by Jay Allan
“No,” Leo said, finally.
“Of course not,” Edward said. “Most pirates—who are among the worst kind of scum you’ll ever meet—don’t want to pick on targets that can fight back. They want helpless little merchant ships they can board, loot and capture, or simply scuttle once they’ve taken whatever they want from the hull. They go for passenger ships for kidnap victims, transport ships for manufactured components and tools and other civilian ships, but going after a military ship isn’t healthy for them. Even if they win the battle, and most pirate ships are poorly maintained and armed, they still have to repair their ship. It’s just not cost-effective.”
“I see,” Leo said. “It’s just a business, isn’t it?”
“Exactly,” Edward said. “They want to maximise their gain and minimise their risk.” He shrugged. “There’s a good chance that we will encounter pirates in this system, sooner or later. The looted supplies have to be sold and planets along the Rim, ones without any kind of manufacturing capability, are ready markets for stolen goods. You take a bunch of mega-city dwellers from Earth and put them in a farming town and they’ll be desperate for whatever help they can get. They’re not going to ask too many questions about where the modern tools or devices came from, are they?”
He grinned. “You’re lucky, in a way,” he added. “You’re going to be going down to a world where most of the hard work has already been done. The pathfinders, the people who start the first settlements on a new world, are the ones who have the hardest tasks. You’ll be able to find a place to live, perhaps a teaching position at their local schools … you won’t have to indenture yourself to live.”
His communicator buzzed before Leo could answer. “Major, please could you come to the bridge,” Yamato’s voice said. “We’re entering the system now.”
“On my way,” Edward said. He looked over at Leo. “Enjoy the view from out here. We’ll probably start untanking people in the next few hours, trying to get organised before we enter orbit and dock with the Orbit Station. At least we should be able to land without someone shooting at us.”
Leo frowned. “Does that happen often?”
“Often enough that this ship is heavily armoured and is designed to get us down to the surface as quickly as possible,” Edward admitted. “A landing on a hostile planet can be the most dangerous operation in history. It’s not unknown to lose half of the attacking force in the first ninety seconds.”
Leaving Leo with that thought, he made his way back to the bridge. The main display caught his eye as soon as he entered, showing almost no sign of any human activity. Earth’s system had been buzzing with starships and in-system spacecraft, but Avalon’s system was almost empty. A pair of tactical icons on the display marked the presence of two ships—the sensors suggested that they were light freighters—making their way towards the planet, yet there was nothing else. The entire system looked as dark and cold as the grave.
Edward shivered inwardly. It was an illusion, of course. It was simple to hide a starship’s drives from passive sensors. The entire 1st Fleet could be hiding within the system and the transport would have no idea it was there until it was jumped. A starship was tiny on a cosmic scale. A starship that wasn’t burning with energy might as well be a rock as far as hostile sensors were concerned. Edward’s old CO had told his junior officers about boarding a pirate cruiser that had taken the risk of stepping down its drives to nothing in hopes of avoiding detection. A few minutes either way and they would have gotten away with it.
“We have reached the Avalon System,” Yamato informed him. “I have already transmitted our IFF signal to System Command.”
“Such as it is in this system,” Edward commented. Yamato nodded flatly. A Core System would have a single unified authority controlling operations and authorising everything, with armed starships on call to back it up if necessary. A colony world along the Rim might not even have someone manning the stations in orbit, watching for incoming ships. It wasn’t as if they could do anything about it when they appeared. Avalon’s ability to interfere with pirate operations in their system was almost non-existent. “I take it that there has been no response?”
“No,” Yamato said. “They should have replied at once, but we have not yet received anything, even a simple acknowledgement.”
Edward nodded. Gravity pulses could be used to send FTL signals over very short ranges, allowing a limited degree of FTL communications within any given system. A Core System would have relay stations to pick up and repeat the original transmission, preventing it from fading away and being lost in the background gravity field. Avalon had nothing of the sort and probably wouldn’t have for hundreds of years. It was quite possible that their response had simply been lost in the background noise. The Empire had poured literally trillions of credits into developing a method of extending range over light years, but so far the experiments had all been complete failures.
“Maybe they think we’re pirates,” he said, dryly. “They couldn’t get a good read on us at this distance, could they?”
“No,” Yamato said. “I have reviewed the files on their equipment. They barely have standard civilian-grade gear. They may not even be aware of our presence.”
Edward frowned. “I see,” he said. “I wonder…”
“Captain,” one of the naval ratings said, “we have received a response. They are welcoming us to Avalon and request that we make orbit as soon as possible.”
“Good,” Yamato said. “Helm; take us in.”
Edward smiled. “I’m going down to see to my men, with your permission,” he said. “Let me know when we enter standard communications range.”
-o0o-
“The Marines?” Brent repeated. He wouldn’t have been more astonished if an entire squadron of Imperial Navy starships had shown up in the system, escorting an entire Imperial Army Division. “Why are the Marines coming here?”
Linda smiled, her white teeth shining in the sunlight. “Perhaps someone read your messages requesting support and decided to dispatch the Marines,” she said. “Or perhaps they’re just calling long enough to tank up and then they’ll be on their way out again.”
