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

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I hope so,” Belinda said. “But you might want to ask them to consider moving for the duration of the conference.”

  “I will,” Glen said. “But they didn't go to Island One because they wanted a pleasant view, Belinda. They wanted security. And moving away would compromise it.”

  “True,” Belinda agreed.

  Glen’s terminal buzzed. “One moment.”

  He picked it off his belt and glanced at it. “We’re getting two more Marshals,” he said, “and a handful of security officers trained in space operations. But not much else.”

  “Drat,” Belinda said. “You’d better hope the staff is up to scratch.”

  Glen sighed. “I’ll give orders for them to meet us at the spaceport,” he added. “We’ll get the equipment sorted out and then get onboard the shuttle.”

  “And pick up Helen, of course,” Belinda offered. “She’ll enjoy her time on Island One.”

  Glen had no doubt of it. Island One had plenty of wilderness that was safe for children; indeed, the brochures he’d accessed had shown tree houses and lakes suitable for swimming without the threat of hostile wildlife. There were so many pleasures available to the filthy rich that were simply not available to the children of the poor, trapped in box-like apartments on Terra Nova. He envied them more than he cared to admit.

  “Lucky kids,” he said, out loud. He flickered through the terminal until it showed a picture of a treehouse. “I would have loved to have a treehouse as a child.”

  “I had one,” Belinda said. “We built it for ourselves – actually, we had to rebuild it several times because it kept falling down until we mastered how to secure it properly.”

  She took the terminal and shrugged. “That one was built by qualified engineers,” she added, “not children. It’s far too good to be made by a group of children.”

  Glen sighed. “Where were you born?”

  “Greenway,” Belinda said. “It's out on the Rim. My family had to learn to look after itself.”

  “I’ve often thought about going out to the Rim,” Glen admitted. “Is it a good place to live?”

  Belinda opened her mouth, then paused. “It depends what you want from life,” she said, after a moment’s thought. “There are no social security networks along the Rim, no one willing and obliged to take care of you if you run into trouble. You have to learn to work with your neighbours – help them and they’ll help you. And there are dangers out there that you don’t see on places like Earth.

  “But, on the other hand, you can build a life of your own,” she added. “There won’t be anyone to force you to confirm, or to do as the government tells you. You’ll live and die by your own merits.”

  Glen had to smile. “It sounds like paradise,” he said.

  “You have genuine experience,” Belinda said. “Go to Greenway if you like, after the conference, or sign up for a stint as a Colonial Marshal. You might find you fit in very well.”

  “I’ll find a way out,” Glen promised. He rose to his feet. “Do you want to go fetch Helen while we load up the shuttle?”

  Belinda smiled. “Why not?”

  ***

  Belinda had more experience than Glen, she suspected, in securing space stations against intrusions, but she hadn't been able to find anything wrong with his plans. He didn't really have the manpower she thought he needed, yet he’d been right; there really was very little manpower to draw on, now that chaos was gripping the streets. A company of Terran Marines would have been ideal, but they wouldn't be forthcoming. They were on their own.

  The real question, she mulled over as she drove back to Glen’s apartment, was just what the Governor had in mind. Did he plan to declare himself Emperor? No matter how she looked at it, she couldn't imagine it sticking. Or did he intend to capture the delegates and force them to surrender their power to him? With so many warships primed to enter the system, it struck her as insane to try. Terra Nova would be destroyed in the crossfire if fighting broke out. Or was he genuinely trying to get them to work together?

  It wasn't a thought she wanted to contemplate, but it had to be considered. There was more to be gained from pooling resources and power than there was from a civil war, particularly as the Empire would not survive a major conflict without Earth. The Governor might be willing to share the pie if he managed to control it, or get an agreement sorted out for sharing power – or even recognising his independence. But, if it wasn't the Governor who was behind the bizarre plot, who was? How many other suspects were there?

  The only people she thought would actually benefit from a civil war were the Nihilists themselves. Outright war would destroy the infrastructure of the Core Worlds. Billions would die in the fighting, trillions more would starve as interstellar trade broke down and entire planetary populations ran out of food. The Core Worlds couldn't feed their vast populations without technology. If they lost it, they were doomed.

  And, she asked herself, would that be a bad thing?

  It was a terrifying thought. Even she couldn't grasp the sheer enormity of losing the eighty billion lives on Earth, let alone the twenty billion on Terra Nova and several other Core Worlds. One death was graspable, which made it a tragedy, but over a trillion deaths were completely beyond her imagination. But she could see advantages to watching as the Core Worlds died. The colonies, the smaller worlds that weren't degraded or crushed by the Empire’s all-encompassing bureaucracy, would have a chance to breathe free.

  Horrific, Doug snapped. Would you condone the deaths of trillions on the off-chance the colonies might manage to rebuild civilisation?

  Belinda parked the car, then put her head in her heads. Doug – or his ghost – was right. The thought of casually sentencing so many people to death was horrific. And yet, part of her regarded the idea with curious detachment. It was tempting. It could be rationalised into becoming acceptable, if she tried. She had no love for the couch potatoes who made up much of the population of the Core Worlds. The Empire might never have started to fall if they’d stood up and forced the politicians to be reasonable.

