Think, he told himself, sharply. What happened?
He didn't want to admit it, but he had a pretty shrewd idea. Paula hadn't been taken, she’d left of her own free will ... and she intended to betray them. She’d volunteered for the mission simply because it would give her a chance to escape and make contact with the enemy. Five years in a POW camp with Stubbins was enough to drive anyone to desperation ... and she might well have believed that she would be paid well for her services. Which she would, Carl was sure. Scum like Governor Brown understood the value of rewarding traitors.
Common sense told him that the mission was blown. Paula didn't know everything Jasmine had planned - Carl didn't know everything Jasmine had planned - but she did know his intended target. Did she know about the shipyard? If she did, Governor Brown would be moved to an underground bunker, where he would be safe, while the shipyard would be secured against all threats. Indeed, if she had vanished twenty minutes after Carl had gone out onto the streets, she’d had ample time to get to someone in power and make a deal. The mission was blown.
And yet, he didn't dare not carry out the mission. Jasmine needed the diversion ... and it had to be big, big enough to keep the Wolves firmly fixed on him. Up in space, Jasmine would already be putting her part of the plan into operation, while he had no way to warn her to stop and flee the system. Paula’s betrayal had come at the worst possible moment.
Damn you, he thought. He briefly entertained the thought of trying to track her down, then dismissed it as impossible. It would require an improbable amount of luck to find her again, not with his limited knowledge of the city. And that meant the mission had just become suicidal. Damn you to hell.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to slow down. He had a plan, after all, and he could still use it. Paula didn't know the precise details, after all, just the target. And if he gave up all hope of making it out, he could go nuts. Governor Brown wouldn't know what had hit him.
***
“Admiral?”
Rani looked up from her desk. Somehow, no matter what she did, there was never a shortage of paperwork that required her personal attention. She had a feeling that it was yet another string Governor Brown used to keep his people in order, although she had enough experience of dealing with bureaucracy to know that the more paperwork was involved, the less efficiency. But then, how would a bureaucrat - or a corporate rat - measure efficiency in the first place?
“Yes,” she said, tartly. “What is it?”
Sonja, her current aide, looked nervous. Rani had picked her at random and poked away at her enough to be fairly sure she was nothing more than what she seemed, a young officer intent on using her current posting as a way to boost her promotion prospects. She would really need combat experience to get much further, but that could be arranged.
And she won’t have to sleep with anyone to be promoted, Rani added, in the privacy of her own mind. Sonja was pretty, too pretty. If she’d joined up ten years ago, she would have been scooped up by some commanding officer in the Imperial Navy and taken to bed. Just earn her promotions the hard way instead.
“Admiral, there's someone at the door who demands to see you,” Sonja said. “She claims to be Paula Bartholomew.”
Rani shrugged. “The name means nothing to me,” she said. “Who is she?”
Sonja looked hesitant. “I checked her against the files,” she said. She meant the guards had checked the new arrival against the files. “The DNA patterns match. She really is Paula Bartholomew.”
“And who,” Rani demanded, “is Paula Bartholomew?”
“She was the aide to General Stubbins, who was exiled five years ago,” Sonja said. “The files say she was sent to a prison camp and ... and there isn't anything else. But she says she needs to talk to you urgently.”
Rani frowned. Normally, she would have told the newcomer to go away ... but her instincts were telling her this was important.
“Have her scanned by the guards, then brought in here,” she ordered. “And then leave us alone.”
She looked back at her paperwork as Sonja hurried out the room, then tapped her terminal and called up the file. Twenty minutes later, she returned with two guards and a thin woman with long brown hair. Rani studied her carefully, thinking hard. Paula didn't look like a military officer, but there was a stubborn determination in her that was almost impressive. And there was the simple fact that she’d escaped from a POW camp ...
If that’s true, Rani thought, slowly. The files might be wrong and she was simply never sent there in the first place. Or someone could have written a lie into the files. It wouldn't be the first time.
“You’re Paula Bartholomew,” Rani said, shortly. There were ways to resequence a person’s DNA to fool the readers, but they were long and painful and she honestly couldn't imagine why someone would want to pretend to be a mere aide. It would make more sense to have someone pretend to be her. “How did you get here and why are you here?”
“There’s a threat to the system,” Paula said. “I came to bring warning.”
Rani sighed, inwardly. “And what do you want in exchange for the warning?”
“Money and security,” Paula said. “I want a guarantee of both or there will be no warning.”
“As clichéd as it sounds,” Rani said, “we do have ways to make you talk.”
“I’ve been treated,” Paula countered. “You wouldn't be able to drug me, or rape my mind, or even hurt me until I talk. And you really don’t have the time to waste, if you want to try.”
