Siege of Titan Read online

  “This place is a goddamned warzone!”

  “No shit!” Spartan swore as he looked for a way out.

  At the other side of the room and right between the violent crossfire was a small door to a refreshment area. From memory Spartan was pretty sure it led to a shuttle bay where they could probably catch a ride. From the main entrance more black-armoured officers arrived. These guys meant business and wore even heavier armour than the first batch. Every square inch of their skin was covered with a special mixture of metal and plastic that could stop all but the mightiest of weapons.

  The defenders in the club didn’t seem too bothered and they responded with even more fire. Sparks flew from the police armour as bullets, shells and armour-penetrating darts hammered into the group. The three at the front engaged their shields as a batch of extending plates popped up from their armour giving them bulletproof riot shields. Their arms and hands remained free.

  Several of the gamblers threw themselves at the police as they desperately tried to smash their way through the line of armour to the entrance and safety of the street. It was useless, only an armoured vehicle could smash its way through.

  Spartan watched this battle with a mixture of concern and fascination. He could see the police were going to win the engagement and he didn’t want to be around when that happened. He needed to get out and fast. As if to encourage him to do something the chair next to him and Keira blew apart, the blast from one of the police weapons smashing it to dust. Keira ducked back, trying to keep down and away from the fire.

  “Come on, we need to make it across!” Spartan made to move.

  Keira refused and kept her head down and out of the way of the firestorm. Spartan took a step forward before a flash shell landed near his feet. The blast was massive and threw him hard into the gambling terminals. As he tried to regain his composure he spotted a number of the police moving in on him. A flash came from one and he waited for what seemed a lifetime to feel the pain of the impact, but nothing hit him. Instead, a scream told him something terrible had happened.

  Spinning around he spotted Keira falling backwards with a gaping wound in her chest. He staggered forward to reach her but one of the ATU officers grabbed his arm and forced him to his knees.

  “Give it up asshole! You’re coming with us!”

  The man was one of the newly arrived heavily armoured officers. Either his attitude or his armour gave him the kind of arrogance that only those immune to prosecution seemed to have. Spartan had never been a big fan of the police and this man had really pissed him off.

  “Fuck you!” The wounded gladiator grabbed the man around the lower body and lifted him a good metre from the ground. With superhuman effort he smashed the man down onto the gambling terminals in a great flash of sparks and glass.

  More of the officers ran in as the gun battle continued all around. Lifting a chair he swiped the first in the face and a second in the torso. He was like a raging madman and even several shock mauls wouldn’t stop him. With the first few down he rushed towards three officers that had just arrived and were drawing their firearms. With instinct, brought on by over eighteen months of gladiatorial combat, he rolled low and snatched a firearm from the first man. He was taken completely by surprise as he was disarmed and spent his last few seconds looking down where his rifle should be. As the other two turned Spartan blasted him in the chest.

  The police firearms were a new design and created specifically to end violent situations quickly but without killing the subject. Normally they would use weapons like shotguns but there were too many fatalities. Even safe rounds such as the beanbag shells were just not enough to end a situation peacefully without harm to the victim or the officer.

  Incredibly thought Spartan, the weapon did its job. Each trigger pull released a bright yellow flash propelling the new rubber based heavy slug round. It might have been classified as non-lethal, but the shock from its discharge must have broken a good number of bones as the man was propelled through the air. He fired several more rounds, as the man continued on his trajectory before he smashed into a pile of chairs and tables. Without breaking sweat, Spartan lifted the carbine-sized weapon high slamming it into the jaw of the second man who staggered back several metres before reaching the edge of the fighting pit.

  Spartan knew immediately that he was screwed. It was as if the entire world was slowing down as the officer almost wanted to fall over the edge. He tried to grab him but another officer slammed a weapon into his stomach forcing him to the floor. The last thing he saw as a maul struck his head was the falling police officer tumbling over the edge into the fighting pit.

  * * *

  Spartan couldn’t see. He tried to move his aching arms but they appeared to be lashed or shackled. He tried to move but his restraints stopped all but basic movement. There was a flash of light and his eyes burned with the pain of a newly born day. As he adjusted to the brightness he realised he was in a large room. All around him were scores of people in uniforms though no one was familiar to him. At the front was an overweight man in an official uniform who was flanked by several armoured guards. On one side was the bright purple banner of the Confederacy, the loose organisation that held the scattered fragments of humanity together throughout Alpha Centauri, Proxima Centauri and the old Solar System known as Sol.

  The man, presumably the Judge, gave a signal and the room went quiet.

  “I have heard the testimony and I am satisfied that the evidence put forward by the ATU unit present gives a fair legal summary of the situation. Does the defence team have any additional evidence that is contrary to that provided by the ATU?”

  Spartan, still dazed looked about the room for any friendly face. He noticed one man in a dark suit standing to draw the Judge’s attention.

