“Do it!” Burton pressed.
With a sigh, Curtis replied, “You were the traitor all along.”
“Traitor?” Burton said. “Not at all, sir. The tyrant-oppressors of the Republic are the traitors. I'm simply trying to put things right again. Now, Norton, if you would be so kind?”
Norton looked at Curtis, and at his nod, opened the door, a dozen guards bursting into the room, snatching the weapons from them. Zhu was at their head, and moved over to Burton, nodding in satisfaction.
“It worked, then.”
“Just as planned.” Gesturing at the party, he added, “Take them. All but Curtis. He and I have a few matters to discuss in private.”
“I don't have anything to say to you.”
“Ah, but I have something to say to you.” Glancing up at the monitor, a shuttle departing Sentinel Station on course for the base, he added, “And I think we'd better get on with it, don't you?”
As the guards took the others from the room, Curtis crossed his arms and replied, “Get it over with. You've got about ten minutes to live.”
“I think not,” he replied with a sigh. “There are two possibilities, Lieutenant. Either you and I will greet the Marines at the landing strip, telling a story of daring escape that leads them into a trap, or I will be forced to execute the plan on my own. In which case, I fear, the consequences for you will not be promising.”
“Go to Hell. Kill me, and I'll be waiting for you.”
With a thin smile, Burton replied, “What loyalty do you owe them?”
“I swear to defend the people of the Republic from enemies external and internal. An oath we both swore, though it seems only one of us truly meant it.”
“I meant it, alright. Why do you think all of this has happened. Look around, Lieutenant. Look at this room, at the primitive equipment. It's been fifty years since any real investment was made out here. This world was settled by the Hegemony, and the Republic is content to let it wither on the vine. Earth's happy enough to suck Mars and the interstellar colonies dry, to maintain a Fleet whose sole purpose is the oppression of its citizens, but...”
“Not true. The Hegemonic Remnant is a serious threat, and...”
“Come on, Lieutenant. A collection of obsolete warships and a few insurgents in scattered outposts on the Rim? Don't be naive. You know the truth of the matter as well as I. They're preserved as an enemy, something to use as a target and a justification. How long have you been in the Fleet?”
“Twelve years.”
“Then you must know how things have deteriorated.” Walking over to the window, looking out over the white ice of the Martian pole, he continued, “The Revolution was meant to bring back power to the people. To break the tyrants, end the reign of the megacorporations and the leading families. And yet, an Admiral's son is able to steal your ship from you. Fair?”
“No. I don't pretend that we have a perfect system, but it isn't my place to change it. There's a little something called the Revolutionary Constitution, and...”
“Really? You honestly believe that? It's a dead document, Lieutenant, dead in the cradle, and a new set of tyrants are beginning their work once again. Maybe we can stop them, right here.” Looking into the sky, Burton continued, “There are enough elements in the Fleet that I can count on them to remain neutral while the people solve the problem. If Mars rises, then that will give us the leverage to push the new tyrants out of power, and then...”
“Emperor Patrick the First rules Earth?” Curtis said. “I don't know whether to laugh at your ego or cry. You want power, Burton. Nothing more or less than that. And trying to seize it will do nothing other than get a lot of people killed.” Looking at the door, he continued, “It isn't too late to stop this. Help me bring in the Marines. You can tell any sort of story you want, and I'll back you up. We can...”
“Squeamish, Lieutenant?”
Stepping towards him, his eyes boring into him, Curtis said, “If you try this, then you will lose. Maybe you'll go down as a glorious martyr and maybe you won't, but thousands, maybe millions of people will pay the price for your dream. They don't get to make this choice. You do. If you truly care about them, about their welfare, then you'll abandon this now.”
“And condemn them to a life of slavery and oppression.”
“While there's life, there's hope. Hope for a better future. There are ways, and...”
“No,” he said with a sigh. “No.”
“Why the hell did you bring down the Marines, anyway?”
“We need their weapons, their uniforms, their identification codes. With a little luck, we'll be able to seize Port Lowell. A civilian uprising is already building, and this will be the spark that ignites it.”
“I'm going to stop you,” Curtis said. “One way or another, I'm going to stop you.”
Turning to him, Burton looked Curtis in the eyes, and said, “I want an honest answer to one question. Just one. Do you truly believe that this regime is in the best interests of the people? That it is the fair and free society that was promised? We have secret police, military garrisons, monitored communications and government-controlled journalism. Is this what the fathers of the Revolution wanted? Or has it been perverted into something else?”
Taking a deep breath, Curtis replied, “I am an officer in the Terrestrial People's Republic Fleet, sworn to serve the lawful constitution and to act in the best interests of its citizens. I will not participate in an action which will serve no purpose other than the death of millions. They wouldn't even need to bring in the troops.”
“Then you do agree with me,” Burton replied. “Even if you don't want to admit it. Would a government that cared about its citizens stoop so low as the massacre them? When the Hegemony nuked Cincinnati, we rose up in the billions to drive them out of power. Following great leaders who pledged that it would never happen again.” Shaking his head, he replied, “Never again. Maybe we'll get it right this time. Though you probably won't be here to see it.”
