He smiled at their puzzlement. “Without powerful political connections, she would have been put in front of a court martial for her mistake – if she did screw up,” he said. “But there is no suggestion in the files that she ever faced a court. Whatever she did wasn't something that could be made public.”
Gaby looked up at the woman’s face and suspected she knew the answer. Admiral Singh was beautiful. Someone like her would attract the attention of her superiors – and not in a good way. If Avalon’s old Councillors had been happy to abuse their position to satisfy their lusts, how would Imperial Navy officers act?
“The situation is as follows,” Colonel Stalker said. “We do not know how long it will be before Admiral Singh realises that she’s lost a starship. However, given the interrogation reports, we have to assume the worst. She will come looking for us.”
“Really,” Julian said. “And how do you know that she will find us?”
“The cloudscoop isn't exactly a secret,” Colonel Stalker pointed out. “If Admiral Singh looks through her records for Rim-ward worlds that could support a fleet, and she will, Avalon will be the most likely suspect. The records won’t mention any of the other cloudscoops.”
Gaby nodded. HE3 was the lifeblood of the interstellar economy, fuelling everything from planet-side fusion reactors to starships making their way between the stars. If the cloudscoop hadn't been built, they would have had to reduce power consumption or fall back on older methods to generate power – which might have been impossible in the time they had left before the HE3 ran out. She’d heard of several worlds that had fallen all the way back to barbarism when their stockpiles finally expired.
The Commonwealth had made a breakthrough when the newly-trained engineering students had started working on new cloudscoops. There were ways to construct them that reduced time, even if they were less efficient than the original cloudscoop. They wouldn't last, Gaby had been told, and required even more maintenance, but they allowed the Commonwealth to diversify its supplies and build up a reserve. And, just incidentally, to boost the fledging economy.
“Losing the original cloudscoop wouldn't be a complete disaster now,” she said, slowly.
“No, but losing everything we’ve built in this system would be,” Colonel Stalker pointed out, grimly. “None of the other industrial systems in the Commonwealth have the same level of development – and they won’t for years to come. We just have to build too much up from scratch. Losing Avalon would be ... disastrous.”
“We could talk to her,” Councillor Rittman suggested. He represented the industrialists and traders, both of whom depended upon the shipyards being constructed in the Avalon System. “This ... incident aside, I’m sure that there is no logical reason for us to fight.”
“She’s clearly expanding outwards,” Colonel Stalker pointed out. “If she was prepared to overwhelm Greenway, she won’t hesitate to keep heading Rim-ward until she encounters us. Talking to her could merely draw her attention here too soon.”
“And tell her that there’s something here worth taking,” Gaby added. She’d seen that mindset before, first in the old Council and then in the Admiral’s pirates. “We don’t dare attract her here until we have some way to deal with her.”
“Which raises the obvious question,” Julian said. He wasn't quite sneering, but Gaby knew him well enough to hear it in his voice. “Do we have some way to deal with her?”
Colonel Stalker smiled. “I’m working on it,” he said. At least he sounded confident. “Harrington is due to arrive in orbit in five hours. Once she docks at Orbit Station, we will debrief the crew and defectors – and transfer the other prisoners to a safe holding facility. And then we will decide what to do next.
“Until then, I’m declaring an alert in the system,” he added. “We hold regular exercises, but this one will be different. An attack could come at any moment.”
Gaby nodded, although she knew that it would probably take several weeks before Admiral Singh’s fleet could arrive. “The situation is grim,” she said warningly, “but there is no need to panic. We have time to think and act.”
And she hoped to God that she was right.
Chapter Six
Furthermore, the strong may act in arbitrary ways. One day, taxes (extorted at what is effectively gunpoint) may be low; the next, they may be high. Those close to the strong will use their influence to gain concessions that may not be open to those without influence. While there is a certain tendency to regard an outright dictatorship as stable, this is only true as long as the dictator remains strong. A state ruled by the strong tends to face civil war when the dictator finally dies.
-Professor Leo Caesius, Authority, Power and the Post-Imperial Era
“Home again, home again,” Blake said, as the platoon walked into the red light district of Camelot. “I swear ... the city just keeps expanding.”
Jasmine nodded. Camelot held the university, several of the technical colleges – and, of course, the Commonwealth Council. The city’s population had almost quadrupled within the first year of the Commonwealth’s existence, even though many of the original settlers had been moved out to the countryside and granted lands of their own. Unsurprisingly, the red light district had also expanded, although it was nowhere near as bad as it had been the first time she’d visited the city. The students and other visitors preferred a gentler atmosphere.
She looked up as the larger of Avalon’s two moons slowly rose into the sky, casting an eerie light over the city. Other specks of light moved around the planet, each one a large orbital station in its own right; that too had expanded since Harrington had departed Avalon to patrol the outer edge of Commonwealth space. It was an odd reminder that even without the Empire, life went on. She caught sight of a group of students making their way into one of the tamer bars and smiled to herself. The young seemed to like the idea of getting along without the Empire much more than any of the Marines. Without it ... what were they?
Protectors, she told herself firmly. And warriors.
