by B. V. Larson
The hologram showed the three functional monitors, now surrounded by the Liberation capital fleet. “They have surrendered, and are being escorted back,” the Ruxin said. “Unfortunately, their high outbound velocity means it will take over twelve hours to reverse and return.”
Engels nodded. “Comtech, pass to Captain Zholin to escort the monitors with his dreadnoughts, but detach his cruisers and haul ass back here to join Indomitable.”
“Message passed.”
Engels unbuckled and walked over to Benota on shaky legs. She grabbed the arm of his chair and did a couple of knee-bends to work out the kinks. “We still have a problem.”
Benota nodded. “With no railgun, we’ll have to use the particle beam—which means we’ll also be inside the fortresses’ range.”
“And our bow armor is shot to shit. The limited amount of damage control we can do won’t stand up to capital-grade pounding. Everybody’s out of missiles. When the monitors and dreadnoughts get here, we can rush the fortresses and overwhelm them, but by that time the ground force might be dead.”
Benota gazed steadily at her. “Another command decision, Commodore. Risk Indomitable herself—and all of us—or play it safe?”
“We’ll have to go in,” said Engels firmly. “If we give them time, the fortresses could smash our troops on the ground as they orbit. Right now they’re not in position, but one will cross above Unity City right after we come into particle beam range. We have to hit that fortress first, and hard.” She turned. “Helm, are we at flank acceleration toward the planet?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Impellers and thrusters too?”
“Yes, ma’am. Begging your pardon, but this ship is a whale. She’s no corvette.”
Engels bit her thumbnail. “Damn your monitor commander and his suicide attack,” she said to Benota.
“I know the rear admiral in charge of the monitors. He’s a fanatic, even more than his commissar. I’ll be happy to oversee both their court martials.”
“Let’s burn that bridge when we come to it,” she replied. “I know we’ll have to purge the military forces, but I’d like to keep it to a minimum.”
Benota waved diffidently. “Best to hang some high-profile examples early. The rest will fall into line. In a month or two, the crisis will pass and everyone will be united behind the new government.”
Engels mimicked exaggerated surprise. “Really? How do you know that?”
“Because all the parts of our New Earthan Republic will have a common enemy to rally around.”
“Really? What, the Opters? I thought they had only twenty or thirty systems.”
“No, not the Opters. The Huns. The Hundred Worlds.”
“But this is their big chance to make peace! We can live alongside each other in friendship now.”
Benota shook his head. “If the war between us had only lasted a few years, maybe. But the Mutuality and the Huns have been locked in a death-struggle for centuries. That means generations have grown up knowing nothing but hatred for the Hok.”
“But now they’ll know they weren’t fighting aliens—they were fighting humans all along!”
Benota chuckled. “You think the Hun leadership doesn’t know? You think they never captured and interrogated Mutuality naval personnel, or examined the DNA remnants of the Hok and found out they were once human?”
Engels scowled. “So they kept the common people and us military in the dark. Why? So we’d hate and kill without compunction?”
“Obviously.” Benota grimaced. “Sorry to burst your bubble.”
“Then we need to tell them. Send drones to all their systems to broadcast the truth.”
“Nobody will believe you. They’ll think it’s just more propaganda.” He shook his head. “No, the only thing that will end the war between us is if the Hun leadership has their back to the ropes—and even then, I don’t think it will matter.”
“Why not?”
Benota turned away. “I can’t really talk about that right now.”
Engels’ eyes narrowed. “What? Why not?”
“Because I need to tell Straker first.”
“I’m sick of people withholding things from me. You could have told him this, this secret whatever-it-is long ago. We’ve had days. Weeks.”
“I could have, but I needed to know if he’d win. Only now does it matter.”
“Does what matter?”
“Sorry. If Straker doesn’t make it, I’ll tell you, because you’ll be the new Liberator. Not before.”
