“My name is Helen,” the girl said, eying Belinda doubtfully. “What’s your name?”
“Belinda,” Belinda said. The girl seemed thinner than she should be, but otherwise healthy and well. She might not look so pretty now, Belinda decided, yet those cheekbones would give her a definite presence when she was a little bit older. “I’m working with your ...”
“Caretaker,” Helen supplied. “It’s just until my mommy and father come back.”
Belinda frowned, inwardly. The girl seemed to believe her words, yet there was something in her tone that suggested otherwise, that she knew her parents would never return. She wondered, absently, just what the story was, then made a mental note to ask Glen once he returned. It might not be important, but her instincts were telling her she should be paying attention. But, thankfully, the girl didn't look as though she was being abused.
You really think she would have been abused? Pug asked. Glen’s a nice guy.
You know how many bastards there are in uniform, Belinda thought back, feeling yet another flicker of guilt. Remember Han?
She shuddered at the memory. The Imperial Administrators had made matters far worse on an already-staggering planet by abusing the population. One of them had collected underaged children, making the others seem almost reasonable and pleasant by comparison. She had no idea if the administrator had always been a monster or if the complete lack of oversight had gotten to him, but it hardly mattered. He’d helped fuel a revolt that had cost millions of lives.
Helen turned to look at Belinda, her gaze suddenly serious. “Are you going to marry him?”
Belinda had to choke back a laugh. “I don’t think so,” she said, dryly. Glen was attractive, but she didn't want to risk damaging their fragile relationship by sleeping with him, let alone marrying him. “Why do you think I would?”
“There’s a girl in Romantic Relationships,” Helen said. “She met a guy, slept with him and then married him, all on the same day.”
“That only works out when you have a scriptwriter on your side,” Belinda said. She hated to admit it, but she had watched a few episodes of Romantic Relationships. It was really nothing more than hundreds of sex scenes, joined together by a very flimsy plot. None of the actors were very good at their jobs, but they hadn't been hired for their acting talent. “How would you know, after one date, that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him?”
“I don’t know,” Helen said. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No,” Belinda said, flatly. Romantic relationships were never easy for female Marines – and harder still for Pathfinders. She had to either keep her boyfriends in the dark or watch them shy away from her when she revealed the truth. The only person who had made a pass at her after she’d revealed herself was Prince Roland. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“That’s sad,” Helen said. “Romantic Relationships says that no one is happy without a partner.”
Belinda rolled her eyes, blatantly enough to make Helen giggle. “Soap operas say a lot of things,” she said, sarcastically. Once, they’d tried to shock; now, there was little they could do that would shock their jaded viewers. “You have to bear in mind they don’t have any interest in showing happy, but single people.”
She smiled. “You have to bear in mind they don’t have any interest in showing happy, but single people.”
Belinda allowed her smile to grow wider. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Helen shook her head. “I was on a ship, without anyone apart from my parents,” she said, softly. “The only time I met boys was at a Meet – and there wasn't time to do more than chat.”
“Probably for the best,” Belinda said. Helen couldn't be older than fourteen, physically old enough to have a relationship but probably not mature enough to handle it. “Wait until you’re older.”
“That’s what my mother said,” Helen commented. “I don’t think she ever understood me.”
“My mother understood me all too well,” Belinda said. Her mother had been kind and caring, but she’d never put up with any nonsense from her children. “And when I had to leave, she waved me goodbye and wished me luck.”
“I’ll have to leave one day,” Helen said, morbidly. “If I marry someone from another ship, I’ll have to go live with him and his family. My parents wouldn't want someone else joining us, not even if he was young and handsome.”
Belinda nodded, feeling pity. Helen’s words concealed a harsher reality. To prevent inbreeding, the Traders often traded daughters from ship to ship, sometimes without the daughter’s consent. It was a habit that had persisted despite the existence of genetic modification technology – but then, the Traders did prefer to use the simple option, if possible. One day, Helen might be sent to live elsewhere ...
