Original Work The Snake Pit (The Empire's Corps)

Chapter Sixteen

Rachel kept her thoughts to herself as they landed at the spaceport and found themselves being loaded into a motorcade, which drove rapidly into the city. There were more troops on the ground, more armed men guarding military bases and patrolling the slums … she suspected it boded ill for the future. A small crowd had gathered outside the walls of the Inner City, holding placards and chanting loudly – egged on by men in traditional clothes – the guards watching with the grim expressions of men who were unsure if allowing the protest to continue or dispersing the crowd was the wisest course of action. She feared they’d try the latter as they passed through the gates, noting the gathering troops behind the walls. The guards were just waiting for reinforcements before they charged the crowd.

Roland said nothing as they swept into a garage under the palace, the guards opening the doors as soon as they stopped to allow them to exit. Rachel looked around, shaking her head in dismay as she spotted the collection of expensive motor vehicles, including some that had clearly been imported from Old Earth before Earthfall. A couple were so new she was certain they hadn’t been ordered by the last Emperor, before the Spartans had deposed him and started to rule the planet directly. That bodied ill for the future too. If the President was spending his planet’s wealth on rare cars, irreplaceable now that Earth was a radioactive ruin, what else was he wasting money on? Rachel had heard most of the justifications for conspicuous consumption over the years, from men who thought the only way to display their authority was to indulge themselves as much as possible, but she’d never been impressed. The Commandant didn’t need to shout at his subordinates, or surround himself with toadies and beautiful young women in skimpy clothes, to show his power. He displayed that through his bearing, a true alpha male who felt no need to rise up by putting others down. It wouldn’t have worked if he’d tried. The wannabe alpha male could only dominate those who allowed themselves to be dominated and anyone who made their way through the Slaughterhouse could never bend the knee to a would-be dictator. The very thought was absurd.

She schooled her face into a blank mask as they were showing into a waiting room, the opulence of the chamber matched only by the sheer lack of taste and elegance. Rachel felt disturbed in a manner she couldn’t quite articulate as her gaze swept the chamber, noting the elaborate furniture, the rows of portraits – all of President Lu – and the waiting servants, young women whose outfits were almost as good as urban combat dress for blending into the background. They looked sweet and innocent, almost disturbingly young; she wondered, suddenly, if they really were as young as they seemed. People talked in front of servants, seemingly assuming their workers lacked eyes and ears … it was quite possible, on a world that was hardly a beacon of female emancipation, that the local warlords never looked past a pretty face to the mind underneath. They had enough troubles wrapping their heads around her femininity. She was so alien to their idea of what a young woman should be that she might as well be from another world.

Her lips quirked. That was technically true.

Ambassador Hanover-Mountbatten entered, looking grim. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Roland straightened as General Sir Reginald Porter joined them. “I do beg your pardon?”

The ambassador glowered at him. “Do you have any idea what sort of crisis you have just sparked off?”

“I was merely following orders,” Roland said, in a tone that would have had Rachel’s mother washing her mouth out with soap. “I took measures to defend my people and the local population against would-be raiders.”

“You weren’t meant to attack the warlord directly,” Hanover-Mountbatten thundered. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you caused?”

Roland’s tone didn’t change. “I guarantee you that the asshole” – his lips quirked as Hanover-Mountbatten flinched – “won’t be causing any more trouble for his world.”

Rachel nodded, inwardly. The warlord and his senior officers had been shipped back to the spaceport. It was highly unlikely they’d be allowed to survive, now their power had been broken beyond all hope of repair. There would be a report of them committing suicide by shooting themselves in the back several times, she was sure, or she wasn’t a Marine Pathfinder. It was possible the warlord would seek asylum, but Hanover-Mountbatten didn’t have the nerve to grant it. His position was weak and everyone knew it, President Lu most of all. She quietly mapped out ways to escape, if the president’s disapproval turned lethal. There was a Marine QRF waiting at the spaceport, on permanent standby. They’d be on their way the moment Rachel summoned them.

Which doesn’t mean we haven’t put our heads in the noose, she reminded herself. She knew her worth very well, and Roland was far from useless, but some odds were unbeatable no matter how good you were. She might have to abandon Hanover-Mountbatten and Sir Reginald just to get Roland out of the trap. If the President decides to try to dispose of us …

A young woman entered, wearing an outfit that revealed the tops of her breasts. “Honoured Guests,” she said with a bow that left nothing to the imagination, “the president will see you now.”

Rachel stayed at the rear as Roland and the others were led into the presidential office – or one of them. President Lu had a well-founded fear of assassination, according to the reports, and he had at least a dozen offices, bunkers and other hidey-holes across the city. It would be tricky for him to remain in command when hiding out, she knew, but she doubted he cared as long as he remained alive. There were probably contingency plans to get well clear of the city and link up with external garrisons, if the shit hit the fan that hard. It was what she would have done.

“Captain,” President Lu said. His smile was wide, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “Congratulations on your victory.”

Roland bowed his head. “Thank you, Your Excellency.”

The President’s smile melted, to be replaced by something cold and hard. “And perhaps you could explain to me, Captain, why you decided to attack one of my strongest supporters?”

“He started it,” Roland said, with an air of petulance that was only partly – Rachel suspected – feigned. “My orders were to protect the local population and stabilise the district. I submit to you that I have done both.”

“You wreaked the local power structure,” Hanover-Mountbatten snapped. “What were you thinking?”

President Lu held up a hand. “A good question,” he said. “Why?”

“I was merely following orders,” Roland said. “Your orders.”

Rachel gritted her teeth. That observation brought back some very strict training about just what sort of orders should be followed and what shouldn’t, even if it meant crossing the line into mutiny and even barratry. I was only following orders wasn’t an acceptable excuse for convening the Articles of War or the Marine Corps Code of Military Justice. Roland hadn’t done anything that crossed the line, and Rachel would have shut him down if he’d proposed anything that went close to the line, but such arguments might not impress the local politicians. A warlord had been defeated, marched out of his fortress in chains after his army had been shattered. It was quite likely the other warlords were already plotting trouble, if they felt threatened. And they would.

“And you thought my orders covered defeating and destroying one of my allies?” President Lu leaned forward. “Do you really think so?”

Roland leaned forward himself. “We found more than enough evidence to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Warlord Wenjing was abusing his people,” he said. “His farmers were groaning under the weight of his taxes and requisitions. The families of the district were seeing their youngsters conscripted, the young men to his army and the young women to his brothels. He was raiding the surrounding districts before we arrived too, threatening his peer warlords and making any sort of reconstruction impossible. I submit to you, Your Excellency, that removing such a man only benefits you in the long run.”

The President’s eyebrows crawled upwards. “In what way?”

“You can either condone my actions or condemn them,” Roland said. He ignored the intake of breath from Hanover-Mountbatten. “If the former, you will be able to argue that you pruned back a warlord who was getting out of hand, pour encourager les autres. My actions can be used as proof no warlord who breaches your peace and abuses his people is safe from retribution, that you will protect your subjects from his depredations. If you choose, instead, to condemn them … it won’t reflect well on you.”

And for more reasons than one, Rachel added, in the privacy of her own mind. Roland hadn’t made the argument explicit, but he didn’t have to. The President was a shrewd political operator. He knew the risks of losing control of his offworlders … or creating the impression that he’d lost control. His enemies would see it as a sign he was losing his grip and start sharpening their knives, whipping up xenophobic feeling and using it as an excuse to wage war on their former master. You’re riding a tiger. You can’t get off. You have to keep riding or lose everything.

“Quite,” President Lu said. “I must condone your actions.”

He glanced at Hanover-Mountbatten. “Of course, one must find a use for such an aggressive young officer,” he said. “May I?”

Hanover-Mountbatten stiffened. “What do you have in mind, Your Excellency?”

Rachel cringed, inwardly. Even a couple of years ago, the idea of an ambassador – still less a governor – bending the knee in front of a mere planetary president would have been unthinkable. The Empire was the Empire, the sole power in the galaxy … it didn’t kowtow before men who didn’t rule their star system, let alone have the power to wage war light-years from home. Now … she grimaced. Hanover-Mountbatten could bend or break and yet, bending once tended to lead bending again and again, until the line between outside authority and the local power structure was so faded it might as well not exist. She had a nasty feeling Hanover-Mountbatten had conceded too much, in his desperation to keep the planet involved in what remained of the Empire, to remain detached from local power struggles. It was something she’d have to check with the local Marine CO, once the current discussion was over. He’d talk to her. She was a Specialist.

“You discovered arms in Daiyang,” President Lu said. “You believe they came from Karafuru.”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” Roland said.

The President indicated a map. “Officially, Karafuru is under the control of my loyal servants,” he said, in a tone that suggested they weren’t actually that loyal. “Security is provided by an Imperial Army battalion, which is encamped to the south of the city. Unofficially, the city is a hive of competing power structures, from local activists and warlords to the Popular Front. One can’t forget the Spartans – they have a garrison near the city too. It is a real snake pit.”

Rachel kept her face under tight control. She’d read the planetary survey very carefully. Karafuru was a vitally important waypoint, sitting as it did on the intersection of numerous road, rail and canal networks. The first two had been heavily modernised by the Spartans – the withdrawal agreement included terms for paying for the updates, which Rachel was sure contained a number of stings in the tail – while the third was old, predating the invasion and insurgency. To the north, the Popular Front was in full – if unofficial – control. It was just a matter of time until Karafuru fell, either through a slow takeover of the local governing structure or a direct attack. If half the reports were true, the city was groaning under the yoke of poor government. The Popular Front could fix that, just by promising good – or less – government.

People don’t vote for authoritarians because they want the trains to run on time, she mused. They vote for them because the trains don’t run on time.

“Your mission is to clean the snake pit up,” President Lu said. “I will provide forces to clear, hold and rebuild in the territories you liberated from Warlord” – he made a show of trying to remember the man’s name – “Wenjing. Your force will assume control of Karafuru and prevent the communists from advancing south, preferably by bringing the city to heel. I trust you can handle such a task?”

Roland’s voice was flat, but Rachel could hear a hint of … something … in his tone. The President had pulled a fast one. Karafuru would be a challenge even with a much larger force and yet, Roland couldn’t openly refuse the mission without clashing with his not-so-nominal superiors. Rachel had no idea how that particular contest would unfold, but … she cursed under her breath. It was very much mission impossible, unless Roland and his team could pull a rabbit out of their collective hats. A city was a much harder problem than a warlord’s fortress. Their technical and training advantages would be minimised, while the long history of government neglect and corruption would undermine the local willingness to believe promises. She had to admit the President had found a neat little solution to his problem. If Roland succeeded, great; if he failed, it would provide an excuse to order him offworld. It was the sort of petty thinking she’d seen before, time and time again, in men who cared more for their own power than their people. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

“Of course,” Roland said. “I will, of course, require complete authority over both the city’s government and the security battalion. If we are to do the task, we must hold back nothing.”

“Of course, of course,” President Lu said. “You’ll have authority over the entire region.”

Which is surprisingly fair, Rachel noted. What’s the sting in the tail?

The President looked at Hanover-Mountbatten. “This meets with your approval?”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” Hanover-Mountbatten said. His tone was artfully flat. Rachel suspected that wasn’t a good sign. Roland and his men were about to be caught in the middle of a major power struggle, with a sizable force slowly bringing pressure to bear on them from the north. The President’s authority in the region was dangerously limited. His ability to give orders to the locals equally so. “We look forward to working with you.”

“Quite,” President Lu said. His eyes sharpened as they met Roland’s. “You will find Karafuru a challenge, I am sure, but a rewarding one.”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” Roland said. “I won’t let you down.”

And we have to decide how best to proceed, Rachel thought. Roland hadn’t realised the sheer magnitude of the task ahead of them, nor did he understand how quickly their gains could be lost once the troops moved on. It was going to be an absolute nightmare. Their mere presence would likely draw attackers to them, like flies to shit. Reading between the lines, she suspected the Imperial Army hadn’t tried to exert control over the city itself. She hoped to hell she was wrong, but she feared she wasn’t. This is going to be a hell of a job.

“You may go, unless you wish to join me for dinner,” President Lu said. “I look forward to hearing of your success.”

Roland nodded, turning to leave the room. Rachel hid her amusement at the expression crossing Hanover-Mountbatten’s face. An Imperial Ambassador, dismissed like a naughty schoolboy. It was not to be borne, but … it had to be. The days in which the Imperial Navy could spank disobedient planets with KEWs were long gone. She wondered, idly, what General Sir Reginald Porter was thinking. Did he take the insult as seriously as he should? Or was he too far gone to care?

“You’ll be riding back with me,” Hanover-Mountbatten said, as they made their way back to the underground car park. His tone made it clear it wasn’t a request. “We have much to discuss.”

He said nothing more until they were back in his car and the door was firmly closed. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“The warlord was committing atrocities against the civilian population,” Roland said, his tone utterly inflexible. “He had to be stopped.”

“At the cost of weakening the local balance of power,” Hanover-Mountbatten said. “You created a power vacuum that will be filled by … who knows? You took out one of the President’s allies and …”

“Everything I did is covered by the laws of war,” Roland said. “We took out one warlord and weakened others …”

“And you weakened the President.” Hanover-Mountbatten’s voice was ice. “This could end very badly.”

“The President approved my actions,” Roland pointed out.

“Don’t mistake his actions for approval,” Hanover-Mountbatten said. “You have created a problem for him. No matter what he decides, his position has been weakened. He now looks weak, unable to protect his allies …”

“Allies who committed atrocities against their own people,” Roland said. “Do we really want to support such a system?”

“Don’t tell me you’re that naive,” Hanover-Mountbatten hissed. “We work with the people we have, not the saints we want. President Lu is prepared to work with us. If he is overthrown, if someone else seizes Nova Kong and the Mandate of Heaven, we may find ourselves in a far worse position. Not to be repeated, Captain. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Roland said, biting off the words. “You do.”

“Good.” Hanover-Mountbatten gave him a long look, clearly convinced he’d given Roland one hell of a bollocking. “Like I said, not to be repeated.”

Roland nodded, curtly.

 

Chapter Seventeen

“We’ll commence our redeployment tomorrow,” Roland said. He’d assembled his command team at the FOB and briefly outlined the change in plans. “I appreciate this is short notice …”

“You got that right,” Captain Randy Cohen said. “Do you realise how hard it will be to concentrate our forces before we redeploy?”

“And who’ll be taking our place?” Maureen Singh leaned forward, her tone worried. “The locals have only just started to trust us.”

“Not to mention the medical outposts need replaced too,” Doctor Trista Martin said. “It will be a nightmare.”

“The President has promised four security battalions, as well as a number of reconstruction units,” Roland said. “How well they’ll work out …”

“Poorly,” Trista said. “Sir, with all due respect, pulling out like this is a betrayal. The locals will never trust us again.”

Roland hid his annoyance. It was true and they all knew it. The local troops were unlikely to be much, if any, better than the warlord’s army. They’d be a plague on the local community, taking bribes and harassing women and doing everything Roland had condemned in his former opponent. And there was little he could do about it. They had their orders. The more he thought about it, the more his blood boiled. The President had screwed them and there was nothing he could do about it, short of admitting defeat and returning with his tail between his legs. He would sooner die.

“I am aware of the problem,” he said, with massive understatement. “However, this isn’t a debate. We have our orders and we will carry them out to the best of our ability.”

There was an uneasy silence. A military deployment couldn’t be run by consensus, even when there was a multitude of different units and a somewhat confused chain of command, but … senior officers had a right to state their opinions. He couldn’t blame them for being angry. He would feel the same way, if he hadn’t been in charge.

“Inform your troops to prepare for redeployment,” he added. Thankfully, they didn’t have much heavy equipment. “Dismissed.”

He watched them go, then studied the map. Karafuru was an odd city, somehow both sprawling and yet cramped … the canals running through the city provided natural barriers, isolating distracts and creating a handful of chokepoints that restricted passage and made life difficult for the locals. The intelligence reports were vague – he intended to have a few words with the Army CO, who didn’t appear to be doing his job properly – and contradictory. It was hard to tell who was in charge, inside the city, let alone what troops and police they had under their command. Or how much attention they’d pay, he reflected, to the President’s decree. On paper, Roland was in charge. In practice …?

Lucille entered, looking thoughtful. “We’re leaving already?”

“Yeah.” Roland felt a twinge of shame, mingled with irritation. They’d only been on the ground for three weeks. Trista was right. It was a betrayal. “We’re needed elsewhere.”

He wondered, sourly, if she understood the problem. The locals would be mistreated by the follow-up units, if they ever arrived. His drones had noted the neighbouring warlords massing troops on the far side of the border, far enough to avoid giving him an excuse to strike first and yet close enough to march into the disputed zone quickly, once Roland’s men had abandoned the locals. He’d looked for a way to hamper them, but nothing had come to mind. The best he could do was accidentally allow some of the captured weapons to fall into local hands.

“Yes, sir,” Lucille said.

Rachel entered. “Your aircraft is ready, sir.”

“I’m coming,” Roland said. “Let’s go.”

He gritted his teeth as he made his way outside and scrambled into the Raptor, Rachel right behind him. The aircraft lunched into the sky, the landscape below looking deceptively peaceful … it was peaceful, Roland thought. He’d done that, battering a warlord into submission and making it clear that he was The Boss. That would change, the moment his men abandoned the region. The warlords would teach the locals that they couldn’t rely on offworld promises. And they’d do it through looting, raping and murdering countless innocent victims.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“Quite,” Rachel agreed. He couldn’t tell if she approved or not. She rarely hesitated to make her feelings known, which suggested … what? He didn’t know. “This will be an interesting challenge.”

“interesting,” Roland said. “Right.”

He watched through the porthole as the aircraft picked up speed. The land below was cultivated, but here and there he saw patches of burned out villages and destroyed farms, a grim reminder the war had done immense damage and the locals had yet to recover. Perhaps they never would … he frowned as they flew over an immense river, hundreds of boats making their way down to the sea … he wondered, numbly, why none of the visible bridges had ever been replaced. The Spartans had taken them down, for one reason or another, yet … they’d needed them. Perhaps the official record was wrong. The resistance could have taken them down instead. It was something he’d have to research, when he had time.

The landscape changed as Karafuru came into view, a brooding city sitting right next to a river and canal network. Roland leaned forward, his earlier impression coming back to haunt him. The city really did look small and large at the same time, towering apartment blocks and prefabricated structures contrasting oddly with more traditional architecture. Thongs of people were making their way in and out of the city, some on pack animals or modern vehicles; the vast majority on shank’s pony. He put a sensor to his eyes and studied the roads for a long moment, shaking his head. Elderly women shared space with young men, their female counterparts closely chaperoned by their male relatives. He wondered, suddenly, just how old some of the people truly were. He’d seen locals who looked two or three decades older than they actually were.

“There,” Rachel said. “That was the airport.”

Roland’s eyes narrowed. The airport was larger than he’d expected, for a world that had chosen not to develop a modern tech base, but … it looked like a fortress, the army units inside cowering behind their barricades rather than running regular patrols. He tapped the console, trying to find a local force tracker, but there was nothing. Either the system was incompatible, which was supposed to be impossible, or there wasn’t one. That was worrying. There damn well should be.

The pilot’s voice echoed through the intercom. “We’re cleared to land, sir,” he said. “Brace yourself.”

Roland’s mode didn’t improve as they touched down on the landing pad. The airport terminals had been turned into a mixture of barracks and refugee camps, the latter crammed with young women and children … he wondered, grimly, just what it meant for the military deployment. If they were whores or worse … he cursed under his breath as he scrambled out of the aircraft, taking a breath and tasting the stench. Karafuru smelled. Piss and shit and burning hydrocarbons and God alone knew what else. It would take quite some time to get used to it. A young officer strode up to them and saluted, his face grim. Roland returned the salute, hoping to hell the enemy didn’t have them under close observation. The skyscrapers weren’t that far away. One sniper would be enough to really ruin his day.

“Sir,” the young man said. He actually looked older than Roland. “Colonel Lincoln will see you now.”

Roland nodded, allowing himself to be led into the terminal – internal security was very limited – and though a maze of corridors into the colonel’s office. Colonel Lincoln proved to be a dark-skinned officer, wearing a dress uniform; he gave off the impression of being corpulent, somehow, although he didn’t look that overweight. The map behind his chair showed the city and the surrounding countryside, with a handful of military icons representing the airport and the nearby garrison, but there didn’t seem to be any troops deployed within the city itself. That was a very bad sign.

“Captain,” Colonel Lincoln said. There was a hint of resentment in his voice. Technically, he outranked Roland. Practically, it was the other way around. “Welcome to Camp Resolute.”

Roland shook his hand, studying the man thoughtfully. “How many troops do you have on patrol right now?”

Colonel Lincoln hesitated. “We run regular patrols outside the wire …”

“How many troops do you have in the city?” Roland took a seat, motioning for Rachel to remain behind him. “How much are you doing for the local population?”

“None,” Colonel Lincoln said. “I believed …”

“What?” Roland sucked in his breath. He’d wondered how the Popular Front had managed to get a massive consignment of weapons from Karafuru to Daiyang. Any sizable shipment should have been inspected. He knew now. “You’re not patrolling the city?”

“No,” Colonel Lincoln said. “I believed, and the City Council agrees with me, that our boots on the ground inside the city would only inflame the situation.”

Roland mentally counted to twenty, before trusting himself to speak. “You allowed them to dictate to you?”

“My orders are to maintain stability as much as possible,” Colonel Lincoln said. “And that means working with the local government …”

Roland cut him off. “And because you’re not maintaining a strong position within the city,” he snapped, “you’ve basically ceded control to the locals. Correct?”

Colonel Lincoln hesitated, then sighed. “Look, you are young and brash,” he said. “I have orders to maintain stability, as I said, but I also have orders to preserve as much of my command as possible. I have to get the lads back home and …”

“Earth is gone,” Roland said, flatly. “Our only hope for maintaining any sort of galactic order, Colonel, involves stabilising as many important planets as possible.”

