The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9) (v5.1) (40 page)

“Of course,” Stacy said. “But we were told to offer you our best guest accommodations.”

Glen stepped into the nearest hut and shook his head. It managed to combine primitivism with modern luxury, pleasing both. There was a large double-sized bed, a smaller bed in a separate room he suspected was intended for Helen, a viewscreen, a cabinet full of expensive alcohol and a computer terminal. In one corner, there was a glass sheet allowing him to peer down into the water below. Hundreds of fish were swimming around the stilts, glimmering with light and life.

“It's unnatural,” Belinda said, quietly. “And it may not be sustainable.”

Helen looked up at her. “Why?”

“They only added the life they wanted,” Belinda said. “If they didn't copy Earth’s biosphere, even on a limited basis, there will be all sorts of holes. I’d expect the biosphere to fall apart without constant maintenance.”

She turned to look at Stacy, who had been showing the other Marshals their huts. “Where do you stay when you’re not working?”

“There's a section on the other side of the wheel for us,” Stacy explained. “It’s not quite as nice as here” – she waved a hand to indicate the hut – “but it’s pretty good and accommodation is free. We spend seven hours on duty each day, then the rest of the time is ours. The only real downside is that we can't go to the planet.”

“That’s something of a blessing,” Glen assured her. “Right now, you should be glad to be here.”

“I am,” Stacy said. “I could spend the rest of my life here.”

Belinda leaned forward. “What’s it like working here?”

“It isn't bad,” Stacy said. She shrugged. “I can't give you specifics, though.”

“Of course not,” Belinda said. “But do you have fun?”

“Mostly,” Stacy said. “There are always some issues, of course, that need to be handled. But otherwise we have fun.”

“Thank you,” Glen said.

“We’re always available,” Stacy assured him. “Just call if you need us.”

Too much luxury
, Glen thought.

He rubbed his forehead as Stacy turned away. The sheer luxury surrounding them would dull their senses and leave them calm, too calm. It would be easy to lose their edge, which could prove fatal if the conference was attacked. He scowled, then reached for the datapad and glanced at the list of services Stacy had mentioned. They ranged from childcare, which was unsurprising, to massages and outright sexual services. There were no prices mentioned, he noted, which wasn't really a surprise. Anyone who could afford to visit Island One, even for a few days, would be rich enough to pay.

“This place is strange,” Helen announced. “Like it’s in space but not in space.”

“True,” Belinda agreed. She looked around the room, then smiled at Glen. “Where were you planning to sleep?”

Glen felt his cheeks heat like a schoolboy’s. He hadn't told the staff to arrange a double bed; hell, he wasn't even sure how that had happened. There were several other huts, he knew; it was quite possible that one of them was intended for Belinda. And then he realised he was being teased.

“You can have one of the other huts,” he said, stiffly. It didn't help when Belinda started to giggle at him. “And what about ... about S-C-H-O-O-L?”

“I can spell,” Helen said, sounding offended. “And it wouldn't be so bad up here.”

Glen sighed. Helen had watched a series of programs set in planetary schools and she’d been thoroughly horrified. The hell of it was that the programs hadn't been particularly exaggerated. If someone happened to be tough, good at sports and capable of looking after himself, schooling wasn't too bad. But if someone happened to be weak, unpopular and incapable of self-defence ... being in school on a planet would be a foretaste of hell.

“No, it probably won't,” he said. The documents he’d seen had made school on Island One sound like heaven. “But we’ll see to it tomorrow.”

Belinda elbowed him. “Growing lax already?”

“Unfortunately,” Glen said. “Maybe we should sleep on the floor, just to keep ourselves in the proper vile mood for security work. And then we should not bother to wash either.”

“I think there would be complaints,” Belinda said. She smirked. “Unless you happen to enjoy walking around smelling like recruits staggering off the training field for the first time.”

“Yuk,” Helen said.

“You have no idea,” Belinda said.