Or she might find someone and be happy, Belinda thought. There’s no reason it has to end in tragedy.
Helen clicked on the viewscreen again, then started a flick. Belinda smiled to herself as she realised it was one of the dreadfully unfunny attempts at comedy produced on Earth, then settled back to watch it anyway. They were always unfunny, she knew, because the producers were desperate to avoid offending anyone. And just about anything could be offensive, to the right person. The only acceptable targets were Traders, colonists and anyone else who wanted to live outside the Empire.
Glen stepped into the living room, looking calmer than he'd been while they’d been talking. “Your code checks out,” he said, as he sat down facing her. “Thank you.”
“That’s good,” Belinda said. She glanced at the sofa, then back at him. “Where do I sleep?”
“Helen, bed,” Glen said, firmly. He gave Belinda a sidelong look. “Perhaps you could read her a bedtime story?”
Belinda shrugged, then rose to her feet and waited for Helen to prepare for bed. She hadn't tried to argue, somewhat to Belinda’s surprise, although she wouldn't have expected an argument from someone raised on a starship. Traders kept strict hours and rarely stayed up late. Or perhaps Helen was merely tired. The memory of how her siblings had kept crawling out of bed after their mother had put them into bed and tucked them in brought another stab of guilt. She hadn't been the easiest daughter to raise.
And that was lucky for us, Doug pointed out. You would never have made it if you’d been a submissive little girl.
But you would have been more obedient, Pug added snidely. You wouldn't have disobeyed orders under fire.
I didn't have a choice, Belinda thought, rubbing her temple. And you know it.
Helen readied herself for bed quickly and efficiently, to Belinda’s amusement. The girl undressed, washed and then donned a pair of flowery pyjamas before climbing under the covers and giving Belinda an expectant look. Belinda smiled back at her, feeling as if she finally understood why her mother hadn’t booted her out of the house after the first few instances of childish disobedience. There was something about a smile from a child that made it all worthwhile.
“A story,” she said, out loud. “Let me see.”
She took a breath, remembering one that had been popular on her homeworld.
“Once upon a time, there was a family of pigs who lived together in a very large house,” she said. It had been one of her favourite stories, to the point her mother had flatly refused to recite it for her after several months of repeating it time and time again. “One day, Papa Pig went out and found a wolf cub lost in the forest. He picked up the cub and took him back to the house.”
She paused. “Over the years, Little Wolf became their servant,” she continued. “He did whatever he was told, even as he grew bigger and bigger. The pigs didn't hesitate to keep putting him down, though. They insulted and mocked and belittled him to his face.”
Helen sat upright. “Why?”
“People are stupid,” Belinda said. “And idiotic too.
“Little Wolf kept growing bigger and bigger,” she said. “And yet he stayed obedient until the day they finally pushed him too far. They wanted him to fight
other wolves for them! And so Little Wolf turned on the pigs. He ate Papa Pig and Mama Pig and Big Pig and Middle Pig and Little Pig. He even crunched up Little Pig’s doll. And that was the end of the piggy family. Little Wolf brought his mother to the house and they lived there, happily ever after.
“Apart from the pigs, of course.”
Helen twisted her face in contemplation. “But they treated him really badly,” she said, finally. “Why shouldn't he eat them?”
“Good question,” Belinda said. “The morale of the story is that treating someone badly can come back to haunt you.”
Her father had once argued, in the weeks before Belinda left for Boot Camp, that the whole story was a metaphor for the Empire itself. On one hand, the Empire needed warriors to defend it; on the other hand, the Empire hated and feared its defenders. What was to stop the sheepdogs from deciding it was better to act like wolves? Belinda had never seriously considered turning against the Empire – the Marine Corps trained its people better than that – but she could understand why others would be tempted. Why would an Admiral not consider becoming a warlord when the Grand Senate could break him at will?