“Here we are,” Blake said, as they reached the bar. It had largely been taken over by the Knights when they made their weekly trips into the city; the owner, never one to miss out on a chance to make money, had promptly renamed it the Hard Dazed Knights. “Joe – you’re buying the beer.”
“It’s my bloody stag night,” Joe protested, without heat. “I thought you were buying the beer!”
Jasmine rolled her eyes as they walked into the bar and found an isolated table in one corner of the large room. The Hard Dazed Knights was tamer than she’d expected, the first time she’d visited, although there were a handful of women dancing on a stage at the other end of the room. Most of the young recruits for the Knights came on their first leave and blew through their wages in a few hours – some things, it seemed, were universal. The same thing had happened on the Imperial Army’s training worlds. Jasmine had heard that the Knights had actually considered copying the Imperial Navy and adding courses in money management for the young recruits. She had never been able to decide if such courses were practical or condescending.
“We should hire a couple of the girls,” Blake told Joe, as he waved for the waitress. “They could show you a really good time.”
“I’m getting married,” Joe reminded him. “I don’t think that Lila would approve.”
“Pussy,” Blake said. “You’re not married yet!”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand how you managed to convince a girl to marry you,” he added. “Doesn't she know what you do for a living?”
The waitress came over before Joe could reply.
“Beer for us all,” Jasmine said, quickly. “And some snacks.”
“Special ones,” Blake said. “My friend here is getting married soon.”
“We offer recreational drugs,” the waitress said.
“That’s useless,” Joe pointed out, crossly. “We can’t be drugged ...”
“Just normal snacks,” Jasmine said, feeling
an odd twinge of sympathy for Blake. He and Joe had been friends for years and seeing him married off had to hurt. Jasmine had felt the same when she’d been promoted, even though she’d finally settled down into her new role. “And keep the beers coming.”
“It's the thought that counts,” Blake said. “Let the world know that we blew half of the platoon’s funds on our mate’s stag party!”
“I’ll let you explain the discrepancy in our funds to the Colonel,” Jasmine said, dryly. “Or to Sergeant Patterson.”
Blake nodded, reluctantly. “Perhaps we should just have a good time,” he said. “Plenty of beer will help with that.”
The waitress returned with a large tray of beers, which she put down in the centre of the table. Jasmine took one of the glasses, waited until the others had taken their own and then lifted it for silence.
“We are gathered here today,” she said, as dramatically as she could, “to say our farewells to a brave soldier, a man who has saved my life on five occasions ...”
“Seven,” Joe put in, quickly.
“Seven occasions,” Jasmine corrected herself, “and whose life I have had the pleasure of saving on four occasions in return. I think it is safe to say that 1st Platoon would not be the unit it is without Joe Buckley’s constant presence ... if only because he sucks up all the bad luck that would otherwise blight our lives.”
There were some chuckles. Joe Buckley’s record for getting into scrapes and then getting out of them by the skin of his teeth was unmatched throughout the company.
“But now he is taken from us, cut down, removed from the line of battle ...”
“Jesus, Lieutenant,” Joe protested. “You make it sound like I'm dead! I’m only getting married.”
“Married?” Blake said. “You might as well be dead!”
“Yes,” Sergeant Chester Harris said. “It is the thought of my wife being thousands of kilometres away that warms my heart.”
“See?” Blake asked. “A life sentence.”
Jasmine snorted into her beer. “My friends ... I give you Joe Buckley and Lila,” she concluded. “May they have a long and happy life together.”
“Joe and Lila,” the Marines echoed back.
The beer tasted slightly different from the last beer she’d had, although that wasn't uncommon on Avalon. There was no shortage of brewers intent on capturing as much of the market as they could, rather than the handful of highly-regulated breweries on Earth, and much of their reputation was made by word of mouth. The better ones could expect to rake in thousands of credits, particularly by selling to the bars near the military bases.
“I can't believe that you’re leaving us,” Blake said, after several more beers had been ordered and drunk. “We’re a team!”
“I’m only going to the training grounds,” Joe said. “I’ll be back in a few months, count on it.”
“After several weeks of reconditioning,” Harris said, warningly. “It's easy to grow lax on the training grounds.”
Jasmine nodded. She’d done a few weeks there herself, serving as a drill instructor, before being promoted to Lieutenant. Harris was right; it was easy to grow lax with one’s personal exercise, even though it was important to set a good example. Nothing motivated young recruits more than watching their superiors going through the same exercises – and regularly outpointing them. If the Imperial Army or the Civil Guard had done the same, it might have made both forces far more capable.
“Or you’ll stay there, captivated by the sweet Lila,” Blake said.
“Go find someone nice yourself,” Joe suggested. “You shouldn’t keep chasing the whores ...”
“You should be backing me up here,” Blake objected. “We’re comrades! Buddies! We’re like ... like Caesar and Brutus.”
“Brutus killed Caesar,” Harris pointed out.
“Well ... Macbeth and McDonald,” Blake said, after a moment’s thought.
“That’s Duncan,” Jasmine corrected. “And Macbeth killed Duncan.”
