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

by Christopher Nuttall

  Brent looked around the room. “We gamble,” he said. “But what happens if we lose?”

  “We die,” Foster said. “But I think we have to face facts. If we cannot get some help, we’re going to die anyway. So I cast my vote in favour of attacking the Imperial Palace. At least then we’d have a chance.”

  “I have a different idea,” one of the other committee members said. “Why don’t we seize one of the orbital towers and use it to escape ...?”

  Foster laughed at her. “It’s two hundred miles from here to the nearest tower,” he pointed out, sarcastically. “Two hundred miles, infested by rioters ... we couldn't even get there, even if we went in a body. And then we would have to actually take the tower and put it to work. Do any of us know how to do it? And even if we got that far, where would we go?”

  The committee member flushed, darkly. “I ...”

  Brent held up a hand. “We vote,” he said. “I cast my vote in favour.”

  ***

  War is a democracy, Doug’s voice whispered. The enemy gets a vote.

  I know that, Belinda thought. It was an old piece of wisdom, passed down from Marine to Marine. But I didn't know that my friends get a vote too.

  She sat in the waiting room, trying to avoid the urge to stand up and join Roland in fruitless pacing. The Prince had never learned the value of patience ... but Belinda had, over years of training and experience. Losing that knack now was worrying; she’d never been in such a tight spot, yet she should not have lost her composure. Was it possible that her damaged implants had actually caused brain damage?

  It should have been impossible. Centuries of experience had gone into producing the implants, including safety precautions intended to prevent sudden power surges from harming their user. If they hadn't been reasonably safe – and isolated, to prevent outsiders from using them to turn their user into a puppet – they wouldn't have been used at all. And yet ... she found it hard to avoid the thought. What if she wasn't in as tight control of herself as she should have been?

  She ran a series of self-diagnostics through the remaining implants, but it was impossible to know if they were working properly. If the diagnostic programs themselves were crippled, they might make mistakes – and she had no other way to test her implants. Most of their results appeared to be genuine, yet she had no way to be sure. What if she had a spasm at the worst possible moment and started lashing around with augmented strength?

  The primary neural link was gone. So were the four backups built into her body. That wasn't too surprising; given that they linked directly into her brain, the systems always erred on the side of safety. The tactical processor that helped to enhance her ability to act, react and plan ahead seemed to be working fine, but some of its results were a little odd. Her body monitoring system was definitely broken; it was claiming that she had a broken leg and a cracked jaw. In reality, she was intact, if battered. The boost dispenser was reporting that it was low and needed a resupply. There was barely enough left for one more battle.

  Damn it, she thought. Her augmented strength seemed to be largely intact, but the processor governing it was flaky. She would have to be very careful – yet without the boost, she might not manage to react in time to prevent disaster. Her implanted weapons seemed to be largely intact, apart from one poison injector that had broken; thankfully, she was immune to her own poisons. All in all, she should seek medical help. And probably a psychologist.

  And there isn't any time, she told herself. We have to move now.

  She busied herself with a handcom one of the student guards had loaned her, using a sonic screwdriver to fiddle with it. Most of Earth’s population thought of handcoms and terminals as solid-state objects; they never realised that they could be modified by their user, if they were willing to disconnect the safeguards built into the devices. But then, they’d been denied practical training for hundreds of years. And then the Grand Senate wondered what had happened to the Empire’s technological progress.

  Roland stopped pacing and turned to look at her. “Any luck?”

  “Not enough,” Belinda growled. “I can't reach the Commandant at all.”

  She glared down at the device. Boosting the signal through the terminal she’d taken earlier had given the handcom more range – and using her all-access codes had prevented the remains of the datanet from locking her out – but there was still no response from Luna HQ. She couldn't imagine the Commandant simply abandoning the base ... but if Home Fleet was partly under the Emergency Committee’s control, they might have nuked it. By now, the Emergency Committee had to be desperate.

