“The rules said that whoever lost a cap had to buy the drinks next time the unit went out on the pre-leave booze-up,” Belinda said. “And if you couldn't afford the drinks, you had to take a buffet from everyone in the squad and ended up sore for days.”
“A buffet,” Violet repeated. “What’s that?”
“A punch,” Belinda said. She smirked. “And there were units that used paddles instead.”
Violet looked doubtful. Privately, Belinda tended to agree. Military units had always insulted and mocked their fellow units, building up a rivalry that sometimes proved a hindrance on the battlefield. The military police got the worst of it, as the war-fighters saw them as nothing more than prissy spoilsports while the paper-pushers saw them as incompetents who couldn't hold down a proper job. But she was sure that most of the rumours were nothing more than absolute nonsense.
“I see,” Violet said, finally. “Did you arrest people? With handcuffs and everything?”
“Sometimes,” Belinda said.
“I saw them leading prisoners away on the viewscreen,” Violet said, after a moment. “It wasn't fair.”
“Life isn't,” Belinda grunted. She knew that most of the rioters had just gotten caught up in the excitement, but she also knew the after-effects of their fun and games would last for years, if the economic damage didn't send Terra Nova the same way as Earth. It was quite likely that several of the Core Worlds definitely would fall into anarchy. “And they were breaking things.”
“They wanted some fun,” Violet said. “And some of the guys were hot.”
Belinda looked up at her. She’d always been good at reading people and, in a moment of insight, she saw Violet’s future. She would rebel against her father, even though he never tried to control her or steer her into less harmful occupations, until it led to her death or destruction. Maybe it would kill her, if she found the wrong boyfriend or the wrong cocktail of drugs, or maybe it would just ruin her life.
And Belinda felt she owed Augustus enough to try to save his daughter. “Bad boys are always attractive, aren't they? They seem daring and defiant and brave enough to do anything. We tell ourselves that we can smooth off their rough edges, if we’re perceptive enough to see them. And yet we’re almost always wrong.”
Violet stared back at her. “I don’t understand,” she said. “What do you mean?”
“You should beware of people who act bad,” Belinda warned. There were times when she felt there would be fewer problems with rapists if pretty girls didn't keep rewarding bad behaviour. “Because they often are bad – or trying to act like it. And they will turn out badly in the end.”
She finished her breakfast, then placed the dishes in the dumbwaiter. There was a faint hum from the device, then it clicked open again, revealing an empty space. Belinda smiled, charmed despite herself, then turned to walk back to her room. There was a terminal there, waiting for her.
“Wait,” Violet called after her. “What should I do?”
Belinda hesitated, then turned to face her. “How do you mean?”
“My father hates me,” Violet said. “My mother never talks to me. And I don't understand my life.”
“I don’t think your father hates you,” Belinda said. When had Violet decided Belinda was a proper confident? “Like most men, he probably doesn't know how to handle a daughter very well without a wife or mother. And as for my honest advice, I would suggest you went to a proper school or bought land somewhere well away from the Core Worlds.”
She turned back and walked into the bedroom. The terminal was a civilian model, but when she turned it on she noted that it had access to some of the secure databases. She shrugged, dismissing the thought of probing the datanet for sensitive data, then accessed her message account. The first message on the display, apart from a dozen pieces of junk mail, ordered her to report to the nearest police station within two days. There would be no grounds for claiming she’d missed the message.
“Blast,” she muttered. Once she was in the system, she could be assigned anywhere. Her former experience – or at least the experience her cover identity had – would probably see her assigned to prisoner services, which would be annoying and frustrating. And it would make it harder to get access to the information the Commandant needed. “And damn ...”
She looked up as Augustus tapped on the open door. “Belinda?”
“I received a draft message,” Belinda said, shortly. “Someone must have noticed me at the riot.”
“You did more than anyone else there,” Augustus pointed out.
Belinda snorted. She’d done very little – and nothing that anyone else couldn't have done, if they’d thought of it. Things would have been a great deal worse if the rioters had reached the inhabited floors of the building, of that she was sure.
“I can have you assigned to me instead,” Augustus said. “I ... I will need security officers.”
“I think I’d better report for duty,” Belinda said. If nothing else, given a few minutes with a database access node she could ensure she was assigned to wherever she needed to go. And she would be inside the firewalls protecting the most secure data on the planet. “But thank you for the offer.”
“Violet was saying she approved of you,” Augustus said. “What did you say to her?”
“Not much,” Belinda said, surprised.
Augustus leaned forward. “I will pay you far more than you can hope to make as a security officer or a spacer,” he said, “if you stay and serve as Violet’s bodyguard.”
Belinda shook her head. Close-protection duty was never fun, even when the person being protected was smart enough to understand why it was important that she did as she was told, rather than running off on her own whenever she had the chance. Violet would be a horrific person to guard, Belinda was sure. It wouldn't have been long, Belinda suspected, before she gave into the temptation to start treating Violet as a prisoner – or simply threw in the towel and resigned.
And besides, she thought, I have a job to do for the Commandant.
