The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9)

by Christopher Nuttall

  Augustus shrugged, then cleared his throat. “I ... um ... I think it would be best if you stayed the night in my apartment,” he said. He sounded oddly embarrassed, like a schoolboy tying to ask out a girl for the first time. “I won't ask you to share my bed.”

  Belinda heard howls of laughter in her mind. She ignored them as best as she could.

  “Thank you,” she said, instead. There was no point in telling him that she could look after herself. Besides, slipping back to her hotel would be difficult and she would have to trick the security systems into thinking she'd always been there. “I’d be happy to stay with you for the night.”

  Augustus squeezed her hand lightly, then settled back in his seat as the taxi passed through a security gate, then came to a halt. The door opened moments later, revealing a large garage with a handful of high-class vehicles sitting under the lights. Showing off, Belinda noted, as Augustus paid the taxi driver and followed her out of the car. The apartment block was tiny, compared to the cityblocks of Earth – and staggeringly expensive. Augustus had a bigger home in the countryside, but this was where he worked. It was very close to Government House.

  Which is probably why the rent is so high, she told herself, as her implants pinged the local network. It was largely secure, with some firewalls that were definitely a cut or two above what civilians were normally allowed to possess. But then, a large enough bribe could get anything in the Empire. The people who live here are close to the Governor.

  “There are fifty floors to this building,” Augustus said, as he led the way to the elevator and pressed his hand against a scanner. Belinda’s skin tingled as a security sweep checked their identities, before the door hissed open. “I rent two of them.”

  Belinda gave him a surprised look. “You don’t own them?”

  Augustus snorted. “The people who own these apartments wouldn't sell if you offered them an entire planet in exchange,” he said, snidely. The elevator started to move, so gently that Belinda barely sensed the motion. “There’s too much to gain from having the richest and most powerful people in the system renting their apartments.”

  “Political access,” Belinda said.

  “Precisely,” Augustus said. He sighed. “It's not how wealthy you are, really, so much as who you can influence. And the people living here have plenty of influence.”

  The elevator doors opened, revealing a large apartment several times the size of Belinda’s first home. It fairly glowed with elegance, from carefully-chosen artworks to pieces of furniture that complemented the overall design. And yet, it was lacking something, something that Belinda found impossible to define. It wasn't somewhere she would choose to live.

  It’s not a home, she thought, sourly. It’s chosen more for status than comfort.

  “Daddy,” a voice called. “Bill wouldn't let me go clubbing! And who’s this?”

  Belinda looked up, just in time to see a young girl enter the lobby. She was too beautiful to be real, with an utterly flawless face, blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Augustus had probably paid through the nose to ensure his daughter had the best possible start in life, including a beautiful face, but he’d definitely made her life too easy. His daughter reminded Belinda of Roland, in many ways.

  Roland grew up, she thought, recalling the last time she’d seen the former prince. Maybe this girl can grow up too.

  “This is Belinda,” Augustus said. “Belinda, this is my daughter Violet.”

  Violet eyed Belinda with unconcealed disdain. “Your latest slut?”

  Belinda blinked in surprise. It still shocked her, even after nearly fifteen years away from her homeworld, just how little respect the children of the Core Worlds showed to their parents, let alone their teachers and the security forces. There was a reason, she suspected, why most of the Marines came from the outer worlds. They grew up in environments where failing to learn from their elders could prove fatal – and where parents were less reluctant to discipline their children.

  “My friend,” Augustus said, tartly. “And Bill was quite right to keep you inside. There was a riot.”

  “Bill should be sacked,” Violet snapped. “He blocked my access to the datanet!”

  “Probably for the best,” Augustus said. He gave Belinda an apologetic glance. “Can you take a seat in the living room? I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

  Belinda nodded, then followed his pointing finger and walked into the living room. It was as tasteful as the rest of the apartment, but the effect was spoiled by a number of pieces of clothing scattered everywhere and a large viewscreen, which was displaying scenes from the riot. Belinda was surprised the Governor hadn't managed to clamp down on the news yet – the local datanet hadn't been deactivated until the riot was well underway – but it hardly mattered. She sat down on the sofa and sighed, inwardly, as she heard Violet ranting and raving about Bill. Whoever the man was, she decided, he had the patience of a saint.

  Poor bastard, Pug said. Did I ever tell you I used to be bodyguard to a famous movie star?

  No, Belinda thought. And I wouldn't believe a word of it.

  They’re always brats, Pug said. Even if they weren't brats when they started, they become brats soon enough. It’s the fame, you see. It drives them crazy.

  Belinda shrugged, then reached for the remote and started to flick through channels. Most of them were showing horrific scenes, almost competing to see who could show the worst pictures from the riot, but a couple were providing genuine analysis. She listened, carefully, as one of the talking heads informed the world that there had been riots in a dozen cities, including two within a giant CityBlock. The death toll was over several thousand and rising steeply. She would be surprised if it wasn't over a hundred thousand by the time the night finally came to an end.

  And if there was more than one riot, she thought, someone almost certainly planned for them to happen.

