Retreat Hell

(The Empire’s Corps – Book VIII)

Christopher G. Nuttall

Series Listing

Book One: The Empire’s Corps
Book Two: No Worse Enemy
Book Three: When The Bough Breaks
Book Four: Semper Fi
Book Five: The Outcast
Book Six: To The Shores
Book Seven: Reality Check
Book Eight: Retreat Hell

Author’s Note

Retreat Hell probably requires some explanation.

In my previous books in this series, even the mainstream ones, I tried hard to create books that could be read without having read the previous books.  It is up for debate just how well I succeeded.  However, Retreat Hell is probably complete incomprehensible without having read the previous four mainstream books; The Empire’s Corps, No Worse Enemy, Semper Fi and To The Shores.  The events surrounding the Fall of Earth, mentioned in this novel, were detailed in When The Bough Breaks, while the foundation of the Trade Federation was covered in The Outcast.

Retreat Hell also marks the start of the Commonwealth-Wolfbane War, an event I anticipate taking at least another two-three books to resolve.  As such, it ends on a cliff-hanger of sorts.  But don’t worry.  The Marines will be back.

As always, free samples of the previous books are available on my website (www.chrishanger.net) and full copies can be downloaded from Amazon Kindle.  And if you like the book, please don’t hesitate to leave a rating and a review on Amazon.

Thank you

Christopher G. Nuttall

PS – I’ve included a snippet from a Kindle book written by a friend at the back of this book.  Why not check it out?

Dedication

Over the past year, several of my readers have emailed me with spelling and grammar corrections for books in this series and others.  As editing is a tricky task for a Kindle author, such assistance has been very helpful.  This book is dedicated to everyone who has submitted a correction.

Thanks

Chris
Prologue

Dateline – Two Months After the Fall of Corinthian

Admiral Rani Singh hated to lose.

She’d worked her way up the ranks through sheer stubbornness and native ability, forsaking all the shortcuts lecherous older officers offered her.  She’d taken pride in not surrendering herself to the temptations, even when she’d been assigned to Trafalgar Naval Base by a particularly vindictive superior after she’d declined his advances.  She’d even managed to turn a position that should have killed her career into a springboard to supreme power when the Empire started to withdraw from the sector, turning herself into a military dictator and ruler of a small empire of her own.  

But then she’d lost everything, but her life and a handful of starships.

In hindsight, she saw – all too clearly – where she’d gone wrong.  She hadn’t taken the Commonwealth seriously, not at the time.  It was a gathering of stars and human settlements towards the Rim, on the opposite side of her headquarters to Earth.  The Commonwealth should not have been able to put together a challenge to her forces, not the sector fleet she'd snatched almost intact during the final chaotic days of the Empire’s rule.  But the Commonwealth had sent its people to Corinthian and undermined her rule.  And when the ghost fleet had turned up, she’d panicked and lost everything.

Oh, she’d had plenty of time to think, she recalled, as the remains of her fleet had crept from hiding place to hiding place, fearful of an encounter that could have drained their finite supplies still further.  Smaller and older ships had been cannibalised to keep the bigger ones operational, although she knew that even a victorious engagement could cost her everything; her crews had grown more and more restless, their loyalty only assured by the looming presence of her security forces.  One day, she'd known, they might rise up against her – and, if they took the ships, surrender them to the Commonwealth.  She'd slept with a pistol under her pillow and armed guards at her hatch.

She’d known – she had never truly been able to lie to herself – that the situation was desperate.  Battleships required constant maintenance and an endless supply of spare parts, which they no longer possessed.  Sooner or later, she would have to abandon some of her crewmen or run out of life support.  Maybe she could have found a world they could occupy – she did have far more firepower with her than the average Rim world could deploy in its own defence – but that would have been a form of surrender.  And yet it had started to look like the only option.  It had been then, when she'd been in the depths of despair, that they’d stumbled across the ship from Wolfbane.

Rani had known, vaguely, that another successor state was taking shape and form, coreward of Corinthian.  She’d always known the value of good intelligence and her officials had interviewed the crews of every freighter that had made landfall within her territory.  But she had always assumed that she would contact them from a position of strength, not weakness ... not when weakness would invite attack.  She knew that better than any of her former superiors, none of whom had realised the true scale of the looming disaster.  And yet there was no choice.  

She looked up from the screen as Wolfbane came into view, her ragtag fleet escorted by a handful of battleships.  They weren't – quite – pointing their weapons at her ships, but she knew it would be a matter of seconds between the decision to open fire and the ships actually firing on her.  She'd come to Wolfbane, after sending a message through the captured ship’s crew, knowing that it could easily be a trap.  But there was still no choice.  

I do have cards to play, she thought, although she had no idea if they would be sufficient to win her a place on Wolfbane.  I have ships – and I have intelligence.  And I have a few tools I dare not share ...

She gritted her teeth as the fleet finally entered high orbit.  Wolfbane had been the most successful world in its sector, hence the Sector Government’s decision to base itself there.  It was surrounded by orbital weapons platforms, industrial nodes and starships – hundreds of starships.  The general economic decline that had presaged the Fall of the Empire, it seemed, no longer cast a shadow over the Wolfbane Sector.  She couldn't help feeling a flicker of envy – even her work on Corinthian hadn't produced so much activity – which she thrust aside ruthlessly.  There was no time to waste on self-recrimination.

Her wristcom buzzed.  “Admiral,” Carolyn said, “the shuttle from Wolfbane is making its final approach.”

Rani nodded.  Her aide was loyal – but she had no choice.  Rani’s security officers had seen to that, conditioning Carolyn until she couldn't even conceive of betraying her mistress.  But the price for such conditioning was a reduction in the woman’s intelligence and ability to act without specific orders.  Rani was all too aware of the weaknesses in the system, but she dared not take the risk of leaving her aide unconditioned.  It would be far too dangerous.

“Understood,” she said.  “I’m on my way.”

She straightened up and studied herself in the mirror.  Long dark hair framed an oddly fragile face, her dark skin and darker eyes giving her a winsome appearance that belied her inner strength.  Her dress uniform was perfectly tailored to her slender form, tight in all the right places.  It should have been no surprise when her former superiors had tried to seduce her, she admitted bitterly.  The recruiting officers had never mentioned that aspect of the military when they’d convinced her to join up.  Nor had it been a problem, she had to admit, until she’d graduated from the Imperial Academy with the rank of Lieutenant.

Absently, she wondered what Governor Brown would make of her.  There had been little in the files on him, including a note that he had strong ties to a dozen corporations that presumably no longer existed.  That suggested flexibility, Rani knew.  It was rare for an official to be beholden to more than one set of masters.  But Brown had clearly managed it long enough to reach the post of Sector Governor.  His word would have been law in the sector long before the Empire collapsed.

I’ll seduce him if I have to, she told herself.  It was a bitter thought, one she resented after everything she’d done to avoid trading sex for favours, but she was damned if she would not use all the tools in her arsenal to claw her way back to power.  And I will have my revenge.

Chapter One

If you start by reviewing a generalised (and highly sanitised) history of the three thousand years of the Empire’s existence, you could be forgiven for thinking that between the Unification Wars and the End of Empire there was no war.  Certainly, no major conflict threatened the existence of the Empire.  But was there peace?
- Professor Leo Caesius.  War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.

Darkness wrapped the landscape in shadow, unbroken by the merest hint of mankind’s technology.  The moon had yet to rise, leaving the stars as the only source of light.  And it was very, very quiet.

Pete Rzeminski sat on the edge of the clearing, looking up at the stars and waited, patiently, for his contacts to arrive.  The darkness – and the sound of nocturnal wild animals coming to life now the sun was gone – didn't bother him.  He’d been in far worse spots when he'd been on active duty.  But that had been a long time ago.

Pete wondered, absently, what his Drill Instructors would make of him now.  Would they understand, he asked himself, or would they condemn him for making his choice?  Once, he'd sworn an oath to the Empire that had defined his life and his service.  It had once meant everything to him, even after he’d quit in disgust and retreated to Thule, where his family lived.  But now the Empire was gone.  What was the point, he asked himself, of swearing to something that no longer existed?

And yet, it had taken him years to take sides.  In the end, only the death of his wife and family had convinced him to take up arms.

He wrapped the thermal cloak around him tightly as the temperature continued to fall, pushing his recollections aside.  The youngsters had complained when he’d insisted on meeting the outsiders alone – not all of them trusted him – but Pete had been insistent.  He did have training they lacked, training in escaping pursuit and – if necessary – in resisting interrogation.  There was still the very real possibility that the entire operation was a loyalist trap.  If so, it would be foolish to risk more than one life to make contact.

They called him the old man, he knew.  And he was old, by their standards, even if he was in excellent shape for a fifty year old man.  His hair was slowly turning grey, but his body was still strong, the result of exercise and genetic treatments he'd undergone in the past.  And his wife had never complained about his performance before she’d died ...

Memories rose up unbidden as he forced himself to relax, mocking him.  There had been the Slaughterhouse, where he’d first known true companionship, and then a series of endless bloody battles, each one only a symptom of the Empire’s steady decline.  And then there had been the final bloody cataclysm ... and his departure from the Terran Marine Corps.  In the end, he knew, he’d failed.  He hadn't been able to stay in the Marines, knowing that they’d become the Empire’s bully boys, the people responsible for fixing problems the Grand Senate caused for itself.

He pushed the self-pity aside as his ears picked up faint sounds, blown on the wind.  High overhead, something was descending towards the clearing.  Pete tensed, one hand reaching for the pistol at his belt, as his enhanced eyes finally picked up the shuttle.  Despite himself, he was impressed.  Thule was hardly a stage-one colony world, utterly incapable of detecting a starship in orbit or a shuttle passing through its atmosphere.  Their contacts had managed to slip through a detection system that was rather more elaborate than anything Thule really needed.  But then, the government had attempted to spend its way out of the financial crisis by investing in the local defence industry.  It was just a shame that the crisis had proven well beyond the planet’s ability to surmount.

The shuttle came to a hover over the clearing, then dropped down towards the ground.  It was a boxy shape, coated in materials that absorbed or redirected sensor sweeps from both orbital and ground-based stations.  The contacts had refused to discuss precisely how they intended to avoid the local defences, but Pete’s private guess was that they’d hidden the shuttle on one of the freighters in orbit.  He’d taken a look at the listings and seen several dozen that could easily have carried the shuttle, hidden away in a cargo hold or even bolted to the hull.  It wouldn't be detected unless the inspection crew was very thorough.

Not that the government bothers to examine off-world ships unless they’re independent, he thought, feeling a twinge of bitterness.  He hadn't realised how closely he’d associated himself with Thule until after his extended family had been affected by the first political shockwaves sweeping across the planet.  A system that had seemed logical – and a change from the Empire’s maddeningly hypocritical ideology – had shown its weaknesses as soon as the winds of change had begun.  The Trade Federation would complain.

The shuttle touched down, a faint hissing sound reaching his ears as the warm hull touched damp grass.  Pete hesitated, then stepped forward as the hatch opened.  No light spilled out – it was impossible to be certain that an orbital satellite wasn't looking for anything that stood out on the ground – but his eyes could pick out a figure standing in the hatch, carrying a rifle in both hands.  The figure wore light body armour and goggles that enhanced his eyesight.  A long moment passed, then the figure waved at Pete.  Bracing himself, Pete walked up to the hatch.

“Alpha-Three-Preen,” he said.

“Beta-Four-Prime,” the contact replied.  He stepped aside, inviting Pete into the shuttle.  “And may I say what a relief it is to be dealing with professionals?”

Pete felt his lips quirk in silent amusement.  The underground movements that had sprung up in the wake of the financial crisis – and mass unemployment, followed by disenfranchisement – had a cause, but no real experience.  Most of their secret passwords and countersigns had come from books and entertainment programs, both of which sacrificed realism for drama.  It had taken him years of effort to teach the youngsters about the virtues of the KISS principle.  Maybe it lacked drama, but it was certainly one hell of a lot more effective.

Inside, the shuttle was dark, the interior illuminated only by the light from a single display monitoring the orbital situation.  The hatch closed with a hiss, then the lights came on, revealing a handful of metal chairs and a single control stick.  Pete felt a moment of nostalgia – it had been years since he’d ridden an infiltration shuttle down into hostile territory – which he pushed to one side.  He couldn't afford the distraction, not now.

“We have weapons for you, as per request,” the contact said.  In the light, he was a bland young man, someone who could have passed unnoticed on any cosmopolitan world.  Not too handsome and not too ugly.  “And some intelligence as well.”

He paused, significantly.  “You are aware, of course, that both the Commonwealth and the Trade Federation plan to expand their activities in this sector?”

Pete nodded.  He’d heard rumours, some of them more reliable than others.  Joining the Commonwealth had seemed the ticket to economic recovery, but the Commonwealth either couldn't or wouldn't buy most of the planet’s produce.  He rather suspected the latter.  The planetary development corporation – and then the elected government – had invested heavily in industrial production equipment, citing their belief that the sector would continue to grow and develop under the protection of the Empire.  Now, Thule had more industrial production than she could use.  Even throwing money into the planetary defences hadn't solved the growing economic disaster.

“We would like to come to terms with you, after you take over the government,” the contact added.  “Would that be acceptable to you?”

Pete kept his expression blank.  No one did anything for nothing, not even the ivory tower intellectuals who’d provided the ideological base for the Empire’s growth, development and slow collapse.  Long experience in the Marine Corps had taught him that anyone who supplied weapons to underground movements wanted something in return.  Sometimes, it was cold hard cash, paid in advance, but at other times it was political influence or post-war alliances.  He would have preferred to pay in advance, rather than have the terms left undetermined.  But he knew the underground could not hope to purchase advanced weapons systems with cash in hand.  The planet’s currency was almost definitely useless outside its star system.

“That would depend,” he said carefully, “on just what those terms were.”

The youngsters, he knew, would have been horrified at his attempt to sound out the contact.  They would have protested, perhaps rightly, that the underground did not enjoy the luxury of being able to debate terms and conditions.  Without advanced weapons systems, the underground could not hope to prevail.  If worst came to worst, they’d argue, they could always launch another uprising against the contact’s backers.  Pete’s caution would not bode well with them.

He smiled, a little sadly.  Some of the underground might have made good Marines, once upon a time, while others were the kind of people the Marine Corps existed to defend.  Now, they were forced to fight or accept permanent subordination ... 

The contact didn't sound offended.  “We would like your political neutrality,” he said.  “If you do not wish to associate yourselves with us, you may avoid commitment, but you may not side with any other interstellar power.”

Pete looked at him for a long thoughtful moment.  He knew that the contact represented an interstellar power – no one else would be able to produce the weapons they’d offered – but he didn’t know who.  But the insistence on political neutrality suggested Wolfbane.  There was no one else who had any interest in Thule remaining uninvolved.  It was vaguely possible, he supposed, that the Trade Federation was covertly sabotaging the Commonwealth’s operations, but it seemed unlikely.  If nothing else, the Trade Federation benefited hugely from the current state of affairs.  Why would they want to upset the applecart?

They wouldn't, he thought.  Everything he knew about the Trade Federation backed up its assertion that it was not interested in political power, at least not to the extent of the Commonwealth or the vanished Empire.  No, they were interested in interstellar trade and little else.  They didn't benefit by upending the situation on Thule.

“Very well,” he said, finally.  “I cannot speak on behalf of every underground organisation, but my group will accept your terms.”

“Good,” the contact said.  He turned to the collection of metal boxes at the rear of the cabin.  “Once we have unloaded these, I will depart and you can begin your war.”

Pete nodded.  The youngsters couldn't think in the long term, but he could ... and he couldn't help wondering if he’d just sold his soul along with the planet itself.  But they had no alternative, no choice if they truly wanted to overthrow the government and create a new order.  They needed outside support.

“Thank you,” he said.

***
First Speaker Daniel Krautman, elected Head of State only weeks prior to the first financial shockwaves that had devastated the planet’s economy, looked out of the Speaker’s Mansion and down towards the empty streets.  Once, they had been bustling with life at all hours, a reflection of the economic success the planet had enjoyed under his predecessors.  Now, they were empty, save for passing military and police patrols.  The city was under martial law and had been so for months.  Even the camps of unemployed workers and students who had been evicted from their homes were quiet.

He shook his head in bitter disbelief, wondering – again – just what he had done to deserve such turmoil on his watch.  He’d told himself that running for First Speaker would be a chance to ensure that his name went down in the planet’s history, despite his comparative youth.  He'd told himself that he would serve the fixed ten-year term, the economic boom would continue and he would retire to take up a place on a corporate board or simply write his memoirs.  Instead, the bottom had dropped out of the economy only weeks after his election and nothing, no matter what he did, seemed to fix the problem.

Gritting his teeth, he swore under his breath as he caught sight of his reflection.  He’d been middle-aged when he’d been elected, with black hair and a smile that charmed the lady voters – or so he’d been assured, by his focus groups.  Now, he was almost an old man.  His hair had turned white, his face was deathly pale and he walked like a cripple.  The doctors swore blind that the constant pains in his chest were nothing more than the results of stress and there was nothing they could do, but he had his suspicions.  There were political and corporate figures demanding a harsher response to the crisis and some of them might just have bribed the doctors to make his life miserable.

Or maybe he was just being paranoid, he told himself as he turned away from the window.  He was lucky, compared to the men and women in the homeless camps, building what shelter they could from cardboard boxes and blankets supplied by charities.  There, life was miserable and short; men struggled desperately to find a job while women sold themselves on street corners, trading sex for the food and warmth they needed to survive another few days.  And the children ... Daniel couldn't help shuddering at the thought of children in the camps, even though there was nothing he could do.  Anything he might have tried would have been ruthlessly blocked by the conservative factions in the Senate.

But they might be right, he thought, numbly.  The founders set out to avoid creating a dependent society, like Earth.

He shook his head, angrily.  What good did it do to tell the unemployed to go get a job when there were no jobs to be had?  What good did it do to insist that the government should create jobs when there was no money to pay the additional workers?  What good did it to do to cling to the letter of the constitution when a crisis was upon them that had never been anticipated by the founders?  But the hawks were adamantly opposed to any changes while the doves couldn't agree on how to proceed.  And he was caught in the middle.

Daniel stepped over to his desk and looked down at the report his secretary had placed there before going to bed.  It seemed that the only growth industry, even after contact with the Commonwealth and the Trade Federation, was government bureaucracy, as bureaucrats struggled to prove they were actually necessary.  The report told him, in exhaustive detail, just how many men, women and children had been arrested at the most recent protest march, the one that had turned into yet another riot.  Daniel glanced at the executive summary, then picked up the sheaf of papers and threw it across the room and into the fire.  Maybe he should have offered it to the homeless, he told himself, a moment too late.  They could have burnt the papers for heat.

There was a tap on the door.  Daniel keyed a switch, opening it.

