The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9) (v5.1) (29 page)

He pushed the thought aside as he stepped into his apartment. Helen was sitting on the sofa, watching the news. The newsreader was babbling on about the Governor’s plans for an economic revival, starting with a financial program to give a boost to industries that had faltered after the Fall of Earth, but Glen was not impressed. In his observation, any attempt to infuse government money into a corporation ended up with most of the money being stolen.

“Welcome home,” Helen said. She stood and smiled at him, looking younger than ever. “I finished the last set of puzzles.”

Glen smiled back at her. “I think we’ll have to get you more,” he said, although he wasn't sure where to go now. The riot had convinced a number of shops to close and, as far as he knew, they hadn’t reopened. He had a nasty feeling that there might be food riots in a few days, if the shops stayed closed. Not everyone kept enough food to tide themselves over for more than a few days, not when buying so much food could result in being asked hard questions. “Or perhaps find you something new to watch.”

“I didn't like
Family High
,” Helen confessed, as she followed him into the kitchen. “They were all so
stupid
!”

“It’s all the rage,” Glen protested, without heat.
Family High
was an entertainment drama for young children, featuring handsome men, beautiful women, pimped out dresses and a complete absence of any real consistency. But then, given that the show had been running for over twenty years, it was hard to keep the storylines consistent. “Don’t you like the stars?”

“They’re stupid,” Helen said. “Shelia won’t marry Austin because Austin is a dick, but she’s willing to make love to him, while Henry is too much of a coward to declare his love for her and Robert is too busy stealing the family jewels to give a damn about his girlfriend. And they all wear those silly dresses, when they’re not walking around in the nude.”

“I think the show is meant to showcase the dresses,” Glen said. He didn't know why the producers bothered. Most of the dresses were only available on Earth, which meant they had been largely unavailable even before Earth had died. “Or perhaps cause civil unrest.”

He smiled at the thought as he sorted out the food. “What would you like to do this evening?”

“Play chess,” Helen said. She gave him a suddenly nervous look. “Do you play?”

“I’ve been known to,” Glen said. “We’ll have to use the viewscreen to represent the board, though. I don’t have a physical one.”

“Uncle Rolf used to play me,” Helen said. “He used to bet sweets that I couldn't beat him.”

Glen concealed his amusement. “My uncles played cards with me,” he said. “It wasn't until I was nine that I realised they were actually
letting
me win, so they could give me some pocket money.”

Helen snickered. “And what did you do then?”

“I kept the money,” Glen said. “They
were
trying to give it to me, after all.”

He smiled at the memory as he placed the food on the table. His uncles had wanted to teach him something about the value of earning money, rather than simply being given cash for nothing. It was against the law – there were laws stating that children had to be given pocket money by their parents, no matter what they did or didn't do – but Glen hadn't cared. Earning it for himself, at least in theory, felt better than simply taking it. And yet, it had been a struggle to rise out of the dependency culture when he’d become an adult. So many people never managed to escape.

They’ll have to escape soon
, he thought, darkly.
What happens when the economic crash finally destroys the welfare state
?

“Glen?” Helen asked. “Are you alright?”

“I was just thinking,” Glen said. How long could Terra Nova afford to feed its unemployed and unemployable population? “Maybe we should go live somewhere else.”

Helen looked down at her food. “But what about my parents?”

Glen winced, feeling an odd chill gripping his heart. When had Helen managed to make her way into his heart? What would he do if she was taken away? Or what would
she
do if her parents were arrested and exiled for their role in shipping weapons to Terra Nova?

She isn't a pet
, he told himself, savagely.
And you should know better than to let yourself care
.

He cursed himself under his breath as he finished his meal and placed the dishes in the sink for later attention. They’d been warned never to develop emotional attachments to suspects, no matter how sweet and harmless they seemed. Helen was not, technically, a suspect, but it made no difference. What would happen when the issue of her status was finally resolved?

It might not matter
, he told himself,
if Terra Nova falls
.

“Set up the chessboard,” he ordered. “And then we can play.”

Helen smiled. “Of course,” she said. “Prepare to be thrashed.”

