Freehold

by Michael Z. Williamson

"Who cares?" was the response, hazily overhead. "He isn't moving, so he isn't a threat. I'll call City Safety."

  "Thanks. Five years wearing this thing in case of an accidental discharge and some little fuck tries to murder me. What are the odds on that?"

  The hood vaguely realized he was bleeding to death and wouldn't survive to see an ambulance.

  There were hundreds of similar incidents across the system that week. They tapered off on a rapid curve, not because the perpetrators learned, but because they died. Human evolution had all but ended on Earth once man controlled his environment. But Darwinism still existed and those who couldn't adapt to massive changes in environment could still die.

  Some who didn't adapt still managed to survive. That was not necessarily a positive outcome, either.

  Chapter 24

  "When constabulary duty's to be done

  A policeman's lot is not a happy one."

  —William S. Gilbert, The Pirates of Penzance

  An annoying buzz woke Kendra. She was lodged on base again, being too busy to travel from what was sadly becoming less and less home. She grasped about, half blind, until she reached her comm. "Logistics Two, Pacelli," she answered.

  "Automatic message. All personnel report to Third MAR Operations immediately. This is not an exercise. Say again, All personnel report to Regimental Operations. This is not an exercise. Automatic message . . ."

  She was wide awake. Not an exercise. Her stomach flip-flopped as she dragged a uniform on, grabbed her field pack and ran. She sprinted outside and started walking for her car, but a carryall pulled up next to her. It was Lieutenant Smith from Engineering. "Climb on," he yelled and one of the mass of people in the bed reached an arm down to her. She heaved herself aboard and grabbed the side as he took off again. They were at the unit's compound in two segs.

  As soon as she jumped down, she punched in a belated acknowledgment and reported present. She lined up behind Sirkot, counted to make sure her team was all present. Three were not, but the comm reported them en route. She reported Second Team accounted for and looked up in time to grab a visor extension that was tossed at her. "Riot control, downtown," Naumann bellowed without need of amplification. His voice echoed through her comm as well, but he liked to shout orders. Old-fashioned, but good practice for comm failure, he claimed. She thought he just liked to shout. "Load in paired squads, in order."

  That would put her squad on the third craft. Sirkot turned and said, "Grab a case of binders and an extra case of ammo. Make sure we have water."

  "Yes, Warrant," she acknowledged. "Beker, report to me when Monahan and Lee get here. Jackson, come with me," she ordered in turn.

  They sprinted the ten meters to their building. She coded the door and authorized issue on her comm. Jackson grabbed the ammo, she the binders, which were single-use polymer handcuffs, and added a case of field dressings. Sirkot had relayed his advisory on water and a line of troops appeared at the spigots by the door. She locked up, butted in line for water and headed back to the middle. Her comm showed Fourth Squad present and she handed the gear up to Sirkot, explaining about the field dressings.

  "Good idea," he agreed.

  The howl of vertols sounded and they moved back to allow space for landing. The first one filled and lifted in seconds, then the second. They swarmed aboard the third one and grasped the cargo netting as the pilot jumped into the sky. Wind buffeted them through the open side hatch as they tore straight toward downtown. It was a very brief flight, and rather than drift through the buildings, the pilot hovered above an intersection as they fast-roped down to save time. It would also be of tactical and psychological advantage over whoever they were to face.

  Kendra was on the first drop, falling dizzyingly between the buildings to land in the middle of a crowd. Most of them had hastily drawn back as the ropes dropped, but some few tried to close with the squad. She reached out a hand to push people away and spoke in her best command voice, "Third Mobile Assault Regiment. Please stand clear." Most of the remaining residents backed up, but there were still three or four in the way. They were pushed back as the rest landed. The armory squad landed behind them and they secured the intersection against . . . shoppers.

  They waited, wondering where the alleged riot was, getting amused and awed stares from the locals. It was a bit embarrassing, standing on a city street in full battle gear, waiting for orders concerning a riot that appeared not to exist. The traffic was awfully light, though and she could hear people discussing something in agitation. The words "riot" and "fires" and "damn aardvarks" reached her. She scowled. "Aardvark" was derogatory slang for anyone from Earth.

