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

by Christopher Nuttall

  Gritting her teeth, she stepped through the airlock and out into space. Island One rose above her, its vast immensity staggering to behold – and, beyond her, the moving lights of starships glittered against the inky darkness of space. The suit had no way to contact them and ask for help, something that worried her. Someone on the outside, without any way of knowing what was actually going on, might well do something stupid, given half a chance. She briefly considered pulling a Dutchman and diving into space in hopes of being seen and rescued, but common sense told her it would be stupid. Something the size of a spacesuit might well be missed if the warships were already fighting ...

  Another flicker of light caught her attention. The warships were fighting. Helen had to have turned on the defences and pointed them at every ship within range, Belinda guessed, or the people behind the plot had sent warships of their own to pick a fight. Or ... she shook her head as she reached the spoke, then concentrated on climbing up towards the hub. At least the gravity field was still fading, making it easier and easier to move.

  Move faster, Doug advised. Whoever wins the fighting outside is going to want answers.

  Belinda ignored the voice as she drove forward. The suit made it hard to move with her normal speed; if she hadn't been all too aware of the dangers of relying on her implants in vacuum she would have seriously considered stripping it off. But her last exposure to hard vacuum had almost killed her. It didn’t seem like it was worth taking the risk.

  Uh-oh, Pug said. Trouble inbound.

  Belinda looked up to see a line of drones making their way down the spoke towards the wheel. The drones didn't seem to be paying attention to her, but looking at the way their manipulators snapped at empty vacuum she found herself hoping that Glen had found some heavy weapons. Or ... what if they forced open the airlocks? The standard safety precautions could be subverted, with enough effort. What would happen if they cracked open the airlock she’d used to reach the outside of the habitat?

  Gravity would keep the atmosphere in, I think, McQueen offered. This isn't a starship where the atmosphere would whistle out of a hull breech.

  Belinda didn't know, so she forced herself forward. There was nothing she could do about the drones now, no matter what happened. Instead, she just kept moving until she finally approached the hub. The airlock dead ahead of her was a very welcome sight, particularly when she realised that the designers had obeyed Imperial Law and ensured it could be opened from the outside. Helen would know she was there, of course, but she couldn't keep Belinda from gaining entry. The automatic systems wouldn't allow it.

  She forced the airlock open, then tumbled forward as the hatch closed behind her. Moments later, the second opened, revealing an empty corridor. Belinda stepped forward as she heard a rattling noise, then swore as two more drones came into view. They didn’t look as tough as the one she’d tricked, but her pistol was in the suit and she had no time to draw it. Instead, she waited until they both lunged at her, then threw herself to one side. The two machines crashed together, ensnared in one another’s manipulators. Belinda allowed herself a smirk, then ran past them, slamming the hatch shut as she passed. Clearly, whatever software was controlling Helen and the army of drones wasn't very smart.

  Don’t get overconfident, Doug’s voice warned her. This might well be an adaptive program rather than a simple subvert and destroy system. And you don’t know that Helen isn't anything more than a meat puppet.

  Belinda shuddered, recalling her own fears. Direct mental access, through the neural link, could be abused easily, given an unscrupulous doctor or programmer. Indeed, she’d worried about being controlled herself, back when she’d been invited to join the Pathfinders. It was quite possible, she knew, that someone could have wired her mind for outside control and she would never know it. And even if she believed the Marine Corps would never do anything of the sort, someone else certainly would. There had once been a fashion for servants who were implanted to keep them obedient, sickening though it was.

  And we are deadly weapons, McQueen offered. Would they not want to ensure they could control us?

  She pushed the paranoia aside as she approached the security complex. The absence of drones worried her – had Helen sent them all to the wheel or had she kept one or two back for personal defence. Belinda considered the options, then took a detour to the weapons locker and glanced down the corridor. Three drones stood guard outside it, with a handful of bodies scattered around them. Belinda shuddered, calculating the odds, then decided it wasn't worth the risk. She’d have to do with her implanted weapons when she faced Helen.

