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

by Christopher Nuttall

  Glen nodded. It made sense, he supposed. Starship life was very stable. Helen had probably reacted badly to being taken off her ship and held as a hostage, then living with Glen, because it was inherently unpredictable. And then she’d had to change homes again ...

  “I was planning to go out to the colonies,” he said. “If Helen’s parents don’t show up by the end of the conference, I’ll take her with me.”

  “You might go into trading instead,” Belinda offered. “Helen would prefer that, I think. If, of course, you’re serious about adopting her.”

  Glen considered, then nodded. It wasn't the sort of life he’d care for, but it would have its upsides. Part of him was tempted to ask if Belinda would like to come with him, yet he couldn't get the words through his lips. It would have been tempting fate.

  He stood and checked his watch. “We’ll go for breakfast once we've showered and dressed,” he said. “And then take Helen to school.”

  Breakfast was as staggeringly luxurious as dinner – and, if anything, even more elaborate. Glen ordered a small plate of bacon and eggs – careful to specify a small plate – and shook his head in disbelief when a giant plate of food was placed in front of him. Belinda ordered a large plate and ended up with an even bigger pile of food. Somehow, she managed to eat it all, while Helen ate a plate of bacon sandwiches and scrambled eggs. Glen honestly had no idea how she managed to remain so thin when she ate so much. But she hadn't shown so large an appetite on Terra Nova.

  “I checked the updates,” he said, and outlined what he'd been told. “If I go to greet my superiors, will you keep an eye on the security lounge?”

  “I should say hello to Mr. Augustus,” Belinda said. “But that can wait.”

  Glen gave her a sidelong look. “You know him?”

  “We’ve met,” Belinda said. She shrugged. “He offered me a job.”

  “Well,” Glen said, after a long moment. “If I hadn't believed you beforehand, Belinda, I certainly believe you now.”

  Belinda giggled.

  “It would have been tempting if I hadn't had another task,” she said. “Has there been any progress on identifying Keystone’s killer?”

  “None,” Glen said. “I specifically requested that I be informed if anything were found, but ...”

  He shrugged. He’d been ordered to concentrate on the conference and leave the whole issue of the Nihilists and their warehouse to other Marshals. Given how few Marshals there were, it was quite possible that the whole issue had been left in limbo. It was insane, in his view, to leave a group of known terrorists free to act as they saw fit, but there was little choice, not if they wanted to maintain such a strong presence on the streets.

  And he who would be strong everywhere is strong nowhere, he thought, remembering Isabel’s death. If there had been more reaction forces poised, ready to spring ... she might have survived. We don’t even have the manpower to patrol the streets.

  Belinda sighed. “Do you know if they even sent a team to investigate?”

  “They should have done,” Glen said. “The Campus Police were informed. And there was a second body in the apartment.”

  He shrugged, again. “They might not give a damn now,” he added. “What use is a dead student?”

  Belinda snorted. “What use is a living student?”

  Glen watched the servants take the plates away, including quite a bit of leftover food, and then stood. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go find the schoolhouse.”

  The tube station was nearby, buried underground. Glen was moderately impressed; the tube system was fast and efficient, not something that could be said of public transport on the planet below. When they emerged from the station, they found themselves in the midst of a small village. A sign identified it as Hundred-Acre Woodsville.

  Helen frowned. “What’s an Acre?”

  “It's an old style of measurement,” Belinda said. She paused, obviously consulting her implants. “Roughly four thousand square metres, I believe.”

  “So the village is really called Four Hundred Thousand Square Metres?” Helen asked. “Why the odd name?”

  “It's just a name,” Belinda said. “Give us a few thousand years and people might forget what kilometres are too.”

  “It isn't the first name to hang around without anyone knowing what it actually means,” Glen offered. The village looked natural, too natural. One long look was enough to tell him that it was designed to an ideal, rather than reality. “There's a planet called Washington, but who or what was Washington?”

