“Picking up a signal from System Command,” the communications officer said. They were still far too far from the planet for regular communication. “They’re welcoming us to the system and directing us to assume high orbit in seven hours.”
“They’re in a hurry,” Mandy muttered. So was she, of course. Jasmine had been urging her to plan the deployment of her forces as soon as possible, pointing out that they were hopelessly vulnerable while inside transports. “Send back an acknowledgement and our revised ETA.”
She had to smile as the system revealed more and more of its secrets. There was an old-style cloudscoop orbiting one of the gas giants and two new-style cloudscoops orbiting the other gas giant. Dozens of asteroids were radiating hints of settlements, including a number of RockRat colonies; even the outer planets and moons seemed to have moderate settlements established on their surfaces. And it was all politically united, apart from the RockRats, or so the file had claimed. Normally, a system as developed as Thule wouldn't have a completely united government. Someone always wanted independence from the capital world.
Their corporation knew what the hell it was doing, she thought. It helped that they didn't have any debts to the Empire too.
The Empire, according to the files, had once counted Thule as a success story. And they would have been right, if the economy hadn't collapsed. A combination of local independence and political ideology had turned Thule into a powerhouse, boosting its industrial capability forward far faster than anyone had believed possible. They’d even managed to keep the Empire’s interstellar corporations from gaining controlling interests, a remarkable feat in the waning years of Empire. If the Empire hadn't fallen apart, Thule might well have risen to dominate the entire sector.
It still might, she reminded herself. It’s industrial base might not have any of the improvements the Commonwealth or the Trade Federation had devised, but they had a head start on anyone else within the Commonwealth, even Corinthian. Given a few more years, they were likely to recover completely from the economic crash ... which meant, if Jasmine was right, the end of the war. And who knows what will happen then?
She’d been raised, by the Empire’s educational system, to believe in the innate goodness of the universe and its rulers. It had been badly-prepared propaganda, but she hadn't recognised it as such until she’d been exiled to Avalon. There, she’d started to question the underlying assumptions she’d been taught to accept ... and her servitude with the pirates had destroyed whatever remained of those misconceptions. Power was all that mattered, in the end; the power to save a world was also the power to destroy it. What would happen, she asked herself, when Thule took the place it had earned in the new order? Was it possible that some elements within the Commonwealth would be interested in quietly sabotaging the planet’s recovery?
No, she told herself, firmly. Jasmine wouldn't go along with a scheme like that – and besides, we need their industrial base.
But the thought refused to fade from her mind.
***
Jasmine had seen Earth, which had – had had – the most densely populated high orbitals in the Empire. There had been hundreds of settled asteroids orbiting the planet, joined by thousands of industrial nodes, dozens of orbital defence stations and countless shuttlecraft moving from space stations to starships. The four orbital towers had sent a steady stream of emigrants – some willing, some otherwise – from humanity’s homeworld to the outer colonies. Thule was nowhere near as developed ...
... But she had to admit they were getting there. There were seven asteroids in orbit, three of them hollowed out and converted into settlements, while the remainder were still being mined for raw material. Dozens of industrial platforms orbited beside the rocks, sucking in the raw material and turning it into useful goods, while freighters moved in and out of the system, carrying its produce to less fortunate star systems. Beyond them, there were nearly a hundred orbital defence platforms. In many ways, Thule was more heavily defended than Avalon itself.
They started earlier, she reminded herself. Avalon hadn't been prepared for an industrial boom, certainly not after the cloudscoop had bankrupted the development corporation. And they’re not as advanced as us.
She smiled as she looked down at the green planet below. Starship transport was all-too-familiar to her, but she wouldn't be happy until she was down on the ground. It was unlikely that they would have time to explore the countryside, not when the rebels would probably take advantage of the opportunity to kidnap any of her people who wandered off alone, yet at least it would be groundside. She had always felt a little helpless on starships and shuttles, knowing that a single missile would be enough to vaporise her and the rest of her unit.
“Brigadier,” Volpe said, “we’re settling into high orbit now.”
Jasmine turned back from the porthole, then carefully schooled her features into composure before she turned to face him. “Good,” she said. “And have we had an update from the local government?”
“We’re being assigned the military spaceport,” Volpe said. “They’re asking us to get down on the ground as fast as possible.”
Jasmine wasn't surprised. The local government had sent her an update as soon as they’d started their long crawl towards the planet, which she'd skimmed rapidly. It was growing alarmingly clear that the rebel leadership was growing in power, uniting the smaller insurgent groups under its banner ... and it had done almost nothing. That bothered Jasmine more than hundreds of tiny pinprick attacks. An insurgency that did nothing was almost certainly plotting something. But it’s silence did give the locals a chance to take the offensive.
“Order the lead elements to start prepping for deployment,” she said. She saw his expression flicker and sighed, inwardly. His unit – his former unit – was in the lead. “Then check with the local flight control, make sure we’re cleared into their system.”
