The Empire's Corps: Book 03 - When The Bough Breaks

by Christopher Nuttall

  He shook his head as a trio of armoured guards greeted him, ran sensors over his body and removed his pistol and spare clips of ammunition. At least the Grand Senate was taking its own security seriously, although it didn't seem to stop them weakening their own long-term position by backing the Empire’s population into a corner. How many planets would have become productive parts of the Empire if the Grand Senate’s rules hadn't crippled them? For what was, to all intents and purposes, an aristocracy, they seemed to have little sense of the long term.

  But maybe that wasn't too surprising, he considered, as the guards escorted him down the corridor and into the secure room. It had only been a few decades since Grand Senator Medici had died. The official report had said that it had been an accident, but Jeremy rather doubted it; the Grand Senator had been pushing some very minor reforms when he died. If he’d succeeded ... but he hadn't succeeded – and other would-be reformers had taken note. A Grand Senator had died – who else could feel safe?

  He kept his face under control as he was escorted into the Chamber of Government. Traditionally, the Grand Senators would assemble in the chamber to hear the Emperor’s yearly speech to his government – but the tradition hadn't been honoured for centuries, ever since the Grand Senate had taken the levers of power away from the Emperor. Instead, it served as a secure meeting place for the Grand Senators, a place where they could debate matters to their heart’s content. And, for that matter, interrogate anyone they summoned to their presence.

  There were one hundred Grand Senators in all. By law, the distribution of Grand Senators was based on population – which meant that sixty of the Grand Senators belonged to Earth or the other Core Worlds. Few Inner Worlds had the population to influence election to the Grand Senate, while Outer Worlds and Rim Worlds had none. In theory, five Grand Senators were elected by the Outer Worlds, but in practice those Senators had never been near the worlds they were supposed to represent. And then the seats had effectively become hereditary. To all intents and purposes, the Outer Worlds had no representation in the Grand Senate.

  “Please, be seated,” the Speaker said. “We are gathered here to discuss weighty matters.”

  Jeremy nodded as he sat down where the Grand Senators could see him. He had a distinct feeling that deals had been struck even before the formal meeting had been called; several Grand Senators were obviously sitting together, making their alliances clear for all to see. Others were keeping their thoughts well-concealed, leaving Jeremy to wonder just what might have been decided before he’d arrived. Collectively, the Grand Senate was all-powerful. Who knew what they might have decided ...?

  “We shall first hear from Senior Functionary Tiburon,” the Speaker said. “He has compiled an exhaustive report for us.”

  Tiburon was a grey man wearing the traditional grey uniform of the Imperial Civil Service, looking vaguely uncomfortable under the spotlight. His voice was dry, but Jeremy fancied that he could hear nervousness under the droll precise tone. Perhaps it wasn't surprising; it had been centuries since the ICS had been politically neutral. Right now, Tiburon’s report could make or break his career. If he didn't tell the Grand Senators what they wanted to hear ...

  “Overall, seven thousand have been confirmed dead or wounded since the rioting in Imperial City,” Tiburon said, after a brief outline of the events leading up to the riot. “The injured who do not require immediate medical treatment have been told to return to their apartments and stay there until they can be dealt with, as Earth’s medical stockpiles have been largely exhausted. Emergency orders have been placed for additional supplies, but the producers warn that they may be a long time in coming.

  “Twelve thousand remain in custody, scattered over various makeshift holding facilities,” the bureaucrat continued. “Their ultimate fate has yet to be determined, but legal challenges have already been mounted to their incarceration. A number of injured have also been arrested ...”

  Jeremy kept his face blank as Tiburon droned on, repeating facts he already knew – and, he was sure, the Grand Senators knew too. He understood the value of ensuring that everyone knew, even if it did mean going over the same facts time and time again, but this was excessive. Perhaps they were just trying to lull him into a false sense of confidence, or maybe the bureaucrats had something they wanted to bury under a mountain of bullshit. Either one seemed to make sense ...

