One section leapt out at her and she read it more carefully, slowly figuring out the difficult words.
Student activists on Earth and the Core Worlds often partake in political protests, directed at influencing the Empire’s government. Such protests provide nothing more than a safety value to prevent the students from realising that they have almost no say in what the Empire actually does. The protests are planned by university staff, cleared with the Civil Guard and kept under firm control. Most student protesters never truly realise that their protest marches are little more than a way to blow off steam, at best.
A quick survey of protest marches on Earth only confirms this. There were no less than seventy major protest marches against the fighting on Han, yet the Empire continued rushing troops to the planet with the avowed intent of putting down the rebellion. The only student protest march that can be said to have succeeded was a march demanding an increase in the Student Living Allowance, which won an official raise of seven percent. However, owing to the steadily-rising level of inflation, this was a rather dubious victory at best. The actual buying power of the SLA remained relatively stable.
Unfortunately, most students are utterly ignorant of the true state of affairs. The protestors against the war on Han were unaware of the mass slaughter being perpetrated by almost all of the rebel factions, let alone what would happen to the Empire’s economy if the rebels were allowed to succeed. As such, the Grand Senate simply ignored them, confident that the students could do nothing to interfere with their operations. Their confidence was well justified.
Amethyst ground her teeth together as she closed the book. She’d marched against Han too, when the first reports had started to come in – and it had all been for nothing. They’d been told that their marches could influence the government, perhaps even convince a few Senators to vote against the war, but from what she’d read it was easy to see that it simply wouldn't matter what the lower-ranking Senators did. The Grand Senate held all the power and it could afford to ignore public opinion.
Desperately, she reopened the book and flicked through a handful of other pages, looking for something hopeful. But there was nothing. The Professor had concluded that the Empire was doomed as long as the Grand Senate kept control over the reins of power. It had to be brought down before the entire structure collapsed. But how? She looked back at the paragraph and shuddered.
The Empire is being strangled by the level of control exerted by the Grand Senate and the bureaucracy it has created. Put simply, the cost of doing business is skyrocketing because of the need to cope with the vast amount of red tape the bureaucrats use to justify their own existence. Because of this, the actual amount of tax revenue available to the Empire is shrinking rapidly, which forces it to increase the demands on the remaining sources of tax – which adds to their burden until they break. Right now, the only way to save the Empire would be to restructure the economy completely – and that would mean forcing the Grand Senate to give up its power. It is unlikely that they will peacefully accept oblivion.
“So what,” Amethyst asked out loud, “can we do?”
She reached for her handcom and fired off a message to the number Richard had given her, then placed the book back in her secure box. Normally, she would have gone to one of the eating places outside the apartment block, but she didn't feel like eating. Besides, she didn't really know where the money in her credit account really came from. The Professor had quite a few things to say about the credit system in his book as well as everything else.
Her handcom vibrated a moment later, announcing the arrival of a new message. She glanced at it, noted the address and time – another nightclub, two hours later – and stood up, pulling off her clothes. There would be time to get dressed properly before she went to meet Richard. Maybe he had some idea of what they could do about the whole ungodly mess.
Jacqueline hadn't returned by the time she had finished dressing – she’d chosen a long shirt and tight black trousers, which suited her mode perfectly – so she left a note for her roommate and walked out into the corridor, heading down towards the exit. She had lived in the apartment block for years, but she had never really realised just how many students were crammed into the massive construction – or just how many citizens lived in the megacities that covered much of Earth’s surface. The book had suggested that there were billions of unregistered humans on Earth, draining the planet’s once-considerable resources. Anyone who wanted to eat anything other than algae-based rations had to buy expensive imports from the orbital farms, or the Inner Worlds.
The streets were thronging with students, most of them chattering about the upcoming gladiator duel in the Arena. Amethyst hated them all at that moment – how could they witter on about nothing when the Empire was slowly falling apart? But she’d been just as ignorant only a few short days ago? She looked back at the naive girl she'd been and cursed herself. In hindsight, the clues had been right in front of her nose and she hadn't seen them; she hadn't even looked for them. She’d been a fool.
Imperial City was meant to be brightly illuminated, day and night. Looking around, she could see that a number of the street lamps had failed, without anyone trying to repair them. It was a minor sign, but a worrying one nonetheless; the book had warned that the Empire’s infrastructure was decaying so rapidly because there were so few people available to work on repairing it. She looked up towards the aircars flying overhead and wondered what would happen if the traffic control system failed, as it had on other parts of Earth. The results would be disastrous.
Richard met her outside the nightclub. He smiled as he saw her, then motioned for her to follow him into an alleyway and then into a metal door set in the wall. Amethyst took a breath – she’d heard horror stories of what could happen in parts of the lower city – and stepped inside, wincing as the door slammed shut with a hideous clang. Richard motioned for her to take off her electronic devices, swept her body with a security sensor and then invited her into the next room. Feeling oddly isolated, Amethyst obeyed.
