“We did win an empire,” Herman pointed out. “Why should we not keep it?”
Jasmine looked back at him, evenly. “And is it worth the cost?”
Touché, Herman thought.
He allowed a flicker of his annoyance to show. Governor Brown had convinced the corporations that a period of expansion and consolidation would put Wolfbane on a secure footing. But most of the worlds they’d invaded and occupied were liabilities, either bitterly resentful of losing their newly-won independence or simply lacking anything worth the effort of taking. Too many worlds required assistance to survive in the post-Empire universe, assistance that was a drain on Wolfbane’s coffers. And the handful of worlds that weren't useless caused their own problems.
They want to be treated as equals, he thought, sourly. And that threatens the balance of power.
“Perhaps not,” he conceded. “But tell me ... how do we know you won’t seek revenge for the war at some later date?”
“On one hand, we would let bygones be bygones,” Jasmine said. “Governor Brown is already dead. Admiral Singh would be ... removed. Beyond that ... we wouldn't seek anything more than the evacuation of the occupied worlds and a handful of navigational treaties. There would be little to be gained by resuming the war at some later date.”
She tilted her head, slightly. “And besides ... what happens if Admiral Singh wins the war?”
Herman kept his face impassive, even though he knew it was a solid hit. The war had been a mistake, right from the start. He should never have agreed to support it. Defeat would mean the end of the world, as far as the corporations were concerned, but victory wouldn't be much better. Admiral Singh - or her successors - would have enough power and prestige to bring the corporations to heel. He had no doubt she’d do it, too. She couldn't stand the thought of anyone having enough power to weaken her, perhaps even to bring her down.
And yet, an armistice had problems too. The Commonwealth had advanced, leaving Wolfbane struggling to catch up. How long would it be before the Commonwealth came up with something completely new, something that shattered the balance of power? And how long would it be before Wolfbane became a backwater, as free movement took experienced and ambitious men and women away from their homeworld? The conscripted workers would want to go home, of course. Others, others who saw no reasonable way to build a career or a business of their own, would follow. Wolfbane would have to change if it wanted to attract and keep talent ...
We could forbid people from leaving, he thought. But that would cause problems too.
He scowled. Emigration had served as an escape valve, once upon a time. There had always been a minority who hadn’t been content to stay in their place, a minority who’d needed to be ... encouraged ... to leave. He hadn't begrudged them the cost of a starship ticket, either. It was far cheaper than putting down a riot - or an uprising. But now, the escape value was closed and the pressure was starting to build. His security staff were reporting that more and more underground groups were springing into existence, despite the best efforts of the police.
“Very well,” he said. “But tell me ... why should we negotiate now?”
Jasmine’s face didn't change. “Right now, you’re in a position to bargain,” she said. “You’re strong enough to convince even our hard-liners that peace is better than war. That might change.”
“It might,” Herman agreed.
He leaned back, thinking hard. Admiral Singh had taken command of the fleet and left, going ... somewhere. If she lost the battle, she might lose enough ships to ensure that the war was lost with them. There would be little room to bargain if the Commonwealth Navy attacked Wolfbane, either occupying the system or ravaging it from end to end. Losing the industrial nodes and cloudscoops would be enough to bring the entire planet to a screeching halt. Wolfbane would starve, even if the war ended immediately. There weren’t that many algae farms on the planet. He doubted his subordinates would remain loyal if their families were starving.
“It might not change,” he said, after a moment.
“Wars are fluid things,” Jasmine said. She sounded as though she was speaking from experience. “They go backwards and forwards until one side gains a decisive advantage, then they end. Either the Commonwealth wins, in which case you’ll no longer have any bargaining chips, or Admiral Singh wins, in which case you’ll have to get used to having her boot on your neck for all eternity.”
“She won’t hesitate to crush you, when she thinks she can do it,” Haverford put in. “You’re the sole remaining threat to her power.”
Herman conceded the point with a nod. Governor Brown had played the game. He’d understood that the corporations would nominate and patronise military officers, ensuring that no corporation - or governor - could gain a decisive military advantage. Admiral Singh had been far less tolerant, far less inclined to accept officers with divided loyalties. She’d purge as many of the corporate-backed officers as she could, if she ever had the chance. And she had thousands of loyalists of her own.
A civil war would be disastrous, he thought. And yet, if we failed to remove her from power in a single stroke, we would have a civil war.
He doubted he had enough officers under his control to carry out a coup. Admiral Singh had been careful, very careful. He only had one agent within the fortress, someone who wasn't in a position to stick a knife in Admiral Singh’s back. If everything went as well as could be expected, he might manage to secure control of a handful of orbital fortresses ...
... And then get his fortresses blown away by the navy.
