by Jay Allan
“I said that it is completely beyond the pale,” Carola repeated, seeing Brent drifting off. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing,” Brent said, calmly. “It is outside of my hands.”
Carola’s face darkened. “You are the Imperial Governor of this planet,” she snapped. “You are the supreme authority on this godforsaken rock. You can do anything.”
Brent considered pointing out that the Council, ever since his predecessor had called it into existence, had spent most of its time denying that that was true, but decided against it. The temptation to rub her nose in her own failure was overwhelming. It would even be true.
“That isn’t strictly true,” he said, keeping his voice calm when he wanted to gloat. “The Terran Marines operate under the authority of the Emperor himself.” He nodded towards the framed portrait of the Childe Roland on the wall. It was out of date by at least seven years, but no one had bothered to change it. It could wait until an official painting was produced when he reached his majority and took the throne formally. “They have independent authority over military deployments in the system.”
“That’s absurd,” Carola protested, angrily. “You’re the Governor.”
Brent snorted gently. “I am the Governor of a planet with a serious insurgency,” he said, deciding not to point out how Carola and her allies had hobbled the Civil Guard, making it harder for the Guard to actually fight the bandits, let alone the Crackers. “I am a very small fish compared to the Sector Governor, let alone the Grand Senate and the Emperor. If they choose to grant a Marine Captain freedom of action … who am I to say no?”
He shrugged. “And, besides, an officer from the Marines or the Imperial Army would officially have seniority over anyone from the Civil Guard,” he added. “Captain Stalker, like it or not, is the de facto senior military officer in the system. The best that I”—and your puppets, he carefully didn’t add—“can do is advise. If he decides he wants to recruit volunteers and pay them in cash, he has the legal authority to do so.”
“The Council will not stand for this,” Carola said. “The Council…”
“Has no say in the matter,” Brent cut in, sharply. Her saw her eyes widen and cursed his own mistake. She had thought him a fool. Now she would be taking him seriously. “The decision was made by Captain Stalker and I cannot gainsay it. If the Council refuses to cooperate … well, at best, it won’t slow him down at all. At worst … the Council could find itself charged with treason.”
“A Councillor has immunity from all charges,” Carola pointed out.
“There is no such thing as immunity against a treason charge, even among the Grand Senate,” Brent countered. He looked down for a moment, studying the map on his desk. “The best advice I can give you is to cooperate and make what profit you can on the sidelines.”
“They’re hiring workers to build barracks,” Carola said, changing the subject. “Those contracts should be issued by the Council and given to those who need them. That is very definitely a civilian issue.”
Brent snorted. She meant that the Councillors would give the work to businesses they owned, rather than allowing companies to bid for the contracts and undercut the Council. It was a common trick and explained why so much of Camelot was in bad shape. If there was no need to compete against a rival firm, a business had every incentive to cut corners and use poor materials. Who would dare make a complaint against a business backed by the Council?
“Castle Rock is their territory now,” Brent said. He’d seen to that. “They can determine everything from the building codes to the wages—what and how the workers are paid. If it works out well for them, I may even ask the Council to review the business-related policies in Camelot and the other cities.”
Carola’s eyes sharpened. She was no fool and read the underlying threat easily. If the Marines paid well for good work, they would create new businesses that would undercut the Council … and, if the Council moved to crush them under a mountain of red tape, they might face massive civil unrest. For the first time since the colony had been settled, hope was spreading through the air. The Crackers would not be slow to take advantage of any sudden changes. Carola’s power was limited, even though she pretended otherwise. A massive explosion in Camelot would see her and the Council dead.
“I formally protest,” she said, sharply. “The Council will meet to discuss the issue.”
Brent silently dismissed it as the empty threat it was. “I look forward to it,” he said. Carola couldn’t be trusted to pass on an accurate account of their conversation to the other Councillors; he’d have to see to it himself. “Until then…”
Carola bowed angrily. “This isn’t over,” she said, as she turned to depart. “We are the elected representatives of the people, empowered to act in their best interests. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t,” Brent told the door. Carola had slammed it closed as she stormed out. A roar of engines from outside told him that her private car had departed at high speed, heading back to her mansion. “I won’t forget anything.”
He shook his head and turned back to the endless paperwork that needed his signature. Some homesteads, abandoned since the bandit attacks had begun, had been claimed by new settlers, who wanted to try to turn them into prosperous farms again. The Civil Guard wanted to up its signing bonus for new recruits, although Brent doubted that that would get far. The Civil Guard still paid wages directly into the banking system. He signed it anyway, knowing that the Council would block any attempt to pay the Civil Guardsmen in cash. They did have authority there.
“Idiots,” he muttered, as he finished signing the papers. “Stupid idiots.”
-o0o-
It would have upset the Governor, Edward knew, if he had known that his office was bugged. Colonel Kitty Stevenson had scattered a handful of modern surveillance devices throughout Government House, using them to keep tabs on the Governor and his senior staff. It was barely legal, as she’d acknowledged when Edward demanded to know just how much authority she had, but there was no other choice. Governors of stage-one and stage-two worlds tended to be corrupt and the various intelligence services were charged with rooting out corrupt officials.
