The Empire's Corps: Book 04 - Semper Fi

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Make sure you do,” Rani said. She briefly considered insisting that he surrendered his wife and child as hostages, then dismissed the thought. Patterson was already on the edge. “Once you have reorganised the security forces, I want you to make a series of sweeps through the edge of the city. If there are unwanted immigrants from the countryside, that’s where they will be hiding. While you’re at it” – her lips twisted into a smile – “if you should happen to round up any escaped conscripts, I’d be very pleased.”

  “Yes, Admiral,” Patterson said. He frowned, thoughtfully. “Do you intend to bring forward the next cycle of conscription?”

  “I believe so,” Rani said. She was still annoyed at losing so many conscripts in the countryside, even though evidence suggested that a number of them had deserted – or had been kidnapped by the insurgents. “But I want to improve Imperial Security first.”

  She smiled as Patterson left her office, clearly caught between elation at his promotion and fear of the consequences of failure, then stood up and walked over to the governor’s window, looking down at the city. The insurgent attacks – and the destruction of the Internal Security building – was alarming, but mere pinpricks compared to her full force. If the enemy ever showed themselves so clearly, she would crush them like bugs. They knew it too, of course.

  Shaking her head, she reviewed the latest data from the scoutships probing the edge of the Commonwealth. Given a few months, she would be ready for war – and then the Commonwealth would be in for a nasty surprise.

  And even if they knew she existed, they wouldn't be able to produce enough hardware to stand up to her in time.

  ***

  It was funny, Jasmine allowed herself to reflect, how imprisonment worked differently on different people. She had kept her integrity even under heavy torture, while Horn had screamed and bellowed and eventually collapsed after a few hours of merely being bound to the wall. Maybe the boredom had broken into his mind, Jasmine considered; she would have bet half of her salary that he would never have thought of using boredom as a torture instrument.

  Under the light, Horn just wasn't very impressive. But then, he didn't need to be, not when he’d had conditioned bodyguards, thousands of sadistic subordinates and – at base – Admiral Singh’s backing. Had he ever actually taken part in a torture session? Sid had poked and prodded her – and threatened much worse – but Horn had never laid a hand on Jasmine, at least until he’d thought he could rape her right at the end. But then, he’d been looking at the collapse of everything he’d worked for.

  Perhaps he just intended to throw caution to the winds, Jasmine thought, ruefully. He might have been considered dead, but if he had survived Admiral Singh would have blamed him for the disaster. Both disasters; Marines sneaking through Landing City and Internal Security’s complete failure to identify them before it was too late.

  She leaned down, wrinkling her nose as she smelled urine and shit, and pulled off her mask. Horn’s eyes went very wide, then he tried to scramble backwards, a completely impossible feat in the cuffs. Jasmine pasted a sadistic smile of her own on her face, which grew wider as Horn started to gibber in fear. No doubt he’d never considered that one of his victims would come back for a little revenge.

  The smell of urine grew stronger as she produced the neural whip off her belt and held it out in front of her. Horn stammered, trying to speak ... but his lips refused to cooperate. He was scared out of his mind. Jasmine pulled back the whip, stood upright and nodded to Blake, who was standing just outside the door. A moment later, a bucketful of cold water was thrown into the room and over Horn. Drenched, the pervert started to cough and sputter as water ran down his body.

  “Listen carefully,” Jasmine said, pushing as much of her hatred and rage into her voice as she could. “You have two choices. You can cooperate, freely, or you will be made to cooperate. Do you understand me?”

  Horn spluttered for a long moment, spitting out water. “You need me,” he said, finally. He gave her an odd little smirk. “You ...”

  Jasmine produced the whip and pointed it at his groin. “I’ll cooperate,” Horn said, quickly. He’d seen people interrogated by having their sexual parts abused, Jasmine knew; he wouldn't be able to face it himself. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything,” Jasmine said. She produced the datapad and clicked on the recording function, then held it up in front of him. “You are aware, no doubt, that torture has its limits? But you must be, given how you treated me.”