Burton stepped out of the room, pausing at the threshold, and said, “It's a damn shame, Lieutenant. You're almost there. Almost ready to make the jump. I just don't have the time to wait for you to build up your nerve.” The door slammed shut, leaving Curtis alone in the wrecked communications room. He looked up at the sensor display, the trajectory showing the incoming shuttle on course. Seven minutes to landing. And probably, the end of them all.
III
Curtis looked at his watch, counting seconds in his head. He looked over the console for the tenth time, knowing there was no way he could repair it in time to warn the approaching shuttle. Just one minute now until landing. The Marines were going to be drawn in. That much was certain. He had only a little time to work a miracle.
Walking over to the door, he tried the panel, cursing under his breath as he attempted to work the lock. Nothing. It was sealed, only the faint glow of the emergency light on the monitor panel.
That was it.
The safety systems. In any outpost, any colony, hell, any contained environment, the greatest danger that could be faced was fire. Automatic systems would engage at the slightest trace of anomalous heat. They were deep inside the station, no way to simply expose the affected area to vacuum, so that wasn't a danger. A fire-suppression system would snap into life, and more importantly, the door would open to allow anyone inside to escape.
He turned back to the panel, the mess of shattered components a pyromaniac's dream, and started to pull out wires and cables, searching for the emergency battery. Two years serving as a Communications Officer had given him an intricate knowledge of the equipment, and it took bare seconds for him to sabotage the system, rigging it to erupt in flame at the twitch of a wire.
Doubt held him back for a second. Burton had made it clear that he was a dead man, that he was going to be sacrificed for his glorious cause. If that truly was the case, then it
seemed reasonable to suspect that the safety systems might have been disabled, that nobody would care what he did, and that the overrides would simply permit him to roast alive in this compartment.
Millions of lives were at stake. He really didn't have a choice, and he knew it.
Placing the two wires together, he stepped back from the console an instant before a blinding flash, smoke billowing forth with flame lapping from the panel, a dull thud from a small explosion deep within the bowels of the system. Green foam showered from the ceiling, covering the floor in a slick, slippery surface, and finally, just as the fumes were beginning to choke him, the door stuttered open, and he raced out into the corridor.
A technician was heading the other way, but the shock at seen the green-coated Curtis caused him to hesitate for just long enough for a well-aimed punch to send him to the floor, his weapon tumbling away. Snatching it before it could fall, Curtis jumped over the prone figure and raced for the elevator, sirens and klaxons ringing all around him, alerting all on the base to his escape and to the destruction he had wrought.
Skidding through the doors as guards raced down the corridor towards him, he threw the emergency override to send him down to the lowest level, to the airlock the rescue force would be using. By now, the shuttle would be on the surface, troops hastily deploying, while Burton told them any story he wanted. He waited for the doors to open again, moving to stand beside them, knowing he would likely be under fire almost immediately upon his emergence into the corridor.
If anything, his expectations were exceeded. A laser bolt slammed into the wall, burning into the alloy, and a salvo of bullets smashed into the deck from a dozen guns, enough to instantly kill anyone careless enough to stand in their way. Curtis had only six bullets in his pistol, no way to resupply, and didn't even dare peek around the corner.
Then more fire, automatic bursts this time, nothing that any civilian could have acquired. His escape had managed one success. Someone had heard the gunfight, had decided to investigate, and a lone, curious trooper might yet save his life. He dared to peer around the battered door, taking a trio of shots at careless guards moving to resist the latest attack, and looked into the face of a surprised trooper, standing behind a collection of twitching corpses.
“The Vice-Governor said you were dead, sir,” he replied.
“Despite his best efforts, Corporal, he didn't quite manage it.” Holding up his pistol, he added, “Got any spare ammunition?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, tossing Curtis a clip. “The Lieutenant will be happy to see you. We've mopped up the rest of the attack, and the Vice-Governor...”
“Is leading you into a trap.” Curtis grimaced, then asked, “Which way?”
“Primary corridor, right to Base Ops.”
“Beautiful,” he replied. “Lead the way, Corporal...”
“Dietrich, sir.” The trooper paused, then said, “Sir, I can't...”
“Take my word over his, I know. Right now I'll be satisfied to get everyone out of this nightmare in one piece.”
The two of them jogged down the corridor, stepping over the mess on the floor, then raced towards the hatch at the end, Curtis still slipping and sliding from the foam that had smeared into his clothes. Skidding into the shaft, he narrowly avoided crashing into the wall, only a restraining hand from Dietrich holding him back as he pulled open the hatch.
“They took the easy way,” Dietrich said. “My map says this goes direct.”
“I hope so,” Curtis said, taking the lead. The trooper placed a hand on his shoulder, holding him back.
“My place, sir.”
“Like hell, Corporal. I don't send people into battle and wait behind in the bunker.”
Raising an eyebrow, Dietrich replied, “Not many officers like you left in the service.”
“One less if we don't get a move on.”
He stepped onto the ladder, taking the rungs two at a time, his feet slick on the cold metal as he dragged himself up. The strike force had been on the surface for less than five minutes. Not enough time to lead them into the ambush that would kill them. Hopefully.
