She let her hair down, completing the civilian appearance, then walked back into the washroom. Hannalore had finished her shower and was dressing slowly, donning each item of clothing as though it were a piece of armour. Kitty understood - Hannalore was regaining a little amount of control for herself - but she couldn't be allowed to get too comfortable. It wouldn't matter, Kitty told herself. The Governor’s wife was no longer in control of her life.
“Come with me,” she said, once Hannalore was dressed. “There’s a car waiting for you.”
She led the way back through a maze of corridors and out into the garage. The car was nicely anonymous, one of hundreds that had been produced in the wake of the Cracker War; it was unlikely anyone would connect it with Commonwealth Intelligence. She motioned for Hannalore to get into the passenger seat, then climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. It had been odd, once upon a time, to sit in a car that didn't drive itself, but now she was used to it. Hannalore eyed her oddly as she steered the car up the ramp and out onto the main street. Hardly anyone paid any attention as she drove towards the Governor’s Mansion.
“You will have to hire new servants,” Kitty said, as they pulled up outside the gates. The guard saw Hannalore, then opened the gate to allow them to drive into the grounds. “Some of them will be there to keep an eye on you.”
“I can choose my own servants,” Hannalore protested.
Kitty gave her a sharp look. “Not any longer,” she said. She smirked as a thought occurred to her. “Besides, servants have eyes. I think you might find they know more of your secrets than you think.”
Hannalore blanched.
Kitty parked the car, then motioned for Hannalore to get out as she looked around. The mansion seemed quieter somehow, now there weren't hundreds of guests clogging up the grounds or swarming in and out of the house. A single gardener was mowing the lawn, but there was no one else in sight. Hannalore sighed, slumping in on herself, then pulled herself together and strode towards the main doors. Kitty followed her, glancing around from side to side as they walked. If Hannalore was plotting treachery, she would never have a better chance.
“Two cups of tea,” Hannalore ordered, as they entered the doors and walked past a tired-looking maid. “Bring them both to my office.”
The maid nodded and hurried off. Kitty smiled inwardly - clearly, the maid was desperate for work - and then followed Hannalore into her private office. It was a bigger room than she’d expected, surprisingly bland for such a society butterfly. The only real decoration was a large painting of the Childe Roland, the age he’d been when his father had shuffled off the mortal coil. Kitty studied it, wondering why Hannalore had even bothered to buy, let alone keep, the painting. By now, even if the Childe Roland had survived the Fall of Earth, he would be at least twenty-three.
I wonder if he did survive, Kitty thought. But if he had, would it matter?
She shook her head, morbidly. Child Emperors rarely lived very long; the Childe Roland had only survived, she suspected, because he had no real power or influence of his own. She knew enough about him, from rumours passed through Imperial Intelligence before she’d been sent to Avalon, to fear what the Empire would become, if he had had real power. He’d been a spoilt brat ...
“Hannalore,” she said, slowly. “Why did you keep this painting?”
“A reminder,” Hannalore said, as the maid entered. “That what you look like isn't as important as what you actually are.”
Kitty shrugged, then watched as the maid carefully placed a tray on the desk and poured them both a cup of tea. The young girl smiled shyly at Kitty, then curtseyed and withdrew, as silently as she had come. Hannalore sipped her tea, using it to calm herself, while Kitty studied the painting for the second time. The Childe Roland had had no real power ... and neither had the Governor, once he’d left his post. Had Hannalore wanted to remind herself that there was a difference between pretensions of power and actual power?
“Very good,” she said, flatly. “Show me the bugging system.”
Hannalore looked alarmed, but put down her cup of tea and swung the terminal around to face Kitty. Oddly, a wire ran from it to the wall, a dead giveaway that something was fishy; it was rare to see any form of hard connection when wireless was far more convenient. But it made sense, Kitty was sure. The great advantage of hard connections was that they were almost impossible to tap without physical access.
“The bugs are linked into the household network,” Hannalore said, slowly. “I have the signals forwarded to this system, whereupon the computer scans the recordings for keywords and displays the results to me. I compile reports based upon the recordings and send them onwards.”
“To Gaston,” Kitty said. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do with that connection, given Gaston’s clear instability. Perhaps they could arrange an accident ... no, that would break the chain between Hannalore and Wolfbane. They’d have to monitor Gaston and prepare themselves to intervene, if he snapped completely. “How do you decide what to send?”
“I just send anything that looks interesting,” Hannalore said. “Much of the recordings are simply nonsense. Or useless.”
She tapped a switch. A deep male voice echoed through the room.
“I want to fuck you,” he breathed. There was a hint that someone else was there, the sound of light female breathing. “I want to fuck you so bad.”
Kitty had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “He sounds like a bad actor from a porno flick,” she said.
“Councillor Thompson,” Hannalore said, darkly. “He’s having an affair with one of my regular maids. I think he learned to make love from porno flicks.”
