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

by Christopher Nuttall

  Amethyst stared at him. Richard had been a young student; idealistic, brave ... and hot. She had found him attractive – and charismatic – right from the start. But, just for a moment, she saw else, something cold and merciless, hidden under his smile. It was gone a second later, but she could never forget it. Who – what – was Richard, really?

  She had no idea where to find any weapons. Imperial City forbade the private possession of weapons; even buying a knife for cutting food could result in bureaucratically-mandated harsh questions. Hell, the population been told that weapons were dangerous and evil since they’d been born. But Richard knew where to find weapons ... and not just any weapons, but military-grade weapons. Amethyst looked at him and wondered what kind of student would have that knowledge. The military had little to do with Imperial University.

  Until now, she thought, bitterly.

  But she didn't dare ask him, not after what she'd just seen.

  “There has to be something else that we can do,” she said. She needed some time alone to think, but he couldn't leave the apartment either. “Maybe we can cause a distraction somewhere else.”

  Richard smiled at her. “Maybe we can,” he said. He stood up and helped her to her feet. “I’ll certainly see what the others want to do. For the moment, however, I think there’s only one thing we can do.”

  Sex was the last thing Amethyst wanted right now, but she suspected that refusing would only make him suspicious. God knew that she’d gone along with him so far in everything, from politics to sex. And yet ...

  Just what was Richard, really?

  ***

  Belinda studied the replacement aircar with a jaundiced eye. She’d ordered a new one directly from the industrial nodes orbiting Earth, but the speciality design she’d wanted hadn't been completed yet. Instead, she’d been forced to hire a team of engineers to modify the spare aircar so that it would provide much more protection to the Prince. More armour, more countermeasures ... even some weapons, controlled directly through her implants. It was tough, but it was still vulnerable. And the terrorists, who’d shot down the last – identical – aircraft, would know it.

  Don’t be an ass, Doug’s voice said, mocking her. You’ve flown in far more dangerous aircraft.

  “But I didn't have the Prince with me,” Belinda said, out loud. The doctors had wondered if she was suffering from some form of PTSD, although it was surprisingly rare among the Marine Corps. Hearing the voices of her dead teammates probably wasn't a good sign. “And I was expendable.”

  She linked into the aircar’s systems with her implants and ran a full check. The mechanics who worked at the Summer Palace seemed to be competent, thankfully, but caution had been battered into her head at the Slaughterhouse. Imperial Army maintenance was a very mixed bag - Belinda had fought alongside units that kept their equipment in perfect working order and units that were lucky their vehicles didn't fail on the battlefield – and the less said about the Civil Guard’s maintenance habits the better, yet whoever had drawn Roland’s mechanics from the Imperial Army had chosen well. The extra pay probably helped. Everything seemed to check out fine, but she wasn't entirely happy.

  You’re flying into what is effectively a war zone with the Prince in tow, she told herself, sharply. That court-martial record is looking more and more awesome all the time.

  She seriously considered – again - carrying out her threat to tie the Prince up to prevent him from going. It wasn't as if he could resist her – and the rest of the staff wouldn't interfere. But it would destroy the fragile trust they’d built up ... and he might just be right. If they went to the University, their presence might prevent a bloodbath long enough for calmer heads to think of a solution. Roland’s pardon would provide a convenient fig-leaf for burying the whole incident under the rug and forgetting about it.

  Standing up, she walked back to Roland’s suite and scowled at him. “The aircar is ready,” she said, crossly. “And so are the escorts.”

  Roland had wanted to go without escort vehicles, claiming that the students would be much more likely to accept them if they weren’t surrounded by armed men. Belinda had squashed that thought, pointing out that he wasn't exactly free of enemies. Besides, they didn't know if the students would even accept them. It was quite possible that their leadership would try to take Roland hostage before he had a chance to talk.

  “Good,” he said. He seemed to have grown up overnight. “Do I have to wear this suit of armour?”

