Rani cut him off. “Go back there and resume command,” she ordered. “I will expect a fuller report by the end of the month. I’ll make my decision about your future then.”
She watched him go, then glared down at the datapad. The shipyard had been efficient, all right, at the cost of being a point failure source for the entire Wolfbane Consortium. It hadn't concentrated all the Consortium’s industrial might in one place, but it had certainly concentrated all the military-grade systems. And now, Wolfbane was paying the price for the Governor’s efficiency drive. An industrial base that should have steamrollered the Commonwealth into the ground had been crippled.
But she was in charge now.
Rani smiled, then reached for another datachip. The plan she had tried to sell to the Governor was still workable, after all, and now she was in command. It could be used ...
... And once the Commonwealth had been crushed, there would be plenty of time to repair the damage they’d done.
***
Jasmine didn't relax, not completely, until Passing Water had made it over the Phase Limit and vanished into FTL. She'd wondered if the enemy had been toying with them, she’d wondered if they’d just been biding their time before going after the freighter ... but it seemed they genuinely believed the team had been obliterated on the shipyard. It would require a crazy amount of luck to track them through FTL ... and besides, they were heading right for Avalon. They’d be able to report in soon enough.
“We made it,” Stewart said.
“Yeah,” Jasmine said. “We did.”
But it had come at a cost. Carl Watson ... there was no way to know what had happened to him, although some radio chatter had confirmed the Governor’s death. Paula ... might be alive or dead. And the others, who had died ... she knew their names and faces, but she didn't know them very well. It galled her, in a way, that she hadn't known them, even though they’d died at her command.
She rose to her feet. “Alert me if anything happens,” she said, although it was vanishingly unlikely that anything would. “I’ll go see to Gary and Kailee.”
“Have fun,” Stewart said. “And don’t fail to tell Gary he did well.”
Jasmine nodded, then walked through the hatch and down into the makeshift cabin. Kailee was sitting on the bench, her arms wrapped around her legs, her dark eyes staring at nothing in particular. Jasmine frowned, then gave her a quick once-over, searching for signs of physical abuse. But there were none.
“Gary started to cry after the link broke,” Kailee said. She nodded towards the door, which was locked. “He told me to get away from him, screamed he wasn't worthy ... and just locked himself in there.”
“Oh,” Jasmine said. It sounded like a breakdown, if internalised rather than externalised, although she would have to check him to be sure. “What did he say?”
“He just said he wasn't worthy,” Kailee said. “He ... he always had doubts, but ... I don’t understand him.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Jasmine promised. “You go up to the bridge and stay with Thomas for a while, ok?”
Kailee nodded. Jasmine tapped her wristcom, informing Stewart of the situation, then tapped the door. It didn't open. She sighed, waited for Kailee to leave the room, then pulled her multitool from her belt and pressed it against the lock. It clicked open, allowing her to step into the compartment. She wrinkled her nose at the smell - Gary had been drinking, it seemed - and clicked on the light. Gary was curled into a ball, blinking miserably at her. A gun lay beside him on the bed, as if he’d planned to shoot whoever stepped through the door - or himself.
“You’re in a mess,” she said. How long had it been since she’d encountered Mandy in a similar state? But Mandy had been in very real danger, while Gary was more dangerous to himself than anyone else. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Gary flinched, but did nothing. Jasmine kept her relief off her face - if he’d reached for the gun, things would have become very dangerous for both of them - and strode over to the bed, then picked up the gun herself. The safety was off; it struck her, suddenly, that Gary had been contemplating suicide. It wasn't uncommon for recruits to consider suicide, under the pressure of Boot Camp, but the Drill Instructors were usually good at spotting them before they went too far. She couldn't recall a genuine suicide at the Slaughterhouse at all.
“Couldn't do it,” Gary said. His voice sounded bleary. “I couldn't pull the trigger. Should have done. Should have ended my life.”
Jasmine frowned, then pulled him to his feet and half-carried, half-dragged him into the shower. The suicide rate on Earth had been terrifyingly high - she’d once heard that one in fifty Earthers would kill themselves - but she couldn't understand why Gary would try to kill himself now. He had Kailee, he had prospects, he’d proved himself ... he would go to Avalon and get a decent job. Why had he tried to kill himself now?
She turned on the water, then watched as Gary spluttered under the flow of cold liquid. He twisted and turned, but she didn't let go until he was thoroughly drenched. She dragged him back out, helped him to undress and then threw a towel at him. If the water wasn't enough to clear his mind, she would need to tie him down until he sobered up. She didn't know if the medical kit on the ship had any sober-up, or if she wanted to use it if it did.
“All right,” she said. Naked, Gary was a mess. It was clear from the way he held himself that he had no pride in his body at all, even though she’d seen worse. “What happened and why?”
Gary picked up a gown, then dressed slowly. “I don’t deserve to live,” he said, as he pulled the gown over his head. “You should kill me.”