  If worst comes to worst, use the charge, Doug warned. There may be no other choice.

  Belinda nodded as she approached a access hatch. It was locked, but a little fiddling with the multitool disconnected it from the main command network and allowed her to open it up. She braced herself, expending to face another drone on the far side, but the corridor was empty. Instead, as she moved forward, her implants warned of nerve gas. It was a security precaution, she remembered from the briefing, that no one had expected to have to use. And it would have killed her, if she hadn't been augmented. Even standard Marine immunisations wouldn't have been enough.

  Good thing they don’t have this in the wheel, Doug said. He was right. Everyone would be dead.

  And their little dogs too, Pug injected. Good thing they don’t have a self-destruct either. I guess they paid a huge bribe to gain exemption from the rules.

  Doug snorted. For once, corruption works in our favour, he agreed. And thank the gods for that, I think.

  Belinda ignored them both as she keyed open the door to the security centre. Helen couldn't be anywhere else, she knew. There was no other place that could be used to control the security systems, turning them against their rightful owners. And, as she stepped into the room, she felt her eyes going wide with horror.

  “Helen,” she said, as the girl turned to face her. “What have they done to you?”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  And this, perhaps, explains why there was so much support for the Nihilists. Why would anyone care about maintaining society when society so clearly didn't give a damn about them?

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

  Glen tapped his wristcom as he ran, but it refused to function. It shouldn't have surprised him. Island One’s datanet acted as an exchange hub for all communications and it honestly hadn't occurred to him to bring a communicator that didn't rely on the local system. That oversight could easily get them all killed.

  High overhead, he heard the sounds of drones moving through the twilight. They wouldn't be armed, he knew, but from what he recalled of their designs they would be formidable foes, if aimed at bodyguards armed only with pistols. Patty had known about the conference from the start, he knew, and she’d had time to devise a plot that took advantage of the location’s weaknesses. It was fortunate that she hadn't managed to convince the Governor to hold the talks on a military base. She could simply have triggered the self-destruct and blown them all to hell.

  The taste of betrayal was foul in his mouth. Marshals worked together, he’d been taught, fighting to defend the Empire’s population from crime and anarchy. But Patty had betrayed him, betrayed all of them. She’d sold out ... to whom? The plot hadn't been her own work, of that Glen was sure. But she’d betrayed her oaths and her fellow Marshals to make it work.

  And she tricked us all, Glen thought, bitterly. He’d taken Helen at face value; hell, he’d trusted Patty when she’d told him to take the girl. The argument she’d used had been perfect, if she’d wanted to manipulate him. She'd known he would never have let an innocent young girl fall into the hands of the Civil Guard if it could be avoided. Taking Helen in had seemed so simple ... and his growing affection for her had helped blind him to the risks. He’d been manipulated right down the line.

  He pushed the thought aside as he ducked down and entered the complex he’d taken
over and turned into a storage dump. Marshal Alongshore should have been on guard, but there was no sign of him. Glen drew his pistol and glanced from side to side, peering into the darkness until he spotted the body lying in the corner. Someone had shot him in the head, Glen realised, killing him instantly. There was no time to mourn. Glen nodded briefly to the corpse, then started to walk down towards the weapons locker. Someone was already there, ahead of him, and he had a fair idea who it was.

  The sound of someone tapping the keyboard echoed down the corridor as he approached, walking as quietly as possible. Patty was standing in front of the secure hatch, trying to open it with her access codes. Glen smirked inwardly as he remembered he hadn't shared the codes with Patty, in ironic obedience to her commands to keep security codes and suchlike as close to him as possible. She probably hadn’t realised that he hadn't used a Marshal-issue safe for the weapons. Her override codes were useless.

  He lifted his pistol, then clicked on his flashlight. “Freeze!”

  Patty froze, then slowly turned to face him. “Glen,” she said. “I need to get to the weapons. Open the hatch.”

