“A riot would do nicely,” Stewart said.
He broke off as the rain started to come to a halt. “The girl I mentioned - Kailee - is in Building 1,” he said, quickly. “I think you should definitely talk to her.”
Jasmine nodded, then glanced from Stewart to Watson. “We’re going to get out of here,” she said, firmly. “Whatever it takes, we’re going to get out of here.”
“Of course,” Stewart said. “I never doubt it for a moment.”
The rain came to a stop, leaving water dripping from the rooftops and splashing down to the muddy ground. Jasmine shook her head, cursing the prison uniform under her breath. It was bright orange, easy to see in semi-darkness ... and it clung to her skin in a manner that revealed each and every one of her curves. Being exposed didn’t bother her - she’d been through worse in basic training - but it was yet another problem. They would be alarmingly visible if they happened to be caught tunnelling under the fence.
She nodded to them both, then headed towards Building 1. It was simple in design, nothing more than a long rectangular building. Judging by the jungle just outside the fence, Meridian was not short of wood; hell, clearing woodland was probably one of the first tasks the settlers had had to do, when they’d landed. And they’d thrown away a small fortune, if they’d been able to get the wood to Earth before the Fall ...
Inside, it was no more elaborate than Building 8, where she’d been placed, but it had an air of despondency that suggested the inhabitants had been prisoners for much longer. They’d reached a stage, she realised, where they’d come close to giving up. A handful of bunk beds were occupied, mainly by women, either sleeping or just staring listlessly up at the wooden ceiling. There was nothing to do in the camp, save eat rations and sleep; there were no footballs, no board games, nothing the prisoners could use to distract themselves from the numb tedium of their existence. Given enough time, Jasmine had a feeling that the ennui would wear her down too.
You expected torture, she thought.
It was a galling thought. Conduct After Capture had warned her to expect torture, mistreatment, even rape. Admiral Singh’s goons had tortured her, intent on trying to break her will to resist. But the POW camp was nothing except mindless tedium. There was no gloating enemy to resist, no leering torturer to fight ... merely her own mind. Perhaps, just perhaps, the true intent of the camp was to erode her will to resist by depriving her of an enemy to fight. And it might just work.
“You’re new, I see,” a voice said. An older woman smiled at her, revealing broken teeth, although there was a hint of wariness in her expression. “What are you in for?”
“I’m looking for Kailee,” Jasmine said, shortly. The woman sounded cracked, like so many of the older prisoners. “Where is she?”
“There,” the older woman said, pointing towards a dark-haired girl lying on the bunk. “Be gentle, my dear. She’s had a rough time of it.”
Jasmine nodded, then walked towards Kailee. She was young, around twenty, although it was hard to be sure. Like so many other colonists, she would have aged rapidly during the battle to settle a whole new world. She turned to look at Jasmine as she approached, her dark eyes fearful. Jasmine realised, grimly, that the girl had been through hell. No wonder she had refused to talk to either of the men.
“I’m Jasmine,” she said, sitting down by the side of the bed. It reduced the height advantage, hopefully making it easier for Kailee to talk to her. “I understand you were born on Meridian.”
“Earth,” Kailee said. Her accent was definitely from Earth, although several years of being away from humanity’s homeworld had weakened it. “I was born on Earth.”
Jasmine frowned. “How did you wind up here?”
Kailee laughed, harshly. “I won a competition,” she said. “I didn't enter the competition, but I won anyway. And they sent me out here, where I was happy after a while. And then they took me away and shoved me in the camp.”
Jasmine frowned. She could understand imprisoning the planetary leadership, or anyone who might have military experience, but she rather doubted Kailee was either connected to the leadership or an experienced military officer. Indeed, Kailee held herself like someone from the lower classes of Earth, a sheep-girl who knew herself to be vulnerable. She wouldn't have survived an hour of Boot Camp, let alone six months.
“If you’re from Earth,” she said finally, “why are you here?”
“Because of Gary,” Kailee said. “They want to keep him under control.”
Jasmine felt her frown deepen. “Gary?”
“My ... my boyfriend,” Kailee said. “We came from Earth together and ... and ... I ...”
She caught herself, then scowled at Jasmine. “There aren’t many people here who like modern technology,” she said. The bitterness in her tone was striking. “Gary’s one of the few who do. And they wanted him to work for them, so they took me as a hostage.”
“I see,” Jasmine said. An idea was starting to flower at the back of her mind. “Tell me about him, please.”
Kailee gave her a sharp look. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because it might be the key to getting out of here,” Jasmine said. “And I need you to tell me everything you can.”
Chapter Two
There was no distinction drawn between a previously-undiscovered human colony, that might object to being absorbed into the Empire, and members of an insurgency mounted against the Empire’s overseers. They were all seen, legally, as being illegitimate combatants.
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Empire and its Prisoners of War.