Engels turned to stare at the hologram. “If he doesn’t make it…”
***
Straker examined the intersection at the bottom of the drop shaft. Three tunnels led away—left, right, and center. The left and right curved, suggesting a circle, with the center tunnel heading for the middle. He began to move forward.
“Wait,” said Dexon. “Let us scout.” Before Straker could reply, three Ruxins had set aside their weapons and squeezed out of their water suits, a startling process of mere seconds, as if shedding skins. They matched their dermal camouflage to the walls and flowed down the corridors, almost invisible.
Less than a minute later, they returned, reporting pairs of Hok in all three directions, plus an armored door in the center.
“We go up the center,” said Straker. “Battlesuits advance, warriors hold this intersection and watch our backs. Go.”
Redwolf waved Hernandez forward and stacked right behind him. The bigger man aimed his pulse rifle over the other’s shoulder, while the smaller man moved forward at a crouch, auto-grenade launcher aimed. The three other battlesuiters and Straker followed.
When the door came in sight, Hernandez fired three explosive rounds, recon-by-fire. In response, two Hok in battlesuits leaned out of cover, left and right, and opened up with their blasters. Hernandez went down, firing more grenades as he fell, while Redwolf punched a supersonic round through the head of first one, then the chest of the other.
Redwolf leapfrogged forward, and the rest of the battlesuiters did as well, passing the fallen Hernandez. At the end of the corridor they found no more enemies, only the vault-like door.
Straker paused to check Hernandez. He was alive, but in bad shape, his chest armor blasted with two center-mass hits. His suit would do its best to stabilize him, but he was out of action and unconscious.
“How do we get through this door, sir?” asked Redwolf. “We didn’t bring breaching charges.”
“You all have your auto-mapping on?”
“Yes, sir. Standard for all ops.”
“Follow me, then. Bring Hernandez.” Straker led them back out and up the drop shaft to where his mechsuit stood. It twitched its weapons as it identified them, and then opened at his coded comlink signal. He reached down to carefully detach Hernandez’ helmet from where they’d placed him on the floor. He then plugged the battlesuit helmet into the mechsuit’s interior data port and connected his brainlink, to download the auto-mapping data. He then tossed the helmet to Redwolf and his borrowed blaster to Dexon, and sealed up.
“Everybody back away, especially you Ruxins,” Straker told them. “Get some cover. It’s going to be hot.”
He matched the mapping data with his 3D HUD imagery and calculated the location of the vault door through the floor below. Then, he adjusted the settings of his force cannon.
In this mode, the magnetic tube that usually sent a sun-hot lance of plasma through armored vehicles was constricted to its narrowest setting, and the bimetallic load that provided plasma was stripped off slowly instead of detonated with an electrical charge. This created a cutting torch.
He used it to slice through the floor, outlining sections and shattering them with his armored feet. With his gauntlets he scooped away the rubble like a backhoe.
It was hardly what a mechsuit was designed for, but the concrete of the subflooring was no match for field-reinforced duralloy. It took him only minutes to burrow down to a position above and well beyond
the vault door.
“My sensors tell me there’s only about twenty centimeters of reinforced concrete left, with open space beneath,” Straker told his troops. “I’m going to give it one more diffuse blast, and then drop on it with both feet. If we’re lucky, I’ll have room enough to maneuver down there. If we’re really lucky, I won’t kill the whole Committee doing it. Redwolf, Dexon, you’ll have to exercise your best judgment, but if you can get past me through the opening, assault forward and secure the bunker.”
“No problem, sir,” said Redwolf.
“It shall be done,” said Dexon.
“Here goes nothing.”
Straker fired his force cannon one more time, noting his energy stores were getting low. Cutting mode was a power hog. Without delay, he stepped off the lip of the opening and dropped ten meters, straightening his legs for maximum impact rather than trying to cushion the blow.
He felt the jar, and then he burst through the ceiling of the chamber beneath. As soon as he was sure he was clear, he flexed his knees. When he hit the floor, he rolled sideways, searching for targets.
