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

by Christopher Nuttall

  A proper autopsy would reveal the truth, she knew, but she didn't have the equipment or time to carry one out. She examined the woman’s body quickly and concluded that she’d been starving to death, but that didn't explain the convulsions – or why so many had dropped dead at the same time. Several of the other bodies had vomited before they died ... poison? Perhaps their food, wherever it came from, was poisonous. Or maybe there was a darker explanation.

  “Could be a new disease,” she said, thoughtfully. The Undercity struck her as a very good place for such a disease to appear. It was unlikely that anyone born there would have any enhancements, even the basic disease resistance treatments handed out in school. But there would probably have been some seepage anyway. “Or maybe a recurrence of a very old one.”

  Roland gave her an inquiring look. “I heard a story from a Marine who was stationed on New Boswell,” Belinda explained, reluctantly. “They had trouble with a minor insurgency, so the government requested backup from the Empire – and they got a Civil Guard regiment from a nearby world instead of anything useful. The CO wasn't a bad sort, but he was so determined to do well that he set up camp away from the settlements – and forgot the importance of basic hygiene. Two weeks later, his entire regiment was down with the galloping shits.”

  Roland snickered. “And you say that this CO wasn't a bad guy?”

  “Standards are low,” Belinda admitted. “He wasn't stealing his men’s pay, he wasn't taking bribes ... compared to many of his fellows, he was a paragon of military leadership. And he did lead his men into battle.”

  She shrugged. “Point is; these people are thin and wasted. If they caught something, their ability to resist it would be low.”

  Roland seemed oddly thoughtful as they walked away from the chamber and headed upwards. Belinda could guess what he was thinking; someone had to do something about the poor bastards living in the Undercity. She could sympathise with him, but she knew that it was impossible to do anything. The vast resources of the Empire couldn't help more than a relative handful of Earth’s population, not in any meaningful way.

  Maybe we should have used something to prevent them from breeding, she thought, coldly. But it was now far too late. Besides, using such treatments was taboo in the Empire; they had been used by an unscrupulous planetary development corporation to carry out a soft genocide. Even the Grand Senate, no strangers to committing atrocities in the name of profit and power, had been shocked.

  She stopped as her implants picked up the unmistakable sounds of someone trying to not make a sound. There was at least three people ahead of them, she realised; this time, they were definitely lying in ambush. Someone without implants would probably have missed their presence until it was too late. She hesitated, wishing that Roland knew the sign language Marines used to communicate when they couldn't speak out loud, then pulled him close to her so she could whisper in his ear. At least she could practically subvocalise to him.

  “Stay here,” she ordered, once she’d told him what was ahead of them. “I’ll deal with our new friends.”

  She walked right into the next chamber, doing her best to project an image of a fat and happy victim walking blindly into the trap. It must have worked; three young men wearing scavenged clothing stepped into view, leering at her. Their faces suggested, part of Belinda’s mind noted, that they were the products of centuries of inbreeding, perhaps even outright incest. Was it actually possible for a human settlement to devolve?

  “You’re trespassing,” one of them said. His accent was thick, but understandable. “And we don’t like trespassers.”

  Belinda pretended to look nervous while she elevated them. The leader carried a neural whip, but her implants suggested that it might not be charged up. His two followers carried nothing more dangerous than metal clubs, which they balanced on their shoulders as if they were rifles. There was no sign of any actual firearms at all.

  “Get your shorts down and bend over and we might just forgive you – afterwards,” another one said. “And we might even find you a new job.”

  Belinda didn't bother to draw on the boost. The day she couldn't deal with three untrained and overconfident thugs was the day she would be kicked out of the Pathfinders for gross incompetence. None of them had the slightest idea of her true nature.

