The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9) (v5.1) (10 page)

And
, she wondered,
does he even have anything left in reserve
?

She pushed the thought aside as she strode through the complex and found a datanet terminal, already keyed to show the addresses and booking details for the most expensive hotels in Landing City. Belinda rolled her eyes, then opened the selection criteria and altered it to ensure that it showed
all
the hotels, then searched for one that was reasonably cheap and yet moderately private. There seemed to be a shortage of hotel space, as far as she could tell; in the end, she had to pick one that looked suspiciously cheap. Shaking her head, she stood up and walked over to the taxi rack, firing queries into the local datanet as she walked. There would be time to decide her next move once she’d settled into her apartment and accessed the local situation.

The hotel, according to the map, wasn't
that
far from the orbital tower. She considered, briefly, walking, then dismissed the thought. There was too great a chance of being mugged and, while she was confident she could beat any muggers on the streets, it would be far too revealing. The alternative would be to surrender the bag, along with her tools.
That
would be far too inconvenient to be tolerated.

Sighing, she climbed into the first taxi and paid the driver, then settled back to watch as the taxi powered its way out of the orbital tower. If nothing else, she knew, she could spend the time studying the people on the streets. And then, she told herself firmly, she could decide what to do next.

In sum, there is no ironclad rule of law enforced by an outside force. Humans, fallible humans, are forced to devise their own laws, their own codes of conduct.

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

“Who is that person?”

Glen looked up. He had been so engrossed in his work that he hadn't heard Helen rising from her bed and sneaking out into the hallway. She was looking at the viewer, which he’d left on, but muted. The screen would flash a red light if the regular news was interrupted by an emergency bulletin.

“That’s the Governor,” Glen said, as he waved Helen to a seat. He knew he sounded irritated and he didn't quite care. “He’s making yet another broadcast asking people to remain calm and have faith in the government.”

Helen looked down at the table. “And do they?”

“Not really,” Glen said. He shrugged, then rose to his feet. “I think the Governor would be better off keeping the broadcasts for when he knows something genuinely new.”

He walked around the table, found a large packet of cereal and placed it in front of Helen. A quick check of the food preserver revealed that he was almost out of milk, as well as juice and pre-prepared meals. He hadn't really bothered to cook for himself since his wife had died, knowing that she would have done a far better job. The mere act of putting a meal together reminded him more of her than he cared to admit. But if Helen was going to be his guest for the next few days, he couldn't really feed her nothing more than packaged algae bars and water.

“Pour yourself some of that, then add milk,” he said, as he passed her a bowl. “We’ll have to do some shopping today, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” Helen said. “I don’t have any money.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Glen said, with the private thought that even having money might not be enough to buy more than the basics. The government had started trying to ration food, which might have worked if the black market hadn't been so active before the Fall of Earth. Right now, it was the only truly effective part of the economy, largely because it existed outside the control of the bureaucrats. But it also drained the planet’s resources.

“I
should
worry about it,” Helen said. She looked up at him, mournfully. “How should I pay for all this?”

“You don’t have to worry about it,” Glen reassured her, fighting down the impulse to tousle her hair. “I have enough saved to pay for your care and feeding for a few months. You won’t have to repay it in future.”

Helen didn't look happy, but she stopped arguing and poured herself some breakfast. Glen wasn't too surprised by her reluctance to accept charity, let alone a debt she didn't want to assume. It proved, in a way, that she had grown up on a trader ship. A child born on Terra Nova would be much less hesitant about accepting free food, or even something with a deferred payment scheme. The students who joined the Nihilists had so much debt that they couldn't hope to pay it off, no matter how hard they worked. It was part of the reason the economy had snarled up long before the Fall of Earth.

And if everyone owes money
, he thought sourly,
how long will it be before we’re all slaves
?

The thought was a worrying one. There was no such thing as debt relief in the Empire – unless, of course, there was a very real possibility that someone could pay their debts in the non-too-distant future. In theory, anyone who fell into debt could be forced to repay it in any manner the lending corporation chose. Hell, it was how some of the mining colonies kept their workers in bondage, through manipulating the prices until the miners were loaded with so much debt they could never hope to escape. And who knew what would happen if someone tried to enslave the entire population of Terra Nova?

He pushed the thought aside, then reached for a bowl of his own and took a large helping of cereal. Helen ate slowly, savouring the unfamiliar taste; Glen watched, with some amusement, as she took a second helping for herself. He’d definitely have to purchase more food if she stayed with him for more than a day or two, he told himself, despite the bureaucratic hassles. And she would start putting on more weight if she ate properly, given the genetic engineering worked into her DNA. A shortage of food hadn’t been very good for her.

But when is it ever
? He asked himself, as he finished his breakfast and placed the bowl in the sink. Helen eyed it with some puzzlement, clearly expecting the sink to start cleaning the dirty washing automatically, as it would on a starship. Glen smiled, then started to wash the bowl, before taking hers and washing it too.

“Get your clothes on,” he said. Helen’s shirt and trousers hadn't been washed, he knew, but there was nothing else for her to wear. He’d thrown out his wife’s clothes after her death, unable to handle looking at them without her. “We’ll go get you something more to wear.”

He checked his message buffer – there was nothing, apart from a handful of low-priority updates – and then dressed himself. When he was finished, Helen was already waiting at the door, looking oddly nervous. It took him a moment to realise that she was probably agoraphobic to some degree, like most children who were born on starships. They had no real conception of the sheer size of a planet and found the open skies and landscapes terrifying. But then, planet-dwellers had the same feelings about being cooped up on starships for the rest of their lives.

“Don't worry,” he said, as he opened the door. “The world won’t kill you.”