Four Hok lit his HUD in flashing red, and he drilled the first two with single rounds from his gatling. Laser and blaster fire stung his skin, the feedback manifesting as pain.
Friendlies dropped through behind him, and a brief firefight ensued. Straker concentrated on accuracy, for there were dozens of unarmed figures in the room, outlined in yellow on his HUD.
And then peace descended on the chamber. It had the aspect of a war room, with screens and consoles, and a hollow oval table in the center. Men and women sat or stood near it, and some had thrown themselves to the floor or crouched beneath furniture. A few civilians sprawled, hit by ricochets or blast effects, wounded or dead.
“Everyone hold in place and you won’t be harmed,” Straker roared though his external speakers. His HUD quickly matched the biometrics of seven of the civilians, three men and four women, identifying them as Central Committee members. An additional member lay dead, his chest blown open by a stray round. The Committee was composed of thirteen members, so he’d captured a majority of them.
His troops spread out and secured the room. They found two more Committee members cowering behind consoles. One was the Director, a man with the pedestrian name of Smith.
Opening his suit and dismounting, Straker strode forward to the quaking Director. As his mechsuit and the battlesuits were recording everything, he played deliberately to the future newsvid audiences and gathered the man’s tunic front in one fist. He lifted Smith off the floor and turned to give the pickups the best angle. “I’m Derek Straker, the Liberator,” he announced. “Your corrupt system is finished, and ‘the People’ will now have true freedom. Surrender or die!”
The man’s mouth worked, dribbling slightly before he squeaked, “I surrender! I surrender!”
“And the Central Committee of the Mutuality?”
“Them too! The Committee surrenders!”
Straker smiled and set the man on the ground. He’d just conquered an empire. “Good, because you have some final orders to give.”
Chapter 44
Unison System.
Engels jerked upright in her chair as the broadcast from the captured Committee reached Indomitable. She’d been about to order the battleship’s particle beam fired at the fortress getting ready to pass above the city. “Belay our shot!” she snapped. “Hold ready, though. If that fortress fires, we fire immediately.”
She held her breath to see what would happen. Would the remaining fortresses follow orders from their overthrown leaders? Or would they fight to the end in an orgy of pointless death and destruction? Or even nuke and bombard their own city, which was Engels’ nightmare scenario?
Slowly, too slowly it seemed to her, the fortress passed over the city, without shooting. She gasped with relief as she let out her breath. “Gott sei dank,” she muttered, something she’d heard the Sachsens say.
“Praise the State and the Committee?” Benota said, showing his teeth. “Religion persists, even when the gods are us. So, I think we can give ourselves the pat on the back for this one. Your Liberator gambled and won. Bravo.”
“Yes, he did,” Engels said. Slowly, she stood and stretched. “Helm, begin impeller deceleration for orbital insertion. Weapons, remain on standby and shoot anyone who gets out of line. Comms team, send a sitrep update to our ground force. Tell them we’ve won in space as well, and congratulations. Then start confirming the surrender of all Mutuality installations, starting with those fortresses. I want everyone acknowledging compliance, no exceptions. Anybody who refuses, pass to Weapons for a kick in the teeth, and let me know. Chief, stand down from combat stations and return to normal watch rotation.”
“Aye aye, Commodore.”
She turned to Benota. “War Minister, it looks like we have a few hours, and I’m starving. Care to join me in the flag mess?”
“I’d be delighted.”
***
Straker instructed the surviving Hok—both sides were now his, with the propagation of the surrender broadcast—to secure the Citadel and its associated bureaucratic centers: the Ministries of War, of Truth and Information, of Socialization, Transportation, Re-education, and so on. Several of these would be disbanded, of course, with any necessary functions rolled into others.
But DeChang and Benota had convinced him to move slowly. Governance was a far different animal from liberation. Straker had studied revolutions on Old Earth—the French, the Russian, the Neo-Caliphate—and he’d seen the horrifying results when order broke down and people turned on each other to settle old scores, or grab as much of the diminishing pie as possible.
