First Strike

by Christopher Nuttall

  A set of Funks were watching the crowd nervously, barely heeding the Marines sidling up behind them. Conrad couldn't blame them for being worried; they carried no weapons, as ordered by the human occupation authority, and the crowd would certainly tear them limb from limb if they got their hands on them. He’d never been on the ground during a riot, but some of the older Royal Marines had been in Iraq or Afghanistan and their stories had been horrific. Some of their comrades had died because of restrictive ROE that prohibited firing back even when there was a clear and present threat to their lives. At least Conrad’s orders were a little looser.

  One of the Funks turned to look at the Marines. She seemed almost glad to see them, which had to be a first. They’d been warned, time and time again, that human body language didn't always match the Galactics, but Conrad was sure of it. Her hissing voice, according to his suit’s analysis program, was definitely relieved. Someone else would be taking responsibility for the safety of the Mud Palace.

  “Go inside,” Conrad ordered. The second detachment of Marines was already inside, securing the building and its people. They’d probably lost their chance to capture the Mud Palace’s files before the Funks destroyed them, but intelligence’s computer experts would take a look at them and see what they could pull out of the systems. Some of the Funks probably had computer skills to match any human hacker, yet they might not have been allowed to rig the systems to completely wipe everything. Or so ONI had suggested. “We’ll provide protection from the crowd.”

  Beyond the walls, he could see flames rising up in the distance. The rebels had torched a number of buildings, including one with a title that translated as Human Resources. It took Conrad a moment to realise that it was the Funk’s version of a labour exchange, a place where unemployed Funks – or aliens – were ordered to work on specific projects, no matter how unsuited they were to the job. On Terra Nova, the Funks had tried to push humans into working as slaves – here, it proved that they did the same to every race under their control. No doubt someone could get some good propaganda out of that, once the city had quietened down a little. Maybe the Galactics would be outraged at how the Funks had treated other life forms.

  The forcefield started to glow brighter, a sure sign that it was on the verge of collapse. Conrad barked orders and the Marines advanced, weapons at the ready. A quick check through the combat database revealed that there were no less than nineteen different races represented in the crowd, ranging from aliens so fragile that a stun burst would kill them to aliens tough enough to be able to tear apart an unarmored human. Conrad cursed under his breath as the Funk guards fled back towards the building, knowing that there would definitely be casualties. None of the crowd seemed to be carrying anything more dangerous than neural whips – designed by the Funks for use on reluctant slaves – which meant that the Marines themselves were probably in no danger. The real problem would be avoiding mass slaughter if the crowd pushed over them.

  He checked the datanet as the forcefield started to fail. Other Marine units had landed in the city, securing defence posts and military buildings, but there were none close enough to aid him if the shit hit the fan. The shuttles were broadcasting warnings over the planetary communications network, urging everyone to remain in their homes and stay off the streets, but as far as he could tell no one was actually listening. Officially, the city had upwards of five million residents and they all seemed to be gathered outside the gates. The Hegemony would probably have started using their version of sleepy gas and to hell with the consequences, but humanity didn't have that option. Too many civilians would die.

  “The forcefield is going,” one of the Marines said. Conrad barely knew him; he’d been transferred over from another company to make up the shortfall. The Federation Marines hadn't been designed for rapid expansion and there were almost no reserves, something that would have to be rectified in the future. Sergeants were often asked to put forward their view on what had worked – and what hadn't – in post-combat reviews and he was already planning a scathing attack on the political leaders who had forbidden the Marines more than ten thousand soldiers at any one time. “Here they come...”

  The forcefield gave one final crackle and failed. There was a roar of triumph from the crowd as it lunged forward, smashing through the gate as through it were built of paper. Conrad cursed again and started to broadcast the recorded message, even though he knew it would be useless. Even if the people at the front of the crowd had thought better of it and wanted to break free, the ones behind them would keep pressing them onwards. The training they’d had for mob situations had been limited, but the instructors had warned them that many injuries occurred when someone fell to the ground and was trampled under the crowd’s feet before they could get back up. Some of the aliens in the mob were child-sized, small enough that their larger fellows might knock them down without even noticing. Conrad shivered as the mob closed in. People were about to die.

  “Link arms,” he ordered. The Marines braced themselves, taking up positions that would allow them to halt the mob without – he hoped – using their augmented strength. He caught a glimpse of an alien mouth, green and disgusting, before the aliens slammed into the Marines. The pressure was great enough to push the line back before they could compensate, pushing back as gently as they could. Conrad forced himself to watch as the aliens pressed against his suit, a multitude of different hands tearing away at the metal. They couldn't get in, he kept reminding himself, but it was no reassurance. It was impossible to escape a sense of claustrophobia as hands clawed at his suit.

  “Disengage your close interface,” one of the Marines suggested. Conrad nodded in agreement. The interface with the suit allowed the Marines to wear their armor as if it were part of them, but it worked too well for mob situations. Even the most focused Marine found it hard to escape the conviction that the crowd was tearing at his unprotected skin. It would be dangerous to go into combat without it, but they could reengage at any moment. “They can’t get to you without it.”

