The massive apartment blocks cast a baleful shadow over the area. He had grown up in similar buildings, after his mother had been forced to move out of her first home, and had hated it. There was nothing to do, for anyone, and the street gangs had proven the only source of diversion. Now...now he was a soldier and had prospects, but the apartments still cast a shadow over his soul. The fires up north should have been started in the poorer areas, burning down the foul buildings and forcing the Government to build newer ones...
It would have burned them all out of their homes, he thought dully, as the first group of prisoners were taken. We couldn't have done that.
***
“Shit,” Gaby breathed. She had been on the verge of leaving the building when she’d seen the army convoy race past. She’d hoped that they were just heading back to the centre of town and Government House, but instead the soldiers started to dismount and took up positions around the block. It didn't take much imagination to realise that they’d located her and intended to take her alive, if possible. She remembered her inspection of the area and realised that they were trapped. There was no way out.
She turned and ran back up the stairs. Julian was still trying to rally resistance, even though it was increasingly clear, even to him, that they’d lost. The soldiers were hunting those few Crackers who hadn't realised that the battle was over and broken contact on their own authority. He was raging into the microphone when she burst into the room, one hand holding an old pistol that had belonged to his father.
“We’re surrounded,” Gaby snapped, thinking of the suicide pill in her pocket. It would be so easy to take it and put her and her knowledge out of enemy reach forever, but something held her hand. “They’ve tracked us down!”
“Impossible,” Julian said. “I was assured that this communicator was untraceable.”
Gaby slapped him, hard. “Look out of the window,” she snapped. “There are armed soldiers out there, preventing anyone from leaving. They’ve found us!”
Julian recoiled from her blow, an ugly red mark forming on his cheek, and turned to look out of the window. “My God,” he breathed. “We have to get out of here!”
“And how do you propose that we do that?” Gaby asked, dryly. “There's no way we can jump from this block to another outside their perimeter. I think we might have to prepare to sell our lives dearly.”
Julian was still staring at her. “Sell my life dearly, you mean,” he said, opening the large box. “You get into here and keep quiet. It should protect you from their scans.”
Gaby blinked. “They’ll check, won’t they?”
“Not if I give them something else to think about,” Julian said. “Get in there, now!”
“Good luck,” Gaby said, and stepped into the box. It was tight and uncomfortable, rather like climbing into her coffin. The thought made her shiver as Julian pushed down the lid.
“Stay quiet,” he whispered, and was gone.
***
There was no time to board the Raptor properly, so Jasmine and five other Marines hung from straps and allowed themselves to swing below the aircraft as it raced over the city towards the apartment block. It came to a brief hover just above the roof, allowing Jasmine to drop down onto the hard surface and open the door to the interior. The inhabitants were nowhere in evidence, but she didn't know if that meant they were hiding, or if the Crackers had convinced them to move out when they’d moved in. The city’s records weren't clear on who actually lived in any of the apartment blocks. There was an entire undocumented underclass just waiting for someone to come along and organise them.
“Stunners only,” she said, as they advanced down the stairs, kicking down doors and spraying the apartments with stun bolts. “We want the bitch alive! She has to know where Blake is.”
“Understood,” Joe Buckley said. He hefted his stunner as she kicked open another door. “We’ll find him even if we have to tear the entire countryside apart.”
Jasmine said nothing as they encountered a family, who stared at the monsters invading their home before they were stunned and sent falling to the ground like ninepins. A shiver of guilt ran through her heart, before she pushed it aside and kept moving. There was no time to worry about the welfare of civilians, not now. If they found the person responsible for the attacks, they could stop them for good. She kicked down another door...and a shot pinged off her armour. A young man was standing there, half in the shadow, firing precise shots towards them. The pistol he carried was harmless to a person in armour.
“Give it up,” Joe snapped, lifting his stunner and stunning the young man. The grenade he was carrying detonated a moment later, shredding his body and catching Joe in the blast. Jasmine checked him quickly. He was alive, but badly shocked.
“Hell of a time to forget my shirt,” he growled, as Jasmine checked the rest of the room. If someone had tried to defend it, it stood to reason that there was something in the room worth defending. She looked around and finally saw a chest positioned against one wall, one made of metal, just right for deflecting light scans. On impulse, she walked over and pulled it open, revealing a young girl lying inside. A moment later, before she could put a pill in her mouth, Jasmine stunned her.
“I think we got her,” she said, as she pulled the body out of the chest. It would have helped if they had a description or a DNA pattern, but Gaby Cracker had apparently never been entered onto the system. It wasn't entirely surprising. Even a primitive system like Avalon’s could have traced her descent and then the Civil Guard would have started asking pointed questions about her family. “What do you want us to do with her?”
