The Empire’s Corps: Book 01 - The Empire's Corps (17 page)

“The remainder of the Company is assisting Captain Yamato to unlock the pods and start loading them onboard the shuttles,” Lieutenant Howell explained. “I think we’re going to have to run our own security until we get everything set up on Castle Rock. I didn't realise just how dirt poor this planet actually is until I had a good look at their local records. We might as well have landed entire mountains of gold, sir.”

“Keep two platoons back at all times to maintain guard on the spaceport,” Edward ordered. It was a dangerously thin security blanket. Marines or not, it really required at least a full Company to hold and secure a spaceport. Twenty-one Marines wouldn't be enough to stand off a determined assault. “Once we get the drones and assault vehicles unloaded and set up, we can start deploying them to the island and on random patrols.”

“Yeah,” Howell said. He didn't sound happy, but then, few logistics officers ever were. The Marines rotated such posts around the Lieutenants to ensure that they all understood how to handle logistics, yet Howell had been unlucky. Stalker’s Stalkers had never had to operate at the end of such a long supply chain before. Offhand, Edward couldn't remember any Marine unit in recent history that had. “I bet you ten credits that we’ll have locals out here soon enough offering to assist us in exchange for vital supplies. A single fusion reactor would completely change the balance of power here and we have ten of them.”

Edward nodded. “I didn't discuss what we’d brought with the Governor,” he said. “We’ll have to see who we can bring in locally to assist us. God knows, we can't handle everything ourselves.”

“No,” Howell said. “In fact...”

Edward’s communicator buzzed before he could finish speaking. “Captain, this is Rifleman Lin on the front gate,” a voice said. “You have a visitor. She says she’s from Naval Intelligence.”

Edward exchanged a brief glance with Howell. “Naval Intelligence?”

“Yes, sir,” Lin said. “She wants to talk to you as soon as possible.”

“How unusually polite,” Edward murmured. Naval Intelligence, in his experience, tended to issue demands and threats instead of polite requests. They considered themselves the senior military intelligence service, second only to Imperial Intelligence. “Check her, and then have her escorted into the main building. I’ll see her in the spaceport manager’s office.”

He’d inspected the office earlier. It was surprisingly simple for such a post, decorated only by a handful of posters of movie stars who had been out of fashion long before word that they were in fashion reached Avalon. The manager, he’d been told by the Civil Guard, only worked part time, unsurprising when starships only visited the system every few months. She had offered to come in and assist the Marines, but Howell had turned her down, warning her that it could be dangerous. The real reason was far darker. Spaceport managers on the frontier had a habit of assisting smugglers and thieves to supplement their limited income. It was something he felt that they could do without. He took one of the seats – the manager hadn't believed in comfort, evidently – and waited.

“Captain, this is Colonel Kitty Stevenson of Naval Intelligence,” Lin said, knocking on the open door. “She’s clean.”

“Thank you,” Edward said, standing up and holding out a hand for Kitty to shake. “Please close the door behind you.”

Kitty Stevenson was a tall redheaded woman, wearing a simple Imperial Navy tunic without rank insignia. She actually reminded Edward of Mandy and Mindy, apart from the air of quiet desperation that seemed to hang around the older woman. Her tunic was unbuttoned, showing off a certain amount of cleavage, but her gaze was sharp and direct. Edward let go of her hand and waved her to a chair, holding out a datapad to her.

“I'm afraid I’m going to have to ask you for your prints,” he said. “I wasn't briefed that you were going to be here.”

Kitty nodded and pressed her fingers against the pad’s sensor. A moment later, the pad bleeped up a file; Colonel Kitty Stevenson, Naval Intelligence, assigned to the local sector fleet and then to Avalon, for reasons unknown. Edward skimmed through the highlights and nodded inwardly. Kitty was who she claimed to be.

“I wasn't told that the Marines were going to be coming,” Kitty said. “I was just promised that Avalon would receive some support sooner or later.”

Edward felt his eyes narrow. “Who promised you that?”

“One of my superiors on Earth,” Kitty said. Her face revealed nothing. “He just told me that some form of military support would be coming soon.”