There were seven others inside the room; three of them wearing masks and robes that concealed their features completely. Amethyst couldn't help noticing that they even wore gloves, presumably to prevent them from leaving fingerprints for the Civil Guard to find. A chill ran down her spine as she realised that this was deathly serious. If they were caught together, who knew what would happen?
“Welcome,” Richard said, as he closed the door. “This room is secure. We can talk freely.”
He nodded to the masked men. “The Civil Guard has authority to do whatever it feels necessary to get information that might lead to the arrest of our senior leadership,” he added. “Accordingly, they’re wearing masks to prevent you from knowing their identities. What you don’t know you can't betray.”
“I wouldn't betray anyone,” a young male student said, hotly.
“It is astonishing how easily someone can be convinced to talk,” one of the masked men said. His voice was flat, completely atonal. “There are drugs that will have you giving up everything you know, right down to your girlfriend’s bra size – if they feel like being sophisticated. They might just hook you up to a lie detector and beat you with sticks every time you told a lie. People break.”
“Quite right,” Richard said. “It’s a simple precaution.”
But they know who we are, Amethyst thought. She didn't say it out loud.
“You’ve all read the book, I assume,” Richard said. “You know by now that nothing short o direct action is going to convince the Grand Senate to change its ways before it is too late. We intend to take that direct action. If any of you are not committed to the cause, if you do not feel that it is necessary, walk out that door” – he pointed – “and don’t come back.”
Amethyst hesitated. She hadn't been told what would happen when she attended the meeting and there was no time to think about it, but ... she had read the book. And she couldn't disagree with Richard, even if she hadn't been so an
gry about so much of her life being wasted in useless studies. She’d looked at the requirements for leaving Earth completely and discovered that the only way someone as unqualified as her would be able to go would be though signing up with a colony corporation. She might as well have been an indent.
“You are all welcome,” Richard said. No one had left. “Understand; from now on, you keep your mouths shut outside the secure rooms. If you talk to anyone, you will be killed. Some of you will have friends you will want to bring into the group. Do not bring them inside without my permission. We have to check out all possible recruits before accepting them into the brotherhood.”
He sat down on a chair and motioned for the others to sit down too. “I will be providing you all with some training, but we don’t have much time before we have to take direct action,” he added. “For the moment ...”
He reached under the chair and produced a box, which he opened by pressing his thumb against a sensor. It clicked open, revealing a gun. Amethyst felt her heartbeat starting to race as she stared at it, unable to look away. She’d rarely seen guns outside the ones carried by Civil Guardsmen – and she’d certainly never been allowed to touch one. Guns just weren’t available on Earth, at least not in Imperial City. The book she’d been given had suggested that Earth actually had the largest number of illegal guns in the Empire, but she didn't have the slightest idea where to find one. Maybe in the Undercity, she assumed ...
“They say that political power comes out of the barrel of a gun,” Richard said. His voice was very calm, very controlled. “And yet the population of Earth is largely disarmed. I wonder why that is?”
It was a rhetorical question, Amethyst realised. The gun was almost hypnotic; she found herself reaching for it before she could stop herself. Richard smiled as her hand closed around the barrel and lifted it out of the case. It was heavier than she’d expected, forcing her to grab it with her other hand just to hold it safely. She reached for the trigger and then stopped. What if she fired the gun by accident? All of the flicks she’d seen had included scenes where a gun had been triggered by a mere touch ...
... And yet she felt a strange excitement touching the weapon. If the Civil Guard caught her, she’d be indentured for sure ... and yet she was excited.
“It’s unloaded,” Richard said. He seemed amused at her reaction. The masked men leaned forward to peer at her, although she couldn't tell if they were amused or merely interested in her thoughts. “Most of what you have been told about guns is nonsense, I’m afraid.”
He took it back from her and passed it to the next recruit, who handed it with the same mixture of awe and fear that Amethyst had felt. Her palms felt sweaty and she wiped them on her trousers, unable to understand her own feelings. The gun was power ... wasn't it? Her heartbeat was still racing in her chest ...
“We will be learning how to use these weapons over the next few days,” Richard said, softly. “Whatever the flicks say, you can learn to use most of these weapons easily – you don’t need years of training to fire a gun safely. And then we will start teaching the Grand Senate that they can no longer push us around.”
Chapter Eleven
This naturally led to the growth of the Empire's bureaucracy. Administering the vast new territories and enforcing the Senate's laws required an equally vast army of civil servants, who would carry out orders from appointed governors. Naturally, this civil service grew stronger and stronger as the years went by, a trend encouraged by senior managers, governors and even Senators. Once embedded, the civil servants could not be removed ...
-Professor Leo Caesius, The End of Empire
“See?” Roland said. “The Arena is fantastic!”
Belinda shrugged as the aircar convoy descended towards the complex. Roland definitely deserved a treat – and she had made him work for it. It had only been yesterday that he'd finally managed to beat her at tennis, although it had been a matter of losing to him convincingly rather than actually being beaten. But he was getting better as his body repaired itself under the new treatment Belinda was enforcing. Given time, he would definitely return to full health.
