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    The Forsaken: The Empire's Corps, #22
    The Forsaken: The Empire's Corps, #22
    The Forsaken: The Empire's Corps, #22
    Ebook465 pages5 hoursThe Empire's Corps

    The Forsaken: The Empire's Corps, #22

    By Christopher G Nuttall

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    They were loyal to the Empire, but the Empire was not loyal to them ...

     

    Montezuma was an isolated world, of interest to no one, until an interstellar corporation discovered vast resources of rare materials under the surface, just waiting to be extracted and sold. The corprats legally stole the planet, crushed the native dreams of independence and brought in vast numbers of outsiders to mine the rough-hewn world, leaving poverty, pollution and deprivation on an unimaginable scale in their wake.

     

    But now the Empire has fallen and the corporation has betrayed its workers, abandoning them to fight or die on an unforgiving world …

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherChristopher G. Nuttall
    Release dateJan 12, 2024
    ISBN9798224519255
    The Forsaken: The Empire's Corps, #22
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    Author

    Christopher G Nuttall

    Christopher G. Nuttall has been planning sci-fi books since he learnt to read. Born and raised in Edinburgh, Chris created an alternate history website and eventually graduated to writing full-sized novels. Studying history independently allowed him to develop worlds that hung together and provided a base for storytelling. After graduating from university, Chris started writing full- time. As an indie author he has self-published many novels, this is his fourth novel to be published by Elsewhen Press, and tyhe first in the epic Inverse Shadows Universe. Chris lives in Edinburgh with his wife, muse, and critic Aisha and their two sons.

    Read more from Christopher G Nuttall

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      Book preview

      The Forsaken - Christopher G Nuttall

      Cover Blurb

      They were loyal to the Empire, but the Empire was not loyal to them ...

      Montezuma was an isolated world, of interest to no one, until an interstellar corporation discovered vast resources of rare materials under the surface, just waiting to be extracted and sold. The corprats legally stole the planet, crushed the native dreams of independence and brought in vast numbers of outsiders to mine the rough-hewn world, leaving poverty, pollution and deprivation on an unimaginable scale in their wake.

      But now the Empire has fallen and the corporation has betrayed its workers, abandoning them to fight or die on an unforgiving world ...

      Prologue I – Earth, 101 Years Prior to Earthfall

      I am not a supplicant, President Martin Lopez told himself.

      Sure, his own thoughts answered. And if you tell yourself that often enough, perhaps you’ll even come to believe it.

      He stood in the antechamber and waited, trying to keep his angry and despair from showing on his face. The chamber was vast, large and ornate and completely impersonal, designed to make any mere human feel small and weak before the majesty of the Imperial Supreme Court. There were no table or chairs, nothing to make him feel welcome; his staff – his assistants and lawyers and even his mistress – had been denied permission to accompany him, leaving him completely alone as he faced his judges. No, his planet’s judges. Martin wanted to believe they still had a chance, but it was growing increasingly clear the fix was in. It had been in well before he’d left his homeworld to plead its case on Earth ...

      It was hard, so hard, to remain calm. If only ... he kicked himself, not for the first time, for allowing the planetary survey. There had been no reason to think Montezuma had extensive mineral reserves, certainly nothing that might be of interest to offworld minding corporations. Oil and gas were great for planetary development, but it was hardly economically beneficial to ship them across the stars. It had seemed so safe, so simple ... in hindsight, he’d been a fool. He should have wondered more about the corporation’s willingness to carry out the survey for practically nothing, almost at cost for themselves. It was all too clear they’d had a good idea of what they’d find, when the survey was completed. They had to have known.

      He was too tired, after years of legal struggles, to feel anything but numb as he contemplated the past. Montezuma was a treasure trove of raw materials, some so rare that selling them on the open market would bring in enough money to turn the planet into an economic powerhouse. Martin had wondered, despite himself, if it was worth the damage the mining operations would inevitably do to the ecosystem, or the disruption such a vast influx of money would do to the planetary culture. Perhaps there was a way to compromise, to make use of the windfall without destroying themselves ... but the corporation hadn’t been willing to negotiate. They’d laid claim to the entire planet, through a spurious legal argument, and appealed to the Supreme Court to back their claim. By the time Martin had realised what was happening, it had been too late. The corporation had shovelled enough money around to ensure the judgement went in its favour.