  “The preliminary investigation has finally been completed,” Tiburon said. “Certain issues have yet to be explored thoroughly, but various facts are clear. First, the marchers had access to a number of forbidden weapons, which they used to deadly effect. Second, the forces on hand to respond to the march were utterly insufficient to the task. Third, the Marine force that responded to the crisis used excessive violence and was directly responsible for a number of deaths.”

  The spotlight fell on Jeremy. “Commandant,” the Speaker said. “Would you care to respond to that charge?”

  Jeremy had a nasty feeling that he’d been ambushed, but there was no alternative to pressing ahead and hoping for the best.

  “It is unfortunately true that a number of rioters died during our attempts to apprehend them,” he said. Unlike the Civil Guard, the Marine Corps tried to learn from its mistakes. “However, in almost all cases, the dead were either using lethal weapons themselves or put themselves in deadly positions. One dead rioter was throwing stones from a statue when he was stunned; he lost his grip on the statue and fell to his death. Several others died of being trampled by their fellows as they tried to flee the advancing Marines.”

  He gritted his teeth, knowing that the Senators wouldn't appreciate what he had to tell them. “The riot was already out of control when we arrived,” he reminded them. “Do you think that the death toll would have been any lesser if no Marines had been involved?”

  “But the Marine Corps has taken most of the blame,” Tiburon said, when the Speaker invited him to continue. “Public opinion believes that the presence of armed Marines on the streets only made a bad situation worse.”

  Jeremy, who cared little for public opinion and knew that the Senators cared even less, was unimpressed. But it was having an effect on the Marines. He’d had to order the few remaining Marines on Earth confined to barracks, if only to prevent fights between them and Civil Guardsmen who believed the crap media talking heads were spewing out about the Corps. Marine Intelligence had wondered if someone had deliberately set out to incriminate the Corps, or provide an excuse for further limiting their activities. It seemed quite likely; after all, the Civil Guard had killed a hell of a lot more protestors.

  “This situation needs to be handled with tact, but firmness,” Grand Senator Stephen Onge said, when called upon to speak. “I believe that we should start by removing the Marines from Earth.”

  Jeremy realised, as the Speaker called for a vote, that the issue must have been planned and settled in advance. Onge, for whatever reason, wanted the Marines gone from Earth. Even if they just went to Luna, it would take hours to get back to Earth to respond to a new crisis – if they were allowed to return. Jeremy had wondered why the Grand Senate had called Captain Stalker to face them personally; now, he realised that the Grand Senate had seen an opportunity to send a company of Marines to the edge of the Empire, well away from Earth.

  The motion passed, with only a handful of Grand Senators in opposition.

  ***

  Stephen allowed himself a cold smile as he watched the Commandant’s face. Blaming the Marines for the disaster in Imperial City was completely unfair – even he would acknowledge that – but it had provided an opportunity to get the Marines away from Earth. There was a follow-up force assembling to head to Albion; the Earth-based Marines could join it, leaving Earth behind forever.

  “Removing the Marines should help quiet local protest,” he said, when silence fell in the chamber. It was time to gamble. “However, we must face facts. The security situation on Earth is deteriorating.”

  He tapped points
off on his fingers as he spoke. “The sudden rise in food prices have caused unrest,” he continued. “The economic turmoil caused by the destruction of Orbit Station Seven has caused unrest. The response to the student protest has caused unrest. Let us not forget, Honoured Senators, that there was even an assassination attempt on our beloved Prince! We cannot let this go unanswered.”

  Dramatically, he pulled a piece of paper out of his robe and waved it in the air. “We fund the students as they make their way through Imperial University,” he proclaimed. “And what is our reward? Demands! Outrageous demands! Demands that we could not meet, even if we were inclined to try! How many of you believe that we could order all debts to be written off?”

