your permission to coordinate the defence.”

  “Granted,” Hester said. Whatever else she was – and Neil still harboured a trace of the old disdain for those the Imperial Navy called terrorists – she was decisive. She would have made a good Marine if she had ever gone through the training centre. “Do whatever you have to do to secure the asteroid and defeat the invaders.”

  Neil relaxed slightly. With Hester’s backing, the operators should do as they were told without any more backchat. He leaned over the main display – it had been designed by the Geeks and operated on a different scale than the ones he was familiar with – and scowled to himself. The Imperial Navy was easily swatting down the weapons platforms, while their probes swooped closer to the main asteroid, looking for future targets. It wouldn’t take long for the starships to turn their attention to boarding the asteroid and by then he had to be ready.

  “Put a general signal through the asteroid,” he ordered, trying to deduce what the enemy intended to do. If he was facing fellow Marines, they would try to land on the rocky surface and burn through into the inhabitable sections of the asteroid, denying him any warning of where they intended to land. But if the reports were true, if the remaining Marines in the Sector had been removed from duty, they were facing Blackshirts instead. Where would Blackshirts choose to land? “I want my Marines and trainees to assemble, in full combat armour, in Section 45-66-K.”

  He leaned back, suddenly feeling a great deal more certain. The Blackshirts weren't trained for raiding asteroids. The chances were good that they would try to come in through the spaceport facility, an isolated section towards the front of the asteroid. They wouldn't have any difficulty in locating it either, not with the crews of nearly thirty starships struggling to power them up and escape before the Imperial Navy got there and opened fire. They didn't know it – or didn't want to believe it – but they had already lost. The battlecruisers were well within missile range.

  “Women and children are to go to the core of the asteroid and remain there,” he added. “They are to wear their suits and prepare for explosive decompression. Armed men are to assemble in the inner circle and prepare to defend the women and children against the incoming threat.”

  “There are a lot of arguments, sir,” one of the operators said. He was casting nervous glances at the unconscious figure on the deck, wondering if he was going to be the next one hit and knocked out. “They want to get into the front lines and start fighting the enemy.”

  “Tell them that they will get their chance,” Neil said, impatiently. He drummed his fingers on his knee as he considered the possibilities. What did the Imperial Navy want? If they had wanted to destroy Sanctuary, they could have done it by now and nothing the rebels had could have stopped them. No, they had to want to take the leadership alive, as well as everyone else they could catch. Locked up inside their brains, waiting for the mind techs to come along and investigate, were the names and coordinates of most of the other rebel bases. “I’m sure that they will get their chance.”

  He looked up as the hatch opened and Hester entered, followed by two of her bodyguards. “Get that piece of shit out of here,” she said, pointing one finger at the sleeping operator. The bodyguards nodded and obeyed. “How does it look, Major?”

  Neil blinked in surprise. Hester was wearing a suit of body armour and carrying a helmet in one hand. It wasn't cheap equipment either. It might not have been quite up to the standards of Marine combat armour, but it would be more than sufficient against most threats. A sniper could probably have taken off her head before she put the helmet on, yet...somehow, he was sure that no sniper would ever get so close to her. Her bodyguards didn't look incompetent.

  “It looks good,” he said, reluctantly. He had always hated giving briefings to political leaders, yet Hester was something special. “We should be able to stall them long enough for Admiral Walker to get back.”

  Hester nodded, her eyes elsewhere. “And if we can't?”

  “We die,” Neil said, flatly. If the Empire was prepared to expend enough troops, they could take the asteroid, even if the rebels retreated into the inner core and fought hard to hold on to the core regions. Sanctuary didn't even have a united datanet or shared infrastructure. Given time, and sufficient imagination, the Empire could make life very uncomfortable...and that was if they didn't decide to cut their losses and blow up the asteroid. “There are no other alternatives.”

  Hester nodded, hefting her rifle. “I understand,” she said. “It’s time to fight or die.”

  The asteroid shuddered suddenly. “They’re opening fire with penetrator missiles,” one of the techs said. “They’re knocking out our weapons, one by one.”