      His legs buckled. He sat on the cold marble floor, his lips twisting at the calculated disrespect. The portraits of Supreme Justices gazed upon him disapprovingly ... he fancied they would have been horrified, if they’d encountered such corruption while they’d lived, although he suspected otherwise. He was no expect in Imperial Law – few were, even the ones who devoted their lives to legal practices – but he’d read enough briefs, over the past three years, to know there were so many precedents that could justify almost anything, from slavery to stealing an entire planet from its inhabitants, if one had a particularly good lawyer. Martin wasn’t naive enough to think Montezuma’s political system was perfect, but even at its worst it was squeaky clean compared to the empire. The corporation was so wealthy it could buy and sell justices out of pocket change. And none of the men who’d be deciding his planet’s fate – who had already decided – had ever visited his world.

      A man appeared and walked towards him, his lips thinning in disapproval as he saw a planetary president sitting on the ground like a wayward child. He wore the formal livery of a court-mandated escort, an unsubtle insult; Martin was all too aware the corprats had argued his people were unfit for independence, that they needed to be taken in hand like unruly children and taught civilisation. The escort’s face was bland to the point of being completely unremarkable, without the signs of a life truly lived. Martin couldn’t help thinking, as the young man stopped in front of him, that the poor boy was just a cog caught up in a much greater machine. If he’d wanted to make something of himself, he’d have gone elsewhere.

      The court requires your presence, the escort said. His accent was pure upper-class, so deeply rooted in the homeworld that it was rarely heard outside Sol. The lack of honorifics was another calculated insult, perhaps a subtle way to tell him his title had been officially revoked. It wouldn’t be legal, as far as Montezuma was concerned, but the planet was no longer in control of its own destiny. I am to escort you to the judgement chamber.

      Martin put out a hand. Help an old man up, son?

      The escort looked, just for a second, as if he’d been asked to put his hand into an unflushed toilet. Martin didn’t try to hide his amusement as the escort helped him to his feet, letting go the moment he could stand on his own two feet. It wasn’t as if he needed the help, but ... he felt a pang of remorse as the escort led him away, swiftly quenched by a growing apprehension. Montezuma had spent vast sums of money preparing a legal case, all of which might as well have been spent on fool’s gold and impossible lawsuits. They’d prolonged the agony, and prevented the court from ruling immediately, but he no longer had any illusions. The justices had known what conclusion the court would reach right from the start.

      He followed the escort as the young man led him into the chamber. It was, surprisingly, smaller than the antechamber, but clearly designed to make very clear to the defendant that he was in deep trouble. The justices sat in front of him, flanked by the corporation’s lawyers – a tiny percentage of the vast legal army the corprats had at their beck and call – and a handful of reporters, none remotely independent. A pair of men in fancy uniforms flanked the dock – he couldn’t help thinking of the podium as a dock – clearly ready for trouble. Martin wasn’t a military expert, but it was clear the two men were trained and experienced. There would be other security precautions too, kept in the shadows until they were needed. There was no shortage of people who wanted the justices dead.

      The Speaker stepped forward, the moment Martin took his place. We are gathered here today ...

      To witness the unholy marriage of raw greed and corruption, Martin thought, as the Speaker droned on, outlining the details of the case and the principal arguments both sides had put forward as the legal battle took shape. The formal conventions had been outdated long ago, and he wasn’t sure why the Court was bothering to uphold them, not when they could justify anything they wanted with a careful read of the countless legal precedents set over the last few centuries. When is he going to get to the point?

      It was almost a surprise when it actually came. On the question of planetary sovereignty, we find that the settlement rights were improperly transferred to the Aztec Revival Movement and as such the entire settlement program was highly illegal, and the planetary population illicit settlers and the descendants of same ...

      Martin had known it was coming, but it was still a shock.

      Planetary sovereignty therefore belongs to the Isabella Interstellar Corporation, who laid claim to them legally, the Speaker continued. Martin wondered, with a sudden burst of fury, just how much he’d been paid – personally – to ensure the vote went the right way. The planet’s current population, who are there illegally, are ordered to vacate the planet or face indenture for a period of no less than ...

      Martin couldn’t help himself. You’re selling my people into slavery!

      Silence, the Speaker snapped.

      It was slavery, Martin knew. Indents rarely worked their way out of debt, certainly not if their debtors wanted to keep them. There was no way an entire planet of five million people could be evacuated, even if the planetary assets that might have funded the move hadn’t been seized by the same legal judgement. He’d travelled to Earth a President and now ...

