The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9) (v5.1) (25 page)

They looked a pitiful sight, he saw. The girls looked scared to death, only a handful looking defiant or aware, watching for the chance to escape. Glen looked from face to face and saw fear looking back at him. They would all have heard stories about what happened to nubile young girls who were arrested by the Civil Guard. Now, they were prisoners and all-too-aware of their own helplessness. Glen just hoped it would keep them docile. If the Marshals lost control of the makeshift prison, the Civil Guard would definitely be sent in to replace them.

“You,” he ordered, stabbing a finger at one of the defiant girls. “Come with me.”

Her eyes flickered with fear for a long moment, before she forced herself to stand upright. Glen half-expected defiance, but instead she just walked towards him and halted in front of his face. Up close, it was evident that she was far too young to be involved in anything, something he found almost as pitiful as the rest of the prisoners. But the Empire condoned far too much from the young, he knew. They were never given a chance to learn how to handle growing up before they were overwhelmed with the pleasures of adulthood, offered far too soon.

“Walk this way,” he ordered, and urged the girl through the gate. It closed behind them, leaving the prisoners in the Arena alone. “Place your hands on your head and keep them there unless we tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”

The girl nodded, but said nothing as they walked into the medical centre. Isabel was seated at a desk, looking forbidding. Glen gently pushed the girl into standing in front of the desk, then stood behind her, looking as intimidating as possible. It was wasted effort. The girl didn't look back at him as she swayed on her feet, clearly far too close to fainting. Glen silently judged that, for all her defiance, the girl had never come face-to-face with any agent of law and order beforehand. Much of her attempted confidence was nothing more than failed bravado.

Be grateful
, he told himself.
It could be worse
.

Isabel looked up, sharply. “Name?”

“Ah ... Cynthia,” the girl stammered. “I want to see a lawyer.”

“Surname too,” Isabel snapped.

“Cynthia Gardner,” the girl said. “I want ...”

“Never mind what you want,” Isabel barked. “You are currently being held under the Emergency Powers Act, which was invoked last night after your disgraceful riot in the centre of Landing City. You can be held for as long as we feel like it – and no, you can't see a lawyer. If you cooperate, you will be placed in line for early release; fail to cooperate and you will be held for the duration of the emergency.”

She paused. “What were you doing before the riot began?”

The girl swallowed, noticeably. “What’s going to happen to me?”

“It depends on how much cooperation you give us,” Isabel said, shortly. “Don’t make me repeat my questions.”

“I ... we ... were told that there would be some excitement in the city centre,” the girl said, slowly. “We used to go there to admire the shops; this time, we were told there would be some excitement and ...”

“What sort of excitement?” Isabel demanded. “And who told you there would be some ...
excitement
?”

“Harry did,” Cynthia said. “He’s ... he’s Gamma’s boyfriend, one of the most daring people in the apartment. Everyone does what he says. They all thought it would be funny.”

“I dare say it was to the idiots who managed to get away on time,” Isabel mused. “And why didn't you run when it got
exciting
?”

“I was caught up in the crowds,” Cynthia confessed. “I
couldn't
get away.”

Glen nodded, sourly. It sounded true – and besides, there was no way to confirm or deny her words through security footage. Most of the security monitors had been smashed as soon as the riot began, indicating a high level of organisation. He listened as Isabel asked a few more questions, identifying Cynthia’s family and home apartment, then checked her words against the records. Cynthia had never been in trouble before, but her mother had a citation for unregistered prostitution and her brother had been cautioned for intimidating behaviour in public. Reading between the lines, Glen suspected he’d merely been swinging his arms when a particularly pompous security officer had reported him.

Isabel rose to her feet. “Very well,” she said, tartly. “You will now be strip-searched and then processed into custody. Follow my orders and the whole process can be conducted with the minimum amount of discomfort. If you attempt to resist, we will have to hold you down and complete the procedure. Do you understand me?”

Cynthia glanced at Glen. “In front of them?”

