Stars & Empire: 10 Galactic Tales

by Jay Allan

  “We knocked them all down, sir,” she said, keying her radio. “What do you want us to do with them?”

  “Hold your position and stun then again if they get twitchy,” Captain Stalker ordered. “Let the others sweep up the stragglers.”

  -o0o-

  Lucas had been falling behind as they fled, unwilling to be too obviously fleeing for his life. As he saw the first bandits start to fall, he realised what had happened and threw himself into a ditch. It stunk to high heaven of animal scents—the smell, instantly familiar to anyone who spent time in Avalon’s countryside, warned him that there might be a Gnasher nearby—but it was safety, of a sort. He forced his trembling legs to keep propelling him forward, unaware of the watching drone high overhead that kept a careful watch on his progress. The noise of hunting Marines behind him—no longer trying to be stealthy with their movements—provided all the incentive he needed. If he could just get out of their view, he was sure they couldn’t catch him …

  A heavy shape thumped down in front of him and he looked up, right into a leering smile. The Gnasher’s teeth, sharper and nastier than any purely terrestrial animal, seemed to shine in the sunlight. Lucas froze, knowing that it was all over. The creature was merely playing with him before it closed in for the kill. He could smell it’s warm breath as it glided closer to him, opening its mouth wide. Warm liquid trickled down his leg as it prepared to bite … and then it recoiled. Lucas turned his head, knowing that he was dead anyway, and saw two armed Marines right behind him, one of them pointing a long rifle at the beast. Time seemed to freeze …

  And then the Gnasher turned and vanished, moving faster than the eye could see.

  Lucas looked up at the Marines and tried to speak. One of them pointed an armoured finger at him … and darkness crashed down upon him.

  -o0o-

  Jasmine retracted the stunner and picked the bandit up. In her armour, he weighed almost nothing.

  “We got him, sir,” she said, keying her communicator. “What do you want us to do with him?”

  “Hand him over to Corporal Cochrane and get back to the Raptors,” Captain Stalker ordered. “Your services may be needed in Camelot.”

  CHAPTER 33

  What will happen to our Empire, if I may ask, when the military leaders take matters into their own hands? Already, discontent with the current situation is growing within the military and there are unconfirmed reports of mutinies and attempted mutinies within the outer systems. What happens if a large military force decides that it can no longer follow the orders of the civilian leadership?

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

  “So,” Carola asked. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Wilhelm admitted. “The ambush should have gone off three hours ago, but we’ve heard nothing specific from our sources in the Civil Guard. The ATC team reported that the Marines launched four of their VTOL transport aircraft towards the badlands moments after the first reports came in … and then nothing. I don’t know what happened at all.”

  Carola stared down at the table. It was real wood and would have been worth a fortune on Old Earth, but on Avalon wood was as common as dirt. It was a shame it wasn’t really worth the effort of exporting wood to Earth, yet perhaps it was for the best. If Avalon had produced something of interest to the Core Worlds, the Empire-backed trade cartels would have moved in and frozen her out of the market. It also reminded her that something that looked strong, like an old oak tree, might have rotted away inside and come to grief in a powerful storm.

  “The Civil Guard said nothing to their home base,” she repeated, puzzled. The Marines had very good communications security, but the Governor kept the Civil Guard on a tight leash. They were supposed to seek his approval for any moves outside the prearranged battle plans, which would have passed through the layer of functionaries—and Carola’s agents—before the Governor was even consulted. Her spies would have known to inform her as soon as anything changed. “They didn’t even tell the Governor?”

  “Not as far as we can determine,” her husband replied. He was playing with a knife he’d brought from their homeworld, one that had been in his family for generations. He’d told her that he intended to pass it on to their firstborn child, but Carola had had no intention of getting pregnant, not until she was the undisputed mistress of Avalon. A child was nothing more than a burden, or a hostage to fortune. “There’s a total communications blackout up near the badlands.”

