Never Surrender (The Empire's Corps Book 10)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “And so we were surprised when you contacted us, requesting an interview,” Hannalore added, sharply. Her voice would have been sultry if it hadn't been so icy. “You are not known for reporting on social engagements.”

  “I was informed by several of my contacts that your parties are actually more than mere social engagements,” Emmanuel said, as they stepped through a side door and into a large sitting room. A waiter appeared, carrying a tray of steaming mugs of coffee. “They believed that some business deals were made here, out of the public eye.”

  The Governor smiled as he sat down. “I was lost for quite some time,” he said, as the waiter handed out the cups of coffee. “What can a former Governor do when the state he serves no longer exists? There was nothing to be gained from trying to remain on the council, I thought; the new state had no time for me. My three years on the council were wasted.”

  Emmanuel nodded. He’d heard the Governor had jumped before he’d been pushed, but he didn’t blame the man for trying to put the best possible spin on events. Being fired was never easy to handle, particularly when whatever had happened wasn't one’s fault.

  “And then my wife had an idea,” the Governor continued. “We still owned the mansion, so we could use it as a place to encourage social mixing. The new would mix with the old and both would emerge stronger.”

  “Social mentoring was always one of my interests,” Hannalore said, icily.

  Kitty leaned forward. When she spoke, her voice was almost painfully naive. “What is social mentoring?”

  Hannalore eyed her for a long moment. “High Society is a jungle with many different rules,” she said. For a long moment, her accent was very definitely aristocratic, enough to make the hackles rise on Emmanuel’s neck. “A newcomer, presented at court, will not know how to handle herself without giving offense. A society mentor ensures that she avoids making any major mistakes until she finds her footing.”

  “That society is gone,” Emmanuel said, lightly.

  “The basic idea is still the same,” Hannalore said. “People of ... wealth and achievement, if not family, meet in a neutral location to talk. Some of those talks lead to business alliances and success. The society we are building is developing its own rules, but eventually those rules will start to shut out newcomers, unless they are carefully mentored into learning the ropes.”

  Emmanuel leaned forward. “Do you believe that to be possible?”

  “High Society was very exclusive on Earth,” Hannalore said. There was a trace of underlying bitterness in her voice. “And true newcomers were very rare.”

  “And the corporations will eventually reach a point where they discover that suppressing competition is easier than trying to compete openly,” the Governor said. “They will soon discover their self-interest drives them towards closing ranks, rather than embracing the new and feeding on change.”

  “You may be right,” Emmanuel said. “How do your parties help keep that from happening?”

  “We encourage the older, more established interests to meet with the new,” the Governor said. “I - we - aim to develop a society where the new is always embraced, rather than rejected or excluded. Strong habits of learning from the new will build on themselves, eventually excluding those who refuse to learn from the new. There will be no opportunity to close ranks.”

  “The Trade Federation has something comparable,” Hannalore added. “Families take newcomers as marriage partners, to ensure that they remain part of the family. The principle is the same.”

  “So it would seem,” Emmanuel mused. Privately, he had his doubts; the Commonwealth was barely five years old, while the Empire had endured for centuries before it collapsed. “How did you get started?”

  “We invited everyone who had earned wealth,” the Governor said, “and others who might do as well, given time. And then we went on from there.”

  “It must have cost money,” Emmanuel said. “How did you pay for it, originally?”

  “My wife sold her jewels,” the Governor said. He gave Hannalore a fond look, even though she didn't seem happy at the admission. “That brought us enough money to pay for the first couple of parties, then we sold a handful of subscriptions.”

  “Another way to keep people invested,” Hannalore said. Her voice was very cold. “They do tend to place more value on something they pay for themselves.”

  Emmanuel kept his face impassive, somehow. If the Governor had been an observer on the council for three years, he had to have left just after the Commonwealth had encountered Admiral Singh - and then Wolfbane. Was that a coincidence? And if Hannalore had sold her jewels ... he swore mentally as he realised it was unlikely the sale had brought in more than a few thousand credits. Avalon’s society beauties wouldn’t place much value on jewels from Earth, while anyone who had actually earned money would draw the line at buying them.

  She couldn't have earned that much from selling her jewels, he thought. Did she take money from Wolfbane?

  It wasn't a pleasant thought. He’d largely overlooked the Governor’s wife, considering her nothing more than an appendage to the Governor. But he should have known better. She had a motive to betray the Commonwealth - it had destroyed her social position - and the means, given that she controlled the mansion. And she’d clearly had the nerve to push her husband into carving out a new role for himself.

  “That is true,” he agreed. “Do you feel they have been a good investment?”

  “They pay for themselves,” the Governor said. “Being a mediator isn't quite like being a Governor, really. I find it quite relaxing.”

  “I imagine,” Emmanuel said.

  “It's quite romantic how Holily Brennan and Roger Mortimer have fallen in love,” Hannalore said. “That started at one of our parties.”

