Cry wolf the empires cor.., p.29
Cry Wolf (The Empire's Corps Book 15), page 29
They would have expected us to send a reporter to the press conference, if they gave us a press pass, Clarence thought. It might not have been him, but he wasn’t the only reporter who’d embarrassed powerful people. Me or Jennifer or ... well, anyone. They weren’t after me in particular, just a reporter who worked for Seeing Eye. And once they had one of us in their power, who knows what would have happened next?
He scowled, absently. It was easy, all too easy, to start believing his own theories. He’d been warned never to put the theories before the facts or he would start twisting the facts to fit the theories, rather than adjusting his theories to fit the facts. Conspiracy theories were attractive, his tutors had insisted, because they imposed imaginary order on chaos. People looked for order, rarely understanding that some things were nothing more than random coincidences. Correlation didn’t always imply causation. A politician’s speech might not be connected to something on the other side of the planet. And yet ...
It was hard not to believe that there was a connection. Someone had set him - or another reporter - up. It had been clever, if it was true, and utterly deniable. There was no proof, he was sure, that the press pass and the kidnap were connected. He’d look a raving lunatic if he tried to make such a case in court. But then, most conspiracy theorists looked like raving lunatics. The government didn’t need to discredit them because they did a wonderful job of discrediting themselves.
“But the whole affair doesn’t make sense,” he said to himself. “What are they doing?”
Gritting his teeth, he went back to the start. He’d reported on the Forsakers being evicted from their estate ... and been fired. Simon Goldwater - or someone in his office - had taken exception to the report and ordered it suppressed. That was proof, Clarence was sure, that there was a fire somewhere in the smoke. No one would order a reporter fired when they could have killed the story, unless they wanted to make it very clear that further inquiry would not be welcome. And they’d probably succeeded. Clarence was, as far as he knew, the only reporter who’d bothered to even try to figure out what was going on.
He scribbled a note on his pad as he worked his way through the next step. He’d reported on Maxima Corporation ordering thousands of people to leave Hellebore Estate - without compensation. This time, the story had broken into the mainstream. And Maxima Corporation had folded. They’d paid out compensation at once, without making any attempt to fight. It suggested that there was something time-sensitive about the whole affair, but what? Clarence couldn’t think of anything.
And at the same time, Goldwater attempted to buy us, he thought. He offered to give us everything we wanted, knowing it would make us dependent on him. Why?
Clarence sat back. It all seemed to come back to Simon Goldwater. Goldwater had fired Clarence from the Daily Truth. Goldwater had attempted to silence Seeing Eye. And ... Goldwater’s media empire had slighted the First Speaker while promoting the Security Secretary. In fact - Clarence skimmed through the records - it looked as if Maxima Corporation was one of the biggest donors to the Rebirth Party. That was odd - the original Rebirth Party had talked of breaking the corporate hegemony - but perhaps it was understandable. Goldwater had tried to bribe Seeing Eye. Why couldn’t he try to bribe the Rebirth Party too?
I could just be imagining everything, Clarence reminded himself, sharply. It was impossible to be sure, damn it. Was he seeing the shadow of ... something, a whale moving under murky waters, or was he just devising a conspiracy theory? What if I’m wrong?
He looked down at his notes. The pattern was clear, yet ... yet what? It was easy to think there was nothing there. And he had personal reasons to dislike Simon Goldwater. One didn’t have to be a socialist or a secessionist to think there was something wrong with a single man wielding so much power. Drayton had railed against distant puppeteers, but there weren’t that many differences between Simon Goldwater and the Grand Senators. The Grand Senators had merely been more successful.
Maybe that’s the point, Clarence thought, as he brought up a street map of the city and studied it. Goldwater wants that sort of power for himself.
There was a tap on the door. “Clarence? You there?”
Patricia, Clarence thought, as he concealed his notes. Where’s Claudia?
“Come in,” he said. There was no point in pretending to be asleep - or away. “What can I do for you?”
Patricia entered the room. “I heard you were injured,” she said. “Shouldn’t you go to the clinic?”
“I don’t know if they’d take me,” Clarence said, honestly. “I’ve had worse, believe me.”
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take care of yourself,” Patricia said. She eyed his wrists doubtfully. “What happened?”
“I got kidnapped,” Clarence said. “Luckily, the kidnappers didn’t have the sense to use handcuffs.”
“That’s good to hear, I suppose,” Patricia said. “Why ... why did they kidnap you?”
Clarence hesitated. He would have confided in Claudia without a second thought - he could rely on his old friend to tell him if he was following a genuine trail or talking out his arse - but he wasn’t so sure about Patricia. She simply didn’t have the nose to be a good reporter. It took time to develop the right instincts and too many mistakes, too early, could blunt them permanently. But then, he supposed, blunted instincts might serve her well if she moved to a mainstream news organisation.
