Never Surrender (The Empire's Corps Book 10) (18 page)

The waiter nodded, then keyed his headset.  “He’s currently in a meeting,” the waiter said.  “I don’t think he can be interrupted unless it’s urgent.”

“I can wait,” Emmanuel said.  A meeting?  “Do you know who he’s meeting?”

“I am not authorised to divulge that information,” the waiter said.  He didn't sneer, but he looked very much as though he
wanted
to.  “We take the privacy of our guests very seriously.”

“Ah, Emmanuel,” a voice said from behind him, before he could start trying to bribe the waiter.  “It’s good to see you here.”

Emmanuel turned to see Paul Valentine, a very wealthy businessman who'd started creating his business shortly after the defeat of the Old Council and rapidly become one of the most important and powerful people within the Commonwealth.  He was short, in his early forties, yet there was something about him that warned people never to take him for granted.  Emmanuel knew he wasn't a criminal, but Valentine had flown right up to the edge of the law, such as it was.  He didn't know any more ruthless men in the business world.

“Mr. Valentine,” he said.  “What can I do for you?”

“Talk elsewhere,” Valentine said.  He glanced at Kitty.  “This your intern?”

“Yes,” Emmanuel said.  “She comes with me.”

“Don’t trust her alone, do you?”  Valentine said.  “I don't blame you.”

He led the way up to a private room, then motioned for Emmanuel to step inside first.  It was a relatively small room, with a handful of chairs, a table and a dumbwaiter; the walls were barren, save for a handful of photographs of Avalon from orbit.  Emmanuel took the seat on one side of the table, then watched impassively as Kitty performed a covert bug-sweep with her wristcom.  If Valentine noticed, he said nothing.

“My daughter will be getting married in three weeks,” Valentine said, flatly.  “I would like you to cover the wedding.”

Emmanuel blinked.  He’d expected a session of trading information, or probing questions designed to elicit snatches of data that could be worked into a whole.   Instead, Valentine was demanding something altogether different.  Was Valentine’s daughter actually getting married?  Emmanuel didn't know, but it would be easy enough to check.

“I’m normally on the politics and military beat,” he said, slowly.  “I’d have to get my editor to okay me going instead of ...”

Valentine smirked.  “Someone less important?”

“Yeah,” Emmanuel said.

He studied Valentine for a long moment.  The man was a pirate, no doubt about it ... and yet, he wanted his daughter to have the finest wedding money could buy.  But why would he want a reporter?  Emmanuel knew, without false modesty, that
he
wouldn't want a reporter at
his
wedding ... apart from him, of course.  It might end badly ...

“I can make it worth your while,” Valentine said, quietly.  “Do you realise that a couple of councillors have been trading favours to help their business partners?  I could give you their names.”

It was important to him, Emmanuel realised.  And yet it made no sense.  Or did it?  He’d wondered, earlier, about the newcomers not seeking conventional acceptance, yet ... did Valentine want conventional acceptance?  Did he want the sort of coverage that would be given to a Grand Senatorial wedding on Earth, or as near to it as Avalon could provide?  It would be the ultimate proof that he’d arrived ...

“The names would be a good start,” he said.  If he was right, Valentine might be prepared to up the ante a little.  “What else can you offer me?”

They haggled backwards and forwards for several minutes, then agreed a date to meet and share information.  Valentine nodded once he had his agreement, then rose and left the room.

“I was hoping we could go home,” Kitty said.  She battered her eyelashes at him in a manner that was too crude to be seductive.  “Please?”

Emmanuel blinked, but nodded.  They walked out of the room, said their farewells to the Governor’s wife, and then made their way back down to the gates and out onto the darkened streets.  He waved cheerfully to a handful of militiamen on patrol, then allowed Kitty to lead him back to his apartment.  If there were any watching eyes, they would see him taking Kitty home for the night. 

Because we’re reporters and we shit where we eat
, he thought, crossly.  The Empire’s media had been famous for gross immorality, as well as never running a story that threatened the powers-that-be.  He was trying to do better, but it wasn't easy. 
Everyone expects me to cheat on Jasmine with my own intern
.

“That was interesting,” Kitty said, once she had sweep his apartment for bugs.  “Didn't you think?”

“I thought we saw nothing, apart from people sharing information,” Emmanuel said.  “What did you see?”

Kitty tapped her wristcom.  “The private room was bugged,” she said.  “Mil-spec gear, very advanced ... they actually rigged the privacy generator to serve as a bug.  I’ve seen it done before, but never so well.”

Emmanuel blanched.  “You mean ... every discussion in that mansion is recorded?”

“I would imagine so,” Kitty said.  She started to pace the room, lost in thought.  “Certainly, they’d have audio ... perhaps visual, if they were careful where they placed the pickups.  And the Governor has been encouraging people to use his mansion as a private meeting place, where they can hold confidential discussions away from prying eyes.”

“And everything they say goes directly to Wolfbane,” Emmanuel said.  “Does that prove the Governor is the spy?”

“I don’t know,” Kitty said.  “But we need to find out
quick
.”

