Never Surrender (The Empire's Corps Book 10)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I should talk to him,” Paula said. “Maybe I can calm him down ...”

  “Or he will want to beat you to death,” Watson said, dryly. “He’ll see what you did as a betrayal, not as you saving him from himself.”

  “You could protect me,” Paula said, batting her eyelashes at him. “I can hide behind you ...”

  Jasmine coughed, loudly. “Wait outside,” she said, shortly. “Carl, I need a quick word with you.”

  Watson waited until the door had firmly closed, then snapped to attention. “Yes, boss?”

  “I would suggest you didn't let her try to seduce you,” Jasmine said, “but I know better than to give an order I know won’t be followed.”

  “I don’t think she’s trying to seduce me,” Watson said.

  “You mean she’s succeeding?” Jasmine asked. “Carl, do you remember what happened to Blake?”

  Watson smirked. Everyone knew the only reason Blake Coleman had missed the Battle of Camelot had been the fact he’d been seduced by a pretty girl, then drugged and held prisoner by the Crackers. He hadn't told them anything, but his fellows hadn't let him forget it until the day he’d died. There were easier ways to take a pratfall.

  “Just watch yourself,” she said. “That woman is a woman on the edge.”

  “I’ll behave,” Watson said. “But ...”

  “Be careful,” Jasmine said. “Make sure she gets a room on the station, but try not to spend too much of your time with her. She should be kept away from her former boss, I think; he probably won’t be pleased to see her again. And good luck.”

  She watched him leave, then tapped the terminal on her desk, replaying everything that had happened since Stubbins had entered the room. Nothing he’d said sounded encouraging, save for the simple fact that most of Wolfbane’s industry was concentrated in a single system. It suggested a point failure node, save for the fact she was sure the system would also be heavily defended. The Empire had massed staggering levels of firepower around its critical industrial nodes and there was no reason to think Wolfbane would have done any differently.

  Reaching for a notepad and pen, she started to scribble down other questions she needed answered, even though Stewart was right. Most of what Stubbins had to say would be out of date. The exact size of the system’s industrial base, plus that of the rest of the sector. The condition of the smaller ships in the fleet. Security threats on Wolfbane and the other planets in the sector. Possible rebel groups who might sign up with the Commonwealth ... coming to think of it, how many of the political prisoners would be willing to help? Governor Brown’s inner circle - who did he trust, who did he suspect, who else had been exiled? Did he have a wife? A husband? A mistress?

  He’s a corporate rat, she thought. He wouldn't have been encouraged to develop any tastes beyond doing his duty.

  The thought alternatively chilled and amused her. It was chilling, because she hated the idea of anyone being able to dictate like that to anyone; it was amusing, because it showed just how far someone would go for power. But she knew, all too well, that someone who amassed enough power could do literally anything within the Empire. They were above the law, no matter what they did. There was no one who could hold them to account, not even their peers. It was far more important to reinforce the status quo.

  She put the notepad down and sighed. If she'd known she would be interrogating a prisoner, she would have gone for the interrogation MOS at the Slaughterhouse. As it was, she would have to find someone on the surface who had both the background knowledge and experience to set questions for Stubbins, then catch him in a lie. She rather doubted there was anyone who could have done the work. It would need a full team and the closest team she knew was on Avalon.

  We can interrogate some of the other prisoners too, she thought. Some of them had been dumped on the planet only recently, less than a year ago. See if we can corroborate their stories ...

  She shook her head as she picked up the notebook again and scribbled the last set of questions. They would just have to wait and see. Perhaps she could study some system information sheets, then start asking Stubbins to fill in the blanks. Or maybe she should ask him to tell her what he thought she should know. A sense he had power over her might help push him to be more helpful.

  The doorbell chimed. Jasmine opened it and Kailee stepped into the room, carrying a datapad.

  “I finished reviewing the reports,” Kailee said. “I have a list of possible candidates here.”

  Jasmine took the datapad and glanced at the list. Kailee hadn't done a bad job, she had to admit; she’d spotted everyone Jasmine had already earmarked for service in space, if they wanted the job. A handful of question marks lay next to a couple of names, both without any experience in space. Jasmine frowned, then tapped the names and waited. It would be interesting to see how Kailee justified her choices.

  “They have experience in fixing vehicles on the ground,” Kailee said. “They might be able to work in space.”

  “Good thought,” Jasmine said. It was a good thought. She’d have to see if they were needed ... and, if they were, get them onto the station. “Now, for your first day ...”

  She smiled at Kailee’s expression. “I need to exercise,” she added, darkly. “Do you know how to do push-ups?”

  Kailee looked doubtful. “I don’t think so,” she said. “How do you do it?”

  “I’ll show you,” Jasmine said, as she rose to her feet. “There’s a gym down the corridor. I expect you to use some of the equipment every day, at least once you’re checked out on it. Don’t stop when your body starts to ache - that’s a sign you’re starting to push yourself.”