  “I have a better idea,” she said, as she surged forward. None of them had time to react before she knocked all three of them down, knocking out the two thugs completely. A quick check revealed that the neural whip wasn't just powerless; it was broken. She picked the leader off the floor and glared into his eyes, sneering at him. “Why don’t you take me to your leader?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Post-collapse scholars have wondered why – actually, the words they use were ruder – the bureaucrats did nothing to solve the Algae Crisis. Put simply, the problem was that they were attempting to do the impossible. They needed to raise food supplies on Earth; at the same time, they needed to carry out maintenance – which would reduce the amount of time spent producing more food. Earth was already suffering a significant shortfall when contaminated algae bars began to appear on the planet.

  -Professor Leo Caesius, The End of Empire

  “You lost him?”

  Stephen stared at Captain Jamey’s second-in-command, unable to believe what he’d just heard. Captain Jamey hadn’t had a very difficult task. All he’d had to do was secure the Prince and move him to somewhere where his attitudes could be adjusted. Given the firepower he'd brought with him, it should have been easy to deal with the Prince’s bodyguards if they put up a fight. Instead, they’d taken the Prince and his aide without a fight and then ...

  He shook his head in disbelief. “How did the Prince manage to overcome so many armed men?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Lieutenant Addis admitted. The young man stood ramrod straight, as if he knew perfectly well that his superior would be looking for scapegoats. Addis hadn't had anything to do with the planning, let alone the first part of the operation, but that wouldn't save him if the Grand Senator wanted someone to blame. “The first I knew of anything going wrong was when the hijacked shuttle started to open fire.”

  Stephen scowled. Roland hadn't had any combat training, at least as far as he could determine. He did have an enhanced body – and a number of implants – but that didn't automatically make someone a lethal fighter. Captain Jamey should have had no difficulty subduing him; at worst, the Captain had had authority to stun the Prince. Instead ...

  Far too many people had seen the brief, but violent clash in the skies of Earth. The Emergency Committee still controlled most of the media, yet rumours were flying freely – not helped by the students in the university broadcasting their messages to everyone who might listen. No one seemed to know the real story, not yet, but some of the rumours were even more disconcerting. The brief battle had actually been a military coup that had failed, according to one rumour; a second suggested that terrorists had actually infiltrated the Civil Guard and turned on their erstwhile comrades. And a third even had the nerve to suggest that the Civil Guard was turning against the Grand Senate.

  He met Addis’s eyes. “Did the Prince survive the crash?”

  “Unknown,” Addis said. “The shuttle was lost somewhere within the Undercity; I didn't have the manpower to go after the Prince directly. However, those shuttles are designed for hard impacts. It is quite possible that he survived.”

  And if he didn't, Stephen thought, his body might be intact.

  That would be worrying. If the body was eaten in the Undercity – there were persistent rumours of cannibalism – that would be gruesome, but acceptable. But if the body was recovered by one of Stephen’s rivals, they could use it against Stephen himself, starting by questioning just what had happened to cost Roland his life. Did the Emergency Committee have the authority to detain the Prince or take him into protective custody against his will? The answer, naturally, would depend on the situation rather than the fine print ...


  “Roland didn't know how to fight,” Stephen said. But he’d underestimated the Prince before; what if he’d underestimated him all along? “Have you secured the Summer Palace?”

  “Yes, sir,” Addis said. “Everyone who was there has been taken into custody.”

  “Good,” Stephen said. At least Addis had done one thing right. “You are hereby promoted to Captain and command of Unit Nine. Put together a team to find the shuttle and recover the Prince’s body, if possible. Also, interrogate everyone at the Summer Palace. I want to know what really happened there over the last few years.”

  “Yes, sir,” Addis said. He didn't sound too happy at the promotion, but it was something of a poisoned chalice, even if it did come with a larger salary. “I shall see to it at once.”

  He withdrew, leaving Stephen alone to contemplate the disruption Prince Roland had caused to his plans. The Civil Guard had taken up positions around Imperial University, ready to move in and crush the rebels, but it might already be too late. There were reports of problems at a thousand different government buildings, where parents had realised that their children were under threat. This wasn't a riot; this was an threatened massacre. Stephen suspected that every hour they hesitated, the situation was just going to get worse and worse – but there might be worse trouble if the Civil Guard crushed the uprising. Maybe they could just starve the students out.