“First Speaker,” General Erwin Adalbert said.  “I apologise for disturbing you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Daniel said.  He trusted the General, insofar as he trusted anyone these days.  There were times when he suspected the only thing preventing a military coup was the simple fact that the military would have to solve the crisis itself.  “What can I do for you?”

“We received an intelligence package from one of our agents in the underground,” Adalbert said.  “I'm afraid our worst nightmare has come to pass.”

Daniel smiled, humourlessly.  Protest marches, even riots, weren't a major problem.  The various underground groups spent more time fighting each other and arguing over the plans to repair the economy – or nationalise it, or send everyone to the farms – than they did plotting to overthrow the government.  His real nightmare was the underground groups burying their differences and uniting against him.  

“They’ve definitely received some help from off-world,” Adalbert continued.  “There have been several weapons shipments already and more are apparently on the way.”

“Oh,” Daniel said.  “Who from?”

“Intelligence believes that there is only one real suspect,” Adalbert admitted.  “Wolfbane.”

Daniel couldn't disagree.  The Commonwealth had nothing to gain and a great deal to lose by empowering underground movements intent on overthrowing the local government and reshaping the face of politics on Thule.  Wolfbane, on the other hand, might well see advantage in trying to covertly knock Thule out of the Commonwealth.  Given that the closest Wolfbane-controlled world was only nine light years away, they certainly had an interest ... and probably the capability to do real damage.

“I see,” he said.

“We can expect the various underground groups to start working together now,” Adalbert added, softly.  “Their suppliers will certainly insist on unity in exchange for weapons.”

He paused.  “First Speaker, we need to ask for assistance.”

Daniel looked up, sharply.  “Remind me,” he said coldly, “just how much of our budget is spent on the military?”

Adalbert had the grace to look embarrassed.  “We spent most of the money on upgrading and expanding our orbital defences,” he said.  “It provided more jobs than expanding troop numbers on the ground.  We can expand our recruiting efforts, but we’re already having problems training our current intake ...”

“And we don't know how far we can trust the new recruits,” Daniel finished.

“Yes, sir,” Adalbert said.  “And most of our new recruits are trained for policing duties, not all-out war.  But that’s what the underground is going to give us.”

Daniel stared down at his desk.  He’d wanted to go down in history, but not like this, not as the First Speaker who had invited outsiders to intervene in his planet’s civil unrest.  The Senate would crucify him, safe in the knowledge that they didn't have to deal with the situation.  They’d voted him emergency powers, enough to call for assistance, but not enough to actually come to grips with the situation.

Damn them, he thought.

“Summon the Commonwealth representative,” he said, finally.  He honestly wasn't sure if the Commonwealth could legally help Thule.  This was an internal problem, not an external threat.  But there was no choice.  “We will ask for help.”

Chapter Two

No, there wasn't.  Peace is merely defined as the absence of fighting.  In actual fact, there were very few years in the Empire’s long history when the Empire’s military forces were not deployed into combat.  They might face rebels or insurgents, terrorists or freedom fighters, but they were never truly at peace.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.

It was raining the day they laid Lieutenant Elman Travis to rest.

Colonel Edward Stalker stood by himself, away from the handful of spectators, and watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground.  Traditionally, insofar as ‘tradition’ had a meaning on a world barely a hundred years old, those who had died on active service would be buried in a military graveyard on the outskirts of Camelot, but Lieutenant Travis’s father had insisted on laying him to rest in a private churchyard.  Ed had raised no objections, knowing that the grieving needed time to come to terms with the loss.  Councillor Travis, he suspected, had yet to truly believe his son was dead.

The preacher started to speak, his words barely intelligible under the driving rain.  Ed had never been particularly religious – a life in the Undercity, then in the Marine Corps had never predisposed him to believe in God – but he understood the value of believing that the dead were gone, but not truly gone.  Councillor Travis clung to the belief he would see his son again, drawing strength from his conviction.  Ed privately hoped he was right.  But he couldn't escape the feeling that dead meant gone.  

It had been his fault, Ed knew.  Lieutenant Travis had died on Lakshmibai, victim of a treacherous attack that had claimed the lives of over a hundred Avalon Knights.  Ed had looked at the files, such as they were, and decided that there was no reason to object to Wolfbane’s choice of Lakshmibai as a neutral world.  And really, what threat could Lakshmibai pose to two spacefaring interstellar powers?  It had never really occurred to him that the locals hated the outsiders so much that they would rise up against them, even under the threat of colossal devastation when the starships returned.  If the Commonwealth Expeditionary Force hadn't been deployed to Lakshmibai, Ed knew that he would be dead by now, along with the representatives from Wolfbane.  Who knew what that would have done to relationships between the two interstellar powers?

Ed was used to death, or so he’d told himself.  Being in the Marines meant the near-certainty of a violent death – and no one, not even the most highly-trained Marine, was immune.  He’d lost far too many people over the years, from Marines he’d considered friends to Marines who’d served under his command ... and then Avalon Knights and others who had joined the military and helped make the Commonwealth a success.  But those deaths had taken place before he'd screwed up, badly.  And he had screwed up.  In hindsight, always clearer than foresight, it was alarmingly clear that Lakshmibai was a disaster waiting to happen.

“Hindsight is always clearer,” the lecture had said, when he’d gone to OCS on the Slaughterhouse.  “You will always be second-guessed by people who will have access to a much more accurate picture than you had at the time.  The trick is not to let those people get under your skin, because they will find it very hard to filter out the information they gathered in hindsight from what you knew before the disaster occurred.”

He shook his head, bitterly.  There were just too many unanswered questions over the whole Lakshmibai debacle for him to relax, even if he had been inclined to let the dead go.  Had someone aided the locals, promising assistance that would prevent either the Commonwealth or Wolfbane taking bloody revenge for the slaughter of their people?  Had the locals believed that the starships would never return?  Or had they just been maddened fanatics, too enraged to consider the long-term consequences of their actions?  

The preacher finally stopped speaking and nodded to the friends and family, who stepped forward, picked up clods of earth and started to hurl them into the grave.  Ed watched dispassionately as the coffin was slowly buried, part of him wishing that he could join them and help bury a young man who’d died too soon.  But Councillor Travis had made his wishes quite clear.  Ed could attend the funeral, but not take an active part in the ceremony.  He blamed Ed for his son’s death.  

It was a bitter thought.  Ed had cared little for Earth’s cadre of professional politicians, from the mayors and managers of the giant cityblocks to the Grand Senators, who were – in fact, if not in name – an aristocracy that had succeeded, long ago, in barring outsiders from rising within the Empire’s power structure.  They’d known nothing, but politics; their actions were considered purely in terms of how they would help or hinder their endless quest for more and more political power.  It didn't take hindsight – as Professor Caesius had demonstrated years ago – to understand that Earth’s politicians were certainly part of the problems tearing the Empire apart.  And now the Empire was gone.

But Councillor Travis was different.  Ed and Professor Caesius had written most of the requirements for political service on Avalon – and the rest of the Commonwealth – and Councillor Travis qualified.  Indeed, part of Ed rather admired the man for what he had accomplished, even before the Marines had arrived on Avalon and disposed the old Council.  He was no professional politician ... which made his new opposition to the military – and Ed personally – more than a little heartbreaking.  But there was no point in trying to avoid the fact.

I never had children, Ed thought, sourly.  It wasn’t uncommon for Marines to have children while on active service, but the children tended to be raised by their mothers while the fathers were moved from trouble spot to trouble spot.  But Ed had never found someone he seriously considered marrying until he’d been sent to Avalon – and they couldn't marry, not while they were holding important posts.  What is it like to lose a child?

Losing a Marine was always a tragedy, all the more so when he had been in command, responsible for the lives of his men.  But Marines were trained to the very peak of human capability before they were set loose on an unsuspecting universe and assigned to individual Marine companies.  Ed had never been responsible for training his men.  A child, on the other hand, was raised from birth by its parents.  There was a connection there that even the most loyal and determined NCO failed to grasp with his men.  How could he blame Councillor Travis for his grief?

He caught sight of the older man, leaning over the grave and shuddered.  Councillor Travis was older than Ed, his body carrying the scars of struggle with the old Council’s stranglehold on Avalon’s economy.  His hair had faded to white long ago, but there was a grim determination in his eyes that had carried him far.  Now, that determination was turned against the military itself – and the Commonwealth.

Ed sighed, bitterly.  The hell of it was that he believed that Councillor Travis was right.

***
It felt strange, Brigadier Jasmine Yamane considered, to be wearing civilian clothes.  She hadn’t been a civilian since she’d turned seventeen and walked right into the Marine Corps recruitment station on her homeworld.  At Boot Camp, she’d worn the khaki outfits the new recruits were issued by the Drill Instructors, while the Slaughterhouse had expected them to wear combat battledress at all hours of the day.  Even when she’d gone on leave, which had only happened once between her qualifying as a Marine and being exiled to Avalon with the rest of the company, she’d worn undress uniform.

But the instructions for the funeral had been quite clear.  No military uniforms.  None of the guests were to wear anything that could even remotely be construed as a military uniform.  And, for someone who had never really considered how to dress herself for years, even picking something to wear had taken hours.  It annoyed the hell out of her that she could react quickly and decisively on the battlefield, but found herself utterly indecisive when trying to decide what to wear.  There was no way she could talk about that with the other Marines.

She caught sight of her own reflection in the growing puddle of water on the grass and sighed, inwardly.  Eventually, she’d settled for a black shirt and a long black skirt that swirled oddly around her legs.  It was loose, but it still felt constraining.  The first time she’d pulled it on, she’d had a flashback to one of the nastier exercises she’d undergone at the Slaughterhouse, when she’d been chained up and dropped into a swimming pool.  It hadn't surprised her, afterwards, to learn that several recruits had quit when they’d realised what they had to do to proceed.

The preacher started to speak again, his words hanging on the air.  Jasmine had once been religious, religious enough to understand why Councillor Travis and his family sought comfort from their belief in God.  It had been a long time since she’d prayed formally, she reminded herself, although heartfelt prayers on the verge of battle were probably more sincere than anything she’d offered back on her homeworld.  But listening to his words was a bitter reminder that over a hundred young men and women were dead – and most of them had died under her command.

I'm sorry, she thought, directing her thought towards the coffin, now buried under a thin layer of earth.  I’m so sorry.

In the days of the Empire, she knew without false modesty, she would be lucky to have risen to Lieutenant by now.  Promotion was slow, even within the Marine Corps – and a brevet promotion could be cancelled without affecting her career.  It was worse, far worse, in the Imperial Army, where officers were often promoted based on their connections, rather than their actual competence.  But Avalon needed experienced officers more than it needed to adhere to a strict promotion timetable and Jasmine had been promoted – faster, perhaps, than was wise.

She looked over at Colonel Stalker, standing on his own in the rain, and wondered how he managed to seem so impassive.  Didn't the deaths bother him?  He’d been in the Marines since before Jasmine had even entered Boot Camp, let alone the Slaughterhouse; hell, she rather suspected he’d been in the Marines long before Jasmine had even heard about them for the first time.  Was he simply too experienced to truly feel each and every death?  Or was he merely hiding his feelings and concentrating on the living?

Jasmine had known people died from a very early age, ever since her aunt had been killed in an accident on her homeworld.  She’d served beside Marines who’d been killed in the line of fire, leaving their former comrades to mourn their deaths and move on as best as they could.  But she hadn’t had anyone die under her command until she’d been promoted for the first time.  And yet, losing the young men and women of Avalon hurt worse than losing fellow Marines.

She puzzled over it as the preacher assured his audience, once again, that the dead had gone to a better place.  Jasmine didn't doubt it.  Lieutenant Travis had been a good officer, one of many young men to enter the army after the old Council had been sidelined ... and his promotion had been well-deserved.  Jasmine vaguely recalled meeting him once, during a review of the CEF’s infantry companies.  In hindsight, she rather wished she’d paid more attention to the young man.  She’d had to look at his file to remember his face, before she’d even come to the funeral.  The picture someone had placed on the coffin, before the pallbearers had lowered it into the ground, had been of the Lieutenant as a young child, smiling happily as he ran through the field.  There had been endless promise in his smile, something that had made her start to tear up before she pulled herself firmly under control.  Somehow, the picture hadn't been him.

He wasn't just young, she thought.  He was uncommitted.

Maybe it wasn't fair, but Marines were committed in a way that few soldiers and civilians could grasp.  She’d left her homeworld, spent seven months in Boot Camp and another two years at the Slaughterhouse, then signed up for a ten-year hitch as a Marine Rifleman.  She had left her previous life behind, knowing that when she returned to her homeworld she would have nothing in common with her brothers and sisters.  Hell, the Marines were her brothers and sisters now.  But Lieutenant Travis could have gone home any time he liked – and no one would have looked at him as a potential monster in human clothing.

She shook her head, running her fingers through her short dark hair, cropped close to her skull.  The Empire had had barely a percentage point of a percentage point of its vast population in uniform, even counting the vast number of uniformed bureaucrats and REMFs who added nothing to the military’s ability to fight, but detracted from it at every conceivable opportunity.  It was unusual for anyone on Earth to know someone who served or had served in the military personally, a pattern that was duplicated on most of the Core Worlds.  Few of them had any real idea what the military was like, allowing themselves to be influenced by entertainment movies rather than reality.  It had given them a skewed idea of what it was like to defend the Empire.

But on Avalon, almost everyone had served in the military, various local defence forces or knew someone who had served.  There was little dispute over the value of the military ... or the need to keep a formidable force at the ready.  And yet ... she couldn't help thinking that Councillor Travis was likely to cause real problems.  What would it mean for the Commonwealth as a whole if the CEF concept was to be grounded without further exploration?  

It was selfish of her, she knew, but she almost wished that she’d died instead.

When the service came to an end, she walked out of the churchyard and headed back to the apartment on the outskirts of Churchill Garrison.  As the CEF’s commander, she was expected to be near the base at all times, rather than sleeping on Castle Rock.  And besides, it had other compensations.  Some of them made sleeping away from her fellow Marines almost worthwhile.

***
Councillor Gordon Travis waited until the preacher shooed the remaining witnesses out of the churchyard, then walked over to the gravestone and knelt beside the hard stone.  The muddy ground soaked his trousers, but he found it hard to care.  His son was buried below the soil, his one and only son.  What did a little discomfort matter compared to that?  

Gordon knew he’d been lucky.  His father’s ticket to Avalon had been purchased by his father, who had gifted his wayward son with enough Imperial Credits to avoid the debt peonage that had blighted so many unwary colonists on Avalon.  Gordon had grown up earning money without having to worry about it draining into an endless black hole of debt, money he’d swiftly invested in a shop when he'd finally realised he didn't want to spend his life staring at the back end of a mule.  His father’s farm might have been permanently hovering on the verge of bankruptcy, but Gordon’s store had been a runaway success.  It helped that he didn't have to save money to pay back loans he’d never taken out.  

But when his father had been killed by bandits – and the old Council had done nothing – Gordon had sworn revenge.  He’d joined the Crackers, funnelling money and resources to them, helping to keep the insurgency alive.  It had seemed a dream come true when the Marines had arrived; they’d defeated the bandits, overthrown the old Council and come to terms with the Crackers.  Gordon hadn't even raised any objections when his son had decided to join the Knights of Avalon.  Every young man wanted to join.  

I should have said no, he thought.  God knew he’d had endless fights with his father over his reluctance to stay on the farm, fights that had resulted in them not speaking to each other for years.  He’d known better than to bar his son from joining the military.  How could he say no when the new elite were those who wore a uniform?  But now ... he knew he should have forbidden his son to join.  Elman might have been mad at him, he might have stormed off and done something stupid, but at least he would have been alive.

Bitter hatred curled around his heart as he started to weep.  Elman had been his only son and, as such, had been special in his eyes, even though his daughters had taken over the family business.  Losing him hurt; somehow, Gordon knew he’d always assumed that he would die long before his son.  But instead ... he clutched the gravestone, feeling the cold stone against her bare skin.  The Commonwealth had seemed a great idea at the time, one that would ensure that Avalon would never again be at the mercy of faceless bureaucrats thousands of light years away.  But now ... it wasn't worth his son’s life.

And he didn't even die in defence of Avalon, he thought, bitterly.  He died on a world we should have known better even than to visit.

Angrily, he stood up.  It would not happen again, he vowed, as he marched away from his son’s grave.  He would make sure it never happened again, whatever it took.  No more sons would die on foreign worlds.

Chapter Three

This should not be surprising.  The Empire did not provide solutions to most of the flashpoints within the Empire’s vast territories.  Unsurprisingly, the best the Empire could do was keep a lid on the trouble ... which tended to flare up again when the Imperial military was withdrawn.  
- Professor Leo Caesius.  War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.

In her slumber, Jasmine looked beautiful – and deadly.

Emmanuel Alves carefully – very carefully – lifted himself out of bed and moved away from her.  Jasmine slept very lightly, he’d discovered, and making too much noise near her could have alarming and painful results.  She'd been trained, she'd admitted after the first incident, to snap awake at the slightest hint anyone might be near her.  Emmanuel hadn't been able to avoid asking how she’d managed to sleep in a small compartment with her fellow Marines, only to be told that was different.  He wasn't sure how.

He looked back at her and smiled.  She looked shorter, somehow, without her uniform, but there was no disguising the sheer strength of her body.  Muscles rippled along her arms and legs, while her small breasts stood out against her flat chest.  Longer hair might have set off her face nicely, he considered, but he knew she would never grow it out.  All Marines, without exception, had their hair shaved close to their scalps or removed their hair permanently.  It just made it easier to wear a combat helmet during fighting.

His smile grew wider as he stepped into the shower and turned on the tap.  The apartment was small, but neither of them really cared.  Jasmine was used to a Spartan existence, while Emmanuel himself had hidden from the old Council’s goons in the badlands more than once, back before the old Council had been removed.  Maybe it wasn't as heroic as service in the Marine Corps or the Knights of Avalon, but he had served a useful purpose.  He’d kept people informed of what was going on before the end of the war.

He jumped as he felt a hand touch his shoulder, then heard a very feminine giggle.  Jasmine moved silently, even on a hard wooden floor, so silently that he’d never heard her coming even when he was listening for her.  She pushed him to the back of the shower, then directed the water to splash over both of them.  Unlike him, she didn't seem to have any problems waking up in the morning.  He felt himself harden as she washed the water over his member, then grunted as she pushed him against the wall and impaled herself on him.  Somehow, her silence made it all the more exciting ...

Afterwards, they dressed together, Jasmine donning her undress uniform rather than the civilian clothes she'd worn the previous day.  Emmanuel had to admit that she looked better in her uniform, as shapeless as it was, rather than in civilian clothes, which looked rather ill-fitting on her.  Unlike his previous girlfriends, Jasmine didn't seem to want to cuddle or talk after having sex, as if she was unwilling to open herself mentally as well as physically.  It puzzled Emmanuel more than he cared to admit, but it wasn't something he wanted to share with anyone else.  As far as he knew, he was the only person on Avalon dating a female Marine.