“And we cannot do that if we lose our troops,” Colonel Lincoln said. “My lads are tired and dispirited, we’ve had a rash of desertions … we had to bring the families and friends into the compound, just to keep them safe. This was never intended as anything other than a short term deployment. If I push too hard, what remains of my unit will break.”

“Mutiny,” Roland said, flatly.

“Or simply down weapons,” Colonel Lincoln said. “They have no hope.”

Roland understood, better than he cared to admit. There was nothing left for him on Earth – and there wouldn’t be even if the planet hadn’t been effectively destroyed. New Doncaster had been closer to home than Earth, yet … no, the Corps was his home now. There was nowhere else for him. Let Prince Roland rest in peace. Captain Roland would build a very different life for himself.

But the lads, the men outside? They had homes and families, homes that might already be gone and families that might already be dead. Or worse. Their wives might have assumed they were dead and remarried, not uncommon when a deployment somehow grew and grew until the happy couple were apart for years; the lack of knowing, Roland reflected, was often worse than receiving a Dear John letter. He couldn’t really blame them for worrying about their families. Or being reluctant to risk their lives in a war they knew already lost.

They know their duty, he thought. Or they damn well should.

“My troops will arrive in the next few days,” he said. On paper, it shouldn’t take that long to get his men to Camp Resolute. In practice, moving large bodies of troops always took longer than planned. “Once they are ready, we will embark on a program of both ensuring security for the city and doing what we can to improve the lives of the locals, making them more pleasant and stable. I expect your full support, Colonel. I understand your problem, really I do, but I have a mission. I intend to carry it out.”

Colonel Lincoln studied him for a long moment. “Do you know how many troops would be required to take control of the city?”

“We’ll do what we can,” Roland said. “Can I count on your cooperation?”

“Of course, of course,” Colonel Lincoln said. Roland felt a shiver run down his spine. The President had used the exact same words. “But it won’t be as easy as you think.”

“Because you have allowed a cancer to grow within the city,” Roland said. The council might be in charge … or the councillors might just be puppets, the face of something a great deal more dangerous. “Do you have any hard intelligence on the power structure within the city?”

“I believe the council is in charge,” Colonel Lincoln said. “But it was agreed that aggressive intelligence gathering would be provocative.”

“Was it?” Roland shook his head in disbelief. “Why did you abandon your duties so … completely?”

The Colonel’s eyes went very hard. “You insolent young pup!”

He calmed himself with a visible effort. “If I had tried, my lads would have been chewed up – for nothing. Do you think the provisional government can really turn this world into something more than a war torn hellhole?”

“I think we’re about to find out,” Roland said. He had no intention of giving up. “As it is, you can make arrangements for me to meet the city council. It is time to lay down the law.”

His eyes lingered on the map. It wasn’t going to be easy. The council might control the police and through them the city, which meant they’d oppose any sort of outside intrusion … or they might be little more than puppets, the true masters of the city all the more bent on keeping Roland and the provisional government firmly out of their territory. And even if the council wanted to cooperate, the criminal gangs wouldn’t. And nor would the Popular Front.

“I’ll see to it,” Colonel Lincoln said. “Tomorrow. If they agree to meet with you at all. They may not.”

His hand danced over a console. “I’ve assigned you bunks in Terminal Four – that’s one of our barracks. Good luck.”

Roland nodded, then left the room and walked back through the complex and the airport beyond. The barricades were larger than he’d realised, three rows of earth-filled barriers and firing positions, the latter manned by men who looked as if they expected to be attacked at any moment. There were no reports of shootings or shelling, but who knew what might have been left out of the reports. Colonel Lincoln didn’t strike Roland as the kind of officer who’d keep very good records. God knew, it wasn’t as if a soldier on the front lines had the time to record everything. Roland knew he certainly hadn’t.

“Keep your head down, sir,” a soldier advised. He was wearing urban BDUs and a helmet that had been dinged, at some point, by a bullet. “There are snipers out there.”

“Yeah,” Roland said. “I’ll be careful.”

He crouched down and peered into the distance, the wind shifting to blow the stench into his nostrils. Karafuru was larger than he’d thought, the towering buildings surrounded by row upon row of shacks and slums. Night was slowly falling, casting an eerie gloom over the city. The slum dwellers looked poor and dispirited, their clothes in rags, save for a handful swaggering around with weapons … criminal gangs, probably. One man was hauling a young woman along by her hair, his face twisted in an appalling leer. Roland ground his teeth in bitter frustration, both at his own helplessness and the sheer lethargy pervading the slums. A mob could easily overwhelm the handful of criminals, tearing them apart with their bare hands … if the mob had the nerve. Or the energy. Instead …

“There are some possibilities here,” he said. “We’ll have to get set up, of course, but once we do … we might be able to make a difference.”

He glanced at Rachel. “We will need some up to date intelligence, though.”

“Got it.” Rachel’s voice was toneless. She knew what he was asking. He needed eyes on the ground and Rachel was the best he had. “Just remember your authority has its limits.”

Roland nodded. The paper from the president was of strictly limited value. The bastard had dropped a red hot poisoned chalice in his lap, leaving him with a series of problems that might prove insolvable. He didn’t even have a clear idea of what he was facing. That would have to change. And then … the trick to solving a large problem, he’d been told, was to break it down into smaller, more manageable, chunks. Pick a small problem, solve it; use the credit solving the first problem to find and solve the second problem, go on from there until the whole problem was solved. Easy to say, harder to do.

“I won’t forget,” he said. Night was falling faster now, the city darker than he’d expected. Only a handful of lights shone against the gathering darkness. “You take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Rachel promised. She turned away, then paused. “Just make sure you watch your back.”

Roland nodded, making his way to the barracks. The complex was larger than he’d expected, row upon row of bunk beds, some occupied and some not … it reminded him, in a way, of boot camp. He’d certainly slept in worse places. If Colonel Lincoln was trying to insult him … it didn’t matter. The man would shape up, once the rest of Roland’s troops arrived, or he’d be relieved. Roland could stretch his authority that far. Probably.

Tomorrow, I meet the council and then start mapping the city, Roland mused, as he clambered into his bunk. The snoring didn’t bother him. It was oddly reassuring to know he wasn’t alone. And then we will see where we go from there.

 

Chapter Eighteen

Karafuru didn’t look much better in broad daylight.

Roland kept his face under tight control as his car drove into the city, surrounded by outriders. Row upon row of shacks and hovels, blending together into nightmarish clusters that would be difficult to sweep, if they happened to be looking for terrorists or insurgents; piles upon piles of garbage, puddles of stinking water that had to be hazardous to life and limb. Small half-dressed children ran along the roadside, their older brothers sitting by their houses doing nothing and their older sisters nowhere to be seen. Roland guessed they were being kept out of sight, to keep them out of danger. And under their father’s control. He’d seen the same pattern in the villages.

It didn’t improve as they swept into the city itself. The buildings were an odd mishmash of styles, some protected by armed men – swaggering around in a manner that told Roland they had almost no professional training – and others seemingly abandoned, their walls pitted and their windows smashed by war. The city had been a battleground during the later years of the occupation, Roland had been told, although the Spartan willingness to resort to extreme force had made it difficult for the locals to concentrate their fighting power and kick the bastards out. His eye narrowed as he spotted a trio of teenage girls, wearing traditional clothes, walking down the street. That was interesting. In such a cosmopolitan place, it was almost always a sign the girls belonged to very traditional families, families that would take bloody revenge if their daughters were harmed. But with no chaperones in sight, how traditional could their families be?

He put the thought aside as the car pulled up in front of City Hall, a palace that had belonged to the city prefect before the war, then ruled by the Spartans before the newborn City Council had replaced them. It was an odd building, the high walls offering protection that was belied by the clusters of armed men, eying each other so suspiciously that it was clear they wouldn’t cooperate if the shit hit the fan. A squad of Marines, Roland was sure, could practically walk through the defenders, if the defenders were too busy facing each other to respond to the threat. The palace could easily turn into a death trap, he noted, if the attackers knew what they were doing. All they’d have to do, if they wanted to win, was surround the building and rain mortar shells on the defenders until they surrendered or were wiped out. There was no sign of any close-range air defence system, nothing capable of shooting down shells before they reached their target. That would have to change. The palace was just too vulnerable for Roland’s peace of mind.

The air smelled foul, as he opened the door and stepped outside. Rachel followed him, one hand ready to draw her pistol if someone started trouble. The bodyguards eyed him with interest, their eyes flickering over Rachel before zeroing in on the close-protection squad … ironic, given that Rachel was probably the most dangerous person for hundreds of miles around. But she looked harmless, her outfit making her look like a useless paper-pusher if not an outright poser. It was so effective a disguise that even her gender was difficult to determine, from a distance. She looked like a very effeminate man.

Keep your mind focused on the council, he told himself. The interior of the palace looked as if someone had tried to storm the building, years ago, without anyone bothering to do any repairs afterwards. Patches of elegant architecture coexisted oddly with broken stonework and blackened walls, a handful of ruined portraits standing beside statues that had been used for target practice by one side or the other. If this goes wrong, you’ll find a near-impossible task completely impossible.

He kept a mental tally of repairs, and other projects they could use to bring life back to the city, as they were escorted into the council chamber itself. It managed to be both luxurious and yet impersonal, as if it had been designed by a committee … or, more likely, wasn’t that important as far as any of the factions were concerned. The palace wasn’t their HQ in any sense of the word, just neutral ground … not even that, not really. Security was so limited – no one had even tried to search them, let alone confiscate their weapons – that it was clear none of the councillors would remain in the complex any longer than strictly necessary. It would be a good way to get themselves killed.

His eyes swept the chamber, noting the five men and one woman in front of him. Three he knew from the fives, the remainder – including the woman – were completely unknown to him. Her presence was interesting, given that the planet regarded women as second-class citizens. Why was she here? She didn’t seem to be a secretary or anything else … perhaps she was a faction leader in her own right. The planet’s social structure had taken one hell of a beating over the last few decades, old traditions shattered under the impact of war, occupation and social collapse. It had been a nightmare, and the effects would linger for years, but it brought opportunities as well as costs. The men in front of him would never have risen to the top under the old system. They were too lowly to even try. Hell, the same could be said of President Lu. And the rest of the warlords.

The councillors studied him with equal interest. They were an odd mix, two wearing traditional outfits, while two more wore more modern suits that reminded Roland of formal bureaucratic outfits from Earth, a uniform for paper-pushers in all but name. The fifth wore an outfit that made him look like a poser, a man claiming a status far above his own. Roland wondered if it spoke volumes about his insecurity or if it was a challenge to his former betters. Confucius had had sumptuary laws, once upon a time, with gruesome punishments for violating them. It wasn’t a harmless little prank like murder. And yet, now, those laws were effectively dead.

“Your Excellency,” Councillor Tang Bowen said. He was a merchant, at least according to the files. Reading between the lines, Roland suspected he was really a smuggler. His Imperial Standard was certainly good enough to allow him to communicate with almost anyone, including the Spartans. “It is a great honour to welcome you to our city.”

“I thank you,” Roland said. It had been hard to keep from flinching at the honorific. It had been his, once upon a time, as well as a great many others. Now … he didn’t deserve them. He never had. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Nova Kong offers us nothing,” Councillor Shen Lijuan said. The files were silent on precisely what he did, which raised a number of interesting questions. His traditional outfit didn’t suggest anything to Roland, certainly nothing useful. “Why are you here?”

Roland took a breath. The directness was interesting too, certainly compared to the indirect conversations he’d had in the villages. “Your city is in trouble,” he said, bluntly. It needed to be said. “You are on the frontlines of what could become a very nasty war, with the warlords to the south and the communists to the north. If either side makes a play for you, you have far too many people inside your walls that’d welcome them. Our role is to provide security and assist you in rebuilding your economy, to make your people’s lives better.”

“And of course Nova Kong is doing it out of the goodness of its heart,” a councillor Roland didn’t know said. “Who’s in charge there now? It keeps changing.”

A ripple of amusement ran though the chamber. Roland conceded the point with a nod. President Lu wasn’t acting out of the goodness of his heart and anyone who thought otherwise was dangerously naive. The councillors might have very limited power, and their city might be a powder keg waiting to explode, but they weren’t stupid. They knew the offer of outside support came with strings attached. Pretending otherwise would be nothing more than an insult to men who’d take it very personally.

“The President wants to ensure your city does not fall into enemy hands,” Roland said. Karafuru was difficult to defend. It would become impossible if the attacker had allies inside the walls, such as they were. “And the only way to do that is to ensure you have security, clearing the way for your basic facilities to be re-established and your economy to be set on a firm footing. Nova Kong has offered a considerable amount of investment, but there does have to be security first.”

“We have heard such promises before,” Councillor Shen said. “How can we trust you to have our interests in mind?”

“We thrashed a warlord’s army and captured the warlord himself,” Roland said. There was no word on Warlord Wenjing’s fate, but Roland suspected the man had already cut his throat while shaving or eaten something that disagreed – fatally – with him. “And that did much to ensure security for the villages.”

Another rustle ran around the chamber. They had to have heard the news – Roland had been told Wenjing’s defeat had been celebrated all around the world, never mind that he’d been a very minor warlord in the grand scheme of things – but they weren’t blind to the implicit threat. The men in front of him had armed forces of their own, a power base they’d be reluctant to surrender no matter how much it would benefit the city. If Roland did unto them what he’d done unto Wenjing … it wouldn’t be anything like as easy, not when the troops would be operating in an environment that would cut their advantages down sharply. But it could be done.

“Nova Kong orders, we must obey,” Councillor Tang said. His tone dripped sarcasm. “But do not expect us to accept their rule unconditionally. They have never had our best interests in mind.”

“And we will not go back to the old ways,” Councillor Shen agreed. “Those days are gone. They will never return.”

“The President agrees with you on that point,” Roland said. There was no way in hell President Lu would have become such a powerful man, with a private army, under the old rules. Even if he somehow managed to seize the city and declare himself the new monarch, the state bureaucracy would ruthlessly undermine him until the old order could be re-established. “The old world is gone. It remains to be seen what the new world will look like.”

He leaned forward, trying to project as much confidence as he could. “I don’t pretend it will be easy. We will take two steps forward, and then one step back, time and time again. There are a great many problems we need to tackle and we don’t have the resources to address most of them, certainly not in a hurry. But we will do it, piece by piece, until your city can stand on its own two feet.”

Councillor Tang looked irked. “You think we can’t do it for ourselves?”

I think you’re too wrapped up in your own power games to make your city work, Roland thought, coldly. The pattern was the same, time and time again. Men with power were reluctant to put it down, for fear of losing their importance … and their lives, if they had enemies who would take advantage of their sudden powerlessness. The city needed a political structure that would make it impossible for anyone to garner that sort of power, or for such vendettas to exist, but the men in front of him would be reluctant to make it work. And that means that, no matter what you say, any cooperation will be extremely limited.

“We are a neutral power, Councillor,” Roland said, instead. It wasn’t entirely true. “We are not here to support one of your factions over the others, nor are we interested in forcing you to submit yourself to the planetary government. We will act in the best interests of the city as a whole. And when our work is done, we will pull out and leave you with a working city.”

And a population hopefully less willing to heed the siren call of communism, he added, silently. The poverty outside was staggering, worse than anything he’d seen on New Doncaster. It wasn’t as bad as the undercity on Earth, but … in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was countless young men and women, without jobs or anything else to give their lives meaning, being drawn to communism. What did it matter, in the end, that all they’d get was the satisfaction of having one set of masters torn down, only to be replaced by another? At least they’d see their old masters torn down. You know the clock is ticking …

“So you say,” Councillor Zhao Lei said. “Why should we trust you?”

“Wait and see,” Roland said. “I will prove my trustiness soon enough.”

“Quite,” Tang said. “Shall we discuss specifics?”

Roland nodded. “Of course.”

***


Rachel studied the councillors thoughtfully, finding little to surprise her and much to irritate her. Short-sighted men, more interested in their power than in the city they professed to love … so much more interested in their own power that they were reluctant to do anything that might weaken it in the short-term, even if it strengthened them in the long run. They made all sorts of promises to Roland, offers of assistance and support, but Rachel was certain they had little intention of keeping them. They’d be more likely to do what they could to covertly impede him from making life better for the citizens, seeing it as a threat to their power. They were probably right. A population that no longer needed to spend every hour of every day scrounging for food was a population that might become politically active, a clear and present danger to everything the councillors held dear. And who knew what would happen then?

They won’t act openly, she thought, as she paid close attention while pretending to be bored out of her mind. The less they thought of her, the better. Let her be part of the furniture. But they won’t be very helpful either.

She kept the thought to herself, mentally planning how to put together an intelligence network as quickly as possible. The planetary government had a few agents in the city, from what she’d been told, but Rachel had no idea if they were genuinely trustworthy. They could easily have been turned long ago, if they’d ever been on the planetary government’s side in the first place. She would have to put together a network of her own … risky, when they had only just arrived, but exciting too. In her experience, there were hundreds of potential assets just waiting to be picked up. The trick was finding them and making just the right approach.

“I thank you for your time,” Roland said, the meeting wrapping itself up with meaningless pleasantries and empty promises. “We’ll start patrols as soon as possible.”

“Please clear them with us first,” Councillor Shen said, in a tone that made it very clear it wasn’t a request. Rachel suspected he was a tribal leader, a community organiser … not uncommon, on worlds where the local government was unreliable and family was the only thing that could be relied upon. The concept had many different names, from patriarch to ward boss, but the basic principle was always the same. The leader would disperse patronage and claim loyalty in return. “This city has never responded well to an occupying force.”

Translation, you want your private police force to keep up the profitable work, Rachel thought, sourly. The locals didn’t trust the police, with good reason. Building up a police force that could actually be relied upon to remain impartial would be a long and difficult task. And to maintain your checkpoints, which bring in the money …

She cursed under her breath. Short-sighted, self-interested, fools! They’d be first against the wall, when the Popular Front invaded, but until then they were nothing more than a cancer in the body politic. They had to be removed and yet, removing them would spark a civil war. The communists would walk in, afterwards, and who could blame them? The worst bunch of bastards in the known universe would be warmly welcomed, if they had a genuine understanding of governance and brought stability … she shuddered, inwardly, recalling the civil war on New Medina. The victors had been brutal religious fanatics who had destroyed any hint of women’s rights and yet they’d been welcomed, because their rule was better than civil war. It had taken far too long for anyone to realise they’d started the civil war in the first place. Bastards.

Roland glanced at her as they returned to the car. “Any thoughts?”

“The woman said nothing,” Rachel commented. That was interesting. Who was she? Why was she there? She hadn’t acted like a mistress, or a bodyguard, or any sort of servant. “I wonder why.”

“No idea.” Roland shrugged. “We need to get started. Fast.”

Rachel gave him a sharp look, then shrugged herself. “Where do you want to begin?”

“I thought we’d start by taking out the trash,” Roland said. He grinned, as though he thought he’d said something funny. “And mounting basic patrols, of course. The sooner we get a feel for the city, the better.”

“Of course,” Rachel agreed. She knew he knew, but she issued the warning anyway. “Just make sure you watch your back. Those councillors are very much not your friends.”

Roland let out an odd little sound, a choked-off laugh. “So, it’s just like home.”

 

I’m sorry about the delay. Jet lag is still killing me – and my health has suffered.

Chris

 

Chapter Nineteen

“Just like old times,” Private Falkner muttered.

“Keep your eyes open,” Farris ordered, quietly. “And don’t do anything threatening without due cause.”

He didn’t blame Falkner for being worried. He’d never liked operations in cities. The advantages of better training and better equipment were cut down to nothing, in places where ambushers could get close without being detected and a sizable civilian population stood between the terrorists and the punishment they deserved for their misdeeds. The people staring at them might be civilians or … some might be insurgents, lurking amongst an army of human shields who would be caught in the crossfire when the shooting started. The only good sign was that there was a handful of women on the streets, with no one making any attempt to hurry them indoors. The locals generally had a better idea of when shit was about to go down than anyone new to the city. It was a survival skill. The moment they started taking the women and children indoors was the moment you had to brace for a fight.

His eyes flickered from side to side, feeling uncomfortably naked as they made their way down the street. The roads were crammed with all sorts of vehicles, from horse-drawn carts to cars and trucks that looked as if they could have served in the semi-legendary battles on Old Earth that were still studied, hundreds of years after humanity had gone to the stars. The stench was appalling, the combination of petroleum-fuelled engines contrasting oddly with the foul ordure of manure … no doubt from animals fuelled by curried eggs. He shuddered as he saw a cow take a shit in the middle of the road, the driver and pedestrians ignoring it … that would never have been tolerated on Earth, where polluting was the eighth deadly sin. Never mind that Earth had been a polluted and poisoned nightmare before Earthfall, with the giant megacities steadily dying even before the rocks had fallen and everyone died … he put the thought aside as he kept marching, watching the crowd carefully. So far, they were seemingly unbothered by the offworlders, but that could change at lightning speed.

The palace loomed up in front of him, a building that looked impressive yet was almost completely indefensible. Captain Windsor had parked a pair of IFVs outside the walls and positioned five antiaircraft vehicles inside, but Farris had been in the military too long to have faith the latter would be able to stop every shell aimed at the complex. Even if they did, constant bombarding and shooting would take a toll on the men, grinding them down until they started to hallucinate or lost control of themselves at the worst possible time. A man so tired he could no longer respond proportionally was a fucking liability, yet …

His mood didn’t improve as they were shown through the makeshift barracks, then briefed quickly on their first deployment. They’d be taking a local policeman with them, a fat asshole who smiled too much … Farris disliked Lieutenant Chen on sight, no matter how happily the man chattered about how pleased he was to be working with them. He would be happier, somehow, with a man who openly hated him or offworlders in general. At least he wouldn’t be surprised by the knife in the back.

“Get a feel for the area,” Captain Windsor ordered, curtly. He sounded distracted, his eyes on the map rather than his men. “And be extremely careful.”

