He uncurled, slowly, and looked around. The street was littered with dead bodies; men, women and children, lying where they’d fallen. Tadd had gloried in watching the violent broadcasts on the entertainment channels, where gladiators died on the bloody sands to please their viewers, but this was something different. He looked down at a body and shuddered, fighting down the urge to vomit. The body was so badly mangled that it was impossible to tell if it was male or female, young or old. He looked away, then shuddered as he saw a young woman taking her final breath. The entire lower half of her body was missing.
Shit, he thought, numbly. It was impossible to avoid the sense that he was in hell. What happened?
Somehow, he managed to stumble forward. The sound of rioting in the distance was growing stronger, but there was another sound, someone pleading, much closer. He peered into the dark alleyway and winced as he saw a female trooper struggling desperately against two thugs ripping off her uniform. A third was already removing his trousers, preparing to rape her. Tadd found himself torn between an unholy desire to watch as one of the hated bitches was taught a lesson and the urge to flee. The gangsters wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if they knew he’d seen their faces...
He glanced up as a pair of helicopters flew overhead, then started to hurry away from the alley and down the street. It didn’t look as though there would be any safety for the next few hours, not after so many troopers had been killed. They’d want revenge, he knew; there was nothing more certain to upset the natural order than a trooper or two being killed. And there had been at least forty in the group that had been overwhelmed and battered to pieces by the mob.
Shit, he thought again. He’d seen enough movies to know how it would go down. The troopers would secure the area, then move in and arrest everyone. They’d all be sent to a colony world along the Rim, if they were lucky. Now what do I do?
* * *
“The mob is attacking the police station, sir,” Lieutenant Ruth Davis said. She peered down from the helicopter as it wheeled over London. Hundreds of thousands of people were swarming around the police station, trying to break through the defenses. It didn’t look as though they were having much luck, but it was only a matter of time. “I can’t see any surviving troopers on the ground.”
Sweat trickled down her back as she wheeled the craft around, hoping the noise of the rotor blades would scare off the crowd. She wasn’t trained for this, damn it; she was a pilot, not a riot control specialist. But when she’d dared object, her CO had bawled her out in front of everyone before ordering her into the helicopter. There was an emergency, he’d said, and all hands were required on deck. And he was right, except Ruth wasn’t remotely sure what to do. Her helicopter was armed...
“Check again,” the CO ordered. “They can’t all be dead?”
“I can see bodies,” Ruth said, flatly. She guided the helicopter to where the riot had started and peered down, again. Six or seven aircars were burning, surrounded by hundreds of bodies, both civilian and military. “But none of them appear to be moving.”
“Very well,” the CO said. “You are authorized to open fire on the crowd.”
Ruth felt her mouth fall open in shock. “Sir...?”
“You are authorized to open fire on the crowd,” the CO repeated. “That is a direct order, which you may have in writing if you wish.”
“Sir...” Ruth said again. “I...”
She swallowed, hard. She’d been a trooper long enough to know that no one, absolutely no one, requested or received orders in writing. Her superiors had no interest in creating a paper trail that might be used against them and anyone foolish enough to request written orders could kiss their careers goodbye. And yet... and yet, if her CO was actually offering written orders.
“They killed over a hundred troopers,” the CO snarled. “They deserve to die.”
“Acknowledged, sir,” Ruth said. She tapped a switch, deactivating the safety, as she brought the helicopter back to the police station. The crowd hurled sticks and stones at her, but they might as well have been hurling spit-balls for all the good they did. “Weapons online...”
She gritted her teeth. Her comrades were dead and she wanted to avenge them, yet... yet she knew she was about to commit mass murder. But what choice did she have? Her career would be in the shitter if she failed to follow orders, no matter what the orders were. There was no room for whiners, naggers and shirkers in Planetary Security. And to think she’d thought it was an easy billet when she’d signed up.
“Targets locked,” she said. She tapped a switch. “Firing now.”