“Councillor Travis has requested my presence in two hours,” he said, as he finished pulling n his jumper.  There was no standard appearance for a reporter on Avalon, not like there had been on Earth – or so he had been told.  But then, Earth had been a heavily stratified society for so long that most of its population was unaware there was any stratification.  “Rumour has it that he’s going to make a run for President.”

Jasmine looked up, her face almost unreadable.  Emmanuel had spent long enough with her to be able to read the signs of worry, almost concern.  No one could escape hearing about Councillor Travis’s campaign to build political influence in the month since they’d returned from Lakshmibai – or the speculation about what it might mean for the Commonwealth.  The President of Avalon wasn’t all-powerful, but Avalon was one of the most important worlds in the union.  If Avalon started to pull away from the Commonwealth it had created, it was hard to see how the Commonwealth would survive.

“Pity you can't talk him out of it,” she said, finally.  Someone who didn't know her very well would have missed the self-recrimination in her tone.  She blamed herself for the political disaster threatening to overwhelm the Commonwealth, even though no one else believed it was her fault.  “Do you think he can win?”

Emmanuel hesitated.  He’d followed Avalon’s politics since the old Council had been defeated and exiled, but he had to admit that hardly anything was set in stone.  It had been barely five years, after all.  The Empire had taken nearly a century to settle all the issues that arose when the human race was united under one banner – and then started to ossify.  But all that meant, he knew, was that someone with sufficient determination and political backing could rewrite the rules to suit himself.

“I don’t know,” he confessed, finally.  “But he does have quite a following.”

He mulled it over as he kissed Jasmine goodbye and strode out of the apartment, walking down towards the gate that led out to the city itself.  Their relationship was an open secret, at least among the Marines, some of whom had teased Jasmine for sleeping with the enemy.  Emmanuel had found that more than a little insulting at first – he’d supported the Marines ever since they’d disposed the old Council – but Jasmine had explained that reporters from Earth normally couldn't be trusted.  And, even if they were experienced enough to produce reports that actually bore some resemblance to the truth, their editors would often rewrite them to suit their political leanings before the reports were published.  Few in the military cared for reporters.

Outside the gate, Camelot seemed to have grown even larger and more populous overnight.  He shook his head; between the Commonwealth bringing skilled workers to Avalon and farm children trying to move to the city to get in on the economic boom, the city was just growing larger and larger.  His contacts had already told him that the Council was considering emergency legislation to limit the number of people who could move to the city, although Emmanuel suspected that would fall flat on its face.  There were just too many people who wanted to share in the economic prosperity the Commonwealth had brought to Avalon.

Enough, he asked himself, to prevent Councillor Travis from trying to separate us from the Commonwealth?

The thought nagged at him as he made his way into the core of the city, the mansions that had once belonged to the old Council.  Given Avalon’s relative poverty before the collapse of the Empire, the mansions were nothing more than gross displays of conspicuous consumption on a colossal scale.  Of the ones that had survived the Cracker War, one had been preserved as a museum, the remainder had been turned into government offices or emergency housing for some of the new immigrants.

He walked past the largest mansion and down towards a smaller block that served as the city homes for councillors.  Unlike the Empire, which demanded the physical presence of Senators on Earth, Avalon insisted that the Councillors spend most of their time in their constituencies.  Indeed, only the President and the four Councillors representing Camelot itself remained in the city more or less permanently.  It was just their bad luck that Councillor Travis represented the business interests in the city.

There was only one guard at the gatehouse when he approached, something that always amused him after the old Council’s paranoia about their safety.  No one wanted to actually kill the new councillors, not when they could be recalled by their constituents.  Politics on Avalon might be down and dirty, but they were safe.  The victors certainly didn't take bloody revenge on the losers.

But they might soon, he thought, as the guard searched him thoroughly.  How many vested interests are tied up with the Commonwealth?

“You’re clean,” the guard grunted.  Judging by the way he moved, he’d been injured during the fighting and hadn't been able to reach a regeneration machine in time to recover full use of his leg.  Probably a former Cracker, Emmanuel decided.  “How surprising.”

“I did shower this morning,” Emmanuel said.

The guard snorted, then waved him into the apartment block.  Councillor Travis owned one of the larger apartments, which doubled as his office as well as his living space.  Emmanuel stepped through the door and nodded to the secretary, who waved him right into the Councillor’s office.  It was pleasant – and yet somehow worrying – to note that the secretary was a middle-aged woman with an air of formidable competence, rather than a young girl with more on her chest than on her mind.  Councillor Travis didn't seem inclined to abuse his office.

And when, Emmanuel asked himself, did I start taking a side?

“It's always a pleasure,” Councillor Travis said, as Emmanuel closed the door behind him.  “I believe strongly in freedom of the press.”

He meant it, Emmanuel knew.  Unlike some of the other new businessmen, Councillor Travis had never tried to silence the newspapers or sue them into bankruptcy.  But then, the privacy, libel and slander laws on Avalon ensured that the newspapers only printed the truth.

“Me too,” Emmanuel said.  It had been his cause ever since he had first read about the great crusading reporters in the Empire’s past.  He’d clung to it even after discovering that most of the great crusaders had been anything but independent seekers after truth.  “And it is always a pleasure to speak to a councilman.”

“We never get tired of saying that,” Councillor Travis joked.  He smiled, then nodded to a small chair.  “Please, be seated.”

Emmanuel sat and looked around the office.  It was surprisingly bare, save for a series of photographs of the Councillor’s children – and a large black-framed portrait of his dead son, wearing his military uniform.  Emmanuel couldn't help wondering if the councilman had become more than a little unhinged by his son’s death, although he had never lost anyone himself.  Even his grandparents were still alive, down on the farm.

I wonder if Jasmine will want children, he thought, irrelevantly.  And would she want them with me?

“Tea, coffee?  I have some sweet biscuits, if you’d like.”

Emmanuel looked up, broken out of his thoughts.  “No, thank you,” he said, quickly.  It felt odd to have a politician prepare food and drinks personally.  “I rarely eat anything before lunch.”

“My son was like that too,” Councillor Travis said.  There was an odd note in his voice, one Emmanuel couldn't place.  “But I didn't call you here to talk about my son.  I called to invite you to the first hearing on the Lakshmibai Disaster.”

Emmanuel blinked in surprise.  “The first hearing?”

“I have convinced a majority of councillors to agree that we need to explore the circumstances leading up to the disaster,” Councillor Travis said, with heavy satisfaction.  “We will study everything we knew about the cursed world, reconsider every decision made by the authorities and then pass judgement.”

“I see,” Emmanuel said, fighting to keep his voice level.  It wasn't quite the announcement he’d expected, but in hindsight it was more subtle.  Instead of challenging the President directly, Councillor Travis would undermine her ... and, if the hearing failed to produce the results he wanted, he could back off without losing anything.  “And what sort of judgement do you expect?”

“It would be premature to rush to judgement,” Councillor Travis said.  “But there will be judgement.  We will learn from this experience.  The dead will not be allowed to die in vain.”

“Good,” Emmanuel said.

“I understand that you were there,” Councillor Travis said, changing the subject slightly.  “I read your dispatches with considerable interest.  Do you have a view on the situation?”

Emmanuel hesitated, caught between loyalty to Jasmine and his sworn neutrality as a reporter.

“You may be called to testify,” Councillor Travis warned him.  “Don’t leave the planet.”

Emmanuel had to laugh.  “I’ll try not to,” he said.  “Who else are you going to call to testify?”

“Everyone who can reasonably be called,” Councillor Travis said.  “Do you have any questions?”

“Just one,” Emmanuel said.  “With all due respect, sir, your son died on that damned world.  You are far from impartial.  Should you be involved in the inquest?”

“I have already stated that I will not vote, unless there is a tie,” Councillor Travis said.  “It would be my duty, in that case, to cast a vote.”

Emmanuel felt a flicker of reluctant admiration.  If the vote was overwhelmingly in favour of one view or the other, Councillor Travis would either get what he wanted without voting or avoid being tainted by the unsuccessful attempt to condemn the Commonwealth.  And, if he had to cast the decisive vote, he would look like he had been reluctant to make any decision.

“It would be,” Emmanuel agreed, finally.

“The inquest will begin in three days,” Councillor Travis said.  “You would be welcome as my guest ...?”

“Thank you, but I should at least try to be neutral,” Emmanuel said.  It would be easy, terrifyingly easy, to slant his reports in favour of one side or the other.  And his relationship with Jasmine would leave him open to suggestions that he was doing just that.  “But I will attend.”

“Please do,” the Councillor said.  “And thank you for coming.”

Emmanuel nodded, shook hands again and strode out of the office.  Once he was back on the street, he reached for his wristcom and started to tap in Jasmine’s code, before hesitating in doubt.  Should he call her and explain what had happened?  She'd pass it on to her superior, of that he had no doubt.  But how could he keep it from her?  She needed to know ...

... And, it struck him suddenly, Councillor Travis might have assumed that he would tell her.  But why?  It wasn't as if anything he’d said to Emmanuel was a secret.  There was no way the hearing could be held in private.  By law, the media would be there along with public witnesses.  Hell, if the hearing was already organised, it had probably been announced on the datanet by now.

Grimly, he finished tapping in her code and lifted the wristcom to his lips.  He’d tell her ...

... And, whatever happened, he'd deal with it.

***
“I was blindsided,” President Gabriella Cracker said, sourly.  “He got thirteen of the councillors to back a demand for a hearing before I even heard a whisper about it.”

Ed nodded.  “I think he must have assumed that you would automatically take my side,” he said.  They’d been lovers for over three years.  By now, he rather doubted there was anyone on Avalon who hadn't heard that the President and the Marine Colonel were lovers.  “And they didn't have to inform you, did they?”

“No,” Gaby said.  “Bloody politics!”

“You are a politician,” Ed reminded her.  “And you’ve been one since birth.”

Gaby made a face.  Her grandfather had been the legendary Peter Cracker, the leader of the first insurgency against the Avalon Development Corporation.  Her father had carried on his father’s legacy and, when he’d died, Gaby had been the only person all of the various factions could agree on to replace him.  And, when the old Council had been defeated and the Crackers had come to terms with the new government, Gaby had run for President and won.

“How long will it be,” she asked, “until we get a cadre of professional politicians?”

Ed hesitated, taking the question seriously.  One of the charges Gaby’s enemies threw at her, regularly, was that she was a hereditary politician.  Never mind the fact, he considered, that she’d signed laws into the books that prevented partners, children and grandchildren of previous politicians from holding political office.  Or that she’d already announced that she wouldn't attempt to run for President a second time.

“I don't think we will,” he said, finally.  “Travis certainly isn't a professional politician.”

“I know,” Gaby said.  “The bastard is almost admirable.  Hell, he was admirable.”

She stood up and started to pace her office, her tread shaking the wooden floorboards.  “The hearing will start in three days, Ed,” she said.  “I can't stop it.  They will interrogate you thoroughly on everything that went wrong on Lakshmibai – you and your senior officers.  And I have no idea what will happen if they vote to punish you.”

“I will have to step down,” Ed said.  It was odd to admit that a local government had the power to force a Marine to resign from his position.  Yet another sign, in his opinion, that existence as he’d known it was over.  “And they might take you down too.”

“They might,” Gaby agreed.  “And with the tension between us and Wolfbane ...”

Ed gritted his teeth.  Nothing had been decided on Lakshmibai – and, in hindsight, he had to wonder if Wolfbane hadn't wanted to decide anything on Lakshmibai.  Had they agreed to allow the CEF to travel to the border world to see how the Commonwealth’s armed forces handled a challenge?  They’d set the terms and conditions for the negotiations, after all.  And all they had gained from the brief furious battle on Lakshmibai was a note of where the border ran between the two interstellar powers.

“I know,” Ed said.  The Empire hadn't had to worry about a peer power – but the Commonwealth’s intelligence department suspected that Wolfbane had enough ships and men to give the Commonwealth a very hard time.  “We may have a distraction at the worst possible time.”

Gaby looked up at him.  “Do you think he’s right?”

Ed didn't need to ask about what.  “The mere presence of the cloudscoop makes us targets,” he said, simply.  “We either try to impose our own order on the surrounding sectors or they impose their order on us.  Isolation isn't an option.”

“I know,” Gaby said.  “So why does Travis feel differently?”

Chapter Four

For example, the conflict on Janus began when a large-scale drought afflicted half of the main continent, causing famine on a colossal scale.  The planetary government failed to provide assistance; in fact, it made the problems considerably worse.  It should not have been surprising that the starving masses rose up against the rest of the planet, causing bad feelings that continued to plague the planet long after the drought came to an end.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.

They hadn't managed to remove the smell.

Or maybe it was just her imagination, Commodore Mandy Caesius told herself, as she settled into Sword’s command chair.  None of the other crewmen, even the ones who had been liberated from various pirate strongholds, reported the stench of human urine and faeces pervading the ship.  But for Mandy, who had spent several months on Sword as a pirate slave, there was no escaping the memories of the time her life hadn't been her own.  Even now, as a confident and experienced spacer, the memories still haunted her. 

Sword, largely thanks to Mandy’s efforts, had been badly damaged when she’d been captured by the Marines.  It had taken two years of hard work to replace most of the system’s she’d destroyed, two years and plenty of resources that might have been better spent building starships from scratch.  But the Commonwealth needed as many hulls as it could produce and an ex-Imperial Navy heavy cruiser was too valuable a prize to scrap.  When Sword had finally re-entered service, she’d been thoroughly cleaned and all of the evidence of pirate occupancy had been removed.  Mandy still had nightmares.

“Captain,” the tactical officer said, breaking into her recollections.  “The freighter is in position.”

Mandy nodded, then glowered over at the tactical display.  A single light freighter, over five hundred years old, hung several thousand kilometres in front of Sword, waiting for the heavy cruiser.  The freighter had been in a disgusting condition when she’d been captured, during a raid on a pirate-held asteroid; there hadn't seemed any point to refitting her, not when she was nothing more than a hull with engines.  But now, thanks to the Commonwealth Navy and the Trade Federation’s advanced weapons research program, she would serve a useful purpose once again.

“Confirm with the scientists,” she said.  “Make sure they’re off the ship.”

“Aye, Captain,” the tactical officer said.

There was a long pause as he worked his console.  Mandy smiled, remembering just how woolly-headed her father could become when he was working on a new thesis.  He tended to forget everything from his wife and daughters to even something as simple as eating when he got hungry.  Professor Caesius would have been happy in his ivory tower on Earth, if he’d been allowed to remain there.  But, if the rumours were true, the family had been very lucky when they’d been expelled from Earth.  Humanity’s homeworld had collapsed into war and anarchy only months after their departure.

“The scientists have all left the ship,” the tactical officer confirmed, finally.  “They’re currently on the observation barge.”

Mandy allowed her smile to widen.  She might be hellishly inexperienced compared to the Imperial Navy’s ideal, but she was about to do something that few of the Empire’s former commanders had ever been allowed to try.  If there was one advantage to the fall of the Empire, it was that universities and research labs on the Rim had been able to escape the strictures and start genuinely original research.  There were, she’d been told, all kinds of promise in gravimetric research, but the Empire’s established interests had always blocked research into such technology.  Who knew what would be the results of a sudden improvement in the Empire’s technology?

But now the Empire was gone and those strictures no longer existed.  Who knew where that would lead?

“Confirm that the shield generator is in place,” she ordered.  “And then send the activation signal.”

On the display, the image of the freighter seemed to distort, slightly.  Mandy watched, feeling an odd chill running down her spine.  It was simple enough for a powerful starship – heavy cruisers or battleships – to create a gravimetric shield they could swing around to block incoming fire.  Hullmetal was tough, but it couldn't take everything.  But all the enemy ships had to do was fire from multiple vectors and stagger their fire to render the shield useless.  It had been one of the great limiting factors of space combat.  

But now ...

“Shield in place,” the tactical officer reported.  “Target locked.”

Mandy sucked in a breath.  “Fire one,” she ordered. “I say again, fire one.”

Sword didn't even shudder as she launched a single missile towards her target.  Mandy watched, her heart in her mouth, as the missile entered attack range and detonated, sending a single spear of energy towards the targeted freighter.  The beam of energy hit the freighter’s shield ... and splashed.  For a moment, the visual feed showed the freighter wrapped in a glowing bubble of light, which swiftly faded away to nothingness.  The freighter, which should have been melted to molten debris, was intact.

“My god,” the tactical officer breathed.

Mandy understood.  She’d never even considered working in space, let alone joining the navy, until after she’d been exiled to Avalon.  The tactical officer, on the other hand, had been an Imperial Navy officer who’d been kidnapped and pressed into service by the pirates.  He had enough experience to feel, truly feel, just how radically space combat had just changed.  But Mandy took it in her stride.

Not that we were ever in a major battle, she thought.  Only pirates ... and raiders.

The thought made her scowl.  Over the past two months, more and more reports of incidents along the border with Wolfbane had arrived on Avalon.  Starships disappearing, unknown starships detected inside various Phase Limits ... even reports of outside interference on a dozen worlds.  It took a month to make the round trip from Avalon to Thule, which was on the border; God alone knew how badly the situation had changed by now.  Mandy knew her father had hoped otherwise, but she had a nasty feeling that the Commonwealth Navy was about to face its first major test.  Wolfbane, positioned between Avalon and the former Core Worlds, might well have conquest in mind.

“Report,” she ordered.  “Just how successful was the test?”

“The shield generators held,” the tactical officer reported.  “Projections indicate that the freighter would have survived at least five more hits before the shield generators overloaded and failed.  Overall, the system is less effective than gravimetric shields, but more protective.”

“Impressive,” Mandy said.  In short battles, the shields would give her ships a decisive advantage.  “And the power strain?”

“As projected,” the tactical officer said.  “Larger ships will presumably require more power to operate the generators, but will also be able to carry multiple generators to provide additional layers of protection.”

“We’ll see,” Mandy said.  She stood.  “Contact Avalon; inform them that the test was a success.  Then take us back to the shipyard, best possible speed.”

“Aye, Captain,” the helmsman said.

Mandy allowed herself another smile as she felt the heavy cruiser coming to life around her.  It wouldn’t take more than a few months, she had been assured, for the entire navy to the fitted with shields, as well as modified missiles.  By then, their combat power would be greater than an Imperial Navy fleet of comparable size.  And they had other advantages too, she knew.  Her crews actually knew what they were doing, while the average Imperial Navy repair technician barely knew anything more than how to take out one self-contained component and replace it with another.  But the Empire was gone.

She shivered as she headed off the bridge, walking into her office.  The real question was more urgent – and it had no answer.  Had Wolfbane advanced too?  And, if so, what had they discovered?