Chapter Eighteen

Therefore, idealists who believe that war can be civilised are dreaming.  The seeming laxness of the laws of war are a reflection of the conditions that formed and shaped them, a compromise between preventing atrocities and respecting the rights of both parties to the conflict.

- Professor Leo Caesius. 
The Empire and its Prisoners of War.

Meridian, Year 5 (PE)

“I think I hate you,” Kailee said.

Jasmine snorted, rudely.  “You haven’t done anything yet,” she said, as Kailee stepped off the exercise machine.  Her pale skin was shining with sweat.  “You really haven’t.”

Kailee scowled at her.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Jasmine said.  “Do you know how many exercises I have to do, every day, just to keep myself in fighting trim?”

Kailee groaned, then rubbed her arms.  “Do I
have
to continue?”

“You can just walk away,” Jasmine said.  “
I'm
not going to stop you leaving.”

She kept her face impassive as she watched the younger girl.  It wouldn't have been hard to force her to keep going, either with threats or corporal punishment, but that wouldn't have helped Kailee develop the internal stubbornness she needed.  She had to force herself to carry on, not allow someone else to force her into shape ... and relax, the moment that person turned her attention elsewhere. 

“I am doing better, aren't I?”  Kailee asked.  “Really?”

Jasmine shrugged.  “What do you think?”

Kailee looked downcast.  On Earth, children were praised for every little achievement, no matter how miniscule it was in reality.  Or, sometimes, even for failing.  But it was different on Meridian and
very
different in the Marines.  Jasmine wouldn't have expected her to complete the Crucible the day after she started training - she’d never met a recruit who could do that - but it was important that she understood just how far she had to go.

“Not that much better,” Kailee said, finally.

“True,” Jasmine said.  “I would measure your advancement in millimetres, myself.  But if you don’t stop, if you keep going, we might just move to inches.”

She shrugged, then fought down the impulse to climb onto one of the machines herself and just start exercising.  It wouldn't help Kailee to watch her exercise, knowing it would be years before she ever came close to Jasmine.  But she felt oddly unhealthy just standing and watching as Kailee did her exercises.  Perhaps she should try some of the tougher exercises while she waited ...

Her wristcom chimed.  “Brigadier?”

“Yes,” Jasmine said, picking it up from the table.  “Report.”

“We just picked up a message from a freighter,” Stewart said.  “She crossed the phase limit two hours ago, judging by the timing.  ETA currently estimated at seven hours.”

“They’re not rushing, then,” Jasmine said.  If the freighter had dropped out of phase drive so far from the phase limit ... it was odd, unless they had problems with their drive.  The cost of flying through normal space would be prohibitive to any commercially-operated starship.  “Send back the planned message, then continue to monitor their approach.”

Kailee looked at her as Jasmine put the wristcom down.  “You’re not going to the command centre?”

“Not yet,” Jasmine said.  “There’s seven hours before they arrive, you know.  Plenty of time to finish exercising and have forty winks.”

She sighed inwardly as she motioned for Kailee to get back on the machine.  If Wolfbane had sent a warship to escort the freighter, and they might, they were thoroughly screwed.  She had no illusions about the ability of the sensors on the orbital station to track any warship that was maintaining even basic stealth procedures.  There would be no point in trying to snatch both ships too.  She would have no choice but to surrender ...
again
. 

Thirty minutes later, Kailee was dripping with more sweat and had clearly pushed herself as far as she could go.  “Get a shower,” Jasmine advised, as the younger girl stumbled off the machine.  “We’ll pick this up again tomorrow.”

She watched Kailee go, marvelling at just how absurd Earth’s fashions had become.  Kailee was almost a perfect hourglass, with large breasts and buttocks, but very thin waist and long legs.  It was easy to see why she’d had so many problems on Meridian ... and why she would probably never be more than an amateur martial artist.  She simply didn't have the endurance for long sprints ...

Probably didn't want the girls able to either fight or run away
, she thought, sardonically. 
Can’t have them thinking they might be able to stand up for themselves, can we?

There was a knock at the hatch, which opened to reveal Watson.  “Can we use the room now?”

“Only if you don’t mind sharing it with me,” Jasmine said.  “Kailee can go and have a nap.”

“We could spar,” Watson offered.  “Let her see what she could become.”

Jasmine eyed him, darkly.  “That would just intimidate her,” she said.  She wouldn't have minded, but there wasn't time for a proper spar.  “Kailee needs to feel that something is attainable, not that it will be forever beyond her reach.”

“You could be wasting your time,” Watson said.  “How many Earthers do you know who became Marines?”

“Colonel Stalker,” Jasmine said.  She thought for a long moment.  “Major-General Kratman.  General Carmichael.”

“Two of whom are in the past,” Watson said.  “Only one of them is actually alive now.  And I believe he joined the Marines at sixteen.”

“It's something to do,” Jasmine said.  She remembered one of her Drill Instructor’s favourite sayings and smiled.  “And besides, you never know who might be a diamond in the rough.”

“True,” Watson agreed.  He strode over to the side of the room and began to remove his tunic.  “But how many rocks do you have to polish before you find a diamond?”

