“Eighty-one, counting the auxiliaries,” Edward said. He was tempted to mention the supplies they’d brought with them, but he didn't dare discuss them until he knew if George could be trusted or not. A former Imperial Army officer would have a file in the database back on the Sebastian Cruz. “I suppose we’d better not keep the Governor waiting.”
“Eighty-one men,” George repeated. He looked shaken. “We need far more than that, Captain. We need an entire army.”
“We have eighty-one Marines,” Edward said. Pressing auxiliaries into frontline service was frowned upon, but they were thousands of light years from the Slaughterhouse. There was no other choice. “I think that should be enough to make an impression.”
“We’ll see,” George said. He hopped back into the jeep. “Climb aboard, Captain. The Governor won’t wait for us forever.”
Edward allowed Blake and Jasmine to go first, and then followed them into the rear seat. They were all crammed together, but they could all fit, luckily. The jeep’s engine roared to life and the driver turned around, taking them right across another landing pad. Old warnings surfaced in Edward’s mind and he winced – no one on Earth would dare drive across a landing pad – but it was perfectly safe. The Marines would probably break Avalon’s record for shuttle arrivals in a single day.
“We had the indents building the road network from the start,” George explained, as they roared out of the spaceport and down a surprisingly well-maintained road. “There are roads running all around the coastline now, linking the cities together, and others reaching up into the hinterlands and towards the badlands. I hoped to have them completed this year, but the bandits or the Crackers keep shooting up the work crews. We also had to start cutting the foliage back from it after they started using it for cover, letting them get a few shots in at our vehicles. It’s a war of nerves and they’re winning it.”
The jeep raced over a bridge, showing Edward a river heading down towards the sea. “We used to have people canoeing on that river, racing up against the current or diving down towards the sea,” George continued. “We still do, sometimes, but mostly people don’t dare in the wake of a few shootings. The damned Crackers are very good at slipping through our defences and spoiling one of the few things that make living on this planet worthwhile.”
Edward said nothing, thinking hard. Clearly, the reports had understated the scale of the trouble on Avalon’s surface. There was no time to pick George’s brains, but he made a mental note to look into it as soon as possible, perhaps detailing Rifleman McDonald to investigate and catch up on what had happened since he’d left his homeworld.
Jasmine asked the obvious question. “Sir,” she said, “is there a chance that we could be shot at, now?”
“I had teams out beating the bushes, so I hope not,” George admitted. He didn't sound certain of anything, Edward realised. Marine battledress was surprisingly good at absorbing bullet impacts, but his head was uncovered and unprotected. “No one is supposed to know that you arrived in the system, but I doubt that secrecy held. The only thing that moves faster than rumour here is bad news.”
Edward sat back in his seat and tried to relax. The driver was taking them into Camelot now and he concentrated on studying the city, taking in the sights. Parts of it were surprisingly respectable, other parts were little more than slums. It made no sense to him.
“They’re former indents who served their term and were released, or people who lost their farms to their creditors,” George explained, bitterly. “Put a set of ex-indents out on a farm and they’ll be dead in a couple of weeks. Either that, or they’ll make a run for the badlands and we’ll lose them. Some of them get temporary work as workers; others go into prostitution or fall even further into debt. It’s never a pretty sight.”
The jeep was pulling up outside Government House. It was easily the most imposing building in Camelot, although it would have been laughable on Earth. Edward studied it and rolled his eyes. There was a certain mindset that demanded luxury, whatever the cost, and that mindset had designed the building. It was far too elaborate for its value.
“Doubtless,” he said, wishing that he was back on a nice honest battlefield. “Come on. Let’s go meet the Governor.”
Chapter Thirteen
The standard form of colonial government – at least in stage one and two colonies – is rule by the Development Corporation. The Corporation appoints a Governor and a law enforcement force, who can be counted upon to enforce the law the ‘right’ way. As time passes, democracy is introduced into the system, with the eventual replacement of the Corporation’s law with a democratic state. If only it worked out so well!
- Professor Leo Caesius, The Waning Years of Empire (banned).
“So,” Linda said. “Those are the famous Marines.”
Governor Brent Roeder didn't take his eyes off the screen as the Marines stepped into Government House. Two of them looked to be nothing more than soldiers, even though they seemed more lethal than the Civil Guardsmen who were trying to convince them to leave their weapons behind, but the third looked...interesting. He couldn't say how he knew, yet he was convinced that he was looking at their leader. The other two seemed intent on protecting him at all costs.
“Don’t underestimate him,” George had warned. “He survived the Slaughterhouse and he served as a Captain of Marines for over two years. That means that he has earned the respect of some very dangerous men and women.”