  She glanced up as Augustus entered the room. “I’m sorry for my daughter’s behaviour,” he said, as he sat down next to her. “She is a persistent trial. I don’t know what to do with her.”

  Belinda smiled. “Find someone willing to take her in and bring her up properly,” she said, darkly. “A strict mother figure would probably be good for her.”

  Augustus gave her a sharp look. “Would you be interested?”

  “I think my strict upbringing would probably break her,” Belinda said. She had a sudden vision of Violet, her head shaved to her scalp, standing in line with the other recruits at Boot Camp and snickered, inwardly. “You would probably do better finding someone kinder, but firm.”

  “My father expected me to work,” Augustus said. “He was a hard man and I thought I was being kind to Violet by not demanding so much from her. But ...”

  Belinda shrugged. “It's never easy to find the proper balance between being strict and indulgent,” she said. “I sometimes think that my parents made mistakes because their parents made mistakes – or did things my parents thought were mistakes.”

  “And you went into the military,” Augustus said. “Maybe I should enrol her in military school.”

  “I wouldn't bother,” Belinda said. “She’d get too much special treatment.”

  She paused. “Send her to work on a farm,” she offered. “Have her responsible for the care and feeding of some of the animals. But make sure her work is carefully supervised at first, just in case.”

  Augustus nodded, then changed the subject. “I meant to give you a better evening,” he said, softly. “I'm sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” Belinda said. She yawned, suddenly. “And we can go somewhere else, later.”

  “I’ll show you to your room,” Augustus said. “And I won’t disturb you in the morning.”

  You could take him to bed, Pug said. He’s interested in you and it’s been years since you got laid.

  Shut up, Belinda thought back.

  “Thank you,” she said, out loud. She rose to her feet, then kissed Augustus on the cheek. “I will have to go
back to the hotel in the morning, though.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Augustus said, as he stood. “You can order whatever you like from the desk downstairs. And I’ll have Bill give you access to the datanet too.”

  Yep, Pug said. Definitely interested in you.

  Belinda sighed inwardly, then ignored the little voice.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It will come as no surprise to the enlightened reader that the Empire’s attempts to enforce a unified code of law and order – otherwise known as Imperial Law – over thousands of planets was an outright failure. The Empire was simply too large for a ‘one size fits all’ approach.

  - Professor Leo Caesius. The Decline of Law and Order and the Rise of Anarchy.

  Glen started awake as he heard someone opening his door. He sat upright, one hand reaching for the pistol he normally kept stashed behind his bed, then cursed himself as he realised that Helen was entering the room. Her pale face seemed to grow even paler as he stared at her, blearily, then relaxed.

  “I brought you coffee,” she said, holding out a mug. “What time did you get back last night?”

  “Late,” Glen grunted, taking the mug and sniffing it. He had to smile when he realised just how much powder she’d put in the drink. The coffee was too strong for anyone, but a police officer or a soldier. “Around five o’clock on the morning.”

  He reached for his wristcom and glanced at the time. It was just after ten in the morning, which meant he’d had around five hours of sleep. He was surprised Patty hadn't called to demand to know where he was, but after so many hours of overtime his boss would understand if he needed to sleep it off. She’d actually been a marshal on active duty before she’d been promoted, unlike so many others. And she knew how the job ground down her subordinates.

  “I hope the coffee is all right,” Helen said, sitting at the foot of his bed. “It wasn't easy to work out how much powder I should give you.”

  Glen took a long sip, then smiled. “I think you got it about right, for me,” he said. “But don’t make it so strong for anyone else.”

  Helen gave him a shy smile. “Thank you,” she said. “I used to make coffee for my father, back when we were on the ship. And mum ...”

  She broke off, looking down at the floor. Glen sighed and reached out to pat her shoulder, wishing he could offer her more comfort. There was no way to know what had happened to her parents since they’d left orbit, but it was unlikely it would end well. If the Nihilists had kept Helen as a hostage, he knew, they’d probably intended to force her parents to do something else for them. And it might just get them killed ... or dumped on a penal world for the rest of their lives. What would happen to Helen then?

  “I’m sure you’ll see them again,” he said, unconvincingly. “And then ...”

  He shook his head. “I need to shower,” he said, instead. “Can you get your own breakfast?”

  “You have a microwave,” Helen said. “I could cook you packaged bacon and eggs.”

  “Just get yours,” Glen urged. “I need to shower and then ...”

  He sighed. Too much coffee the night before hadn’t done wonders for his condition either, he had to admit. His stomach hurt, suggesting he really needed to go to the toilet and then throw up in the sink. He pulled himself out of bed and staggered into the washroom, then stuck his head under the showerhead. The cold water snapped him awake, but left him feeling dizzy. Undressing, he dropped his uniform in the laundry basket and showered properly, then pulled on a dressing gown. He felt a little better after the wash.

  Helen looked up at him, concerned, as he stepped into the kitchen. “I can do you eggs ...”