Dietrich followed, his rifle slamming against the sides of the shaft with every step, a dull ringing that seemed almost determined to alert the enemy to their presence. The lights flickered, another sign of the neglected maintenance, and cables dangled in loops along the shaft, lures for careless feet to send their owner tumbling to his death, five floors down.
He could hear shouting from the level above them, something happening up in Operations. Perhaps he was in time, had a chance of stopping the massacre that would trigger a bloody reprisal. The curse of it all was that in another time, another place, he might have listened to Burton. He didn't have much faith in the Republic, certainly not in its theoretical mercy. Curtis had spent most of his service out on the frontier, but he'd still heard stories about what had happened back on Earth, or in the Inner Colonies of Sol. Tales of pogroms, of massacres, of political assassinations.
They'd pledged to keep the peace, no matter what the cost. Maybe that had been a mistake. Maybe sometimes the price of peace was just too damned high. And regardless of what he thought, he was about to attempt to kill a man who might make things different, because neither he nor the innocent population of Mars could afford to take the risk.
Finally, he reached the hatch, pushing it open with a desperate effort, and rolled through onto the corridor beyond. He could see a column of Marines walking into Operations, knew on instinct that he had only seconds to save the situation, and fired a trio of shots into the air, high over their heads, instantly drawing a forest of rifles aimed in his direction.
“Freeze,” a gruff voice said.
“I'm Lieutenant Curtis,” he replied. “You're walking into a trap. The rebels are waiting for you in Operations. Burton has betrayed you!”
Eyes looked at each other, and a distressingly young man with a pip on each shoulder stepped forward, saying, “Place this traitor under arrest, Sergeant.”
“No,” Dietrich replied. “He's telling the truth.”
“And the Corporal as well, Sergeant.”
“I don't know about this, sir,” a stubble-laden veteran replied. “Maybe...”
“Maybe you should learn to obey orders, Sergeant, or I will personally see that your next posting is to the Mercury Mines! Perhaps that would be a good place to ride out the last ten years of your career? Do as I order!”
“Sir…,”
“Do it!” the young officer said, leading the way into Operations. One of the rebels, waiting to spring their trap, must have been a little jumpy. His finger a heartbeat too quick on the trigger. A single crack echoed through the air, and the officer dropped to the ground, dead before he hit the floor, a bullet placed right between the eyes.
“Take cover!” the sergeant yelled, and his squad scattered to all sides, diving into any shelter they could find as a hail of bullets raced through the hatch. The trap had failed, if only by a second, but six dead bodies still lay on the cold floor, testament to the ferocity of the rebels. Dietrich tugged Curtis through an open door, into an empty anteroom, then hurled a pair of chairs into position. Flimsy bamboo, splinters were already raining from them, but they'd at least provide the chance for them to get their breath back. He looked around, trying to find something that might help them, only spotting an emergency airlock on the far wall, a decades-old spacesuit hanging limply from a hook next to it.
“Now what?” Curtis asked. “Any reinforcements down on the shuttle?”
“No,” Dietrich replied. “The Lieutenant ordered us all to secure the base. We were told that this was just going to be a simple prisoner escort, that everything had been resolved, and the Boy Wonder believed him.” Glancing out at the corpse in the corridor, he added, “Teach him to trust the word of a politician. Bastard caught us cold.” Looking back at Curtis, he continued, �
�Sorry.”
“For what?”
“Not completely trusting you. Might have saved a few lives.” As a bullet slammed into the chair, he pulled out a communicator, playing with the controls, and said, “Bravo Team to Sentinel Station. Come in.” A roar of static replied, and the Corporal scowled again.
“Nothing?”
“They must have got to the shuttle. Blew it up, for all I know. We've got no relay link.” Another rattle of gunfire resounded from the corridor, a machine gun bursting into life. “All I know is that they've got us pinned down and surrounded.”
“They've got the Sarge!” a plaintive voice yelled. “Medic!”
“We've got to change the rules of the game,” Curtis said. “He says he wants your weapons and uniforms. Based on the firepower he seems to have here, that's a load of crap.” Frowning, he continued, “Damn it, he wants an incident! This is exactly what he was hoping for!”
“What do you mean?”
Turning to Dietrich, he replied, “All of this is being filmed, right? Surveillance cameras everywhere. He'll be able to portray this as an unprovoked attack on this base by Republic Marines, and he'll get his popular uprising. Especially if he's already laid the groundwork. Damn it, why didn't I see this before?”
“We're losing, though.”
“Doesn't matter. Might even help. Prove that you can be defeated. He'll be able to tell whatever story he wants.” He paused, then said, “You think we could fight our way back to the shuttle?”
“Not through the corridors,” Dietrich replied. “They'll be trying to catch us in a pincer movement. We've got to fight our way into Operations. Then...”
The overhead speaker crackled into life, and Burton's voice began to drone, “Attention, everyone. I'm willing to give you a chance to surrender, and to admit your crimes against the citizens of Free Mars in public. If you do this, I will personally guarantee your safety. You were only acting on behalf of your superiors, and I know you had no choice other than to obey orders.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Tales from the Vault Page 16
