The Empire's Corps: Book 06 - To The Shores...

by Christopher Nuttall

  “We could set up an algae plant,” Colonel Stalker said, when Leo suggested it. “But how long do you think it would last?”

  Leo frowned in puzzlement.

  “The starving area just happens to be the most rebellious part of the planet,” the Colonel explained. “I’ll bet you anything you want to put forward that the government is trying to starve the locals so they are incapable of fighting when their soldiers finally march in and suppress the rebellion. Resistance will be difficult if the population has nothing in their bellies.”

  Leo glared at him. “How can you be so calm?” He demanded. “Don’t you know what’s happening down there?”

  “I know precisely what’s happening down there,” Stalker said, softly. “The government has been starving people, destroying crops and infrastructure and trying hard to exhaust the rebels or force them into surrender. I know that countless innocents are dying because of this damned policy. I also know that there’s no point in ranting and raging about it. If we had a mandate to intervene ...”

  “But we don't,” Leo snapped. Even if the Commonwealth did agree to allow an intervention, they were on the border between the Commonwealth and the Wolfbane Sector. It was quite possible that Governor Brown would object to an intervention that would boost the Commonwealth’s standing in the region. “And politics would get in our way.”

  Stalker nodded, grimly. “It always does,” he said. “It always does.”

  Leo nodded and turned his attention back to the live feed from the shuttle’s sensors as Maharashtra came into view. It would have been charming, he realised mutely, if the spectacular temples and palaces – and even beautifully-crafted apartment blocks – hadn't been surrounded by a sea of shacks and hovels. They were all on the wrong side of a colossal stone wall, preventing them from entering the inner city except under carefully-controlled conditions. He could almost smell the stench rising from the districts. It seemed impossible that anyone could live in such an environment.

  He looked back at the files he’d downloaded from the garrison’s datanet. The locals did have some genetic modifications – luckily for them, or disease would have wiped them out centuries ago – but they were still suffering the effects of their environment. Even for the higher castes, life expectancy was little more than eighty years – and the lower castes rarely lived more than forty. How could anyone live like that?

  “Impressive,” Stalker muttered, as a giant statue of a god – over fifty metres tall – came into view. It looked to be made of solid gold, shining out as sunlight streamed down on it from high overhead. “And to think that they made it without antigravity systems.”

  Leo shook his head in disbelief. The statue was impressive, even if it was tiny compared to Earth’s towering cityblocks or the orbital installations surrounding Avalon and the other major worlds in the Commonwealth. But it must have cost thousands of credits – or the equivalent in local currency – to build, when so many people were starving. He couldn't help feeling that the government was thoroughly sick.

  The impression didn't get any better as the shuttles descended over the capital city. There were five other statues positioned on the walls, glaring out over the countryside, while countless smaller ones studded the buildings. It looked as if the city’s developers were competing to see how many statues they could produce; he shivered as he caught sight of one that looked like an angry angel, showing teeth and claws. Inside the walls, the city looked bright and clean, but there was still something about it that put his senses on edge. The locals didn't seem to care about the sea of human misery surrounding them.

  He was still mulling it over when the shuttle touched down in the Imperial Residency, the complex the Empire had insisted that the locals produce for its representatives. It was surprisingly modest, compared to the rest of the city; it took him a moment to realise that it was intended as a studied insult to the off-worlders who had disrupted the peace and tranquillity of a very strange world. A handful of locals appeared on the edge of the landing pad as the hatches hissed open, then prostrated themselves in front of the first Marines.

  “Curious,” Stalker observed, as 1st Platoon surrounded the shuttle. “That’s not the reaction we normally get.”

  Leo nodded, studying the locals through the shuttle’s sensors. They were a mixture of male and females, all wearing fine clothes that seemed to signify wealth and power ... but if they were aristocrats, why would they prostrate themselves? The files he’d taken from the garrison had seemed to suggest that the local aristocrats only bent the knee to their Rajah, never to anyone else.

  “They’re servants,” Leo said. “And if you decide to reject them, they might be significantly punished.”

  Stalker scowled. “They offered us servants on Han too,” he admitted. “Most of them turned on their masters when the shit hit the fan.”

  ***

  The air smelt of perfume, Edward was surprised to discover as he stepped out of the shuttle, rather than the stench of unwashed humanity from outside the walls. He looked down at the locals, who were still prostrating themselves, and coughed, feeling rather awkward. A life in the Marine Corps hadn't prepared himself for dealing with servants of any kind, particularly ones who seemed to be completely submissive.

  “You may rise,” he said, wondering vaguely what the protocol was for addressing such servants. It hadn't been covered at the Slaughterhouse, an oversight that he doubted would ever be corrected. “Now, if you please.”

  He watched as the servants sat upright, a middle-aged man rising to his feet while the others – male and female – remained on their knees. Up close, it was clear that the women were wearing translucent garments that hid almost nothing, while the men were more modest with silken pants and shirts. They all refused to look him or any of the other Marines in the eye.

  “Welcome to the Residence,” the leader said, in oddly-accented Imperial Standard. “We have prepared your rooms for your stay and assigned guards to spare you intrusions and servants to care for your every want and need. Should you require anything, just ask.”

