Stars & Empire: 10 Galactic Tales

by Jay Allan

  “All the better for us,” Blake declared, as they passed a line of street toughs. Jasmine braced herself, expecting a fist-fight, but the toughs somehow picked up on their true nature—even though the civilian clothes they were wearing—and wisely backed off. There might have been nine of them, but the Marines would have handed them their heads, even without weapons. “We can have all the pussy we want and no one will say boo to us.”

  Jasmine rolled her eyes. “Do you ever think about anything apart from women?”

  Blake pretended to consider it. “No,” he said, finally. “I guess I’m a naughty Blake. Mama Coleman would not be impressed.”

  Joe chuckled. “Remember,” he said, in a passable impression of Sergeant Young, “a soldier who won’t fuck won’t fight.”

  “And a soldier who fucks when he should be fighting won’t be fucking for much longer,” Jasmine said, in a rather less passable impression of her first Drill Sergeant. The fornication excuse for being late back to barracks worked once; after that, it was punishment duties for any repeat offender. “Just remember to pay them in local coins.”

  “I am offended at your suggestion that I might have to pay them,” Blake countered, archly. “Why, there are women who pay me to have sex with them.”

  Koenraad laughed. “If that is true, Blake, why are you still here?”

  “Because without me, you’d all be dead by now,” Blake said. He snorted dryly. “Who has the local cash anyway?”

  Joe reached into his pocket and brought out a roll of paper notes, produced at the Bank of Avalon. Jasmine hadn’t been impressed when she’d first seen them. Any halfway competent forger could have produced millions of counterfeit banknotes and used them to wreck an already-unstable currency. They were, in theory, equal to the Imperial Credit and could be exchanged one-for-one, but the Bank of Avalon had tried to overcharge the first Marines who had attempted to exchange their money.

  It had been Joe who had come up with the solution. He’d taken an inventory of the songs and tunes the platoon had brought with them from Earth, and then sold them to distributors in Camelot, giving them advance access to the currently-fashionable music from Earth. Jasmine disliked the howling racket that was the height of fashion on Earth—it sounded like an army of cats howling at the moon while being savaged by wild dogs, in her considered estimation—but it had brought the platoon plenty of local money. By the time the official releases reached Avalon, the music would already be old and forgotten.

  “There’s enough here to wipe your bottom after eating in the mess,” Joe said, as he passed out bundles of notes. Jasmine took hers and stowed it in her inside pocket. “I’m not sure what else it will buy here. It won’t be long before they start producing million-credit banknotes.”

  “Probably,” Koenraad agreed. “They’re in the middle of an inflation spiral right now and it’s only going to get worse before it gets better.”

  “Hey,” Blake said, as they turned another corner and saw the party. “We don’t want to know about economics and maths and boring shit like that. We want to go to a party!”

  He slapped Jasmine on the shoulder. “And you can play the game too,” he said. “We’ll let you bring home underpants instead of panties and see who wins.”

  “Get fucked,” Jasmine said, dryly.

  “I intend to,” Blake countered. He smiled at her. “Come on; live a little. It might be fun.”

  “I seem to recall that we end up being thrown out of places; that or being chased back to barracks by the wasps,” Jasmine said. “If we have to spend the next week cleaning toilets, I’m going to do something awful to you. Something so unspeakably awful that I haven’t even thought of it yet.”

  Blake chuckled and ambled towards the party, followed by the other three. The party seemed to have started in one large hall and spread rapidly into several others. There were hundreds of young men and women dancing in the first hall, while others pushed in and out as they grew tired of the music. Jasmine rubbed the back of her temples as the noise grew louder. She’d been in powered combat armour under fire and that hadn’t been anything like so much of a racket. The rate of ear trauma on Avalon, she decided, had to be quite high.

