The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9) (v5.1) (44 page)

“I sure as hell hope so,” Augustus grumbled. “The Governor is leaning towards nationalising everything belonging to corporations on Earth. We don’t have a choice if we can't save what remains of the interstellar economy. And yet that will open a whole new can of worms.”

He shrugged, then changed the subject. “Will you do me the honour of serving as my escort tonight?”

“I have my duty,” Belinda said. And besides, there was Glen. How could she expect him to understand what she was doing when she wasn't sure she understood it herself? “Ask me after the conference is over.”

Worse, perhaps, the debts were impossible to repay. Everyone knew it. The economy was contracting, hence few could get a job and start repaying their loans. It was only a matter of time before the bubble burst and the economy collapsed.

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

Stacy didn't mind her job on Island One.

Sure, there was almost no privacy, and many of the wealthy residents would make passes at her whenever they thought they could, but she knew it was far better than a job on Terra Nova – if, of course, there had been a job for her. On Island One, she shared an apartment with another girl and could enjoy the facilities when she wasn't on duty – and she was
safe
. It wasn't like growing up on Terra Nova, where she’d had to sneak around for fear of running into a monster in human form. If she ever had children, she knew she would want them to grow up on Island One.

But that wasn't likely to happen, unless she married one of the permanent residents. And that wasn't easy. She had no illusions about the difference between her, or any of the other staff, and the residents, all of whom could buy and sell the staff on a whim. They’d understand the reasons a young and beautiful girl would throw herself at them, all right, and while she didn't mind putting out, she would have liked some security in return. It was why she had traded two nights of duty in Home Sweet Home for a place supervising the children as the guests started their banquet.

The children were sweet – sometimes
spoiled
sweet, but sweet – but that wasn't why she had taken the job. Several of the children had no mothers, either because the mothers were gold-diggers who had moved on to the next mark or simply because the fathers had simply bought some donated DNA and grown their children in an exowomb. If she could worm her way into their hearts, she was sure, their fathers would take notice.
Someone
had to look after the children, after all. And the fathers doted on their children.

She cast her eye over the kids and smiled to herself. They ran the gauntlet from six to fourteen, boys wearing black suits and ties while the girls wore a whole series of fancy dresses that probably cost more than her salary for a decade. The girls looked sweet and the boys looked just adorable, although they would probably hate her for pointing it out. It was easy to like them, and easier still to consider playing mother.

Calmly, she clapped her hands together.

“The food is in the next room,” she said. The kids had been playing several different games, the older ones hanging back until – eventually - they’d let go of their dignity and started to have fun. “Let us go through and eat.”

The younger kids cheered and ran through the door, the older ones following with less enthusiasm. Stacy concealed her amusement at their attempts to act like their fathers, then followed them. The sound of cheers could be heard as the younger kids saw the food laid out for them, the entire table covered in treats and sweet things. They probably ate the same food all the time at home, Stacy knew, but this was different. This was a party ... and food always tasted better at a party.

She motioned for the older kids to take their seats – the younger ones were already grabbing for food – and did a quick headcount. Her blood ran cold as she realised there were nineteen kids in all, instead of twenty-one. It was unlikely that any of the kids had run into any real danger – Island One was
safe
– but it was still worrying. She’d be in deep shit if any of the kids decided to wander off back home. Shaking her head, she walked back into the playroom and looked around. She saw nothing.

They’re probably in the bathroom
, she thought. Both of the missing girls were old enough to be toilet-trained, thankfully. The boys and girls she recalled from her childhood had used to fling their own waste around for fun, but the children of Island One were far more civilised. She walked up to the door and checked inside, then glanced into the next room. The two girls were standing there, one stock still, the other tugging at her arm.

Stacy walked into the room, relief flowing through her veins. “It's time to eat,” she said, softly. “I ...”

She broke off as the older girl – Violet Augustus – turned to look at her. “She’s not moving,” she said, urgently. There was a faint hint of panic in her tone. “She isn’t moving!”

Stacy leaned forward. Violet was older than she would have preferred, if she had to play mother, but her father was stupendously rich. It might have been worth the effort of trying to lure him into her arms. But she pushed the thought aside as she checked the other girl. She was standing completely rigid, her body as stiff as a board. Alarm bells rang in Stacy’s mind as she reached for her wristcom. If something was wrong, she would need to summon a medical team as quickly as possible and ...

The girl spun around with blinding speed, one hand lifted up ...

... And Stacy knew no more.

***

“They’re making the boring speeches,” Glen commented. They were seated together in the security booth, watching the show through emplaced sensors. “Is that normal?”

Belinda nodded. “It's why people talk about the weather,” she said. “They’re breaking the ice without discussing something so controversial that they would have a falling out.”

Glen sighed. Dealing with the entry procedures had been bad enough, but he’d hoped to have a break between the last of the arrivals and the dinner party. Instead, he’d had to deal with a dispute between two sets of bodyguards and another over which guest had the biggest guest house. It wouldn't have mattered to
him
if he’d been given the mansion with ten bedrooms or the mansion with fifteen, but it did seem to matter to the guests. Why they felt the urge to squabble over such petty things mystified him. The Empire was dying!

“Let us hope so,” he said. On the display, Governor Hamilton was rising to his feet, readying himself to make a speech of his own. Another display showed a flight of Island One’s drone transports as they moved luggage from one mansion to another. “Have you ever met such badly-behaved guests?”

Belinda smiled. “You should have seen the reporters we had to take to a hellhole called Blake’s Town,” she said. “The General in command thought he was going to win a staggering victory over the forces of darkness – he always called his enemies the Forces of Darkness – so he invited a few hundred reporters to witness it. I’d ... ah, pissed off my superior and I found myself being offered a choice between being flogged or helping to guard the reporters. If I’d known how bad it was going to be, I’d have taken the flogging.”