  “Helen was a weapon,” Glen said. Had she been meant to kill him before she started her murderous rampage? There was no way to know – but, without him, no one would have made the connection between a young girl and the sudden loss of power. “You had me take the weapon right into the heart of the conference.”

  Patty’s eyes narrowed. “Glen, we don't have time for games,” she said. “What are you playing at?”

  Glen kept his weapon aimed firmly at her forehead. “I think you were planning it all along,” he said. “You used Keystone to set up a Nihilist cell, which took delivery of the weapons – and Helen. Then you used Keystone to tip me off, knowing I’d lead a raid – and I suppose, if I’d asked you for orders, you would just have told me to launch the raid anyway. And then you put Helen into my care and moved me off the case – I think you thought I wouldn't be involved enough to notice the discrepancies. The riots must have been a stroke of luck – or did you have a hand in triggering them?”

  “Conspiracy theories,” Patty said. She sounded regretful, rather than angry. “I’d expected better of you, Glen.”

  “Nards was corrupt, but his living accommodation made no sense,” Glen continued. “If he was a rich man, he wouldn't be living in such a shitty hovel. There was no sign of wealth in that house. I think you were using him too. What did you tell him? That he was part of a sting operation and he was to take the money, then hold it for later use? His records show a dedicated bureaucrat, so I think he would have been happy to work for you.”

  He paused. “And then you killed them both to cover your tracks,” he added. “It must have been a nightmare for you when we found the bodies – and had to run from the mob. You practically ordered me to take the rest of the week off, before assuming my post here. I think you didn't dare risk any more disruption to your plans.”

  “If that was true,” Patty pointed out, “I could have taken Helen to Island One myself.”

  “Not unless you were looking after her,” Glen said. “I had an apartment to myself; your quarters were at the heart of the station. You couldn't have taken her under your wing without questions being asked. Hell, a random security sweep might have identified her as a weapon. So you gave her to me, then gave me the task of securing Island One, knowing that I’d carry your weapon with me. I never considered her a potential threat.”

  “Imagination has always been your weakness,” Patty said. It was a very double-edged comment. “Do you really think that anyone will believe such a flimsy tissue of lies?”

  Glen met her eyes. “I think it stands up to scrutiny,” he said. “Who are you working for?”

  “I’m not working for anyone,” Patty snapped.

  “You didn't come up with anything like this on your own,” Glen snapped back. He heard a whining sound in the distance and winced. It sounded like an antigravity lifter going badly wrong. “Who are you working for?”

  “Glen, this is nonsense,” Patty said. “You have to listen to me ...”

  “Get down on the ground, ankles and hands crossed,” Glen ordered. “You know the drill. I ...”

  Patty sprang, leaping forward with astonishing speed. Glen fired, instinctively, the bullet lodging in her upper chest. She wasn't augmented, he realised, as she stumbled and hit the ground. An augmented soldier like Belinda would have shrugged off the bullet and kept coming. Instead, Patty was injured, perhaps dying. He looked down at her, keeping his gun aimed at her head, and cursed. If she died, there was no way to trace her backers.

  “Why?” He asked quietly. “What was all this for?”

  “There’s no justice,” Patty coughed. “No matter what we did, it didn't bring justice to the people. We did as we were told, enforced stupid laws and bullied those who sought freedom, while our leaders committed unimaginable crimes. One day, I just gave up.”

  She closed her eyes. Moments later, her entire body shuddered, then lay still.

  A suicide implant, Glen thought, as he rose to his feet. Patty’s backers wouldn't have risked her falling into enemy hands, not when she could have pointed investigators towards clues that might have revealed her identity. And there still isn't time to mourn.

  Shaking his head, he tapped the code into the hatch and watched it hiss open. Thankfully, the whole system had its own power supply. Inside, there were a handful of boxes of heavy weapons, ready for use. He’d only brought them along at Belinda’s insistence, he recalled, as he opened one of the crates and picked up a handheld plasma cannon. There hadn't seemed any need for them when he'd been designing the security plans.