  A topless girl danced past with her breasts bobbling as she moved. From the dazed look in her eye, Jasmine guessed that she was on some kind of stimulant, probably something grown illegally in the countryside and shipped into the city. Her hard nipples seemed to mock everyone as she moved from boy to boy, kissing each of them before moving on to the next. From the laughter that followed her, Jasmine had the very clear impression that she wasn’t operating entirely of her own volition.

  Sparkle dust, probably, she thought. Sparkle Dust was banned on almost every world in the Empire, with good reason. Properly prepared, it acted as a mild hypnotic, allowing someone who took it to enter a state where they would follow almost any suggestion they were given. The girl had probably taken it on a dare—or it had been slipped into her drink—and someone had suggested that she act the wanton for the night. She was going to be very embarrassed in the morning.

  “I knew we’d have fun,” Blake said, as they pushed their way towards a makeshift bar. It looked as if it was going to topple over at any second, although that hadn’t stopped people from covering it with barrels and glass bottles of drinks. Avalon might not produce much in the way of marketable goods, but it was generally agreed that it produced excellent beer, although there was little point in exporting it to other star systems. It wasn’t cost-effective. “I should have worn my uniform. That always brings in the girls.”

  He leaned across the counter and smiled at the barmaid, a girl who looked as if she had seen too much in her young life. She couldn’t be much younger than Jasmine herself, but her eyes were those of an old woman. “Four beers please,” he said, waving the wad of cash under her nose. “We’re thirsty and starving.”

  “We take Imperial Credits only,” the barmaid said, tiredly. Blake leaned over and glared at her. Jasmine sighed inwardly, even though she knew that the barmaid deserved it. It was illegal—if good business—to refuse payment in local currency. “All right. I’ll pour you four beers.”

  “And pour one for yourself as well,” Blake said, affably. He passed across some of his banknotes. “Please don’t try to short-change me. I’ll never live it down.”

  Jasmine smiled inwardly at the barmaid’s expression. The woman didn’t know it, but one of the many secrets implanted into the Marines was an implant that prevented them from becoming drunk, or even mildly inebriated. A pleasant buzz was the most they could expect from their drinks, even if they drank twenty pints each. She took a long pull at her glass and sighed in delight. The beer was cold and surprisingly good. She’d had drinks on Earth that should have been poured back into the horse.

  “I’m going over there,” Blake said, pointing towards a table where several girls sat, giggling as they watched the Marines. “Come on; you might find one that’s into girls.”

  Jasmine surveyed the girls and frowned. If what they wore was high fashion on Avalon, it proved that bad taste was truly universal. “I dread to imagine,” she said, primly. “You go have fun. I’m going to sit here and watch the crowd.”

  “You don’t have to stay here, honey,” the barmaid said. “There are other places you can go.”

  Jasmine shook her head as the crowd swallowed up Blake and Joe. Koenraad had vanished off somewhere, perhaps chasing a pretty girl. Blake and Joe might enjoy being in a party, but Jasmine felt out of place. Her strict upbringing hadn’t prepared her for such debauchery and her experience in the Marines meant nothing to the young fools on the dance floor. They would never understand what it was like to crawl through the mud, trying to sneak up on an enemy position, or the costs of her career. Her father had understood, the day she’d told him that she was leaving to go to Boot Camp, but few others outside the Marines knew or cared. They were the only real family she had.

  An hour passed slowly as the dancing swirle
d around her. The music never seemed to stop—she suspected that it was produced by a computer, rather than a human band—and dancers joined or left at will. She caught sight of Joe, locked in an embrace with a pretty girl, and Blake, being … serviced by a girl in public, and recoiled, even though no one else seemed to care. It reminded her of the last days on Han before everything had gone to hell. No one might have said it out loud, but Avalon was a dying world.

  She was turning sharply before her mind caught up with what she had seen. There was a girl, over at a table, surrounded by three tough-looking guys. Jasmine locked her eyes on them and realised in a sudden burst of horror that she knew the girl. Mandy Caesius’s red hair was almost impossible to mistake.

