Wolf's Bane (The Empire's Corps Book 14)

by Christopher Nuttall

  He turned to look at Sergeant Fanucchi, who looked pleased. The ugly little man had had a string of complaints against his name, mainly for sexually assaulting female prisoners, but none of them had ever come to anything. Fanucchi had a real nose for sniffing out trouble, even where it was least expected. The students who’d been plotting against the state didn’t know how lucky they were, how lucky they’d been. They hadn't had to fight their way up from the gutter in a world that only cared about results.

  “Subversive literature, sir,” Fanucchi said, holding out a set of papers. “They concealed it under the floorboards.”

  “Very good,” Joshua said. He took the papers and skimmed them, quickly. They were nothing more than extracts from a set of banned books, save for one which claimed to be a true history of the war. He felt dirty just for looking at them. Some people really didn't know which side their bread was buttered on. “Did they have anything useful to say?”

  Fanucchi smirked. “They asked us to do it again and again,” he said. “I promised we’d see them again in the cells.”

  “I’m sure you will, if you slip the prison staff the right bribe,” Joshua said. He’d had HQ run a check on the prisoners, while his men had their fun. Not that it mattered that much, not now they’d been caught in the act. Their families would disown their bastards for fear of being tarred with the treasonous brush. “Just make sure you do it before they get shipped off to some shithole on the other side of the galaxy.”

  He smiled as he walked into the meeting hall and peered into the devastated room. The entire complex would have to be searched, of course, but they’d already caught the ringleaders. He didn't know why the students had decided to betray the state, or why they thought they could get away with it ... all that mattered was that they’d been arrested, that they were on their way to the nearest penal world. It was a shame, almost. Some of those girls had been quite pretty, the type of girls who had been utterly untouchable when he’d been a teenager.

  And if they’d kept their heads down, he thought, they would have been giving me orders soon enough.

  “Ah ... Captain,” a voice said. “About the reward ...?”

  Joshua turned. The hall supervisor was standing there, looking as if he wanted to be somewhere - anywhere - else. Joshua couldn't help a flicker of disgust at the overweight man, mingled with grim amusement. The bastard had taken money from the students, then betrayed them to the police. But then, reporting subversion was everyone’s job. A man who could be proved - who was even accused - of knowing about subversion and doing nothing might join the subversives in jail.

  And he won’t survive a penal world, Joshua thought, as he met the man’s eyes. He’ll be cooked and eaten by the others within a day.

  “The reward,” Joshua repeated. “You think you deserve a reward?”

  He leaned forward, then smirked. “You’ll get your reward by the end of the day,” he said, nastily. “Suitably taxed, of course.”

  The supervisor nodded, clearly too terrified to speak. His immense belly was shaking like jelly. Joshua dismissed him with a wave, knowing the man wouldn’t dare to complain. Garnishing the reward money was a long-standing police privilege, one of the few privileges of an underpaid and underappreciated job. And he - not his men - would get a segment of the money. They’d just have to content themselves by having fun with the prisoners.

  He turned and strode out of the door. A handful of students were watching from a distance, ready to duck into the alleyway if the policemen came after them. Joshua shrugged, unconcerned. Let them see, if they wished, that a subversive cell had been broken, that the boys had been beaten into submission and the girls raped. They’d take note and think twice before joining the subversives themselves.

  “Get us back to the station,” he ordered, as he climbed into the front seat. He could hear a faint whimpering coming from the rear of the van, but he ignored it. The subversives had to learn, sooner rather than later, that their lives were no longer their own. “We have work to do.”

  “Yes, sir,” the driver said.

  Joshua smiled as the engine roared into life. They had orders from higher up the food chain - right from the very top, he’d been told - to crack down hard on subversives. Everyone knew the subversives were working their way into the state, preparing to bring everything the government had built crashing down in ruins. The cell he’d cracked, the cell he'd arrested ... he’d be promoted for uncovering its existence. And then ...

  He smirked. There would always be subversives. And they would always be rooted out.

  ***

  “Police uncovered another cell of subversives, Admiral,” Paula Bartholomew said. She held out a datapad. “A cluster of technical college students, between nineteen and twenty-two years of age. The police currently have them in detention.”

  Rani gritted her teeth. There had been too many challenges to her authority over the last two months, too many subversive cells popping up and asking questions ... every time she smashed one, another rose to replace it. And the hell of it was that the really dangerous ones couldn't be stopped so easily. The subversives themselves weren't a problem; the directors, the big corporations, were a problem.

  “That makes thirty-seven cells uncovered within the last week,” Paula added. “We still don’t have a handle on how subversive papers are being distributed ...”

  “Through the datanet, one would assume,” Rani said. Wolfbane’s datanet was a mess. It was more organised than Earth’s datanet, she had to admit, but the bar wasn't set very high. A single message couldn’t be traced unless the WebHeads got lucky. “Make sure the subversives are interrogated before being put in front of a wall and shot.”