  “As I expected,” Neil said. He felt the old thrill rising up within him, even though he knew that they were all going to
die soon. Unless Admiral Walker got back; no, even if he did, the Empire would still be able to blow up the asteroid and run. “And then will come the assault.”

  ***

  Angelika watched dispassionately as the last of the rebel weapons platforms were blown into vapour, clearing the way for her assault troops. She had wondered if the rebels would blow up their asteroid or dare her to hit them with heavier weapons, but the assault plan was going perfectly. Without their weapons, there would be nothing to stop her troops from landing on the asteroid.

  “All ships, this is the Commodore,” she said. “Dispatch the landing force!”

  Chapter Forty

  “You are clear to launch,” the voice said in his earpiece. It was a sultry female voice, promising much to the heroes when they returned – if they returned. “Good luck.”

  Captain Thomas Wilson took a breath as the launch tubes opened and the assault pods were blasted out towards the asteroid, accompanied by a hail of decoys and sensor jammers intended to prevent any surviving rebel weaponry from locking onto them and blowing them into the next world, even though the squadron claimed to have destroyed all such weapons. Thomas had enough experience with such claims to know that they were often over-optimistic and, as the commander of the assault, he wasn’t going to take any chances with his men and their lives.

  He could hear the beating of his own heart and feel the sweat on the palm of his hands as the pods fell towards the asteroid. It grew in his vision, changing from just another rock to something that dominated the entire horizon. At some point, up twisted and became down and he started to fall towards the rocky ground, cursing as enemy weapons started to light up, their plasma bursts picking off a handful of pods. The starship crews hadn't got them all! The tiny automated missiles escorting them dived forwards and attempted to destroy the weapons, but not before seven of his men and ten decoys were picked off and killed. An eighth man was so badly injured that his suit had to put him into suspension and scream for immediate recovery.

  Thomas braced himself as the pod touched down and split open, allowing him to step out onto the surface of Sanctuary. They had landed below the massive crater that seemed to serve as a rebel spaceport, yet as his teams formed up it became evident that the rebels had taken the precaution of hiding additional defences in the ground. The Blackshirts picked them off, advancing towards the lip of the crater and over it, staring down into the spaceport. The gravity was doing odd things as they passed through varying gravity fields – the rebels, instead of spinning the asteroid to produce gravity, had chosen to install a gravity generator instead – and he cursed under his breath. He had trained his men hard, rather than trusted to the drugs and indoctrination most Blackshirt units used, yet they hadn't been trained to work in such an environment. It was a tribute to their training – and their superior officers, who had wanted a dedicated unit for operating in space – that they were doing as well as they were.

  The rebels had divided the spaceport into two sections. One, dominated by starships clinging like limpets to the asteroid, was visible to his eyes. The other, with starships passing through a massive hatch to rest inside the asteroid, was clearly closed off. The hatch would require high explosives to blast it open, yet there was an easier way into the asteroid. He led his platoon towards the first freighter, ordering the other teams to spread out and target the other ships. Not entirely to his surprise, the first freighter rose up into space as his team approached, spinning around and preparing to flicker out. The missile that slammed into the ship and blew it cart-wheeling away from the asteroid, launched by one of the battlecruisers, cast an eerie light over the scene. Thomas allowed himself a moment of relief. If the freighter had attempted to engage his team, the results would not have been pleasant.

  “Down here,” he ordered, as he led his team towards where the freighter had been docked. There was a hatch there set within the rock that resisted him when he tried to open it with an armoured hand. He chuckled as his lips quirked in wry amusement. That was against Imperial Law and carried a mandatory sentence of twenty years in prison. The rebels were guilty of yet another offence, one more serious than most. It hardly mattered. One of his team carried a set of explosive charges and used one of them to blow their way into the airlock. Somewhat to his surprise, no hail of fire greeted them as they forced their way into the asteroid.