  Edward heard someone – probably Coleman – suck in his breath behind him. He fought down the temptation to reprimand him and, instead, nodded in agreement.

  “We will have to inspect the quarters,” Edward said, instead. “And our guards will be happy to work with your guards.”

  “All is prepared,” the leader assured him. “We are at your service.”

  “Thank you,” Edward said. He keyed his wristcom. “Disembark – but don’t go beyond the walls.”

  The servants looked faintly surprised as the soldiers of 1st Company, 3rd Avalon Infantry Battalion flowed out of two of the shuttles and headed into the residency, while the Marines remained on guard near the shuttles. Edward listened to the brief snippets of conversation as the soldiers inspected their living quarters, then started to search the building thoroughly. If he’d been hosting a diplomatic meeting on Avalon, Edward knew, he would have been careful to have the residency bugged, looking for whatever advantages he could muster. He had no doubt that the locals would have done the same thing themselves.

  “All blue-tango clear,” Major Lobo Villeneuve reported, once the soldiers had finished their search. He’d been resistant to the idea of sending only a single company to provide protection for the capital, but Edward had overruled him. The locals would probably object if he’d tried to insist on landing the entire CEF in the city. “And a great deal of luxury.”

  Edward nodded. Blue-tango meant that they’d picked up bugs, but nothing actually lethal.

  “Understood,” he said. “Check the gates, then start unloading the shuttles.”

  The servants straightened up at their leader’s command, then headed towards their own accommodation at one end of the compound. “I can give you a personal tour,” their leader said, seriously. “It would be a honour.”

  “Please,” Edward said, motioning for Coleman and two of the other Marines to escort him. They would hardly hav
e let him go on his own, not after Gwendolyn had issued such dire threats about what would happen if they let a single hair on his head be hurt. “And I’m sure the Professor would like a tour too.”

  On the outside, the Residency was a long low building that was utterly overshadowed by the nearby palaces. Inside, it was spectacularly luxurious – and tasteful. The rooms that had been put aside for the soldiers were equipped with proper beds, baths and even curtains to ensure what privacy they could, while the rooms intended for himself and the Professor were staggeringly luxurious. There was a bed large enough for four or five people, a fridge full of delicacies and a colossal bath, all illuminated by a chandelier hanging down from high overhead. Just looking at it made Edward roll his eyes. Did they think that he could be seduced into relaxing so easily?

  But it would be so easy to have a bath, he thought, ruefully. Marines took showers, if they had the time; Boot Camp had taught them how to wash themselves within two minutes and then leave before the water turned itself off automatically. Hell, they’d often preferred to use sonic showers rather than water, knowing that sonic showers didn't force one to undress before using them. But he’d always liked a hot bath. There had been a time when he’d booked a hotel, during his first official leave after graduating from the Slaughterhouse, and merely soaked in the water for hours.

  He pushed the thought aside and inspected the remainder of the rooms. There was a conference room, a bare room of uncertain purpose and a large dining room that could have sat several hundred people at a dozen tables with ease. Below, there was a handful of rooms for the servants and a large kitchen. It was alarmingly clear that the servants weren't given anything like luxury apartments in the residence.

  “Pass the word,” he ordered, as he met Major Villeneuve in the conference room. “The servants, male or female, are not to be bothered.”

  The Major nodded. “That will upset some of the lads, sir,” he said, “but I think they’ll see the sense of it.”

  He sighed as he passed Edward a datapad. “This building is heavily wired,” he added. “We found about four hundred bugs, mostly outdated crap. A handful were actually mil-grade from the last two decades or so. I’m not sure where those came from.”

  “They might well have slipped into civilian hands,” Edward pointed out. It was clear that trader ships visited from time to time, even if the Empire hadn't transferred the bugs to the local government directly. The locals might not have wanted any cultural contamination, but they sure as hell wanted technology they could use to keep their population under control. “Is there anything completely new?”

  “Nothing,” the Major said, shaking his head. “I don’t think that Governor Brown’s representatives had a chance to bug our accommodations for themselves.”

  Edward studied the datapad. If anything, the Major had understated the situation. The locals had emplaced enough bugs to allow them to hear even subvocalised whispers, unless their guests were very careful. Hell, they'd be able to track everyone inside the building, an unacceptable security risk.

  “Remove them all,” he ordered, shortly. The locals would know that the bugs had been discovered, but he doubted that they would bother to complain. It was, he’d been told, an unspoken truth of diplomacy that everyone spied on everyone else. “Melt them down into scrap.”

  “Yes, sir,” Villeneuve said. “I have teams ready to remove them.”

  “Good,” Edward said. Villeneuve had clearly been thinking ahead. “And our security?”

  “The walls are tougher than they look,” the Major reported. “On the other hand, it wouldn't be too difficult for someone to get over them with the right equipment. The guardhouse is nice and solid; the local guards, however, look good but I don’t think they could actually fight, if pressed. I’ve put a platoon on each of the three gates, with two more patrolling the ground and the remainder in reserve. You can keep your Marines as a close-protection force.”

  “Remember to rotate the scheduled patrols,” Edward reminded him. “We don't want to fall into any patterns they can exploit.”