Rani met Paula’s eyes and saw nothing but grim determination. If she’d been a general’s aide, chances were she had been given treatment, if only to ensure she couldn't be forced to divulge information without his permission. Lie detectors would probably still work, yet she would have to be forced to talk in the first place. The mere act of trying to break her would probably kill her, depending on precisely what had been done to her.
“Very well,” she said, after a moment’s contemplation. “You tell us what you know. If it pans out, you will get both money and security.”
“I want the Governor’s word on that,” Paula said.
“Then you will be disappointed,” Rani said. “The Governor is currently hosting a party for his economic movers and shakers. I will not be calling him here just to grant you his word, not when I have no idea of just what you might be offering. Accept my word or you can spend the rest of the night in the cells and talk to the Governor tomorrow.”
Paula glowered at her. “Very well,” she said, finally. “I went to Meridian with General Stubbins, after Governor Brown outmanoeuvred him. Five years of sitting in a steaming hot jungle ... we were joined, eventually, by a number of prisoners. Three of them in particular led a breakout. They managed to take a shuttle, then the orbital station and finally a starship.”
Rani’s eyes narrowed. Meridian. She might have been denied permission to simply execute some of the POWs out of hand, particularly the bitch she knew from Corinthian, but she’d kept an eye on their final disposition. Meridian, a stage-one colony, should have made an acceptable dumping ground. The prisoners might be able to flee the POW camps, yet they wouldn't be able to escape the planet.
Except it seems that some have, she thought, as Paula went on and on. Everything made a horrific kind of sense. And they came here.
“So they’re planning to assassinate the Governor,” she said, when Paula had finished. She didn't see how one man could assassinate the Governor, but she knew better than to take anything for granted. A relative handful of men had taken Corinthian from her. “And hopefully trigger off a civil war.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Paula said. “And they’re going to move tonight.”
Rani barely heard her. She was too busy considering all the possibilities. If she informed Governor Brown of the plot, he would be grateful ... but he wouldn’t give her any more power or respect. The war would continue to stalemate until the Commonwealth actually did find a viable silver bullet
. On the other hand, if she allowed the plot to go ahead ... the Governor’s spies wouldn't pick up anything, because it wasn't her plot, but she might just be able to take advantage of it. A dead governor would leave the reins of power lying on the ground, waiting for someone to pick them up.
“I see,” she said, smoothly. It would take some doing to make sure that only her people knew about Paula, at least until the attack began, but it could be done. “I will inform the Governor of the threat at once. You will be held here until he has been informed and made safe.”
“Thank you,” Paula said.
Rani met her eyes. “Why did you come here?”
“Everyone else I knew disliked General Stubbins,” Paula admitted. “They would have grabbed me as an escaped prisoner rather than trying to listen to me. You didn't have any history with him.”
“I suppose not,” Rani said. She kept the smile off her face with the ease of long practice. Paula hadn't told anyone else, then. Brilliant. “The Governor will choose to reward you, I am sure. You will never need to whore for a fat overweight bastard again.”
Paula looked relieved. Rani called for her guards, both of whom she thought were loyal to her. “Take Paula to a holding cell and make sure she’s comfortable,” she ordered. There was no point in trying to panic Paula before it was too late. Once the pieces had stopped flying around, she would know how to thank the turncoat properly. “I’ll handle the matter personally.”
She waited until they were gone, then started sending a message to the handful of people she trusted. They would hold themselves in readiness, preparing to jump if something happened, but they would do nothing without her signal. If Paula was wrong, or if the attack was called off, the Governor would have no reason to suspect her loyalty.
And if the Governor dies, she thought, an opportunity opens up before me.
***
The garage was precisely where Carl had spotted it on his earlier circuit of the city. Then, it had been open, servicing a number of aircars; now, it was closed, protected only by a simple alarm circuit. Carl cracked it with ease - it was less complex than some of the systems he’d worked on during training - and slipped into the building. Twelve aircars, all in working order, gleamed in the semi-darkness.
He slipped through the building, checking to make sure he was alone. Two men slept in the rear room, too poor to afford an apartment or simply reluctant to leave their property alone overnight. Carl knocked them both on the head before they could wake, then tied their hands and feet with duct tape. They’d probably get some of the blame, when the Wolves worked out what had happened, but there was nothing he could do about it. He checked the rest of the complex, then returned to the garage. The aircars were waiting for him ...
“Well,” he muttered to himself, as he removed his multitool from his belt. It had been far too long since he’d done any basic maintenance on aircars, let alone more complex programming, but he still remembered the fundamentals. “Time to get to work.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Nor were they inclined to take prisoners themselves. The Empire’s official position on negotiations with terrorists/insurgents/freedom fighters was to formally ban them from taking place. Accordingly, any imperial serviceman who fell into enemy hands could expect very rough treatment indeed, both through a natural desire for revenge and an awareness that the serviceman was useless as a bargaining chip.