“I will have to discuss it with others,” he said, slowly. The corporations would have to move as a body. That wasn't going to be easy. Tallyman and Hernandez would probably cooperate, but Admiral Singh had been working hard to court both Straphang and Wu ... both of whom had suffered badly during the recession. And the other six corporations had their own problems. “I can’t do it alone.”
Barker looked surprised, although he tried to hide it. Haverford seemed oddly amused. He’d know there were limits to corporate power, even though they were often hard to see. Hell, he’d been a client officer. Governor Brown had promoted him personally. And Jasmine showed no visible reaction. Herman wondered, absently, just what her story actually was. It was bound to be interesting.
“Time is not on your side,” Jasmine warned. “If you could take over before Admiral Singh returned ...”
Herman shook his head. His tactical staff had discussed all the options. Admiral Singh had to be killed - or at least trapped - or she’d have too many options for retaking the offensive and regaining control. He had no doubt she’d call down KEW strikes on the corporate towers if she felt she had no choice, despite the certainty of massive civilian casualties. Admiral Singh’s security forces had demonstrated a frightening lack of concern for civilian lives over the past few months. Why would their ultimate superior feel any differently?
“She has to be trapped,” Herman said. He had no idea what Admiral Singh would do, if she found Wolfbane closed to her, but he doubted it would be pleasant. “And everything would need to be planned carefully.”
“That would run the risk of her catching on,” Haverford warned.
“We know,” Herman said, dryly. Admiral Singh had been trying to place agents within his tower for months. He hoped his security forces had managed to keep them all out, but he knew there was no way to be sure. A single agent in the wrong place would blow the entire secret wide open. Admiral Singh would certainly try to strike first if she believed she was under threat. “We will just have to live with it.”
He met Jasmine’s eyes. “Are you empowered to negotiate with us?”
“Within limits,” Jasmine said. There was absolute assurance in her voice. “If you want something outside those limits, you’ll have to wait for someone with more authority to arrive.”
Herman nodded. That was fairly common - or it had been, before the Empire had collapsed into rubble. The negotiator would have consid
erable latitude, with orders to get the best deal he could ... within the preset limits. And his signature would be considered legally binding, once the deal had been made. But anything outside the limits would need to be sent home for confirmation.
And that would take at least a couple of months, he thought.
“I’ll discuss the matter with my fellows,” he said. He’d have to hold a dinner party and invite everyone. Normally, it wouldn't be a problem; now, it might be seen as a sign of impending trouble. There was no way Admiral Singh’s goons could miss all twelve corporate directors meeting in a single place. Thankfully, they’d probably be reluctant to take action while she was absent. “I trust you’ll be attending?”
“I’ll be happy to make my pitch to the group,” Jasmine said. “But security is important.”
Herman nodded. “You won’t be introduced to anyone, apart from the directors,” he said. He shot Barker a sidelong look. “Barker will ensure that you are fully briefed.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Barker said.
As long as you are paid, Herman finished, silently.
“You and your ... friends ... will be offered jobs within the tower,” Herman added. “That will give you sufficient excuse to remain here.”
And under my control, he thought.
Jasmine’s eyes flickered, then narrowed. Herman wondered if she was surprised he knew she wasn't alone. It hadn’t been hard to match her ID card to one issued to a group of newcomers, then to track their activity. They’d been given a number of very good job offers, but - so far - none of them had actually accepted. It was more revealing, perhaps, than she realised.
“Two of us will work here,” Jasmine said. “The others will go ... elsewhere.”
Herman kept his face expressionless. He didn't like the thought of Commonwealth agents operating outside his control. He was unfortunately aware that their interests didn't match his. And yet, he couldn't stop them. Indeed, in some ways, it would be better if they didn't all work at his tower. The security forces would ask fewer questions if the agents were caught.
“Very well,” he said. He tapped his console, ordering his secretary to make the arrangements. There were so many departments in the tower that no one would realise - at least for a while - that Jasmine and Haverford weren't doing any actual work. “Is there anything else I can offer you?”
“We may require money and ID cards,” Jasmine said. She looked oddly annoyed, just for a second. She was clearly not someone who liked asking for charity. “We’ll ask for anything else we need.”
Or make contact with forgers, Herman guessed. There was a thriving black market trade in forged IDs, as well as everything else. His security staff kept an eye on that too. And you’ll probably try to make contact with other underground groups too.
“Very good,” he said, instead. “I’ll arrange for a dinner party, probably in two days. By then, you should have received our job offer - just accept it. I’ll see to it that you get invited up here when you arrive.”
“Of course,” Jasmine said.
“My staff will ensure that you are returned home,” Herman added. It wouldn't be hard to put together a cover story. Jasmine and her friends were already being headhunted. “And I’ll see you later.”
Jasmine nodded. Herman couldn't help a flicker of genuine interest. She spoke to him as an equal. Very few people spoke to him on even terms.
“We’ll be in touch,” she said. “And thank you.”