  Belinda snorted. She’d had a uniform prepared for him, based on the standard Marine uniform. It would provide some protection from bullets or knives, but not enough to guarantee his safety, particularly if a sniper aimed for his exposed head. Besides, the martial was very far from perfect. She would have preferred to put him in a heavy combat suit, but the students would not have been willing to talk to him if he’d been armoured. And the suits had to be matched to their individual wearer and there was no time to produce one.

  “Yes,” she said, flatly. “And it will not provide complete protection, so don’t get cocky.”

  She led the way back down to the landing pad and motioned for Roland to get into the aircar while she ran a final check. The pilot eyed her nervously – she’d searched him the moment he’d reached the landing pad, then told him to sit in the cockpit until the Prince was ready to depart – as she ran through the checks. Once they were completed, she ordered him to prepare for takeoff and sat down next to Roland. The Prince was skimming through the reports from the Civil Guard.

  The aircar lurched as it took off, the armed gunships falling into formation around it. Belinda watched them grimly, remembering what had happened to the last formation of gunships. Maybe she'd underestimated Senate Security, she told herself; they didn't seem to allow disasters and assassination attempts to slow them down. But then, Senate Security was responsible for protecting the Senators. The Grand Senate wouldn't stint on their own protection.

  Roland caught her arm. “Did you tell the Civil Guard that we were coming?”

  Belinda laughed at him, not unkindly. “You only just thought of that now?”

  Roland flushed a bright red. “It never occurred to me,” he admitted. “But you were saying that airspace over a combat zone is tightly controlled ...”

  “I told them that we were coming,” Belinda said. “They shouldn't shoot us down.”

  The Civil Guard had established an exclusion zone over Imperial University, but some of the more adventurous reporters had been trying to sneak in anyway. God alone knew what they were thinking; it wasn't likely that their superiors would allow any stories that disagreed with the official line to be printed. Maybe they just wanted to be real reporters for once. It would certainly be more impressive than their normal behaviour.

  She glanced up, sharply, as a small convoy of aircraft appeared on the live feed from the aircar’s sensors, heading right towards them. Belinda glanced at the IFF signals and muttered a curse under her breath. They appeared to be Civil Guard aircraft, but judging from the precise codes they actually belonged to the troops the Emergency Committee had brought in to maintain order. The troops that had been suspiciously ready to move to Earth as soon as the emergency bill had passed through the Grand Senate.

  “We may have a problem,” she said, grimly.

  Briefly, she considered trying to evade the newcomers, but it would be difficult to outrun military-grade craft. Besides, they were badly outgunned. She outlined the problem for Roland, considering all possible options. They didn't seem to have very many.

  “They’re hailing us,” she said. That wasn’t a surprise. If the newcomers wanted Roland dead, they would have opened fire by now. They certainly had the firepower to blow Roland’s aircar and its escorts out of the sky. “Listen.”

  She tapped a switch, allowing Roland to hear the message. “...Is Colonel Jamey of the Civil Guard,” an unfamiliar voice said. The accent didn't suggest Earth, or anywhere within the solar system. “We are here to take Prince
Roland into protective custody. The Prince’s aircar is to land at once so that he can be transferred to our vehicle; other aircars are to return to the Summer Palace. Comply at once.”

  Or die, Belinda filled in, silently.

  Roland stared at her. “What do we do?”

  “There’s no choice,” Belinda said. The newcomers could force them down, given time. It would be risky, but it could be done. “We have to land and surrender.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Historians have tended to look at the events surrounding Crown Prince Roland as decisive in the rapidly-accelerating collapse. Certainly, Roland’s defiance snatched a tool out of the Grand Senator’s hands. However, in the long run, Roland was essentially irrelevant. The damage to the Empire was done centuries before Roland became the last Crown Prince.

  -Professor Leo Caesius, The End of Empire

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Belinda ordered, as the aircar settled to the roof of the nearest CityBlock. “We have to play for time.”

  Roland stared at her. “I’m not going to let them take me,” he said. “They ...”

