Chapter Four
It is not hard to understand why the Empire worked to bury human history. Humanity has a bad habit of looking back to more idyllic times in the past, which would have logically included a time when a specific planet was independent ... And that would have encouraged independence movements. It could not be tolerated. However, by suppressing history, the Empire also made it impossible to learn lessons from past experience.
-Professor Leo Caesius, The End of Empire
Belinda sucked in her breath as the Summer Palace came into view. The building sat alone in the midst of a garden, one of the few gardens left on Earth’s polluted surface, utterly inaccessible to the public. She felt an odd flicker of homesickness as she took in the greenery and realised that the gardeners just allowed the plants to grow naturally, battling it out for supremacy, before she pushed it aside. The average resident of Earth would never know that the garden even existed. Those who did would only be able to envy Prince Roland from afar.
The Civil Guard maintained a very visible cordon around the edge of the garden, according to the files. Belinda had no difficulty in spotting watchtowers and patrols roving around the walls, although the guardsmen weren't the main line of defence. Their role was simply to deter anyone who might want to break into the palace; the real line of defence were hidden weapons concealed within the garden and the palace’s walls. It looked to be built of wood and stone, seemingly fragile, but the files stated that it had been constructed of starship hullmetal and then covered in wood and stone. A nuke could go off near the palace and the inhabitants would be relatively safe.
Assuming that they managed to batten down the hatches in time, she told herself as the aircar swooped down towards the landing pad. Her implants reported a series of sensor sweeps, each one more intrusive than the last. If her aircar hadn't had the proper ID codes, she would have been blown out of the air before she flew over the garden, but the guardsmen weren't taking chances. Obtaining codes that were shared with so many different organisations would be easy, particularly as the codes didn't seem to be changed on a regular basis. On one hand, it made sense; changing the codes made it far too likely that there would be a friendly fire incident, particularly if one group didn't get the word in time. But on the other, it was a major breach in security. The codes could be stolen weeks or months before a planned attack and still be valid.
The aircar settled to the ground and Belinda stepped out, taking a moment to admire the Summer Palace. It reminded her of some of the temples on Han, the buildings that some local factions had used to store ammunition and other supplies in the hope that their protected status would save them from the occupation force. The insurgents had been wrong. The fighting had intensified until the CO had been willing to order extreme measures, destroying any compromised temple.
Her implants reported that they were being interrogated as a handful of Civil Guardsmen appeared at the edge of the landing pad. Belinda studied them carefully, noting that they seemed to be more competent than she’d been led to expect, although they had exposed themselves to her. She could boost and take them all out ... and be gunned down by the automatic defences built into the palace. Shaking her head, she relaxed and allowed them to check her identity thoroughly. At least they weren't cutting corners here.
“Welcome to the Summer Palace,” their leader said, when they had finally completed their checks. The security officers would have received a copy of Belinda’s file – suitably edited – but they needed to run their own checks. “I’m Sergeant Powalski.”
Belinda shook his hand, taking a moment to study him. He was a tall man with short brown hair, wearing a Palace Guard uniform that had been expertly tailored to allow him to move without restriction. The Sergeant had a reassuring air of competence, although she thought she saw a flicker of envy in his eyes as he studied her. It wasn't uncommon for auxiliaries to resent fully-qualified Marines, she knew; what would someone who had left the Corps altogether think of the Marines?
“Specialist Lawson,” she said finally.
“There are other security checks that need to be performed,” Powalski said, as they walked into the palace itself. “After that, the two commanders wish to speak with you before you meet the prince.”
“Understood,” Belinda said. Inside, her implants were reporting more aggressive security sweeps, directed at her and her companions. The Civil Guardsmen followed them as they passed through a solid metal door, their hands never far from their weapons. It wasn't very subtle, but it served its purpose. “How many more checks do you have to perform?”
“We need a complete breakdown of your weapons and implants,” Powalski said, flatly. “I’m afraid that the security protocols insist on it.”
Belinda nodded, tightly. The security scanners would sound the alert if they detected a weapon being used that hadn't been already cleared with the security officers. It was quite possible that she would be flagged up as an enemy infiltrator if she used a weapon they didn't know she carried. On the other hand, she would have preferred to keep some surprises to herself. The Civil Guard was corrupt and it was quite possible that one or more of the guardsmen might have been subverted by outside forces.
The security checks were as thorough as she had feared. Some Pathfinder implants were designed to be very hard to detect, but the Palace’s scanners picked up almost all of them. Belinda kept one eye on the results as the Guardsmen scanned her again and again, realising that they’d picked up everything apart from one of the neural links. All of her implanted weaponry had been noted and logged. She made a mental note to raise the issue of security with the other Pathfinders when she reported back to the Corps. If this scanner tech became mainstream, Pathfinders might be identified by enemy soldiers before they could go into combat.
Just think of this as another infiltration, she told herself, briskly. You’re here to play a role until you need to fight.
“I didn't know you could hide a weapon there,” one of the guardsmen said. He didn't realise that Belinda could hear him, even though she had augmented ears as well as eyes. “And to think she looks so cute.”
