The Empire's Corps: Book 04 - Semper Fi

by Christopher Nuttall

  Jasmine scowled as the scope of the criminal network became clear. The gangbangers might consider themselves semi-autonomous, but they effectively worked for someone more powerful – someone who might notice if Jasmine and her team killed the thugs. Maybe it would have been better to pay up, rather than risk attracting attention; she scowled inwardly, then looked down at the prostrate gangster. On the other hand, a contact within the more powerful criminal organisations might be very useful indeed.

  “So tell me,” she purred, “where can we find your superior?”

  Two hours later – having tied up the gangsters and injected them with some of their own drugs, before abandoning them in the apartment – they found themselves outside a large house, studying the guards with professional interest. The house was built out of brick, rather than the prefabricated components, suggesting that the owner was wealthy or well-connected; the guards looked reasonably capable, although they didn't seem to realise that they were being watched. Jasmine was surprised that Admiral Singh’s security forces allowed the criminal masterminds to operate at all; they didn't seem to be trying to hide. On the other hand, they probably paid out a vast sum of money every year in bribes. What good did it do to have a security network if the people operating it took money to look the other way? It had been an old problem on Han.

  “They don’t seem to be paying much attention to the rear,” Blake muttered, after they’d walked around the building. Either the guards were asleep or they were plotting an ambush. “We could get up there easy.”

  Jasmine nodded. There were no doors at the rear of the building and the windows were all barred, but the bricks were so roughly placed that scrambling up the wall would be easy ... and the upper windows were unprotected. It was a curious oversight, something that bothered her, even though she knew that the most powerful crime lords generated so much fear that few would dare to beard them in their den. Few of the crime lords on Earth had operated in total secrecy, after all. Intimidation had kept them alive.

  Intimidation and the reluctance of the authorities to actually confront them, she thought, coldly. And if this goes wrong.

  “Elliot, remain outside,” she ordered. Marines were trained to scale walls, even if the handholds were so tenuous as to be barely there, but Canada didn't have that sort of training, a terrible oversight on Admiral Singh’s part. “The rest of us will go up the wall.”

  It had been months since she’d had to scramble up a wall, but her body remembered how to do it; it was merely a matter of finding the right hand and footholds to bear her weight for a few seconds while she found the next one. She scrambled up to the window and glanced inside, ready to draw her pistol if she came face to face with another guard. Instead, she saw a small bedroom that seemed to be completely empty. It was simple enough to scramble inside quietly and drop down beside the bed.

  “Seems like a room for a young girl,” Blake signalled, when he joined her. “Too many dolls to be anything else.”

  Jasmine nodded and tested the door. It was locked, but it was simple enough to pick with her multitool. Outside, the air was cooler and she could hear the faint sounds of someone chatting in the distance. Holding up one hand to warn the other three to keep their distance, she crept down the carpeted corridor and stopped outside the next room. Someone was talking in a language she didn't recognise; carefully, she peered around the door and saw two men, seated in front of a large table. One of them looked up and saw her. His eyes went wide with horror.

  She stepped into the room, weapon in hand. “Good afternoon,” she said, in Imperial Standard. “Please remain still and make no sudden movements. It would be fatal if you did.”

  Judging from the description they had pulled from the gangbanger, one of them was the crime lord – one of the major crime lords in Landing City. He was a short little man, seemingly harmless; he reminded Jasmine of the bureaucrats she’d had to deal with before they’d been exiled from Earth. But the bureaucrats had been capable of doing great damage, as well as always finding an excuse in the regulations to justify their actions. No doubt this man had sent gangsters around to break legs if the money wasn’t forthcoming - always to his eternal regret, of course.

  The other man seemed more of an accountant. He certainly didn't offer any resistance as the Marines tied him up, then pushed him against the wall while they dealt with the crime lord.

  “Let’s start with the basics,” Jasmine said, as she pushed an injector tab against the crime lord’s forehead. He winced as she shot something into his skull. “You have just been implanted with a long-range death-bringer implant. What that means, assuming you don’t know, is that I or one of my comrades can push the button and your head will explode.”

  The crime lord stared at her in dawning horror. “If you wish to escape the detonation, you will have to hide in a shielded room for the rest of your life,” Jasmine continued, lying smoothly. “The implant actually checks routinely to make sure that the destruct signal hasn't been sent. Should it have been sent ... well, better late than never. Oh, and should you try to remove it, the implant will detonate anyway. The explosive charge isn't very powerful, but it doesn't have to be to destroy your brain.

  “What that means,” she concluded, “is that you have the choice between working for us or being terminated. Do you understand me?”

  The crime lord nodded frantically. Jasmine smiled, careful to hide her relief. She’d actually shot him with a drug that would make him more suggestible for a short period of time, although it would take greater nerve than she suspected the crime lord possessed to actually check what Jasmine had told him. Digging around in his skull for the implant might trigger it, after all ... or do damage on its own.

  She'd considered trying to buddy up to the criminal underground, but they might well have betrayed the Marines once they realised just what they actually were. Posing as deserters from Admiral Singh’s forces might have won them employment, or might have had the crime lords selling them out ... which would have caused no end of problems. Instead ... she'd been forced to intimidate the crime lord into helping them. She’d just have to be careful not to push him so far that he rebelled – and discovered that she was bluffing him.

