Democracy's Might

Chapter Thirty-One

Whiplash, Tiberius thought. We have whiplash.

Admiral Wachter’s courier boats had broken all speed records to get news of the Battle of Morrison back to Earth. But, a day after the news from Morrison had arrived, word had arrived from Wolf 359. The giant shipyard and industrial production facility had effectively been destroyed. Countless facilities were gone and the workforce was dead.

The effect had been immediate. Confidence in the Sandakan Family had collapsed, particularly after the Family Head moved to secure the family’s remaining investments. Right now, they were on the slippery slope towards bankruptcy and the remaining families were rapidly calculating how best to take advantage of the situation — or avoid being dragged down with the Sandakan Family. And Tiberius knew that their collapse would hurt his family. There were outstanding debts and contracts that would never be honoured.

He watched with grim amusement as the Families Council convened. The Sandakan had, naturally, been told that his presence was no longer welcome. Surprisingly, he had tried to fight, to insist on his rights, even though his family was struggling for survival. It had taken Tiberius several minutes to realise that the council vote could be farmed out to the highest bidder, even though that was technically against the rules. But then, rules were what the Thousand Families said they were.

Grand Admiral Porter was the first to speak.

“The latest report from Wolf 359 states that over eighty-five percent of the total productive facility has been lost,” he said, in a droning voice that tried to minimise the effects of the blow. “Long-term effects will hamper our ability to rebuild our fleets and resupply the Imperial Navy with anything larger than a destroyer or light cruiser. Even our missile production facilities have been impacted. Shortages can be expected for several months to come before we can reconfigure other industrial nodes…”

Tiberius listened, carefully, as the Admiral droned on. Nothing he said was new, precisely, but he’d hoped that there would be encouragement. Instead, the news was almost worse than he had feared. At best, their plans to take the offensive against the rebels would have to be put off for several years, despite the victory at Morrison. And at worst… the rebels might just have scored a war-winning blow.

“I trust,” Lord Rothschild said, “that steps have been taken to secure Terra Nova?”

“I have ordered the dispatch of an additional superdreadnaught squadron from Home Fleet,” Admiral Porter said. “My analysts are already considering additional security measures for the system.”

“Such matters are my family’s responsibility,” Lord Bernadotte snapped. “By long custom…”

“Right now, your shipyard is the only one capable of replacing the lost superdreadnaughts,” Lord Rothschild pointed out. “Failing to protect it could be disastrous.”

And it has nothing to do with the fact you want a lever over your rival, Tiberius thought, coldly. Taking the shipyards into general ownership would please you, wouldn’t it?

“My Household Troops will not be caught on the hop,” Lord Bernadotte said. “It was damn careless of the Sandakan to leave such a flaw in the yard’s security.”

“But not one he was responsible for,” Tiberius muttered.

Lord Bernadotte glared at him. “And you think I am responsible for the poor decisions of my ancestors?”

Tiberius resisted the urge to point out that was exactly what he had tried to imply about the Sandakan, but held his peace.

“We cannot afford to lose your shipyard,” Lord Rothschild said, softly. “You will maintain full control of the installation. We will merely provide security.”

“That can be handled later,” Tiberius said. “We must now consider the long-term course of the war — and the future of the Empire.”

He took a breath, then pressed on. “The Sandakan Family is unable to meet its debts,” he said, flatly. All of his analysts agreed on that point, although they weren’t certain just how long it would be before the final collapse. Like most of the Thousand Families, the Sandakan Family had assets that were off the books. “When it goes down, it will seriously damage the rest of us.”

There were nods of agreement. Even if the families worked together, they were all going to take a blow. And the families were simply not good at working together.

“We cannot afford another blow like that,” Tiberius continued. “I think we should seriously consider coming to terms with the rebels.”

“Out of the question,” Lord Bernadotte thundered. “This is the worst possible moment for considering peace with the rebels.”

Tiberius met his eyes. “We won a victory at Morrison,” he said. “The rebels were knocked out of the system, in complete and total disarray. But we lost Wolf 359, which threatens our ability to replace our losses as well as our entire economic edifice. What happens if we take another blow like that? What happens if we have to keep paying for the war effort while we are unable to pay debts and meet our obligations?

“We might win the war and lose the Empire.

“This is our moment to offer peace terms,” he added. “Let the rebels have Sector 117. Let them have their other conquests. Let them take the underground members from Earth and the rest of the Core Worlds. We will reconfigure our economy, recover from the war and replace our losses. By then, the war can be restarted with impunity.”

“You would be forcing us all to accept massive losses,” Lord Rothschild said, thoughtfully. “None of the rebel conquests would be returned to us.”

“Better to lose part of the Empire than all of it,” Tiberius insisted. “Right now, the rebels are just as shocked as we are. But once they run the calculations for themselves, they will know that we are actually in a very weak position. And then they will resume the war.”

“You’re young,” Lord Bernadotte said.

“And what,” Tiberius asked sharply, “does my youth have to do with anything?”

