Democracy 1: Democracy's Right

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Team One,” he ordered. “You are cleared to advance.”

  ***

  Molly McGhee felt herself shivering as the billowing cloud of white fire started to fade away. She hadn’t understood why their Marine instructors had insisted on setting up their positions some distance from the cannons, not until one of the cannons had exploded, setting off the other two. If the Marines and their trainees had been any closer, they would have been caught and fried in the blast, allowing the enemy to advance without opposition. She took a firmer grip on her rifle and started to pray under her breath. It was the first time she had been in a real fight and despite herself she felt nothing, but terror. The enemy was closing in.

  Years ago, back when she had been a girl of seven years old, her parents had owned a starship and worked as independent traders. That had ended when the Empire-backed shipping lines had extended their reach into their home sector, using a mixture of legal and illegal tricks to force the independent shippers out of business. After a pirate attack had narrowly been averted by her father’s quick thinking, the family had taken their ship and migrated into the Beyond, hoping to find a safer life. It hadn't worked out as well as they had hoped and, after her parents were killed by the Imperial Navy, Molly had gravitated to one of the many rebel organisations within the Beyond. They had fought the Empire – or claimed to have done; Molly had never been part of any offensive operation – and yet they had no real hope, not until Admiral Walker had arrived with a fleet of superdreadnaughts and started pulling the various rebel groups together. Molly admired Hester Hyman and her efforts, but she looked up to Admiral Walker. He’d given the rebellion real hope. She would have died for him.

  A black shape appeared through the smog, a man wearing powered combat armour. Her own armour informed her that he wasn't broadcasting a friendly IFF, which meant nothing when she wasn't broadcasting either. She had been surprised when their instructors had told them not to use them without permission, but she’d understood when he'd explained that they might as well draw a targeting circle on their suits and invite the enemy to open fire. The fact that the newcomer was transmitting an IFF signal was a sure sign that he was an enemy soldier. Molly felt hatred rising within his breast as she took aim. They had been told not to fire without specific orders, but there was no reason she couldn't prepare as another black figure joined the first, followed by a third and a fourth. The Marines had assured her that they should be almost impossible to detect, even with the naked eye, hidden as they were, yet she knew better than to trust such assurances completely.

  “Stand by,” her commander ordered, quietly. The defenders had used light cables to link themselves together, a neat low-tech solution to the problem of avoiding calling in enemy fire on their position. The Marine-issue armoured suits included transmitters that were effectively undetectable, but the same couldn't said of the more basic suits issued to the new recruits. “On my command, open fire.”

  Molly found herself thinking, suddenly, of her parents. Her mother and father had never been anything less than loving, even when her older brother had nearly deactivated the life support and come far too close to killing them all. She missed them dreadfully. She missed her first boyfriend, who had gone out on a mission and never returned, and even her second boyfriend, who had cheated on her with another man. The bastard had been a good kisser, but he just couldn't keep it in his pants. Being cheated on with another man had put her off men for a few years, before she had picked up a third boyfriend from among the Marines. He was off with Admiral Walker, probably speeding back to the rescue right now – at least, she hoped he was. It would be just like him to come riding over the horizon when all hope was lost.

  She pinched herself and focused on the black shapes. The Blackshirts were advancing carefully, one group moving up the corridor, another heading down it. There seemed to be no limit to their numbers; they just kept flowing in, at least twenty by her count. They were deploying sensor bugs as well, according to her suit, but the Marine countermeasures were keeping them under control. It was just as well. If they spotted the ambush before it was too late...she noted, suddenly, that they were keeping an eye on the ceiling and wondered why. There were no hidden passages above them in the rock. The whole idea had been to limit the number of connections between the spaceport and the remainder of Sanctuary.

  “Take aim,” her commander ordered. They had to aim manually. Any targeting aid, such as a ranging laser, would be detected when it touched the enemy suits. “Open fire!”

  Molly pulled the trigger and her rifle spat a stream of plasma pulses down towards the Blackshirts who staggered under the sheer weight of fire. A handful fell, their suits burned through by the incoming fire, but others hit the deck under their own power, bringing up their own weapons and returning fire. Plasma bolts began to sizzle through the air towards them, striking the armour plating the defenders had put into place to give them some cover, a handful finding their targets and burning through their suits. Molly heard one of her oldest friends cry out seconds before her icon vanished from the HUD. A plasma bolt had struck her in the throat.

  “Fall back,” her commander snapped. Molly took a final shot and then turned, keeping her head down as she had been ordered. Others were crawling rapidly towards the next strongpoint, briefly triggering their IFF signals to ensure that they weren't fired upon by the automated defences. An explosion shook the deck behind her as the enemy resorted to more grenades and heavier weapons to clear their path, leaving her scurrying as fast as she could. Her commander kept ordering them to move faster, even though they were all moving quickly. The sound of firing was growing louder. “Get into the next position and prepare to continue firing!”

