“Quite,” the king said. “There will be others who will join us, of course.”
“Of course,” Kat echoed. The Commonwealth had been fracturing into two camps well before the shooting had actually begun. Now . . . Everyone who wanted to fight would be heading to Caledonia. “Why do you keep him around?”
The king blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Sir Grantham,” Kat said. She knew why most of the privy councilors had been chosen, but Sir Grantham was a mystery. “Why is he on the privy council?”
“He’s a fixer,” the king said, simply. “He gets things done for me.”
“Ah,” Kat said.
The king’s smile grew wider. “I’ll be transferring myself to Caledonia this afternoon,” he told her. “The people down there”—he jabbed a finger at the deck—“have already laid on a reception, after which we will discuss reclaiming Tyre before our enemies rally their troops and prepare for war. You’ll be joining us?”
“Of course,” Kat said. “It would be my pleasure.”
That was a lie. She would have preferred to remain on her flagship, but she knew it wasn’t really a request. Besides, she would have to ensure that the king and his councilors didn’t come up with a plan that looked good on paper but would fail spectacularly the moment someone tried to put it into practice. She’d seen enough problems caused by armchair admirals not to want to let the councilors dictate the course of the war. They were good people, in their way, but they were not experienced military officers. She shuddered to think how many lives had been lost, during the last war, because too many officers had never fought a real war.
“Very good,” the king said. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”
“We’ll see,” Kat said. She was pretty sure that was a lie too. “But I don’t have much time to waste. I’ll be needed back aboard ship fairly soon.”
“We have time,” the king said. He sounded confident, for someone who had never witnessed combat from the flag deck. “It will take them weeks, perhaps months, to organize themselves for war.”
“Yes,” Kat said. True, as far as it went. But her duty consisted of pouring cold water on his thoughts. “And it will take us a long time too.”
Chapter Three
Caledonia
Caledonia, Kat recalled, had been a surprisingly well-developed world when the Commonwealth’s expanding border had washed through its system. Indeed, in many ways, Caledonia had been an ideal candidate for membership. The system had a small but growing industrial base, a thriving educational base, and a handful of freighters plying the spacelanes, helping to reinvigorate interstellar trade. But Caledonia had been hampered by the Commonwealth itself. Tyre had seen Caledonia as a rival, a potential threat; Tyre had manipulated the Commonwealth’s structure to ensure that Caledonia would always be second-best. Kat rather suspected the move had been nothing more than petty, pointless evil. In the short term, it had worked; in the long term, an entire planet had become enraged and united against Tyre.
And the king was able to position himself as the protector of the small, Kat thought, as they finally, finally, headed for the royal residence. The entire planet loves him.
She didn’t blame the planet for welcoming the king, their savior. It had been the king who’d insisted on establishing shipyards and industrial nodes at Caledonia, the king who’d invested trillions of crowns in the planet’s infrastructure . . . the king who’d argued for the planet to be heavily defended, who’d pushed for defending every planet in the Commonwealth even though such measures prolonged the war. The contradiction amused her more than she cared to admit. Caledonia loathed Tyre but adored Tyre’s king. He could literally get away with murder, as far as the locals were concerned. He’d worked hard to earn their goodwill.
Kat felt tired, a deep, aching tiredness that pervaded every inch of her body. She detested formalities, but ever since the shuttle had landed, there’d been nothing but formalities. An endless series of speeches from local dignitaries, all of which had blurred together in her mind, followed by a long parade, where everyone on the planet seemed to want to shake the king’s hand or meet his eyes. She hadn’t been the only one, surely, who worried about what a lone gunman could do when the king was in the open. A sniper could have put a bullet through the king’s head with ease if he’d had the chance. The security cordon had been almost pitifully weak. She was relieved when they finally entered the palace, leaving the crowds behind. And yet, part of her wanted only to return to the ship. The latest set of updates had suggested she’d lost a third of her crew.
It could have been worse, she told herself as the staff showed them into the conference chamber. We could have been stuck with all officers and no crewmen.
She looked around the chamber, not bothering to disguise her interest. The space was quite efficiently designed, certainly in comparison to the conference rooms back home. The walls were paneled with dark wood, and a painting of the previous king hung on the far wall, but otherwise the chamber was strikingly modern. There had been no attempt to hide the holoprojector or the drinks cabinet, no attempt to pretend that the chamber dated back to a bygone age. Kat had always found the pretensions amusing, when they hadn’t been awkward. There wasn’t a person alive who remembered the days before FTL travel and high technology. She didn’t think there was anyone on Tyre who’d been born on Old Earth.
A serving girl wearing a strikingly conservative uniform offered her a mug of coffee. Kat took it gratefully, nodding her thanks. The servants looked pleased to be fawning on the king—although, the cynical part of her mind noted, their fawning wasn’t quite up to Tyrian standards. She wondered, as the servants were shooed out of the chamber, just how they’d cope with the king and his court. Too many people in his retinue were used to taking their servants for granted.