Jasmine lifted her eyebrows. “Did you rape Kailee? Did you betray us? Did you put salt in my coffee yesterday?”
“This isn't funny,” Gary shouted at her.
“No, it isn't,” Jasmine agreed. Gary had always been scared of her, despite his best attempts to hide it. If he was shouting at her, the fear had to have been replaced by something else - bitter self-loathing, perhaps. “Why do you feel you deserve to die?”
“I killed them all,” Gary said. “I controlled the bees, I threw them around like they were nothing, I killed hundreds of thousands of people ...”
“I doubt it,” Jasmine said. She doubted there had been more than twenty thousand people on the shipyard, in total. “And you had no choice.”
“I gloried in it,” Gary snapped. “I enjoyed killing them because they were the bastards who’d wrecked my life. I wanted to make them hurt!”
Jasmine winced. She’d heard stories about people on Earth, people who just snapped and tried to kill as many others as they could before they were brought down. Gary might have been a prime candidate for snapping, given his life before Meridian; he’d grown up in a world where every man’s hand was turned against him. And then, given the ability to make them hurt, as he put it, he’d gloried in his newfound power.
You never see that outside the Core Worlds, she thought, morbidly. Is it because we don’t allow the seeds of hatred and madness to take root and grow?
But Gary had a conscience, she realised, turning her attention back to him. Afterwards, when he’d had a moment to relax and think, he’d recognised what he’d done. The others had never been given the chance to consider their actions in the cold light of day. Gary ... had seen the monster within him and recoiled.
“You should kill me,” Gary said, bitterly. He reached for a bottle of rotgut. Jasmine snatched it up and shoved it behind her. She would have to pour it down the toilet later, then have a few words with Frazier. If there were any other bottles on the ship, they would have to be locked away or discarded. “Look what I did!”
“You didn’t have a choice,” Jasmine said, slowly.
She sighed, inwardly. What could she say to convince him he’d done the right thing? His morality, such as it was, rebelled against his actions. She had been raised on a world where it was openly acknowledged that some people would never reform and just needed killing. Gary had
been taught never to seek his opponent’s death. And it was quite likely that a great many innocents had been killed in the crossfire.
“I could have said no,” Gary said. “I could have accepted what I was doing. But I saw it as nothing more than a game.”
“I know,” Jasmine said.
He stared at her. “What was it like for you? What happened the first time you killed a man?”
Jasmine met his eyes, unflinchingly. “It was on Han,” she said. She’d shot at everything from stationary targets to robots and holographic simulations, but she’d only shot a real man on Han, during her first deployment. In truth, it hadn't been until afterwards that it had gotten to her. Even then, she’d known that one of them would have died. “He was going to hurl a bottle of gas at me, with the flame already lit. I shot him.”
And the flames burned him, she thought. She’d had nightmares for weeks afterwards, even after she’d killed countless other insurgents. He died in agony ... but he would have done it to me, if I’d given him the chance.
She patted Gary’s shoulder, awkwardly. “You’re going to be supervised for the rest of the voyage,” she said. “Kailee cares about you, a lot. Leaving her alone is no way to thank her.”
Gary looked down at the deck. “I’m not a child,” he protested. “She doesn't want me.”
“She loves you,” Jasmine said, flatly. “And instead of complaining, and plotting to end your own life, you might as well come to terms with it. You are not on Earth any longer, Gary, and you can shape a life of your own.”
She sighed. “Or you can die,” she added. “But it would be something of a waste.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
And yet, the Fall of Earth left the Empire’s successor states struggling with the questions that had bedevilled humanity since the concept of taking prisoners on a large scale had first been developed.
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Empire and its Prisoners of War.
Avalon, Year 5 (PE)
“You don’t have to treat me like this,” Hannalore protested, as Kitty stepped into the interrogation chamber. “I'm not going anywhere.”
Kitty shrugged. Hannalore had not had a very pleasant night. She'd slept on a hard bunk without a cover, then woken at seven in the morning and fed a very basic meal. The guards had collected her an hour later, searched her thoroughly once again, then marched her down, her hands in cuffs, into the interrogation chamber. It would help keep her off-balance ... and remind her that her life was no longer her own.
“Procedure,” Kitty said.
She sat down, facing the older woman. “You agreed to cooperate,” she said. “I should warn you, here and now, that if you refuse to cooperate at any time in the future, the original charges will be proffered against you and you will stand trial for treason.”
Hannalore scowled at her, but said nothing. Kitty studied the older woman for a long moment, trying to decide if Hannalore could be relied upon to keep her word. Was she smart enough to realise, to understand, that she had nowhere to go? Or was she so convinced that she was the good guy that she thought she could get out from under Kitty’s thumb at a later date? She looked beaten, willing to give up and cooperate in exchange for not being executed, but Hannalore had grown up on Earth. Kitty would have been surprised if she hadn't been a skilled dissembler before her coming-out party, when she’d been fifteen.
