“We shall hope for Joe’s safe return,” she said, stiffly. Reaching into her belt, she produced her terminal and opened it up. “Keep an eye on Blake for a while.”
“That might be difficult,” Harris observed. “Blake’s found a new friend.”
Jasmine looked up in time to see one of the dancers leading Blake into a hidden stairwell. The upper levels of the building were separated into tiny bedrooms – without, she’d been informed, any sound-proofing. Not that she’d been up there herself; it was easy for a male Marine to find companionship from the opposite sex, but far harder for a female. They tended to intimidate the men.
“Let’s hope that he doesn't get kidnapped again,” she said, looking back at her terminal. As always, the device had picked up hundreds of messages for her as soon as she’d logged into the system-wide network, mostly junk. On Earth, there had been all kinds of regulations covering the use of the planetary datanet to advertise products, most of which had been completely ineffective. It hadn't been until much later that she’d realised that the regulations were really intended to keep the datanet from being used by dissidents. “We might not be so lucky this time.”
Harris snorted. “There isn't a war on yet,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye on all of them.”
Jasmine nodded, skimming through the important messages. There was a brief note that several new prototype weapons were available for testing and asking if 1st Platoon would be interested, then a handful of messages from Mandy, including one that asked if she wanted to meet up when she was next on Avalon. Jasmine checked the Marine network and discovered that 1st Platoon was still officially on leave, then sent a message back asking Mandy to let her know when she would be planet-side.
She smiled, remembering how Mandy had grown up – and how she’d beaten the Admiral almost single-handedly. It was hard to maintain a friendship outside the Marine Corps, but there were times when Jasmine thought that Mandy was all that kept her sane. She couldn't really talk to the rest of the platoon and most of the officers seemed far in advance of her.
The evening wore on, with the remainder of the Marines finding their own companionship – and trying to drag Joe into joining them. Joe seemed rather more defiant than any of them appeared to expect, even when three waitresses removed their tops and tried to cuddle up to him. Jasmine had to laugh at their expressions when he pushed them away, scowling towards Blake. His friend’s sense of humour was sometimes thoroughly weird.
“Hey, I could take you upstairs,” one of the waitresses said, looking directly at Jasmine. “I don’t bite.”
“No, thank you,” Jasmine said, silently promising Blake the most unpleasant punishment duty she could imagine. It had to be his idea of a joke. “I do bite.”
She looked over at Harris and smiled. “Make sure they get back to barracks in time for roll call,” she ordered, as she stood up. “And try not to break too much furniture.”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” Harris said.
Jasmine walked over to Joe and stuck out a hand. “I wish you the very best with your marriage,” she said, as he took it. “And I will do my best to ensure that we can come to the wedding.”
“I’ve got Blake lined up to be my best man,” Joe said. “He’d better come to the wedding or I’ll have to pull someone random off the street.”
Jasmine chuckled. “Good luck,” she said. “And don’t let Blake get you down.”
She walked out of the bar and headed down the street, back towards the spaceport. The cool night air washed away what remained of the alcoholic daze, leaving her feeling merely tired. It was normal to feel tired easily when on leave, she’d been told, but she didn't understand it at all. Maybe everyone was just too tense during operations.
Her terminal bleeped. Mandy was in orbit; according to her, she’d be planet-side in two days. Jasmine replied, promising to meet if she could, then returned the terminal to her belt and kept walking. Once she was back at the barracks, she could sleep. God alone knew how long it would be before 1st Platoon was thrust back into action.
Not long enough, she thought. Or maybe it won’t be soon enough.
Chapter Seven
Managing the transition from ruler to ruler is vitally important for stability – and where, as I noted above, so many dictatorships have failed. Monarchy, the evolution of rule by the strong, works by guaranteeing an understandable succession, one backed up by society itself. In theory, civil unrest and instability can be avoided – and, by granting vast power to the monarch, society will be ruled by someone strong enough to keep the rest of the strong in check. In practice, this often depended upon the character of the monarch himself. Weak monarchs lost power to their nobility … and, eventually, the countries they ruled started to fragment.
-Professor Leo Caesius, Authority, Power and the Post-Imperial Era
Dawn broke over the Mystic Mountains, sending rays of sunlight beaming over the city and down into the Council Hall. Edward opened his eyes as the light shone through the window, feeling, as always, slightly out of place. The Presidential Residence was very definitely not his bunk on Castle Rock. Shaking his head, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood upright, then walked over to the window and gazed out over the city. Camelot was slowly coming to life.
The debate over where and how the Commonwealth President should live had taken almost as long as the debate over the Constitution, with one side arguing that the President should live frugally and the other side claiming that the President should have a residence appropriate to the dignity of the office. Eventually, Gaby had ruled that she would have the uppermost floor of a mansion that had belonged to one of the old councillors – and turn the rest of the building into offices. It wasn't a perfect compromise, but it was probably the best they could do. Besides, by law, the President was restricted to one term in office.
