The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9) (v5.1) (20 page)

Glen had never visited the central shopping district outside working hours. It was simply too expensive for him, a monument to the vanities of wealth and power. The shops were wonders of design, constructed in a dozen different styles, all intended to showcase just how wealthy the owners were – and just how wealthy a person had to be to shop there regularly. There were no prices on any of the goods, he’d seen. If a person had to ask the price, they couldn't afford it.

Now, it had become a nightmare. Every window within reach – and a few that shouldn't have been reachable – had been smashed. Secure doors had been torn off their hinges, allowing the rioters and looters to break into the building and start taking whatever they wanted. A handful of vehicles burned merrily, adding smoke and fumes to the confusion. And hundreds of young men and women ran everywhere, carrying whatever they could away from the riot.

“Warn them,” Glen ordered, as the Marshals spread out. In the distance, he could hear the sound of more fighting as another mass of rioters met a Civil Guard force. Red icons flashed up in his helmet display, noting facilities. “And stun them if they offer any resistance.”

Isabel tapped her helmet. Her voice, when she spoke, was crude and masculine, without any traces of emotion.

“PUT DOWN THE STOLEN PROPERTY AND SIT DOWN ON THE GROUND, THEN PLACE YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEADS,” she ordered. “OFFICERS WILL BE ALONG TO TAKE YOU INTO CUSTODY. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO RESIST.”

Glen lifted his stunner. Several of the looters obeyed, their bodies trembling as they realised that they’d stayed too long and now they were caught, others tried to run. The Marshals stunned them in the back and watched as their bodies hit the ground, then moved on and into the first set of shops. Glen vaguely recalled that it had once sold a tiny number of handbags, each one worth more than an entire CityBlock. Now, the handbags were gone, the shop was wrecked and completely deserted ... no, he could hear someone snivelling in the far corner, trying desperately not to be heard. He motioned for Isabel to cover him as he peered through the shadows, eventually spying a young couple, one of them clutching a stolen handbag as if it were a life preserver.

“Get over here,” he snapped, as they stared at him in horror. Part of him guessed that they’d seen the riot as the first chance of real excitement they were likely to have, after a long and boring life in the cityblocks. The rest of him didn't care. He unhooked a pair of zip-ties from his belt, then secured their hands behind their backs. “You’ll wait here until we come back to pick you up.”

“But ...” the boy started to stammer. “I ...”

“Quiet,” Glen ordered. He was in no mood for excuses, not now. “Stay here. We will be back.”

They searched the rest of the store quickly and efficiently, finding nothing apart from a dead body that looked to have been beaten to death. Glen made a note of the body’s location for the datanet – it was very much a third-order priority right now – and then pressed on, leaving the two arrested teens behind. Outside, the riot was slowly dying away as more and more Civil Guardsmen appeared, brandishing weapons as if they were ready to use them at a moment’s notice. Glen nodded to their leader, then led Isabel into the next store. This one had also been looted badly, but there were no rioters within the building. Glen was relieved, more than he cared to admit, as they moved back out of the building and sealed it. He was too tired to arrest people safely, not now.

“The riot seems to have been dispersed,” Patty said, over the communications network. “Keep a sharp eye out for people who might have been organising the riot – I want them held separately and stunned until the techs can have a look at them. I don’t want to risk losing them to suicide before they can be interrogated.”

Glen nodded. If someone had deliberately organised the riot, capturing the organisers might be the first step towards rounding up and destroying the entire network. It might be a Nihilist plan, he considered, but it didn't seem too likely. The body count was surprisingly low for their normal plans.

“Understood,” he said. “What about the remaining prisoners?”

“We’re currently securing the sporting area,” Patty said. “We’ll march them there once the building is secure and turn it into a temporary detainment zone. After that ... we’ll see.”

“Most of them are young idiots,” Isabel said, as Patty broke the connection. “Just like my kids.”

“Yeah,” Glen agreed. He signalled to the Civil Guard officers, then looked back at his partner. “And their lives will be ruined after this crazy stunt.”