Helen tossed him an odd look as she walked outside, then waited for him to lock the door before leading the way down to the elevator. Glen briefly considered several separate choices of shopping mall, then decided to take her to the mall closest to his apartment block. It wasn't the largest in the city, let alone on the planet, but it should suffice for the basic essentials – and, as it was inside a giant building, should be less of a problem for Helen. Or so he hoped.

Helen blinked as they reached the lobby and walked out towards the underpass. “We’re not taking the car?”

“It’s only a few metres away,” Glen said. “There’s no point.”

The air smelt vaguely unpleasant as he stepped through the door, a whiff of burning that bothered him more than he cared to admit. A dozen armed guards, wearing bright green uniforms, eyed them carefully as they walked into the sunlight, then ignored the newcomers completely. Their uniforms, Glen knew, marked them as private security guards, rather than any police or military officials. They tended to be poorly trained and alarmingly trigger-happy, even on Terra Nova. But then, the companies that hired them could afford to pay the fines for unauthorised discharge and cover up any unfortunate accidents. And anyone who happened to be hurt by accident would find it impossible to seek any recourse.

Helen clung to his hand as they made their way through the underpass, trying to ignore the dozens of homeless people leaning against the walls, trying to sleep or beg for money. Glen remembered watching helplessly as people were evicted from their homes, after losing their jobs, and told to sleep on the streets. Or die. Every day, bodies were found lying where they’d fallen, having died of exposure or starvation or simply giving up and sitting down to die. The social network that should have helped them had failed completely.

“You don’t see people like that on space stations,” Helen murmured. “Why are they here?”

“Space stations can afford to feed everyone, even if it’s just algae,” Glen muttered back. It was rare for anyone to actually
starve
on a space station, though they might wish to starve rather than force more tasteless ration bars down their throats. “Here, it’s not so easy to keep people fed.”

“It’s awful,” Helen said, out loud.

Glen nodded in agreement as they reached the entrance to the mall. The door remained firmly closed until he pressed his credit chip against the scanner, confirming that he could afford to buy something. The Civil Guard had arrested too many people sneaking into the mall in hopes of shoplifting or pick-pocketing; now, the only way to enter was to prove that one could afford to pay. Glen had a feeling the security measures wouldn't last for long, not when there were more and more desperate people on the streets. There had already been rioting and looting at some of the smaller shopping districts.

They passed through the doors, then headed for the clothing stores. Glen had always hated shopping for clothes, so it was a relief to turn Helen over to one of the shopping assistants, with orders to purchase a basic wardrobe suitable for a young girl. Once Helen was chatting happily to the assistant, Glen walked down to the food stores and winced when he realised that prices had gone upwards, again. He took a cart, picked up everything he and Helen would need for several weeks, then pushed it back towards the counter. The till-keeper eyed the small pile of food with some concern.

“You don’t have a need for half of this,” he said, once he’d run Glen’s ID through the datanet. “Some of it should be returned ...”

Glen ground his teeth. A person’s shopping was carefully monitored, either to supervise their health or to watch for anyone purchasing more food and supplies than they should have needed. It had never failed to annoy him; hell, as a junior officer, he’d been called out to hundreds of fights when someone had objected to being told they weren't being allowed to purchase something they thought they needed. And to think there wasn't anything
dangerous
in what he’d chosen.

“I have a need for it,” he snapped, angrily. His patience failed completely and he produced his Marshal ID from his pocket. “I suggest you hit the override and process the purchases.”

The till-keeper looked dubious. “I should ask my supervisor ...”

“I think you can make a decision for yourself,” Glen snarled, although he knew the till-keeper would be blamed for anything that went wrong. There were times when he felt that half the Empire’s problems stemmed from a simple lack of willingness to make decisions. But when it was safer to pass the buck up the chain to higher authority, few people could be expected to put their necks on the block. “Or would you like to explain to
my
superiors why you are delaying my shopping trip?”

He watched, unsurprised, as the till-keeper hastily scanned the purchases, then dropped them into small plastic bags. There’d probably be a notation made in the system that he’d purchased more than he should have needed, he knew, and there would probably be someone sent out to ask a few pointed questions. It was incredible, he thought, as he paid for his purchases. The Empire was strangling itself to death with red tape and a bureaucratic attitude that assumed
everyone
had to be guilty of something. But there was no point in trying to fight. Civilians without connections were helpless against the full weight of the bureaucrats.

“I’ll send back the trolley later,” he said, once everything was bagged up. “And
thank you
.”

The till-keeper said nothing as Glen took his trolley and pushed it away, back down to the clothes store. He heard someone arguing with the security guards in the distance, and briefly wondered if he should intervene, then realised there was no need as the guards led a pair of tough-looking young men out of the store. They’d probably be pushed in front of a judge’s assistant, then sentenced to involuntary colonisation within a day, he knew. It was unlikely they’d ever have a chance to contact their parents before they were banished from their homeworld forever.

They might be the lucky ones
, he thought.
Terra Nova might not remain very civilised for much longer
.

Helen was waiting for him at the entrance to the clothing store, looking overwhelmed. Her assistant waved to Glen, then showed him a dozen separate outfits and pieces of underwear, several too frilly for Glen’s peace of mind. He vetoed two of the outfits – he wouldn't have willingly allowed any girl to wear something that barely covered her private parts, even if she had been old enough to live on her own – and shook his head at a third. Helen looked oddly relieved, but the shop assistant looked furious. Glen wondered, absently, if she or her managers had an arrangement with the company that manufactured the outfits.

“She has a human right to wear what she likes,” the assistant said. “And this will suit her ...”

“If she happened to be working in the red light district,” Glen snapped, placing the rejected outfits on the desk. “I wouldn't have
any
daughter of mine wearing these pieces of overpriced crap
anywhere
.”