  She smiled at him, showing her teeth. “The problem is that the victim will eventually tell the interrogator whatever he thinks the interrogator wants to hear, just to make the pain stop,” she said. “Which can be quite a problem ... unless, of course, one uses lie detectors. The vocal analysis software built into his datapad will tell us if you try to lie. If you do” – she brandished the neural whip – “you will be whipped. And whipped again every time you try to tell us a lie. I know the concept of being truthful is alien to you, but ...”

  “I’ll tell the truth,” Horn said. “I swear I’ll tell the truth.”

  “It seems to think you’re lying,” Jasmine said, studying the display. She jabbed the whip at his face and he recoiled. “Will you tell the truth now?”

  Horn nodded, desperately.

  “Good,” Jasmine said. “First question ...”

  ***

  “The little bastard inserted a CYA code?” Sergeant Hampton asked. “Perhaps we should just give him back to Admiral Singh.”

  Jasmine shrugged. It had taken five hours to complete the first round of Horn’s debrief, five hours during which she’d had to zap him twice to convince him to stick to the facts. It was worrying for her to discover that part of her mind was sadistic, no matter how much Horn deserved to suffer before he died. She would never, she suspected, be allowed to serve as a Drill Instructor, ever. Drill Instructors were meant to act like sadists, but they couldn't be sadists.

  But it had yielded a wealth of information. Horn – or, more likely, someone working for Horn – had stuck a CYA code in the main computer network. A CYA – Cover Your Ass – code granted the user permission to make changes to files, even ROM data, without alerting anyone in authority. From what Jasmine had heard, CYA codes allowed officers to cover themselves against charges by internal investigators – if something happened to go missing while on deployment, they could use the code to imply that it had never been there at all.

  The Empire had banned the practice. Too many datanets were intimately involved with making the Empire work; senior officers were told that they were not allowed to devise such codes, even for their own units. It hadn't prevented them, even for a moment; the search for scapegoats was so prevalent through the military that officers were prepared to do almost anything to put internal investigators off the scent. If Admiral Singh found out, Horn would be assured a long and unpleasant death.

  On the other hand, she used one of her own to take control of Trafalgar, Jasmine thought, wryly. It had taken time to draw the full story out of Horn – completing the interrogation could take months – but they now knew what had happened on Trafalgar. Officers and men who might have stayed loyal had been targeted for elimination – or rounded up and dumped on Penance, where they would have to work for themselves. Either way, they were out of her hair.

  It still astonished her to see just how much could be done by controlling logistics. No doubt Admiral Singh’s political enemies had thought that assigning her to System Command would torpedo her career, sending it down in flames. According to Horn, she’d refused to sleep with a senior officer and had been punished for it. Jasmine would have found that admirable if Admiral Singh hadn't created a nightmarish state of her own. Somehow, with time and patience and a cold-blooded dedication that her enemies lacked, Admiral Singh had parlayed her position into a formidable power base. She had to be stopped.

  Horn had told her much about the other officers working for Admiral Singh, officers who Jasmine
had only known from organisational charts. Vice Admiral Sampson was an unimaginative fellow, which was partly why he commanded half the fleet; he wasn't considered imaginative enough to rebel. It hadn't stopped half of his family from being lodged in a luxury resort on the other side of the mountains, just in case he decided to become more ambitious. In fact, almost everyone in high positions had at least one hostage in the luxury resort. Anyone would have thought that Admiral Singh didn't trust their relatives.

  And why not? Jasmine asked herself. If Admiral Singh could conspire to commit mutiny – and then commit mutiny – who else would do the same thing?

