The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9) (v5.1) (35 page)

“We don’t have any proof,” he said, out loud. Just about everything the Governor had done, even snatching his political opponents, could be justified. He needed to keep the peace long enough to hold the conference and sort out the Empire’s future. “And it could easily be someone else.”

Belinda’s eyes flickered. “Like who?”

“Someone who benefits from seeing Terra Nova go up in flames,” Glen said, frankly. “Hell, do we have any proof that the existence of the warehouses, and someone manipulating the rioters, is connected to the conference?”

“... No,” Belinda said. “But the Governor is still the most likely suspect.”

Her face twisted. There was something personal there, Glen was sure, or he couldn't read people at all. And that meant that Belinda would hardly be impartial on the subject of the Governor. She’d be predisposed to believe the worst of him. And, even if she was right, it would blind her to the facts.

“Then someone could easily be trying to cause a disaster without being aware of the conference,” Glen offered. “The Nihilists could have lost their senior leaders in the warehouse and their subordinates are lashing out desperately, without a clear plan.”

Belinda snorted. “Wishful thinking,” she said. “And how do you account for the arrival of outside commandos?”

“Point,” Glen said. The Nihilists had proven themselves immensely difficult to eradicate, just like any other organisation composed of fanatics. Earth had never managed to crush the movement right up until its final days. “But were the commandos working for the Governor or someone else?”

“They wouldn't want the weapons to fall into the hands of
real
Nihilists,” Belinda offered, dryly. “Fanatics are dangerously unpredictable.”

She sighed. “We have to make sure the conference goes ahead,” she said, “all the while watching our backs.”

“And we have to consider all possibilities,” Glen said. “How do I know
you’re
not here to stop the conference?”

Belinda looked oddly hurt. “Because I wouldn't have come to talk to you if I intended to sabotage Island One,” she said. “I would have sneaked onto Island One as part of the security detachment and done my dirty work there. If I managed to get myself into the security forces on the ground, it wouldn't be much harder to get onto Island One.”

“It will be once I'm in charge,” Glen said. “I’ll make sure that everyone boarding the station is scanned thoroughly.”

“Good luck,” Belinda said, dryly. “I think we should work together.”

Glen studied her for a long moment. She wasn't Isabel, he knew, and she was a dangerous rogue element. What if she was involved in the plot, even though her actions made no sense if she
was
involved? She was right. All she really had to do was keep her head down until the time came to sabotage the conference. But there were too many imponderables for him to be happy about anything.

Logically, he should inform Patty of her presence and ask for orders. And yet, if the Governor was behind the entire plot – for whatever twisted reason made sense to him – asking for orders would be a form of suicide. He knew what to do when confronted with a thief, a rapist or a murderer, but political crimes were beyond him. What was the right course of action?

“Very well,” he said, finally. It would be better to have Belinda under his wing than running loose on her own. “I’ll request your presence as part of my security team.”

“That would work,” Belinda assured him. “And you’d have a good reason to ask for me.”

“I suppose,” Glen said, shortly.

He stood up and started to pace the tiny room. “I think we should take advantage of the next two days,” he added. “I’m going to find out what happened to the source, the one that betrayed the warehouse.”

“I may be able to tease it out of the computers,” Belinda said. “My implants have built-in hacking software.”

“Brilliant,” Glen muttered. “That’s how you got through the security network, isn't it?”

“More or less,” Belinda confirmed. “But my level of augmentation is quite rare. Few people can endure so much enhancement, much less operate effectively afterwards.”

“Even a hidden nerve-burst implant can be dangerous,” Glen muttered. He’d heard plenty of horror stories about people with hidden augmentation breaking out of custody or murdering policemen when they were caught. “Is there a way to counter it?”

“Only from the inside,” Belinda said. “I can help you with that, if necessary.”

“It will be,” Glen said. He took a breath. It was night outside and the curfew would be in full effect. “When are you expected back at your barracks?”

“I have an appointment with my superior tomorrow,” Belinda said, “but I’m not actually expected back before then. They seem to find me surplus to requirements.”

