The Empire's Corps: Book 06 - To The Shores...

by Christopher Nuttall

  “This place definitely feels like Han,” Buckley agreed, breaking his own silence. “As if it’s on the verge of a final explosion.”

  Alves looked up at him. “Do you think that that’s likely?”

  “It’s possible,” Jasmine admitted, reluctantly. “But all we can do is stay on alert and pray that nothing goes wrong.”

  Once, she would have looked for a way to help the locals. But now she couldn’t think of anything that would help, beyond removing their government and providing enough support to help them build up a new and better government. The task would be far beyond the Commonwealth, she knew, even if the remainder of the Knights were shipped to join them; the sheer level of hatred that burned through the population was terrifyingly powerful. When the lid blew off, the planet would dissolve into mass slaughter and starvation.

  The FOB was little more than a handful of tents and prefabricated buildings, each one guarded by an armed soldier. Jasmine had issued explicit orders that no locals were to be allowed into the camp, even though she knew that someone would probably try to sneak in a local prostitute or two when they thought their superiors weren't looking. It wasn't uncommon on Avalon, where the prostitutes might try to drain the soldiers of their wages, but they wouldn't be actually dangerous. Here, it could be lethal. The medics had added to her orders by issuing dire warnings about the possibility of catching something nasty from the local environment.

  “Brigadier,” Captain Royce said, as they passed the tanks she’d positioned at the entrance to the base. The Landshark tanks were hellishly intimidating, perhaps enough so to discourage the locals from trying anything stupid. “We have a visitor. He wishes to speak with our commanding officer.”

  Jasmine gave him a sharp look. “And who, precisely, is he?”

  “He claims to be Yin, the leader of the rebel forces,” Royce informed her. “I’ve checked with the garrison and they’ve confirmed that there is a rebel leader by that name, but they don’t have any ID data we can use to identify him for sure.”

  “Typical,” Jasmine said, crossly. Thrust intelligence officers to know nothing when it really counted. But perhaps it shouldn't have been a surprise. Even on Earth, millions of people – perhaps billions – had been excluded from the census. “Where is he now?”

  “I put him in the guardhouse,” Royce said. “He said he could wait until we were ready to speak to him.”

  “I’ll speak to him,” Jasmine decided. She looked over at Alves. “Do you want to come?”

  The reporter nodded, once.

  Yin was an old man, with bronzed skin, sharp dark eyes and a white beard that reminded her of her grandfather. His body was thin, although he was clearly in a better condition than most of the people in the nearby city. Jasmine wasn’t too surprised; in an unstable location, like Han, everyone knew that the men with guns got to eat first. The Crackers hadn't stolen food from farmers on Avalon, but other insurgents had preyed on their fellow countrymen when they weren't fighting the government’s forces. Why should Yin be any different?

  “Two hundred years ago,” Yin said, in poor Imperial Standard, “my grandparents were dumped on this world. Why were we then abandoned?”

  Jasmine took a closer look at him. The locals – the original locals – shared the same genotype, with the only major difference being skin colour. Indeed, she’d seen thousands of mixed-caste children and adults within the city. But the refugees the Imperial Navy had dumped on Lakshmibai had introduced new genes to the planetary population. Up close, it was clear that Yin had inherited traits from both sides.

  “The Empire lost interest in what it was doing,” Jasmine said. She’d seen it before, a pattern that had become more and more common as the Empire approached the end of its lifespan. It would start on a project with the noblest of goals, then it would become a pork barrel for graft and corruption ... and then it would finally be abandoned, leaving nothing but wreckage behind. “And I’m sorry about that ...”

  “We do not have long before they destroy us,” Yin interrupted. “Please will you help us?”

  Jasmine would have loved to help the rebels, but she knew that her hands were tied. The Commonwealth couldn't even ship in weapons and food-production facilities. She mentally cursed her helplessness, wishing that she’d declined the offer of command. All it meant was that she had to turn Yin away, without even giving him something for his trouble.

  “I cannot,” she said, softly. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  “You have supplies in your island,” Yin said. “If you gave them to us ...”

  Jasmine scowled. He was right; if they provided the rebels with weapons, the rebels would have a chance to take the local government out before it could adapt. But it was also possible that it would merely make the fighting worse, slaughtering thousands upon thousands more people before it finally came to an end.

  “My wife died giving birth to my fifth child,” Yin pleaded. “Three of them died before reaching their fifth year. We’re being exterminated by the” – he spoke a word Jasmine didn't recognise, a word that sounded thoroughly unpleasant – “and we can't last much longer. I know what the Empire can do, young man; it can help!”

  “The Empire is gone,” Jasmine said. “There’s just us now.”

  “Help us and we will help you,” Yin offered. He leaned forward. “There has to be something we can do ...”

  “There isn't,” Jasmine said, feeling her words tugging at her heartstrings. If there was something ... but she knew there wasn't. They couldn't intervene and save the planet from itself. All they could do was provide security for the diplomats and then withdraw from the world. “I am sorry.”