  Emmanuel grinned. “And how do you benefit from that?”

  “Good vibes,” Hannalore said. “And we get to charge for using the mansion for the wedding.”

  “I’d like you to talk up how people come together here,” the Governor said, as the interview started to draw to a close. “They have to understand that we’re giving birth to a new era and parties like the ones we hold only help reshape people into a united civilisation.”

  “I will quote you on that,” Emmanuel promised. “Do you have anything else you wish to say to the readers?”

  “Just that the Commonwealth will survive, prosper and eventually overcome,” the Governor offered. “And you can quote me on that too.”

  Emmanuel nodded, then allowed the Governor to show them back out of the house and into the car. He didn't say a word until they were out of the gates, then Kitty had performed a quick check for bugs. There were none in the car itself, but he took the precaution of activating his privacy generator before he dared say anything. He didn't want to take unnecessary risks.

  “It's the wife,” Kitty said, flatly. “She’s the brains behind the operation, I bet you.”

  “I thought as much,” Emmanuel agreed. “I doubt she could have got more than a few thousand credits for her jewels, even if she had the Crown Jewels of Prince Roland hidden under her mansion. There aren’t many people here who would buy them at their old value.”

  “I need to check up on her,” Kitty said. She cursed under her breath. “I was fixated on the Governor ... it never occurred to me that his wife might be involved.”

  “It’s a common mistake to make,” Emmanuel said. “I’m pretty sure she wasn't much more than a hostess when her husband actually held real power.”

  He sighed. “All her talk about social mentoring,” he added, rolling his eyes. “I’d bet good money that she’s been regretting coming out here, ever since she found out the truth about Avalon. Wolfbane probably didn't have to work hard to convince her to work for them. Hell, given how many contacts she has now, she might even be an acceptable collaborator leader for them.”

  Kitty ran her hand through her long red hair. “I need to take this to the Colonel,” she said, slowly. Colonel Sta
lker would have to make the final decision. “And then we need to decide what to do.”

  She shrugged. “We still have to identify the link back to Wolfbane,” she added. “Perhaps one of her permanent employees ... or perhaps someone else. Still, we know who to follow now.”

  “Unless there's something more out here,” Emmanuel said, pessimistically. That was Kitty’s problem, really. He had other things to worry about. “I’d better get on with writing that damn puff piece.”

  “It might get you a few more invitations, so make it as sweet and gentle as you can,” Kitty said. Her lips curled into a grim smirk. “And they might come in handy, when we make her an offer she can't refuse.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  But, on the other hand, promising harsh punishments to any captured member of the terrorist organisation guarantees that there will be few surrenders.

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

  Saltine Asteroid, Year 5 (PE)

  “This is neutral territory,” Captain Jim Frazier said, as they stepped through the airlock into Saltine Asteroid. “Try not to pick a fight.”

  Jasmine nodded, then took a deep breath as the atmosphere struck her face. Like many asteroid settlements that lacked eco-caves, Saltine smelled of too many humans in too close proximity, mingled with the scent of machinery and foodstuffs. The handful of people in view wore everything from shipsuits to colourful outfits that seemed to come from another era. Most of them were armed, she noted with some concern, and many of them looked deadly, as if they were determined to fight to defend themselves.

  But it would be pointless if a warship arrives, she thought, as Frazier led her down a long corridor. They could simply blow the asteroid apart with a well-placed nuke.

  She took another breath as they stepped into a cavern, which was crammed with stalls and people trying to sell their wares. It looked distressingly familiar; she’d seem similar displays on pirate-operated asteroids, where there was no law and order and the strong bullied the weak mercilessly. No one seemed to be selling slaves, which was one mercy; she frowned as she saw a sign advertising a brothel. The whores might be selling their own bodies or they might be being sold, the helpless victims of emotionless pimps. There was no way to know.

  “You could try to sell some of your supplies for credits,” Frazier offered, as they made their way past a set of stalls. “Or you could just wait and see what happens.”

  “I will,” Jasmine said. “I don’t think we would get much for anything we have on the ship.”

  “Trade the fresh food,” Frazier said. “You could probably get quite a bit in trade, if you try.”

  Jasmine put the thought at the back of her mind, then followed him up to a solid airlock. It was unmarked, save for a simple scratch that looked too precise to be natural. Frazier tapped on the hatch, then waited; two minutes later, it hissed open, revealing a small office. A dark-skinned woman, her skin far darker than Jasmine’s looked up and frowned as they entered, then waved to a pair of seats. Frazier sat down, then nodded to Jasmine. She had to do the talking.

  “I understand you’re the Trade Federation representative here,” Jasmine said. “Is that true?”

  “Yes,” the girl said. She looked around the same age as Jasmine, but her eyes suggested she was considerably older. The Traders had never had any compunctions about using semi-legal biological treatments to extend their lives. “And you’re a marine, unless I miss my guess.”

