Democracy's Might

Chapter Two

Admiral Joshua Wachter was a short, stumpy man, wearing a simple black uniform without any rank badges or medals. No, Tiberius realised, as the Admiral came to a halt in front of his desk; it wasn’t a uniform at all, just something tailored to resemble one. The Admiral was making a statement, warning Tiberius that he still considered himself a naval officer first and foremost. Tiberius was almost relieved. It was nice to deal with someone who wasn’t putting his own interests — or his Patron’s interests — ahead of everything else.

“Please, be seated,” Tiberius said. “We have a great deal to talk about.”

He studied the Admiral with some interest as the older man sat down. Like most aristocrats, the Admiral could have taken advantage of the latest rejuvenation treatments, but it was clear that he hadn’t bothered. His medical file stated that his last treatment had been two weeks after he’d been placed on permanent leave from the Navy. It was clear that Wachter lacked the vanity of so many other officers his age.

“The rebellion, I presume,” the Admiral said.

Tiberius wasn’t too surprised. In theory, Public Information was maintaining a complete news blackout, but the destruction of the Jupiter Shipyard was hard to miss. By now, according to his sources, word was spreading rapidly through the Sol System. The Empire might control all licensed media outlets, but the underground had its own ways of spreading information. And someone like the Admiral would probably still have friends in the Navy, men and women who might pass on the word.

“Yes,” Tiberius said. He picked up a datapad from his desk and held it out. “This is the situation, as of this morning. I won’t insult your intelligence by pointing out that much of it is out of date.”

The Admiral quirked his eyebrows, then took the pad and started to read. Tiberius watched carefully, trying to read the man’s emotions, but it was impossible. The Admiral was well-schooled in keeping his face expressionless, even without an electronic mask or emotional control implants. That too wasn’t surprising. No one reached high office without the ability to mask their emotions, dissemble and lie outright, should it be necessary.

“Interesting,” the Admiral observed, when he had finished. “You do realise the underlying cause of this revolution?”

Tiberius suspected he did, but motioned for Wachter to continue anyway.

“The system is not designed to allow the smart, talented and ambitious a chance to flourish,” the Admiral said. “Men and women who know they are more competent than their superiors are kept back, watching helplessly as people are promoted merely on the grounds of birth or their willingness to kiss the ass of the aristocrats. It doesn’t really breed loyalty when you constantly keep the talented down, does it?”

“Apparently not,” Tiberius agreed, coolly.

“Take yourself, for example,” the Admiral continued. “You are younger and less experienced than most of the adults in your family. Your sole qualification for being Family Head is being the biological son of the previous Family Head. I would not be too surprised if elements in your family were quietly trying to undermine your position. Why should they not resent your elevation over your head?”

Tiberius knew the Admiral had a point. He’d never asked to succeed his father; indeed, he’d expected the old man had many years to go before death. But he hadn’t really been given a choice.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you for being direct,” he said. “Let me ask you a question in return. Which side are you on?”

Others, he knew, would probably not give him a honest answer. But he had a feeling the Admiral would be honest, even if it killed him.

The Admiral considered the question for a long moment. “The Empire has its flaws, but it maintains human unity and human unity is the key to human survival,” he said, finally. “We were taught that in the last interstellar war. The rebels may seek reform now, but they will unleash forces that will either shatter the Empire or push them to replacing the Thousand Families with an aristocracy of their own. The only thing holding humanity together is the strong hand of Empire. I cannot side with rebels.”

He met Tiberius’s eyes. “Which isn’t to say that I don’t think reforms have to be made,” he added. “The rebels do have legitimate complaints. If you could answer them, you may prevent future rebellions.”

Tiberius remembered the Empress and shuddered. There was no way the Families Council would agree to dismantle the patronage networks, if that was even possible. The networks weren’t just there to boost their power and status, they were there to prevent another Empress from seizing control of a large portion of the fleet and turning it against the Empire. But the networks seemed to have failed. The rebels might be six months from Earth — but that had been six months ago. Where were they now?

“That would be difficult,” he admitted. Capable officers were ambitious officers — and ambition was dangerous. “We couldn’t bring them all into the families…”

The Admiral smiled. “Why not? It would help prevent inbreeding.”

Tiberius’s eyes narrowed. The suggestion that the Thousand Families were inbred was an old slur, but it wasn’t true. Genetic engineering ensured that there were no problems with inbreeding for the families, no matter how closely they were related. Hell, there was so much engineering that it was questionable just how much of Tiberius’s father had gone into him.

“Oh, not biological inbreeding,” the Admiral said. “Intellectual inbreeding. The echo chamber created by having so many people in agreement talking together, without allowing any room for new ideas along with new blood. How many of your fellow aristocrats could even begin to understand life outside the High City?”

“Point,” Tiberius conceded, ruefully. “Most of them wouldn’t even know where to begin, if they were kicked out of the High City.”