Blake scowled into his beer. “Well, Romeo and ...”
Joe lifted his fist threateningly.
“I was going to say Mercutio,” Blake said, quickly.
Harris snorted. “Wasn’t he killed by a member of Romeo’s family?”
“You know what I mean,” Blake said. He scowled down at his beer. “Can’t we order something that actually gets us drunk?”
“There isn’t anything that really makes us drunk,” Harris said. “But I think you’ve drunk too much anyway. Flush it out of your system.”
Blake gave him a cross look. “If there isn't anything that can get us drunk,” he said carefully, “what is the harm in drinking more beer?”
Jasmine made a show of considering it carefully. It was true; Marines couldn't really get drunk – and, if necessary, they could flush it out of their system. But alcohol did cause a buzz if the Marine let it happen.
“Just drink water for a while,” she said, finally. “And I’ll drink water too.”
“Yes, mother,” Blake said.
Harris leaned forward, capturing their attention. “I was chatting to Sergeant Hampton,” he said, changing the subject. “From what he was saying, we may end up going underground and fighting an insurgency against Admiral Singh.”
“That would be ... bad,” Joe said. “Can she blow through the defences here?”
“Possibly,” Harris said. “But then, she’s also been moving industrial nodes back to her base on Corinthian. That should limit her ability to expand for a while.”
Jasmine scowled. The Empire – and the Commonwealth, to some extent – had worked hard to decentralise their production nodes. Losing Earth would be painful, but the Empire’s economy would survive; hell, if they lost the bureaucrats who insisted on painstakingly going through every regulation before granting approval to businessmen, the economy might improve rapidly. But if Admiral Singh was concentrating her industry on Corinthian ...
She’d been right. It did imply weakness.
But it might not matter, she reminded herself firmly. One Marine might be outnumbered by a platoon from the Civil Guard, but the Marine should still be able to win a fist fight.
“But she’ll see us as a threat,” Jasmine reminded them, again. “I think we might have to assume the very worst.”
“Yeah,” Harris agreed. “I just hope the Colonel has something good up his sleeve.”
“There's nothing we can do about it now,” Blake said, dryly. “It’s time to give Joe a good send-off.”
Jasmine watched Blake heading over to several of the waitresses, then turned her attention back to the beer. She’d grown used to being the senior officer, even if there was an uneasy balance between the comrade she’d been and the senior officer she’d become. Normally, a newly-promoted Lieutenant would have been transferred to another platoon, maybe even out of the company completely. That wasn't an option on Avalon.
Hampton’s words had bothered her more than she wanted to admit. Somehow, she’d always assumed that the Slaughterhouse would be safe and that the Marine Corps would have regrouped there if something had happened to Earth. But who knew what had happened thousands of light years away? Even the more muted rumours they’d heard from traders – and the handful of enemy crewmen willing to talk – had suggested that a firestorm had swept through the Core Worlds. The thought of what modern weapons could do when unleashed on a heavily-populated planet was terrifying.
She’d felt alone ever since she'd realised – truly realised – what command actually meant. Now, she wondered if they were alone in the universe ...
It seemed impossible that the remainder of the Marine Corps had been wiped out, but it had also seemed impossible that the Empire could ever abandon worlds it had settled and protected for so long. Marines would do their duty as long as they could, yet if chaos swept across the Core Worlds the Slaughterhouse might be destroyed in the crossfire. And the Corps had enemies ... one of them might take advantage of the opportunity to attack the Slaug
hterhouse directly. For all she knew, the Slaughterhouse might be radioactive ruins by now ...and the remainder of the Corps had been destroyed.
“That’s the price of command,” Harris said. “Worrying.”
Jasmine gave him a sharp look, wondering how he’d read her mind.
“Long experience,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “It is a Sergeant’s job to keep the Lieutenants aware of their own shortcomings.”
Jasmine shrugged. “I can discuss my shortcomings later,” she said, watching as Blake clambered onto the stage to dance with two of the girls. “Should I start worrying about Blake?”
Harris gave her a sharp look. “You’ve never had someone in your platoon marry before?”
“No,” Jasmine said, flatly.
“It always causes problems,” Harris warned her. “You know how a platoon is meant to work – all of the members must trust one another perfectly, forsaking all others.” He gave her a droll grin. “Someone getting married and having children messes up the balance. All of a sudden, they can no longer afford to put the platoon first. It’s natural for the married man’s teammates to feel that they’ve been abandoned by someone who was very close to them.”
Jasmine nodded. Marine Corps regulations banned sexual relationships within the Corps, but Marines were very close to one another, close enough to fuel all sorts of jokes by soldiers from the Imperial Army. Joe’s departure would hurt Blake; they’d been partners for nearly four years. Blake had even turned down an offer of a stint at the training grounds himself, just to stay with the platoon.
Maybe they thought I was a traitor, she thought, sourly. Promotion was an expected part of a Marine’s career, particularly if one had the talent to do well at higher levels. But promoted officers were not normally left in command of their former comrades ... she shook her head, dismissing the thought. She would just have to do the best she could.
The Empire's Corps: Book 04 - Semper Fi Page 6