  “Judge, if I may?” he asked formally.

  The Judge gestured towards him and then sat down.

  “The evidence brought against my client has not been proven. Yes, he was present at the site and, yes he was involved in the violent entertainment. Our main argument is that the ATU officers opened fire on the spectators and on those in the arena. It was a botched operation and by all accounts resulted in over twenty deaths, including six well-trained and equipped officers. It should never have happened and if the operation had been properly planned and executed, we wouldn’t be here today. My client was simply caught up in a vicious exchange where he was forced to fight to try and escape with his life. Our plea from the start has been one of self defence and that is a right every citizen has in law.”

  “Nonsense! When a man breaks the law he forfeits his rights to due process, you will be well aware of the Citizens Charter! The ATU have provided video evidence of his culpability in the attack of many police officers and the manslaughter of Officer Riley, who was forced to his death in a terrible fall. This evidence was taken from the video feeds of every officer present. We have seen what was taking place. We are not talking about the usual televised combat sessions, this was unlicensed, murderous combat with weapons and equipment designed to maim or kill. Every officer who entered that building took a great risk for the public good and many paid the price,” the Judge responded.

  Spartan hadn’t seen the footage, at least he didn’t remember seeing it. But one thing was very certain. He knew a set up when he saw it.

  “No way I’m getting out of this one,” he muttered.

  “Not only did the accused physically attack multiple officers present at the scene, he also managed to steal police equipment and turned it on them. We have the medical reports on the internal injuries and damage caused by his direct actions.”

  Some seated near Spartan looked at him, thinking they heard him speak but he just gave them a long hard stare. It was a hollow victory but it was something. The Judge continued.

  “Based on the evidence presented, even after taking into account your argument of self defence, I have come to my decision.”

  It was a grim indictment of the way the legal system ha
d evolved, in that Spartan’s attorney just sat down and let the Judge continue. Spartan turned his head in disgust as he watched his rights torn up in front of his face.

  “I have taken into account the difficult situation that the accused is in financially, but this desperation does not justify turning to illegal and dangerous combat. I am also convinced of the fact that the police raid was not initiated because of any specific actions of his. The raid was due to an undercover operation, that I am glad to report has resulted in over thirty arrests and the closure of six separate establishments, all of which were running the same form of gladiatorial entertainment. I believe him to be out of control and until he is properly re-educated, a man like this has no place in public and must be relocated to an area better suited to his character.”

  A murmur spread through the audience and cameras seemed to almost lean towards the Judge as they waited for the verdict.

  “Based upon the crimes committed, the injuries caused and the death of a good police officer, I give Spartan two options and it is for him to choose one of them. Either he will face ten years for manslaughter and a following sentence of ten years for unlicensed gladiatorial combat at an unlicensed arena…..”

  Before he could continue, a volley of shouting came from the public gallery, as well as from the gathered press.

  “Silence!” the Judge shouted as he brought down a heavy hammer that issued sparks across his desk. “I also offer Spartan the chance to redeem himself and his character by a term of service with the Interstellar Military. This term of service is to be no less than ten years and will involve a potential posting to countering the insurgency throughout Proxima Centauri.”

  He turned to Spartan and stared at him for several seconds.

  “The choice is yours, Mr Spartan.”

  As the Judge sat down the two guards next to Spartan lifted him up so that he faced him. The attorney in the suit approached and stood to his right.

  “I’m sorry, Spartan. We managed to get your murder sentence revoked but there is no way out of this manslaughter charge. We can go for the prison option and then go to appeal, but with the current waiting list for justice you could be in for two or three years before we could even consider going ahead. Alternatively the military option has risk, but based on your track record it could make you,” he said apologetically.

  Spartan looked around, he couldn’t believe the situation he was in. Just a few weeks ago he was fighting for his life in a bloody arena just to pay for his mistakes years before. Indentured service meant he had to fight at twelve events and he only had two left before he was free. Now he was being offered a choice between prison or the military. He looked at the people around him and then at the Judge.

  The room went quiet as everybody listened intently to his decision.

  “You don’t give me much of a choice,” stopping as he gave the matter one last thought.

  “You must decide or I will be forced to make the decision for you,” said the Judge firmly.

  Spartan looked around the room one last time. He would rather die than be forced to prison. Some might think his months working in the pit-fighting world were akin to prison, but he could leave anytime he wanted. He only stayed to pay his debt. It wasn’t easy to stop an armoured-up, heavily equipped gladiator from leaving if he truly wanted to. He needed the work as much as the organisers needed him to fight. Twenty years would take away the best years of his life. By the time he came out what would he be able to do? At least with a full tour of duty under his belt he would have access to free education, state welfare, support and who knows, maybe even a career. He took a deep breath.

  “I choose the ten years military service.”

  “Good, I am in no doubt that your skills will prove useful in fighting the insurgency!” he sneered.