  Molly nodded as she grasped her rifle and sat up, climbing back into firing position. There were only a limited number of strongpoints before the invaders broke through into the asteroid proper, allowing them to spread out and secure the vital infrastructure. They had to stop them before then, or the asteroid was doomed. There were plans to carry on fighting, even when the invaders got inside, yet...somehow, she was sure that they wouldn't work.

  “Come on, Bobby,” she muttered, as she fired on a Blackshirt and had the satisfaction of seeing him collapse under her fire. Her current boyfriend had to come to their rescue, right? It couldn't end like this. “We need you...”

  The Blackshirt advance continued, undeterred by the resistance. Molly fell back again, and again, knowing that it was growing increasingly futile. Soon, far too soon, they would run out of places to fall back to.

  And then they would die.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “Keep monitoring them,” Cordova ordered. The next flight of troop shuttles was already leaving the battlecruisers, heading into Sanctuary. “Send the update to the command team.”

  Hannelore looked up from where she had been sitting, hugging herself. All of the post-sex bliss had faded away, leaving her numb with horror and dismay. Cordova had ordered the crew to establish an undetectable laser link with Sanctuary, yet there was nothing else that he could do, but watch – and record the transmissions coming out of the asteroid. He’d told her that they could be used for propaganda, as another example of the Empire’s beastliness, but it was no consolation. She was watching the death of a dream.

  She wanted to cry. It was an effort to keep her voice level. “Is there nothing we can do?”

  “Nothing,” Cordova said. He sounded calm, yet she could detect his own anger and frustration underlying his voice. “Unless the superdreadnaughts get back in time to intervene, we can do nothing, but watch.”

  ***

  Neil scowled down at his display as another section vanished, as surely as if the invaders had somehow deleted it completely. The Blackshirts were knocking out sensors as they advanced, flowing out into the innermost core of the asteroid. It was lucky that Sanctuary wasn't a typical asteroid, but in some ways it hardly mattered. There were fewer fixed defences deeper within the asteroid. The Blackshirts
– he hoped – didn't know it, yet they’d broken through the main defences. It was all down to improvised defences and tactics now.

  “Keep updating Captain Cordova,” he ordered. He'd come up with a plan to get Hester, at least, off the asteroid and over to the Random Numbers before it was too late, but she’d refused to abandon Sanctuary. Neil would have argued, yet she’d explained that if she ran – and left the defenders fighting till the last – her reputation would be forever destroyed. The Rim ran more on personal prestige than proper chains of command and no one would ever follow her again. Her second-in-command, who hadn’t been anywhere near Sanctuary, would be undiminished by the disaster and would be able to take over the rebel group and carry on the war. “Pull the defenders back from Sector 45-67; they’re about to be outflanked.”

  He shook his head. The invaders were about to burst into the market, where a team of defenders waited for them. It was going to be a very unpleasant encounter.

  ***

  Thomas watched as another explosion shattered the rebel position, allowing the Blackshirts to move forward to their next target. He’d decided – after the second encounter with a rebel strongpoint – to bring up an HVM launcher and use it against the rebel positions. HVMs were supposed to be reserved for shooting down aircraft and armoured vehicles – it was easy for a person in an armoured combat suit to evade them – but they also made short work of the rebel positions. For the last five minutes, his team had been exchanging shots with a group of Marines, who kept popping up, firing a few bursts and then falling back before they could be engaged. The tactics were the tactics of delay, yet they were working alarmingly well.

  He smiled, sourly, as new data popped up inside his HUD. Standard asteroid design – and there was no sign that the rebels disagreed – was to limit the number of connections between the spaceport and the asteroid proper. The expanding map of the asteroid suggested that they’d definitely found their way into the core of the asteroid, where people lived and worked and plotted rebellion. The sensor bugs were still encountering jamming, yet they were starting to overcome it as they penetrated further into the asteroid. There were entire sections that had no jamming at all.

  The hatch ahead of them disintegrated, throwing chunks of metal towards his men, who ducked. This time, there was no hail of fire from pre-prepared positions, leaving him to wonder if they’d killed all of the defenders. No, he told himself; that wasn't likely. The population had to know that they’d be for the chop once the Empire captured them, something that would encourage them to keep fighting. The real question was why had they only faced such limited resistance?

  His lips quirked humourlessly as the first team advanced forward, through the hatch. The Blackshirts had lost over ninety armoured soldiers, with another thirty too badly injured to be allowed to remain in the assault. It hadn't been a light struggle at all, not even slightly. And he was considering it mild!

  “Stay alert,” he ordered, as the team advanced into a massive chamber, the largest they had yet seen. The sensor bugs were unable to penetrate far into its vastness. “I want everyone to be very careful.”

  ***

  Molly wanted to scratch as she crouched behind a clothes stall in the market, hoping that her armoured form was invisible to anyone with bad intentions. A day ago, she would have allowed herself an hour or two to pick her way through the clothes in front of her, perhaps picking a handful to purchase and take back to her sleeping quarters. Now...all she cared about was how much cover they could give her against plasma bursts and the honest answer was not much. She giggled, despite herself, as she caught sight of her teammate. His armour was covered with ladies underwear.