Her machine guns opened fire, yammering loudly as they flailed the crowd with thousands of bullets. She saw hundreds of people knocked to the ground, a handful of bodies disintegrating under the impact, then swore as her threat receiver pinged an alert. She’d flown low, without taking precautions, because she’d known she wasn’t in any real danger...
She swore as she saw the missile — where the hell had that come from? — and yanked her helicopter up, too late. The missile slammed into the helicopter, sending the craft crashing towards the ground...
... And slamming down hard enough to explode in a colossal fireball.
* * *
“It’s gotten worse, sir,” Tully said. “General Thorne’s measures have not succeeded. We now have fighting in half a dozen cities.”
He paused. “And there’s some quite heavy weaponry involved,” he added. “We’ve lost four helicopters and a dozen drones to MANPADs.”
Marius sucked in his breath. “Order in reinforcements,” he said. There was no longer any time for half-measures. Admiral Garibaldi was less than a week from Sol, unless he failed to force his way into AlphaCent. “I want those cities crushed.”
“Yes, sir,” Tully said. He looked doubtful. “Do you wish to pass the orders to General Thorne in person?”
Marius nodded. “Concentrate on keeping the riots from spreading to the asteroids or the moon,” he said. By now, word would have reached the Gateway and jumped through to AlphaCent. The damned message packet that had started all the trouble might have bootstrapped itself into AlphaCent’s datanet. “Earth itself is immaterial.”
* * *
Rupert McGillivray would have been excited, if he hadn’t known the Emperor still held most of the cards. The media broadcasts had been taken off the air, but the original broadcast was still moving through the datanet, well ahead of any attempt to erase it once and for all. And shutting down the media had only made things worse — huge crowds had thronged onto the streets after their favorite programs had been cancelled — and rumors were spreading widely. A population that hadn’t really cared when an entire planet died had turned to rioting after their entertainment had been cut off...
... But the Emperor could still crush the rioters.
It would be easy, Rupert knew. There were millions of illicit weapons in the cities, but the Emperor controlled the high orbitals and the fleet. He could bombard the cities into submission, one at a time, or simply destroy the entire planet. Rupert had no doubt Marius Drake could rationalize it to himself, if he tried. Sol might have a huge industrial base, despite centuries of mismanagement, but Earth herself was nothing but trouble. Why not let the population die?
I have to get a message back to the rebels, he thought. He wasn’t an expert, but he had a fair idea just how long it would take for the rebels to reach Earth. And tell them we need them here as soon as possible.
Gritting his teeth, he went to work.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
In some ways, AlphaCent was more important to the Federation than Sol. Nine Asimov Points circled the star, allowing messages to be slipped up the chains faster than they could be dispatched from Earth. And the planet’s population was often much more industrious than Earth’s. Indeed, it was generally believed that losing AlphaCent would cost the Federation everything.
And, as it turned out, they were right.
—The Federation Navy in Retros
pect, 4199
AlphaCent/Earth, 4102
“The drones are returning, Admiral,” Lieutenant Thompson reported. She sounded rather perplexed. “The remaining fortresses are surrendering.”
Roman frowned. “They are?”
“They’re signaling surrender, Admiral,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “Four of them aren’t even damaged yet!”
“Odd,” Roman muttered.
It made no sense. There had been twelve fortresses covering the Maidstone Point, backed up by hundreds of automated weapons platforms and thousands of mines. He’d launched two salvos of assault pods through the point, but he’d assumed that he’d need to fire off at least five more before he could start sending smaller ships into the fray. Instead, the seven surviving fortresses were trying to surrender, even though they could still have forced him to expend dozens of ships destroying them.
“Send the first attack ships through the point, then have them ready to send marines to secure the fortresses,” he ordered, finally. Was it a trap? Maybe, but if they were faking a surrender to lure him in close, he’d have every legal right to slaughter every last one of them — and they knew it. “And ready a third flight of assault pods.”
