Never Surrender (The Empire's Corps Book 10)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Admiral,” the Governor said, placing his cup on the desk. “I suppose you’re wondering why I called you here.”

  “I am,” Rani said, simply.

  She wanted to point out that she’d had to travel all the way back from the war front - God alone knew what would happen in her absence - but there was no point. Instead, she put her cup of coffee down and leaned back in her chair, schooling her face to remain expressionless, betraying nothing of her innermost thoughts. One day, she would make Governor Brown rue the day he’d ever spited her - just like Admiral Bainbridge - but until then, she would be as obedient and loyal as he could reasonably expect.

  “I have the reports from my spies,” the Governor continued, “but I have no real understanding of the military situation. Their reports are frequently contradictory. I need you to tell me precisely what’s happening.”

  Rani felt a hot flash of rage she ruthlessly suppressed. It was typical that the spies - she knew there were at least ten on her flagship - could keep an eye on her even in her quarters, but not provide a decent explanation of just what was going on to their ultimate superior. Or did Governor Brown expect them to always be pessimistic about Rani’s intentions? Few spies were considered excellent unless they uncovered proof of treachery ... and what were they to do, if there was no evidence to find?

  But they did find nothing, Rani thought, coldly. It had taken months to start building her own network, but she’d succeeded. If they had found something, I’d be dead by now.

  “The war is threatening to stalemate,” she said. “And that will give the Commonwealth a dangerous advantage.”

  She took a breath and pressed on. “So far, we have been concentrating on securing the border worlds. However, with the exception of Thule, few of those worlds are actually worth the effort involved in taking them. We are tying up our ships and men occupying worlds that offer nothing to us or to the enemy. This has given the Commonwealth a chance to recover from their early missteps and take the war back to us. Their political system, which was dangerously unstable, may have solidified under the weight of our offensive.”

  “I see,” Brown said. “Some of my other commanders insist that we must secure territory before we advance further.”

  Rani shook her head. “There’s too great a risk of them counterattacking in force,” she said, warningly. “We’re not actually impeding their ability to build new ships, train new soldiers, produce new guns and missiles ... it looks impressive, on a star chart, but it’s really light years upon light years of wasted space.”

  “There’s also the danger of encountering new weapons,” Governor Brown pointed out. “Some of the estimates are quite scary.”

  “I know,” Rani said. “But they are also unrealistic.”

  She fought down the urge to roll her eyes like a teenager. Weapons design had stalled under the Empire, which hadn't really been interested in developing something that might badly upset the balance of power. Why bother working to come up with something new when it might be ruthlessly suppressed? But some of the ideas the Governor’s cronies had come up with were straight out of a science-fantasy flick. Starships the size of entire planets? Guns that shot beams of energy faster than light? Missiles that moved at just below the speed of light? Nanotech clouds that disassembled entire starships?

  “The Commonwealth has already started to deploy force shields,” Governor Brown said. “I believed that to be impossible before I read the first reports.”

  “So did I,” Rani admitted.

  “So,” the Governor said. “Why are the other ideas so unrealistic?”

  “Because if they had them, they would have won the war,” Rani said, feeling her patience begin to fray. “They would have waltzed up to the high orbitals, blasting their way through any ship that dared to stand in their path, and dictated terms to us. But they haven't.”

  She took a breath. “And if we are so afraid of what they will discover,” she added, “we should take our superior numbers and hammer them flat, now. The war could be won within months if we stabbed deep at their heart.”

  “And if we lost,” Governor Brown said, “we would lose everything.”

  Rani ground her teeth in frustration, then braced herself for a long argument.

  ***

  “Was this really a good idea?”

  Carl Watson shrugged. “You should try flying in a Raptor through heavy fire,” he said, remembering some of the deployments on Han. “It’s much - much - worse than this, really.”

  Paula didn't look convinced. The shipping container was large enough for them to sit comfortably, but it was alarmingly claustrophobic. Carl had endured worse - he’d been born on an asteroid colony - yet Paula didn't seem to be handling it very well. If she’d been alone, he had a feeling she would have been screaming for mercy by now. Hopefully, no one would have heard.

  He took her hand as the container shook again. The smugglers had told him that they would be shipped down to the planet, then moved to a warehouse where they would be released, but they hadn't been able to provide a timetable. If Wolfbane followed the same procedures as most other worlds, there would be a delay while the containers were passed through security scanners ... unless the bribes had actually worked. Carl had braced himself, as best as he could, for discovery, but he knew the odds of actually fighting his way out were very low, even without Paula. Paula was nice - and great in bed - yet she didn't have any combat experience.

  The container rattled, ominously. He reached for his pistol and checked it automatically, half-expecting to see the metal walls opening outwards and armed men peering in. There was a long pause, then the container shook one final time. Paula yelped and covered her mouth; Carl allowed himself a flicker of amusement, knowing the metal was thick enough to prevent any sound escaping. Some illegal immigrants had starved to death, trapped inside containers they couldn't open from the inside ... he hoped the thought of being trapped for days, rather than hours, hadn't occurred to Paula. It would definitely cause her to panic.