“I feel sorry for the maid,” Kitty said, honestly. Councillor Thompson didn't sound loving; he sounded rather more than just a little creepy. “I hope you pay her through the nose.”
Hannalore nodded. “They are all paid very well,” she said. “But I still have quite a high turnover.”
“I’m not surprised,” Kitty muttered. She cleared her throat. “Why do you encourage it?”
“People need somewhere to relax,” Hannalore said. “And they need to relax in different ways.”
Kitty frowned. “Maybe,” she said, doubtfully. “What other recordings do you have?”
“Thousands,” Hannalore said.
She looked down at the terminal, then tapped a switch. Another voice echoed through the room, talking about the importance of bidding collectively for the latest set of government contracts. Kitty listened, silently tagging names to voices, as the recording slowly came to an end. The Governor hadn't been exaggerating when he said his parties helped boost the economy, despite the expense. A collective bid for the latest set of contracts would help ensure that more and more money was flushed into the local economy.
“I see,” Kitty said, finally. She glanced at her watch. “My team will be here in an hour, I think. You can give your servants the rest of the day off, as you are going to be having the building cleaned from top to bottom.”
Hannalore blinked. “I am?”
“That’s the excuse you’re going to give,” Kitty said, feeling an odd flicker of irritation. “The team will inspect the house, examine the bugs, and then arrange for them to be closely monitored. Tomorrow evening, after your party, you will be told what to send to Wolfbane, through your contacts. I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if you try to trick us.”
Hannalore shifted, uncomfortably. “No,” she said, clearly. “You don’t.”
Kitty rose to her feet. “You’re sure the bugs don’t transmit anything outside your network?”
“I don’t think so,” Hannalore said. She eyed the terminal for a long moment. “They would have set off all kinds of alerts if they had, wouldn't they?”
“Probably,” Kitty said. She smiled, coldly. It had struck her that Hannalore, for all her political savvy, wasn't very confident with technology. There had always been someone there to do it for her. “Show me the rest
of the mansion.”
She had never really understood, even after her first visit, just how much was crammed into the mansion. The lower floors were for the staff, the middle floors were for entertainment and hosting guests; the upper floors were intended to serve as the centre of colonial government. Now, most of the offices were dark and empty, while the Governor’s office was gathering dust. There was literally nothing for him to do, now that power had passed to the planetary council. And yet, there was something odd about the offices ...
“You never stripped them bare,” she said, slowly. The offices still looked ready for use, even if they hadn't been touched for years. Everything from computer terminals to fancy chairs had been left untouched. There had to be thousands of credits worth of junk in the office. “Why didn't you try to sell the furnishings?”
“Brent used to say they weren't our furnishings,” Hannalore said. “They belonged to the Empire, not to us personally. Besides, I always had a feeling we would be using the mansion for its original purpose, one day.”
“You planned to rule from here,” Kitty said. She quirked an eyebrow as they walked back down to the lower levels. Hannalore could have sold the terminals to fund the first few parties and no one would have raised an eyebrow. “You do realise Wolfbane probably wouldn't have kept their word?”
Hannalore sighed. “I did what I considered necessary,” she said. “And they would have needed me in the future ...”
“I doubt it,” Kitty said. There were businesspeople and military officers who might be useful to Wolfbane, if the Commonwealth surrendered, but Hannalore wouldn't be worth so much to them. “They would simply have killed both of you and dumped your bodies in the gutter.”
She shrugged. “But it doesn't matter,” she added. “You will do as you’re told, or die. I don’t mind which, really.”
Hannalore swallowed. “I understand,” she said. “I won’t let you down.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Were they to echo the Empire’s ruthless treatment of POWs - or work to come up with a more stable system? Unfortunately, perhaps, Wolfbane chose the former - and Avalon chose the latter.
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Empire and its Prisoners of War.
Avalon, Year 5 (PE)
“Jasmine Yamane, as I live and breathe,” Command Sergeant Gwendolyn Patterson said, as Jasmine and Stewart were shown into her office. “What kept you?”
Jasmine smiled. She'd looked up to Gwendolyn Patterson ever since she’d joined the company; hell, if Gary found her intimidating he would have hated to meet the Command Sergeant. No one in their right mind would ever have talked back to her, let alone started a fight. Rumour had it she’d once walked into a bar and flattened every man inside, along with a small army of Shore Patrolmen.
“We ran into some small problems on our way home,” Jasmine said. “But we overcame them all and made it back safely. The others?”
“They got back two months ago,” Gwendolyn said. “The Colonel was delighted to hear the news.”
Jasmine winced. She wasn't looking forward to that interview. Indeed, she was surprised the Colonel hadn't ordered her to report to his office so he could rip her head off personally. But then, everyone on the Passing Water was being held until they could be inserted back into normal society - or go onwards to the Trade Federation, in some cases. She had a feeling Gary and Kailee would probably go that way too.