  “A great military leader and rebel,” Belinda supplied. “The Empire removed him and most of his allies from the history books. The last thing they want is to encourage rebellions against their authority.”

  Glen smiled, then walked down towards the schoolhouse. It was already open, with a friendly-looking teacher standing in front of the door, waving a handful of children into the classroom. She looked so friendly that Glen wondered, for a long moment, if she actually was the teacher. Most of the teachers he'd met looked stressed out, their eyes flickering to and fro as if they could prevent mischief if only they saw it. They tended to take early retirement after working long enough to earn their pension.

  But here, there won't be any bad kids, he thought. And even if there were, the teacher is being paid enough to deal with them.

  “Marshal Cheal, Captain Lawson,” the teacher said. “I'm Mrs Teacher.”

  Belinda gaped. “Seriously?”

  “Working name,” the teacher said, with a shrug. She motioned for them to enter the classroom. “We have teaching machines here for the morning, then the children engage in unstructured play or enhanced learning. I understand your charge has never been in a planetary classroom?”

  “Correct,” Glen said.

  “Lucky you,” the teacher said. She looked down at Helen. “Do you have any educational certificates?”

  “Not with me,” Helen said, very quietly.

  “And we’re not sure how long we’re going to have you,” the teacher mused. “We’ll start you on a handful of basic exams, then start proper learning tomorrow once we know where you stand. Or we can take more exams for certificates, if you like.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Glen said. He had enough contacts to obtain the certificates, if necessary. No doubt it would be, if Helen ever decided she wanted to work on one of the Core Worlds. “Just work on her education.”

  The teacher smiled. “Of course,” she said. “Do you want a quick tour?”

  “Yes, please,” Glen said.

  His school on Earth had been horrific. Indeed, one of the reasons he'd gone into law enforcement was through having too close a view of the very worst of human nature. There had been no order, no discipline ... and the stronger students had bullied the younger ones mercilessly. Even now, he wouldn't have willingly walked into one of those schools without a platoon of armed guards in powered combat armour.

  But Island One’s school was lovely. There were no bad children, clearly, as nothing was nailed down or cheap enough not to be missed, if it were stolen. A handful of kids sat in front of teaching machines, while several others were working together. Oddly, they seemed to range from seven to fifteen. And none of them looked unpleasant. They even threw shy smiles at Helen.

  “Acceptable,” he said, feeling a stab of bitterness. If he’d had a chance for proper schooling, he asked himself, would it have made his life better? “We’ll come back for her tonight?”

  “That’s fine,” the teacher assured him. “The parents often come back late for their children, so the school is actually open 24/7. If she needs a nap, there’s a bedroom through there and we have food and drink shipped in. Does she have any special requirements? I notice she’s not on the system.”

  Neural link, Glen thought. “No, she doesn't,” he said. “Just ... take care of her.”

  He waved goodbye to Helen as she sat down in front of one of the teaching machines, activating it with easy competence. Belinda
nodded, then followed Glen as he walked out of the schoolhouse and back towards the tube station. The village was slowly coming to life, he noted, with men and women emerging from their homes and heading to work. They must be rich enough to afford a home on Island One, but not among the richest people in the system, he decided. But merely living on Island One would give their kids an enviable start at life.

  “She’ll be fine,” Belinda reassured him. “And she will have to resume her education wherever she goes.”

  “I know,” Glen admitted. “But I will still worry about her.”

  “Dad-shock,” Belinda diagnosed. “It gets them every time.”

  Glen looked down at the stone pathway, then grinned. “Let’s hold a security drill,” he said. “That always cheers people up.”

  “I suppose it would,” Belinda said. “But you’ll also have them mad at you. And plotting revenge.”

  “I’ll survive,” Glen said. The great advantage of drills was that it allowed mistakes to be made – and learned from – without a real emergency. But the disadvantage was that too many drills could convince people not to take them seriously. “And they need the practice.”

