The Empire's Corps: Book 03 - When The Bough Breaks

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Good,” he said. “Thank you.”

  He closed the channel, thinking rapidly. Bode would have to be informed, of course; the plan had to move ahead. There was no longer a chance to climb off the tiger they were riding ...

  Stephen took a final swig of his Firewater and grinned to himself. Whatever else had happened, he could hardly have hoped for a better outcome to the student protest. It suited his plans perfectly.

  Chapter Twenty

  By the time of Avalon's settlement, therefore, the Empire was staggering under its own weight. The upper classes controlled the wealth and power, the middle classes enjoyed themselves and the lower classes suffered. In Earth's Undercity, countless millions of humans lived and died, struggling to survive on the scraps that filtered down from below. Their resentment and hated was almost palatable.

  -Professor Leo Caesius, The End of Empire

  This, Belinda thought for the thousandth time, is a completely insane risk.

  But she hadn't been given a choice, any more than Roland himself had been given a choice. The Grand Senate’s Royal Committee, scrambling to respond to the crisis in Imperial City’s streets, had ordained that Roland was to visit the hospitals and Imperial University, apparently in hopes that a show of concern would help migrate the tensions running through the city. It hadn't taken long for Belinda to realise that their hopes were not going to bear any fruit. The hospital staff might have genuflected in front of Prince Roland, but the students – and even some of the civilians – were mutely hostile. None of them seemed very impressed by the Prince.

  Belinda tailed Roland through the hospital, splitting her attention between the Prince and monitoring the local security situation. The Civil Guard was on the streets in force, while Senate Security had reinforced the close-protection detail assigned to Prince Roland. Even so, Belinda couldn't help feeling naked and vulnerable. Most of the standard security precautions were being neglected; few, if any, of the patients had been searched. She worried as she walked, trying to take in everything at once. If there was the slightest hint of a real threat, she’d privately resolved, she would shove Roland to the ground and lay down enough fire to cover their escape.

  She'd seen horror – but most of the citizens of Imperial City had lived in a paradise, certainly when compared to Han or one of the other worlds that was caught up in simmering ethnic or religious warfare. The hospital had only been designed to take a few hundred patients at best; now, there were wounded lying in the corridors or sharing beds with their fellow wounded. A handful of medical corpsmen from the military had been added to the staff, but there weren't enough of them to make a real difference. Belinda hated to think just how unhealthy the entire scene was becoming. Her Drill Instructor would have roasted the recruits if they’d made their living space so unhealthy.

  Roland stopped in front of a bed, staring at the young woman lying under the sheets. She had been pretty once, but now half of her face had been scarred so badly that she would need cosmetic surgery to fix it. One of her eyes was covered with a medical patch, flakes of dried blood surrounding it. Belinda briefly accessed the room’s processor and scanned the girl’s medical files. Someone had gorged out her eye and left her for dead. Normally, it would take months – and thousands of credits – to replace a missing eye. Now, with so much demand for medical services, it might be years before she was truly healed.

  Another girl, sitting next to her, looked up at the Prince. “Why?” She demanded. “Why did this even happen?”

  Belinda could have answered the question, but she kept her mouth shut. None of the students had really appreciated their own ignorance, or how easy it was for someone with bad intentions to manipulate them into starting a riot. The latest update from the Civil Guard – who had taken the lead in the post-riot investigation – had stated that no one connected to the terrorists who had started the riot had been caught. They had arrested a handful of organisers, but the people who had backed them had been careful to avoid giving names or contact details. Belinda wasn't too surprised. Whoever had started the riot was too smart and knowledgeable to be caught easily.

  “Laura was going to be a model,” the girl added. “Now look at her!”

  “She will be healed,” Roland said, quietly. “The facilities are overstressed right now, but she isn't in any immediate danger ...”

  The girl didn't look impressed and Belinda, if she were forced to be honest, found it hard to blame her. She and her fellow students had been sheltered from the harsh realities of life for so long that they had no idea what it was really like out there. The protesters who screamed their outrage at military deployments – to Han, to Albion, to countless other worlds across the Empire – had no awareness of the chaos that might overwhelm the Empire if bushfire wars weren't stopped as quickly as possible.

  They see the little evils that are committed in their name and are rightly repulsed by them, Doug’s voice seemed to whisper in her mind. But they do not see the greater evils committed against them and so they do not exist in their universe.

  They moved on through the ward, seeing an endless series of horror. One boy had been trampled so badly that the medics had put him in a stasis field, knowing that he would die quickly unless he was brought out in a properly-prepared operating theatre. Another had had both of his legs broken, something he loudly blamed on the Civil Guardsmen who’d attempted to drive the students off the streets. Several girls had been raped, including one who had a broken arm; they should have been in a separate ward, but there was simply no space for them. They seemed terrified of the world, even flinching away from other women.