      The corporation may take possession of the planet as soon as it wishes, the Speaker continued. Martin barely heard him. The illicit settlers are to be given one chance to leave and ...

      Martin gritted his teeth, barely noticing the justices filing out the moment the speech came to an end. The kabuki play had one purpose – to put a legal gloss on the corporation’s snatch and grab – and it was over now, all done and dusted. There was no appeal. He wasn’t sure why they’d even bothered. It wasn’t as if anyone on Earth, outside the Grand Senate and the upper classes, cared one jot about the outcome. Montezuma was nothing to the underclass. He doubted one in a billion of Earth’s teeming population could even point to the planet on a starchart. Why would they care?

      His escort led him through another set of corridors, the guards following at a safe distance, and into a smaller room. It was an office; a table, three chairs, and even a water jug and glasses, waiting to be used. Two corprats sat behind the table, wearing the expensive suits that were practically a uniform. There was little real difference in appearance between the expensive and slightly less expensive suits, or so he’d been told, but anyone who wore the former had to be taken seriously. The men in front of him clearly did.

      Mr. President, one said. His accent was the same upper-class drawl as his escort, only stronger. I would like to tell you that I am sorry about the court’s decision ...

      I’m sure you would, Martin growled. He was sick of Earth, sick of the planet’s corruption, sick and tired of fighting a battle that had been lost before he’d realised it was underway ... he just wanted to get home and ... and what? Perhaps there had been a point to the judgement after all. If the corprats were the legal owners, they’d be entirely within their rights to call in the military to enforce their claims. Get to the point.

      The suit looked surprised, just for a second. It is very unfortunate ...

      Martin leaned forward, raising his voice. Get to the point!

      We’d like to offer you a job, the suit said. His tone didn’t change, even though it was clear he’d been planning to butter up Martin before finally making the proposal. The planet requires a careful hand to integrate it into the corporate system and ...

      Martin met his eyes and had the satisfaction of seeing the man flinch. You expect me to collaborate with you, to sell out my people?

      It would make it easier on everyone, the suit said. He produced a datapad and passed it to Martin. You would be very well paid, with plenty of vacation time and a guaranteed retirement on a vacation world, with pensions and health benefits for all ...

      And in exchange for this, Martin said, you expect me to be the Judas Goat leading my people into slavery?

      It would make it easier ...

      Martin threw the datapad over his shoulder, to distract the guards just for a second, and hurled himself over the table and at the suit. The man was so unused to physical violence he didn’t even try to move, not until it was far too late. Martin crashed into him, knocking him backwards and jamming his fingers into the man’s eyes, trying to kill him before the guards recovered and attacked. The other suit screamed – Martin could smell the piss – an instant before the guard jumped him. Martin lashed out with his foot, hitting someone – he had no idea who – before someone else jammed a shockrod into his back. His entire body convulsed with pain, his muscles twitching helplessly.

      Barbarian, someone said. He ...

      Martin’s awareness ebbed and flowed as strong hands dragged him up and carried him out the door. He doubted he would ever see his homeworld again, not ever. The corprats would hardly have let him go home if he’d refused their offer, expecting – correctly – that his first move would be to organise resistance. But his planet didn’t need him to resist the invasion. His people would keep fighting, and one day they would be free.

      One day ...

      Prologue II: Montezuma, 98 Years Prior to Earthfall

      No one wants to work anymore, Director Heimlich Von Raubritter said.

      Assistant Director Sharon McManus kept her face under tight control as her boss ranted about how the corporation’s efforts were failing, head office was starting to ask pointed questions and how everyone was plotting against him. Again. Raubritter was unbelievably handsome, thanks to the finest cosmetic surgery money could buy, but there was something oafish about his character that shone through his perfectly sculpted chin, perfectly clear skin, perfect blond hair, and perfect muscles that wouldn’t have been out of place on a flick action hero. She might have thought him attractive, if she’d seen him at a distance, but five minutes of conversation had been enough to convince her Raubritter was an empty suit. He was nothing more than a well-connected young man who had been parachuted into a post that called for a man with tact, diplomacy, and a certain willingness to compromise with the local population. If he hadn’t had close family ties to the Grand Senate, Sharon was entirely sure he would never have been allowed anywhere near the post.