  Silly bitch, Jasmine thought, angrily. The Professor and his family might have finally obtained housing in the richer section of town, but his silly spoilt daughter still had to get her kicks somehow, even if it meant coming right into the seedy area of town without an escort. Jasmine had privately wondered if the Professor had hoped that she’d play Mandy’s older sister, but there just hadn’t been the time. Captain Stalker wouldn’t have bothered to pussyfoot around the issue; if he’d wanted Jasmine to baby-sit the girl, he would have issued orders and left it to her to carry them out.

  Her gaze sharpened as she realised that Mandy was in real trouble. One of her male friends was holding up a tab and reaching out towards Mandy’s neck, while the other two were holding her arms and pawing at her body. Mandy was laughing, but it was the nervous laugh of prey, caught in the predator’s net. Jasmine didn’t even think about leaving the girl to suffer whatever fate they had in mind for her. Marines existed to protect people like her and, even if some of them weren’t worth the effort, the creed of the Corps wouldn’t allow her to walk away.

  She stood up and stretched, checking out the area. It was hard to be sure, but the thugs holding Mandy might have more allies in the nearby area. They might have been a street gang, like the ones back on Earth, or they might just have been friends, out to see just how far they could go before someone stopped them. No one was going to stop them, Jasmine knew, unless she intervened. There was no sign of the Civil Guard at all. She glanced around, looking for any of her comrades, before walking right up to the lead thug and yanking the tab out of his hand. Whatever it was—and she had nasty suspicions—she couldn’t allow him to inject it into Mandy.

  “Hey, bitch,” the thug said, wincing. Jasmine hadn’t been gentle and had applied considerable force to his hand. He was lucky she hadn’t broken it outright. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  He meant to be intimidating, but after an endless series of Drill Sergeants, Jasmine had long lost her fear of anyone lesser. “Mandy,” she said, ignoring him, “we’re leaving. Now.”

  Mandy looked up at her, astonished. “I…”

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch,” another gang member said. He looked at his mates, eyes glittering. Jasmine realised that he’d popped a tab of a different drug. “We can have some fun with this one too.”

  “No,” Jasmine said, pushing all of her authority into her voice. Wiser men, or men who hadn’t addled their mind with drugs, would have backed away. “I’m taking her out of here. You can fuck off and find a few whores to satisfy your appetites…”

  The gang leader roared at such a challenge to his authority and threw a punch. He might have thought that he was tough, but Jasmine saw him as if he were moving in slow motion and she had plenty of time to think of a counter. She stepped to one side, reaching up to snap his arm as he fell past her, before shoving him down onto the ground with a kick. Mandy stared at her as she twisted before a second gangster could grab hold of her, neatly placing a kick right in his groin. The young man folded over and crashed onto the floor. The others howled in rage and closed in. Jasmine braced herself, just before one of them was sent flying right across the room by Blake.

  “You should have called,” he said, as he turned to flatten a second thug. There was nothing elegant in his punch; he simply smashed the thug right in the face. “I had just finished my business and…”

  “We didn’t wish to know that,” Joe said, appearing out of nowhere. He was grinning a toothy grin. “How much did you have to pay her?”

  The gang closed in, unable to retreat. Jasmine instinctively bunched up with the other three, leaving Mandy in the centre, and fell into a combat stance. The thugs had no idea what they were up against. Used to picking on defenceless and drugged girls, or isolated victims, they had no conception of organised violence. The four Marines sliced through them, knocking them all down one by one. Blood flew as several of the thugs drew knives, only to find themselves targeted for immediate suppression.

  “You’d better get her out of here,” Blake said, over the private communications channel. The crowd was starting to panic, breaking up as the music was mercifully drowned out by screams. The young men and women were trying to run in all directions, knocking each other over as they fled. The injuries would be horrifying on an advanced planet, but on Avalon, comparatively minor damage could be fatal. “What was she doing here anyway?”

