Never Surrender (The Empire's Corps Book 10) (33 page)

She smirked in memory as the customs ship drew nearer to the outer layer of defences covering the shipyard.  Once, during her first tour, her platoon had been ordered to slip through the defences surrounding an Imperial Army base and take the commanding general hostage.  It had been surprisingly easy, even though the defenders had
known
the attack was on the way.  There had just been too many people in the area for excellent security.  One hand hadn’t even known what the other hand was doing. 

And so we just posed as one of them
, she thought.  The after-action debriefs had been hilarious, although the Imperial Army hadn't appreciated the joke. 
Here we can do the same
.

“We’re being pinged,” Stewart snapped.  “They want more codes.”

Jasmine clutched the captain tighter.  “Give us the codes to get through the next layer of defences,” she said, pressing the knife against his throat.  “Now!”

The captain gabbled out a second set of codes.  Stewart keyed them in and waited, his face grim.  Marines were tough, but a single missile would vaporise the customs ship as well as her entire crew.  There was a long pause, then the acknowledgement arrived.  Jasmine allowed herself a moment of relief as they slid through the defences, knowing they were committed now.  They were deep in the heart of enemy territory.

She glanced at the timer on her wristcom - by her estimate, Watson should be preparing to move by now - and then fought down the butterflies in her chest.  Why was she nervous when she’d been a Marine for over six years?  The moments before combat were always the worst, yet ... she shook her head in bitter understanding.  She’d been forced to risk everything on a plan that had far too many moving parts, without any solid way to keep one part of the plan interacting with the other.  A single error in timing could be disastrous.

The complex seemed to grow larger as they approached, a nightmarish mixture of industrial production nodes, giant habitation modules and starship construction slips.  Thousands of suited workers and dozens of shuttles drifted everywhere, while the airwaves were full of radio chatter.  She took control of the sensors and peered down at a battleship, her rear end wide open and hundreds of workers swarming over her like flies on honey.  It looked as though she dated back to the days when Wolfbane was a member of the Empire, but it was impossible to be sure.  The Commonwealth had not only started to produce new starships, it had developed ways of speeding up the whole process.  Wolfbane might have done the same.

She glanced at Stewart.  “How long does it take to build a battleship?”

“The Empire could do it in ten years,” Stewart said.  “They
were
bloody great ships.  Now ...”

He shook his head.  Jasmine understood.  The Empire had never
needed
to speed up the process, not like either of the two successor states.  Could a battleship be built in less than a year?  If a new cruiser could be turned out every two months in a Commonwealth yard, it seemed quite likely. 

“I’ve got the armoury located,” Stewart said.  “It's right at the far end of the shipyard.”

“Good,” Jasmine said.  She keyed her wristcom.  “Is everyone ready?”

She waited long enough for everyone to check in, then smiled to herself.

“Get ready to jump,” she ordered.  “Thomas?”

“Everything is programmed in,” Stewart said.  “The crew?”

Jasmine winced, then placed the captain on the deck.  “I’m sorry,” she said, as she injected him with a sedative.  His crew would have no time to wake up before the end came.  “But I don’t have a choice any longer.”

She glanced at the body, then hastened towards the airlock.  If the timing was right, they would be away from the customs ship before it declared an emergency, then exploded.  There would be no trace left of their presence, while - if the Empire’s policies were any guide - there would be so much confusion that they would have no difficulty slipping into one of the installations.  Like the military base she’d infiltrated on Han, no one could hope to know
everyone
assigned to the shipyard.

“Alright, everyone,” she said, as she secured her helmet.  “Let’s go.”

“Opening the airlock now,” Stewart said.  The team of suited soldiers followed him, with Jasmine waiting to bring up the rear.  “Ready to move.”

Jasmine nodded, then took a glance at the handful of stunned figures in sight.  They would die, die without ever knowing what had hit them ... she had no choice, but it didn't make it any easier. 

I’m getting too old for this shit
, she thought, as she walked through the airlock and out onto the hull.  Her suit’s HUD was already tracking dozens of suited workers as they made their way over the complex. 
I’m really getting too old for it
.

She shook her head, cursing herself.  What she needed was a long holiday, but she knew she was too stubborn to get one.  The Colonel would practically have to order her to go on vacation ... and even then, she was damned if she would be
relaxing. 
There were quite a few extreme sports she wanted to try.

But would they be anything like as extreme as being a Marine? 
She asked herself dryly. 
A parachute drop from low-level or plunging from high orbit down to a planetary surface ...?

“Go,” Stewart ordered.

Jasmine braced herself and jumped, once again, into the inky darkness of space.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Unsurprisingly, this provoked hatred and resentment on a towering scale.  The insurgencies might have been shattered, but the hatreds that fuelled them remained - and, if anything, were sharpened by watching helplessly as the Empire subverted and eventually destroyed the whole pre-war order.

