The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9) (v5.1)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “The Air Traffic Control system was taken down a day or so after we heard the news from Earth,” Glen said, as he started the engine. “Besides, I never trusted the system. We were having countless accidents each day even before the Nihilists went to work.”

  He drove out and onto the darkened streets. There were no non-official cars on the roads, but there were far too many vehicles that had been branded as official after the curfew had been placed over the entire planet. He noticed a handful of troop transporters making their way through the streets, carrying soldiers to replace the guards on the central government buildings and other places of importance. The curfew would have been difficult to enforce over the city, but the Governor had imposed it on the entire planet. There just weren't enough men to hold the curfew in place, let alone arrest everyone who might break it for one reason or another. Glen had a dark suspicion that the Civil Guard had been making quite a bit of money from catching curfew-breakers, then letting them go in exchange for cash. But nothing had been proven.

  “The stars look odd from down here,” Helen said, suddenly. “They’re twinkling!”

  “That's the atmosphere distorting the light,” Glen explained. He glanced upwards, briefly, then returned his attention to the ongoing journey. “The stars that appear to be moving faster are spacecraft and space stations. I believe the bigger ones are the giant battlestations protecting the planet.”

  “And making life harder for spacers,” Helen said. “Daddy always says the crews require much bigger bribes than anyone else.”

  “That sounds about right,” Glen said. He briefly considered probing at her, to see what she might tell him, but decided she probably didn't trust him enough yet. “Everyone tends to have a price.”

  He turned the car and drove down into the underground garage, then parked near the elevator. His apartment was midway up the giant skyscraper, behind the finest security system available to civilians. It wasn't a reassuring thought. He knew just how easy it would be for a determined attacker to make his way through the security screens and break into the apartment blocks. The only real defence was a solid – and firmly non-regulation – lock on the door.

  Helen yawned, loudly, as they entered the elevator and rode up to the apartment floor. Glen encouraged her out, then pressed his fingertips against a scanner, opening the door that led into the main corridor. There was no one there, which didn't surprise him. The inhabitants of the floor kept themselves to themselves, most of the time. Earth’s habit of obsessively ignoring what everyone else was doing had translated nicely to Terra Nova, even if it was annoying to a police officer. Few people could be considered reliable witnesses when paying no attention was considered a virtue.

  He opened the door to his apartment and motioned for Helen to get inside. She looked a little disappointed at the bare walls – the only decoration was a picture of his dead wife – but Glen found it hard to care. Instead, he showed her the bathroom and told her to have a wash while he sorted out the guest bedroom. Isabel had slept there on more than one occasion, which was why he kept the room ready for guests at a moment’s notice. He uncovered the bed, placed one of the bottles of water on the bedside table and checked to make sure there was nothing dangerous in the room. His personal weapons were stored in a safe – they should be inaccessible to anyone, but him – yet he knew that almost anything could become a weapon.

  Helen eyed him nervously as she came out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her body. Glen carefully averted his eyes, making a mental note to go shopping if she was staying with him for longer than a couple of days, then pointed to the guest bedroom. Helen scurried inside and ducked under the covers. Glen found her his spare dressing gown – it was the only thing he had she could wear – then told her to get a good night’s sleep. Closing the door behind him, he turned and walked back to his bedroom. He was so tired that he didn't bother to undress, or do more than stow his pistol in the safe before he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. Sleep came almost at once.

  And then, what felt like moments later, he heard screaming.

  Chapter Six

  Bride rape is far from the only act that is now criminal. It was not uncommon for children to be beaten at school – this is now considered child abuse. It was not uncommon for workers to be forced to slave for hours for tiny sums of money – we now have minimum wage laws to prevent exploitation. It was not uncommon for factories to be dangerously unsafe places, with workers killed or injured on the job – we now have laws in place to protect workers from unscrupulous employers.

  - Professor Leo Caesius. The Decline of Law and Order and the Rise of Anarchy.

  Glen was on his feet at once, one hand reaching for his gun before he realised that the screaming was coming from his guest bedroom. He turned on the light, then opened the door into the hallway and stepped out into the hall. The noise was definitely coming from his guest bedroom. He hesitated, then opened the door, unsure quite what to expect when his eyes adjusted to the gloom. Helen was lying in the bed, thrashing helplessly in the grip of a nightmare. Glen cursed, then stepped forward and sat down next to her. She promptly hit out at him.

  “It's alright,” Glen said, taking her in his arms. Helen shuddered against him, her body dripping with sweat, then fell still. “You’re safe now.”

  He held her gently as she started to cry, cursing his own inexperience with children and teenagers. If his daughter had lived ... he pushed the thought aside angrily, then wiped the tears from her face with a pocket handkerchief. Helen looked surprised at his touch, then wrapped the dressing gown around herself tightly. Glen slowly started to release her, only to have her grab hold and cling to him for all she was worth. It was clear that she’d had more than just a nightmare. The aftermath of a traumatic experience could be just as bad, in many ways, as going through the experience itself.