And he’ll have to deal with it, somehow, she thought. The king might be popular and lauded, but that wouldn’t last. If he wore out his welcome, the planet might turn on him and his followers. Kat had no illusions. Caledonia’s orbital fortresses could blow the hell out of her fleet if they opened fire at point-blank range. We’ll have to do whatever it takes to keep them onside.
Sir Grantham rose. “Ladies and gentlemen, the king!”
Hadrian waved for his councilors to remain in their seats, then leaned forward. “We are at war,” he said. “The time for talking is over. The issues between us, between the Monarchy and the House of Lords, can only be settled by violence.”
He lowered his voice. “The universe does not care who is in the right, my friends. The universe doesn’t give a damn if our cause is just, if we are righteous souls; we do not have the strength of ten because our hearts are pure. There is no time, now, for debating the rights and wrongs of the situation. The time for talking is over. This is the time of war. Might may not make right, as many have argued; might determines what happens. The winners of this war will be the ones who determine what is right.”
Kat shivered, despite herself. She knew he was right.
“There is no room for compromise,” the king continued, coolly. “We cannot come to terms we, or they, would find acceptable. Either we win and impose our will on them, or they win and crush us. There is no middle ground. We will not negotiate with them on major issues, because there is no way to come to terms. We will discuss minor issues with them, such as trading our loyalists for theirs, but nothing else. I want everyone to be absolutely clear on this. We are at war. There is no room for half measures.”
There was a long, chilling pause. Lord Gleneden spoke first.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “Are you proposing that we fight an uncivilized war?”
Kat winced. Lord Gleneden had always struck her as being conservative, so conservative that she was surprised he’d remained on the privy council, but his expertise as an economist was unmatched. He’d worked closely with Kat’s father when they’d prepared the Commonwealth for war. And he’d served the king’s father, practically from birth. He might be c
onservative, but he wasn’t disloyal.
Hadrian looked annoyed. “No. I am making it clear that we cannot reach a compromise that both sides can accept.”
“And how far are we prepared to go?” Lord Gleneden pressed, sharply. “Because we may have an edge in the short term, Your Majesty, but they have the long-term advantage.”
“Then we take advantage of what we have.” Earl Antony thumped the table with one meaty fist. “We move now to retake Tyre and crush our enemies!”
Kat felt a flash of irritation. Earl Antony genuinely did have military experience, but it had been in the planetary militia. He’d never seen real action. And, like all people who didn’t have experience, he underestimated just how difficult it could be in wartime to get the slightest thing done. He’d never had to worry about moving troops from one place to another, making sure they arrived on time and armed . . . He’d never had to actually fight, outside training exercises. He’d done well on the tests, Kat had to admit, but exercises always left out the real emergency. A platoon of Royal Marines would have wiped out a militia regiment before its commanders even realized they were under attack.
“We will fight according to the Articles of War,” she said firmly. “It is important, particularly now, that we honor the rules. This war could easily spin out of control if we don’t.”
“The Theocracy didn’t give a damn about the Articles of War,” Earl Antony snapped. “You should have nuked Ahura Mazda to retaliate for what they did to Hebrides!”
Kat cocked her head. “And how many billions of innocent civilians would have died, if I had?”
“They were enemies,” Earl Antony hissed. “They had no right—”
“I was there.” Kat cut him off, her voice as sharp as a knife. “The average person on Ahura Mazda—male, female, whatever—had no power. They could no more have stopped the war and brought their leaders to heel than I could repeal the law of gravity! And they didn’t deserve to be slaughtered simply because their leaders were utter bastards!”
She met the king’s eyes, willing him to understand. “This is a civil war. The people we will be facing—the people we will be trying to kill, the people who will be trying to kill us—are our people, our friends and families and countrymen. We will have to live with them after the war comes to an end, whoever wins. We cannot hope to win by turning the homeworld, our homeworld, to glass. We have to put limits on what we are prepared to do to win.
“If nothing else”—she allowed her eyes to sweep around the table, silently gauging their reactions—“we have to convince them that they can surrender. That we will treat them with honor, if they come to terms with us. That there is a future with us . . .
“If we don’t, they’ll fight to the last. And they might win.”
Another pause grew and lengthened.
“Anyone who fights for the House of Lords, against the king, is committing treason,” Earl Antony growled finally.
“Technically, perhaps,” Kat said. It might be true, but the issue would be decided by whoever won the war. “But if we start refusing to accept surrenders, or mistreating people who do surrender, they won’t surrender. Why should they?”
The king nodded slowly. “We will fight according to the Articles of War,” he said. “And yes, we will accept surrenders.”
Kat allowed herself a moment of relief. Attitudes would harden, she knew. The war would make sure of it. Earl Antony wasn’t the only one to argue that the Commonwealth should have repaid mass slaughter and genocide in kind, even though it would have been futile. She doubted the Theocracy’s leaders would have cared if a handful of colony worlds had been glassed, scorched free of life; she knew, deep inside, that she would have refused to carry out such orders if they’d been issued. Perhaps she would have been relieved of command, with her successor carrying out the genocide, but . . . At least her conscience would have been clear. She couldn’t have lived with herself if she’d wiped out billions upon billions of innocents whose only crime had been to be born on the wrong planet.