  “Deploy sensor bugs,” he ordered, as he followed the first four into the asteroid. It was rather disappointing to his eyes. For all that the Security Officer had talked about the asteroid, warning them of the many dangers and temptations they would face once they forced their way into the rebel stronghold, it was depressingly normal. The inner airlock had an emergency forcefield to prevent the air from leaking out, although no one dared take off their helmets. Selective depressurising of compartments was a neat way to get rid of unwanted guests. “Contact the ships and tell them to send the second wave down to join us.”

  He smiled as the images of the interior of the asteroid started to build up in his HUD. The sensor bugs could move far faster than any human and were completely invisible to the naked eye, although the rebels had access to Marine-issue systems that could probably pick them up without trouble. Sanctuary – and that, he considered, was a rather inappropriate name – was starting to take shape and form, plotting out the various passageways and compartments. As his team expanded and started to advance into the unknown, he found himself waiting patiently for the hammer to fall. The rebels wouldn't tamely accept their violation of their base, not when they’d had their chance to surrender and had refused it.

  “The remaining ships are secure sir,” his deputy said. The rebel ships had either tried to escape – whereupon they’d been picked off by the waiting battlecruisers – or had been bitterly defended. Their crews had finally been beaten and either killed or captured, with their boarders trying to get them away from the asteroid and into the waiting arms of the Imperial Navy. The technical staff could analyse their computers, do some number-crunching and hopefully find the location of more rebel bases. “We’re on our way to join you.”

  “Have one of the ships moved to the main hatch and used to block it,” Thomas ordered, calmly. The sensor bugs were finally picking up traces of real people, lying in wait. “Once that’s done, have the other airlocks opened and start expanding the bridgehead. We need to press our advantage as quickly as possible.”

  ***

  Neil had finally had the chance to get into his armour – one of his Marines had brought it to him, before running back to join the defenders massing towards the spaceport – before the enemy troops had started to break their way into the asteroid. He’d been relieved the moment that he realised that the attackers, whoever they were, weren't Marines. It had lasted until he’d realised that whoever was in command was smarter than any Blackshirt commander he’d ever met. He’d taken a number of starship crewmen as prisoners without any of the atrocities that commonly followed in their wake.

  “Move the 1st and 2nd platoons up to cover the entrance points,” he ordered, calmly. “I want 3rd platoon to get up to the surface and start moving in on their rear.”

  “3rd reports that the enemy support is too close to the surface to risk contact,” the CO of 3rd platoon said, through the Marine datanet. “We can risk it once the enemy craft have been drawn towards the spaceport.”

  Neil scowled. “Understood,” he ordered. A Blackshirt commander would have ordered them to make the attack and to hell with how many good men were killed attempting to do the impossible. “Stand by for...”

  “Sir,” one of the operators said. “The starship crews are ready to fight!”

  Neil swore. He’d known from the start that there was no way to protect the starships concealed within the spaceport and had ordered the crews to abandon their ships and make their way to safety. Instead, they’d ignored him and chosen to make their own stand...in the most fragile part of the asteroid! He opened his mouth to issue new orders, to tell them to get
the hell out of there, but it was too late. They were already in position and couldn't fall back without being seen.

  “Damn them,” he muttered. Could he help them? If he ordered the two platoons to advance...no, that would throw away his men and some of the trainees for nothing. They couldn't get into a pitched battle so close to the hull or all hell would break loose when the battlecruisers started firing directly into the asteroid to support their people. “Order the two platoons to hold position.”

  None of the operators objected, but he knew what they were thinking. He’d abandoned the starship crews, leaving them to die. And the hell of it, he knew, was that part of him felt the same way. The cold logic of war was sometimes not enough to warm his heart.

  ***

  Jane Chaney braced herself as she crawled through the tube, holding her breath for as long as she could. The interior of the tube stank badly of oil and gas, as well as other stenches that entered the asteroid whenever a visiting starship opened its airlocks and started to air out its interior. For Jane, who had stowed away on a starship that had visited her very fundamentalist home asteroid back when she had been nine, it was the sweet smell of home. And her new home – after four years of working her passage on a dozen different starships – was under threat. There was no way she was going to allow the invaders to enter the asteroid unopposed.