She was right, Glen discovered, twenty minutes later. Helen was a brilliant player, certainly better than he’d been at her age. Her uncle certainly hadn't been
letting
her win, he decided, as she pushed his pieces back across the board. There might be a great deal of nonsense published on making sure children had a win or two, to help build their self-esteem, but Helen didn't seem to need it. On the board, she was confident, definitely brilliant. It made up for her shyness ...

She grew up on a starship
, he thought.
There wouldn't have been so much else to do
.

“Checkmate,” Helen announced. Her face was lit up with a brilliant smile. “You want to play again?”

Glen reset the board. “Why not?”

The second game was more even than the first – he didn't underestimate her – but Helen still won, slowly but surely. Glen congratulated her on her victory, then helped her to her feet when she started to yawn. She clutched his hand tightly for a long moment, before walking into her bedroom. Glen watched as she closed the door, then sat back on the sofa feeling tired and drained. And concerned about the future. What would happen to Helen after the investigation was wrapped up? And what would happen to
him
?

“It might be time to apply for a Colony Marshal post,” he muttered. He could do it, if he applied. God knew he had the experience and then some. But it would mean abandoning Terra Nova. And he’d be practically kidnapping Helen. “But what would I do with her?”

He closed his eyes and went to sleep. It felt like mere seconds before his terminal started to bleep.

“Glen,” the dispatcher said, when he keyed it, “we’ve had a breakthrough. The boss wants you to report to the station ASAP.”

Glen glanced at the time. It was 0632.

“Understood,” he said. “Do I have time for a shower and a change of clothes?”

“Boss wants you in at 0700,” the dispatcher said. “You might want to hurry.”

“Right,” Glen said. He swore, mentally. Getting to the station on time would be tricky even if he left immediately. There would be no time for anything, but a can of cold coffee. “I’m on my way.”

The Planetary Police were raised and trained on their homeworlds. They were not always perfect, but they did have ties to the locals and the ability to know what should and what shouldn't be in their local areas. Furthermore, they were well-trained and equipped for forensic work. And they were often quite popular.

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

“Glad you’re both here,” Patty said, as Glen and Isabel entered her office. “There’s work for you to do.”

Glen exchanged a glance with Isabel. “Work, boss?”

“Yes, work,” Patty said. She sounded as if she’d managed to catch some sleep between sending Glen home and recalling him to the office. “The tasks you do for a living.”

She cleared her throat, loudly. “The backroom staff kept grinding through the data recovered from the warehouse and the shipping firm,” she said. “They came up with a lead that needs to be investigated, as soon as possible. As you are already working the case, you will take the lead on this.”

“I’m starting to get whiplash,” Isabel commented, wryly. “How are we supposed to get anything done if we keep hopping from case to case?”

“I can start cutting your spare hours, if you like,” Patty offered. She tapped a switch and a holographic image appeared in front of them. “This gentleman is called Wayland Nards.”

Glen leaned forward, studying the image. Nards looked young, no older than Isabel, but he had an air of indolence that suggested he wasn't used to working with his hands for a living. And his paunch, and his balding head, suggested he didn't really care what he looked like, as he could probably have afforded cosmetic surgery.

“A bureaucrat,” Glen guessed.

“A Senior Shipping Officer,” Patty corrected. She smirked. “Which is pretty much the same thing, really. Point is – this is the gentleman who cleared the crates of weapons to pass through the security network without inspection and who signed the covering papers for the transhipment warehouse. There should have been at least two inspections of the crates as they were moved down to the surface. This ...
person
cleared them without inspection.”

Glen’s eyes narrowed. “Is he a Nihilist?”

“We assume he was bribed,” Patty said. “His account shows a number of payments from various single-use accounts that were, we assume, created specifically to fund Nards. Each of them were just under the reporting limits, but collectively they add up to quite a considerable sum of money. His lifestyle is also too luxurious for his legal income.”

“He probably collects a lot of bribes,” Isabel said. “Shipping delays alone can be more costly than paying off the bureaucrats supervising the process.”

“No doubt,” Patty agreed. She looked up, meeting Glen’s eyes. “This guy might be able to lead us to the Nihilists, Glen. We need to take him alive.”