“Too competent to be wasted on a snatch squad, too new to be given a more trusted position,” Glen guessed. He knew he would give his eyeteeth for a handful of competent subordinates, particularly if
he
was in charge of the conscripts. But Belinda was beautiful as well as competent. “Or does he have something else in mind?”

“I hope not,” Belinda said. She gave him a sharp look. “What do you want to do?”

“You stay here,” Glen said. “There’s a couch in the living room – Isabel slept there once or twice, when she had a fight with her partners – and you can spend the night there. I’ll call the boss, get you transferred over to my command and look for the source. We can investigate just where the tip-off actually came from tomorrow.”

Belinda hesitated, then nodded. Glen wondered just what was going through her head; if she was half as capable as she claimed to be, she wouldn’t be scared of falling asleep near him, even if he
was
a near-stranger. But then, he wasn't helpless either.

“But I do need more proof of your credentials,” he added. “Is there any way to prove your identity?”

“There’s a code you can send to the Imperial Army database,” Belinda said. She reached for a piece of paper and scribbled down a set of numbers. “You have to send it to the automated system you use for checking ID numbers, not the desk officer. You’ll get a response from them confirming that it belongs to a Marine.”

“That doesn't prove anything,” Glen pointed out. “The code could belong to
any
Marine.”

“Check the message path,” Belinda said. “You’ll find it comes right out of the Marine subsection of the datanet. They’ll certainly confirm the code could only be used by an active-service Marine.”

She shrugged. “Details of active-service Marines are restricted, for obvious reasons,” she added. “It would be very irritating if someone ran my DNA against the files and discovered who I really was.”

“Irritating,” Glen repeated. There were so many holes in the files that an entire battlefleet could fly through one without scraping the edges. “I suppose I’ll have to trust you.”

Belinda stood. She was taller than him, Glen noted, suddenly. He scowled, cursing his oversight. It hadn't been obvious from the way she moved and it damn well should have been. But it was another hint that she’d been very carefully trained to move, utterly unnoticed, through any environment. Any description he’d given of her would be badly skewed.

“Yes, you will,” she said. “Because I think your entire planet depends on the conference going ahead, without delay.”

Worse, the Civil Guard was entirely unsuited to any form of detective work. They could respond rapidly against open attacks, but they were unable to track down terrorists, such as the Nihilists. Indeed, their actions helped make the Nihilists far more dangerous. Local civilians, hating and fearing the Civil Guardsmen who were supposed to be keeping them safe, were often quite willing to supply help to the Nihilists.

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

Belinda wasn't too surprised that Glen – she supposed she could call him Glen now – was still a little suspicious of her. She’d come out of nowhere, after all, when he was emotionally vulnerable and weakened. And she really had no definite way to prove her identity. Carrying anything other than the Marine code would have risked exposure, while the code itself could be used by any Marine. He had to consider the possibility that, augmentation or no, she was a poser,

But she really had no choice, but to convince him to trust her.

“I’m going to make a few calls,” Glen said. “Can you wait in the living room?”

Belinda nodded. It was obvious that Glen wanted to check her out, then perhaps ask his superiors about their source in the Nihilists. She rose to her feet and walked into the next room, where the little girl was watching the viewscreen in a manner that suggested she was tenser than she’d like to admit. Belinda had no difficulty in recognising a lost soul, or someone afraid that the universe was going to change on them again. But why was the girl even here in the first place? Glen’s file hadn't mentioned a daughter or a niece.

“My name is Helen,” the girl said, eying Belinda doubtfully. “What’s your name?”

“Belinda,” Belinda said. The girl seemed thinner than she should be, but otherwise healthy and well. She might not look so pretty now, Belinda decided, yet those cheekbones would give her a definite presence when she was a little bit older. “I’m working with your ...”

“Caretaker,” Helen supplied. “It’s just until my mommy and father come back.”