Farris nodded, assembling his platoon and leading it out again. So far, there hadn’t been any open resistance, but that would change sooner rather than later. The briefings they’d received at the spaceport had covered the city’s factions, although they hadn’t gone into much detail. Farris suspected there was none to be had, not yet. Local factions rarely showed themselves so obviously, not when the entire planet was recovering from an occupation and might be on the brink of tumbling into civil war. It was better to remain underground than risk making themselves targets. Farris didn’t blame them. It was what he would have done.

The city rose up around them, a nightmarish collection of towering buildings and dark alleyways that reminded him of his first deployment, back on New Marrakech. The markets were both spread out and oddly cramped, curtains and tents providing cover for both the shoppers and possible enemies. The buildings behind them were a bizarre mixture … he gritted his teeth as he spotted what looked like murder holes, firing positions cut into the walls of a handful of buildings. They were out of place, as if whoever had cut them intended to rain hell on the marketplace instead of anyone trying to break in, but …

“You can buy anything here,” Lieutenant Chen told him. His Imperial Standard was good, if oddly accented. “Anything you want, anything at all.”

He wasn’t exaggerating, Farris decided, as they kept walking. Stalls piled high with clothing sat next to stalls groaning under the weight of spices and meats, the former crammed in heavy clay jars and the latter dangerously exposed to the open air. Farris prided himself on his strong stomach, and he’d had a handful of genetic modifications spliced into his body to ensure he could eat and stomach a wider range of foodstuffs than the average baseline human, but there was no way in hell he’d risk eating meat that had been left out in the warm summer air. The open air food stalls were even less reassuring. Flies were everywhere, buzzing around like lethal drones. His skin itched just looking at them.

“Sir,” Falkner muttered. “What’s that?”

Farris followed his gaze. A raised stage rested at one end of the marketplace, a pair of policemen in gaudy uniforms standing right beside it and a handful of youngsters, ranging from children to teenagers, standing on top of it. They looked downcast, their eyes dim as the crowd in front shouted bids … Farris felt a flash of sheer horror as he realised it was a slave market. The slaver wasn’t even trying to hide it, as he pushed a girl forward and ordered her to take off her top. The crowd roared with glee, then started shouting bids. Farris wanted to kill them all. It would be a war crime and yet …

“You can buy orphans here,” Lieutenant Chen told him. “You want …”

“Slavery is illegal as well as immoral,” Farris snapped, although he knew better than to think it could be completely eradicated. The contracts signed by indentured colonists were little better than slavery … prisoners with jobs, to all intents and purposes. “You think we would …?”

“They’re orphans,” Lieutenant Chen said. “They have nowhere else to go.”

Farris felt sick. The poor kids were being bought and sold as slaves, no matter how the locals dressed it up. He wanted to march up and shoot the slavers and yet … he cursed under his breath, recalling all the briefings about just how messed up the planet had become. A system designed to help the poor and helpless had been perverted into a nightmare, an excuse for enslaving and abusing people with nowhere else to go. Oh, he wanted to hurt the bastards. But he had strict orders not to interfere.

He muttered curses under his breath as he led the patrol onwards, feeling the buildings closing in around him briefly before widening to reveal a canal and a stone bridge, guarded by more policemen. It looked as if they were taking bribes to allow people to cross – Farris had seen it before, time and time again. Whoever controlled a chokepoint could keep the rest of the city in an iron grip, all the harder because it wasn’t so immediately obvious. He made a mental note to suggest the offworlders took control of the bridges instead, more to ensure the local tradesmen weren’t completely drained of their resources than to control the city. The more money they had, the more they could buy, keeping the economy going when it was all too clearly on the verge of collapse. The fact people were swimming across the canal was proof the economy was in a very poor state indeed. The water looked disgusting, polluted beyond words. He was sure he could see a body in the water, drifting down towards the rivers that would eventually take it down to the sea. No one seemed to care.

Fuck, he thought. They crossed the bridge and found themselves in another side street. It would have been wider if there weren’t piles of rubbish stacked up against the walls. He caught sight of a rat caught in a trap, the flies buzzing around it as the poor creature struggled to escape; the sound grew louder with every passing second. Someone had set the trap … someone was going to eat it. His thoughts recoiled in horror. This is not going to be fun.

A shot rang out, close enough for the platoon to seek cover. Lieutenant Chen threw himself to the ground, his hand reaching desperately for his pistol. Farris cursed under his breath as he inched forward, eyes sweeping the area. It didn’t sound as though the shooter was targeting the platoon, but it was still too close for comfort. Farris tapped his communicator, calling in a contact report, as he kept moving. They were dangerously exposed, caught in a place that could easily be turned into a death trap. He wanted – he needed – to know what he was facing before it was too late.

He turned the corner and stared into a shop. Five armed men were inside, one leaning over the shopkeeper and another leering at a young girl … Farris assumed she was the shopkeeper’s daughter. He couldn’t make out the words, but he’d seen such things before … a protection racket, no doubt, demanding money in exchange for being left alone. It looked as though the bastards had forgotten the basic rule of not pushing too hard, but …

Farris held up a hand, signalling the platoon, then darted forward and levelled his rifle at the leader’s chest. The rest of the platoon followed, their weapons marking their men as they came into plain view. The leader stared, his face flushing with a combination of fear and anger. Farris kept his face blank, despite the smirk threatening to blossom into life. God, he hated bullies. The men in front of him were brave enough when it came to threatening those who couldn’t stand up for themselves, but cowards when facing someone who could put up a fight. The nasty part of his mind wanted them to resist, so he could slam his rifle butt into their stomachs and teach them a lesson they would never forget. It was his job to stand up for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves, a job he loved. If they resisted …

“Secure them,” he ordered. His men darted forward, securing their captives with plastic ties and then patting them down for weapons. Nothing much, beyond their rifles and a small collection of tough-guy knives. Criminals, rather than terrorists or insurgents. “We’ll take them back with us.”

He frowned, inwardly, at the sudden look of relief on their faces as Lieutenant Chen hove into view. That didn’t bode well. Lieutenant Chen might not be on the take himself, although Farris would not have cared to bet against it, but it was a near-certainty a number of senior policemen were. Protection rackets were hardly uncommon, yet this one operated so openly a competent police force shouldn’t have had any trouble building a case, then lowering the boom. If …

And if we ask the local victims too many questions, they’ll probably be targeted, he thought, grimly. They’ll be reluctant to cooperate for their own safety’s sake.

He glanced at the shopkeeper, who was holding his crying daughter … a multitude of expressions darting across his face; shame and fear, relief and fear, guilt and fear … Farris had never been one to back down from a fight, but he’d never had his daughter threatened either. He didn’t even have a daughter. He glanced at the girl, trying to guess her age. Thirteen? Fourteen? He didn’t think she could be much older. And she’d already been threatened with rape …

“The men will have to be taken to the nearest station,” Lieutenant Chen said, as they left the shop behind. The prisoners looked irked at being forced to walk down the street, their hands bound behind their backs … Farris found it hard to care. The crowd watched them in silence, although a few brave souls booed from a safe distance. “We’ll deal with them there.”

“We’ll have to take them to the FOB and run them through the process,” Farris said. There were strict rules about handling prisoners, even on worlds where they were obliged to cooperate with the local authorities. They existed to keep the locals from disappearing the prisoners, and they weren’t always effective, but in this case … it might just stop them from being released immediately. “And then you can have them.”

He kept his eyes open as they made their way back to the palace, spotting a handful of drones swooping overhead … charting out the city, marking each and every building and feeding it into an online map that could be used for planning and controlling operations. The locals didn’t seem to have a proper system for naming streets, unless he was missing something; the offworlders would give everything a grid reference, ensuring everyone spoke the same language or fired at the right targets. There were horror stories, often understated, about military forces getting their coordinates mixed up and accidentally bombing themselves or their allies. It wasn’t something they could afford, not here. Or ever.

The palace loomed up in front of him again, the IFVs at the gates a grim reminder they were in the shit – again – and wouldn’t be getting out of it for weeks, if not months. There was supposed to be a rotating schedule for leave, but … where would they go? The spaceport? Or Nova Kong? Or … it was a planet. There had to be somewhere safe, somewhere they could relax. Right?

“Five prisoners, all for you,” he said. The MPs would take care of the prisoners. Maybe they could be induced to talk, before they were handed over to the local police. “Take care of them.”

“I have to stay with them, to ensure they’re being handled properly,” Lieutenant Chen said. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.” Farris felt tired, although it hadn’t been a long patrol. The combination of the heat, the stench, and the constant feeling they were being watched had taken its toll. He knew he should be concerned about Lieutenant Chen’s decision, but right now it was hard to care. “See you later too.”

***

The trick to remaining unnoticed, Rachel had learnt long ago, was to present people with what they expected to see. No one in Karafuru would think twice about a young man loitering around, so that was the impression she tried to present as she wandered the city, keeping her eyes and ears open for signs of trouble. She walked through the markets, cursing as she saw the slave markets and their armed guards; she visited a handful of shops, haggling with the storekeepers so she could purchase a handful of tiny goods, all the while subtly picking their brains to see what they knew. Most were eager to chat, although they all practiced self-censorship. It could be risky to be too honest with anyone, particularly someone they didn’t know.

She could feel the ripples running through the city as the offworlders took up their positions, faint waves of social disruption that could easily lead to welcoming – or violence. Some thought the offworlders would be good for the city, others feared they would be just like the Spartans or - perhaps – even worse. It was hard to tell how it would work out in the long run, although she didn’t need much evidence to tell that the one thing the city needed – desperately – was good government. Rachel had seen many of Roland’s plans. They should work, if he was given the time to make them work. She wondered, grimly, if he’d have the time. The signs of communist infiltration were everywhere.

And who can blame them, she asked herself, when there’s so little hope for the city otherwise?

The thought mocked her as she kept walking, picking out the signs. Students, young in bodies yet old in souls, passing leaflets as they darted through the streets. Older men, workers probably, moving with surprising purpose. They gave the students some cover, she noted; a policeman who caught a female student was rapidly surrounded, giving the girl a chance to run while the older men kicked the shit out of him. Rachel found it hard to come up with any sympathy for the policeman. He wasn’t a decent officer doing his job. He was just a bully.


She walked onwards, feeling a prickle running down her spine. She was being watched. Had someone made her? It wasn’t impossible, for all the training she had in disguising herself. Someone might have clocked her as female and assumed the fact she was dressed up as a man suggested she was more than she seemed, or she might be vulnerable, a young woman with no one to protect her. Rachel almost hoped it was the latter. Rape had been epidemic on Earth and trawling for rapists had been a sport amongst her peers, letting a man drag them into a quiet corner and then beating him to within an inch of his life. Her skin crawled as she recalled one particularly unpleasant would-be rapist. She hadn’t killed him, but there were times when she feared that had been a mistake …

And the city was still shifting around her, adjusting to the new status quo.

It felt, very much, like the calm before the storm.

 

Chapter Twenty

“They were released?”

“There was no evidence of a crime,” Councillor Shen Lijuan said. He managed a smile as he faced Roland in his borrowed office, his traditional dress oddly out of place against the maps and organisational tables Roland had pinned to the wall. “And we cannot keep them in prison without it.”

Roland gritted his teeth. “Over the last three days, we captured forty-seven men in the act of committing crimes,” he said. He tapped the paper meaningfully. “Theft. Grievous bodily harm. Rape. Demanding money with menaces. Acts that are not just crimes by interstellar law, but also local law. And that says nothing about the slaves …”

“They’re not slaves,” Shen said, in the same pleasant tone. “Slavery is illegal.”

“It is slavery in all but name,” Roland said. “Why were they released?”

Shen looked back at him. “This city has always had its own way of doing things,” he said. “I do not expect you to understand.”

“Try me.”

“You are applying your own standards to our world,” Shen said. “You arrested men for running a protection racket – in truth, they were simply demanding the contributions everyone pays to secure their district. You arrested a man for beating his wife – in truth, he was disciplining her, well within the legal rights of a husband. You arrested another for raping his wife – in truth, he had the right to demand sex from him and she had no legal right to refuse.”

“Rape is rape,” Roland snarled. “She didn’t consent …”

“On Earth, rape is so common that even rapists wear condoms,” Shen said. His tone didn’t change. “Don’t come here and moralise to us. This is not your world.”

“Earth is gone,” Roland said. He recalled the shows in the arena and shuddered. What did it say about the heart of the Empire that rape had been a competitive spectator sport? Nothing good. “And that doesn’t mean we’re obliged to overlook crimes …”

Shen leaned forward. “You are here to help us, not to rule,” he said. “Or has that changed?”

Roland resisted the urge to pick Shen up and throw him out the window. “You wanted to speak with me,” he said, instead. “Why?”

“My district is planning to build a new community centre,” Shen said. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in funding it.”

Roland kept his face under tight control. The councillors had put up a united front in public, when they’d been together, but when they’d spoken to him individually they’d alternatively tried to wheedle him into giving them favours or dropping heavy-handed hints about what they could do for him, if he backed their claim for supreme power. It was irritating as hell to discover just how self-interested they were, even though it wasn’t really surprising. They were more interested in their own power than taking care of their city.

“We’ll see,” he said. “I’d have to see your proposal, of course, and the process would have to be supervised.”

Shen’s expression didn’t change, but Roland could sense his displeasure. No doubt the procurement process would be as corrupt as possible, with Shen’s relatives and clients given the plum jobs and accounting carefully planned to hide funds going everywhere, but where they were meant to go. It was astonishing how many palms needed to be greased to get something going, he’d discovered, and how many would be angered if they weren’t bribed … no wonder it was so hard to get things done. Even if someone could afford the project itself, whatever it happened to be, they couldn’t afford the bribes.

“You will receive them as soon as possible,” Shen said. “But as a matter of honour, we cannot accept your supervision.”

“And as a matter of honour, I need to know where my funds are going,” Roland countered. He had a sizable budget, on paper, but compared to the sheer magnitude of the task in front of him it was puny. “Every last cent has to be accounted for, or I shall be in deep trouble.”

Shen stood, brushing down his robes. “I thank you for your time,” he said. “I have no doubt we shall talk again soon.”

He left the room. Roland rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache threatening to appear behind his eyes. The councillors had all visited him separately, making promises and offering deals and … he scowled. They wanted to be seen visiting him, to pretend to influence they didn’t have … he wondered, suddenly, just how many rumours were being spread of what bribes or other inducements he was taking. One councillor had offered Roland his daughter, for God’s sake, and effortlessly switched to offering his son when Roland had indignantly refused. It was traditional, apparently, for a daughter’s body to be used to smooth the way to an agreement.

And given that he was the only one who said anything of the sort, Roland mused, hopefully that isn’t actually true.

Lucille tapped the door, then stepped inside. “Sir, the recruits are ready,” she said. “Captain Parker wants to know if you intend to address them.”

Roland nodded, forcing himself to stand. He wanted to join a patrol, to get a feel for the city; he wanted to do something, anything, other than dealing with local officials trying to lure him into sin while plotting, no doubt, to bury a knife in his back. The hell of it was that some of their offers might have worked, if he hadn’t been so jaded after growing up a prince. The most despicable offer he’d had over the last few days was nothing, compared to the poisoned joys he’d once embraced. It was almost a shame he couldn’t tell them that, not really. But then, they already knew Earth was a wretched hive of scum and villainy. Earth made Karafuru, at her worst, seem like paradise.

He walked down to the parade ground, keeping his thoughts to himself. It was difficult to recruit additional troops, certainly without permission he was sure would never be granted, but there were no rules against recruiting garbage men. The city desperately needed them, Roland had the money to pay for them; he even had the supplies they needed, from a small fleet of makeshift trucks to a couple of industrial-grade heavy-duty recyclers. He’d heard all the complaints about them, mainly from people who saw them as impositions enforced by the Empire, but they had their uses. They’d certainly come in handy here.

His face remained firmly blank as he studied the new recruits. Fifty or so men – there would be more, once the first group was earning money – all drawn from the slums, all denied any hope of legitimate work because they hadn’t been born within the city or weren’t members of the local unions. Most would become criminals if they weren’t already, Roland reflected; their sisters would be halfway to prostitution by now. The survey had already logged a dozen brothels and he had no doubt there were more … he’d wanted to ban his people from visiting, but he knew better than to issue an order he knew wouldn’t be obeyed. He just hoped they’d be careful when they went to the nearest cathouse. There was no telling what they’d be getting into.

“I’ll make this quick,” he said. “This city is drowning in her own garbage. Nothing is being removed, from plastic crap and metal junk to horse manure and even bodies. It’s an epidemic waiting to happen, one that could easily kill thousands upon thousands of people and turn this entire city into a charnel house. We are going to do something about it.”

He paused. “You are going to do something about it.

“This will not be a pleasant job. Collecting trash is never clean and tidy. Sorting it is even worse, particularly when we can use the manure to produce methane before adding it to the fields. I can’t promise that it will be a safe job, because it probably isn’t. But it is a job that needs doing and we are prepared to pay, we will pay, for good work.”

Roland paused, again. “We will deal fairly with you. You will be paid daily, in cash. In return, we expect the same from you. Do your jobs without bullying, or fighting, or corruption. If someone tries to push you into turning against us, or you feel bullied, you are to tell us and we’ll deal with it. This city needs you. And if you do well, it will be a stepping stone to bigger and better jobs. Good luck.”

He stepped back to allow Captain Parker to finish the talk, then give the recruits a short lesson in how to pick up and sort garbage. Roland had never considered that it might be a complex task, although the combination of dangerous and sharp items – and biological hazards – meant it was more difficult than he’d thought. Cleaning the barracks had been degrading enough, he’d told himself during his first month of training, but none of the recruits had ever shat their own beds or left litter lying around. The DIs would have torn them a new set of assholes … assuming, of course, their squad mates didn’t do it first. Who’d want to live in a barracks that looked as if it was occupied by chimpanzees?

And clearly the locals don’t give enough of a damn about keeping the garbage service running, he thought, as he made his way back to the office. No shame at all.

Rachel was waiting for him when he returned. “You think they’ll do a good job?”

“We’re paying well above the norm,” Roland said. Unskilled labour was cheap, if only because there was a practically unlimited supply of unskilled workers. The local ward bosses had managed to lock outsiders out of many jobs, making matters worse for the immigrants. “And we’ll deal with anyone who violates our trust.”

“It’s a lot of work,” Rachel said, tonelessly. “Do you think it can be done?”

“We have to start somewhere,” Roland said. It was a minor miracle they weren’t knee-deep in horse and ox manure by now. “And hopefully, as we start clearing the piles, we can encourage people to use the garbage bins and dumpsters. Once we get them set up, of course.”

“Of course,” Rachel agreed.

Roland rubbed his forehead. There had been a garbage disposal service once upon a time, or so he’d been told. The system had collapsed when the Spartans had taken direct control of the planet and never been properly rebuilt, something Roland found a little odd. Everyone needed to take the trash out, from time to time, and a military-based culture should understand the importance of not shitting where you ate. Perhaps they’d hoped the locals would catch something nasty and die off in droves, clearing the planet for colonisation. He’d heard of nastier concepts being discussed over the last century, as law and order started to collapse and the empire raced towards its decline and fall. Some had even been implemented.

“There’s a lot to do,” he said, grimly. “Did you find anything useful?”

“Not as much as I had hoped,” Rachel said. “The Popular Front operates in cells. Crack one open and there’s no guarantee of finding something that will lead to someone higher up the chain. I suspect it will be difficult for a complete newcomer to get anywhere higher, not when they have the resources to vet potential candidates. I did hear a name – Sunbeam, their leader – but little else. He could be anyone.”

“It’s always the person you least suspect,” Roland joked.

“You, then,” Rachel said. Her lips twisted into a thin smile. “I can try to infiltrate them, but …”

Roland nodded in grim understanding. Everyone involved knew everyone else, making it hard – if not impossible – for an outsider to make a name for himself. The most dangerous insurgent groups were often based on families or clans, people who would resist betraying their peers even if they refused to join them. Rachel might make it in, given time, but … did they have time? It wouldn’t be long before the communists challenged them openly.

He leaned forward. “Just how far have they infiltrated the city?”

“Hard to say,” Rachel said. “From what I’ve seen, through, my guess is that their infiltration is quite advanced. The councillors are on very shaky grounds indeed.”

“Or they’re already being subverted,” Roland said, although he had his doubts about it. The councillors weren’t acting like communists … or, for that matter, like anything other than self-interested prats. “Or they’re being pushed into challenging us …”

He stared at the map for a long moment. “They could come into the open at any moment.”

“Yes,” Rachel agreed. “They can’t let us make life better for the locals.”

Roland cursed under his breath. The city was a seething snake pit of inequality and resentment, ideal breeding ground for a communist insurgency. Communism was attractive to the desperate as well as the idealistic, the former seeking a better life and the latter blind to the risks of creating a de facto police state. The only way to counter such an infiltration was to address the issues before the communists started exploiting them, but doing so was very tricky when the local power structure mandated against it. Roland might have permission from President Lu to do as he saw fit, yet the councillors wouldn’t feel obliged to honour it when their lives and futures were at stake. And given time, the communists would take action against his efforts too. They couldn’t risk allowing him to make things better. That would be disastrous for them.

“We’ll be ready,” he said, although he feared it wasn’t true. He’d barely had any time to explore the city himself. “Perhaps they’ll give us long enough to undermine them completely.”

“They’ll have a better idea of what is going on than us,” Rachel cautioned. “Don’t count on it.”

Roland nodded, studying the map. Karafuru wasn’t a big city, certainly when compared to the megacities of Earth, but geography alone made patrolling her borders an impossible task. There was no way to throw up a ring of steel, no way to keep smugglers from getting in and out … he simply didn’t have the manpower. And yet, there were options. Perhaps he could make use of the local cells, perhaps he could monitor them long enough to feel out the level above them …

“I need a walk,” he said, standing. “You’ll come with me?”

“People will talk,” Rachel said, dryly. “But yeah, they won’t notice me.”