Jasmine opened her mouth to answer, then closed it as Kailee stepped out of the shower, wearing a long bathrobe that had seen better days.  She gave Watson a surprised look, then glanced at Jasmine for reassurance.  The devil in Jasmine was tempted to agree to the spar after all, perhaps ordering Watson to take a fall to convince Kailee that he
could
be beaten, but she knew it would be futile.  Kailee would either accept it or rationalise it as being the result of better training, experience and build.

“Go get some rest,” Jasmine said, instead.  There wasn’t much for Kailee to do, save transcribe the notes from Stubbins interrogations.  “I’ll see you later.”

Kailee nodded and fled the room.

“Nice looking girl, but weak in body and crippled in mind,” Watson said.  “Do you
really
think you can toughen her up?”

“We shall see,” Jasmine said.  Watson was right; Kailee’s main enemy was her lack of confidence in her ability to shape her own life.  It remained to be seen if basic training could make a difference.  “Don’t do anything to discourage her, not yet.  See how she goes first.”

She clambered onto the exercise machine, upped the level to maximum and went to work.  Watson nodded, then climbed onto his own; Jasmine watched him grimly, then returned her gaze to her own machine.  It wasn't quite built to Marine specifications, but it was suitable, barely.  An hour later, she scrambled off the machine, feeling uncomfortably flabby.  It hadn't been enough to raise a sweat.

“We should definitely spar,” Watson said, as Jasmine grabbed a towel and headed for the shower.  “There just isn't time for anything else these days.”

Jasmine shrugged and stepped into the shower.  One definite advantage of the orbital station was an unlimited supply of hot water, something that was kept artificially low on marine transport ships.  She stripped off her shorts and shirt, allowed water to wash down over her body, then dried herself before walking back into the exercise compartment and pulling her uniform back on.

“I’ll see once we’re on the freighter,” she said.  “Did you hear anything from young Gary?”

“Nothing,” Watson said.  “I think I scare him.”

“You probably do,” Jasmine said.  “It’s the look on your face.”

“Hey,” Watson protested.

Jasmine smirked, then sobered.  Gary had been raised to fear men of violence, both the bullies he’d encountered in school and the media’s portrayal of policemen and soldiers.  It didn't help, she knew, that most of the Civil Guardsmen
were
power-mad buffoons who shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a loaded weapon.  To Gary, Watson and Stewart had to look like monsters, while
she
was a freak of nature.  It was just another legacy of Earth’s attempts to emasculate its children.

“If he does, be encouraging,” Jasmine ordered.  “And give him what training you can.”

She sighed, inwardly.  On her homeworld, men were encouraged to be men; it was considered a badge of honour to be strong, determined and able to support one’s wife and family.  There was endless competition to be the best shooter, the best swimmer, the best at everything ... and there was honest pride taken in winning.  Her brothers had taken her being better at them at
anything
as a personal challenge. 

But Gary?  How would he react to Kailee starting to learn how to defend herself?

What a screwed-up world
, she thought, remembering her last term on Earth.  It felt like decades ago, even though she knew it couldn't be more than six years. 
Gary might join her, just to keep up, or he might resign himself to being an eternal butt monkey
.

“He had five years on Meridian,” Watson said.  “And really, do I look like a Drill Instructor?”

Jasmine shrugged.  “Eat sour lemons morning, noon and night,” she said.  “That should make you look mean enough.  And I can have one of the hats made for you if there isn't one on the planet below.”

“And then I would scare him away,” Watson said.  “I don’t think he has the confidence to go forward.”

“I know,” Jasmine said.  “But ... diamonds in the rough ... blah, blah, blah.”

She smiled, then walked out the hatch and down the long corridor.  It had been cleaned, since she’d moved some of her people to the station, but it still managed to look rather grimy.  The only places the Wolves had bothered to clean were their sleeping quarters and a handful of loading bays, which they’d used regularly.  It was just another sign that no one considered Meridian very important.  Governor Brown - or one of his subordinates - had probably classed it as a place to dump anyone they couldn't be bothered to fire.

“Hey,” a voice called.  “Is there a ship approaching?”

Jasmine turned and saw one of the former slaves, looking up at her nervously.  Compared to pirates, the Wolves had treated their captives surprisingly decently, but they'd still been slaves, still at the mercy of their captors.  Most of the slaves had been among the last shipment of legitimate colonists, before the Empire had lost contact with Meridian; they’d probably been rated as expendable.  Meridian might be a decent place to live - it
was
a decent place to live - but it also had the colonial mentality that suggested some people had to be sacrificed to save the remainder.

“Yes,” she said, gently.  She’d always felt sorry for slaves; hell, it was something she would have gladly stamped out, given the chance.  “There’s a ship coming.”

The girl leaned forward, her pale eyes haunted.  “Will it take us back to Earth?”

“I don’t think so,” Jasmine said.  “Earth is gone.”

She nodded to the girl, then walked past her to the command centre.  A CEF soldier was standing on guard outside, just in case the former prisoners started to cause trouble.  Jasmine nodded to him, then walked through the hatch and into the compartment.  A display - no holographic projectors for the orbital station - showed a single red icon approaching the station, while a line of text underneath noted that the freighter was five hours away.