  Roland might have been right, he thought, sourly. Damn him.

  It was nearly an hour before Lindy requested permission to enter his office. “I have the reports from the interrogation team,” she said. “Prince Roland’s new aide is more than she seems.”

  “She would have to be,” Stephen muttered. The last few aides had been driven away by the Prince’s sexual harassment. It wasn't a good way to ensure loyalty. “What is she?”

  “It took some time to get Colonel Hicks to talk,” Lindy admitted. “He belongs to Grand Senator Devers – we had to threaten to use intensive interrogation methods just to get him to open his mouth. The official record states that Belinda Lawson is just another aide, hired from a recruiting agency. Unofficially, she was inserted into the palace by the Marine Corps.”

  Stephen stared at her. It had taken years of careful manoeuvring to separate the Marines from the Prince, citing the need to keep as many Marines on the front lines as possible. The Corps still had a legal right to have their own people there, but it had been generally understood that they wouldn't use it. And they’d slipped someone in without his people even noticing.

  “And Hicks didn't tell anyone?” He asked. “Why ... ?”

  “He told his mistress,” Lindy said. “The Grand Senator just didn't see fit to pass the information onwards.”

  Stephen growled wordlessly. Grand Senator Devers was not one of his supporters; she had too many ambitions of her own to tamely accept anyone holding power over her. Even the Emergency Committee couldn't push her around easily. She’d known about the Marine’s presence – and she’d kept it to herself. No doubt she’d thought it could be used for her own advantage later on.

  “Damn it,” he said. A single Marine would not have been a problem if they'd known what she was. But Stephen had assumed that she was just Prince Roland’s latest sexual toy and hadn't looked any further. “What kind of Marine?”

  “Unknown,” Lindy said.

  The Marines kept some details to themselves, Stephen knew – and even a Grand Senator had trouble finding out what they might be hiding. A standard Marine wouldn't operate alone, but there were Marine Pathfinders and Green Lights... there was even a rumour of something called the Marine Corpse that existed in the shadows. There was no way to know. Only one thing was clear; Belinda Lawson had to be someone very special.

  “I take it you checked their records,” he said, finally. “Did you find anything?”

  “Nothing,” Lindy said. “But you know what happens with Marine records.”

  Stephen nodded, sourly. A recruit who reached the Slaughterhouse could have his records sealed or wiped, if he wanted to start a new life. It was impossible to be sure how many recruits had gone to the Slaughterhouse, or what might have happened to them afterwards, once they started active service. Maybe there was a record for Belinda Lawson out there – it was hard to bury everything – but it wouldn't be accurate. The Marines kept their secrets close.

  “Assume the worst,” he ordered, tightly. “What was she doing with the Prince?”

  “Physical training, apparently,” Lindy said. She made an odd face. “The maids didn't have to be pushed to talk. They were quite impressed by how the Prince had stopped molesting them ... he used to pull them into his arms quite frequently. And some of them even said that he was polite.”

  “I see,” Stephen said, remembering his own son. Roland had clearly learned a few lessons from the Marine – and better than Stephen’s son, if what the maids said was true. But then, the maids hadn't really had anywhere to go. If they’d been sacked, they would have gone straight into the Undercity. “So he grew up a bit.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lindy confirmed.

  “We have to find him,” Stephen said, flatly. “Let me know the moment Captain Addis reports back.”

  Two hours later, he knew the worst.

  “The shuttle was clearly abandoned, sir,” Captain Addis said, calling in from where the shuttle had crashed. “The Prince and his aide are missing, but the capture team are dead. Most of the evidence was badly damaged by the fall ...”

  “Get to the point,” Stephen growled.

  “The capture team appear to have been killed by a augmented human,” Addis said. “There was also a snapped plastic tie on the deck. I think we’re hunting for someone with top-of-the-range enhancements.”