  They’d heard almost nothing from the Empire since they had been exiled to Avalon, but there had been rumours – strange rumours. Some had hinted that military officers had declared independence, taking their fleets with them; others had warned that the Grand Senate was sending out loyalty officers to make sure that the Admirals and Generals didn't develop ambitions of their own. No one really knew anything for sure ... and she hadn't thought to ask Horn what he might have heard. Not yet.

  “Yes, he did,” she said. “It gives us a chance to insert data into their network.”

  “Unless whoever created it took the code out after his death,” Sergeant Hampton pointed out. “They would need to cover their tracks if their protector was no longer around to protect them.”

  “We’ll have to test it, carefully,” Jasmine said. But between the code – and the rest of the information she’d learned from Horn – she had a feeling that she knew exactly how to topple the Admiral. And once she was down, she was out. “But if it works, we can start inserting our own people in some really important positions.”

  “If,” Sergeant Hampton said. “It strikes me that we don’t really have a plan yet.”

  “Of course we do,” Blake insisted. “We always have plans.”

  “Yeah, and then we have to improvise when the plans go wrong,” Carl added.

  “Quiet, the pair of you,” Jasmine said, lifting one arm. She pushed the datapad towards Sergeant Hampton, nodding for the other two to copy the data to their own terminals. “Review the data I pulled out of him, then start thinking about other possibilities. Where is Danielle right now?”

  “In a safe house, we hope,” Blake said. “You want us to bring her here?”

  “I’ll go there,” Jasmine said. She needed out of the house; after her imprisonment, being confined felt thoroughly suffocating, whatever the motives behind it. “And then I think we can start moving onwards.”

  There was a knock on the door. Hands reached for weapons, then relaxed as Canada entered the room.

  “I just had a message passed to me from Wolf,” he said. “Patterson has been appointed to take Horn’s place.”

  Jasmine felt her mouth fall open. They couldn't be that lucky, could they? It had to be another trap.

  But if it was, Patterson was sacrificing his wife and child ...

  “I need to ask Horn a few more questions,” she said, standing up. She hadn't bothered to ask him how he’d set the trap to capture her, it hadn't seemed important at the time. But now ... could it be that Patterson hadn't intended to betray them? They would have to find out. “And then we will have to decide how to proceed.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  However, funding a fleet could only be a Commonwealth-wide endeavour. The alternative created problems; if each planet contributed its own fleet units, some would very rapidly become stronger than others. Eventually, we ensured that fleet crewmen and officers were sworn to the Commonwealth, rather than to its separate member states. It was a far from perfect solution, but the alternative was chaos – and, eventually, war between the member states.

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

  “This strikes me as a very bad idea,” Blake said.

  Jasmine glanced at him in surprise. After she’d been captured, Blake had taken command ... and it seemed that the experience had matured him. On the other hand, he was also being very protective – which was exactly what she didn't need after her captivity, even if her body still didn't feel quite right. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to earn her Rifleman’s Tab and she was damned if she was going to allow a brief session of pain to destroy it.

  “I don’t think we dare let it pass,” she said, reluctantly. Part of her – the part that remembered being tortured – was reluctant to return to Patterson’s house. It seemed impossible that Admiral Singh didn't know what was going on – and yet she’d promoted Patterson to high office. And Horn had admitted that he hadn't reported her capture to his superior. “Besides, we still have his family.”

  Patterson, according to Horn, hadn't reported his family’s capture to his superiors. He’d been lucky, Jasmine knew; his family being held hostage would have made him a security risk even to a less paranoid security organisation. If someone hadn’t realised that something was wrong, Jasmine would never have been taken prisoner. She shook her head as she approached the rear of the property and looked around, checking for signs that another trap had been laid. There was nothing.

  “Keep me under observation,” she ordered, as they returned to the front gate. According to the observers, Patterson had returned home barely an hour ago, as night was falling over the city. “If something happens, don’t hesitate to jump in.”