The hatch hissed closed behind her and she caught her breath, forcing herself to breathe through her mouth.  Maybe, just maybe, she understood the strictures now.  There was something terrifying about the thought of going into battle against an enemy of unknown capabilities, an enemy who might be armed with something so devastating that your entire fleet would be blown to atoms before you ever realised you were under attack.  Maybe the Imperial Navy hadn't wanted to run the risk of someone stumbling over something that would render its thousands of hulls instantly obsolete.  After all, most tactical innovations – she’d been told – tended to be modifications of weapons and technology that were already well understood.

Sitting down at her desk, she composed a report to her senior officer, then opened her mailbox and discovered a brief note from Jasmine.  It was a shame she hadn't been able to join the older Marine on a clothes-shopping expedition, but Jasmine seemed to think she’d done alright.  Mandy carefully refrained from laughing at the picture the older woman had sent, then wrote back quickly.  Sword was due back in Avalon orbit later in the week and they’d have time to meet up then.  Perhaps they could go shopping again.

***
“I just received a hand-delivered message for you,” Command Sergeant Gwendolyn Patterson said, knocking on the half-open door.  “It looks alarmingly official.”

“Pass it over,” Ed grunted.  He’d been busy trying to determine just how many Marines he could pull away from detached duties to make up another platoon and it was proving a frustrating task.  His Marines had been meant to fill in holes until civilians were trained up, but half of them didn't even have replacements on the way.  “Is there anything from the local police?”

“Apparently, the two missing soldiers were last seen entering a brothel,” Gwendolyn said, her voice heavy with amused disapproval.  “I think the mystery of their disappearance is about to be solved.”

Ed didn't bother to disagree.  Last night, two soldiers hadn't reported back to their barracks after a night on the town.  Camelot’s civilian police had been alerted – it hadn't been that long since a Marine had been kidnapped by the Crackers – but if they were last seen in a brothel, the chances were that they’d simply overslept or forgotten that they were meant to report back to the barracks.  They’d face a week of punishment duties when they were found – unless, of course, something more serious had happened.  But it didn't seem too likely.

He took the envelope and opened it, slowly.  Earth rarely used paper for anything other than official communiqués, but Avalon still used paper for almost everything, despite the growth of the planetary datanet.  The old Council had controlled the system they’d installed, using it to maintain their grip on power.  Even now, few people who remembered life under their rule trusted the datanet.  It was something, Ed knew, that would only fade in time.

Gwendolyn leaned forward.  “Bad news?”

“Bad enough,” Ed said.  The councillors had finally sent him a note stating that he would be required to testify before the hearing on the following day.  He had to admire their speed, he reluctantly admitted.  On Earth, it could take years to organise the hearing; hell, the question of what shape the table would be could occupy them for months.  Unless, of course, someone with enough political clout was pushing the issue forward.  “They want me to talk.”

He shook his head.  Back on Earth, most military officers who had to face a hearing were forced to undergo a pre-hearing hearing called a Murder Board, where PR officials would force them to rehearse answering questions that ranged from the stupid to the perceptive.  He hadn't faced a Murder Board before facing the Grand Senate himself, which might be why his Marines had been exiled from Earth.  Given what they’d heard since then, they might well be luckier than any of the Marines or civilians who had remained on Earth.  God alone knew what had happened to them.

“Good luck,” Gwendolyn said, sympathetically.  “These guys will probably be more focused than the Grand Senate.”

Ed made a face.  In OCS, they’d been forced to watch recordings of hearings held by the Grand Senate on Earth.  Half of the Grand Senators had spent their allocated time making speeches rather than asking questions, let alone listening to the answers.  Somehow, whatever else could be said about the Council, he doubted it would have that problem.  All twenty-one councillors had a long experience of practical work, rather than professional politics.

Strange, he thought cynically, how something that works well can work against us.

“True,” he said.  He put the envelope down, then looked up at her.  “Is there anything new from Training Command?”

“I believe the Drill Instructors would prefer you didn't keep harassing them for details,” Gwendolyn said, dryly.  “They are responsible for the recruit training program.”

Ed nodded, abashed.  The temptation to micromanage was overpowering, all the more so as the training program expanded and became more complex.  Soon, they’d have to give serious thought to building their own version of the Slaughterhouse.  The traditions of the Marine Corps would live on, in one form or another.  But would it be the same when the soldiers served on their own homeworlds, when they could go back home at any time?  Or would something be lost along with the Empire the Marine Corps had once served?

“They probably would,” Ed said, reluctantly.  Training was vitally important – and badly-trained soldiers were hard to retrain to acceptable standards.  And yet, there had been surprisingly few problems ... which might be about to change.  Ed rather suspected that Councillor Travis intended to shine a light into every last section of the military on Avalon.  “Is there anything else I can use to distract myself?”

“There’s a couple of updates from Corinthian,” Gwendolyn said.  “The provisional government is looking forward to sending new recruits to Avalon – and has expressed interest in the Stormtrooper program.  And support for the Commonwealth as a whole remains at an all-time high.”

Ed smiled.  If there was one definite advantage to being on Avalon – apart from not having the Grand Senate meddling in his operations – it was that they genuinely did manage to do some good for the sector.  Admiral Singh’s regime had been disposed and a new regime, a provisional government, had taken over, long enough for Corinthian to join the Commonwealth, along with the other worlds Admiral Singh had conquered.  Corinthian alone represented a major boost to the Commonwealth’s industrial base, while the starships they’d captured had strengthened the Commonwealth Navy.  

Good thing we acted as fast as we did, he thought, ruefully.  If she’d invaded our space, we would have been crushed very quickly.

He shook his head, wondering – again – just what had happened to the thousands of starships that had made up the Imperial Navy.  Worries over just who had taken control of them were what kept him up at night – and drove him to invest vast resources in the advanced weapons development project.  Avalon had started with nothing more than a handful of shuttles and an orbital station.  It was a miracle that they’d managed to expand as far as they had – and yet, if a full Imperial Navy fleet survived, they would be badly outgunned.  They had to enhance their technology.

“That’s something I can mention at the hearing,” Ed said, finally.  “Anything else?”

Gwendolyn smirked.  “Several requests for technical support, a couple of planets requesting the deployment of Marines or Stormtroopers to back them up against bandits ... and the usual reports from the border,” she said.  Her face fell, slightly.  “We’re going to have trouble, boss.”

“I know,” Ed said.  He’d hoped that sharing the perils of a siege would have formed a bond between himself and the Wolfbane representatives, but even if one existed, their superiors had different ideas.  “I think we have to prepare for the worst.”

His console chimed.  Ed glanced at it, automatically, then blinked in surprise.  The message had been sent from a courier boat that had just entered orbit – a courier boat, rather than a freighter or military starship.  There were only a handful of such craft within the Commonwealth.  The Empire had used them to keep the more populated star systems in touch, but they’d long since been largely withdrawn from the Avalon Sector and the surrounding regions.

Gwendolyn frowned.  “Trouble?”

“I think so,” Ed said.  The message was from Thule, a world right on the border between the Commonwealth and Wolfbane.  He downloaded the message, then skimmed it automatically.  “They want help.  A lot of help.”

“I see,” Gwendolyn said.  “And can we help them?”

“That would be a question for the Council,” Ed said.  He gritted his teeth.  The timing was terrible – assuming, of course, that it was also a coincidence.  Long experience had taught him the more unpleasant a coincidence happened to be, the less likely it was a coincidence.  “I’ll have to raise it with them ASAP.”

“Tomorrow,” Gwendolyn said.  Her face twisted into a grimace.  “They won’t make any decision tonight.”

Ed nodded, reluctantly.  Even if he had insisted on calling a full meeting, it would have been difficult to get them to read the message.  Hell, the timing was just lovely.  A debate over the use of the CEF away from Avalon, mixed with a request to deploy the CEF to another world ... and away from Avalon.  It was not going to go down well with the politicians.

At least it isn't an immediate problem demanding an immediate response, he thought, grimly.  But what will happen if we do have an immediate problem we have to solve?

“I’ll speak to Gaby tonight, anyway,” he said.  They’d already agreed that he would sleep in the barracks, although he suspected it was a waste of effort.  “And then we will see how best to proceed.”

“Good luck,” Gwendolyn said, again.

Chapter Five

Or the mining colony on Stan’s World, where the miners were permanently indentured to the operating corporation.  They rebelled ... and the military supported the corporation, without making any attempt to address the legitimate grievances of the miners.  Unsurprisingly, the rebellion continued until Stan’s World’s entire ecosystem fell into ruins.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.

Ed slowed to a halt as he reached the heavy wooden doors barring the entrance into the formal council chamber.  The two guards on either side of the door looked at him, then snapped to attention.  Ed honestly wasn't sure if they were meant to show him any signs of respect, but he couldn't blame them, under the circumstances.  The Commonwealth wasn't old or wealthy enough to develop separate military organisations with separate chains of command.

The door opened, revealing the Commonwealth Council Chamber.  Unlike the Grand Senate on Earth – assuming it still existed – it was strictly formal, with no decoration beyond a large oil painting of the first Constitutional Convention.  Ed saw himself in the painting, standing to one side as Gaby and the other Councillors signed their names to the document, and wondered – once again – just who the artist had used for a model.  Even at the peak of his career in the Marines, he hadn't had muscles on his muscles.  

He stopped in front of the council bench and saluted, feeling his dress uniform crinkling oddly against his skin.  He’d been advised to wear all of his medals as well as his Rifleman’s Tab, but he’d declined the suggestion.  The Commonwealth Council would not be overawed by his awards, particularly not the ones they’d issued to him themselves.  And, unlike the Grand Senate, they wouldn't play petty politics with military awards.  A good third of them had military experience of their own.  If nothing else, Ed considered, they would understand the limitations of the military as well as its capabilities.

“Please, be seated,” Councillor Stevens said.  She was chairing the hearing, as Gaby was Ed’s partner.  “There are two issues facing us today.”

Ed had to admit that he rather liked her.  She was a middle-aged woman who’d been neutral in the Cracker War, insofar as someone could be uninvolved in the conflict.  She’d been a doctor who’d treated both sides equally – and, for some reason, the old Council had left her alone.  After the end of the war, she’d revamped the public health service on Avalon and run for office.  Her landslide victory had surprised no one.

A Grand Senator would have wasted time with a long speech, either praising himself or attacking his opponents.  Councillor Stevens came right to the point.

“We have received a request from Thule for military assistance against an insurgency,” she said.  “Under the circumstances, the timing is particularly unfortunate, as we are here to debate the earlier deployment of the CEF and how it turned into a disaster of major proportions.”

Ed couldn't disagree.  Once, the Council would have accepted his decision.  Now ... they had their doubts about his competence.  And, really, could he blame them?  The buck stopped with whoever had been in command at the time and Ed, the Colonel of Marines and CO of the Commonwealth Military, had been in command.  And he had made the decision to deploy the CEF.

Councillor Stevens pressed on.  “Colonel Stalker,” she said, “do you believe we should respond to Thule’s request for help?”

Ed stood, clasping his hands behind his back.  “The Commonwealth was founded on many agreements between its original member planets,” he said.  “One of those agreements was that the Commonwealth would respond to a request for help, should one be made.  Thule has requested help and we have a legal obligation to provide help, if requested.  We cannot back out of the agreement simply because we find it politically embarrassing now.”

He paused.  When it became apparent that no one was going to interrupt, he pressed on.

“We gave our word, Councillor, that we would respond to a cry for help,” he continued.  “If we break our word now, we will not be trusted in the future.  The Commonwealth will eventually come apart if the treaties, the glue binding it together, are not honoured.  We cannot run the risk of destroying the Commonwealth.”

Councillor Travis held up his hand to be recognised.  “I have reviewed the data on Thule carefully,” he said, flatly.  “The planet considers itself democratic, but in practice the franchise is restricted heavily.  Do we really wish to prop up their government?”

Why, Ed asked himself, did he have to be so ... capable?

“Thule once possessed the largest industrial base in its sector,” Ed said.  “Even now, it is still formidable – and, in the future, will grow to dominate the region.  We cannot afford to let Thule slip out of the Commonwealth, let alone turn hostile.  The Commonwealth needs them too much.”

He paused.  “The treaties were signed by the legitimately-elected – by their rules – government,” he added.  “Do we wish to break our own agreement not to intervene in local politics by refusing the government’s request for help?”

Councillor Travis snorted.  “But we would be supporting a government that isn't all-inclusive.”

Ed took a breath.  “The Commonwealth agreed not to intervene in the internal affairs of its member states,” he reminded the Council.  “We did not want to become like the Empire, which meddled whenever someone bribed the Grand Senate to intervene in their favour.  We may not approve of how a member state comports itself, but we have no legal grounds to intervene.  And, I might add, as no state can bar emigration, they will eventually have to modify their own system or find themselves running an empty planet.”

He kept his face expressionless, despite his amusement.  The Commonwealth had too many member states with restricted franchises, but several of them were already reforming.  Their populations knew there were opportunities elsewhere in the Commonwealth, on Avalon and a dozen other worlds with no political restrictions, and were leaving in droves.  And trying to prevent people, particularly skilled technicians, from leaving would be grounds for intervention or suspension from the Commonwealth.  That would be political and economic suicide almost anywhere.

“Furthermore,” Ed continued, “the local government’s franchise is based upon employment or tax payments.  As the economy of the Commonwealth grows larger, there will be more call for services from Thule, which will expand its own economy and thus its employment pool.  Their crisis, caused by a vast collapse in the employment rate, will eventually be reversed by their involvement in the Commonwealth.  It is our duty to support them long enough for them to get back on their feet.”

“But you could be wrong,” Councillor Travis pointed out.

“I agree that it is a possibility,” Ed said, hiding his irritation at the jab.  “But the Commonwealth’s economy has doubled in size over the last year.  Integrating Corinthian and the surrounding stars laid the groundwork for continued expansion.  I believe that our economy will triple in size over the next two years.”

There was a long pause.  “I would like to raise an issue,” Councillor Jackson said.  He’d been a Cracker, one of the ones loyal to Gaby.  Ed wasn't sure if that meant he would support Ed openly or if he would make a show of asking probing and incisive questions, just to establish his political independence.  “There is a wolf at the door.”

A low stir ran through the audience as they looked up at the starchart.  On one side, the stars belonging to the Commonwealth shone green; on the other, the stars belonging to Wolfbane shone red.  It was clear, from the display, that Thule was within a bare handful of light years from Wolfbane-held territory.  The Commonwealth’s expansion was bringing it up against another interstellar power of unknown size.

Ed scowled, inwardly.  There were just too many unanswered questions about Wolfbane, questions he needed answered as quickly as possible.  Just how many stars did they control, he wondered, and just how many starships had they salvaged from the ruins of the Empire?  And, for that matter, just what did they want?  Governor Brown’s file hadn't suggested a rabid empire-builder, but someone who had built up relationships with no less than five massive interstellar corporations was clearly more formidable and ambitious than the file showed.

And if he truly wanted to reunite the Empire, he would have dealt with us openly, Ed thought, grimly.  Instead, we had the farce ...

Councillor Jackson’s voice broke into his thoughts.  “Do you feel, Colonel, that Wolfbane presents a threat?”

Ed met his gaze.  “The unknown is always dangerous,” he said.  “We have no embassy on Wolfbane, no trading relationships; we don’t even have a secure means of communicating with them.  Our ships have been expelled from their space, as have starships belonging to the Trade Federation.  Their freighters, however, have been permitted to enter our space at will, allowing them to spy on our deployments.  I do not believe that they have dealt honestly with us.”

He paused, then pressed on.  “Assuming that their industrial base matches what our records show, before the Empire left us, they would be a formidable opponent,” he added.  “We have to face up to the possibility that they may mean us harm.”

The Grand Senate, he knew, would have questioned that assertion.  They’d been so secure in their power and supremacy that the thought of someone threatening them was inconceivable.  None of the Councillors had any problems coming to terms with the fact that some people meant them a great deal of harm.  It made them far more capable governors, Ed had no trouble admitting, than the Grand Senators.

“There is also the simple fact that Thule represents a major prize,” he said.  “And there are definite reports of off-world involvement with the rebels.  Wolfbane may well be supporting them, hoping that they will win and then withdraw from the Commonwealth, removing their industrial base from our sphere of control.  Even if they didn't join Wolfbane afterwards, it would still weaken us relative to them.”

“We don’t want another war,” Councillor Stevens said, softly.

“With all due respect, Councillor,” Ed said, “it only takes one party to start a war.”

The discussion raged back and forth for several minutes.  Even on Avalon, the councillors had to look as though they were doing their jobs, even if it meant asking the same questions over and over again.  Compared to the Grand Senate, however, Ed had to admit they knew what they were doing.  But no clear decision could be taken until all the facts were exposed and dragged out into the light.

“Deploying the CEF to Thule could be an open-ended commitment,” Councillor Travis said, when the last set of questions had faded away.  “Could you promise that the commitment would definitely be limited?”

Ed shook his head.  “With all due respect, Councillor,” he said, “war is a democracy.  The enemy gets a vote.  If things went according to plan” – the hasty deployment plan he’d sketched out yesterday, after the request for help arrived – “the CEF would provide a stiffening force to assist the locals in holding their ground while new soldiers were trained to take the offensive.  Ideally, the deployment would take no more than a year.

“However, nothing ever goes quite according to plan.  We can expect the rebels to understand what we are doing” – for more reasons than one, he admitted in the privacy of his own head –“and to work to counter it.  Even with our ... political advantages, we would still find it an uphill slog if the rebels oppose us at every turn.  The deployment could last much longer than a year.”

“The young men would be away from home for years,” Councillor Stevens said.

Ed felt his temper flare, but he kept it in check.  “Councillor,” he said instead, “every soldier in the CEF knows that service away from Avalon is a possibility.  The units attached to the CEF were built specifically for speedy deployment.  Their personnel were told, when they were offered their choice of assignments, that they might be spending years away from home.  They volunteered for the assignments, regardless.”

Councillor Travis spoke, quickly.  “You do not feel that we should establish a hard limit on deployment time?  Or on our commitment?  I must note that your war against the bandits and the Crackers resulted in victory in less than a year.”

“In the bedchamber,” someone muttered from the audience.

Ed felt the back of his neck heat, but refused to look round.  “There are some similarities, I will admit, between Thule and Avalon, under the old Council,” he said.  “However, the problems on Avalon admitted of a simple solution, once the old Council was removed from power.  Eliminating debt-peonage alone, Councillor, ensured that hundreds of thousands of settlers could claim their democratic rights.  The Crackers no longer needed to fight to accomplish their aims.  And, unlike many insurgent groups, the Crackers were actually rational.

“In short, we could forge a political consensus that provided a long-term solution to Avalon’s problems.  And we did.

“On Thule, however, there are many other problems.  The population is considerably larger, there is a large supporting base for the government – and, to be fair, the government is not driven by a desire for personal power.  There is a political solution already, Councillor; the local government merely needs to hold on long enough to implement the solution.  And we have a commitment to support them.”