“The young are idealistic, just like the fools who believed that the Empress would reform the system and — just incidentally, give them power and position,” Lord Bernadotte hissed. “You do not realises, young man, that we cannot let our grip on power slack. Do you really imagine, in your ivory tower, that the population loves us? What do you think would happen if we allowed another interstellar power to exist?

“I’ll tell you what will happen,” he added. “We will be out-produced. The Geeks and Nerds will push the limits of technology as far as they will go. It won’t be long before our economy is completely up-ended by their research, while we struggle to repair the damage from the war. And the mere existence of a different political system will give our population ideas, won’t it? No matter what we do, they will be discontented. They will revolt.”

He looked around the table, as if he were pleading with them to understand. “We stand at the top of a very shaky power structure,” he said. “We are, in effect, riding a tiger. But if we try to get off, the tiger will eat us.”

“And if we try to stay on,” Tiberius said, “we may be knocked off anyway.”

Lord Bernadotte ignored him. “For the past thousand years, we have controlled the Empire to suit ourselves,” he said. “We have rewritten the laws as necessary. We have absorbed, assimilated or destroyed competition. Anyone who looked like posing a threat to our dominance was simply pushed out of business. But how well would we do if we no longer controlled everything? Would we be able to compete?”

He was right, Tiberius knew. But would they be able to stay in control?

“The best we could hope for,” Lord Bernadotte concluded, “is a gradual loss of power and eventual collapse. What else would there be for us?”

“Perhaps we could reconfigure ourselves to survive, even in a universe of free competition,” Tiberius suggested.

“And are you,” Lord Bernadotte asked, “willing to take that chance?”

He met Tiberius’s eyes. “Are you willing to risk everything your ancestors built up, knowing that it could all be lost?”

“I believe that it is already at stake,” Tiberius said, stiffly. “Even if all the rebels dropped dead tomorrow, we would still be struggling for years to rebuild. And well…”

He paused for effect. “And there is the other fact that seems to have been overlooked.”

Lord Bernadotte grimaced. “And that is…?”

“Wolf 359 is just under eight light years from Earth,” Tiberius said, quietly. “The rebels could be probing the Sol System right now.”

“Home Fleet stands by to repel any offensive,” Admiral Foster said, quickly. “We have drilled and exercised endlessly…”

“Thank you,” Tiberius said, cutting him off. He’d read the reports from his clients and few of them had been anything like so optimistic. “What is to stop the rebels mounting another raid, this time aimed at Earth? And what will it do to the underground’s morale if they see the rebels raiding the Sol System?”

He looked down at the table. The underground had been quieter since the security forces had raided a dozen hidden bases, but they’d definitely been infiltrating the orbital defences. A dozen would-be operatives had been caught, leaving Tiberius wondering just how many they’d missed. It was alarmingly possible that Home Fleet was already infiltrated too.

“We should vote,” Lord Bernadotte said. “Tiberius has made his case — and I have discussed the issues with coming to any kind of agreement with the rebels. All those in favour of sending a mission to discuss peace?”

Tiberius stuck up his hand, but he was alone. Even the doves were unwilling to commit themselves to discussing peace.

“The matter is now closed,” Lord Bernadotte commented. He shot Tiberius a snide glance. By custom, once the vote had been taken, the matter could not be opened again, at least unless the situation changed remarkably. “We must now consider the issue of Admiral Wachter and the POWs. I do not believe that we can dispute that Admiral Wachter overstepped his authority in making any promises to the rebels.”

Tiberius sighed. Admiral Wachter had sent dispatches… but so had the Imperial Intelligence officers and the spies within the Morrison Fleet. The latter two all agreed that Admiral Wachter had ensured that little reliable information could be extracted from the prisoners, regardless of their origins. They’d been forced to restrict themselves to gentle methods of extracting information, something that they found uncomfortable.

“We certainly issued a death sentence for any rebels,” Lord Rothschild agreed. “Admiral Wachter definitely shouldn’t have made them any promises, certainly not ones that could rebound on us.”

“But the rebels will fight harder if they believe they cannot surrender,” Tiberius pointed out, tiredly. He agreed with the Admiral’s logic, even though he wished they’d discussed the possibility earlier. But then, the Thousand Families had been in no mood for compromise even before the victory at Morrison. Admiral Wachter might have left with orders to butcher all prisoners upon capture. “And we will also abandon any hope of using them for propaganda purposes.”

“This is a sign of disturbing independence on the Admiral’s part,” Lord Bernadotte added. “Do we wish to leave him in his position?”

“He just won our one true victory,” Tiberius snapped. “The war is not yet won and you’re already plotting to remove him?”

“And what,” Lord Bernadotte asked in tones of sweet reason, “if he turns on us?”

“We cannot afford to get rid of him now,” Tiberius insisted. “The rebel fleet was damaged, but it escaped largely intact. They will recover and they will resume the offensive. And when that happens, we had damn well better be prepared to meet it!”

Lord Bernadotte gave him a sharp look. “First arguing for peace talks, then defending the prisoners… are you convinced that we will lose this war?”

“We could win and find ourselves bankrupted,” Tiberius reminded him. “I don’t think I wish to win on those terms. And besides…”

He hesitated, then appealed to their sense of self-preservation. “Let us assume that we lose the war,” he said. “What will the rebels do to us if we torture prisoners?”