  Paula hesitated. “Admiral ... these are young men and women,” she said. “Would it not be better to have them exiled ...”

  “Have them shot,” Rani repeated, coldly. The students had betrayed her. Governor Brown might have started the technical colleges, but she had made them work. She’d ensured the students had a good chance at proper jobs, at doing important work for their planet ... and this was how they rewarded her? “March them out, put them in front of a wall and shoot them.”

  “Yes, Admiral,” Paula said.

  Rani scowled as she turned to peer out the window. The city seemed quiet, but she knew it seethed with resentment and hatred. She knew she wasn't popular ... it seemed she wasn't feared either. That would have to change. And yet, she knew that fear alone wasn't enough to make people work for her. She needed to apply the carrot as well as the stick.

  She shook her head, tiredly. She’d wanted to be powerful. And yes, she was powerful. But she was now riding a tiger. If she tried to stop the beast, it would devour her; if she tried to jump off, she might be injured and devoured ... she was stuck, held in place by the power she’d gathered. Governor Brown had been able to convince people - corporate directors in particular - to work with him. She had no such talents.

  “Give me the report,” she ordered, without looking back.

  Paula passed her the datapad. Rani took the device and read the report, quickly. Normally, something so small would have been handled by one of her subordinates, but she needed to stay abreast of progress. She wasn't sure she trusted anyone else to handle the search for subversion anyway. And if it meant delaying matters while it was brought to her attention ...

  She scowled as she finished reading the report. It was blunt, almost brutally honest. There were none of the euphuisms and half-truths she’d grown used to from the Imperial Navy. And yet ... she shuddered at her own lack of concern. Hadn't there been a time when she would have vetoed mindless brutality? When she would have insisted that prisoners, even subversives, be treated well? When she would have executed a rapist instead of putting him to work?

  Her wristcom bleeped. “Admiral, Powerhouse and her squadron have just returned home,” Colonel Higgs said. Rani frowned. Higgs wouldn't have told her that, now, unless there was bad news on the way. “Captain Christopher Brookes
is gloating over his success.”

  Rani felt her blood run cold. “What kind of success?”

  “He attacked an enemy convoy and destroyed it,” Higgs said. His voice, as always, was calm and composed. She welcomed it, even as she feared what he would say next. “It was apparently a great victory.”

  “I see,” Rani said. Cold ice was rapidly replaced by rage - and fear. If word was already spreading ... she couldn't allow that, could she? “Have him arrested at once.”

  Paula started. “Admiral?”

  “See to it,” Rani ordered sharply, ignoring her aide. Paula was a civilian at heart. She wouldn't understand, couldn't understand, just how dangerous matters had become. “I want him off his bridge as soon as possible.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Higgs said. “I’ll see to it personally.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Captain Christopher Brookes ignored the commissioner’s silent fury as Powerhouse and her consorts glided towards the docking station. The man had been a grumbling presence ever since Powerhouse had set course for home, muttering under his breath about imprudence and treacherous commanding officers every time he laid eyes on his charge. Christopher had ignored him, refusing to rise to the bait. He’d destroyed two enemy warships and captured three freighters - which could be pressed into service - for minimal cost. His crew was already looking forward to going on leave and gloating about their one-sided victory.

  “They’re ordering us to dock on the lower pylon,” the communications officer said. “There’s an officer boarding to inspect the ship.”

  Christopher allowed himself a tight smile. An officer ... Admiral Singh herself? He’d seen her once, but he’d never spoken to her privately. The chance to put his case for promotion directly to the highest authority on Wolfbane was not to be missed. No doubt the commissioner would whisper poison in her ear, but Admiral Singh was an experienced naval officer. She’d understand the significance of what he’d done, even if the groundpounder didn't. Admiral Singh wouldn't listen to a groundpounder over a starship captain.

  “Very good,” he said. “Helm, take us into dock.”

  He glanced at the XO. “Assume command,” he added. “I’ll be at the main airlock.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the XO said.

  Christopher glanced at the commissioner, who glowered back at him. The man didn't seem to know if he wanted to go to the airlock to greet the newcomer or stay on the bridge, as he was technically supposed to do. Regulations weren't clear on what procedure was to be followed, not when the commissioner was supposed to do both. But then, the commissioners were a relatively new innovation. No doubt matters would sort themselves out in time.

  Powerhouse felt different as he made his way through the hatch and down to the main airlock. The entire ship seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation. Christopher couldn’t help smiling at the thought. The crew knew they’d have a few days of leave in the orbital fleshpots, even if they decided not to go down to the planet itself. They’d be off on leave as soon as the new crew took over, drinking in the bars and telling lies about smashing a hundred enemy ships without taking a single loss. No one would believe them, but no one would care.

