“I do,” the doctor said. His voice hardened. “So I suggest that you get dressed or I’ll be forced to dress you myself.”
Belinda looked at him, decided he probably wasn't bluffing and stood up. The doctor eyed her for a long moment and then walked away, leaving her to study her reflection in the mirror. Her body hadn't changed much, thanks to the improvements that had been sequenced into her genes, but she still looked absurdly young. Blonde hair framed a heart-shaped face and fell over muscular shoulders and arms. Her legs looked identical; it was impossible to tell that one of them had been broken and healed by the doctors.
Slowly, she reached for the clothes and donned the white panties and bra, then pulled the uniform jacket over her chest, followed rapidly by the trousers. The doctor had given her a standard on-base uniform rather than dress blacks, a message she wasn't sure how to interpret. Her rank badge marked her out as a Specialist, a rank that concealed a great many sins in the Marine Corps. Almost all Pathfinders were Specialists, but outsiders rarely recognised them as being anything special. The rank could mean an officer’s driver in the Civil Guard.
She pulled her hair back into a long ponytail and scowled at her reflection. Her blue eyes looked haunted; she couldn't help noticing that her hands were twitching slightly. Absently, she accessed her implants and ran a standard diagnostic, confirming that most of them were still shut down. The doctors had been reluctant to leave her with full control over her implants after she’d threatened the intelligence officer. Still, the augments she had left were enough to get by, at least for the moment. God alone knew what would happen if the Commandant intended to discharge her from the Corps personally. It wasn't as if all of the implants could be removed.
“Very good,” the doctor said. “You clean up nicely.”
Belinda glared at him, cursing her own sloppiness in the privacy of her own mind. She’d almost forgotten that he was there, something that could have proven lethal on deployment; how badly had she slipped over the last six months. His mocking smile reminded her of what she’d lost and she silently promised herself that she could get back in shape as quickly as possible. Besides, Doug had always claimed that heavy exercise had cheered him up.
“The Commandant is heading to Room 101,” the doctor said. “If you will follow me ...”
He marched out of the door before Belinda could reply, so she shrugged and followed him. Outside, the corridors were almost empty – and completely unmarked. Medical staff with the proper implants could find their way around, she reminded herself; patients would be advised to remain in their rooms without an escort. Like most Marine installations, there would be entire sections of the hospital that were inaccessible – and unknown – to most of the residents. She wondered, absently, where they were going, before a door hissed open and revealed a concealed room. Bracing herself, Belinda stepped inside. The Commandant, seated on a chair in the middle of the room, rose to his feet to greet her.
She hadn't seen the Commandant since her graduation from the Slaughterhouse, where he’d worn dress uniform and talked to the newly-minted Marines of the traditions of the Terran Marine Corps. Now, wearing an informal uniform, he looked older – and tired, very tired. Few Marines were ever happy in a desk job and the Commandant, who had to deal with the politics, had to be the unhappiest of all. He looked up as she stopped in front of him and straightened to attention.
“Specialist Belinda Lawson reporting, sir,” she said. At least she remembered how to do it. One of the other benefits of being a Pathfinder was even less formality than most Marine units enjoyed. “Team Six – detached duty.”
“At ease,” the Commandant ordered, tightly. “Be seated.”
Belinda relaxed – marginally – and sat down on the nearest seat. At ease might mean that she could relax, but it didn’t mean that she wasn’t in trouble. The Commandant certainly hadn't offered her coffee. He studied her for a long moment and then leaned forward, his expression unreadable.
“How are you?” He asked, bluntly. “And don’t give me any bullshit. I need a honest answer.”
“Down,” Belinda said, finally. One thing that had been hammered into her head more than once was that you couldn't lie to a superior officer. “Physically, I am a little out of shape; mentally ...”
The Commandant listened as she stumbled through her explanation. “I have a mission that needs someone like you,” he said, finally. He held up a hand before she could say a word. “I will outline what we need from you and why. After that, if you want to refuse the mission, you may do so.”
