EMPIRE: Intervention (EMPIRE SERIES Book 13)

by Richard F. Weyand

  “I am given to believe that is exactly the case, Ms. Turley. Yet His Majesty can do nothing about it. We, however, can.”

  “We can, Mr. Stauss?”

  “Yes, Ms. Turley. Our contract with the Empire for colony support says we are to provide to the colonists the material and support assistance we determine necessary. Note that phrasing: provide to the colonists. Not to the government.”

  “What were you thinking of, Mr. Stauss?”

  “It seems to me what the colonists on Julian most need, Ms. Turley, is a large quantity of items manufactured by our subsidiary, Interstellar Arms & Munitions, along with such assistance as to make the best use of them.”

  Turley’s eyes widened. She was very familiar with IA&M. Their logo appeared on many of the items Imperial Marines used every day, from small arms to artillery to main battle tanks. Assault shuttles and attack ships, too, for that matter.

  “I see. The best use of them being to install a better government, I take it.”

  “I think that would be very beneficial to the colonists, Ms. Turley.”

  “And my role in this, Mr. Stauss?”

  “The assignment would be to travel to Julian, under some sort of cover, reconnoiter the situation, determine the best mix of equipment and support personnel, and then make the best use of those supplies and support personnel when they were, um, delivered.”

  “What sort of support personnel?”

  “I was personally surprised at the number of former Imperial Marines who work for Stauss Interstellar Holdings, Ms. Turley. Of course, we have always given precedence in hiring to our brave military veterans, but even I was surprised by the number of personnel available. Just the veterans within ten years of separation from the service would fulfill the staffing requirements of multiple field groups.”

  Turley’s eyes widened again. A field group was generally six divisions. Call it a hundred twenty thousand Marines. And he could fill multiple field groups with recent service veterans?

  “Of course,” Stauss continued, “something like this would probably take no more than a brigade’s worth of personnel to, er, assist the colonists. That’s one of the things you would need to determine.”

  “Even a small military operation is hideously expensive, Mr. Stauss. Are you prepared for those sorts of expenses?”

  “We would make it up in the long run, Ms. Turley. Dreary police states are poor customers for commercial enterprises. And besides, the Emperor is required under the colony’s charter to reimburse the provision of supplies and support personnel.”

  Turley had to admire the sheer audacity of it. The Emperor couldn’t intervene, and the dictator, whoever he was, was counting on that. But if Dieter Stauss ran a private army in there and moved to oust him, the dictator could scream bloody murder, but the Emperor, once again, couldn’t intervene. The dictator would be hoist on his own petard.

  And then to bill the Emperor for this private army? Turley had to hand it to Stauss. He didn’t lack chutzpah, that’s for sure. If there were medals for pure brass, he deserved one. Maybe more than one.

  The more personal question, though, was, Did she want any part of this? She didn’t doubt she could do it. Stauss was likely right that on a planet of ten million people, it was unlikely to take more than a brigade to get the job done. That is, if the population were as suppressed and unhappy about their current government as he had implied. Ousting a popular government was another thing altogether.

  Of course, that was part of the job, right? He had said the first thing to do was go in there and reconnoiter the situation. Get the lay of the land and see what it would take. Part of that would be to figure out if the population would be on their side or not, if there was already a resistance movement, all that sort of thing.

  There was also a certain amount of danger. With Bob gone and the kids grown, however, she was her own free agent on that score.

  There was one big sticking point in Turley’s mind. What about her oath of service to the Throne? Wasn’t running a merc army in on a colony government a betrayal of that oath? The colonies were the Emperor’s project, and he had sworn not to interfere. To what extent would her participation in Stauss’s little adventure be a violation and betrayal of her oath?

  All of this ran through her head as she sat there. For his part, Stauss seemed content to wait while her internal narrative played out. Finally, she broke the silence.