Roland didn’t comment as he led the way downstairs and linked up with his close-protection team, then headed out on an unscheduled inspection tour. The little pickets he’d stationed along the bridges were doing well, openly monitoring traffic while covertly blocking the police from demanding bribes; the medical teams were already opening clinics, doing what they could to treat the locals without fear or favour. Their reports made depressing reading. The city’s population wasn’t starving, not precisely, but malnutrition was on the rise, along with a lot of other problems that had once been left safely in the past. The odds of a major epidemic were worse than he’d thought, according to the doctors. And as for the other concerns …

“We’re recruiting young women to serve as basic nurses,” Doctor Trista Martin said. She’d been pissed when they’d been ordered to redeploy, no matter what promises were made about supporting the last set of clinics. “No training, of course, beyond the bare minimum: boil water, keep the place clean, that sort of thing. Given time, we can teach them more, but” – she shrugged, expressively – “we may not have the time.”

Roland frowned. “They can’t self-study?”

“Not here.” Trista didn’t snort, but she looked as though she very much wanted to. “They can do a hell of a lot of book leaning, sir, with the resources we have on hand, but there’s no substitute for proper hands-on training. The textbooks online don’t cover everything; they’re very much the ideal, rather than the reality. That’s not even getting into the issue of supplies. Half the gear we’re meant to have, according to the online training tools, isn’t here. And probably never will be.”

“Crap,” Roland said. “Do what you can.”

“We will.” Trista met his eyes, evenly. “This city is on the brink of disaster, sir. If anything goes wrong, anything at all, we will be staring utter disaster in the face.”

Roland nodded, tartly. Trista was right, but … what could he do? Everything that could be done was already being done, from patrols on the streets to engineers inspecting the water and sewage network and figuring out how best to repair and improve it. He just didn’t have the resources to tackle more than a handful of problems at a time, and even if he had … he scowled, inwardly, as he took his leave. The task was immense, failure all but guaranteed. Or so President Lu thought.

It won’t be easy, Roland told himself, as they walked back through the streets. But it can be done.

He took a long breath, gritting his teeth. The stench was fading … no, they were getting used to it. The traffic hadn’t faded … he wondered, suddenly, if they could find a way to ban horses and oxen from the city. It was a colossal public health risk … but inescapable, until they found a replacement. Perhaps they could start churning out more and better cars and trucks, as primitive as they were. They would bring their own problems, but … they’d be better than nothing. And then … who knew? Set up a tram network? Or drones? Or … or what? He didn’t know. He’d think of something.

We have to hurry, Roland thought, as they reached the palace. I can’t escape the feeling we’re running out of time.

 

Chapter Twenty-One

The door exploded inwards, the wood shattering under the shaped charge.

Officer Liu Yifan hurried forward, pistol in hand, before anyone inside had a chance to reach for a weapon. The interior was misty, the air heavy with perfume; he smirked, openly, as he saw the girls lolling on cushions, their outfits leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. An unlicensed brothel … Liu wasn’t fool enough to believe the Captain’s babble about morality – he knew the real reason for the raid was that the brothel didn’t pay protection money to his superiors – but he didn’t really care. Raiding brothels brought all kinds of rewards. There would be time to enjoy them once the real business was over.

The girls offered no resistance as they were ordered forward, cuffed and told to sit against the wall, waiting to hear their fate. They looked more like country girls than townspeople, girls who had fled the villages and paddy fields for a better life and discovered – far too late – that any hope of a rich husband or a well-paying job had died long before they were born, leaving them with no choice but to sell their bodies if they wanted to live. His eyes lingered on a young girl, her head bowed to allow her hair to cover her breasts, a faint smile flickering across his face as he realised she wasn’t entirely broken. Not yet. Perhaps he’d be the one to break her, as the brothel was closed and the prisoners marched to the station. Or perhaps … it was astonishing what such a woman would do, when she still had a little hope. He looked forward to taking it from her.

“Check upstairs,” the captain snapped. “Hurry!”

Liu nodded, leading a handful of men up the stairs. The brothel was surrounded and there was little hope of escape, at least on paper, but it was quite possible there was a tunnel or a sky bridge or something – anything – that would give the customers a chance to get out before it was too late. Not that it would have mattered, in any case; the worst they could expect, unless they were wanted men, was a slap on the wrist. And some embarrassment in front of their wives … Liu’s lips twitched in dark amusement. A man who couldn’t keep his wife under control, with his fists if not his natural authority, was a weakling beyond compare. Being henpecked to death was the least he deserved. Liu’s own wife knew better than to question him. He’d taught her that lesson on their wedding night.

The upper floor was striking, the walls covered with paintings depicting sexual acts that required a pair of contortionists with very broad minds. Liu doubted he could perform any of the more extreme forms of congress, although he’d have a great deal of fun trying. The air stank of perfume, the stench so cloying it made his eyes itch. He rubbed them quickly as he peered into the first bedroom, rolling his eyes at the punter lying on top of a girl – in her. The poor boy looked to have barely entered his teens, no doubt having spent days working up the nerve to visit a brothel so the girls could relieve him of his virginity. Liu remembered being a teenager himself. It hadn’t been much fun.

“Get out,” he ordered, pointing the boy to the door. There didn’t seem to be much point in keeping him around, let alone taking him down to the station. He wasn’t rich enough to pay a bribe for his release or he would have gone to a high-class brothel or slept with the maids instead … it certainly didn’t look as though he’d been into things that would make a high-class courtesan blanch. It had all been depressingly vanilla. “Get out now!”

The boy scrambled to his feet, scooping up his clothes and running. The whore lay back on the cushions, regarding the policemen with a bored expression. Too far gone to care about herself or anyone, clearly … probably too far gone to fake it too. Liu felt a sudden surge of disgust as he ran his eyes up and down her ample body. It would be easy to take her, any way he liked, and yet …

He was on the floor before his conscious mind caught up and told him why he’d hit the ground. Windows were shattering, guns firing … a flash of panic shot through him as he saw a handful of bullets slash right through the thin walls and vanish somewhere in the distance. Officer Xi was lying on the ground, blood pouring from his skull … what was left of it. Liu retched, helplessly, as he stared at the body. It wasn’t a safe life, being a policeman, but everyone knew that killing an officer meant certain death, for you and any pain in the arse family members foolish enough not to disown you on the spot. Xi would be avenged … he heard the shooting grow louder and cursed under his breath, the panic gnawing at the back of his mind. He’d survived the occupation and several different councils through doing as he was told, and supporting whoever was in charge until they weren’t in charge any longer, but now … whoever was outside was playing for keeps.

The whore didn’t move as the policemen crawled towards the stairs and made their way downstairs. Liu couldn’t tell if she thought she was safe or if she simply didn’t care and … he didn’t care either. A dull thud echoed through the air, a distant explosion reminding him of the car bombs that had menaced the city during the occupation. This was some serious shit. A shooting or two was to be expected, and there were times when he’d been paid well to look the other way, but this … this sounded as if a full-scale war had broken out. The building shuddered again, a second explosion way too close for comfort. They were under attack!

“Take up defensive positions,” the captain snapped. The door was wrecked, of course; a body lay just outside, shredded beyond easy recognition. Several policemen were holding firing positions, sniping at shadows … it was hard to tell what, if anything, they were targeting. “Don’t let them get into the building!”

Liu swallowed. The nearest police station wasn’t that far away, but … it could be under attack too. He’d patrolled the area often enough, he knew how hard it was to move a large body of men from one part of the city to another even if you weren’t under fire. The police didn’t have anything heavier than a rifle, certainly nothing they could use to threaten the private armies or the militia … or offworlders, be they Spartans or Imperials. They were alone, to all intents and purposes, alone and under siege. He glanced at the whores, sobbing as they lay on the floor, their hands cuffed behind their backs. They were trapped too …

And it looked, very much so, as though no one was going to get out alive.

***
“Sir, we have a situation,” Captain Parker said. “A police patrol is under attack. Heavy attack.”

Roland stood, then followed his subordinate into the makeshift situation room. A handful of desks and chairs, each one manned by an operator with a terminal and headsets … a large map hung on the wall, covered in annotations to ensure they were all working from the same set of instructions. It wasn’t anything like as modern as he wanted, but there was no way to improve the system without building a far better local infrastructure or bringing in more tech from offworld. The former would take years and the latter was pretty much impossible. Roland would have to command his troops with the resources he had on hand.

“Report,” he ordered.

“The police mounted a major raid on a brothel,” Lieutenant Bowden reported. She looked disturbingly young to be a lieutenant, although she’d started her career in technical support rather than a front-line combat unit. Her file had a warning she could not be allowed to command troops in combat, regardless of her formal rank. The corps didn’t need such a warning; the regular army did. “They’re currently pinned down by a sizable enemy force.”

“Details?” Roland studied the map, cursing under his breath. The brothel was slap bang in the middle of a cramped urban environment, the kind of place that swallowed armies whole … unless the armies were prepared to throw caution and human decency out the airlock and drop enough bombs to obliterate the entire region. “Who’re we fighting?”

“Unknown, as yet,” Bowdon said. “They have machine guns and other heavy weapons, sir, but so far we haven’t seen any antitank or antiaircraft missiles.”

“Not us,” Roland said. He wasn’t confident the local police would recognise an antitank missile if the insurgents fired it up their backsides. There were no hard figures for how many such weapons had fallen into enemy hands over the last few decades, but … it wasn’t something that would be wasted on a police patrol. “We’re dependent on their observations.”

He forced himself to think. “Direct two drones to recon the target area,” he ordered. It was possible the enemy would launch an HVM at the craft, when they showed themselves, but … if nothing else, it would use up a missile the enemy would find difficult to replace. Better to lose a drone than a manned aircraft. “And let me know the moment they see anything actionable.”

Lucille hurried up to him. “Sir, I have Councillor Shen on Line One,” she said. “He’s formally asking for your assistance in extracting the police and eradicating the terrorists. His words.”

“Is he?” Roland tapped his communicator, summoning Rachel. “Tell him I am currently assessing the situation, and will speak to him as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucille said.

She turned and darted away. Roland turned his attention back to the map. There were no reports of trouble outside the district, but that was meaningless. The whole affair didn’t smell of an accidental clash between two sides. It felt more like a planned ambush. The more he looked at the situation, the less he liked it. The police could have been wiped out by now, but instead … the only reason to keep them alive was to use them as bait. And that meant that charging to the rescue might end with his forces being eradicated instead.

If I’m right, we can afford to take our time, he mused. They won’t kill the policemen as long as they think they’ll serve as bait, but if I’m wrong …

“Redeploy our troops,” he ordered. “I want the area sealed off, then …”

He cursed under his breath. There was no way to avoid a bloody engagement, unless he abandoned the policemen … perhaps that was the point of the whole affair. Force him to fight at a disadvantage or abandon the policemen, the former risking lives he couldn’t afford to lose and the latter making a mockery of his promises of military support. Clever. A trap he could see forming in front of him, a trap he had no choice but to trigger … whatever he did, he might well lose.

Rachel joined him. “Sir?”

“Get out there, as quickly as possible,” Roland ordered. “I want some proper eyes on the ground.”

“Yes, sir,” Rachel said. She was all business, when the shit was hitting the fan. “Be careful about sending in the Raptors.”

“I know.” Roland knew his mystery enemies would have scrutinised everything he’d done since arriving on Confucius. They knew what he’d done to Warlord Wenjing. It wasn’t hard to work out he could do the same to them, unless they had antiaircraft assets just waiting for the Raptors to fly into their scopes. At such ranges, warning would be minimal. If he started losing Raptors, there was a very good chance he’d lose the war before it had even fairly begun. “See if you can determine what might be lying in wait too.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir, the drones are reporting back,” Bowden said. “The police are still holding out.”

Roland leaned forward. The brothel was damaged, but intact. A smoking crater lay outside, dozens of bodies lying in plain view; here and there, he saw a rifleman pop up to shoot a few rounds at the police and then drop down again. The policemen were firing back, but clearly rationing their ammunition. Smart move. There were limits to how much they could carry and they hadn’t set out to fight a war, not when they’d left their station and moved into the field. He scowled as the drone circled the region, noting the buildings providing all the cover a team of ambushers could possibly want. No matter what he did, he was going to get hurt. He briefly considered abandoning the policemen and to hell with his career, but he knew it couldn’t be done. There would be no way to complete the mission once the locals knew he couldn’t be trusted to support them.

“Steam the live feed to the men on the ground,” Roland ordered, switching through the channels. It was weird to see a warzone … and then, practically next door, men and women conducting their lives as if there wasn’t a war on. He would have run for cover if he lived in the city … it made no sense at all. Unless the enemy was making the civilians stay on the streets, forcing them to serve as human shields. But it didn’t look like it. “And tell them to be careful.”

“Yes, sir,” Bowden said. She didn’t add I’m sure they know but Roland heard it anyway. “They’re assembling at the jump-off points now.”

Roland nodded, curtly. On paper, the mission was simple enough. March to the brothel, engage the enemy, kill or capture the terrorists while liberating the policemen. It wasn’t as if they were expected to march all the way to Nova Kong and back again. In practice, there were so many potential firing positions in such a relatively small area that his troops might not get very far before they were engaged. There was little room for manoeuvre, little space to avoid enemy positions or surround rather than destroy them. He was bringing up support weapons, true, but everything he fired into the city raised the spectre of civilian casualties. Roland wasn’t fool enough to believe they could be avoided completely – only a reporter or a politician could be so foolish – but every last death would be blamed on him and his men. And who knew what would happen then?

“I’m going there,” he said.

“That’s not wise,” Bowden said.

“It’s not debatable.”

***

Mai Ling lay on the rooftop and watched, from what she devoutly hoped was a safe distance, as the offworlders girded their loins for war.

They were efficient like the Spartans, she noted coldly, but much less ruthless. Ling had grown up knowing a Spartan could kill her – or worse – on a whim and his superiors wouldn’t give much of a damn. They’d been so convinced of their own superiority that the resistance had been able to lead them around by the nose from time to time, although their vastly superior firepower and willingness to use it made it hard for the resistance to pin them down long enough to finish the job. The new offworlders were different, taking their time to prepare an offensive instead of charging into combat. She couldn’t help thinking it boded ill for the future.

A voice boomed through the air. “CLEAR THE STREETS. REMAIN IN YOUR HOMES. CLEAR THE STREETS. TAKE COVER …”

Ling gritted her teeth. That was something the Spartans would never do. There’d been times they’d seemed to go out of their way to cause civilian casualties, as if they felt Confucius would be better off without the local population. The newcomers were different … she felt ice pricking in her heart, despite the heat. The Spartans had never tried to win hearts and minds – they’d always preferred to threaten death or worse to anyone who seemed disinclined to cooperate – but if the newcomers managed to win allies … they’d already made a start on clearing the piles of garbage lying everywhere. The communists had agents amongst the garbage men. Ling had heard that they’d been paid well, in cash, without any of the tricks employers used to keep their employees as poor as possible. Clever, she acknowledged. They were winning loyalty just by being decent people.

She reached for her flare gun, then stopped as she felt a prickle right behind her. She wasn’t alone …

“Don’t move, please,” a voice said. It was a little too masculine … Ling was sure, without being quite sure how, that her captor was female. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Strong arms pulled her hands behind her back, wrapping a plastic tie around her wrists. Ling felt herself being rolled over and forced herself to look up, into the eyes of a woman wearing a male outfit. It was a good disguise and it would have fooled anyone who hadn’t worn the same disguise herself, but Ling had. Being an unattached young woman in Karafuru was asking for trouble. She guessed the newcomer felt the same way.

“Good OP,” the woman said. She didn’t sound unfriendly or hostile, but there was something in her tone that suggested she was a very dangerous enemy. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me how you keep in touch with your superiors?”

Ling glowered, not trusting herself to speak. She’d always known capture was a possibility, even before she’d joined the resistance. The Spartans had ways of making people talk that shocked even warlords, men who had no qualms about raping and killing their way across the countryside. If her captor chose to hurt her …

“It doesn’t matter,” the woman said. “All hell is about to break loose.”

 

Chapter Twenty-Two

The street felt eerily quiet as Farris led the way forward, eyes flickering from side to side.

He gritted his teeth, feeling dangerously exposed. Gunshots echoed on the air, brief bursts of firing followed by moments of agonising silence, to be broken again by more firing. There was no sign of any enemies, yet he was certain they were being watched, the insurgents biding their time before opening fire. The piles of rubbish everywhere, and the rows of abandoned cars and other vehicles, provided all the concealment a bomb maker could possibly need. Sweat prickled down his spine as he gave one pile a wide berth, all too aware there could be an IED hidden amongst the refuse. The sensors revealed nothing, but the sensors were dangerously unreliable in the field. Any bomb maker worthy of the name knew how to spoof them – or to overwhelm the system with false positives, to the point it was impossible to spot the real threat amongst the fakes.

His headset buzzed. “No local movement.”

“Not a good sign,” Farris subvocalised back. No one moved on the streets, not even the homeless who normally crowded the alleys and makeshift slums. That wasn’t a good sign. He’d got a feel for the city over the last few days, but the locals knew the city far better; they’d sense when something was about to hit the fan and take cover, well before any outsiders realised shit was about to go down. “Any overwatch?”

“Just the drones,” the operator said. “Keep your eyes open …”

A shot rang out. Farris hit the deck automatically, his rife swinging around to engage the new threat. Two more shots followed, the enemy popping up long enough to fire a couple of rounds and then ducking down again before any retaliation could come their way. They’d drilled a pair of murder holes in a small building, Farris noted coldly, as another bullet cracked over his head. Their shooting wasn’t that accurate – and they might have opened fire earlier than planned – but it forced him to keep his head down. More shots rang out in the distance, the communication network buzzing with warnings of the enemy advancing on the police positions. Clearly, they’d outlived their usefulness. It was just a matter of time before they were overwhelmed and executed.

He held up a hand, signalling the squad to advance. The enemy kept shooting as the soldiers darted forward, unhooking grenades from their belts and hurling them into the enemy buildings. The explosions cleared the way, allowing them to clear the buildings … Farris cursed under his breath as they burst inside, just in time to see a handful of hostages bound and gagged, then carefully placed in just the right position to catch a careless bullet or two. Bastards. The assault force was already being delayed by the enemy sniping, but now … they couldn’t use heavy weapons to clear the way without risking hundreds of innocent lives. He ground his teeth in silent frustration, all too aware that human shields wouldn’t have stopped the Spartans for one second. The Marine Corps had a very different ethos. They wouldn’t cause civilian casualties if they could avoid it.

An enemy sniper appeared out of the gloom, weapon already raised. Farris shot him though the head and had the satisfaction of seeing the man crumple, his peers cutting and running as the soldiers advanced. The man wasn’t wearing any uniform, beyond a red armband that wasn’t enough to meet the legal requirements … Farris snorted in wry amusement. It was more than most insurgencies allowed, when facing a proper army. He made a note of the body’s position and kept moving, sweeping the rest of the building before pressing on. The squad followed him further down the road. The enemy were popping up and down, sniping and then vanishing again … it felt as though they were trying to bleed him, rather than actually stop him dead. A dull explosion echoed through the air, an IED detonating in the distance … he cursed under his breath. Anything could hide an IED. Anything at all.

“Watch out!”

A trio of dogs ran forward, barking loudly. Farris hesitated, then swore out loud as he spotted the packages on their backs. Explosives … he shot the dogs, then dropped as the makeshift bombs exploded. Someone had to be watching from a distance, ready to hit the trigger … he muttered a brief contact report into the communicator, asking for jammers to be deployed. They weren’t always reliable in such environments, but they were better than nothing. The squad had been lucky the dogs weren’t carrying anything heavier, anything likely to cause real damage. They could have been wiped out completely.

The shooting grew more intense as they neared another building, each and every window seeming to blaze with enemy fire. The sound grew louder still, so loud he couldn’t help wondering if the enemy were letting off firecrackers to confuse him. He wanted to call in a mortar strike, but he doubted he’d be given permission to drop rounds on a building when there was no way to be sure there were no civilians within. In hindsight, they’d overrun the first building a little too easily. The enemy might have let them in, just to make sure the offworlders knew about the hostages. Bastards.

He darted forward, hurling more grenades. An enemy soldier popped up and he shot him quickly, then the next … everything blurred together, the enemy trying to grind them down through sheer bloody determination. A stream of makeshift rockets screamed through the air, the sound nearly overwhelming him before he caught himself. They were little more than children’s toys, designed to distract rather than hurt, but they were still dangerous if they hit the right target. He was hot and sweaty, his armour chafing his skin, yet he dared not uncover himself. The armour might make the difference between bruises, and some good-natured teasing about forgetting to duck, and going home in a casket. If he ever went home at all …

Keep moving, he thought. The enemy seemed to fall back … Farris wasn’t reassured. They knew better than to let the offworlders get a solid lock on their position, particularly when they might take the gloves off at any moment. Don’t let them have any time to solidify their defences. Just keep moving …

***

Roland was starting to have the nasty feeling he didn’t even begin to have enough manpower to reform the city, not when there were too many tasks and nowhere near enough men to tackle them all. He needed to seal off the combat zone, a tricky task given the number of bridges over the canals and tunnels underneath them, as well as clearing the streets around the police positions as quickly as possible, yet … he heard another flurry of demands over the network, the police calling for air and missile strikes. They either didn’t realise the bombing would be danger close, so close to their positions that there was a very real risk of the police being accidentally hit too, or they just didn’t care. They’d have to do something about the police, but …

Afterwards, Roland told himself firmly. You need to buy yourself some time.

He forced himself to think. The enemy were holding out, their lines shifting fluidly as Roland’s troops advanced. The district was small by most standards, yet it was so highly developed that it was difficult to seal and secure every building with the manpower he had on hand. Opening a corridor to the police positions might be the best he could do and even then, it would be tricky to keep it open long enough for the policemen to bug out. They had a bunch of prisoners too .. rebels and insurgents, according to their superiors. Getting them out was a priority and yet … Roland cursed under his breath, wishing he could bring more firepower to bear. But the risk of mass slaughter was just too high.

“Drone attack, sir,” an operator said. “They’re sweeping through the towers and engaging out men.”