  He was wrong, Conrad suspected. The crowd, balked at the gate, was trying to scramble over the wall. It was covered in wire and sharp metal prongs that would tear away at unprotected flesh, but so was the fence around Marine bases and that didn't stop Marines sneaking out for a night on the town. The crowd pressure would force them onwards unless they were stopped, yet how could they stop them without resorting to live weapons? Two of the shuttles made passes over the crowd at terrifyingly low height, but most of the crowd wasn't discouraged. Anyone at the rear who wanted to break free and go home could have done it by now. The remainder wanted revenge on the Funks – and God help the humans who were trying to save them.

  “We’re going to lose this unless we use live weapons,” he said, into the datanet. He glanced backwards, at the Mud Palace. God alone knew how many Funks lived there. “I think we need to start flying their targets out of the mob’s reach.”

  An explosion, billowing up in the distance, underlined his words. “And I suggest that you hurry,” he added. Parts of the wall were starting to crumble. Once they fell, the Marines would have no choice, but to disengage and retreat back to the Mud Palace, if they could without hurting the crowd. A Marine who’d been knocked down would have to wait until the crowd dispersed before he could escape. “We don’t have much time left.”

  The crowd howled in rage as the first shuttle came in and hovered above the roof of the Mud Palace, using tractor beams to pick up the Funks and a handful of their collaborators. Conrad checked the datanet, which reported that there were over two hundred Funks in the Mud Palace, including some children. Humans brought their children with them on assignment too, although he was surprised that the Funks had brought male children away from their clans. Perhaps the Funks on the planet had ambitions to form a clan of their own. What little he’d heard about the clan system suggested that it was possible, but the other clans wouldn’t be too happy about it.

  His suit shook as the first rock crashed
down on his helmet. The crowd was pushing harder, throwing rocks and bottles towards the Marines. One bottle was filled with petrol and set on fire, exploding just behind the Marine line. It wasn't enough to break through armor that could stand off bullets and even missiles, but it was dangerous to the crowd. Conrad detailed a pair of Marines to stamp out the fire, even though it would suggest that they were intimidated by the flames. The irony didn't escape him; they were working to protect a crowd that was trying to kill them. If they hadn't been wearing armor, they would have had to resort to live weapons by now.

  “We need some fucking riot foam,” a Marine with a German accent said. “Something that will get them away from us before it’s too late.”

  “Half of the bastards are allergic to riot foam,” Lieutenant Piebald said, over the datanet. “We might as well spray them with nerve gas. And there are some races that think that nerve gas is a great afternoon tipple.”

  “We have shuttles picking up water from the lake,” a senior Marine injected. “They’ll drench the crowds, maybe give them some incentive to disperse.”

  Another shuttle took off from the Mud Palace as the walls finally collapsed. “Too late,” Conrad said, grimly. “All Marines… back, now!”

  Augmented legs threw him back towards the Palace. He was sickeningly aware of what had happened to the aliens pressing against him, but there had been no other choice. The mob howled in victory and lunged forwards, charging right at the fragmented Marine line. Conrad snapped a second set of orders and the Marines leapt upwards, landing on the side of the Mud Palace and scrambling up towards the roof. The datanet claimed that all of the Funks had finally been evacuated, removed before the mob could get its hands on them. Conrad hoped that they were right as the shuttles came back for the Marines. At least most of the other buildings they’d needed to secure were safe. The rest of the rioting would have to be left to burn itself out, unless dropping water was enough to disperse the crowd.

  The tractor beam caught him and whisked him up towards the shuttle, just as the mob broke out onto the roof. Another Marine was less lucky and was shoved over the edge by the mob, his antigravity systems saving him before he hit the ground. Some of the crowd were pushed over by their own people, falling down the side of the building and hitting the ground before anyone could save them. The remainder were busy looting the Mud Palace, looking for the vast taxes the Funks had collected from those unfortunate enough to live on their world.

  “Well,” he said, as he was finally pulled into the shuttle, “that could have gone better.”

  “Maybe,” his captain agreed, “but at least we got the Funks out.”

  Conrad shrugged. Marines were taught to be aggressive and a retreat, no matter how necessary, didn't sit well with him. But orders were orders. And besides, they would have accomplished nothing if they’d remained at the palace.

  And it should definitely get them some good press.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Blimey,” Lieutenant Piers said. “Just look at all the industry in this system.”

  Markus nodded in agreement as the first squadron of gunboats spread out from Formidable. Heavenly Gate had been home to a spacefaring race decades before the birth of Jesus Christ and every world in the system was inhabited. Massive cloudscoops orbited the gas giants, while worlds that had once been like Mars or Venus had been terraformed into something more habitable. They’d even started a long-term project to convert a gas giant into a second sun, although the report had suggested that the Canaries were having problems devising a way to do it without causing problems for the rest of the system. Even the Association had thought better of trying to create new suns.

