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

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Jasmine,” Mouganthu said. His eyes focused on her face. “Please, be seated. My ... friends ... have some questions.”

  “Of course,” Jasmine said. She sat, carefully focusing her mind. There were twelve major corporations in all. Winning over three of the directors - and convincing the others to stay on the sidelines - would be a major victory. “How may I be of service?”

  “You can start by explaining what guarantees you propose to offer us,” Tallyman said. “If, of course, the war comes to an end.”

  Jasmine smiled, then repeated the same speech she’d made to Mouganthu. The corporations would have their world and their society, if they wanted to keep it; they’d have access to the Commonwealth’s growing markets and free trade zones. She suspected they’d have trouble competing in the long run - unless they made a number of changes, which would be just as troublesome - but they’d have a better chance of prosperity. Admiral Singh would certainly not allow them so much latitude. Jasmine dreaded to think what would happen if Admiral Singh tried to crack down on the corporations.

  “A pretty speech,” Tallyman said, when she'd finished. “And how do we know you’d keep your word?”

  “We are your competition,” Hernandez agreed.

  “You would still have enough firepower to make restarting the war - or even locking you out of our markets - a dangerous gamble,” Jasmine pointed out. “And even if we tried, we couldn't lock you out of our markets.”

  Assuming you have something we want to buy, she added, silently. Adapting to new technology may be impossible for you.

  She leaned forward. “Right now, the situation is unstable,” she warned. “If we crush your navy and occupy your system, we will not be so inclined to make you a good offer. On the other hand, if Admiral Singh wins the war, she’s not going to be inclined to leave you in power either. You’re a permanent threat to her position.”

  “All the more so because the bitch has nothing behind her, but naked force,” Hernandez growled.

  Jasmine nodded.

  “You are asking us to take one hell of a gamble,” Tallyman mused. “If we lose ... we lose everything.”

  And that wouldn't be too bad, for the Commonwealth, Jasmine thought. A civil war that saps your strength would be delightful.

  She kept her face expressionless. “You are already on course to lose everything,” she said, bluntly. “There is no victory for you. You can accept a truce that allows you to keep something or try to deal with whichever side wins the war.”

  “Admiral Singh can be manipulated,” Tallyman said.

  “Not for long,” Hernandez countered. “She won’t hesitate to strike at us if she thinks she can get away with it.”

  “And she might, if she wins the war,” Mouganthu said. “She’ll have no trouble finding others to run our corporations.”

  “That’ll degrade them,” Tallyman insisted.

  “We’ll be dead,” Hernandez said. “I don’t think it will matter.”

  He shrugged. “All she has to do is start breaking up the corporations,” he added. “It won’t be long before there’ll be no one left who can generate the power to challenge her.”

  “Perhaps,” Tallyman said. He sneered at Jasmine. “It seems to me that we are being asked to commit suicide on your behalf.”

  “You have the choice between doing something now or being at the mercy of the victor,” Jasmine countered. Tallyman had a valid point, she conceded. A failed coup would bring on a civil war at the worst possible time. “Doing nothing is also suicide.”

  “True,” Hernandez agreed. “But what happens if all hell breaks loose?”

  “It will break loose, sooner or later, whatever happens,” Mouganthu said. “The security forces are provoking real trouble ...”

  “Which can be crushed,” Tallyman snapped.

  “But that will cost us,” Mouganthu said.

  He took a breath. “Let us be brutally honest,” he said. “The war was a mistake. We have secured almost none of our gains and we have suffered a major defeat. Governor Brown is dead and his successor has none of his restraint - or understanding. Removing Admiral Singh and taking control of Wolfbane may the only chance we have to preserve some of our possessions.”

  “You believe we should do this,” Tallyman said. It wasn't a question. “Do you think the risks can be handled?”

  “There are always risks,” Mouganthu said. “But yes, they can be handled.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Tallyman said. “I will need to consider it. Carefully.”

  He rose. “As do I,” Hernandez said. He lumbered to his feet. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Jasmine watched them go, feeling cold. If either of them wanted to betray her - and she knew it was one possible solution to their problems - it would be almost pathetically easy. A quick message to the security forces and all hell would break loose. Jasmine had formulated some escape and evasion plans over the last two days, but she knew they were far from perfect. And she didn't dare let herself be captured ...

  “I didn't expect an immediate commitment,” Mouganthu said. “They’ll need time to think.”

  Jasmine raised her eyebrows. “As do you?”

  “Yes,” Mouganthu said. “I cannot move alone.”

  “A lone man can assassinate a leader,” Jasmine said. “But he cannot hope to manage what follows.”

  She sighed, inwardly. Carl Watson had assassinated Governor Brown. There was no doubt of that. She’d been there when the operation was planned. But Admiral Singh had managed to take control of Wolfbane in the aftermath, rather than civil war or a corporate-dominated government. Their next attempt had to be better planned.