Michael nodded and reached for his terminal. While he fumbled with it, Jasmine picked up hers and ordered the transport’s optical sensors to examine the spaceport. It was larger than she’d expected, almost as large as the facility on Mars or the Slaughterhouse. Twelve massive landing runways, for shuttles that couldn't land vertically; nine massive barracks for deploying troops ... and a security fence that should keep out anyone, but authorised personnel. The only worrying detail, she couldn't help noticing, was that the urban sprawl had advanced to the spaceport and overwhelmed it.
They must be very confident in their safety, she thought. Avalon’s main spaceport was several miles from the outer edge of the city, even after five years of expansion. A single shuttle accident could be disastrous, if the shuttle crashed in the middle of a town. Or maybe they don’t care about the folk who live near the spaceport.
Michael looked up from his terminal. “The lead elements are ready to deploy,” he said. “The locals have confirmed that we are cleared to land; they’ve keyed us into the military flight control system.”
Jasmine nodded. “Inform them that they are to launch in five minutes,” she said. “We will go to the CIC.”
***
Cold logic – and sound tactics – told Pete that he shouldn't take command of the operation personally, let alone be far too close to the spaceport. The area wasn't entirely friendly, after all. Smuggling was common and the criminal gangs that operated the smuggling trade didn't like the insurgents very much. After all, if the insurgents won, the high taxes that made smuggling profitable would be abolished. But he wasn't about to send people into danger without sharing it himself, at least to some extent.
“I just had the word passed to me,” his aide said. She was staring down at a portable computer, which they’d spliced into one of the underground cables that handled data traffic for the planetary datanet. According to the hackers, who were practically an underground movement in their own right, the tap was completely undetectable. “The Commonwealth has arrived.”
“Good,” Pete said, as enthusiastically as he could. He knew better t
han to be so enthusiastic in truth. Wars were inherently unpredictable, no matter how carefully one planned. It was quite possible that the movement would lose. “Pass the word. The operation is to begin on my mark.”
***
Cary Thornton had worked at the spaceport before the economic crash had forced him and his comrades out of work. Unable to find another job, despite more than a passing knowledge of electronics, he’d been forced to move in with his parents and try to avoid leeching off them more than strictly necessary. Humiliated by his unemployed and unemployable status, he had been an easy mark for the movement’s recruiters, who had seen a promise in the young man his former employers had not. He’d been taken out of the Zone, given a crash course in how to use a portable HVM launcher, then sent to find somewhere to live near the spaceport and wait. Finally, the waiting had come to an end.
The five members of his team looked alike in their masks, he noted with some amusement, as they took up position under an awning on a warehouse roof. They'd been warned, time and time again, that the government was peering down on Thule, twenty-four hours a day. They didn't dare bring the launchers out into the open until it was too late for the local forces to intervene ... although Cary had his doubts about their willingness to intervene even if they’d had advance knowledge of the plot. The criminal gangs that dominated the area were quite happy to turn on the cops if they tried to enter without permission.
“That was the mark,” Kay said. Cary didn't know her story, but she was the most determined of them all just to hit back at someone – anyone. “And here they come.”
Cary stepped away from his fellows, then lifted the HVM to his shoulder and activated the sensor head. It started bleeping at once, picking up the emissions of four shuttles dropping through the planetary atmosphere and heading towards the spaceport. A brief datanet formed between the three launchers, designating targets and ensuring that two missiles wouldn’t go after the same shuttle, then faded away as Kay removed the awning. Bracing himself, Cary pulled the trigger. The missile launched into the sky and roared towards its targets.
He stared after it, despite the spoke it had left in its wake. The shuttles were barely visible to the naked eye, but the trail pointed directly towards their position. Kay grabbed his arm, swore at him and pointed towards the hatch. Catching himself, Cary dropped the remainder of the launcher on the ground – it was a one-shot; there was no point in trying to salvage it – and then jumped down the hatch. They’d been told, in no uncertain terms, to make their escape without worrying about anything else ...
***
Jennifer Fallow had been cautious ever since she’d guided the shuttle into the planet’s atmosphere. Every planet was different, every planet had unpleasant surprises for unwary pilots, from Earth's super-polluted atmosphere to the high winds that ravaged Yellowstone and drove its inhabitants into underground cities. But she hadn't expected the threat receiver to start screaming at her as she dropped down towards the spaceport.
Instinctively, she pulled at the stick, yanking the shuttle to one side as she started to launch flares. But it was too late; the shuttle rocked violently, then tilted to one side and started to fall. Jennifer felt a moment of absolute terror, then tried to retake control. The damage, she realised within seconds, was too extensive to allow her to guide the shuttle down to a crash-landing. Quickly, she reached for the ejector switch, hoping desperately that there was time to launch her passengers into the air. It would be a rough landing, but there was no alternative ...
And, once again, it was too late. She saw, just for a second, the urban sprawl coming up at her ... and then the universe fell into darkness.
***
“Two direct hits,” his aide cheered. “Two shuttles down!”
Pete nodded, glumly. In the distance, he saw two plumes of smoke rising up from the other side of the spaceport. It was easy to imagine that the falling shuttles had crashed on top of inhabited houses, crushing or incinerating innocent men, women and children. The fires would spread rapidly too, he knew, unless the fire department responded in time. It wasn't likely, not when the gangs opposed all evidence of government authority. They’d prefer to let the whole district burn down then concede control for a few hours.