  The market had been evacuated along with most of the other public spaces, leaving the deserted chamber with an oddly sinister air. The stallholders had complained loudly about having to leave their wares in place – as if anyone was going to have the time to steal it with the Blackshirts bearing down on them – and had been reluctant to leave, but the Marines hadn't listened to arguments. The only sound in the chamber was the noise from the pet stall, where a dozen parrots and a handful of dogs were competing to see who could make the most noise. Molly wasn't sure if the Blackshirts would be frightened by the eerie sounds, but they sure as hell sent a shiver down her spine.

  She winced as the hatch exploded outwards, hopefully catching a few of the enemy in the blast. Their demolitions expert had rigged it to explode, noting that it might catch a few of the enemy, but that it would also lure the Blackshirts into entering the market the right way. He’d claimed that they wouldn't go looking for the other entrances if there was one right in front of them. Molly wasn't sure if she believed him, but her commander had clearly decided to gamble. He’d ordered him to rig the explosives and then fall back to where he could lay more traps in their path.

  Molly looked up as the first Blackshirt entered the chamber, weapon at the ready. A handful of others followed him, clearly nervous and twitchy. The dogs started barking again and the Blackshirts swung around, unleashing a hail of plasma bolts towards the pet stall. The stall exploded, killing most of the animals, although a handful of parrots flew up high and rained down verbal abuse on the Blackshirts. The Blackshirts started to fire on them before their commander, who clearly had a leveller head than most of his men, ordered them to hold fire.

  “Fire,” Molly’s commander ordered. If they’d planned the distraction, they could hardly have done better. “Hit the bastards!”

  She popped up and opened fire, along with the rest of her team. The Blackshirt position seemed to disintegrate as five of them were gunned down instantly, followed rapidly by two more as they turned and started to run out of the chamber. An HVM was fired into the chamber, but without a solid target it flew over their heads and detonated against the far wall, leaving an unpleasant scorch mark on a mural the asteroid’s children had created, a week after the asteroid had been declared habitable. She flinched back as the first grenade was thrown into the chamber, only to land some distance from their position. The Blackshirts were clearly disorientated, but that wouldn't last.

  Molly flinched back as a hail of fire came back at them from outside the chamber. There were hardly any real defences in the compartment and the stalls either exploded or caught fire quickly. Her own stall caught fire, sending flaming clothes everywhere. She jumped back, firing as she moved, only to be struck by another burst of plasma in the leg. Plain flared through her as she collapsed to the ground, despite the best efforts of her suit. The position was falling apart and no one had time to help her.

  “Go,” she shouted, at a young man who had started to drag her away. The Blackshirts would be on them before they got more than a few meters towards the hatch. “Get out of here!”

  He dropped her and ran. Molly felt dazed, the effect – she realised – of a sedative working its way through her body. Her suit was trying to save her, even though there was no hope of either safety or liberty. She heard the sound of running feet and realised, dully, that she was surrounded by Blackshirts. She pulled her hand out of the armoured glove and flipped up a hidden compartment within her arm. They had all been told that it was there, yet she had never dared even consider touching it before. Arms pulled at her helmet, disconnecting it from the suit and exposing her bare head to their gaze.

  Molly saw five men in dark armour staring down at her. She knew what happened to women who were captured by the Blackshirts, even some men if they were unlucky. The Blackshirts were carefully conditioned to encourage them to commit the most awful of acts on a whim. They would pull her out of her suit and...it might have been the drugs, but she had never felt so calm in her life. Her finger caressed the switch, the suicide button, as she wondered if there was enough explosive in the suit to take them all with her.

  “Fuck you,” she said, and pushed the button. Her world exploded around her.

  ***

  “The bitch committed suicide!”

  Thomas smiled at the indignation in the c
orporal’s voice. “Never mind,” he said, wryly. “There will be other women later.”

  He grinned as he forwarded new orders to the assault party. Slowly, but steadily, the entire asteroid was opening up in front of them. It wouldn't be long now.

  ***

  “It won’t be long now,” Neil said, to Hester. His Marines were falling back as the Blackshirts advanced, using their numbers to make up for what they lacked in tactical flexibility. It was growing harder to command his forces as the Blackshirt jamming hacked away at his control systems. “They’re nearly here.”

  “We can hold this place long enough to detonate the bomb,” Hester said, in her hissing voice. The latest report from the Random Numbers showed yet another flight of assault shuttles landing at the spaceport, carrying another unit of Blackshirts into the fray. There had to be thousands on the asteroid now. “There may still be hope.”

  Neil looked at her and shook his head. “We can’t hold out much longer,” he said. Sanctuary wasn't designed like a typical asteroid, which meant that the Blackshirts would have to work at finding the command centre. It wouldn't take them as long as Hester seemed to think. The process of elimination alone would cut entire swathes of the asteroid out of their calculations. “I think we’d better get ready.”