by B. V. Larson
Cracking his mechsuit open, Straker dismounted. “I need tools!”
People rushed to him—some his, some local civilians—but none had the equipment it took to cut into mechsuit armor, at least not without killing the man inside.
Straker mounted his Sledgehammer again and plugged into his comlink. “Colonel Jackson, can you hear me? Are you there?”
A crackle and a groan answered him. “Still breathing, son. Not for much longer, I think. Why didn’t ya let me blow it?”
“There’s no reason to die, sir! You’re a mechsuiter! Work with us, for humanity’s sake.”
Jackson’s voice grew fainter, and dreamy. “I overrode my medcomp. Gave myself enough painkiller to finish me off. Let me go, boy. Face your brave new world without me.” He breathed twice more, and then came a long, heavy sigh that seemed never to end, until it did.
“Jackson! Sir! Colonel!”
“He’s gone, Derek,” said Loco, stepping up beside him.
“I hate the Mutualists and their Hok,” said Straker, standing above his fallen ex-comrade. “I hate what they’re doing to good people.”
Loco nudged Straker with his suit’s elbow. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
Straker stuffed down his anger and nodded, but his mechsuit didn’t mimic that motion, so he spoke. “Right. Let’s do it. Alpha Company, all platoons, continue your missions. First Platoon, we head for the BCC.” He turned to march northward, fighting an unexpected weariness of the soul, leaving the fallen mechsuit for others to deal with.
Within minutes, his platoon reached the Base Control Center, climbing the slope up to the circular complex of buildings, gravity lessening all the way. When he stepped onto the landscaped grounds, he felt gravplating augmenting the spin of the base, and his sense of orientation shifted. Suddenly, his inner ear told him he stood at the bottom of a long cylinder set on its end, gazing upward.
“Secure the facility,” he told his infantry. “Battlesuiters, take positions atop the buildings and watch for pop-ups.”
Other than Colonel Jackson’s surprise appearance, the mission had been easy, a milk run to test out the new Sledgehammers. But it had left him feeling deeply unsatisfied. His whole life he’d spent battling a known, evil enemy. None of this felt like that. Even though they were hijacking the Mutuality’s prize, somehow he was still being forced to kill good people.
Straker told himself there would be opportunities ahead to strike directly at the Mutualists themselves. That’s what he wanted. But, like DeChang had said, the Unmutual rebellion had to build up forces before making bigger attacks.
“The facility is secure,” his platoon sergeant reported after a few minutes. “No further casualties, no problems. Got about twenty prisoners.”
“Liberated people, Sergeant,” Straker replied. “Hopefully they’ll all join us. Put them in vehicles and get them to the collection point.”
“On it.” The noncom got busy commandeering trams and loading up the locals. They’d be assembled near the lifters and given their first briefing on what was really happening.
“Control team, SITREP,” Straker called.
“Control team, Murdock here. We’re good, no damage to the facility except for a few laser holes. Can’t say the same about the fusion engines.”
“You know the deal, Murdock. Those had to be destroyed in order to be sure of taking the base.”
“I know, but this thing is a pig on impellers only. Do you know how much mass we’re talking about here?”
“I don’t care. Get it moving in the right direction. We have to get into flatspace before Hok forces—I mean, Mutuality forces—arrive.”
“We’re already moving, hotshot. You do your job, I’ll do mine.”
“No problem.” Straker found a position in a courtyard from which he could see over the roofs and methodically scan the entire interior of the base. His infantry and battlesuiters settled into covered positions, facing outward.
This end seemed completely pacified. From here, he could see the two lifters with their LADAs set up. The Laser Air-Defense Array weapons spun slowly on their mounts, mirrors ready to aim with machine-precision at anything flying or falling their direction.
Nearby, repair teams had set up super-high-strength synthetic material to cover the holes in the ground, staking it down with meter-long spikes. This would stop most of the atmo leakage, while still allowing egress if necessary.
Thousands of inhabitants gathered in a field between the lifters, their designated assembly area. Some had been trucked in, but many had simply been marched there, as no point inside the cylinder was more than two kilometers from any other.
Phase Two had been completed.
* * *
Engels, sitting bored in her lifter’s cockpit, tapped into the Carson’s sensor feed and watched what was happening outside. After all, with the interior secure, that’s what really mattered.
The two cargo modules had come to relative rest adjacent to the base, one at either end. Four one-man grabships from the hovering Carson maneuvered them into place. Exo-suited teams removed protective coverings and affixed connections, testing systems and struts to ensure function and controllability.
When they’d finished, two enormous add-on sidespace engines bookended the base.
She still found it hard to believe the things would work. Entry into sidespace was limited by the energy available and its ability to be processed through the machinery. More to the point, the power requirements grew as an exponential function of the mass of the thing to be moved.
Therefore, it got progressively harder and harder to shift bigger masses all at once. This was one reason why ships, whether for war or cargo, hit a practical limit at around super-dreadnought size.