  “It’s going to be all right,” Glen promised her. He sighed, wondering if he was telling the truth. At some point, he would have to interrogate her about precisely what she was doing in that warehouse – and just where she’d come from, in the first place. Patty might not consider the girl to be a criminal, but she would want answers. And then ... who knew where Helen might end up? “It will be fine.”

  He rose to his feet, then helped her stand up and walk into the kitchen. It was a smaller room than she might have expected, but Glen took most of his meals at the station, even if it did unpleasant things to his digestive system. Helen sat at the table as Glen poured them both hot milk, then stirred chocolate powder into her mug. She took the mug and wrapped her hands around it, but didn't try to drink. It was clear she was still caught in the aftermath of the nightmare.

  Glen sat down facing her and took a sip of his own milk. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Helen looked up at him, her eyes haunted. “You wouldn't understand,” she said. “You’re a grown-up.”

  “I was a child too once,” Glen said, giving her a sly smile. He was pretty sure, now, that Helen had been the only child on her ship. It didn't narrow the field as much as he would have liked, but at least it was a start. He made a mental note to start querying the Orbital Traffic Control service in the morning, then turned his attention back to her. “And you really should have seen my nightmares.”

  “It wasn't a nightmare,” Helen said. “They felt real.”

  “Nightmares always do,” Glen said. The day after they’d started basic training, he’d had nightmares about being on the wrong side of the law. Being shut up in a cell for training was bad enough, he’d decided; he hated to think about what it must be like to be locked up for real. “And then you wake up and start wondering what is real and what isn’t.”

  Helen nodded, very slowly. “I was dreaming that they were cutting me open,” she said, softly. “Their knives were digging into my very soul. And then there was nothing left of me. And then ...”

  She took a sip of her hot chocolate, then looked up at him. “Is that normal?”

  “I used
to dream of worse,” Glen said. Dreams could be significant, he knew, but they could also be randomised nonsense. He’d watched entertainment flicks as a child, only to dream about them in later years. “Having nightmares after a traumatic experience isn't really uncommon.”

  He smiled at her, trying to be reassuring. “I find that talking about it can help,” he added, softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I don’t know,” Helen said. “They said ...”

  She broke off, her face twisting into a bitter grimace. “They said they’d kill my parents,” she added, after a moment. “But they’re already dead, aren't they?”

  “The people in the warehouse are dead,” Glen said. He was privately surprised that Helen had survived. The Nihilists had never been reluctant to kill children, let alone teenagers, in the past. They wanted to kill as many people as possible before they died themselves. “And we can try and help your parents, if you help us to find them.”

  Helen eyed him, trying to keep her face blank. Glen could read her, though; she simply didn't have any real experience in trying to lie to a law enforcement officer. She’d probably been taught not to trust officers, or anyone connected to the Empire’s authorities, something that wasn't entirely uncommon for spacers. Independent spacers, in particular, dreaded attracting official attention, with good reason. Helen’s parents wouldn't want to risk being charged with negligence on flimsy evidence and having their daughter taken away.

  Glen cursed, inwardly. It was hard enough to enforce the law without the vast majority of the Empire’s population regarding the bureaucrats – and the police officers who enforced their will – as implacable enemies. And it was impossible to placate the bureaucrats. They were happy to do whatever it took to ensure that everyone toed the line, or upheld standards that simply didn't apply to everyone. Spacers, in particular, often ensured that their children had a better – or a more practical – education than planet-born children. But the bureaucrats regarded trying to keep children out of the educational system as a form of defiance, one to be stamped on as quickly as possible.

  “I don’t know what’s happened to your parents,” he said, carefully. “But if they’re in trouble, they won’t be found unless you help us to find them.”

  Helen looked down at the table, obviously torn between the desire to keep her mouth shut and her fear for her parents’ safety. Glen watched, hoping the Civil Guard never got it into their head that Helen could be a valuable source. They were authorised to use everything from starving a suspect to outright torture to extract information, if they felt the need. And Glen knew he couldn't protect Helen from them, not if they had good cause to suggest that he wasn't doing his job. They’d insist that Helen be turned over to them and Patty would be unable to object.

  But all he could do was wait and see what she said.

  “My parents command a freighter,” Helen said, finally. “They were talking about going out beyond the Rim, now their contract with the shipping firm has expired. And then they took a contract to ship items to Terra Nova.”

  Glen frowned. The weapons?

  “We had to take some staff onboard too,” Helen said. “I don’t think they liked me very much, because they kept glowering at me whenever they saw my face. But then they insisted I went down to the planet with them and they kept me in the warehouse and ...”

  She started to cry. Glen silently filled in the gaps as he stood and walked around to give her what comfort he could. Helen’s parents had picked up the weapons, probably from one of the less-controlled worlds on the edge of the Core Worlds, and transported them to Terra Nova, accompanied by a team of Nihilist commandos. And then, to make sure that her parents kept their mouths firmly shut, the Nihilists had taken Helen as a hostage and transported her down to the planet. Somehow, Glen rather doubted she would have remained alive for long after the Nihilists had finished with her. Helen’s value as a hostage had been shrinking rapidly ever since the weapons had been moved to the surface.