  “On the other hand,” she added, “if you work with us, there will be considerable rewards for those who remain faithful. I will release you; you can widen your control until you hold the entire city in your hands. Think about what we just did to you – and what we could do to your rivals. Wouldn’t that make working with us worthwhile?”

  She smiled down at the crime lord. “So tell me,” she said finally, “what is your name?”

  “Wolf,” the crime lord admitted.

  Jasmine kept her expression under control. No doubt the crime lord thought that the nickname was intimidating in its own right, although she suspected that anyone with true intelligence would find sheepdog to be a great deal more worrying. Wolves prayed on the sheep, but they didn't have the intellect to think long-term ...

  “Right,” Jasmine said, dryly. She smiled as he flinched at her tone. “Now, we are going to talk about your organisation – and how it can be improved.”

  “I’ll have to talk to the guards first,” Wolf said. “They may not know who you are.”

  “Good idea,” Jasmine agreed. “Tell them ... tell them that we’re your special bodyguards and that we have permission to visit you at any time. And don’t try anything clever. The results will not be pleasant.”

  She motioned for Blake to escort Wolf out of the room, shaking her head in wry amusement. The crime lord would probably not remain under control, even though his life was at stake – and if he called her bluff, they were in deep trouble. They would have to find something else to use against him before they pushed him too far. If the bedroom they’d seen belonged to his daughter, maybe they could smuggle her away and use her as a hostage.

  Damn it, Jasmine thought, in horror. What are we becoming?

  Pathfinders, according to the whispers she�
��d heard, destabilised governments all the time. A rebel world might be too strongly held to be recovered without massive casualties; the Pathfinders would go in, sow dissent ... and then the Marine Corps would come in and clean up the mess once the enemy forces had ripped themselves apart. Pathfinders were trained to be completely ruthless, to do whatever they had to do, all in the service of the greater good. Jasmine had never truly realised what that meant until she’d found herself carrying out the same kind of mission. What did it say about her that she was prepared to hold a young girl hostage to force her father to comply with her demands?

  Nothing good, she told herself.

  She looked over at the accountant, still tied and facing the wall. “You are going to tell me everything,” she said, as she stepped over to him. He’d soiled himself in fear, probably believing that he would be eliminated as an inconvenient witness. Wolf might well kill him, if only because he’d seen the crime lord exposed as a fearful man. “How much money does Wolf pull in every month?”

  The accountant talked rapidly, often too quickly for Jasmine to follow easily, but she soon had a working idea of how Wolf’s organisation worked. It was similar to the gangs she’d seen on Han, the ones that had helped make a bad situation much worse; Wolf provided funds and heavy support to the protection rackets and drug dealers, should they need it, in exchange for a cut of their profits. There were agreements between the other senior crime lords, carving up the city between them ... all of which were enforced ruthlessly. Not all of their foot soldiers seemed aware of their existence.

  They’re probably only vaguely aware of the universe outside their apartment blocks, Jasmine thought, as the accountant chatted on, telling them about the officials they had bribed to turn a blind eye to drug dealing and prostitution. The authorities only seemed to care about gun-running, he added; the criminal gangs knew not to try to distribute guns to the population. That was no surprise; governments regularly tried to disarm their people, offering an entire series of justifications for their actions. Admiral Singh probably feared revolt.

  Wolf came back, followed by Blake. “No problems, boss,” he said, shortly. “They seemed to accept us.”

  “Good,” Jasmine said. They could abandon the apartment now, leaving the gangbangers to starve to death ... or would that be too revealing? She found it hard to care about the little thugs, even though she knew that they would be replaced within the day. “The first order of business is finding a place to sleep, then we can plan our next step.”

  “There are rooms here,” Wolf assured her. “You can sleep here as long as you want.”

  Jasmine considered it, briefly. The criminal headquarters would probably be fairly secure – but she didn't trust Wolf very far at all. On the other hand, if they set up a base outside the headquarters, he would probably be able to track them. It would take several weeks before they knew the city well enough to operate without his support.

  “We’ll have to let the others know,” she said, thoughtfully. It was aimed at Wolf; she didn't want him thinking that he could eliminate them all and remain alive. She didn't trust him any further than she could pick up and throw the entire building. “But for this night ... yes, we’ll stay here.”

  She smiled at the crime lord. “And we’re going to need papers,” she added. They’d seen guardsmen randomly stopping people and asking for their papers, although none of the guardsmen had tried confronting the Marines. “We don’t want to be arrested when we start walking around, do we?”

  Wolf stared at her. “Who are you people?”

  “Friends,” Jasmine said. Someone who had ruled a segment of the city’s organised crime might well be smart enough to put it all together, but the story of the implant should keep him in line. She hoped. “That’s all you need to know.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Worse, they will redirect money towards popular, vote-grabbing areas – and away from where it is truly necessary. Providing free health care – free in the sense that there is no direct cost on the recipient – wins more votes than funding the military. But this is a problem with no end. Funding essential healthcare gives way to funding all healthcare – and, once again, who defines ‘essential’?