Brent settled back in his chair, feeling his bones ache. The Council had wanted to be included in the first meeting – unsurprisingly, the news about the Marines had leaked out to them within minutes of their arrival – but Brent had dissuaded them as best as he could. He, Linda and George would be the first official representatives of Avalon to meet their new ally. He hoped, despite himself, that the Marine walked away with a good impression of them. It was vitally important that they learned to work together.
His intercom – a locally produced piece of shit, in his considered opinion – buzzed. “Governor, this is Bill from Security,” a voice said. “The Marines are refusing to leave their weapons at the front desk.”
Brent rubbed his forehead, feeling one of his headaches coming on already. He’d banned weapons from Government House after two Councillors had fought a duel in the Council Chamber, over a political argument that had made no sense to anyone else. Government House was the most heavily defended building on Avalon. They should not have been in any danger at all – or so he told himself. It was only a matter of time before the bandits started attacking within the city itself.
“Allow them to keep their weapons,” he said, finally. If he couldn't trust the Marines, who could he trust? The list of people he trusted completely was depressingly small. “Have them escorted up here as quickly as possible.”
He settled back in his chair and waited. It took four minutes before there was a knock on the door and George stepped in, followed by a tall blonde man wearing a Marine uniform. Brent stood up to greet him, holding out a hand for him to shake, taking the time to study the Marine carefully. Captain Stalker’s bright blue eyes seemed to miss nothing. Brent had the uncomfortable sense that the Captain was used to such reactions and was giving Brent time to study him as much as he wanted. The Marine looked surprisingly average, but there was no weakness in his handshake and his eyes were steady. He might have been sent far from the Core Worlds, far from the centre of power, but there was nothing wrong with him. Or perhaps he was completely wrong. Brent’s life as a civil servant hadn't prepared him to run a military campaign, let alone judge military officers. It had never been included in the training courses he’d taken as a junior assistant civil servant.
“Captain Edward Stalker reporting, sir,” the Marine said. He had the same kind of briskly formal voice George had, although in his case it was more clipped, more precise. His accent was definitely Old Earth, yet that could mean nothing. Earth was the centre of the Empire’s culture. Everyone who was anyone tried to cultivat
e an Earth-style accent.
“Ah, thank you for coming,” Brent said, trying to remember what little military protocol he knew. Nothing seemed quite appropriate to this situation. “Please, take a seat. I’m delighted to see you.” He nodded to Linda. “This is my Deputy, Linda.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Captain Stalker said. He shook Linda’s hand. Oddly, he didn't look at her as a pretty girl, but as just another person. Brent found himself wondering if it was a sign of homosexuality, before realising that Stalker would have been trained to think of everyone as a possible threat first. Or perhaps he was just being polite. Brent sat back down in front of his desk and tried to think of something to say. It wasn't easy.
“We weren't expecting you,” he said, finally. “Is there some reason why you were sent to us without any notification?”
Captain Stalker smiled. It was an expression that didn't quite touch his eyes. “I believe that there are few lines of communications between Earth and Avalon,” he said. “It was decided to dispatch my unit only six months ago. There was simply no time to send you any advance notice of our coming.”
“Well, I’m still glad to see you,” Brent said. “How many Marines do you have on your ship? I believe that it can carry a Division?”
“We have eighty-one Marines,” Captain Stalker said. Brent stared at him, almost not catching his next words. “Part of our remit is to train your Civil Guard to a level where it can cope with open insurgency and warfare.”
“Eighty-one Marines,” Brent repeated, dazed. “How much do you intend to do with just eighty-one Marines?”
“Quite a bit, actually,” Captain Stalker said. There was absolute confidence in his tone. Brent found himself hoping that it was not misplaced. “The Company is the single most powerful military unit in the system. Man for man, my Marines are better than any other armed force in the Empire. I think we can make an impression on the enemy.”
Brent studied him carefully, trying to divine the underlying meaning in his words. It seemed almost as if Captain Stalker was dissembling...and then he realised that dissembling wasn't something that would come easily to the Marine. It was ignorance. Captain Stalker didn't realise how bad things were becoming and how soon it would be before the planet became ungovernable. He opened his mouth and closed it again. How could he find the words to explain exactly what was going on to the young man in front of him? And he was young; Captain Stalker showed none of the signs of being rejuvenated in the past. He couldn't be much older than thirty, if that.
“Captain,” he said, slowly. “Do you have any idea how bad things are here?”
“I haven’t had a complete briefing yet,” Captain Stalker replied, calmly. “I do know, however, that we are effectively stuck out here for a very long time. We may be here for as long as five years. We could spend our time bemoaning how bad things are becoming, or we can start trying to deal with the situation. I prefer to be optimistic.”
