Never Surrender (The Empire's Corps Book 10)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “To one of the asteroid mining facilities,” Kitty said. “I suspect it was probably rerouted from there to a hidden monitoring station. Past then, we don’t know.”

  “I see,” Ed said.

  He cursed under his breath. It would probably be impossible to track down the final destination. Five years ago, Avalon had had a RockRat colony and a cloudscoop ... and little else. Now, the entire system swarmed with mining stations and industrial production nodes. It would be easy for the enemy to hide a monitoring platform within the system, ready to intercept messages from Avalon and hold them until a starship arrived to take them home. As long as they took a few basic precautions, it would be impossible to detect the platform.

  “A spy in the council,” he mused. “Who?”

  “Unknown,” Kitty said. “It was sheer luck we stumbled across the message, sir.”

  Ed would have liked to believe it was Gordon Travis. The man had been nothing more than a headache since he’d been elected to the council, even though he had a respectable record as a businessman before and after the Cracker War. It was hard to blame him for being angry about the death of his son, but it didn't excuse outright treason ...

  He shook his head. Travis might have disagreed with both Ed and Gaby, but that didn’t make him a traitor. There was no proof, apart from personal dislike, and that wasn't enough to condemn a man to death.

  “We have to find the spy,” he mused. “Do you have a plan?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kitty said. “Now we have a handle on the encryption program, I have reconfigured the monitors to watch for more encoded messages. I intend to start distributing pieces of false or compartmented information around the list of suspects, then see which pieces of intelligence are passed to the enemy. Once we know what the enemy knows, we can narrow down our list of suspects considerably.”

  “It seems workable,” Ed said. He sighed. The last thing the Commonwealth needed was a witch-hunt for a highly-placed spy. “Is there no way to cut down the number of suspects now?”

  “No, sir,” Kitty said. “I don't think it can be done, short of introducing arbitrary standards to the mix - like, for example, excluding everyone from Avalon. That would cause another political headache if it got out.”

  Ed nodded. “Yes, it would,” he agreed. “The other worlds would be understandably furious.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kitty agreed.

  She shrugged. “I could also dispatch a team of investigators to the asteroid mining colony, but it would tip off the spy ... assuming, of course, the spy knows which route the messages take to leave Avalon,” she added. “There might be an entire ring of spies on the planet’s surface, like the agents who helped poor Mathew Polk get down to the ground.”

  “Wonderful,” Ed muttered.

  “But whoever put that report together is very highly placed,” Kitty added. “I’d put money on it being someone from Avalon.”

  “But why?” Ed asked. “Why betray the Commonwealth?”

  Kitty shrugged. “Money, power, revenge ... there is no shortage of possible motives,” she said. “A councillor might believe that he’d be promoted to local ruler when Wolfbane wins the war, assuming he serves them well beforehand. Lots of people dream of power and probably shouldn't be allowed to claim it. Or he may believe that Wolfbane is going to win and he’s doing what he can to make himself useful, just to save himself from the purge at the end of the war.”

  Her eyes darkened. “Or his child might be a prisoner, held hostage to guarantee his compliance, sir,” she added. “I’m going to start looking into their families too, Colonel, but I am frighteningly short of manpower.”

  “I know,” Ed admitted.

  He’d never had much use for Imperial Intelligence, not as a Marine. Intelligence estimates had often been massaged to produce the answers the Grand Senate had wanted, not answers that happened to bear more than a passing resemblance to the truth. And there had been far too many intelligence officers ready to alter their reports ... which had ensured that military units had dropped into maelstroms because they’d been assured the enemy would break at the first sign the Grand Senate was prepared to use force. Han wouldn't have been such a disaster, he was sure, if the intelligence officers on the spot hadn't kept assuring everyone that there was no risk of an uprising.

  And it had coloured his attitude towards Commonwealth Intelligence. The spooks could not be allowed to run amuck, develop their own agenda or start altering data to suit their political masters. But, at the same time, it had ensured that Commonwealth Intelligence was just too small to handle all of its responsibilities ...

  “Hire more manpower, if you can,” he said. It wouldn't be easy. Even now, five years after the war, there was still a shortage of trained manpower. The people Kitty would need were in high demand, while unskilled immigrants couldn’t hope to work for Commonwealth Intelligence, even if they could be trusted. “But keep this as quiet as possible. I don’t want to spook the spy before it’s too late.”

  “Understood,” Kitty said.

  Ed glanced at his wristcom. “I have a meeting with Emmanuel Alves in an hour,” he said, shortly. It wouldn't be a pleasant meeting. The reporter had been dating Jasmine Yamane before she’d been captured on Thule and he’d asked, every time, if there was word of his girlfriend. “This evening, I want a comprehensive plan for showing false information to part of the council. Let’s see what the spy hears, shall we?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kitty said.