  Her comm ordered, "Sirkot: Proceed three blocks south and hold at Bolivar and Meridian. Pacelli, form them up and wait for me." She tapped an acknowledgment and formed her fireteam into two ranks of three. The street was amazingly clear of traffic and they marched down the middle, the residents fleeing the now-apparent trouble and flowing around them. They could hear and see the fighting now and spread out to double arm's-width in two offset ranks. They reached their assigned intersection and waited.

  Military and assorted civilian vehicles rolled up behind them seconds later. Two GUVs honked for clearance and rolled through the ranks, then turned sideways to block the street. Kendra nodded in approval. Naumann was good at command. She'd seen his brutal efficiency on Mtali, but it was good to have reinforcement of the concept. She turned back to the trouble ahead and saw rocks and Molotov cocktails flying, and heard occasional gunfire. She swallowed. This was real combat. That might be why the Reserves weren't handling it. It would take time for them to report to their arsenals and prep their gear, whereas the 3rd Mob had craft standing by around the clock. She shook her head and came back to the present. Second-guessing the political situation was not her concern. Keeping herself and her troops alive was.

  Two other squads walked through their ranks and formed up ahead. This gave them eighty troops on this one street. Naumann was a firm believer in overwhelming force. Kendra felt confident. If the enemy had no doubt you'd win, they were less likely to resist much.

  Assault Commander Naumann conferred with the city officials. He hated urban engagements and hated having so many innocent people mixed in with the troublemakers. He was vaguely aware that he was fortunate to be in the Freehold, where his options were very broad. Other systems' leaders would greatly limit his ability to operate from fear of losing votes. There were no votes here.

  The Capital District Citizen's Council representative signed authority for the military to disperse the riot and Naumann looked at the info he had. It wasn't much, but little intelligence was better than none. His staff had links to the orbiting vertols now and had wired in the local news reports. A map was quickly building, showing where the trouble was. "MPs—prepare to disarm and disable fleeing rioters as they come through your area—break—local fire and safety assets, proceed down Capital and reinforce the MPs. Take your orders from Captain Cord—break—all units except MPs, advance in pairs, thirty meter separation, attempt to disperse and detain. Acknowledge."

  * * *

  Kendra stood in formation, scared as never before. The mob screamed and shouted and there came the sound of more smashing. The first squad moved forward to the "peaceful" protesters on the outside of the riot. Chanting what sounded like "No votes, no justice!" they had linked hands and were blocking the road.

  A team leader—from the Reserves; there were some on scene—approached one, a chanting, shining-eyed young woman who appeared to be enjoying the fervor of the event. He stepped forward, grabbed her arm and said, "Lady, please come with me."

  The woman pulled away, trying to break his grip.

  He gripped her arm harder, applying pressure to a nerve with his baton. "Lady, it will hurt more until you come with me."

  She grimaced, gasped and finally dropped, releasing her grip on the people to either side. She stood immediately, and commenced beating on his torso armor and helmet. He casually stunned her
, shouldered her, and carried her away. His teammates closed in and began to apprehend her neighbors.

  As one was led away, she struggled and then went limp, yelling at the soldier, "Fuck you, you capitalist pig! You'll have to drag me!"

  Shrugging, the soldier released his grip, grabbed her ankle and proceeded to drag her—facedown. She screamed and cursed, trying to hold herself off the ground with her hands. The screams stopped when he reached the steps of the Civic Center. Her head bumped and tumbled down the steps, leaving a trail of blood and several teeth.

  Most of the other protesters quickly decided their best approach was to go along peacefully. They were led away, each escorted by a soldier. Kendra watched in morbid fascination, her eyes constantly flicking back to the cavorting riot ahead. There was irregular gunfire from the street now and retaliatory fire from some of the shops.

  "Platoon!" Sirkot ordered. "Forward! March!"