  “Yeah,” Belinda said. She lowered her voice as they passed a pair of teenage girls, both looking remarkably unafraid at sighting strangers. “Just remember – this isn't a military base. You can't hold them to the same standards.”

  Glen snorted. “No,” he said. “I’ll hold them to higher standards.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Indeed, laws were being passed that made being in debt a criminal offense. A debtor could be seized and arrested, then sold to a settlement corporation – slavery, in other words – merely for being in debt. And yet, there was hardly anyone in the Empire who was free from debt.

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

  The staff were looking rather harried, Belinda noted, as she stepped into Island One’s command centre. Two days of relentless drills had that effect, as Glen forced them to run through their procedures for each and every conceivable emergency. By now, they considered themselves ready for anything, although Belinda had her doubts. It was her experience that preparing for the expected – or the probable – tended to weaken one’s resistance to the unexpected.

  She sucked in her breath as she caught sight of the holographic display. Hundreds of starships were slowly circling Island One, each one watching the others warily. Belinda felt a pang of loss as she realised that, to all intents and purposes, the battle squadrons might as well belong to different fleets. The Imperial Navy had been fragmenting for years, as squadron commanders started to consider their interests ahead of the service, but the Fall of Earth had shattered the remaining ties. They were no longer part of the same navy.

  “We have thirty-seven different squadrons within range,” the operator said. He was young enough to be Belinda’s son, assuming she’d started early. “So far, they’re not doing anything hostile, but their sensors are at full capacity and they’ve rejected the idea of leave on Terra Nova.”

  “Hard to blame them,” Belinda muttered. The latest outbreak of violence had threatened to consume an entire megacity. It was impossible to tell if the riots were being planned by an outside force or if they were random, but it hardly mattered. Terra Nova was on the brink of falling into complete chaos. “What about our own defences?”

  “Ready to spring to life,” the operator assured her. He was too young to grasp the truth. If the fleets started firing at each other, Island One would be destroyed in the crossfire. There were thirty-two heavily armoured battleships out there and Island One was flimsy by comparison. “But we have them stepped down for the moment.”

  “Then keep them stepped down unless the shit hits the fan,” Belinda ordered. There was far too much tension out there. The Governors, Admirals and outright Warlords who had been invited to the conference distrusted each other, not without reason. Only the prospect of a share in the pie without fighting had brought them to the negotiation table. “And then be prepared to cover Island One alone.”

  She walked over to another console and watched as the shuttles flew towards Island One. It had taken nearly an hour of argument before the visitors had agreed to allow Island One’s shuttles to pick them up, rather than use their own. They had to agree it was more secure – and everyone would be under the same restriction – but it didn't befit their dignity. Belinda wasn't surprised, but she was more than a little disappointed. The Fall of Earth should have told them just how serious the situation had become.

  One by one, the shuttles landed, their occupants greeted by the Governor and his team of advisors. Island One’s staff had done a good job, Belinda conceded reluctantly, at assigning the visitors to houses of their own. The Governor spoke a few brief words of greeting – he used the same words every time – and then allowed the staff to take the visitors to the assigned quarters. Perhaps the sheer luxury of the space habitat would help them to relax, Belinda considered, or perhaps they’d see it as an attempt to soften them up before negotiations began. There was no way to know.

  “Keep an eye on them,” she warned, as she wandered back to the near-orbit display. “And let me know if anything changes.”

  She scowled up at the display. The starships were still watching each other, but so far nothing had gone seriously wrong. But the presence of so much firepower, under so many different commands, worried her. There hadn't been anything like it since the Unification Wars. Would they really fire on their former comrades? Or bombard a planet that was almost as important, historically speaking, as Earth?

  Probably, she thought. Apart from the Marines, who shared the same basic training regardless of their eventual destination, there was no truly unified military force within the Empire. The Imperial Navy had long been assigned to homeports, the Imperial Army’s regiments were raised from separate planets, as was the Civil Guard. They’re no longer capable of being loyal to an abstract concept like the Empire.

