“I provide jobs for thousands of people who want to better themselves,” Augustus concluded, as the waiter arrived. “They can buy whatever they want with my wages.”
“I’m sure they can,” Belinda said. “What do you do for a living?”
Augustus snorted. “I own an industrial node,” he said. “Didn't I tell you that?”
Belinda nodded. Augustus started to talk rapidly, outlining his work and how he planned to expand the node without the crushing presence of the Empire’s bureaucracy. The Governor himself, apparently, had agreed to relax taxation and regulation in exchange for some unspecified service, something that Augustus remained tight-lipped about. Belinda listened, sometimes asking questions, as Augustus bragged. Reluctantly, she had to admit that if half of his bragging was accurate, he had good reason to be pleased with himself. In an age where the Grand Senate had drained innovation and inventiveness to the bare minimum, he’d built himself a private industrial empire that would be in a good position to take advantage of the Fall of Earth.
“But that’s enough about me,” Augustus said, leaning forward slightly. “Tell me about yourself?”
“I was a soldier, then a spacer,” Belinda said, activating one of her implants to ensure she kept her cover story straight. Most civilians wouldn't recognise discrepancies when she talked about the military, but there was no point in taking chances. “I ended up leaving the service after ... an incident and started travelling instead.”
“I always wanted to travel,” Augustus said. He shook his head wistfully. “What was the most remarkable sight you ever saw?”
The Slaughterhouse, Belinda thought. But it wasn't something she could say out loud.
“I saw the Silver Strand on New Paris,” she said, instead. She had seen it, once upon a time, when her unit had passed through the system. “It was spectacular when the sun rose above the horizon and the space elevator began to glow.”
“It must have been remarkable,” Augustus agreed. “What else did you see?”
“There was the Hanging Gardens of Babylon,” Belinda said, recalling a planet on the edge of the Core Worlds. There had been a nasty insurgency there, but it had been in its closing stages when her unit had been deployed and they’d found themselves doing nothing more than mop-up duties. “They claimed to have plants from every world in the Empire in their gardens.”
“I can't imagine you liking a garden,” Augustus said. “You always seem so ... untamed.”
Belinda found herself flushing. “The gardens were nice,” she said, defensively. “And surprisingly peaceful.”
She paused. “Why don’t you go travelling?”
“I don’t dare take my eyes off my business,” Augustus said. “I have no one I can trust to take over, really.”
Belinda lifted her eyebrows. “You don’t trust your children?”
“They’re brats,” Augustus said, tiredly. “My eldest daughter blows through her allowance within the first day of the month, while my son and younger daughters refused to study anything useful at university. And to think they wanted to go to Imperial University on Earth!”
“That would have been bad,” Belinda said, remembering the student uprisings in the last days of Earth. They’d ended badly for everyone involved. “They aren’t interested in following in your footsteps?”
“They’re only interested in money,” Augustus said. “Gabrielle would spend everything I built up in a few months, if I let her, while the other three want to give it all away to various social justice parties. Where did I go wrong?”
“You made their lives too easy,” Belinda said, quietly.
“I know,” Augustus said. “But was it wrong of me to want them to have a good life?”
Belinda considered it. Her father had always remarked that suffering built character, but he'd also never had the money to spoil his children rotten. She'd grown up on a farm, helping her parents feed the animals and tend to the crops from a very early age. And she’d often had to hunt to keep her family fed. And she’d never been allowed to make allowances for her behaviour.
“I think you have to strike a balance between teaching them the value of hard work and deliberately depriving them,” she said, finally. “Getting too much too easy just makes them accustomed to getting whatever they want, when they want it. And if they never develop the ability to work hard as children, they will find it very hard to learn as adults.”
“I wish my wife had thought like that,” Augustus said. “She always spoilt the children rotten.”
He must have an open relationship, Doug said. That’s not uncommon among the very rich.
Belinda shrugged, wishing she could erase the voices from her head. “You probably need to take a heir if you find your natural-born children unsatisfactory,” she said, dryly. “Or send them off to reform camp. Or the Marines.”
Augustus snorted. “What did the Marines ever do to deserve them?”
The waiters reappeared before Belinda could think of an answer, carrying two large silver trays of food. Belinda eyed the stew in front of her with some concern, realising that it was easily large enough to feed several people at once. She wouldn't have any difficulty eating the stew, thanks to her implants, but a more normal person would have struggled.
How the rich live, Pug muttered, in her head. And to think this is all fiddling as the planet starts to burn.
Belinda ignored him. Instead, following Augustus’s lead, she started to tuck into her stew, silently blessing her trainers for the etiquette lessons. Augustus seemed to watch her with a strange level of interest, both lustful and – at the same time – more curious than anything else. Belinda puzzled over it for a long moment, then dismissed the thought as the first explosion of taste hit her tongue. The stew was an astonishing mix of meats and various spices and other flavours.
“The chef is rightly proud of his work,” Augustus said, as he carved his way through a colossal steak. It was so large that Belinda couldn't help wondering if it had really come from a live animal or if someone had grown it in a vat, perhaps with proper treatment to make it taste natural. “I always have something different when I come here and it’s always something good.”