  “No, thank you,” Glen said. His stomach rebelled at the mere thought of anything to do with eggs. “Just pass me some cereal. I’ll eat that and then see how I feel.”

  He clicked on the viewscreen as Helen passed him a bowl of wheat cereal. A talking head – rumour had it that she was nothing more than a computer-generated persona, because her breasts seemed far too large and shapely to be natural – was pontificating about the riot, intermingled with images of advancing security officers and rioters on the streets. They weren't showing any pictures of the aftermath, Glen noted, or anything that might make people feel sorry for the arrested morons. The whole display seemed designed to convince the general population that the rioters deserved everything they got.

  And some of them do, he thought. He glanced down at his bowl as the spoon scraped ceramic and discovered he’d consumed the cereal without actually tasting it. But what about the ones who just got caught up in the excitement?

  Helen leaned forward. “What are we going to do today?”

  “I’ll probably have to go into work,” Glen said, reaching for his terminal and accessing his inbox. “You’ll have to stay here. I can give you download codes for more flicks, if you like.”

  “Thank you,” Helen said, “but can I get more games instead?”

  Glen smiled. “Why not?”

  He paused. “You could go to the exercise centre too,” he added. “There’s a small swimming pool there, if you don't mind sharing.”

  “Sure,” Helen said. She paused. “But I don’t know how to swim.”

  “Oh,” Glen said. He opened his inbox and swore when he saw just how many priority messages had popped up overnight. “Maybe you’d better leave that until I can come with you.”

  He skimmed through the messages, deleting a handful that were clearly spam. Just why the datanet’s limiters allowed so many spam messages through the filters had always puzzled him, particularly as he’d never purchased anything from a spam email message. Maybe the corporations had managed to convince the government that sending spam was covered under freedom of speech – or, more likely, they’d paid out huge bribes. After all, if political parties that questioned the validity of the Empire’s claim to power were denied the right to spread the word, why were spammers allowed to annoy people freely?

  “I have to go into work,” he said, sourly. Patty had called a meeting for senior marshals at twelve o’clock. Isabel was already at the station, helping with prisoner processing. “I’ll try to be back as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Helen assured him. “There’s enough to do here.”

  Glen sighed as he walked back into his room to change into a fresh uniform. Helen didn't seem to be lonely, which wasn't too surprising if she’d grown up on a starship with no one apart from her parents for company, but it still seemed odd for her not to have friends. But then, who could he introduce her to in the apartment block? He didn't really know his neighbours – they kept their distance from him, because they knew he was a marshal – and the handful he did know had no children. It was possible, he supposed, that he could ask the staff which couples had children Helen’s age, but that would cause other problems. They might try to report him to someone.

  And so there is no trust, he thought, bitterly. And people cross the road just to avoid seeing something that might come back to bite them, later.

  He dressed, then checked his weapons and terminal before waving goodbye to Helen and walking down the corridor to the elevator. For once, he could hear the sound of people chatting in the distance, rather than the normal almost supernatural quiet of the building. But then, most people would be staying at home today, after the riot. The economic damage from the riot itself might be manageable, he considered, but what about the long-term effects of most of the population staying home from work? It might be disastrous.

  The streets were largely deserted, he discovered, as he walked down towards the station. A dozen light patrols of guardsmen, a handful of clean-up crews ... and very little else. Half of the shops were closed and shuttered; the remainder were open, but empty, save for staff members who eyed him with open nervousness. It was obvious that they had stowed makeshift weapons in places where they could be easily accessed, if necessary. But it was against the law.

  Glen sighed, shaking his head. There were times w
hen he felt it would be a great deal easier to protect the population if the laws against self-defence weren't so strong. As simple as it sounded, leaving the job of protecting the people to the police and security forces, it was much harder in practice. Even a far larger police force couldn't protect anyone. A handful of dead or critically wounded would-be muggers or rapists might be more of a deterrent than the threat of years in prison. It could hardly make matters worse. Nine out of ten rapists were never caught, no matter what happened. And the Civil Guard barely gave a damn.

  The station was heavily guarded, he noted as he strode in through the doors and submitted himself to the security scanner. As always, there were a handful of prisoners in the entry room, but they were cuffed and shackled to the wall, while the guards eyed them with undisguised concern. Glen gave them the once-over, decided they were looters who hadn't realised that the time for looting was definitely over, then walked past them and through the second set of security gates. Inside, he was quickly directed to the main briefing room.

  “Glen,” Isabel called, as he entered the chamber. “Get over here!”

  She elbowed him as soon as he sat down. “You left me with a mess,” she added, in a tone that suggested she was plotting revenge. “Do you know how many girls were added to the bag in the Arena?”

  Glen shook his head. There had been an update in his terminal, but he hadn't had time to read it. He’d planned to catch up while waiting for Patty to begin the briefing.

  His partner snorted. “Try nearly a thousand,” she said. “And I hear tell that it’s worse in the male section. Gavin was saying that he’s responsible for over a thousand prisoners, most of whom are stupid or desperate. It’s not good.”

  “I suppose not,” Glen agreed. “And what about the other cities?”