by Jay Allan
Mandy’s hand twitched, half covering her rear. “Weird,” she said. “I’ve barely been out of the house since”—her face flushed bright red, in a manner Jasmine found rather endearing—“well, you know.”
“I know,” Jasmine agreed, patiently. She might not have had any kids of her own, but she had worked with enough teenage girls to know that the key was patience; they would come to the topic on hand eventually. The more awkward a topic was, the longer it would take. “Have you been focusing on your studies?”
“It’s not easy to do that here,” Mandy said, seemingly glad of the change in subject. “I was going to go to the University of Earth once I turned eighteen, but there is no university here and my father says that it will be years before one is founded, if it ever is. The most advanced school here is a technical school for the handful of engineers and places there come with strings attached.”
Jasmine could guess. Avalon had a permanent shortage of trained personal in all fields, from medical care to construction engineers. They had the facilities to train new experts in any given field, but at the price of putting those new experts into debt, a debt that would be piled on their old debts. The relative handful of youngsters who grew up without debt wouldn’t be keen on taking it on, not against such poor odds of ever escaping permanent debt. It was a badly flawed system. Children would get their mandatory eight years of schooling, as laid down in Imperial Law, and would then be cast off and ordered to find their own destinies. Avalon’s population was therefore both literate and ignorant, a dangerous combination.
“I see,” she said, finally. “You couldn’t just pay in advance?”
“It’s not just the money,” Mandy said, flatly. “If I tried as an orbital engineer and passed the course, I would be expected to spend at least five years working where I was told to work, perhaps longer, at whatever wages they chose to give me. I spoke to a few people who did go through the technical school and they all warned me against it.”
Jasmine frowned, studying Mandy carefully. It was obvious that she was building up to something, yet Jasmine didn’t have the faintest idea of what it might be. She felt an odd wave of almost sisterly feelings towards the younger girl, yet she wasn’t related to Mandy and the girl was certainly not in her charge. Saving her life once didn’t actually make her permanently responsible for Mandy’s future.
Mandy shook her head. “Thank you for saving my life,” she said, nervously. “I didn’t realise just what I was getting into until you pulled me out of it.”
“And you didn’t recognise what was getting into you,” Jasmine agreed. If the girl had just wanted to thank her, surely she could have just written that on the note. “That is pretty much the story of the human race.”
Mandy nodded. “I haven’t been out of this part of the city since … you know,” she added. “I just couldn’t leave. It wasn’t something I could do.”
“So you came face to face with a danger and escaped,” Jasmine said, wryly. “Just think about how many people aren’t so lucky.”
“And I wanted to thank you for … everything else as well,” Mandy said, as if even getting the words out was a struggle. “I deserved everything you gave me.”
Jasmine smiled in sympathetic understanding. “If it’s any consolation, I got the same treatment or worse as a child myself,” she said, seriously. “No one ever taught you real discipline. Your life among the middle class on Earth didn’t prepare you for the real universe. I grew up on a world where children had to learn discipline from a very early age.”
“My father said the same,” Mandy said. “My mother doesn’t know. She didn’t even notice that I winced when I sat down. She’s too occupied with her new friends.”
She looked up, suddenly. “Would the Marines be willing to sponsor me through the technical school?”
Jasmine blinked. That was a reverse. “I have no idea,” she said, honestly. She’d never heard of such a program, although she knew that the Marines did encourage newly-minted Marines to learn additional skills, ones that might come in handy on deployment. “What do you think that we can do for you?”
“I figured that I had to do something with my life,” Mandy admitted. “Just before I sent you that note, I attended a party—no, don’t worry, the party was in this district. I looked at the young men and women there, really looked at them. They were indolent, people who would never amount to anything in the future, just living off their parents. That could have been me.”
“It is you, at the moment,” Jasmine said. On her homeworld, children were encouraged to work from a very early age, even if it was just a tiny job. Money didn’t come from nothing, after all, and learning to handle a budget had been an important step towards maturity. Mandy had grown up in a world where, even if her family ran completely out of money, they could just go on welfare and spend the rest of their lives at government expense. “Tell me something. Just how serious are you?”
Mandy looked up and met her eyes. “Very serious,” she said. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get into the school without going into debt.”
Jasmine smiled. “I really wouldn’t mention that to Blake,” she said, dryly. Mandy flushed bright red. “If you’re serious, I will mention it to my superior officers and see what they make of it. They may reject it out of hand. They may tell me to go back to you and tan your hide again. Still want me to mention it?”
Mandy’s eyes went wide. “Do they know about … you … disciplining me?”
“They might,” Jasmine said. “Sergeants know everything there is to know about their units.”
Mandy’s flush deepened. “They’re going to be looking at me and thinking about it,” she said. Jasmine snorted. It wasn’t really that important. “Yes, please talk to them about it and let me know what they say.”
Jasmine smiled. “I’ll do my best,” she said, “but you might want to remember something. If you make a deal with the Marines, you will be held to that deal, whatever it is. Do you understand me?”