  “Oh,” Kailee said. “What’s a gym doing on a space station?”

  “Helps keep the crew nice and healthy,” Jasmine said. “On a Marine Transport Ship, you would have Marines running around the central corridor and jumping over bottomless pits in the middle of the compartments.”

  Kailee blinked. “Bottomless pits?”

  “No one ever came out of them,” Jasmine teased. Rumour had had it that the hatches were connected to the waste disposal system and anyone who fell in landed in the shit, but she had a feeling that wasn't true. “But we learned to jump pretty well.”

  “But why?” Kailee asked. She stopped at the hatch leading into the gym, looking doubtfully at the pieces of exercise gear. They looked like torture devices. “Why brutalise yourselves?”

  Jasmine shrugged. “Hard training, easy mission; easy training, hard mission,” she quoted, softly. Her first Drill Instructor had answered the same question the same way. “And that explains why this station was so easy to take, doesn't it?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  But they would fail, for two reasons. First, the offender may feel that he has no choice, but to break the laws as a matter of national survival. Second, it would be hard to come up with a genuine case to support a war of enforcement.

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

  Avalon, Year 5 (PE)

  “Tell me something,” Kitty said. “Just how large a contribution do the Governor’s backers make?”

  Emmanuel shrugged. “A big one,” he hazarded. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure he was right. “A very big one.”

  “It must be,” Kitty said, as they walked up to the gate. “Just how much does it cost him to host these parties?”

  Emmanuel shrugged, again. The Governor’s Mansion was large, large enough to house both the Governor’s family and a whole series of offices to actually run the planet, but maintaining it had to cost a fortune. If he’d been given the house, his first thought would have been to sell it as quickly as possible, knowing it would cost most of his income to keep the house in a decent state. But the Governor had not only kept his mansion, he’d managed to set it up to host a succession of fancy parties. The building practically glowed with light.

  They stopped at the gates, where a guard checked their IDs against a list of invit
ed guests and then ran a scanner over their bodies. Emmanuel wasn't surprised when the guard insisted on confiscating his datapad; it was configured to covertly record everything in the vicinity, even when placed in a sealed pocket. Kitty had nothing apart from a wristcom, which the guard left alone. Emmanuel would have bet good money that her wristcom was designed to covertly record conversations too.

  Inside, he could hear the sound of music as they walked up to the mansion. Children were playing on the lawn, tossing balls as they ran around, while a handful of sulky-looking teenagers supervised them. Emmanuel felt a brief moment of envy - the children had no need to worry about the rest of the world - which he rapidly suppressed. Children were also helpless victims when the shit hit the fan, unable to influence events or even understand what was going on, why their lives had suddenly collapsed. Kitty glanced at several of the teenagers without going out of her way to make it noticeable, then allowed him to lead her into the mansion itself. The sound of music grew louder as they stepped through the doors.

  “There’s normally a dance down in the ballroom,” Emmanuel muttered. A waiter appeared and held out a tray of drinks, then bowed and retreated when they both shook their heads. “Or we can make the rounds, see who’s worth talking to.”

  “Let’s see where the councilmen are,” Kitty said, after a moment. “And then the Governor himself.”

  Emmanuel nodded and led her through a set of corridors. The ballroom was heaving with people, mostly the partners and children of men and women who had earned their places among the planetary elite. He couldn't help feeling that there was something more energetic about it, unlike the parties the Old Council had used to hold. They had been ruthlessly obsessed with protocol and penalised anyone who put so much as a single foot wrong on the dance floor. And they probably would have found the new dancers terribly vulgar.

  He snickered, quietly. Maybe the newcomers were lacking in social graces, maybe they didn't have the time or patience to learn the social steps. But they had an energy, and a drive to succeed, that would have terrified the Old Council. They would have known they couldn't compete on even terms. It was why they had worked so hard to keep everyone else firmly under their thumb.

  Kitty elbowed him. “Credit for your thoughts?”

  “This party is very strange,” he said, “but far more productive.”

  His smirk grew wider as they passed the buffet table. Once, the Old Council would have demanded the finest of everything, from roasted mice to fish eggs and paper-thin ham, just because they could. Their wines would have been so expensive that each bottle would have cost more than his annual salary, perhaps more than most people expected to see in their lives. And their suits and dresses would be carefully tailored, each one so expensive that only someone who had no worries about money could hope to wear one without shame. But now ...

  He looked at the table and smiled. The food was distinctly plebeian, without any of the absurdities that had characterised the Empire’s elite in the years before it fell. Great caskets of beer were placed on the table, besides piles of good, but simple foods. Maybe it was just a subtle insult, from the Governor or his wife, or maybe it was just a victory dance. The new councillors - and businessmen - wouldn't care to adopt the habits of a bygone age.

  “You think?” Kitty asked. “Why?”