Belinda heard what he didn’t say. If she refused the mission, she would be shipped out to the Slaughterhouse, just in case she felt like sharing information with the media. She found that rather insulting, but she understood the Commandant’s concern. The media catching wind of a secret operation could be disastrous. There were plenty of examples throughout history of just what happened if the secret was blown too soon.
“The Childe Roland is in grave danger,” the Commandant said. “He needs a close-protection operative right next to him at all times. I would like you to take on that mission.”
Belinda asked the first question that came into her head. “Why me?”
“Because you have experience in operating alone,” the Commandant explained. “Because you are capable of passing almost unnoticed in Roland’s retinue. Because you have experience at working with young men. Because you need something to occupy you.”
“Oh,” Belinda said. She doubted that the Commandant had assigned her because he cared about her health. It was quite possible that he’d viewed her as a square peg who could be fitted in neatly to a square hole. And then she realised what he’d said. “Alone?”
“The security surrounding the young prince is ... leaky,” the Commandant warned her. “If it were up to me, there would be a small army of Marines guarding the palace, with combat armour and heavy weapons. But it isn't up to me.”
Belinda stared at him.
“The external security is provided by the Civil Guard,” the Commandant said. His lips twitched into a faint sneer that vanished moments later. “The unit in charge of securing the Summer Palace is one of their best, but the CO has powerful patrons and his XO isn't much better. Marine Intelligence ran an operation against the guardsmen and pulled out enough information to plan an assassination attempt on Roland’s life.
“Internal security is provided by Senate Security – they’re more focused around close-protection duties than the Civil Guard. It wouldn't be a bad choice, apart from the fact that they’re poorly equipped to deal with a major threat and they have few heavy weapons. A single Marine company could take the Summer Palace from both sets of guards ...”
Belinda shook her head in disbelief. “Two sets of guards? Who’s in charge?”
“There isn't an overall commander,” the Commandant admitted. “They are supposed to coordinate with each other, but no one is clearly in charge.”
“That’s ...”
She broke off, astonished. Everyone knew – well, everyone who had been to any military training centre, at least - that a disunited command was asking for trouble. Even with the best will in the world, two chains of command were likely to get tangled at the worst possible moment. A failure to coordinate could mean the Civil Guard firing on Senate Security or vice versa, both sides convinced that the other was actually terrorists. Offhand, she couldn't recall if there had ever been an example of two chains of command working perfectly. She rather doubted it.
“It’s political,” the Commandant said, making the word a curse. “You – if you accept the mission – will be inserted into the Summer Palace, officially as Roland’s latest aide. He goes through them very quickly. Unofficially, you will be the last line of defence for the young prince. As his aide, you can be with him at every waking moment. Should he get into trouble ...”
“Deal with it,” Belinda said. She had to admit that it sounded like a challenge – and also a chance to rebuild her l
ife. Besides, Doug would have kicked her ass if she’d refused. “How many others will know what I am?”
“That’s the problem,” the Commandant said. “We’re going to have to tell both of the security teams that you’re there, or your weapons and implants will set off the alarms. And they have to know that you’re more than just a decorative piece of fluff. Roland himself ... we probably should tell him, even though I don’t trust him to keep his mouth shut. He has too many friends who encourage him to be more self-important than he is already.”
He scowled down at his hands. “Sergeant Ben Powalski, Civil Guard, will serve as your first point of contact,” he added. “Powalski failed the Slaughterhouse and went directly into the Civil Guard. Unlike his two superiors, he’s actually competent and can be trusted – he’ll do whatever he can to help you. Ideally, we should have some Marines nearby to help if necessary, but getting them into position might prove troublesome.”
Belinda could imagine it. Flying Raptors through hostile airspace was one thing, but flying them through an area controlled by at least two different forces – three, if one counted the Imperial Navy’s ATC system – was another way to tempt Murphy. One force might not get the word in time and open fire on the Marines, adding to the chaos.