  Carola considered it, looking down at the single sheet of paper on the table. It was a petition, signed by the majority of the Council, for the Governor to relieve Major Grosskopf of command and pass the duty to another officer, one nominated by the Council. Used properly, issued in the wake of a devastating defeat, it would have undermined the Governor’s own position, leaving him with little choice, but to comply. If the Civil Guard and the Marines had been defeated, it couldn’t fail … or so she told herself. But if they had actually won the battle, issuing the petition would weaken the Council’s position; it would certainly turn them into a laughing stock.

  “We could push the Governor now and see if he fell,” she said, slowly. They exchanged a long look. If they tried and failed, it would mean public humiliation, even if nothing worse happened. “Or we could hold on to the petition and wait to see what actually happened up there.”

  Wilhelm gave voice to one of the darker possibilities. “What happens if the bandits lost the fight?”

  Carola scowled. The weapons they’d arranged to fall into the bandits hands should have come as a complete surprise to their opponents, yet she knew enough to know that mere possession of a weapon didn’t make someone dangerous, let alone invincible. The links between her faction and the bandits weren’t obvious, certainly nothing to provoke a full Imperial Investigation, but it wouldn’t be hard to work out where the weapons had actually come from. If the Governor traced the line back to their friends in the Civil Guard, all of their plans could rapidly come unravelled.

  “It’s time to put Jackie to work,” she said, shortly. She had decided that the particular Civil Guard ally had to go just after he’d smuggled the weapons out to the bandits; it would be easy to move matters up a little. Their assassin could deal with him before the Governor’s investigators caught up with him and started asking him questions. “And then, I think, we’ll have to wait.”

  She turned to peer out of the window, towards the looming shape of the Mystic Mountains in the distance. What had happened out there?

  -o0o-

  Major George Grosskopf braced himself as the helicopter swooped down towards the LZ, a bare two kilometres from the main Civil Guard Supply Depot on Avalon. The complex was the largest military base on the planet—although the Marines would probably turn Castle Rock into a larger base in the future—and held most of their weapons and supplies. It had been placed near to the spaceport for ease of transport, as well as allowing the garrison to react quickly to any crisis that needed their intervention. Over the years, as the quality of the Civil Guard had continued to decline, it had ended up as a dumping ground for officers who couldn’t be trusted on the battlefield. The results had probably been inevitable.

  He silently cursed the Governor’s weakness—and those of his predecessors—as he jumped out of the aircraft and exchanged salutes with Captain Bertram of Alpha Company. The Captain of Beta Company had been injured in the ambush, but George would deal with him later. The soldiers who had survived were in an evil mood and it had taken too long to calm them down before transporting as many as possible to the main supply depot. He was uncomfortably aware that he was about to make history; his unit would be the first Civil Guard unit in the Empire’s entire history to assault its own supply base.

  “I’ve combined the units into one Company,” Bertram informed him, as the next set of helicopters came in to land. “As per your orders, we have enforced a blockade around the supply depot and arrested anyone trying to get out of it, regardl
ess of their rank. The prisoners are currently held in that field.”

  George followed his pointing finger and saw a number of senior officers, their tailor-made uniforms glittering in the sun, squatting in the dry field. Their hands were bound and they were guarded by a handful of soldiers who had made it absolutely clear that if their former superiors got out of hand, they would be cut down without mercy. In the long run, George was grimly aware that he was initiating a major social change on Avalon, if not launching a mutiny against lawful authority. It would all depend on which way the Governor—and Captain Stalker, for that matter—decided to jump.

  “Good,” he said, as Alpha Company started to form up around their position. “How many personnel do you believe are still in the complex?”

  “Around seven hundred at most, including Kappa Company,” Bertram said. They exchanged glances. Unlike Alpha, Beta or Delta Company, Kappa Company was commanded by political appointees and had the lowest combat ratings in the Avalon Civil Guard. George would not have bet good money on the soldiers trying to resist overwhelming force—the CO of Kappa Company hadn’t tried to develop loyalty among his men—but it was something to watch. “As far as I know, no one from Camelot knows that we are here.”

