First Strike (13 page)

“The Association claimed your world as well,” the Great Lady said. “Why should we not seek settlement rights from them?”

Several arguments rose in Shan’s mind, but she pushed them down. The Great Lady would either laugh at them, or regard them as proof of human weakness. And maybe she’d be right.

“You have been attempting to prepare us for the kill,” Shan said, coldly. It had been clear ever since Terra Nova had been awarded to the Hegemony. They were gradually weakening and isolating Earth, before moving in to take the human race for slaves. It was a slow process, but what did the Funks have to fear from Earth? “We can no longer allow you to weaken us into insignificance.”

She produced a standard datachip from her pocket and dropped it on the table. “While we enter this course of action reluctantly, regrettably” – a piece of fluff for the Galactics who would hear the recording, later – “we see no other choice, but to push you back as hard as we can. Earth is formally declaring war on the Hegemony. We will drive you out of our territory, liberate Terra Nova and prove that while you may have the law on your side, we have the determination.”

For the first time, she saw the Great Lady surprised. Her jaw hung open, revealing teeth sharp enough to rend and tear at human flesh. Male Funks were supposed to be as strong as humans, perhaps stronger, but there was little data on how strong their females were, just speculation. The thought that the inferior would turn on the superior was outside their comprehension. Sun Tzu had known better, all those years ago. And yet she was closer in time to Master Sun than she was to the founders of the Association.

“You are insane,” the Great Lady managed, finally. “The entire combined tonnage of Earth’s puny fleet is nothing compared to a single task force of our navy. You will be obliterated. Your worlds will become ours without the necessity of convincing the Association to give us settlement rights. You…”

“Will not go down quietly,” Shan said. If nothing else, at least they would be taking action. “We will not let you take us down without a fight.”

She bowed again, walked backwards to the door, and smiled. Her escort hadn't heard the discussion and merely escorted her out of the building, rather than trying to do anything to impede her departure. Shan allowed herself another smile as she stepped out into the bright sunlight and left the Embassy behind her. She couldn't escape the feeling that she’d barely escaped with her life.

“Back home,” she said, shortly. Earth’s embassy was two kilometres away, on the outskirts of the floating city. Tradition demanded that everyone walk from place to place, except in life-threatening emergencies. “We have work to do.”

And they did, she reflected as they began the long walk. She had to get humanity’s side of the story out into the galactic news networks and begin using all of her contacts to start pressuring the other Galactics to support Earth. Galactic reporters would probably want to start setting out for the war zone, hoping to watch one fleet beating the other. The brushfire wars had been one thing, but an outright war launched by a minor power against a major power was something different. Once they got over their shock, the Hegemony would be doing the same. Convincing the other Galactics to support Earth might be just as important as actually winning battles in space and liberating Terra Nova.

Now, all they needed was some victories to convince the Galactics that humanity wasn't about to be crushed. And that wouldn't be easy.

Fires were still burning throughout Gagarin City and the Funk settlement beyond as the shuttle swooped down towards Heinlein Spaceport. Most of the Funks had surrendered, but a handful of males – crazed with battle lust – had carried on the fight, forcing the Marines to hunt them down and take them out one by one. The human population had savagely turned on their former masters as soon as they realised that liberation was at hand, slaughtering dozens of Funks before the Marines could take them into custody. They’d also assaulted members of the Funk client races, creating potential problems for the future. Humanity needed allies among the enemy’s slaves.

Heinlein Spaceport had expanded during the years the Funks had ruled Terra Nova, apparently one of the few installations to have seen any growth during their rule. They’d added prefabricated hangars, runways and a series of guard posts that prevented humans from entering or leaving the spaceport except under controlled conditions. It reminded Tobias of the bases the various militaries had established in what remained of the Middle East, the zones where the population could move in seconds from friendly compliance to fanatic hostility. No one could be permitted to enter without supervision, for fear of suicide bombers or terrorist gunmen. The precautions created additional enemies for the troops, something that was regrettable, but unavoidable. No doubt the Funks had had the same problem.

The shuttle touched down and the hatch opened, revealing a pair of Marines serving as an honour guard. Protocol demanded that the Admiral be escorted by a platoon, at least, but there was a shortage of Marines who could be spared for close protection duties. The city was on the verge of collapse and the Marines were all that were holding it together, replacing the police force the aliens had created. One lesson humanity had learned in its long history was that both liberation and occupation forces needed to impose order right from the start. Freedom, democracy and human rights could come later. And the colonists had been through hell for the past five years. Tobias couldn’t blame them for wanting a little payback.