  Yin stared at her for a long moment, as if he wanted to find the words that would force her to change her mind – or simply curse her for being so unfeeling – but nothing came out of his mouth. Instead, he turned and walked through the door, looking neither left or right as he passed the guards and headed out into the countryside. It struck Jasmine, suddenly, just how disgracefully healthy she and her subordinates must look to his eyes, a small army of men who were properly fed and trained, who could expect the best of health care if they were injured while on deployment. And three of his children had died in infancy.

  She shuddered. Whatever else could be said about Avalon – or Earth - the infant mortality rate had been very low. But then, even Earth had been able to provide most of the population with food, although it had mainly been bland and boring ration bars. Lakshmibai didn't even try.

  “That was sickening,” Alves said. “When the people find out about it, they’ll want to help.”

  Jasmine swallowed the first response that came to mind. “Maybe they will,” she said, half-heartedly. “But will they be prepared to pay the costs of intervening here?”

  Alves blinked. “The costs?”

  “You’d need to deploy a small army to ensure security – and to take out the local government, if you didn't want to bombard the capital city from orbit,” Jasmine informed him. “And then you would need to set up algae-production plants and then start handing out the food, while somehow preventing the locals from becoming dependent upon your produce. And you would have to keep the downtrodden masses from brutally slaughtering all of their oppressors.”

  “Would that,” Alves asked, “be such a bad thing?”

  Jasmine nodded. “These people tell caste status by skin colour,” she reminded him. “If the lower castes rise up, they’ll kill everyone with lighter skin – men, women and children, all of them. And then they’ll start killing those unlucky enough to be born to mixed-caste relationships. And then ...”

  She shook her head. “They’ll smash the government, but they’ll also wipe out those who know how to produce foodstuffs,” she added. “It will take them time to learn the skills – and the food shortages will make them more dependent upon algae or simply cause most of them to starve. The newer government will start trying to take control of the food production systems and end up a ty
ranny just as bad as its predecessor.”

  Alves scowled at her. “How can you know that it will be that bad?”

  “It’s happened before,” Jasmine said. “On countless worlds, all of which look very different ... but share the same fundamental structural weaknesses. If the Crackers had won, would they have created a new government that encompassed all of society or would they turn on other enemies?”

  “I don’t know,” Alves admitted. “But it would have been a better world.”

  “Probably,” Jasmine agreed. “The question, however, is simple; better for whom?”

  ***

  “There are some worrying signs,” Colonel Macintyre admitted, two hours later. “We knew that the rebels were under intense pressure, but the local government has definitely been moving additional troops into the region. Mainly infantry, we believe, yet they’re backed up by tanks and helicopters.”

  Jasmine winced. The memory of the sheer hopelessness in Yin’s face refused to fade from her mind. If there was something they could do ... it would be relatively easy to provide ration bars, she knew, yet even that would commit them to taking a side in the struggle.

  “We can ask the local government to hold back until after the talks are completed,” Colonel Stalker said. He given them a brief outline of the talks and their progress – or lack of it – as soon as they’d established the connection. “But I don’t know if they would listen to us.”

  “It wouldn’t make any difference, sir,” Jasmine pointed out. “The rebels are dying. So is most of the local population in this region.”

  The Colonel gave her a long considering look. “There's nothing we can do,” he admitted, bitterly. “Even if we started distributing food now, even if we set up a full-scale production plant, what would happen after we left?”

  Jasmine winced. The locals would crash back into starvation, made worse by the fact they’d had enough food to eat ... if they had had enough food to eat. There were so many of them that providing food would be tricky until they could ramp up production.

  “We could hand the production plant over to the rebels when we leave,” she offered. It was unlikely that any of the former garrison’s staff would want to stay on the cursed world a moment longer than they had to. “Or we could leave a small team of volunteers on the surface ...”

  “Which would make them a greater target,” the Colonel pointed out, not unkindly. “The garrison might be tough, but it isn't invulnerable. We’d be involving ourselves directly in this world’s affairs.”

  Colonel Macintyre cleared her throat. “With all due respect, sir,” she argued, “we are already involved.”

  “We do not have the resources the Empire possessed at its height,” Colonel Stalker said, firmly. “There is no way that we can make a long-term commitment to Lakshmibai, even if we didn't have to worry about our relations with Governor Brown and the Wolfbane Sector. I know; this world is heartbreaking. But there is nothing we can do that will do anything other than make the problem worse in the long run. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jasmine said, feeling oddly like she’d disappointed her father. “But Emmanuel is intent on convincing the Commonwealth to intervene.”

  The Colonel smiled. “It's Emmanuel now, is it?”

  Jasmine made a face to cover her blush.

  “It would be nice to think that ... Emmanuel could convince the Commonwealth to support a long-term intervention,” the Colonel agreed. “But I think that it would be beyond our power, even if we had complete freedom of action. And we don’t, because of Governor Brown.”

  “You could ask the representatives what they think,” Jasmine suggested, slowly. “Perhaps we could agree not to install any orbital defences, or anything that would make this world a strategic target or a potential threat.”

  “I could,” the Colonel agreed, “but right now the talks are ... delicate. We don't want to upset them more than strictly necessary.”

  On that note, the discussion ended.