Belinda nodded, chewing her food. “The news is curiously bland,” she said, when she finished swallowing. “Is there something I’m missing?”
“The Governor has the news censored,” Augustus said, darkly. “I have to pay extra just to access the standard uncensored datastreams. The general public cannot be allowed to know about the problems we’re having right now.”
Belinda leaned forward, showing interest. “Problems?”
“I don’t have any ties to Earth,” Augustus said. “Problem is – just about everyone else in the space industry does, or did. No one knows what’s going to happen to their industrial plants, so hundreds of trained workers are being laid off and I can't snap them all up for myself. Those men represent a reserve we cannot afford to lose, but everyone is dragging their feet on recognising that Earth is gone and doing something with the remaining industries in the system.”
Belinda made a show of looking confused. “Can’t they be passed to the heirs?”
“It’s impossible to tell who the heirs actually are,” Augustus pointed out. He took another bite of his steak, then gestured vaguely with the fork. “The corporations that owned a good two-thirds of the planet’s industrial might were based on Earth, where most of their CEOs lived and worked. They tended to assign managers to handle their affairs here, but those managers didn't really own shares in the industries.”
“That makes sense,” Belinda said, slowly. “The stock exchanges were based on Earth.”
“Precisely,” Augustus said. “Now, if I were in charge, I would put the whole question of ownership to one side and just concentrate on restarting production. Sure, we’d be short of quite a few essential pieces of equipment, but we could fill those holes with a little effort and then start replacing what we lost over the last month. But, right now,
there are too many interested parties to permit the Governor to take control and restart production. I’m trying to handle orders from so many people that I can't hope to fill them all.”
“Ouch,” Belinda said.
“And, to add insult to injury, no one really knows how much money is worth any longer,” Augustus added. “Everything ran through the Imperial Central Bank on Earth. Now the bank is gone and the value of the credit is falling through the floor. Interstellar trade is doomed unless we can re-establish some idea of what money is worth from star system to star system. And if trade dies, the remains of the Empire dies with it.”
Belinda looked down at her stew. “They didn’t seem to question the price of this meal,” she said. “Or is that different?”
“Anything local can be backed by locally-owned industries,” Augustus said. “But anything interstellar ...”
He paused. “Are you all right for money, right now?”
“For the moment,” Belinda assured him. She had no idea if Augustus was being kind or if he was trying to find a way to control her, but it hardly mattered. “I’m not planning to stay indefinitely.”
“I saw your file,” Augustus said. “I could easily find a job for you.”
Belinda had to smile. “Do you always make job offers to women you meet on the orbital tower?”
“Only the ones who might offer something to my company,” Augustus said, sardonically. “And you might. We need more security experts right now.”
“Because of the potential for riots?” Belinda asked. “Or is there another reason?”
“Both,” Augustus said. He finished his steak and pushed it to one side. “You do realise there’s a good chance you will be conscripted?”
“I know,” Belinda said. She wasn't a native, but the Governor didn't seem to care. His growing army was trying to round up as many people with military experience as it could, including off-worlders. Hell, the whole concept of off-worlders being mistrusted was new to the Core Worlds. Once, the populations would have been largely interchangeable. “But I don’t plan to stay here.”
“I think the penalties for desertion will be rather high,” Augustus said, dryly. “You need to be careful.”
“I will,” Belinda said. “But I’ve always preferred being a free agent or a starship crewperson, rather than one employee among millions.”
She gave him a coy smile, then changed the subject before he could ask an awkward question. “And what were you planning to do for the rest of the evening?”
“It would depend on what you want to do,” Augustus said. He took a breath. “But I would like to start by apologising for my behaviour on the orbital tower. I can endure space, but not the orbital tower’s elevator.”
“You’re forgiven,” Belinda said. She watched coolly as the waiters cleared away the table, then offered the dessert menus. “Would you like to dance on the lower floor?”
Augustus smiled. “Why not?”
Belinda felt another odd burst of guilt as he held out a hand, then led her to the stairs leading down to the lower levels. The Augustus she’d met on the orbital tower’s elevator had been a drunken fool, but this one was something more sympathetic. Somehow, she didn't want to seduce him, then steal his access codes. Or worse. And yet, what else could she do?
“It’s been years since I danced,” Augustus said, as they reached the dance floor. A handful of couples were already moving across the floor, swinging to the beat of the tune. There didn't seem to be any real steps, merely moving up to the windows and back again. “Come on ...”
“Attention,” a sharp voice said. The musicians stopped playing and looked around in confusion. “This is a security warning. All guests are warned that there is a security emergency on the streets. This building will now go into lockdown; I say again, this building will now go into lockdown.”
Belinda stepped over to the window and peered down to the streets below. The normal eye couldn't have seen more than a blur, but her enhanced eyes had no difficulty in picking out the signs of a budding riot. Crowds were gathering in the twilight, scattering the handful of security guards on the streets. It would take time, given how badly the police and military were scattered, to handle the growing crisis.