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Empire and its Prisoners of War.
Wolfbane System, Year 5 (PE)
“Sir, I’m picking up an emergency alert!”
Commander Drew Malochy swore, then rose to his feet. Being Traffic Controller for the shipyard was supposed to be a boost to his career, but it was starting to look like a major headache. In theory, he was meant to track and authorise every starship, spacecraft and shuttle flying through the shipyard; in practice, he'd been told to raise as few barriers as possible. The workers didn't appreciate having to file flight plans for every single deployment and his superiors had made it clear.
“Show me,” he snapped, as he glowered down at the young ensign. “What’s happening?”
“Customs Boat #42 has just transmitted an emergency alert,” the ensign said. She looked uncomfortable under his scrutiny, but pressed ahead anyway. “She’s suffering a major core overload.”
Drew glanced at the display, then cursed under his breath. The flashing red icon was far too close to a major industrial node for him to be happy, even if lives hadn't been at stake. It was all the fault of his superiors ... he’d wanted to set up flight paths through the shipyard, with strict penalties for anyone who defied them.
“Tell her to get away from the platform,” he ordered. A core overload almost certainly meant an imminent explosion, unless the crew managed to dampen the reaction in time. In theory, the design prevented a runaway core, but bitter experience had taught engineers that there were limits to what they could do to their designs without crippling them. “Get the emergency teams scrambled and ...”
“Too late,” the ensign said. The red icon winked once and vanished, replaced with an expanding sphere representing a hail of debris. “She’s gone.”
“Send an emergency alert to everyone in the vicinity,” Drew snapped. There would be hard questions for everyone, including him, once the chaos had died down to a dull roar. And if he didn't handle the crisis well, his career would be redirected to an asteroid-mining station in the middle of nowhere. “I want them all inside, now.”
“Aye, sir,” the ensign said. “The emergency teams are still getting ready to move.”
“General signal to all shuttles and worker bees,” Drew said. “They are to move into position to intercept any pieces of debris that might threaten the facilities. If they have to overload their systems to do it, that’s fine. I authorise the risks.”
He stalked back to his command chair, cursing the commander of the customs boat under his breath. His record wasn't perfect, but it had been a damn sight better before the fool had brought his ship into the shipyard. No matter what happened, Drew’s career had just taken a kick in the pants. All he could do was hope that his recovery was good enough to save him from a lifetime trapped in an asteroid mine.
“And send a signal to Wolfbane,” he added. “Inform them of the crisis and request they prepare emergency support, if necessary.”
“Aye, sir,” the ensign said.
Drew puzzled it over as the emergency craft were finally scrambled from their hanger bays and started to make their way towards the scene. A core overload should have been noticeable from the start, even if the captain was a complete incompetent. Unless ... he knew enough about design work to know that a great many corners had been cut when the patrol boats had been designed, just to ensure several hundred of them could be put together as quickly as possible. Maybe a warning system had failed, allowing the trouble to build up until it was impossible to contain. Or perhaps the captain had hoped to pass the buck to someone else and ignored it instead of getting help. Or ...
He sighed. One way or another, thirty good men were dead, chunks of debris were spinning through the most sensitive complex this side of Wolfbane itself and his career was in the toilet, just waiting for some asshole to flush.
Shaking his head, he forced himself to wait. He'd learn what had happened soon enough.
***
Jasmine allowed herself a moment of amusement as her team blended with hundreds of other men in spacesuits as they raced towards the emergency shelters, mounted on the side of the giant industrial node. There were so many teams, each one with its own spacesuit markings, that her team just faded into the crowd. Her HUD kept flashing up emergency alerts - she was amused to note that the procedures hadn't changed from the days of the Empire - but there didn't seem to be any security alerts. It seemed, very much so, as though no one suspected that the core overload had been deliberate.
She gathered her team at one side of the shelter and waited, patiently, for the all-clear. It hadn't
been certain just how long they would have to wait, but the sheer tempo of the industrial system had convinced her they wouldn't have to wait very long. The workers cowering in the shelters wouldn't be able to do any actual work if they were staying in the section. She pushed the thought aside and waited, eavesdropping on a handful of public communications channels. Most of the remarks seemed to be sarcastic observations on the need to do basic maintenance.
“The debris has been handled,” a voice said, finally. “You may return to work.”
Jasmine nodded, then led her team towards the nearest access hatch. They’d handled the debris quicker than she’d expected, but she had been careful to ensure that the ship would shatter into a cloud of fragments, rather than a handful of pieces of junk. It wasn't certain - nothing was certain - but she was fairly sure they wouldn't have been able to track the spacesuits, without more sensors than they seemed to have. The debris would just make it harder for them if she was wrong.
Never Surrender (The Empire's Corps Book 10) Page 34