“Clear our own drones to counterattack,” Roland ordered. A drone could serve as a counterbattery platform, but the enemy would have no difficulty tracing the drone the moment it opened fire. If they had any HVMs, they’d use them now. “And send a number of decoys over the city too.”

“Aye, sir.”

Roland winced as he heard an explosion in the distance. An IED? Probably. The enemy didn’t seem to have had time to turn the district into a real fortress, which was interesting, but … it didn’t matter. They’d done quite enough to make life difficult for him. There would be time to figure out just what the enemy had had in mind, and what they’d known in advance, after the fighting was over. Right now, they had a job to do.

“The drones are engaging the enemy, sir,” the operator said. “No sign of any MANPADs.”

“Right.” Roland wasn’t reassured. The enemy antiaircraft teams could be waiting for better targets. If he sent in the Raptors, he might be sending his men to their deaths. Or he might be passing up the best chance to end the fighting quickly, because he was afraid of a non-existent weapon. “Inform me the moment that changes.”

“Aye, sir.”

***

Rachel boosted, drawing on her enhancements as she darted from rooftop to rooftop. She’d underestimated just how many rope ladders and bridges had been slung between buildings, allowing enemy shooters to move from place to place without being spotted, and how many rooftops were covered in makeshift shacks, hidden amidst the water tanks, air conditioning fans and countless other devices. It reminded her of a demented amusement park, a place where kids could jump and swing to their heart’s content, only here the shooting was very real. She could see smoke rising from all over the district, the sound of gunfire growing louder. She could place the Forward Edge of the Battle Area easily, just by listening …

Not that that matters much, in an insurgency, she reminded herself. The insurgents would be fools to stand and fight, when they were dealing with a far tougher opponent. They would fall back, look for weak points and resume the attack … the insurgents stupid enough to get themselves killed would have been killed off by now, leaving their smarter peers alive and well, ready to continue the fight. There’s no safe rear area when insurgents are involved.

She jumped and landed amongst a small group of insurgents, wearing civilian clothes and simple red armbands. One had the sense to throw himself at her – she broke his neck with a punch – while the others tried to bring their weapons to bear, practically moving in slow motion. No, not real slow motion. They were moving at normal human speeds, but in her boosted state they might as well be crawling … she lashed out, landing each blow with a precision no unenhanced human could match. Most were knocked out quickly, two were killed … she was too far gone to feel any guilt, even a regret they couldn’t be interrogated. She suspected they knew little – most insurgencies operated a cell structure, to make sure that losing one cell couldn’t lead to the destruction of the entire insurgency – but … she shrugged and kept moving, calling in the contact as she reached the police position. The brothel was under heavy attack … no, it just looked that way. The police were clearly running out of ammunition. The insurgents could have overrun them by now, if they wanted to.

A trap, she mused. Most people couldn’t tell the difference between weapons by sound, but she could. Roland’s men were approaching, pressing down a road and clearing buildings on each side … she made a mental note to keep her head down, for fear of being accidentally shot by her own side. Her implants didn’t make her invincible. There were horror stories about enhanced humans who had been shot to pieces because they thought they were. Hell, she’d seen drugged-up men take immense – impossible – damage, their bodies only staggering on because they were too drugged to realise they should be dead. Bastards.

She glanced up as a drone flew overhead, her eye tracking the tiny device as it vanished into the distance. A remote-controlled drone or one operated by an onboard computer …? It could be either. The local tech base wasn’t supposed to be advanced enough to produce either, but humans were ingenious when it came to developing weapons and any insurgent who survived the Spartans was likely to be very ingenious indeed. She called the contact in, just to be sure the troops knew what was coming, then hurried to clear the way for the newcomers as much as possible. And to get a good view of the police positions. If they had to bug out in a hurry, they’d need some covering fire …


***

Farris gritted his teeth as the police positions finally came into view, a nondescript building that didn’t look remotely capable of surviving a siege. The insurgents fell back as the troops approached, their discipline alarmingly good … all the more so as the jammers were up and running, fucking any communications system that wasn’t designed to operate in such an environment. A handful of bodies were clearly visible on the road outside, so badly wounded he couldn’t convince himself they were alive. Policemen, civilians … he wanted to think the latter were insurgents, but there were no visible weapons. The poor bastards had probably been caught in the wrong place at a very wrong time.

He keyed his communicator. “Get the police moving now,” he subvocalised. They’d cleared the buildings on either side of the street, but there was no way to keep them clear. Their line of retreat was already under threat, the enemy bringing immense pressure to bear on his flanking units … it was just a matter of time before they found themselves as cut off as the policemen they’d come to save. “hurry!”

The shooting grew louder as the policemen and their prisoners stumbled into view, the latter largely young women … their hands cuffed and their eyes utterly terrified. Farris cursed under his breath, then told himself – sharply – that there would be time to deal with it later. Right now … he moved from target to target, providing covering fire as the insurgents tried to gun down the police officers. It wasn’t the most accurate shooting he’d ever done, he noted sourly, but it didn’t matter as long as it made them keep their heads down. The priority was to get the policemen out, not kill insurgents. They couldn’t kill their way to victory.

“Keep moving,” he snapped, as the first policeman stumbled past him. Farris had never liked the police, from the policemen on his homeworld to the military cops who kept the soldiers in line, but the policemen here looked a particularly rotten bunch. They hadn’t signed up to protect the public, let alone fight someone who could actually fight back; they were probably cursing themselves for signing up, now they were in very real danger. “Don’t look back!”

He ducked as bullets exploded around him, cursing as a policeman fell. His comrades ran onwards, without even trying to save his life … Farris rolled his eyes in disgust. He’d had his fair share of poor comrades, from the asshole who cheated at cards to the dickhead who tried to argue with the sergeant and wound up getting the entire training platoon in hot water, but none of those bastards would abandon a comrade under fire. The prisoners seemed to be handling it better than their captors. Farris snorted, then caught the eye of the last policeman. The twat seemed a little more self-aware than the rest of them.

“Is that everyone out?”

“Yeah,” the policeman said. He hesitated for a long moment, torn between loyalty to his comrades and fear for his life. “There’s some bodies …”

“Leave them.” Farris would have preferred to collect the bodies, but he didn’t want to risk his men any further. The contact reports were coming in faster now. “We have to move.”

Every instinct in his body screamed for him to turn and run. He ignored them, the squad falling back block by block. The insurgents seemed unsure if they wanted to give chase or not, their discipline finally fading as it became clear they’d failed to wipe out the police force. Farris suspected that had been partly deliberate, but still … they’d also failed to slaughter the offworld troops. The insurgents would be smart to pull back now, no doubt to gloat over their victory … by tomorrow, he was sure, they’d be claiming the deaths of thousands of offworlders, more offworlders than there were on the entire planet. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’d never fought an enemy that hadn’t exaggerated its victories and minimised its defeats. He’d be very surprised if the local insurgents were any different.

The shooting stopped, so abruptly he thought – for a crazy moment – that he’d gone deaf. The network updated a second later, the observers reporting the enemy breaking contact and vanishing back into the shadows. It wasn’t reassuring, even as the soldiers completed their withdrawal. It suggested things Farris didn’t want to know about enemy discipline, their ability direct their troops in combat even when their communications channels were jammed … hell, there were trained and properly-equipped regular military forces that would have trouble breaking contact so effectively. Their enemy was a dangerous one.

They baited a trap, tested us, then withdrew, he mused. The insurgents might have lost, in one sense, but in another they’d won. Shit.

He suspected, as they finally reached the outpost, that it meant worse was to come.

 

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I’m sorry,” Roland said.

He stared down at the bodies, guilt clawing at his mind. Four men dead, four men who’d been under his command … four men he’d been trusted to lead into battle, four men who were now dead because of his mistakes. Four men … he knew he’d done everything right, he knew he’d handled the engagement in line with the Articles of War, but in the end four men were dead and they’d died under his command. And he was alive … he would have to write to their families, to bear the brunt of their loss, if they even had families. These days, far too many people were cut off from everything they’d ever known, including their last relatives. If you didn’t know what had happened to someone, two years after Earthfall, the odds were good it was nothing good.

It would have been easier to summon Prince Roland, to take refuge in the mind of a manchild who saw everyone as little more than toys for his amusement. He wanted to pretend, just for a moment, that their deaths didn’t matter … but they did and he knew it. He’d sent them into combat and they’d died under his command and it was his fault, for all that he’d done everything in his power to minimise casualties. Four men … it seemed wrong, somehow, that he didn’t know their names, that he didn’t know the first thing about them. It would have been so much easier to pretend they didn’t matter, but they did! They’d had friends and family and people who cared about them …

Roland turned away, cursing under his breath. It wasn’t the first time he’d lost someone under his command, but it hurt more … he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was because he’d sent them into battle under difficult circumstances, his hands tied by rules that seemed designed to hamper military operations; perhaps it was because he had the uneasy feeling he had danced to the enemy’s tune and his men had paid the price. He was facing a very different enemy here, he knew, one so tightly intermingled with the civilian population that it would be impossible to deal with them without putting civilians at risk, which would turn civilians into enemies. And who knew what would happen then?

Rachel entered, her face blank. “Roland?”

“Yeah.” Roland had to fight to keep his voice under control. How could she be so calm? “Do you have the final count?”

A hint of disgust crept into Rachel’s voice. “Seven policemen dead, along with five prostitutes,” she said. “At least forty-seven insurgents dead, although it’s hard to be sure. The police assumed that everyone they killed was an insurgent, while the insurgents themselves were pretty good at getting their bodies out before we could recover them. Oh, and guess what?”

Her tone hardened. “This all kicked off because some bastard was running an unauthorised brothel.”

“Fuck.” Roland shook his head in disbelief. “And everyone just went along with it?”

“Yes,” Rachel said. “The insurgents took full advantage of it.”

“Yes,” Roland echoed. “Is there any good news?”

“Prisoner interrogations revealed little we didn’t already know,” Rachel said. “We do have some leads on insurgent bases, but I suspect most are little more than rallying points. The insurgents did manage to throw the whole thing together on very little warning, which suggests worrying things about their capabilities. If they wanted to undermine us, and the police, they succeeded brilliantly.”

Roland met her eyes. “Is there anyone on this planet who gives a shit for the people?”

Rachel looked back at him, evenly. “You’ll find that most people who rise to power, in such conditions, don’t give much of a damn about anyone other than themselves.”

“Fuck,” Roland said. “Fuck! Fuck!”

He looked back at the bodies, cursing under his breath. Soldiers weren’t policemen – and there were limits to how far they could pretend to be policemen, particularly when they were offworlders who lacked local knowledge. He wanted – he needed ¬¬– a local police force that was capable of winning hearts and minds, but a corrupt police force was only capable of winning hearts and minds for the enemy. No matter what he did, it wouldn’t last as long as he didn’t leave a solid infrastructure behind …

His communicator bleeped. “Sir,” Lucille said. “The councillors have arrived.”

Roland took a moment to compose himself. “Inform them I’ll be along shortly,” he said. “Out.”

He looked at Rachel. “Make the arrangements for the funeral,” he said, a wave of self-disgust threatening to overwhelm him. “I’ll download something about them, something I can say …”

“Be careful what you say to the councillors,” Rachel said, gently. “We need them.”

“Do we?” Roland wasn’t so sure. There wasn’t a single councillor who hadn’t approached him privately, seeking some advantage for themselves; funding for their pet projects, positions for their relatives, something – anything – they could use to elevate themselves over their peers. He wanted to scream at them for fiddling while their city burnt around them, for giving the communists all the ammunition they could possibly want, for … he shook his head. “I’ll do what I can, but …”

He shrugged, then turned and made his way through the palace. A great many patchwork repairs had been done, over the last few days, but it still felt as if the building was on the verge of falling down. Roland had made sure to leave most of his stores at the spaceport, just in case … he’d done what he could to improve local security, setting up better entrenchments and firing positions to cover all the possible angles of attack, but he was uneasily aware they were just a little too vulnerable for his peace of mind. The enemy were far too well organised to be brushed aside easily.

The councillors looked up as he entered, their faces grim. Roland wondered just what they were thinking. They had to know they faced an immensely dangerous enemy, they had to know they were on the verge of losing control of their city … their private armies and legions of supporters might not be quite as loyal as they thought, particularly the followers who weren’t directly related to the councillors. They might be relieved that Roland was enforcing a strict no weapons allowed policy inside the palace, forcing their bodyguards to remain outside. It was all too easy to imagine someone coughing, and someone else taking it as a sign to start something violent …

“Captain,” Councillor Shen said. “What happened …?”

“What happened, Councillor, is that a senior police officer decided to shut down an illicit brothel,” Roland said. He was too tired to be diplomatic. “The insurgents decided, in turn, to ambush and trap the policemen, using them as bait to lure my men into an engagement … an engagement that resulted in dozens, perhaps hundreds, of deaths. That’s what happened.”

There was a long pause. “That is unfortunate,” Councillor Tang said. His face suggested otherwise. The locals had little regard for soldiers, not without reason. “But law and order must be maintained …”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Roland said. Tang had his fingers in every legal and semi-legal business in the city, which made him the prime suspect for the high-ranking official who’d ordered the raid. Roland wouldn’t have cared to bet against it. Few others could do it without making their involvement obvious. “We have no choice, but to reform the police as quickly as possible.”

He pushed forward before they could object. “Your people do not trust the police,” he said, flatly. “That’s quite understandable. Your policemen are thugs, bully-boys who are brave when it comes to picking on shopkeepers and whores who can’t fight back, but cowards when they have to arrest someone who can. Their mere existence is a recruiting tool for the insurgents. Every atrocity they commit is something the insurgents can use to recruit more fighters. We have to reform the police now or face the consequences.”

“We will take the matter under advertisement,” Shen said. “But …”

Roland cut him off. “I have authority from the provisional government to tackle the issue of police reform,” he said. It was true, although how much such authority was worth was … questionable. “We have to move now, sirs, or not move at all.”

He let the words hang in the air for a long moment. The councillors weren’t fools. They knew how much a honest police force could threaten their positions, even if they managed to keep control over the city. They wouldn’t be able to use the police as their enforcers any longer, which would limit their ability to maintain a thin veneer of legality, a velvet glove covering an iron fist. And yet, if they refused to tackle the issue, they risked disaster. The police would either provoke an uprising or they’d be infiltrated by the communists and eventually wind up being turned against their former masters. They knew it. But would they have the wit to see they had to act now?

“We will not allow Nova Kong to dictate to us,” Shen said, finally.

“It is nothing to do with Nova Kong,” Roland said. He wanted to act alone, if need be, but … better to at least try to bring them with him. “Either you reform the police or you risk destruction.”

There was a long pause. Roland could practically see the thoughts running through their heads. What should they do? Take the risk of reform or the risk of doing nothing … Roland wondered, idly, if they were hoping he’d act alone. It would save them from having to make a choice … foolish, true, but very human.

Tang leaned forward. “How do you intend to proceed?”

“We will pair police patrols with my platoons,” Roland said. “Corrupt, abusive or subverted policemen will be removed. There will be no second chances. The remainder will be held firmly to a strict code of conduct, with dismissal instant for anyone who betrays the code. We will push patrols though the city and outside it, inspecting as much traffic as possible in hopes of intercepting more arms shipments. We will make life as difficult for the insurgents as possible.”

“But also difficult for traders,” Tang said. “We must balance security with the need to maintain and even grow the economy.”

“A completely uninterested statement, I am sure,” Shen said, sardonically. “What might your men be bringing into the city?”

Tang remained calm. “We glean much of our revenue from taxes, paid by traders shipping goods through the city,” he said. “Anything that reduces our income makes it difficult for us to meet our obligations.”

And we haven’t been able to track where all the money is going, Roland thought. The tax system is so complicated it’s easy for the accountants to lose track of the money – or simply steal it for themselves.

He kept that thought to himself. The Empire’s tax system had been a nightmare, with billions upon billions of rules and regulations covering rights, responsibilities and exemptions that were impossible for a single accountant, no matter how capable, to understand. The big interstellar corporations had practically crafted the business tax laws themselves, ensuring they had to pay as little as possible while dumping all the burdens on anyone who wanted to start a new business and, in the process, killing research and development. Roland had no way to know for sure, but from what he’d heard innovation had practically come to a halt. And that meant …

We’ll have to rewrite the local tax laws too, he told himself. And see what happens when just anyone can start a business.

“We will do what we can to avoid placing any additional burden on the city,” Roland said, out loud. “But you have to be aware, now, of just how dangerous the situation has become.”

He paused. “And with that in mind, I also intend to split the enemy as much as possible,” he added. “If we can separate the moderates from the diehards, we might just be able to nip the war in the bud.”

But he knew, as the councillors argued over the risks involved in reaching out to the enemy, that it might already be too late.

***

The police station looked suspiciously clean, for a station on the front lines of a war against crime, insurgency and outright terrorism. Farris had been in better-run police stations that looked grimy and unpleasant, designed to make it very clear to any unwilling guests that they were in very deep shit indeed. Not that that had ever been really in doubt, he thought bitterly, as his eyes swept the room. The vast majority of police forces had abandoned law and order decades ago, preferring to hassle people for thoughtcrimes than harmless little pranks like rape, murder and paedophilia. They’d been little better than cowards in uniform. And the less said about the Civil Guard the better.

He studied the row of policemen, trying not to weep. Twenty-seven men and three women, ranging from dangerously overweight and unfit to disturbingly slimy … their commanders had already been removed, marched off to the holding compound outside the city. They’d be interrogated there, their ties to local crime syndicates uncovered … allowing the rest of the police, with military backing, to hunt them down and eradicate them. Farris wasn’t fool enough to think they could eliminate crime completely, but they might be able to cut it down enough to buy time for the city to rejuvenate itself. If the locals were prepared to put in the work …

“I’ll make this quick,” he said, his eyes lingering on their former liaison officer. “You are not good policemen” – he ignored the rustle of anger running through the room – “and you bear some of the blame for the problems strangling the life out of the city. Many of your superior officers are corrupt and others were working directly for the communists; many of you, said to say, have been taking bribes and accepting favours rather than doing your jobs. The average citizen hates and fears you, with good reason. Your mere existence is helping the enemy’s cause.

“That ends now.

“You have two choices. You can work with us to become the kind of policemen this city needs. You will be honest and fair, treating citizens with respect and enforcing the laws with neither fear nor favour. You will not take bribes, you will not accept sexual favours, you will not bend the knee to threats to your safety or that of your families. If you comport yourself from this moment on as decent police officers, we will kindly let the past remain in the past. You will not be judged by anything but your conduct from this moment on.

“And you will be judged. If you break the code of conduct, or act like a power-mad thug instead of a public servant, you will be held to account and there will be no mercy. You will receive years of hard labour, your punishment serving as an example to your former peers not to follow in your footsteps. Do not test us on this. You will not like the results.

“Or you can quit. Hand in your badges now and we’ll let you go. You can go do whatever you like, in or out if the city, no matter what you did before now. Choose wisely. There won’t be a second chance.”

He made a show of stepping back, his eyes flickering along the line. “You have one hour to decide. Codes of conduct have been printed out. If you remain in the police force, those are the rules you will be expected to follow. If you choose to leave instead, you may go. But bear in mind there won’t be a second chance.”

His voice hardened. “Dismissed.”

The policemen scattered, looking more like hunted rabbits than guardians of law and order. Farris rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache threatening to pulse into life beneath his temples. He wasn’t a civilian policeman – he knew his father’s name – and he wasn’t even a military policeman. There were too many skills, soft skills, a civilian policeman knew that he lacked … everything from speaking gently to witnesses to collecting evidence that could be put in front of a court. He operated in a whole different world, one where he wasn’t expected to be gentle … well, not that gentle. And yet, he’d been given the task of laying down the law to a bunch of policemen who really weren’t suited to the role. It would be better to purge them all and start again.

Lieutenant Chen cleared his throat. “Is this strictly necessary?”

“Yes.” Farris raised his eyebrows. “Why didn’t you join us yesterday?”

“I thought I would get in the way,” Chen said. Farris couldn’t tell if Chen believed himself or not. It wouldn’t be the first time someone lied to himself so convincingly that they believed their own lies. “It wasn’t my …”

“It is now,” Farris said. “Each and every police patrol will be paired up by a military patrol, Lieutenant, and any misconduct will be severely punished.”

He looked at the map. The police barely had any real control, even within territory under their guns. Too many private armies, too many criminal gangs … that would have to change. It would be difficult to disarm the private armies, let alone the insurgents, yet … he shook his head. They really needed more manpower, men who could be trusted. And that wasn’t going to happen in a hurry. From what he’d heard, the planet was lucky to get as much outside support as it had.

Lieutenant Chen frowned. “Do you think you can succeed?”

“Yes.” Farris kept his doubts to himself. “And you can make it clear to your peers, Lieutenant, that if any of them try to fuck it up for us” – his voice hardened – “it will be the last thing they ever do.”

 

Chapter Twenty-Four

“On your feet, prisoner.”

Mai Ling stood, submitting without a fight to the handcuffs and shackles. She’d quite lost track of time over the last few days, the monotony of the prison cell broken only by brief interrogations that seemed more pro forma than serious. Perhaps it was intended to grind her down, to make her want to tell her captors everything, but … she didn’t know and she didn’t care. The best she could hope for now was her comrades overrunning the prison and liberating her, before she was sent to a work camp – once run by the Spartans; now owned and operated by the provisional government – to spend the rest of her days slaving away. Or worse. There were all sorts of rumours about just what happened to girls who entered government-run brothels, none remotely pleasant. If the girls really were lobotomised to ensure they couldn’t betray their masters …

The guards escorted her through a maze of corridors, each one so unmarked she couldn’t even begin to work out the way back to the cell. There were no other visible prisoners or guards, just row upon row of locked doors and blank walls. She wondered if they were walking in circles, a deliberate attempt to confuse her, but it hardly seemed to matter. She was a prisoner and she’d be lucky if she ever saw the outside world again. Or at least the city she called home. If the stories were true, the work camps were so far to the north as to be completely out of reach. Her comrades could no more find her there than they could attack Sparta itself.