Brent smiled, almost despite himself. He could have liked Captain Stalker under other circumstances. “Let’s see,” he said. “We have three different insurgency movements operating against us. We have a political logjam that simply won’t break. We have a Civil Guard that is weak and not particularly effective” – George snorted angrily at that – “and our local industry can barely produce what it needs to keep us going. And, if that wasn't enough, we have pirate ships using the system as a base. Can you deal with that, Captain?”
“Give us time and we can deal with anything,” Captain Stalker said, seriously. He pulled a datachip out of his uniform pocket and placed it down on Brent’s desk. “My orders from the Empire.”
Brent picked up the chip and opened one of his drawers, pulling out his datapad and slotting the chip into it. The datapad was irreplaceable. There was only a handful on the planet – when they would be dirt cheap in the Core Worlds – and Avalon’s industry couldn't even begin to produce them, not yet. The investment required to boost the local industry to a higher level simply didn’t exist. He studied the short brisk prose and blinked. The orders were vague in the extreme.
“I see,” he said, finally. It was something he would have to discuss with George and Linda, at least before they brought the rest of the Council in on it. “Do you have any immediate requirements, Captain?”
Captain Stalker didn't even blink at his tone. “I need to use the spaceport for unloading the Sebastian Cruz,” he said, flatly. “We have a mountain of supplies that we brought from Earth. We also need an isolated location near Camelot that can serve as a base of operations and a full and accurate briefing on the current political situation. Once we get everything down on the planet and organised, we can start training up the local Civil Guard.”
Brent exchanged a quick glance with George. “I recommend Castle Rock as your base of operations,” George said. “It’s actually a mid-sized island off the coast of Arthur – this continent – and it already has a landing strip built on it. There are a handful of indebted families down on the ground, but they’d be happy to move if the Governor bought out their contracts. If you have plenty of supplies, you really need an island. Your supplies are going to attract every thief in the city.”
“The Wilhelm Family owns Castle Rock,” Linda pointed out. “You may have to negotiate with them over rent or purchase.”
“Maybe not,” Brent said. For once, he could put a finger in their eye and it would be perfectly legal. “If we buy out the settlers, the island reverts back to the government and we can hand it over to the Marines if we want. The owners can go to hell.”
“Thank you,” Captain Stalker said. “With your permission, then, I will start moving my men down to the spaceport. The sooner we get started, the sooner Captain Yamato and his ship can leave the system.”
“I will have dispatches for them to take back to Earth,” Brent said quickly. “I’ll have them sent up this evening.”
“Of course,” Captain Stalker said. He looked out of the window, towards the mountains in the distance. He didn’t know that rebels were lurking there. “You have a beautiful planet.”
“We like to think so,” George said, dryly. “My driver will take you back to the spaceport.”
Captain Stalker saluted and left the room. “So,” Brent said, once the door had closed behind him. “What do you make of our new ally?”
“Handsome, determined and ignorant of the local realities,” Linda said. Brent looked at her in surprise. Was Linda attracted to the Marine? “It was clear that he didn't have any real idea of what is going on here.”
“That isn't actually surprising,” George said, flatly. “Earth simply doesn't care about tiny issues on faraway planets. They wouldn't have had access to any real briefing papers, certainly nothing up to date. They’ll learn, of course. Marines have the highest rating of all when it comes to adapting to new situations.”
Linda smiled. “Are they even better than your old regiment?”
“Only by a tiny margin,” George said, quickly. They shared a laugh. “Of course, my old regiment was commanded by an idiot who got his post through political connections and didn't have the slightest idea which end of a gun fired the bullet. The Marine officers have to work their way up through the ranks. It gives them a major advantage over us poor mortals in the Imperial Army.”
He paused. “Which does make you wonder,” he added. “Just what did Captain Stalker do to be exiled out here?”
Linda smiled. “Let’s see,” she said. “I was left here for refusing the advances of a superior officer. You were sent here because you won a battle by disobeying every order you were given. Half of the staff in Government House were sent here because it was cheaper than firing them. What do you think Captain Stalker did?”
“It wouldn't have been anything that rated a dishonourable, or he would have been discharged from the Marine Corps,” George said. He chuckled. “For all we know, he was caught in bed with a Senator’s daughter and her outraged father insisted on him being exiled to Avalon, along wit
h his Company.”
“Or,” Brent said quietly, “they’re all the reinforcements we’re going to get.”
The room seemed to grow colder. Brent had been appealing to the Sector Capital for help for years, but nothing had ever materialised, not even an Imperial Navy destroyer. Trade was falling all over the sector. The flood of new colonists – even the involuntary settlers from Earth – had become a trickle. Captain Stalker’s men were the single largest group to land on Avalon all year. Brent didn't want to think about it – he had been a loyal servant of the Empire and had served it faithfully – but what if the Empire was on the verge of abandoning Avalon completely.
The Empire’s Corps: Book 01 - The Empire's Corps Page 13