  Emmanuel nodded towards a handful of young women, all in their early twenties. He recognised one of them as the daughter of a new shipping magnate, so he assumed the others were from similar families. They were all wearing fancy dresses, showing off enough of their breasts and legs to draw the eye, but he was experienced enough to tell that the dresses weren't that expensive, or exclusive. Their fathers and mothers placed their money elsewhere.

  He took Kitty’s arm and nodded, very lightly, at the girls. “They look good, don’t they?”

  Kitty nodded, puzzled.

  “Their dresses aren't worth more than a hundred credits apiece,” he said. “And notice how two of them have the same dress, just in different colours. In the old days, there would have been a major screaming fit if two women had spent hundreds of thousands of credits on the same dress, even if both of them had been the very best of friends the previous day. The Empire wasn't just about concentrating all the wealth in as few hands as possible, it was about conspicuously consuming that wealth. There was so much of it that there was little real prospect of it running out.”

  He shook his head. “Now, wealth is reserved for reinvestment and no one is complaining,” he said, as they moved away from the table and down a long corridor. “And that is far more productive than wasting it on expensive dresses.”

  “I see,” Kitty said, slowly. “I never knew you for a commissionaire of dresses.”

  “They had me on the fashion beat, once upon a time,” Emmanuel said. “I never thought anyone actually bothered to read my articles.”

  Kitty smirked. “Because they were too busy gaping at the pictures?”

  “... Probably,” Emmanuel said. “Damned if there was anything else worth looking at in that old rag.”

  The next room held a handful of men in ill-fitting suits, smoking heavily as they discussed the war and how it was affecting their businesses. Emmanuel listened carefully, picking up a number of titbits for later consideration, then followed Kitty as she walked towards one of the councillors she’d mentioned. Councillor Johan Cagier turned to face them as they approached, then nodded politely to Emmanuel. He didn't pay any real attention to Kitty, apart from a quick glance at her breasts. As far as anyone knew, she was just an intern being shown the ropes.

  “It's been quite some time,” Cagier said, as he caught Emmanuel’s arm and led him towards a corner. “I liked the piece you did on the Battle of Basting’s Reach.”

  “Thank you,” Emmanuel said. It hadn't been a particularly detailed piece, but he always liked to be told when he had caught someone’s attention. “I trust it helped convince a few people to stay the course.”

  “Oh, you know what it’s like,” Cagier said. “The news from the front is good - wonderful, victory is in our grasp! We will crush Wolfbane, capture their women and divide the spoils amongst ourselves. The news from the front is bad - horrors! We’re going to lose the war! Our women will be raped, our children will be brainwashed and our businesses will be sold to the highest bidder. Horror upon horrors!”

  Emmanuel smiled politely. He had never been particularly sure why Cagier had been elected into office in the first place. Clearly, whatever district he represented must have had only a few choices, although he did have to admit that Cagier had an excellent war record. He’d kept his resistance cell running right up to the bitter end, making the Old Council’s goons miserable, before the Marines had arrived. Even then, he’d managed to keep the vast majority of his cell intact.

  “I know what it’s like,” he agreed, as another waiter approached. Cagier took a glass of wine and motioned for Emmanuel to take one too, but he declined. “Why did you come to the party?”

  “The Governor always throws the most interesting shindigs,” Cagier said. He winked, mischievously. “And it’s a good place to meet others.”

  He raised his voice and waved to a tall man, who had just entered the room. “Jim! Come and tell us about your recent business agreement!”

  Jim’s face was impassive as he strode over to meet them, but Emmanuel could tell he was annoyed. “We will be operating three new cloudscoops before the end of the year,” he said, shortly. His accent suggested an off-world origin. “Stockpiles of HE3 will continue to rise dramatically.”

  “Which tells others to invest in more fusion plants,” Cagier said. He leered cheerfully at Kitty. “Buy stock in fusion companies, if you want to make a quick buck.”

  “I’m not allowed to buy stock,” Emmanuel said, drawing the half-drunk councillor’s attention back to him. “It would compromise me.”

  “You’ll never be rich with an attitude like that,” Cagier proclaimed. “Take the opportunities as th
ey come, seize the day! Raise the Jolly Roger and prepare to board! Right, Jim?”

  “Correct,” Jim said. His voice was expressionless, but - if anything - he looked more irked at having to talk to Cagier than ever. “If you will excuse me, I have an appointment with Councillor Travis.”

  He bowed and retreated. “We need to head onwards too,” Emmanuel said, before Cagier could say a word. “If you’ll excuse us ...”

  “By all means,” Cagier said. He took another swig from his glass, then smirked. “I have a bet going that Lucy’s dress is going to slip off by the end of the day. See if you can get a picture of that.”

  Emmanuel nodded, then walked through the door and into the corridor. Kitty caught his arm as soon as they were out of earshot, then rolled her eyes at him when he turned to look at her.

  “Tell me,” she said. “How much of that was just an act?”

  “Hard to tell,” Emmanuel said. “Someone who is good at acting drunk might pick up a few pieces of information no one would say otherwise. Or it could be a real piece of drunken stupidity. Or ...”