Democracy's Light

Chapter Six

The Cicero Residence was in the better parts of the High City (of course) and looked as spectacular from the outside as it was luxurious on the inside. It wasn’t necessary for the Clan Head to reside within the High City, and aircars ensured that they could assemble in the city at a moment’s notice, if they felt the urge, but Tiberius had always liked the Residence. He had fond memories of his early years as a younger son, learning the ropes of high society, while aware that he wouldn’t inherit the Headship. It had been a nasty surprise when his father had died, along with his elder brothers, leaving him in line for the succession, but he liked to think that it had given him a certain practical bent. He had had a surprisingly good war.

He’d been the person who had convinced the Thousand Families to seek a truce after the destruction of Home Fleet and the Fall of Earth, offering to trade their political power in exchange for being allowed to keep most of their economic rights. He hadn’t expected that it would be accepted — he’d originally suggested offering the truce before Home Fleet had been blown to flaming plasma, when the Families still had something to bargain with — but the rebels had agreed to his plan. It had given Tiberius a considerable degree of leverage, which he’d used ruthlessly to ensure that the terms of the agreement were honoured.

Not everyone had agreed. Lady Madeline Hohenzollern, ‘Lady’ Stacy Roosevelt — who was the Roosevelt because no one else wanted the title — Lord Bernadotte, Lord Edison and Lady Mecklinbourgh had all vanished, he suspected some long distance from Earth. Others had remained on the sidelines, watching and waiting to see who came out ahead, while still others refused to believe that anything had changed. Tiberius had found himself respected, but not loved, representing people he suspected were plotting his death. They had already killed his father, years before the rebellion had arisen to shake the very boundaries of the Empire. Now…

He looked over at the woman perched on the edge of her chair. She wore nothing, but a standard shipsuit, with the gold ring of a Captain embroidered on her shoulder. She looked young, about twenty-one years old, with long red hair that reached down her shoulders towards her rear, but he refused to make the mistake of underestimating her. Daria, in her previous incarnation as the Empress Janice, had ruled the Empire for ten years, before she had been finally disposed and forced to flee. Merely surviving, when every man’s hand was turned against her, was impressive enough, but she’d built a new power base out along the Rim… and maintained a conspiracy of friends and allies, including Tiberius’s father, on Earth. She’d told him, when they’d first met openly, that her loyalty was to the Empire, but there were times when he wondered. Daria was the strangest person he’d met… and perhaps the most ruthless.

“Is Admiral Wilhelm one of yours?”

Daria shook her head slowly. “No,” she said, flatly. Tiberius wished, not for the first time, for more life experience. He’d been too young when he’d become the Clan Head and Daria was old enough, like so many of the other Clan Heads, to be his grandmother. Of course, no one was really sure how old she actually was. He’d accessed her records, very quietly, but almost everything of importance had been scrubbed from the files. That alone bespoke of vast influence. “He’s someone who rose to power during my exile.”

Tiberius nodded. For the moment, at least, he might as well believe her. “And so… what are we going to do about him?”

Daria shrugged. “Colin intends to follow my advice and crush him before he becomes a serious threat, or a more serious threat,” she said, almost as if it was an unimportant issue. “I don’t intend to prevent him from carrying out his intentions, if that’s what you’re asking. Indeed, we don’t want more players in the game, do we?”

She smiled, openly. “There are already too many players in the game,” she added. “We can afford to watch and wait… for the moment.”

“I suppose,” Tiberius said, thoughtfully. “And when do we make our move?”

“Patience, young grasshopper,” Daria said, mildly. “We’ve waited for a chance to reform the Empire for so long that we can afford to wait a little longer, can’t we? You and I are going to be good servants of the new order until the time comes to reshape it to our specifications, or we’re no longer needed.”

“If Colin does the work for us,” Tiberius added. “Do you think that that’s going to happen?”

“The Empire is too large to change quickly,” Daria said. “Tell me something. Colin is one person. What makes his grip on power so absolute?”

“The same thing that made you so powerful,” Tiberius said. He’d been giving the matter some thought. “Control of Home Fleet and the planetary defences.”

“I imagine that the Shadow Fleet would be quite insulted to be referred to as Home Fleet, but you’re correct,” Daria agreed, mildly. “Colin’s control over the system is effectively absolute, even if he is careful not to flaunt that in everyone’s face. A conflict between Colin and Admiral Wilhelm, who is apparently an ambitious son of a bitch, is not necessarily to our disadvantage. As long as Wilhelm doesn’t actually win…”

“Colin might be able to punch him out quickly,” Tiberius said. His understanding of naval matters was limited — he knew and trusted Admiral Wachter, who was an old family friend, but he had the feeling that approaching Joshua would have been fatal — but he knew how successful the Shadow Fleet had been. “What happens then?”