Augustus caught her arm. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Belinda lied. She could make her way out, she suspected, but she would have to leave Augustus and the other guests behind. Somehow, that seemed unthinkable. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
Chapter Fourteen
But if we determine that it is not a criminal act, we open the floodgates for claims that a relationship between a 15 year old and a 40 year old would also not be a criminal act. The law deals in absolutes and precedents and is incapable, quite often, of recognising the subtle points of a situation.
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Decline of Law and Order and the Rise of Anarchy.
“So,” Helen said. “How was your day?”
“Tedious,” Glen said. He’d gone to the office the Nihilists had rented, but – as he’d expected – they’d cleared out months ago. “And yours?”
Helen gave him a shy smile. “I worked my way through the puzzle chip,” she said. “Most of them were simple.”
Glen had to smile. He’d purchased puzzles and educational games intended for someone two or three years older than Helen ... and she considered them simple? But then, she had grown up on a starship, where puzzle-solving was often a matter of life and death. And she hadn't been held back by the rest of her class, as she would have been if she’d grown up on the ground.
The thought caused him a pang. If she stayed with him – and part of him wanted her to stay with him – she would have to go to school. Homeschooling was illegal, even if he’d had the time and ability to educate her himself, and she’d find herself badly isolated in a normal school. Quite apart from her origins, she’d be smarter and more adaptable than the rest of her classmates. She wouldn't have a comfortable time of it.
“I can find you a more advanced one,” he said, although he wasn't sure where to look. There weren't that many levels above the one she’d completed. “What would you like to do this evening?”
“Watch a flick,” Helen said, after a moment. “I was saving them for when you came home.”
“Something mindless,” Glen said, dryly. “I’ve had to use my brain all day and it deserves a rest.”
Helen giggled.
He sent her to choose the flick she wanted to watch, then stepped into the kitchen and started to cook. It had been a long time since he’d cooked for more than one person and he wasn't quite sure of the quantities of food he should use, but he was parsing it out step by step. And he could simply reheat anything they didn't eat when it was cooked. By the time he’d started to heat up chicken and pasta, Helen had returned, carrying two datachips in her hand. Glen glanced at the titles and rolled his eyes.
“Hero Cop and Law Enforcer?” He asked. “Don’t you have something more entertaining?”
Helen looked surprised. “What’s wrong with these?”
Glen snorted as he reached for plates. “They were written by someone who knows nothing about police work,” he said. “There are so many mistakes in them that ... that it explains why we get so many idiots signing up for training. They think we’re like Hero Cop with his Lantern Jaw of Justice.”
Helen looked down at the table. “I always liked action movies,” she confessed. “My mother used to think it was weird, but my dad had a vast collection and we would watch our way through them, one by one. They’d never let me watch anything fantastical.”
“I’m not surprised,” Glen commented. Fantastical movies were often anti-science as well as utterly unrelated to any form of reality. They were popular in the Core Worlds, but rather less so along the Rim. Besides, the basic background plot was always the same. The elders know better than the younglings and should never be questioned. “But I never got to watch cop shows when I was a child. The
y were too violent.”
Helen smirked. “Worse than some of the sex flicks I’m not supposed to have watched?”
Her face shadowed. “My father had a collection of those too,” she added. “My mother caught me watching one a year ago and went mental.”
“You're too young to watch,” Glen said, as he started to ladle out the food. “It causes too many problems down on a planetary surface.”
Helen frowned. “It does?”
Glen nodded. The Empire’s entertainment producers might have been deprived of the chance to produce anything with a plot, so they’d been forced to compensate with sex. Their latest flicks showed everything from couples enjoying an intensely sexual relationship to orgies involving multiple couples or every form of depraved sexuality under the sun. Glen wouldn't have cared if they’d been aimed at adults, but far too many of them were aimed at children who didn't understand the dangers of indulging in such acts. It helped keep the masses quiet, he knew, yet the price was far too high. How many of the problems the Marshals had to deal with among teenagers stemmed from watching endless streams of pornography?
It might not be so dangerous in space, he thought, although he didn't blame Helen’s mother for being furious. In space, the difference between fantasy and reality is harder to forget.
He passed Helen her plate of food, then sat down to eat his own. It tasted blander than he’d expected – normally, he would have added more spices and sauces to give it some kick – but it hardly mattered. After a hard day at work, all he really wanted to do was cram more fuel into his body and then go to sleep. But staying up to watch a flick with Helen sounded good too.
“The chicken tastes odd,” Helen said. “Is that normal?”
Glen took a bite, rolling the piece of meat around his mouth. “I think so,” he said. “It’s just the preservatives they force into the meat.”
Helen gave him an odd look. “Preservatives?”
“People sue over everything,” Glen said. “If someone bought a piece of rotten meat, they’d sue. So the shopping malls inject preservatives into the meat to ensure it lasts longer and no one gets hurt eating it. And if it doesn't taste as good as it should ... well, it’s for the good of society.”
The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9) Page 13