  She nodded to him and walked towards the gate, then opened it with a quick touch of her multitool. Inside, the house seemed dark and cold, save for a single light burning from an upstairs window. Patterson had to be tired, Jasmine knew; he’d taken on a challenging position, even without the additional strain of losing his family. She wouldn't have blamed him for going to bed almost as soon as he reached his house. Or, for that matter, finding someone who could help him relax after a long day at work.

  The door clicked open and she stepped inside, picking her way through the darkened corridor until she reached the living room. Patterson seemed to have pulled half of the books off the shelves and scattered them on the floor, although she couldn't see why – unless he’d been angry and terrified and lashing out at the first thing he could. A moment later, she heard someone walking down the stairs and concealed herself in the shadows, peering through the darkness as Patterson walked into view. He looked dreadful.

  “I know you’re here,” he said, his voice echoing through the darkness. “I want to talk.”

  Jasmine hesitated – her stealth clearly wasn't what it had been – and then stepped out of the shadows. “Good evening, Mr. Patterson,” she said, calmly. “I trust that this visit will be less ... exciting?”

  Patterson’s face twisted into a bitter sneer. “They didn't tell me about the trap,” he said. “I wasn't even aware that you had been captured until it was too late.”

  “And now your boss is gone and you’re the head of Internal Security,” Jasmine said, softly. She allowed her voice to harden. “Funny how things change, isn’t it?”

  She smiled inwardly at the expression on his face. No one would believe that it had been sheer luck that he’d been promoted, after losing his family and pledging to do whatever it took to get them back safely. It was far more likely that Admiral Singh would believe that Horn had been deliberately set up for assassination, along with most of the other potential candidates for his job. And that would make Patterson far more than some poor bastard whose family had been kidnapped. It would make him an active collaborator with her enemies.

  Patterson blanched. No doubt the same thoughts had occurred to him. Whatever persona he showed to the world, he couldn't be naive enough to ignore the realities of his job. It was bad enough that his new subordinates would be plotting his death, but if Admiral Singh ever found out the truth, his life would certainly be forfeit. And the fact that he hadn't planned to gain promotion wouldn't help when the Admiral had him killed.

  “Yes, it is,” he said, tightly. He turned and walked into the living room, clicking on the light as he stepped inside. “What can I do for you?”
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  Jasmine stepped inside, picking her way over the books that had been scattered on the floor. “We need you to help us get some people inside the system,” she said calmly, trying not to show her inner fear. If Patterson decided that his family wasn't important after all, telling him so much would allow him to set up another betrayal, one that would prove completely fatal. “You will ensure that they get permission to go wherever they need to go.”

  Patterson’s eyes narrowed. “That’s it?”

  “For the moment,” Jasmine said, as if it wasn't particularly important. “We will have other tasks for you to do, later.”

  “Right,” Patterson said. There was a hint of desperation in his voice. “And my family?”

  “Oh,” Jasmine lied, smoothly. “I almost forgot.”

  She reached into her pocket and produced a folded sheet of paper. “Your wife has written to you,” she said, as she passed it to him. “Sirius was reluctant to actually write, but he condescended to sign it after we asked very nicely. I trust it will serve as enough proof.”

  Patterson scowled at her. He knew, better than most, just how easy it was to fake evidence; someone with access to copies of his wife’s handwriting could easily have forged a letter claiming to be from her, then disposed of his wife’s body somewhere where it wouldn't be found easily. On the other hand, coming up with irrefutable proof that she was still alive would be tricky, even for the best-prepared kidnappers. After all, anyone could have written the line where Patterson’s wife congratulated him on his new job.

  Jasmine watched as he unfolded the sheet of paper and read it quickly. Even asking his wife to write a note had been a risk; it was quite possible that they’d agreed a code beforehand for such situations, allowing her to slip her husband some information. Jasmine was fairly sure that the woman didn't know where she and her son were being held, but she knew better than to take anything for granted. And yet there was no choice. If Patterson came to believe, no matter how incorrectly, that his family were dead, he would betray them. How could she blame him?