  “True,” Mouganthu said. He looked up. “The next set of guests will be arriving in a minute.”

  Jasmine had never liked diplomats. In her experience, diplomats had a habit of surrendering hard-won military victories in exchange for worthless pieces of paper. And yet, as she chatted to dozens of corporate managers and their representatives, she found herself feeling a curious flicker of respect for the diplomats. Saying the same thing over and over again, often using the same words, was tedious beyond belief; shooting down the same objections, time and time again, was frustrating as hell. And yet, she had to carry on.

  And so few of them are prepared to commit themselves, she thought, darkly. She knew why - she understood their position - but it was frustrating as hell. They’d prefer to sit on the fence than do something bold.

  “I have to speak to a couple of people in private,” Mouganthu said, after a particularly annoying pair of managers. “You can wait here.”

  Jasmine sighed, inwardly. Her head was starting to thump. Perhaps she’d discovered a new form of torture, particularly for young recruits who wanted to be doing something all the time. She wondered, idly, if she could convince her Drill Instructors to use diplomatic talks as a replacement for push-ups. But then, diplomatic talks probably wouldn't help to build muscles ...

  They’d help build endurance, she thought. And that would be useful too.

  She shook her head. It was a silly thought.

  Haverford entered, looking grim. Jasmine scowled at him. Technically, he’d had an invite to the party as well, but there was too great a chance of someone recognising him. Or so he’d claimed ... Jasmine rather suspected he’d done it to get out of the party.

  “They’re not committing themselves,” she said.

  “I’d be more concerned if they were,” Haverford said. He sat down and poured himself a glass of water. “They’ll want to try to build an alliance before agreeing to anything.”

  Jasmine made a face. “And if they agree to betray us instead?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Haverford said. He shrugged. “Right now, they won’t want to betray us. They’ll see the value of having underground links to the Commonwealth.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Jasmine said.

  She rubbed her eyes. She’d spoken to over fifty peo
ple, fifty people who now knew there was a plot afoot. Mouganthu might believe they were all trustworthy - and Haverford backed him - but she wasn't so sure. The larger the group, the greater the chance that someone wouldn’t see eye-to-eye with everyone else. And if that person reported to Admiral Singh, they were in deep trouble. Admiral Singh wasn't the sort of person to let grass grow under her feet. She'd strike first, as hard as she could.

  “We will see,” Haverford said. He grinned. “Do you want to dance?”

  “We’d better wait for him,” Jasmine said. “Do you know who he’s meeting?”

  Haverford shook his head. “Too many movers and shakers here,” he said. “It could be anyone.”

  ***

  I don’t get paid enough for this, Laura Blackstone thought sourly, as she made her way through the ballroom. There isn't enough money on the entire planet to pay for this.

  She gritted her teeth and kept moving. Wearing a skirt so short that the slightest breeze would be all too revealing was bad enough, but the constant gropes and lewd invitations were worse. Her right breast was aching after one young man who’d had too much to drink had pinched it hard while his companions had laughed and cheered him on. She’d known better than to object, too. No one was invited to a party in Mouganthu Tower without being - at least - minor corporate royalty. She’d be on the streets in a heartbeat if anyone complained she hadn't showed a willingness to do whatever she was told. Thankfully, she’d been too busy serving drinks to be lured into one of the side rooms. She knew that some of the other maids weren't so lucky.

  Perhaps I should just report him to my other superiors, she thought. Or even forge a report.

  She knew she didn't dare do anything of the sort - Planetary Security would be less than amused with a false report - but the thought still made her smile. She’d been in the job for five months and the only thing that kept her going was the grim certainty that, sooner or later, she’d see something that could be reported to her bosses. The corporate world was crammed with backstabbers and traitors, men and women who would betray the entire planet if they somehow came out ahead. She might never be able to watch - let alone admit her involvement - when they were executed, but at least she’d know.

  A hand slipped under her skirt and squeezed, hard. Laura plastered a smile on her face, not daring to look at her assailant. Dumping her tray of drinks on his head would be satisfying, but it would get her sacked too. Instead, she took a step forward, watching the older men and women as they flowed in and out of the ballroom. Her trained eye spotted a number of patterns that worried her. The movers and shakers were talking, privately. And that meant they were nervous.

  She glanced towards a fat oaf who was laughing, braying like a drunken bull. His companion - a young woman from serious money - looked awkward, torn between embarrassment and horror. Laura would have felt sorry for her, if she hadn't known the poor girl had options. But ... her companion wasn't even trying to hide his nature. None of his fellows tried to keep things private for long. She could have made a mint on the stock market, just from what she'd overhead, if she’d had the cash to start.

  And the really big movers and shakers are all having private meetings, she thought, silently making a mental list. She knew it was something, even if she didn't know what. And each of the meetings is being held separately.