  “I want this person identified,” Ed added, “but you are not to attempt to arrest him without my permission. We might be able to use this spy to our advantage.”

  Kitty nodded, doubtfully. “It will be at least six weeks before his intelligence reaches Wolfbane,” she said. “The situation will have changed by then.”

  “I know,” Ed said. He smiled, openly. “But I think I have the bare bones of an idea.”

  Chapter Three

  This is, to some extent, a historical oddity. Very few states could reasonably claim to be the sole font of power and authority. Throughout history, mistreatment of POWs tended to backfire, particularly if the war was won and lost decisively.

  - Professor Leo Caesius. The Empire and its Prisoners of War.

  Meridian, Year 5 (PE)

  “Brigadier,” Watson said, as Jasmine entered the barracks. “Please let me introduce James Stubbins and Paula Bartholomew.”

  “General James Stubbins,” Stubbins said. “I have not been stripped of my rank.”

  He eyed Jasmine doubtfully. “I must say you’re awfully young to be a brigadier, young lady.”

  Jasmine eyed him back. Stubbins looked middle-aged, probably thanks to extensive biological engineering in his youth, but he didn't seem either fit or healthy. His brown hair was greying rapidly, while there was a hint in his expression that he was holding himself together by sheer force of will. If he’d been in the camp for over five years, Jasmine had a feeling that it was a wonder he’d lasted as long as he had. Maybe he was stronger and more resilient than he seemed.

  “I was promoted quickly,” she said, finally.

  “Then I will have to assume command of the breakout,” Stubbins said, firmly. “Do you have a workable plan?”

  Watson opened his mouth, but Jasmine spoke first. “I am in command of the CEF,” she said, sharply. “I will command the breakout.”

  Stubbins scowled at her. “I was appointed to my rank by Admiral Waterford,” he insisted. “A purely local rank does not, ever, take precedence over an Imperial rank ...”

  “The Empire is gone,” Jasmine snapped. “Your rank is of no value in the camp.”

  “General,” Paula said quietly, “it’s been years since you commanded in the field.”

  Jasmine found herself studying Paula with some interest. She looked younger than Stubbins, almost as if the camp hadn't taken such a toll on her. Paula wasn't conventionally pretty - she had long brown hair and a freckled face - but she had a force of character that was, if anyth
ing, stronger than her commander. And she was clearly smarter than him too ...

  “Very well,” Stubbins said. “I will allow you to continue to hold tactical command, young lady.”

  “Thank you,” Jasmine said, sarcastically. She had a feeling she was going to have trouble with Stubbins, unless Paula managed to keep him under control. Perhaps she could ... or perhaps she should simply tie Stubbins up in his bunk until they carried out their plan. “I would be honoured to keep the command I have earned.”

  She squatted down and motioned for the others to sit next to her. “Meridian has one major city and one spaceport,” she said. Kailee had been quite informative, once Jasmine had started running gentle questions past her. Most of the information was out of date, but Jasmine rather doubted a stage-one colony world could change so quickly. “Most of the planet’s population are hunters, farmers and stage-one industrialists. The handful of technical-trained people on the surface have either been taken away or forced to work for Wolfbane’s occupation force.”

  Watson frowned. “Taken away?”

  “Forced to work for Wolfbane elsewhere, I imagine,” Stewart said. “They’re probably quite short on technical experts, just like us.”

  “It was a major problem,” Stubbins said, suddenly. “We had ships going into mothballs because we didn’t have the men or spare parts to maintain them.”

  Jasmine wasn't particularly surprised. Between the Empire’s jaundiced view of education and the limited opportunities for a technician to work within the system, the entire Empire had been having a major shortage of trained manpower before the Fall. Avalon had been lucky, in many ways; they’d been able to call upon the RockRats for technical training, while setting up their own technical schools. For a sector capital, the shortages in both manpower and industrial production nodes had to be disastrous. She couldn't help wondering just how many worlds had starved to death in the midst of plenty.

  “I would have expected you to start training programs,” she said, shortly. “Why didn't you?”

  “Imperial Regulations forbade it,” Stubbins said. “I could not defy the regulations.”

  Jasmine sighed, inwardly. All of a sudden, she was sure she knew why Governor Brown had sent Stubbins to Meridian, rather than simply having him quietly executed. Stubbins simply didn't have the imagination needed to be a danger to his superiors ... but that same lack of imagination prevented him from tackling the problems facing his command. And to think, if he’d had any real imagination, he would have remained in power ...

  “Those regulations were killing your command,” she said, dryly. “Didn't you see the dangers of blindly following them?”

  She shook her head before he could answer. It was the way of the Empire. If someone defied regulations, his enemies would have all the ammunition they needed to bring his career to a shattering halt. No one would care if the victim had done what was necessary to save his command, not when there was political hay to be made by targeting him for breach of regulations. And, all over what remained of the Empire, starships and shipyards would be grinding to a halt for lack of maintenance and spare parts ...