“They won’t take advantage of you,” Isabel assured her. “And as long as you behave, they won’t even watch.”

Glen turned his back and listened, carefully, as the girl slowly undressed. Isabel carefully catalogued every last item of clothing, then ordered the girl to squat and cough, in case she had anything hidden in her orifices. Glen didn't expect that any of the prisoners had managed to conceal anything during their confinement, but it was standard procedure to check. And besides, it helped convince the prisoners that their lives were no longer their own. It helped keep them docile.

And isn't that the same excuse
, he asked himself,
that the Civil Guard uses?

He turned back on Isabel’s command. Cynthia was now wearing an ill-fitting orange jumpsuit, with her hands cuffed behind her back and shackles wrapped around her ankles, making it impossible for her to walk quickly. She looked torn between outrage and fear, somewhat to Glen’s amusement, as Isabel signalled for two other Marshals to take Cynthia to the van. The prisoners would have to wait until the van was full before they were transported to the holding camps. Glen shook his head in tired pity – it wouldn't be an easy time for any of them – and then turned to collect the next prisoner.

“We need to check up on William Finsbury,” Isabel said. “He was apparently one of the ringleaders.”

“Understood,” Glen said. “But we may not have time to follow it up.”

The next seven prisoners went through the same routine. Three of them admitted to knowing in advance that there was going to be some ‘excitement’ – Glen was starting to hate that word – while the other four had just been swept up in the riot. Their lives would be ruined, Glen knew, because of their momentary weakness. But how could they be blamed when the riot was the most exciting event they’d ever seen? Life on Terra Nova was boring for the vast majority of citizens. They didn't have the gumption to leave the planet, despite all the incentives, or even try to make a life for themselves that wasn't centred around the viewscreen and foul-tasting government-supplied food.

“I would like to cut a deal,” the ninth girl said. Unlike the others, she was either a very good actor or felt no fear. “I have information I can share.”

Glen studied her for a long moment. She had claimed to be around seventeen, but he would have placed her at nineteen or twenty. If the apartment block records hadn't checked out, he would have assumed she was lying and threatened to use enhanced methods of interrogation to get at the truth. Even wearing the remains of a scanty set of clothes, she managed to look confident and determined.

“I see,” Isabel said, finally. “And what is that information, so we can judge its value?”

“Oh, no,” the girl said. “You have to agree to release me in exchange for my information.”

Glen clenched his fists, calling on years of training and discipline to keep himself from simply jumping forward and pounding hell out of the silly girl. Didn't she know what the Civil Guard would do to her if they thought she was withholding information? She’d be beaten, then raped, if she refused to talk ... and by then the Guardsmen would probably have forgotten that they were supposed to be extracting information in the first place. But she was his problem rather than anyone else’s.

“We could make whatever deal we like and break it afterwards,” Isabel pointed out, sardonically. “I suggest, young lady, that you tell us what you know and we will take it into consideration.”

“Not good enough,” the girl said.

Glen cleared his throat. “In the event of the information panning out, we will release you,” he said. He did have the authority to make such an offer, but it was always risky. Criminals had been known to manipulate the system to escape punishment for far worse crimes than rioting in public. “However, if the information does not pan out, or if you commit further crimes afterwards, you will be re-arrested and charged with your previous crimes as well as your later crimes.”

The girl looked at him for a long moment. She really was strikingly beautiful, he noted, an odd flower amongst the cold CityBlocks. The girls tended to look beaten down, particularly if they were alone, because they grew up without any real security at all. And the girls on Earth were worse. They jumped at their own shadows.

And now they’re dead
, he thought, morbidly.
Very dead
.

“I trust you,” she said, with a sly smile. “My name is Verona. And I was in charge of organising our side of the riot.”

Isabel snorted. “You’re in deep shit,” she said to Glen. “I hope this is worth it.”

Verona smiled. “I am – I
was
– a communal organiser,” she said. “I used to be in charge of organising the playrooms for teenage children in my CityBlock. It was a boring job, really, unless one wanted to be mean and petty. And then I was bribed to organise an anarchist club for young men and women.”