-o0o-
Felicity Bardwell adjusted her dress before stepping into the bar, ignoring—with the ease of long practice—the wolf whistles from the young wolves who had gathered outside the bar. They would have been inside the bar drinking if they had had any money, yet without it all they could do was wander around the city, unless they had the nerve to sign up with the Marines. At other times, she would have been fearful for her safety, but after the Marines had arrived the city had become much safer. The gangs had pulled back rather than risk losing more of their thugs to the Marines.
She smiled nervously, trying to project the image of an innocent young girl stepping into a place of sin, even though everyone would know that it was a lie. Almost every teenage girl in Camelot, apart from those born to the upper class, had at least considered turning tricks for cash, creating a glut on the market. Felicity had always found that amusing, even though she had never prostituted herself until now. It was a step from covert intelligence gathering to actual operations and, despite herself, she was nervous. Everything could go wrong terrifyingly quickly.
The Governor would have been horrified to know just how deeply his city had been penetrated by the Crackers. The intelligence network—of which Felicity was a tiny part—had been watching the Marines ever since they had arrived and worked hard to identify as many as possible. There had been no way to access their personal files, but they were hardly needed; the Crackers knew which Marines could be approached safely and which ones wouldn’t be interested. At least, unlike some Civil Guardsmen, they didn’t seem to be interested in rough or sadistic sex.
She adjusted her smile slightly and headed towards a Marine who was standing at the bar, quaffing down beer as if it was going out of season. Up close, he was massive, far larger than she had realised from the photographs … and every inch of his exposed flesh was muscle. The media had been making snide remarks about Marines having muscles on their muscles ever since they had arrived, but Felicity was starting to realise that the
newspapers—purely due to the laxity of the editors, no doubt—had actually gotten something right. Just for a second, she considered backing away and retreating. She didn’t delude herself that she stood a chance if something went wrong.
The Marine looked down at her, taking in her dress in one easy glance. Felicity knew what he saw; a young girl wearing a sweater that exposed the tops of her breasts and a skirt that barely reached halfway down to her knees. Her dark hair fanned out around a heart-shaped face and a pair of lips that—in her own considered opinion—were very kissable. She saw the spark of attraction in his eyes and smiled at him, adjusting her position slightly to give him more of an eyeful.
“Hi,” the Marine said. There was a note of confidence in his voice that she found oddly repulsive, before she realised what it was. He didn’t think that he was God’s gift to womankind, but he was very confident in who and what he was. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Felicity said, with a glowing smile. He smiled back at her. “A single drink would be fine.”
Their eyes met in silent communication as they found a table and sat down. Felicity had taken a stay-sober tab before entering the bar and the beer had little effect on her, but the Marine—his name, he’d told her, was Blake—kept drinking without showing any ill effects. Playing her prostitute persona, Felicity enquired lightly if he would still be able to perform when the time came and Blake assured her, with a wicked grin, that he was all man. Felicity giggled as they chatted for the next hour, neither of them keen to move too quickly. Under other circumstances, she could almost have enjoyed herself. The Marine was a far more fascinating person than she had realised, back when she’d planned her mission. Eventually, she stood up, walked around the table, and kissed him neatly on the lips. His arms went around her and she was suddenly very aware of his strength. He could have broken her in two without even trying.
“I have a place nearby,” she whispered, trying to sound as seductive as she could.. “Would you like to come and have a drink with me?”
The Marine nodded, almost as if the issue had been in doubt. Felicity smiled and took his hand, leading him out of the bar and down the road towards the cheap accommodation that had been constructed years ago by a business owned by a Councillor. The quality was appallingly bad, but that would hardly matter … and besides, they served as excellent bases for intelligence gathering. They were kissing as they climbed up two flights of stairs—the elevator was not only out of service, but had been out of service for years—and his hands were roaming all over her as soon as they entered her flat. Strong hands reached under her shirt and clasped her breasts, massaging them lightly. She gasped as she felt her nipples respond to his touch.
“Go into the bedroom,” she breathed, as his hands started to move down towards her skirt. “I’ll be along in a moment.”
She watched as he left, aware of the massive bulge in his pants, before reaching for the make-up bag she’d left on the table. It was easy to touch up her lipstick with a few brief touches, feeling her lips go slightly numb as the lipstick started to sink into the skin. If she hadn’t taken the antidote a few hours ago, she would have been flat on the floor within seconds. The lipstick was a very powerful sedative.
“I’m coming,” she called, as she pulled off her shirt. The lacy bra had cost more local credits than she cared to think about, but it would give him something to play with and to keep his mind off other matters. Smiling, she stepped into the bedroom and saw him standing by the edge of the bed. His eyes went wide when they saw her.
Felicity knelt in front of him, gasping slightly as his hands returned to her breasts, and started to unzip his pants. His member burst out as she pulled them down and she smiled, brushing her breasts against him. A moment later, she lowered her head and started to kiss her way down his penis, allowing the lipstick time to melt into his skin. His hands continued to play with her breasts as she kissed the way back to the top of his member and carefully took it into her mouth, sucking him as deeply into her as she could. If he was affected by the drug, he didn’t show it, leaving her wondering if he’d taken something to counter the drug himself. He’d drunk enough alcohol to flatten an elephant. He leaned back on her command, allowing her to suck him harder as his hands reached down inside her skirt. She gasped like it was good, like she was more aroused than she actually was, while her mind worked furiously. What if he was somehow immune to the drug?