  “It is the ruling of this court that Spartan will forgo his sentence and instead offer himself for voluntary service in the Confederate Marine Corps for a term of service of no less than ten years. He will join one of the military recruitment transports where he will be transformed into a man the Confederacy can be proud of. The journey throughout the System is long but it needs to be. By the time you have made several passes through the sector you will be fully trained and capable of any military posting. It is an efficient system where you train as you travel. The Marine Corps is always looking for strong and resilient young men and woman to serve, and though this man has shown poor judgement he has proven an ability to stand firm and to fight when the situation demands it. A full term in the service of the Confederation will strengthen his character and mould him into a citizen befitting this fine society.”

  Spartan thought the Judge was now just enjoying himself with his little speech and was tempted to add his own thoughts to the proceedings, but the man continued with even more.

  “It is of course assumed that to fully compensate the state for the damage he has caused he will give up a good and vigorous decade of training and service. If he fails to complete the full term for any reason, other than honourable discharge due to battlefield injury or similar, he will forfeit this verdict and be transferred immediately to a maximum-security prison to carry out the remainder of his sentence. Spartan, you will undergo two weeks additional medical assessment and care prior to your shipping to your boot camp. We need to ensure your injuries are fully healed before sending you on your way.”

  Spartan thought carefully. So, if he had an accident in training, faced a court martial or for any reason messed up, he could potentially find himself being thrown into prison.

  “Case dismissed!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Personal Defence Suit (PDS) is the standard set of clothing, camouflage and tactical armour in one comprehensive package for use by CMC Marines. It can be easily augmented with a zero gravity manoeuvring pack or sealed for operations in limited atmospheres. It is lightweight and covers the entire surface of the individual. In trials, the armour has sustained damage from thermal and kinetic energy weapons and been able to operate even after sustaining over fifty percent damage. Variants such as the Combat Engineer Suit (CES) feature thicker armour, powered tools and augmented strength for use in the sapper role.

  Equipment of the Confederate Marine Corps

  Spartan stood in the departure lounge, a large hall where about a hundred new recruits were waiting for their various boarding shuttles to arrive. At one end were a variety of displays, some showed boarding times others news and information. Spartan wandered over, watching several of the people operating the displays. Like most public access points there were no buttons or screens to touch, the entire system was body driven and much like the combat training simulators he had used. A woman in her early thirties was running through various news stories on a large display. Using her upper body and hands, she moved and slid the stories as though they were stacks of paper or video files to play. Next to her a man of a similar age scrolled through a list of flights and was looking more agitated as he went on. Something caught Spartan’s eye, it was live footage from the security feed. He looked down at the scrolling ticker text underneath about a suicide attack and it was coming from Proxima Prime.

  “Oh shit! Have you seen this?” one of the recruits shouted.

  Several more recruits wandered over to watch the details of the story. With a deft movement the woman enlarged the video and increased the volume. At the same time she slid over several more video feeds of the same event.

  A man turned to Spartan. “Have you seen this shit? Apparently one of our compounds was hit last night.”

  “I heard they took out the wall with a suicide bomber and then stormed the place. According to the feeds the entire garrison was wiped out,” said another.

  Spartan looked at the video, saying nothing. The display showed a burning compound with a collapsed guard tower and several buildings still burning. Inside the base was an upturned armoured vehicle, one of the heavily protected transports used to ferry troops and supplies throughout the warzone. Wh
at really caught his attention wasn’t the casualties or even the damage. It was the small section saying over a hundred weapons had been stolen. Spartan thought to himself, with those kinds of weapons they could attack and expect to damage or destroy any structure, person or vehicle in the area.

  As interest in the story faded the woman flipped to another one. It was about the offensive to take the Bone Mill, a nickname given to the rocky underground mining complex owned by the Metallurgical Research & Mining Company on the northern continent of Avagana. Since being overrun by the insurgency spearheaded by the Zealots, it had been turned into an impenetrable fortress. He watched the report for a while, interested in the detail of a conflict he’d never really given much thought to. According to the article the underground research was invaluable along with the rich mineral supplies and the difficulty of getting people that far underground. From what he could see it looked like an underground hell that seemed to eat up marines. Based on the fact that he would soon be shipped off for combat, it might be an idea if he did a little homework beforehand.

  From the information on the screen it appeared nobody knew why they were so desperate to hold onto the huge underground mining facility. It had originally been dug almost a kilometre underground to mine many of the precious minerals buried there. The resources were valuable but that had never interested the Zealots in the past. A year ago it was still operated by the state mining company, then something happened. Nobody knew what, but in days most of the crew had been killed and the place was taken over by more than a hundred Zealot fighters. By the time the military arrived their numbers had swelled to thousands and they were already sealing the access points to the structure. It was if they were trying to protect something very important. No matter how many marines the Confederation sent in, they were always repulsed and suffering heavy casualties.