  Instead, there was a constant series of alerts, blurring into mindless babble. Mutinies on starships and orbital installations. Rioting across the solar system. Several starships reversing course and heading away from Earth, directly towards the Phase Limit. A major atmospheric leak in Tranquillity City; Sin Crater destroyed, apparently by a terrorist strike. Cloudscoop staff on strike, demanding better working conditions; the Grand Senate had finally pushed them too far. RockRats declaring exclusion zones around their territory, stating that any Imperial Navy starship that entered would be fired upon without warning ... piece by piece, the Empire was coming apart at the seams.

  There were fewer transmissions from Earth itself. Driven by a morbid curiosity – and a desperate attempt to starve off her fears – Belinda scanned through signals from Earth. One by one, the desperate voices of Civil Guardsmen or private cops or even emergency service workers stilled as the tidal waves of violence washed over them. A series of final desperate reports – buildings collapsing into rubble, entire cityblocks consumed by fire – echoed out over the airwaves, then nothing. It had taken thousands of years to build the megacities that housed much of Earth’s population, piling CityBlock on CityBlock in a desperate attempt to provide living space and occupation for the inhabitants. Now ...

  How long would it be, she asked herself, before Earth’s population destroyed itself?

  Other reports were darker. Debris had struck the Earth in dozens of places, a handful of pieces large enough to do real damage. One report warned of a tidal wave before cutting off in mid-sentence. Another, from East-Meg Two, reported a debris strike that had flattened half the city, a massive strike that had sent entire cityblocks crumbling as if they were made of paper. The death toll was unimaginably high, utterly beyond calculation. No one even knew for sure how many had lived in East-Meg Two before the debris fell.

  Dominos falling, one by one, she thought.

  It was impossible to escape the feeling of darkness rushing across the land, heading towards the final patch of light surrounding Imperial City. An illusion, Belinda knew, no more real than the sensation of falling in outer space that separated the spacers from the groundhogs, and yet just as persistent. Maybe they should just find a place to hide and wait for the end of the world. She’d never come close to giving up before, yet now ... what was the point of struggling if it was all futile?

  She looked up at Amethyst and smiled, inwardly. At least the girl had realised her mistake in time to save their lives. And, judging by the glances she kept shooting at Roland, she’d even developed a crush on him. Normally, Belinda would not have approved; whatever her motives, whatever she’d thought she was doing, Amethyst was a known terrorist. Now, however, it was hard to care. Perhaps she should point them towards a bedroom ... no, she was being silly.

  Very silly, Doug’s voice mocked her.

  But quite practical, McQueen offered. It's the end of the world as we know it. How better to spend it than fucking?

  “Shut up,” Belinda subvocalised. “You’re dead.”

  Are you sure, Pug asked, that you’re not going mad yourself?

  “I was hearing voices before my implants were damaged,” Belinda snapped. She realised, a moment too late, that she'd said it out loud. Roland and Amethyst turned to give her surprised looks. She scowled at them and then closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on subvocalising. “You’re all d
ead.”

  Matter of opinion, Pug jeered.

  Belinda opened her eyes, silently willing the voices to go away. Surprisingly, they did.

  Roland walked over to sit next to her. “Are you all right?”

  “I'm not sure,” Belinda admitted. Her pride insisted that she was fine, but practicality suggested something else. “The electric pulses did more damage than I had thought.”

  Roland placed his hand on her shoulder. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “I don’t think so,” Belinda said, after a moment’s thought. If there had been other Pathfinders – or even Marines – around, she would have reported to the medics and asked for a full examination. They might well have taken her off the duty roster ... no, who was she kidding? They would definitely have taken her off the duty roster. Hearing voices was never a good sign, particularly when they belonged to the dead.

  Roland eyed her for a long moment, then looked away. Belinda sighed, inwardly; he might have been the Crown Prince, but he didn't know very much about her implants – or why he should be worried at the prospect of her collapsing into madness. He trusted her ... it was funny how that thought warmed her, even though she should have known better than to get too close to him. Or to let him get too close to her.