And she’d always liked Little Wolf. The story of the oppressed overthrowing the oppressor struck a chord with her, but she knew from bitter experience that the oppressed often became the oppressors when the tables were turned. Little Wolf, on the other hand, had simply managed to take over Papa Pig’s house, after killing his family. But then, it was a children’s story. The unfortunate implications that would have been present in an adult story were missing.
And we should be grateful for that, she thought, crossly. What would happen to our children if we read them stories about murder, rape and oppression?
She tucked Helen in, then rose to her feet and slipped out of the room. Outside, Glen was sitting on the sofa, waiting for her. Belinda hesitated, then sat down facing him.
“There's a blanket under the sofa,” he said, shortly. “We’ll wake up at 0800, if that’s alright with you.”
“I guess so,” Belinda said, feeling oddly hollow. Telling the story had cost her more than she wanted to admit. There were VR simulations where people, men and women, went back to childhood, but she’d always held them in contempt. And yet, she thought she understood now. There was not only innocence in childhood, but escape as well. “Do you have to go back to the office?”
“Not for a day or two,” Glen said. His face shadowed as he remembered his partner. “I was told to take a break.”
“Your boss must dislike you,” Belinda said. Someone like Glen would be better off working until the pain had a chance to dull. Being alone wouldn't help, really. “Or is she trying to be kind?”
“Kind, I think,” Glen said. He shook his head. “I need to do more than just sit around on my ass.”
Belinda nodded, looking him up and down. He wasn't unattractive, not by any means, even if he was older than her. And he was definitely fit. His face showed more lines than Doug or even the Commandant had ever shown. She considered, very briefly, making love to him. It had been a long time for her and, she thought, longer for him. But she knew it would destroy their working relationship, as flimsy as it was.
“Try to sleep,” she urged, instead. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Glen nodded slowly – perhaps he'd been having amorous thoughts too – then rose to his feet and walked out of the room. Belinda took off her shoes, then found the blanket and lay down on the sofa. Oddly, she realised in the moments before she slipped her implants into sleep mode, she felt more comfortable in Glen’s home than she had in Augustus’s apartment. It was nowhere near as pretentious.
The next thing she knew, it was morning and she could hear the sounds of someone making breakfast. She stumbled to her feet, feeling oddly grimy in her uniform, then walked into the bathroom and splashed water on her face. It honestly hadn't occurred to her to bring a spare uniform, let alone toiletries. Going without washing wasn't something she enjoyed, although she was used to it. She’d been unable to wash during the Crucible and, by the time her team had finished, they had all stunk so badly the Drill Instructors had practically shoved them into the showers and threatened to lock the door.
“You can use the shower, if you like,” Glen called from the kitchen. “There’s no water rationing yet.”
“It's only a matter of time,” Belinda called back, as she undressed and climbed into the shower. The water pressure was pathetic, compared to the showers she’d used on the Chesty Puller. “They’ll start drawing water from working apartment blocks to blocks without water purification equipment soon enough.”
She washed herself quickly, dried herself with a towel and dressed in her uniform, then walked out into the kitchen. Glen was frying something that smelt heavenly in a pan, while there was bread and orange juice on the table. Belinda took a glass, sighed inwardly at the smell of heavily-processed juice, then drank it anyway. She still missed pure juice from her homeworld, where there were no petty regulations to ensure that all the fun was drained from life.
Glen put a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her, then sat down with his own. It must have cost a great deal of money, Belinda thought as she ate, but it was possible that Glen considered it comfort food. He ate quickly, using pieces of bread to wipe up egg yolk in a manner that reminded Belinda of her brother. She had to smile, wondering if Glen had irritated his father as much as Kevin had irritated hers, but it wasn't something she could ever ask. Glen’s parents, according to his file, were dead.
“You did well with Helen,” Glen said. “Thank you.”