Glen blinked. “Marine officers are allowed to flog their subordinates?”

“I think he was joking,” Belinda said. “Marine regulations take a dim view of an officer who actually lays hands on his subordinates. That’s the sergeant’s job.”

She smirked, then sobered. “I wasn’t joking. I would sooner have charged the enemy stark naked than put up with those assholes for another microsecond.”

Glen had to smile at the mental image, then leaned forward. “Just how bad were they?”

“Awful,” Belinda said. “They asked the most stupid questions, chatted up younger officers, three of them were seriously injured because they didn't follow instructions and one of them even tried to follow me into the bathroom. We had a couple of good ones, but they were few and far between.”

She sighed. “And then the glorious victory failed to materialise, so the reporters were sent home and I went back to my unit,” she added. “The reports of the campaign bore no resemblance to reality.”

Glen shook his head. “If that’s true,” he said, “why has the Empire survived for so long?”

“One of my Drill Instructors had a theory,” Belinda said. “He was a tough-minded old bastard, but he softened every time we passed a test and told us his thoughts while we were recuperating. His theory was that successive generations grew less and less able to handle challenges because they were never seriously challenged.”

“I see,” Glen said. It sounded reasonable enough. “But there are all sorts of challenges.”

Belinda looked down at her hands. “On the Slaughterhouse,” she said, “there’s a final test for recruits – the Crucible. Pass the Crucible and you’re a Marine, no questions asked. But no one, not even I, could have passed the Crucible without years of Boot Camp and then the Slaughterhouse. The Empire, collectively, doesn’t have challenges that force it to adapt, react and overcome. And now there
is
such a challenge, it is incapable of meeting it.”

Glen sighed. “I hope you're wrong,” he said.

“So do I,” Belinda admitted.

***

Normally, there wasn't a guard at the spokes that led back to the hub. The residents rarely left the wheel unless they were leaving the station, while the staff knew better than to enter the hub without permission. But with so many visitors, the new Head of Security had felt it advisable to place a guard on each of the spokes. Corporal Lewis, who had drawn the short straw, bitterly resented it. The security officers didn't need an outsider to point out their problems, or to force them to drill and drill again. They were already prepared for anything.

He sighed. Normally, guarding the residents directly was a good way to earn tips and make contacts. He had no intention of staying on Island One indefinitely and, with his savings and references from some of the richest men in the system, he could practically write his own ticket. He'd even seen the conference as a chance to meet contacts from right across the Core Worlds. But how the hell was he supposed to meet the visitors, something that would be hard enough at any time, without actually being near them? They’d be in the best possible mood after the dinner.

There was a click. He looked up, in time to see someone step into the station. The lights flickered and failed a moment later, casting the entire complex into darkness. Lewis groped for the flashlight hanging from his belt with one hand, cursing his decision to secure it to the leather for greater security, then flicked it on. He saw nothing ...

... And then something crashed into his head with staggering force. He was dead before his body hit the ground.

***

Belinda had always disliked waiting. Patience had been hammered into her at the Slaughterhouse, but she'd been taught that she would probably never make a sniper or even an observer, let alone a deep cover agent. Indeed, being a Pathfinder had been hard enough. But now, all she could really do was watch and wait as the delegates made speech after speech, each one so bland that it made her grind her teeth in irritation. Even Glen had fallen silent after the speeches had started to blur together into a single mass.

Fuck him again
, Pug offered.
You liked it last time
.

Don’t be fucking stupid
, Doug snapped back.
You’re on duty
.

Fuck the pair of you
, Belinda thought. Somehow, she wasn't surprised that the ghosts had returned.
This is serious
.

That would be against regulations
, Pug pointed out.
You don’t have anything stopping you from making love to him
.

Belinda rubbed her forehead, resisting the urge to groan. She'd wondered, once, why someone she’d known had put a gun in his mouth and killed himself, after having mental problems. She understood now. The ghosts were always there, even if they were just figments of her imagination. And she refused to accept the possibility they might be real. Outside bad flicks and worse stories, there were no such thing as ghosts. Or the Slaughterhouse would be haunted by the remains of thousands of dead recruits.

You like him
, Pug urged.
And what is going to go wrong
?

Shut up
, Belinda thought. Pug had been famous for chasing woman – and, as a Marine, he was up against some pretty stiff competition. But he'd known better than to violate the regulations banning Marines from developing sexual feelings for one another. He’d certainly never made a pass at her.
You’re just a figment of my imagination
.

And how
, Pug asked,
would you know
?

You’d be encouraging me to chase women instead
, Belinda thought. Pug had been aggressively heterosexual.
But you’re encouraging me to chase man
.

She’s got you there
, McQueen put in.
You always hated the thought of dipping your wick in a man.

Belinda smirked, then stood up and started to pace. The dinner was still going on ... and would be going on for hours to come, unless the guests started fighting. She rather hoped they wouldn't, knowing it could mean war. The hundreds of starships outside could do a great deal of damage to the system – and smash Island One to rubble – before they left. If, of course, they were forced to leave. A handful of them might already have made alliances to work together if the shit hit the fan.

Glen looked up at her. “Are you all right?”

“I think so,” Belinda lied. She didn't want to confess to any form of mental instability. Once, she'd mocked films featuring crazy or homicidal Marines. They didn't seem so funny now, as the voices in her head grew louder. Imagination or not, having them as part of her was more than a little worrying. “Just bored.”

“It’s always boring on stake-out too,” Glen commented. “You feel the urge to do something – anything – to relieve the boredom. But almost anything you do would only alert your target. All you can really do is watch and wait.”