Edward frowned inwardly, thinking hard. He hadn't known that he would be heading to Avalon until just after he’d told the Grand Senate exactly what was wrong with them and their ideas, yet the Commandant had organised the transfer remarkably quickly. Had he intended to send a Marine Company out to Avalon, or had it simply been a matter of slotting a round peg into a round hole? And then there was the encryption key he’d been given. Just what, he asked himself angrily, was the Commandant up to on Old Earth?

“I see,” he said, finally. It wasn't something he could ask her. Chances were that she was just as ignorant as him. “And, now you’re here, why are you here?”

Kitty showed no offence at his brusque manner. “Officially, I am in charge of the Imperial Navy recruiting station on Avalon,” she said. “Practically speaking, the station is moribund and has been so for years. I have thousands of kids on my lists who want to enlist, but without transport to a training centre they get nowhere. By the way, I’d like to send them back on your transport.”

She shrugged. “Unofficially, my task is to monitor the situation on this planet and report to higher authority.”

“Sneaky,” Edward said, dryly. “What’s on Avalon that makes it so important?”

“It's not on Avalon,” Kitty countered. “It’s the cloudscoop. If the system was to be...lost, the cloudscoop might fall into pirate hands, allowing them to become more aggressive. If it fell into Secessionist hands, the results might be far less pleasing.” She snorted. “And, Captain, this world is within six months of falling into enemy hands.”

Edward jerked upright. “Hellfire,” he said, sharply. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been on this godforsaken planet for the last ten years,” Kitty snapped. “Of course I'm sure!”

“Six months,” Edward repeated. He looked up at a frayed map hanging on the wall. “What the hell is going on here?”

Kitty assumed a pose Edward recognised, the pose of an intelligence officer on the verge of impacting information to the ignorant – everyone else. “Just under a hundred years ago, there was a brutal rebellion on this planet, which the Imperial Navy terminated by striking from orbit,” she said. “The original rebellion was broken, but seeds of a new movement survived and prospered. The first two Governors didn't help...”

She took a breath. “The first Governor put heavy restrictions on the planet’s inhabitants,” she explained. “He tried to ban guns, issue ID cards...everything seemingly calculated to annoy people who might otherwise have been loyal. The local wildlife wouldn't be impressed by unarmed humans; the farmers didn't dare disarm, not when their children could be attacked and eaten by one of the local monstrosities. There was no second rebellion, but there was a great deal of discontent, passive resistance, and brief outbursts of violence. Eventually, some kindly soul put a bullet through his head and he was killed.

“The second Governor wasn't much better,” she continued. “He relaxed the restrictions, but he firmly believed that the only way to heal the planet would be to allow the inhabitants to have some say in their future, so he created the planetary council. On paper, it was an excellent idea, but in practice it was a dreadful error. By law, the only people who could vote in elections were people who had paid off their debts, and barely ten percent of the planet’s population – if that – could legally vote. The results weren't pleasant. The Council is effectively dominated by interests who don't want to extend the franchise, cancel debts, make vast new investments...or anything else that might actually help fix the world’s problems. Worse, seeing the Council has been legally formed, the third Governor cannot simply dissolve it. He has to listen to them.”

“Fuck,” Edward said, mildly. He’d seen screwed up planets before, but this was something new. “And the rebels are trying to tear all of this down?”

“Yes,” Kitty said. She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. “One group is effectively bandits, without any political agenda. They’re largely composed of escaped indents who have nowhere else to go. They’re responsible for some of the worst attacks, but have absolutely no hope of surviving if the Civil Guard had the firepower and numbers to go after them. They have no support whatsoever from the locals unless they take it at gunpoint. A few hours before you arrived, one of their groups attacked a township, wiped out the men and took the women as slaves. Or worse.

“The other two groups are both descended from the original Cracker movement,” she said. “They want to get rid of the planetary government, scrap all debt and establish a new representative government. They differ in their aims slightly. One group basically wants autonomy within the Empire; the other wants complete independence. They may have links to outside forces.”

“The Secessionists,” Edward said. “Or it could be pirates.”