“I know my duty,” she said, out loud. She sensed his surprise and sighed, inwardly. On the face of it, his offer would never be bettered. “My honest advice for Violet would be to send her to a private school well away from the Core Worlds.”
Chesty Academy, Doug’s voice said. I went there and look what it made of me.
“Chesty Academy, perhaps,” Belinda offered. She’d been told that the school often took in pupils from wealthy families and made men out of them. Doug had said it also made mincemeat out of the brattier ones, but she hoped he’d been joking. “Or somewhere else, as long as it’s somewhere safe, well away from the Core Worlds.”
Augustus’s eyes sharpened. “You think Terra Nova is going to go the same way as Earth?”
“I wouldn't bet against it,” Belinda admitted. There were differences, she had to admit, but too much of the setting was identical. The only question was how well the Governor could adapt to the changing circumstances. But given what she knew of his family, she wouldn't be surprised if he’d manipulated the situation to claim supreme power. “And you might want to get yourself and your family well away from Terra Nova.”
“I will see what I can do for Violet,” Augustus said. “But I won’t abandon what I’ve built here.”
He stepped forward and gave her an oddly light kiss on the forehead, then a tight hug.
“Bill will run you over to the station,” he said, softly. “And don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything – and I mean anything. I owe you quite a bit.”
“Thank you,” Belinda said. “And tell Violet she can contact me, if she likes. But she might not like what I have to say.”
Chapter Twenty
For example, there were a multitude of religions that believed that one sex was superior to the other. Therefore, despite Imperial Law enshrining equality before the law, the locals kept their own social system intact. This posed considerable problems for any attempt to enforce Imperial Law.
- Pro
fessor Leo Caesius. The Decline of Law and Order and the Rise of Anarchy.
“I’ll need you to handle the processing,” Glen said, as they parked the van outside the Arena and clambered out of the giant vehicle. “It wouldn’t be right for me to assist you.”
“Lazy bastard,” Isabel shot back. “I bet you organised everything so all you had to do was sit and do nothing.”
Glen smirked. “Aren’t I clever?”
He sobered as they walked towards the main doors. Handling large numbers of prisoners was always dangerous, even when the prisoners looked to have been weakened by their arrest and unexpected detention. No matter what every chicks in prison flick suggested – and most of them were even less realistic than Hero Cop – scared or desperate girls could be as dangerous as scared or desperate men. He checked the guards, noted that they’d been relieved only an hour ago, thankfully, then led the way through the gates and up into the observation booth, where two marshals were watching the prisoners through a network of security monitors. It didn't look as though any of them were causing trouble.
“We have five hundred prisoners now,” Marshal Levier explained. “They brought in some more from other riot zones nearby, sir.”
Glen shook his head tiredly. Overall, there were hundreds of thousands of prisoners on the entire world. The Empire’s penal system had definitely never been intended to handle so many people at once. Normally, judgement would be passed – if bribes weren't forthcoming – as soon as possible, with deportation or execution the standard punishment. Now ... he looked at the prisoners and shook his head. God alone knew how long it would be before the courts caught up with the backlog of cases.
Isabel leaned forward. “Did they give you any trouble while I was gone?”
“Not really,” Levier said. “There were a handful of fights among the prisoners, but we turned water hoses on the girls and broke them up. I didn’t have the manpower to do anything else.”
“Understandable,” Glen grunted. Fights in prisons or holding pens could be used to cover an escape attempt. The prisoners didn't look organised enough to do anything, apart from sit and wait for their fate, but appearances could be deceiving. He cast an eye over the screens, then shook his head. Levier had done the right thing. “We’ll set up the processing centre in the medical bay, then.”
“Make sure you take them all one by one,” Levier warned. “I’d prefer not to have to deal with an outright riot, sir. I tried to get a medic out here, but none were available.”
“Oh,” Isabel said. “Why am I not surprised?”
Glen shrugged. There were countless injured among the innocents and security forces, too many for the planet’s medical centres to handle quickly. It was unlikely that anyone would permit doctors and nurses to be diverted to the makeshift holding pens, no matter how many prisoners were badly injured. Right now, the Governor was not feeling merciful. And how could anyone blame him?
But the parents will, Glen thought, as he checked the monitors. And it could easily get out of hand.
He shrugged again, then led the way down to the medical centre. It was surprisingly advanced, something that bemused him until he realised that the famous gladiators would demand – and receive – the very latest in medical care. Life might be cheap in the Arena, with hundreds of people being killed each week, but those who made it through the first few hurdles were worth preserving. Or so their backers thought.
“Help me lock away the junk,” he ordered, once they had assessed the room. “And then we can go to work.”
“I’ll take Falcone,” Isabel said. “You and Davis concentrate on bringing the prisoners here, one by one.”
Glen sighed, inwardly. Five hundred prisoners. Even assuming that most of them required nothing more than the standard search, then transport to the holding camps, it would still take hours to process them all. And when they asked questions ... some of the prisoners were likely to know who had helped start the riot and fan the flames. Some of them would have to be isolated and held in the vans, until they could be interrogated at a later date. It was going to be a complete nightmare.