  He paused for effect. “And that is the least of their demands,” he added. “Should we accept their final demand and give them a share in government? Who do they think they are?

  “We must respond to this challenge, Honoured Senators, and we must respond to it in a manner that will ensure that it does not rise again,” he thundered. “I propose that we declare a full state of emergency and bring additional troops to Earth!”

  There was a brief outburst of applause, but he hadn’t finished. “In order to lower the unrest, we shall apply both the carrot and the stick,” he said. “We shall officially pardon the arrested students, on the condition that they stay out of trouble in future. We shall encourage the algae-farms to expand their production of food supplies to ensure that everyone has enough to eat; we shall provide subsidies to encourage the importation of new food supplies from the Inner Worlds. But we will also put more troops on the streets.”

  He lowered his voice. “A terrorist group turned a protest march into a riot,” he said, “and attempted to assassinate Prince Roland. We will hunt those terrorists down like the dogs they are! We will show them that terrorism cannot force us to bow our heads in submission!”

  Sitting down, he waited for the vote. Some of his allies had been carefully primed to speak in favour of his motion, others had been pushing for a harsher response to the crisis ever since the student riot. Between the vote – and the backroom deliberations – he knew he would get what he wanted out of the affair, the power to take control of the Empire.

  Catching the terrorists wouldn't pose a problem – after all, Bode led them and he knew how to find Bode – but that wasn't the true objective. Radicals of all strips could be rounded up under the guise of searching for terrorists, while undirected riots could be quickly and brutally crushed. But not too quickly. If the situation seemed to worsen, the Grand Senate would rally around the man who promised to deliver them from chaos. They wouldn't see the knife in his hand until it was too late.

  The vote passed, almost without objection.

  ***

  Jeremy would have freely shown his rage and frustration if there had been any point. The Grand Senate had avoided the issue of bringing charges against specific Marines, but they’d made it clear that all Marines had to leave Earth. In some ways, it would be a relief to take his men out of a dangerously unstable situation, yet abandoning Earth wasn't an option. It was the one world that humanity could not afford to let slip into chaos.

  But if it did ... the entire Marine Corps might not be able to make a difference.

  He planned all this, Jeremy thought, looking at Onge. The Grand Senator had not only proposed his carrot-and-stick approach, he’d apparently already started to gather troops for deployment on Earth. Oh, he'd been careful to make it look like a coincidence, but Jeremy knew to be suspicious of convenient coincidences. Nothing he’d done – at least nothing that Jeremy actually knew about – was illegal, at least not for a Grand Senator. And yet it left Jeremy smelling a rat.

  Marines weren't really intended for crowd control, but they did have far more training and discipline than the Civil Guard, let alone the near-mercenaries that the Grand Senate wanted to bring in to reinforce the Guardsmen. Jeremy couldn't see anything other than disaster coming out of the new deployment, a disaster that might be difficult to deal with. But what could he do? The Grand Senate had made up its mind.

  There’s always Safehouse, he thought, grimly. It had seemed an unnecessary precaution when he’d inherited it from his predecessor. Now, it seemed like their only hope. Maybe something could be salvaged from the coming apocalypse.

  There was one bright spot to the disaster, he told himself, as the Grand Senate pushed through one security measure after another. He'd intended to chew Specialist Lawson out for swearing an oath to Prince Roland. It wasn't technically against regulations, but only because no one had considered it a serious possibility. Marines weren't meant to serve specific Emperors – let alone Princes. But being Prince Roland’s liegeman would automatically override her position as a Marine, meaning she wouldn't have to leave Earth. At least the Prince would be in good hands.

  For what it’s worth, he thought, numbly. Prince Roland would be better off grabbing what he could, changing his name and running for the Rim. He was little more than a rubberstamp for the Grand Senate, at best. The population would blame him for whatever steps the Grand Senate took to restore order. But there was nothing Jeremy could do about it.