Avalon, Year 5 (PE)
“It isn’t going well, is it?”
Colonel Edward Stalker shrugged. “It’s always darkest before the dawn,” he said, seriously. “And the first impressions are always the worst.”
President Gabriella Cracker eyed him sardonically. “And now we've gone through a whole list of clichés,” she said, “it isn't going well, is it?”
Ed shrugged, again. “No one has fought a war like this for hundreds of years,” he said. He looked around his office, morbidly. “We’re still learning and so are they.”
He sighed. “There are five worlds currently under occupation, but only one of them - Thule - is a significant issue,” he added. “The remainder don’t add much to our combat power ...”
“But they look bad on the display,” Gaby said. She pointed a sharp finger towards five holographic icons, all glowing a baleful red. “The Wolves seem to be advancing forward in an unstoppable wave.”
“But they’re not,” Ed said. “There’s a long way between the front lines and Avalon.”
“You know that and I know that,” Gaby said, tiredly. “But I have to convince the population that we’re not losing the war.”
Ed nodded, reluctantly. Avalon had always had a more stalwart population than Earth or any of the other Core Worlds, but even colonists, used to setbacks, could falter if they thought defeat was inevitable. Wolfbane had captured five worlds, after all, and Gaby was right; it did look bad. And yet, he knew the worlds were largely immaterial. The war wouldn't be won or lost until one side managed to destroy the other’s fleet, planetary defences and industrial base.
“They’re actually being quite cautious,” he said, softly. “I was expecting a stab at Avalon itself as a way to open the war, but instead they’re proceeding carefully, taking system after system as they advance towards our heartland. That gives us time to rally and mount counterattacks into enemy-held territory.”
“And take out their supply lines,” Gaby agreed. “Are you sure we can keep them from continuing the offensive?”
“Nothing is certain in war, apart from the simple fact that professionals still study logistics instead of tactics,” Ed said. “They will need regular resupplies to keep their fleets advancing forward, everything from missiles to spare parts and replacement crewmen. And if we can impede that, they will be unable to advance further.”
“I hope you’re rig
ht,” Gaby said, again. “The council isn't taking the latest loss too well.”
Ed sighed, inwardly. It took nearly three weeks to get a message from the front lines back to Avalon, three weeks during which anything could happen. The Empire had had all sorts of problems because the Grand Senate had tried to issue orders from Earth, orders that were already long out of date before they reached the Rim. Avalon was closer to the war front, but three weeks was still far too long to do anything but allow the local commanders freedom of action. It was the only way to hold the line.
At least we can trust our commanders, he thought. The Empire never felt it could trust anyone.
“Tell them that we are rallying and readying our counter-offensive,” he said. It was true, although he had a feeling that it would be several months before the Commonwealth could mount more than heavy raids behind enemy lines. Trading space for time was the only practical course of action, but it wasn't very heroic. “Is Travis still being a pain in the ass?”
“Travis isn't calling the war itself into question,” Gaby said, “but he’s insisting we need new leadership at the top.”
Ed sighed, again. It was typical of politicians - opposition politicians - that they carped and criticised, while they had no power or responsibilities. Gordon Travis might have a point, but it was lost behind the simple fact that he could - and did - say whatever he liked. It wasn't him who had to make the plans work, or write letters to the families of men and women killed in action. And Travis blamed Ed for the death of his son.
“Tell him to wait for the next election,” he said. “Unless he can put together enough of a coalition to rout you.”
“I don’t think he can, yet,” Gaby said. “But if we lose more worlds, Ed, the councillors from those worlds will be out for blood.”
Ed nodded, cursing under his breath. He’d trained as a Marine, not as a combination of Admiral, General and Politician. He’d had to learn to balance all three roles on Avalon, after they’d been abandoned by the Empire, but none of them really fitted. He wanted to get back into action, to get stuck into the enemy ... not to remain behind while men and women under his command went into danger. Part of him had almost been glad when the peace talks had blown up in their face, when he’d had to command a force under siege on a primitive world ...
He shook his head, angrily. It might have been better, in the long run, if they’d been able to make a firm agreement with Wolfbane. But, knowing what he did now, he was sure that Wolfbane wouldn’t have honoured the agreement for long. They had simply far too much at stake to risk a firm peace.
“Then we hold the line, in the council as well as the war,” he said. “I think ...”
He broke off as his intercom buzzed. “Yes?”
“Colonel Kitty Stevenson is here to see you, sir,” his current aide said. “She says its urgent.”
Ed and Gaby exchanged glances. Colonel Kitty Stevenson had been stationed on Avalon long before Stalker’s Stalkers had arrived, simply because she’d managed to get on the bad side of one of her superior officers. Ed wasn't sure of the details, but he’d never doubted Kitty’s competence; she’d had almost nothing to work with, on Avalon, yet she’d built up the bare bones of an intelligence network from scratch. Now, she was in charge of both espionage and counter-espionage.