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

Wolfbane City, Wolfbane, Year 5 (PE)

Carl Watson hadn't been sure if he should be impressed by Wolfbane City or not.  On one hand, it was clearly prosperous; on the other, it lacked the charm and elegance of Camelot, to say nothing of the thriving economic scene.  Avalon had countless small businesses opening and closing, all of the time, while all of the businesses he saw on Wolfbane were subsidies of bigger corporations.  Indeed, he had a feeling that some of the interplanetary corporations that had played such a vast role in the fall of the Empire were still open for business on Wolfbane.

Getting around hadn't been too difficult either, once he’d mugged a couple of men for their uniforms.  The security forces seemed more concerned with potential riots and rioters than spies; indeed, the more he looked around, the more he became aware of a vast sullen underclass that only needed a spark to explode into fire.  If there had been more time, he would have made contact with the underground and recruited their assistance, but time had not been on his side.  He walked around the city, making a mental note of everything from the location of the Governor’s Mansion to a handful of military and security bases within the city, then started the walk back to the hotel.  Night was starting to fall - a glance at his watch told him that H-Hour was only three hours away - and hundreds of workers were starting to make their way home.

They didn't look happy, Carl thought, as he blended in with them.  Most of them wore uniforms - the entire planet seemed to have a mania for uniforms - and almost all looked downtrodden.  He couldn't help being reminded of Gary, who had flinched every time Carl had even looked at him; they were too battered down to be able to stand up for themselves in the future.  A regular job had been one of his worst nightmares, before he’d decided to join the Marines, and looking at the workers was enough to tell him why.  The sullen mass, so quiet even as it made its way home, lacked any spark of humanity. 

They’re a mass
, he thought, as he cast his eye over a trio of young teenagers who seemed to be starting their first jobs.  The boy would have been handsome, if his hair hadn't been cut close to his scalp, while both of the girls wore shapeless uniforms that obscured the curves of their bodies.  Their hair, too, was cut into a regulation bowl cut, while their faces had been scrubbed clean of make-up. 
They’re a mass of zombies, without individuality of their own.

It wasn't a pleasant thought.  Boot Camp was all about breaking down the recruits and then building them up again, in the shape of Marines.   By the time the second or third week was done, the recruits - having shed half of their number - looked practically identical, wearing the same outfits and with the same haircuts.  But he’d agreed to go to Boot Camp willingly, knowing it would be hell.  He didn't think that any of the Wolves before him had made any such agreement.  Their planet was almost as closely regulated as Earth.

Maybe more so
, Carl thought, as he reached the hotel and stepped inside. 
Earth’s government never had the power to police the CityBlocks as much as it wanted, no matter how many laws and regulations it made.  Here ... the government might be able to police the entire world
.

Stubbins - and Paula - had called Governor Brown a corporate rat.  Carl hadn't understood, until now, just what that
meant
.  Governor Brown had built the ideal corporate state, where everyone had a role in society and God help them if they stepped away from it.  Even the underclass had its role to play, both as a warning of how far someone could fall and as a threat, to justify endless police measures.  Maybe they were even allowed to commit a certain number of crimes a year, just to keep the population scared.  A scared population would cling to their government and its promise of protection.

He narrowed his eyes in disgust as he opened the door to the hotel room ... and stopped, dead.  There was no sign of Paula.  Alarm bells ringing in his mind, he slipped forward and checked every last inch of the suite.  She wasn't in the bed, hiding under it or in the shower, washing herself clean.  The whole suite was empty ... he slipped a hand into his bag, checking that the weapons and tools were still there, then took one final look around the room.  She'd known not to leave, nor were there any signs of a struggle.  It was all too easy to realise she’d left of her own free will.

Get out, you idiot
, his thoughts snapped at him.

Carl scooped up his bag, slung it over his shoulder and headed for the door, out onto the corridor.  It was as silent as the grave, illuminated only by a flickering light hanging from the white ceiling.  He paused, listening, then hurried down to the staff staircase.  It was locked, but a quick fiddle with a multitool opened it up, allowing him to hurry down to the rear exit and out into the back alley.  It smelled of rotting food and spilled drink, but there was no sign of any guards or soldiers waiting in ambush.  Checking that his pistol was still within easy reach, Carl set off, moving through a disorienting stream of dark alleys until he reached a main road.  It was darker now, but a stream of cars were still making their way out of the city.

Think
, he told himself, sharply. 
What happened?

He didn't want to admit it, but he had a pretty shrewd idea.  Paula hadn't been taken, she’d left of her own free will ... and she intended to betray them.  She’d volunteered for the mission simply because it would give her a chance to escape and make contact with the enemy.  Five years in a POW camp with Stubbins was enough to drive anyone to desperation ... and she might well have believed that she would be paid well for her services.  Which she would, Carl was sure.  Scum like Governor Brown understood the value of rewarding traitors.