“Get her to the spaceport, alive,” Captain Stalker ordered. “And then, perhaps, we can put an end to this.”
***
It took nearly an hour to get Gaby Cracker to the spaceport and then run a DNA test, but in the end the result was certain; she was the direct descendent of Peter Cracker himself. Or at least one of them, Edward reminded himself. It had been a surprise to discover that quite a few people claimed descent from the great rebel, enough to make him wonder how Peter Cracker had ever found the time to actually rebel. Most of the claims were spurious, but Gaby’s was not. Her capture meant the end of the battle, but not of the war.
Edward gazed down at the limp body and smiled inwardly. It was time to put an end to the war altogether. Too many had died already.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Our goal is an acceptable peace; not peace at any price, but an acceptable peace, one that allows us to live with ourselves afterwards.
-Sergeant Howard Ropes, Wisdom of the Terran Marine Corps.
The farmhouse was indistinguishable from a thousand others, miles from any large township or homestead. It looked as if it were owned and operated by a small family and only had the bare minimum of animals and fields. Jasmine wondered if it would be a good place to live, when she finally retired from the Marines, as they deployed across the field and advanced on the house. She didn't speak that thought aloud. Joe would have joked about buying the farm.
“All drones report no sign of movement,” Joe said, as if her thought had summoned him to speak. “No enemy contact at all.”
“Good,” Jasmine said. Under their chameleon suits, the Marines slipped closer to the farmhouse wall. Up close, it was clear that someone had placed a great deal of care and attention into the building, investing it with love. She wondered what had happened to the original owners as they encircled the house. Were they Crackers, perhaps, or had they been forced away from their homes by the debt sharks and the Council? There was no way to know. “Go!”
Disdaining the doors, the Marines went in through the windows, ready to respond to any enemy contact with lethal force. There was nothing; Jasmine crashed to the ground in a shower of broken glass, landing in the middle of a small dining room. A single note lay on the table. She picked it up and read it. DOWNSTARES. She chuckled at the spelling mistake and finished sweeping through the farmhouse before they opened the h
atch leading down to the basement, carefully checking for IEDs and other unpleasant surprises. Nothing rose up to greet them, or exploded in their face, and so she headed down. Her heat-sensors revealed one life form within the basement, lying on a table. She activated her helmet light and smiled in relief as Blake’s face came into view.
“Good God, Blake,” Joe said, as he pressed in after her. “I didn't know that you were into bondage.”
“Ha fucking ha,” Blake said. Jasmine suppressed a giggle with an effort. Blake was not only tied down, he was chained down, with a heavy metal glove over his right hand. Someone had clearly realised that he had a nerve-burst implant – or another kind of implanted weapon – and taken steps to neutralise it. “Come and get me out of this thing.”
“In a moment, in a moment,” Jasmine said, inspecting the chains. The life support system was clever, in a diabolical kind of way. Blake could probably have survived for months, even though he was chained up and unable to move. “I’m just making sure that freeing you won’t kill you.”
“I think that you should take a vow of chastity,” Joe put in, as he checked the other side of the table. “Chasing women only got you tied down and kept you out of the fight.”
“Damn it,” Blake said, as Jasmine started to work on the chains. Without the keys, she had to break the padlocks with her armoured fists. “Did you miss me?”
“Well, yes,” Jasmine said, “but we’ll take another shot tomorrow.”
Blake laughed humourlessly as she finished freeing him, allowing him to stand up for the first time in weeks. “I’m glad to know that I have such loyal comrades,” he said, as he tried to stretch. Cramp almost knocked him back to the table. “And the Crackers?”
“Beaten, for the moment,” Jasmine said. “We caught one of their leaders and she pointed us in your general direction.”
“You missed out on a really great battle,” Joe said, mischievously. “You won’t believe...”
“That’s enough of that,” Jasmine said, firmly. She helped Blake to his feet and started to assist him towards the stairs. “We have to get Blake back to the Raptor and get him to the spaceport, where he can be checked out thoroughly before he returns to duty. You can pick a fight with him later.”
“Yes, Corporal,” Joe said.
“Corporal?” Blake repeated. “Did the Old Man lose his mind and promote you?”
“It was me or you, and you were...absent,” Jasmine said, with an evil grin. “You can bow down in front of me later.”
Blake sighed. “Easy come, easy go,” he said, mockingly. “”I’ll catch up with you soon, I promise.”
“Not until you’ve been checked and cleared by the medical staff,” Joe reminded him. “Who knows what kind of foul torture they might have put you through?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me that a few days of heavy exercise won’t cure,” Blake protested. “I hate spending time in the hospital.”