Her implants reported that the Commandant’s implants were sending her a file. She accepted it and opened the file, scanning it quickly. It was a complete briefing on the Summer Palace, the men and women who worked there – and a highly-confidential file on Prince Roland. Belinda resolved to read it more thoroughly later, once she had reactivated her implants and run through some exercises to start getting her body back into shape, but what she saw in the summery didn't look promising. Calling Roland a spoilt brat was unkind to spoilt brats.
“This is not going to be easy,” the Commandant said. “At seventeen, Roland will be crowned Emperor – and there is no shortage of people who might want him dead before then. Right now, he has little actual power, but that will change once he’s crowned. They will try to kill him – and it will be your task to keep him safe.”
Belinda frowned. “The security arrangements aren't meant to keep him safe, are they?”
“No,” the Commandant said. “We don’t think so.”
The Slaughterhouse Drill Instructors had taught her never to ascribe to malice what could be ascribed to carelessness, incompetence or stupidity. On the other hand, they’d also taught her that the more unlikely the coincidence, the more unlikely the possibility that it was a coincidence. If Belinda had wanted to groom the Empire’s Prince for assassination – and she’d had the patience to play the long game – she couldn't think of how she could do it better. And most people looking at it from the outside would see nothing more than another power game ...
He was right, she realised. This was not going to be easy.
What are you complaining about, thingy? Pug’s voice demanded, from out of the past. The only easy day was yesterday!
“I accept,” she said, simply. “I won’t let you down.”
“Good,” the Commandant said. He stood up. “You have an appointment with the implantation crew in an hour, then another with the protocol officer – I suggest you get a protocol file off him and keep it in primary mode. There are far too many protocols surrounding the Empire’s Crown Prince and you will have to bear with them. He will probably suggest clothing as well as everything else.”
“Joy,” Belinda said. Her father had never worried about what he wore – and neither had any of his children. Their mother had sometimes worried about them, but she’d tolerated it. Besides, it wasn't as if Greenway had a thriving social scene. “I guess I’ll just have to cope with it.”
The Commandant grinned. “Good luck,” he said, as he opened the door. “And don’t fuck up.”
He was gone before Belinda could think of a reply. Shaking her head, she sat back and started to study the file in more detail. Her first impression, she decided reluctantly, had been right. Someone was definitely setting Prince Roland up for assassination. And if his file was only half-right, there was a good chance that he deserved it.
It isn't your job to decide who is right or wrong, Doug’s voice echoed in her head. He’d told her that when the team had finally accepted her. Merely yours to serve the Empire.
The doctor opened the door and nodded politely to her. Pushing aside her doubts, Belinda stood up and allowed him to lead her back into the hospital. It was time to get ready for the mission. Maybe it wasn't a simple combat assignment, but it promised to be just as dangerous.
And besides, for the first time in six months, she felt ready to return to duty.
Chapter Four
It is not hard to understand why the Empire worked to bury human history. Humanity has a bad habit of looking back to more idyllic times in the past, which would have logically included a time when a specific planet was independent ... And that would have encouraged independence movements. It could not be tolerated. However, by suppressing history, the Empire also made it impossible to learn lessons from past experience.
-Professor Leo Caesius, The End of Empire
Belinda sucked in her breath as the Summer Palace came into view. The building sat alone in the midst of a garden, one of the few gardens left on Earth’s polluted surface, utterly inaccessible to the public. She felt an odd flicker of homesickness as she took in the greenery and realised that the gardeners just allowed the plants to grow naturally, battling it out for supremacy, before she pushed it aside. The average resident of Earth would never know that the garden even existed. Those who did would only be able to envy Prince Roland from afar.