  He placed the remaining weapons on an antigravity trolley, then started to run, tugging the weapons after him. There almost certainly wasn't very much time left before the shit hit the fan. The night seemed even darker as he pulled the trolley through the village and down towards the dining hall. He could hear the sounds of people shouting in panic, but saw no one. The rich and powerful, hidden away on Island One, suddenly felt vulnerable. A nasty part of his mind pointed out that it was how everyone felt, on Earth. The remainder felt a stab of pity for the children.

  Marshal Singh met him as he entered the dining hall. Behind her, the Governor was trying desperately to calm the delegates, none of whom were able to contact their ships. Helen must have done something to the network nodes, Glen realised, as he gabbled out an explanation and started handing out weapons. Even a handheld wristcom that wasn't linked to the local network could be jammed, with the right precautions.

  “Take the weapons,” he said, passing one to the Governor. The Governor looked bemused, but took it anyway. “We have to hold this compound ...”

  They were only just in time. Moments later, the first swarm of drones appeared and swooped down on the hall.

  ***

  Belinda had seen many horrors since joining the Marine Corps. She knew, all too well, just how evil humans could be to their fellow humans. She'd seen the mass graves of people killed for daring to be the wrong religion, ethnic group or merely for being in the way. She’d seen men, women and children raped just to send a message to their fellows. But she’d honestly never seen anything as horrific as a young girl turned into a living weapon.

  Helen stood in the centre of the room, a curious slackness around her posture that indicated she was being directly controlled by the implants. There was none of the smooth motions Belinda had tried to develop, nothing to suggest she was in command of herself. Helen was no Pathfinder, Belinda concluded, no volunteer out to destroy the entire habitat. She was just another innocent victim, in a universe where there were already too many of them.

  There was no point in trying to talk, Belinda knew. Helen wasn't in control and the program directing her body – and probably considering the best way to kill Belinda, right now – wouldn't be interested in listening to arguments. The only grounds for optimism was that the program wouldn't have the imagination
of a living person, let alone a tactical expert. It was far more likely to run down a checklist rather than devise plans on its own.

  She took a step forward, then started to circle the girl. Helen turned to face Belinda, her body jerking as if she was a puppet, dangling on strings. Belinda pushed her horror aside into a tight little box in her mind, forcing herself to remain calm. Helen was expendable, if worst came to worst. The entire habitat was at serious risk. One girl’s life was nothing compared to everyone on Island One.

  But she still wanted to save Helen, if she could.

  The girl’s hand snapped upright, then fired a tiny dart towards her. Belinda jumped to one side reflexively, then fired back one of her own from her implanted weapons. Helen didn’t move. The dart struck her in the shoulder, but nothing happened. Belinda realised, grimly, that Helen had to have augmentations capable of pushing her body beyond its natural limits ... hell, having a controlling program probably made it easier to ignore stun darts. She jumped forward, then twisted in the air as Helen’s arm blocked her. Helen had the speed of a Pathfinder, if not the strength. But with augmentation, her smaller build didn't matter.

  Belinda threw herself into the fight. Helen was faster, but there was a curious pattern to how she moved. It took Belinda a moment to realise that her earlier thought had been correct and Helen was definitely being controlled by an adaptive program. She'd fought simulated opponents during her Pathfinder training who’d had similar fighting patterns, patterns that were always predicable – eventually. Belinda’s implants started to analyse the patterns as she dodged and weaved, then tried to strike out at Helen. The girl showed no reaction when Belinda hit her arm, even though the force of the blow would have broken bones, if Helen hadn't been enhanced.

  Her implants reported an endless stream of data flowing from Helen into the main computers. The power level was surprisingly low – Helen might have had no choice, but to go to the security office even if it hadn't been locked down – but Belinda had no difficulty in reasoning it out. The adaptive program had been uploaded into the main computers and taken them over, crippling Island One. It was going to try to kill them no matter what happened to Helen. Cold rage flared through Belinda’s mind as she forced herself forward, shrugging off a blow that would have killed a normal person. The entire galaxy was at risk of falling into civil war because of ... whom?