Brent ran his hand through his thinning hair. He’d had the standard rejuvenation treatments when he’d joined the Imperial Civil Service, yet somehow his hair felt as if it was on the verge of falling out completely, or going grey. No one had told him about the stresses involved in running a colony world when he’d been offered the post. They’d talked about the great honour the Empire was doing him by giving him so much trust. It hadn’t taken him long to start wondering if the only reason he’d been given the job was because no one else wanted it.
“Abigail,” he said. “Didn’t they tell you anything?”
“It was a standard gravity-pulse transmission,” Abigail said. She saw his blank look and hastened to explain. “You cannot actually send much information in a gravity pulse, sir. They pushed it right to the limits just to send us as much as they did. We won’t know more until they reach radio range and that won’t be for several hours yet.”
“They wouldn’t want to burn out their transmitter,” Linda added. She smiled thinly at him, stoking her long golden locks. “We can wait a few hours to learn what they have in mind.”
Brent paused. Another nasty thought had occurred to him. “How do we know that these are the Marines?”
“They had the right codes,” Abigail said. She looked down at the ground for a long moment, her eyes worried. “They could be pirates pretending to be Marines, sir, but I don’t see why they would bother.”
“Of course,” Linda agreed, dryly. “What could we do to stop them if they decided to attack one of the asteroid mining platforms?”
Brent winced at the caustic tone in her voice, for the asteroid mining program was a sore spot between the two of them. The ADC, under the delusion that Avalon had a chance to jump two colony levels in one bound, had invested in a cloudscoop and a large asteroid mining project, bringing
in RockRats from across the Empire to set up one of their mining systems. They’d succeeded, just in time for the economy to take a downturn and leave them lumbered with a massive white elephant … which, according to Imperial Law, they had to maintain in perfect working order. The RockRats, at least, could maintain themselves, but they insisted on being paid in cash. There was no trust to the relationship. There was also little point to it. The planned orbital industrial nodes had never materialised. What industry Avalon had had been built on the ground.
But she was right. In theory, Avalon’s Civil Guard had three gunboats and a handful of armed shuttles to stand off any threat. In practice, two of the three gunboats had been cannibalised to keep the third operating, while the armed shuttles couldn’t even threaten an armed merchantman. A pirate ship could operate with impunity outside of Avalon’s gravity well and all the planet’s government could do was watch.
“Nothing,” he said, wishing that Major Grosskopf had been in Camelot when the Marines announced their arrival. The former Imperial Army officer would have known the difference between real Marines and posers, or even pirates posing as Marines. His advice would have been useful as well. “All we can do is wait and see what happens.”
“Yes, sir,” Abigail said. “Do you wish me to advise Orbit Station to prepare berths for the Marines?”
“Yes, please,” Brent said. Even if the Marines weren’t staying, they could show the flag near the badlands, perhaps scare some of the nastier bandit gangs further away into the mountains. “I’ll discuss the other matter later.”
He watched her sauntering out and smiled, inwardly. Linda would have been horrified if she’d known what the chair she was sitting on had been used for, only a few days ago. Abigail had been his lover as well as his secretary for years. His wife didn’t know, as far as he knew, and wouldn’t have cared if she had. She hated him for dragging her to Avalon when she thought that she should have been presented at Court. Poor Hannalore had been born into the wrong class and caste.
“We need to focus on the bandits,” Linda said, firmly. She waved a sheaf of paper—there were few datapads on Avalon—under his nose. “I have here reports from seventy different townships. Our … operatives report that many of them have been threatened and coerced into providing support to the bandits. How many more will just … give in after the news of the latest attack gets out?”
“Too many,” Brent said. “And how many Civil Guardsmen do you intend to tie up on a fruitless bandit-chasing mission?”
“As many as necessary,” Linda said, shaking the papers to underline her words. “Or we start issuing heavy weapons to the townships. God knows, they need them.”
Brent snorted. “And how many of them will end up being pointed at us?”
“If the bandit gangs, to say nothing of the Crackers, keep pushing at us like this, we’ll see their weapons aimed at us within five years,” Linda said, sharply. “Fuck the Council, Governor; just do it.”
“I think you know better than that,” Brent said, coldly. Linda met his eyes and he had to look away. “We cannot just tell the Council that their views don’t matter to us.”
“Then perhaps we should hold proper elections,” Linda retorted. “Who knows? You could hardly end up with a worse problem.”
Brent looked down at his hands, and then up at the political map of Avalon. Linda was right, in a sense; his predecessor’s stroke of insanity had come home to roost with a vengeance. He’d created the Planetary Council—a development normally held back until a world reached stage three or four—in hopes of preventing another rebellion. Unfortunately for him, the Council was dominated by the conservatives, the wealthy—insofar as that term meant anything on Avalon—and those who owned the debt. They had no interest in changing the planet and every reason to oppose easing the restrictions on arms sales. They knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they were on the Cracker death lists.
“The Council would have to approve that,” he reminded her. “I cannot put the Council aside, not now. They’ll complain to the Sector Capital and they’ll remove me and put someone more pliable in my place. That will be the end of any hope of reform.”