  “Hey,” Roland said, changing the subject. “Did you really hide that knife up your ...”

  “Yes,” Belinda said. She couldn't help laughing at his expression. “Caught him by surprise, didn't it?”

  Roland looked up as Jacqueline walked back into the room, followed by Foster and Brent. “We decided to attack the Imperial Palace and Senate Hall,” she said, flatly. “I just hope that you are right.”

  Me too, Belinda thought. Me too.

  ***

  “Mummy!”

  Gayle screamed as the emergency staff bundled her into the shelter. She wanted her mummy; she needed her mummy. The noises echoing through their home on Asteroid Nine were so terrifying; thuds and crashes and alarms she knew were never used, except when it was serious. She kicked and bit the man carrying her, screaming right into his ear, but he ignored her. He wasn't her mummy. Her mummy always took care of her daughter.

  “Sit down,” the man snapped, thrusting her into a chair. He wasn't giving her any choice; before she could start to struggle again, he had wrapped a belt around her chest, binding her to the chair. She knew from experience that she couldn't escape until someone let her go. “And stay there!”

  The noises grew louder. Gayle heard kids screaming as adults, themselves on the verge of panic, buckled them into chairs. There was no sign of her mother; the only person she recognised was fat Mrs Rogers, who taught all of the children on the asteroid. Gayle thought she smelled, and that the tutor treated her as if she was still six years old when she was a very mature seven, but for once she was glad to see her. And yet Mrs Rogers was clearly panicking too ...

  “Incoming,” someone yelled. It was louder than her mother had ever shouted, even when Gayle had gone exploring and ended up in the docking complex at one end of the asteroid. She had been grounded for weeks afterwards. “Impact imminent ...”

  “Stop it,” Mrs Rogers screamed. “Can't you see ...?”

  A long dull rumble echoed through the emergency chamber, rapidly growing louder and louder until it drowned out the screams from the children. Gayle pressed her hands against her ears as the rumble became a screech ... and was then joined by the hiss of escaping air. They’d all been told to listen to that sound and report it to an adult if they heard it, but none of their training sessions had made it sound so loud. And then she saw a crack appear in the far bulkhead ...

  She stared as she saw the stars shining outside – and, in the foreground, the dull grey-blue orb of Earth. The screams died away, leaving an eerie quiet in their place. Gayle felt the chair shake, then shatter as she started gasping for air, sending her spinning towards the crack ...

  And then the whole world just faded away into darkness.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  So, too, were everyone else caught up in the fighting. The inhabitants of the orbital settlements, safe – they thought – from the madness on Earth; millions died as Earth’s defences turned on one another. Those who had found safety – or so they thought – in the orbital towers, hoping and praying for escape; they died when missiles eventually struck the towers, inflicting horrific damage. And those who were dependent upon the flow of HE3 from the gas giants ... they too suffered and died as the flow was reduced, or eliminated altogether.

  -Professor Leo Caesius, The End of Empire

  “Asteroid Settlement Nine took a direct hit,” the operator said. “She’s breaking up.”

  Stephen watched the chaos, unable to escape the feeling that events might be slipping completely out of control. Grand Senator Devers was dead, but her allies were still fighting as if they knew they could no longer surrender ... which they couldn't, he admitted privately to himself. Missiles were flying everywhere, including one that had stuck an asteroid settlement and damaged it badly enough for the spin to finish the task of ripping it apart and scattering thousands of pieces of debris into space. Most of them would eventually be drawn in by Earth’s atmosphere and fall towards the planet below.

  Admiral Valentine had gone off the air. The Grand Senate’s communications staff couldn't tell if he was dead, or if communications links were so badly disrupted that the messages simply couldn't get through, but it hardly mattered. No one seemed to be in command of Home Fleet any longer; if half the reports the staff were picking up were accurate, the entire fleet seemed to be mutinying against its commanders. Desperate gunfights were raging through the hulls as underpaid junior officers and enlisted men rose up against their superiors, or ambitious officers plotted their own break from the Empire. Stephen had once held enough power to make someone jump on the other side of the galaxy, if he’d issued the order. Now, he doubted he controlled much beyond the Imperial Palace.