Super-dreadnoughts pushed the upper limits of military mobility. To get bigger, they needed more power from larger sidespace engines, which meant more mass, which took away from additional weaponry. This vicious cycle kept anyone from simply building bigger and bigger, if they wanted to be able to go anywhere.
So, no fortified monster planetoids could be transited from star system to star system via sidespace, crushing all opposition. However, local fortresses with enormous weapons could be built on planets, moons and asteroids, favoring the defense until they could be bombarded into submission. That was one reason territory was so hard to take.
This two-kilometer-long asteroid, though hollow, easily massed double the practical limit.
When Engels had first asked how it could be done, Murdock had given her a bunch of math that was beyond her even though she was a pilot. Multidimensional transport wasn’t her specialty, as her dropship had always piggybacked on an assault carrier.
It had taken Zaxby the Ruxin to explain it to her in terms she could understand. They’d been sitting in an Unmutual food facility, sharing a meal, eating versions of the same thing: nutritious algae, textured and flavored, supposedly tailored to each species. Engels wondered if Zaxby’s tasted as bad as hers.
“See here, young human female,” he’d said, going into his typical lecture mode and ignoring his food. “It’s quite simple. First, the curvature of space-time must be extremely small.”
“I get that. Space has to be flat. Stay away from gravity sources.”
Zaxby sighed. “Gravity has no source. It is a natural effect of the presence of mass, which distorts space-time as a four-dimensional slope. But, I will attempt to stupidize my explanation to suit your simplistic metaphors.”
“Stupidize? You mean dumb down?”
“Yes, that was the idiom I was looking for. Thank you. Now—”
“Are all Ruxins so insulting?”
Zaxby brushed at the pocket-vest he wore over his water suit, adapted to carry small objects. “Oh, no. I am quite tactful for my species. I once considered a career as a diplomat.”
“Great Cosmos. No wonder Lazarus tortured you.”
“I fail to see the connection.”
“Did he try to get you t
o talk, or to shut up?”
“Now that you mention it, I believe he began with the former and proceeded to the latter. Eventually he placed me in solitary confinement.”
Engels waved her fork in Zaxby’s direction. “Get on with it. Stupidize your explanation for me.”
“Please retract your limb. You may inadvertently pluck out one of my eyes with that implement.”
“It might taste better than this algae. Plus, you could regenerate another. Now continue with your explanation of exactly how we can shove this huge base through sidespace.”
“Very well,” Zaxby said, scooting his seat backward and out of range of the fork. “It’s simply a matter of getting the math to work.”
“Keep it at my level. Layman’s terms.”
“I will struggle to do so. All right. First, the oversized mass must be moved far out into flat space-time, and its destination must be similar. That is the most important consideration.”
“Just like big ships have to enter and exit sidespace far from gravity wells.”
“Correct.”
Engels put her fork down. “How far out?”
“Oh, well beyond the most distant large planets in a star system. Perhaps four light-hours from the primary. That’s a highly approximate figure, though.”
“Good enough. You said first. What else?”
“Obviously, large engines must be fitted, and enormous power must be supplied.”
“Depending on the size of the thing.”
Zaxby waved tentacles. “It’s about mass, not size. All variables feed into the equation. However, the most important are location, mass, engine capacity and power available.”
“So first we move it to a suitable location. We then stick big sidespace engines on it. Maybe we can store up enough power to shove it through. We can’t control its mass, though.”
“Ah, but if we’re ruthless and desperate enough, perhaps we can.”
* * *
Engels watched as the next, most unconventional phase of the operation began. She shuddered at the extreme risk of it all, but that very unthinkability was what might allow it to succeed.
The Carson began methodically carving at the asteroid’s larger projections, using her lasers to carefully blast and cut off nonessential mass. Of course, the base itself had never done so; every bit of rock and ore would have eventually been processed for local use.
But for now, it would all have to go.
Detached chunks streamed outward as the asteroid rotated. Carson maneuvered and continued to cut.
In the control center, Murdock and his team would be monitoring stresses on the asteroid and communicating with the frigate, telling her captain where to carve. He was also slowing the asteroid’s rotation to a minimum. But the tiny planetoid had never been designed to take such abuse, so every blast and beam carried with it the chance of cracks developing, cracks that would widen and eventually cause the whole thing to fall apart. If that happened, all their work would be for nothing.
Every piece the Carson removed would bring the variables closer to lining up in their equation, bring the math that much closer to balancing, allowing the asteroid base to do what its Hundred Worlds builders thought impossible: to slide into sidespace and be unfolded again in another place, a place of the Unmutuals’ choosing, hidden and far from their enemies.
* * *
It took five sweating, nail-biting days of waiting for the possibility of a Mutuality squadron, or even a ship that could outmatch Carson, to arrive and wreck all they had done. The asteroid, newly christened Freiheit, sailed ponderously outward in a spiral course, the frigate adding momentum by docking and pushing with her own fusion engines and impellers once she had carved off as much as she dared.
But even if a message drone had been sent, Unmutual intelligence had assured the task force it would take at least six days for a response. By that time, they’d know whether their gambit paid off.