He smiled to himself as Gaby stirred, awakening slowly. She’d once led the Crackers ... which had forced her to stay on her toes, ready to run in the event that their hiding place was discovered. Now, she slept deeply and relaxed, something she could never have allowed herself while the war was still being fought. Edward allowed himself a moment to admire her as she sat upright, the blanket falling away to reveal her breasts, then he turned and walked towards the shower. There was no time to lie in bed.
His terminal bleeped as he switched it from sleeping mode to active, allowing the messages that had acuminated overnight to drop through the buffer and into his inbox. Edward surveyed them quickly, attaching his electronic signature to a handful that needed his approval, then put the terminal down as he entered the shower. Compared to a Marine barracks, the bathroom was staggeringly luxurious.
But the Grand Senators would turn their noses up at it, he thought, dryly. He’d seen enough of the luxury the Empire’s upper classes surrounded themselves with to know why they’d become so corrupt. Power corrupted ... but so did luxury – and getting what one wanted as soon as one wanted it. He’d done what he could to ensure that the Commonwealth’s leadership didn't go the same way, yet there was no way to guarantee that it would never happen. The next few generations would just have to keep a closer eye on their leaders.
He stepped into the flow of running water and washed the sweat from his body, closing his eyes as he ran the water over his face. A moment later, he heard the door and opened his eyes, just in time to see Gaby entering the compartment and joining him under the water, her hands clutching his back. As always, she seemed drawn to the scars that no amount of regeneration treatments could erase. Edward felt his body react as her fingers touched him and sternly pushed the feeling down. They didn't have time.
A soldier who won’t fuck won’t fight, the naughty part of his mind pointed out. The saying dated all the way back to Major General Kratman. But then, he’d also commented that a soldier who fucked when he should be fighting wouldn't be fucking or fighting in future.
“I have to go,” he said, after a brief exchange of kisses. “I’ll see you in t
he chamber?”
“If you know what you want to do,” Gaby said. “Do you have any clear plan yet?”
Edward scowled. It had been two days since Harrington had returned to Avalon, two days during which he’d supervised the interrogations of the defectors and studied the files, grimly aware that inaccurate information could get people killed. On the face of it, the Commonwealth Navy was outgunned four to one – at least. If Admiral Singh had captured other ships, including units from several planetary defence forces, the odds were probably stacked even more against the Commonwealth. And her crews were actually competent ...
He wasn't an expert in ship-to-ship combat, but he’d studied both the raw records from Harrington and the reports from the analysts. They’d concluded that Admiral Singh’s crews were far more disciplined than the pirates – no surprise there – and that they were probably kept firmly under supervision too. If there were other unhappy conscripts on the ships, they were unlikely to be able to damage the ships or defect. They’d probably be kept in near-complete ignorance of the universe around them.
“I have half a plan,” he said. It had been gelling in his mind ever since he’d read the debrief records. “It’s just incredibly dangerous.”
How much did Admiral Singh know? The question had been bothering Edward ever since Harrington had returned home, even though it was impossible to answer it. If she knew about the Commonwealth, she might send her ships to Avalon sooner rather than later – too soon for Edward’s planned operation to take effect. But if she didn't know ... he shook his head. He should know better than to bother himself with unanswerable questions.
“Let me know when you have a workable concept,” Gaby said. “The Council will want to approve it.”
Edward nodded, ruefully. He'd worked hard to ensure that the Commonwealth Council didn't have the ability to interfere in military decisions, beyond setting the overall objectives of any operations, but it had ensured that the Council took a careful look at any planned missions. Not that was a bad thing, he was prepared to admit; the Grand Senate had either meddled or insisted that too much be done with too little. But it also meant that maintaining security was almost impossible.
And it will grow harder if the planetary forces have to be called in, he thought. Each Commonwealth planet was responsible for its own groundside defence, ensuring that there was no need for a single Commonwealth Army. The system had its advantages – the Council claimed that there was no force to bully planets into falling in line – but it also had its weaknesses. It wouldn't be long, Edward suspected, before some worlds started refusing to exercise their armies against other armies. But how else could they learn?
He walked back into the main room and picked up his uniform, his hands pulling it on without any real thought. Unlike the Scouts, the Knights or the Commonwealth Navy, the Marines had kept their old uniforms, even though they had belonged to the Empire. Gaby had expressed her concern over that, pointing out that it might upset factions that were glad the Empire was gone, but Edward had insisted. The uniform belonged to a tradition that dated back to the days before the Unification Wars. Besides, there were barely eighty full-fledged Marines in the Commonwealth. There was little hope of training up new Marines.
Gaby stepped back into the main room, wrapping a dressing gown around her body. Edward felt an odd twinge running through his heart, wondering just where their relationship was going. On Earth, everyone would expect it to last as long as it lasted, with no recriminations when it ended, but Rim worlds tended to take a more serious view. They should be considering marriage ... and yet she was the President. There was no way that marriage wouldn't cause problems for her career.
“I’ve got a meeting at Castle Rock,” he said awkwardly, giving her a brief hug. “I’ll call you once I know what I’m doing.”
Gaby smiled, kissing him on the lips. “Be seeing you,” she said. Her smile grew wider. “Try not to be seen as you slip out of the back door.”