Belinda kept her face expressionless. She wore a black jacket and a short skirt that fell down to just above her knees, rather than a military uniform. Everyone looking at her would underestimate her, at least until it was far too late. She allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction as the scanning finally came to an end. Someone who didn't have access to the scan results wouldn't realise that she was anything other than the Prince’s aide. It wasn't as if she was going to carry a weapon openly.
“I need you to seal those records,” she said. “No one is to have access to them without being cleared by me personally.”
Powalski scowled at her. “We do have to inform Senate Security ...”
“Let me worry about that,” Belinda said, flatly. “I’m not here to be a visible guard. If those records fall into enemy hands ...”
“Right,” Powalski said, tightly. He stood up and motioned for her to follow him. “I’ll see to it personally.”
Once they were through the security office, the Palace corridors became luxurious. Belinda glanced from side to side, taking in the hundreds of paintings hanging from the walls, each one carefully displayed to best advantage. Tiny nameplates underneath the paintings identified their subjects as heroes of the Empire, although they didn't say what the heroes had actually done. Belinda recognised a couple of military figures from her studies on the Slaughterhouse, but the others were a complete mystery. She wondered if the staff knew who they were – they’d have to give tours to the Emperor and his family – before pushing the thought aside. It didn't matter.
“You should have access to the basic housekeeping network,” Powalski said. “As you can see, you have clearance to enter every section of the Summer Palace - you have more clearance than me, as a matter of fact. I’m not allowed to enter Senate Security’s barracks, for example, any more than they are allowed to enter ours. Everyone in t
he palace has an implant that determines where they can and cannot go. Those who enter a forbidden zone are rendered comatose until they can be picked up and interrogated.”
Belinda made a face. Implants that could be accessed and controlled from outside the carrier’s body were rare, not least because they were a security nightmare. But it was one of the requirements for serving in the Summer Palace or another high-security zone, according to the files. The staff had to be supervised at all times.
“The cooks, for example, are restricted to the kitchens and their quarters,” Powalski continued. “They are under long-term contracts that keep them within the palace for six months, after which they are released with proper references from the Castellan. If you encounter a cook outside his permitted zone, he’s an infiltrator. Grab him.”
“Clever,” Belinda said. She didn't relax as her implants attempted to link into the security networks. There was a moment’s delay as the system checked her ID, then allowed her to draw information from the nodes. “How many different networks do you have in the building?”
“Five,” Powalski said. “You should have permission to access four of them. The fifth belongs to the Royal Family. No one else is permitted to access it.”
Belinda scowled. She could understand keeping the housekeeping network separate from the security network, but having three other networks struck her as excessive. On the other hand, she told herself, a person who managed to take down one of the networks would still have to reckon with the other four. She tossed ideas around in her head; if she’d wanted to slip into the building, how would she have done it? Maybe the security staff were more competent than she’d assumed.
They stopped outside another door. It appeared to be made of wood, but Belinda would have been surprised if it hadn't been another piece of hullmetal. Powalski knocked once and then waited for a long moment, before the door clicked open. He stepped into the room, nodding for Belinda to follow him. Two men – her implants identified them as Colonel Hicks and Captain Singh – were waiting for her inside the room.
“Specialist Lawson, sir,” Powalski said.
Belinda kept her face expressionless as the two men studied her, neither looking very impressed. Hicks was slightly overweight, suggesting that it had been quite some time since he had been on deployment – or a simple lack of concern about his appearance. His dark hair fell down around a face that was too handsome to be real. Cosmetic surgery was technically illegal for soldiers and guardsmen, but Hicks had enough political patrons to make that a non-issue. Beside him, the dark-skinned Singh seemed more competent, although he didn't seem too pleased to see Belinda. Senate Security was normally responsible for close-protection duties and it was possible that he saw Belinda’s presence as a unsubtle insult.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Hicks said, finally. His voice was surprisingly light for such a big man. “You may go.”
Powalski nodded and left the room.
“For the past fourteen months, we have guarded Prince Roland,” Hicks said, as soon as the door closed behind the Sergeant. Belinda’s implants reported a counter-surveillance field shimmering into existence. “Why do they suddenly feel that we are not up to the task?”
Belinda could have given him several answers, just by looking at the two officers, but none of them would have been very helpful. Hicks had to be wondering just what had been decided in the Grand Senate about the Prince’s future – and just what it meant for him personally. If he hadn't built his career by making himself useful to his political masters, Belinda told herself, he might not have to worry so much about politics. But he probably wouldn't have reached a high rank without political support.
“I was not involved in making the decision,” Belinda pointed out, instead. She was tempted to argue with them, to attempt to defend the Commandant, but she knew it would be pointless. Giving them the impression that she answered to them would be dangerous. “My responsibility is to be a final line of defence for Prince Roland. As you are no doubt aware, the number of threats against his life has been increasing over the past few months. I am there to ensure that no assassin manages to kill him.”
Singh leaned forward. “Your file has been whitewashed,” he stated, bluntly. “Are you capable of protecting the young master?”