He pulled back, pulling himself out of her mouth, and picked her up almost effortlessly, laying her down on the bed. Strong hands removed her skirt and panties, before his tongue started to lick at her, slipping inside her and making her gasp with genuine arousal. She had a horrified vision of him going on top of her, going inside her, just before he collapsed, but it was too late to escape. He climbed on top of her and slowly pushed his way into her. She held him tightly as he started to move inside her, feeling her own arousal building up to a climax, seconds before he shot his load deep into her. His face, bare millimetres from hers, went slack, just before he rolled off her and collapsed. His own thrusts had rubbed the drug deeper into his system.
“Thank God,” Felicity said. The Marine hadn’t been bad in bed, and under other circumstances she would have enjoyed herself, but if the drug hadn’t worked so well … she had no illusions about the outcome. The Marine could have snapped her neck before he collapsed. She pulled herself off the bed and found the injector she’d placed in the bedside drawer, pushing it against his neck and injecting him with a stronger sedative. He should be completely out of it for at least a day.
She stood up and reached for her clothes. The rest of the cell had been waiting in the other flat. As soon as they arrived, they would have to start moving. She had no idea how long it would be before the other Marines realised that one of their comrades had vanished, but she was sure that the moment they realised, they’d start an intensive search.
The Crackers had to be long gone before then.
CHAPTER 37
Throughout history, hostages have been taken in order to use them as bargaining chips. This only works as a tactic when the hostages are important enough for their lives not to be risked. It is therefore a known principle of Imperial Law that we do not bargain for the recovery of any hostages, although this principle has been ignored on occasion.
- Major-General Thomas Kratman (Ret), A Civilian’s Guide to the Terran Marine Corps.
It was the single tensest meeting that Governor Brent Roeder could remember. After a week of chaos—the bandit attack and the Civil Guard’s sudden purge—the major players had finally condescended to talk to him about it, after the fact. Brent was old enough to remember when an Imperial Governor’s world had been law, yet that certainty—like so many others—had fallen on Avalon. It galled—and worried—him that there hadn’t even been a sniff of what the meeting was about, even from the Civil Guard. They were keeping it all very close to their chests.
He gazed from face to face. Linda was looking as calm and focused as ever, although he could detect an undercurrent of worry that manifested by her posture, ever so slightly tense. A person who hadn’t known her for years wouldn’t have picked up on it. Captain Stalker looked … grim and very determined, even though his face was a tight mask of perfect control. Colonel Kitty Stevenson looked oddly relaxed—she’d insisted on sweeping his office for bugs before the meeting began—which begged the question of just what was going on. And Major George Grosskopf, the commanding officer of the Civil Guard, was in a state of barely-controlled fury. It didn’t bode well for the subject, or the outcome.
“Very well,” Brent said, as they took their seats in front of him. He’d decided to remain seated behind his desk as a reminder of his position, even though he suspected that it was a waste of time and none of his visitors would be impressed. “You wanted this meeting, so … just what the hell is going on under my nose?”
The last line sounded weak and defensive to him, but if they noticed, they gave no
sign. “Treason,” Grosskopf said, flatly. “We are dealing with treason most foul.”
Brent looked up, sharply. The formal phasing hadn’t escaped his notice. Treason most foul was a legal phrase used only when the safety of the Empire itself was at stake. Unlike other legal forms, it was rarely used outside of High Treason and never used outside the legal profession. Brent, who had trained as a lawyer before entering the Civil Service, had never heard of it being raised. Treason was normally dealt with directly by the Grand Senate, the ultimate power within the Empire … under the Emperor, of course.
“Treason,” he repeated, feeling dazed. He’d heard rumours, everything from a bandit attack that had slaughtered the Civil Guard to a planned coup mounted by Grosskopf or the Marines, but treason … ? He hadn’t expected treason. “Who has committed this treason?”
Grosskopf nodded to Captain Stalker, who spoke with clear precise words. “We captured over ninety bandits in the aftermath of the Battle of Morgan,” Captain Stalker said. His voice was very calm. “One of them turned out to be the leader of the local super-gang, an organisation that controlled and directed the activities of many smaller gangs. His interrogation yielded a number of interesting facts.”
“That was not the first clue we had that something was badly wrong in Camelot,” Grosskopf added. “Alpha and Beta Companies were ambushed by bandits armed with modern heavy weapons, weapons that came out of the Civil Guard’s war stocks … weapons, I need not add, that were never authorised for distribution outside the Civil Guard. Those weapons caused the death of over fifty Civil Guardsmen and one Marine.”
“Under a lie detector, he named seven people within Camelot who had been working with the gangs for at least the past five years, perhaps longer,” Captain Stalker continued. Brent realised that he was being hit on both sides, suggesting that they’d planned the discussion beforehand. “Those people intended to set all three military units—Alpha Company, Beta Company and my Marines—up for slaughter. Their plan came alarmingly close to success.”