Chapter Seventeen
Duke Lucas Falcone disliked the houses of Parliament. As a veteran of the political wars that shaped Tyre’s government, he knew better than most that 90 percent of activity in Parliament was meaningless. Most political decisions were made after careful backroom discussions, well away from the media, and then presented to Parliament as a done deal. If the discussions were handled properly, there was little meaningful pushback from His Majesty’s Loyal Opposition. They benefited from the end result as much as the government.
He silently cursed the planet’s founders under his breath as he took his seat and started to review his briefing notes. They had wanted to ensure that Tyre’s political system grew and changed as the planet itself changed, knowing that taxation without representation was sure to lead to an eventual revolt and civil war. But with the House of Lords and the king controlling much of the planet’s wealth—and thus power—the House of Commons had become more of a talking shop than its creators had envisaged. Anyone driven enough to become successful could simply take out a patent of nobility and advance to the House of Lords.
The chamber filled slowly as lords, MPs, and reporters slid into the room and found their seats. Lucas’s implants matched names to faces, although he didn’t need the data to identify the true movers and shakers of the Commonwealth. Others, elected on platforms that failed to match any of the political parties currently in existence, were strangers to him. They simply didn’t command enough of the vote, let alone political power, to be important. The hell of it, he knew, was that some of them knew it. Their showmanship did nothing more than waste time and amuse the reporters.
“This session will come to order,” the speaker said, the sound field automatically projecting his voice to every corner of the room. “The doors will now close.”
A dull thud echoed through the chamber as the doors closed with majestic grandeur. Lucas kept his face impassive with an effort. The designers of the chamber—and many of the chamber’s traditions—had wanted to create a sense of dignity, of timeless power and majesty, but he had a feeling they’d failed. There was no sense of forward thinking, merely staunch conservatism. The only advantage to the whole system, he’d decided long ago, was that anyone trying to be fashionably late would be barred from the chamber, unable to enter or cast a vote. A handful of MPs had lost their jobs over failing to vote, recalled and sacked by their constituents. It never failed to amuse him.
The party whips moved through the chamber, noting attendance as the dignitaries settled down. There was no need for the whips, Lucas knew, but their act was tradition too, warning any MP considering independent action that his or her party was watching. It wasn’t unknown for MPs to cross the chamber from government to opposition, yet there was always a high price tag. Only the most principled—or confident—MP would risk the recall election that would automatically be called if he or she switched party allegiance. Still, for some, the gamble paid off.
“We are called to debate the issue of Cadiz Naval Base,” the speaker said. There was no sense of surprise in the chamber. Anyone who was anyone had sources within the government, sources that would have informed them of the debate’s subject, even though it hadn’t been officially announced. “The Honorable Eustace Perivale is called to speak.”
Lucas allowed himself a tight smile as faces turned in his direction. Perivale was his creature, an MP who had sold his soul and his vote to the Falcone Consortium in exchange for money and political backing. There would be no doubt among the movers and shakers who had organized the debate, even though nothing—again—had been said officially. It was just another part of the political game.
“Mr. Speaker, Members of Parliament, My Lords and Ladies,” Perivale said. He didn’t look impressive—like most MPs who aimed for an air of dignity he didn’t have the wealth or self-confidence to pull off—but he had a fine speaking voice. “Cadiz Naval Base is one of the most vital facilities in the Commonwealth. It is required to support naval operations, provide convoy escorts, and defend the border. But I have received evidence that the base has been allowed to fall into disrepair.”
The speaker keyed his switch. “I invoke parliamentary rights,” he said. “The house will now go into closed session.”
Politics, Lucas thought, as the reporters were shooed from the room. There would be rumors that something was badly wrong on Cadiz now, but no specific details. It would force the government to do something without provoking panic or encouraging the Theocracy to jump now. Or so he hoped.
Perivale waited until the chamber fell silent again, then continued. “The evidence suggests that the base is no longer capable of maintaining operations,” he said. “The 7th Fleet is not in a better state. Furthermore, there are strong suggestions that evidence of incompetence, even wrongdoing, has been actively suppressed.”
There was a low buzz of chatter from the benches and, more importantly, dozens of private encrypted signals sent from MP to MP. Lucas watched, keeping his face impassive, as the loyalists spoke urgently to the prime minister, who didn’t look pleased. He might be the leader of the strongest political party—and a loyal servant of the king—but he didn’t have the power to change anything unless the rest of the Commons backed him. And that was unlikely.
Lucas wanted to sigh, but kept the expression to himself. The true problem with politics at such a high level was that everything was interrelated. Admiral Morrison’s posting to Cadiz had been part of an elaborate quid pro quo, giving several parties that had nothing else in common incentive to maintain the status quo. And he wasn’t entirely sure who among the aristocracy was pushing it. Someone who wasn’t interested in Cadiz—that was a given—or thought there was no prospect of war breaking out. But there were quite a few aristocrats with the combination of power and political beliefs to make the conspiracy work.