“I think they wanted to scare us,” he said, finally. It might even be true, although he had a suspicion that something more had been intended. “I don’t scare that easily.”
Patricia shot him an admiring look. “Of course you don’t.”
“But everything just seems to lead back to Hellebore Estate,” Clarence mused. “I think I want to go back there.”
“When?” Patricia leaned forward. “I could go with you.”
“Tomorrow, I think,” Clarence said. “Or perhaps sometime in the next few days. I want to see the reaction to my last story before I go back there.”
“I could go back for you,” Patricia offered. “Just tell me what you want me to see.”
“I’d have to tell you what I wanted you to look for,” Clarence said, “and I’m not sure myself.”
“But you’ll know it when you see it,” Patricia said. “Won’t you?”
“I hope so,” Clarence said. In truth, he was nowhere near as confident as he tried to sound. It was easy to miss a subtle clue when one didn’t really know what was going on. Or, for that matter, see something that wasn’t actually there. “I’ll have to go in person and see.”
“I can go first,” Patricia said. She rested her hands on her hips. “I have a reputation to build.”
“I wouldn’t advise it, Patricia” Clarence said. “That’s a rough area. You might wind up in trouble. Bad trouble.”
“I’ll be fine,” Patricia said.
“No,” Clarence said, flatly. She’d seen the estates. She should know better. “You could end up mugged. Or raped. Or murdered. I’ll take you with me, when I go, but don’t go alone.”
Patricia gave him a defiant look. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“No,” Clarence said. He reminded himself that he’d been just as determined to find the story when he’d been her age, never caring about the risk to life and limb as long as there was a chance to win fame and glory at the far end. Patricia was too young to share his cynical approach to life. “I’m warning you about the dangers. If you go there alone, without someone to escort you, you are taking your life in your hands.”
“Fine.” Patricia sounded petulant rather than angry, as if he were her father and he’d just denied her a treat. “I’ll do as you say. But you will take me with you.”
“Very well,” Clarence said. If it was the only way to guarantee her safety - or at least try to keep her safe - he’d do it. “We’ll go in a day or two.”
And see what we can find, he added, silently. He had a feeling that they might need to climb over the barricade and sneak into the complex. Who knows what might be waiting in that estate?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
But when the bill practically ensured - as a number of late-term political bills did - that there would be armed resistance ... was it not treason?
- Professor Leo Caesius. Crying Wolf: The Media and the Fall of the Empire.
“Collect your daysticks,” the sergeant said, as the young men assembled in front of the blacked-out buses. “Remember what I taught you. Make me proud.”
Colin Simpson swallowed, hard, as he took a daystick from the pile on the table and held it in his hands. It felt like a club, like the baseball bats he’d carried as a young man, but there was a solidity to it that he found reassuring. The sergeant had taught them how to use the daysticks for both offence and defence, pointing out that it was just as easy to smash someone’s skull as it was to block an incoming blow. A thrill of anticipation ran through him as he realised they were finally going to put their training into practice. Someone was going to regret ever having crossed paths with him.
He smirked as he pulled on his balaclava and followed the others into the bus. This was it. Days - weeks, perhaps - of training and education, of endless lectures about how they were the great hope of the planet, were about to be replaced by action. He found his seat and sat down, glancing from side to side as the bus’s engine whined into life. His comrades were hidden behind their masks, but he could tell they were as excited - and nervous - as himself. They all knew that they were about to face their first real test.
The bus shook, then rumbled forward. Colin took a long breath, and another, forcing himself to calm down. They had to be calm. Their instructions had been very specific. They were to get in, do as much damage as possible and, when the whistle blew, hurry back to the buses without delay. The sergeant had harped on that, time and time again. They were not to allow themselves to be bogged down - or to be caught by the police. That would be disastrous.
Although there’s not much we can tell, Colin thought. He knew almost nothing about the resistance, from the location of its training base to the people directing operations from behind the scenes. The Captain and the Lieutenant had never bothered to share their names, let alone anything else that could be used to identify them. They can knock me about all they like, but I can’t tell them anything.
He felt his heart starting to pound as the bus drove onwards. The windows were blacked out, of course, but ... there was something odd about the journey. It took him longer than it should have done to put his finger on it. Ground traffic was controlled by streetlights, but the bus hadn’t stopped once. They appeared to have kept moving from the moment they left the warehouse until ... he glanced at his empty wrist, remembering - too late - that he’d left his watch at home. He didn’t even know the time. It was hard not to feel offended that the resistance didn’t trust him to keep their secrets, even though the sergeant had made it clear - time and time again - that trust had nothing to do with it. And, perhaps, to wonder if there really was anything above them. He’d met quite a few wannabes who’d claimed to have extensive connections with the gangs and criminal rings that infested the estates.
And none of them had any real connections at all, he thought, remembering a particularly slimy stepfather who - thankfully - hadn’t lasted very long. The man had always been boasting about his connections, damn him, when he hadn’t been peeking at Angelina and making spiteful remarks to Colin. No one bothered to defend him when he got mugged in the park, did they?