He waited, feeling the seconds ticking away, until the next set of courier drones popped out of the Asimov Point. “They surrendered,” Lieutenant Thompson said, in disbelief. “The marines are on the fortresses, the minefield has been deactivated, and the crews are ready to be transferred to internment camps.”
“Take us through the point,” Roman ordered. He’d expected to have to fight to break into AlphaCent, let alone Earth itself. “What the hell is going on?”
There was no answer until the fleet secured the Asimov Point and started the long crawl towards the Gateway. “There’s a civil war going on,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “If some of the transmissions are to be believed, AlphaCent has risen against the Emperor. And there’s another war going on in the Sol System.”
“Shit,” Roman said. He studied the display for a long moment. It looked as though AlphaCent’s massive orbital defenses had turned on themselves. Fortresses were hurling missiles at other fortresses, rather than attacking starships. “Why?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson admitted. “I can ask the marines to interview the prisoners, if you like?”
“Do it,” Roman ordered. “And keep us well away from any local forces. I don’t want to get tangled up in their civil war.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
The picture grew clearer as more data flowed into the starship’s sensors, accompanied by hundreds of messages from various factions on the planet’s surface. There had been riots on Earth, sparked off by a message about the destruction of Tara Prime... and rumors had spread, rapidly, that AlphaCent would be scorched clean of life too. Desperate men had bonded together, planned mutinies and launched them, in isolation. Now, AlphaCent was torn apart by fighting, while there was little keeping Roman from making his way across the system to the Gateway. It was, definitely, something of a relief.
“I picked up a message tagged for me,” Professor Kratman said. “Rupert — Grand Senator McGillivray — is urging you to hurry.”
Roman swore, inwardly. “Is it a trap?”
“I don’t think so,” Kratman said. “It looks very much as though Earth, too, has risen against the Emperor.”
“They can’t hold out for long,” Elf said. “Not if the Emperor is willing to flatten the entire planet.”
“We still have to punch our way through the Gateway,” Roman said. He’d broadcast offers to accept surrender at the fortresses on the near side of the Gateway, but there had been no response. Maybe they just hadn’t had time to reply... or maybe they were still loyal to the Emperor. “We can’t speed up any further.”
“They may let us pass through without delay,” Kratman suggested.
Roman met his eyes. “Can you guarantee it?”
“No,” Kratman said. “You know I can’t.”
“Then Earth will have to take care of itself until we can force our way through the Gateway,” Roman said. He didn’t have the ties to Earth that Kratman and Elf shared — they’d both been born on Earth — but he understood their feelings. And yet, he didn’t want to risk any more of his ships than strictly necessary. “If they surrender, well and good; if not... we’ll have to fight.”
“Understood,” Kratman said.
Roman glanced at the display. “We’ll be within weapons range in seventeen hours, Professor,” he added. “The alpha crews will need to get some sleep before then.”
“So do you,” Elf said, firmly.
“Understood,” Roman said.
He was tempted, very tempted, to invite her to bed. The Gateway was a formidable obstacle, the most heavily-defended Asimov Point in the galaxy. There was no way Marius Drake would have put anything, but the most trustworthy of loyalists in command of the defenses, with strict orders to hold against all comers. They might be dead by the end of the day, no matter what happened to the battle...
... But she had work to do, as did he.
“I’ll see you on the far side,” he said, instead.
* * *
Ginny braced herself as she stepped into the Emperor’s cabin, feeling dirty after the mandatory groping session. The Blackshirts had only grown more paranoid after the uprisings on Earth, and she was grimly aware that large parts of the crew were on the verge of mutiny. Only the simple fact that they’d been stripped of all weapons, she suspected, had prevented a mutiny from already taking place. No one liked to be poked and prodded by leering men, even if it was in the name of security.