  “Fucked if I know,” Jasmine said. She caught hold of Mandy’s arm and hauled the girl up, throwing her over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Mandy yelped once and fell silent. “I’ll get her back to her home and then ask her specifically.”

  “Good,” Blake said, all business suddenly. A thug came at him, waving a length of chain, and he caught it and used it to knock its former owner to the ground. “Go!”

  CHAPTER 24

  The Empire needs to ensure that its young are brought up to understand, embrace and propagate the values of the Empire, yet over thousands of planets, this simple truth is no longer heeded. They are taught, instead, that there are no consequences to anything they do. The Empire-mandated curriculum has, by replacing the parents, produced a generation of sheep and wolves.

  - Professor Leo Caesius, The Waning Years of Empire (banned).

  Jasmine held herself together as she ran out of the hall, heading towards the nearest street. A handful of people tried to get in her way and she knocked them down, snapping into close-protection mode. It had been years since she had ever had to serve as a bodyguard to a civilian—rather than a Marine officer, who could be relied upon to know what to do in an emergency—but she hadn’t forgotten. The health and safety of passers-by was of no concern compared to the safety of her charge.

  “Idiot girl,” she growled, as the cold night air struck her in the face. Merlin, orbiting high overhead, seemed to laugh at her in the cold night. The planet’s single moon was far more pronounced than Luna had ever been to the early generation of humans. Perhaps it wouldn’t have taken so long for humanity to reach the stars if the Moon had been closer to Earth. “What were you thinking?”

  Mandy made no reply. Jasmine half-guessed that she might be in shock, but there was no time to stop for a medical emergency. She could hear sirens as the Civil Guard’s local force finally responded to the growing riot and hoped that Blake and the others would have the sense to vanish before they could be arrested. Captain Stalker would not be happy if he had to bail them out of some local jail, if they survived so long. The gang probably had an ally in the local service who would help them to take revenge on the Marines. The stream of people fleeing was growing stronger as the Civil Guard finally arrived, too late to do anyone any good. Jasmine took a breath and ran right towards the first car. The officer who climbed out of it stared at her in surprise. He had enough military training—even if it had been supplemented by civil police service training—to know when he was looking at a fellow soldier.

  “Marine Corps,” Jasmine said, flashing her Rifleman’s Tab at him. The golden badge was unique. It had been made for her specifically when she had graduated from the Slaughterhouse and would be stored there after her death, if it survived whatever killed her. There were a handful of badges in private hands, even though it was illegal. “I need your car and a driver.”


  “But … you can’t be serious,” the officer said. “I have to deal with the riot!”

  “Take it up with the Governor,” Jasmine said, as the Civil Guard began to spread out and head towards the growing riot. “I need your car, now!”

  The officer blinked owlishly at her, and then got out, allowing Jasmine to put Mandy down onto the rear seat. Unsurprisingly, the car was luxurious, even though it had been prepared for military service. She closed the door behind her and barked an address to the driver, who clearly hadn’t dared to object to her sudden hijacking. The car’s engine roared as it slipped into gear and headed away from the chaos.

  Jasmine glanced down at Mandy and keyed her implanted communicator. “The Civil Guard is here,” she subvocalised. The driver couldn’t be allowed to hear her words. “Get out of there and I’ll meet you back at the barracks.”

  There was no response, so she turned her attention to Mandy, picking through her utility belt for her medical bracelet. The device was centuries ahead of anything Avalon could produce for itself—which had worrying implications for when they ran out of supplies—but it should suffice to run a basic medical diagnostic on the young girl. Mandy looked as if she were in shock, perhaps because of the attempted rape and ultra-violence, yet Jasmine feared that there was more to it than just that. The bracelet had no baseline for her—an oversight that would have been corrected, if there had been anything official about her voyage on the Sebastian Cruz—but it didn’t matter. The results blinked up in front of her and Jasmine swore. Mandy had taken at least one other drug and quite a lot of alcohol.