Democracy 1: Democracy's Right (32 page)

He fell into the Marine command network at once, deploying his suit’s weapons and looking for targets.  A group of Blackshirts were already running towards them, trying to deploy, when they were scythed down by the Marines.  Moving as one, their training coming to the fore, the Marines attacked savagely, heading directly towards the Blackshirt base.  The Blackshirts, instead of using armoured suits, preferred to use armoured vehicles.  It was a mistake, Neil knew, one he intended to exploit.  The plasma cannons his Marines carried could punch through anything the Blackshirts had on hand.

The fighting grew more savage as they raced through the city, as if they were all of one mind.  The locals, at least, had the sense to stay out of the way, although fragments of chatter his suit picked up suggested that some of them were taking the opportunity to attack the Blackshirts and score a little payback for the suffering and torment they’d undergone.  Neil was right in the heart of it, fighting alongside his men and feeling a little bit of himself die when a Marine fell.  The Blackshirts had broken out their heavy plasma cannons, powerful enough to burn through a Marine armoured suit, firing almost at random.  The cannons didn’t survive long when the Marines saw them, hitting them with their own weapons and causing them to explode with colossal force, but it hardly mattered.  A handful of Marines were killed before they could react.  Neil saw a running Blackshirt, his body ablaze with white fire, and felt sick.  The Blackshirt had been too close to one of the plasma cannons when the containment field had exploded.  He snapped off a mercy shot and put the poor bastard out of his misery.

“Onwards,” he snapped.  The fighting had become kinetic, with the Marines responding to threats as they appeared, but they kept pushing towards the main base.  The Blackshirts had taken over the city’s governmental buildings and converted them into their headquarters.  The level of defences around them looked oddly paranoid, but then the locals had been very good at slipping explosive devices and even armed men through the gaps.  He wondered, absently, why the Blackshirts had bothered to place their headquarters there, yet it hardly mattered.  Perhaps they'd seen it as a way to mark their claim on the local real estate.

The fighting became a blurred series of impressions as they assaulted the main base.  They tore through barriers intended to keep out vehicles, running right into the Blackshirts and their final stand.  Neil realised that they were using their drug injectors, rendering themselves largely immune to pain and fear.  Marines didn’t use the drugs, largely because they affected the brain as well, turning the Blackshirts into soulless killing machines with little sense of right or wrong.  He saw a Blackshirt run right at them, firing madly, and cut him down.  Others resisted the temptation to seek self-immolation and held out until the Marines cut through them, like a knife through butter.  The final defences were destroyed and the Marines pushed onwards, into the building.  Neil checked the map he’d downloaded and installed in his HUD and smiled.  If he knew the General’s reputation, he would be in the main office, the one that had belonged to the planet’s President.

General Branford lifted a pistol as the Marines burst into the office, but he wasn't hopped up on battle drugs and Neil knocked it from his hand before he could do anything.  The General looked…as if he didn’t want to surrender, yet didn’t want to go on fighting anyway.  There was something cold and hard in his gaze, as if he thought he could get out of anything.  Neil looked at him and felt sick.  The ordinary Blackshirt was drugged, to the point where he could never be justly held accountable for his actions, but the General…the General had known all along what he was doing.  When Neil had faced such a choice, he had refused; the General…had carried out his orders.

Neil reached out with one armoured hand, ignoring the General’s protests, and crushed his head like a grape.  It felt as if he was cleansing the Empire, crushing all that was rotten and unwholesome within it…and it
was
personal.  Branford had carried out the orders Neil had refused to obey.

“It’s over,” he said, with a sigh.  Without their leader, the remaining Blackshirts would be unable to coordinate any resistance.  The locals could deal with them, at least until reinforcements arrived from Camelot.  By then, the rebels would have quit the system.  “We’ve won.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

“I wish I could say that this was rare,” Hester said, in her whispery voice.  She had insisted on accompanying the fleet, despite Colin’s objections.  “I wish I could say that Jackson’s Folly was the only world to suffer in such a manner.”

Colin nodded, hiding his own shame.  He hadn’t understood until it had almost been too late.  If Percival had given him the rewards and patronage he’d wanted, that he’d earned, he would never have allowed himself to see the festering corpse the Empire had become.  His petulance – there was no other word to describe it – had opened his eyes to the truth, and yet…even then, he had never allowed himself to see the full horror of the Empire.

Jackson’s Folly
had a population of six billion souls, scattered over the system; its daughter colonies, between them, had another ten billion.  Under the Empire’s iron heel, at least a billion had died, either through the bombardment, the fighting, hostage executions, starvation or plain outright sadism.  The Blackshirts had crushed resistance as harshly as they could, yet it had continued, flaring up whenever they thought that an area was pacified and the forces there could be moved elsewhere – at which point they discovered that the region was not pacified at all.  They had prescribed horrible punishments, for everything from owning a weapon to giving Blackshirts dirty glances, but still the insurgency had continued.  Perhaps they would have won in the end, with a commander willing to permit the most barbaric acts against the insurgents and those who sheltered them, yet most of the planet would be shattered.  The industries that Stacy Roosevelt had wanted so desperately would be destroyed in the crossfire.