He took a breath, then continued.  “Insurgencies can be very difficult to destroy,” he admitted.  “If we tell the insurgents that our deployment will last no longer than five years, they will pull in their horns and outwait us.  We may be successful in building up the local government to the point it can handle the insurgency on its own – or we may not.  If we fail, the insurgency will resume operations as soon as we pull out.”

The thought reminded him of far too many operations carried out at the Grand Senate’s behest.  Some problems could have been nipped in the bud, if the Grand Senate had been willing to make a commitment in time.  Others needed political solutions as well as the application of military force, the carrot as well as the stick.  At least the Commonwealth wasn't backing a particular faction, not like the Imperial Army had often had to do in the days of the Empire.  There wouldn't be a need to do whatever it took to ensure that their faction won, just because the faction had won the bidding war.

“So you would have us make an open commitment,” Councillor Travis said.  “I confess this makes me very uneasy.”

“That isn't the issue,” Councillor Jackson snapped.  “We made commitments to the Commonwealth.  Are we going to abandon them merely because they prove inconvenient?”

Ed concealed his amusement with an effort.  Both of them had been raised in an environment where their word was expected to be their bond.  Even now, in politics, neither of them had devolved to the point where they believed in the tactical lie.  But actually keeping their word – or Avalon’s word – would cause them some problems.  Would Travis vote to uphold the commitments, thus damaging his campaign against off-world involvement, or try to break the commitments and damage his reputation for keeping his word?

“Colonel,” Councillor Travis said.  “How do we know that the information we have in our databanks is accurate?”

“The crucial difference between Thule and Lakshmibai,” Ed said, “is that we have a large presence on Thule.  We have followed local politics ever since we made contact with Thule and they applied to join the Commonwealth.  The situation on the ground is well-understood, Councillor, and we will not be going in blind.  We know what we will face if we get involved.  But we also know the price for not getting involved.”

There was a long pause.  “We will hold a vote after we take a break,” Councillor Stevens said.  “But then we must return to the subject at hand.”

Ed sighed, inwardly.  The Grand Senate could delay the conclusions of an inquiry until everyone involved was safely dead, if it felt like it.  But the Commonwealth Council had no delaying tactics it could use.  The Constitution specifically forbade any form of filibuster, let alone endless hearings and debates.  Delay could not be tolerated.  

He caught sight of Councillor Travis leaving the room, his face an expressionless mask that suggested he was trying to hide some strong emotion.  Ed couldn't help feeling a moment of pity – he couldn't imagine what it was like to lose a son – which he ruthlessly suppressed.  No matter the emotions driving the older man, he couldn't be allowed to tear the Commonwealth apart.  But he was so likeable ...

The old Council had been composed of power-hungry men and women, some of which had indulged themselves to the point of becoming pederasts and perverts.  None of them had really cared about Avalon – or about anything other than themselves.  The Grand Senate hadn't been much better.  But Councillor Travis genuinely cared.

No one ever told you that you would only face evil men, he thought, bitterly.  There had been a few deployments when he'd sympathised more with the insurgents than with the forces he was supposed to support.  They’d been murderers, rapists and thugs – but he’d been ordered to support them, because someone felt they deserved support.  Sometimes, even good men can disagree.

Shaking his head, he strode from the chamber.  There was a waiting room just down the hall, where he could get a cup of coffee and catch up on his mail.  And wait, he knew, for the vote that would determine the fate of the Commonwealth.

And what will happen, he asked himself, if they vote against the deployment?

He couldn't help wondering if it would be the beginning of the end.

Chapter Six

Or, perhaps worst of all, the ethnic/religious conflict on Morningstar, where one ethnic group became determined to convert or eradicate the other ethnic groups.  The Empire attempted to keep the peace and so persistently refused to pass judgement (such measures were forbidden by the social scientists on Earth) that the net result was that all ethnic groups came to loathe the Empire more than their fellows.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.

“There doesn't seem to be any choice,” Suzanne said.  “We do have a legal obligation to send assistance, if requested.”

Councillor Gordon Travis glared down at the coffee cup in his hand, silently cursing the timing.  He’d gone so far as to check and recheck the message, half-hoping to find proof that the whole affair had been faked by someone with a vested interest in undermining his position.  But there was nothing ... and besides, he had to admit, Colonel Stalker wasn't the type of person to fake a message just to interfere with the political system he'd designed.  No, the request for help was real.  But the timing was suspicious as hell.

He had to admit, when his anger cooled to manageable levels, that both Suzanne and the Colonel were right.  An obligation could not be discarded when it became inconvenient, not if the person who had made the obligation wanted to be trusted in future.  Part of him was tempted to insist on discarding the obligation anyway, but it wouldn't have helped his reputation on Avalon or off-world.  The rest of him remembered the lessons of building a successful business and knew that the obligation had to be honoured.  His political opponents wouldn't hesitate to use it against him during the lead up to the next election.

“Damn it,” he muttered.

How many other young men, he asked himself, were going to die on Thule?  He’d read the files carefully and noted, like Colonel Stalker, that the situation was likely to get very bloody very quickly.  Hell, it would take roughly two weeks to get the CEF there, assuming that the formation was ready for instant deployment.  And then ... he gritted his teeth, remembering the moment he’d had to tell his daughters that their brother was dead.  The scene would be repeated in countless more homes on Avalon.  What good did it do to send their young men to Thule to die?

Suzanne kept wittering on, but he ignored her, tuning out her voice with the ease of long practice.  It was a shame that he even needed a political advisor, but he was expected to manage his business as well as serve as a Councillor and someone had to keep tabs on what the other Councillors were doing.  And yet she was far too careful for his tastes, far too focused on getting him into high officer and keeping him there ... and yet he needed her.  He knew, without false modesty, that his first campaign might well have failed without her assistance.

“The vote will be taken in twenty minutes,” Gordon said, glancing at his watch.  It had been passed down from his father, who had claimed it dated all the way back to the pre-space era on Earth.  Personally, Gordon suspected his father had lied through his teeth, but there was no doubting that the watch came from humanity’s homeworld.  Humanity’s wrecked homeworld, if the rumours were true.  “And I have to vote, one way or the other.”

He briefly considered abstaining from the vote.  It could be done, he knew, but he would pay a high price for it.  And if the vote was drawn, he would have to get off the fence and cast the deciding vote, one way or the other.  Either way, he would have to pay the price for abstaining without actually abstaining.  

“Yes, sir,” Suzanne said.  If she was irked at being so blatantly ignored, then interrupted, she didn't show it.  “I believe you should vote in favour of the deployment.”

Gordon nodded.  Avalon had given its word – and the Commonwealth had taken it.  There was no choice, not if they wanted to maintain interstellar trust.  Maybe the terms could be renegotiated again, later, but not now.  But he hated it.  How many young men were going to die because of his decision?

“I will,” he said.  “And then we can return to the issue at hand.”

He put the coffee cup down before his grip cracked the ceramic.  The hearing would be sharp, very sharp.  And Gordon knew, without lying to himself, that he was going to enjoy it.  His son might be dead, but he would ensure that the full story behind the fateful deployment was brought out into the open for judgement.  And, if it seemed that someone had been careless, he would make damn sure they were crushed like bugs.

The whistle blew, calling them back to the Council Chamber.  Sighing, Gordon nodded goodbye to his aide and strode over towards the door.  The other councillors met him outside, exchanging brief greetings as they made their way up the corridor.  It was tradition, almost, that the councillors couldn't talk to one another in the building, outside the Council Chamber.  Gordon rather approved, even though it could be irritating.  They couldn't do anything outside the light of publicity.

That was the problem with the Empire, he thought.  No accountability.  And now I have to hold someone to account for the death of my son.

***
President Gabriella Cracker disliked politics intensely.  She’d never asked to be the granddaughter of Peter Cracker, let alone to be forced to take her father’s position as rebel leader.  And yet she’d had no choice.  Despite her youth, she'd seen and heard enough to know the rebels would fragment into a multitude of smaller groups if she didn't step up and take command.  For all their claims to fight for democracy, they’d only proved capable of uniting behind a Cracker.

It had placed no shortage of restrictions on her life.  She had to move from place to place constantly, one step ahead of the old Council’s hunters, talking to senior resistance leaders and pushing them to work together as a group.  There had been no hope of a boyfriend; the boys she knew were all awed by her reputation or terrified at the prospect of dating someone who could order them killed if they put a foot wrong.  Nor had there been any hope of a normal life.  By the time she’d been captured, after the Battle of Camelot, it had almost been a relief.  And then to hear that there would be a political solution ...

Avalon had expanded, faster and further than she would have believed possible.  Who would have thought that a comparatively minor colony world along the Rim of explored and settled space would wind up as the core of a new empire?  She certainly hadn't assumed anything of the sort, not when she’d been in command of the Crackers.  The best she’d known they could hope for was an agreement with the Empire that would allow them internal independence.  And even that was a gamble.  The last time the Empire had intervened openly in Avalon’s affairs, the Crackers had been smashed from orbit.

But we’re paying a price for our size now, she thought.  How can we continue to be representative if we swallow up several sectors?

The Empire had based political representation on population size, she knew, something that had given the Core Worlds immense political clout.  Even the entire population of the Commonwealth, put together, couldn't match the population of a single Core World.  The Commonwealth had set out to change that, to ensure that each world got one vote regardless of its population size, but even that presented its own problems.  Would Corinthian – or Avalon, for that matter – accept equality with farming worlds that had only a handful of settlers?

She thought she understood, now, why the Empire had become so undemocratic.  The more space it controlled, the harder it was to have any form of accountability.  They’d had to send out orders, then wait for months before they heard back from their subordinates.  And the Commonwealth was growing larger every year.  How long would it be, she asked herself, before they started issuing very strict orders to their subordinates?  Even without the temptation to meddle – no, she admitted; the legal right to meddle – in local affairs, the problems would still prove difficult to surmount.

Bracing herself, she pasted a smile on her face as she stepped back into the Council Chamber and took her seat in the middle of the bench.  As President, she had a vote – but she knew she couldn’t use it.  If she voted in favour of the deployment, she would be accused of supporting her lover; if she voted against the deployment, she would be accused of trying to avoid the appearance of supporting her lover.  All she could do was abstain.  She caught sight of Colonel Stalker as he returned to the room and sighed, inwardly.  He was a good man, dedicated to his position – and she loved him.  But part of her would have liked to go to an uninhabited island with him and stay there, far away from politics.

But he has a sense of duty, she thought, as the doors were closed.  He can’t abandon his men, any more than I could abandon the Crackers after my father died.

The thought nagged at her mind.  What would happen when she left office?  There would be no child of her body to take the presidency, even if her child had been legally allowed to inherit.  What would happen when someone else became President?   Would the system they had created, the system they had built to avoid the problems that had torn the Empire apart, remain stable?  Or would public service be replaced by single-minded power grabs?  

She nodded to Councillor Stevens, who stood.  “The issue before us,” she said, as if there was anyone who was in any doubt, “is the deployment of the CEF to Thule.  We have debated the facts of the case in our prior session.  I call upon you all to put politics aside and vote as you feel you should vote.”

Gaby sighed.  There was an idealism about Councillor Stevens that had never faded, something Gaby envied and distrusted in equal measure.  After all, what could one make of someone who had never chosen a side?  Stevens could have covertly supported the Crackers in more ways than just providing medical treatment to all comers.  She hadn't done anything of the sort.  But she had too many friends to be edged out of her council seat.  

And here I am, she reproved herself, considering removing someone because I don’t like their politics.  What does that make me?

“All those in favour, raise your hands,” Councillor Stevens said.  “I repeat, all those in favour raise your hands.”

Gaby watched as seventeen hands were raised, one by one.  Seventeen.  It was better than she’d feared, although she knew it wouldn't go down well with the Commonwealth.  Four councillors on Avalon had voted against upholding the Commonwealth Treaty.  God alone knew what the repercussions would be, in the long run.  The only real surprise was that Councillor Travis had voted in favour.

“All those against, raise your hands,” Councillor Stevens said.  “I repeat, all those against, raise your hands.”

She paused, significantly.  “I must remind you,” she added, “that refusing to cast a vote will be taken as an abstention.”

There was a long pause.  No hands moved.  Gaby wasn't too surprised.  With such an overwhelming vote in favour of the deployment, there was nothing to gain by trying to take a stand against it.  It would be far better for the remaining councillors to abstain, whatever they’d intended to do.  She shook her head, bitterly.  Lord, but she hated politics with a white-hot passion.

“The motion is passed,” Councillor Stevens said.  “Seventeen in favour, none against, four abstentions.”

A dull ripple ran through the chamber.  “As it is late,” Councillor Stevens continued, “I propose pushing the rest of the hearing back until tomorrow.  Are there any objections?”

“I have one,” Councillor Travis said.  “Several of the officers I intend to call before the hearing will be dispatched with the CEF.”

Councillor Stevens looked over at Colonel Stalker, who nodded.  “That is a valid point,” he said, evenly.  Only someone who knew him very well would have noticed the irritation in his voice.  The implication, that he was sending people who could testify against him away from Avalon, hadn't sat well with him.  “However, the CEF will require at least a week before departure.  Those officers can be called to face the hearing prior to departure.”

“Acceptable,” Councillor Travis said, surrendering the point.  “I have no further objections.”

Politics, Gaby thought.  Councillor Travis probably wanted to get out to face the reporters.  He would have to justify his vote to his constituents, after all.  God damn the lot of it.

“Then this session is dismissed,” Councillor Stevens said.  “See you all tomorrow.”

***
Ed allowed himself a moment of relief as he stood up and prepared to make his way to Churchill Garrison.  The vote had been taken, the CEF would be deployed ... and the Commonwealth would live to see another day.  Tomorrow would be harder, he suspected, particularly when Councillor Travis got the bit between his teeth.  He’d be summoning officers who’d been deployed with the CEF right, left and centre, looking for something he could use as a weapon.  The hell of it was that Ed still found it hard to blame him.  

He met Gaby’s eyes, exchanging a silent message.  They’d talk, tonight, planning a strategy for the following day.  Perhaps the damage could be limited ... he shook his head, grimly.  Like it or not, he’d dropped the ball quite badly.  The Council had every right to demand explanations, then changes in procedure to make sure it didn't happen again.  But could such changes be realistically implemented?

We may be about to find out, he thought.  He hadn't hidden anything from the Council; it was quite possible that Thule would prove a very different challenge, even with support on the ground.  And with the other factor ... somehow, he knew it was going to be nasty.  But they had no choice.  Thule could not be allowed to leave the Commonwealth.

***
“I suppose you’re wondering,” Councillor Travis said, “why I voted in favour of the deployment.”

Emmanuel Alves could hardly disagree.  He and his fellow reporters, who were now surrounding Councillor Travis outside the Council Chamber, had expected him to vote against the deployment.  The whole matter had been intensely debated on the datanet and the general consensus had been that the Councillor would oppose the deployment tooth and nail.

“A man’s word is his bond,” Councillor Travis continued.  “We – the Commonwealth – gave our word to our member states that we would provide military support upon request.  I do not believe that we can discard our word, merely because we don’t want to actually uphold it.  The treaties will be rewritten, I suspect, but not now.  Now, we have to uphold our word.”

There was a long pause.  Finally, one of the female reporters stepped forward.  “Councillor,” she said, “you have based your opposition to the Commonwealth on your son’s death.  What would you say to the parents of a son or daughter killed on Thule because of your decision to support their deployment?”

Emmanuel winced.  That was a nasty shot, even by the standards of the Empire’s media.  It shouldn’t have been considered permissible ... although he did have to admit that it was a reasonable point to raise.  Certainly, grieving families would raise it after their children were delivered home in sealed caskets.

“I would say,” Councillor Travis said tightly, “that I honoured treaties that were created to support a new order.”

“But that won’t be any consolation,” the reporter pointed out.  Her voice seemed to grow stronger as she pushed onwards.  “They’ll have lost a child!”

Councillor Travis balled his fists, then visibly forced himself to relax.  “It is never easy – and I speak from personal experience – to lose a child.  However, I am forced to put such feelings aside and consider the matter as coldly and clearly as I can.  In this case, refusing to honour the treaties would have ensured that other states also refused to honour the treaties, something that could easily rebound on us.  The commitment to send military support upon request was, I feel, a mistake.  However, it is one we are obliged to honour until we rewrite the treaties.

“I have the deepest sympathy for anyone who loses a child, particularly on a foreign world,” he added.  “It is my intention to have those treaties rewritten as soon as possible.  Until then, people will lose children and I will grieve for them, because of commitments that were made without careful forethought.”

He turned, then strode away from the reporters.  Emmanuel watched him go, wondering if any of his fellows would be so gauche as to give chase.  But none of them did; instead, they talked briefly amongst themselves or headed off to the nearest datanet terminal, where they could start filing their stories.  He wondered, absently, just what the newspapers would say in the evening.  What sort of spin would they put on the vote?

The papers that support the Councillor will probably say he did what he had to do, he thought, answering his own question.  It hadn't taken long for the newspapers on Avalon to take sides, even the ones that called themselves neutral.  Those that are against him will call him a hypocrite.  Perhaps they’d both be right.

Shaking his head, he strode off to find a terminal for himself.  He had a story to file.

Chapter Seven

These disasters – and many, many more – took place because the Empire rarely attempted to come to grips with the underlying causes of the conflicts.  Instead, the Empire attempted to bring peace at gunpoint, order backed by the threat of force.  But the force was clearly insufficient to prevent the conflicts from breaking out again when the force was withdrawn.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.

Jasmine had never been quite able to escape the feel of being called into the headmaster’s – and then the Senior Drill Instructor’s – office when her superior officers had called her into their offices.  It was absurd; she was a grown woman, a fully-trained Marine and had been serving as a Brigadier for the last seven months.  But the feeling persisted, no matter what she did.  She’d never dared to ask her superiors if they felt the same way when confronted with their superiors.

“Please, be seated,” Colonel Stalker said.  “I assume you’ve read the briefing packet?”

“Yes, sir,” Jasmine said.  She'd gone through it in cynical detail, noting all the questions that were left unanswered.  “It looks like Avalon when we first arrived, only worse.”

“Almost certainly,” Colonel Stalker agreed.  “But there is a further complicating factor I left out of the briefing packet.  Did you deduce it?”

“No, sir,” Jasmine said.  “I did find quite a few unanswered questions ...”

“The leader of the insurgency – or at least one of the most powerful insurgent groups – is a man called Pete Rzeminski,” Stalker said.  He pressed his fingertips together as he leaned back in his chair.  “Does the name mean anything to you?”

“No, sir,” Jasmine said, puzzled.  “Should it?”

Stalker laughed, humourlessly.  “You weren't even born when he was a serving Marine,” he said.  “He retired from the corps thirty years ago, according to his file, and chose to live on Thule.  I rather doubt the name is a coincidence.”

Jasmine stared at him.  “This insurgency is being led by a retired Marine?”