  A dull thump echoed through the ship as she docked, followed by a series of shudders as the airlocks matched and mated. Christopher reached the airlock, hastily straightening his uniform. There hadn't been time to don his dress uniform, unfortunately, but Admiral Singh would understand. Formal ceremonies were normally announced at least a week in advance so the crews had a chance to wash the decks, clean their uniforms and do everything else necessary to ensure they presented a good impression. He’d known senior officers who’d downgraded the entire ship because they’d spotted a speck of microscopic dust.

  The airlocks hissed open, slowly. Christopher took a deep breath, breathing in the air from the station. It tasted faintly of oil, but it was different. Powerhouse had good air filtering systems - she wasn't a stinking pirate ship - yet her atmosphere had been starting to feel a little stale. No doubt the filters would have to be swapped out - again - after the crew returned from leave. There were too many shortages of things the beancounters deemed unessential.

  Which goes to prove they know nothing, he thought, crossly. He was in a good mood, damn it. He wasn't going to allow the thought of beancounters to spoil his day. And yet, it was hard to escape the thought. If the filters start to fail, the air will turn poisonous very quickly.

  He straightened as four men strode into the ship, then frowned. They were shore patrolmen in red uniforms, led by a Provost Marshal. Their hands rested on the pistols in their unbuttoned holsters, ready to draw them at a moment’s notice. For a moment, his eyes refused to believe what he was seeing. Could they be securing the ship before Admiral Singh arrived? Or ...?

  The Provost Marshal stopped in front of him. “Captain Christopher Brookes?”

  He spoke with the air of a man who already knew the answer. Christopher felt his blood run cold. He was in trouble, somehow. The commissioner had sent a message ahead of him ... somehow. No doubt he’d bullied a communications officer into sending a message as soon as Powerhouse returned to realspace, then wiping it from the datacore. Christopher promised himself revenge, as soon as possible. He’d explain himself to Admiral Singh. Once she understood what he’d done, everything would be fine.

  “Yes,” he said, finally.

  “You are under arrest,” the Provost Marshal stated. “You will be taken from this place and held until a court martial board can be organised. Any attempt to escape my custody will be held against you ...”

  Christopher barely heard the Provost Marshal as he finished the rest of the speech, then snapped on the handcuffs. His head was spinning helplessly. How could things have gone so sour, so quickly? Admiral Singh didn't know what her commissioners had done, he told himself firmly. He’d have a chance to appeal to her personally, afterwards. The Provost Marshal pushed him through the airlock, ensuring he didn't have a chance to speak to any of his crew. A small army of military policemen waited on the far side, ready to assume control of Powerhouse. Christopher felt his heart sink. Whatever had happened - whatever was going on - someone had definitely put the boot in. He might never have a chance to contact anyone.

  “Remain here,” the Provost Marshal said, shoving him into a tiny cell. “You will be contacted.”

  Christopher spun around as the hatch slammed closed. “What about the cuffs?”

  There was no answer. Christopher tested the cuffs, flexing his muscles against the metal. It didn't give, of course. They didn't have to be made from hullmetal to be effectively unbreakable, at least to an unaugmented human. He’d heard rumours about enhanced superhumans who could snap steel bars as though they were made of paper, but he’d never actually seen one outside a poorly-written flick or two. They were probably just rumours.

  Christopher glanced around the cell, composing himself with an effort. He was innocent. He’d done his duty and nothing more. He wasn't going to surrender to fear, not when he had nothing to fear. He sat down on the bunk. They wouldn't leave him in the cell for long, he was sure. They’d have to remove the cuffs, if nothing else. And then he’d have a chance to explain himself. He was going to be fine ...

  ... But the cell was barren, save for a bunk and a chamberpot, and the four walls were closing in.

  ***

  “Powerhouse has been secured, Admiral,” Paula reported. “Her crew have been transferred to secure holding facilities until their ultimate fate can be determined, save for their commissioner. He was happy to produce a report condemning Captain Brookes for multiple offences against good order ...”

  Rani nodded, stiffly. She’d thought she was beyond guilt. She’d done what she needed to do to survive, right from the start. And yet ... Christopher Brookes had done a good job, whatever else could be said about him. Destroying two tiny warships wouldn’t materially affect the balance of power, but it was a victory. His only crime was being too good at self-pr
omotion for her comfort.

  And that is all that matters, she told herself. I don’t need a new threat.

  She looked up at Paula. “And the popular reaction?”

  “Muted,” Paula said. “So far, no one outside a small group knows that Captain Brookes has been arrested. We will make sure that doesn't get out.”

  “Of course,” Rani said. Captain Brookes was very good at self-promotion. His crowing had spread across the system before her PR staff had been able to put a lid on it. No doubt there would be trouble if the general public realised that their new hero had been arrested. She’d have to make very sure that that never got out. “Do you have media strategies in place?”