  Belinda urged Roland past them – there was no point in trying to talk to the rape victims - and into the next ward. It too was crammed with patients and a handful of medical staff trying to cope with them. Belinda winced when she saw the bloodstains on the floor, knowing that – sooner or later – someone would slip on the blood and break their neck. And it was unhygienic ... but there was no choice. The planet’s supply of painkillers, to say nothing of more advanced medical treatments, was running out. Belinda had picked up a note on the Marine datanet that half of the medical supplies stored for the Marines had been rushed to Imperial City. She assumed that the Civil Guard storehouses were also being looted.

  A security alert popped up in her retina display and she tensed, before realising that the outside media had finally realised that Prince Roland was visiting the injured. A small army of reporters had been in the hospital, but Senate Security had – at Belinda’s request – asserted their authority to prevent them from sending any messages out of the building until after Roland had left. Even so, she wasn’t surprised to discover that the cat was finally out of the bag. The Grand Senate wanted some good press and pictures of Roland consoling the sick might just help them. Or, perhaps, allow them to shift the blame onto the powerless prince.

  She caught Roland’s attention as he stepped away from yet another wounded student. “The media is here,” she said, softly. “It's time to move to the university.”

  Roland nodded, grimly. He seemed to have aged overnight, much like army officers who had graduated from Sandhurst or West Point Mars without ever having seen combat – and then looked the elephant in the eye. Belinda had once wondered why the other services didn't copy the Marine practice of insisting that every officer served in the ranks first, before she'd made the mistake of asking her first platoon sergeant. He'd explained that there was no shortage of opportunity for patronage in a system that put qualifications before experience and everyone who might have been able to change the system benefited from it. And then they wondered why the Imperial Army – and the Civil Guard – was a bizarre assortment of competent and incompetent units.

  More alerts popped up in front of her as the reporters – aware that the secret was now out – started uploading reports to the media networks. It was rare for anything to go out live – after all, a live show was inherently unpredictable – but Roland’s visit would probably
be an exception. She gritted her teeth as Roland led the way out of the hospital, checking in with the Senate Security officers outside the building. The new reporters were, thankfully, on the other side of a small barricade.

  It didn't stop them shouting questions at the Prince. “Will you condemn the slaughter? Will you have medical expenses paid for the wounded? Will you strip the Marines of their Royal Charter?” The questions started to blur together into a mass of words, bombarding Roland and everyone standing near him. Surprisingly, Roland seemed unaffected by the racket, even if he didn’t try to answer the questions. Belinda felt a moment of pride as he climbed into the Royal Aircar and sat down. As soon as Belinda joined him, the doors hissed closed and the aircar rose into the air, heading towards Imperial University.

  “This isn't going to be pleasant,” Belinda warned.

  “No,” Roland said. Now the reporters couldn't see them, he looked nervous. “I have never spoken in public before.”

  Belinda nodded, ruefully. If she’d thought of it, she would have hired one of the oratory tutors from the House of Cicero’s, the business that supplied training to young men seeking to stand for election. But even if she had, the speech Roland had been ordered to give had been written by the Royal Committee. Whoever had said that a camel was a horse designed by committee had never had to deal with the Grand Senate. The Royal Committee’s speech wasn't even a camel!

  “You’ll have to start now,” she warned. The Grand Senate had kept Roland isolated to allow rumours to go unchecked. Now, though, they wanted him to take on a public role. “Just remember to try to sound as if you believe what you’re saying.”

  She looked down through the transparent windows as Imperial University came into view. It looked impressive, she had to admit; the walls seemed to be made of solid white marble, even though she knew that they were composed of the same composites that made up most of Earth’s buildings. The material was solid; it didn't erode away over generations, something that might have been the only thing keeping parts of the city intact. Imperial City was built on the remains of other cities, which might have themselves been built over even older cities ... few saw the Undercity, or the unregistered population lurking there. It was rarely factored into their calculations.

  The aircar dropped down and landed neatly on the landing pad. It was surrounded by Civil Guardsmen, Belinda was relieved to see; the reports from the university had suggested that the whole campus was simmering with rage. If anything, she realised as she followed Roland out of the aircar, the reports had been understated. The sullen hatred from the students gathered to hear Roland speak hit her like a physical blow. If Roland had been more sensitive, he might have turned and fled. Belinda would have found it hard to blame him.

  Every Marine knew the theory of counterinsurgency warfare. If the occupying power happened to use too much force, they created new enemies; if they used too little force, they convinced the population that the occupying force was not prepared to take risks to defend them. Or, for that matter, that a few bloody noses could cause them to retreat. Now, looking at the students, Belinda realised that the Civil Guard – and the Marine Corps – had made hundreds of thousands of new enemies. Few of the students had really understood the realities of their world. They understood now.

  A handful of students could be expelled and few would notice, she thought, grimly. There were so many students on campus that no one could hope to know them all. Hurt thousands of them and they will take note ...

  She gritted her teeth again as Roland stepped onto the podium. The Civil Guard had searched the area, including the students themselves, but Roland was still a big target in plain view. A sniper several miles away, lying on the roof one of the massive cityblocks, could have shot him – and no one would have known he was there until it was too late. Belinda would have been happier if Roland had been in a suit of Marine Combat Armour, but it took months to produce one customised for an individual user and months of training to learn how to use it properly. Besides, it would have suggested to the watching students that Roland was scared of them. Who knew what they could do with that impression?