“Yes,” Stalker said.  “What do you make of that?”

Jasmine hesitated, still trying to come to terms with the concept.  The media might create retired or rogue Marines as stock characters, but the former rarely involved themselves in politics and the latter were very rare.  Not rare enough, in her opinion, yet she’d only ever heard of a handful of cases during her time in the corps.  For a retired Marine to be serving with an insurgency, let alone leading it ...

She shook her head.  “Does he have good cause?”

“I don’t know,” the Colonel confessed.  “What I do know is that this insurgency will have professional leadership.”

Jasmine swallowed.  Most insurgencies underwent a steep learning curve, discovering how to do everything the hard way.  It was uncommon for military veterans to be involved, unless the entire planet was rising in rebellion.  But a Marine, armed with the collective knowledge and experience of the Terran Marine Corps, could ensure that the insurgency skipped most of the learning curve.  She'd done much the same thing on Corinthian.

“I see, sir,” she said.  Part of her found the whole concept offensive.  How dare a Marine betray his oaths and side with the insurgents?  The rest of her wondered just what had happened to convince him to join them.  “This could get nasty.”

“I’m afraid so,” the Colonel agreed.  He looked up, blue eyes meeting her gaze.  “How long would it take for the CEF to board ship and depart?”

“I sent out the warning order yesterday,” Jasmine said.  “Assuming we start at once, we might be able to depart in five days if we work like demons.  And if we can call on support from the crews in the spaceport.”

“You’ll have it,” Stalker assured her.  “You will probably be called to testify before the hearing, though.  Make sure your XO is ready to take over at a moment’s notice.”

“Yes, sir,” Jasmine said.  She hesitated, then reminded herself that Colonel Stalker had never bitten anyone’s head off for asking questions.  “How did it go today, sir?”

“We have agreement that the CEF is to be deployed,” Stalker said.  “But the real hearing will start tomorrow.”

“It wasn't your fault, sir,” Jasmine said.  She liked and respected the Colonel.  He didn't deserve to be raked over the coals by a council he’d helped create.  “They shouldn't be blaming you for it.”

“But I was the one in charge,” the Colonel said.  He tapped points off on his fingers.  “If I didn't know what my subordinates were doing, I damn well should have done; if I made the decision based on poor data, I damn well should have taken precautions in any case.”

Jasmine nodded, recognising the quote.  It had been made by the last Imperial Navy Admiral to retire early, without staying in grade long enough to collect a massive pension.  But Admiral Vancouver had always had a sense of integrity his peers had lacked.  His career, she’d been taught at the Slaughterhouse, should be held up as an example to be emulated.  One poor judgement call shouldn't be allowed to override all of his successful decisions ...

But people always remember the failures longer than the successes, she recalled.  They’d been taught that too.  A failure can never be removed from the record.

“In this case, I made a decision that plunged us into a full-scale war,” the Colonel continued, seemingly unaware of her inner thoughts.  “If I’d objected to the security demands they made, if I’d insisted on keeping even a single starship in the system, it wouldn't have happened.  Even if I am blameless, we still have to go over the whole affair, just to ensure that it never happens again.”

Jasmine frowned.  “But wouldn't that mean that people would hesitate before making a decision?”

The Colonel shrugged.  “There are some decisions that have to be made quickly,” he said, “decisions when being half-right is better than being completely wrong.  But the decision I made could have been made more carefully, after much contemplation.  Better to hesitate then, I fancy, then get into trouble I might have been able to avoid.”

He shrugged again.  “In any case, your orders are as follows ...”

There was a sharp knock on the door, interrupting him.  “Come in,” the Colonel called.  “Now.”

The door opened, revealing Mandy.  Jasmine felt a warm smile spread across her face as she saw the girl she regarded almost as a little sister, now looking very grown up in a basic Commonwealth Navy shipsuit and uniform.  The uniform looked a little larger than Jasmine recalled, hiding the shape of Mandy’s body, but it wasn't too surprising.  After what Mandy had endured as a pirate slave, she had never been able to have a proper relationship.  At least she had managed to tough herself out of some of the other reactions to enslavement.

“It’s good to see you again,” Jasmine said, allowing her professional demeanour to slip, just slightly.  “I heard about the successful test.”

The Colonel cleared his throat, meaningfully.  “Commodore Caesius will command a support squadron attached to your command,” he said, “but she will also have another mission.”

He tapped a switch, activating the holographic display.  “We have good reason to believe that Wolfbane is supplying the insurgents on Thule,” he said.  “That, combined with the other reports, leads us to believe that Governor Brown is not feeling friendly.  Depending on the assumptions we use, he may have decided to take us out before facing any threats from the Core.”

“Assuming that anyone is left alive there,” Mandy said.

Jasmine couldn't disagree.  No one knew what had happened to the Core Worlds – or the Slaughterhouse – apart from rumours, each one wilder than the last.  It was possible that they’d all been destroyed, wiped clean of human life ... or that someone with enough firepower at his command had taken over the remains of the Empire.  But with Wolfbane blocking their advance towards the Core Worlds, there was no way to obtain accurate data.

“I don’t think the entire sector will have been wiped out,” the Colonel said.

Jasmine had her doubts.  Earth and the rest of the Core Worlds, all hideously overpopulated, had been dependent on their infrastructure for survival.  If there had been a major war, it was quite likely that billions of humans had starved to death, if they hadn’t been slaughtered by nuclear strikes or orbital bombardments.  The Empire had kept one hell of a lot of tensions under control, but now the Empire was gone.  Who knew what had happened, thousands of light years away?

The Colonel smiled, tightly.  “Once the CEF has been delivered to Thule, Commodore Caesius and her command will be responsible for scouting the stars known to belong to Wolfbane,” he said.  “You will covertly enter their star systems, make passive sweeps near their planets, then withdraw without being detected.  In the event you are detected, you are to break contact as fast as possible, preferably without being identified.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Mandy said.  She sounded excited, rather than nervous.  “It should be doable, unless they’ve made a breakthrough in sensor technology.”

Jasmine remembered the little brat she’d been and smiled inwardly.  Mandy had come a long way, even if her mother was still horrified at what her daughter had become.  But it was her own fault, Jasmine considered, for refusing to recognise what a wonderful daughter she had brought into the universe.  Or maybe not ... Mandy had been a typical spoilt brat for much longer than she’d been a responsible starship commander.  Her mother might not be in the best condition to realise that her daughters had finally grown up.

“Should you discover anything threatening,” Colonel Stalker continued, “you will dispatch a courier boat to Avalon at once, then return to Thule and take what actions seem necessary, should the planet come under outside attack.”

They were vague orders, Jasmine knew, and the Imperial Navy wouldn't have tolerated them for a moment.  Their senior officers would have insisted on writing out a plan for every contingency – or at least every contingency they could imagine – which tended to result in disaster when something happened that wasn't covered in the contingency plans.  But the Commonwealth Navy knew better.  As the officers on the spot, Jasmine and Mandy would be expected to use their own initiative, within the broad outlines laid down by their superiors.

She leaned forward, thoughtfully.  “Sir,” she said, “do you think it will be war?”

“I would like to believe otherwise,” the Colonel said.  “But we shall prepare for the worst and hope for the best.”

“Yes, sir,” Jasmine said.

“You are to start embarking the CEF as soon as possible,” the Colonel said.  “If you can locate anyone with local knowledge, feel free to ask them to join you.”

He hesitated, then looked at Mandy.  “Our best estimates suggest that Wolfbane will have started with twice the tonnage of the Commonwealth Navy,” he said.  “We have no idea how ... active that tonnage is, however.”

Jasmine nodded.  In theory, the Imperial Navy had deployed hundreds of thousands of warships; in practice, half of them had been classed as part of the reserve and placed in storage orbits around isolated military bases or cannibalised to keep the rest of the fleet operational.  There was no way to know how many of the ships within Wolfbane’s sphere of influence remained operational – or what they might have built, since leaving the Empire.  If Avalon could make real progress on indigenous designs, there was no reason why Wolfbane couldn’t do the same.

“That leads to the very real possibility that they will attack in sufficient force to take Thule,” the Colonel continued.  “If that happens, if there is no prospect of saving the planet, you are to fall back and avoid engagement – if possible.  I do not wish to see you throw the lives of your crew away on futile gestures.”

“I understand,” Mandy said.

Jasmine wondered, absently, if she really understood what that meant.  Mandy had been in danger herself – as a pirate slave, she ran the risk of being raped or murdered at any moment, even though she’d been one of the lucky ones – but she’d never had to cope with a situation where people under her command were at risk.  How would Mandy cope when the time came to face an impossible situation?  

“Good,” the Colonel said.  He looked over at Jasmine.  “I will add sealed orders for you to open, should the shit hit the fan.  Until then, good luck.”

He passed a pair of datachips towards them.  The Empire had insisted on writing out operational orders on old-fashioned paper, but it was one tradition the Commonwealth had no intention of retaining.  Electronic orders were much simpler to use.

“Thank you, sir,” Jasmine said.

“One other detail,” the Colonel said, looking right at her.  “I need you to give it back.”

Jasmine knew, without having to ask, what he meant.  She sensed, rather than saw, Mandy’s puzzled look as she hesitated, then reached into her pocket.  The Rifleman’s Tab felt uncomfortably cold against her bare skin, the gold sheen discoloured by the explosion that had killed its owner.  It should have been returned to the Slaughterhouse, Jasmine knew, but God alone knew when – if – they would see the Slaughterhouse again.

I’m sorry, Blake, she thought.

It didn't seem fair, somehow.  Blake had been larger-than-life, a joker who would never see promotion ... but was happy serving as a Marine.  She remembered how he'd welcomed her to the platoon, just before the shit hit the fan on Han, and how they’d all played pranks on an Imperial Army unit that happened to share the same base.  And how he’d saved her life, more than once, during the maelstroms that had swept over Han, Earth, Avalon and Corinthian.  It didn't seem right that he should die on a world like Lakshmibai, during a pointless uprising that could only have resulted in disaster.  Even if the locals had wiped the CEF out, the starships would have taken a brutal revenge.

Blake would have laughed at her, she knew.  He’d never been sentimental, moving from girlfriend to girlfriend without bothering to mourn the loss of the previous girl.  All he needed was fighting, booze and sex and he was happy.  But Jasmine found it hard to let go of his memory.  He hadn't been the first to die under her command, but he was the one she’d known the best before he’d fallen.

“Not every death seems meaningful,” Colonel Stalker said, as he took the Tab.  It had been pulled out of the wreckage of the Royal Palace, weeks after Blake’s death.  “But Blake died saving lives.  None of us could ask for more.”

Jasmine nodded, not trusting herself to speak.  Blake would have teased her endlessly about sleeping with a reporter, then gently poked fun at her command style.  And he would have commanded 1st Platoon to Thule ...

She paused.  “Colonel,” she said.  “Who will take command of 1st Platoon?”

“I’m going to give it to Joe Buckley,” Colonel Stalker said.  “There aren't many other qualified candidates right now, not when I had to swap out half the experienced Marines to create room for the ones who used to be on detached duty.  Joe may screw up from time to time, but he’s very good at recovering from his mistakes.”

Jasmine nodded.  Like it or not, she would probably never be able to command another Marine platoon.  Besides, fitting in the newcomers would be a nightmare ... thankfully, Joe Buckley could be diplomatic as well as bloody-minded.  He was going to need it.

“I’ll speak to you again, probably just before you depart,” the Colonel concluded.  He placed Blake’s Tab in his drawer, then closed it.  Jasmine couldn't help feeling that she’d just said goodbye to all that remained of her friend.  “Let me know if you encounter any problems.”

“Yes, sir,” Jasmine said, tonelessly.

Outside, Mandy caught her arm.  “Are you all right?”

“I think so,” Jasmine lied.  Blake’s death hurt – and the unspoken reprimand was almost worse.  “And yourself?”

Mandy gave her an odd look.  “Jasmine ...”

“I’ll be fine,” Jasmine said, sharply.  The last thing she wanted was to have this discussion where someone – anyone – could hear it.  “I have to see to the loading.”

“Good luck,” Mandy said.  She gave Jasmine’s arm a squeeze, then let go.  “And tonight, would you like to join me for dinner?  Or we could go shopping.”

Jasmine had to smile at the eagerness in the younger girl’s voice, even though she recognised that Mandy was only trying to get her to talk.  God knew she’d needled Jasmine enough about her relationship ever since discovering that Jasmine was sharing an apartment with a man.

“We shall see,” she said.  There were no formal office hours in the military, no matter what some of the more ignorant politicians on Earth thought.  She would probably wind up sleeping on a cot in her office, instead of back home with her lover.  “Don't you have deployment work to handle too?”

Mandy smirked.  “That's what XOs are for,” she said, evilly.  “I merely pass on the orders, then let them handle it.”

“And you still get blamed if something goes wrong,” Jasmine reminded her.  She shook her head, running her hand through her short hair.  As always, it felt vaguely itchy to the touch, but she'd never been able to work up the nerve to remove it completely.  The treatment couldn't be reversed and her parents would have been horrified.  Her mother, in particularly, had been very proud of her long dark hair.  “Watch your back.”

“I will,” Mandy promised.

Jasmine smiled, then headed back towards her office.  There was no time to waste, not if they wanted to leave as soon as possible.  And there was deployment planning to be done.

And a new aide to break in, she thought, ruefully.  Bad timing.  Very bad timing.

Chapter Eight

This seems obvious, you must admit, which leads neatly to the next question.  Why did the Empire fail to recognise that this was the problem and that it had to be tackled?
- Professor Leo Caesius.  War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.

Violet Campbell prided herself on being the youngest spacecraft comptroller in orbit.  At twelve years old, barely entering puberty, she was a solid three years younger than the next oldest comptroller.  Indeed, she was young enough that half of the starship crews she met thought she was accompanying her mother rather than doing the job in her own right.  But she didn't let that get her down.  The excitement of meeting starship crewmen from hundreds of different worlds more than made up for them treating her as a little kid.

She stopped outside the airlock and waited, showing a patience few children from the planet below could master, while the giant starship linked hatches with Orbit Station.  Violet had grown up on the station, even during the dark years when almost no starships had visited Avalon and her father – the station manager – had seriously considered either joining the RockRats or shipping his children to Avalon, where a single failure wouldn’t risk ultimate catastrophe.  Not that Violet wanted to go, of course.  Half of what she'd heard about settled worlds made them sound hellish, while the remainder made them seem uncontrolled.  Who would want to live in a wilderness when they could live in the infinite reaches of outer space?  If her parents had seriously planned to send her groundside, she would have run away and joined the RockRats.  They would have welcomed her.

Bracing herself, she checked her reflection in the hatch’s porthole.  She was slim, the protective shipsuit she wore revealing her lack of curves to the world.  Her short dark hair surrounded a thin, almost elfin face.  She honestly wasn’t sure if she was pretty or not; her life on the station hadn't left her with many other women to compare herself to.  But she did have the glamour of working in space, her father had told her, although he’d also told her that she was too young to date.  And that anyone who tried to ask her out before she was sixteen would be hurled out the airlock without a spacesuit.  Violet suspected he was joking, but she didn't want to test it.  Her father could act rashly at times.

The hatch finally clicked, then hissed open, revealing a pressurised tube that linked the starship to the station.  Violet checked the telltales out of habit – her father had drummed caution into her, time and time again – but everything seemed fine.  None of the systems were reporting any atmospheric leaks or any other form of contamination.  The starship might be a Trade Federation liner rather than something from the Commonwealth, but there was nothing wrong with it.  Violet rather approved of the Trade Federation.  They never seemed surprised at encountering a young girl manning the immigration desk.

“Welcome to Avalon,” she called, as the first row of people emerged from the starship and made their way down the tube.  They were rich, she knew, rich enough to travel in cabins rather than stasis tubes.  “Can I have your papers please?”

One by one, they presented her with their credentials, which she checked against her datapad and then invited them to press their fingers against her scanner.  Avalon was an open world, her father had told her when she’d insisted on taking up the job, but there were some people who were permanently barred from entry.  If any of them appeared, he’d warned, she was to let them through into the station and sent a silent alert to the security team.  She was not, under any circumstances, to attempt to tackle the unwanted visitor by herself.  Violet found that rather insulting – she’d regularly taken top marks in armed and unarmed combat – but her father had been insistent.  Recognising the signs of a father about to withdraw permission for her to actually work, she’d shut up and stopped arguing.

She chatted briefly to some of the visitors as they made their way past her.  Most of them were coming on trade missions, opening up new lines of communication within the Commonwealth, while others were new to the planet.  A handful of younger men cheerfully told her that they’d come to join the Commonwealth Navy; Violet pointed them towards the recruitment station, then wished them well.  Who knew?  Maybe she'd see them again as naval crewmen.

The next line of passengers appeared shortly after the first set had vanished.  They looked rather more dishevelled, Violet noted; the bags they were carrying were all their worldly goods.  She had no difficulty in recognising men and women coming to Avalon to look for work and political freedom, both unavailable on their homeworld.  Most of them had no ID, so she took fingerprints and forwarded them on to the immigration office.  None of them seemed to be on the banned list.

“Report into the office when you reach the ground,” she told them, again and again.  “They’ll grant you residency permission and point you in the direction of some recruitment agencies.”

She watched them go, hoping they’d find the life they wanted.  New immigrants had plenty of opportunities to earn money, but some of them found themselves trapped in contracts that made them effective peons.  Her father had been known to grumble that the shadow of the old Council – Violet was too young to remember the days it ruled Avalon – clearly lived on in some people.  The big exploiters might have been removed, but there were plenty of others willing to exploit helpless immigrants just to save a few coins.

A final man emerged from the hatch, looking tired, thoroughly exhausted.  Violet looked at him – and stared.  He was tall, with short blonde hair and muscles that stood out even though the shapeless civilian clothes he was wearing.  There was a faint scar on his face that drew her attention to the shape of his mouth.  Violet flushed as she realised she was staring, then looked down at the datachip he held out to her.  He was yet another immigrant from a farming world.  Violet had heard about them from her father.  The highest level of technology was something called a mule plough, which forced its user to walk behind a mule for their entire life.  When she’d asked why, her father had gone on to rant about idiots who hated technology and were prepared to sentence themselves and their children to a hellish lifestyle, rather than admit they were wrong.

“Welcome to Avalon,” she said, as she plugged the datachip into the terminal.  There was a bleep as it recognised the man; apparently, one of the recruitment agencies had already cleared him through immigration and was waiting for him down below.  “You were invited here?”

“I saved the recruiter’s life,” the man explained.  His voice was almost completely devoid of an accent.  Violet was impressed.  Everyone was supposed to speak Imperial Standard, but there were so many different accents in the Commonwealth alone that some of the immigrants were almost incomprehensible.  “He offered me a fast ticket to Avalon, but I had to wait until I had taken care of my family.”