“I’m sure he was,” she said. “I was expecting to see him ...”
“The Colonel is currently occupied with plans for a future offensive,” Gwendolyn said. “Or at least that’s the official story. In reality, he’s giving you a day or two to decompress before he meets you, formally. I suggest you take advantage of it.”
Jasmine winced. It was tradition - and tradition was important to the Marine Corps - to have a returning officer met by his or her superior officer. For Colonel Stalker, a man who practically embodied the traditions, to choose to put one aside ... it didn't bode well for her future. He probably wanted to give her a day or two before he unceremoniously informed her she was sacked.
“You need the downtime,” Gwendolyn added. She had little tolerance for bullshit. “I read your report, while you were flying here. You did very well.”
“Thank you,” Jasmine said. “But ...”
She shook her head. “I need to see to Gary and Kailee,” she said, instead. “And then I can find a place to rest.”
“I took the liberty of arranging a room at the inn for you,” Gwendolyn said. “You’ll have at least two days, I think, before you meet the Colonel. Make use of them.”
Jasmine nodded. The inn wasn't her ideal shore leave, but it was a good place for Marines - and Avalon Knights - to decompress between deployments and returning to civilian life. She could relax there and feel lazy, if only for an hour or two. And then she would probably start champing at the bit to do something - anything - with her time.
“I’ll see to Gary and Kailee, then go there,” Jasmine said. “Where are they going to stay?”
“They will need to be debriefed,” Gwendolyn said. “I believe Colonel Stevenson will take them in hand, but you may as well escort them there. I’ve already assigned an aircar to you.”
She passed Jasmine the keycard, then paused. “And Jasmine?”
Jasmine met her eyes. “Sergeant?”
“You did well out there,” Gwendolyn said. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
Jasmine shrugged, then saluted and walked out of the office. She had a feeling Gwendolyn found the building no more comfortable than she would, but there was a real shortage of trained marines. If nothing else, the Colonel was likely to be angry at her for sacrificing Carl Watson, even if he had survived the battle on Wolfbane. One more marine dead or missing in action ... how many were left, of the eighty-seven that had landed on Avalon? Fifty?
Outside, Gary and Kailee were sitting on a bench, waiting for her. They both looked tired and worn; Gary had taken weeks to get over his funk, then plunged back into exercise with a new grim determination. Beside him, Kailee looked pretty ... but there was a hard edge to her face that told Jasmine she was growing up. She would probably not make it as a combat medic, Jasmine suspected, yet she had potential. A civilian nursing job might be just what she needed.
“You’re both going to be debriefed,” she said, as they rose to their feet. She wondered, absently, if they knew how rare it was for civilians to set foot on Castle Rock, then reminded herself it probably wouldn't mean anything to either of them. “After that ... where do you want to go?”
“I wish I knew,” Gary said. He looked stronger now, after weeks of hard exercise, but his face still seemed brittle. “Do you think the Trade Federation would welcome us?”
“I think so,” Jasmine said. She led them towards the landing pad, where the aircar was waiting. A glance at the keycard told her it was the right one. “But then, Avalon would welcome you too.”
She sucked in her breath as she opened the vehicle, then sat down in the driver’s seat and waited for them to sit down behind her. The autopilot had been removed, she noted, but she didn’t really mind. She could fly the craft herself, if necessary, and use it as a distraction from her own thoughts. Inserting the keycard into the slot, she powered up the drive and lifted the aircar into the sky. Castle Rock lay below her, home of the remaining marines and training ground for the Knights. How long had it been, she asked herself, since she’d thought of anywhere else as home?
“Wow,” Gary said, as Camelot came into view. “It’s better than Sabre.”
“But still far smaller than a single CityBlock,” Jasmine commented. Camelot seemed to have grown yet again, in the months she’d been away. There were new apartment blocks on the edge of the city, while the industrial estates had grown larger. “They’re trying to spread out the city as much as possible.”
“I see,” Gary said.
Kailee leaned forward. “Is it safe here?”
“It’s the safest place on
Avalon, outside a military base,” Jasmine said. “The bandits were driven out years ago. I’d advise getting a firearm anyway, just to be sure. Everyone owns a gun here too.”
“Oh,” Kailee said. “Why ...?”
“Because sometimes they need to defend themselves,” Jasmine said. “And sometimes, just being able to defend yourself has a deterrent effect in its own right.”
She sighed inwardly, feeling an unaccustomed pit in her stomach, as she steered the aircar towards the landing facility at the edge of the city. It didn't really look like a military base, not from overhead, but it served as both an intelligence centre and a place for newcomers to recover, once they arrived on Avalon. Gary and Kailee would be well cared for, she knew, and she would see them as often as possible. She made a mental note to call Emmanuel and see if he could give them both a tour of Camelot. They’d probably find him less intimidating than a military officer.
Never Surrender (The Empire's Corps Book 10) Page 39