Belinda silently awarded Singh some points in her head. Her Pathfinder file wouldn't have been given to anyone without some careful editing, not when so many details were highly-classified. The file they’d been sent contained little more than the highlights of her pre-Pathfinder career and a list of accomplishments, most of which were uninformative without the context. And that had not been supplied.
“I served in a close-protection detail on several worlds,” she said, calmly. “That detail should have been included in my file.”
“Yes, as part of a team of Marines,” Singh pointed out. “How often do Marines operate alone?”
Rarely, Belinda thought. The average Marine platoon was ten men; even Pathfinder teams had five. But then, they had been trained to operate alone if necessary. It just didn’t happen very often.
“I have operated undercover in the past,” she said, and left them to speculate. The file wouldn't have included those details, not when it might have touched on sensitive issues. “Officially, I am here to be Roland’s aide. I can play that role as long as necessary.”
Hicks snickered. “If you can play that role for longer than three months,” he said, “you’ll be doing better than most of your predecessors.”
Belinda scowled inwardly. The file on Prince Roland had detailed the growth of a spoilt brat, one who hadn't improved as he'd grown older. Several of his aides had quit after he’d made unwelcome advances towards them, even though he had a small harem of pleasure women in the Summer Palace. The file hinted that a number of maids had also been seduced by the young prince, if that counted as seduction. They might not have felt that they had a choice.
“You will be under my command,” Singh said, more practically. “I ...”
“No,” Belinda said.
Singh blinked in surprise. “No?”
“I have been assigned to serve as Prince Roland’s bodyguard,” Belinda said. “My sole priority is defending him. I am not part of Senate Security, nor am I under your direct command.”
They locked eyes for a long moment. Singh looked away first.
“I will expect you to understand precisely how the inner cordon works,” Singh said, reluctantly. “And you do not have authority to issue orders to my operatives. I want you to be clear on that detail.”
“Of course,” Belinda said.
“Now, see here,” Hicks said, sharply. “You cannot just come in and ...”
“Yes, I can,” Belinda said. There was no point in trying to negotiate with someone like Hicks; give them an inch and they would take a mile. The only way to deal with them was to make it clear that you couldn't be bullied. “I have been charged with keeping the Prince safe. There are no other concerns for me. Do you understand?”
Hicks flushed angrily, but he nodded.
“I shall require advance notification of anything that might impinge on my duties,” Belinda continued. “If someone is visiting the Prince, I want to know about it in advance – and when they enter the palace I want to be alerted. I expect to be the first to hear about any changes in security protocols, or new officers being assigned to the protective detail. And I shall be making recommendations for revising the security arrangements surrounding the Summer Palace.”
“Which are my responsibility,” Hicks said, coldly. “Your task is merely to bodyguard the Prince.”
Belinda nodded. “Which is why I need to know about any possible problems,” she said, as sweetly as she could. The look Hicks gave her suggested that he wasn't impressed, so she allowed her voice to harden. “There’s something that you – both of you – need to understand.”
She leaned forward, putting as much determination into her voice as she could. “I am not here to play politic
al games,” she added. “I don’t have a patron to please. All that matters to me is protecting Prince Roland until he can assume the throne. You can work with me to protect him or you can try to impede me in my duty. And I assure you, if you try that, I will break your careers to the point where you will be lucky merely to be reassigned to Hellhole.”
Hicks stared at her. “You can’t ...”
“I can,” Belinda snapped. “Work with me or suffer the consequences.”
She wanted to smile at their expressions. Hicks, at least, would believe that no one would make such statements unless they could back them up. And if he complained to his patron and word got out, his patron might drop him like a hot rock. Patronage might be the way forward, but the client had to be dependable ... and someone who failed so spectacularly was hardly dependable. The political embarrassment of having a client who didn't care for looking after the Prince would be devastating.
“Good,” she said. She didn't care if they considered her a bitch, as long as they carried out their duties. “Now, take me to the Prince.”
Chapter Five
What is universally accepted about the decades prior to the Empire is this: humanity arose from Earth, spread out across the galaxy - and promptly fell into war. We lack many of the details of those ancient wars, but we do know that the death toll was in the billions and that a number of planets were rendered lifeless. Eventually, an Earth-based movement began to attempt to unify humanity. It enjoyed wide popular support as the wars had been immensely destructive.
-Professor Leo Caesius, The End of Empire
The Summer Palace grew more luxurious as Belinda walked towards the upper levels, shaking her head at the tacky display of wealth. During the Unification Wars, the first Emperor had collected vast amounts of artwork, a collection that had come to encompass nearly a million pieces by the time he’d died. Copies had been placed in the Imperial Museum; the originals had been used to decorate the Emperor’s palaces. Every few meters, there was a pedestal with a piece of art placed on it, along with another nameplate. Belinda stopped to examine a silver and gold-plated BFG-4623 from Heinlein that had been given to the Emperor as a gift, before following the Castellan further into the building.
The Empire's Corps: Book 03 - When The Bough Breaks Page 4