“I read Admiral Wilhelm’s file carefully,” Daria said, and Tiberius cursed himself. It was easy to forget that Daria’s previous post had been commander of Home Fleet… and that she’d been an experienced Admiral. Reading between the lines would have been easy for her. “He isn’t incompetent, even though he was clearly a Hohenzollern client, and shouldn’t make any incompetent mistakes like leaving Cottbus open to attack. Unless Colin manages to dig up several additional superdreadnaught squadrons, the war will last at least six months, during which time we will be able to lay the groundwork for our own plans.”

She smiled. “And Jason will have to remain on the substitutes bench for a while longer,” she added. “I dare say he won’t object.”

Tiberius winced. He hadn’t intended to reveal that particular card, but he’d been determined to impress her… and, clearly, she’d already had an inkling of the truth. The redoubtable and legendary Captain Jason Cordova had been born Jason Cicero… and the circumstances of his flight from the Empire had been far murkier than the standard tale. He thought about the hordes of reporters thronging through the High City and scowled. If they had known the truth, they’d be leading the lynch mobs themselves.

“It’s chancy,” he said, slowly. “What happens if someone else digs up the truth?”

“Your father did an excellent job of hiding it,” Daria said. “If someone did manage to send an archaeological team out to the remains of the world… well, they might dig something up, but the Imperial Navy left such a mess that I doubt they will find anything recognisable. I suspect that as long as Cordova remains himself, and continues to act the pirate buffoon to the horror of the grand dames of society, no one will even consider the truth.”

Tiberius nodded. He’d accessed the records on the world in question and had been shocked by the sheer level of violence the Imperial Navy had directed at it. The world hadn’t just been scorched, but literally pulverised with an antimatter bombardment — taboo under anything, but very special circumstances — and a handful of asteroids, pointed at the planet and allowed to strike the surface. The world was still highly radioactive and utterly unsafe. No one in their right mind would even use it as a penal colony. It would be quicker to shoot the convicts in the head.

“I take your point,” he said, finally. “So, what are we going to do?”

“Nothing, for the moment,” Daria said. “We’re going to watch and wait. The reporters will get enough material without us stirring the pot.”

“Clever,” Tiberius said. “Complete deniability, right?”

He scowled. The Empire had never had a tradition of open reporting. Public Information had decided what the commoners had a right to know and spoon-fed them with lies, distortions and half-truths, while anything reassembling real news was unceremoniously banned. The early reports of the rebellion had been wiped and replaced by a campaign of lies and invective, none of which had prevented word spreading faster than Public Information could counter it. The Empire had never managed to wipe out the messages from the rebellion… and, once Earth had fallen, Colin had closed down Public Information and sacked everyone involved.

The first-rank worlds, by contrast, had had a tradition of investigative journalism and thousands of reporters had descended on Earth to try to dig up scoops and dirt. The Thousand Families hadn’t taken kindly to this at all, but they’d suddenly found themselves without the weapons they’d once used to keep news out of the public domain… and, worse, found themselves the targets of all kinds of reporters. Some, like Kathy Tyler or Tiberius himself, had come out very well. Others had been publicly lambasted, including those who had authorised the scorching of Gaul. The Empire had changed yet again.

“Of course,” Daria said. “I think, however, that we do have a serious problem that we need to counter.”

Tiberius sat up straighter. Daria believed firmly in taking the long-term view of all matters. If she believed that there was a problem that wouldn’t go away on its own, with or without some encouragement, it was serious. Someone who had remained in exile for fifty years, patiently building up a new power base, was someone who couldn’t be treated lightly.

“Aliens,” Daria said, seriously. “You know that Colin intends to remove Imperial garrisons from their worlds?”

Tiberius frowned. “I was under the impression that you introduced him to alien rights,” he said. It was hard to be sure, at such a distance, but he was fairly sure of that report’s accuracy. “Is that a problem now?”

“I encouraged him to think along those lines,” Daria said. She leaned forwards and smiled, almost enchantingly. “Let’s be honest; none of the eight races within the Empire will become a serious threat overnight, even if the garrisons are pulled off their worlds tomorrow. Two of them don’t have any conception of high technology and think that human science is actually magic. Three of them may not even be aware that they’re in the Empire at all. God knows, no one has managed to actually talk to them in a sensible manner. That leaves three that have some industry and even some representatives in space, along the Rim, and none of them would pose a problem for a single destroyer. They’re not a threat.

“The general public doesn’t think in quite the same terms,” she continued. “The Empire hammered the threat of aliens into everyone’s head for so long that the vast majority of the population is adamantly opposed to giving aliens any rights at all. If the alien worlds were scorched, once and for all, they would cheer. People who hated the Empire for keeping a boot on their necks will see Colin and his people giving aliens a chance to take revenge on humanity. They will not respond well.”

She smiled. “And just what do you think that will do for Colin’s… reputation?”