It added a certain kind of piquancy to Colin’s dilemma.  If he destroyed the industries before he withdrew from the system, he would also destroy the only thing standing between Jackson’s Folly and a scorching.  Yet, if he left the industries in place, they would be used against him and the other rebels.  He had wrestled with the issue for several hours before deciding that he couldn’t countenance destroying the industries, not if the price was opening the way for a scorching.  Jackson’s Folly had suffered enough.

“Yes,” he said, finally.  “I understand.”

Hester gave him a sharp look, but said nothing…or perhaps she understood better than she cared to let on.  Her own homeworld had been treated in a comparable fashion, after she had founded and led a rebellion against the occupying troops; God alone knew what had happened to most of her friends and family.  She’d survived when so many others had died, spared by the whim of fate.  No wonder she was feeling guilt.  Looking down at Jackson’s Folly was like looking down into the past.

Colin looked up as the hatch opened, allowing a pale-faced man to stumble into the starship’s interior.  Speaker Brenner Java was the last surviving member of Jackson’s Folly’s Government, the only one to evade the Blackshirts as they swept for political leaders and men who might breed dissent.  Jackson’s Folly had hidden most of its leaders, but the Blackshirts were very good at extracting information from unwilling donors.  Java had only survived because he’d been paranoid; legally, he was the First Speaker, at least until new elections could be held.

“Welcome aboard,” Colin said.  Java stared at him, almost as if he didn’t quite believe that Colin was real.  “We need to chat.”

Java’s eyes fixed on Hester.  “You,” he said.  “Why are you even here?”

Colin concealed a smile as he led the way into the conference room.  He’d ordered some food for the fugitive Speaker and anyone he brought with him, although Java had insisted on coming alone.  Colin guessed that he’d designated others to succeed him if he died, just to ensure some degree of continuity.  The security scans had picked up some items of uncertain purpose on the man’s body, suggesting that he had also come prepared to kill himself if necessary.

“We came to win you some time to regroup,” Hester said, as they took their seats.  “The Blackshirts can be removed from your world, but they will be back…”

“God damn you,” Java burst out.  Colin reached for the weapon he wore on his belt before realising that Java was confining his outburst to shouting.  “Do you know what they will do to us when they come back?”

“They won’t scorch your world,” Hester said, calmly.  Colin nodded, but said nothing.  He understood Java’s point of view.  They couldn’t build a flicker drive powerful enough to move the entire planet away from the Empire.  “We decided to attempt to win you time to regroup.”

Java glared at her, but nodded reluctantly.  “Very well,” he said, sharply.  “What do you want?”

“The Empire intends to make use of your trained manpower,” Hester said.  “We want to take them out of reach, into the Beyond, along with their families.  I think that that will make it easier for us, in the long run, to defeat the Empire.”

Colin listened as Hester outlined the Popular Front and what they hoped to achieve.  He wasn't too surprised to learn that Java hadn’t heard of the Popular Front.  Jackson’s Folly wasn't part of the ICN and wouldn’t be until it was properly subdued, which would take years at this rate.  Java sounded interested, but he was also unwilling to commit himself or his world.  Colin couldn’t blame him.  The Empire would be furious when it learned about the rebellion and any world with known coordinates that could be blamed for the crisis would be scorched.  Even Jackson’s Folly’s immunity wouldn’t last forever. 

“I see,” Java said, finally.  “And you cannot uplift the entire population?”

“I’m afraid not,” Colin said.  Earth, with its orbital towers and rulers determined to exile as much of the population as possible, was still a teeming mass of humanity.  Even the entire Imperial Navy would have been unable to transport billions of humans from one star system to another.  Evacuating an entire planet was well beyond the capabilities of the Popular Front.  “We can take those who can help us liberate the Empire and, eventually, free your world.”

Java turned his gaze on Colin.  Despite himself, Colin almost flinched, realising that that man had seen terrible things.  Like Hester, he had been permanently scarred by his experiences, even if the scars were invisible.  Colin felt a flash of guilt.  Even during the exile Percival had forced on him, he had lived comfortably, if not well.

“I do not believe that that is possible,” Java said, finally.  “We fight on because there is nothing to live for, no hope of freedom or even life under the Empire.”

“Then help us,” Colin said, searching for the words that would touch the man.  “Help us help you.  We can work to liberate the entire Empire from their rule.”

“Perhaps you can,” Java said.  “We’ll trade.  You can take those who want to go and their families.  In exchange, we want the remaining Blackshirts and their weapons.”

“We brought along weapons to transfer to you,” Hester said, quietly.  “And as for the remaining Blackshirts…you can do what you like with them.  We need their transports for your people.”