  The next proposal concerned businesses. In order to prevent a sudden surge in unemployment, businesses would be forbidden to lay anyone off until the crisis came to an end. Jeremy had never been a businessman, but even he could see the problem with that. If a business was so frail as to need to lay people off, how could it survive if it had to keep paying wages? If there was a subsidy from the Grand Senate ... for the moment, they could keep the system going by moving money from one pocket to another. But it wouldn't last.

  What will happen, he asked himself silently, when the money runs out for good?

  He couldn't help feeling that the Empire had fallen too far to be saved.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  One relatively simple demand was for debt relief. On paper, it seemed ideal; if the debts were cancelled, the indebted would have more money to spend on other things and jump-start the economy. However, if the debts were cancelled, the banks holding the debts would themselves fold. This would cripple what remained of the Empire’s economy and wipe out the savings of billions of people, as well as rendering millions more unemployed.

  -Professor Leo Caesius, The End of Empire

  “You all have to go?”

  Belinda didn't believe in coincidences; the timing of the Grand Senate’s decision was odd enough to suggest that it was no coincidence. She'd taken control of the Palace’s security only yesterday, but her plan to bring in two platoons of Marines to serve as Roland’s bodyguard had been ruined. If it had been deliberate ...

  “Every active Marine on the planet has been ordered to leave,” the Commandant informed her. “That includes the HQ staff and myself; we’re going to be moving to Armstrong Base, at least at first. The base on Earth will be sealed.”

  “Right,” Belinda said. She'd had support cut off before in the middle of a mission, but this was particularly annoying – and dangerous. Roland needed an experienced close-protection detail who could be trusted. “There’s no way you can get an exemption?”

  “I doubt it,” the Commandant said. He looked older than he had the last time Belinda had seen him, as if some great weight was finally crushing him. “You’re the only active Marine who will be left on Earth – and only because you’re Roland’s liegeman. The rest are already on their way to orbit.”

  Belinda gritted her teeth. If it had been up to her, Roland would have left the planet by now – but it wasn't her choice. Or his, really. Perhaps they could just stay in the Summer Palace and hope that the assassins weren't organised enough to attack a heavily-defended building. But then, the Grand Senate would expect Roland to keep making speeches and rubber-stamping their decrees. They wouldn't allow him to become a hermit. Hell, they’d probably expect him to continue patronising the Arena ...

  A thought struck her and she smiled. “I’ll take care of the problem, sir,�
� she assured the Commandant. “You just take care of yourself.”

  The Commandant eyed her for a long moment, then clearly held himself back from asking questions. He’d served long enough to know that there some answers would simply upset the questioner.

  “Let's hope so,” he said. “I’m sending you a secure datachip by courier. If the shit hits the fan, you can access it – and then do as you see fit.”

  His image vanished from the display. Belinda let out a long breath and then scowled, before logging back on to the Marine network. There was no such thing as an ex-Marine and, if a retired Marine happened to live on a given world, he would register with the local Marine network so that he could stay in touch with his brethren. The contact details for the twenty-seven retired Marines on Earth – nineteen of them working for the Arena – glowed in front of her mind. It was unlikely that the Grand Senate had intended to include them in the order to leave Earth.

  They’re clearing the decks for something big, she thought, as she prepared a message for the retired Marines. Roland had access to a surprisingly large expense account – it had shocked her to realise that it was peanuts compared to the seemingly-limitless wealth of the Grand Senate – and it could be used to hired bodyguards. It would be harder to get the right equipment for them, but her new status might just give her the clout to obtain it. If, of course, she could convince them to return to service.

  She scowled as she clicked on to the main media network. The media was making a big song and dance about the prisoners being released, displaying images of young students having their handcuffs removed before walking out of the makeshift prisons. Generally, prisoners weren't handcuffed while they were in the cells; it didn't take much experience to recognise that the whole affair was a propaganda coup. But the media was also warning that more Civil Guardsmen were being deployed on Earth and further trouble would not be tolerated.