“Could be,” Kitty agreed. “I have no proof either way. This planet’s satellite network is barely functional and no one has bothered to put aside the funds to repair it.”

She shook her head, sending ripples running down her red hair. “You’ll get a fully military briefing from the Major, no doubt, but the short version of it is that the government is losing control over the outer settlements and may well be on the verge of losing complete control. There is almost no support whatsoever for the government outside of the main cities, because the government is seen as the enemy, the tool of the debt sharks who keep the locals in debt. The Crackers don’t have to intimidate the population, Captain; they have more friends and allies than they could possibly require. I suspect that their aim is to force the Civil Guard to come out and fight on even terms, whereupon they will crush it and march on Camelot.”

Edward considered it. “Do they have heavy weapons?”

“Not very many,” Kitty said. “A few weapons disappeared from Civil Guard storage depots and more may be coming in from off-planet, but mostly they have only what they can produce for themselves. Unfortunately, they are quite ingenious. Their industrialists show far more energy and application than the government’s show, which isn't entirely surprising. The Council has the whole system tied up, preventing any honest competition. The whole planet, Captain, is the Empire in microcosm.”

Edward let that pass. “Tell me about the Council,” he said. “Who and what are they?”

“You’ll meet them all later,” Kitty assured him. “The Governor was already talking about a formal ball to welcome you and your men to Avalon.” She shrugged, expressively. “There are twenty-one councillors in all, each one representing a specific district, at least in theory. Seven of them basically bought thousands of miles of land from the ADC when it was trying to sell off its assets. Seven more own ninety percent of the planet’s industry between them. Two of them – the Wilhelm Family – are debt sharks. They bought the debt contracts of thousands of people and used it as leverage to turn them into serfs. Markus and Carola Wilhelm have a fair claim to being the most hated couple on the planet. The remaining five were elected by the middle class, insofar as this planet
has
a middle class. They’re reasonably honest, but they’re not above taking bribes if they’re offered.

“The Council’s exact position related to the Governor isn't clear. The Governor is the Empire-appointed Head of State and Government, but the Council can interfere with his programs if they don’t like them. Governor Roeder isn't a bad man – he’s certainly not as bad as either of the last two Governors – yet he doesn't have the strength of will to go up against the massed opposition of the Council. He controls the Civil Guard, at least on paper, but many of the Guard’s senior officers were appointed by the Councillors. The possibility of a civil war within the Guard’s ranks cannot be completely discounted. Major Grosskopf is a good man, but only five hundred of the Guardsmen can be ranked as good soldiers. The remainder go from average down to bad. He wanted to go after the bandit gang that hit the township, but the Guard is simply not equipped or trained to take on the bandits, let alone the rebel Crackers.”

She gave him a charming smile. “Sorry you came yet?”

Edward smiled back. It would require some investigation, but he was already beginning to see possibilities in the situation. And, besides, his orders from the Commandant had been delightfully vague. The Grand Old Man of the Corps might not know everything about Avalon, but he'd granted Edward vast latitude to act as he saw fit. Perhaps the planet could be saved after all.

“Not yet,” he said, with a wink. One more question had to be asked. “Where do the indents fit into all of this?”

“They're right at the bottom of the social scale,” Kitty said, coldly. “They’re criminals, sentenced to spending at least ten to twenty years working as slave labour before being freed and granted a small patch of land. Most of them should never have been sent here. Others complete their sentences, only to discover that they’re still at the bottom of the social scale. They don’t get their land; they’re lucky not to be lynched on sight. They gravitate to the shanty towns surrounding Camelot and just...stay there. They don’t have any hope at all. If the Crackers took over, they’d all be killed out of hand. They kill indent gangs on sight.”

Perfect
, Edward thought, calmly.

“Above them are the indebted, the ones who will never pay off their debt,” Kitty added. “And then we have ones who might succeed, if the screws don’t get tightened any further. And then we have the ones who are free, yet burdened by taxes intended to help pay off the planet’s overall debt. The whole planet is a mess. It is no wonder, Captain, that the Crackers are being so successful. Why should anyone outside the upper crust – and the indent gangs - try to resist them?”