“Good for him,” Violet said.  She keyed her terminal, clearing the newcomer through to the first available shuttle to the surface, then smiled as she returned his datachip.  “Welcome to Avalon.”

“Thank you,” the newcomer said.

***
“I feel naked,” Joe Buckley commented.

Jasmine eyed him.  He was wearing standard combat blacks, the uniform worn by Marines when location-specific uniforms weren't issued, which fell loosely around his wiry body.  His belt was crammed with everything from spare clips of ammunition and medical supplies to a terminal and portable environmental sensors.  Apart from his head, every part of his body was decently covered.

“You’re not,” she said, shortly  “Or are you referring to actually being in command?”

Buckley scowled.  Everyone knew he had one kind of luck – bad.  Jasmine had watched in astonishment as Buckley stumbled from disaster to disaster, half of which should probably have killed him.  Only a remarkable talent for adapting had kept him alive – and only a strong friendship with the rest of the original 1st Platoon had kept him in the company.  Marines were rarely superstitious, preferring to leave such beliefs to spacers, but it was hard to deny that Buckley seemed to attract bad luck.

“It should be yours,” he pointed out.  “Or ...”

Jasmine nodded.  “I felt the same way when I was given command,” she admitted.  Marines weren't supposed to admit to doubts in front of outsiders, but they could confess to one another, if necessary.  “I wondered if I could handle it, particularly with you and Blake under my command.  But I have no doubt that you can do it too.”

She smiled, as reassuringly as she could.  Jasmine had been the youngest member of the platoon and, by rights, Blake should have taken command.  But he’d blotted his record rather spectacularly during the Cracker War and would probably have been demoted, if there had been any demotion possible without dishonourably discharging him from the corps.  As it was, he had been stripped of seniority and warned he might never be promoted again.  But he had redeemed himself and taken command ... long enough to die, only a few months ago.

“Thank you,” Buckley said.  He didn't sound convinced.  “And the specific orders for 1st Platoon?”

Jasmine took a breath.  “I have no specific orders as yet, apart from getting your asses onto the starships as soon as possible,” she said.  “I suggest you run endless drills to bond the platoon back together, after all the transfers.  There will almost certainly be work for you to do on Thule.”

“It sounds like Avalon, only worse,” Buckley agreed.  He gave her a grim smile.  “But what if my talent strikes again ...?”

“It hasn't, not since you married,” Jasmine reminded him.  “Speaking of which, how is Lila?”

Buckley grinned, openly.  “Pregnant,” he said.  “She has a little Marine ready to make a forced exit from her womb.”

Jasmine had to smile.  “Congratulations,” she said.  She felt an odd flicker of envy, which she pushed aside savagely.  Lila didn't have to worry about commanding troops in combat.  “When’s the baby due?”

“Seven months,” Buckley said.  He looked oddly worried.  “We only found out a few days ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Jasmine said.  She meant it.  Buckley had stayed on Avalon as part of Training Command, but after he’d returned to active duty he could have been shipped off at any moment.  And now ... it was unlikely that he would return to Avalon before the child was born, even if the rebels on Thule tried to launch a stand-up battle and lost.  “We could speak to the Colonel and ...”

Buckley shook his head.  “I don’t want to leave the rest of you alone,” he said.  “God knows I felt badly enough for skipping the mission to Corinthian.”

Jasmine winced, remembering the brief few hours she'd spent as a captive of Admiral Singh and her thugs.  The torture hadn't been very imaginative, but it had left her a shaken wreck long enough to make her fear that she would never return to active service.  And now she was unlikely ever to return to active service as a Marine anyway, now she was the CEF’s commander.  She was simply too important to be risked.

I didn't sign up to be a damn REMF, she thought.

But you know what has to be done, which is more than can be said for most REMFs,  her own thoughts answered her.  And besides, who else has the experience to take command of the CEF?

“It wasn't your fault,” Jasmine said.

She shook her head.  How could she blame Joe Buckley for marrying a girl on Avalon when it had become increasingly clear that they would never return to the Core Worlds?  Marines did marry, they did have children ... and yet, those children rarely saw their fathers until they left active duty.  But the Slaughterhouse had provided a home for those families ... she wondered, with a bitter pang of grief and rage, just what had happened to the Slaughterhouse and the families there.  The corps had enemies who would happily take advantage of the chaos to strike at their very core.

“I still felt bad about it,” Buckley confessed.

“Never mind,” Jasmine said, bluntly.  She picked up a datachip and passed it to him.  “You will probably be deployed as raiders, capturing High-Value Targets and the like.  One target in particular is at the top of the list.”

“Our former comrade,” Buckley said.  “A Marine gone bad.”

He paused.  “Has he gone bad?”

Jasmine quirked an eyebrow, inviting him to continue.

“If I’d moved to Avalon ten years ago,” Buckley said, “I might well have joined the Crackers.  Would that have made me a bad person?”

“I wish I knew,” Jasmine said.  “But I do know that we need to keep Thule in our sphere of influence.”

She sighed.  Fighting the pirates and fanatics had been easy – and there had been no doubt over who was in the right.  But most of the conflicts the Marine Corps had been involved in included a great deal of moral ambiguity.  If she’d moved to Avalon, would she have supported the Empire-backed government – which just happened to be ruthlessly exploitative – or the insurgents resisting its control?

“Understood,” Buckley said.  He rose to his feet.  “If you’ll excuse me, then, I’ll take the platoon through at least one run on the exercise field before we make our way to the starships.  Let them hate, as long as they learn.”

Jasmine nodded, wordlessly.  That had been the motto of the Drill Instructors at the Slaughterhouse, men and women who had pushed the recruits to their limits.  Only one tenth of them had passed through Boot Camp with the qualifications necessary to progress to the Slaughterhouse – and only one tenth of them had graduated as Marines.  The remainder had quit, transferred into the Imperial Army, joined the Auxiliaries ... or died.  Their training was so realistic that it was quite possible for a careless recruit to kill himself – or get others killed.

She watched him leave the room, then looked down at the paperwork in front of her.  Somehow, despite her best efforts, it was mutating, forcing her to devote more and more of her time to just filling in forms, reading reports and signing her name to pieces of paper she’d barely read.  No wonder the bureaucratic-minded officers had so much trouble, she told herself; they were so busy doing their paperwork that they had no time to learn how to command their men in combat.  

There was a knock on the door.  Lieutenant Michael Volpe entered at her command.

Jasmine studied him, thoughtfully.  He was a tall young man, barely out of his teens; he’d joined the Knights almost as soon as they’d been established and seen service against the Crackers.  And then he’d joined the CEF, looking for more action.  Jasmine recognised his type and knew, if they’d still had contact with the Empire, that she would have urged him to apply to the Slaughterhouse or a Special Forces Regiment.  There were some men who were never happy unless they were in the thick of the action – which made what she was about to do the wrong course of action.  But it would depend on his plans for his future.

“Be seated,” she said, when Volpe saluted.  “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

Volpe looked surprised at the question.  “I would like command of my own regiment,” he said, carefully.  “I honestly haven’t thought much about the question.”

“Neither did I, when I was your age,” Jasmine said.  She couldn't help feeling old, even though she knew she was little more than six years older than him.  “I have an offer for you.”

She leaned forward.  “I need an aide, someone who can work with me and pass on orders to subordinate formations,” she said.  “It won’t be for more than a year, in any case, but it would give you valuable experience of high command.  If you do well, you would have your chance at commanding a regiment after a little more seasoning.”

Volpe frowned.  “A year?”

Jasmine thought about how the bureaucrats on Earth would have responded to such a suggestion and smiled, inwardly.  But then, one of the innovations the Colonel had introduced that she loved was the insistence that all officers were rotated in and out of the combat or deployment zones.  No one would be allowed to spend too long at the rear, losing their awareness of what they actually needed to do – or what officers at the front required from them.  Volpe would never have a chance to lose his love of a fight ... even if, to such a young man, a year seemed endless.

“Yes,” she said.  “But it will be very useful to your future career.”

She paused, then pressed on.  “The CEF is deploying, as you know,” she said.  “I need an answer within the hour.  If you say no, you will be returned to your unit and nothing more will be said about it.  This isn't something that will be held against you, whatever answer you give.”

There was another knock at the door.  An officer stood outside, holding a plain white envelope.  Jasmine took it without opening it, then looked back at Volpe.  “You have an hour ...”

“I’ll do it,” Volpe said.  He hesitated, torn in two.  “But will there be a chance at action?”

“You never know,” Jasmine said.  Perhaps she should recommend NCO training instead, if Volpe wanted to remain in the lower ranks.  “I’ll speak to your CO.  Gather your stuff, then report back to my office in an hour.  You’re going to be very busy.”

Chapter Nine

There were, alas, many causes.  One, perhaps the most important one, was that the Empire was truly unimaginably vast.  The planners on Earth could not begin to handle the complexities of one particular conflict, let alone hundreds of them.  They responded by general orders that were often ineffective, backed by threats made against military and civil service officers if they failed to carry them out.  
- Professor Leo Caesius.  War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.

“The question before us,” Councillor Stevens said, “is simple.  Was the decision to dispatch the CEF to Lakshmibai a justifiable decision, based on what we knew at the time?”

She paused. “Hindsight is remarkable clear,” she added, after a moment.  “It tells us precisely what mistakes were made – and when.  But foresight is nowhere near as clear.  We must put hindsight out of our minds and approach the question armed only with what was known at the time.

“With that in mind, we must ask a second question.  Was the decision to hold negotiations on Lakshmibai a mistake in its own right?”

Ed silently gave her points for recognising the difference between foresight and hindsight.  It wasn't something he normally saw politicians doing, particularly when there was an opportunity to make political hay out of the disaster.  But there were several points that had to be brought up, as quickly as possible, otherwise they would be forgotten.

He stepped forward when the Councillor recognised him.  “With all due respect, Councillor, there are several issues with your statement,” he said.  “In particular, it was not us who decided that the talks should be held on Lakshmibai.  It was chosen by Wolfbane’s representatives and we accepted their suggestion.  Had we not done so, it is quite possible that the talks would not have been held at all.”

“But that leads to another issue,” Councillor Stevens pointed out.  “Was it wise to accept their suggestion?”

Ed kept his face expressionless.  Inwardly, he wanted to scowl.  “We had been attempting to open lines of communication with Wolfbane ever since we realised their existence,” he said, calmly.  “Matters were not helped by the degree of ... paranoia Wolfbane showed when we tried to speak to them.  In the end, they proposed Lakshmibai as a compromise – a world where we could talk without revealing more than we chose of ourselves and vice versa.  We were not offered any alternative.”

Councillor Roberson tapped the table for attention.  “Could we not have arranged a meeting in interstellar space, light years from any reasonable threat?”

Ed shook his head.  “Wolfbane gave us no choice,” he reminded them.  “The choice was to hold talks on Lakshmibai or have no talks at all.  We discussed the matter extensively and decided that it would be better to have the talks, even on their terms, rather than risk failing to open diplomatic relations.”

There was a long pause.  “It has been alleged that outside powers – presumably Wolfbane – assisted the fanatics of Lakshmibai to rise up against us,” Councillor Stevens said.  “Do you believe, in hindsight, that we walked into a trap?”

Ed hesitated.  “It’s possible,” he conceded, finally.  “We do believe that the locals had some reason to assume that the starships would be unable to return, either to save us or take revenge for what they’d done.  However, there were a number of oddities about their tactics that suggest otherwise.  For example, man-portable drones are relatively easy to shoot down, even with primitive sniper rifles.  Yet the locals made no attempt to engage them, even though removing them from the battlefield would have blinded us at a crucial moment.  Nor, for that matter, did they move heavy guns into position to shell the Imperial Residency, which would have smashed us flat.

“However, almost all of the planet’s royal family was either killed or knew nothing about off-world contacts,” he added.  “Other prisoners who were interrogated were either too ignorant to know what a starship was, let alone what it could do, or believed their superiors when they were told that the starships were rendered powerless.  The mystery of just who, if anyone, backed the locals may remain unsolved.”

He paused.  “It is possible that they didn't anticipate the deployment of the CEF,” he continued, after a long moment.  “Without it, they would have overwhelmed the Imperial Residency and captured or killed all of the representatives.”

“Which leads to another point,” Councillor Stevens said.  “Why was the CEF deployed in the first place.”

Ed gritted his teeth, then pushed on.  “The CEF was designed as a rapid reaction force that could be moved from Avalon to a threatened world and deployed at high speed,” he said.  “I decided that deploying to Lakshmibai would prove a more suitable test of its capabilities than deploying to a Commonwealth world, where there would be fewer surprises for its officers to handle.  We asked Wolfbane if they had any objections and they offered none.  Indeed, they have good reason to be grateful that we did deploy the CEF.  It saved their representatives along with our own.”

Councillor Travis leaned forward, threateningly.  “Would the presence of the CEF not have worried Wolfbane, if they are such paranoid people?”

Ed sighed, inwardly.  “The CEF is a formidable force on the ground,” he said.  “But if someone else controlled the high orbitals, it would be rapidly and completely destroyed by kinetic bombardment.  Wolfbane, I believe, decided that it posed no threat to them.  And they were probably right.”

Councillor Stevens tapped the gravel against the table.  “In foresight, Colonel, was there any reason to suspect that Lakshmibai would explode into chaos?”

“There were hints in the files,” Ed conceded, “that the locals were not very fond of off-worlders.  However, there was no reason to believe that the locals would be foolish enough to start a war against two interstellar powers, particularly when the planet’s orbitals were completely undefended.  The war could only end in the destruction of the local government and the victory of the rebel factions, at the very least.  At worst, they would face the complete destruction of their homeworld.  We assumed that the locals would ruefully accept our presence long enough to hold the talks.”

“Which were held in their capital city,” Councillor Travis said.  “Could they not have been held at the former Imperial Garrison or an uninhabited island, somewhere away from the locals?”

“Wolfbane insisted on the Imperial Residency and made arrangements with the locals,” Ed admitted.  “We were not consulted on the decision.”

Councillor Travis smiled at him, humourlessly.  “All of this, Colonel, suggests that Wolfbane set a trap,” he said.  “A trap we walked into with our eyes firmly closed.”

“But the CEF was deployed too,” Councillor Jackson pointed out.  “Why would they have agreed to allow us to deploy the CEF if they intended to capture our representatives?”

“Good question,” Councillor Travis said.  He looked at Ed, his eyes cold.  “Colonel, is there a scenario where Wolfbane would benefit from our deployment of the CEF?”

Ed couldn't stop himself scowling, this time.  “Yes, Councillor,” he said.  “We find them a mystery, but they may well have their own uncertainties about our capabilities.  If they were to watch our deployment – and our response to the local attack – it would give them valuable insights into everything from preferred tactics to training drills.  Should it come down to open war, they would find such insights very useful.”

Councillor Yvette Hanson tapped the table.  “Councillor,” she said.  “Wouldn’t that mean they were prepared to risk their own representatives as well as our own?  We know what happened to most of the prisoners on Lakshmibai.”

She had a point, Ed knew.  If Wolfbane had genuinely planned the whole Battle of Lakshmibai to gain insight into the Commonwealth’s military, they definitely had put their own people at risk.  He would have bet half his salary that the representatives he’d met – and the men he’d fought beside – had had no awareness of any ulterior motive.  But Governor Brown could easily have sent them to Lakshmibai, calculating that he would benefit whatever the outcome.  And, if they didn't know anything about the overall plan, they could hardly betray it to the Commonwealth representatives.

“I see no reason for assuming that a former corporate stooge wouldn't have the cold-bloodedness necessary to send his own people to their deaths,” Councillor Travis growled, crossly.  “I believe that such people are quite willing to do whatever it takes to advance.”

Ed nodded in agreement.

“I believe we have gone as far as we can this morning,” Councillor Stevens said.  “We will resume the hearing after lunch.”

***
Jasmine couldn't help feeling nervous as she walked, in full dress uniform, into the Council Chamber and stopped in front of the witness stand.  Councillor Travis hadn't wasted any time, she had to admit; he’d called the Colonel in the morning and Jasmine, the second-in-command on Lakshmibai, in the afternoon.  There hadn't been any real time to plan for the hearing, but she’d been told by the Command Sergeant that a full body cavity search would be preferable to being raked over the coals by ambitious politicians.  Jasmine could only hope she was wrong.  

“Please, be seated,” Councillor Stevens said.  “Thank you for coming.”

Jasmine nodded, then sat down, keeping her hands resting on her lap.  She was tempted to look around for her boyfriend, but somehow she forced herself to keep her gaze on the councillors.  Councillor Travis looked unrelentingly hostile, unsurprisingly; the others ranged from supportive to bored.  She waited, patiently, as Councillor Stevens introduced her – purely for the benefit of the record, she suspected – and then asked the first question.

“Brigadier,” she said, “did you have any reason to believe, prior to your arrival on Lakshmibai, that it might be a trap?”

“No,” Jasmine said.  

Somehow, she kept her face under control.  She’d been warned to keep her answers as short as possible, which would ensure she didn't give them any rope to use to hang her.  But she wanted, desperately, to explain that it wasn't the Colonel’s fault.  No one had seen the disaster coming until it was far too late.

“I see,” Councillor Stevens said.  “When did you first suspect that there would be trouble?”

“When we landed on Lakshmibai and heard from the Imperial Garrison,” Jasmine said, remembering the odd group of people who’d maintained the base for years after the Empire had abandoned the planet.  Most of them had been delighted to leave.  “They told us that the locals were far from fond of off-worlders.  If the locals had been able to cross the causeway to the island, the garrison would have been lynched.”

It would have been worse than that, she knew.  They’d seen what happened to local rebels who’d been taken prisoner by the government’s troops.  Rape, torture and death was the best they could expect.  And there were still a handful of Commonwealth personnel unaccounted for on Lakshmibai.  Jasmine had her suspicions about what had happened to them, but no sign of them had been discovered before the Commonwealth abandoned the planet completely.

Councillor Travis glowered at her.  “Was there no option for intervening quickly when trouble started in the capital city?”

Jasmine took a breath.  “No, Councillor,” she said.  “Without the starships, we lacked the ability to either land large amounts of troops in the city or provide fire support.  Had I deployed what few helicopters and shuttles I had, I would have risked significant losses which would have crippled my ability to fight.  I believed – and still believe – that fighting my way from the garrison to the capital city was the only realistic option.”

There was a long pause.  “Based on what you saw during your march up,” Councillor Travis said finally, “do you believe that the uprising was pre-planned?”

“I’m not sure,” Jasmine confessed.  “On one hand, there was a sizable number of enemy military units blocking our path to the capital city.  But on the other hand, that region had been unstable for years before our arrival and the enemy needed to deploy vast numbers of troops to keep the locals under control.”

“Locals who might have been able to save our people without risking the CEF,” Councillor Travis said.  “Could you not have merely supported them?”

Jasmine felt her face heat with anger.  “No, Councillor,” she said.  “I do not believe that would have produced acceptable results.”