He sighed, remembering old battles. In his opinion, at least two-thirds of the family were little more than oxygen thieves — and he suspected the same was true of the other major families. They enjoyed themselves, partying endlessly, while Tiberius and the other more responsible adults handled all the work. But then, even the vast domains of the Cicero Family were insufficient to give everyone something meaningful to do. And to think there were times when he envied the social butterflies!

“That isn’t what I called you here to discuss,” he said, rubbing his forehead. There was too much to do and too little time. “We are currently assembling a fleet to confront and defeat the rebels before they spread too far. I would like you to take command of the fleet.”

The Admiral lifted an eyebrow in pretend surprise. “Why me?”

“Because you’re loyal to the Empire,” Tiberius said. “Because you’re not loyal to a single Family. Because you are a competent naval officer. Because…”

He shook his head. “There are good reasons to select you,” he added. “And the Families Council signed off on it.”

“I’m sure that must have been a long argument,” the Admiral commented. He leaned back in his chair and placed his fingertips together. “And why should I take the job?”

“Because you’re loyal to the Empire,” Tiberius said. He’d read the Admiral’s file carefully, line by line. It had stated that the Admiral was desperate to return to space. “And because you understand what’s at stake.”

There was a long pause as the Admiral considered it, his face impassive. “There are conditions,” he said, finally.

“Name them,” Tiberius said. He wasn’t in the mood to bargain. “What do you want?”

The Admiral ticked off points on his fingers. “You can’t run the war from Earth,” he said. “I want overall authority to operate without referring every decision back to you. I want authority to remove officers who don’t live up to my standards or are hopelessly corrupt. I want authority to activate the naval reserves, access naval stores and other measures to get the fleet into fighting trim without having to seek permission from Luna Base.”

Tiberius felt his eyes narrow, again. “You think the fleet isn’t in fighting trim?”

“I would be very surprised if it is,” the Admiral said, bluntly. “When I was last on the command deck of a superdreadnaught, corrupt officers had a nasty habit of stealing supplies and selling them off. I expect the missiles that destroyed the Jupiter Shipyards came from the Imperial Navy, originally. Even if they didn’t…”

He shrugged. “And morale will be in the pits,” he added. “Which leads to another point. I don’t want Blackshirts on the ships. Putting them on ships in Sector 117 was idiotic, to say the least. I’m not surprised that the crews mutinied. The Blackshirts are animals.”

“I know,” Tiberius said, quietly.

“And one other thing,” the Admiral said. “I know there will be spies in the command staff and spies in the crews. The patronage networks will see to that, I expect. But I don’t want anyone undermining my authority. If you want to relieve me of command, that’s one thing — I’ll accept it, even if I won’t like it. I won’t tolerate officers trying to undermine me or asserting separate authority. One hint of that and I will put the officer in question out an airlock.”

Tiberius met his eyes, seeing nothing but grim resolve. The Thousand Families had been leery of placing so much power into a single person’s hands, even before the Empress had reminded them of the wisdom of that policy. If the Admiral was secretly disloyal — or even merely ambitious — he would have ample opportunity to prepare the ground for a coup. The patronage networks normally made that tricky, if not impossible. But if the networks were told to keep their heads down…

There would be no checks and balances, nothing to prevent the Admiral from laying his own plans. He’d been a legend in the Imperial Navy a long time before Tiberius had even been born, one of the few Admirals to earn respect from all ranks. And yet, if he’d wanted to be disloyal, he could just have kept his mouth shut. Instead, he was practically daring Tiberius to reject him. Or was it a cunning double-bluff?

Or was he completely unaware of the political subtext? Did he just want the tools he needed to do the job properly, no matter the political cost?

“I believe I can ensure that no one challenges you openly,” Tiberius said, slowly. “But I’m afraid there will be spies. I doubt I could convince the others to remove them.”

“Probably not, no,” the Admiral said. He looked down at the datapad, then back up at Tiberius. “Admiral Porter — or rather his command staff — is correct to suggest that we prepare our defensive lines at Morrison. The rebels will, assuming they drive on Earth, have to reduce and occupy the base to protect their rear. My fleet will assemble there, then lure the rebels into battle in a time and place of our choosing.”

“There will be objections,” Tiberius pointed out, mildly. “Hundreds of worlds are at risk.”

The Admiral snorted. “I cannot defend everywhere,” he said. “If I spread out the fleet, we will risk losing everything. The rebels will simply concentrate their forces against one target after another. Smaller worlds add nothing to their strength, so they can be recovered after the rebel fleet is destroyed.”

Tiberius nodded. “Why not attack directly towards Jackson’s Folly?”

“I doubt the fleet is in any condition to take the offensive,” the Admiral admitted. “The rebels will know that we have a huge production advantage. Their only hope for victory is to attack Earth and the other Core Worlds as soon as possible. The autonomous worlds may even consider joining the rebels if the rebels look likely to win.”

He shrugged. “Besides, we don’t know where the rebel shipyards are,” he added. “Given three or four years to build up our forces, we can start scouring the Beyond for their bases.”