  The thought bothered her more than she cared to admit. It was impossible to ignore the fact that someone had destroyed the Slaughterhouse, that the Marine Corps was homeless and largely friendless. What would happen to them if the conference failed? She looked back at the image of the Governor, greeting yet another party of newcomers, and gritted her teeth. That damned family would not hesitate to find a use for the Corps – or destroy them. In either case, nothing would survive of the Marines.

  They never trusted us, she thought, thinking of the Grand Senate. The Marine Corps was designed to resist outside influence, swearing loyalty to the Emperor and the Imperial Constitution. They’d never been infiltrated by patronage networks and corrupted into servitude to their political superiors. And now they have a chance to destroy us once and for all.

  Pushing the bitterness aside, she found a chair and forced herself to relax.

  ***

  “This is an outrage,” a woman snapped. “We cannot be searched.”

  Glen somehow managed to keep his face expressionless as the woman snapped and snarled at his subordinates. He’d expected trouble with the delegates, but so far most of it seemed to have come from their subordinates rather than the governors themselves. The men and women who had risen high by clinging to the coattails of powerful men seemed more inclined to stand on their dignity and resist any form of search procedure, even when it was definitely necessary.

  “You cannot enter the station until you have been scanned, along with your luggage,” he said, tiredly. Hadn't he been fresh this morning, only an hour ago? “Your superior, Governor Niles, accepted the restrictions when he agreed to attend the conference.”

  “But surely those restrictions don’t apply to me,” the woman protested.

  Glen looked at her. Her file had been largely blank, apart from a name, which was worrying. He would have thought lover, or courtesan, but Governor Niles wasn’t known for moderation in his desires, or for trying to hide them. Someone brought along for se
xual purposes would have been listed as such. But the woman was ugly, and alarmingly fat, so huge it was clear she cared nothing for her appearance. An hour in the surgery – or any half-way decently designed autodoc – would strip the fat from her body, then adjust her appearance to match the latest fashions for beauty.

  “They apply to everyone,” he said. “Please step into the scanner or I will have no choice, but to hold you here until Governor Niles can be informed. I’m sure he would be pleased with you for delaying procedures.”

  The woman gave him a long look, then smiled suddenly. “Can't you pat me down instead?”

  “No,” Glen said. A pat-down wouldn’t reveal any implants, let alone anything else that might be missed. Besides, it was much less personal. “Please step into the scanner.”

  He watched as the woman stepped into the device, then pressed a key, activating the scan. It ran quickly, revealing almost nothing apart from a neural link and a replacement eye. Glen was unwillingly impressed. He’d looked the woman in the eye more than once and hadn't realised that one of them had been replaced by an artificial eye. A camera, he guessed, recording everything it saw for later analysis. And that probably meant he was looking at the Governor’s personal PR manager.

  The woman leaned forward. “Have you finished undressing me yet?”

  Glen ignored her, concentrating on the scan. Her body was stronger than he’d expected, with some genetic enhancement boosting her muscles, but there was no biological danger. There was nothing else to worry him, nothing that posed a threat. He checked her neural link anyway, out of habit, then stepped back to allow the woman to step out of the scanner. She was clean.

  “You can proceed through the gate,” he said, pointing to the gate in the distance. “Once you’re through, you will be escorted to the rest of your party.”

  He sighed as the woman waddled off, then turned to meet the next one. His instincts started screaming at once, telling him that he was looking at a soldier. The young man didn't smile or show any other trace of emotion. He merely stepped into the scanner and waited. Glen tapped a switch and watched as the scan results built up in front of him. There was no tech augmentation, but the soldier didn't seem to need it. He’d had enough biological enhancement to make him a dangerous opponent. Everything seemed to be practically perfect in every way.