Glen glanced at his watch. “We’ll eat, then go back to the security centre and start going through procedures, one by one,” he said. “And then we can hold drills until the attendees finally arrive. How does that sound?

“Lazy,” Belinda said. She smiled, then turned to step out onto the balcony. “But it’s probably the best idea.”

“Good,” Glen said. He followed her out and stared at the silver lake. Belinda was right. The more he looked at it, the more unnatural it seemed. “Where are you planning to sleep?”

“I think I’ll stay here,” Belinda said. “It’s a comfortable floor.”

Glen looked down at the wooden floor, then laughed nervously. “You have got to be kidding.”

“Try sleeping in a swamp sometime,” Belinda muttered. She cleared her throat. “Besides, I really think we should stay close together.”

A rich man could buy his way out of trouble. Everyone knew it. Furthermore, there was no way a poor man could get out of trouble. This had always been true, but it was now utterly unmistakable. As rumours got out about how the Civil Guard treated prisoners, the general population hovered on the brink of revolt.

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

Belinda didn't blame Glen and his team for being impressed with Island One. It was a remarkable creation, after all, even if the technology behind the space habitat was deceptively simple. But the more she looked at it, the more convinced she became that the entire system was simply not designed to serve as a secure conference facility. The residents might be rich and powerful, but even they hadn't designed their home to stand off a battlefleet.

Not that they could have done so
, she thought, as Doyenne talked them though the security system.
The station that can stop a battlefleet hasn't been built
.

She allowed her mind to wander, probing the habitat’s datanet, only to discover that it was actually more secure than anything she’d seen on Terra Nova. There was a public datanet, accessible everywhere, that didn't seem to be connected to the private datanet; indeed, there seemed to be
two
private datanets. It appeared to be impossible to alter one of them without direct access to the computer core, while the second didn't actually seem to do anything. She made a mental note to ask why there were two, then she started to skim through the public datanet. Half of it seemed to be nothing more than entertainment, ranging from flicks and blue porno movies to VR simulations, while the remainder appeared to be centred around household management. The staff had regular access to the system.

Maybe the second private network is for corporate staff
, she thought. It was as good a theory as any.
Or maybe there are more datanets out of my sensor range, one for each corporation
.

“You’re experienced,” Glen said, breaking into her thoughts. “How would you attack Island One?”

Belinda considered it, carefully. How would
she
do it? And what would she actually
want
?

“It would depend,” she said, finally. “If I wanted to take hostages, I’d try to surround the station with battleships and force it to surrender. But that isn't likely to work here.”

Glen nodded. Each of the delegates would be bringing a small fleet of escorts with them, while Terra Nova’s defence forces were far from insignificant, even though Belinda had her doubts about how many of them were fit for action. The Nihilists – or whoever – would consider launching a direct military attack futile, assuming they had the firepower to try.

“They’d have to get people onboard,” Glen mused. “And that would be difficult.”

“Yeah,” Belinda said. Glen had revamped the security procedures as soon as they’d started work. No one else would be permitted to land on Island One without a full security sweep, even though it would put a lot of pressure on the staff. “And then they’d have to get away from the station afterwards.”

She winced. Hostage-rescue missions were always tricky, even at the best of times, and dealing with hostage-takers was even worse. They would want to hang on to the hostages long enough to escape, while the security forces would want the hostages back as soon as possible. It was never easy to balance the two competing requirements, even without the prospect of outright treachery. She'd been on the ground when a planetary governor
had
been treacherous and all five of the hostages had been killed in the crossfire.

“But if they’re Nihilists, they’ll want to die,” Glen mused. “And if they can take the station with them ...”

“They got a shitload of weapons from somewhere,” Belinda said, although that was no surprise. The Core Worlds might be thoroughly hoplophobic, but ask in the right place and almost anything could be purchased. “Maybe they could get a nuke. Or simply rig one up with the right equipment.”

“Bastards,” Glen muttered. “Why are they never controlled?”

Belinda shrugged. “Because making nukes is easy, because finding the raw materials is easy too and because there are plenty of people with both the skills to make them and the desire to use them for perfectly legitimate purposes.”