Slowly, the stunned or sleeping rioters were cuffed, then left to sleep it off by the side of the road. The ones who had remained awake were marched into the centre of the road, then left to sit there under guard while the security forces searched the shops over and over again. A handful started to object, demanding to see lawyers or call their parents, until the dead bodies were dumped next to them. Glen noted, with some amusement, that the implicit threat was better than shouting for forcing idiots to be quiet.

“We’ve recovered over five hundred bodies,” one of the dispatchers said. “And ninety-seven rioters have been injured so badly as to require immediate medical attention.”

Glen winced. He had no sympathy for the rioters, but it was unlikely they would get any medical attention very quickly. There were only a handful of clinics in the central district and they were all primed for rich customers, not rioters from the cityblocks. And the less said about the medical clinics in the cityblocks the better. The doctors there, through bad training and worse equipment, were often more murderous than an entire legion of Civil Guardsmen armed to the teeth.

“Get them somewhere secure,” he ordered. A quick check revealed that medical corpsmen had arrived, but were busy tending to the wounds of various law enforcement officers, not the rioters. “And then find one of the local clinics and order it opened up for treatment.”

“Aye, sir,” a voice said.

Glen walked back towards the rows of prisoners, shaking his head at their stupidity. What had they expected when they’d decided to defy the curfew and start a riot? The smarter ones had engaged in some quick looting, then vanished back into the shadows, leaving the slower ones to take the blame. They looked pitiful, sitting on the ground with their hands bound; hell, some of them were even crying. But it wouldn't get them any mercy from the judges.

His wristcom buzzed. “We’ve secured the Talbot Arena for the men and the Hastings Arena for the women,” Patty said. Somehow, she didn't sound very tired. “Glen, I want you to hand the men over to the Civil Guard, then escort the women to the Hastings Arena yourself.”

Glen smiled, despite his exhaustion. “Just me?”

“Take a squad of Marshals with you,” Patty said. She sounded irked at his sarcastic question, while Isabel smiled wryly. “I just don’t want them in Civil Guard hands.”

“I know,” Glen said. Most of the female prisoners were in their teens or early twenties – and hopelessly vulnerable, now the fight had been knocked out of them. The Civil Guard wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of the prisoners, not when the prisoners would probably be sent to a holding pen prior to involuntary deportation to a new colony world. They’d never see Terra Nova again. “I’ll take care of it.”

He closed the channel, then started to issue orders. The prisoners were helped to their feet one by one, patted down and then lined up for the march. Some of them complained, but most of them were quiet and submissive, keeping their legs tightly pressed together. Glen rolled his eyes – what sort of idiots didn't bother to wear proper clothes if they knew they were going into a riot? – and then dismissed the thought. As soon as all the prisoners had been patted down, they started to march through the city to the Arena.

“The media is out in force,” Isabel warned, as they passed through the security cordon. “They’re going to have their faces splashed over the datanet.”

“Keep your helmet on,” Glen advised. “We can't do anything for the girls.”

Isabel was right, he realised; the media
was
out in force. Hundreds of reporters, photographers and others were standing just beyond the line, filming the prisoners as they were marched through the streets. Glen wondered, vaguely, if there was a law against public humiliation, then decided it didn't matter. The prisoners would be lucky if they had a chance to make a phone call to their families before they were herded into a holding pen. He kept a sharp eye on the prisoners as the reporters jostled at them, preparing himself to intervene if necessary. But the reporters didn't press close enough for him to have to act.

He heard a low moan run through the prisoners as they saw the Arena finally come into view, the leaders of the march somehow guessing that it was their destination. Given what sort of entertainments were hosted there, Glen didn't blame the prisoners for their sudden despair; they probably thought they were going to be thrown to the lions or sent to fight the gladiators with their bare hands. The Arenas were sickening places, in his opinion. For every young man who became a star, there were thousands who died before even passing through the first round or two.