      Her lips quirked as the ranting continued. On paper, the post was an excellent one for a young corprat looking to get his ticket punched before returning to Earth to continue his climb into the corporate stratosphere. Montezuma was a world with incredible potential – vast mineral resources, an ecosystem that was already unpleasant, a population indentured to the corporation – and a smart man could probably use the post to make enough money to satisfy the dreams of his upper-class wife. In practice, the population was revolting – the nasty part of her mind insisted they were revolting in both senses of the word – and keeping them from sabotaging the mining infrastructure was a difficult, almost impossible, job. The corporation had summoned troops to teach the locals a lesson, but there was little they could do to keep the workers from causing trouble. They should have a secure outflow of raw materials by now, yet ... they didn’t, and head office was getting antsy. They’d already invested far too much money into the mining operation to back off easily.

      Perhaps we should try to come to terms with the locals ...

      She cut off that line of thought before it could go any further. The corporation had splashed money around like water to make sure the Supreme Court ruled in their favour, and then splashed more money around to ensure the former president was executed rather than being sold into indenture himself. In hindsight, that had been a mistake too; the gruesome details everyone on the planet took for granted might be untrue – the president had not been brutally tortured to death – but there was no denying the man was dead, which had turned him into a martyr. Ironically, the fact he’d died in a bid to save his world had absolved him of the mistake that had led to the corporate takeover in the first place.

      We need to do something, Raubritter said. He waved a datapad at her, as if she hadn’t written the report herself. There were some details that simply couldn’t be entrusted to a secretary. How can we raise production?

      Sharon assumed it was a rhetorical question. There were quite a few ways to raise production, starting with treating the locals with a shred of decency, but Raubritter wouldn’t accept any of them. He’d staked his career on exploiting the planet as much as possible, to the point he’d actually signed off on a project to develop the high orbitals, without realising that the planet’s cash reserves were falling rapidly. Perversely, Montezuma had never been a very wealthy world. The corporation could fund development, at least until the mining operation started to bring in the cash, but the beancounters would start asking questions. Raubritter would find his career spluttering to a halt if he didn’t find a way to increase production, and fast.

      She watched him for a moment, wondering what he’d decide. She’d learnt the art of covering her ass a long time ago, and she would have no trouble demonstrating that Raubritter had made every decision from the moment he took office, if – when – head office started demanding answers. She was tempted to suggest a handful of options that would make even worse trouble for her boss, perhaps taking a loan from another corporation in exchange for future favours, but kept her mouth firmly closed. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t have to put up with him forever. Even if she wasn’t, she’d salted away enough cash to live well for the rest of her life.

      The problem is that the locals cannot be trusted to work for us, Raubritter said, with the air of a child discovering two plus two made four. We need more and better workers.

      Quite, Sharon agreed. There weren’t many locals willing to cooperate – collaborate – with the corporation. The ones who did were almost worse. Some were outcasts, hated by their peers; others pretended to cooperate long enough to get into position to do some real damage. Do you intend to educate the locals?

      No, Raubritter said, an unusual burst of realism. The educational program will not produce anything worthwhile for at least a decade, if that.

      Sharon nodded, slowly. She’d grown up in a corporate crèche, and she had little emotional attachments to her parents, but the locals took a different view, She didn’t pretend to understand it, yet she didn’t have to. All that mattered was that trying to raise the planet’s children to be good little corporate drones would make the situation even worse. If nothing else, they simply didn’t have the time.

      We’ll shut down the Delta and Gamma programs, for the moment, Raubritter said. Both of them can be placed on hold, without major disruption, and the funds rerouted to an incentive program. We’ll offer high wages and excellent benefits for people with the skills we need, people willing to immigrate and work in our facilities. If we can get enough offworlders, we won’t need the locals at all.

      Sharon blinked. Do you believe you can recruit enough?

      Raubritter smiled. If you throw enough money at a problem, it goes away.

      Sharon said nothing for a long cold moment. Raubritter was certainly wealthy enough to take that attitude, and the hell of it was that he had a point. The wealthy corporate families had covered up all kinds of bad behaviour, from the merely obnoxious to the illegal even to scions of the aristocracy, through paying out vast sums to their victims. She considered the figures thoughtfully. They really could offer all kinds of incentives, at least at first. The newcomers might discover that the rewards dried up, after a while, but by then it would be someone else’s problem. She had no intention of staying on the desert world any longer than strictly necessary.