“And that means sending the guilty parties into exile, rather than putting them on trial and executing them,” Earl Antony grumbled. “They . . .”
“If it ends the war sooner, with us victorious, it is a small price to pay,” King Hadrian said. “And Admiral Falcone is right. We have to live with them afterwards.” His smile thinned. “Lord Snow, where do we stand?”
Lord Snow took control of the display and projected a holographic starchart above the table. Kat leaned forward, studying it thoughtfully. Thirty-seven stars were blinking green, suggesting their planets had joined the king; twenty-two stars were red, indicating that they were either hostile or occupied by enemy forces. A handful of stars were blue, suggesting that they had declared neutrality and refused to join either side, but none of those were particularly significant. They were on the edge of the Commonwealth, too poor and primitive to tip the balance. Kat guessed their rulers were secretly hoping they’d have a chance to join the winning side, once the outcome became clear. Their allegiance probably wouldn’t make any difference.
“We’ve been exchanging diplomatic notes ever since the shooting started,” Lord Snow said, calmly. The king’s diplomat seemed unconcerned by the prospect of all-out war. “A number of worlds have declared for us, although their ability to support our ships and troops is limited. We believe that Boskone and Yale would declare for us, given half a chance, but the House of Lords controls the naval bases in their systems. It might be . . . dangerous . . . for them to come over to our side.”
“Probably,” Kat said. “The House of Lords wouldn’t have to occupy the planets to render them harmless.”
Lord Snow nodded. “The majority of our enemies have strong ties to the House of Lords,” he added, “and have no particular interest in switching sides at the moment. We’re still exchanging messages, of course, but I feel we’re unlikely to get anywhere, at least until we produce victories. Right now, Your Majesty, that means that a sizable chunk of the Commonwealth’s industrial base is under enemy control.”
“Then we have to take it off them,” Earl Antony snapped.
“If we can,” Lord Snow said. “I’ve sent missives to foreign governments, declaring the existence of a government-in-exile, but so far there haven’t been any replies. I suspect that any formal recognition of our existence, either as a government-in-exile or the legitimate government of Tyre and the Commonwealth, will have to wait until we show that we can and do exercise power. Right now, foreigners have nothing to gain and a great deal to lose by offering recognition. Whatever our legal status, on paper, it is a simple fact that our enemies are in control of Tyre.”
“The government rests in me,” the king said, sharply. “I am the government.”
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, that isn’t true.” Lord Snow took off his glasses and cleaned them with a small cloth. “Your person is part of the government, true. But, even in the best of cases, you are not all the government. Nor do you exercise effective control over Tyre. The post-Breakdown standard is to recognize governments that exercise control. You, we, do not.”
And that means, sometimes, that we have to recognize governments we dislike, Kat reflected sourly. There were some planetary governments that deserved to be unceremoniously crushed, their armies disbanded and their leaders hanged. And yet, they had to be recognized. It was they who were in complete control. Nothing short of an invasion would remove them from power. Right now, we’re a motley band of refugees.
The king’s face darkened. “Do we need their recognition?”
“Not now, Your Majesty,” Lord Snow said. “And, once you retake Tyre, you will have it by default.”
“Good,” the king said. “Are we ready for war?”
Lord Gleneden spoke first, snapping out points as if he expected to be silenced at any moment. “They control roughly two-thirds of the Commonwealth’s industrial base, Your Majesty. There were . . . difficulties . . . caused by the postwar drawdown, a
s you are aware, but the House of Lords should have no real difficulties in getting the industrial base back online. In most cases, it will merely be a matter of switching back to military production. They will need some time to deal with bumps along the way, I suspect, but by raw numbers alone they will outproduce us by a fairly considerable margin.”
“And parts of their tech base will be more advanced too,” Lord Snow injected.
“Quite.” Lord Gleneden glanced at Kat, his face unreadable. “If we don’t win the war soon, Your Majesty, we will lose. The skill of our commanding officers and the valor of our fighting men will not matter in the face of overwhelming force. We will be crushed.”
“We’ll be in the same boat as the Theocracy,” Kat said.
“Then we will take the offensive as soon as possible,” the king said. “Can we strike Tyre? Now?”
“Not yet,” Kat said. “We will need time to reorganize, to compensate for the crew who’ve left us and integrate newcomers from all over the Commonwealth. We do have an edge—my fleet was the largest single unit outside Home Fleet itself—but we will need time to gather ourselves before we can take full advantage of it. Right now, any attack on Tyre will be, at best, extremely costly.”
“And if we lose the fleet, we might lose the war,” the king mused.
“There’s no might about it,” Lord Gleneden said. “Without the fleet, we will lose.”
“Quite,” Lord Snow agreed. “Let us have no illusions. Our supporters will start edging away the moment it looks like we’re losing. They will want to come to terms with our enemies, just to save their skins.”
“Then we should gamble everything on one strike,” Earl Antony said. “If we will lose if we do nothing, then we should take the risk.”
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