  George shrugged. It wouldn’t matter. The supply depot was military territory and no civilians were allowed to enter without a pass and an escort. He’d convinced the Governor to declare a two-kilometre exclusion zone around the depot years ago, allowing the defenders licence to engage anyone found in the zone without warning. The Crackers had to have their eye on the massive military stockpile within the depot, which made it all the more galling that he had to leave its defence to a bunch of politicians in uniform. So far, they’d only launched harassing attacks against the garrison, but George doubted that that would last. If they took out the Civil Guard’s supplies, they would gain a decisive military advantage.

  “Good,” he said, finally. “I want you to assemble four platoons, along with the armoured cars and two heavy tanks, and move them up to the gates. I want them see what’s coming at them.”

  He watched as the vehicles slowly moved forward, following in their wake. He—as the Civil Guard’s supreme military commander—should have had total access, but he had a feeling that if he had come alone, he might have walked into a trap. As it was, Alpha Company might not have matched the Marines for firepower, but he would have bet on them against Kappa Company, if Kappa Company dared to put up a fight.

  “Major,” Corporal Van Diamond called, “I have Captain Stalker on the line for you.”

  George keyed his personal radio. “Captain,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re currently transporting the prisoners back to secure housing,” Captain Stalker said, calmly. George didn’t miss the edge in his voice. “I also have two platoons heading towards the spaceport. Do you require their support?”

  “Not yet,” George said, although he was tempted. “This is something the Civil Guard has to do for itself.”

  “Understood,” Captain Stalker said, at once. George was almost surprised. He had expected an argument. “Call us if you discover you need us.”

  George looked up as the connection broke, watching as the massive Main Battle Tank glided towards the barricade. There were only a handful of tanks on Avalon and normally they remained in storage, but he’d had four of them deployed to protect the city in the wake of riots, two months ago. They might not have been first-rank machines, not up to the standards of those he’d used in the Imperial Army, yet they were hellishly intimidating. They hadn’t built the supply depot to stand off a single tank. He lifted his binoculars and saw the guards staring at the tank, unsure of what was going on, but convinced that it wasn’t good. The odds were good that whatever corruption had affected the senior officers hadn’t reached them, yet George couldn’t take chances. Soldiers had no civil rights and everyone on the post was going to go through a full lie detector test before he was satisfied that they could return to duty.

  “Give me the loudspeaker,” he ordered, keying his radio. “THIS IS YOUR CO. YOU ARE ORDERED TO PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND PLACE YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD. THIS COMPOUND IS NOW UNDER MY DIRECT COMMAND.”

  He smiled at the reaction. The guards had probably alerted the compound’s CO as soon as they realised that Alpha Company was bearing down on them, yet if he knew Colonel Smuts, he was still panicking. Smuts had gotten his rank because of a few hefty bribes paid by the Wilhelm Family and had very little use at all, at least as far as George could see. He couldn’t handle logistics, let alone command a unit under heavy fire. A handful of the officers who had been put in place by powerful patrons had their uses, he grudgingly admitted, but Smuts was an imbecile. Throw him into a pit of gold and he would somehow come out covered in shit.

  “No response, sir,” Bertram reported. “I think they’re not convinced of our sincerity.”

  “Bring the main gun to bear on the gate,” George ordered, keying the radio again. “IF THE COMPOUND DOES NOT STAND DOWN AT ONCE, IT WILL BE DECLARED TO BE IN MUTINY AND SMASHED FLAT!”