  “Mr. Stauss, you lay out a compelling picture. It seems like something worth doing. However, I took oath to the Throne. This seems to me like it’s a violation of that oath, or could be construed as such, and that’s something I couldn’t countenance. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t participate.”

  “I understand, Ms. Turley. I would only ask that you take a few days to consider it before you give me a final answer.”

  “Very well, Mr. Stauss. I don’t think I’ll change my mind, though.”

  Amanda Peters still worked as a senior adviser in the Co-Consul’s office. After Dieter Stauss called to tell her about Ann Turley’s reluctance to take the Julian assignment, Peters researched Turley’s Imperial Marines personnel records. She saw why Dieter Stauss had picked her for this assignment.

  Turley was that most singular of rarities, a female officer in the Imperial Marines. Female officers in the Imperial Navy were rare enough, but in the Imperial Marines the disparities were magnified. In particular, the Imperial Marines made no accommodation for the differences between the sexes. You either had what it took to be an Imperial Marine, or you didn’t. And the expectation was that most women didn’t have it.

  The inevitable result was that the rare female officer in the Imperial Marines was exceptional in more ways than simply rarity, and Turley was a case in point. Graduating the Imperial Marine Academy in the upper five percent of her class, she had earned consistently high marks in her postings.

  Wait. What was this? Oh, ho! It was Colonel Ann Turley who had commanded the mechanized battalion in the reduction of the Groton Insurgency, a nasty little scrap to remove the governor of a former DP planet who had decided the Empire’s laws didn’t apply to him and his cronies. That was a nicely done piece of work, and had resulted in her elevation to the general staff.

  Why had she retired from such a promising career? Ah. Her husband had been diagnosed with one of the rare forms of cancer that was still incurable, and she had retired so she could take a job that didn’t include long separations. Peters could understand that. And Robert Wallace had died last year.

  Yes, Peters could well understand why Dieter Stauss had selected Ann Turley to head up his Julian team. She was an inspired choice for the assignment.

  Now to see if Peters couldn’t assuage her reluctance.

  Two days after the meeting with Dieter Stauss, Ann Turley received a VR meeting request with an Imperial header. She took the meeting immediately, and found herself in the simulation of a small conference room. The Empress Consort Amanda was seated on the other side of the table.

  “Milady Empress,” Turley said, and bowed her head.

  “Be seated, Ms. Turley.”

  “Yes, Milady.”

  The Empress waited while Turley sat across the table from her, then jumped right in.

  “I wanted to meet with you, Ms. Turley, to give you some assurance on the Julian affair. The Throne is aware of Mr. Stauss’s plans, and has no objection. Indeed, His Majesty finds the current situation intolerable, but is unable to interfere. He is just as restrained from interfering in Mr. Stauss’s plans, however.

  “I wanted to meet with you to assure you that, were you to accept Mr. Stauss’s assignment to this project, the Throne would not consider that a violation of your oath.”

  “Indeed, Milady?”

  “Yes, Ms. Turley. And I would consider it a personal favor if you were to become involved and show the same skill and effectiveness as you displayed in that Groton affair ten years ago.”

  “Thank you, Milady. And thank you for the clarifi
cation.”

  “You’re very welcome, Ms. Turley. The Emperor takes oaths very seriously, and your concerns on this matter are appreciated, but there is no conflict.”

  “Thank you, Milady. In that case, I will take the assignment.”

  “Excellent, Ms. Turley. Good luck.”

  And with that, the Empress cut the connection.

  Kyle “Gordy” Gordon (Command Sergeant Major, Imperial Marines, retired) was reviewing the progress on a dam construction project for Hydraulix, the water resource management firm – and a subsidiary of Stauss Interstellar Holdings – when he got a call from Henry Jensen (Colonel, Imperial Marines, retired).

  “Hey, Gordy. How you doing?”

  “Good, Hank. What’s up?”

  “I’m looking for a command sergeant major for a little party Mr. Stauss is setting up.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. There’s some colony planet that has a problem, and he’s decided he’s going to remove the problem.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “A government kind of problem.”