  And yet, was it right to sentence them all to death?

  She shuddered, remembering something she’d been told right back at the start of her training. It wasn't easy to find men and women who could be trusted with control over planet-killing weapons, then be trusted to fire them upon command. They had a tendency to become reluctant to press the button or, on the other hand, became obsessed with pushing the button. And, her instructors had added, several of them had fooled around with weapons that could destroy planets. If the security precautions had failed at any point ...

  They wanted us to be the perfect operatives, she thought, as she wiped tears from her eyes. But even we break under the right level of stress.

  The voices were silent as she walked up the stairs and pressed her fingers against Glen’s sensor. It acknowledged her, allowing her to step into his apartment. Helen was sitting in front of the terminal, playing a game of chess with someone online. Belinda sighed inwardly, then cleared her throat. Helen looked up at her, then smiled.

  “Is it time to go?” She asked. “Really?”

  Belinda nodded, heavily. “Yes,” she said. “Abandon the game, grab your bag and let’s go.”

  “This guy didn't believe me when I told him my age,” Helen said. “He thought I was an adult.”

  “People born in the Core Worlds are less intelligent than people born in space,” Belinda said, although she knew it wasn't just a matter of birth. “Chances are he wouldn't have been allowed to develop his intelligence at a rate that suited him, Helen. He would have been held back by his tutors until he considered it to be natural.”

  Helen stood up, after forfeiting the game. Belinda glanced at the stats and lifted her eyebrows, impressed. For someone who was only thirteen, Helen had won a surprising number of games against human opponents. No wonder they didn't believe her, Belinda realised, as she closed down the console. Child geniuses were very rare on the Core Worlds.r />
  Because they go into the same educational stream as everyone else, Belinda thought. And whatever intelligence they have naturally is soon ground out of them.

  “They could use teaching machines,” Helen said. “I had one of them teaching me.”

  “There are unions blocking it,” Belinda explained, shortly. The teachers union had managed to prevent the large-scale use of computerised teaching, claiming that students needed human contact, both with their tutors and other students. There were so many unfortunate implications in their words that Belinda was mildly surprised the judge hadn’t died laughing, but somehow the union had won the case. “You have to understand that most people care more for their own interests than for the interests of everyone else.”

  Helen gave her a puzzled look. “Why?”

  “Because one person can become disconnected from hundreds of people,” Belinda said. “And because we’re hardwired to care more about ourselves and our families than anyone else.”

  “That’s stupid,” Helen protested.

  Belinda nodded. Teaching machines were better than the Empire’s current crop of teachers; they both taught by rote, but teaching machines moved their students along as fast as they could, while they didn't try to grope or otherwise abuse their charges. Indeed, separating students from one another might have made it easier for them to learn. Belinda had never been unfortunate enough to study in a classroom on Earth, but she’d heard enough horror stories to know she never wanted her children to go there. Unfortunately, most parents and children on Earth were never given a choice.

  “Yes, it is,” Belinda said. “Pass me your bag and we’ll go down to the car.”

  Helen seemed oddly reluctant to leave the apartment, something that didn't really surprise Belinda at all, considering her origins. She was quite likely to have problems with wide open spaces, like most people who were born and bred in space. But, somehow, Helen managed to walk down to the garage, clutching Belinda’s hand in a surprisingly strong grip. Belinda felt an odd trace of affection and realised, for the first time, why Glen wanted to keep Helen around. There was something about her that invited love and affection.

  She isn't as cynical as the kids here, she thought. Children were taught to fear and suspect everyone, either through government-sponsored teaching or simple observation. It didn't take long for kids to realise that the government and their teachers didn't really give a damn about them either. And she isn't as tainted.

  The streets seemed more crowded as she drove towards the spaceport. She clicked on the radio at Helen’s request and logged into a news station, which was babbling on and on about the conference and what it might mean for Terra Nova. The Governor hadn't said anything else, publically, but his Talking Heads were talking up a storm. If the conference failed, if all their hopes fell through, there would almost certainly be outrage on the planet’s surface. It was easy to imagine the riots growing out of hand and tearing through whatever remained of the planet’s infrastructure. And then Terra Nova would die.

  She glanced at Helen, sitting in her seat. “Are you glad to be going back to space?”

  “Yes,” Helen said. “But will my parents be there?”

  “I don’t know,” Belinda said. “I wish I did.”

  The thought made her wince. She’d read the file. Helen’s parents hadn't been seen since their ship left orbit and headed out beyond the Phase Limit. It was possible they’d return, if they thought their daughter was a hostage, but it was also possible that they would assume the worst and never return. Or that they were already dead. If the unknown plotters had killed several people on Terra Nova to cover their tracks, why not a pair of Traders?

  But if they killed her parents, she thought, why did they leave Helen alive?

  She had nothing good to say about the death-worshippers. But even she had to admit they weren't given to assaulting women or children. Sex, after all, was just another pointless act in their doctrine. Why try to seek pleasure when there was none to be had? Helen could have been killed, perhaps poisoned, and had her body dumped somewhere it would never be found. Instead, they’d kept her. Maybe she had been a hostage after all ...