  He braced himself as he heard a dull click echoing through the container, then hefted his pistol as the lid was lifted off, allowing bright light to stream down from high above. Paula covered her eyes; Carl forced himself to stand upright as the side fell away, revealing a large warehouse and a pair of beaming men grinning at them. He put his pistol back in his belt, then stood up and helped Paula to her feet. The men kept smirking at him, but showed no real sign of being unfriendly.

  “Thank you,” he said, as Paula leaned against him. “Where do we go now?”

  “Straight out the door,” the smuggler said. He pressed a credit chip into Carl’s hand, then a pair of ID cards. Carl picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, before sticking the cards and chip in his pocket. “These were cut specially for you and should pass muster, unless you do something very stupid. Please don’t as you could wind up in prison ...”

  “And not in an incredibly hot women’s prison either,” his friend added. “It won’t be a pleasant place to go.”

  “I’m sure,” Carl muttered.

  He held Paula gently as they walked away from the crate, through a set of metal doors and out into the bright sunlight. In the distance, he could see a set of glittering towers reaching up towards the sky, each one large enough to hold thousands of people. But Wolfbane wasn't Earth, he reminded himself, and there was no shortage of living space. It was far more likely the buildings were office blocks, rather than accommodation ... he pushed the thought aside as they walked past another huge warehouse, then another. The sun seemed to grow hotter as they finally reached the edge of the complex, then hailed a cab as it drove past the entrance.

  “Hey,” the driver said. Carl couldn't help noticing he wore a black uniform. “Where to, sir?”

  “The nearest Haven,” Carl ordered, as he climbed into the cab. “And step on it.”

  The driver nodded, then guided the cab back onto the road and drove towards the city. Carl sat back in his chair and w
atched the population, thoughtfully; a surprising number of cars were firmly bound to the ground, despite a handful of aircars flying overhead. It suggested a lack of concern for the environment ... or a lack of trust in the automated traffic control system. Carl contemplated the prospect for a long moment, then dismissed the thought as he turned his attention to the population. Almost everyone, from young schoolchildren to old men and women, wore a uniform of some kind.

  They must want people who don’t wear uniforms to stick out like sore thumbs, he thought, as his eyes followed a pair of teenage girls. They both wore unflattering orange uniforms that made them look like escapees from the POW camps on Meridian. Maybe they go to boarding school ...

  He pushed the thought aside as the cab pulled up in front of the Haven. Carl had used the hotel chain before, knowing them to be discrete and friendly, but his first impressions were spoiled by the receptionist. She asked so many questions that, if Carl hadn't known they desperately needed somewhere to stay, he would have taken his business elsewhere. As it was, he was grateful beyond words they’d spent so long going over their cover stories. By the time they reached their suite, he was half-convinced they’d blown the whole thing and given themselves away.

  This is the worst sort of police state, he thought. Everyone has a place and woe betide them if they go elsewhere.

  “The uniforms are new,” Paula commented, as she walked over to the window and peered down at the street far below. Hundreds of people, looking no larger than insects, were walking past the hotel. “I ...”

  Carl tapped his lips, then carried out a quick search for bugs. A visual pickup was hidden within the toilet mirror - he couldn’t help noticing that it would allow watchers to spy on someone in the shower - while a pair of audio pick-ups were concealed within the main bedroom. He made a show of dropping his bags in front of one of the bugs, then accidentally rendering the other one largely useless by turning on the radio. If there was a second, undiscovered visual bug, it would be tricky for it to do more than watch them, as long as they were careful.

  “Keep your voice low,” he ordered. It was unlikely they were being spied on constantly, but there was no point in taking chances. “This room is bugged.”

  Paula frowned. “What should we do?”

  “You? Get some rest,” Carl said, flatly. He was used to being watched - there were no secrets within a barracks, although sometimes he wished there were - and it didn't bother him, but Paula was a different story. “I’ll need to go out soon, just to check out the target.”

  “You’ll need a uniform,” Paula pointed out. She nodded towards the window. “What can you wear?”

  Carl briefly considered Marine BDUs, then dismissed the thought. He didn't have a set with him ... and even if he had, it would be a dangerous mistake. His ID card marked him as an immigrant worker - Wolfbane was as welcoming as Avalon - but his presence would still raise questions, if he were caught in the right place.

  “I’ll get one,” he said. There were so many people with uniforms around that mugging one of them for his clothes wouldn't be too hard. He’d just need some alcohol to give the victim a chance to explain himself when he was found. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “I won't, then,” Paula said. “Good luck.”

  Carl nodded, then left the room.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  If they were not willing to surrender and serve the Empire, however, their fates were quite different. The Empire’s occupation forces would do whatever it took to break them, including mass round-ups and purges; at worst, they would even use brain-ripping technologies to break the leadership’s minds.