Glen nodded. “But why aren't they secured?”

“Because it can take years to get a permit to use a nuke for any purpose,” Belinda said. “It’s often quicker to build a nuke for yourself than apply for permission.”

She shook her head, slowly. The blunt fact was that if the Nihilists managed to detonate a nuke onboard Island One, they were all going to die. Even a near-miss would be dangerous, despite the hullmetal sheathing the giant space habitat. They’d have to run through a whole series of emergency drills, just to make sure the population knew what to do if the shit hit the fan. It was quite likely that emergency drills had been reduced or cancelled altogether, just to keep the wealthy residents happy. No one ever paid any attention to the endless flight safety announcements made before shuttlecraft departed, in any case.

“Wankers,” Glen said.

Belinda paid close attention as they ran through an endless series of checks and rechecks, then finally headed back to the wheel for dinner. Marshal Singh didn't seem to like her very much, Belinda noted, although she was definitely competent. Belinda had a suspicion that Singh regarded either the Civil Guard or the Military Police as buffoons, a description that wouldn't have been too inaccurate. Her dislike certainly didn't seem to be
personal
. Her partner, Marshal Alongside, seemed quiet, but very competent. Belinda couldn't help feeling relieved, even though she would have preferred Marines. They wouldn't have bitched so much about adding extra levels of security to Island One.

And we could have tested it properly too
, Belinda thought. She knew the Governor had only had a month to set up the conference, but surely he could have assigned additional firepower to guard the conference chambers? Or was he worried about having so many armed guards around proud and touchy men? He wasn't the Emperor, after all, or even a Grand Senator.

“It's a good thing they’re not going to charge us for this,” Marshal Alongside said, when they were back at the huts. There was no dining hall, it seemed; the food was served in a massive clearing, in the open air. “The food here is staggeringly expensive.”

Belinda glanced at the menu. Growing up on Greenway and then serving in the Marine Corps had left her with very little food snobbery. The more she ate, the better; taste was always a secondary concern. Food was food – and childish likes and dislikes were embarrassing liabilities in the field. But if she'd had expensive tastes and the money to afford them, Island One would have had something for her. There were hundreds of dishes on the menu, sourced from all over the galaxy. She couldn't help wondering how long they would still be available as interstellar trade ground to a halt.

“Indulge yourself,” Glen said, “but no alcohol. Or anything else that would render you unfit for duty.”

“Like drugs,” Belinda offered, brightly. She pretended not to see the sharp look Marshal Singh aimed at her. “There’s a whole list of available substances here.”

Glen looked annoyed, although not at her. It took Belinda a moment to realise that most of the substances were illegal, even on Earth and the Core Worlds. Seeing them offered so blatantly had to offend his lawman’s soul. But then, he’d never seen the luxuries offered to Prince Roland to keep him from actually trying to think for himself. There had always been one set of laws for the rich and another for the poor.

“Eat what you can,” she advised. She tapped the menu, choosing a large steak and fries for herself. It would provide enough substance for several days, if necessary. “And then we can get some sleep.”

Night slowly fell over Island One as they ate, the giant light-tube dimming until the stars started to come out overhead. They seemed to be moving slowly, something that puzzled her until she recalled that the wheel was spinning. Flickering dots of light, high overhead, had to be the network of security satellites and automated weapons platforms surrounding the Island One. It looked impressive, on paper, but Belinda had no illusions. They wouldn't be able to stand up to a determined assault.

“Look,” Helen called. “What are
those
?”

Belinda followed her gaze. Dancing flickers of light hung in the air, spinning through the trees at the edge of the clearing. There was a faint buzzing as they grew closer, barely audible even to her enhanced hearing, then faded away as they withdrew into the forest and vanished. It was an utterly charming sight.

“Fireflies, I think,” she said. They might well have been enhanced by the biologists, but there was no way to be sure. She'd never seen them glowing so brightly before. “They only come out at night.”