He explained, quickly, why she was staying with him. Belinda silently approved. It would have been easy to have Helen handed over to the Civil Guard, where she would probably have been sold – if she was lucky – to a colonial development corporation. Easy, but not right. Taking her in, if only for a short space of time, meant that Glen was a better person than most of the Empire’s population. But then, helping each other was strongly discouraged by the government.
“You’re a better man than I am,” she said, when he'd finished. “And she’s a sweet kid.”
“I suppose,” Glen said. He paused. “I spoke to my boss.”
Belinda frowned. “And?”
“And she says that we are to keep our noses away from the source,” Glen said. “I’m to take the next day off, then concentrate on building up the security force for Island One. I put in a request for you” – Belinda tensed – “and you should have orders to report to me officially tomorrow.”
He paused. “I didn't mention your real identity,” he added. “Just ... just that I admired your competence.”
“Very good,” Belinda said. She finished her breakfast, then leaned forward. “I think I should have a word with the source anyway, Glen. Your boss didn't forbid me from checking him out.”
Glen nodded, slowly. “But how will you know how to find him?”
Belinda tapped the side of her head, then winked. “Leave that to me,” she said. “You spend the day trying to relax, understand? Go do something mindless.”
“I’ll be going through the files,” Glen said. “I'm damned if I’m sitting about doing nothing.”
I definitely like him, Doug’s voice said. He would have made a good Marine, if things had been different.
Better get after him, Pug added. The boss likes the cut of his jib.
Belinda told both voices, firmly, to shut up.
Chapter Thirty
This might have seemed suicidal. The Nihilists were the enemies of all. They killed without conscience, without mercy. But they looked better than the government and that was all that mattered.
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Decline of Law and Order and the Rise of Anarchy.
“You’re being reassigned,” Fraser said, as soon as Belinda walked into his office. “Marshal Cheal has requested your services.”
“Yes, sir,” Belinda said, trying to look surprised. “What does he want me for?”
> “It doesn't say,” Fraser said. “I shall be sorry to lose you, but orders are orders.”
He paused. “You are to wait until called, then report to him,” he added. “Your team has already been reassigned to other duties, so you can wait without worrying about them.”
“Thank you, sir,” Belinda said. “Has there been any progress on tracking down the rioters – or the snipers?”
“No,” Fraser said. “We don’t have the manpower to track them down. Some people just want to bombard the area at random, in hopes of making an impression, but the Governor overruled them.”
“Oh,” Belinda said. It was the first humane act she’d seen from a member of the Governor’s family. Was it a genuine concern for the innocents who would die, she asked herself, or an attempt to prevent another upheaval? There was no way to know. “Should I wait in the barracks?”
“Wait wherever you please,” Fraser said, dryly. “Just make sure you’re ready when he calls, Belinda. It was priority-one.”
Belinda nodded, then saluted and left the office. Outside, it seemed busier than before, with newer conscripts reporting for duty. She smiled to herself as she walked into the barracks – there were several more occupied beds – and checked her message inbox. A note from Violet popped up in front of her, asking when Belinda was next going to visit her father. It concluded with a warning that Augustus would be off-world next week and thus unavailable.
Unless he’s going to Island One, Belinda thought. It made sense; Augustus was the largest economic operator in the system, so he’d definitely want input. And the Governor would value his advice. I might see them there.
And it might turn into a stupid romantic comedy, Pug added. You might ...
Shut up, Belinda thought.
She lay back on her bunk, then accessed the secure network through her neural link. It didn't take long to find the sealed files on the warehouse – there really had been enough weapons to outfit a small army resting there when they’d been recovered by the Civil Guard – and through it identify the source. He was, apparently, a deep cover agent sent in by the Marshals, someone capable of posing as Nihilist for quite some time. Belinda was moderately impressed. She knew how to play roles, but deep cover agents never had an easy time of it. If nothing else, there was the very real risk of being accidentally killed by their own side.
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