  But it might have made sense for the Canaries. They were an avian race, unique in that they could still fly after evolving into intelligence, giving them their own slant on the universe. Much of their theology was not shared with infidels, even the Cats, but from what they had allowed the rest of the galaxy to find out was that they couldn't leave the light from their star, which was called – roughly translated – the Light of God. They’d been the second race to make a theoretical breakthrough into quantum space, but unlike the Cats they’d never set out to colonise the rest of the galaxy. Maybe it was better for humanity that they hadn't wanted to spread their wings some, because they would certainly have discovered Earth long before the Association had made contact – and who knew how they would have reacted to the human race?

  Instead, they’d settled their solar system and thoroughly developed their limited real estate. Massive orbital fortresses defended their planets, backed up by a fleet of starships that were none the less dangerous for lacking quantum drives. Indeed, where Association-designed starships had to include space for FTL drives, the Canaries had used that space to carry extra weapons and shield generators. Heavenly Gate could probably be taken by the Hegemony – or another power who wanted it badly enough – but the cost would be staggeringly high. One estimate from ONI had suggested that upwards of three-fourths of the Hegemony Navy would be required to take the system. And the Canaries themselves would fight like mad demons to repel any offensive into the Light of God. No one even remotely rational would try to take the system. They’d have to exterminate most of the population to win, destroying the infrastructure that made the system so valuable in the process.

  Which raises the obvious question, Markus thought, as the small force powered towards the fifth world in the system. Place of Meetings was another multiracial planet, although the Canaries were solidly in control. They didn't understand how other races could leave their own Lights of God, but they were happy to welcome anyone who came in peace. What the hell are we doing here?

  The briefing had made that clear. There were two Hegemony capital ships in the system, visiting Place of Meetings for an unknown reason. Intelligence had put forward several possible theories, from wanting to trade with the Canaries to trying to intimidate them into supporting Hegemony proposals in the Commune, but it didn't really matter. All that mattered was intercepting those ships before they could leave Heavenly Gate and throw themselves into human shipping lanes. A single heavy cruiser in the right place could have a disproportionate impact on the war.

  “Grumbles, remain on alert,” he ordered. There hadn’t been any time to get replacement gunboats and crews, which meant that they were still short several craft. “They might try something, but do not fire on anything unless it belongs to the Funks.”

  Galactic law didn't have much to say about interstellar warfare – the Cats, who had established most of it, had tried to avoid even thinking about war – but there were some protocols agreed by most of the Galactics. Neutral races had certain obligations if they wanted to remain neutral, including not assisting either combatant in any way. The Canaries, at least in theory, should have no choice, but to either expel the Hegemony ships or intern them and their crews. But in practice…? No-one was quite sure which way they would jump.

  Captain Walsh was already broadcasting to the Galactics. The Canaries were in charge of their system – no one doubted that – but there were other starships in orbit around Place of Meetings, including some from the other major Galactic powers. Markus suspected that the intelligence officer had deliberately understated the diplomatic nightmare that could result if they fucked up, perhaps by firing on the wrong ship. The Canaries had no real alliances with any of the other Galactic powers, but just about everyone thought well of them. And if they decided to refuse to cooperate, all hell could break loose.

  The minutes ticked away as the Canaries debated what to do. There was a small community of humans on Place of Meetings, including a handful who apparently worked for ONI as well as for the network of human traders who visited the system. Each terse update made Markus more concerned, particularly when the Hegemony commander started urging the other Galactics to escort his ships out of the system if they refused to restrain the imprudent humans. But few of the Galactics were willing to intervene openly on the Hegemony’s side, n
ot when the Hegemony was known to be extremely aggressive and expansionist. Most of them would view a bloody nose for the Hegemony as a good thing.

  Eagle and Ivan Squadrons remained on the carrier, waiting for the order to launch. They’d scramble well before the Funks could reach a safe distance from the planet to open a quantum gate – and they had orders to follow the Funks into quantum space if possible. In their place, Markus suspected that he would go right for Formidable, trusting to his ship’s armor to protect them long enough to take out the only way home for the gunboats. If that happened, the gunboats would have no choice, but to surrender to the Canaries and accept internment.

  The datanet crackled. “All right,” Captain Walsh said, “the Canaries have insisted that the Hegemony ships either disembark their crews or leave their system. I think that they’re preparing to leave now. Stand by.”

  Markus frowned. He hadn't expected the Hegemony ships to surrender, but would they be escorted by the other Galactics? If so...

  The datanet updated again. Both of the Hegemony ships, docked at a station that was over a thousand years old, were slowly powering up their drives and preparing to make a run for open space. A handful of cruisers belonging to the Canaries were advancing towards the station, ready to intervene if fighting spread into orbit. They had to be more worried than they wanted to admit, but Markus would worry about starships unleashing antimatter torpedoes in orbit too. And then there was the risk that the Hegemony would assume that the Canaries had deliberately warned the human race that the ships were there and take revenge at some future date. Raiding the system would be fairly easy, if not exactly risk-free.