Common sense told him that the mission was blown.  Paula didn't know everything Jasmine had planned -
Carl
didn't know everything Jasmine had planned - but she did know
his
intended target.  Did she know about the shipyard?  If she did, Governor Brown would be moved to an underground bunker, where he would be safe, while the shipyard would be secured against all threats.  Indeed, if she had vanished twenty minutes after Carl had gone out onto the streets, she’d had ample time to get to someone in power and make a deal.  The mission was blown.

And yet, he didn't dare
not
carry out the mission.  Jasmine needed the diversion ... and it had to be big, big enough to keep the Wolves firmly fixed on him.  Up in space, Jasmine would already be putting
her
part of the plan into operation, while he had no way to warn her to stop and flee the system.  Paula’s betrayal had come at the worst possible moment.

Damn you
, he thought.  He briefly entertained the thought of trying to track her down, then dismissed it as impossible.  It would require an improbable amount of luck to find her again, not with his limited knowledge of the city.  And that meant the mission had just become suicidal. 
Damn you to hell
.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to slow down.  He had a plan, after all, and he could still use it.  Paula didn't know the precise details, after all, just the target.  And if he gave up all hope of making it out, he could go nuts.  Governor Brown wouldn't know what had hit him.

***

“Admiral?”

Rani looked up from her desk.  Somehow, no matter what she did, there was never a shortage of paperwork that required her personal attention.  She had a feeling that it was yet another string Governor Brown used to keep his people in order, although she had enough experience of dealing with bureaucracy to know that the more paperwork was involved, the less efficiency.  But then, how would a bureaucrat - or a corporate rat - measure efficiency in the first place?

“Yes,” she said, tartly.  “What is it?”

Sonja, her current aide, looked nervous.  Rani had picked her at random and poked away at her enough to be fairly sure she was nothing more than what she seemed, a young officer intent on using her current posting as a way to boost her promotion prospects.  She would really need combat experience to get much further, but that could be arranged.

And she won’t have to sleep with anyone to be promoted
, Rani added, in the privacy of her own mind.  Sonja was pretty, too pretty.   If she’d joined up ten years ago, she would have been scooped up by some commanding officer in the Imperial Navy and taken to bed. 
Just earn her promotions the hard way instead.

“Admiral, there's someone at the door who demands to see you,” Sonja said.  “She claims to be Paula Bartholomew.”

Rani shrugged.  “The name means nothing to me,” she said.  “Who is she?”

Sonja looked hesitant.  “I checked her against the files,” she said.  She
meant
the guards had checked the new arrival against the files.  “The DNA patterns match.  She really is Paula Bartholomew.”

“And who,” Rani demanded, “is Paula Bartholomew?”

“She was the aide to General Stubbins, who was exiled five years ago,” Sonja said.  “The files say she was sent to a prison camp and ... and there isn't anything else.  But she says she needs to talk to you urgently.”

Rani frowned.  Normally, she would have told the newcomer to go away ... but her instincts were telling her this was important.

“Have her scanned by the guards, then brought in here,” she ordered.  “And then leave us alone.”

She looked back at her paperwork as Sonja hurried out the room, then tapped her terminal and called up the file.  Twenty minutes later, she returned with two guards and a thin woman with long brown hair.  Rani studied her carefully, thinking hard.  Paula didn't look like a military officer, but there was a stubborn determination in her that was almost impressive.  And there was the simple fact that she’d escaped from a POW camp ...

If that’s true
, Rani thought, slowly. 
The files might be wrong and she was simply never sent there in the first place.  Or someone could have written a lie into the files.  It wouldn't be the first time
.

“You’re Paula Bartholomew,” Rani said, shortly.  There
were
ways to resequence a person’s DNA to fool the readers, but they were long and painful and she honestly couldn't imagine why someone would want to pretend to be a mere aide.  It would make more sense to have someone pretend to be
her. 
“How did you get here and
why
are you here?”

“There’s a threat to the system,” Paula said.  “I came to bring warning.”

Rani sighed, inwardly.  “And what do you want in exchange for the warning?”

“Money and security,” Paula said.  “I want a guarantee of both or there will be no warning.”

“As clichéd as it sounds,” Rani said, “we
do
have ways to make you talk.”

“I’ve been treated,” Paula countered.  “You wouldn't be able to drug me, or rape my mind, or even hurt me until I talk.  And you really don’t have the time to waste, if you want to try.”

Rani met Paula’s eyes and saw nothing but grim determination.  If she’d been a general’s aide, chances were she
had
been given treatment, if only to ensure she couldn't be forced to divulge information without his permission.  Lie detectors would probably still work, yet she would have to be forced to talk in the first place.  The mere act of trying to break her would probably kill her, depending on precisely what had been done to her.

“Very well,” she said, after a moment’s contemplation.  “You tell us what you know.  If it pans out, you will get both money and security.”

“I want the Governor’s word on that,” Paula said.

“Then you will be disappointed,” Rani said.  “The Governor is currently hosting a party for his economic movers and shakers.  I will not be calling him here just to grant you his word, not when I have no idea of just what you might be offering.  Accept
my
word or you can spend the rest of the night in the cells and talk to the Governor tomorrow.”