“Nothing good,” Tiberius said, finally. He wasn’t used to thinking in such terms, but he suspected he followed her logic better than some of his peers would have done. Colin’s reputation was as a liberator, a man who’d risked everything to destroy the Empire, but now… now, they would see him as threatening the very survival of humanity. “After the Dathi War, no one will want a repeat…”

Daria nodded. The human race’s second major alien contact had been traumatic. No one really knew why the Dathi had attacked, but there was little doubt about their objectives; they had intended to exterminate the human race. Decades of fighting later, the Federation Navy had finally broken through the Dathi fleet and fallen upon their worlds. Every last one of them had been scorched down to nothing, but radioactive rubble, dead worlds orbiting uncaring stars. The entire Dathi race had been exterminated. There were rumours, from time to time, of missing Dathi colonies, but mostly they were invented by Public Information to justify some new security measure.

“And, of course, the threat is purely imaginary,” he concluded. “Unless you did meet some new aliens, out past the Rim…”

“No,” Daria said. “There were always reports of odd sightings around deserted stars, but mostly none of them were every backed up with actual sensor data, so…”

She shrugged. “The issue of alien freedom, of course, will become one that we will play on, using the reporters as tools,” she concluded. “I assume that you can handle that discreetly?”

Tiberius nodded. It helped that Colin expected his inner circle to disagree with him, even to argue with him, just to ensure that he heard every possible point of view. He would raise the concerns privately, while ensuring that they would become public. Daria was right, after all, the human race would be adamantly opposed to anything reassembling alien rights.

“Tell me something,” he said, finally. “Why alien rights? Why not the Union Movement, or the Socialists, or even the presence of Admiral Wilhelm?”

“Because alien rights are a harmless issue,” Daria said. “Whatever the people might think, the combined force of all eight alien races couldn’t harm the Empire in the slightest. The Unions, or the Socialist, or Admiral Wilhelm could cause serious harm to our interests.” Her green eyes held his. “Never forget, our objective is not power for the sake of power, but power for the sake of reforming the Empire. We must be careful to do no additional harm to the Empire.”

Tiberius blinked. “But this will do harm…”

“Of course,” Daria said. She paused. “You see, I know Colin. He’s a decent person, perhaps the most decent person I have met… and he’s at a loose end. His objective was to come to Earth, break through Home Fleet and kick the Thousand Families in their collective nuts. He’s done it, so… now what? He thinks in terms of doing the right thing and that, his sense of duty, is what’s keeping him on Earth, trying to reform the Empire. He sees freeing the aliens as the right thing to do… and he isn’t capable of delaying, or even stalling, because others might not agree with him.”

She paused. “You do see the irony, don’t you?

“And that makes him the wrong person to be leading the Empire,” she concluded. “We need a reform process that will keep the Empire together, not one that will tear it apart… and that is the inevitable result of Colin’s plans. If butting heads with Admiral Wilhelm doesn’t force him to change his attitudes, we will have to remove him — for the good of the Empire.”

“And us, of course,” Tiberius said.

“You’re in a position to ensure that the Cicero Family survives the coming upheavals with ease,” Daria told him, flatly. “You have little to worry about, do you?”

She stood up. “Concentrate on your wedding and think about the future,” she advised. “It promises to be better than the past.”

“Someone was definitely trying to slip a bug into the Residence,” Lord Pompey Cicero said, afterwards. Tiberius, who’d been pondering the future, looked up in alarm. Daria might be confident of Colin’s general decency, but Tiberius wasn’t sure that he shared her confidence. “This one got caught in a bug field.”

He held out a tube, allowing Tiberius to peer into the magnification field. The bug was far too small for the unaided human eye to see it, even as a glint of metal against a dark background and even full magnification revealed little about it. It was capable of flying through the air and settling down anywhere, invisible and very hard to detect. It was the ultimate spying device.

“Good,” he said, finally. “Who sent this one?”

“I have no idea,” Pompey said, dryly. They might be contemporaries, but their social statuses were light-years apart. “You want a list of your enemies?”

He smiled at Tiberius’s expression. “It’s high-grade tech, Imperial Intelligence style, but it could have come from anywhere,” he added. “There are plenty of Family Members like me with contracts in Imperial Intelligence — or had contracts before the Provisional Government started cleaning out the rogues and bandits — and they could have sent it. And then there are all the newer factions, or the unions, or even the new government itself. It would be easier to list people who didn’t have access to such tech.”

Tiberius ran his hand through his hair. “I take it that you disabled it?”

“Of course,” Pompey said, sounding faintly insulted. “I did that at once, as I was taught to do, although the person who sent it would have known the minute it failed a routine call-check, or… hell, maybe it squealed before it was disabled. Still… someone was interested in you, sir, and I doubt that they wanted nude pictures of you in the bath.”

“I should hope not,” Tiberius snorted. The very idea was ridiculous. It was much more likely that one of his enemies was hoping to pick up useful or incriminating information. He wasn’t a security expert, not like Pompey, but he was fairly sure that if there was one bug, there would be others. “Go sweep for any other bugs and let me know if you find any. I have to think about this.”

“Think quick,” Pompey advised. “I doubt that Alicia would want to live in a bugged mansion.”