  “So it seems,” Stephen said, quietly. A Pathfinder, then; regular Marines didn't have so much augmentation. And they hadn't even realised that she was there. “Can you track them?”

  “I don’t think so, sir,” Addis said. “We’re not outfitted for a long crawl through the Undercity.”

  “Understood,” Stephen said. He shook his head, softly. Given a few hours, he suspected that the Prince and his bodyguard could lose themselves in the Undercity – or get murdered by its inhabitants. “Get back up here and put together a team with proper equipment, then wait for my command to go back down. I have another card I want to play.”

  He closed the channel and keyed a command into his private processor. Maybe the Civil Guard couldn't find someone in the Undercity, not if they didn't want to be found and the locals objected to Guardsmen crashing around in their territory. But there were other options. It was time to speak to Bode.

  ***

  “I have to go meet with a supplier,” Richard said. “Do not leave the apartment for any reason.”

  “Right,” Amethyst answered, crossly. She couldn’t help feeling trapped, even when she pushed her doubts about Richard aside. Just what could she do in the tiny box-like apartment? She didn't even have a handcom. “I’ll stay here.”

  “I mean it,” Richard insisted. “Or do I have to tie you up to make sure you stay put?”

  He wasn't joking, Amethyst realised. “No,” she said, tightly. How dare he treat her like that? But it wasn't as if she had anywhere to go. “I’ll stay here.”

  Richard gave her a long searching look, then headed out of the door. Amethyst heard the lock click and shook her head in disbelief. Just what had she gotten into, really?

  They’d started a riot. They’d fired on the Crown Prince. But Richard had refused to do anything about the uprising at Imperial University, pointing out that it would just get them killed for nothing if they got involved. Amethyst worried endlessly about her friends; Richard didn't seem to care. Instead, he’d just insisted that they spend most of their time in bed. It had long since lost its allure.

  But where could she go? They knew who she was now; the raid on their flat proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. If they hadn’t already had her details – and every civilia
n was supposed to be registered with the government from birth – they’d have them now, along with proof that she’d owned a banned book. And if they’d connected her to the assassination attempt on Prince Roland ... the media had promised that those responsible would be caught and killed, before falling silent on the whole issue. Richard had told her that meant that they didn't want to admit that they hadn’t found the assassins, but they could easily bring it up again. If they caught her, it wouldn't be exile. She’d be executed.

  Shaking her head, she stood up and looked around for Richard’s bag. He’d left it under the bed, warning her not to touch it. Amethyst had obeyed, but now she wanted to take a proper look; she tried to pull it out and blinked in surprise. It was heavy! She’d complained about the weight she’d had to carry, back when they’d been preparing to fire on Roland’s aircar, but Richard was carrying a far greater weight without complaint. Carefully, she dragged it out and opened the zip on the top. A faint smell of metal and oil rose to her nose as she peered inside.

  There were five guns, two of which she recognised as being similar to the ones he’d taught her to use. The other three were beyond her ability to identify, although one of them struck her as looking rather like an oversized pistol. She touched it gingerly and discovered that it was surprisingly heavy. Below the weapons, there were a handful of ammunition clips, a set of credit chips and a stack of weird-smelling bars. Her first thought was that they were ration bars – they smelt vaguely of marzipan, something she’d only tasted once when she’d been very young – but they felt odd to the touch. Putting them back, she examined the credit chips thoughtfully. They were unmarked – thus illegal – and very difficult to obtain.

  Hidden at the bottom of the bag, she found several tools she didn't recognise, a couple of unmarked datachips and a reader. She hesitated, then pushed one of the chips into the reader and turned it on. The reader demanded a password. Amethyst cursed – she should have thought of that, but passwords were officially forbidden on university-issued equipment – and removed the chip, returning it to its hiding place. She returned everything to the bag, sealed it up and pushed it back under the bed. Richard had more weapons than she had expected, but nothing else. Nothing that would tell her what he really was.