Tiberius winced. “How long will it take to finish the war?”

The Admiral gave him a quirky grin. “The war could be shortened considerably by making the wrong decisions now,” he said. “But war is a democracy. The enemy gets a vote.”

“Finish it as quickly as possible,” Tiberius said. The Empire hadn’t mobilised the entire Imperial Navy in centuries. Even bringing the naval reserves up to full fighting trim would be costly — and, right now, the Empire’s economy was fragile. What would happen if it collapsed completely? “We don’t know how much time we have before the Empire falls.”

“No,” the Admiral said. “I suppose you don’t.”

Sharon entered the office when Tiberius called her, then escorted the Admiral to the shuttle that would take him to his new flagship. Tiberius watched him go, hoping that he’d done the right thing by pushing the Admiral forward. Even if he was loyal, it had been years since the Admiral had set foot on a command deck. What if he’d lost the knack?

He pushed his thoughts aside as two of his cousins, Lady Gwendolyn Cicero and Lord Pompey Cicero, were shown into the office. Gwendolyn was tall, heartbreakingly beautiful and had a mind like a steel trap, as countless would-be lovers had found out to their discomfort and dismay. There was a reason she was tipped to head up the family’s intelligence apparatus after her great-uncle resigned. She had a remarkable talent for extracting information from unwilling donors. Beside her, Pompey seemed to almost fade into the background, which suited him quite nicely. There were few better experts on security measures and countermeasures in the High City.

And they were both young enough to actually think.

Tiberius nodded to them both as they sat down, Gwendolyn artfully arranging herself so she displayed the tops of her breasts to watching eyes. He knew better than to trust her completely, not when she had enough ambition for the entire family hidden under her smile, but he knew that she could be trusted to put the family’s interests ahead of her own. After all, even Tiberius could not remain in the family if he alienated everyone else. Pompey, on the other hand, had no real ambition. It wasn’t always a character flaw.

“You know the situation, I assume,” he said. They would probably have heard the full story from one of Gwendolyn’s sources. Tiberius knew for a fact that she was bedding a senior member of the Rothschild Family, someone high enough to isolate facts from the rumours flying through the High City. “I have a specific task for you two.”

Gwendolyn smiled, winsomely. “For us, My Lord?”

“For you,” Tiberius confirmed, shortly. If there was one thing he knew about Gwendolyn, it was never to lower his guard around her. “This rebellion threatens the interests of the family as well as the Empire as a whole. We may lose the war.”

“Surely not, My Lord,” Gwendolyn said. She was mocking him, very slightly. “The Empire is invincible.”

“We may defeat the rebels, but lose the war,” Tiberius said, coldly. “The cost of defeating them might well add to the economic damage we have already suffered. If the ties binding our economy start to collapse, we will find ourselves scrabbling over the pieces of the Empire and fighting a civil war. We might not come out ahead.”

He scowled, contemplating the possibilities. If the infighting between the Thousand Families became open warfare, there would be a desperate struggle over the Imperial Navy and other military facilities. The patronage networks would turn on each other, fighting a desperate war to secure control of the ships and orbital fortresses. Tiberius knew that the family had thousands of men and women in key positions, but he also knew that the other families had their own clients. There was no way to know who would come out ahead when the shit hit the fan.

His scowl deepened. They’d been running out of room to expand easily long before the rebellion at Jackson’s Folly. If the rebels had waited another fifty years, the Empire might have ripped itself apart and saved them the trouble.

“Openly, we intend to fight,” he said. “Covertly, I want you both to serve as ambassadors to the rebels. If we win, well and good; if we lose, I want to ensure that the family’s position is not badly compromised.”

“I don’t see how we can avoid being compromised,” Gwendolyn pointed out, tartly. “The rebels want our heads, preferably not attached to our bodies.”

“They will have to govern after winning the war,” Tiberius countered. “If they wanted wanton destruction, Earth would be uninhabitable by now. We can ensure a reasonably peaceful transition of power… or force them to rebuild the Empire from scratch.”

“Risky,” Pompey observed. He gave Tiberius a long considering glance. “I dare say the Families Council will not be happy about us going behind their backs.”

“They’ll be doing the same,” Tiberius predicted, dismissively. “However, we have an unfair advantage. I expect you” — he looked directly at Gwendolyn — “to take full advantage of it.”

Gwendolyn gave him a charming smile. “You place your faith in my powers of seduction?”

Tiberius produced a datachip from his pocket and dropped it on the desk. “Jason Cordova, Hero of the Underground, is a Cicero,” he said. It had taken his father plenty of time, money and effort to bury the truth, but it had all paid off. “And if family loyalty isn’t enough to gain his assistance, we know something else about him. We know a single detail that will shatter his position beyond repair.”

Pompey frowned. “If that is true,” he said, “the secret would be years out of date.”

“Trust me,” Tiberius said. It had shocked him when he’d opened the sealed file, despite considering himself prepared for anything. “This secret will never grow old.”