  Jasmine nodded, shortly. “We need help,” she said. “Can we ask for it?”

  “They’ve escaped a POW camp,” Frazier said, helpfully. “And she isn't sure if she should trust your agreement with the Commonwealth.”

  Jasmine shot him a sharp glance, then looked back at the girl. “He’s right,” she admitted. “We did escape a POW camp.”

  “I see,” the girl said. “My name is Mary, by the way. And I think you’d better tell me the full story.”

  She listened, impassively, as Jasmine told her a very basic outline of their escape from an unnamed world. It was possible they would eventually realise that it was Meridian, but for the moment she would prefer to keep the world’s name to herself. Mary waited until Jasmine had finished, then keyed a switch below her desk. Jasmine tensed, one hand crawling towards the pistol at her belt, as a hidden door hissed open. Two men, both unarmed, stepped into the room. They looked so alike she was sure they were clones.

  “We have an alliance with your Commonwealth,” one said. He made a show of stroking his beard before continuing. “I believe we are obliged to honour it, although I should warn you that our presence here is very limited. They would not tolerate a military base in their rear.”

  Jasmine gave them a sharp look. “They know you’re here?”

  “Of course,” the second clone said. “Trade trumps everything, young lady.”

  “And it’s a good source of intelligence,” the first clone offered. “We have learned much about the Wolves and passed it to our superiors.”

  Mary cleared her throat. “The Andrews are the supervisors here,” she explained. “We just call them One and Two.”

  Jasmine shook her head. Cloning a living person had been illegal under the Empire, although she’d heard rumours that some of the Grand Senators had cloned themselves more than once, perhaps to provide transplants for medical purposes. Given how easy it was to clone a single organ in a cloning tank, she had her doubts. But, unlike some rumours, it was actually technologically possible.

  “Very well,” she said. “How much help can you give us?”

  Andrew One smiled. “What do you want to do?”

  “Either take advantage of being here,” Jasmine said, “and strike them somewhere in the rear, or simply head home. I have over a thousand POWs on my ship and most of them need to be back on Avalon.”

  Andrew Two smiled, in a manner precisely identical to Andrew One. “We can provide you with another bulk freighter or two,” he offered. “But getting behind their lines ... it would be quite risky.”

  “We’re already behind their lines,” Jasmine pointed out. “And they don't know we’re here.”

  “Sabotage teams could have been launched directly from the Commonwealth,” Andrew One countered. He paused, then exchanged an identical look with his twin. “However, we may be able to help you. Our only stipulation is that you do nothing to draw their attention here.”

  “We will do our best,” Jasmine said.

  “Glad to hear it,” Andrew One said. “I can have a second bulk freighter prepped for you in a couple of hours, along with a crew. I’d expect you to replenish the tanks if nothing else ...”

  “I dare say the Commonwealth will make it worth your while,” Jasmine said. The crew would need to be paid, if nothing else. “What information do you have on Wolfbane?”

  “Plenty,” Andrew Two said. “I will have it readied for you. We would advise you to remain on your ship, unless you wish to trade. This is not a secure location.”

  They bowed, then retreated through the door, which hissed closed. Jasmine had expected more of an argument, but perhaps it had been foolish. The Trade Federation was a loose structure, very much a flattened hierarchy, yet it did honour agreements ...

  “They’re a strange bunch, but they’re decent people,” Mary said. “I rather like working with them.”

  Jasmine blinked. “Are they clones?”

  “Yep,” Mary said. She gave Jasmine a sharp look. “Is that a problem?”

  “I'm just surprised,” Jasmine said. “I’ve never seen a full-body clone before.”

  “There’s several clone-families along the Rim,” Mary said. “Their genes are dominant, so every child they sire is another clone. The Andrews have been working for the Trader Queen since the Trade Federation was established. No one doubts their loyalty or competence.”

  She paused. “This isn't Earth,” she added. “There are lots of ... people out here whose mere existence would be considered illegal, in the C
ore Worlds. Clones, half-human hybrids, enhanced cyborgs ... there’s a rumour going round about people who have been assimilated into a giant hive mind. No one gives a damn about the Empire’s hypocritical morality here.”

  Frazier smiled. “How often do you have to give that speech?”

  “Too often,” Mary said. “There are worse people out here than the Andrews.”

  Jasmine didn't doubt it. Saltine looked civilised, compared to a pirate asteroid, but there was very little distance between accepting individual quirks and rationalising something truly awful. Pirates gleefully engaged in looting, rape, murder and slave trading; it was astonishing just how many activities could be deemed acceptable, if it suited someone to make that determination. If Kailee had been shocked at the number of hard choices Jasmine had had to make, in her seven years of active service, she would be horrified if she knew just how many compromises were made by people who lived on the Rim.