Linda sniffed, loudly enough to be clearly audible. “And what hopes would those be?”
Brent scowled at her. The subtext had been easy to read. “Maybe the Marines will stay for a few months,” he said, although he knew better than to believe it. Avalon barely rated a mention on the Sector Capital. Who on Earth, outside the Indenture Program, knew about Avalon’s existence? “Perhaps we can make progress without the Council.”
Linda sniffed again. “Don’t count on it,” she said. “The bandits aren’t going to be scared of a few Marines. The Marines will be gone soon enough and what will happen then?”
She stood up, placed the papers on his desk, and marched out of the room, leaving Brent alone with his thoughts. Slowly, almost against his will, he looked down at the images taken by the Civil Guard, just before they’d buried the dead. Linda was right, he knew; there was no other defence against the bandits. They had to burn them out … but how?
CHAPTER 11
It is a—generally—sensible policy on the part of the Empire to ensure that a colony world becomes self-sufficient, at least in foodstuffs, as soon as possible. As a world progresses from stage-zero to stage-one, the first priority is to develop farmland and start growing a healthy crop. The intent is to grow a surplus that can cope with any unexpected demands. The rising population must be fed. This takes priority over everything else, including paying off the massive costs incurred by the development corporation. It is therefore obvious that the local system authorities will seek to cut costs wherever possible.
- Professor Leo Caesius, The Waning Years of Empire (banned).
… And opened its eyes.
Jasmine caught herself, blinking in surprise as the tube started to hiss open. Surely they hadn’t been in stasis? She felt absurdly ridiculous as she stepped forward, wondering at why they were being brought out of the tubes again. Her mind caught up a second later and her head swam. Six months had passed in an eye blink. There had been no sense at all of time passing. The universe had just blinked. A wave of dizziness overcame her and she concentrated on the disciplines, banishing it from her mind and finding her centre. It was just another wonder of the modern galaxy, just something else to take in her stride.
“All right,” Gwen bellowed, marching past the tubes. “Everyone out; fall in!”
Jasmine stepped out of the tube, feeling a dull thrumming running through the ship as she stepped onto the deck. The starship was still in transit, but unless she missed her guess, they’d reached their destination and were proceeding towards Avalon at sublight speeds. It was fairly customary to bring the Marines out of the tubes, just in case a pirate decided to be stupid enough to attack them. Jasmine grinned, taking in the expressions of her fellow Marines. They’d be delighted if a pirate ship decided to attack them. Marines, who were often the first people into a ship pirates had wrecked, loathed the bastards on a visceral level. Taking them alive required immense discipline.
The line was forming in front of the tubes and she hastened to find her platoon. Her fellows were rapidly recovering from their own disorientation, snapping into position and saluting the flag hanging listlessly from one corner of the massive compartment. Gwen strode up and down in front of them, her eyes darting over their uniforms and occasionally prompting one of the Marines to fix a tiny problem. Jasmine braced herself as the Command Sergeant’s gaze swept over her body and relaxed, just slightly, as Gwen moved on to the next Marine in line. She’d passed inspection.
“Attention on deck,” Gwen said, once she’d finished her inspection. “Listen up; we are on approach to Avalon now and will be docking at the orbiting station within two hours. As soon as we dock, we will move to secure the station and ensure that there are no unpleasant surprises waiting for us before we start moving down to the surface. 1st and 2nd Platoons will take the lead; the remai
nder will hang back and be prepared to move in support if necessary. Questions?”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Blake said, from his position two Marines down from Jasmine. “Can we not take the shuttles to board the station before the Cruz docks?”
Gwen shook her head. “The Captain wants to get us onboard the station as soon as possible,” she said. Jasmine winced inwardly. There was no reason to suspect that trouble was waiting for them, but she’d been in far too many ambushes when there had been no warning at all before the enemy had opened fire. “He is keen to begin unloading his ship.”
“I guess he can’t wait to get rid of us,” Blake muttered, just loudly enough for a handful of Marines to hear. “You wouldn’t see this happening on a perfectly-run ship.”
“Doubtless,” Gwen said. Jasmine privately suspected that she agreed with Blake. “However … form up in platoons and draw your armour. We dock at the station in two hours.”
Jasmine glanced down at her timepiece as it bleeped, updating itself from the starship’s master computer. The Imperial Standard date had jumped forward six months, as she had expected, while the time had moved forward three hours. Local time, displayed alongside EST, suggested that Avalon’s day was slightly longer than Earth’s. She scowled inwardly, bracing herself for the onset of starship lag, before moving forward to join her platoon. There was no time to waste. Combat armour had to be donned, weapons had to be checked and plans of the station had to be studied rapidly.
“Rules of engagement are Beta-Three,” Gwen said, when asked. Jasmine nodded in understanding. Beta-Three had been designed to allow the Marines to secure the station without making additional enemies. If the station had been in enemy hands, Jasmine and her fellows would have stunned everyone and sorted out the guilty from the innocent afterwards, but stunning harmless civilians would not endear them to the civilians after they awoke with banging headaches. “Try not to hurt anyone unless you have no other choice.”