They paused in front of a metal door, which opened to reveal a small interrogation chamber. A single table, a trio of chairs … a lone light bulb dangling from high overhead, casting an eerie radiance over the barren walls and empty table. The guards pushed her into one of the chairs and retreated, leaving her alone. Ling barely had a moment to realise they’d abandoned her before the door opened again, revealing a handsome young man and a young woman in a very masculine outfit. The same one who’d captured her? Perhaps. She held herself in a manner Ling could only envy, carrying herself with the confident attitude of a woman who knew the universe would make space for her. Ling would have admired her, if she hadn’t been on the other side. The Popular Front gave lip service to woman’s rights, but it was a rare man who’d even pretend to take his wife or sister’s opinions seriously. Even the most committed wouldn’t lower himself to do women’s work.

“Good afternoon,” the man said, as he sat facing Ling. He was handsome, in a bland kind of way. Something nagged at her mind, something familiar … she couldn’t put it into words. His comrade stood behind him, arms folded over her chest. It struck Ling that she was the bodyguard, something vanishingly rare on Confucius … perhaps that was the point. Even dressed in a male outfit, most local men wouldn’t see her as a threat. Assuming, of course, that they saw through the disguise. “How are you today?”

Ling almost giggled. “Are you the good cop or the bad cop?”

The man smiled. “You watched such flicks too?”

“Yeah.” Ling had never seen a viewscreen before her family had come to the city, but she’d made up for lost time since then. The Popular Front had embraced the new/old technology because their enemies did not, apparently on the grounds that watching offworld flicks would give the lower classes ideas. Ling suspected they were right. They’d certainly given her some ideas. “Do you think you can convince me to talk simply by being nice to me?”

Her stomach twisted as she spoke. So far, they hadn’t tried to force her to talk, but that might be about to change. They could torture her, if they wished, or worse … she’d seen the pieces of human wreckage, male and female alike, released after the Spartans had utterly shattered their resistance and left them little more than human-shaped lumps. She had no idea what they’d done to the poor bastards, but … she didn’t want to know. The new offworlders might have tricks of their own. She’d done what she could to mentally prepare for interrogation, but her teachers had warned her that everyone broke eventually. It was why she hadn’t been told anything more than she strictly needed to know.

“No,” the man said. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” Ling said.

“Captain Roland Windsor, at your service,” Captain Windsor said. He spoke as if he expected her to know the name and seemed oddly amused when she didn’t. She had no idea why. “I want to talk to Sunbeam.”

Ling tensed. Sunbeam. The Popular Front’s leader. Ling had heard of the leader, of course. Who hadn’t? But she had no idea where to find Sunbeam. She knew little beyond the name and the mythology spread by her teachers, a reputation that she feared – at times – might have grown far beyond the reality. And yet, if she said as much, would they believe her?

“I don’t know where to find Sunbeam,” she said, reluctantly. How long would they torture her before they finally accepted she wasn’t holding out on them? Days? Months? Years? Panic flickered at the back of her mind, her wrists pulling against the chains. “I don’t know …”

“We don’t expect you to,” the woman said. She was good. If Ling hadn’t seen her, she would have assumed the speaker was a man. “But you can take a message through the cell structure, can’t you?”

“Sure.” Ling let out a giggle. “Whatever you say.”

“Good,” Captain Windsor said. “Tell Sunbeam I want to meet. I swear on the honour of the Marine Corps that there will be no tricks, no attempt to capture anyone. I just want to meet.”

Ling wanted to ask why, but … she had no idea what was really going on. Were they going to release her? Really? She would take the message, if they wanted, but her superiors might refuse to pass it further up the chain. Would she be shadowed as she slipped back into Karafuru, would the offworlders try to track her back to the safe house … she didn’t know. Or was it just a cunning plan to give her false hope, before they shredded her mind. The Spartans had been brutal – and brutally honest, rarely playing games with their captives. Their local collaborators had been far worse. They’d been sadistic monsters who made the Spartans look civilised.

“I can take the message,” she said, desperate hope warring with fear. “But …”

“That’s all I ask,” Captain Windsor said. “The guards will take you to the gatehouse, get you some better clothes and give you my contact details. Please don’t let them fall into anyone else’s hands – I don’t need the prank calls.”

He smiled, as if it was a joke. Ling didn’t know what he was thinking.

“Good luck,” Captain Windsor said. “I’ll see you later.”

He waved as the guards returned, helping Ling to her feet and escorting her out the door. Her mind was reeling. It had to be a trick of some kind, an attempt to use her to get to Sunbeam … didn’t they know she couldn’t help them, willingly or not? Or were they sincere? The council had a bounty on Sunbeam’s head – she’d heard it had been claimed several times, because no one knew who Sunbeam actually was – but the offworlders might have different ideas. They’d certainly started taking out the trash, which was more than could be said for anyone else.

Her mind raced. What was the point? To discredit her in front of her peers? Why bother, when she was already their prisoner? She was a very small part of the movement, part of a cell that had been largely isolated from the rest of the resistance movement. They had nothing to gain beyond her death and if they wanted her dead, they could easily have killed her themselves. No matter how she looked at it, it had to be sincere. But … did they really think anyone would talk to them?

If this is a way out, I’ll take it, she told herself. And if this is a trick, I’ll make them pay.

***

“Hell of a gamble,” Rachel observed, once the young girl was safely out the door. “You think she’ll pass on the message?”

Roland shrugged as he stood and stretched. “We have other prisoners,” he pointed out. “If she doesn’t pass it on, we can try again.”

“Yeah.” Rachel had watched the recordings of the prisoner’s interrogations. There had been nothing to suggest she was anything other than what she claimed to be, a member of a cell that was now effectively defunct. Her comrades were dead or scattered … as far as they’d been able to tell, she was the only member of the cell to be captured. “You do realise you could be sending her to her death?”

“I know.” Roland glanced at her. “Do we have a choice?”

Rachel said nothing for a long moment. The last few days had felt like the uneasy calm before the storm, as Roland and his officers worked desperately to purge the police force of the most corrupt and unreliable policemen and drill the survivors in modern – and civilised – policing. It wasn’t anything like enough time to lay down the law, let alone make examples out of anyone other than the most egregious cases. They were racing against time to tackle the worst problems facing the city and she knew, all too well, that if the enemy started to interfere openly all the progress they’d made would be swept away. It was against Imperial policy to negotiate with terrorists, but … there were times when the facts on the ground superseded policy. They could pretend the provisional government was in full control of the planet, if they wished, yet it wouldn’t make it so. The Popular Front was steadily becoming a shadow government and it was just a matter of time before it took over openly, throwing down the gauntlet and daring the provisional government to react.

And the more they see us taking over the local government, the more they’ll need to push back, Rachel mused. Shit.

“No,” she said, finally. Roland would be in some trouble, if his plan failed. “Do you really think they’ll listen?”

“We have to try,” Roland said.

Rachel couldn’t disagree. There was no such thing as an absolute dictator, not if the dictator wanted to keep being a dictator. The most powerful men in the world still needed to tend to their power base, rewarding their allies and punishing their enemies … a careful balancing act that kept their people afraid to resist, yet not so afraid that they lashed out in sheer terror. The Popular Front drew its power from the simple fact it was the only faction trying to help the people, which mean it would be difficult for it to openly oppose another faction trying the same thing for fear of alienating their power base. It wouldn’t be the first time the populist tail had wagged the elitist dog, when the interests of those at the bottom were no longer aliened with those at the top.

She understood Roland’s logic. If the offworlders offered to work with the moderate socialists to make the city better, it would give them a chance to isolate the extremists and terrorists who benefited from continuing the conflict. She had no doubt the enemy leadership was at least partly invested in maintaining their control, no matter how much they believed in their cause, and Roland would be throwing down a gauntlet they couldn’t pick up without alienating many of their supporters. But he was risking a far more serious clash with the council and for what? It would either work brilliantly or fail spectacularly. And there was just no way to know what would happen until it was too late.

“They might try to keep you webbed up in pettifogging issues,” she said, as she turned to leave the room. “They could keep the talks going for quite some time.”

“I know,” Roland said. “But as long as they’re not impeding us …”

They walked through the prison, pausing to check the control centre before leaving the complex and returning to their car. The prison had been set up by the Spartans, which explained the strange combination of primitive facilities and high-tech surveillance systems. It wasn’t designed for long-term occupancy either, the occupiers either sending their prisoners to work camps or simply executing them once they’d outlived their usefulness. That would have to change, she knew, particularly if the fighting grew worse. They’d have to train more guards too. The less said about the locals, the better.

Roland’s communicator bleeped. “The prisoner has been released, as per orders,” Lieutenant André said. “Do you want us to monitor her?”

“No,” Roland said. “Let her go free.”

“Aye, sir.”

Rachel smiled, inwardly. There were quite a few ways to covertly track the prisoner as she made her way back to the city, from drone observation to implanted trackers, but there was too great a risk of the enemy catching on and reacting accordingly. They’d see it as proof Roland wasn’t reaching out to them in good faith and they’d be right, which would make it impossible to come to any sort of terms with them. And besides, the former prisoner simply wasn’t that important. If she vanished, deliberately or otherwise, it wouldn’t cause any problems in the grand scheme of things.

And I can keep building up my intelligence network, she told herself. If this works, great. If not, at least it will buy us time. And we desperately need it.

***

The streets felt odd, Mai Ling decided, as she made her way to the safe house.

They seemed unchanged, at least at first, with countless people hustling up and down and others manning roadside stalls or sitting by the walls, smoking all kinds of drugs that served as the opiate of the masses. The air was heavy with the stench, making her head spin slightly; she’d been taught, like all other fighters, that using such narcotics was asking for trouble, that if she was caught using them she would be lucky if they merely gave her a pair of concrete shoes and dropped her in the nearest canal. There were no offworlders in view, nor were there any police officers or militiamen …

But it still felt as if something was about to happen. Something bad.

She opened the door to the safe house, an apartment within a towering block, and stepped inside. There were two people there, young men she knew by sight but little else. They’d been activity discouraged from talking, from sharing anything that might reveal how the cells interacted or could be used to start dismantling the cellular structure piece by piece. It was something she’d understood, but …

“You’ve been gone a long time,” a familiar voice said. She glanced to the side to see their handler, her cell’s connection to the greater structure. He was an older man with a bland, instantly forgettable face, “What happened?”

Ling took a breath, then started to explain. “I wasn’t followed on my way back,” she finished, after outlining her brief imprisonment and meeting with Captain Windsor. “They didn’t try to shadow me.”

“Doubtful,” her handler said. “Strip. Take everything off, and I mean everything.”

Ling hesitated, then did as she was told. The handler produced an odd-looking device from his pocket and carefully waved it over her body, the movements sending shivers running down her spine. She was a socialist and yet … the idea that she wasn’t supposed to take her clothes off in front of anyone other than her husband, a husband she didn’t even have, was deeply rooted. The young men stared openly … Ling covered her breasts and the space between her legs, trying not to die of embarrassment. The handler seemed unconcerned with her nakedness. Oddly, it wasn’t reassuring.

“You’re not carrying anything active,” he said, finally. He motioned to one of the young men, who couldn’t quite keep his eyes off Ling’s chest. Naked women were rare, outside the brothels, and resistance fighters were discouraged from patronising them. “Put her clothes in a bag, then take them to the canal and dump them.”

He looked at Ling. “You’ll have to stay here,” he said. “I’ll take the message onwards.”

“Thanks,” Ling managed. “They didn’t shadow me …”

“They can make tracking devices so small they can’t be seen,” the handler told her. “Do you have any unexplained aches and pains? Any bruises without a cause? Did they beat you up to hide their work?”

Ling shook her head. Her captivity had been monotonous, rather than painful. The food had been bland and boring, but … ice shot through her. Had they planted a tracker in her meals? It could be in her stomach right now, signalling her location to anyone who cared to hear. “No, but …”

“Stay here,” the handler said. “We’ll have to decide what to do about you later.”

“Yes, sir,” Ling managed. She didn’t blame him for being paranoid. She didn’t know she hadn’t been tagged like a wild animal and then released, in hopes she’d lead her captors back to her handler and the rest of the resistance. “Ah … can I get some clothes?”

“Take some from the bedroom,” her handler said. He sounded as if he were distracted by a greater thought. Ling didn’t care, as long as he wasn’t considering how best to eliminate her as a potential security risk. “Just don’t leave the apartment. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

 

Chapter Twenty-Five

The building looked as innocuous as any other, a simple row of shops selling everything from food and drink to clothes, spare parts, and a whole bunch of other things that Farris was mildly surprised could be found for any price. The target – a simple engineering shop – looked just like the rest, but there were two very obvious tough guys standing outside and several more loitering up and down the street. There might be more, he reflected as the drone passed overhead, the live feed being relayed directly to his terminal. The obvious thugs might be a distraction from the real threat.

He took a long breath, then eyed the row of policemen crammed into the truck. “You know the drill,” he said, hoping to hell it was true. “We get in, secure the place, grab all the evidence and then get out again.”

The policemen looked back at him, their faces pale in the dim light. Farris had kept them busy, drilling them relentlessly; he’d made a few examples of men too stubborn, or too stupid, to follow basic rules and generally act like civilised policemen, rather than uniformed thugs. The police squad was being escorted by Farris’s platoon, to provide extra firepower as well as supervision, but Farris couldn’t help feeling dangerously exposed. The policemen were either unused to their new role or, he feared, enemy infiltrators. The most competent officers were the most likely to be working for the bad guys … he groaned, inwardly. It would have been easier if he’d been able to trust the nepo appointees, but they were the most incompetent of the bunch. They were more dangerous than the infiltrators, simply by existing …

“Let’s go,” he said. “Driver, take us there.”

The truck rumbled to life, heading around the corner and straight down the road. The second truck followed … Farris hoped, prayed, they weren’t about to impale themselves on an IED. Or worse. There was less traffic now, pedestrians jumping aside as the two police trucks made their way down to the shop and parked outside. Farris snapped a command for the men to open the hatches then jumped out, rifle already raised. The two tough guys outside the shop made a very visible decision not to try to fight. They were handcuffed anyway, Farris barely noticing as he led the way into the shop. The interior was brightly-lit, a handful of workers slaving away at their workbenches. They looked panicked as the police swarmed the building.

Farris kept moving, ignoring the nasty little voice at the back of his mind that argued they’d been tricked. The tip-off had spoken of a bomb factory, an engineering warehouse where the communists prepared IEDs before emplacing them on the streets … had they been tricked? Had they been turned into pawns, used to wreck someone’s business …? He charged down the stairs into the basement, snapping off a shot as a worker raised a pistol. The man crumbled, blood staining his shirt … Farris let out a sigh of relief as he saw the parts laid out in front of him. He’d been taught how to make improvised bombs himself, as part of his basic training, and he had no trouble recognising the kit on the table. There was no reason for anyone to have it unless they wanted to make bombs.

“Get the forensic team in here,” he ordered, after sweeping the basement. The air was heavy with chemicals, his skin itching uncomfortably … he wasn’t sure what they’d been using to make their explosives, but it didn’t smell pleasant. He hoped they hadn’t been experimenting with chemical or biological weapons. They’d both be utter nightmares. “And hurry.”

He strode back upstairs, watching grimly as the prisoners were secured and hurried into the truck under heavy guard. The people outside were scattering, never a good sign. The drones weren’t reporting any major enemy movement, but they were rarely accurate in urban terrain where the enemy wore civilian clothes and didn’t carry weapons openly until they started shooting. There could be a small army bearing down on them …

“We found enough bomb material for a dozen IEDs,” Sergeant Congas reported. “Nothing too fancy, I’d say they got the explosive from the Spartans rather than any local production centre.”

“Noted,” Farris said. The political and diplomatic implications were well above his pay grade. Captain Windsor was paid the big bucks to worry about it, assuming – of course – that the big bucks were worth much of anything these days. Farris wasn’t sure how much his savings were worth now the Empire was gone. “And the dead man?”

“No ID yet, which isn’t too surprising,” Sergeant Congas said. “We’ll take the body with us, of course. We might be able to match him up when we get home.”

Farris nodded, watching the policemen as they finished sweeping the engineering shop for clues. They weren’t doing too badly, but he would have preferred to spend more time carefully dismantling the entire scene … not that they had the time or the training to do it properly. It was weird to think he had more training in policing than any local policeman, never mind that he wasn’t a military policeman or indeed any sort of policemen. Collecting basic intelligence had been drilled into him right from the start, in hopes the squad would stumble across something that would lead them to the enemy HQ. The average insurgent was no masterbrain, he’d been assured. It was astonishing how many clues could be left behind by someone who didn’t know what they were doing.

“Get the policemen back into the trucks,” he ordered. The crowd outside was growing larger and larger. It looked decidedly unfriendly. It galled Farris to abandon the bomb factory before it could be properly inspected, but the last thing he wanted was a fight between armed policemen and an angry crowd. They had earned a little goodwill over the past few days, yet goodwill was about as transeient as a snowflake in hell. One mistake would erase all the good they’d done once and for all. “Move out.”

“Aye, sir.”

Farris scrambled into the truck and braced himself as the engine roared into life. The crowd, thankfully, was keeping its distance. Either there were no provocateurs in the crowd or they’d thought better of causing trouble, in the calm before the storm. His lips twitched as he spotted the garbage men, attacking the piles of rubbish with shovels and dumping the trash in their giant truck. It felt as if they were fighting an unwinnable fight, the rubbish piles seeming to grow larger with every blink, but everything had to start somewhere. They were being paid well too, perhaps better than the policemen. It was a dirty job, and the locals looked down on anyone who did it, but money would make up for it.

He keyed his communicator as the trucks drove down the street, making a report while keeping his eyes open. The raid would provoke some kind of response, he was sure, if only to keep the prisoners from being interrogated. Was someone already lying in wait, ready to ambush the trucks? Or … who knew? He could only wait and see, the uneasy feeling his head was slipping into a noose growing stronger with every passing second. The enemy would do something in response, but what?

And who knew how the policemen would act when the shit hit the fan?

***

Roland stood at the window and watched as the prisoners were marched from the trucks and into the interrogation compound. There would be no half-measures with these prisoners, not when the underground would already be scattering … they had to find out what the prisoners knew, as quickly as possible, before it became outdated. There was no guarantee they knew anything of importance, certainly nothing actionable … Roland shook his head. Even very basic pieces of data would be useful, as they built up a picture of how the enemy operated. It was astonishing how useful a tiny piece of data could be, once it was put in context.

“Sir,” Lucille said. “Councillor Tang has arrived.”

“Show him in,” Roland said. He’d made a point of keeping his office as barren as possible, to make it clear it was his working space, although he wondered if that was a good idea when the locals seemed to expect a show of opulence. He disliked the idea intensely, after growing up in the Imperial Palace, but if it was needed here … he shook his head. The barren space was more comfortable. “And then bring us both coffee.”

He turned as Councillor Tang was shown into the room, his eyes flickering from side to side. It was difficult to read the man, if only because his mood seemed to swing completely at random. Roland knew people who sucked up to their superiors while crapping on their inferiors – understandable, if despicable – but Tang didn’t seem anything like as predicable. Roland wondered if there were times when Tang didn’t believe what he was saying, hence the lack of enthusiasm, or … he shrugged, inwardly, as they exchanged nods. Tang was caught between several fires, his own self-interest clashing with that of his supporters, his fellow councillors and Roland himself. Whatever had prompted the meeting, it was something the man himself didn’t support.

It was so much easier on New Doncaster, Roland thought, as Lucille brought two mugs of coffee and then retreated. At least we knew which side would betray us.

Tang sipped his coffee, then smiled. “I could get you some much better coffee, if you like,” he said. He didn’t sound as if he were making a joke. “There’s no need to punish yourself by drinking this muck.”

Roland had to smile. “That’s military-grade coffee,” he said. An unsubtle attempt at bribery? Or something else? “It’s designed to jerk you awake by assaulting your taste buds.”

“Charming,” Tang said. “Do you have a wife, Captain?”

“No,” Roland said. The thought caused him an odd little pang. He’d been told he’d be married off for political reasons, years ago, but now … that wasn’t going to happen. On New Doncaster … he put that thought firmly out of his mind too, unwilling to remember those days. “I’m not married.”

“I have a niece who might be interested,” Tang said. He shot Roland an odd little smile. “She was asking about you.”

Roland said nothing for a long moment. The old order had been smashed beyond repair and the new order was still taking shape, but it was rare for a local woman to marry beneath her station … and an offworlder, as far as the locals were concerned, was a very long way beneath even the poorest local woman. Was Tang trying to set up a martial alliance, or bribe him, or … hell, was it a clumsy attempt to make conversation? His lips twitched. If the other councillors heard about it, would they start offering him their daughters too? Or was he overthinking it?

“I’m sure she’d be disappointed by the real me,” he said, lightly. The poor girl wouldn’t have much choice in the matter, if her uncle and family head ordered her to marry him. “I drink terrible coffee, after all.”

“My wife has been known to complain about me smoking too,” Tang said, with a faint smile. “I’m sure she could overlook your poor taste in coffee.”

“I’m sure she could too,” Roland said. He leaned back in his chair. “What can I do for you, Councillor? I have a meeting in thirty minutes.”

“You’ve been hiring workers to do certain jobs,” Tang said, vaguely. “These workers are not authorised to work within the city.”

Roland raised his eyebrows. “The garbage men?”

Tang showed a flash of anger, before his face fell back into a blank mask. “Workers within the city have to be registered with the guilds,” he said, bluntly. “Employers have to recruit their workers from the guilds. And you are choosing to bypass them.”

“I don’t have time to worry about bureaucracy,” Roland said. The guilds – unions, by any other name – were controlled by the council, allowing them to manipulate the skilled labour market as they pleased and exclude labour from outside the city. They kept wages high by limiting the number of skilled workers that could actually work, which created both an underground market for skilled labour and a resentful population that could be easily be recruited by the communists and put to work making weapons and bombs. “We have to move fast, before it is too late.”