“Have the three vans brought to the entrance,” he said. Hours was probably an optimistic estimate. Days was far more likely. “Designate Van One for general population, Van Two for sources and Van Three for agent provocateurs, assuming we catch any.”
“Aye, sir,” Marshal Harris said.
Glen waited until the vans were in place, the corridors were checked and every unnecessary door was firmly locked, then led the way down to the Arena itself. It was astonishing just how much like a prison it actually was, he decided, as they reached the innermost waiting rooms. The doors could be all locked from the main security office, while almost every inch of the Arena was heavily monitored. It seemed that the price for becoming a gladiator was giving up one’s privacy. He shook his head in disbelief, privately relieved he didn't have a son to be seduced by the call of the Arena, then opened the main doors. Inside, the prisoners turned to stare at him.
They looked a pitiful sight, he saw. The girls looked scared to death, only a handful looking defiant or aware, watching for the chance to escape. Glen looked from face to face and saw fear looking back at him. They would all have heard stories about what happened to nubile young girls who were arrested by the Civil Guard. Now, they were prisoners and all-too-aware of their own helplessness. Glen just hoped it would keep them docile. If the Marshals lost control of the makeshift prison, the Civil Guard would definitely be sent in to replace them.
“You,” he ordered, stabbing a finger at one of the defiant girls. “Come with me.”
Her eyes flickered with fear for a long moment, before she forced herself to stand upright. Glen half-expected defiance, but instead she just walked towards him and halted in front of his face. Up close, it was evident that she was far too young to be involved in anything, something he found almost as pitiful as the rest of the prisoners. But the Empire condoned far too much from the young, he knew. They were never given a chance to learn how to handle growing up before they were overwhelmed with the pleasures of adulthood, offered far too soon.
“Walk this way,” he ordered, and urged the girl through the gate. It closed behind them, leaving the prisoners in the Arena alone. “Place your hands on your head and keep them there unless we tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”
The girl nodded, but said nothing as they walked into the medical centre. Isabel was seated at a desk, looking forbidding. Glen gently pushed the girl into standing in front of the desk, then stood behind her, looking as intimidating as possible. It was wasted effort. The girl didn't look back at him as she swayed on her feet, clearly far too close to fainting. Glen silently judged that, for all her defiance, the girl had never come face-to-face with any agent of law and order beforehand. Much of her attempted confidence was nothing more than failed bravado.
Be grateful, he told himself. It could be worse.
Isabel looked up, sharply. “Name?”
“Ah ... Cynthia,” the girl stammered. “I want to see a lawyer.”
“Surname too,” Isabel snapped.
“Cynthia Gardner,” the girl said. “I want ...”
“Never mind what you want,” Isabel barked. “You are currently being held under the Emergency Powers Act, which was invoked last night after your disgraceful riot in the centre of Landing City. You can be held for as long as we feel like it – and no, you can't see a lawyer. If you cooperate, you will be placed in line for early release; fail to cooperate and you will be held for the duration of the emergency.”
She paused. “What were you doing before the riot began?”
The girl swallowed, noticeably. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“It depends on how much cooperation you give us,” Isabel said, shortly. “Don’t make me repeat my questions.”
“I ... we ... were told that there would be some excitement in the city centre,” the girl said, slowly. “We used to go there to admire the shops; thi
s time, we were told there would be some excitement and ...”
“What sort of excitement?” Isabel demanded. “And who told you there would be some ... excitement?”
“Harry did,” Cynthia said. “He’s ... he’s Gamma’s boyfriend, one of the most daring people in the apartment. Everyone does what he says. They all thought it would be funny.”
“I dare say it was to the idiots who managed to get away on time,” Isabel mused. “And why didn't you run when it got exciting?”
“I was caught up in the crowds,” Cynthia confessed. “I couldn't get away.”
Glen nodded, sourly. It sounded true – and besides, there was no way to confirm or deny her words through security footage. Most of the security monitors had been smashed as soon as the riot began, indicating a high level of organisation. He listened as Isabel asked a few more questions, identifying Cynthia’s family and home apartment, then checked her words against the records. Cynthia had never been in trouble before, but her mother had a citation for unregistered prostitution and her brother had been cautioned for intimidating behaviour in public. Reading between the lines, Glen suspected he’d merely been swinging his arms when a particularly pompous security officer had reported him.
Isabel rose to her feet. “Very well,” she said, tartly. “You will now be strip-searched and then processed into custody. Follow my orders and the whole process can be conducted with the minimum amount of discomfort. If you attempt to resist, we will have to hold you down and complete the procedure. Do you understand me?”
Cynthia glanced at Glen. “In front of them?”
“They won’t take advantage of you,” Isabel assured her. “And as long as you behave, they won’t even watch.”
Glen turned his back and listened, carefully, as the girl slowly undressed. Isabel carefully catalogued every last item of clothing, then ordered the girl to squat and cough, in case she had anything hidden in her orifices. Glen didn't expect that any of the prisoners had managed to conceal anything during their confinement, but it was standard procedure to check. And besides, it helped convince the prisoners that their lives were no longer their own. It helped keep them docile.
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