  ***

  Prostrating himself in front of the Prince was humiliating – it wasn't as though he was his esteemed father – but Sivaganga Zamindari knew better than to omit the ritual, not when the Prince had formally taken command of the operation. He needed to maintain what influence he could over the younger man, even if it meant swallowing his pride and kowtowing before him.

  “You may rise,” the Prince ordered. “Is everything in place?”

  “It is, My Prince,” Sivaganga confirmed. The Prince had wanted to mount a headlong assault into the Imperial Residency, but Sivaganga had managed to discourage him, pointing out that it would make it far too clear who the aggressor had been. If the Rajah was wrong about the off-worlders leaving their homeworld alone, they needed something to make it seem as though the off-worlders on the surface had brought their fate on themselves. “We are ready.”

  The Prince smiled, darkly. “They suspect nothing?”

  “Our spies have reported that they are cautious, but do not realise that there is a major threat,” Sivaganga said. “One of them attempted to seduce an off-world soldier, but learned nothing of value.”

  “Of course not,” the Prince sneered. “Who would tell a common soldier anything? Why are they not trying to seduce the diplomats?”

  “One of them has brought his wife,” Sivaganga explained. “Two others are clearly in a relationship; the fourth is seemingly uninterested in women or boys.”

  “Women,” the Prince repeated. He’d laughed when he’d heard that one of the diplomats was a woman, pointing out that it proved that the off-worlders were truly effeminate. Even higher-caste women had no right to issue orders to higher-caste men. “Do they actually wish to come to any agreement?”

  “There is a matter of some concern,” Sivaganga told him, carefully. “One of the rebel leaders visited the camp which the off-worlders have established near their garrison ...”

  The Prince swore vilely. “What did he say to them?”

  “We do not know,” Sivaganga admitted. “It is possible that he sought their aid in waging war on us.”

  “He would have sought their aid,” the Prince snapped. He glared down at Sivaganga, who hastily bowed his head. “They might already be shipping food and weapons to the rebels. We must stop them before it is too late. The operation is to begin tomorrow!”

  “Yes, My Prince,” Sivaganga conceded. The Prince was probably right; there was little else the rebels would want from the off-worlders. If there was an alliance between the two forces ... it was hard to see how they could be prevented from overthrowing the Rajah and imposing a new government on the planet. “I will obey.”

  And with that, he knew, the die was cast.

  Chapter Twelve

  Successful diplomacy requires, therefore, several different factors. First, there must be a clear understanding of just what is necessary and what would be nice to have. Second, there must be a proven track record of honouring treaties (even seemingly unfavourable treaties). Third, there must be a realistic understanding of the limits of the possible. Fourth, there must be a willingness to – in the immortal words of Theodore Roosevelt – speak softly and carry a big stick.

  -Professor Leo Caesius. Diplomacy: The Lessons of the Past.

  “This is really quite a fascinating environment,” Fiona commented, as she walked through the marketplace. “Don't you think?”

  Leo shrugged. The marketplace was very different from anything on Avalon; there were countless stalls, selling everything from clothes to food supplies. It was hard to reconcile the supplies on display with the starvation outside the city’s walls, or the gorgeous clothing with the rags and tatters the untouchable caste wore while slaving for their betters. But then, it seemed to be a common trait of the rich and powerful that they had to make a demonstration of their wealth.

  He had to admit that the marketplace felt a little ... alien to him. Avalon was a largely homogeneous society; Earth, or at least the parts he’d been familiar with, had
claimed a legal equality for everyone, even though some citizens had always been more equal than others. But there was something weirdly disconcerting about Lakshmibai. The higher-caste men and women seemed to breeze through the marketplace, while the lower-caste either bowed their heads or prostrated themselves as their betters walked by. And some of the higher-caste men and women simply took whatever they wanted and didn't bother to pay.

  The locals didn't seem to know what to make of the off-worlders. They stared at Leo, his wife and the four Marines, some of them making faces when they thought that the off-worlders weren't looking. None of them tried to bargain either, even though they were happy to bargain with their own people. Leo suspected, although he didn’t know for sure, that there was a colossal mark-up price for the visitors. It was a fairly common problem when a planet played host to visitors from another star.

  “Look at this,” Fiona insisted, picking up a dress made of red silk. “It would go well with Mandy’s hair.”

  Leo had his doubts – Mandy’s red hair would clash badly with the dress – but he kept them to himself. It was worth it to see Fiona happy, even if they were going to spend a great deal of local currency. He was mildly surprised that the locals had even provided the currency, but he had a feeling that the government knew that the money wasn't going to leave the planet. It wasn't as if it was worth anything anywhere else.

  “Or maybe this for Mindy,” Fiona added, showing him a green dress. “If I can find one in the right size ...”

  There was a rustle running through the marketplace. Leo looked up to see a small group of men standing nearby, staring at the off-worlders menacingly. Cold ice ran down his spine – the last time he’d seen anything so menacing had been when he’d been forced to live on the very edge of Imperial City – and he reached for Fiona’s arm, hoping to pull her back. The men produced clubs and moved forward, leering at Leo. He cringed back ...