The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9) (v5.1) by Christopher Nuttall Page A

a relative handful of women sat on the hard chairs, some watched carefully by the security staff. Quite a few of them looked dangerous, which suggested the holding cells were already full. Glen sighed, remembering a handful of riots that had started in the waiting rooms, then started to look for the girl. She wasn't hard to spot.
    He felt a flicker of rage as soon as he realised how she’d been treated. She was tiny, very obviously not a threat to a grown man, yet someone had cuffed her hands behind her back and shackled her legs together, before sitting her down on a hard metal chair. It was nothing more than an attempt to make it clear how helpless she was, that her fate was completely in the hands of her captors. Glen knew, all too well, that the Civil Guard considered it standard procedure. Helpless captives were safe captives.
    Up close, it was clear she was alarmingly thin, so slight she barely came up to his shoulders. Her face was thin and pinched, her long brown hair was tied in a single ponytail that hung down over her shoulder and past her breasts. Her eyes were bleak and hopeless, suggesting depression and tiredness. Glen looked at her and felt nothing, but pity. She was very definitely not a suspect who needed to be chained up to prevent movement.
    Damn you , he thought, looking towards the security staff. Procedures were procedures and no one, it seemed, had seen fit to apply some common sense. He wished he was surprised, but it was a common problem in the Empire. Someone could avoid punishment, even after a complete disaster, if they could prove they had followed procedures and stuck firmly to the letter of regulations. The morality of keeping a young girl in chains took second place to keeping one’s job. But then, it wasn't really a surprise. These days, being unemployed meant the kiss of death.
    He stopped in front of the girl and knelt down to face her. “Hi,” he said. “My name is Glen, Glen Cheal. What’s yours?”
    “Helen,” the girl said. Her voice was accented, suggesting she hadn't been born on Terra Nova. “I ...”
    She shuddered, her wrists flexing against the cuffs. Glen winced in sympathy, realising that she was on the edge of shock. Being a prisoner couldn't have been much fun, even if she hadn't been abused by her captors. And then she’d moved from one prison to another. Hell, it was quite possible the Civil Guardsmen who’d captured her had taken advantage of the situation to cop a feel. Glen considered making a full report and demanding satisfaction, but he knew it would be futile. The Civil Guardsmen regarded molesting captives as one of the perks of their underpaid job.
    “It’s alright,” Glen said, patting her shoulder. She flinched away from his touch. “I have to take you out of here, really.”
    “They said I had to stay here and wear these,” Helen said. She kicked her legs, rattling the chains. “And they told me I wouldn't be going anywhere.”
    Glen listened, but couldn't place her accent. There was something oddly formal about it, suggesting that Helen had grown up largely isolated from planetary society. Given her pale skin, he was fairly sure she’d lived on a spaceship rather than a planet, which might explain her build as well. It was quite possible that she’d been exposed to a low-gravity environment from a very early age, which would have left marks on her body even if she’d had treatments to prevent muscular decay. She'd just have to be given proper treatment before she went anywhere else.
    “I think they were lying to you,” Glen said. He winked at her. “And since my boss outranks their boss, what she says goes.”
    He reached into his belt and produced a handcuff key, which he pressed against her cuffs. They clicked free, allowing her to start rubbing her hands. Glen cursed under his breath when he saw the bruises – the cuffs had really been on too tight – then released her legs as well. It was against regulations, but if he couldn't catch