  “Stauss is gonna go in with a buncha mercs and knock over a government?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, shit. And who does Mr. Stauss plan to have head up this little clusterfuck? You?”

  “No, I’m just the XO. The CO is Ann Turley.”

  “Turley? From Groton?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Damn.”

  “That’s what I said. And we’re probably looking at a brigade-level force. Mechanized.”

  “Mechanized?”

  “Yup. Don’t forget that Interstellar Arms & Munitions is a Stauss Interstellar company. You can imagine what Turley’s shopping list is gonna look like.”

  “Yeah, I sure can. All the toys, with bells on.”

  “You got it. So I need to fill the senior NCO slot. You in?”

  “Yeah, Hank, I’m in. I’ll probably regret it, but I ain’t gonna turn down an invite to that kind o’ party.”

  When Paul Gulliver’s freighter dropped out of hyperspace at Alexa, there was a message waiting for him from Section Six.

  Alexa was a far-western planet of the former Kingdom of Phalia, so it was one of the jumping-off points for freighters from the Empire delivering supplies to the western colonies. To go from one colony planet to another, the fastest way was to book passage on a freighter to Alexa, then transfer to another freighter heading out to one’s destination.

  The message was encrypted, of course.

  To: Paul Gulliver

  From: Dotty Peabody

  Subject: Assignment

  Your next assignment is the colony planet Julian. We are aware of Stauss plans. They represent no conflict with your official duties, including recommendxations for required equipment and personnel.

  Well, that was certainly strange. Dotty Peabody was a fake account – the sender name changed with every message. But it was definitely from Section Six. It responded to his decryption attempt, calculating the key from the date sent and information from a one-time pad. Also, it contained the typo ‘recommendxations,’ a bit of a tribute to Section Six’s founder and first leader, Dominick Xavier Ashton – ‘dxa.’ So it was definitely from Section Six. He didn’t know who Section Six’s current leader was – he wasn’t sure anyone did, except maybe the Emperor – but he knew the communication was real.

  The message, though. ‘We are aware of Stauss plans.’ Well, Gulliver wasn’t. Presumably they were warning him that his assignment from Galactic Equipment Supply would be driven by its parent, Stauss Interstellar Holdings. ‘They represent no conflict with your official duties....’ So they were telling him it was OK to go ahead with what Stauss was planning. Whatever that was. But it had to be unusual enough for Section Six to see fit to warn him.

  He had another message waiting, this one from Galactic Equipment Supply. It said his contacts on Alexa for his next assignment were Lyle Boardman and his wife, Fran Kersey.

  Attached to the message was the equipment catalog and pricing book for Julian. These were different for every planet, depending on the colony’s likely needs and volume, and the shipping charges from Alexa to the colony.

  Gulliver flipped through the equipment catalog. Everything seemed in order until he got to the last section. It contained products from a supplier he had never used before, Interstellar Arms & Munitions. Another Stauss company, of course.

  The new section started off with rifles and squad weapons, and moved into artillery, armored personnel carriers, and even tanks. It got even more surreal when the last pages moved on into attack ships and assault shuttles.

  What? No pocket nukes? he thought.

  He was only half joking. The pricing schedule gave quantity pricing breaks on all items listed into tens and hundreds on the big items, and thousands on the small arms. Ammunition quantities were by the case, and there were quantity pricing breaks on those as well.

  What the hell?

  Gulliver looked up Julian and read about the colony planet that, apparently, was his next assignment. The more he read, the more concerned he got. Was he supposed to sell arms to the tyrant’s regime? To the opposition, assuming there was one? The first seemed immoral, the latter dangerous, especially since he had no idea how to arm or carry out a revolution.

  He was scheduled to space for Julian from Alexa on a freighter departing in a week. Hopefully more information would be forthcoming, perhaps from Boardman and Kersey, whoever they were.