The Emperor was sitting on his sofa, watching the images from Earth. Entire cities were burning, his soldiers advancing through the rubble and massacring anyone who dared to put up a fight. The datanet was crumbling, with rogue reporters broadcasting brief snapshots of violence from the heart of the inferno, snapshots that the Emperor seemed to enjoy watching even as they made the violence worse. It was almost as if the population knew it was the end, that Earth would never rule the galaxy again.
“Ginny,” the Emperor said. He wore a bathrobe, rather than his uniform; his face was unshaven. A faint smell hung in the air, something she didn’t want to identify. “What do you have for me?”
“A report from AlphaCent,” Ginny said. She hated being the bearer of bad news. He hadn’t had her thrown out of the airlock yet, but he’d banned Tully from his presence after the Comptroller had urged him to take a more merciful approach to the rebels on Earth. “The rebels have entered the system.”
The Emperor looked up at her. “And they are on their way to the Gateway?”
“Yes, sir,” Ginny said. “The last report stated that they’d be challenging the defenses in less than twelve hours.”
“At last,” the Emperor said. He stood; Ginny looked away as the bathrobe yawned open. “A final chance to win.”
Ginny had her doubts. Nothing had been said overtly, but she’d grown practiced in reading between the lines and... well, it was clear that the defenders of the Maidstone Point had surrendered rather easily. With civil war on AlphaCent and communications between Earth and the rest of the Federation cut, it might be too late to save anything. And who knew if the defenders of the Gateway would feel the same way too?
The Emperor stepped into the bathroom, his voice echoing back to her. “Have the fleet moved to support the Gateway,” he said. “We’ll fight a conventional defense.”
“Aye, sir,” Ginny said, as she heard the shower coming to life. At least she hadn’t been ordered to join him. “A classic pattern, or a modified one?”
“The classics are always the best,” the Emperor said. “Besides, they can’t refuse battle, not this time.”
He was right, Ginny knew. The rebels had to punch through the Gateway if they wanted to win, particularly if they wanted to save something from Earth. Going the long way around might work, but it would also give the E
mperor time to organize a stronger defense.
No, they couldn’t afford to back off. The defenses would tear them to shreds, assuming the crews remained loyal, but giving the Emperor time would be a dangerous mistake. And if they didn’t...
“I’ll see you on the CIC before battle,” the Emperor told her. “Now, go organize the fleet movements.”
“Aye, sir,” Ginny said.
* * *
“There’s still no response to our hails,” Lieutenant Thompson reported. “I’m not even sure they’re hearing us.”
“They must be hearing us,” Roman said, curtly. There were seventeen fortresses defending the near side of the Asimov Point, enough firepower to give him pause. But he had no choice. He had to clear them from his path if they refused to surrender. “Send one final demand, then prepare to fire.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said. There was a long pause. “No response...”
The display flickered with red icons. “They’re opening fire, sir,” she said. “Long-range missiles, Mark-IIIs by my count.”
Roman nodded. It didn’t look as though the defenders had Mark-IVs, unless they were just trying to lure him into a false sense of overconfidence. But all of the Mark-IVs had been earmarked for Fifth Fleet and Home Fleet, not the defenses of a system everyone had known to be secure. And production rates had been terrifyingly low right up until the Battle of Nova Athena.
“Order point defense to engage the missiles as soon as they enter range,” he ordered. “And return fire.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman gritted his teeth as the enemy missiles moved into his engagement envelope and started to vanish, one by one. He’d have preferred to close the range, but he didn’t dare risk having one of the enemy missiles set off a chain reaction on a superdreadnaught’s external racks, blowing the ship to atoms. The good news, as far as he could tell, was that the enemy hadn’t had time to upgrade their sensors and ECM. Fifth Fleet’s ECM was superior and the Outsider ECM better still. Hundreds of missiles were suckered away from their targets even though they made it through the point defense network.
The Barbarian Bride (The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire Book 3) Page 36