  She composed her report to her superiors as she carried her empty tray back to the table. She didn't know what it meant, but they’d know. She’d love to be there when the stormtroopers raided the tower, arresting the corporate pigs and tossing them out of the windows. They were monsters, plain and simple; monsters who deserved to suffer for their crimes. She would enjoy watching them fall.

  And if they get shot instead, she thought, it will be almost as good.

  She sighed, inwardly, as she heard a crash. A half-drunk man had stumbled into a waitress, knocking her tray of drinks to the floor. Laura hurried over to help, cursing the man under her breath. Instead of helping - or fucking off - he was screaming at the girl, berating her for not keeping her balance. The fact he’d crashed into her didn't seem to have penetrated his mind. Laura eyed him as she arrived, fixing his face in her mind. Her superiors probably wouldn't notice - or care - if she named him as one of the co-conspirators.

  And he’ll be hung, she told herself. She picked up the pieces of glass carefully, cursing the corporations under her breath. They didn't have to make their glasses out of glass. They could have used transparent aluminium instead.

  She finished scooping up the glass and hurried to the nearest door, nearly bumping into a tall woman in a blue dress. Laura’s eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of her, unable to avoid noticing the exotic features. A relative, she assumed, or perhaps someone from one of the occupied worlds. She curtseyed hastily, then hurried onwards. The dress the stranger wore was definitely too costly to belong to a courtesan, yet she didn't hold herself like corporate royalty. Perhaps she was a bodyguard. She was certainly far too muscular for anyone’s tastes. Laura pushed the thought aside. She doubted the newcomer was important.

  Only a few hours left, she told herself. The party was due to end at one o’clock, but she knew it would probably last longer. She was going to be shattered in the morning. And then I can make my report.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “The Admiral left me in charge,” Paula Bartholomew said. “You can make your report to me.”

  “An interesting twist on the orders she left me,” Lieutenant Emma Foxglove sneered. “I was under the distinct impression that the council was meant to share authority.”

  Paula winced. She was ruefully aware that Admiral Singh didn't trust her completely - and really, why should she? Paula had betrayed both her former boss and the Commonwealth Navy. Admiral Singh might make use of her - Paula had nowhere else to go - but she wouldn't trust her. There was no way she’d leave Paula with supreme power when she had to leave.

  “Yes, we are,” she conceded. She’d never liked Emma and she had a feeling that Emma felt the same way about her. “And we are also meant to share intelligence.”

  “That would leave me with less intelligence,” Emma jibed. She grinned at Paula’s angry expression, then sobered. “I’ve had four intelligence agents reporting secret meetings between seven of the twelve corporate directors.”

  Paula’s eyes narrowed. A single corporate director enjoyed wealth and power on a staggering scale. Seven of them were enough to challenge Admiral Singh herself, if they worked in unison. She knew from experience that it wouldn't be easy for anyone to get them to work together, but someone was clearly trying. And that meant ... what?

  Admiral Singh isn't here, she thought. In theory, she had authority over the remaining starships and the orbital defences. In practice ... she wasn't sure she wanted to test her authority that far. They might be plotting to move against her.

  She met Emma’s eyes. “Do you know what they were saying?”

  “No,” Emma said. For once, she sounded completely serious. “I wasn’t able to get an agent into any of their meeting rooms. They’re locked down as tight as a princess’s bedroom.”

  “Thank you for that image,” Paula muttered. She cleared her throat. “The Admiral isn't here - and they’re meeting. That can't be a coincidence.”

  “No,” Emma agreed. “But we can't deal with them, either.”

  Paula nodded, grimly. Admiral Singh would have to authorise any move against the corporate directors. They were too important for Paula to challenge openly. She knew better than to try. Admiral Singh would happily throw her to the dogs if it was the only way to save her power base. It was what Paula would have done, if their positions were reversed. All she could do was wait and see what happened.

  “Get more agents into their towers,” she ordered. “And see if you can intercept their communications.”

  “Not going to happen,” Emma said. “They’ve started a total hiring freeze. No one has been hired in the last week, not for the towers themselves.
No catering staff, no waitresses, no whores ... no one. I haven’t been able to get anyone else through the defences.”

  Paula gave her a sharp look. “What about suborning someone who’s already inside?”

  “Not particularly easy,” Emma admitted. “Corporate Security keeps a fairly solid lock on them at all times.”

  “Fuck,” Paula said, quietly.

  She looked down at her hands. She’d seen enough political, bureaucratic and corporate intrigue to be fairly sure they were only seeing the tip of the iceberg. The corporations had been improving their counter-surveillance techniques long before Governor Brown had taken control of Wolfbane and turned it into an empire. There was no way Emma could guarantee getting someone through the endless vetting and background checks, although that wouldn't stop Paula using it against Emma at some later date. She had to stay in Admiral Singh’s good books.