  Alexa

  Paul Gulliver checked into his hotel room in Central, the capital of Alexa. He had quite a bit of luggage, because he was usually on-site for three to six months at a time on whatever colony planet he was studying. The bellhop brought the luggage up on a cart and set it inside the door when he entered, then accepted a tip and left with the cart.

  It felt nice after two weeks on ship to just be sitting still for a change. Which was silly, he supposed, but that’s how he felt. Traveling always felt like you were in motion, even though he spent most of his time on ship sitting still.

  Gulliver had just settled down to think ‘Now what?’ when he got a message from Lyle Boardman, asking if he and his wife could meet with Gulliver over dinner. He suggested dinner in their room, in the same hotel, as it would be more private for talking business. Gulliver sent his acceptance, noted the time, and then got up and went to take a shower and change.

  Before he went to their room, Gulliver looked up ‘Lyle Boardman’ and ‘Fran Kersey’ to see what he could find. There were millions of hits, of course. With a quadrillion human beings living on the four hundred sixty thousand or so settled human planets, there were always a bunch of matches to just about any name you could make up. He sub-searched the results for military experience, or police experience, or employment with a Stauss International company, and got nothing for either.

  So they were aliases. Which was not surprising. His was an alias as well, though searching his would turn up an employee for Galactic Equipment Supply, including his full history – birth date, planet of origin, schooling, everything. Then again, those were the contact names provided to him by Section Six, so they were likely safe.

  He checked his personal weapons, then set off to find their room.

  “So what do we know about this guy?” Fran Kersey, a.k.a. Ann Turley, asked.

  “Paul Gulliver has been an employee of Galactic Equipment Supply, doing corporate intelligence on colony planets, for seven years,” Lyle Boardman, a.k.a. Kyle Gordon, said. “Before that, it’s pretty normal stuff. Did OK in school, got his degree in business. Nothing outstanding.”

  “So probably an alias, if he’s our contact.”

  “Probably.”

  “What do you think? Imperial Police? Marines or Navy?”

  Boardman shrugged.

  “Could be any of the above. All we know for sure is we’re supposed to be on the same side.”

  “That’s a nice cover he’s got. I wish ours wasn’t so spars
e. We sort of just appeared.”

  “Yeah. Better that than the real thing, though.”

  There was a soft knock on the door.

  “There he is,” Boardman said, and walked to the door.

  Boardman looked back to Kersey, sitting in an armchair in the sitting room of the suite and she nodded. He opened the door to see a nondescript man in a nondescript suit. Middle-aged, medium height, medium build, medium coloring. The sort of person who could disappear into a crowd without trying.

  “Yes?” Boardman asked the nondescript man.

  “Paul Gulliver,” the nondescript man said softly.

  “Lyle Boardman.”

  The nondescript man nodded and Boardman waved him into the room.

  “And this is my wife, Fran Kersey.”

  “Ms. Kersey. Pleased to meet you both.”

  Gulliver shook hands with both, then took the offered chair and considered his hosts. Boardman was a big man, and fit, the sort you saw around construction sites. Kersey was fit and trim, with an air of confidence and authority. Both looked to be in their early fifties.

  “We should probably order dinner, Mr. Gulliver,” Kersey said. “I was thinking we should probably get two entrees and some sides, maybe a big salad, to hide our numbers. I’m fine with a nice salad this evening.”

  “Works for me.”

  Boardman put in their order to room service, then took a seat with the others. There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally Kersey jumped in with both feet.

  “I think it’s clear to all of us that we are all not what we appear to be. Our cover is that Lyle here is an employee of Hydraulix, going to Julian to see what they might need in terms of flood control and power generation. That gives him a lot of capability for movement, and he actually has expertise there. It’s also a Stauss Interstellar company, so interaction between you two, if discovered, is not suspicious. I am his quiet but socially active wife, who travels with him rather than be apart. We will be gathering intelligence on what the situation is on Julian, and how that might best be modified to be more in tune with the well-being of its residents.”