“I think she means trouble,” Kitty said, once she had finished replaying the recording. “You’ve managed to hack off the entire Council.”
“You say that as if it were a bad thing,” Edward said. Castle Rock’s facilities were still being developed, the new recruits would be arriving in two days … and he simply didn’t have the time to waste on political manoeuvrings. Two of his platoons were still out near the badlands, backed up by the Civil Guard. “We need those recruits motivated.”
“I’m not disputing that,” Kitty said, impatiently. “The problem is that you’re smashing up the local power structure. The Wilhelm Family and their allies won’t let you get away with it without a fight. Sure, legally you’re in the right, but they can keep hammering away at you until you break.”
Edward shrugged. The Governor had been right when he said that Edward was the senior officer in the system. The closest officer who could overrule him was at the sector capital, several weeks away even under Phase Drive. It would take months before any countermanding order arrived, if one was issued. Carola Wilhelm might be a big fish on Avalon, but her concerns would hardly register elsewhere. Why would they care about her?
“And then she might try something really stupid,” Kitty continued. “What happens if she starts trying to have you assassinated?”
“Lieutenant Faulkner assumes command and Carola Wilhelm ends up dead,” Edward said. He knew enough not to take the threat lightly—mindless bravado wasn’t a Marine tradition, although legend suggested otherwise—but it barely registered compared to the other problems he faced. The equipment they’d brought from Earth had to be protected at all costs, yet once the starships pulled out—and he’d delayed them too long already—it would be much harder to safeguard Castle Rock. “It really isn’t a concern
at the moment.”
He smiled up at her. “Keep an eye on them for me,” he added. “Can you get any bugs into her mansion?”
“I’ve tried,” Kitty admitted, “but she has some really sophisticated counter-surveillance systems. I think she must have purchased them before she came to Avalon and kept them to herself. I can’t get a bug inside for long and none of the ones I have deployed have reported anything useful before they were removed. I don’t know if she knows we’re the ones watching her.”
“Her friends are probably watching her as well,” Edward said. Marine counter-surveillance teams swept Castle Rock’s facilities every day, looking for any surprises. “A nicer crowd of smiling backstabbers you couldn’t hope to meet.”
“Yes sir,” Kitty said, with a shrug. “I’ll do my best, but I don’t think she’s going to rest on her laurels and wait for you to take her power away from her.”
-o0o-
Professor Leo Caesius finally came home in the early hours of the morning, his face tired and wan. Jasmine, who had been waiting patiently—reading a copy of his famously banned book to pass the time—stood up to open the door and beckoned him inside. His eyes widened when they saw her—he hadn’t known that she was going to be inside—and she saw the fear in his eyes. He wasn’t scared of her, but of what she might tell him. His wife or daughters might have been hurt. Jasmine motioned him to the sofa and, in crisp brief words, explained exactly what had happened, leaving out nothing.
She had considered simply telling him about the spanking and nothing else, knowing that she would have hated for her father to know everything she’d done when she was that age, but the Professor had to know the full story. Mandy could have gotten herself killed—or worse—while her father did … what? She still didn’t know what the Professor did now that he lived in Camelot.
“I see,” he said, finally. His voice was calm, but Jasmine’s sensitive ears could hear a quiver. He loved his daughter, even if she could be a pain at times. It reminded her of when she’d told her father that she was leaving for Boot Camp and how he’d tried to be brave for her. He’d been more nervous than Jasmine had been! “I understand…”
“If you want to report me to the Captain, you can,” Jasmine said, flatly. She glanced down at her timepiece, considering. She still had several hours before she had to report back to the spaceport or be declared AWOL. “He will probably not take it calmly.”
“No, no, it’s all right,” the Professor said, stumbling over his own words. Jasmine realised that he had been in quiet despair over his daughter for a long time. But then, Mandy was the product of her environment, just as the Professor himself had been before he’d broken out and realised the truth. “I … thank you, I think. Will you stay for breakfast?”
Jasmine would have preferred to leave, but she chose to stay as the Professor puttered around his kitchen, boiling water and brewing tea. He could easily have hired servants, yet instead he chose to do it on his own, without help. Jasmine wondered just what he did for funds; his private bank account back on Earth, which would have gone a long way on Avalon, had been frozen by the government. She took the tea gratefully and then stopped. Mandy was standing in the door. She had changed into a pair of shorts and a shirt, yet she looked pale and wan. One hand kept rubbing her behind.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and sounded—for once—as if she meant it. “I didn’t mean to … I’m sorry.”
“Live and learn,” Jasmine said, and felt a surprising burst of sympathy for the girl. “It could have been worse.”
CHAPTER 26
Basic Training—be it for the Marines or the Imperial Army—is designed to accomplish just one thing. It is designed to break down a new recruit and build them up again into the image of a proper soldier. Once broken down, recruits learn discipline and weapons skills along with the ethos of their new service.