“And the guilds are protesting your refusal to work through them,” Tang said. Roland couldn’t tell if Tang himself cared, but it probably didn’t matter. He drew some of his support from the guilds and he couldn’t afford to lose it. “You have an obligation to this city …”

“I have an obligation to make the city better,” Roland pointed out. God! How screwed up was the snake pit? “And that doesn’t mean allowing the guilds – or anyone – to strangle the life out of the city before my work is done.”

Tang’s eyes narrowed. “And what would you suggest I said to the guilds?”

“There is enough work for everyone,” Roland said. It was true. There were so many maintenance tasks that could reasonably be classed as urgent that they’d barely scratched the surface of what needed to be done. Everything from potholes to replacing street lights and installing hardened datanet connections … they hadn’t even put together a full catalogue of what they had to do to get the city up and running again. “And they are welcome to take part in it.”

He sighed, inwardly. There were more problems than the obvious. The offworlders paid in cash, which made it harder for the guilds to collect their dues and the local tax farmers to make a profit. It was short-sighted of them, but … was there anyone in the city who could think about the long-term? Apart from Sunbeam, of course. There had been no reply to his message, not even a sardonic invitation to take a sexual travel package. And that meant … what? Try as he might, he couldn’t escape the feeling they were on the verge of open conflict. He was racing against time. If he wasn’t ready …

“They will take steps if their concerns are not addressed,” Tang said. “Captain, I suggest …”

Roland met his eyes. “What do you suggest I do? Cap the labour force? Pay more to local workers? Or do … do what? There are hundreds upon hundreds of problems that need to be fixed and no one seems interested in doing what it takes to fix them. You could have solved half of them if you’d tried, but …”

He felt the frustration welling up within him. “Why doesn’t anyone here care about the city?”

“We care about the city and the people, and the future,” Tang said.

“So why are you so intent on strangling the life out of the city?” Roland shook his head. “Do you want the communists to win?”

Tang stiffened. “Any concessions will only fuel demands for more concessions.”

“And not offering any concessions will only fuel demand for total reform,” Roland countered, bluntly. “You can give up a little power or you can have all your power torn from you. We already know the communists are very well organised. It is just a matter of time before they seek to take formal power.”

His eyes hardened. “Or are you planning to switch sides at the right moment?”

He pressed on before Tang could answer. “It’s been done before, Councillor, and it has always ended badly. Always.”

Tang stood. “I will convey your words to the guilds,” he said. “I am sure they will react appropriately.”

He bowed, then left the room. Roland watched him go, rubbing his forehead. Tribal warfare often involved a great deal of side-swapping, when it became clear that one side had the edge and further resistance was futile. It wasn’t uncommon for a preference cascade to sweep through the region, often fuelled by money or covert concessions, as tribe after tribe swapped sides before it was too late. Tang might think he had something to bargain with, given his power as both a councillor and patriarchy of an extended family and patronage network. Roland suspected he was wrong. The Popular Front had no reason to dicker with him once he outlived his usefulness, certainly no reason that wouldn’t cost far more than it was worth. They would use him and then discard him, without bothering to praise him.

“You could have been a little more diplomatic,” Rachel said.

Roland looked up, surprised. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Too long behind a desk,” Rachel said. Her smile was too wide to be real. “You can join me on my next patrol.”

Roland was too tired to care. “What do you want?”

“Your messenger returned,” Rachel said. Her tone was suddenly serious. “Sunbeam wants to meet.”

“Good.” Roland rubbed his forehead. “Do we have anything left to bargain with? The council seems determined to throw this city to the communists.”

“Depends,” Rachel said. “But if you say no now, after going to all the trouble to set it up …”

“I know, I know,” Roland said. “Is there anyone, anyone at all, in this city who cares?”

“The old social order is gone,” Rachel said. “Right now, caring isn’t an advantage. Not for them. Build a new social order and things will change.”

“Yeah,” Roland said. He knew how societies rose and fell. The less faith people had in their governments and social structures, the more they fell back on tribal systems … often having tro reinvent them from scratch, with all the pain that implied. “But do we have the time to make it work?”

 

Chapter Twenty-Six

“I shouldn’t be letting you do this,” Rachel said, quietly.

Roland nodded curtly, as they made their way through the maze of crowded streets. The air was heavy with the smell of food, drink and too many people in too close proximity, although thankfully the stench of human and animal wastes had faded now the garbage men had gotten to work and started clearing the area. The sewage system was still terrible, and prone to breaking down at random intervals, but at least it was better than nothing. He allowed himself a moment of relief as he saw a handful of children running past him, wearing clothes that had clearly been passed down from wearer to wearer. That suggested there wasn’t an ambush waiting for them, although it was difficult to be sure. The Popular Front blended far better into the city than anyone else, even the local militias. But then, if they risked the lives of innocents without good cause, they risked the locals turning on them.

More than they already have, at least, Roland mused. How many innocents were killed in the last engagement, simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time?

“It has to be done,” he said. Their guide – Mei Ling – was running ahead of them, close enough for him to keep an eye on her and far enough not to be able to overhear them. “If we can come to some kind of arrangement …”

He sighed, inwardly. It was unlikely any of the councillors would approve of him meeting the enemy commander, although – in true fashion for anyone caught between a government and an insurgency – they probably knew how to get in touch with the insurgents themselves. Roland wouldn’t be too surprised to discover the councillors had sent a handful of relatives to the insurgents, as well as channelling money and supplies, just to make sure they wound up on the winning side … whichever side that happened to be. It was irritating, although he understood a little too well. He could leave the planet – and would, eventually. The councillors couldn’t leave without abandoning everything, assuming they could leave at all.

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “And if this is a trap …”

Roland nodded, again. They were walking into territory the enemy dominated, if not controlled outright. Roland knew he could handle himself in a fight, and Rachel was an enhanced soldier with combat boosts that were literally outside of the world, but they weren’t superhumans. Getting in would be easy, getting out would be a great deal harder. The QRF was ready to go, the Raptors waiting on the runways, but … if the shit hit the fan, it was going to turn into a bloody nightmare very quickly. It could cost him his life. And yet, he had to try.

“I know,” he said, finally. He was mildly surprised Rachel hadn’t tried to force him to abandon the crazy idea. It would do immense damage to his cover – as far as anyone on the planet was concerned, he was just another Marine Auxiliary – but her orders were to preserve his life and to hell with what anyone else, including himself, thought about it. “We have to try.”

Mei Ling stopped in front of a mid-sized building, a simple café. The tables outside were heaving, dozens of men sitting and smoking while they chatted about nothing with their friends; the interior was surprisingly, suspiciously, quiet. Roland’s eyes swept the babbling men, wondering just how many were communist gunmen. There were no visible weapons, but that was meaningless. The staff – the only women in view – nodded politely and escorted them inside the building. Roland kept one hand near his weapon, his eyes widening slightly as he spotted the middle-aged woman waiting for them. Ice ran down his spine. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been at the very first council meeting …

“Captain Roland,” she said, standing. She wore a simple robe that probably concealed an entirely different outfit, something she could use to hide from cameras and drones alike. Her hair was covered with a scarf, something else she could easily remove and discard in a hurry. Her face was calm and composed, yet somewhat beaten down by life … Roland reminded himself, again, that people aged quickly on low-tech worlds. “I am Sunbeam.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Roland said. A woman? He had to admit it was clever. The locals didn’t seem to have much regard for women, treating them – at best – as second-class citizens or children. A man would be hanged for a serious crime, a woman would be pardoned on the grounds she was too childish to know she was committing a crime. Or smacked and told not to be naughty again. The sheer condescension was maddening and he wasn’t even the target. “I’m Captain Windsor.”

“A pleasure,” Sunbeam said. Her Imperial Standard was very good, giving a certain credence to her claim. Most local women weren’t encouraged to learn other languages. “Please, be seated. The staff will bring refreshments.”

She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Does the Council know you’re here?”

Roland looked back at her. “Don’t you already know the answer?”

Sunbeam smiled. “Are you going to tell them?”

“Would you trust me if I said no?” Roland relaxed, slightly, as the staff brought trays of tea and biscuits. “How did you even manage to get into the chamber?”

“It’s astonishing what you can do if people think you’re just an amusing little puppet,” Sunbeam said. Her eyes flickered to Rachel. “But you know that, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Rachel said, coolly.

Sunbeam poured three mugs, then sat back. “I guess you’re as sick of the endless pleasantries as I am, so we’ll get right to the point,” she said. “What do you want?”

Roland couldn’t disagree. Meeting the councillors – in private – was an endless dance of polite nothings, pointless chatter that did nothing but waste time. The few conversations he’d had that were more were even worse, from offers of bribes – money, girls, power – to non-too-subtle attempts to convince him to back one councillor over the others or to threaten him into doing something the councillor wanted him to do. He would have preferred a battlefield, even if there wasn’t a danger of immediate death. Battlefields tended to be more honest. It was all too easy to fear he’d accidentally give away something important, or find himself tangled up in a foolish promise he’d made to the wrong person …

“My orders are to stabilise the planet as much as possible,” Roland said. “In order to do that, I have to rebuild the planetary institutions into something the people can trust and repair the planetary infrastructure. I think this is in the best long-term interest of the people themselves.”

“You are a Captain,” Sunbeam observed, with mild sarcasm. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you fairly low on the peaking order?”

And to think I wielded supreme power on New Doncaster, Roland thought. It was galling to realise he’d probably exceeded his authority, simply though not realising there were limits on his formal rank. That was a careless mistake, to say least.

He shrugged, instead. “You have to start somewhere,” he said. “And each small success leads to a bigger success, given time.”

“I see.” Sunbeam met his eyes. “And what do you want from us?”

“I want you to stand down and let us work,” Roland said. “Given time, we will build a working infrastructure that will meet the needs of the people …”

“An infrastructure that will be hijacked by the council and their clients,” Sunbeam said, flatly. “You may mean well, Captain, but you have barely scratched the surface of what needs to be done.”

She leaned forward, her tone flat and hard. “The council owns most of the land in the city and for miles around. They use it ruthlessly, draining the lifeblood from the people. The landlords” – she made the word a curse – “are killing their renters, just by existing. What are you planning to do about it?”

“It’s something we will address, in time,” Roland said.

“It’s something the council will not let you address,” Sunbeam said. “Why would they cut their own throats?”

Her voice hardened. “And that’s just the start of it. You need to scrap countless laws used to empower their businesses and cripple everyone else. You need to remove bureaucrats and teachers, the former draining the lifeblood from the city and the latter poisoning their students minds. You need to do hundreds of things, Captain, and you have barely scratched the surface … you have to do it. But why would the council let you?”

She shrugged. “They make a big song and dance about being elected, but we haven’t had a fair election since … since ever. You need political reform too, yet again … why would they let you?”

“Given time …”

“You don’t have time!” Sunbeam met his eyes. “The city is a tinderbox. All it will take is one spark to set off an explosion, a fire that will burn everything to the ground. You’re sitting on a powder keg of resentments that have been building up for decades, since before the Spartans took control of our world. Do you really think those collaborators on the council will do anything to address the growing crisis, when it means giving up some of their power?”

She snorted. “You’re in a snake pit, Captain. And no matter what you do, you’re going to get bitten.”

“And if you set off the explosion,” Roland asked, “will it be any better?”

Sunbeam smiled. “We will address the very real problems facing the city,” she said. “The landlords and bureaucrats and councillors will be purged. Their property will be doled out to those who live there, or actually do the work, or are simply more deserving than the wretched parasites who wound up in charge, simply by kissing the arse of whoever happened to be the strongest at the time. We will not make excuses for our lack of action – we will take action.”

“And then what?” Roland leaned forward. “There has never been a case of successful communism. Not one.”

“And are you telling me that because you actually believe it,” Sunbeam asked, “or because you want to discourage us from standing up against the established order?”

Her lips quirked, but her eyes remained cold. “Do you know how many times I was told not to … rock the boat? Is that what you offworlders say? Be a good little girl. Be a good little wife. Be a good little mother. Never talk back to my father, never question my husband, always do what he says … because girls who don’t know their place and stick to it always come to bad ends.”

She laughed; bitterly, humourlessly. “Funny how following the rules didn’t save my son. Or my husband. Or anyone in the village. I was a good little girl. And look what it got me.”

“I’m sorry,” Roland said, quietly.

Sunbeam snorted. “Why? It wasn’t your fault.”

She shook her head. “You may be right. We may be heading towards disaster. But we are already heading towards disaster. We are drowning. Why shouldn’t we reach for any straw?”

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Roland said. “But …”

“I doubt it.” Sunbeam cut him off. “You weren’t born and raised here. You didn’t have to grow up here. You didn’t have to see your child die in front of you, you didn’t have to watch as your village was raised to the ground. You didn’t have to spend weeks in a refugee camp, dealing with people who had been poisoned by strip-mining operations; you didn’t have to sell your body to survive, ruthlessly building a place for yourself that …”

She broke off. “I have a counteroffer for you,” she said. “Let us take the city. Let us purge the council and its supporters. Let us work with you to repair the city, instead of fighting. If you want to stabilise the planet, what better option could you have?”

Roland said nothing for a long moment. On the face of it, Sunbeam was right. The council really was a pack of self-interested fools, determined to maintain their power even at the expense of their people. He could see the appeal of taking them into custody, or accidentally launching a missile at the wrong set of target coordinates, or something – anything – that would remove them from power and allow him to stabilise the city without impediment. He was very tempted to work with her, but … he knew, all too well, that she was just the smile on the face of the tiger. A program of total land redistribution would be bad for the big landlords, he was sure, but it would also be bad for everyone else. All landlords would be terminated, including the small landlords who owned little; farmland would be collectivised, destroying the incentive to grow more than the bare minimum … it was just a matter of time until the communists started setting out impossible targets, with a secret police force to punish anyone who failed to meet them. If the reports were accurate, it was already happening in the north.

“I understand your point,” he said. “But your program will be far more destructive in the long run.”

“So you say,” Sunbeam said. “We disagree.”

She took a sip of her drink. “You have come here to support a deeply corrupt establishment that is actively hostile to its own people,” she said. “You have made some reforms, true, but they won’t last. The council will ensure they are either subverted or shut down the moment you move away. All you have done is put lipstick on a pig. The pig remains a pig. And trying to pretend otherwise is worse than useless.”

“You could give us a chance,” Roland pointed out.

“You’re asking us to trust you, all the while supporting our tormentors,” Sunbeam said. “You expect us to put aside the experiences of decades, the betrayals and the mistreatments and everything else, for a dream that will become a nightmare. You may mean well. You have done more for the city than any other offworlder. But we cannot trust you and we cannot put our faith in you, or allow ourselves to be disarmed so as to be at your mercy. Their mercy. The days in which we believed outsiders, or the establishment, are long gone. They were dead and gone before you were born.”

She stood. “You came here under an agreement of safe conduct and we will keep that agreement. Ling will show you back to the palace, if you cannot find your own way out of the maze, but after that … we will take the city and reform it. If you and your people want to leave, you may do so at any moment. If you insist in standing in our way, we will destroy you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Win or lose,” Roland observed, “a great many innocent people will suffer.”

“Spoken like a true aristocrat,” Sunbeam said. Roland flinched. She didn’t know the truth – she couldn’t – but it was a hit nonetheless. “Life is suffering. My family is dead and gone. Many others lost their families too, others will lose them in the time to come. Even if I vanished tomorrow, many would still die. All we can do is try to give their lives meaning.”

She stood, brushing down her robe. “I don’t know what you wanted to achieve with this meeting,” she said. “The most you can offer is far less than the least we can accept. And vice versa. You won’t remove the council and yet, that is the only thing you can do to make things better.”

“I wanted to try to reach out to you,” Roland said. “And to know who I was facing.”

Sunbeam shrugged. “If I die tomorrow, someone will take my place. If I never existed at all, someone else would be standing here instead. The movement wasn’t founded by me, Captain, and taking me into custody won’t change the facts on the ground. We exist because we have to exist, because of the failures of our government and the crimes of our offworld tormentors. You are fighting an idea, a dream of freedom and perfect justice, not a person. You cannot win.”

“Very philosophical,” Roland said. “Did you really grow up in a village?”

“I have the scars to prove it,” Sunbeam said. “Or do you think that my ability to count past ten without taking off my shoes is somehow proof I was born somewhere else?”

Roland had honestly never thought about it. He’d never met anyone born in a village before … was that like the undercity? Or more like the towns and villages of New Doncaster?

“Point,” he said. There was no point in arguing the matter. “Thank you for your time.”

“You have the watches,” Sunbeam said. The cool confidence in her tone would have been admirable, if she’d been on his side. “We have the time.”

She strode off. Roland’s hand itched, fighting a sudden desire to draw his pistol and shoot her in the back. They’d never make it out alive, but at least she’d be dead … assuming, of course, she was the real Sunbeam. It could all be a trick … no, she’d spoken with too much assurance of herself for her to be anything other than the real person. But she was right. Shooting her wouldn’t be anything more than scratching an itch. There would be a new Sunbeam by the end of the day, someone who knew Roland or his successor couldn’t be trusted. And who knew what would happen then?

Rachel nudged him. “You do realise that was a declaration of war?”

“Yeah,” Roland said. “But we already knew we were at war.”

 

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“We have an ID on Sunbeam,” Rachel said, two days later. “She’s Li Anne. A merchant. She doesn’t have a formal title, but from what we’ve been able to gather she’s very influential in the merchant community. I guess we know why now.”

“A merchant,” Roland mused. “And a villager. Assuming that part of her story is accurate.”

He stood at the window, staring out over the city. Little had happened in the last two days, certainly little that suggested the communists were going on the offensive. Perhaps she’d been bluffing or perhaps she was trying to wear his men down, by forcing him to keep them on the alert. No military force could remain on alert forever, particularly without an enemy showing itself … the bastards didn’t have to show themselves to inflict serious harm. And yet, they couldn’t afford to leave him alone indefinitely. The more time they gave him to rebuild the city, the harder it would be to turn public opinion against him.

“It’s hard to be sure,” Rachel said. “The locals were supposed to maintain very good records, sir, but many were destroyed by one side or the other during the fighting. It’s not clear if the life of a village woman would have been recorded in any case, given how” – she shrugged, expressively – “but it hardly matters. She could have easily taken on a new name and identity, with a little help.”

“And how did she get onto the council in the first place?” Roland shook his head. “I mean … be with them, when they met me?”

“On paper, she’s one of Tang’s clients,” Rachel told him. She gave an odd little smile. “My guess is that the merchants demanded the right to send someone along to the meeting, apart from Tang himself of course, and she was chosen. If so, he was probably manipulated into choosing her … we may never know for sure, unless you want to ask him.”

“And hope we get a straight answer,” Roland said. No local man would like to admit he’d been outwitted by a woman, particularly when the woman was very much more than just a pretty face. It would make him a laughing stock. “I rather doubt it.”

He rubbed his forehead. “And if we take her out, what then?”

“Unknown,” Rachel said. “I have people trying to get close to her, but …”

She shrugged, expressively. Roland understood. Intelligence and counterintelligence was a war of shadows, where no one could be fully trusted and nothing could be taken for granted. The spies she’d recruited might be working for her and her alone, or the communists, or one or more of the other factions … there was just no way to be sure, no way to take them completely on faith. If he’d been on the other side, he would have made certain to provide Rachel with as many recruits as she wanted, all primed to be as faithful as she could possibly have wanted until the balloon went up. The new recruits – for everything from garbage men to police – might well include a few communist infiltrators, no matter how carefully they were vetted. They simply didn’t have the insight to vet them properly. And if they turned nasty at the worst possible time …

“I know,” Roland said. He felt tired, his brain aching even though his body was fit and healthy. All he could do was wait for the penny to drop – and waiting was something he’d never been good at. “I think …”

His intercom bleeped. “Sir,” Lucille said. “I just received a call from Captain Darlington. He’s requesting your presence.”

“Ah,” Roland said. He exchanged glances with Rachel. Whatever it was, it would break the monotony. “We’re on our way.”

They made their way down to the car, then drove into the city itself. The streets were as busy as ever, but there was a new edge in the air Roland didn’t like. A police patrol made its way down the streets, paired with an infantry platoon; Roland winced, inwardly, at how many passers-by gave the policemen the evil eye. He’d removed a number of corrupt policemen, making sure their punishment was as public as possible, but it would take years to rebuild public trust … more accurately, to get it in the first place. The police force had always been bully-boys, working for the establishment; there were policemen who’d worked for the Spartans, then for the Council, without ever having to renounce their past allegiances. No wonder they were so hated. Who could blame the locals for hating them?

The streets grew a little wider as they drove into the richer part of town, the towering apartment blocks and marketplaces giving way to small and medium houses that were well beyond the reach of most citizens. Some homes and communities were gated, others were walled; there were hundreds of private guards, all armed to the teeth, manning the gatehouses and watching passers-by with fearful eyes. The car came to a halt in front of one gatehouse, the private guards scowling at the police and infantrymen standing by the open gate. The house beyond was a very clear sign of conspicuous consumption. It looked very traditional, yet also modern … Roland felt a twinge of something as he realised it reminded him of the Summer Palace. That had been a combination of modern and ancient too.

“Sir,” Captain Darlington said. He’d been assigned to liaise with the police force, which apparently meant showing them how to do their job. “I think you need to see this.”

Roland nodded, glancing around. The air was cleaner here, the scent of flowers driving out the ever-present stench of pollution. The garden was as exquisite as the house, carefully laid out to offer a calming atmosphere to anyone who wanted to sit down and enjoy it. Roland could hear insects flying through the air, carrying pollen from plant to plant … he shook his head, inwardly, as he followed Captain Darlington into the house. The interior looked like a museum, rather than a place anyone would live. It managed to look both traditional and yet profoundly inhuman, warm and welcoming and somehow also dead and cold. Elegant, but …

A body lay on the ground, cordoned off by police tape. “His Elegance, Lord Sunset Flower,” Captain Darlington said. “Found dead two hours ago.”