“Show her in, please,” he ordered.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Gaby said. “I need to go soothe a few troubled minds.”
Ed smiled. “Good luck,” he said. “And I’ll see you tonight?”
“Unless there’s another late sitting in the council chamber,” Gaby said. “I don’t get to steer matters all my own way.”
Ed watched her go, smiling inwardly at how the former rebel leader had matured. His instincts had told him that he could compromise with Gaby, work with her to establish a lasting peace ... and he’d been right. But, at the same time, Gaby was as limited as himself when it came to building an interstellar government. The Commonwealth was a ramshackle structure in many ways, built from various planetary governments rather than something designed for genuine interstellar governance. It wouldn't be long before cracks started to show in the edifice.
But changing that will require careful forethought, he considered, as the door closed behind his friend and lover. The Empire wasn't a very effective interstellar government either.
The door opened again, allowing Kitty Stevenson to step into the room. She was a tall redheaded woman, wearing a naval uniform without any rank insignia. Her jacket was open, revealing a surprising amount of cleavage, something that would have gotten her in trouble if she’d been a genuine naval officer. Ed - and his fellows - had worked hard to ensure that the old patronage networks that had plagued the Imperial Navy found no root in the Commonwealth Navy. And trading sex for advancement had been a favoured practice for the Empire’s senior officers.
“Colonel,” she said, as she produced a bug-sweeper from her uniform pocket and started to sweep the room. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”
Ed’s eyes narrowed. “How bad? Should we go to a secure room?”
“This room appears clean,” Kitty said. “I’m just feeling a little paranoid.”
She returned the sweeper to her pocket and sat down facing him. “I think we have a rat.”
Ed blinked. “A spy?”
“Yes, sir,” Kitty said. “And someone quite high up.”
Ed met her eyes, tiredly. “Explain.”
Kitty looked back at him, evenly. “Since the start of the war, sir, Commonwealth Intelligence has been installing monitors on the various deep-space communications transmitters,” she said. “It wasn’t quite legal, but it had to be done.”
Ed scowled. The Empire had been in the habit of insisting that all commercial encryption programs included backdoors, allowing Imperial Intelligence to read encoded messages at will. Unsurprisingly, bribes had changed hands and powerful corporations had developed ways to read messages sent by their rivals. And then pirates and news agencies had started cracking messages at will, too. It hadn't encouraged new businesses, already staggering under the weight of oppressive regulations, to enter the marketplace.
The Commonwealth had banned the practice. Businesses, even civilians, could use whatever encryption programs they liked, without ever having to leave backdoors for Commonwealth Intelligence. If someone realised that Commonwealth Intelligence had been quietly reading their mail anyway, it would cause a major scandal. And yet, Kitty was right. There were almost certainly spies on the planet’s surface and those spies would have to send their messages back to Wolfbane somehow.
“I know,” he said, finally. “Carry on.”
Kitty’s eyes never left his. “We were watching for signs of data being beamed into space that might be aimed at a spy ship somewhere within the system,” she said. “Four days ago, we intercepted a communications packet that was heavily encrypted, so tightly bound that it took three days to unlock the encryption and scan the contents. It consisted of political intelligence from Avalon.”
Ed smiled. “It took that long?”
“The encryption program was unfamiliar to us,” Kitty said. “We’ve been checking message buffers to see if there were other encrypted messages, but if there were they were purged long ago.”
She reached into her pocket and produced a datapad, which she passed to Ed. “As you can see, sir,” she said, “most of the data is political in nature.”
Ed studied the datapad for a long moment, skimming through the paragraphs one by one. It read more like a detailed letter than a spy report, but that wouldn’t stop it being dangerous. Whoever had written the message had access to the council, or at least to a number of councillors ... he shook his head, then passed the datapad back to her. It was sheer luck they’d stumbled across evidence the spy existed before something far more sensitive was discussed in council.
And we thought the council was above suspicion, he thought, numbly. Why did we choose to believe that again?
�
�Very well,” he said. “Do you have a suspect?”
“We’ve narrowed it down to several hundred possible suspects,” Kitty said. “However, that list would include nearly every councillor on the planet, as well as their aides and perhaps even their families.”
Ed swore. “If we started investigating them all, Colonel,” he said, “we might well rip the Commonwealth apart.”
“Yes, sir,” Kitty said. “I attempted to trace each individual piece of information, but I wasn't able to narrow the suspect list further.”
“There was too much in the message,” Ed said. There had been no tactical data, which was something, but it was still worrying. Political intelligence - which councillors might consider surrender, which councillors wanted to fight to the bitter end - might be helpful to Wolfbane, particularly if Governor Brown started making peace offers. “Can you track where the message went?”
Never Surrender (The Empire's Corps Book 10) Page 2