  He scowled. “And remind everyone that the servants, no matter how submissive they look, are probably primed to report everything we do to the local government,” he added. “I want them kept out of our storage areas – hell, I want them escorted whenever they’re outside their rooms.”

  “We could bug their rooms,” the Major suggested. “Just to keep an eye on them.”

  “Possible,” Edward agreed. He would have preferred not to have the servants at all, but he suspected that getting rid of them politely would be difficult. And besides, they would probably be punished if they were evicted from the Imperial Residency. “In fact, see if we can turn them into sources. We really don't know enough about what’s going on here.”

  “I’ll spread the word,” Villeneuve assured him.

  The Professor leaned forward. “What about our counterparts?”

  “They’re in the other set of buildings,” Villeneuve said. “They have guards of their own on the west gate, so we merely exchanged salutes and kept our distance. I must say that their guards look professional, much more than the locals.”

  Edward smiled. He’d seen a handful of images of local soldiers in the city and they actually managed to make the Empire’s Civil Guard look professional. Most of them wore fancy uniforms that made him wonder how they avoided getting them dirty while under fire ... assuming, of course, that they ever were under fire. It was quite possible that the city, for all it was surrounded by a sea of poverty and misery, was relatively secure.

  Or that they’re sitting on top of a minefield, he thought, sourly. Han looked relatively safe until it exploded into fire.

  His wristcom buzzed. “Colonel, this is Yamane,” a voice said. “The Koenraad Jurgen is requesting permission to depart, along with the squadron and our new friends.”

  Edward had expected it, but it still left him feeling exposed. “Permission granted,” he said. “Tell them to return to the system in four weeks – and make sure they run a full recon first.”

  He shook his head as he walked over to the window and looked out at the towering spires of the city. “And keep a sharp eye on your own security,” he added, grimly. “You’re far too close to rebel-held territory.”

  “Aye, sir,” Yamane said. She sounded nervous, although it would be difficult for anyone to tell if they hadn’t had the right experience. “Good luck with the talks.”

  The Professor caught his attention as he closed the channel. “When do we start the talks?”

  “Tomorrow,” Edward said. He grinned, suddenly. “You and your wife can have a long rest in your quarters” – he didn't begrudge the Professor some luxury – “and then you can join me tomorrow morning. It's time to finally discover just what Governor Brown actually wants from us.”

  ***

  “Well?”

  The operator looked up as Sivaganga entered the chamber, then scrambled to his feet and fell on his knees as he realised just how important his visitor actually was. Sivaganga waved impatiently for him to get upright, then barked at him to report. The operator hesitated, then reported that the off-worlders had found and disabled most of the bugs. His voice made it clear that he expected to be beheaded for this failure.

  “Not too surprising,” Sivaganga mused, instead. “We knew that they kept some equipment for their own use.”

  He scowled down at the final reports. There were just over one hundred off-worlders from the Commonwealth and seventy from the Wolfbane Sector, all presumably heavily armed. He knew too much about the power of the Empire’s weapons to be sanguine about the chances of eliminating them without heavy bloodshed. But they were in the Imperial Residency, caught like rats in a trap. And the trap was about to be sprung ...

  “I want full reports from the spies,” he ordered, softly. “Let us find out all we can before it is is too late.”

  Chapter Ten

  It can get worse if the stronger party doesn't appear stron
g – or willing to back up its threats. If the weaker party believes that the stronger party doesn't have the will to carry out its threats, those threats will simply be disregarded.

  -Professor Leo Caesius. Diplomacy: The Lessons of the Past.

  Leo couldn’t help feeling a twinge of excitement as he followed Colonel Stalker through the gates and into the third and final section of the Imperial Residency. The pre-meeting briefings had made it clear that they were going to be meeting their counterparts formally and opening talks – talks that might lead to permanent diplomatic relations and a treaty between the Wolfbane Sector and the Commonwealth. He smiled as he saw the third building – another low building, guarded by a handful of local soldiers – and the statues surrounding the walls. If nothing else, the location was remarkable.

  The Colonel stepped through the door and into a large room, easily large enough to hold both delegations and their escorts without cramming people together. There was a large table in the centre of the room, illuminated by portable lanterns hanging from the ceiling, surrounded by a handful of high-backed chairs. On the other side of the room, two more people were stepping inside, both wearing modified Imperial Navy uniforms. It made him feel rather shabby in his academic suit and tie, although he suspected that he was more comfortable than the naval officers. He’d had to sit through hundreds of lectures before finally reaching a level where he could pick and choose where he went to be bored.

  Nothing was said until Colonel Stalker and his counterpart had swept the room with security sensors. They found nothing, somewhat to Leo’s surprise; he’d expected the third building to be as heavily bugged as their living quarters. He’d been disquieted to discover that there had even been surveillance devices in the bathroom, in prime position to watch as they went to the toilet or have a long bath. Colonel Stalker hadn't been surprised – he’d pointed out that most people who thought they were under surveillance used the sound of running water to conceal their words – but Leo hadn't taken it too calmly. He’d also been careful not to mention it to Fiona. After all, the bugs had been removed.