  Traditionally, the university band would play the Empire’s anthem – The Power of the Unified Human Race is Beyond Compare – and the students would sing the five principle verses, but the organisers had decided to skip that step. Belinda was privately relieved, even though she knew that it might be taken as a sign of weakness; even when sung by the best singers, the anthem was more than a little tedious. The Marines had joked that the lyrics had been written by some Grand Senator’s idiot cousin who fancied himself a composer, then approved by the rest of the Senate after huge bribes had been passed out by his uncle. It was as good an explanation as any for why it had been chosen, Belinda had thought at the time. Now, though, the words would have sounded like a bad joke ...

  She winkled her nose as the wind changed, blowing the scent of burning fabric towards the podium. The students had burned hundreds of Imperial Flags over the past two days, even though it was technically a form of treason. They'd also burned the personal banners of the Grand Senatorial families and several Marine Corps flags. The disrespect made her want to show those students precisely what threats the Marines faced, just to keep them safe. But she pushed the rage aside as Roland started to speak. He had barely gotten through the first line before the students started to howl their fury.

  Belinda braced herself, ready to leap up to the podium and yank Roland away if the crowd surged forward, just before the sound died away. Someone was coordinating the whole display, she realised; someone bright enough to figure out a way to do it without alerting the Civil Guard. Roland hesitated, preparing to restart, just as a figure pushed his way out of the crowd and stepped forward.

  “Your Highness,” he said, his voice booming over the campus. He was using a voder, Belinda realised; somehow, he'd slipped it past the guards. All it would have taken, the cynical side of her mind realised, was a large bribe. A voder wasn't a weapon, after all. No doubt the Civil Guardsman had rationalised taking the bribe that way. “We have demands.”

  Roland hesitated, clearly surprised. “You have demands?”

  “Yes,” the student said. “I, Maxim J. Freeman, have demands.”

  “I see,” Roland said, finally. “And who do you speak for?”

  “I speak for the entire student body,” Freeman said. “If our demands are not met, we shall take action.”

  Belinda thought fast. Freeman was in the midst of a massive crowd of students – and attempting to arrest him could prove disastrous. And he also seemed to have enough control to start or stop a riot. They couldn't let themselves be dictated to, but they didn't seem to have any alternative. Roland seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

  “And what,” he asked, “are your demands?”

  Freeman produced a sheet of paper from under his shirt. “One; the Marines are to be withdrawn from Imperial City and the Civil Guard is to be withdrawn from the university campus. Two; there is to be a full and open investigation into the mass slaughter of peaceful protestors by the Marines and Civil Guardsmen. Three; all food prices are to be frozen at the level they held prior to the deliberate sabotage of Orbit Station Seven. Four; all debts are to be written off without further ado. Fifth ...”

  Belinda shook her head in disbelief as the series of demands, eleven in all, rolled out of Freeman’s mouth. Each demand was more outrageous than the last; did they really believe that the Grand Senate would give up its power so easily? Or, for that matter, that all debts could be written off without consequences? Or that the Senate could legislate new food deliveries into existence? And as for the demand that the students had a say in running Imperial University? They’d had that say for years. It explained a great deal about the current state of the establishment. No doubt new recruits to the military would vote to make the training easier, if they had a choice. Real life would punish them for that piece of stupidity.

  “The Grand Senate will co
nsider your demands,” Roland said. His lips twitched. “Seeing that my speech appears to have been ruined, I will take your demands instead.”

  The crowd of students gave him a good-natured cheer. Freeman – Belinda had a feeling that wasn't the student’s real name – vanished into their ranks as Roland climbed down and walked back towards the aircar. Belinda took one last glance at the students, who were congratulating each other as if they had won a great victory, then followed Roland into the vehicle. It was a relief when the door hissed closed.

  “I don’t believe it,” Roland said, looking down at the scrawled list of demands. “He has to be insane!”

  “Or crazy like a fox,” Belinda muttered. The car was passing over the massive residency blocks on the edge of Imperial City, heading back towards the Summer Palace. “Maybe they’re just nailing their colours to the mast. Or looking to put forward demands they know the Senate won’t grant ...”

  The alarms sounded, jerking Belinda back to the here-and-now. “Brace yourself,” she snapped. “We’re under attack!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Worse, the middle classes were becoming infected with poisonous political ideals. At one extreme, there was a belief that they had an intrinsic right to free food, drink and entertainment. At the other, there was nihilism - the belief that life was worthless and the Empire needed to be destroyed. In between, there were countless billions seeking pleasure - as if they knew, on some level, that the good times were coming to an end.

  -Professor Leo Caesius, The End of Empire

  Amethyst hadn’t been in a residency block for years, ever since she’d gone to Imperial University. Walking up the endless floors of Block 173, Imperial City, had reminded her of everything she’d tried to forget, from the ever-present smell of urine to the failing infrastructure that rendered the structure unsafe. A handful of young men loafed around, their eyes searching for possible targets; if she’d been alone, she feared that they would have come after her. Even with Richard and several others with her, she didn't feel safe at all.