  -Professor Leo Caesius, Authority, Power and the Post-Imperial Era

  They were watching her.

  Danielle Chambers could feel their presence all around her, no matter where she went or what she did. They watched her when she was at school, teaching the children mathematics; they watched her when she was at home, cooking dinner for her husband. She saw their van following her whenever she went to shop; even when she couldn't see them, she knew that they were there. The only thing she didn't know was why they hadn't simply moved ahead and taken her into custody.

  She’d heard the whispers; the knocks on the door at midnight, the house abandoned after everyone had been taken away in black vans. The houses even remained untouched for days afterwards, the fear of the security forces so strong that it even deterred the criminal gangs who lurked in the shadows. Everyone had heard stories of what happened to those who were taken into custody – and they’d all seen the executions, broadcast live on all channels. The leaders of the Democratic Underground had died broken men, blubbering for mercy as they were put in front of a wall and shot. She just didn't understand why they’d left her alone.

  It couldn't be her teaching, could it? There was no shortage of mathematics teachers – and she knew that she wasn't the best teacher in her school, let alone in Landing City. Maybe they hoped that she would meet up with her old contacts, from the days when it seemed the Empire would weaken and allow them some say in their own affairs, just so they could scoop the remains of the Democratic Underground in one fell swoop. She'd been careful not to go anywhere near her old friends and, as far as she knew, none of them had dared go anywhere near her. Or so she hoped. The alternative was that she was the last of the Democratic Underground.

  She told herself that wasn't possible. There had been thousands of them, carefully laying the framework for a better life in the post-Empire universe. They’d planned to reshape the sector, to elect their leaders instead of dealing with greedy governors appointed by Earth, to rid the system of corruption and filth ... there had been so many young men and women, all ready to demand change. They couldn't all be gone ... could they?

  But it seemed hopeless.

  Her home, she suspected, was bugged. Everything they said or did inside, from undressing to chatting about their days at work, was heard by unsympathetic ears. Danielle worried about the day when one of her children would say something that could be taken for disloyalty, knowing that she would be blamed for encouraging it. And she couldn't even give her children any privacy. If she’d found the bugs and removed them, it would also be taken as evidence of disloyalty. She couldn't even discuss the problem with her husband; he’d go mad if he realised that his wife’s past might be threatening their children’s future. All she could do was endure and pray that something happened before too long.

  She passed her kids their lunches and watched, feeling tears prickling at her eyes, as they headed down towards their school. Amber, her eldest, was barely nine years old; it didn't seem fair that her life could be blighted by her mother’s past. But if something happened to Danielle – and, by some dark miracle – it didn't include her children, she would be shunned by everyone else. No one wanted to attract doom towards their own children.

  And if Amber fell into their hands, if the rumours were true ...

  She wiped her tears away, picked up her own lunch, and strode out of the door, locking it firmly behind her. Her husband had never wondered why she’d insisted on installing extra locks, although they didn't seem to be much use, not when she was sure that her home was entered on a regular basis and certain items moved around by unfriendly hands. It was hard to be sure ... there were times when she thought that she was going mad, before she remembered how many people had just vanished in the months after Admiral Singh arrived, people wh
o made the mistake of speaking out. Paranoia wasn't really paranoia if they were out to get you.

  The streets, as always, were crowded, providing perfect concealment for someone shadowing her. Trying to look unobtrusive, Danielle glanced around, looking for familiar faces. There was a woman wearing a dress so skimpy that Danielle could see the underside of her ass – was she an agent, shadowing her? And there was a man in a dark suit, a sober expression painted on his face, who seemed to be walking in the same general direction ... was he shadowing her? Danielle felt the first hints of panic as she walked faster, feeling unseen eyes boring into the back of her neck. She'd be a nervous wreck before too long.

  She jumped as a pair of teenage children on bicycles raced past her, heading for the technical colleges that offered their only hope of avoiding conscription when they turned eighteen. Danielle didn't want to think about Amber and Rochelle being forced to work for the Admiral, but there was little other choice. They either worked hard to gain technical skills they could use to get good postings, or they were conscripted and ended up in work gangs – or the army. There were rumours about where young pretty conscripts were sent ... the thought of her children serving as comfort girls was terrifying. She would sooner poison them both herself.

  There was a dark van parked on the side of the road as she turned down towards the school, she noted, and gave it a wide berth. Gas was heavily rationed on Corinthian, officially to preserve the environment – but, she suspected, the real objective was to cut down the population’s mobility. Only those with real clout could get fuel for their cars, let alone leave the city; God knew that if she could, Danielle would have left without a second thought. It couldn't be so bad out of the city, away from the security forces ... could it?

  A hand grabbed her arm and yanked her backwards; a cloth was pushed in front of her face. Danielle took a breath to scream, even though she knew it would be useless, but only succeeded in inhaling some more of the drug. It crossed her mind, as her legs buckled, that Admiral Singh’s security forces didn't normally drug people ... yet it didn't matter. In some ways, it was a relief to finally be arrested.