Never Surrender (The Empire's Corps Book 10) (25 page)

And then her hand reached down and slipped into his shorts.  He felt himself stiffen against her, despite the aches and pains ... and then she kissed him and all rational thought faded away.

***

“They’ve got a long way to go,” Stewart observed, as he paced out a circle on the deck.  “I think they may still be lost causes.”

“They have hope,” Jasmine said.  “Besides, it helps to pass the time.”

Stewart nodded, then used a crayon to sketch out the circle.  “You should invite them to watch us,” he said.  He looked up at her, then winked.  “Does that look suitable?”

Jasmine silently estimated the circle’s dimensions, then nodded.  “It’s fine,” she said, as she checked her shirt and shorts.  “Have you had a chance to warm up?”

“Yeah,” Stewart said.  He gave her a dry look.  “You really should invite them to watch us.”

“It would just scare them,” Jasmine said, flatly.  “They’re not ready to see
real
combat.”

She stepped into the circle, then ran through a series of warm-up exercises.  Her body was far fitter than Kailee’s - indeed, it was highly unlikely Kailee would ever match her physically - but she had let herself go a little, back when she’d been trapped behind a desk.  She might be teaching Kailee and Gary, yet she also had to take care of herself.  Shaking her head, she stood upright and watched as Stewart stepped into the circle and bowed to her.

“Normal rules,” he said.  “And damned be the one who fucks up first.”

Jasmine smiled.  A sparring match could be lost in two ways, either by being beaten ... or by accidentally stepping out of the circle.  Hell,
pushing
one’s opponent out of the circle was considered a legitimate way to win.  Blake Coleman had been large enough to use it regularly, once he caught hold of someone, but she’d never been able to make it work against an equally skilled opponent.

“Of course,” she said.  “On three?”

“On three,” Stewart confirmed.  “This will hurt you more than me.”

Jasmine rolled her eyes, then dropped into a crouch.  “Three ... two ... one,” she said.  “Go.”

Stewart didn't hesitate; he came forward, readying himself to launch a dizzying series of kicks and punches at her.  Jasmine ducked backwards, careful not to step over the circle, and punched back, aiming at his weak spots.  Stewart hissed, then lashed out with stunning speed, hoping to catch her before she could get in close.  Jasmine darted backwards, then closed in, hitting out at him.  He caught her blows and kicked her in the chest, hard.  Jasmine staggered backwards, then fell over the circle.  Stewart instantly stopped and raised his hands.

“Damn it,” Jasmine said.  She looked down at her shirt, then lifted it to see a nasty bruise.  If she hadn't been moving backwards when he’d kicked her she probably would have broken a few ribs.  “Too slow.”

“Too much paperwork,” Stewart said.  He held out a hand, offering to help her to her feet.  “I think you need more practice.”

Jasmine brushed aside the hand and rose to her feet.  “I know,” she said.  “I trust you will be ready to spar every day?”

“Of course,” Stewart said.  “There’s ten days to go before we get there.”

He paused.  “I’d recommend a return to active duty, myself,” he added.  “I was pretty flabby when I returned to the company, after two years on detached duty.”

“We’ll see what happens when I get home,” Jasmine said.

Stewart held her eyes.  “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know how the Colonel does it,” Jasmine admitted.  “He’s handling everything without showing any sign of strain.”

“I think they teach officers never to show weakness to the lower ranks,” Stewart said, affecting a plumy accent.  “You never went through OCS, did you?”

Jasmine scowled.  “How could I?”

“There’s a lot you probably needed to learn that you had to pick up on the job,” Stewart said, as he led the way into the shower.  “Your career has been a little eccentric since we were exiled, hasn't it?”

“Yeah,” Jasmine said.  She stripped off her shirt and examined the mark, then pulled off her shorts and stepped into the shower.  “Rifleman, Platoon Commander, Mission Commander, CEF Commander, Prisoner of War ... you could say that.”

“And you were tortured on Corinthian,” Stewart added.  “And then you were taken prisoner for a second time.  I’m not surprised that you’re doubting yourself.  Your confidence would have been gravely shaken.”

Jasmine nodded, wordlessly, then scrubbed herself down thoroughly.  She hadn't had a chance to build up a layer of sweat, but she’d been taught to wash herself from a very early age.  Her hair felt odd under her fingers, now it had had a chance to grow out again.  She made a mental note to have it cut as soon as she could, if only because it would get in the way when she tried to don a helmet.  There was no way she could grow shoulder-length hair like Kailee.

“I wasn't much better off,” Stewart admitted.  “To be taken prisoner ... it was quite humiliating.  Part of me doesn't want to go home, to explain to everyone else that we were the dumb bastards who got ourselves captured.  But we have no choice.  Once we hit Wolfbane, we head home.”

“I know,” Jasmine said.  She stepped out of the shower, then reached for a towel and dried herself.  “And then ... the Colonel will be the one to decide what happens to us.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

The problem can be argued both ways.  In the end, matters are settled by victory.  If the terrorists lose, they are terrorists; if they win, they are freedom fighters.  To paraphrase an old saying, terrorism never prospers, because if it prospers, none call it terrorism. 