      It might work, she said, finally. It would be very bad for the locals, and perhaps for the descendants of the newcomers, but that would be their problem. She could understand why the locals were so angry, yet she wouldn’t sacrifice her career in a bid to save them. It would be futile to try. If we can convince enough to join us ...

      Make the preparations, Raubritter ordered. I want the project underway by the time head office tries to audit us.

      Sharon nodded. Yes, sir.

      Chapter One: Mictlan, Montezuma

      The air stank. As usual.

      Felecia Kahn checked her mask as she scrambled onto the bus, pressed her fingers against the reader to confirm she was an authorised passenger, and found a seat, alone in the middle of a crowd. The other riders were a faceless mass, most wearing masks that covered their entire faces or hoods that made them look utterly inhuman. Even the handful of youngsters who only covered their mouths and noses looked strange, as if they didn’t quite belong. The air was always unpleasant near the mining complex, but today it was particularly bad. The corporation was working desperately to extract every last bit of value it could before time ran out. She couldn’t help wondering, as the doors slammed closed, if time had already run out. The entire planet was on edge ...

      The bus rattled into motion, the driver steering his vehicle through the hazy streets towards the checkpoint at the edge of town. Felecia breathed deeply, tasting the scent even through the mask, her eyes scanning the haze for potential threats. The town had been a nice place to grow up, assuming one never went outside the walls, but it had started to decay recently as the pollution got worse. Outdoor gardens and water parks, a sign of proper development on a world known for being dangerously dry, were being steadily ground down; the greenhouses, the only safe way to grow food so close to the complex, were half-buried in the dust. She had been assured the greenhouses were safe, but she feared otherwise. The planet hadn’t been a safe place to live, even before the mining operations had turned vast tracts of land into a polluted nightmare. It was easy, all too easy, to understand why the insurgency had grown and grown until it seemed the entire planet was waging war against the corporations. And the Huéspeds.

      She felt her scalp itch and ran her hand through her dark hair. She was going to be dirty and grimy when she got to work, again. She might have time for a shower, if she was lucky, but it was impossible to be sure if they’d get to the complex on time. The road network was very busy at the best of times, even when the insurgents weren’t making life difficult for anyone who wanted to live outside the complex. She’d been so late, only a few short months ago, that she’d reached her workplace thirty minutes before it was time to go home. If her boss hadn’t been surprisingly understanding ...

      The bus drove through the first set of gates, paused long enough for the second to be opened, and then headed onwards into the desert. The contrast was startling, startling enough to jolt her awake even though she’d seen it a hundred times before. The sand dunes, endlessly shifty and treacherous, stretched as far as the eye could see. A distant shimmer on the horizon promised a sandstorm ... she hoped, as she forced herself to sit back on her seat and wait, that it wasn’t heading towards them. Sandstorms meant trouble, particularly here. The insurgents excelled at using them to get close to the settlements and mining complexes, sniping or mortaring or even laying bombs along the roads and withdrawing before they were spotted, leaving deadly surprises for the next set of innocents to drive along the roads. The corporate pullback, abandoning large complexes as the galactic economy collapsed, didn’t seem to be helping. The insurgents, scenting victory, had redoubled their attacks until agreeing – reluctantly – to a truce. Felecia – and the rest of the Huéspeds – doubted it would last for long.

      She glanced at her watch as the giant corporate complex – a spaceport, an administrative centre, a warehouse on a planetary scale – came into view. The shacks and shanties around the outer wall chilled her to the bone, as they always did. There were older women trying to sell their wares, eking out a living on a planet that cared nothing for its human occupants, and older men staring menacingly at the bus as it passed; young children ran around, their unprotected faces bearing scars from living too close to the complex, carefully avoiding the open channels that carried effluents and wastes down to the Dead Sea. There were no young women her age, or men either. She knew why.

      The bus didn’t slow down as it passed the shantytown and made its way into the guardpost, where it came to a stop as soon as the gates closed behind it. The doors banged open a second later, allowing the passengers to stand and make their way towards the security checkpoints up ahead. The guards looked relaxed, Felecia noted, as they watched the new arrivals pass through the automated sensors. She hoped that wasn’t a bad sign too. She didn’t like being patted down, or being singled out for a random strip search, but it was better than the alternative. The insurgents had smuggled bombs through the gates before and, if the truce failed ahead of time, they’d do it again.

      Clear, the guard said. He sounded bored as he checked her ID. You may proceed.