  Kendra waited until he said, "Pacelli, take First Squad." Due to personnel shortages, he was both commander of the Logistics Platoon and First Squad Leader. Under these circumstances, it made sense for him to stay at platoon level and let her command the squad. It was still a burden on her mind. She relayed the order and stepped off with the others. "Arms at high port! Use minimum force, but whatever is necessary." She had a feeling that "minimum" would not be an accurate description of what was to follow.

  Kendra gulped. The GUVs rolled aside and turned to flank her squad. Kendra found herself near the middle of the street and the edge of the crowd bellied out toward her. She extended her weapon, held firmly and strapped to her arm. One of the rioters turned, locked eyes with her and lunged.

  "Kill the pigs!" he screamed, seizing her weapon and attempting to wrench it away.

  She reacted with trained reflexes, twisting it back and swinging the butt as she kicked his ankle. The gun connected with his face, splitting the cheek. He staggered and collapsed. All across the street, the scene was repeated. The squad advanced at the order, stepping over the still forms. Behind them, the following squad slapped restraints on the down figures and moved forward to support Kendra and her squadmates, leaving the prisoners for another unit to worry about.

  More rioters closed in. One raised a weapon. Kendra swung hers from trained reflex, the barrel aligned center of mass and she fired. The man seemed to explode as the high-energy slug tore through his body. As she felt adrenaline shock ripple through her, she heard loud fire from her left. She identified it as the machinegun aboard the GUV, firing a warning burst into the ground, and the crowd flowed across from left to right, anxious to avoid the heavy weapon. A rock caromed off her helmet, jarring her and making her head ring and she focused her attention forward again. Another man charged while swinging a pipe and she shot him. Her aim was low and the bullet tore his right hip apart in a splash of gore. He screamed, fell and screamed louder, a continuous agonized wail. As she stepped past him, he amazingly grabbed for her ankle and she kicked down. He howled as her boot slammed into his upper thigh. She hurried on, anxious to be done, away from all this. She gulped back bile.

  "YOU ARE COMMANDED TO DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND PLACE YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEADS. SURRENDER IN AN ORDERLY FASHION. ALL WHO CARRY WEAPONS WILL BE CONSIDERED TO HAVE INTENT TO USE."

  There were mixed sounds from the mob, of outrage, pain, fear and confusion. Several people surrendered, others began shooting. Flames licked at buildings, the smoke drifting through the tortured streets, reluctant to rise in the humid air. Another squad, vehicle mounted, escorted a fire-suppresser into the area. More rescue equipment came up behind. Overhead, she could hear vertols delivering firefighters and more soldiers.

  It took less than a div to split the riot into sections and crush most of the trouble. The rioters fled from the assault and ran through the gauntlet of military police who pinned them to the ground and shackled them with binders. A growing pile of stolen property and weapons showed their progress. That only left those sheltered in buildings or still looting and starting fires. Most building's alarms were sounding and smoke and chemical fire suppression agents drifted down and across the streets. They moved cautiously around parked or damaged vehicles, rooting out the occasional rioter or scared bystander.

  The 3rd Blazer Regiment from Heilbrun had mobilized with them and was landing on building roofs. From there, they proceeded to systematically flush occupants down to the lobbies, where building security and local employers could identify who was authorized to be there. Kendra's squad was broken into teams, guarding the entrances to the FreeBank building she'd seen erected two years and a lifetime ago. They restrained a handful of fleeing rioters, then were released to document their activities for the courts. Kendra had to go over her actions and those of the rest of the squad, detailing some parts of the video record for use and certifying its accuracy. It was broad daylight again when she finished and work crews were still clearing rubble. The local residents were getting to work, trying to proceed as normal. There were additional reports as damage was found, but that was a civil matter, not for the military to worry about.

  She growled in exasperation as her comm sounded. She flipped it open and read, "Naumann—Regular duty day for Mistday is canceled." That was a relief. She was too tired to track.

  It finally dawned on her that she had shot and killed people last night. It was an odd feeling. Certainly they'd been trying to kill her, but she burned with remorse anyway. Why did they have to push so hard? Couldn't they see the futility? She hated the necessity and hated herself for feeling guilty.