Glen nodded, slowly. One bureaucrat without any combat training. It shouldn't be a problem, but they’d take every precaution, regardless. A glance at the file showed him that Nards lived in a built-up area, rather than one of the gated estates normally occupied by government workers. It was an odd choice, even assuming Nards was trying to make a show of living within his means. But there were no prying eyes in the place he’d made his home.

“There isn't any manpower available to assist you,” Patty warned. “And that place is notoriously restive. I’m assigning a snatch squad to accompany you.”

“Those clowns,” Isabel said. “I thought they would be busy beating up the wrong people.”

“There’s no one else to send,” Patty said. “And you may be grateful to have them.”

Glen sighed, then nodded. “We’ll go now,” he said. He thought, briefly, of trying to call Nards into the office and grabbing him there, but it was quite likely that the bureaucrat would smell a rat. The bureaucrats had great working hours and no overtime. “Or do we have time to wait for him to return to the office?”

“No,” Patty said. “We’re looking at his backlog now, but we don’t know how many crates he might have let through the net. I think we need to snatch him up as soon as possible.”

“Understood,” Glen said. “Will there be additional backup?”

“Only if desperately necessary,” Patty said. “There’s a handful of SWAT teams on standby to serve as emergency reinforcements, but just about everyone else is out on the streets, trying to keep the lid on. And it isn't enough.”

Glen nodded, sourly.

***

Belinda lifted an eyebrow as the door to the communal shower opened so slowly that she just
knew
the person behind the door was trying to sneak into the room. Adjusting her position as water ran down her naked body, she watched with some amusement as Hammerfest peeked around the corner and looked for her. His eyes went wide as he saw her naked body, then he fell backwards as she punched him in the nose. She stepped over him and dried herself as he struggled to pull himself back together.

“You know, the next person you try to spy on might just put a bullet between your eyes,” Belinda said, pleasantly. She’d expected trouble, although nothing
quite
so blatant. “And where would you be then?”

“Worth it,” Hammerfest said. He managed to sit upright, one hand rubbing his bleeding nose. “You’re gorgeous.”

“And deadly,” Belinda said. Being naked in front of him didn't bother her, not after years in various barracks. “Next time, I’ll break something less vital than your nose.”

It took Hammerfest a moment to realise what she meant. And then he howled with laughter, honest genuine laughter, as if she’d made a hilariously funny joke. Belinda rolled her eyes, then reached for her uniform and dressed quickly. Hammerfest made no move closer to her, even after he stumbled to his feet. His nose was a crooked bloodstained mess.

“Go have that fixed,” Belinda ordered. Broken noses were common injuries in the Marines and, she assumed, it was true of the Civil Guard too. “And then report to the briefing room.”

She finished dressing as he stumbled out of the room, then followed him down towards the briefing room, where Fraser was waiting for her. The remainder of the squad had already joined him, somewhat to Belinda’s annoyance. She wasn’t actually
late
– the meeting wasn't due to begin for another ten minutes – but it made her look inefficient. She controlled her irritation as Hammerfest entered the room, a surgical mask placed carefully over his nose, and took a seat next to her. His raspy breathing was more irritating than his half-assed attempt to spy on her in the shower.

“There have been developments,” Fraser said. If he was curious about Hammerfest’s broken nose, he showed no sign of it. “You and your squad will be accompanying the Marshals as they make an arrest.”

Belinda leaned forward, interested. “The Marshals?”

“Indeed,” Fraser said. “They have a lead and they need some armed backup. You’ll get the rest of the briefing from the agent in charge, so draw your weapons from the locker and remember the rules of engagement.”

“Of course, sir,” Hammerfest said, too loudly.

Belinda winced, inwardly. Rules of engagement were problematic even when highly-trained Marines were involved – and their practically-minded superiors were responsible for drawing up the ROE. The ROE she’d been given as part of a snatch squad looked to have been written by several different sets of lawyers, each one with different priorities. She was authorised to use whatever level of violence she deemed necessary, but she was also to avoid doing anything that might alarm civilians or result in a bloodbath. There were so many contradictions within the ROE that she would have made an official complaint, if she’d thought it would get her anywhere. It was impossible to do almost anything without infringing one of the contradictory requirements.