Belinda frowned, inwardly. The girl seemed to believe her words, yet there was something in her tone that suggested otherwise, that she knew her parents would never return. She wondered, absently, just what the story was, then made a mental note to ask Glen once he returned. It might not be important, but her instincts were telling her she should be paying attention. But, thankfully, the girl didn't look as though she was being abused.

You really think she would have been abused
? Pug asked.
Glen’s a nice guy.

You know how many bastards there are in uniform
, Belinda thought back, feeling yet another flicker of guilt.
Remember Han
?

She shuddered at the memory. The Imperial Administrators had made matters far worse on an already-staggering planet by abusing the population. One of them had collected underaged children, making the others seem almost reasonable and pleasant by comparison. She had no idea if the administrator had always been a monster or if the complete lack of oversight had gotten to him, but it hardly mattered. He’d helped fuel a revolt that had cost millions of lives.

Helen turned to look at Belinda, her gaze suddenly serious. “Are you going to marry him?”

Belinda had to choke back a laugh. “I don’t think so,” she said, dryly. Glen was attractive, but she didn't want to risk damaging their fragile relationship by sleeping with him, let alone marrying him. “Why do you think I would?”

“There’s a girl in
Romantic Relationships
,” Helen said. “She met a guy, slept with him and then married him, all on the same day.”

“That only works out when you have a scriptwriter on your side,” Belinda said. She hated to admit it, but she had watched a few episodes of
Romantic Relationships
. It was really nothing more than hundreds of sex scenes, joined together by a very flimsy plot. None of the actors were very good at their jobs, but they hadn't been hired for their acting talent. “How would you know, after one date, that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him?”

“I don’t know,” Helen said. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No,” Belinda said, flatly. Romantic relationships were never easy for female Marines – and harder still for Pathfinders. She had to either keep her boyfriends in the dark or watch them shy away from her when she revealed the truth. The only person who had made a pass at her after she’d revealed herself was Prince Roland. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“That’s sad,” Helen said. “
Romantic Relationships
says that no one is happy without a partner.”

Belinda rolled her eyes, blatantly enough to make Helen giggle. “Soap operas say a lot of things,” she said, sarcastically. Once, they’d tried to shock; now, there was little they could do that
would
shock their jaded viewers. “You have to bear in mind they don’t have any interest in showing happy, but single people.”

She smiled. “You have to bear in mind they don’t have any interest in showing happy, but single people.”

Belinda allowed her smile to grow wider. “Do
you
have a boyfriend?”

Helen shook her head. “I was on a ship, without anyone apart from my parents,” she said, softly. “The only time I met boys was at a Meet – and there wasn't time to do more than chat.”

“Probably for the best,” Belinda said. Helen couldn't be older than fourteen, physically old enough to have a relationship but probably not mature enough to handle it. “Wait until you’re older.”

“That’s what my mother said,” Helen commented. “I don’t think she ever understood me.”

“My mother understood me all too well,” Belinda said. Her mother had been kind and caring, but she’d never put up with any nonsense from her children. “And when I had to leave, she waved me goodbye and wished me luck.”

“I’ll have to leave one day,” Helen said, morbidly. “If I marry someone from another ship, I’ll have to go live with him and his family. My parents wouldn't want someone else joining us, not even if he was young and handsome.”

Belinda nodded, feeling pity. Helen’s words concealed a harsher reality. To prevent inbreeding, the Traders often traded daughters from ship to ship, sometimes without the daughter’s consent. It was a habit that had persisted despite the existence of genetic modification technology – but then, the Traders did prefer to use the simple option, if possible. One day, Helen might be sent to live elsewhere ...

Or she might find someone and be happy
, Belinda thought.
There’s no reason it has to end in tragedy.

Helen clicked on the viewscreen again, then started a flick. Belinda smiled to herself as she realised it was one of the dreadfully unfunny attempts at comedy produced on Earth, then settled back to watch it anyway. They were always unfunny, she knew, because the producers were desperate to avoid offending anyone. And just about
anything
could be offensive, to the right person. The only acceptable targets were Traders, colonists and anyone else who wanted to live outside the Empire.