  She was silent the whole way back in a GUV. As they pulled into the compound, she checked off her people, brusquely reminded them to be in on time in the morning and to rest, and logged out. Then she left her gear except her rifle at the shop and walked the kilometer to the barracks. She collapsed fully dressed, sweaty, dusty and smoky, on the bed.

  It was only a couple of divs until she was paged and ordered to report to the court as a witness. She rose achingly, dressed in her greens and grabbed her sword. She snapped the polymer combat fittings off, fitted the wooden ones for dress wear and caught a ride from the base taxi. There were a lot of people being called as witnesses.

  She was still amazed at using her very expensive dress sword as a combat weapon. She'd protested loudly and Marta had replied almost in anguish, "You're going to take a soldier's weapon and never use it? That's insulting to the sword and to the maker."

  The logic was inescapable, given the almost religious significance attached to weapons here. Or, in some cases, the blades were religious items. It was expected and Cardiff had promised to perform any repairs necessary due to combat damage.

  Her reflection was interrupted as they arrived at the Council building. It was actually being used and several Citizens had set up court in various halls. She was shuffled around to be cross-examined on her existing statements and to add details. Her first testimony was a whipsaw between prosecution and defense. She reported in to Hernandez's court, identified herself, confirmed her testimony and video from her display and was attacked by the defense.

  "Corporal, would you describe your relationship with the Citizen, please?" the man asked. He clearly didn't like his clients, but was doing a viciously professional job of defending them.

  "He was my sponsor when I first immigrated, Counselor," she replied.

  "Yes, and what else?" the man pushed.

  "Uh . . . he's father of one of my housemates," she admitted.

  " 'Housemate,' " the lawyer was pale and thin by local standards. He turned as if pondering and then swiveled back. "What type of housemate is this?" he asked.

  "It's a sexual relationship. Do you have a point?" she snapped, exasperated.

  "Order," Hernandez advised.

  The defense said, "So, he advised and assisted you when you moved here, guided you through employment and is the father of your girlfriend, correct?" There were snickers from some of the Earth contingent, both defendants and witnesses. She blushed. Not at the questi
on, but at their childish and rude reaction.

  "Essentially correct, Counselor," she admitted.

  "And you claim to be unbiased?" he asked.

  "I don't remember saying that, but yes, I am. My video and report is correct and my answers have been truthful," she returned evenly.

  He "hmphed" and turned her over to the prosecutor for cross-examination.

  "Corporal Pacelli, where were you born?" the prosecutor asked.

  "San Diego, California, North America, Earth," she replied.

  "Where else have you lived?"

  "Atlanta and Minneapolis areas, both on Earth, and Jefferson here."

  "How did you wind up here?"

  She turned and said, "Citizen, I can't answer that question." Please, no.

  "Please summarize," he said.

  Taking a breath, she said, "I left Earth under duress. I cannot give details for my personal safety."

  "That's fine," the prosecutor replied. "Would it be correct to say that you have sympathies for Earth and it's residents?"

  "It would be," she agreed. "I still love my home planet."

  "Has that affected your testimony? Specifically, has it caused you to treat the defendants, most of whom are from Earth and Sol System, in a harsher manner than was proper?"

  "Absolutely not, Counselor." There were laughs from the locals now.

  Most of the defendants were convicted, although enough were acquitted due to conflicting evidence to convince her the system was fair. One such was a man who had been detained wearing shorts and a shirt, no shoes and nothing else. He claimed to have been dragged along by the mob when he went outside to investigate. He was reported to have thrown rocks and was positively identified by witnesses, but no video corroborated the accusations. He had no stolen property and no injuries commensurate with vandalism. He didn't sound particularly pleasant, but detention and trial could explain that. Hernandez ordered him released.

  Virtually none of the convicts had any assets. They were quickly sentenced to indentured labor. Kendra was a bit piqued that there were still jobs for them. Hers had ended due to economic problems. On the other hand, she recalled that hers had been paid in full.