The raiders hadn’t been merely sitting around. The populace of the habitat needed the time to make mental adjustment, receiving briefings and classes. They sat glued to their screens and vidsets, trying to understand this unexpected new world into which they’d been unwillingly catapulted.
Most of the residents joined the rebellion once they understood what had been done. For some, the conversion was enthusiastic and genuine. For others, it was a way to hang onto stability, keeping their homes, their jobs, and their families in place and hoping the new boss was as generous as the old boss.
Some were too frightened, and they couldn’t handle the change. Faced with the disorientation and hardship of life under a new regime, they asked to leave. When told the Unmutuals didn’t have a way to send them across space into Hundred Worlds territory, they asked to be left for the Mutuality rather than join a fighting rebellion. Explaining to them how they would likely be treated under Mutuality rule didn’t dissuade them all. They seemed in denial even when told plain facts.
“Of course they can leave,” Major Ramirez said when the Unmutual officers gathered in conference to discuss the situation. “That was our plan all along. We should be thankful only about twenty percent are such weaklings. We don’t want their kind anyway.”
“How will we turn them over to the Mutuality?” Engels asked.
“This base has plenty of small craft. They’ll be supplied with enough food, water, and air to last for a month. Everyone who wants to stay behind can load up and leave before we fold into sidespace. They can even dock their ships together to make a connected community. They’ll survive…probably.”
“What if they don’t get picked up?”
Ramirez shrugged. “Not our problem. It’s their choice. They’ve been told the risks time and again. We’re not in the business of rescuing dead weight. Everyone needs to get with the program, or we cut them loose.”
Engels suppressed the urge to argue. She could see the Unmutual point of view—our point of view, she told herself—but it still felt wrong to let people volunteer to enslave themselves. Yet, some would choose secure oppression rather than risky freedom.
If it were simply a question of letting people self-destruct, she wouldn’t quibble, but they were being sent to the Mutuality, where they would assist an aggressive system that conquered all in its path.
Engels raised her hand again. “Couldn’t we keep them with us and educate them? Give them classes or something? Then they wouldn’t be working for our enemies.”
“We’re not a welfare organization, and we’re not Mutualists, with their forced re-education,” Ramirez snapped with a glare. “We stand on our own feet and we let people choose for themselves. We don’t have a bunch of social-shrinks to hold their hands and tweak their psyches. You want to volunteer to figure out how to re-educate four hundred people against their will while we’re running this rebellion? We have no Inquisitors, and we don’t want any.”
“Sorry, ma’am. It just doesn’t seem right.”
Some murmured in agreement. Others added their glares to Ramirez’s. Straker smiled at Engels and nodded in support of her, as did Loco, Heiser, and a few others.
Zaxby spoke up. “Perhaps we should eliminate them.”
“What?” Engels rounded on him.
“It could be done without unpleasantness. Drugs could be administered. They would never be in any pain. This would end any concerns about them helping our enemies or being a burden on us.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Engels said. “That’s inhuman!”
“I’m not human, as should be quite obvious.”
“Eat shit, squid!” and worse insults were hurled in the octopoid’s direction. Engels was glad this was a meeting for officers only. If the rank and file had been here, there might have been violence.
“You wouldn’t make that suggestion if it were your people,” said Loco.
Zaxby folded several limbs together. “Actually, I would. But then again, I doubt any of my people would choose to submit to enslavement instead of jo
ining a rebellion. Mine is a race of scholars and warriors, without such a high ratio of cowards. Of course, that’s not your fault. You can’t help it, being primates descended from tree-dwelling apes whose most effective survival trait was to retreat and fling feces.”
Many officers jumped to their feet, some yelling angrily at Zaxby, others defending him or trying to calm down the others.
“Shut up!” Ramirez’s voice came piercing through the uproar. She hefted her ever-present blaster. “Nobody’s discarding anybody without my say-so. Now stick to the plan, and we’ll all make it through this. Get back to work. Dismissed!”
As the meeting broke up, Engels grabbed Zaxby. “I thought you were my friend!”
“What has made you doubt that fact? Are some of the humans I suggested eliminating related to you in some way?”
“No, but…”
“Ah. Is it my duty to support you in all public arguments?”
“No, but…”
“Isn’t the Unmutual code one of inalienable individual rights and liberties, indicating I should speak my mind? I like that word, ‘in-alien-able,’ by the way, better than ‘inhuman,’” Zaxby said.
“Yes,” she said, “you have that right, but rights come with responsibility. Freedom doesn’t mean anarchy and chaos, stepping all over anyone else. Those people have rights to their lives too, even if they chose badly.”
“So, do the people we kill in battle have rights to their lives?”
“That’s different.”
“How so?” he asked.
Engels growled with frustration. “It just is! Murdering civilians in cold blood is different from killing enemies in battle.”
“Your morality is nonsensical. If they choose to join our enemies, they become our enemies. Eliminating them painlessly would be a kindness for them and for us.”
She snorted in exasperation. “Forget it.”
“I do not have that capacity. My memory is excellent.”
“I mean stop talking to me about it. I don’t like you right now.”