“There won’t be a second chance,” Kitty added. “Your every move will be supervised and you will be asked to account for anything that seems suspicious. However, once the war is over, you and your husband will have a chance to live together, far from the maddening crowds.”
Hannalore winced. “What happened to my husband?”
“He’s still sleeping it off,” Kitty said. “I think he drank a little too much last night.”
She sighed, openly. In truth, she wasn't sure what would happen to the former Governor. Having him hospitalised for something minor might be wise, if only to keep him apart from his treacherous wife. Marriages had been broken for far less than one party committing outright treason. Hell, High Society on Earth hadn't given a damn about adultery. But treason? That would put a crimp into any marriage.
Hannalore’s eyes narrowed. “He was never much of a drinker.”
“It seemed the best way to help him cope with his feelings,” Kitty said, dispassionately. “He didn't know, did he, that you were selling us out.”
“No,” Hannalore said. Her eyes flashed, suddenly. “Why would I trust him for anything?”
Kitty met her eyes. “You married him because you thought he had good prospects,” she said, “and would probably go far. And he did; he went all the way to Avalon and took you with him. He saved you from certain death on Earth. And yet you’re bitching because you no longer have unearned power and influence? If you’d used those damn parties for what you said they were for, you would have had plenty of power and influence ...”
“You don’t understand,” Hannalore said. “I ...”
“I understand that you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth,” Kitty pointed out, fighting to keep her voice calm. “I also understand that, when the spoon was removed, you were unable to cope. Poverty was never an issue for you on Earth, was it? You never had to worry about where the next meal was coming from. I dare say it must have been a terrible shock to have to actually fend for yourself.”
She sighed. “Avalon has countless opportunities for young people,” she added. “And you could have made something of yourself without resorting to treason.”
“Fuck you,” Hannalore said. “Being born into High Society comes with a price tag ...”
“I dare say it does,” Kitty agreed. “But I think you could have parleyed it into a position of power and influence if you’d wanted. All you really wanted to do was hang on to your husband’s coattails and let him do the work, while you reaped the reward.”
She shrugged. “You are due to hold the next party tomorrow,” she added. “I expect you to be ready for duty.”
Hannalore blinked, then rattled her cuffs. “Like this?”
“No,” Kitty said, dryly. “You’ll be expected to wear clothes. Unless you have a habit of walking around naked at your parties.”
“Not these parties,” Hannalore said.
Kitty smiled, then reached into her pocket and produced an injector tube. Hannalore opened her mouth to protest, but Kitty pressed the tube against the side of her neck before she could say a word. The older woman grunted as Kitty pushed the trigger, then glowered at her, one hand reaching up to rub where the tube had touched her bare skin. Kitty returned the tube to her pocket, then smirked.
“You have been injected with a standard tracking implant, coded to you and you alone,” she said. “It remains silent, most of the time, but it will activate upon picking up a particular signal. You literally cannot run and hide without me tracking you down. And, as these implants are given to prisoners, even a standard security sweep when you pass through a starship’s barriers will sound an alarm. You cannot hope to leave the planet without my permission.”
Hannalore stared at her. “Get it out!”
“I don’t think so,” Kitty said. “It won’t be removed until you’ve completed your work with us.”
She released Hannalore from the chair, then led her through the door and into a washroom complex. Hannalore looked around her, surprised, as Kitty removed the cuffs and dropped them in a pocket, then nodded towards the shower and a set of drawers, positioned neatly against one wall.
“Shower thoroughly, then get dressed,” Kitty ordered. “We took the liberty of ordering you some new clothes from your favourite store. Once you’re dressed, we will go back to your mansion and start work.”
Hannalore nodded. “But what about Brent?”
“Your husband?” Kitty shrugged. She rather doubted Hannalore cared for her husband, certainly not after he’d lost his power and position. “I think we’ll put it about that he was taken ill, suddenly, and has to rem
ain in hospital. That would probably for the best, wouldn’t it?”
She watched Hannalore step into the shower, then walked out of the compartment. It was thoroughly monitored; Hannalore couldn't hope to do anything without being spotted, although Kitty had no idea what she could do. The entire chamber had been carefully designed to exclude anything that could be used as a weapon, or used to commit suicide. It wasn't something Kitty cared to think about, but she had to keep reminding herself that Hannalore had no rights. She was a known traitor, after all.
“She’s washing herself,” Lieutenant Piper reported. “And looking around for trouble.”
Kitty shrugged, then swiftly discarded her uniform and donned a simple green tunic. They’d been fashionable, once upon a time, but now they were commonplace, even on Avalon. Kitty had never understood fashion - people like Hannalore had determined what was in and out every season - yet she certainly knew the value of blending in with her surroundings. The tunic would be completely unremarkable and that was all that mattered.
Never Surrender (The Empire's Corps Book 10) Page 38