She pressed on before he could say a word.  “The local rebels, sir, were very much a mixed bag.  Few of them had any proper military training.  Few of them really cared about what happened as long as the yoke of outside control was lifted from their territory.  And few of them fought in what we would consider a civilised manner.  Despite our best efforts, the rebels carried out hundreds of atrocities against captured enemy soldiers and high-caste civilians.  The levels of hatred within their society had sunk so deep that bloody slaughter was the only likely outcome.

“In short, Councillor, we could not supply the rebels with arms and rely on them to capture the capital before the Imperial Residency’s defenders ran out of ammunition.  The only option at our disposal was to take the offensive and secure the capital city for ourselves.”

She felt a twinge of guilt that, she knew, would never fade away.  Even the worst Civil Guard units she’d encountered in her career hadn't matched the Lakshmibai rebels for cruelty or sadism.  There was no escaping the fact that she’d enabled the rebels, armed them and prepared them for war ... or that she bore some responsibility for the atrocities they’d committed against their hatred oppressors.  By the time the CEF had left Lakshmibai, the planet had been dissolving into a bloody mess.  It might be years of blood-letting before a new order brought some semblance of civilisation to the godforsaken world.

“And so you did,” Councillor Travis said.  “Your superiors believed you conducted yourself very well.  However, you made the decision to attack Pradesh directly, rather than trying to outflank the city.  Was that necessary?”

Jasmine winced, inwardly.  Pradesh, the bottleneck city ... and where Councillor Travis’s son had fallen in combat.

“I believe there was no choice, sir,” she said, carefully.

The councillors exchanged glances.  “Elaborate,” Councillor Travis ordered.

“Pradesh sits in a pass between two mountain ranges,” Jasmine explained.  “While there were, apparently, a handful of smaller passes that allow men on foot to avoid the city, the only way to move a large military force through the mountains was to go through Pradesh, which meant storming the city and taking it by force.  Outflanking it, as you suggest, would have forced us to add hundreds of kilometres to our journey, while opening our own flanks to enemy attack.  No, the only option was to push our way through the city.”

“Which proved,” Councillor Stevens commented, “to be the most costly battle in the war.”

Jasmine nodded.  Her losses had been relatively light, all things considered.  The enemy losses had never been counted, but estimates suggested that over twenty thousand local soldiers and militia had died or gone into POW camps.  Guarding them had been yet another strain on her manpower, yet she’d had no choice.  Letting the rebels guard them would have merely allowed the bastards to slaughter the prisoners.

“In an urban environment,” she said, “our advantages – better training, better weapons, better surveillance – would be degraded.  The enemy, I believe, knew better than to meet us in the field by then.  Instead, they set a trap, knowing that we would have no alternative but to walk into it.  We had no choice.”

There were several more questions, but none of them seemed too focused on her and her conduct.  The Colonel had been right, Jasmine realised; Councillor Travis was more interested in nailing him than anyone else.  It was true, Jasmine had to admit, that they should have learned lessons from the Lakshmibai War, but not like this.  Personalities would end up pushing the issues aside ...

“Thank you for your time,” Councillor Stevens said, finally.  “Your testimony is greatly appreciated.”

Jasmine saluted, then strode out of the chamber.

***
“She didn't do too badly,” Gaby observed.  “But if Councillor Travis hadn't been so bent on getting at you ...”

Ed nodded.  Jasmine hadn't had any training for facing politicians, even the relatively easy-going politicians on Avalon.  Councillor Travis might think he was being a hard-ass, but compared to some of the politicians Ed had met in the past he was actually quite tame – and focused.  The Grand Senators would probably have brought the issue of Jasmine’s romantic life up as soon as possible, even though it had nothing to do with the issue under discussion.

“She did fine,” he said, instead.  It had been an hour since Jasmine’s testimony, long enough for the councillors to make some private contacts outside the building.  “Where do you think we stand?”

Gaby scowled, biting her lip.  “It’s hard to say,” she confessed.  “Right now, no one has been formally charged with anything.  The hearing is just bringing out the facts, one by one.  Once they think they know everything, they will decide what – if anything – should be done.”

Ed sighed.  Not knowing what was going to happen was a major problem – and it wasn't just the hearing that worried him.  Wolfbane could attack at any moment ... and they wouldn't even know about it until two weeks after the attack took place.  Hell, with a little care, Wolfbane could overwhelm a number of worlds without word getting out at all.

“We just need to get it over with,” Ed said.  “We don’t know what Wolfbane is planning to do.”

“If anything,” Gaby pointed out.  “Governor Brown was a corporate officer.  Wars are bad for business.”

Ed shook his head.  He’d met too many corporate drones who had believed that wars were very good for business.  The hell of it had been that they'd been right.  As long as they weren't at risk, profits were immense.

Chapter Ten

Perversely, failure was not punished if the officers in question could prove that they had followed orders.  Doctors used to say that the operation was a success, but the patient died.  The Empire’s military officers could say that their deployments were a success, yet the war was still lost.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.

The house was smaller than Mandy remembered, although it was bigger than the one-room apartment they’d shared during their final days on Earth.  That apartment had been nothing more than a box with some bedding; there had been no computer, no entertainer, nothing to do apart from bicker and fight.  And it would have been worse, much worse, if the Marines hadn't offered them transport away from Earth.  No matter how much she’d screamed and thrown tantrums at the time, she knew now they’d been lucky.  If they’d remained on Earth, they would be dead.

Bracing herself, she walked up to the door and knocked, once.  Her relationship with her parents had never really been good, although after Jasmine had knocked some sense into her their relationship had definitely improved.  But the Professor and his social-climbing wife had little in common with their daughter – with both of their daughters, if she were to be honest.  Mandy had been kidnapped by pirates, then joined the Commonwealth Navy, while Mindy had joined the Knights.  The last Mandy had heard, her baby sister was going in for Stormtrooper training.  It was the closest she could get to being a Marine.

Her mother opened the door and nodded at her, smiling wanly.  Fiona Caesius was an older version of her two daughters, but her red hair was shading to gray and her body was alarmingly thin.  She’d been determined to climb to the top of academic society on Earth – as the wife of a tenured professor, she had automatic entry into  the system – and losing it through her husband’s curiosity had almost destroyed her.  Mandy knew, now, that her mother had fallen into deep depression, but back then she’d merely been a nagging mother to a pair of little brats.

“It’s good to see you again,” she said, as Fiona stepped to one side, inviting her in.  “And it’s good to see you recovered.”

Her mother gave her the ghost of a smile.  “I have been better,” she said.  “But I have been worse too.”

Mandy followed her into the living room, which was littered with evidence of her mother’s latest hobby.  She’d taken up cooking and, according to her father’s letters, had actually started work preparing food for short-term residents in a large communal flat.  Mandy wasn't sure what she thought about that – the flats were tiny versions of Earth’s cityblocks – but at least it gave her mother something to do with her life.  An academic’s wife, used to the environment of Imperial University on Earth, would be utterly unprepared for life on a colony world.

As was I, Mandy thought.  She too had been unprepared for the dangers of living on Avalon – or anywhere away from Imperial University.  And she’d come close to death before ever meeting the pirates.  

She looked up as the door into her father’s study opened, revealing Professor Caesius.  He was an older man, so completely unlike his children that it was hard to believe they were actually related to him.  His short brown hair was starting to grey too, but he'd taken his exile far better than any of the women.  Unlike them, he’d found a useful position right at the start as a political advisor.  Now, he spent half of his time advising the government in ways to avoid the Empire’s mistakes and the other half writing books on political theory and practice that were eagerly devoured by people all across the Commonwealth.

“Mandy,” he said.  He pulled her into a hug that brought back memories of being a little girl, before she’d fallen victim to the Empire’s public schooling.  In hindsight, it was alarmingly clear just how thoroughly she’d been indoctrinated by her teachers.  But she’d lacked the experience to know, at the time, just how badly they were leading her astray.  “Welcome home.”

There was a loud clunk as her mother put a pot on the table.  “Sit down, please,” Fiona said, softly.  “It won’t stay hot forever.”

Mandy sat and watched as her mother ladled out something that resembled beef and dumplings stew.  On Avalon, real meat was common, something she'd taken in her stride after she’d asked and discovered the truth.  Mindy had spent a week refusing to eat it before finally surrendering to the inevitable and devouring the food.  Fiona hadn't, as far as Mandy could recall, said anything about the fresh meat.  But, as it would be massively expensive on Earth, she might just have decided that eating it was a sign of status.

“Thank you,” she said, when Fiona had finished.  “I'm sure it will be good.”

It tasted better than she’d expected, thankfully.  Her mother’s first experiments with cooking had been unpleasant, to say the least.  Mandy rather suspected that Fiona had tried to start with something complicated, rather than something simple, but she wasn't inclined to worry too much about it.  After eating the slop the pirates had called rations, she’d permanently lost any impulse to quibble over the food.

“I understand that you’re going on deployment,” her father said, when they had eaten enough to satisfy the pangs of hunger.  “Thule, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Mandy said.  It was no secret where they were going, unfortunately.  “It’s going to be a long trip.”

“I have been watching the hearing,” her father said.  “I believe that the general consensus is that Lakshmibai was a trap.  If so, Wolfbane is hostile.”

“It seems that way,” Mandy said.  Something had to be driving their research programs onwards, apart from a desire to escape the strictures set by the Empire.  “Do you know anything I haven't been told?”

“Not as far as I know,” her father said.  “I worry about you, though.”

Mandy nodded, feeling another flicker of shame.  She hadn't been a very good daughter – and she hadn't realised just how lucky she’d been to have such a gentle man for a father.  Some of the children she'd known on Earth had had worse fathers – and there were children on Avalon who’d grown up without fathers after they’d been killed in the fighting.  But, when she’d been a teenage girl, she’d sneered fearlessly at her father, ignoring his gentle rebukes and her mother’s rages.  She’d been an awful brat.

“Thank you, dad,” she said, quietly.

“This could be bigger than Admiral Singh,” her father said, quietly.  “We know next to nothing about Wolfbane, apart from the fact they exist and that they’re clearly powerful.  Our best guesses are nothing more than estimates.  Will a corporate stooge prove an effective leader, someone who can rebuild the sector after the economic crash, or will he be a failure, someone with no more imagination than Admiral Singh?”

“I wish I knew,” Mandy said.

“So do I,” her father confessed.  “So do I.”

He stood up and started to pace the room.  “The best models we have tracking how the decline and fall of the Empire might have taken place are based on too much guesswork,” he added.  “We simply don't know the answers to the questions we need answered.  All we know is that Governor Brown took control of Wolfbane and built himself an empire.  We need information, Mandy, as much of it as we can get.”

Mandy hesitated.  He knew about her deployment to Thule, that was obvious, but did he know about the second part of her orders?  Father or not, she couldn't tell him – or even ask for his advice.  Colonel Stalker would be furious if she broke secrecy; she’d be lucky if she was allowed to spend the rest of her days on an asteroid mining platform.

“We may not get any unless someone defects to our side,” she said, recalling the runaways that had first alerted the Commonwealth to Admiral Singh.  “And Governor Brown seems to keep his people firmly under control.  There have been no escapees ...”

“That we know about,” her father said.  “But escaping isn't that easy.”

“I know,” Mandy said.  She’d plotted hard to escape Sword, but she’d had to bide her time until the starship returned to a friendly star system.  And a few moments either way would have cost her everything.  “I will be careful, father.”

“See that you are,” her mother said.  “I would hate to lose you too.”

After the dinner had finally come to an end, Mandy sat down and wrote a note to her sister.  It was unlikely Mindy would be able to read it until she went on leave – Stormtrooper training took place in complete isolation – but at least there would be something.  And if Mandy didn't come home ...

She shook her head, irked at herself.  Her will was already written.  Mindy would receive her savings, her parents would receive most of her possessions ... apart from her commissioning coin, which she’d willed to Jasmine.  If she didn't come back, she’d be remembered as more than the brat she’d been when she’d been exiled to Avalon.  And her parents would mourn her death.

As soon as she'd said her goodbyes, she left the house and started to walk back towards the spaceport.  Tomorrow ... they’d be on their way.

***
“I wish I could come with you,” Emmanuel Alves said.  He lay below her, looking up.  His face was flushed after a long bout of lovemaking.  “But my editor wants me to remain here, covering the hearing.”

Jasmine nodded.  Part of her wished he was coming with them too – she’d been doing her best to make up for years of celibacy – but the rest of her knew that it would be awkward.  Too many people knew they were lovers; too many people would be watching them, wondering if her command independence would be compromised by his presence.  Or, for that matter, watching him.  Would he stop being an impartial reporter simply because he was dating her?

“You’ll probably be called upon to testify at one point,” Jasmine said.  She’d seen the list of people who had been called after her, all officers and soldiers from the CEF.  Half the time, the questions went over the same information, time and time again.  The only interesting moment had come when a supply officer confessed to accidentally mislabelling a couple of pallets of supplies.  “You were there, too.”

She gritted her teeth.  Every entrant to the Slaughterhouse faced a full medical exam which included a great deal of poking and prodding in body cavities.  The Marines joked that it was a test of nerve, that if you could handle having your cavities poked you could handle the rest of the Slaughterhouse, but she would have definitely have preferred repeating the exam than facing another hearing.  She might even have preferred to face Admiral Singh’s torturers again.

But I had to put those revenge fantasies aside, she reminded herself, firmly.  If she’d allowed such emotions to influence her recovery, she knew, it was unlikely she would have been cleared to return to duty.  Personal feelings had to be put aside when one was on active duty, no matter how tempting they were.  They were dealt with after the provisional government took power.

“You didn't deserve such treatment,” her boyfriend insisted.  “I’m going to run an article on just how the hearing is treating experienced veterans.”

Jasmine shook her head.  “You’ll compromise yourself,” she warned.  “You will have taken a side.”

Emmanuel reached out and touched her right breast.  “I think I took a side the moment I started courting you,” he said.  “I’m on your side.”

He paused.  “Does the hearing bother you?”

Jasmine eyed him.  “Off the record?”

“Of course,” Emmanuel insisted.  “I don’t tell everyone about this” – he waved a hand to indicate their nakedness – “either.”

“Yes and no,” Jasmine said.  She hesitated, choosing her words carefully.  “Learning from mistakes is a vitally important part of serving in the military.  Everyone makes mistakes, I was taught, but we have to recognise them, admit they were mistakes and then make sure they don’t happen again.  Ideally, we should be learning from mistakes made by our enemies too – it’s cheaper than learning from our own.”

She paused.  In hindsight, some of the reluctance shown by the Imperial Army’s officers to recognise that they had made mistakes might have stemmed from an awareness that admitting the mistake might have cost them their careers.  At least the Marine Corps normally got to handle such matters without political intervention.

“So, in this case, we allowed ourselves to become involved in a battle – which may or may not have been a trap – that could have ended very badly,” she added.  “We need to learn from that experience.  Examining every last moment of the decision-making process will highlight the moment the process failed – or what we need to modify to ensure that future surprises don’t catch us out so badly.  Everyone involved with making the decision needs to be questioned so that we have as full an understanding of what actually happened as possible.

“But it’s human nature to search for someone to blame.”

“Like the Colonel,” Emmanuel said, quietly.  “Councillor Travis blamed him for the death of his son.”

“I know,” Jasmine said.  “It’s turning into a witch-hunt.  Already.”

“It should be over soon,” Emmanuel said, reassuringly.  “They can't prolong the process indefinitely.”

“Not here,” Jasmine agreed.  She shook her head.  “Be careful what you print, all right?  You might well be accused of losing your neutrality.”

She smiled, inwardly.  No one could ever have called the Empire’s hordes of reporters neutral, interested more in reporting the facts than slanting them in a particular way.  But some of Avalon’s reporters genuinely were ... oddly, she suspected the Marines would find that more useful than either sycophants or politically-motivated enemies.  There would be mistakes and setbacks, but the public would realise that nothing was being covered up.

“I’ll take that chance,” Emmanuel assured  her.  He shifted under her weight.  “Ah ... stand up?”

Jasmine concealed her amusement as she lifted her leg, then lay down beside him.  She'd known, intellectually, that between the training and medical treatments she was considerably stronger than the average untreated man.  But she had never really believed it, despite all the fighting she’d been involved in, until she’d started dating Emmanuel.  It would be alarmingly easy to hurt him by accident.

It was odd, she realised, as she watched him stand up and make his way towards the shower.  Logically, she should have been interested in a fellow Marine – although, she knew, such relationships were strictly forbidden.  Emmanuel and her just weren't anything alike.  But maybe that was the attraction; she didn’t have to keep her game face on when she was with him.  But what did he see in her?

“Perhaps he likes the thought of dating a woman who can kick his ass with both hands tied behind her back,” Mandy had said, during one of their talks.  Mandy had been delighted at Jasmine finding someone, going so far as to send Jasmine suggestions for underwear and date nights.  “Or maybe you make him feel safe.”

Shrugging, Jasmine swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat upright, reaching for her chronometer.  She’d supervised her subordinates as they prepared the ships for departure, then given everyone the traditional Last Night on Avalon.  In a few hours, they would be expected to board shuttles and return to orbit – or face disciplinary charges when they reported into the garrison and confessed they’d missed departure.  Jasmine wouldn't be merciful to someone who overslept and nor, she knew, would any of the other officers.

Grinning to herself, she stood and padded naked into the bathroom.  This time, Emmanuel was looking at the door when it opened.  Jasmine smiled inwardly – no chance to surprise him this time – and walked over to where he was standing under the water.  His penis stiffened when she touched it, growing harder within seconds.  She recognised the signs and smiled, openly.  Like many young men, Emmanuel was taking pills to enhance his performance in the bedroom.

“Sit down,” she said, throatily.  If she was going to be without him for months, she could at least enjoy herself before she left.  The memories would help keep her warm at night.  “Now.”

***
Lucy McGhee had operated her boarding house for years, even during the days of the old Council.  A combination of bribes and blackmail had ensured that the Civil Guard left her and her tenants alone, while her reputation for discretion had allowed her fame to spread far and wide.  She asked no questions, as long as her tenants paid in cash and upfront, and shared no confidences with anyone outside the building.  

But she had to admit that the tenant in Room 23 was behaving oddly.  He’d paid for three weeks, in gold, then moved into the room ... and hadn't been seen since.  Lucy’s cooking was just as famous as her discretion and her guests could have it in the dining room or have it sent to their rooms ... and yet her tenant had asked for nothing.  Indeed, as far as she could tell, he hadn't left the room once, not even for food and drink.  

She puzzled over the mystery, then put it out of her mind.  Growing up under the old Council had left her with scant respect for law and order, let alone people who liked poking their noses into her business.  Whatever the young man was running from, he’d paid for discretion and he would have discretion.  She would leave him alone until his money ran out or his corpse started to smell.  It was, after all, what she’d been paid to do.

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