The bus started to slow down. “Get ready,” the sergeant said. “On my command, form lines.”
Colin braced himself. This was it. They were finally going to be tested. And they were going to strike a blow for their planet. They were going to teach the traitors a lesson they would never forget. He couldn’t wait.
“Form lines,” the sergeant ordered. He wasn’t carrying a daystick. Instead, he was wearing a pair of boxing gloves. “When the doors open ... you know what to do.”
Colin stood, feeling the sergeant’s eyes on him as he joined the line. He wanted - he needed - the man to be proud of him. It would be nice, perhaps, to have a real father figure in his life, instead of a line of seedy stepfathers. The sergeant was a real man. Tough, easily tough enough to put any of his trainees on the ground, but understanding too. Colin had no trouble believing the sergeant wanted him to succeed. He wasn’t the kind of asshole who feared being replaced - or worse - by those he was supposed to teach. No, he was a man. Colin wanted to be just like him.
The doors crashed open. Colin had the faint impression of white buildings, so fancy that they had to be near the centre of town, before he spotted the marching crowd. The Empire Loyalists, the traitors who’d sold Tarsus to the Empire, were trying to put on a show of strength to keep the people from voting them out of office. It had been explained to them, time and time again, but Colin didn’t need any encouragement to hate the bastards. The Empire Loyalists were the ones who’d inflicted the shitters on the estates.
He shouted a wordless challenge as the young men flowed out of the bus, charging right at the marchers. They were a curious mass of middle-class men and women, holding up banners that proclaimed their loyalty to the eternal empire. The march’s stewards, the people charged with making sure that the marchers hewed to the party line, turned and stared in disbelief as the fighters bore down on them. They weren’t ready for violence. Colin sensed, more than saw, the march waver. It gave him a vicious thrill. For the first time in his life, he had real power. He could make them fear.
They crashed into the marchers like the hammer of an angry god. Colin lifted his daystick and brought it down on a marcher’s head, barely taking a moment to check that he’d been knocked down before he turned his attention to the next. A middle-aged matron stared at him, her mouth wide open as he lifted his daystick. Colin felt a surge of pure hatred - he’d seen too many women like her in school - and crashed his daystick down hard. The woman tumbled to the ground. Colin kicked her vindictively - perhaps she wasn’t one of the idiots who’d talked down to the estate kids, but he found it hard to care - and moved on to the next target. A younger woman turned and fled, screaming. Her boyfriend ... Colin expected him to try to defend the girl, but he was running away too.
Coward. Colin didn’t bother to hide his contempt as he looked for another target. You wouldn’t last a day on the estates.
The march had dissolved into hell. Hundreds of people lay on the ground, unconscious or dead. Blood stained the stones under his feet. A handful of resistance fighters were setting light to the abandoned banners, laughing as they caught fire with damnable ease. Colin turned slowly, feeling ... he wasn’t sure how he felt. He nearly tripped over a young woman - no older than Angelina - who’d been knocked to the ground by a mighty blow. Her skull was cracked and broken. Colin had no doubt she was already dead.
Bitch, he tried to tell himself. The girl had probably grown up sneering at kids who’d been unlucky in their choice of parents. She’d been one of the girls who’d laughed when a boy who didn’t have a million credits in his trust fund asked her out. He was sure of it. And yet, looking at her dead body, he felt a flicker of guilt. What have I done?
He silently thanked the sergeant for the mask as he surveyed the horrors. The march had been smashed. Everyone had run, even the young men who could have put up a fight. It was vindication, almost, of everything he’d been told. The people in power were strong only as long as no one stood up to them. They’d folded at the slightest challenge. He remembered the fleeing boyfriend and snickered. That weakling wouldn’t last a week in the brave new world. Without money and connections, what was he? Nothing.
The whistle blew. Colin hesitated, even as the rest of the fighters started to run back to the bus. It was tempting, very tempting, to just run the other way and lose himself in the crowded streets. He could mug a passer-by for his clothes, then run back to the estates ... he shook his head. The resistance would know he’d deserted and hunt him down. They knew where to find him - and his family - too. He would have no hope of escaping them permanently unless he stayed well away from his old haunts. And besides, he didn’t want to let the sergeant down. He wanted the man to feel proud of him.
He concealed his churning thoughts behind the mask as he ran back to the bus and clambered aboard. The sergeant counted the fighters, then snapped a command to the driver. Colin barely had a moment to sit down before the bus lurched back into motion, racing away from the scene of the crime. It wasn’t a crime, Colin told himself, but ... he tried not to think about the dead girl. Her face seemed to drift in front of his mind’s eye, staring at him accusingly. He hadn’t landed the fatal blow - he thought - but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t help feeling guilty. He’d thought of the Empire Loyalists as monsters, not people. And yet, they were people ...