The prime minister rose to his feet. “My Honorable Friend wishes you to believe the situation on Cadiz is out of control,” he said. “But anyone should know that the task of integrating Cadiz into the Commonwealth, a task undertaken at the behest of a majority of the house, will be a long and difficult one. Immediate success was never likely, nor was it expected.”
Lucas didn’t quite resist the urge to roll his eyes like his daughter. The prime minister’s retort answered nothing. Bland generalities rather than specific details. He must be rattled, he noted, with a hint of amusement. Or someone higher up the food chain had been working on him. Just who, he asked himself again, had put Admiral Morrison’s name forward for command of Cadiz?
“With respect, Prime Minister,” Perivale said, “that answer is far from sufficient. We are not talking about the need to provide security on the planet’s surface, but the condition of the naval base and fleet charged with defending our borders. The fleet is simply incapable of carrying out its duties.”
This time, the buzz of chatter was louder. Lucas watched, quietly monitoring the signal bursts, trying to determine who would jump what way. The decision to annex Cadiz had almost torn the Commonwealth apart, he knew; there were MPs who had no intention of allowing any further annexations . . . or anything that might be deemed provocative. In their world, the Theocracy was an innocent victim of the Commonwealth’s paranoia. And besides, why would anyone want to fight a full-scale war? There were enough resources in space for everyone.
But that assumes the Theocracy follows the same logic as ourselves, Lucas thought, grimly. And everything we’ve seen suggests they don’t.
He shivered. The Believers had been exiled from Earth. They had been weak; their enemies had been strong. Lucas could understand why they would seek to take control of as much space as possible, quite apart from their duty to spread their religion. They wouldn’t want to be weak again.
And then there was the constant stream of refugees . . . and missionaries. It boded ill for the future.
On the floor, tempers were running high. The prime minister was trying valiantly to defend the situation, while the Leader of
the Opposition was being goaded into pushing for an independent parliamentary investigation of the situation. That would be a mistake, Lucas knew; independent parliamentary investigations tended to become political very quickly. But it would provide political cover if someone wanted to remove Admiral Morrison, then swear blind they’d never heard of him.
However it would also be used to undermine the occupation of Cadiz itself. There was a small but substantial group that wanted to abandon Cadiz, along with the investments the Commonwealth had made in the system. A parliamentary investigation would give them ammunition to aim at the government, perhaps even seduce other MPs and lords to their side. And then the base might simply be abandoned . . .
He sighed. Politics.
“Please be seated,” the speaker said. The noise-cancelling field silenced the rest of the MPs, who glowered at the speaker before resuming their seats. “I believe it would be better for us to take a break. We will reconvene in two hours.”
Lucas nodded, then stood and followed the rest of the lords as they made their way to the restroom. There would be a chance for a drink, something to eat, and some political scheming . . . or maybe not. He stopped as a new message blinked up in his implants, inviting him to the Royal Palace. His majesty had clearly been monitoring the whole debate. Lucas hesitated, thinking hard, and then sent back a brief acknowledgement. It was time he spoke to the king.
The Royal Palace looked almost undefended, Lucas noted, as he strode through the garden path leading from the houses of Parliament to the glowing structure. It was built of white marble, just like the rest of the city, reflecting the sunlight into his eyes. And yet he happened to know that successive monarchs had worked armaments and shields into the building until it was almost as tough as a planetary defense center.
He sighed inwardly as he passed through the security screen and walked into the palace, where the king’s aide—a middle-aged woman with a hatchet face—met him and led the way up the stairs. Tyre had originally been built by corporate families, families who had councils to elect the person who would succeed the previous CEO . . . and put limits on his power, if necessary. Combined with an open invitation to anyone successful to join the nobility, it helped ensure that the people in charge had a firm grip on reality. But the Royal Family passed inheritance—and the bulk of their power—down a strict line of succession. One of his nightmares was an incompetent monarch rising to power.
The king is not incompetent, he told himself as he was shown into the private audience chamber. He is merely young.
“Your Grace,” King Hadrian said. “Thank you for coming.”
“It was my pleasure,” Lucas said as he took a seat. There was little formality in the private chambers, thankfully. “It has been far too long since we spoke.”
The king smiled, although it didn’t touch his eyes. Lucas sighed inwardly again. The king was barely two years older than Kat, yet he had inherited far more wealth and power than anyone else in the Commonwealth. He was young, with short dark hair and darker eyes, and a drive to match his father that needed to be tempered. But then his father had built the Commonwealth and started the buildup against the Theocracy. It would be hard for anyone to live up to such a man.
He wouldn’t have succeeded me, Lucas thought coldly. The family wouldn’t have accepted someone with so little experience.
“Perivale made an impressive speech,” the king said. “How much of it did you write for him?”
“Enough of it,” Lucas said. He didn’t bother to deny his involvement. The king and his advisors would have known before Perivale opened his mouth. “The situation on Cadiz is growing dire.”
Lucas took a breath. “Admiral Morrison needs to be removed now,” he added. “Whatever he’s good for, Your Majesty, it isn’t command of a fleet base on the brink of war.”