The Arena was over a hundred square miles of land to the south of Imperial City, surrounded by a massive wall that ensured that only people who’d bought tickets were allowed to enter. According to the retired Marines she’d contacted, the security guards were permitted to use jangle-pulses on anyone stupid enough to try to climb over the wall, just to ensure that the monopoly on tickets remained intact. The crowds down at the main gates were being heckled by touts, some of whom were offering tickets at grossly-inflated prices. Belinda wasn't too surprised. The Arena was the greatest attraction on Earth.
Six massive domes dominated the heart of the complex. One of them was specifically for matches between different wild animals, captured on far-off worlds and brought to Earth to fight and die for the entertainment of the crowds. The remaining domes were for the gladiators, volunteers willing to fight publically and soak up the cheers of the audience. There was no shortage of volunteers – anyone could walk into the Arena and start fighting – despite the short lifespan of a gladiator. Those who survived long enough to reach the top 100 were feted as celebrities, at least as long as they survived. Belinda had heard that a dead gladiator had no fans. The merchandise was thrown out and replaced by something else.
“I have a box in all six domes,” Roland said. “And I have even ordered a chair for you!”
It was a status symbol; there were only a limited number of private boxes and most of them belonged to the richest and most powerful families in the Empire. The few that went on the market every decade were fought over savagely by everyone who wanted another sign of wealth and power. Belinda’s contacts had told her that the Imperial Navy could buy a whole new cruiser for the cost of a simple box in the Arena. It wasn't difficult to believe.
“Thank you,” Belinda said. Did that mean Roland was learning to think of other people as more than servants or that he was trying to put her in debt to him? It was unlikely that she’d ever be able to afford the better seating in the Arena on her salary. “Still, stay in the aircar until we have checked out the security arrangements.”
The Arena had a good reputation for security, she’d been relieved to discover; most of the staff were retired military and the complex itself was largely sealed from the outside world. Most of the gladiators lived in tiny rooms buried below the ground, unless they happened to be famous enough to deserve one of the apartments at the edge of the complex. All of the animals, particularly the man-killers, were held in secure compounds, trapped in holographic representations of their homeworlds. The entire system was remarkably secure, or so she had been informed. No one could even walk through the Arena without a ticket bracelet strapped to their wrist – and if they took it off, the alarms would sound.
She braced herself as the aircar dropped to the ground. If there was an ambush waiting for them it would be sprung now. Roland was inside a heavily-armoured aircar, but a single direct hit with an HVM would blow it to atoms, along with his bodyguard. She watched as the Senate Security staff spread out of their aircars and checked the area quickly, before sending the all-clear back to Belinda. The aircar door hissed open at her command and they stepped out onto the landing pad.
There was a faint scent of blood in the air, something that brought back unhappy memories from Han and a dozen other worlds. She glanced at Roland and saw, to her alarm, that he seemed almost excited by the smell, as if the air was slightly drugged. Her implants ran a quick analysis, but found nothing apart from the scent itself. She dragged her attention away from him as a gorgeously-robed man appeared at one edge of the pad and bowed low to Roland.
“Your Highness,” he said. “Your Royal Box awaits your presence.”
“We are pleased,” Roland said, in a rather high-pitched tone. “Lead us to the box.”
Belinda scowled inwardly as the man turned and led the way into the dome, down a long flight of stairs. The plans
she’d downloaded into her implants revealed that the Royal Box was actually quite small, barely large enough for five or six people, something that puzzled her until she realised just how limited space in the Arena actually was. She heard the noise of the crowd cheering in the distance, even though the hullmetal walls, and shook her head. The Arena might have enjoyed real blood and guts, but it was not war. No one who had seen Han could have seen the Arena as anything more than a travesty.
They walked through a set of wooden doors and into the Royal Box. As Roland had promised, there were two chairs, both set up so the spectators could use binoculars if necessary. Belinda was surprised that they didn't use magnifying fields, but apparently the binoculars were part of the experience. Besides, it was tradition, like so much else. Roland took his seat and smiled as he stared out over the sands. Two gladiators were bashing away at each other with swords and little else.
“I shall have your regular drinks brought to your box,” the guide said.
“No,” Belinda said, quickly. She accessed the box’s processor, skimmed through a menu and placed her own orders. “Bring juice and biscuits, but nothing else.”
The guide stared at her, then at Roland, then back at her, clearly puzzled over what was going on. Belinda’s eyes never left his and, eventually, he bowed and headed off to carry out his orders. She expected Roland to argue, but he seemed captivated by the gladiators on the field below. Belinda was much less impressed; sword fights were hardly part of modern military training, but it was evident that the gladiators didn't have the slightest idea of what they were doing. She could have beaten both of them with one hand tied behind her back. Or both hands, given how careless they were. It would have been simple to manipulate them into killing each other.
The Empire's Corps: Book 03 - When The Bough Breaks Page 10