  But it still didn't explain how they’d managed to get the weapons down without being detected.

  Someone must have been slipped a very considerable bribe, Glen thought, although he knew the answer had to be more complex. He doubted there were more than a handful of officers on the orbital towers or spaceports who could have made sure the weapons slipped through without being inspected. Or did they manage to subvert an entire team of inspectors?

  He sighed, then put the thought aside. The investigators would have to do the legwork, tracing the weapons back through the system until they uncovered the people responsible for letting them through the security screening and down to the planet. And then they could be interrogated thoroughly until they spilled their secrets, one by one. But it was unlikely they knew very much. They probably had gambling debts or other weaknesses the Nihilists had used to subvert them.

  “You’re not to blame,” he said, looking back at Helen. “You didn't know what they were going to do.”

  Helen met his eyes. “So why am I here?”

  “Because there is nowhere else for you to go,” Glen said. He took a long breath. “We can't leave you in the cells or hand you over to the Civil Guard. If you have to stay here more than a week or so, we can probably find you a foster family ...”

  “On the surface?” Helen asked. Her face twisted in disgust. “I’d rather die.”

  “I understand,” Glen said.

  He did, although he didn't want to say why out loud. Most children on Terra Nova were insufferable brats who, if they were half as smart as they thought they were, would be rated as super-geniuses who could devise the next generation of phase drives or starship weapons systems. Most of them would spend fifteen years of their lives in the educational system, then graduate ... and discover they were utterly unsuited to any form of proper employment. It was no surprise to him that they tended to either fall back on the Basic Living Stipend, and spend their time turning out the next generation of useless civilians, or turn to crime. What else could they do with their lives?

  And Helen wouldn't have fitted in at any of the local schools. As someone from a spacer background, she would be too smart, too independent-minded, for her teachers. She’d be held back, then probably marked down as a trouble-maker before she finished her first week in a planetary school. And she would probably be bullied, or worse. Glen wouldn't have dreamed of sending his children to a public school. He knew them too well.

  But it was harder and harder to find a private school that was actually affordable ...

  “I want my parents,” Helen said. Tears appeared at the corner of her eyes. “I want to go back to the ship and forget everything. I want ...”

  “I know,” Glen said. He helped her to her feet, then half-carried her back to the bedroom. “I don’t know what will happen to you, but I will do my best to ensure you don’t have to stay on the planet.”

  Helen looked up at him as he placed her on the bed. “Promise?”

  “I promise,” Glen said. “Now ... do you want something to help you sleep?”

  “No, thank you,” Helen said. “But please stay here for a while.”

  Glen hesitated, then sat down beside the bed and turned off the light. “I’ll be here,” he said, as she pulled the covers over her head. “You go to sleep.”

  He thought, rapidly, as she tried to go to sleep. What would happen to her? If her parents were tried and convicted of shipping illegal weapons to a planet where weapons were banned, they’d be lucky not to be transported to a penal world and dumped there without any way to escape. Their daughter would either be taken into care – which would mean a foster family, eventually – or exiled herself, sold to a planetary development corporation as an involuntary colonist. Neither one would end well for Helen, unless she was very lucky. Few of the indents had decent lives, even on well-developed colony worlds. They were always called upon to do the shit work.

  Or have as many babies as possible, Glen thought, bitterly.

  He felt an
odd surge of protectiveness that surprised him. It wouldn’t be impossible for him to apply for her guardianship himself, although it was unlikely the Child Support Services would give her to him without a fight. They’d think that an Imperial Marshal wouldn't make a good father, even though he made a good salary and had an apartment of his own in a reputable part of town. He had no wife, after all, despite the fact that children and teenagers were expected to spend at least fourteen hours a day at school, then afterschool care.

  You’re being silly, he told himself, as he heard the sound of snores from under the sheets. You don’t know the girl, not really. You just feel protective because you saw her treated like a suspect by the Civil Guard. Patty won’t go to bat for you if you want to take her into your home – and even if she did, would Helen want you if she blamed you for what happened to her parents?

  He stood, as quietly as he could, and crept out of the room, leaving the door half-open behind him. There was little point in going back to sleep, so he found his terminal and sat down in the kitchen, then accessed the private government communications network. The forensic teams had worked throughout the night, struggling to pull as much evidence as they could from the warehouse before they were redirected to yet another crime scene. Despite their haste, they had done a fairly good job. Most of the dead Nihilists had been identified, much to his surprise. But the Nihilists had probably classed the warehouse staff as more expendable than usual.

  All former students, he thought, as he scanned the files. That wasn't a surprise. The students had spent years in education, gaining their degrees, only to discover that they were worthless pieces of paper. The Nihilists had plenty of experience in spotting people who might join their crusade and kill as many people as possible, everyone from the sexually-frustrated to the emotionally deprived who thought nothing of going out with a bang. But why were they at the warehouse in the first place?