“Politics,” the king said. There was a bitter tone in his voice. “Accepting Admiral Morrison as the fleet base’s CO was the price we paid for getting the last naval budget through Parliament.”
“Politics be damned,” Lucas said evenly.
“They’re very keen to prevent another Cadiz,” the king pointed out. “They don’t see the real danger.”
Lucas wasn’t too surprised. The hell of it was that there were good arguments against annexing worlds that didn’t want to be annexed. If nothing else, occupying them was a steady drain on the Commonwealth’s resources. Admiral Morrison could be relied upon to do nothing, if that was what they wanted. He certainly wouldn’t invade Theocratic space on his own authority. But what would he do if the Theocracy attacked?
“Then we need to sideline Morrison,” Lucas said. There were plenty of ways to remove someone from effective power while leaving them with an impressive job title. He’d used them himself on members of the family who didn’t deserve to wield power. “Separate his command responsibilities. Put someone else in command of 7th Fleet, but leave Morrison in an oversight role.”
“They’d resist any change in the status quo,” the king said. “We couldn’t undermine Morrison’s position without risking a political confrontation.”
“Some confrontations have to be fought,” Lucas said. “And your position can’t be undermined so easily.”
“Their position can,” the king said. “They will fight tooth and nail to keep Morrison in command.”
“Then find something you can offer them in exchange for cutting Morrison loose,” Lucas snapped. “He has to go!”
But he knew it wouldn’t be easy. Political patronage was a fact of life. Any aristocrat worthy of the name had a whole string of clients who accepted his money and political support in exchange for service. Admiral Morrison had reached high office through being a client of someone much more powerful, but his very position gave him influence over his patron. If nothing else, cutting Morrison loose would damage his patron’s reputation for defending his clients, making it harder to attract new ones in the future.
Not for the first time, he cursed the system under his breath. Push Morrison too hard and the whole system might come tumbling down. And the Theocracy would be glad to take advantage of the political chaos. If Kat was correct and they were backing the raiders, they had to be almost ready to jump. They wouldn’t risk alerting the Commonwealth until it was too late to matter.
They could be crossing the border now, he thought. Cadiz might already be under attack.
“We need to take steps,” he said instead. “Something to ensure we can replace Morrison quickly, if war breaks out.”
The king nodded. “I intend to dispatch Admiral Christian and 6th Fleet to backstop 7th Fleet,” he said. “The fleet movement will be kept classified, but they’ll be in position to reinforce Cadiz if necessary. I’ll add sealed orders for Christian too. If the war begins, he is to relieve Morrison without further ado.”
Lucas eyed him, feeling an odd flicker of suspicion. Had the king, who was Commander-in-Chief of the Navy, planned for redeployment all along? Or had he made it up on the spot?
“It may be impossible to save Cadiz,” the king added. “In that case, we will fall back and hold the line elsewhere.”
“You’ve been giving this some thought,” Lucas observed. The king had wanted a naval career, but the shortage of heirs had ensured he would never be allowed to serve. “Have you been talking to the Admiralty?”
“Yes,” the king said flatly. He leaned forward. “I will need your assistance to get this through the Defense Committee,” he added. “We dare not take it to Parliament.”
“Very well,” Lucas said. The king was right . . . but Lucas was unable to shed the feeling that he’d been manipulated. “But we do need to limit Morrison’s ability to do harm.”
“Tricky,” the king observed. “Do you have any ideas?”
“We could always recall him for consultations,” Lucas said reluctantly. “There are some matters that can’t be discussed over StarCom.”
“True,” the king agreed, “but his patrons would smell a rat.”
Lucas shook his head in disbelief. Had anyone, the king’s father included, realized that by annexing Cadiz they would cause the entire political system to gridlock? There was just too much opposition to any form of adventurism to allow Admiral Morrison to be removed. Lucas could understand their point, particularly after Cadiz had been such a dismal failure. But what would happen if it was the Theocracy who started the war?
“I’ll speak to some of them,” he said. “Perhaps we can find something to trade in exchange for kicking Morrison upstairs—and into somewhere harmless.”
“Good luck,” the king said. “And give your daughter my best wishes.”
Lucas wasn’t surprised the king knew who’d contacted him. No one would send such a damaging—and uncompromising—report back home unless they were assured of political cover. Kat was almost certainly the only person at Cadiz who would, even though it might cost her a career she’d worked hard to build. Anyone who checked the fleet lists would find her name and look no further.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said. He’d once hoped that Kat would be one of the king’s playmates, but it hadn’t worked out. The prince, like most boys before adolescence, had been more interested in spending time with his male friends. “I’ll give her your good wishes.”
Chapter Eighteen
“You released the spy ship?”
Kat stared at Admiral Morrison in absolute disbelief, the two sitting in his office. She had thought herself prepared for anything, from a lecture on telling tales to her father to a demand she turn in her command codes, badge, and uniform. She’d spent the return flight telling herself that she could survive if she had to fall back on her trust fund. Perhaps she could buy herself a starship and set out as an independent trader. But she had never considered the admiral simply letting the spies go.
She caught her breath. “Admiral,” she said, “we caught them red-handed!”
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