- Major-General Thomas Kratman (Ret), A Civilian’s Guide to the Terran Marine Corps.
The bus lurched to a halt outside the spaceport and opened its doors. Michael Volpe felt a tingle of excitement running through him as the new recruits poured out, gaping around at the spaceport—which they had never seen in their lives—and the handful of transport aircraft parked on the tarmac. It wasn’t much, not compared to the pictures he’d seen of Grand Central Spaceport back in the early days of spaceflight, but it was hellishly impressive to his eyes. Other buses arrived and disgorged their own passengers, all young men. The young women seemed to have gone elsewhere. A wave of chatter swept over the crowd as they stared around, suddenly unaware of what to do next.
“ATTENTION,” a voice bellowed, loudly enough to be heard even over the chattering. “You will see lines painted on the ground. Line up facing me on those lines!”
Michael ran forward and found a place on the front row, squashed between two other recruits. The shouter—a short man wearing a blue uniform studded with badges and a Rifleman’s Tab on his collar—was pacing backwards and forwards, tapping his baton against his thigh in irritation. The recruits finally managed to line up and stared nervously at their new master. The man seemed to have muscles on his muscles. Michael had seen cartoon superhuman characters with magic powers who were less intimidating than the man facing them.
“I am Drill Sergeant Jared Barr,” the man thundered. His voice was no quieter, even with the recruits too terrified even to breathe. “For my sins, I am the official Drill Sergeant for you recruits. My job is to whip you into shape and make soldiers of you all. I’m not here to be your friend. I am here to turn you into soldiers. You are going to hate every last minute of the next few months. Most of you will quit. That is good! It is my job to sort out the quitters and get rid of them before we have to trust you on the front lines. You think that you understand me. You don’t. You won’t until you go through training.
“You will address me as ‘Sergeant.’ You will not call me ‘sir!’ I actually work for a living.”
Michael winced as the Drill Sergeant’s gaze seemed to stab into him before he passed on to the next recruit. “You are the sorriest bunch of recruits I have yet seen on this planet,” he said. “You are in this course for one purpose; you are here to become soldiers, the first real soldiers your planet has yet seen. In twelve weeks, we will break you down and build you up again into soldiers. Don’t bother crying to your mommy or whining about your pappy; they’re not here and they can’t help you. You volunteered for this.”
His eyes swept across their ranks. “You are under military discipline now,” he thundered. “You can be punished under the Codes of Military Justice and if necessary sentenced to death by field court-martial. There is no point in whining about lawyers and due process. You’re in the army now. In order that you know what you should not do, we will list the offences against military order every day. You will learn them off by heart. You will not commit them. Understand?
A ragged chorus rose from the recruits. “Yes, sir,” they stammered.
“You will not call me ‘sir’,” Barr thundered. “All of you; drop and give me twenty push-ups, now!”
Michael stared at him and then dropped to the ground, beginning his push-ups. Barr marched from recruit to recruit, barking out advice and a few orders. “Keep your back straight,” he barked at Michael, when he passed him. “Concentrate on lifting yourself above the ground!”
The recruits slowly finished their exercise and staggered back into line. A few looked shocked, as if they had expected an easier induction into the service. Others were breathing heavily, badly out of shape. They’d spent their last night as free men drinking and carousing and were paying for it now. Michael didn’t feel any better. His heart was pounding and his breath was coming in fits and starts.
“By the time you finish this course, you will be doing hundreds of push-ups and thinking nothing of it,” Barr informed them. It sounded like a particularly sadistic joke. His gaze flickered along the line of recruits. “Keep your shoulders straight. You’re not with your mother now.”
Michael winced inwardly as Barr’s gaze swept over him again. “Now … offences against military order, listed as follows; insubordination, use of drugs, tobacco and alcohol, possession and/or consumption of food outside designated eating periods, possession of any contraband, failure to perform duties as assigned to you by lawful authority, being absent without leave and, last, but not least, fraternisation. To repeat; any of those offences will get you a punishment that may range from heavy exercise to being summarily discharged from the army. You will have those offences read to you every day, along with the definition of each offence. You will have no excuse for committing any of them!”
He paused long enough to measure their reaction. “Many of you will have brought drugs, or alcohol, or even food into the spaceport,” he said, coldly. “When you are taken to be assigned your uniform and regulation-issue underclothes, get rid of them. This is your one warning. You may think that the civilian police wouldn’t charge you with a crime if you are in possession of illegal drugs, but this is the army. If I catch any of you possessing or using drugs during training, that person will wish that he had never been born!”
Michael felt his head spin as Barr kept thundering at his cowed audience. “Insubordination; wilfully disobeying, insulting, or striking a senior officer. Absent without leave; leaving the base or your unit without permission, or failing to report back to your unit at the end of a leave period without permission. Fraternisation; sexual relationships with any of your fellow recruits, or senior officers, or anyone within your military unit. The remainder should require no explaining. If they do, you’re in the wrong line of work.”