  For want of a nail, a shoe was lost, she thought, morbidly. She’d been forced to memorise the poem at the Slaughterhouse. How had the poem ended? For want of a battle, a kingdom was lost ... all for the want of a nail.

  “They don’t have a large force on the planet’s surface,” she said, instead. “All they really have are a handful of men in heavy combat armour, based on the orbital station. If anyone down on the surface poses a serious problem, they can just call in strikes from orbit and obliterate them. In fact, apart from the POW camps and the small garrison, they’re not really oppressing the locals at all.”

  “But they don’t have to have a soldier on every street corner to keep the locals under control,” Stewart said, gruffly. “Not as long as they hold the high orbitals.”

  “No,” Jasmine agreed. “There’s a handful of locals who have been forced to collaborate, with their families held hostage in various camps to keep them obedient. Other than that ... Meridian is largely immaterial to the war. There’s no need to expend thousands of credits worth of resources on the planet.”

  “Right,” Stewart said. “So our real problem isn’t getting out of this shithole. The real problem is getting control of the orbital station.”

  “Yes,” Jasmine said. “Once we’re in command of the station, we can free the remaining prisoners and then decide our next step.”

  Stubbins snorted, loudly. “I think you’re forgetting something,” he said. “We’re still trapped behind the barbed wire.”

  “Really?” Stewart asked. “I don’t think we noticed.”

  Jasmine tossed him a sharp look. “Getting out of the camp will be simple,” she said. “What’s to stop us tunnelling under the barbed wire?”

  Stubbins gaped at her. “It cannot possibly be so easy,” he said. “They would have scattered land mines around, surely.”

  “I don’t think so,” Jasmine said. She’d spent two days watching the camp’s routines before starting to consider ways to escape. “The locals come and go, bringing food and supplies to the camp, and they don’t seem to watch their footing. There isn't even a second fence to keep outsiders away from a minefield.”

  “Careless of them,” Stewart rumbled.

  “They still have guards on the watchtowers,” Watson offered. “Guards with guns.”

  “We need to distract them,” Jasmine said. “If we stage a riot, or something else that will catch their eye, at one end of the camp, we can dig our way out at the other. And if we wait for rainfall, the guards will have far more problems tracking us once we get into the jungle.”

  “We’ll have to be naked,” Watson said. He pulled at his orange jumpsuit. “These things are far too visible in the gloom.”

  “It’s why they made us wear them,” Jasmine said. She couldn't help a thrill of excitement. Maybe they were still helpless prisoners, but at least they were planning their escape. “They want us to be visible.”

  “So we get out of the camp,” Stubbins said. “And then ...”

  “And then we proceed with caution,” Jasmine said. Kailee had given her a few names and address, men and women she was sure were part of the resistance, but her knowledge was badly out of date. It was quite likely that the people she'd known were dead ... or worse. “I think we would need to get to Sabre City, then decide how to proceed from there.”

  “We can't all go,” Stewart said.

  “No, we can't,” Jasmine agreed. She hesitated, then sighed. “Who do we have with us?”

  Stewart closed his eyes and recited from memory. “There’s a thousand people in the camp,” he said, flatly. “Two hundred of them are prisoners from the CEF or Thule; the remainder are people Governor Brown sent into exile, rather than simply killing outright. I don’t think we have any technical specialists among the prisoners ...”

  “Of course not,” Stubbins said. His voice was very bitter. “Technical specialists could be ... re-educated rather than simply sent into exile.”

  Paula leaned forward. “How many prisoners come from Meridian itself?”

  “Just five,” Stewart said. “They’re all hostages, held here to ensure their relatives stay on good behaviour. I don't know if we could trust them.”

  Jasmine had to agree. Hostages could become dangerously unpredictable, either through Stockholm Syndrome or simply feeling responsible for their relatives. Kailee had sounded broken, rather than desperate, but who knew what would happen if she was offered a chance to escape? And yet, if she was right about why she was in the camp, she might be the key to winning their freedom.

  “I think we three and Kailee will make a break for it,” Jasmine said, finally. “We’re the best suited to get back to the city, then plan our next move.”

  “Hold on,” Stubbins said. “I want to leave the camp too!”

  “Can you actually help us?” Jasmine asked. She didn't blame Stubbins f
or wanting to leave, but if Kailee was right they were several days walk from Sabre City. “You’d have to walk with us to the city, then blend in until we found out how to get to the orbital station.”

  Paula gave Stubbins a long glance. “You’re not suited to a commando mission,” she said, gently. “You really need to let them handle it, while you stay here and play dumb.”

  Watson snickered. Jasmine scowled at him and he converted it into a cough.

  “The guards haven’t bothered to count us since we were shoved in here,” Jasmine said, carefully. “They’re going to regret that, I think, but ideally we don’t want them to think that anyone has escaped at all.”