      Felecia thanked him, and headed onwards. The corporation’s giant complex was practically a large town in its own right, the air a little cleaner inside through giant purifiers that swept the pollution out before it could reach offworld noses and lungs. The corporation could have kept its mining operations relatively clean, she knew, but it didn’t care enough to try. She was mildly surprised it had agreed to evacuate the workers, when it had become clear the mining operation would have to be shut down. But then, it had a legal obligation to uplift anyone who wanted to go. The corprats might bend the law into a pretzel, or a plate of spaghetti, but they didn’t break it outright. It wasn’t how they rolled.

      She breathed a sigh of relief as she removed her mask, then headed towards her workplace. The crowds seemed more relaxed, as if they’d already forgotten the insurgency had been far from defeated. She spotted young children heading to playgroup and older teenagers making their way to the arcade, rather than school. She couldn’t help a twinge of envy. She’d barely had a chance to be a child, growing up in the settlement. She’d had to go to work as soon as possible, just to ensure that her family had enough money to live. She was very far from alone.

      The office complex was warm and welcoming, the lobby dominated by a statue of Director Sharon McManus, the woman who had directed the Huésped program nearly a century ago and been assassinated for it. Felecia wondered, not for the first time, if the long-dead woman had known what she was doing, or even if she cared. It was unusual to meet a corprat who thought about anything other than the bottom line, who put anything ahead of profits and promotions. Felecia had even heard their marriages and affairs were arranged for them, something that always made her roll her eyes. What sort of marriage had adulterous relationships organised by the wife and mistress? It was just absurd.

      She checked her watch again as she reached the office and had a quick shower, then changed into her work clothes and checked her appearance in the mirror before heading back outside to relieve her colleague. Anna Cameron winked at her as she entered, then stood and held out a datapad. Their work was never done.

      He’s got meetings all afternoon, some with people whose real names have clearly been blanked, Anna told her. Don’t breathe a word about them.

      As if I would, Felecia told her. She was one of the most highly paid Huéspeds on the planet. She wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise it, certainly not now. Did you have a good morning?

      Anna laughed. I was working, so no, she said. You want to cover for me tomorrow so I can see Darrin?

      Felecia shook her head. If she covered for Anna, she’d either have to stay with her overnight – which would be awkward for both young women and Darrin – or find a hotel. The latter would be expensive, even if she chose the one that expected its guests to sleep in tubes uncomfortably reminiscent of coffins. She didn’t have many other friends in the complex and none of them would put her up, certainly not without a few days of warning. Anna didn’t seem particularly put out as she stood, passed Felecia the datachips that opened the complex’s datacore, and headed for the door. Felecia felt a twinge of envy, despite herself. Anna had far more freedom than Felecia, even though they were the same age.

      But her family is hundreds of light-years away, she reminded herself, as she tapped the console to bring up the director’s schedule. Mine is back in the settlement.

      She sighed inwardly, then put the thought aside as she checked the appointment book. Anna had been right. There were seven appointments with clearly fake names, one probably the Caudillo himself and the rest his allies and semi-rivals. Her stomach twisted in disgust. The corporation’s official policy was never to negotiate with insurgents, particularly insurgents who could be easily classed as terrorists, but someone very high up had probably forced a change in policy. The corporation was pulling out, withdrawing from the planet and taking the Huéspeds with it. She supposed she could put up with the decision to discuss a truce with the insurgents, one that would last long enough to let the corporation evacuate the planet in peace. It was better than the alternative. If the war was fought to the last, hundreds of thousands on both sides would die.

      The inner door opened, revealing President Dominica Lopez. Felecia stood and hastily curtsied, even though everyone knew the planetary president was little more than the director’s puppet. The older woman barely spared Felecia a glance as she stalked out of the room, not even bothering to be polite as she slammed the door behind her. Felecia resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at the closed door. It was hard not to feel sorry for the so-called president. If there was anyone on the planet who took her title seriously, he was alone.

      Her boss stuck his head out of the office. Have my next guest sent up via the private elevator, and hold all my calls unless they’re from the priority list.

      Yes, sir, Felecia said. Director Von Donitz wasn’t a bad boss, all things considered, even though he had a habit of talking to her as though she were a child. A great many people from Earth seemed to believe their planet was the home of all elegance, and anyone who grew up without attending a finishing school could barely be trusted to tie their shoelaces without getting into a terrible muddle, but she knew it could be worse. One low-ranking corprat had a small harem of pretty secretaries and another was notoriously abusive. Do you require tea or coffee?