  I may have made a mistake, he admitted, privately. But what could he have done? Every step he’d taken had seemed logical at the time; even in hindsight, they still seemed logical. And yet the wheels were coming off; Earth seemed to be shaking itself to pieces. It would be decades before the Grand Senate managed to regain control. The other challenges to its rule had been outside the solar system, outside the very core of the Empire. This was different.

  He pushed the thought aside and forced himself to concentrate on the here-and-now. There was no time to waste. Earth was already being hit by chunks of debris – and, sooner or later, one of them would be big enough to inflict real damage or simply come down on top of the Imperial City. He couldn't stay on Earth, or in the solar system; his holdings in the Inner Worlds should have remained untouched. All he had to do was reach them and then he could start rebuilding his power base while Earth burned.

  “Start making preparations for departure,” he ordered Captain Yaquis. “We’ll take the shuttle to high orbit, then transfer to my personal starship.”

  He’d had to promote Yaquis; his last Security Officer had vanished in the Undercity while searching for Prince Roland. No one knew what had happened to him or the Prince, but with the Undercity pouring up into the Inner City, it was easy to guess. Besides, Prince Roland had become irrelevant. Chances were he’d been killed and eaten by now, even if he did have a very capable bodyguard. And the same went for Bode.

  “Yes, sir,” Yaquis said. He looked more relieved than Stephen was prepared to tolerate – he didn't like officers who showed their doubts openly – but right now it didn't matter. “The shuttle will have to be flash-woken. It will require nine minutes.”

  “Do it,” Stephen ordered. He should have ensured that the shuttle was powered up already, but he hadn't wanted to even consider the possibility of retreat. Abandoning Earth ...? His ancestors would be turning in their graves. “And do it as quickly as you can.”

  An alarm rang, distracting him. “Sir, the students are on the march,” another op
erator reported. “They’re heading towards the Imperial Palace.”

  Stephen turned to stare at the display. He'd largely forgotten about the students in Imperial University; they might have induced parts of the Civil Guard to mutiny, but they weren’t going to be a problem for much longer. The uprising from the Undercity would eventually destroy them, if they didn't starve to death or get wiped out by KEW strikes first. Besides, it wasn't as though they had any heavy weapons. Cold logic told him that they couldn't break into either the Imperial Palace or the Senate Hall.

  Cold hatred, shockingly intense, flared through his mind. The damned students; the damned ignorant little shits who had never understood the true nature of the Empire. They’d rioted and revolted and they’d cost him everything. If they hadn't rioted, he wouldn't have become the leader of the Emergency Committee ... he’d tried to use them as tools, but the tool had twisted in his hand.

  “Deploy the guards,” he ordered. “I want those little shits wiped out.”

  Captain Yaquis stared at him. “Your Excellency, they can't break into the Imperial Palace ...”

  “I don’t care,” Stephen hissed. “I want them dead.”

  “ ... Yes, sir,” Captain Yaquis said, finally.

  Stephen watched him go, wondering if his hesitation was a sign of disloyalty. He was surrounded by traitors, from the officers and men who should have served him to his fellow Grand Senators, all working to undermine him while he struggled to save the Empire. The students would die soon in any case, but this way they would get precisely what they deserved. They would not live to regret their imprudence.

  ***

  John Foster – acclaimed Captain by majority vote – couldn't help feeling uneasy as the mixed force made its way down the Avenue of Truth and Understanding, the long road that led from the Imperia University towards the Imperial Palace. He'd never been anything more than a glorified paramilitary officer, without experience of commanding in large-scale troop movements; he hadn't realised how ignorant he was until he actually had to try to take command of an army and deploy it against a specific target. Coordinating seven thousand people was a nightmare even when they were trained soldiers. His army included far too many students as well as Guardsmen.