The Civil Guard maintained a very visible cordon around the edge of the garden, according to the files. Belinda had no difficulty in spotting watchtowers and patrols roving around the walls, although the guardsmen weren't the main line of defence. Their role was simply to deter anyone who might want to break into the palace; the real lines of defence were hidden weapons concealed within the garden and the palace’s walls. It looked to be built of wood and stone, seemingly fragile, but the files stated that it had been constructed of starship hullmetal and then covered in wood and stone. A nuke could go off near the palace and the inhabitants would be relatively safe.
Assuming that they managed to batten down the hatches in time, she told herself as the aircar swooped down towards the landing pad. Her implants reported a series of sensor sweeps, each one more intrusive than the last. If her aircar hadn't had the proper ID codes, she would have been blown out of the air before she flew over the garden, but the guardsmen weren't taking chances. Obtaining codes that were shared with so many different organisations would be easy, particularly as the codes didn't seem to be changed on a regular basis. On one hand, it made sense; changing the codes made it far too likely that there would be a friendly fire incident, particularly if one group didn't get the word in time. But on the other, it was a major breach in security. The codes could be stolen weeks or months before a planned attack and still be valid.
The aircar settled to the ground and Belinda stepped out, taking a moment to admire the Summer Palace. It reminded her of some of the temples on Han, the buildings that some local factions had used to store ammunition and other supplies in the hope that their protected status would save them from the occupation force. The insurgents had been wrong. The fighting had intensified until the CO had been willing to order extreme measures, destroying any compromised temple.
Her implants reported that they were being interrogated as a handful of Civil Guardsmen appeared at the edge of the landing pad. Belinda studied them carefully, noting that they seemed to be more competent than she’d been led to expect, although they had exposed themselves to her. She could boost and take them all out ... and be gunned down by the automatic defences built into the palace. Shaking her head, she relaxed and allowed them to check her identity thoroughly. At least they weren't cutting corners here.
“Welcome to the Summer Palace,” their leader said,
when they had finally completed their checks. The security officers would have received a copy of Belinda’s file – suitably edited – but they needed to run their own checks. “I’m Sergeant Powalski.”
Belinda shook his hand, taking a moment to study him. He was a tall man with short brown hair, wearing a Palace Guard uniform that had been expertly tailored to allow him to move without restriction. The Sergeant had a reassuring air of competence, although she thought she saw a flicker of envy in his eyes as he studied her. It wasn't uncommon for auxiliaries to resent fully-qualified Marines, she knew; what would someone who had left the Corps altogether think of the Marines?
“Specialist Lawson,” she said finally.
“There are other security checks that need to be performed,” Powalski said, as they walked into the palace itself. “After that, the two commanders wish to speak with you before you meet the prince.”
“Understood,” Belinda said. Inside, her implants were reporting more aggressive security sweeps, directed at her and her companions. The Civil Guardsmen followed them as they passed through a solid metal door, their hands never far from their weapons. It wasn't very subtle, but it served its purpose. “How many more checks do you have to perform?”
“We need a complete breakdown of your weapons and implants,” Powalski said, flatly. “I’m afraid that the security protocols insist on it.”
Belinda nodded, tightly. The security scanners would sound the alert if they detected a weapon being used that hadn't been already cleared with the security officers. It was quite possible that she would be flagged up as an enemy infiltrator if she used a weapon they didn't know she carried. On the other hand, she would have preferred to keep some surprises to herself. The Civil Guard was corrupt and it was quite possible that one or more of the guardsmen might have been subverted by outside forces.
The security checks were as thorough as she had feared. Some Pathfinder implants were designed to be very hard to detect, but the Palace’s scanners picked up almost all of them. Belinda kept one eye on the results as the Guardsmen scanned her again and again, realising that they’d picked up everything apart from one of the neural links. All of her implanted weaponry had been noted and logged. She made a mental note to raise the issue of security with the other Pathfinders when she reported back to the Corps. If this scanner tech became mainstream, Pathfinders might be identified by enemy soldiers before they could go into combat.
The Empire's Corps: Book 07 - Reality Check Page 41