Herman watched them go, feeling cold. They’d talked about removing Admiral Singh, they’d planned a possible coup ... but this was different. Admiral Singh would call them traitors, if she ever found out. She’d be right, too. Herman knew that not everyone on the Board of Directors would go along with him, if they found out too. He’d committed himself to jumping on a tiger and riding it to an unknown destination.
It would be easy, he knew, to alert the security forces. Jasmine and her comrades could be arrested or killed before they had a chance to burrow out of sight. Hell, he could just ... accidentally ... blow their aircar out of the sky. He’d never have to admit what he’d done ...
But he knew, too, that this was their only chance. The war had to be stopped before it was too late. Victory or defeat, nothing would ever be the same again.
He tapped a switch, bringing up a holographic image of his great-great-grandfather. Hank Mouganthu had been a hard-boiled son of a bitch, according to his biographer. Herman had been astonished to discover that the first volume had been written when the old bastard had still been alive. Hank Mouganthu had even written the foreword, gleefully admitting that he’d worked his way to the top through ruthlessness, determination and a handful of knives planted in backs. Herman knew that Hank Mouganthu would never have tolerated Admiral Singh, not for a moment.
Unless he thought she could be seduced, he thought, wryly. Hank Mouganthu’s womanising had been extraordinary. But he would have seen her as a danger.
He sighed. He’d sat on the fence long enough - they’d all sat on the fence too long. He knew, now, that the war could be ended on decent terms. And that was all that mattered.
And if this be treason, he thought wryly, let us make the most of it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I feel ridiculous,” Jasmine muttered.
“You look exotic, My Lady,” the maid said. “I’m sure you’ll be the belle of the ball.”
Jasmine gave her a nasty look, then peered at the hologram. The changing room didn't have anything as simple as mirrors, it seemed. Instead, hidden cameras watched her from all angles and projected a hologram she could manipulate at will. She could turn it around and inspect her back, if she wanted, just to make sure that everything was perfect. It made her feel ridiculous.
She sighed, inwardly. The blue dress was surprisingly demure - it flowed down from her neckline to her knees - but it was tight enough to make her feel self-conscious. Her olive skin, dark eyes and muscular arms might have given her an exotic air ... she shook her head, hoping that her comrades never saw the images. It was hard to imagine anyone looking less like a marine.
There are Pathfinders who are supposed to blend in with the natives, she reminded herself, as the maid escorted her out of the chamber. They manage it, somehow.
She heard the party before she saw it, the sound of piano music drifting down the corridor and inviting her onwards. Hundreds of men in black suits drifted around the ballroom or leaned against the walls and chatted, accompanied by hundreds of women in gorgeous costumes. The men had it easy, she noted, as she descended the stairs into the ballroom. They all wore the same suits, although she couldn't help noticing that some of them were of a finer cut than others. The women wore different dresses, each one seemingly unique. She hadn't seen so much bare flesh on display in her entire life.
The music grew louder, inviting couples onto the dance floor. She accepted the offer of a dance from a handsome young man, allowing him to lead her through the steps of a very simple dance as she surveyed the room, silently matching names to faces. Most of the guests were minor industrialists, but a handful were important officials who had proven amiable to bribery. She did her best to listen to the chatter as the dance came to an end, then politely declined the offer of a second dance. The young man shrugged and hurried off.
She was attracting attention, she noted, as she made her way through the room. Eyes turned to follow her, some more knowingly than others. She had the uncomfortable feeling they knew she was faking, even if they didn't know what she was faking. She just didn't have the skill to blend in with the rich men and women, let alone pretend to be one of them. The dress she wore - the dress she’d been loaned - probably cost more than her entire salary. She doubted that anyone in the room really understood the cost of war ...
Or what life is like, for those on the streets, she thought. They’re isolated from the real world.
“The Admiral has offered us a set of contracts,” a dark man was boasting. “Someone is going to
have to rebuild those shipyards - why not us?”
“Someone will also have to refurbish them,” his partner pointed out. “You can't do that without help.”
A hand touched her arm. Jasmine frowned.
“Begging your pardon, My Lady,” a waitress said. “Your presence is requested in the Green Room.”
“Of course,” Jasmine said. It was a relief. “Please, show me the way.”
The Green Room, it seemed, was blue. Everything was blue, from the walls to the chairs and tables. Jasmine wondered, as she stepped inside, just who’d named it and why. Mouganthu himself sat at the table, flanked by two men she recognised from Haverford’s detailed briefings. Director Louis Tallyman and Director Manual Hernandez, two men equal in power and wealth to Mouganthu. They looked very different - Tallyman was thin as a rake, while Hernandez was unbelievably fat - but their expressions were identical. She reminded herself, sharply, that she had to take them seriously. They hadn't been guaranteed their posts when they’d been born.
Wolf's Bane (The Empire's Corps Book 14) Page 27