He exchanged salutes with the Marines as another flight of shuttles roared overhead. The spaceport was the only place on the planet that could take an influx of troops from orbit quickly, even if it was alarmingly close to the main city. Brigadier Jones and his command staff had already established their headquarters in the spaceport, although if Tobias knew the Brigadier he was commanding operations from within his armored suit, far closer to the action than Tobias would have preferred. Marines were a law unto themselves; their commanding officers served on the front lines, taking insane risks to win and keep the respect of their men. Tobias allowed his escort to lead him towards the largest of the spaceport buildings, once the processing center for new immigrants to Terra Nova. His daughter and her husband would have gone through the center before being allocated their land, a place where they could start building a new life together. Now, the building had fallen into disrepair. The Funks hadn't wanted more human immigrants and they’d been reluctant even to allow visitors.

Colonel Lafarge looked up from where he'd been studying a map when Tobias entered. He inclined his head in greeting, but didn't salute. Saluting senior officers in a combat zone marked them out for enemy snipers. Some of the Funks were still trying to hurt the liberators before they were wiped out. The map was paper, rather than one of the electronic plotting displays Tobias was used to using, but the Marines didn't seem to have any problems with using it to represent the city. They’d marked the location of patrols on the map with pencils.

“Admiral,” Lafarge said. His accent was French, even though – like all Federation Marines – he spoke English perfectly, along with Galactic Three. “The city is largely under our control.”

“Good,” Tobias said, shortly. Lafarge had drawn the short straw, no doubt, and had to remain at the spaceport while his CO and the other colonels were on the front lines. It worked for the Marines, even though it wouldn't have worked for the Federation Navy. “And the Funks?”

“We’ve taken over several large buildings and turned them into makeshift prisons,” Lafarge informed him. “The Funks are being searched, processed and then guarded by a pair of companies. I’ve had to issue orders for no locals to be allowed to enter the camps after one of their more unwilling collaborators killed a prisoner.”

“Good thinking,” Tobias said, ruefully. He’d intended to be gentle in victory – it would have made for good publicity among the Galactics – but the locals really did have other ideas. “How secure is the city itself?”

“Most of it is fairly secure, but some parts have been consumed by riots before we could get troops in there to deal with them,” Lafarge said. “And there are still a handful of Funks out there, looking for trouble. We’ll bring it to them when they show themselves.”

“Riots,” Tobias said, quietly. The Funks had steadily created an underclass of humans, one that had fallen into criminal activity as the only way to stay alive. Of course they were rioting, now that the iron hand of Funk control had been removed. Terra Nova would take decades to recover from the trauma of alien control, assuming that humanity won the war. “And how much of the local government has survived?”

“The original Governor has not been found,” Lafarge said, “but a number of collaborators were killed when we stormed the garrison. And...”

He hesitated. “And we found proof that some of them had been indulged by the Funks as a reward for their collaboration,” he added. “They were permitted to rape, torture and murder as the whim struck them. Two of them were found with preteen children in their quarters...”

Tobias blanched. “Take them all into custody,” he ordered, flatly. He wanted to unleash the Marines without a trial, to punish the collaborators as they deserved, but they had to make it clear that they were punishing the guilty. And what of those who had had no choice, apart from collaboration? Could they really blame someone if the Funks had put a gun to his child’s head and demanded his services, or else? “Make sure that enough evidence is recorded to use against them when we hold trials.”

“Yes, sir,” Lafarge said.

“I need to go to the city,” Tobias said. It was selfish of him, but he wanted to see what the Funks had done with his own eyes. The reporters were already being shipped down from the assault carriers, ready to beam their reports back to Earth. They’d known that conditions on Terra Nova were bad, but they hadn't realised just how bad they’d become. “I’ll need to meet with the Brigadier personally.”

* * *

Conrad kept a wary eye out for Funks – or angry civilians – as the small platoon advanced down the street. He would have preferred a more subtle approach than a patrol that stood out for miles, but their orders had been clear. The Marines were to make a show of strength to convince the Funks that further resistance was futile, and warn the civilians that the colony was now under martial law. Some of them had been very ungrateful and started to riot as soon as the Funks were gone. Others were starting to kill collaborators, or to hunt down anyone who had helped the Funks, even against their will.

The sound of sobbing caught his attention as they turned the corner. He stepped forward, motioning for two Marines to follow him while the others remained behind, covering them. A young woman – hardly more than twenty years old – lay on the pavement, crying. Two other women stood over her, one hacking away at the crying girl’s hair while the other held her down. Their victim looked pitiful, awakening Conrad’s protective instincts. He lifted his rifle and pointed it directly at the hairdresser.

“Let her go, now,” he ordered. Civilians were strange; sometimes they obeyed orders and sometimes they wanted to debate them, as if they didn't feel the need for discipline. But then, he’d been a tearaway before the Royal Marines had knocked some sense into his head. The distance between him and the youths lashing out at their former tormentors was less than he would have preferred. “Now!”