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

Avalon, Year 5 (PE)

The key to following someone covertly, Kitty had learned long ago, was not to make it blindingly obvious.  Ideally, a small team of operatives should be assigned to the mission, alternatively picking up and discarding the subject before the subject realised that she was seeing the same faces time and time again.  Imperial Intelligence had practically made a game out of shadowing someone on Earth, although it was a great deal harder on less-developed worlds.

She kept one eye on Hannalore Roeder as she made her way through the shopping district, popping in and out of dozens of shops.  There was no way to know if she was trying to shake off any tails or if she was merely enjoying a day out on the town, but it was hellishly difficult to keep an eye on her.  Kitty had five men and seven women assigned to the task and even then it was hard to watch her at all times.  She was grimly aware that Hannalore might well have some counter-surveillance training of her own.

“This is One,” she whispered, keying the subvocal processor in her mouth.  “Target has gone into Motherwell’s; I say again, target has gone into Motherwell’s.”

“Understood, One,” Three said.  “I’m following her now.”

Kitty sat down on a bench and watched as Three, who looked like an elderly lady, walked across the road and into the shop.  Motherwell’s specialised in producing baby clothing, although there were quite a few offerings for infants and young children too.  There didn't seem to be any reason for Hannalore to be interested in the shop - as far as anyone knew, she had no children - but it was possible she just wanted to browse.  Or she wanted to see who might follow her into the shop.

Twenty minutes later, she emerged, carrying a bag under her arm.  Kitty watched her unobtrusively as Three followed, then headed down the road in the other direction.  If Hannalore was suspicious, she probably would find Three’s departure reassuring.  Besides, Three looked old enough to start nagging younger women about their duty to have children.

“She bought a couple of outfits for children,” Three said, through the communications network.  “I didn't get near enough to have a close inspection, but they looked like spacer suits.  I’d say they were for children no older than six.”

“Noted,” Kitty said.  “Four; take point.”

“Understood,” Four said.  “She’s heading down towards the orphanage.”

Kitty rose to her feet and hurried into the alleyway, flanking Hannalore without ever letting her see her shadow.  Four kept her updated as Hannalore walked up to the orphanage and knocked on the door, then stepped inside as soon as the door opened.  Kitty cursed under her breath, thinking hard.  Hannalore probably had some charitable reason to visit the orphanage, but what?  It wasn't as if it was hard to find foster families for children who had been orphaned by the war. 

“Check the records,” she ordered, slowly.  She had never paid much attention to the orphanages, save for keeping an eye out for children who might be worth training into something useful.  “Who lives in that orphanage?”

“Most of them are kids from the Old Council,” her coordinator said.  “The babies could be adopted, but the middle-aged kids had nowhere to go.  They were having some problems getting employment, according to the files.”

And probably little chance of being adopted
, Kitty thought.  She couldn't help a stab of sympathy. 
If they picked up bad habits from their parents, no one would want them
.

She drifted past the orphanage, eying the building darkly.  It hadn't been intended to be a permanent residence for anyone and it showed.  Chances were, the entire district had been marked for demolition and only the orphans stood in the way.  Kitty sighed inwardly - something had to be done about the kids, even if it was just a homestead somewhere well away from civilisation - and then frowned as she saw a young man hastening out of the orphanage.  Her instincts told her she should pay attention to him.

“Here’s a picture,” she subvocalised.  “Tell me who he is.”

“William Garston,” her coordinator said, after a long moment.  “Nineteen years old; his tax return claims he works at the Rodeo Dwell.  That’s a datanet cafe ...”

“I know it,” Kitty said.  She kept walking, thinking hard.  “Five, Six; go after Garston and keep a sharp eye on him.  I want to know what he’s doing.”

“Understood,” Five said.  Six echoed him a moment later.  “We’re moving after him.”

“Target has re-emerged from the orphanage,” Four put in.  “She’s heading back towards the heart of town.”

“Good,” Kitty said.  “Is she still carrying her packages?”

“Negative,” Four said. 

Kitty frowned.  The youngest kid in the orphanage had to be at least fourteen by now, unless more had slipped through the cracks than she’d realised.  It had been six years, more or less, since the Old Council had been defeated.  Their children couldn't have been so badly contaminated that it was better to keep them in an orphanage, could they?  Or was there something else going on?

“See if you can find an excuse to take a look at the orphanage,” she ordered.  Perhaps Emmanuel could do another puff piece, if she couldn't organise an official inspection.  The hell of it was that it was unlikely she could, unless she placed her cards on the table and prayed for a sympathetic judge.  Avalon’s laws were designed to prevent official busy-bodies poking their noses into private affairs.  “And see if you can also give me a complete list of its occupants.”

She walked back towards town, thinking hard.  Hannalore had gone to an orphanage, dropped off a set of clothes that were really too small for any of the children, then made her way straight home.  The bit of her mind that was prejudiced against the great and the good had no trouble believing that Hannalore was stupid enough to buy the children clothes that were far too small for them, but the rest of her had too many doubts.  Hannalore simply wasn't that stupid. 