Glen leaned forward. “Bribed? By whom?”

“They claimed to be anarchists,” Verona said. “I never knew their real names. But they wanted to deliver a mob on command. I thought it was just the same as the other mobs. It wasn't until we got to the city centre and they started handing out masks and weapons that I realised things weren't what I’d thought. And then all hell broke loose.”

Glen and Isabel exchanged glances as Verona kept talking. Her words would have to be checked – and checked carefully. But there was no way the riot had happened by accident, even if it had swept a number of young idiots into the madness. Someone had planned it from the start and then ... and then what? Were they really anarchists or ... Nihilists? Or what?

“You will be transferred to a holding camp until we can check your words,” Isabel said, finally. “If they pan out, you will be released.”

Glen watched as Verona submitted with icy dignity to the strip search, then donned the prison uniform and handcuffs without protest. Somehow, she still managed to look attractive. He shook his head as Verona was led out of the building, then hastily made notes for support staff to start following up on her words. The Civil Guard couldn't be trusted not to accidentally obliterate the evidence if they went blundering in, loaded for bear.

“She was involved,” Isabel said. “Legally, she was obliged to report anything suspicious to her block’s security.”

“I doubt she trusted them,” Glen said. In theory, each CityBlock was closely monitored; in practice, most of the security officers were either on the take or incompetent. The block he'd grown up in on Earth had had almost no security at all, which explained why the gangs had been able to take such complete control of the inhabitants. “And I wouldn't either, in her place.”

“Silly girl,” Isabel said. “At least she knew who else to consider potential suspects. One of them might lead us to the people behind the riot.”

“Yeah,” Glen agreed. He rubbed his tired eyes. Had it really been only a few short hours since he’d been in bed? “Or it might be just a giant waste of time.”

“You’d better hope otherwise,” Isabel said. “Making that deal with her will look pretty damn bad on your resume.”

“Thank you,” Glen said, crossly. “It’s nice to know you’re looking out for me.”

“I try,” Isabel said.

This was not, of course, the only problem. Local laws could and did conflict regularly with Imperial Law in hundreds of different ways. One planet might not allow outsiders to testify in court, another might insist that people who followed the wrong religion were not considered equal to those who followed the acceptable religion.

- Professor Leo Caesius.
The Decline of Law and Order and the Rise of Anarchy.

The station was a towering monstrosity of concrete and glass, Belinda discovered, as she climbed out of the car and strode briskly towards the main entrance. There didn't seem to be many conscripts reporting for duty, not entirely to her surprise, and the guards at the door eyed her suspiciously as she climbed up the steps. Inside, the complex had been designed to take a bomb blast without serious damage, to the point of lining the interior of the reception with starship hullmetal. Belinda honestly wasn't sure if she should be impressed or start laughing hysterically.

“Belinda Lawson,” she said, as she stopped in front of the desk. She dropped her fake ID chip on the wooden table and gave the officer a charming smile. “I’m reporting for duty.”

The officer gaped at her. Belinda concealed her amusement with an effort. She knew, perfectly well, that she didn't
look
like a military policewoman, still less a Marine. The long blonde hair was most unmilitary. But Pathfinders weren't
meant
to look military, she’d been told often enough. It had been immensely difficult to lose habits like standing up straight, saluting senior officers and generally keeping herself neat and tidy at all times. And she still felt like a slob every so often.

“Ah, ok,” he said, finally. He took her chip and plugged it into the system. “We’re a little shorthanded at the moment, so this might take some time.”

Belinda shrugged, then glanced around the reception. It was dull and barren, save for a number of metal chairs firmly bolted to the floor and a pair of doors that looked to be built to the same specifications as starship airlocks. Absently, she wondered if those specifications included a lock that could be opened hastily from the outside, if necessary. It was a precaution that had saved her life on more than one occasion. There was no one else in the room at all. Indeed, it was clear that the building was largely deserted.