“There’s a difference between interrogation and torture,” Lord Edison injected.

“Yes,” Tiberius agreed. “They’re spelt differently.”

He pressed on before anyone could interrupt. “When the war is won,” he insisted, “we can do whatever the hell we like. We can execute all the rebels or send them to godforsaken penal colonies. But until then, we have some interest in treating prisoners gently.”

Lord Edison snorted. “Even traitors to the Empire?”

“Even them,” Tiberius said. Director Smyth’s memo had been interesting, if only because of the logical hair-splitting. One could evade the Admiral’s instructions by arguing that traitors were already sentenced to death, even though they’d surrendered upon a promise of good treatment. “It is in our interests to treat prisoners gently.”

“Very well,” Lord Bernadotte said. He glanced around the table. “All those in favour?”

Tiberius held his breath… then sighed in relief as nine Family Heads sided with him.

“The Admiral may still be a problem,” Lord Rothschild said. “I propose that we dispatch additional security forces to Morrison. If he decides to turn on us, we can have him eliminated before he becomes a very real problem.”

There was no disagreement.

Tiberius wasn’t really surprised. Powerful subordinates — over-mighty subordinates — were a persistent problem for the Empire. Someone competent enough to be useful was also someone competent enough to be a very real threat. The entire Imperial Navy edifice was designed to ensure that anyone who did reach high office was either lacking in ambition or thoroughly subverted to a patron. Admiral Wachter might have come from minor aristocracy, but that wouldn’t reassure them. The Empress had been minor aristocracy too.

“And we should also have all POWs sent here,” Lord Bernadotte added. “For safe-keeping, of course.”

“Of course,” Tiberius agreed, dryly. Just because interrogation was forbidden wouldn’t stop Public Information trying to use them. If one of the mutineers switched sides again…

Not that they would have to switch sides, he thought. Public Information could make up a story out of whole cloth.

They’d already started, naturally. A hugely-exaggerated version of the Battle of Morrison was already playing on the datanets, ending with the complete destruction of the rebel fleet and all of its crewmen. They’d have to explain the discrepancy somehow… or lie. Why not? They’d lied for hundreds of years when the truth had been deemed too dangerous to tell the public. Even the underground’s best attempts at spreading the truth could be buried under Public Information’s shower of lies.

If anyone believes it, he thought, I would be very surprised.

But quite a few Admirals would have taken the opportunity to exaggerate their own success… They were lucky to have Wachter, even though he was very much a two-edged sword. He could cut the Thousand Families as easily as fight for them.

He shook his head as the meeting finally came to an end, then disengaged from the conference and walked back into his office. The latest reports from the financial analysts were on his desk, but he ignored them. Instead, he called for Marie. He needed to relax, he explained it to himself, before he did anything else. Life at the top was just too stressful.

“Do you believe the stories?”

Adeeba considered the question carefully. Public Information’s claim of a decisive victory at Morrison were wildly exaggerated, she suspected, but there was probably some truth in it somewhere. By her calculations, Colin might well have reached Morrison by the time of the battle. But the rumours of a successful strike on Wolf 359 were utterly unconfirmed.

Or at least they hadn’t been confirmed directly. But when the underground had checked the stock exchanges, half of the property that openly belonged to the Sandakan Family had been confiscated or frozen until debts were paid. The family had definitely taken a major hit and their only installation of note was Wolf 359. Adeeba wasn’t sure how many of the rumours were actually true, but there was definitely some truth there too.

“I think the stories are reasonably believable,” she said, finally. “But we couldn’t have lost over two hundred superdreadnaughts in a single battle.”

Gaunt snorted. “How do you figure that?”

“There are barely three hundred superdreadnaughts in the entire Empire,” Adeeba said. “The Empire couldn’t assemble such a force, not now. There hasn’t been a fleet that large since the First Interstellar War.”

Frandsen coughed. “Interesting,” he said, with a wink. “But if there have been attacks this close to Earth, what do we do about them?”

Adeeba considered it. “Wait until we know more?”

Gaunt gave her a sharp look. “You don’t want to take the offensive?”

“We have no way of knowing just how badly our fleet was damaged at Morrison,” Adeeba said. “Sure, we can’t have lost ships we don’t have, but we don’t know the real story. All we can do is prepare… or risk losing everything if we strike too soon.”

“I wish I disagreed with you,” Gaunt said. She looked around the tiny apartment. “Are you all right, here?”

Adeeba shrugged. There was barely enough room to swing a cat, but the neighbours were quiet — Earth’s inhabitants tended to ignore their fellows, unless they looked particularly weak — and there would be plenty of warning if the security forces caught on. Besides, it let her think about their planned operations in peace.

“It could be better,” Frandsen said.

“Worse too,” Gaunt commented. “It is actually larger than a holding cell.”

She gave him a thin-lipped smirk, then continued. “We may need you to help us train for operations in orbit,” she added. “Can we count on you?”

“Of course,” Frandsen said. “What do you have in mind?”

Gaunt smiled, showing her teeth. “Wait and see.”