  Belinda caught his arm. “If we fight now, we die,” she said. “We have to cooperate long enough to find another way out of this mess.”

  She scowled as she watched the gunships backing off, the newcomers moving into position to cover them. A large assault shuttle – an older design, now rarely seen away from the Rim – landed nearby, its hatches opening to reveal a handful of armed men. They wore Civil Guard uniforms, but Belinda could tell that they weren't Civil Guard. For one, they looked a hell of a lot more professional than Earth’s Civil Guard.

  “Please leave the aircar, Prince Roland,” Colonel Jamey said. “I assure you that no harm will come to you – or your aide.”

  Belinda motioned for Roland to obey, running through the files in her implants to see if she could locate Colonel Jamey. The connection to Earth’s datanets had been severed by the jamming. Her implants had copies of files on all of the important or well-connected officers, but there was nothing that seemed to be related to a Colonel Jamey. Belinda guessed that he was either a private security officer or one of the soldiers the Emergency Committee had brought in to maintain order.

  The air smelt unpleasant as she stepped out of the aircar, careful to keep her hands in sight. Jamey had referred to her as an aide, which suggested that he didn't know what she really was. It was something she had used to her advantage before, back when she had been part of Team Six. As long as they didn't do a full body-scan, they’d never have a clue that she wasn't anything more than a slightly frightened aide, at least until it was too late.

  “Prince Roland,” the leader said. He was a tall, remarkably pale man, without a trace of facial hair. The crow-black hair and inhumanly dark eyes marked him as a native of Nightshade, a inhabited world that orbited an unusual distance from its primary star, forcing the settlers to use genetic enhancement to improve their eyesight and hearing. “You will come with us.”

  Roland didn't move. “Am I under arrest?”

  “We are taking you into protective custody,” Colonel Jamey said. “Of course you’re not under arrest.”

  “You cannot kidnap the Crown Prince from his own aircar,” Roland said, tartly. “There isn't a person on the planet who can give you orders to take me into anything ...”

  “It is for your own good, Your Highness,” Colonel Jamey said. His voice hardened. “My superiors will provide full explanations. For the moment, I suggest that you accompany us – or we will be forced to carry you.”

  Belinda silently hoped that Roland would have the sense to stop arguing. Colonel Jamey didn't look as though he was prepared to recognise Roland as having any authority – and besides, Nightshade was one of Grand Senator Onge’s client worlds. Jamey would have been raised to be loyal to the Grand Senator, even if it meant going against the rest of the Empire.

  “That would be touching the royal person,” Roland said. “You do realise that is treason?”

  Jamey sighed and removed a stunner from his belt. “I would prefer to take you willingly, but I do have permission to stun you if necessary,” he said. “You’ll wake up several hours from now nursing a colossal headache. And it would be a shame if something happened to your lovely aide.”

  Roland scowled at him, clearly understanding the threat. Belinda felt a moment of sympathy; Roland had never allowed himself true friends because he understand that they could be used against him. Part of the reason he’d been unpleasant to the staff was to stop them developing ties to him – or, for that matter, to stop him from developing ties to them. He'd formed a friendship with Belinda, only to discover that it made him vulnerable.

  She wanted to reassure him. But that would have been out of character.

  “Come,” Jamey said.

  He nodded to one of his men, who ran a sensor over Roland’s body and removed the pistol Belinda had given him. The sensor wasn't a very good one, Belinda noted with some relief; it shouldn't be able to uncover her true nature. She braced herself as she was scanned. They wouldn't expect an aide to be carrying weapons near the Crown Prince, but if they grew suspicious ... a moment passed, then the sensor was withdrawn. No one seemed alarmed.

  Roland was gently pushed into the assault shuttle and ordered to sit down on one side of the compartment. Belinda almost smiled at his expression; there were no seats in an assault shuttle, certainly not one that wasn't expected to take the lead in a planetary assault. Soldiers would sit along the bulkheads, ready to jump up and abandon ship if the shit hit the fan. Belinda had done it herself, during training. She wondered, absently, just how ready for an emergency the Grand Senator’s private soldiers actually were.