“One, Garston has entered his workplace,” Five sent.  “He’s taking a computer and going to work.”

“His boss looks a little surprised to see him,” Six added.  “You want me to go sit next to him?”

“Please,” Kitty said.  Six looked young enough to be a teenager - and was wearing an outfit guaranteed to lower the male IQ to single digits.  “But keep your voice down until he leaves.”

She hesitated, then hurried around until she could cross Hannalore’s path as she walked home.  The woman barely looked at her, unsurprisingly.  It was astonishing just how much difference a wig and a change of clothes could make, particularly when the human eye was lazy enough not to look under the facade.  Kitty got a long look at her and frowned, inwardly.  It looked very much as though Hannalore had relaxed a little, which suggested she’d done whatever she’d set out to do.

There was another party last night
, she thought, grimly.  If the enemy spies followed their standard practice, there would be yet another message beamed to outer space the following day. 
She takes the recordings, puts them on a datachip and carries them to the orphanage
...
Garston takes them there, then passed them onwards ... to whom?

She altered course as soon as Hannalore was out of sight, walking back towards the apartment they’d taken over near the Governor’s Mansion.  It wasn't perfect, but the landlady wasn't the type to ask questions and the other lodgers were out most of the day.  Kitty had run a check on each of them, just in case; none of them had anything in their files that raised red flags.  They were all just immigrants coming to try and find long-term employment on Avalon. 

Her radio buzzed.  “He asked me for a date,” Six said.  There was a hint of amusement in her voice.  “I’m scheduled to go dancing with him in an hour; I just begged time to powder my nose.”

Kitty rolled her eyes.  “What happened?”

“He plugged a datachip into a computer, then fiddled with it for a few moments,” Six said, slowly.  “Once he was done, he dropped the chip into the disintegrator and asked me out.”

“Have fun,” Kitty said.  There was no harm in taking advantage; besides, it was starting to look as though Garston was definitely involved in the operation.  They’d have to open up a file on him too.  “There’s no hope of recovering the chip?”

“He stood over the disintegrator until it was atomised,” Six said, flatly.  “There’s nothing left of it, but dust.”

Kitty swallowed a curse.  It was astonishing just how much could be recovered from a datachip, even if the data was wiped and the entire chip rewritten several times in a row.  Anyone who really wanted to keep something a secret would make sure the chip was destroyed, smashed down into dust.  Even a commercial disintegrator would be more than sufficient to destroy all the evidence.

“Very well,” she said.  “Go with him, but be careful.”

Nine entered the conversation.  “One, target walked through the mansion gates and straight up to the house,” he said.  “I can't go any further.”

“Understood,” Kitty said.  “Get back to base.  We can leave the monitoring of the mansion to the probes now.”

She finished her walk to the apartment, then poured herself a mug of coffee and sat down for a think.  It seemed likely that Garston was the link in the chain between Hannalore and Wolfbane, unless there were others involved.  She rather doubted it; Hannalore was in a good position to spy, but also in an excellent place to get caught.  Garston would probably have no connections to anyone else, just in case he was snatched by Commonwealth Intelligence or slipped up badly enough to be arrested through sheer dumb luck.  It had happened in the past.

“Get me a workup of Garston,” she ordered, picking up her terminal.  “Who is he and what is he doing?”

There was a long pause.  “He’s the son of Councillor Garston,” her coordinator said.  “He was arrested briefly after the Battle of Camelot for throwing stones at the militia; he spent two years on a work farm, then was released with a warning.  There were a handful of minor jobs since then until he got the place at the Rodeo Dwell, two years ago.  He’s been there since then.”

At roughly the same time Hannalore started having her parties
, Kitty thought.  The file blinked up in front of her and she skimmed it, quickly. 
He certainly has a motive to want to betray us
.

The file wasn't that detailed, beyond a note that Gaston had probably been beaten by the militiamen before they’d handed him over to the judges.  There had been hundreds of cases at the time, so no one had bothered to do more than the bare minimum; they’d charged him with resisting arrest, then sent him to the work farm.  He might have thought he was defending his family, but the militia had other views.  Kitty couldn't help a flicker of sympathy; Gaston’s father had been executed, his mother had been exiled and his younger sisters had been happily adopted.  He hadn't seen any of them since the day he’d been arrested.

But it doesn't matter why someone chose to betray us
, she thought, as she sipped her coffee thoughtfully.  It was beyond her to correct every little injustice, every little incident that would leave someone seething with resentment. 
All that matters is that he did
.

“I think he’s definitely linked,” she said.  “Can you see if he had any known contacts with offworlders?”

“Unknown,” her coordinator said.  “I don’t see any records suggesting he might have met someone from off-world, but that proves nothing.”

“Assign Five and Seven to monitor Garston and his date with Six,” Kitty said.  She wondered briefly if Six would go home with Garston - it would be an excellent chance to look inside his apartment - but pushed the thought aside.  If Six went, she would be pleased, but she drew the line at forcing someone to put out on demand.  “If it turns up nothing, I want him to be followed for the next few days; draw additional people from the Hannalore watch, if necessary.”