  - Professor Leo Caesius. The Empire and its Prisoners of War.

  Avalon, Year 5 (PE)

  “Colonel,” Governor Brent Roeder said. “I was surprised when you invited us.”

  “It was a surprise to me too,” Ed said, grimly. The door closed behind Hannalore and locked, firmly. “Please could you stay where you are?”

  The Governor blinked. “Colonel?”

  “Stay where you are,” Ed ordered, as the security officers appeared. “I’m afraid we are dealing with a very serious matter.”

  The officers grabbed Hannalore and yanked her hands behind her back, cuffing them with brutal efficiency. Hannalore yelped in pain, then kicked out at one of the officers. His companions forced her to the floor and shackled her legs, then searched her roughly. The Governor turned, overcoming his shock, but Ed caught his arm before he could do something stupid. Moments later, Hannalore was hustled out of the room between three burly men.

  “Colonel,” the Governor said. He sounded badly shocked. “What is happening?”

  Ed felt a pang of sympathy. The Governor wasn't a bad man, merely someone utterly unsuited to the post he’d once held. His new life as elder statesman must have seemed a dream come true. But now it had been ruined ... and it wasn't his fault.

  “Come with me,” Ed said. The Governor would need to be interrogated, but it could be done gently. “I’ll explain in private.”

  ***

  Imperial Intelligence had learned a great deal about interrogating prisoners - and in determining precisely which method of interrogation was best suited for which type of prisoner. Kitty had learned, when she'd been a new trainee, that there were some people who panicked at the mere thought of physical pain and some people who were just too stubborn to talk, even when their teeth were being extracted without benefit of anaesthetic. And then there were suspects who were resistant to truth drugs, smart enough to mislead interrogators despite facing everything from torture to mind-rippers ... it was never easy to be sure how someone would react to interrogation.

  She watched dispassionately as Hannalore was stripped naked and her body examined carefully, before she was cuffed to a chair in the middle of a darkened cell. It wouldn't be pleasant for her - it wasn’t pleasant to watch either - but it would utterly shatter her sense of how the world worked. The sudden shift from mistress of all she surveyed to helpless naked prisoner would leave her uncertain and vulnerable, underlying just how much danger she was in. Kitty recalled being stripped herself, as a new recruit, and shuddered inwardly. There had been some big strong men in the training class who’d blubbered like children when the interrogators had gone to work, without any overt torture. Merely being naked and at someone’s mercy, cold hands prodding sensitive parts of the body, had been enough.

  Her wristcom buzzed. “We scanned her body down to the atomic level,” one of the officers said. “There’s nothing apart from faint traces of spliced modifications to help cope with alcohol. They weren't listed in her medical records.”

  “Understood,” Kitty said. She hadn't taken her gaze off Hannalore, who was now pulling at her cuffs as if she couldn't quite believe she was a prisoner. “Was she drinking before she came?”

  “Blood tests show nothing,” the interrogator said. “Right now, she’s shocked and disorientated.”

  “Get the lie detector online,” Kitty ordered. She picked up a communications earpiece and slotted it into her ear. “And then I will go into the room.”

  She smiled, inwardly. The cuffs Hannalore was wearing were more than just solid metal and plastic; they concealed the sensors the computers could use to monitor Hannalore’s responses. A few testing questions and a lie should be instantly noticeable, although Kitty knew better than to take that for granted. There were ways to spoof a lie detector and it was just possible Hannalore had been trained to do it.

  “The detector is online and linked to the cuffs,” the interrogator said. “We’re clearing out now.”

  “Good,” Kitty said. She peered through the one-way glass and nodded to herself. Hannalore was looking broken, even though she was now alone. It was time to see what she thought she was doing. “I’m going in.”

  The interrogation chamber felt cold as she stepped through the door. Hannalore looked up at her, but didn't seem to recognise Kitty’s face. Kitty wasn't too surprised; she hadn't worn a unifor
m when she'd attended the party, after all. And her hair was tied up and hidden under her cap.

  “I didn't do it,” Hannalore said. Her eyes were wide and staring. “I didn't do it.”

  Kitty was tempted to ask what it happened to be, but there was a procedure to follow.

  “I have some questions to ask you,” she said, shortly. “Answer them as quickly and concisely as you can. Do not attempt to lie.”

  “I have rights,” Hannalore said. Her voice was threatening to break. “I demand a lawyer ...”

  “Answer my questions,” Kitty ordered. “What is your name?”

  “Hannalore,” Hannalore said. “Why do you want to know?”

  Kitty ignored her question. “Where were you born?”

  “Earth,” Hannalore said. “I ...”

  Kitty kept hammering her with questions, all seemingly insignificant. There was no point in trying to lie, not when the answers were a matter of public record, and Hannalore would know it. Nor were the questions particularly intrusive. But they would allow the computers to get a baseline for the lie detector, when they started asking harder questions, the questions no one could easily verify.