Edward was still chuckling at the thought as he walked down the stairs and out of the main entrance. The President’s security was provided by a team of Knights – for patriotic reasons, Gaby had insisted that Avalon’s home-grown military guarded her and the rest of the Council – but it was still miniscule compared to the layers of security that surrounded the Grand Senators on Earth. He nodded to the guards as they checked his ID, then waved him towards the gates, even though he had his doubts over the security. It would be alarmingly easy for a handful of trained soldiers to put the President’s life in serious jeopardy.
But we can't risk having the President lose touch with the ordinary man, he thought, sourly. There were times when he felt that they carried the whole concept too far. And yet it only takes one nutcase with a gun to change history.
He pushed the thought to one side as he walked over to the aircar and pressed his fingertip against the sensor, allowing it to confirm his identity and open the door. There were only a handful of aircars on Avalon; there was little point, Edward had been told, in constructing more when the planet was nowhere near as congested as Earth. The only people who were allowed to use them were government and military officials. Climbing inside, he engaged the autopilot and ordered it to take him directly to Castle Rock, then unhooked his terminal from his belt. There were no shortage of messages that weren't considered urgent, but needed a glance anyway.
I spend too much time doing paperwork, Edward thought, as the aircar headed out over the ocean. In hindsight, accepting the position of Supreme Commander of the Commonwealth Military might not have been the cleverest move if he’d wanted to avoid paperwork. But he’d wanted to ensure that it was kept as low as possible. Damn it!
He smiled ruefully as Castle Rock came into view, illuminated by the rising sun. The island had been barren when the Marines had arrived, but three years of development had turned it into a formidable military base, complete with training grounds, barracks and office buildings. Edward gritted his teeth when he saw the latter; he’d given strict orders that no officer was to spend longer than six months at a desk, rotating them in and out of combat or training assignments. It helped to avoid the problems paper-pushers in the Imperial Army had caused for the fighting men, but it also created its own problems. Every solution seemed to cause new problems.
The aircar dropped to the ground near the main building and Edward climbed out, keeping his hands in view. Unlike Camelot, Castle Rock’s facilities were guarded by armed Marines – and, even though his aircar had been allowed to pass through the defence screen, they wouldn't take chances. He’d done what he could to diversity their facilities, but an attack on Castle Rock could still prove disastrous. The Marines recognised him as they strode towards the aircar, yet they checked his ID implant anyway. Edward would have reprimanded them if they’d done any less.
Command Sergeant Gwendolyn Patterson met him as he stepped into his office, looking – as always – briskly efficient. She’d refused to be rotated out to the training grounds, choosing to move between serving as an NCO when Edward took command of a platoon and serving as his assistant when they were in the office. Edward suspected that there would come a time when he would have to give up command completely; it was unlikely that Stalker’s Stalkers would ever deploy again as a single unit. Even now, forty of his Marines were scattered over the Commonwealth, providing the training and discipline that the local forces needed desperately.
“Colonel,” she said, saluting. “The latest intelligence reports are on your desk.”
Edward returned the salute, then groaned. “Anything useful from the prisoners?”
“Nothing much, beyond basic details,” Gwendolyn said. “The intelligence staff were suggesting that we could move to more ... rigorous methods of interrogation.”
Edward shook his head. “They’re not pirates,” he said. “We can’t brutalise them.”
“The defectors don’t know enough,” Gwendolyn said, playing devil’s advocate. “If we use truth drugs ... we might be able to
interrogate them without them ever realising that they had been interrogated.”
“We accepted their surrender on honourable terms,” Edward reminded her. “We can’t force them to talk if they don’t want to talk.”
He could understand her point – and why the intelligence officers were so frustrated. They were almost blind; the defectors simply didn't know everything Edward needed to know. But at the same time ... mistreating the prisoners would be bad policy. It would almost certainly come back to haunt them. And it would be grossly dishonourable.
Besides, he reminded himself, the techniques for erasing a person’s memory were simply unreliable – and they left markers in the brain. The first thing Admiral Singh’s medics would do when they were returned would be to check for conditioning, which might well reveal that something had been done to their minds. And then the medics would keep hammering away at the memory blocks until they broke.
“No,” he said, as he sat down behind his desk. “We won’t interrogate them any more rigorously than we have.”
Gwendolyn nodded, looking neither pleased nor displeased.
Edward flipped open the fire and read it quickly. Five enemy crewmen had chosen to defect; three of them conscripts from Corinthian. They’d all told the same basic story; Admiral Singh had arrived in their system, established her authority and taken control. And then she’d started conscripting everyone who had the training and experience she needed to help build her empire. Having faced his own manpower problems, Edward could understand exactly what drove her to drag in as many people as she could.
One of the other defectors had been a crewman on a freighter before being conscripted into Admiral Singh’s forces. His story was a little different from the others; he’d noted that freighter crews had been granted exemption from conscription, as long as they paid their taxes. But his father, the CO of an independent freighter, had tried to cheat ... Edward winced. Taxes on interstellar shipping always dampened the economy.
The Empire's Corps: Book 04 - Semper Fi Page 7