The irony was, he couldn’t just willy-nilly turn everyone loose of their laws, even if the laws were bad ones. Liberation of a planet with an underlying culture and sense of tradition was one thing. Liberation of a thousand star systems, many of which had nothing in common except the oppressive Mutuality government, was decidedly another.
So, Straker, his officers and noncoms became stand-in administrators for the day it took for the shadow government aboard Indomitable to be landed in lifters. When DeChang and Benota strode into the cleaned-up Committee Chamber, they looked around in satisfaction at the functionaries sitting at desks and consoles, passing instructions via comlink or handtab or screen. The machinery of government creaked and groaned, but—largely because of inertia, fear and hope—it ground onward.
Straker shook the men’s hands, and turned everything over to them. He told them to work with Commander Paloco for any military issues on the ground, Commodore Gray in space, and only contact Straker for high-level reasons superseding those, at least for a while.
“I appreciate your confidence in us, Liberator,” said Director DeChang, “But I don’t understand. You should be meeting with us every day to guide policy, put your stamp on things. This is the payoff for all you’ve done: governing! Bettering people’s lives. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
DeChang was no doubt genuinely enthusiastic at the prospect of spending his days surrounded by endless bureaucracy, but to Straker that seemed like a perfect description of Hell. “Bettering people’s lives? Yes. Governing? Not really, Emilio. That’s what I have you and the Senate for. I’ll have a staff to monitor your compliance with the program you set out, and I’ll be keeping up with the reports, but I don’t intend to rule personally. Of the people, by the people, for the people, remember? Not the State.”
“What do you intend to do, then, if I may ask?”
“Besides my duties as the people’s champion and guarantor of their freedoms?” Straker grinned. “I’ll get married, if Commodore Engels will have me. We’ll spend our honeymoon on Old Earth. I’ve always wanted to visit.”
DeChang’s face showed fleeting annoyance, quickly masked, as if Straker’s plans were indulgent—which perhaps they were, if still well deserved. “And then?”
“You shouldn’t have to ask.” Straker turned to Benota, who nod
ded expectantly. “Wen, I need your full energy getting our military forces back up to snuff. When we return, I’ll expect a full set of plans on how to deal with the Hundred Worlds, the Opters, and any other military threats out there.” He shook Benota’s hand once more, and then DeChang’s, before he took his leave, waving off further questions.
Loco walked out with him. “They don’t understand what you’re doing,” he said.
“Do you?”
“I think so... You’re giving them enough rope to hang themselves. Stepping out of the picture to see if they get frisky.”
“And will they?”
Loco shook his head. “I doubt it. I’ll be here with the Hok, the Ruxin warriors and Breakers, which I ain’t gonna integrate into the New Earthan Republic forces yet, if that’s all right with you. They’ll be three parts of one special regiment.”
“A Praetorian Guard,” Straker said thoughtfully.
“Huh?”
“Like the Romans. The Emperor’s—in this case, the Liberator’s—personal troops, to guarantee his rule.”
“Sounds right. Only I thought ‘Liberator’s Regiment’ was a better official name. They’ll still be the Breakers to me, though.”
Straker gave him a thumbs-up. “Great idea. Keep Redwolf as your bodyguard, and Heiser as your top soldier. I’ll be fine aboard ship.”
“Aboard which ship?”
“Indomitable. There’s no way I’m letting anyone else control her. She’d be a temptation to try to stage another coup. This way, just like the Liberator’s Own, she’ll guarantee stability. She’ll be the hammer hanging above their heads.”
“Sounds like you got it all covered.” They exited the Citadel and reached the open park that served as a shuttle port, where Straker’s mechsuit stood next to a fast lifter.
“There is one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Tell Dexon to take as many of his best warriors as he needs aboard Revenge, and go to the Nawlins system to arrest Admiral Dwayne LaPierre for his war crime. Bring him back here for trial. Using underspace, they should be able to seize the orbital base with him aboard and liberate that system. Make sure Dexon gets whatever resources he needs.”