  And there’s no point in keeping a hostage if there’s no one who would be affected by her death, Doug said, at the back of her mind. Her parents must still be alive.

  I know, Belinda thought back. But where?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Accordingly, as respect for the law collapsed, chaos threatened to overwhelm large parts of the Core Worlds. The law-keepers were no longer familiar, the law-keepers were, in their own way, threats to the general population. Indeed, there was no justice left in the Empire.

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

  Island One, Glen considered, was beautiful.

  The design actually predated space travel, according to the files. It was a giant wheel, spinning slowly against the inky darkness of space, with an entire ecosystem inside the wheel itself. The complex at the centre of the wheel – the hub – was a small industrial base in its own right, geared to keeping the rest of the habitat functional. As they flew closer, they could see greenery inside the wheel, as well as blue lakes of water. Glen couldn't help feeling a stab of envy for the men, women and children who lived in the wheel.

  Belinda put her head next to his. “We already know their security is lax,” she said. “We’re already within missile range. They should have challenged us by now.”

  Glen winced. She was right. Space combat wasn't his forte, but he knew a laser head warhead could be detonated and inflict colossal damage on the space habitat from considerably further away. Island One was heavily armoured, true, yet it didn’t have the defences of a battlestation or the mobility of a starship. It was very much a sitting duck if the shit hit the fan.

  He gritted his teeth, then waited as the shuttlecraft flew over the wheel and into the hub. The artificial gravity field took hold of the shuttle, making it rock slightly, as it touched down in the shuttlebay. Moments later, a docking tube appeared from the side of the bay and advanced on the shuttle, linking to the hatch. The shuttlebay itself, Glen noted, was never actually pressurised. He wasn't sure if it was a security precaution or merely a quirk of the unusual design. Island One had been built in the days before artificial gravity had been commonplace and it showed.

  The hatch opened with a click, allowing them to leave the shuttle and walk through into the arrival lounge. Glen would have been impressed if he’d been a visiting tourist, he decided, for there was luxury everywhere. But there was very little actual security. Their bags weren't searched, their bodies weren't scanned ... there wasn't even a physical search. And, given Belinda’s nature, the failure to check the newcomers could prove fatal.

  He looked up as a man emerged from a wooden door – a wooden door – on the far side of the lounge. Glen had to resist the temptation to roll his eyes like a rude schoolgirl; the man wore a uniform that made him look alarmingly like a raspberry, while even the best tailoring couldn't hide the fact he was developing a paunch. His face had been engineered to show confidence and reliability, which would have been more impressive if it hadn't been so clear that it was engineering. The nasty part of Glen’s mind wondered what he’d looked like beforehand, the remainder wondered just how easy it would be to slip an entire shuttlecraft of illicit goods past Island One’s security. He didn't like the answer.

  “Marshal Cheal,” the newcomer said. “I’m Luke Doyenne, the Head of Security ...”

  Glen eyed him, sharply. “And why are you not doing your job?”

  Doyenne blinked at him. “I am doing my job ...”

  Glen lunged forward, catching Doyenne’s neck in his hand. The Head of Security gasped, but did nothing. If he was augmented in some way, he wasn’t able or willing to use it to break free of Glen’s grip. Indeed, he didn't feel as if he was used to physical fighting. Glen had seen similar problems among private security officers on the planet’s sur
face. They were never truly tested and so lost condition quickly, leaving them in deep trouble when all hell broke loose. Several had died during the first set of riots on Terra Nova.

  “You are not doing your job,” Glen snarled, feeling the frustrations of the past week bubbling up within him. “You let us, a group of strangers, land a shuttlecraft in your station without vetting us before we landed. You let us bring weapons onto the station before checking our identities. You didn't check the equipment we brought on the shuttle – a single nuke could have taken out the entire habitat, killing the people you are pledged to defend. You even came to greet us in person rather than sending a minion. We could have taken the hub by now because of your carelessness.”

  “But ... but you’re Marshals,” Doyenne protested. “You’re ...”

  “You didn't know we were Marshals,” Glen snapped. He let go of Doyenne and watched, with bitter contempt, as the man rubbed his throat. “You are going to be hosting a conference featuring the most powerful men and women in the galaxy or their designated representatives – and if one of them so much as breaks a nail, it could mean war. Your security is shit!”

  “We’re not supposed to be intrusive,” Doyenne said. “And we did have your IDs ...”

  “Shuttles can be hijacked,” Glen pointed out. “IDs can be copied or faked. You didn't know who we were and it could easily have gotten everyone killed.”

  And you missed Belinda too, he added, in the privacy of his own mind. It wasn't something he wanted to point out. Having an ace up his sleeve might come in handy, if the shit really did hit the fan. Besides, she needed to remain undercover until the end of the conference.

  “Now,” he said, after a moment to let Doyenne recover, “you can show us to our quarters. I will expect a full briefing on Island One’s security and current situation in one hour, after which I will take command of the station. You will serve as my second-in-command, but your main duties will consist of working with the various bodyguards to come to a mutually-acceptable agreement on what is considered acceptable. I believe you have done such operations before?”