He clicked the safety off and had the satisfaction of seeing the first woman stumble backwards. The hairdresser, made of stronger stuff, glared at him. Up close, he could see bruises on her face, inflicted by someone who had intended to hurt her without causing permanent damage. He’d seen them before, on women in places occupied by Western military forces. Their husbands liked to compensate for perceived insults to their masculinity by knocking their women around. They were brave enough to hit their wives, but not brave enough to confront the armed Marines.

“This…
 
bitch
 
used to sleep with Howell,” the hairdresser said. Conrad winced, inside. The Marine network had already informed him that Howell had been one of the worst collaborators, a failed - by his own mismanagement - farmer before the Funk arrival. He’d been unemployed up until the moment he’d realised that he could sell his services to the Funks. “She used to entertain the lizards. Why should we not punish her?”

Conrad doubted the last charge; interracial sex was rare, almost non-existent. There were no actual laws against it, but as most intelligent races didn't really feel attraction for other races the Association didn't need to bother. The Hegemony males wouldn't find human females attractive, if they even recognised the difference between male or female humans. It was more likely that the hairdresser was exaggerating. Conrad certainly hoped she was exaggerating.

“Because all collaborators will be tried and, if found guilty, will be punished,” Conrad said, firmly. He understood how they felt, but another thing learned from human history was that revenge was a road that had no ending. The losers would seek their own revenge as soon as they felt strong enough to take it. “She will be tried, along with the others. Let her go.”

“And then she will walk,” the hairdresser said, angrily. “Someone like her will flutter her eyelashes at the judge and jury and convince them that she was an unwitting dupe! A fancy lawyer will get her off on a technicality. She used to name people suspected of being part of the resistance and Howell’s police picked them up and beat them until they confessed. I…”

Conrad pointed his rifle right at her heart and her voice trailed off. Regulations concerning the care of prisoners, whatever their crimes, were clear. The Marines were to prevent anyone harming the prisoners, particularly the ones who might have useful information for intelligence teams. Conrad doubted that the crying girl would have anything in her mind that ONI could use, but regulations were clear. Besides, rough justice offended his sense of order.

“Release her now or I will shoot you,” he said, flatly. Behind him, the two Marines took off their own safety catches. “Step away from her.”

The hairdresser looked into his eyes, and then reluctantly let the girl go. “You don’t understand what we’ve been through,” she said, finally. “You should help us.”

“We did,” Conrad said. “Now please go home. We’ll take her to the camp.”

He shook his head as the two women walked away. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Gagarin City had once been a prosperous, if rough, city. Tobias had seen pictures sent home by Judy and he'd admired the neat little houses and the brick buildings that were steadily replacing the prefabricated structures produced on Earth. The Old West must have looked similar, back before civilization had crawled over North America, with small towns islands of human settlement in the wilds. Some of the colonists had been wealthy enough to afford to buy and operate a groundcar, but most of them had used bicycles or horses to get around the city – or outside. Terra Nova lacked any animals that could be domesticated to take the place of the horse.

Now, parts of the city were in ruins and the rest looked decayed. Many once-prosperous buildings were falling apart through lack of maintenance. The city’s water and electricity infrastructure had been taken by the Funks, who often cut the supplies just to remind the humans who was in charge. Several buildings housed homeless families who’d had nowhere else to go. Some colonists had managed to turn a profit in the years of occupation, but they were the exception. The majority were poorer now than they’d been before the Funks arrived.

He'd done his best to read through all the reports, but they didn't prepare him for the reality - and there were sights he never wanted to see. Terra Nova had suffered a food shortage in the second year of occupation, a combination of a bad harvest and the demands placed by the Funks on the food supplies. They’d attempted to solve the problem by rounding up hundreds of unemployed humans and shipping them out to work on the farms, only to discover that the results were nothing short of disastrous. The people they’d chosen as farmers had
 
never
 
been farmers and most of them had been too ignorant to know how to start. Vast stretches of farmland had been ruined before the Funks realised that they’d made a mistake and gave up.

There was worse. People had been forced to turn to crime to survive. The Funks didn't seem to care about what humans did to each other, which allowed criminal syndicates to survive – hell, some of them had clearly allied with the Funks. Hundreds of women had been forced into prostitution, serving the few humans able to afford their services. A loaf of bread, a slice of meat, an egg or two… that was all it took to buy a prostitute for the night.

He winced as the groundcar turned a corner and he saw the man hanging from the lamppost, very definitely dead. Someone had hacked away at his body just to make sure and blood was pooling under his swinging corpse. A collaborator, no doubt, or perhaps someone murdered to pay off an old grudge in the confusion. Even the Federation Marines couldn't be everywhere at once. Small patrols moved through the streets, constantly broadcasting warnings for people to remain in their homes. In the distance, he could hear brief crackles of gunfire as the Marines stumbled across lurking Funks. They still hadn't completely surrendered.