Roland stepped forward. Lord Sunset Flower – if that was his real name; it sounded like an affection – was incredibly overweight, to the point he was a danger to shipping. His face was locked in a rictus of agony, the skin around his mouth blackened and burnt. The stench of burning flesh brushed against his nostrils, a roast pork smell he’d never grown accustomed to in years of military life. His stomach heaved and he turned away, sharply, to keep from throwing up over the crime scene. He’d seen some ghastly sights, but this …

He swallowed, hard. “Cause of death?”

“They forced molten gold down his throat,” Captain Darlington said. His voice was calm, composed. Roland felt a flash of pure hatred, astonishing in its sheer intensity. “From a basic examination, it was the steam that killed him … although, with such horrific burns scarring his throat and stomach, death would have been certain even if he were somehow immune to the steam. He may even have died quickly, although …”

Roland swallowed, again. “Who was he?”

“A landlord,” Captain Darlington said. “He owns – owned - nearly four hundred properties within the city. God alone knows who’ll get them now.”

Rachel eyed the corpse dispassionately. “Any witnesses?”

“There were seven servants within the walls,” Captain Darlington said. “They all tell the same story. They were attacked by masked men, who tied the servants up and left them in the cellar; they were trapped until the last servant returned home and discovered his master’s body. There should have been guards outside, but they were missing ... the ones out there now were summoned by the servant, who also called us. I suspect the guards were the masked men.”

He left the words hanging in the air. Roland cursed under his breath. Private security forces were rarely impressive, but in this case … the guards had either been forced to leave their posts or had actually carried out the murder themselves. Sunbeam had talked about killing the landlords and it looked as if she’d made a start already, slaughtering one and making it clear to the others that she could kill them at any moment. Their own guards might turn on them. Roland had to admire the scheme even as he recoiled in horror from the atrocity before him. Once word got out, a great many landlords would be considering fleeing the city …

But would they abandon their properties to the residents, he asked himself, or would they sell them onwards to the highest bidder?

“Put out an alert for the guards,” Roland said, although he wasn’t sanguine about their chances of success. Assuming the murder had been carried out only two hours ago, the guards could be outside the city by now. Or buried somewhere within the poorer parts of the city, so well concealed that nothing less than a full-scale search would find them. He didn’t have the manpower to search the entire city and even if he did, the disruption would kill what remained of the city’s economy. “If we can catch them, we can interrogate them.”

Rachel glanced at Captain Darlington. “Did he leave anyone behind?”

“He has four children, from what the servants told us,” Captain Darlington said. “His wife lives with her oldest son, for whatever reason. They’re first in line to inherit.”

He paused. “How much time do you want us to spend on the investigation?”

Roland opened his mouth to snap at him, then thought better of it. They weren’t in a modern city, with a modern police force trained and equipped to carry out a modern investigation. They were in Karafuru, a city without a proper police force … a city populated by people who hated and feared landlords, who would probably be dancing in the streets once they realised their tormentor was dead. Roland recalled reading about the death of Scrooge, in all of the many adaptations of A Christmas Carol, and how those who had owed him money had been relieved at his death, reasoning that their next creditor could hardly be so vile. And who could blame them? Scrooge might have been honest about himself – the one true virtue he’d shown – but he’d still been a moneylender and loan shark and …

He shook his head. “Do what you can,” he said, although he doubted there’d be a quick arrest and sentencing. “And warn everyone like him. They’re going to be targets too.”

Rachel walked around the dead body, inspecting it. “They’ll all need protection,” she said, grimly. “That may be what the communists have in mind.”

Roland nodded, curtly. There were dozens of major landlords. They would all have to be protected, which would put new demands on his manpower … perhaps if he gathered the landlords together, in the spaceport, and protected them there … it would make it harder for them to collect their rent, he supposed, but at least they would be alive. Their families too … the dead man’s family would have to be warned, to get them out of the city too. If they refused to inherit the man’s properties, would they be safe? Or would they be targeted anyway, as members of the oppressor class? Roland knew it could go either way.

“This is just the opening move,” Rachel cautioned. “It’ll get worse. Soon.”

“And us unable to take the offensive,” Roland said. “Bugger.”

They returned to the car and drove back to the palace. The streets seemed quieter somehow, quiet enough for Roland to keep one hand on his pistol. There was no visible threat and yet … he didn’t relax until they were back at the palace, the gates closing behind them. The line of recruits seemed to have grown longer … he wondered, morbidly, just how many were working for the communists. If only they could vet them properly …

We keep working, he told himself. They draw their strength from how badly the city was neglected by the council. If we do a better job of taking care of the city, we’ll leech their strength away …

Yeah, his thoughts countered. And they won’t let us do it without a fight.

Tang was waiting for him, the councillor pacing the room as if he were trying to wear down the carpet. Roland wondered, suddenly, if the older man had the slightest idea just who he’d brought to the first meeting. The council might know how to contact Sunbeam … or Tang himself might have kept her true identity from his peers, just to make sure he had something he could use to save himself if the shit hit the fan. Roland couldn’t ask. The fact he’d talked to Sunbeam was not something he could mention to the other man. It would only upset him.

Unless he already knows, Roland mused. Which side is he really on?

“I have just been informed of the death of Lord Sunset Flower,” Tang said. “I want his murderers brought to justice.”

“So do I,” Roland said. God, he was sick of the self-serving council. There was no way that nagging him would speed up the investigation and a smart man would know it. “Do you have any idea where to find them?”

“No,” Tang said. His voice was flat, carefully controlled. “The other landlords are very upset.”

I bet they are, Roland thought. And did they call to demand you took action?

He leaned forward. “What would you like me to do about it?”

“Find the murderers,” Tang snapped. “Put his servants to the question! They probably know something.”

“They are being questioned,” Roland said, although it was hardly going to be a rigorous interrogation. If the servants were anything other than innocent bystanders, the communists wouldn’t have left them in place to be arrested and interrogated. “However, we cannot be sure of finding the murderers in a hurry …”

“Do it,” Tang hissed. “If they get away with it …”

Roland met his eyes. “Perhaps it is time to consider a degree of rental reform,” he said. He’d seen some of the apartment blocks, crammed so full of people it was a minor miracle they hadn’t fallen down. The rents were high and the personal living space was low … he didn’t know how anyone lived like that. It was as maddening as the undercity, with much less justification. “If we can address the issue …”

“Out of the question,” Tang interrupted. “The landlords have the absolute right to set rents as they please!”

“Even if it gets them killed?” Roland shook his head in disbelief. “They’re going to be targeted now …”

“They have to pay their taxes,” Tang said. “And that means …”

“That they can’t afford to lower their rents,” Roland said. “Why don’t you lower taxes too?”

He cursed under his breath. You couldn’t spend more money than you earned … not for long, at least. Karafuru had a vast army of bureaucrats and civil servants who needed to be paid, naturally, and then they had to service the enormous debts they owed to the wealthy and powerful aristocrats … and Nova Kong, of course. Reading between the lines – it wasn’t easy to untangle the complex network of financial transactions underwriting the city – it seemed likely that the councillors had solicited loans from themselves, at very favourable terms, and then sat back to collect the interest. A very neat system, he acknowledged, and one very difficult to defeat without defaulting on the loan, which would undermine confidence in the city’s ability to pay her debts. The more he looked at it, and the other problems gumming up the works, the more he thought the city really should simply cut the Gordian knot and leave the chips to fall where they may. It was certainly what Sunbeam wanted to do …

“You are not here to tell us how to run the city,” Tang said, stiffly. His tone was enough to tell Roland that he’d hit a nerve. “You are here to protect us.”

“And to put the city on a steady footing,” Roland pointed out. Just how long would it be, he wondered, before the council started complaining to Ambassador Hanover-Mountbatten and General Porter? Was it even possible to measure time in such small increments? “I can’t do that unless you meet me halfway.”

“We will not bow down to terrorism,” Tang snapped. “And we will not deprive someone of their rights just because terrorists want to force us to surrender.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Roland said, with heavy sarcasm. He could see their point. He just thought it was silly. Better to give up a little now than lose everything later. “I suggest you put your militias on alert. They could be attacked at any moment. You could be attacked.”

“Of course,” Tang said. He turned away, then stopped to look back at Roland. “You will be assured of our full support.”

As long as you don’t ask us to do anything, Roland added, silently. The New Doncaster government had been bad enough. Karafuru’s government seemed actively suicidal. Which side are you really on?

A dull boom echoed over the city, far too close for comfort. Roland cursed as he turned to the window, peering out over the city. A cloud of smoke was rising in the distance. A bombing, perhaps. It looked too big to be an IED, which meant … what? A VBIED? Or something worse? He didn’t know. But it wasn’t a good sign. The war was about to get worse …

And his troops were nowhere near ready.

 

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sergeant Dai Yuhan wiped the sweat from his brow, cursing the offworlders under his breath.

It had been easy to be a police officer, two months ago. You just walked the beat, looking tough, while claiming favours and bribes from anyone who wanted you to look the other way for a few moments. He had fond memories of stopping a farmer’s cart loaded with perishable goods – and then having the farmer’s daughter service him, while her father took his crop to the marketplace and sold it there. But now, everything was different. There were bodycams and standards of professional behaviour and instant termination, or worse, for any policeman who abused his authority or treated the civilians like shit. Yuhan had seen a dozen decent policemen fired for demanding sexual favours, after the vermin had complained, and several more arrested and transported for far worse crimes. He had no choice, but to bend the knee and hope the new rules were discarded soon enough. His wife was already complaining about him not bringing home as much money as before, naturally. And who knew what she’d do if he didn’t find a way to collect bribes without being caught?

The air seemed to grow hotter, steam practically rising from the canal as he manned the checkpoint on the bridge. There were hundreds of carts, wagons and cars waiting their turn to cross, a handful pulled aside every few moments for inspection … an inspection that would end with a bribe, in the old days, but now had to be taken seriously, no matter how much money the policemen were offered by desperate farmers and merchants. The drivers were shouting at each other, their tempers fraying as the heat rose and their crops decayed. It wasn’t easy to impose any kind of priority system, even one the offworlders might approve. He shuddered to think what might happen if the farmers sold their meat, after the icepacks had melted and the meat temperature risen to match the outside world. It was rare for a street seller to give much of a damn, and they did cook their food thoroughly, but it was still just another epidemic waiting to happen. His lips quirked in dark amusement. His people had strong stomachs. They could take it. It was the offworlders who were likely to die in their own shit and vomit, betrayed by the food they’d trusted. And who knew what would happen then?

He forced himself to ignore a farmer who was frantically signalling, holding out a wad of notes with one hand and indicating the young girl beside him with the other. She had the air of an innocent waif, but few were truly innocent these days. The Spartans had seen the local womenfolk as nothing more than whores, while the locals themselves weren’t much better … if half the stories about farmers were true, the girl had probably lost her virginity to her stepbrother or someone else close to the family, someone who had promised marriage and then backed out after deflowering her. Or perhaps was still in line to marry her. Property rights were vague beyond the city limits and no farmer wished to have an outsider, a government bureaucrat, messing with his family’s affairs. The bastard wouldn’t make the award to the person who had the legal right, but the person who paid the biggest bribe. It had happened before and it would happen again.

The hours wore on, the line barely moving. The racket grew louder as a handful of people were allowed to cross on foot, a row of women carrying heavy goods following men carrying nothing … the proper role for women, who had to be kept busy for fear they would start demanding more. He felt a twinge of envy for the farmers, whose wives were obedient and loyal … he’d spoilt his wife, bringing home enough money to satisfy even her, and his reward was having to put up with her complaining about everything under the sun. It was funny how his supreme authority over his wife existed only on paper, even for a police officer. But then, she was so stubborn that putting her firmly in her place – with his words or his fists – would only backfire.

He gritted his teeth as he saw yet another cart inching towards him, manned by a lone farmer … more likely a farmer’s second son. The boy was barely out of his teens, his face already scarred and pitted by a lifetime in the field; his cart so scarred by years of service that it was clear his family could afford no better. Probably a good target for a search, Yuhan decided. The boy was too poor to offer a bribe and too ugly to offer himself, if he had the nerve to try. That was shameful beyond words, particularly if you were the penetrated rather than the penetrator. The whores who allowed themselves to be … his mind quailed at the thought, his stomach heaving brutally. It was such a horrid idea that he’d be sure to arrest anyone who offered. No doubt they’d get all they wanted and more in prison.

The young man eyed Yuhan coolly as he approached, his face oddly calm for a young man facing a police inspection. There was always something that could be found, something that could be held against him … Yuhan was a past master at finding something illegal, or at least technically so, and demanding a bribe to look the other way. Or, in this day and age, arresting the driver and confiscating the cart. Perhaps if they did it enough, the drivers would complain and the new rules would be discarded. Better to pay bribes and sell daughters than lose all hope of making money, as their crops rotted in the sun. It was shameful, but the world was what it was. Pretending otherwise was just foolish.

A flash of alarm shot through him. The young man was holding something, something technical … Yuhan reached for his pistol, instincts honed by a lifetime of walking the streets screaming at him. The driver smiled, then pushed the device. The world went white …

And Yuhan died in a flash of screaming agony.

***

“Get down!”

Farris didn’t need the warning. He was on the ground the moment he sensed, more than heard, the explosion. The blast flashed over his head, a shockwave picking up carts as if they were made of paper and tossing them around like ninepins. Drivers flew everywhere, landing hard; he saw a young woman cry out as she hit the ground, breaking her arm as she fell. There was nothing he could do for her, as he scrambled to his feet and looked around for threats. The enemy might have embarked on a random bombing campaign, hardly a new concept, or they might have sneaked an assault force into the area, with orders to start shooting the moment the bomb detonated. He heard the sergeant yammering on his communicator, calling the incident in and requesting support. Given how packed the streets were, it was unlikely any help would arrive in a hurry. They’d have to make it on foot.

He cursed as he looked toward the bridge. The structure itself was intact, surprisingly, but the checkpoints were gone, along with dozens of wagons and petroleum vehicles. The latter were burning merrily, the drivers and their cargo roasting … he shuddered as he forced himself to step forward, to keep moving in fear the enemy was already closing in on them. The blast epicentre looked to have been just outside the checkpoint, the explosion too large to be anything other than a VBIED. He cursed, again, as the wind shifted, blowing smoke towards him. They’d made a show of inspecting a bunch of vehicles – and God, the obscene offers the drivers had made – but they hadn’t been able to even begin inspecting them all. They’d have to now, just to keep the enemy from bombing the city again. But that would mean funnelling hundreds of innocent victims into the terrorist killing zone.

“Shit,” he muttered.

A shot rang out. Farris took cover automatically as several more followed, bullets striking the ruined cars far too close to his position. He raised his rifle, searching for targets automatically, but saw nothing in the smoke. The sound suggested the enemy was manning the rooftops, a sensible place for them to take up position, but there were so many tall buildings in the area that he couldn’t rely on it. He couldn’t shoot randomly either, not when there was too great a chance of hitting a civilian. Or a terrorist dressed in civilian clothes, the body stripped of all weapons so the survivors could insist he’d been an innocent all along, a life cut short by bloodthirsty soldiers too dumb to know the difference between terrorist scum and angelic innocents. It was an old wheeze, one all the more galling because it was often so successful. His lips twitched in dark amusement. Confucius wasn’t the sort of world where it would work, he suspected. The locals didn’t really seem to care about such things. Their government saw life as cheap.

Not that it will matter, he reminded himself, as his eyes peered through the smoke. Was that a figure on the rooftop? Was he carrying a gun? Whatever we do, whatever happens, the local insurgents will ensure everything is our fault.

The figure grew clearer, just for a second. He was dangerously exposed for an experienced insurgent, but Karafuru hadn’t seen much fighting during the war and a striking number of newbies showed a complete lack of common sense or situational awareness when they went into battle for the first time. He’d had his mistakes cruelly exposed during basic training, where recruits were often allowed to go into mock battle … and shredded, first by the opposition force and then by the DIs. Death was a good teacher when she wasn’t allowed to keep her students and no one was actually killed, although the DIs could make them wish they’d died in a manner most horrific. The figure didn’t seem to have had any proper training …

He raised a rifle. Farris fired, two other soldiers opening fire at the same moment. He felt a flicker of pride in his men as the figure tumbled, two more popping up long enough to spray and pray in his direction before ducking down again. Farris snapped orders, darting forward with a handful of men while the remainder provided covering fire. The apartment block felt oddly cold as he dashed into the stairwell, keeping his eyes open for threats. If the enemy had planned the ambush carefully, there could be all manner of surprises waiting for them. Common sense suggested holding the line and waiting for support, but they dared not leave the enemy gunmen alone for too long. There were too many people in the area who might get hurt in the crossfire, if the gunmen started shooting at random. He’d seen that before, on too many worlds. Some insurgents were idealists, or at least smart enough to know they shouldn’t alienate the population; some were fanatics, or criminals wearing ideological garb, who thought that committing atrocities was the way forward or simply didn’t give much of a damn about anything other than their own fun. He didn’t see anything, as he led the way up the stairs, but that was meaningless. A skilled team could have rigged up all kinds of tricks, relying on low-tech supplies, and he wouldn’t have the slightest idea until he tripped a wire or …

A door opened. He levelled his rifle, finger tightening on the trigger … and stopped himself, just in time, as he found himself aiming his gun at a young boy. The child stared at him, confused rather than horrified … Farris forced himself to relax, motioning for the boy to get back inside as the soldiers rushed past him. He wasn’t going to shoot a small child … he tried not to think about how close he’d come to doing just that, as the boy scurried back inside and slammed the door. Hopefully he wasn’t a spotter for someone with heavy weapons and bad intentions. Farris had seen that before too.

Someone moved, above him. Farris ducked back as a shot rang out, then unhooked a grenade from his belt and counted to three, before hurling the grenade up ahead of him. The explosion shook the building … he saw a body falling past him, hurtling into the depths, as he ran forward, up the final stairs. The ladder leading up to the rooftop was damaged, but intact. Farris tossed two more grenades up the shaft, then followed the moment the explosions died away. The enemy position had been shattered. Three bodies lay on the roof, their weapons beside them. Farris checked for survivors and saw none … no, there were two running across the rooftops. They’d taken down the bridge, damn them. He raised his rifle, intending to shoot them both in the back, then stopped himself. He didn’t know they were terrorists and as long as they were running … he ground his teeth, cursing the ROE. If he shot them and it turned out they weren’t enemy combatants he’d be in deep shit.

A pair of Raptors swooped overhead, each surrounded by a cloud of drones. Farris had his doubts about their value, when the enemy could have HVMs as well as more primitive MADPADs, but the pilots presumably knew what they were doing. The captain had taken a risk sending the aircraft into combat, all too aware that losing even a single Raptor would put a severe dent in his ability to move troops around the battlefield. And yet, he’d taken it … Farris sighed, despite himself, as he saw smoke rising from several places around the city. He didn’t know for sure, despite spending weeks patrolling the streets and trying to get a feel for the city, but it looked as if several checkpoints had been targeted. It was one hell of a mess.

Yeah, he thought, as he marked the bodies and then turned to lead the way back to the street below. And it’s only going to get worse.

***

The warehouse had been built in happier times, before the occupation and insurgency had forced the owners to abandon their plans to build a transcontinental shipping network and leave the spaceport to the Spartans and then to the Imperial Army. They’d stripped the place bare of everything before leaving, Roland noted, leaving nothing behind save for a cavernous space that had been dusty and foul, before the workers had cleaned it from top to bottom. The medics would accept no less, he knew, despite the sudden demand on their resources. If the makeshift treatment centre wasn’t clean, the patients might survive their wounds only to die of a completely avoidable infection. Or worse.

He stood at the edge of the chamber, watching the medics do what they could. Row upon row of wounded men, women and children lay in front of them, the doctors triaging them frantically and marking those who could be saved, while giving painkillers to those who were beyond all salvation. The medical treatment was terrifyingly primitive, the advanced medical technologies and techniques he’d seen on Earth utterly lacking … not, he supposed, that many people on Earth would have access to such treatments. They’d been reserved for the rich and powerful … he shuddered, hopelessly, as he saw a preteen girl with a broken arm. She was a child and yet her life was already shattered beyond repair, unless she could be shipped to one of the few modern medical centres for treatment. It wasn’t going to happen. The planetary government reserved such facilities for the elite, the wealthy and powerful. A small girl of no family wasn’t going to be admitted. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Lucille hurried up to him, her face chalk-pale. “Sir, the medics just updated the count,” she said, numbly. She looked as if she was going to be sick. “Ninety-seven dead, one hundred and thirty-two injured.”

“Optimistic,” Roland muttered. The blasts had been concentrated as well as powerful. Anyone within the blast radius had not only been killed, their atoms had been scattered across the area. A modern WARCAT team might be able to pick apart the scrambled remains and identify the dead, but there was only one WARCAT unit on the planet and it wasn’t going to be redeployed to Karafuru. “There’ll be more missing without trace.”

Lucille swallowed, audibly. “They … they just killed …”

Roland felt a hot flash of anger. She’d been naive. Her homeworld was far from perfect, but at least it hadn’t been gripped by civil war. Roland had been the same way too, only worse. For him, life had been an endless parade of palaces crammed with food, drink and comfortable sofas, with maids willing to do anything for him and menservants ready to fulfil his slightest whim. No wonder he’d grown into a little monster, willing to do anything for pleasure … he’d been in constant search of the next high, each moment of pleasure making the next harder and harder to gain. Lucille was nowhere near as bad, even in her worst moments. He wanted to yell at her, to lash out … he knew better. It wasn’t her fault. She’d just been naïve.

“It’ll get worse,” he said. He had a meeting with the council in twenty minutes. No doubt they would want better security measures. Or demand that he attack the insurgents … no matter that he didn’t have the slightest idea where to find them. “I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t sure who he was apologising to. Lucille? The wounded girl? The others, who wouldn’t survive the day? Or himself? But in the end, it didn’t matter. The war had started in earnest …

And things were only going to get worse.