“Send the second signal,” he ordered. He'd taken a week to set up the attack, with hundreds of pawns prepped for the moment they received the order to move. It would shake the local government to the bone, although Pete doubted it would be enough to destroy it. “And then order the mortar crews to engage.”
***
It had taken some careful arguing – and an agreement of future services – but Rifleman Thomas Stewart had managed to convince Lieutenant Buckley that he should be allowed to join the 1st Avalon Mechanized Infantry Battalion as its lead elements landed on Thule. He might be attached to local units, after all, and their landing would be his first chance to actually see the locals. Buckley had been pissed, but he’d conceded the point. Thomas would be allowed to go.
He swore as alerts flashed up in his combat helmet, warning of incoming missiles. One shuttle was hit before the news even sank through his mind and started to plummet towards the ground, a second exploded in midair, showering wreckage over the area. His shuttle dropped sharply, launching flares and other decoys as a missile closed in on them. God was looking after them, he realised; the missile, thankfully, fell prey to one of the decoys and exploded harmlessly, some distance from the shuttle.
The craft rocked again as it dropped violently towards the ground, then slammed down and hit the ground roughly enough to be mistaken for a crash-landing. Thomas thrust himself to his feet, clutching his MAG-47 in one hand, and started to bawl orders. The unit’s CO had been in the second shuttle, while the senior surviving officer was completely untried. Making a mental note to apologise later, Thomas chased the soldiers out of the shuttle and bellowed for them to secure the surrounding area. Training, thankfully, reasserted itself as they recovered from the landing.
He snapped out a report as he surveyed the surrounding area, noting the plume of smoke from where the shuttle had crashed. It would have to be secured as quickly as possible, he knew, but the spaceport was his first priority. The local soldiers looked just as surprised as his own people, which didn't bode well. Clearly, there hadn't been any warning at all ...
“Secure the gates,” he snapped. The first moments of an attack were always chaotic ... and the enemy, if they were facing a former Marine, would know to take advantage of the confusion. “Call your people; get me some air support!”
If they have any, he thought. HVMs and helicopters don’t go together.
The second shuttle landed, a little less violently than his own. Hatches sprung open and soldiers ran out, heading away from the shuttle at speed. Thomas blinked in surprise, then heard the telltale sound of incoming mortar fire. The enemy, damn them, hadn't just prepared a HVM ambush, they’d prepared mortars as well. It was a textbook ambush, he conceded, and it had already claimed the lives of seventy soldiers.
“Get under cover,” he snapped, as the shells started to crash down on the spaceport’s landing pads. “Hurry!”
Chapter Sixteen
The Grand Senate was quite happy to allow the social scientists to propose remedies for conflict across the Empire. After all, conflict was bad for business – and therefore tax collection. However, their remedies were, in most cases, largely useless at best and downright harmful at worst.
- Professor Leo Caesius. War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.
Mara Schuler had slaved – she wouldn’t say worked – as a cleaning lady for nearly two years, despite the pressures of her job. No one really questioned why she stayed; employment was scarce, after all, and she was a voter. She was just part of the background, the cleaning lady who swept the police barracks clean, washed the toilets and put up with their smutty jokes and innuendo without ever answering back. They didn't even know she was twenty-seven, not when she looked ol
d enough to be her own mother. Two years of hard work and exposure to cleaning chemicals had turned her red hair stringy, her face pale and her hands flaky, her skin drying and falling off like dandruff. Somehow, she’d endured two years of hell.
But the order had finally come!
It hadn't occurred to the police that she might have family who had suffered the indignities of being unemployed and thus disenfranchised. After all, Schuler was hardly an uncommon name. None of them had thought that she might be politically minded, not when she was just the cleaning lady. And none of them had really understood the potentials in the chemicals she used to carry out her duties. Mara did. The one time she'd been allowed to take a short holiday, she’d spent it in the countryside, learning how to turn ordinary chemicals into bombs.
The architect who’d designed the police station had done a good job, she’d been told; he’d designed the building to ensure that it would survive even a large bomb blast outside its walls. But he’d never anticipated a bomb going off inside the building, or that the materials he'd used to shield the policemen from outside threats would contain a blast inside their base, ensuring that it would do more damage.
No one noticed as she pushed her trolley of cleaning supplies into the basement. It was part of her job, after all, to clean the holding cells, once the prisoners were moved on to detention facilities a long way from the Zone. Sometimes, the prisoners were mistreated and she had to clean up blood and piss, sometimes they were treated fairly decently. She'd watched, unseen and unnoticed in the background, as some prisoners were tortured. It had helped to convince her, when the order finally came, that she had no choice.
She mixed the explosive together quickly and efficiently, then set the timer and placed it at the bottom of the liquid. One spark would be enough to detonate the bomb; they hadn't even bothered to search her when she'd come back from holiday. It wouldn't have revealed anything – she wasn't stupid enough to try to carry the timer into the station on her first day back on the job – but it still annoyed her. They really didn't take her seriously.
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