Jasmine shook her head at his protests. It was easy to imagine the Crackers conditioning Blake, turning him into a spy or an assassin aimed at Captain Stalker, or even outfitting him with an implant that turned him into an unwitting spy. It didn't seem likely that they had that kind of tech, but the Marines had been surprised before and they would not be fooled again. Blake would have to be checked extensively before he could be allowed to return to duty, although – knowing Blake – he would try to get out sooner rather than later. Whatever else could be said about him, he wasn't lazy or a coward. A man who was either wouldn't have made it through Boot Camp.
“Come on,” she said, allowing her voice to soften. “I’m glad to see you’re alive.”
“You won’t be when I convince the Old Man to give me your stripes,” Blake said, with a wink. “He was clearly short of decent candidates.”
Jasmine laughed at him. “Get moving,” she said. “Once we’re out of here, we’re going to burn this farmhouse to the ground.”
She took a moment to check the underground construction and winced. Someone had built it with malice aforethought, lining the basement with metal to jam any emergency signals from Blake’s communicator. If the Crackers had taken him outside, just once...but they hadn’t, almost as if they’d known the danger. Or, perhaps, they were just being paranoid. Either way, if the captured Crackers hadn't known where Blake was, they could have hidden him at the farmhouse for years, or just left him to starve to death. It wasn't a pleasant thought.
“Come on,” she said, as they headed outside into the bright sunlight. “Let’s go home.”
***
Lucas Trent opened his eyes, feeling his head aching as if a group of thugs had systematically lined up in front of him and kicked it several times each. Everything was blurred and it took him moments to focus his eyes, realising that the bright light overhead was the sun. He sat up in surprise and looked around in disbelief. He was lying on a grassy field, surrounded by hundreds of other men and women who were struggling awake, as if some angry god had just abandoned them there. A small pile of boxes lay at one end of the field.
Memory returned and he winced. He’d been imprisoned by the Marines, who’d drugged him incessantly and questioned him, questioned him so many times that he couldn't remember what he’d been asked...or what he’d told them. The drugs had confused him so badly he wasn't even sure how long he’d been in the cell, until one day they’d simply pumped gas into his cell and knocked him out. He remembered panicking as he breathed in the first whiff of gas, convinced that they intended to kill him, but instead...he’d woken up here. Wherever he actually was, they’d just left him there.
He pulled himself to his feet, looking around. Some of the men were recognisable as his fellow Knives; others were strangers, men he didn't know at all. The women, likewise, were strangers apart from one; Carola Wilhelm. His ally had been dumped with him, wherever he was.
“Good morning,” a voice said. Lucas glanced around to see a holographic image hovering in the air, just above the pile of boxes. It took him a moment to recognise the Marine Captain standing there, the liar who’d promised that Lucas and his men would be indentured if they told everything. He had...and now he’d been abandoned, instead of returning to slavery. He silently vowed revenge. He could have escaped from slavery. “This is a somewhat melodramatic gesture on my part to explain just what has happened to all of you.”
Lucas stared as the message – a recording, he saw now – continued. “For some of you, we agreed to indenture you rather than simply executing you; for others, you had friends and family who intervened on your behalf. Accordingly, we have transported you to this island, rather than letting you form a conventional indent chain gang.” The image winked. “After all, we know that you intended to escape once we sent you out into the countryside and I could hardly afford to spare the men and equipment necessary to search for you. The truth drugs and interrogations made that clear.”
The image’s gaze sharpened. “And so we have indentured you with a single task; make this island habitable,” Captain Stalker continued. “For your information, this island is one of a small chain, over four hundred miles from the nearest continent...and literally thousands of miles from any other settlement. You might want to escape, you might try to escape, but believe me...you will be eaten by sharks or drowned by storms a long time before you get near to land. You have the choice between turning the islands into a settlement or dying out when you run out of food and supplies.
“We have not been completely unmerciful. The boxes of supplies here have enough to get you started on farms and growing your own food, should you choose to take advantage of it. We have provided you with medical supplies and manuals we can hardly spare; ones that should teach you how to survive and prosper. Thousands of homestead families have managed to turn unpromising land into a prosperous settlement, so you all should know that it is possible. You’ve certainly raided enough of them in your time. The one thing we have not given you is weapons. You cannot be trusted with them, even isolated from the
rest of the world.
“Understand; this is a life sentence. You have proved that you cannot be trusted in a civilised world. What you make of your life now is up to you. Form a community or kill each other, as you please. We will not interfere. Good luck.”
The Empire’s Corps: Book 01 - The Empire's Corps Page 55