  “Place your hands behind your back,” Jamey ordered, one hand holding a plastic tie.

  An aide wouldn't comply at once, so Belinda didn't, forcing him to grab her hands and wrap the tie around them. Roland gave her an odd glance as she was pushed down to sit next to him. They hadn't tied his hands ... all she could do was pray that he didn't do something stupid. Did they really think that a plastic tie would be enough to secure her?

  They don’t know what you are, Pug reminded her. Get ready to teach them a lesson.

  The fake Civil Guardsmen seemed professional, but they also seemed vaguely inexperienced, Belinda decided. They relaxed as soon as the two prisoners were seated, even though Roland wasn't tied; they didn't even keep a sharp eye on them. A standard prisoner transport craft would have a partition between the prisoner compartment and the cockpit, just to ensure that escape and hijacking wasn't an option, but the assault shuttle hadn't been designed for transporting prisoners. But then, they were at least trying to pretend that they weren't arresting Roland.

  Her implants were still being hit by jamming – they must have assumed that Roland had implants, or they would have known that she was more than she seemed – but she managed to link into the assault shuttle’s processor node. Most of the active functions had been carefully isolated, she discovered a moment later. Someone didn't want prisoners – or anyone else, for that matter – hacking into the system and taking control. Belinda wasn't too surprised; it was an open secret that there were command overrides built into most imperial-designed systems and removing them was an obvious step.

  She skimmed though the system as the shuttle rose into the air, trying to determine where they were going. Assuming a straight-line flight, it seemed likely that they were heading directly away from Imperial City, back towards the Summer Palace. That seemed unlikely, so Belinda skimmed through the massive download on Earth she’d been given when she’d taken up her new post. There was a military base, largely disused until the Emergency Committee had taken place, not too far away from the Summer Palace. It would be a perfect place to hide Roland until his views could be corrected.

  Belinda started preparing for action as the shuttle started to pick up speed. She couldn't risk allowing Roland to be kept prisoner. Roland was tougher than he looked,
but a few weeks of conditioning would have him doing whatever the Grand Senate wanted. Certainly, there would be outrage if the truth came out, but she had a feeling that the Grand Senator was well past caring. Alternatively, they could keep him under wraps and produce a computer-generated substitute, although that would be tricky. The rest of the Grand Senate would eventually demand to see the flesh-and-blood Roland.

  Bracing herself, Belinda boosted – and snapped the plastic tie like it had been made of paper. Jamey had no time to react before she was on him, moving with inhuman speed. His expression barely changed before Belinda’s fist punched through his nose and shattered his skull. The other soldiers hesitated, unable to quite comprehend what was happening as Belinda hurled herself into their midst. The handful of blows that landed on her were easily shrugged off as she tore through them, each blow placed in just the right place. After so long, it felt good to just fight ...

  A slight reduction in speed, Doug’s voice stated. You’ve slipped, girl.

  Shut up, Belinda thought, as she sprang towards the pilot. He was reaching desperately for his weapon, rather than trying to signal for help; her hand slammed into his neck as his hands closed around the hilt of his pistol. She felt it break under the blow; she pulled his body out of the chair and dumped it on the deck before it had even stopped twitching. It had been nearly a year since she had flown an assault shuttle – and she’d never flown one of the same model – but the cockpit was almost identical to newer designs. She had never thought that she would bless the unimaginative designers the Imperial Navy hired ...

  “My God,” Roland said. His voice seemed to crawl in her ears; the boost was still burning through her system. “I ... what are you?”

  Belinda purged the boost from her bloodstream. It was an astonishing rush, but it could also be very dangerous – and additive. Marines weren't supposed to be able to become addicted to anything – recruits had been kicked out of Boot Camp for bringing drugs with them when they arrived – yet boost had been known to break that rule. Those who used it felt superhuman as long as the boost empowered them. The aftermath was often far from pleasant.