Colin nodded, keeping his face under careful control.  The locals hadn’t waited for any permission to descend on the Blackshirts, who, trapped without orders from superior authority, had fought back savagely.  Blood had run through the streets on Jackson’s Folly, yet without support from high orbit, they had been doomed.  There were only a handful of survivors, for the bases that had been isolated from the civilian population had simply been picked off from orbit.  Colin’s Marines had taken their transports with the intention of using them to add additional lift to take people off the planet.

“And I wish your rebellion luck,” Java added.  “I do not feel that we should offer you any overt support.  The reports on the planet will say that you kidnapped the workers and their families.  I hope that you understand.”

“We do,” Hester said.  “And if you want a place with us…”

“Maybe after my planet is free,” Java said, angrily.  “I will not desert my post.”

Colin watched him leave, escorted back to the shuttle for transport back down to the surface.  “Poor bastard,” he said, finally.  “I wish we could do more for him.”

Hester smiled, creating a striking effect on her scarred face.  “There is nothing we can do until the Empire is defeated,” she said.  “His attitude is quite commendable.”

***

“Move along, calmly,” Neil ordered.  “Don’t push or run; there are enough spaces for everyone.”

The line of refugees didn’t look calm, although they were at least resisting the temptation to run.  The workers had known that their families were being held hostage for their good behaviour, yet they hadn’t known – or had chosen not to believe – just how badly their families were being treated.  Neil had watched, through his armour, as husbands were reunited with wives and children, many of who were scarred or worse.  Not all of the families had been happy to leave either.  Some were scared of the Empire; others were scared of the unknown.  The Blackshirts had told them, often enough, what the insurgents would do to them if they were captured.  The fact that the insurgents were more likely to welcome the freed hostages than kill them seemed to have escaped their notice.

Or perhaps it was deliberate
, Neil thought, trying to distract himself from the sight of a man and woman holding each other tightly, crying their eyes out.  They hadn’t chosen to be separated; they’d missed each other dreadfully when they’d been apart.  Their lives had been twisted and broken by the Empire…he looked away, towards a line of kids, and shuddered.  The bastards who had casually hurt the children would suffer before they died.  The Blackshirts didn’t understand the concept of restraint either.

Each of the Blackshirt transports carried nearly twenty thousand stasis tubes, each one capable of holding a grown adult or perhaps two children in suspension.  They would be transported to the Beyond and decanted at one of the Geek-run facilities, once living quarters had been prepared for them.  The other transports, the ones rounded up by the Freebooters League, had smaller compartments, but Neil was privately hopeful that they’d be able to lift out over two million workers and their families.  It helped that the Blackshirts had done the hard work of rounding up most of their families and transporting them to orbit, saving time.  Other families had declined the offer and scattered into the wilderness, hoping to remain undetected.  Perhaps they’d make it if the rebellion succeeded, but if not…Neil felt a moment of pity.  The Blackshirts would show no mercy if they caught up with the families.

He watched a pair of lovers walk into the compartment, share a final kiss and then climb into the tubes.  A flickering curtain of blue light appeared, holding them suspended like flies in amber.  They would be released – no time would have passed for them – when they reached their new home, where they would be welcomed and encouraged to work against the Empire.  Some of the children were scared, despite everything their parents could say, and medical staff moved in with sedatives.  They’d wake up after the transport had reached its destination.

“Quiet down,” he snapped towards a pair of men, who were pushing at others.  One of them had been badly scarred by a neural whip, but that didn’t make it acceptable, not when there were women and children ahead of them.  Neil knew that cold logic ordained that the trained workers had to go first, yet he’d chosen to ignore those imperatives and ensure that the children were suspended first.  He doubted that Admiral Walker would object.  “There is room enough for everyone.”

It took several hours to load up the transport, but Neil welcomed it, not least because it didn’t give him any time to brood.  By the time the last of the refugees was loaded onboard, the Marines were tired, with their tempers beginning to fray.  Neil sent some of them to their bunks, ordering them to get a good long rest before they went back on duty, yet he kept himself awake.  There was just too much to do.  He led the remaining Marines back onboard the shuttle and detached from the transport, leaving the prize crew to start the task of taking it into the Beyond.  Neil was watching as it vanished in a flash of light, flickering away towards the first waypoint.

He yawned, despite himself, as another transport started to move over towards the orbital station.  Some of the transports hadn’t come empty.  Various rebel groups had been building armies and had insisted on deploying them to Jackson’s Folly, intent on having a go at the Empire’s finest.  Neil had told them – as had Admiral Walker – that it was futile, but they had insisted.  They’d wanted their own crack at the Empire and, eventually, the rebel leadership had given in.

Neil frowned as the shuttle docked with the new transport, allowing him to take command and supervise the loading.  Could it be, he wondered, that Admiral Walker and his allies had decided that some of the rebel groups were expendable?  There were certainly hundreds of groups that were effectively worthless, intent on throwing themselves into the Empire’s gaping maw.  Had Admiral Walker decided to allow them to seek a glorious death, knowing that they would be killed?  It would be unusually cynical for Admiral Walker, but Neil could easily see Hester Hyman or Daria considering such an action necessary.