A security officer, wearing a bright green uniform, met him as they approached the ramp. “We’ve set up the main chamber as a makeshift cell,” he said, in a tone that grated on Glen’s tired mind, “but we don’t have any facilities for them. They’ll have to make do with the animal showers and ...”

He paused, significantly. “We could sell the footage ...”

Glen punched him in the face, sending the officer stumbling to the ground. He'd known, of course, that the arena staff
did
make money by selling footage – particularly of the stars in their private moments – but it wasn't something he was going to tolerate. There might be a disturbing brand of pornography set in prisons – slightly more realistic than Hero Cop – yet everyone who took part in it were actors and actresses. He wasn't about to allow unsuspecting girls, even prisoners, to be recorded without their permission.

And some of the girls were no older than Helen.

“Get up,” he snapped. “You will treat them with the maximum dignity compatible with the safety of your subordinates. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” the man stammered, staggering to his feet. “I do. I ...”

Glen glowered at him. Clearly, he was too tired to make a proper impression. The man should have been out like a light.

“Good,” he snapped. “I’ll inspect the security arrangements once we have the girls settled in.”

The interior of the Arena was large enough to play four football games at once, the ground coated with sand to soak up the blood after the contests were finished. Glen checked the walls and decided they were impossible to climb without special equipment, then peeked into the animal pens. They smelt funny, but they were clean and had enough room for the girls to shower, if necessary. And they probably would need a shower. One section had been turned into a toilet, which would suffice long enough for better arrangements to be made.

“The complex is secure,” Marshal Davis said, appearing from a side door. “They don’t seem to like the thought of fans getting into the arena, so it’s really just a matter of reversing the thinking and keeping the girls on the
inside
.”

Glen shrugged. The Arena’s collection of animals included –
had
included – hundreds of samples of man-eating wildlife from across the universe. As important as the Arena was when it came to distracting the population, it was still vital to ensure that civilians weren't accidentally eaten by the monsters, or the lawsuits and bad publicity would ruin the Arena and its owners. The security officer he’d knocked down hadn't been impressive, but he wouldn't have to be if the Arena was as secure as it was supposed to be.

“Get some clippers up here, then free their hands,” Glen ordered. “They’ll be here for at least twenty-four hours, I think. Probably longer.”

“Probably,” Davis agreed, as Isabel came back to join them. “I heard the Governor was considering establishing a new detention centre on the outskirts of the city.”

Glen wasn't too surprised. It would take days, perhaps weeks, to process all the prisoners, then decide their ultimate fate. Particularly, of course, if one or more of them could be convinced to explain just what had happened before the riot began. Had they all been moved into position beforehand or had it been spontaneous and they’d been caught up in the general excitement? Most of them – he cast a glance towards the prisoners, who were sitting on the sand and looking downcast – had probably been unaware of what was about to happen until it was too late. They’d probably be eager to talk.

“Make sure they’re protected,” he ordered, instead. “They don’t deserve to be abused.”

“They deserve a flogging,” Isabel said, tartly. She yawned, suddenly. “Getting us out of bed like this.”

Davis snorted. “Go ask the boss for extra pay?”

“And get stuck with all the shit jobs for the next few weeks,” Isabel said. She shook her head. “No, there’s no extra pay for anyone. And probably no sleep tonight too.”

“There are rooms in the Arena,” Davis said. “You can probably use one, if you ask.”

“I’ll see,” Isabel said. “Glen?”

“I need to check on Helen,” Glen said. He cursed, inwardly. Would Helen have slept peacefully, or had a nightmare, or stayed awake to watch the news? “But it can wait until relief arrives.”

“It might be a while,” Davis said. “I heard this wasn't the only riot, Glen. There were riots in a dozen cities. We’re badly overstretched and its only going to get worse.”

“Shit,” Glen said.

No one bothered to disagree.

It also destroys respect for the law – and for those who enforce it. When the law-keepers are seen as enemies, when the law is a tool of powerful interests rather than society as a whole, the end cannot be far away.

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

“The security forces have secured the lower levels,” the waiter said, suddenly. “This building is secure.”