  It was partly a bluff—they needed to secure the supply dump, not destroy it—but the guards didn’t hesitate any longer. As George watched, they threw down their weapons and held up their hands in surrender, one of them keying the gate to open automatically. Captain Bertram barked orders and Alpha Company moved forward, collecting weapons and taking prisoners as they went. The former defenders were ordered to lie on the ground and had their hands bound, where they would stay until they could be transported to a POW camp and run through the lie detector. The experience would be humiliating for the innocent men, yet there was no choice. George would quite cheerfully have opened fire if the compound’s defenders had tried to fight.

  “We have the gate, sir,” Captain Bertram reported. “And we have seventeen prisoners.”

  “You know the drill,” George ordered. “Spread out by platoon; arrest anyone you come across and secure them until they can be taken away. I want the entire base secured as quickly as possible.”

  He followed one of the platoons as they headed into the HQ Building. The clerks who made the supply depot run stared at the heavily armed soldiers burst in, before being roughly rounded up and made to assume the position. Protests were dealt with quickly and brutally. The men on the front lines had little use for the clerks, even if one of them hadn’t sold heavy weapons that had gotten far too many good men killed. The senior clerk, clearly recognising his ultimate commander, started to stutter out a confession that would have been very interesting, under other circumstances. George motioned for him to join the rest of his clerks and keep his mouth shut. They’d have time to interrogate him properly later.

  The lead soldiers raced up the stairs to the main office and George followed them, no longer expecting any serious resistance from the REMFs. He glanced from side to side as they burst into the officers of high-ranking personal and scowled, taking in just how luxurious they were, even by Avalon’s limited standard. It was expected that some senior officers would be allowed to decorate their own offices, provided that they were decorated at their expense, but they’d taken it far beyond the permissible. The money they’d wasted in creating a comfortable working environment could have been spent on better equipment or recruiting new soldiers. He heard female shrieks up ahead and realised, to his horror, that some of the senior officers had brought their mistresses to work. What the hell had they been thinking?

  “Put them with the others,” he ordered, when the women were finally secured and dragged out. He held up a hand as he recognised one of the women, a girl who served as Smuts’ private secretary. The few times they met, she’d struck him as dumb, blonde and barely fit even for whoring. She didn’t possess the motivation necessary to reach such a post. “You; where is your boss?”

  “I don’t know,” the girl said, shaking against the soldier who held her. “I don’t…”

  “Don’t give me that shit,” George snapped. “Tel
l me where he is or I’ll have you injected with truth drug and then we’ll get an answer out of you.”

  The girl wilted, cringing back against her captor. “He’s in his private office,” she said, bitterly. “He’s been in there for hours. I don’t know what he’s doing there.”

  George could guess. Smuts had set up a private office that included dedicated phone lines, one linked directly to the Council Chambers. He was probably trying to get in touch with his patrons and beg for their support, although it wouldn’t work; Alpha Company’s lead elements had cut the lines and isolated the base before moving into view.

  “Good,” he said. He nodded to the soldier. “Cuff her to that sofa there and come with me.”

  Leaving the girl behind, they walked up the third set of stairs towards the final office. George keyed his radio, listening briefly as reports came in reporting that the remainder of the base had been secured, and smiled briefly. The prospect of a bloodbath—or, worse, of civil war—had been averted, barely. His career might not survive what he’d done today, not if the Governor chose to disapprove, but his men would be safe. They had all followed his orders.

  “Start moving the prisoners out to the camp,” he said, once all the units had reported in. “I’ll deal with Smuts personally.”

  It wasn’t wise, but he was determined, for if anyone had been involved in the corruption, it was Smuts. The man might have been useless for any military purpose—except perhaps as a live target, a nasty part of his mind whispered—but he’d been a past master at ruling a bureaucratic empire. He had to have known what was going on in his base, even if he hadn’t been the prime mover. He had to have known …

  The doorway was ajar and George moved in, holding his sidearm at the ready. A moment later, he lowered it as he took in the sight before him. Smuts was seated at his desk, a bloody hole blasted right through his head. One of his hands held a gun. He was very clearly dead.