      I’ll see to it myself, Von Donitz said. If anyone who isn’t on the priority list calls, take their names and I’ll call them back.

      Felecia frowned as her boss withdrew, closing the door behind him. It was her job to bring him and his visitors tea and coffee – and everything else, from little biscuits to full meals – and effectively wait on them ... and yet, he was going to make his own coffee? It was out of character for the most powerful man on the planet, a man who couldn’t operate a drinks dispenser to save his life. Sure, anyone could put coffee grains and milk and hot water together, but ...

      He doesn’t want me to see who’s visiting, she thought. It was wrong, and having the thought made her feel uneasy, and yet it refused to go away. Didn’t he trust her? Who is he meeting ... and why?

      The unease nagged at her mind as she sat back down. She had never been quite sure why Von Donitz had hired her in the first place. She knew she was capable and competent and cheap, by corprat standards, but ... he could get a second offworld assistant if he wished. Anna wasn’t paid anything more than Felecia, as far as she knew, and the director could pay a hundred offworlders like her out of pocket change. She had wondered, at first, if he’d had other reasons, but he’d never made a pass at her. Hell, he’d never even hired a high-class escort. She’d seen his personal accounts. If the man had any interests beyond doing his job, he kept them well hidden.

      Her terminal bleeped. The guest had arrived. His escort had brought him through the secure corridors and they were now waiting for the elevator, the one that would take them into the office without walking past her desk. She tapped her console, informing Von Donitz that the mystery guest had arrived, then leaned back in her chair. Who was it? And what were they discussing? Her eyes lingered on the door for a long moment, then returned to her console. She could press her ears against the metal, if she wished, but she’d hear nothing. The room was completely soundproofed.

      The unease grew as she surveyed his inbox. It was astonishing how much crap was forwarded to the director, and how much the director relied on his staff to separate the genuinely important messages from the spam. There were just too many people who had permission to send emails directly into the poor man’s box, not all of whom could be trusted not to take advantage of it. She put a number of emails into the low-priority box – they weren’t aimed at the director, merely copied to him – and rolled her eyes at the sheer pettiness displayed by officials who had to know their time on the planet was coming to an end. The infighting had never stopped, even as mortar shells rained on settlements and antiaircraft missiles were fired at shuttlecraft or helicopters. Perhaps it had just been a way of coping with the constant threat of death, she thought wryly. The officials couldn’t do anything about the insurgency, but they could fight bitter office wars over pointless issues ...

      Her lips twisted as she scanned an update from Sol, confirming – as if everyone hadn’t already known – that Earth was effectively gone. It was hard to wrap her head around the sheer scale of the disaster. There had been eighty billion people on the planet, including the Grand Senate and much of the Civil Service, and they were just gone. The orbital halo, the cluster of settled asteroids and industrial nodes that had turned the system into an economic powerhouse, lay in ruins. The destruction of entire colonies on Mars, or asteroid settlements being shattered, would have dominated news cycles a few years ago, but now they were barely drops in an ocean of blood. Felecia had been born on Montezuma, and she had never been offworld, and yet ... losing Earth felt like the end of the universe. The old certainties were falling everywhere. No wonder, she reflected, that the corporation was preparing to abandon the mining world. Right now, they’d be lucky if they could stay in business long enough for the dust to settle and a new order to arise.

      She frowned as she read a message from General Hampshire. The man had never liked her, or Huéspeds in general, but he had done a fairly good job of coordinating the defences well enough to keep the mines open. Her brother had had some choice things to say about the general, yet ... she shook her head, eyes narrowing as she scanned the words. There was something oddly weaselly about it, a strange tone from a man who was often blunt to the point of rudeness. It was even stranger, she noted, that he’d done a spot of clerical work himself. Generals didn’t plan operations, certainly not in anything more than broad strokes. That was what his staff were for ...

      The plan was simple, the uplift schedule for departure ... a month, more or less, from the present date. Felecia felt an odd little moment of regret, then frowned as something struck her. The evacuation plan was surprisingly vague in places, but it was clear that it was only intended to last a few days. Her frown deepened, her heart thudding as she kept reading. She was no military expert, and she’d never flown in a shuttle in her entire life, but even she knew there were hard limits on how many passengers could be transported to orbit in a single flight. Assuming a flight schedule that was probably unrealistic, without a single delay

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